Alex acts annoyed, but the corners of his mouth twitch up.
“Hey,” he falls into step beside me, relaxed like nothing’s ever been wrong. “Is it cool if I stay here tonight? Noah got a bunch of new games, and we wanna play ‘em.”
For a second, and I would never admit this to anyone, but my throat goes tight. Because right now, asking me to spend the night with Noah, Alex feels like my brother again. Not the shut-off version I’ve been worried sick about.
“‘Course, bud,” I manage.
“Cool,” he responds, looking at me like I’ve grown another head.
The living room is buried under wrapping paper and new toys.
Iris is cuddled up to me on the couch. Her cheeks are flushed from dinner and talking with the girls, and she’s got her feet up beneath her like she’s starting to feel comfortable here with all of us.
I watch her, the way she looks around at everyone, at Alex on the floor, showing Noah how to play with his new remote control car, at Liz, who’s feeding her baby. At Ben, helping Sammy hand out presents to the adults.
Her gaze is gentle, and I love her so much.
I clear my throat, my fingers drumming nervously on my knee. “I uh, got something for you.”
“Nate, I told you, you didn’t have to get me anything. Being here with your family is more than enough,” she says, shaking her head.
“I know. Now, open it.” I hand her a small, badly wrapped box Liz teased me about earlier.
She lifts the paper slowly, careful as always, until the cover shows: “Home Kitchen: Traditional Indian Recipes.”
I found it at a secondhand bookstore and had to get it for her.
“You told me,” I start, nervous as hell, hoping I picked the right thing, “that you wish you knew how to cook the food you grew up with. And I thought maybe this way, you could bring some of what you grew up with into our family.”
“Nate, this is… It’s perfect. Thank you.”
“Means a lot to me too.” I say, my voice rough, “Want my family to feel like yours.”
“I love it,” she says, and I nod, trying not to blurt outI love you.I settle for a gentle kiss, mindful of where we’re at.
When I pull back, her eyes are shining, but she smiles big, laughter dancing across her features.
“What?” I ask, frowning.
“You have some lipstick,” she giggles, rubbing at my mouth with her thumb.
“Looks good on you, Nate,” Alex joins in from the floor, smirking.
“Ha-ha, real funny.” I shoot back with a glare.
“I got you something too.” Iris reaches behind the couch, pulling out a flat square package, wrapped much better than mine.
And when I reveal what’s inside, my breath catches.
It’s a painting of me, on the sidelines in my coach polo, sleeves pushed up, whistle hanging around my neck. The field behind me is a blur of color, but the focus is me. My attention locked on something out of frame.
It’s… hell, it’s better than any photo.
“I started it after the championship. I’m still not one hundred percent happy with it, but..”
“Iris,” I interrupt, “it’s perfect.” This must have taken her so long.
“You made me look better than I do in real life,” I joke, trying to lighten the mood before it gets too sappy in here. She ducks her head, fingers brushing a curl behind her ear.
