Page 71 of Our Now and Forever

By Thanksgiving morning, Snow had picked out paint colors, a new couch, and marked off where all the flower beds would be. She’d also earmarked several pieces from the store that would decorate her and Caleb’s first home.

Not that she’d agreed to buy the house. But she really wanted to buy the house. Damn the man for convincing her to look at it.

Though she regretted not spending the holiday with her family, knowing she’d be with them at Christmas made the day easier to get through. She’d called them first thing this morning and spoken to several relatives. Mama must have put them all on their best behavior, since no one gave Snow a hard time about her extended absence.

“Does this pie look burnt to you?” Caleb asked. He’d been fussing all morning, stressed about getting the pecan and apple pies just right. Apparently, knowing his would be measured against Lorelei’s grandmother’s concoctions turned her carefree husband into a frazzled mess.

Of course, he couldn’t be happy with an old-fashioned apple pie. Caleb’s pie had to include caramel. Her husband had a sweet tooth the length of Main Street, and he loved being in the kitchen almost as much as being elbow-deep under the hood of an old car.

Snow leaned over the warm pie and breathed deeply. “Lorelei is going to insist you give her the recipe for that,” she said. “And I’m tempted to cut the thing right now.”

“Don’t even think about it.” He covered the confection with aluminum foil before she could reach for a knife. “Grab a couple bath towels so we can get these over there without burning your lap along the way.”

“My lap?” Snow asked. Why couldn’t his precious pies ride in the backseat?

Caleb ripped another piece of foil. “I’m not taking the chance of these things flying around in the Jeep. One quick stop and they’ll be nothing but a pile of mush on the floor.”

He had a point. Snow retrieved two towels from the tiny linen closet in the bathroom.

“You know,” he said, helping her settle both pies across her lap, “next year, we could be the ones holding this dinner.”

Their eyes met, and Snow winced at the joy in Caleb’s eyes. “Like a real married couple,” she said, cutting her eyes away.

Dropping a kiss on her palm, he said, “I’m thankful I found you.”

“I am, too,” she said, her voice catching on the emotion. “Though I wish I’d never left in the first place.”

“But you got us here.” Caleb gave the pies one last check to ensure they wouldn’t move. “So none of that matters now.”

She wished none of it mattered, but there was still the issue of his mother, who had left Snow a less than friendly message the day before, reminding her that she expected her son to return home by Christmas. Alone.

Snow didn’t want to give her husband up to please the hateful woman, but she also had no idea how or when to make a full confession. What she did know was that she would not ruin Caleb’s Thanksgiving by clearing her conscience today.

“You ready?” he asked.

Coming back to the present, Snow held tight to each pie pan. “Ready and already getting warm thighs. Let’s get moving.”

Dinner was incredible. Rosie Pratchett, Lorelei’s grandmother, along with her friend Pearl Jessup and Lorelei, offered a feast like nothing Caleb had ever seen. He’d grown up with all the typical Thanksgiving staples, but his mother had never touched a ladle let alone prepared the home-cooked versions of what had been on the table today. Eight people had gathered at the Pratchett house to celebrate together, including Carrie, who could barely reach the table for her protruding belly, and Mike Lowry.

“I’m thinking I should have worn sweatpants to dinner,” Spencer said, leaning back in his chair with hands flat on his gut. “These women are trying to kill us.”

“As if I held a gun to your head and made you eat that third helping of dressing,” Lorelei teased, giving Spencer’s stomach a conciliatory rub.

Rosie Pratchett sure knew how to cook a turkey. Caleb had taken it easier than Spencer on the dressing. Though he’d snatched all the white meat he could without hogging it all.

“It wasn’t only females who did the cooking today,” Snow said. “Caleb did make two pies.”

Spencer groaned while Mike said, “I’ve been dying to try that apple pie since my first whiff. I’ll help you cut, Rosie.”

Once the sweets were dished up and passed around, Caleb brought up the suggestion that had come to him a few days before. “Has anyone around here considered setting up a preservation society?”

The table occupants exchanged glances before Spencer said, “Like a historical thing?”

“Yeah,” Caleb said. “I attended an auction out at the Brambleton place with Snow, and it seems a shame that all those antiques were scattered far and wide. And then there’s Silvester House. Not that Hattie is going anywhere anytime soon, but I’d hate to see the same happen there. Add the Ruby to the list, and Ardent Springs has a solid collection of historic structures.”

“Some of downtown would qualify, too,” Pearl said. “But what would forming a preservation society require?”

Between his family’s association with restoration projects and his own research, Caleb had a ready answer. “First would be to talk to folks around town. Civic organizations. Chamber of Commerce. Merchants. See what kind of interest and response we get on the subject. Eventually, if we really wanted to form a nonprofit, we’d bring a key group in for organizational meetings, draw up bylaws, and file some papers.” Accepting the slice of pie Rosie offered, he added, “The Ruby committee has proven that enough locals are willing to step up with their time and energy. My guess is a full-out preservation society would be a welcome option.”

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