Chapter 42
Chapter forty-two
EVE
Sally’s outdone herself for Christmas dinner. The B&B dining room glows with candlelight and evergreen garlands, and every surface is covered in twinkling lights or cinnamon-scented charm. It should feel too much. But somehow, it doesn’t. Somehow, I don’t.
Even Dorothy's on her best behavior, though that might have more to do with how Mrs. Harrison keeps sneaking her bits of turkey when she thinks we're not looking.
"So," Kellan Harrison drops into the chair next to me, all confidence and that same crooked smile as his brother. "You're the famous Eve Foster."
I take in the subtle signs my medical training has taught me to notice, the way he holds himself like he's still on alert, the tension in his shoulders beneath that deliberately casual "Christmas with the family" sweater.
Clinical assessment: classic avoidance body language, especially common in fellow healthcare professionals who should know better.
"And you're the famous Kellan Harrison. Known for your unwavering commitment to avoiding small-town gossip and dangerously good Maryland cookies."
His laugh sounds genuine, but there's something underneath it. Something I recognize all too well from my mirror. "That obvious?"
"Would you prefer I used the term 'strategic retreat'?"
That gets me a real smile, one that reaches his eyes. "You sound like Zoe."
"The one everyone in Swans Cove and here is waiting for you to stop running from?" The words slip out before my professional filter can catch them, but instead of tensing up, he relaxes slightly.
"Adam said you were direct." He glances at his brother, who's wearing a ridiculous Christmas antler headband because he lost a bet with Kellan, while trying to convince their mom that Blanche does not need a fourth helping of turkey.
"Guess that's what happens when you're used to dealing with difficult patients.
Takes one healthcare worker to know another. "
"Most patients aren't actually difficult." I keep my voice light, but my RN experience instincts kick in. "They may act like raccoons trapped in a garbage can when they're scared, but most are not difficult."
"True." Kellan lifts an eyebrow. "Hey, Little Bro."
Adam's hand is warm on my shoulder. "You two look serious for Christmas dinner," he says, his voice warm against my ear.
"Just comparing notes on difficult patients," I say, leaning back into his touch.
"Difficult?" Kellan scoffs. "She's diagnosing people at Christmas dinner, Adam. At this rate, she's gonna start a side hustle in emotional interventions."
"No pamphlets," I say, "but—" I pause, debating, before reaching into my bag.
Adam's thumb moves lazily against my shoulder, like he can feel the exact moment I decide to commit to whatever this is.
"Oh, this should be good."
I pull out my finally finished Emotional Support Pickle and place it on the table in front of Kellan. It's barely six inches long, adorned with a somewhat lopsided Santa hat and mistletoe.
Kellan stares at it. Then at me. Then back at the pickle. "...Is this a hostage situation?"
"It's an Emotional Support Pickle," I clarify, clinical voice firmly in place. "I crocheted it for Secret Santa, but honestly? I think you need it more. And I made a lot of them."
Adam chuckles, pressing a kiss to my temple, his breath warm against my skin. "You should just take it, Kellan. Once Eve decides someone needs an intervention, resistance is pointless."
Kellan shakes his head, but he's still turning the pickle over in his hands, like he's low-key intrigued despite himself.
"You know," he says finally, "I feel like Major in iZombie could've used one of these."
I gasp. "That's true! If someone had given him a crocheted pickle, maybe things wouldn't have gone off the rails!"
Adam's face does something complicated, like he's fighting his own laugh. Then, with a smile, he reaches under the table and pulls out a package wrapped in tissue paper with tiny reindeer.
"Speaking of pickles," he says, placing it in my hand. "I've been working on something too."
I unwrap it carefully to find an enormous crocheted pickle, at least a foot long, with a little stethoscope and medical bag. And another brain. That definitely looks like a testicle.
"Oh sweet, my brother is giving you his other ball."
"It's a brain," I murmur.
"Dickle and the Brain." Kellan raises both eyebrows. "Of course."
"Dr. Dickle," Adam explains, his voice steady and deep. "For your emotional support collection."
I stare at it, momentarily speechless. He's been learning to crochet. For me. While running the clinic, dealing with Chuck, planning his move to Sandwich Bay. All of it.
"He's big…"
"That's what she said," Kellan deadpans.
And I let out a chuckle, continuing. "And it doesn't look like an alien phallus," I manage, running my fingers over the perfect little stitches. "At least, not from this angle."
Adam laughs, a genuine burst of sound that makes Mrs. Harrison's head turn. "I had a good teacher. Sally's been giving me lessons."
"How about you tell us more about this position at Sandwich Bay Elementary?" Margaret asks.
"I'm going to be the school nurse," I explain. "Sixty-five percent of my time there, and the rest helping with community outreach."
"You know," Margaret says with a knowing smile, "in one of those romance novels from our book club, the heroine would realize her happily-ever-after belongs right in the small-town that was supposed to be a pitstop.
But you having the courage to go back to your hometown because that's what you want, to admit you miss it.
Peeling the layers of pain not to ignore them but to find joy? I love it for you."
I nod, warmth spreading in my chest. Because I’m looking forward to be closer to my parents, to my grandparents.
“I’ve been thinking about making that pop-up bookstore permanent,” she adds. “The book club needs a proper home.”
“I’ll join,” Claire says immediately.
“Oh, this will be fun,” Margaret adds, before turning to Adam.
"I have to say something else that’s very romance novel but also so very true.
Sweetheart, you've always been so good at taking care of everyone.
But I used to wonder…would you ever let someone take care of you?
Not just because they needed you, but because they wanted to? "
Adam exhales, and I feel it in the way his fingers flex, the shift of his shoulders. Like maybe he's always known she was right, but he never let himself believe it.
She doesn't look at me when she says it, but I know the words aren't just for him.
Because Adam didn’t need me to change him, or save him, or make him softer. He needed someone to remind him he didn’t have to carry everything alone. And I think I needed that reminder too.
The room quiets, Christmas music playing low from Sally's ancient radio, Blanche sighing contentedly at our feet.
Adam's fingers tighten around mine. Like a promise.
One we're both finally ready to make, surrounded by Christmas lights, emotional support pickles, and the family we've both chosen.
And I don’t have to hide who I am. The cold. The warmth. The in-between. Me.
“Thanks for the pickle. For everything,” I tell Adam.
Adam doesn’t even crack a smile. Doesn’t joke. He tips his head, eyes dark with promise. His hand slides under the table—slow, unhurried—fingers trailing along the inside of my thigh like he’s reading vitals he already knows by heart.
“Foster,” he murmurs, voice just for me, “if you think a crocheted pickle is the hottest thing I’ll be unwrapping this Christmas…”His thumb presses, firm and deliberate.“…you’re wildly underestimating what I plan to do to you later.”
My breath catches. The lights blur. I nod like a perfectly composed adult while internally malfunctioning. My hand flutters toward my water glass, which I absolutely do not knock over in front of his entire family.
Across the table, Kellan clears his throat. Loudly. “Next year I’m spending Christmas with wolves. Or cats. Whichever’s less horny. I’m happy for you, bro. But this is stuffing time, not ‘stuffing’ time."
My face flushes as Margaret chuckles and whispers something to her husband. My former boss. It’s fine. Cool.
Adam doesn’t even blink. Lifts his wine glass and says, perfectly pleasant, “Take Tell Her You Love Her with you. I saw Mom slip it in your bag. Chapter nine has some great technique.”
Kellan groans. Claire applauds.
And I fall in love with him all over again.