Page 69 of Terms and Traditions

Just not molded into the image Hiram Addams wanted to control.

“You weren’t kidding about formal,” Nash whispered, reclaiming my attention as he held out a chair for me. “From snowball wars to ugly sweater contests to the red carpet, y’all go big. Can I assume there will be family glambot pictures afterwards?”

“Just selfies.” I laughed, settling my skirts as he pushed me in. “And the unexpected seems to be a theme for us.”

“Us, huh?” he smirked, dropping into his chair. “Considering we haven’t even had a proper date yet.”

I glanced around, worried someone might overhear, but Nana had everyone laughing, granting us a bubble of privacy for now. “Maybe we’re just untraditional?”

“I plan on remedying that.”

“Is that so?”

“Most definitely.” Nash grinned easily, eyes crinkling with mirth and warmth as he squeezed my knee lightly. Leaning in till his shoulder brushed mine.

I swallowed hard. He’s not like Hiram. He doesn’t think you’re too much.

Nana stood at the foot of the table, her kelly-green gown commanding notice, and clapped twice. “All right, attention, everyone.”

“Everyone,” Gabe drolled across from us, flashing me a wry look as he fiddled uncomfortably with his tie.

I flushed, ducking my head and lacing my hands in my lap even as I bit back a laugh. One of the good things to come from this fake-turned-real relationship was the opportunity to annoy my brother a little bit. None of my dates had ever met him, not even my boyfriend of a month, so Gabe seeing his sister get lovey-dovey with a guy was new territory for both of us. And I loved seeing him, big strong Marine that he was, squirm just a bit. Little sister perks.

Nana’s lips twitched when she glanced my way. Busted. “Gabe, if you’ll say the blessing.”

Gabe obliged, ignoring the murmurs of disapproval. Outside of the family close to me, none of the rest were religious, although not from lack of exposure. But Nana insisted on family grace when it came to holiday meals.

Nash reached out under the table and entwined our fingers. Family drama aside, this was the best Christmas ever. Good food, people in my corner, and a forever kind of guy.

Over the evening, plates were passed, toasts were offered, and laughter bathed the table. And I let my guard down a fraction. I thought about what Nash said earlier—it was okay to grieve a relationship that didn’t turn out the way you wanted. Looking around the table, I understood that better. Joy and grief were intermingling dinner guests.

Chapter thirty-one

Stephanie

The day after Christmas, we skied. Correction. Those who weren’t challenged with a lack of grace strapped poles—boards?—to their boots. Me? Absolutely not. But I wasn’t averse to sitting in the lodge, La Croix in hand and not freezing my nose off, while watching Nash take a few runs down the slopes. Nope. He cut a good figure on skis, clearly being a favoured one with athletic giftedness.

Warmth curled in my stomach when he grinned brightly as he chatted with my oldest niece, Veronica’s daughter Millie, before giving her a few pointers on how to go down. She hung on his every word, looking every bit as smitten as I was. I know the feeling, girly. But she was only thirteen, and hero worship could only go so far.

Nana hip-checked me as she came to stand next to me by the broad windows overlooking the ski hill. “You been avoiding me, Stephie? I’ve barely seen you.”

I ducked my head. “Not avoiding. This year’s just been… different.”

She glanced out to where Nash was giving young Ollie a hand off the magic carpet. Sure, Nash was a different part of this year but not the whole part. Nana was whip sharp and wasn’t deterred by my attempt to get her off the true scent.

“Your first Christmas back home after joining Nash’s company. Your father’s an idiot. I shouldn’t be saying that, but I swear, my son doesn’t use the brains the Good Lord gave him when it comes to family and women. Business, sure he’s a success, but when it comes to family…” She sighed heavily and her straight shoulders hunched, the issue wearing on her like a weighted vest.

I wrapped an arm around her waist. The delicate lilac of her perfume grounded me in nostalgia and childhood. Some things never changed—Nana’s perfume was one of them. “We talked on Christmas Eve.”

“Oh?” She sounded far too benign.

“Did you hear us?” I asked suspiciously, shifting to look her full in the face.

Nana grimaced, suddenly looking far older despite the vibrant fuchsia of her ski jacket. “I did. Not everything, but a few things.” She patted my back. “I’m glad you found your voice, but I’m sorry, too. As much as I love my son, I could shake him. And I have, many times, for all the good it’s done.” With another sigh, she shook her head. “I should have protected you better.”

“Nana, no.” I reached out and squeezed her hand, infusing all the love I could into the gesture. “You and Papa took me in and gave me the best you could. I don’t resent that.” The words clogged in my throat as memories of Papa flitted through my memory. Grocery shopping and backyard barbeques. The way he loved buying me an Easter dress every year. Or the time he dropped handfuls of coins in the backyard and sent me and Hailey—she was five and I was ten—out with the metal detector. “You gave me everything,” I whispered around the lump in my throat. “And I thank God for that every day.”

Nana crushed me into a hug. “You know better than to make me cry with a face of makeup on,” she scolded, but there was no heat to the words, and we both sniffed.