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“Yes.” I grin at him. “It’s a Thanksgiving thing.”
He does an admirable job, smiling triumphantly when he finishes. “I never knew Thanksgiving dinner took so much effort until this past week. I feel kind of bad that I never offered to help my grandmother when she made it.”
Hopping down from the counter, I go over to him. “I’m sure she didn’t expect you to. When we used to go to my grandmother’s for Thanksgiving, my Nan wouldn’t let anyonetouch the food. She insisted on doing it all herself.”
“That doesn’t seem very fair,” Cash says, frowning a little. “Now that I know how hard it is, I’ll never leave you to do it all alone. I might not be as good of a cook as you, but I’ll do as much as I can.”
I love the way he talks about Thanksgiving, like it’s just a given that we’ll be celebrating it together in the future. I know Iwant to.
When I think about it, a series of images flash through my head. Cash and I cooking next year, maybe with a goofy puppy scrounging for missed scraps on the floor. Inviting our friends over for dinner, making our own kind of family. Sitting around the table with Cash gently rubbing my swollen belly, and a little boy with dark hair and green-gold eyes by his side.
So yeah. When it comes to Cash, I’m all in.
How could I not be? He’s everything I could want. Protective, kind, smart, funny, sensitive, not to mention handsome. And I trust him with my heart. I know he’s not perfect—I’m certainly not—but I knowCash would never intentionally hurt me.
A swell of love sweeps over me, and I fling my arms around Cash. “I love you so much.”
His arms come around me, enfolding me in his embrace. “I love you, too. More than I can say.”
We stand together for a minute, just holding each other and enjoying the closeness. Then another timer ruins the moment—again—letting me know it’s time to make the gravy. “I have to make the gravy,” I explain as I pull away. “The turkey should be ready to carve in about thirty minutes.”
Cash’s phone buzzes from across the kitchen. He crosses to pick it up, glancing at the screen. “Ben is on his way. So he should be here in about ten minutes.”
I check my watch. “Perfect timing. And Thea should be here any minute.”
“Are you sure you don’t mind entertaining Ben and his daughter?” Cash looks at me worriedly. “I know you were only planning for three people, but when Ben mentioned how poorly his own Thanksgiving went…”
“I don’t mind at all. Really. It’s nice to get to know all of your friends.”
Not only is Ben the paramedic who helped me twice, but he’s a single dad struggling to make Thanksgiving special for his young daughter. Apparently, yesterday’s attempt at cooking a turkey failed miserably, resulting in a charred,National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation-style mess. So when Ben texted Cash, wondering if I had any advice for a second attempt today, it made more sense to just invite him over.
Cash comes beside me, his hand resting at the small of my back. “Ben is a good guy. He had a rough time when his ex left; his daughter, Laila, was only three, and he was working long hours for a cybersecurity company in Manhattan. But he started contracting out work from home, so he could be around Laila as much as possible.”
“Laila's mother justleft?”
“Yeah,” Cash sighs. “No real explanation. She just never came home one day. Eventually, she told Ben she was never coming back. She hasn't seen Ben or Laila since. Ben feels guilty about it sometimes, like Laila is missing out on having a mom. But it’s not his fault; he tried reaching out to Amanda—his ex—and she said she wasn’t interested in having a family.”
“God.” My heart twists. “Poor Ben. And his poor daughter. That’s terrible.”
“Ben tries really hard to do everything for Laila, so she doesn’t feel like she’s missing out.” He pauses to kiss my cheek. “Which is why it’s so nice of you to invite them here. And Laila is great. I think you’ll really like her.”
His phone buzzes again, and he grabs it off the counter with a smile. “My phone has been busier today than it is when I’m at work.”
Then he reads the screen, and his smile dissolves, his lips pressing into a firm line.
I turn the burner down so the water doesn’t boil over. “What’s wrong?”
Cash glares at the phone, his jaw working. Flutters of unease fill my stomach. Yesterday and today, it’s felt like we’re in this nice little holiday bubble—no bad news, no threats—is that about to be over?
Turning to face Cash, my voice wobbles a little as I ask again, “Is something wrong?”
He takes a deep breath and sighs it out, visibly calming himself down. “It’s Brett.”
Oh no. If stupid Brett ruins this day for Cash… “What does he want?”
Cash shakes his head, frowning. “He says he’s sorry. That he knows he screwed up, and that he hopes one day I’ll forgive him. And he’s headed to rehab on Monday, somewhere upstate. That’s all.”
“And…” I keep my tone carefully neutral. “What do you think?”
