Page 33 of Wintering with George

“I figured,” I said, still piling food on my plate, glancing over at her. “Don’t cry.”

“No. Absolutely not,” she said resolutely.

I grinned at her.

She poured me some coffee, then herself, and asked what I took in mine.

My squint made her laugh.

“Really? Black coffee?”

“We don’t get to carry vanilla creamer when we’re in the field,” I teased her. “You get used to things. No one I know has ever said, man, I wish we had some hazelnut syrup.”

That laugh of hers again—a good sound, deep, from her gut—made me smile. She got up then, or tried to.

“I thought we were talking.”

She sat back down quickly. “Oh, we are. I just⁠—”

“You’re not used to sitting still.”

Quick breath. “No.”

“This is really good,” I said, taking another bite of biscuits covered in white sausage gravy. I had a patty as well and scrambled eggs. “Do you cook a lot?”

“I do. It’s one of the things I showcase on my Instagram. I do a lot of streaming on TikTok as well.”

“And you enjoy that?”

“Most of the time.”

“What would you be doing right now if nothing had happened?”

“We’d be getting ready to go caroling.”

“Sorry?”

“You would be sorry if you had to see it,” Dennis said, taking a seat beside me at the island. “Or go with us. It’s the worst.”

Thomasin turned to her son. “You don’t like caroling?”

“No,” he said flatly, leaning against my shoulder. “I hate it.”

“You hate it? I thought you loved singing in the choir.”

“I like singing with my friends at school, not with you and Dad for your YouTube channel, wearing those stupid outfits.”

“So stupid!” Toby called from the living room.

She looked stunned.

I started laughing.

“My outfit has a green-and-red jacket that’s long in the back,” Dennis explained. “And I have a sparkly top hat. I look like a total douche.”

I nearly spit out my food.

“Dennis Frederick Carr!”