“Wait,” Ian called, tugging on my arm to get my attention. “Yes, your mother invited us, but I told her that I didn’t want to impose. Maggie invited us, too. You Southerners are just desperate to feed people.” I snorted a laugh because that was true. “But the Thai place downtown is open. We’ll just pick up some takeout for our little group. No big deal.”
Disappointment I didn’t understand had me looking away, but I nodded. “What about the rest of the cast and crew? Are they doing anything?”
Filming was paused for today, but they were resuming tomorrow. I knew they were planning a weeklong break for the Christmas holidays so folks could celebrate with their families, but they were on a tight schedule this week—something about the weather and the light this time of year for outdoor shooting.
“Yeah, I think Della is having something catered at the Sterling House,” he replied.
“You don’t want to go there?”
He shook his head and picked at a nonexistent thread on his dark pants. “No. I wouldn’t be able to take Georgie.” Ian let out a deep breath. “And, well, you’re supposed to spend holidays with the people that matter, right? I’ve missed so many things with that kid—birthdays and Christmases. It feels wrong to miss any more.”
I managed another nod.
Further conversation never materialized because the golf cart stopped, and Becca led us up to the courthouse steps, where Eloise Carter waited in a pale blue winter pantsuit and matching beret.
I watched in some weird combination of fascination and horror as Ian morphed into someone else. How he wiped away the emotions he’d worn on his face during our conversation just a moment ago. The shame and regret were quickly replaced by a blinding grin.
The other top finishers arrived, and the brief award ceremony got underway. I stood, beside the podium, unable to focus.
Ian Wells had run next to me and won the 5K, but it was Dorian Masters who smiled and waved to the crowd as he accepted a medal from Eloise.
As expected, the woman took great pleasure in announcing his presence. People gasped and whipped out their phones as Darren stationed himself to the right of the podium. Eloise gave a lengthy speech about how important the visitors from Hollywood were to Kirby Falls. Then she did everything but squeeze Ian’s pecs and say, “My, what big muscles you have.”The old woman should have been embarrassed. Hell, I was embarrassed for her.
Thankfully, the ceremony ended uneventfully. Darren hustled Ian over to the waiting golf cart. He looked back for me, but I waved him off and mouthed,Go. As soon as Ian was seated, Becca took off. They’d avoided a scene, and I was grateful for it.
I found my family and took a few pictures that Candace insisted upon, forcing smiles for my sister’s sake. I felt strange and uneasy—impatient, and at the same time, disappointed. Like something was missing. Like it wasn’t worth documenting today’s win if Ian wasn’t standing next to me. He’d been a part of it, and he should be here.
He’d become a part of more than just my running routine.
And if I closed my eyes, I could still see his face when he said he wanted to spend Thanksgiving with George.
You’re supposed to spend holidays with the people that matter, right?
More than his pained expression so full of uncertainty, his words lingered, burrowing themselves beneath my skin and putting me on edge for the rest of the morning and all afternoon.
I couldn’t focus on the football game with my dad or the cornbread my mother had me mix up. I didn’t even have Brady to distract me. He and Mac were joining the Clarks for their Thanksgiving.
So when the turkey was resting, and the rolls were just coming out of the oven, I stepped into the kitchen and pulled my mother aside.
Six hours after I’d watched Ian escape in a golf cart, my family and I showed up on his porch with turkey, ham, and all the fixings.
Ian stared in confusion as we huddled near the front door.
“Happy Thanksgiving,” Candace called as she breezed by him with the sweet potato casserole.
“Sorry to barge in.” Mercer shrugged his big shoulders and followed his fiancée.
Ian’s mouth opened, but my dad passed him a pecan pie and said, “You’ll turn the game on, right?”
“Sure,” Ian muttered distractedly, but my dad was already inside the house and taking off his shoes.
“What are you doing here?” Ian asked. The question was for those of us remaining on the porch—just Mom and me—but his blue eyes were focused only on mine.
“Well, you couldn’t spend Thanksgiving alone in a strange place,” my mother explained, as if it were obvious. “Plus, we made more than enough for everyone.”
“You’re a good neighbor, Amy. It’s really not necessary, but thank you for this,” Ian told her sincerely.
Then my mother smiled at me in such a way that I knew betrayal was imminent. Just before passing Ian in the doorway, she said, “Actually, it was Joan’s idea.”
