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“Yay,” Lola exclaims. “We won, Daddy.” She smiles up at Dylan. “Do I get a prize, Gigi?”
“How about a cup of hot cocoa with mini marshmallows?”
“Yes, please,” Lola squeals.
“Great,” Dylan mutters. “She’s going to be up all night.”
“I think everyone deserves a cup of hot cocoa. You’re all winners in my book,” my mom says.
“You hear that, Jack?” Until now, he’s been silently watching from his seat at the table. “If you had participated, you could have had a cup of my mom’s famous hot chocolate,” I tease him.
“Don’t listen to her, Jack.” My mom fixes me with a scolding look. “I’ll make some for you too.”
“Hot cocoa for everyone.” Lola waves her hands enthusiastically. She’s holding a bag of icing in her hand, and we all watch as pink frosting flies through the air, landing in Dylan’s hair. “Pink looks good on you, Daddy.” She giggles.
We all burst out laughing—except for Jack. He’s observing my family with an unreadable expression that I wish I could decipher. The sound of his phone ringing pierces the air, causing him to jump out of his chair.
“Excuse me, I have to take this.” He abruptly leaves the room, heading for the front door.
“I hope we didn’t scare him off,” my mom says, concern lacing her tone.
“You didn’t. He just doesn’t like missing work calls since it could be a client.”
“What exactly does he do again?” Harrison gives me a questioning look.
“He works in real estate.” I keep my answer vague, perpetuating this lie a little bit longer.
“Huh, that’s interesting, because it’s a pretty small world when it comes to the New York real estate community. I know just about everyone, and I’ve never met Jack.”
Damn it. Why didn’t I say he worked in a different industry?
“Well, it must be bigger than you think,” I hedge.
“Now, children, let’s play nice,” Cash suggests playfully.
Harrison’s the smartest person I know, and if he’s suspicious of us, then there’s not much longer that Jack and I will be able to keep up this charade before our secret is exposed.
7
JACK
“YEAH, NO PROBLEM. YOU HAVE a happy New Year, too.” I end the call, putting my phone in my pocket.
One of the reasons I’ve been successful in my business ventures is that I’m always accessible on short notice. It gives my clients and investors peace of mind to know that I’ll pick up whenever they call.
During the time I’ve spent with Presley’s brothers, I’ve noticed that they haven’t taken a single business call when they’re with their family. It makes me wonder if my priorities would shift if I had something—or someone—that I cared about to come home to.
I draw in a breath of fresh winter air. The setting sun casts a golden hue on the snow-covered ground as fresh snowflakes fall gently from the sky. The view is captivating, and I can admit that I’ve become very fond of Aspen Grove. Just like one of its former residents with entrancing ocean-blue eyes, chestnut brown hair, and a habit of putting me in my place.
“Everything okay out here?”
I turn around to find Presley in the doorway, worry etched across her face.
“Yes, I’m fine,” I assure her. “A client had a pressing investment opportunity they wanted to run by me.”
“Gotcha. I was beginning to think you’d just said you had a call so you could get out of there.” She nods toward the house. “I know we can be pretty intense, especially when there’s a gingerbread contest involved.”
Presley’s presence is all-consuming, and I take a step toward her, drawn to her like a moth to a flame.
