Page 43 of Along Comes Trouble

“I like being here,” I reply. “You’re a good uncle .”

“I’m a fun uncle. I don’t know if that makes me good or not .”

“Isn’t that exactly what uncles are supposed to be ?”

Colton shrugs. “Maybe. But let me tell you, all this uncle-ing reminds me why I have no intention of father-ing. There’s no way I could handle all that responsibility. I’m gonna grab a beer. You want something ?”

“Isn’t it a little early?” I ask as my head spins around his words. Colton doesn’t want kids. I very much want kids. This seems like a problem. I know it’s way too early in our relationship to worry about that kind of stuff, but combined with what Sarah told me at the coffeeshop the other day, it’s enough to start me on an overthinking binge .

“It’s never too early to drink on a holiday, Blue Eyes.” Colton shifts out from underneath me. “On second thought,” he says as he stands. “Come with me. I can’t stand the thought of being without you. It was hard enough going outside for the wood and leaving you here. I can’t bear the thought of doing it again.” He winks, ending his overdramatic tirade with a sexy smile .

Annabelle and Michelle bustle around the kitchen like professional dancers on a stage, stirring pots simmering on the stove, checking on the turkeys, and a number of other tasks. Pies cover one entire counter. So many pies I lose track trying to discern all the different flavors. Another counter hides beneath an army of casseroles, some covered in tinfoil, waiting for their time in the oven, others sitting on hot plates trying to stay warm until everything is done. The smell is heavenly and my mouth starts watering .

“What do you need, son?” Annabelle wipes her hands on a towel tucked into the front of her pants .

“Just coming in to grab a drink.” Colton moves as if to dip his finger into a giant bowl of mashed potatoes and Annabelle swipes his hand away .

“Don’t even think about it,” she says and then steps back, gesturing toward the fridge. “David stocked up on beer. Go right ahead and help yourself.” Annabelle turns to me. “Did you want something to drink? There’s wine. Spiced cider with rum. Hot chocolate and Bailey’s. Whatever suits your fancy.” She smiles and looks so happy and maternal that I decide not to worry about what Colton said in the living room. Someday, things like family and babies might matter between Colton and me, but right now, they really don’t matter at all, do they ?

“A spiced cider with rum sounds delicious,” I say while Colton digs through the fridge for a beer .

The rest of the day passes lazily while I sip spiced cider. I offer help to Michelle and Annabelle who turn me down and shoo me out of the kitchen. David and Colton turn on the game and watch it on the edge of their seats, complaining about the plays as if the players, coaches, and referees can hear them. Dinner is delicious and dessert is even better. My brownies are a hit and I send a silent thank you out to whoever’s listening for letting me stumble into so much happiness even as a tiny voice inside me worries that none of it truly belongs to me .

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