Chapter 16 Gracie
Gracie
Iarrive at Raewyn and Stephen’s not long after Braxton, and he’s on me almost immediately. I remain limp in his arms, realizing quickly that it was never my calling to be an actress, turning my face to the side when he tries to kiss me.
“I went by your place last night,” he murmurs. “You weren’t home.”
I lift my eyebrows. “I messaged you and told you I was spending the night with Bridget. Didn’t you get it?” My tone is frosty, and Braxton steps back with a frown, his green eyes searching mine.
“I misplaced my phone,” he admits quietly. “Night before last. Probably had too many beers with Nick and—” He clamps his mouth shut, eyes flaring. “I’ve missed you, Rumpel.”
Before I’m forced to answer, Raewyn calls me into the kitchen. The radio is on, the soft sounds of carols filling the space as we work together to cook Christmas lunch.
I ignore the concerned glances she keeps spearing me with until she asks, “How’ve you been, Gracie?” She picks up a glass of eggnog, watching as I sprinkle some parsley onto the casserole dish of buttery potatoes. “We’ve barely seen you since Thanksgiving.”
I roll my lips between my teeth, desperately trying to convince myself there isn’t something hiding behind the question, that her eyes aren’t a little too knowing.
“I was here for dinner a week ago,” I remind her, and she playfully rolls her eyes. “I’m okay. The shop has been busier than we anticipated, but Maryann is back now.”
I take the potatoes into the dining room and set them down in the only free spot left on the decked-out table, faint amusement tugging at my mouth.
“You’ve really gone all out this year.” I look at Raewyn, who’s staring at the table with a look of pride. “This is a lot of food.”
“Well, you know how Nick and Brax like to eat. I figured it was better to be safe than sorry.” She rubs her hands against her apron, her cheeks rosy from hours spent in the kitchen.
“In fact, the Burstans should be here any minute. Why don’t you go grab yourself a drink before they arrive?
Just relax a little bit.” She tilts her head.
“I know how much social events like this can take it out of you.” Raewyn disappears back into the kitchen, not realizing that she’s gutted me with just a few words.
I stand frozen, hand hovering out in midair, but I can’t remember what I was doing. Each breath is agony, my lungs refusing to do their job as my hands tremble uncontrollably. The urge is there to turn around to ask, to confirm, but if I do, she’ll know that I didn’t know the Burstans were coming.
“Sounds good,” I say, my voice sounding stiff to my own ears. I robotically pour myself a glass of wine. It’s not even midday, and I’m not a big drinker, but there’s no way I’m going to be able to get through this without it.
Braxton is in the living room with Stephen and Analise, who arrived yesterday.
They’re discussing the football replay they’re watching when I enter the room, with Braxton sitting on the two-person settee.
Before I can choose somewhere else to sit—anywhere else—he pats the cushion next to him with a small smile.
I sit down, hoping he doesn’t notice the way my wine sloshes in the glass before I reach out to grip my wrist with my other hand, steadying myself.
Stephen gives me a warm smile before his attention drifts back to the television. There’s a loud cheer from the game, and Braxton reaches over me to point out something on the screen. I hold my breath, terrified I’ll smell something other than him.
That I’ll smell her again.
It doesn’t take long before my chest burns, forcing me to drag in air through my mouth. I don’t smell anything but his woodsy cologne, and despair chokes me. I can’t do this. I can’t—
“Look at that,” Braxton tells his dad. “You can’t tell me that’s a good defense. The hole in that line is bigger than the one in the ozone layer.”
Stephen grunts. “Fine, but they still won, didn’t they?”
Braxton scoffs. “Sheer dumb luck.”
Analise has her nose buried in her Kindle, but looks up to say, “If you two start bickering, I’m telling Mom to take you outside and hose you down. No one cares about football. It’s literally just an excuse for men to fondle each other without judgment.”
Braxton and Stephen gape at her. “Those are fighting words, my girl. Why’re you trying to ruin Christmas?”
Analise rolls her eyes at his dramatics, her attention pointedly going back to her book.
Stephen chuckles just as the doorbell rings.
Braxton’s fingers pulse against my leg, digging in tightly before he loosens his grip.
I look at him out of the corner of my eye, noticing the way his jaw tenses, a muscle fluttering wildly.
“Ah, there’s our guests.” Stephen slaps his knee, turning the television off and standing up. “You’d better put your book away, Analise. It’s time to be social.” She groans, but does as she’s told, leaving the e-reader on the side table as she follows her father to the door.
I don’t make a move to stand, and neither does Braxton. In my peripheral vision, his mouth tightens, a muscle flickering in his jaw. He turns to look at me, but I keep my eyes forward as he reaches out to touch my leg. “Rumpel—”
“There is nothing you can say right now that will make me feel better,” I tell him, not looking his way. “Please don’t.”
Voices from the entry hall reach up, and I flick a look toward the doorway before looking back at him accusingly.
His eyes flash with defiance, a scowl on his lips. “You can’t be mad about them being here, Gracie,” he grits. “Our families have known each other for years. They are basically family.”
I stiffen, turning on him with a glare. “I don’t care that they’re here,” I say carefully, making sure to pitch my voice low enough that no one else will hear.
“I don’t care that she’s here. What I do care about is that the person who tells me he loves me allowed me to be blindsided.
Again. That’s what I care about, Braxton. ”
I grab his hand, throwing it off my leg and standing up just as Raewyn calls, “Well, let’s not dither! Come and eat while it’s hot.”
The lunch goes off without a hitch. It reminds me a little of how Thanksgiving dinner played out at Esther and Joseph’s.
Paisley is sitting across from us again, but several seats down, so while we’re involved in the same discussions, it’s easy enough for me to avoid talking to her directly.
And there’s enough distance that I can ignore the way her eyes keep coming back to Braxton and lingering.
Once all the food has been cleared away and most of the dishes sorted, the two families migrate to the living room, someone turning up the Christmas music. My smile is fixed in place as I retake my seat on the couch. Braxton sits next to me, his thigh pressed tightly against mine.
Paisley is across the room, sitting on a footstool, but she’s right in my line of vision, looking pretty in a burgundy velvet dress with a black belt around her waist, her hair in loose waves around her shoulders.
Everyone’s chatting easily, and no one but Braxton seems to notice when I don’t join in.
Joseph goes outside, coming back with a massive cardboard box filled with gifts and a huge smile. “Now, I know we said no gifts,” he starts, “but you know what Esther is like. The woman can’t help herself.”
Raewyn laughs gaily. “Well, I won’t put up too much of a fuss.” She points at the presents gathered under the tree. “I picked up a few odds and ends for you all myself.”
Stephen stands up, slapping a Santa hat on his head, rubbing his hands together. “Guess that makes it present time,” he says gleefully. He heads to the tree and starts handing out presents, making sure that everyone gets at least one before moving on to the next round.
I open a book from Analise, my smile genuine when I see it’s one of our shared favorite authors. The smile widens when she unwraps her present from me and finds the exact same book.
She lets out a delighted laugh, telling me, “I knew there was a reason I liked you. We’re reading these at the same time, right?”
Stephen unwraps his present to find a new soldering pen—the same one he happened to show me in a catalog a couple of months ago. He shoots me a conspiratorial wink, saying, “Just what I needed.”
“For what?” his wife demands suspiciously. But Stephen only taps his nose, grinning as he watches me open a new tool kit—one with flowers printed on the handles.
“Every girl needs her own tools,” he tells me.
Raewyn hands me a gift card for a spa day at a place in Ashland, including a massage, a facial, and a manicure. She leans over, tapping the card, telling me playfully, “You look like you need this. Let me know when you’d like to go, and we can do it together.”
Her present from me is a personalized cookbook, where I’ve taken all her handwritten recipes she keeps in a box in the kitchen, printed them out, and bound them into a book.
She stares down at it for several minutes, her knuckles white, and I’m sure she hates it…
Then she gets up and marches over, yanking me up for a hug.
“My mama’s recipes are in here,” she whispers in my ear. “This is priceless. Thank you, Gracie.”
My emotions get the best of me as I hug her back, her familiar floral perfume filling my lungs. “You’re welcome,” I whisper.
She hurries over to Stephen, eagerly showing him the recipe book, and I watch, trying to carve every moment of the day into my memory.
I might be losing the first relationship that ever truly meant something to me—in a permanent, real sense—but I’m going to be losing these people, too, and that hurts almost as much.