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A beat of silence stretches between us, both glaring, until a reluctant smile tugs at my lips when he bursts into laughter. The sound warms the space between us, and my eyes drop to his lips. They look pink and soft, more inviting than I remember, the urge to lean down and taste them hitting me hard.

Declan’s pointed cough jerks me back to reality, snapping my attention to the table. Everyone is staring.

Fucking hell.

My twin raises an enigmatic brow, his gaze flicking to Mark, who claps his hands loudly.

“Alright, let’s get this show on the road. Shilo, grab the turkey carver.”

My little doll stiffens, discomfort written all over his face, but before I can step in, Paige beats me to it.

“I’ll do it this year,” she offers, reaching for the carving blades in the center of the table.

Mark shakes his head firmly. “He’s the one who shot and plucked it, so he gets to carve it. Them’s the rules, Paige.”

A sick churning twists in my stomach as I watch Shilo’s shaking fingers reach for the carver. The memory of his words—what he looked like and how he acted after that hunting trip—echoes sharply in my mind.

I don’t want to hurt things. I want to take care of them.

Without thinking, I take his hand, gently prying the blades away before getting to my feet. “Here, allow me. As the guest who invited himself, I insist.”

The room visibly relaxes, both Paige and her mother exchanging grateful glances. As I slice pieces of turkey breast, I load up everyone’s plates, minus Shilo’s since he doesn’t like meat. When I peek at him, his expression shifts slightly, surprise flickering in his blue eyes as he watches me cautiously.

Mark, oblivious, turns to Paige and Declan. “So, tell us the story. How did you two kids meet?”

“Well, work first. And then…” Paige begins, grinning when my brother dives into the details of their relationship.

The table grows lively as we start loading up on side dishes, but my focus stays on Shilo. I notice how he grabs barely a spoonful of anything, and without hesitation, I start adding extras to his plate. He scoffs softly, leaning back with his arms crossed, adorably irritated. Raising a brow at his attitude, I plop a generous scoop of green bean casserole in front of him.

Like a fucking brat, he lifts his plate and scrapes everything onto mine with a fork, holding my gaze while he does it.

Casting a glance around the table to ensure everyone’s attention is occupied, I lean over until my lips brush his ear. “You’ve only made this worse for yourself. Now you have to eat both our helpings, doll face, or I’ll spoon-feed you the same way you fed me your cock in my office.”

A squeak leaves his mouth, low enough for only my ears, as a flush creeps up his neck. Swallowing hard, he switches our plates around and digs in, avoiding my gaze. Smirking to myself, I turn back to the conversation.

“So, what exactly does a Financial Officer do?” Mark asks, his sharp eyes fixed on Declan, clearly trying to decide if he’s good enough for Paige.

“I handle things like accounting and risk management,” Dec explains, gesturing in my direction. “Ryann, on the other hand, focuses more on hiring and internal operations.”

Mark hums, his gaze shifting to me with a wry smile. “That more exciting than playing professional ball?”

Ouch.

Forcing a polite smile, I take a sip of my wine. “I wouldn’t call it exciting, necessarily. More… fulfilling. I’m helping my father run a multi-million dollar corporation that’ll be mine someday. As monotonous as the work can be, there’s something satisfying about building a legacy.”

Next to me, Shilo snorts, almost choking on his mashed potatoes, but his dad nods at me in approval.

“A family man, huh? I can appreciate that,” Mark chuckles lightly. “Although, let’s be honest, you’d probably have a better pick of the ladies if you’d gone into basketball.”

Paige and her mother groan in unison, both throwing scathing looks his way as he shrugs.

“I’m just saying!”

“Oh, I’m not too worried about that.” I huff a small laugh, gingerly cutting off a piece of meat. “I like men.”

The room’s atmosphere shifts instantly.

Shilo freezes, his spine snapping straight as he sets down his fork. The silence is deafening, making it painfully clear I’ve said something wrong. Frowning, I glance at my little doll, but his attention is locked on his father.