Chapter 32
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
AUbrEY
Idon’t think I’ve ever been so aware of a driveway before.
Dean’s black SUV rolls to a stop in front of my parents’ house, the familiar two-story home looking exactly the way it has every Thanksgiving for as long as I can remember.
White lights still frame the porch from last Christmas because Dad insists they’re “winter lights,” and Mom has tucked giant pots of mums on either side of the front steps.
Nothing has changed, and somehow, everything has changed.
Dean shifts the SUV into park before turning toward me. “So”—he smiles— “ready?”
I glance toward the house, where I can already see silhouettes moving through the front windows.
My cousins’ kids are probably chasing each other through the living room while my uncles are almost certainly arguing over football.
My mom is likely telling everyone to stay out of her kitchen.
“As ready as I’ll ever be.”
He reaches across the center console and laces his fingers through mine. “Your parents were pretty wonderful on the phone.”
“They were.”
“I still can’t believe your dad congratulated me.”
I laugh. “You expected him to threaten you?”
“I was prepared for at least a strongly worded lecture.”
“He’ll save that one in case you do something stupid.”
Dean groans dramatically. “I knew there’d be a catch.”
I lean over and press a quick kiss to his lips. “You’ll survive.”
“I hope so.”
His hand comes up to cup my cheek, his thumb brushing softly across my skin before he kisses me again.
This one lingers. Neither of us seems particularly eager to open the door.
Finally, I smile against his lips. “If I don’t go inside, my mom’s going to start looking out the window.”
Dean laughs. “And then she’ll definitely catch us.”
“Exactly.”
He steals one last kiss. “Go enjoy your family.”
“I’ll see you tonight?”
“You’ll see me tonight.”
I climb out of the SUV, smoothing my coat as I wave one last time before heading toward the front porch.
Dean waits until I’m safely inside before pulling away toward his dad’s house next door.
The second I step inside, the familiar smells of the holiday hit me.
“Aubrey!” Mom appears from the kitchen, carrying a wooden spoon, before pulling me into a hug with her free arm. “Happy Thanksgiving.”
I smile. “Happy Thanksgiving.”
She steps back, looking me over. “You look beautiful.”
“So do you.”
“I’ve had flour on this sweater since eight this morning.”
“Then you wear flour beautifully.”
She laughs. “I raised you well.”
“You did.”
Dad appears from the dining room, carrying a stack of extra chairs. “There’s my girl.” He sets the chairs down just long enough to wrap me in one of his bear hugs. “Happy Thanksgiving, Bug.”
“I thought we’d agreed we were retiring that nickname.”
“I don’t remember agreeing to anything.”
“I should’ve known.”
He kisses the top of my head. “You hungry?”
“Always.”
“Good, he replies. “We accidentally made enough food for forty people.”
“There are only fourteen of us.”
“I know.” He laughs. “It’s a problem.”
I laugh as my aunt Linda sweeps me into another hug before my cousins begin asking me a dozen questions about New York at once.
Within minutes, I’m answering questions while helping to set drinks on the kitchen island.
“How’s the city?”
“Is Liana walking yet?”
“Have you met any celebrities?”
The next hour disappears in the comfortable chaos only big families seem capable of creating.
My cousin’s youngest insists on showing me every drawing she’s made since she showed up.
Dad and Uncle Mark begin debating whether their football team will ever figure things out.
Mom catches me sneaking a piece of pumpkin pie before dinner.
Some traditions never change.
I don’t realize I’ve been smiling almost nonstop until my phone vibrates in my pocket.
I glance down to see Dean’s name.
A smile immediately spreads across my face.
Dean: I’m at your front door. Come open it.
I blink, then laugh out loud. I slide my phone back into my pocket far too quickly. I glance toward the front entryway.
I slip outside, hoping no one notices me leaving.
Cold November air immediately greets me as I step onto the porch.
Dean stands near the front door with both hands tucked into the pockets of his peacoat, looking entirely too handsome for someone who claims he just stopped by.
The second he sees me, he smiles. “I’ve been waiting almost thirty seconds.”
I roll my eyes. “Oh, the horror.”
He takes a step closer to me. “I almost gave up.”
“You are so dramatic.”
“I’ve been told.”
I laugh as I place my hands in my sweater pockets. “What are you doing here?”
He shrugs. “My uncle is entertaining Liana.”
“With what?”
“I honestly don’t know. I think he found an old train whistle.”
I wince. “That sounds … annoying.”
“Exactly.” He laughs. “The turkey still has another hour.”
“And?” I ask, still wondering why he is here.
“And”—he takes one step closer— “I missed you.”
My heart melts. “You’ve been gone for an hour.”
His fingers tuck a piece of hair behind my ear. “I know.”
“You are aware we’ll see each other again tonight?”
He chuckles. “I am. I still missed you.”
I shake my head, smiling so hard that my cheeks hurt. “You walked over here because you missed me?”
A laugh escapes me before I can stop it. “You are unbelievable.”
“I’ve also been informed by Sawyer that this phase is perfectly normal.”
“What phase?”
“The one where I apparently become insufferable because I want to spend every waking minute with my girlfriend.”
I grin. “He used the word insufferable?”
“He used several stronger words.”
I glance toward the front windows. “If my family sees you standing here, they’ll drag you inside.”
“I was hoping to avoid that.”
“So was I.”
An idea pops into my head. “Come on.”
I reach for his hand, and he looks at me curiously.
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.”
I tug him up the porch steps and quietly open the front door. The house is loud enough that no one notices us slipping inside.
Football blares from the television while someone laughs in the kitchen.
Aunt Linda is telling one of her famous stories, loud enough for the entire first floor to hear.
Perfect.
I weave through the hallway, holding Dean’s hand as we climb the staircase as quietly as two adults possibly can.
He chuckles behind me. “I feel like we’re sixteen.”
“I know.”
At the end of the hallway, I push open the last door on the right.
My bedroom. Well … my childhood bedroom. The pale blue walls are still covered with framed photos from high school.
A shelf lined with old volleyball trophies stretches beneath the window.
My bookshelf is exactly where I left it.
Even the quilt my grandmother made sits neatly folded across the foot of the bed.
Dean steps inside slowly, taking it all in.
“So”—he smiles— “this is where you grew up.”
I nod as my eyes scan the room that I haven’t been in since I moved to the city.
He walks over and sits on the edge of my bed. The mattress dips beneath his weight.
I stop in the middle of the room, just staring at him.
He notices almost immediately. “What?”
I shake my head, laughing softly to myself. “You have no idea how weird this is.”
His eyebrows lift. “Weird?”
“My teenage crush”—I gesture toward him— “is sitting on my bed.”
He laughs, looking around the room with renewed interest. “So, this is where all those dangerous thoughts started?”
I cover my face with both hands. “Oh my gosh.”
He stands up and walks over to me. “I’m kidding.”
“You are absolutely not kidding.”
His grin grows. “I might not be.”
I watch him as he walks around, looking at every little object on my shelves. He finally settles at my desk, which still has framed pictures from high school. He spins around and leans against the desk, arching his eyebrows at me.
I walk over until I’m standing between his knees.
“You know”—I smile— “fifteen-year-old Aubrey would’ve completely lost her mind by now.”
Dean’s hands settle gently on my hips. He looks up at me with that same impossibly soft expression he always reserves just for me.
“I’m pretty sure thirty-four-year-old Dean is having the exact same problem.”
I laugh, then lean down and kiss him, unable to think of a better way to celebrate the fact that somehow, against every expectation I’ve ever had, the boy I spent years dreaming about became the man who couldn’t make it through Thanksgiving without finding an excuse to see me.