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“Hey, honey,” Erin smiled at her. “Thanks for picking up the bread.”
“Yeah, no problem.”
Erin turned back to the computer, and Parker gave Cassie a WTF face. Cassie grinned and shrugged, rather proud of herself for getting Erin to de-stress.
“Come upstairs for a sec, Cass,” Parker said. “I need help with Acacia’s present.”
Cassie followed her to her bedroom. Before closing the door, Parker checked the hallway like her mom might somehow be there even though they’d left her in the living room.
“Who is that and what have you done with my mother?” she whispered.
Cassie laughed. “I just talked to her and helped out a little.”
“You’re a magician. She’s never this happy before a party.”
“It literally isn’t difficult to make your mom happy,” Cassie said. “Maybe you’re just bad at it.”
“I take it back,” Parker said. “You’re not a magician. You’re a jerk.”
“You love me.”
She rolled her eyes but didn’t contradict Cassie.
Eight
ERIN
A decade ago, Erin had taken over her mother’s annual Christmas Eve party. And she’d never done it as well as her mom.
She opened her house for the entire afternoon for guests to drift in and out as they pleased, stopping in after seeing family, or while on the way to a Christmas Eve church service. Erin invited everyone they knew, like her mom always had. Their dining room table got pushed against a wall and completely covered with food, even with both leaves in. Erin fashioned a wet bar in the corner of the living room. She made a nonalcoholic punch and provided multiple types of alcohol for people to add to their own glasses if they liked. She made most of the food, too, though guests who were regular attendees tended to bring a dish. Every year, Erin forgot how much work it took.
Her mom had been the perfect hostess. Her house was always spotless, the food was always delicious, and she never let anyone sit long with an empty glass. Even with Cassie’s pep talk yesterday, Erin couldn’t stop herself from double-checking that she’d gotten all the dust bunnies out from under the living room furniture.
Cassiehadhelped, though. Too much, maybe. Erin felt better every time the other woman smiled at her. Being rude to Cassie on the phone at Thanksgiving was supposed to put an end to any possibilitybetween them. Erin should’ve left it at that. She should’ve been okay with Cassie thinking she was a bitch. It’d be smarter than whatever they were doing now. Because they were doing… something. Even if Erin wasn’t sure what it was. All she knew was it felt dangerous every time their eyes met. Like a lit match. Their eye contact was combustible.
It was better, with a houseful of people. Erin was busy. People arrived at various times, with boisterous hellos as they unwound scarves and pulled off gloves. Those who brought food or drink handed it off to Erin, who did her best to arrange both the table and the refrigerator so nothing would tumble to the floor. Adam showed up at two thirty with the ham and an apology for being late. Erin let it roll off her like water off a duck’s back.
She should have been too busy with hostess duties to pay Cassie much attention, but you know what they say aboutshould. She told herself this was a hostess duty, too, the way she checked on Cassie from across the room. She saw her tucked away in a corner, chatting with Lila, then later, hovering around the table, picking at the finger foods instead of getting herself a plate. She saw the back of her head, more than anything, which was probably good. Cassie didn’t need to notice how often Erin’s eyes found her in a room so crowded Erin had taken off her cardigan barely an hour into the party.
After popping more sausage balls out of the oven onto the serving platter, Erin finally made herself a plate—figs and shrimp puffs and some crackers with a whole slab of Brie. She didn’t get any ham. The punch was getting low, but she gave herself a break instead of immediately refilling it.
Looking at Cassie wasn’t even intentional this time—it was just that her gloomy face stood out against the animated conversations happening around her. Cassie looked like she wanted to be anywhere else. Erin was being a good hostess by letting herself be pulled into Cassie’s orbit. She couldn’t have one of her guests be so obviously displeased.
She sidled up next to her and offered her plate. “Shrimp puff?”
Cassie took one.
“How you doing?” Erin said because she didn’t know how to ask what was wrong.
Cassie shrugged. When Erin furrowed her brows, the other woman said, “Could be worse. At least no one has complained that the floors aren’t mopped.”
Erin’s cheeks heated. “Be quiet.”
Cassie grinned, her eyes twinkling more than the lights on the Christmas tree behind her. Erin’s blush deepened. She hadn’t even added any alcohol to her punch. Her skin buzzed just being near Cassie.
“Anyway,” she said. “I should go refill the punch.”
She fled to the kitchen. It was cooler there, no one else’s body heat multiplying around her. Erin took a breath. Before she could get it together, Cassie was there, arms crossed, hip propped against the counter. She must have gotten warm, too—somewhere along the line, she rolled the sleeves of her flannel up to her elbows. Erin focused on opening the ginger ale to make more punch instead of on Cassie’s forearms.
