I shut the door, whirl around, and catch Izzy nibbling on her bottom lip. “Don’t do that.”
“What?” she asks.
I motion to her mouth. “That. Too distracting.” I brush back her bangs. “It’s okay to be nervous, but remember, this isn’t a date.”
She reaches for my hand, linking her cold fingers with mine. “Seems like one.”
I lead her forward, hands still twined together. “Nope.” I lean down, whispering against her ear, “This is just family. No one here to fool.”
As soon as I say it, I realize it shouldn’t matter. We’re not pretending anymore. Not when I’m this aware of her body next to mine, and the way my thumb traces circles over her knuckles, desperate for another touch.
“Except for yourself,” she answers back, as if reading my mind.
I double down. “Not a date.”
The door swings open, and my mom stands there with June and Nana. All three sport wide, wolfish grins. “Glad you could finally make it.”
“Izzy, you know Nana and June. This is my mom, Kathleen.”
My mom swats back her blonde-and-silver hair. “So nice to meet you. Come in, come in.”
“I flew in late last night, Nana.” I guide Izzy inside. “I’m allowed to sleep.”
“Is that why Gloria called us to share that your car was parked at Izzy’s all morning?”
“Bridget!” My mom at least has the good sense to pretend to be embarrassed. June only cackles from her scooter.
“You’re spying on us now?” I lean down and drop a quick peck on my mom’s cheek, then Nana’s, and lastly June’s. She might as well be my second grandmother. She’s known me since I was in diapers.
“Leave ’em alone, Ma,” my dad calls out, slowly making his way down the front stairs. His faded Celtics T-shirt stretches over his round belly, and he’s wearing his favorite slippers, worn thin from scuffing them across the floor. He refuses to buy a new pair.
“Izzy, this is my dad, Richie. Dad, my girlfriend, Izzy.”
Everyone looks to Izzy, then to me, waiting, their grins even wider.
“Come on in, dear. We don’t bite.” My dad’s Boston accent is thick, none thicker than on a holiday where I’m sure he’s been sneaking mulled cider since the turkey went into the oven.
“Happy Thanksgiving?” Izzy holds out her pie. I know she likely baked it yesterday when she absolutely had no time. She never wants to let anyone down.
Everyone swarms Izzy—taking her scarf and coat, handing her a glass of wine, asking after the shop. And somehow, in seconds, I’m the one left standing alone, holding a pie.
I unbutton my pea coat and head to the kitchen. My brother Ethan slips a green bean into Sloane’s mouth as they lazily spin in a ridiculous slow dance around the kitchen, and I rest against the doorway, quiet. It’s still a little weird seeing my brother and one of my best friends from high school finally together after twelve years apart.
“Ugh, I get it. You love each other,” I say finally.
Sloane rests her face against Ethan’s shoulder, her body shaking with a giggle.
He grabs a spatula from the counter, pointing it at me. I’ve worked with him long enough to know he’s not afraid to weaponize a kitchen utensil. “Where’syourgirlfriend?”
Her hand slips into mine before I can answer. She fits perfectly against my side, warm and soft and familiar in a way she shouldn’t be. Her fuzzy white sweater is driving me crazy, and all I can think about is how I want to untie each black satin bow tied in the front.
“Right here.” Izzy glances up at me, then waves to Sloane and Ethan. “Everything smells delicious. Anything I can help with in the kitchen?”
It’s my turn to laugh, because Ethan looks her dead in the eye. “No.”
“Come on, we’ll leave chef grumpypants alone. Your help’s not wanted here.” I pluck the wineglass out of her hand and steal a sip before grinning at her. “Looks like we’ll be stuck playing UNO with Nana and June.”
“Oh, I’m good at UNO. You’re going down, mister.”
