Page 34 of Terms and Traditions

I laughed. His concern was touching. “Safer than you. Just remember I want blue roses and thumbprint cookies at my funeral.”

Nash chuckled and nudged me towards the kitchen. “I’ll see you soon.”

“You better.” Without thinking, I blew him a kiss over my shoulder.

And what did the man do? He caught it. And winked.

Darn his dimples.

Now to face the dragon of the family. It was time to catch up with Nana.

I was toast.

“Stephie.”

“Nana.”

We were in a standoff. Nana had dragged me into the walk-in kitchen pantry where a shelf was now digging into my back as I stared at the bag of flour over our heads. Who thought that was a good idea? One small shake and poof! Death by flour sack.

“Out with it, girl.”

I thought about waiting her out. Standing my ground. Making her sweat out her questions. But this woman had raised me for the majority of my childhood and teen years, and her stubbornness was the stuff of legends. So, I caved. “We’re together,” I said simply.

“Mm-hmm. And you decided Christmas was the time to spring this joyous news on us?”

“He doesn’t have family nearby and usually spends Christmas with friends. So I thought…” It was a low blow, but appealing to Nana’s inner devotion to family—even one as dysfunctional as ours—had the desired effect when she deflated from samurai warrior to kindly grandma ready to adopt the world. I didn’t have the full scoop on Nash’s family situation. Just that he never talked about them. Overhearing him mention a grandmother to Liz this morning in the entryway was the most I’d learned in the last two years. And I was trying to not be jealous he’d told her and not me. But Liz had that effect on people—they told her everything.

“And you’re sure about this between you two?” Nana asked, smoothing the front of her apron.

My shoulders hunched. “Nana, I’m not sure of anything these days. But we’re dating. To see if we’re compatible and I… I like him a lot, and I want you to like him, too.” No lies there.

She was quiet for a minute—an eternity really, miracle that—before she nodded slowly and gathered me in a hug. “All right, baby. If you’re sure, we’ll give him a chance. Well, some of us will.” She squeezed me tight, smelling like her signature lilac perfume and freshly baked cookies. “Though bringing that man into this family speaks volumes on his character. And I don’t know if I should congratulate you on your cunning or lament your insanity.”

I huffed. “Maybe a little of both.”

“Besides,” Nana reached out and cupped my cheek, smiling warmly, “I’ve been worried about you and praying the Lord would bring the right person to you. You’ve been alone too long. Hopefully that bit of eye candy you brought is the answer to my prayers.”

“Nana, you can’t say things like that!”

She shrugged, waggling her feathery brows. “Always appreciate the beauty the Good Lord creates.”

I had to laugh, but at the same time, I relished in the comfort of her hug and the security of her prayers. Nana was legendary as a prayer warrior—I was in good hands, hers and the Lord’s.

Chapter fifteen

Nash

Stephanie wasn’t kidding about the Christmas fanatics. I hadn’t even toured the whole place, and I’d already counted four trees between the living room, entryway, and the two Charlie Brown trees on the upper mezzanine floor leading to the sleeping wings. And I had no doubt there were more.

Across from a palatial washroom, I found the Mistletoe Room. It had one of those fancy lacquered brass nameplates on the door with the name. And judging by the Pine, Juniper, and Holly rooms I’d passed on the way here, forest themed seemed to be the order of the day.

“Who in the Kris Kringle of Christmas are you?” an extremely feminine voice that sounded vaguely familiar demanded as I awkwardly tried to wrangle Stephanie’s luggage into the Mistletoe.

Whirling around, I caught a glimpse of the unseen voice. Curly brown hair, wild and free with snapping hazel eyes, much like Stephanie’s, and a hefty volume of literature in her hand. Was that Shakespeare or a Bible? Both would hurt upon impact.

“Uh…” I stammered, unsure of myself. Why did this woman look so familiar? Nana had said Mistletoe, right? And why am I mentally referring to her as Nana? That’s Mrs. Addams to you.

“Well?” the woodland pixie snapped, prepared to wallop me with her tome of choice.