Page 111 of Miami Ice

And splattering the sleeve of Beckham’s white dress shirt.

So. Classy.

Then, when Tasha was cleaning up in the kitchen, and Beckham, Ella, Jordan, and I were helping her, Kaitlyn stormed in, extended her empty wineglass to Tasha, and demanded she refill it. While we were all packing food into containers, rinsing dishes, and filling the dishwasher.

That caused a blowout between Tasha and Kaitlyn. Then Drew started snoring from his place on the floor, and Daniel kept asking Beckham to take selfies with him. I was so embarrassed, but Beckham kept squeezing my hand in his to reassure me he didn’t care.

Now we’re all seated in the living room, football is continuing to blare on the TV, and Drew is still snoring from his position on the floor.

“I have some surprises for dessert,” Tasha says eagerly, walking into the living room.

“I wore my maxi dress for dessert surprises,” Ella declares.

Tasha’s face brightens. “Good! Now, our chef made a delicious chocolate pecan pie, which I know is divine, but I also made pumpkin sprinkle blondies. I highly recommend them, and they’re even better when they’re topped with whipped cream. Because isn’t everything better with sprinkles and whipped cream?”

I bite my tongue. I don’t dare look at Beckham for fear I’ll lose it.

Ella clears her throat. “Erm, those sound amazing.”

I bet they do, Ella Bella, I think.

“Well, I remembered how much Jordan liked the sprinkles and whipped cream on his ice cream on Fourth of July, so why not make it for Thanksgiving?” Tasha continues on.

Beckham lets out a choking sound. Then I begin to laugh. And suddenly, both of us are in hysterics, causing Ella to turn bright red and Jordan to suddenly have a fascination with the Lions game on TV.

Then a thought hits me. This is what it’s all about.

Somehow, through this whole awkward Thanksgiving, Beckham has rolled with the punches. He hasn’t judged me for what my family does and has reassured me it doesn’t matter.

And now he’s laughing with me.

I look at him, and he’s laughing so hard there are tears in his eyes, as are in mine.

I adore this man.

I know he adores me.

Now all we have to get through is two more Thanksgiving meals.

And they can’t possibly be worse than this,I think confidently.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Beckham eases his car behind Jordan’s. We’ve made the journey from Coral Gables back to Fort Lauderdale, to my mom’s house, for round two of family meals. He turns off the engine and looks at me.

“Let’s see how good I am at this. Your mom is Carrie, your stepdad is Rick.”

“You are correct. I have aunts, cousins, and grandparents on my mom’s side. They’re all having Thanksgiving together in Orlando.”

“Do you ever have Thanksgiving in Orlando?”

Winston barks.

“Winston is telling you that would be a no,” I say. “They always spend Thanksgiving at Walt Disney World and Mom thinks that’s a complete waste of money. We did it once—when Ella and I were like ten—and she complained the whole time about how much it was costing with two kids and what a waste it was.”

“I think it would be a blast,” Beckham says. “I can never do anything like that due to hockey, but if I didn’t have games, that would be fun.”

“It would be. They go all out with matching shirts and everything. Oh, but you might not like it. Disney World is decked out forChristmasnow.”

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