Page 128 of Elf-ish

“Yes,” I whisper.

“Time to cook the roast beast,” Gran announces, letting out a rare whoop and dragging her sister away from the door. “I’ll close the door so you two can make out in private.”

“Oh God,” I mutter, tipping my head into Jude’s chest.

He chuckles above me and kisses the back of my head. “Later. Let’s make a date of it. Make out in my room in an hour?”

“A date for a date,” I arch a brow, reminded of our initial agreement.

“All the dates, including holidays.”

I chuckle and tip up on my toes to kiss Jude one more time before he leads me into his condo.

When we approach the living room, he wraps his arms around me from behind and settles his chin on my shoulder.

“Tucker. Mae.” He points toward his father who is a stunning man in his sixties and the lovely brunette with a purple streak of hair beside him.

“My pain in the ass sister, Julia.” He points at her, while love fills his voice. “Her husband, Chopper, and their rugrats, Charlie, Ransom, and Lolly.”

Jude kisses the side of my neck and stands taller.

“Family. This is my girlfriend, Angelica. Her favorite color is orange, favorite number nine, and she loves . . . me.”

I twist to look up at him over my shoulder, where I’m met with the warmest gaze I’ve ever seen from Jude.

“And I love her.”

epilogue

The first week of January

With a new year comes the dreaded board meeting. The one in which the directors want to vote on my competency as the president of Ashford’s. When anarchy ensues, the leader isn’t typically present for the coup, but these older men want me to witness their power.

As I sit at the head of the large oval table, I stare at the men who once knew my great-grandfather. Many of them were between his older age and the ‘youth’ of my grandfather. All of them made their fortunes in retail.

Sitting on pins and needles, I refuse to be washed up in my thirties, but Angelica reminded me that new books are written all the time. Maybe mine had a moral.

The value in life doesn’t come from a store. Not the things you purchase or own. Not how you spend your money. Time is the commodity. And value comes from the people in your life.

Family. Love.

As I teeter on the possibility of losing my legacy, the door to the conference room opens, and Tucker enters.

“Dad?” I whisper. He hasn’t attended one of these meetings in years, often voting by proxy. Beside him is my uncle, Mach. Since he moved to West Virginia a few years ago, we haven’t been as close, but I’ve always admired him. Always thought I’d be him. A single man to his core.

Then he fell in love in his forties and moved to the south.

I have him beat by a decade on the love front.

Tucker takes a seat next to Ed Marksman, with Mach on his other side. I stare at both men while Walt calls the meeting to order.

Most of what he says is drowned out as he drones on about my unnecessary expenditures, my delinquent behavior, my reckless attitude, like I’m fifteen, not thirty-five.

Finally, voting is called, and the men begin to raise their hands in favor of removing me. There are nine of us, typically my favorite number.

To my surprise, Joseph Banks doesn’t raise his hand. Neither does Ed Marksman. Or Tucker. Or Mach. Four against four, which leaves me with the deciding vote.

My hand rests in my lap.