Chapter 11 #3
Then he licks his fingers, not breaking eye contact, and my God, if that isn't the hottest thing I've ever seen.
He kisses me again—slower, patient, and full of promise. We don't go further. But when I curl into his body later in bed, wrapped in warmth and trust and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, I know something has shifted between us.
Something palpable. Something permanent.
***
The next evening, I'm helping Emma zip her coat when Adam's phone buzzes. He glances at the screen, then answers.
"Hi, Jen! Yeah, hi... Oh, that sounds fun... We're just heading out for Thanksgiving dinner actually. I'll let her know. Thanks so much for thinking of her."
He hangs up and crouches to Emma's level, eyes sparkling. "Maddie's mom just invited you to a sleepover tomorrow night. What do you think?"
Emma freezes mid-zip, eyes going wide. "A sleepover? At Maddie's? Really?"
"Really."
"Can I go? Please?"
Adam pretends to consider, shooting me a look over her head. The current between us is unmistakable—electric, charged with possibility.
"Yeah, you can go," he says, trying to sound casual.
Emma shrieks and launches herself at both of us, already chattering about what she'll pack, whether she should bring Mr. Fluffkins, if they'll make s'mores.
Adam's eyes meet mine.
"Tomorrow night," I murmur.
His hand finds mine and squeezes. "Tomorrow night."
The anticipation hums between us—alive and electric.
For the first time, I let myself feel it without the weight of fear. Just want.
***
At Harper's house, the warmth hits before we even get our coats off.
The smell of roasting turkey and cinnamon. The jumble of boots in the hallway. Laughter spilling from the kitchen.
Maya's perched on a stool, belly enormous, one eyebrow raised as Lucas circles her like a nervous bee. "I'm fine," she's saying. "Stop hovering."
"You're about to produce our first child. I'm allowed to hover."
"You're allowed to get me more pie."
Nate carves the turkey with surgical precision while Harper rests one hand on her small bump, directing Emma on napkin placement with the seriousness of a military operation. Adam squeezes my hand every time we pass each other.
For once, I don't feel like a guest tiptoeing around someone else's tradition.
I feel like I belong.
We pack ourselves around the dining table—too many people, too much food.
Perfect. Adam sits beside me, arm draped over the back of my chair, our legs touching under the tablecloth.
Emma's across from us, arranging her silverware with intense focus.
Harper teases Nate about his carving technique.
Lucas drops a serving spoon and Maya deadpans, "You break it, you buy it. "
When the plates are full, Harper stands and raises her glass. The table quiets.
"Adam and I lost our parents young," she says, voice steady and clear. "But we built this—all of you. This family we chose."
Her eyes find mine, warm and certain.
"To found family," she says.
"To found family," we echo, glasses lifting.
A hush settles over the room—gentle, sacred, holding us all together.
We go around the table, sharing what we're grateful for.
Maya grins. "Sleep. And this baby finally making an exit."
Lucas laughs. "That Maya hasn't murdered me yet."
"The day's not over," Maya mutters—but she's smiling.
Nate's voice goes quiet, sincere. "This baby. This family. Harper."
Harper rubs her bump. "All of you. And elastic waistbands."
The table cracks up.
Emma sits up straighter, too serious for someone so small. "June's cupcakes! And Daddy. And June staying with us. And also June's cupcakes again because they're really good."
Everyone laughs. My throat goes tight.
Adam's voice comes out rough. "Emma. Always Emma." He pauses, squeezing my hand. "And June—for choosing us."
Everyone's eyes turn to me.
My heart is a wild thing in my chest, pounding and full of love.
"This," I say quietly. "This table. This family. I never knew I wanted this until I had it."
Adam's thumb strokes the back of my hand.
Harper's eyes shimmer.
Maya raises her glass. "To Friendsgiving."
"To Friendsgiving," we echo.
I blink hard, smiling through the blur.
Dessert happens in a warm fog—too many pie slices, too much laughter, Emma's sticky fingers leaving prints on everything. She falls asleep with her head in my lap eventually, breath steady and sweet, one hand still clutching her fork.
Adam scoops her up easily, cradling her against his chest. "Time to get this one home."
I gather our jackets while Harper hugs me goodbye at the door.
On the front steps, cold air biting at our faces, Adam shifts Emma to one arm and pulls me close with the other. He kisses my temple.
"Happy Thanksgiving, June-bug," he murmurs.
I lean into him smiling, breathing in the smell of him—smoke and pine and home. "Best one I've ever had."
His eyes meet mine in the porch light, dark and warm.
Tomorrow, the house will be empty.
Tomorrow, anticipation isn't just humming—it's roaring through me, hungry and bright and ready.
The countdown has already begun.