Chapter 15
Natalie had intended to drop off three boxes of ribbon, gift tags, and small wrapped ornaments at the Clemons house and leave before anyone could put a plate in her hands.
After all, that had been the plan when Julia Clemons had placed the order through Winter Wishes for what she described as a “small family Christmas project,” which turned out to mean enough supplies for a church committee, two school classrooms, and possibly a neighboring county.
Natalie should have known better. Anyone related to Mark Clemons would not consider a project small unless it required fewer than four vehicles and no one had to rent a trailer.
She balanced one box against her hip and reached for the doorbell, but the front door opened before she touched it. Mrs. Clemons stood there in a green sweater with a flour streak across one cheek and a smile warm enough to make the porch light feel unnecessary.
“Natalie, come in, come in,” Mrs. Clemons said as she took the top box from her arms. “No one mentioned to me that you were bringing half your shop.”
Natalie stepped inside, already shaking her head. “Julia ordered half my shop. I’m only the delivery person.”
“Julia always was ambitious.” Mrs. Clemons glanced over her shoulder. “Julia, your ribbon has arrived and so has the woman I told you not to let escape.”
Natalie’s heart gave a small, nervous jump. “Escape?”
Mrs. Clemons smiled at her without shame. “You’re staying for supper.”
“Oh, I don’t want to intrude.”
“You aren’t.” Mrs. Clemons nudged the door closed with her foot and called toward the kitchen, “Mark, come help Natalie with the rest.”
Bootsteps sounded from the hallway, and Mark appeared with his sleeves pushed to his forearms and a dish towel tossed over one shoulder. He stopped when he saw her, surprise crossing his face. “Oh. You’re here.”
“I had a delivery.” Natalie lifted the remaining box slightly. “Your sister is single-handedly keeping Winter Wishes solvent.”
“My sister considers restraint a character flaw.” Mark took the box from her, his fingers brushing hers for the briefest moment. “I would assume my mother already told you that you’re staying?”
“She did.”
“Then you’re staying.”
Natalie looked from him to Mrs. Clemons. “Does anyone in this family ask questions, or do you all just issue kind orders?”
“Yes,” Mark said.
Mrs. Clemons laughed and headed back toward the kitchen. “That answer tells you everything you need to know about us.”
Julia swept in from the dining room before Natalie could think of another protest. She had Mark’s eyes, their mother’s smile, and the energy of someone who had never met a holiday tradition she didn’t want to organize. “You brought the cranberry ribbon.”
“I did,” Natalie said as Julia took the box from Mark and opened it with obvious delight. “And the kraft tags, the miniature wreath ornaments, the gold twine, and the brown paper you wanted for the family baskets.”
“Perfect.” Julia lifted a roll of ribbon as if it were treasure. “Mom, look. Isn’t this better than the shiny red?”
Mrs. Clemons leaned out of the kitchen with a wooden spoon in one hand. “It’s very pretty, sweetheart, and I say that as the woman who still doesn’t understand why ribbon required a debate.”
“It required a vision,” Julia said. She turned to Natalie. “You understand.”
Natalie smiled despite the knot of nervousness in her stomach. “I own a Christmas shop. I understand most ribbon emergencies.”
“See?” Julia called toward the kitchen. “She belongs here.”
The words were casual, tossed out with no weight behind them, but they struck Natalie just the same. She looked down at the open box and pretended to straighten one of the tags.
Mark shifted half a step closer. Natalie smiled gratefully before she could stop herself.
The Clemons kitchen and dining room were already full.
Johnnie Clemons stood at the stove stirring a pot of gravy while Mrs. Clemons checked something in the oven.
Thomas and James argued at the table about whether a horse named Juniper was stubborn or discerning, while Samuel sat beside them peeling a clementine in one long strip with the silent concentration of a surgeon.
A basket of rolls sat beneath a towel, a stack of plates waited near the sideboard, and the whole house smelled like roast chicken, rosemary, butter, and home.
Natalie had been inside plenty of warm houses. She had visited friends, attended church suppers, hosted customers in her shop until they felt like family for half an hour at a time. This was different. This warmth had roots. These people knew where everything belonged, including one another.
Mark set the box on a side table. “Where do you want these?”
Julia pointed toward the living room. “By the fireplace. We’ll assemble baskets after supper.”
Thomas looked over from the table. “Why are we assembling baskets after supper?”
“Because we’re a loving family that serves the community,” Julia said.
Samuel placed the clementine peel on his napkin. “Also because you volunteered us before asking.”
“What’s wrong with that?” Julia asked.
James grinned at Natalie. “Welcome to the Clemons house, where Julia has ideas and the rest of us discover we agreed to them.”
“You do agree eventually,” Julia said as she swept past him.
“Under pressure,” Thomas added.
“Sometimes spiritual pressure,” Samuel said.
Mrs. Clemons pointed the wooden spoon toward all of them. “The next person who complains about helping with Christmas baskets can set the table and wash dishes.”
All five siblings moved at once.
Natalie laughed.
Mark looked down at her with a faint smile that felt far too private for such a crowded room. “They’re trainable.”
“I see that.”
“Barely,” Samuel murmured as he gathered silverware.
Mark pulled out the chair beside him at the table once supper was ready, but he did not make a show of it. He simply did it as if she had always been expected. Natalie sat, feeling oddly shy while the family settled around her in a comfortable storm of noise and motion.
Mr. Clemons stood at the head of the table, and the room quieted almost immediately. “Lord, thank You for this food, this family, and for giving us enough to share. Thank You for Natalie joining us tonight and help us remember that every good gift comes from You. Amen.”
“Amen,” everyone said, and Natalie’s own voice joined theirs more softly than usual.
Food passed from hand to hand. Mrs. Clemons urged Natalie to take more chicken.
Mr. Clemons insisted the gravy was better than it looked.
James told a story about Juniper refusing a perfectly good training exercise because the horse had apparently developed strong opinions about puddles.
Thomas corrected three details. Samuel quietly pointed out that if the horse had strong opinions, she fit in well with the family.
Julia made notes on a scrap of paper between bites because the Christmas baskets needed “a more cohesive order of assembly.”
Natalie tried to keep up and failed in the nicest possible way.
Beside her, Mark filled her water glass when it emptied and passed her the rolls before she had to ask. He did not hover. He did not draw attention to what he was doing. Every small kindness made her chest ache a little more.
At one point, Mr. Clemons reached over to wipe flour from Mrs. Clemons’ cheek with his thumb. Mrs. Clemons caught his wrist and gave him a look of mock warning. “If you laugh, Johnnie Clemons, you can finish the dishes by yourself.”
“I wasn’t going to laugh, darlin’.” Mr. Clemons smiled at her in a way that made the whole table seem to soften. “I was admiring.”
“That sounded like self-preservation,” Thomas said.
“It was self-preservation,” Mr. Clemons said.
“Good marriage skill,” Samuel added.
Mrs. Clemons’ eyes warmed as she looked at her husband. “One of his better ones.”
Natalie looked down at her plate.
It was not envy, exactly. She did not begrudge them this. How could she? There was something holy in a love that had lasted through ordinary days, children, meals, work, irritation, laughter, and the kind of teasing that only felt safe because everyone knew where the line was.
But it hurt. It hurt because her own mother was not here to wipe flour from her cheek or ask if she had eaten enough.
It hurt because Aunt Eleanor loved her fiercely, but Natalie’s life had been shaped by absence as much as affection.
It hurt because this table was loud and crowded and imperfect, and she could see so clearly what it meant to belong without having to earn the invitation.
Mrs. Clemons touched Natalie’s arm lightly. “Are you all right, sweetheart?”
Natalie looked up quickly. “Yes. I’m sorry. I was just thinking.”
“Thinking is dangerous at this table,” James said. “Someone will assign you a job.”
“Too late,” Julia said. “Natalie is our ribbon consultant.”
Mark leaned back in his chair. “That sounds official.”
“It should come with a badge,” Natalie said, grateful that her voice came out steady.
“A glitter badge,” Samuel said.
Mark shook his head. “Absolutely not.”
“You fear glitter because you’ve been marked by it, Mark,” Julia said.
Natalie laughed, and the tightness in her chest eased enough for her to breathe again.
After supper, everyone moved into the living room with the kind of organized disorder Natalie was beginning to suspect was a Clemons specialty.
Boxes were opened near the fireplace. Brown paper bags were folded at the edges.
Ribbon was cut, tags were written, and small ornaments were tucked into each basket alongside cookies, candles, cocoa packets, and handwritten notes for families from church who could use a little extra kindness before Christmas.
Although she probably could’ve ducked out, Natalie found herself seated on the rug between Julia and Samuel, tying bows while Mark sat nearby cutting twine to precise lengths.
James kept making his bows lopsided on purpose until Julia threatened to take away his scissors.
Thomas wrote the neatest tags, which surprised no one except Natalie.
Mr. Clemons carried in coffee. Mrs. Clemons followed with a tray of cookies then sat beside Natalie instead of taking the armchair someone had left open for her.
“You have a gift for making things beautiful,” Mrs. Clemons said quietly as Natalie tied another cranberry ribbon around a basket handle.
Natalie glanced at the bow. “It’s just ribbon.”
“No.” Mrs. Clemons watched her for a moment. “It’s care and love.”
Natalie swallowed around a sudden thickness in her throat. “My mother used to say something like that. Not about ribbon, exactly. About small things mattering.” She smoothed the ribbon tails with her thumb. “I wish she could see the shop.”
Mrs. Clemons’ expression softened, and she did not rush to cover the ache with easy words. “I’m sure she would be proud.”
Natalie nodded because she couldn’t talk. Her throat felt too tight.
Across the room, Mark had gone still enough that she knew he had heard.
When she looked at him, his gaze held hers, steady and quiet.
He did not offer pity. He did not look away because grief made him uncomfortable.
He simply saw her, and after a moment, he handed her another length of perfectly cut twine.
“Thank you,” she said softly.
His voice was just as low. “Anytime.”
Near the fireplace, Mr. Clemons laughed when Mrs. Clemons accused him of eating cookies meant for the baskets.
Julia scolded Samuel for writing one tag too small.
Thomas declared that readable handwriting was more important than festive handwriting, and James claimed festive handwriting was probably the reason Christmas existed.
The room filled with voices again, and Natalie let the sound wash over her. It was beautiful and pain all at once.
When the baskets were finished and the evening began to wind down, Natalie helped carry the empty boxes back to Mark’s truck.
The air outside was cool enough to clear her head, and the porch light painted gold across the steps.
Behind them, the Clemons house glowed through the windows, full of movement and laughter.
Mark set the last box in the truck bed and turned to her. “Too much?”
Natalie smiled faintly. “A little.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It was wonderful.” She wrapped her arms around herself and looked back at the house. “That was the problem.”
He did not ask her to explain before she was ready.
Natalie appreciated that more than he probably knew. “Your family loves well,” she said after a moment. “Not perfectly. Loudly sometimes. Bossily definitely. But well.”
Mark’s mouth curved. “Bossily definitely is almost too accurate.”
“It made me miss things I don’t usually let myself miss.”
His expression sobered. “Your mom?”
“Yes.” Natalie blinked hard and kept her gaze on the warm windows. “And maybe the idea of a house like that. A table like that. People who know your stories and still want you there.”
Mark stood beside her, close enough that their shoulders nearly touched. “They wanted you there tonight.”
She looked at him.
“So did I,” he said.
The words were simple. There was no mistletoe, no audience, no town watching and waiting to turn a glance into a wedding announcement. Just Mark, standing beside her in the quiet, telling the truth with the same steadiness he brought to everything else.
Natalie’s heart ached worse. “Thank you,” she whispered.
Mark nodded toward her car. “Drive safe.”
“I will.”