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“Hey.” Pattie needled his side with her knuckle. “Watch your language. And don’t give up. Show her how much you care about her. Give her the truth, and she’ll come around.”
Chris nodded, and they both turned their attention to the television until Steven poked his head in the front door a few minutes later. “Knock knock. Shell’s on the phone.” He held the cordless receiver out to his wife. “Something about a casserole for tomorrow?”
Pattie smiled at Chris, touching his cheek before leaving with the phone. Steven stayed in the doorway, dressed in his flannel pajamas. “What are we doing over here?”
“Sulking, apparently.”
“I hope you have a plan because your last one didn’t work out so well,” Steven said, occupying the spot his wife left open. “Did I ever tell you my friend was dating Pattie when I met her?”
Now that was interesting. Steven and Bronte were pretty similar, and if he’d fought through some crappy odds to get what he wanted, maybe Bronte would too. Hopefully. “Really? What did you do?”
Steven made himself at home on the sofa, placing his feet on the coffee table. “Get me something other than water or tea to drink, and I’ll tell you.”
“I have pop.”
“Perfect. I’ll have one while we chat.”
Chris reluctantly stood up. “Are you allowed to have it?”
“Come on, Christopher, you made my daughter cry. Do you really want to deprive me of a soda on top of that?”
Chris caved, shaking his head with a laugh, and brought Steven a tall glass of Diet Coke. They talked until well after midnight, and when Steven finally left, Chris fell asleep on the couch, listening to the quiet sounds of the television only to be woken up by amused shrieks.
At the window, he saw kids skipping up to a house across the street, followed by their parents carrying towers of Tupperware in their hands. It was after noon on Thanksgiving, and Chris was alone, still in his clothes from the night before. Not much of an improvement over last year, although this time, he had a place to go for dinner.
After a few hours of practicing his groveling speech while baking, he changed into jeans and a sweater, pulled his hair back with a rubber band he found in the kitchen, then grabbed his apple-and-pear pie and made his way next door. Everyone was already there, except, of course, the one person he really wanted to see.
He still felt guilty about how the truth came out, but as he greeted the Hollinger clan with hardy hugs and kisses, he was shamelessly relieved his secret was finally out. He settled in a seat next to Tommy, who offered him a beer.
“Welcome to the jungle,” he said, and Chris clinked his bottle neck against Tommy’s as they watched as Zoe and Matty played.
“Are you ready for number two?”
Tommy scrubbed his palm down his pant leg. “Physically ready? Yeah, we have the nursery and everything. But mentally? I don’t think you’re ever really ready. Zoe was nocturnal for the first six months of her life, and I’m definitely not ready for that again.”
“Sounds rough.” Chris remembered the short but mind-fucked conversation he’d had with Bronte about kids. One of her dreams was marriage and family, and he had honestly never thought about it all that much. But lately, he couldn’t help but imagine it, consider how it was possible to be with her.
“Yeah,” Tommy said. “But I can work from home if I need to so Shelley isn’t by herself with the baby.”
“You’re a graphic designer, right?”
“Yeah, Shell and I met at the Art Institute in Philly.” He was quiet for a while as he sipped his beer then said, “Bronte is pretty left-brained.”
“Um…okay?”
“It’s why she’s having such a hard time with this whole thing. She’s afraid.”
Chris plunked his beer bottle down on the coffee table. “Afraid?”
“Yeah, she’s used to this.” Tommy arched his hand in a wide circle. “This is what she knows. She’s got, like, three friends who aren’t her family. She dated the same guy for eight years, has lived in the same town she was born in her whole life. Hell, she even eats the same thing for lunch every day. She likes her routine—don’t get me wrong, I love her like she’s my own sister. That’s just how Bronte is, you know?”
Chris nodded. He didn’t want to take her out of her routine—he loved her routine—he wanted to become a part of it. Lord knows he could use some routine in his hectic life. He only had to convince Bronte to let him in, then he could move on to working out how to mesh their lives together. It wasn’t impossible. It’d been done before. He’d hung out with Matt Damon and his wife. If they could make a go of it, there was no reason he and Bronte couldn’t.
“But what do I know?” Tommy said, as if he were speaking Chris’s own thoughts out loud, although he stared at his wife. “I’m only the guy who followed that redhead around until she took me in.” He stood to help Shelley when she struggled to sit in her chair and kissed her temple, placing a tender hand on her belly.
Pattie carried a ginormous platter of turkey from the kitchen as the front door opened, and Chris zipped his attention to the woman stepping through the doorway. Bronte pushed wet strands away from her face, and Zoe ran up, jumping into her arms.
Bronte kissed her niece’s cheek. “Sorry I’m late. There was an accident.” She placed Zoe down to remove her coat. “It starts raining, and suddenly everyone forgets how to drive.”
