Page 124 of Snowed In

“Wow, Marshall,” Trent finally speaks, looking like he just lost a thousand followers. “Sounds like you found yourself a keeper.”

My word. I’ve just witnessed my cousin eating crow.

“You know,” he continues. “Chet likes to do woodworking, too, when he’s home from one of his work trips. He started the cutest little birdhouse before we went to Bali for our anniversary. I think it’s admirable that people still work with their hands.”

And up came the crow. Bali dropping. Ugh.

“Well, it sure beats the city,” Ronny laments.

“Oh, which one?” Trent challenges like the nosey, one-upping bastard that he is.

“Denver.”

“You left Denver for here?” Trent laughs. “I’d think there’d be more carpentry work there.”

“Maybe.” Ronny shrugs, casually rubbing my back, making it difficult to focus on his tall tale. “I know the architect firm I worked for contracted out plenty.”

“Youwere an architect?”

“Yeah.”

He was? Somehow, I don’t think he’s lying. Ronny doesn’t seem like a liar, plus it tracks with his unnervingly stellar understanding of blueprints.

Trent lets out a sputtering sound. “Why are you working as a carpenter, then?”

How am I related to such a snob? He belongs onDownton Abbey, I swear.

“I got sick of designing restaurants and commercial properties. I decided I’d rather build something from the ground up with my barehands or fix something that’s been forgotten and just needs a little love. My family’s here too, so it was a win-win.”

I nearly jump, realizing Mom has joined our bubble, too entranced by Ronny’s wholesome tale now woven around my heart. “Oh, I bet they appreciate having you home. Is Marshall going to your family’s Christmas dinner?”

“Mom,” I scold, even though I know we don’t have to live a lie if he feels obligated to answer in the affirmative.

“What? It’s a perfectly innocent question.”

Ronny shifts, looking uncomfortable. “Uh, well, theirs is actually tonight too, but I told them I had other plans.”

Is that true?

“Oh, that is so sweet. You missed your own dinner for Marshall.”

“There isn’t anywhere I’d have rather been,” he assures, not looking at me.

Why do I want him to look at me? Do I want it to be true or do I just want confirmation that it’s not?

He excuses himself to use the restroom, so I fetch another drink to escape Trent. My aunt calls us all to find a spot in the living room for our gift exchange, so I make feet to claim a safe space for Ronny and myself on the couch.

“No, over here, honey. Let’s sit by Marshall. I never get to see him!” Trent badgers his husband, plopping down next to me.

This is a four-seater sofa. He totally double-parked on two cushions to ensure I’d be stuck next to him solo without my date.

When Ronny saunters in, he’s instantly attuned that there isn’t enough room. I send him what I hope is an apologetic look for leaving him in the lurch amongst strangers, but he keeps making his way toward us.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Trent coos making no effort to shift over. “Did you want to sit by Marshall?”

“No, I’m good.”

Ouch. Thanks for that, Ronny.

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