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"That's just mean," I pout and cross my arms in front of my chest. "The two of you already have boyfriends you can team up with. And I'm all alone." If I ever had a drama teacher, they’d be proud of how much emotion I’m putting into my voice here. I’m really proud of that tremble in my voice and lip quiver.

"Touché. Plus, we still have a score to settle," Lauren adds, directing her mischievous glare Nic’s way.

The two of them used to be actresses and competed for a bunch of awards at the same time. Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on if you’re a glass half full or half empty person, they've won the exact same amount. So, last year, they declared the Wayward Hollow Christmas Market the place to settle the score.

"Okay." Nic shrugs, her smile turning cocky. "I was only offering because I don't think you would win against me this year."

"Oh, it's game on." Lauren narrows her eyes, then turns to her boyfriend. "Caleb, did you hear that?"

"Unfortunately." He winces, knowing fully well that whatever Lauren's planning to win this year's Christmas Market, she is absolutely going to make it his problem.

Little do they know I have a lot more motivation to bring the win home and donations home this year.

Chapter 6

Brooke

"Happy Thanksgiving!" Mom squeals and pulls me into a hug.

"Happy Thanksgiving to you too, Mom."

She lets me go, then keeps me at arm's length to eye me from toe to hair, making sure I still have all my limbs. As if she doesn’t see me every few days.

Today she's got her own fire-red hair in a high ponytail and is wearing a thick moss-green sweatshirt, not too dissimilar to my own knitted one.

"It’s so good to see you!" She pulls me inside and kicks the door shut. "You look well." She shoots me a worried glance over her shoulder. "Especially considering..."

"Yeah, you could have left it at the 'you look well,' Mom." I tease her and toe out of my shoes. She leans against a sliver of wall not packed with family pictures and musters me worriedly. “I’d love an evening of food and positive thoughts.”

“And I’d love to win a jackpot and travel to Europe for a year and stay only in luxury hotels. Such is life.” She gives me a tight smile. For a moment I lose my balance, hand shooting out to the dresser cluttered with keys and knickknacks, inadvertently swiping half of it off until I find my footing again.

“Trust me, Mom, I’d take the jackpot too.” Or maybe a spontaneous inheritance from an estranged uncle thrice removed? I’m not picky.

“You’ll figure it out.” I pick up the barn keys and pendants I accidentally dropped, then let Mom link her arm with mine.

I swallow an answer. The simple truth is I have to.

Together, we walk through the wide hallway, past pictures of my brothers and me as toddlers or moody teenagers, to the living room.

"Hi, honey. Happy Thanksgiving." Dad is the next one to pull me into a big hug.

"Happy Thanksgiving."

"You're the last one," Evan points out in a mock accusatory tone, then dramatically flops halfway off the couch he’s sitting on. "We're practically starving here." His voice is muffled by the thick carpet he’s mushing his face against.

“You’re always starving,” I point out.

“Careful with your foot, Evan. You’re going to knock down the photo,” Mom fusses and grabs his ankle to move it away from the frame.

Two years ago, Hudson had the bright idea to do one of those awkward siblings’ photo shoots. Sam called a photographer friend of his, and we had a fun afternoon in an extremely scenic photo spot. On the one that made Mom’s wall, my four black-t-shirt-and-jeans-wearing brothers are lifting an equally boringly clothed me horizontally, with the sternest expressions I’ve ever seen them make.

Meanwhile, I’m clearly fighting not to burst into laughter.

Sam, my middle brother, decides to chime in. "Speak for yourself, Evan. You might be salivating, but we’re happy to wait for our sister dearest. You know, like civilized people."

I shoot him an amused look. Micah, our parents' farmhand who Evan’s been crushing on for a hot minute, is sitting on the couch with cider in his hand, one of his dark curls falling into his face.

I'm not sure if Evan’s salivating because of the food or said crush, but he shoots me a warning glare before I can say it.