“What the hell is going on?” Tyler asks, staring at me like I’ve had a lobotomy. “You hate Christmas caroling.”
Finley loosens her hold on me, her smile crumpling.
I glare at my brother, then kick him under the table. “My girl’s never had a Hollybrook Christmas and I plan to give her the full experience, which includes caroling.” I turn to her and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, trying not to let the fact it’s soft as silk distract me. “You’ll need a coat though.” I glance up at Mallory. “Do you have a spare coat Fin can wear? She doesn’t have one. And maybe some boots?”
“Got you covered,” she says, then reaches for Finley’s arm. “Come up to my room and we’ll get you dressed warm enough. We’ll be outside for a couple of hours, and we don’t want our Georgia peach to freeze!”
If Finley’s offended that my sister called her a Georgia peach, she doesn’t let on. She picks up her bowl and plate and starts to stand.
I reach over and take them from her. “You go get ready. I’ll take care of this.”
Gratitude fills her eyes and then she follows Mallory to the back staircase next to the kitchen.
As their footsteps fade, Tyler turns to me. “What the hell is up with you?”
I shot him a look of challenge. “What are you talking about?”
“Since when do you go caroling? You fought Mom for years to get out of it.”
“I was a kid,” I say, eating the last bite of cake, then slide Finley’s plate closer and take a bite of her unfinished piece.
“The last time she asked you were twenty-five.”
“Look,” I say, exasperated. “Finley’s wanted a Christmas like Hollybrook’s her whole life. Part of the reason she came with me is to finally have it.”
His brow shoots up. “So… the only reason she’s here is for a real Christmas?”
“No, it’s part of the reason, like I just said.” I flick a glance over my shoulder, checking if Mom’s within earshot, but she’s gone—probably upstairs getting ready. When I turn back, Tyler’s still watching me, one eyebrow arched, waiting for me to slip. “Finley told you guys that we’re still pretty new.”
“So why bring her home?” he asks, still in interrogation mode.
My dad watches us both, listening.
“Because she would have spent Christmas alone,” I say, the words catching in my throat. The image of Finley spending Christmas Day alone with her cat twists something in my chest. “And I knew Mom and Mallory would love her.”
He studies me for a long beat, then says flatly, “Right.”
“You don’t believe me?” I ask my voice harder than I intend.
He shrugs, pulling a face. “What’s not to believe?”
“For what it’s worth,” Dad says, “she seems to be a lovely girl. Even if it’s new, I’m glad you brought her. You’d have felt terrible knowing she was alone.”
Tyler coughs into his fist, then pats his chest. “Went down the wrong pipe.”
Dad buys it, but I don’t. Tyler’s convinced I’m too self-centered to care about anyone else. He’s accused me of it before, and no matter how many examples I throw at him that I’m not, he always walks away unconvinced.
Maybe because part of me knows he’s not wrong.
“Do you need to change?” Dad asks.
“I should be good.” I’m wearing jeans and a sweater, and my parka, hat, and gloves are hanging in the mudroom.
“I put your suitcase in your room,” Dad says. “And I’ll take Finley’s up too.”
“Thanks, Dad,” I say.
“And Tyler will help clean up the kitchen.”
