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“Brad, my boy,” my father greeted Brad with open arms as we all filed into the formal dining room. “So good to see you.” They embraced in a quick hug before Father took the scotch Brad offered. “My favorite year,” he said, grinning. “Thoughtful of you.”
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. I liked Brad a lot, but in a strictly platonic way. And I’d been shocked to see him on our doorstep moments ago. It was clear my father invited him, likely in the hopes that we’d continue forming a bond. And we were, just not in the way my father wanted.
Father turned toward me after he motioned to Brad’s designated seat at the table—right next to mine. What a surprise.
“Who is this?” he asked as he glanced behind me.
Jim took that opportunity to move past me, offering his hand to my father in a gesture that was way kinder than he deserved. Did he not remember how awful my father had been to him or was he just that good a person to let bygones be bygones?
“Jim Harlowe,” he said after my father had taken his hand to shake it.
An uncomfortable sort of recollection played out in my father’s eyes right before he narrowed his gaze on me. “You invited him.”
It wasn’t a question, so I didn’t feel the need to answer. Instead, I looped my arm through Jim’s and guided him around the table, situating him to my left before taking my seat as well. Father helped Mother into her chair before he sat at the head of the table, Cannon and Persephone rounding out our little group.
“This all looks amazing, Mrs. VanDoren,” Jim said in his classic polite form.
“Oh, you’re a dear,” she said, waving him off. “I can’t take credit for the feast this year.” She sighed. “They wouldn’t let me near the kitchen.”
Jim nodded. “It’s important to rest for your recovery,” he said. “Not doing anything strenuous is a crucial part of the process and I’m pretty sure cooking Thanksgiving dinner is the definition of strenuous.”
Mom laughed along with the rest of the table. Everyone expect my father, who seemed content to glare at Jim like we were teenagers again.
“What would you know about her recovery,” my father asked as he started to carve the turkey.
“The Sweet Water police department ensures we train all the way up to EMT levels,” he said. “So I know my way around medical situations. Plus, after I heard the news about Mrs. VanDoren, I looked it up.”
He said it so matter-of-factly, as if everyone would do their research regarding a non-relative’s situation.
“You’re about three weeks out from being able to resume your normal activities, right Mrs. VanDoren?” he asked as if my father hadn’t just tried to test him.
“That’s right,” Mom said, practically beaming. “I can’t wait to get in my garden again.”
“I’m sure it’s missed you,” Jim said, taking the platter of green beans Brad passed to him. “You’ve always had the best flower-gardens in Sweet Water.”
We all filled our plates, Sephie and Cannon shooting me worried looks bordering on awkward as their eyes danced from me to Brad to Jim. It certainly would be a hilarious predicament if it was happening to anyone else. Seeing as I was sitting smack dab in the middle of two perfectly handsome, respectable males who were vying for my attention in different ways, I found it a bit less funny.
It was like the universe was showing me two paths. The one my family would prefer me to be on—a luxurious life with Brad—and the one my heart desired, which was any sort of life where I got to see and spend time with Jim every single day.
“I’m so happy you decided to join us today, Jim,” Sephie said after the silence at the table had gone one second past comfortable.
“Thanks for having me,” he said.
“Must be hard,” Father said, stabbing at his turkey. “Not having any family of your own to spend the holiday with.”
Mom gasped, and from the look of the movement in her seat, she might’ve kicked Father under the table.
“I have some extended family,” Jim responded calmly. “But they live in Florida.”
“And you didn’t want to visit them there?” Father asked.
“I love Florida,” Brad interjected. “Fantastic golf courses. Which reminds me, Harold, we need to book a tee time soon.”
I flashed Brad a grateful look. He was trying to take my father’s focus off of Jim, and I kind of loved him for it.
Father nodded at Brad, but kept his focus on Jim while we ate.
“If the Sweet Water police department ever needs any help with fundraisers or events,” Sephie offered, a bite of turkey poised before her lips. “I’d be more than happy to assist. I’ve been meaning to reach out, but my schedule has been full for some time.”
