Chapter 15
Callie
When we make it downstairs, Connie and Chris are walking through the front door. Mom and Dad greet them with open arms and kisses to the temple. They’re asked about the drive, how the meetings went and are informed of dinner plans.
According to my world-renowned eavesdropping skills, we’re having steak. My niece and her father already sitting at the table with a fork and knife in their hands only confirms this, since my oldest brother would eat steak at every meal, if he could—a trait he lovingly passed on to his daughter.
A trait he received from our father, who is making a beeline for his own chair at the table.
“Hi, Aunt Callie,” Goldie calls from the table. “Come sit with us. Mr. Oliver can come, too.”
Beside me, Oliver chuckles under his breath. “She really is adorable,” he whispers in my ear.
Ignoring how his warm breath feels brushing against my ear, I try focusing on how kind he’s been to my niece.
Turns out that doesn’t help anything.
Lodge attendants rush past us on the stairs. Arms full of the twins’ luggage, I’m sure they’re both well-informed of Chris’s fiery temper.
“Hello, Calloway. Oliver,” Connie calls as she moves farther into the house, “it’s lovely to have you with us.” A broad smile reaches across the room, practically hugging me already.
Behind her, Chris peers at Oliver and I in turn. At least he’s not scowling. Entirely.
“Hey Connie,” I grin. Once my eyes leave my favorite sibling, I allow my smile to become so wide I’m practically the Cheshire Cat. “Christopher.”
Chris grunts in response as he passes by to head upstairs.
Oliver watches my brother walk by with an amused expression, the corners of his lips twitching.
“Ignore him,” Connie says, “he just got out of a pretty abysmal meeting. The stakeholders decided to give him a call on the drive up here and go for a second round.”
Smirking at my sister, I roll my eyes. “Aren’t all meetings about finances a drag?”
To her credit, she laughs. “Something like that, I guess,” she says, stepping around us and heading up the stairs after Chris.
Oliver frowns. “Do they share a room?”
“Not since they were ten. Why?”
“Huh. Based on their interdependency, I’m honestly kinda surprised.”
I shrug. Taking his hand, I lead him toward the dining table that’s already set for dinner. I make the executive decision on our seating choice and motion for him to follow. “They live together, if that makes you feel any better.”
Oliver looks at me, clearly trying to tell if I’m kidding or not.
Steak, mashed potatoes, corn, carrots, green beans, bread, and butter await us, giving off a mouthwatering aroma as we take our seats.
“We always eat dinner together when we’re here,” I explain, sitting down. “Breakfast and lunch are usually on our own, but dinner is supposed to make us feel like a family.”
Prescott scoffs from across the table. He looks up from helping Goldie stuff a napkin into the front of her Scooby-Doo shirt. “That’s because we are a family, Calloway.”
“Hello, Oliver.” Mom’s velvet voice typically reserved for important business associates is on full display for my fake boyfriend that I am currently trying to deny some very real feelings for.
Making her way from the kitchen with a second full bread basket in hand, she stops just short of falling completely over Oliver in adoration.
“I’m so glad you were able to join us after all.
I’ll admit I was disappointed when Calloway told us you would be out of town for the holiday. ”
An easy smile slides onto his face. “Thank you so much for having me, Lillian. This place is amazing.”
“Have you never been up to Aspen Point?” she asks, the thought incomprehensible to her. Placing the bread on the table, she moves out of Imogene’s way as my sister transports more food in our direction.
Oliver fluffs his napkin, placing it in his lap. “I’ve never had the chance. My family has always been fairly modest and, when we have traveled, it was usually to see my grandmother back home.”
Mom takes a seat on the opposite end of the table from Dad, settling in for the meal. She waves a hand toward us. “I don’t know what you’re all waiting for. Dig in. The twins will be down whenever they’re ready.”
I don’t wait for any further invitation, spooning some corn onto my plate. I’d be lying if I said my mouth wasn’t watering like I haven’t eaten in days.
The chair beside me scoots back from the table, Imogene gracefully slipping into it before preparing her own food.
Oliver and I settle into a steady rhythm of passing around food and accidentally bumping into one another on purpose.
Gotta look like that couple that’s sickeningly in love and whatnot. Which is annoyingly easy. Especially since every time Oliver touches me in any capacity, blood rushes to my cheeks, making my little niece giggle.
One time, Oliver even winks at her, clearly considering my blushing some kind of new toy he’s discovered.
If those two get in cahoots, I don’t know what I’ll do.
By the time Chris and Connie come back downstairs, the sun has set and nearly half the food has gone to a happy place. “Gee, thanks for bothering to save us some,” Chris grumbles.
“Uncle Chris, I saved you this carrot,” Goldie declares. She stabs her fork into the only vegetable still on her plate—a baby carrot Prescott has tried three different times to get her to eat.
My surly brother smiles, rounding the table to sit in the empty seat next to her. “Thanks, Goldie. I knew I could count on you.”
I can’t help my grin as Chris eats the carrot from Goldie’s fork. Feeling eyes on me, I look around to find Oliver watching me.
Cue another blush.
Flipper nuggets, he didn’t even touch me that time. Get a grip, Callie.
Oliver is clearly trying to one-up himself since he leans into the miniscule space between us.
A single peck on the lips is all it takes, and my entire face is absolutely on fire. With my luck, the Honeyville fire department will show up any moment, only to discover it’s just me and my stupid feelings.
How humiliating.
Across the table, Marigold Rutherford snickers into her hand like the little gremlin she is.
Just when I think my oldest brother is a lost cause, he shoots his daughter a look that silences her immediately. Prescott is a lot of things. Most of them aren’t all that amazing.
But he is a great dad.
An unbidden image flashes in the front of my mind—Oliver, years from now, happily married to some awesome woman and holding a daughter of his own. Holding her, protecting her. Supporting his wife, whoever the lucky woman ends up being.
Tears prick at my eyes. The thought of him spending his life with someone else and my never seeing him again invites a bitter taste to my mouth. Keeping my head low, I blink back the tears and shove in another forkful of mashed potatoes.
“What do you think, my dear?” Oliver asks, voice low in my ear.
In the most unflattering way humanly possible, I turn to him, wide-eyed and cheeks stuffed to the brim with buttered carbs.
He coughs to cover his laughter. “Your mom asked what you thought about her putting a reserve on the Grand Ballroom here.”
“For what?” I ask, managing to swallow the remaining potato. Reaching for my hot cocoa, I take a big sip.
Oliver rolls his lips together. This can’t be good. “For our engagement party.”
My brain short-circuts and I choke on my drink, causing Oliver to gently pat me on the back. When I finally regain brain function, I spin around to look at my mother. “Why would you ask such a thing?” I demand.
Mom primly dabs her napkin against her lips. “We have to think about these things, Calloway. Venues don’t just book themselves. Nor do they just wait around, chock full of availability on a moment’s notice. And wedding venues are even trickier. At least, ones worth having are.”
Rubbing circles into my forehead, I sigh. “Look, let’s just take one thing at a time. Okay? And not put any pressure on this?”
Mom purses her lips. “Fine. But don’t blame me when your dream wedding venue isn’t available because you waited too long to book it.”
“Believe me, I won’t.”
“Oh, Callie,” Oliver leans back in his seat, tossing an arm over the back of my chair, “tell them about the grad program you were looking at the other day.” He shoots a megawatt smile my way, knowing exactly what he’s doing as he draws circles on my shoulder.
The only problem is that I’ve never actually looked into any graduate programs. I know my university offered them for my department, but I was never interested. Apparently, I am now.
Oliver raises expectant brows.
Heat rises in my face. I stumble over my words, struggling to maintain concentration. “Oh, yeah, um, right. The program. The one I was looking at.”
“Yeah, we got that, Calloway,” Chris interjects.
I narrow my eyes at the nuisance.
My dad leans forward, intrigued. “This is a graduate program? At what university?”
“My alma mater,” I answer. “There are two options I’m considering, a master’s or a doctorate in education.”
Frowning, my dad considers this. “What can you do with that?”
“I’d like to go into administration.” That part is actually true.
Oliver shifts closer, tucking me into his side. Pressing a kiss to my temple, adoration I’d give anything to be real gazes down at me. “You’d be amazing,” he nods.
Smiling up at him, I let myself pretend, for just a moment, that he’d be there through the entire journey.
By the time the credits roll on Goldie’s favorite holiday movie, more than half of my family is asleep on the seating in the home theater.
Including Goldie.
Oliver and I sit tucked into the bend of one of the two sectionals, cozy and snuggled up under a blanket with his arm around me. For the sake of appearances, of course.
Not that any other part of me except my brain got that memo. No, and the only organ that is actually functioning properly is a little busy trying to convince the rest of me that this isn’t real.