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  I laugh. “Yeah, okay.”

  I regret it the second the words are out of my mouth. Did I just agree to go over there? On Thanksgiving? How does this woman do the things she does?

  “Wonderful! I’ll text you the address. Will that work?”

  I’m up next, so I slide out of the row and awkwardly work my way down the narrow aisle. These planes just were not built for a guy like me. “Sure. But I probably won’t stay long.” I’m already backpedaling. “It’s been a long day and I want to get to the hotel and get some sleep.”

  “Stay as little or as much as you want. I’m so happy you called.”

  “You called.”

  She laughs. “Then I’m happy I called. And that you texted me. See you soon?”

  I inwardly sigh. It’s too late now. “All right.”

  I hang up and stick my phone in my back pocket, nodding to the flight attendant who’s just thanked me for flying with them. I exit the plane and head down the jet way, wondering what in the hell I just got myself into.

  Chapter 4

  Corrine

  One day.

  This is the weirdest Thanksgiving I’ve ever experienced. We’re all at Lizzy and Brett’s house, having the first real Thanksgiving since Uncle Grant and Aunt Sharon passed away. My cousins didn’t deal too well with the holidays last year, because their parents had only passed away in October. For Thanksgiving, we didn’t even come here to Lizzy’s house (which used to be their parents’ house and was the source of too many memories, even for me). We hung out at Rayce’s man pad instead. He picked up an overpriced, poorly cooked Thanksgiving dinner from the grocery store deli and we ate it huddled together on the couches in his game room while binging on a Lord of the Rings marathon. The extended versions.

  That still doesn’t top the weirdness of this one. We’re at least at the “right” house this year, but rather than it being just us (which didn’t feel that special, since we have monthly cousins dinners anyway), Lizzy got the bright idea to invite a bunch of friends who maybe didn’t have family to hang with either. I figured four or five people tops. The guest list quickly got out of control. There’s something like twenty or twenty-five people here and even after three hours of eating and drinking with them, I still don’t have all their names down, or remember who they’re connected to.

  That’s not the weird part. It’s been kind of nice to do something different. It makes Uncle Grant and Aunt Sharon’s absence less pronounced. And I liked the festive, party atmosphere at first.

  But Connor wins the prize for inviting the people who are the most obnoxious drunks here. Rayce is pretty irritated with them, I know, but I haven’t seen him in probably a good half hour. Whitney has been too distracted by her guests—a family she placed a refugee orphan with back when that’s what she did for work—and Lizzy’s too busy with her fiancé Brett and his son, Little Max, all while playing hostess to all these people, to get distracted by my problems.

  Last I checked, Connor’s in the basement playing pool with some of his other buddies, so there’s literally no one to rescue me from Soused Scott’s drunken rendition of the Twelve Days of Christmas. His pal, Bombed Bart, is acting out all the moves. Or trying to. I kid you not. When he gets to five golden rings, he inadvertently makes the universal fucking sign by sliding his first finger through the ring of his other thumb and forefinger. At least, I think he’s being inadvertent. Irritating or not, I do think he’s harmless.

  I’m downing my glass of wine as fast as I can so I’ll have the excuse to leave and get more. Lizzy comes through the living room, apparently looking for someone. Her eyes land on me, and she heads straight over. I send her a silent plea with my eyes that says, Please for the love of all that’s holy get me out of here.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” she says as Bart’s flapping his hands in apparent imitation of a partridge in a pear tree. “I need to borrow Corrine for a moment.”

  It’s all I can do not to sing Hallelujah!

  “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” I whisper as Lizzy hauls me away, but she seems too distracted to have saved me deliberately.

  “Were they bothering you?” she asks vaguely, leading me through the living room, and past the formal dining room and family room toward the kitchen. During my internment with the Tipsy Twins, I hadn’t noticed the crowds starting to thin out. Looks like the evening’s on the decline, which is okay with me.

  Rayce, Connor, and Whitney have congregated around the kitchen island. They’re all laughing about something, but notice Lizzy and I approaching.

  “There you are,” Rayce says to Lizzy. “So what’s up?”

  It looks like she’s gathered us here for some reason, but she’s not slowing in her hostess activities. She grabs a bottle of Zin from the little wine cooler and starts scanning the counter for something.

  “I just wanted to let you know we have one more person coming.” She locates the foil cutter and scoots closer to it.

  “Coming,” I repeat. “This thing is almost over.”

  “Who?” Connor asks.

  She gets an uncomfortable look on her face, pitches the foil into the trash, and starts glancing around for, I assume, the corkscrew. I spot it behind a half-empty water pitcher and gesture toward it. Reaching for it, she smiles and says airily, “Mason.”

  We all look around at each other to see if anyone besides Lizzy knows this particular guest, but everyone seems as stumped as I am. “Mason?” Rayce asks. “Who’s—” his voice catches and his eyes harden.

  Lizzy is screwing in the corkscrew, the handles slowly rising. She glances at her older brother nervously.

  “You aren’t talking about Mason Reeves,” he says.

  “Yes.”

  Mouths drop around our little group, save Rayce who’s clenching his jaw.

  Dropping her hands from the corkscrew, Lizzy says hurriedly, “He just got into town and I told him to look me up if he was ever out our way. We’ve got plenty of food, so I—”

  “Mason Reeves,” Rayce says flatly, in that tone of voice that makes me remember just what kind of man he is. Given that I knew him when he was a scrawny little kid, sometimes I forget.

  Whitney once confessed she often feels compelled to call him ‘sir’ and I’d bet fifty bucks this is one of those moments. Rayce can be a pretty intimidating presence sometimes. He has a good heart and isn’t doing it on purpose. He just has that strong demeanor people find themselves yielding to. Of course, this is family. And we’re different.

  Lizzy straightens. “Yes. Mason Reeves.” She pushes the handles down and the cork comes out with a soft pop. “He’ll be here as my guest, so be nice.”

  “Nice is not my concern,” Rayce says in a low, careful tone, casting a quick glance at the guests gathered in the family room not far away. “Why would he agree to come here? What does he want?”

  She narrows her eyes. “Either the pie or the alcohol. I’m not sure which.”

  He gives her a wry look. “Come on, Lizzy, think about it. He’s hated our family for years, and now he’s showing up for Thanksgiving? I’m sure I’m not the only one who thinks something’s not right here.” He glances at the rest of us for confirmation.

  There’s an awkward pause as Lizzy looks around the group, nervously assessing our faces.

  “It is a little weird,” Connor admits, “but no weirder than Lizzy inviting him in the first place.”

  “Maybe he just didn’t want to be alone on Thanksgiving,” Whitney adds, ever the compassionate one.

  But this doesn’t seem to appease Rayce. In fact, he looks like he’s gearing up to say plenty more.

  “Well whatever his reason, he’s coming,” Lizzy says firmly, looking directly at her older brother. “As my guest.”

  Rayce clenches his jaw but doesn’t say a word. He grabs his glass of whiskey and exits the kitchen in such a manner that I want to call out, “See you later, sir,” but I don’t think he’s in the mood to be teased. Anyway, I’m still taking it all in my
self. Mason Reeves is coming. Here. Now. What in the hell are we supposed to say to this guy?

  Looking flustered, Lizzy notices Brett coming down the stairs toward the living room—he’s had to put Little Max back to bed yet again—and hurries toward him, leaving both the kitchen and the bottle of wine. Connor and Whitney and I look around at one another.

  “Well, this isn’t going to be awkward at all.” I reach for the bottle and give my empty glass a generous pour. Like I said. Weirdest Thanksgiving ever.

  A full forty minutes goes by and the house slowly continues to empty, but that’s been no reprieve for me. The Tipsy Twins are still here and have cornered me again. I’ve no idea why they keep sniffing me out. I’m enduring their rendition of “Walking ’Round in Women’s Underwear” to the tune of “Walking in a Winter Wonderland,” when the doorbell chimes throughout the house.

  Lizzy and Brett have been visiting with some of the guests hanging out in the living room, yet again oblivious to Connor’s drunken friends, and they both hop up to answer the door. “We’ll get it,” she calls, a little too cheery and eager, even for her, betraying her own nerves.

  “I’d better see who that—” I begin, figuring this is my way out of this drunken conversation.

  “Oh, you have to hear the next first,” Bombed Bart says, swaying and grinning and putting a hand on my shoulder. “I mean, first verse. I mean, next verse.”

  Soused Scott laughs loudly. “Man, you’re so hammered.”

  They both laugh and I determinedly duck under Bart’s arm, hurrying across the living room. Connor and Whitney come in from the dining room, drawn by the sound of the doorbell. We look at one another with dread. Is this really happening?

  We hear the door open, Lizzy’s enthusiastic greeting, and the low male voice of our anticipated guest. Yeah. Weirdest Thanksgiving ever. It takes some kind of giant coconut balls to show up on Thanksgiving at the house of the person who killed your dad. What on earth would make him want to come here to start with?

  Rayce comes in from the kitchen and lingers at the edge of the room, a dark expression on his face. It’s clear he thinks Mason Reeves is here for no good reason. I wonder if he’s right. What if he’s here to make a big scene and tell us off or to get revenge or something?

  A bit of hushed, drunken laughter draws my attention behind me. The Tipsy Twins have settled around the little game table and are leaning in toward one another, whispering and grinning like idiots. Thank god they’ve found a way to entertain one another instead of following me over here.

  I turn in time to see Lizzy and Brett come in from the foyer, followed by a man who looks large enough to actually have giant coconut balls. Okay, maybe his balls aren’t really that large. He’s not freakishly huge. He’s just one of those guys who’s just... all guy. And like, a ton of it. He’s gotta be pushing six three, and has these wide shoulders, massive arms, and a chest that goes on into the next county. It all tapers off to a trim waist, and I kinda wish he’d turn around because I suspect his ass matches the fineness of the rest of him.

  I’m just saying, he’s not a bad-looking dude.

  Even with the stoic look he’s giving everyone. Well, okay, he’s not scowling, exactly. Just... leery maybe? Who can blame him, because this is a weird freaking situation and plus, I realize, we’re all kind of staring at him too. You’d think we had no manners at all.

  Lizzy’s smiling like there’s nothing abnormal happening. “Everyone, this is Mason.” As she starts introducing him, we finally get sense enough to put polite smiles on our faces. Except Rayce, who’s drifting over slowly and has that look. That look he had in the kitchen. That look that says he’s the alpha in the room and he’s taking hard stock of the big ol’ freaking male who’s threatening his pack.

  I don’t usually think of my elegant cousin in such primitive terms, but the truth is, I don’t know if Mason’s here to threaten us either. I can’t say I mind Rayce’s protectiveness. Though... Mason’s not really striking me as someone here to settle a score.

  “This is my younger brother, Connor,” Lizzy says, “and his fiancé, Whitney.”

  Mason shakes their hands in turn, giving a polite smile and nod in greeting. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  “You too,” Connor says, offering an awkward smile. Even Connor, who gets along with everybody, is having a hard time maintaining his composure.

  “We’re glad you could join us,” Whitney adds.

  Are we? I mean, I’m glad she said it, because he’s a guest here so it needed to be said, but man. I can’t stop thinking about the One Big Thing. My uncle Grant killed this guy’s dad when he was just a little kid. He’s had to grow up without a dad, and accident or not my uncle Grant is the reason why.

  “And this is my older brother, Rayce,” Lizzy says. He manages to put on his host face and greet Mason properly, but his mistrust is not far under the surface. Based on Mason’s expression when the two shake hands, I have a feeling he can sense it, too.

  I’m still surprised Mason agreed to come, but as I watch him, I’m less nervous about his motives. He’s trying to be friendly and doesn’t look like he wants to cause any sort of scene. I’m not basing my assessment on the fact that he’s so easy on the eyes, either. I mean, that’s just a bonus.

  Lizzy gives Rayce a brief but pointed look that means Be Nice, before turning toward me. “And this is our cousin, Corrine.”

  Mason’s eyes come to me. With his full attention on me, his appearance is even more striking: the smooth angles of his cheekbones and jaw, the deep, chocolate brown of his eyes, which are framed by thick, black lashes. His soft, dark hair.

  His massive hand swallows mine as we shake. A shock of electricity goes up my arm. Maybe that’s because his presence here is making me even more nervous than I realized. Not because he’s so handsome. Not because of that. But we linger like this for a tiny moment longer than the others, my hand in his and our eyes locked together. I feel a blush creep up to my cheeks.

  He releases me, and I look away. Lizzy continues with introductions to the guests who’ve been hanging out in the living room: Guido and his daughter, a few of the resort’s managers, and even the Tipsy Twins. I avoid looking at him again, trying to breathe normally.

  She and Brett lead Mason toward the dining room to show him where the food is. We don’t follow, but Rayce’s eye is sharp on them. When Mason’s broad frame disappears into the dining room, I feel physically released from the grips of something I didn’t realize had hold of me.

  “Damn,” I whisper, exasperated at myself because I realize I was too startled to remember to check out his rear. I mean, there’s no harm in that, right?

  “You said it,” Rayce says lowly, clearly thinking I’m on his side about how screwed up this situation is.

  Yeah, it is a little screwed up. But I don’t think it’s as potentially damaging as Rayce seems to think it is.

  “He seems nice,” Whitney offers.

  Rayce looks at her, his expression unchanged. A warbling chorus about eye shadow and parades drifts over the living room, and he glances at the Tipsy Twins for the first time. “Call your drunken friends an Uber, will you?” he says to Connor, before taking a hefty swallow of whiskey and heading into the kitchen.

  Mason

  I don’t know what I was thinking. I really don’t. By the time Lizzy’s loaded up my plate with generous helpings of everything at the table, almost all the other guests have gone home. That leaves me without a crowd to blend into and the reluctant center of everyone’s attention.

  It’s clear I’m not the only one feeling awkward. Lizzy, her fiancé Brett, and Connor’s fiancé Whitney are doing the most to carry the conversation, which they’ve steered in safe directions. The fact that I restore cars comes up, but we don’t discuss it much. Maybe the fact that I’m a lowly mechanic doesn’t live up to their standards, I don’t know. Meanwhile, the younger brother Connor is participating in the discussion, but keeps getting that uncomfortable expression
on his face that tells me he’s all too aware of who I am. How could he forget? How could any of us?

  Her older brother Rayce has been keeping busy with cleaning up the kitchen and dining room—in spite of Lizzy’s comment that they can do that after all their guests leave—and pointedly not joining in on the discussion. He’s keeping his eye on me though, like he thinks I’m here to hurt them. It’s got my hackles up a bit.

  Then there’s the cousin, Corrine. She’s a lovely wisp of a thing. Like a little pixie I could smuggle home in my pocket. On first glance, she struck me as a delicate flower, but she speaks and moves with such energy and confidence that I’m cured of that notion. Though she has a slender frame, it’s all woman. Her soft curves suggest a femininity that, I admit, is making my blood run a little hot. Most of all, she has these round, compelling crystalline blue eyes I keep returning to, over and over again. I’m trying not to, since there’s nothing remotely convenient about being attracted to her, considering the situation. But if the circumstances were different, I wouldn’t bother talking to anyone else here. It’d be all her.

  Life isn’t always fair though, so beautiful sprite or not, I’m staying just long enough not to offend Lizzy, then I’m out of here. I still don’t know for sure why I wanted to come. I keep thinking of who these people are, and don’t know what I’m doing here.

  Maybe I’m just trying to settle the past somehow. Maybe seeing his children are like the other things I’m feeling eager to do—like seeing the house we lived in when my father died—and I only feel compelled to explore the circumstances of his death so I can finally put it behind me. I have no idea.

  Lizzy finishes telling me about the Cottages she’s busy restoring for the resort, which is how she met Brett, who’s the historical contractor. Even Whitney’s in on the thing, helping with the interior design decisions.

  We fall into an awkward silence, yet again. I glance at Corrine, unable to help myself. She seems to be looking at me whenever I’m looking at her, and my blood thickens. My dick twitches, as if to encourage me to engage further with this intriguing woman, but I determinedly look away.