Page 38 of Christmas With A Billionaire

“Mama...” But I couldn’t hide my smile.

“Don’t ‘Mama’ me.” She straightened my red cashmere sweater. “That boy finally got his act together, and I intend to enjoy every minute of it.”

My father appeared behind her, wrapping an arm around his wife’s waist. “Leave them be, woman. Though I have to say,” he lowered his voice, “it’s about time.”

“I can hear you both,” I said, but their teasing warmed me. Everything felt right – the festive decorations, the family gathering, Tyson’s steady presence as he moved through the space like he owned it. In many ways, he did. Pearl’s had been his home since childhood.

“Rose needs help with the mac and cheese!” Angela called from the kitchen.

“That’s my cue.” I headed back, pausing to squeeze Tyson’s hand as I passed. His fingers caught mine, pulling me in for a quick kiss that tasted like peppermint.

“Hurry back,” he murmured against my lips.

Warmth spread through me, and the kitchen buzzed with activity. Rose directed traffic while stirring gravy, a different royal blue dress protected by a crisp white apron. Tyson’s friend LaMont carved turkey as Angela assembled her famous seven-layer salad. Christmas music played through surround-sound speakers—Mariah Carey’s ‘All I Want For Christmas’—elevating the true spirit of family and loved ones in this season.

“There you are!” Rose pointed her wooden spoon at me. “Taste this gravy. Something’s missing.”

I sampled the rich brown liquid. “Needs more thyme.”

“That’s my girl.” She added the herb, then lowered her voice. “How are you holding up?”

“I’m perfect.” And I was. Last night’s gallery launch still felt like a dream – the permanent collection bearing my name, young artists getting their chance, Tyson’s pride as he watched it all unfold.

“Mmhmm.” Rose stirred the gravy with extra vigor. “And my grandson? How’s he treating you?”

“Like a queen.” I hip-bumped her. “You raised him right.”

“Course I did.” But she beamed. “Now take these rolls out. The natives are getting restless.”

I carried two baskets of steaming bread to the dining room, where the family had gathered around the long table. Tyson pulled out my chair – a gesture that earned whistles from his cousins and an “About time!” from Aunt Marie.

The feast began with Rose’s traditional blessing:

“Dear Heavenly Father, thank You for this food and the hands that prepared it. Thank You for family, old and new, and the love that brings us together this Christmas Day. Lord, we’reespecially grateful for finally opening these children’s eyes.” She squeezed both Tyson’s and my hands. “Thank You for showing them what we’ve all seen for so long - that their hearts were meant to beat as one. Watch over their union, guide their path, and keep their love as sweet as my potato pie. In Your Son’s mighty name, Amen.”

A chorus of “Amens” mixed with chuckles. Rose opened her eyes, dabbing at their corners with her napkin. “Now, let’s eat before this food gets cold.”

The blessing dissolved into the controlled chaos of passed dishes and overlapping conversations. Tyson’s thigh pressed against mine under the table as he fought Michael for the last piece of honey-glazed ham.

“One time when these two used to race their bikes down Cottage Grove,” James gestured between Tyson and Michael with his fork. “They crashed into Mrs. Johnson’s rose bushes,” Diana laughed. “She made them replant every single one.”

“It was worth it, though,” Michael grinned. “I won that race.”

“You did not,” Tyson pointed his knife. “I was ahead until you cut me off.”

Angela piped up, “What I want to know is when are you two giving us another wedding to plan?”

“Let them breathe,” my father’s deep voice cut through the chatter. “Though I must say, watching you two dance around each other all these years nearly drove me crazy.” My father winked at Tyson. “Good thing I always kept a bottle of bourbon handy.”

“Like you needed an excuse for bourbon, Daddy,” I teased.

“No, but it helped during those nights you two would sit on my porch planning your dreams, both of you too blind to see what was right in front of you.” He raised his glass. “Now look at you – building those dreams together.”

Tyson nodded at my father with respect. The kind of exchange that spoke through a look of understanding.

Silence fell as Tyson pushed back his chair and stood, pulling me up with him. “Actually, James, I have something to say.”

My heart stopped. Started. Raced.

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