Page 95 of Something Forever

She turns and raises her eyebrows. “Didn’t you celebrate during college?”

Memories of a warm fireplace and cranberry sauce hit me unexpectedly. I usually spent Thanksgiving with Luke’s family. He always invited me to come home with him during breaks since he knew my family wouldn’t be celebrating. His house was full of warmth. Just like him.

“Once or twice,” I reply after a moment.

Whitney studies me with those big, brown eyes. Her gaze on me always makes my skin pulse with awareness. It’s not just looking… it’s something close to seeing. It’s terrifying and liberating all at once.

“Do you have plans tonight?”

I shake my head. “No plans.”

She grins wickedly. “Perfect. Then you’re totally free to help me tackle this turkey.”

I roll my eyes, joining her at the counter. “Who’s coming over?”

“Abbi, Shatar, and Shatar’s friend, Lauryn. You haven’t met all of them, but they’re nice.”

“I don’t want to crash your girls night.”

“It wouldn’t be very husbandly of you to miss Friendsgiving,” she says sweetly, and I step closer to her without thinking.

“Hmm, husbandly.” Brushing her hair away from her neck, I press a soft kiss to the exposed skin. “I’ve never once been described that way, but you do look awfully wifely right now.” Trailing my fingers along the back of her neck, I inhale, breathing in her sweet scent. Blood rushes through me, my body stirring with desire. “Who knew such a domestic scene could be such a turn-on?” I whisper against her skin.

She shudders slightly before pulling back and pressing her palm to my chest. “No distractions. It’s turkey time.”

Sounds of boisterous laughter and soft chatter float down the hallway towards my room. I know Abbi is here because I heard her witchlike screech of a hello a few minutes ago. After helping Whitney prepare dinner, I retreated to my room, trying to keep myself from marching into the kitchen and laying Whitney out on the table for my own Thanksgiving feast. Showing her how thankful I am.

“Girl, you are in so much trouble. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were falling…” Abbi’s voice trails off as I enter the kitchen, her eyes widening. “Liam!” she exclaims. “You’re here!”

The door buzzes and a few more women arrive, so I let Whitney mingle with them while I make a salad, tossing ingredients into a large wooden bowl. Opening the oven, I check on the turkey and side dishes. As I’m moving around the kitchen, I feel a soft hand rest in the space between my shoulder blades.

“Thank you.” Whitney lowers her voice so only I can hear it. “Come meet the others.”

She tugs me along to the group and introduces me to everyone. Shatar, one of Whitney’s friends from her salon, hands me a bottle of wine while they settle at the table, which is already set with plates and silverware.

I open one of the bottles and bring it over to the table. “Wine, anyone?” I ask.

Lauryn, another woman in the group, raises her eyebrows. “Whitney, is your husband our waiter for tonight?”

Whitney smiles at me, her gaze teasing.

“My wife already knows that I live to serve,” I say with a wink, my voice deepening.

Shatar fans her face with her hand. “Damn, girl. Where’d you get him? They sell that at Target? Hinge?”

Whitney shakes her head and laughs as I pour her a glass of wine. “No way. He’s one of a kind.”

I’m so taken off-guard by her words I almost spill the wine. My throat bobs, an unexpected lump gathering.

One of a kind.

Turning to face Whitney, I give her a questioning tip of my chin, searching her expression for a clue of how she’s feeling, whether her words are meant to keep up the ruse with her friends or reveal an unspoken truth. Her eyes meet mine, bright and open. I don’t know if she can read the question in my gaze, but she reaches her hand up and strokes the length of my back, her fingers brushing along the line of my spine. A shiver runs through me, quickly followed by a wave of frustration.

I’m sick of constantly questioning what’s real. Tired of wondering if I’m alone on this island, or if the woman I want is standing beside me.

“I’ll have the red,” Lauryn says, a welcome interruption.

I bolt to the kitchen, trying to breathe. My heart is racing, and my blood feels like it’s stirring beneath my skin. Shaking my head, I open the bottle of Pinot Noir and pour two glasses, bringing them over. I avoid Whitney’s gaze as I rush back and forth between the kitchen and dining room table with the food.

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