Page 119 of How to Prevent a Fumble

My shoulders slump. “That’s what I was thinking.”

“That’s going to be a lot of bacon, Leo.”

I know that. A lot of work, too.

“Anyways,” she starts, sitting straighter. “Do you need help with anything else? Can I make a pie?”

“Nah, my sister has that handled.”

“Tradition?”

I nod.

“I think the only thing I really need is the place tidied up. Make sure everything looks spotless because the people who come to this are messy. I’d rather keep the messes manageable.”

She nods, looking around. There’s not that much of a mess to clean up. A couple of Elara’s toys here, some of Champ’s toys there, but nothing too intense.

“Okay, great. Well, I can start on that while you start on your turkeys?” she asks.

“Yeah. I’m having them delivered in about an hour.”

“Where are you storing them?”

She clearly hasn’t seen the whole separate fridge I have in the closet just for this occasion.

“Don’t worry about it.”

Putting up her hands in defeat, Briar gets to work cleaning the family room.

“Are there going to be kids?”

“I know Emmett is bringing Juniper, and there’s some other guys who bring their whole families. So if you’re asking if Elara can be out and about, she definitely can. There’s not really any funny business and no one ever gets shitfaced here. They usually leave that for the bar afterwards.”

“Ah,”

“I assume you’re not going to your family’s?” I ask her before I can stop myself.

She freezes for just a moment before continuing to load toys into her arms. “No, I’m not going to my parents for Thanksgiving.”

“I’m sorry,” I say softly. I didn’t mean to bring that up.

She shrugs. “It’s fine. I just don’t want to deal with them. They have their own things going on. I know Owen hasn’t gone in years.”

Silence settles between us as I get out ingredients for side dishes. Though things like mashed potatoes will have to be made tomorrow, I can make the green bean casseroles and stick them in the fridge until it’s time to add them to the oven.

Looking at everything in front of me, I sigh.

A little too dramatically, I think.

“Do you,” Briar stops in the center of the family room, her hands playing with the hem of her shirt like she doesn’t know what else she should be doing with them. She looks almost nervous. “Do you want help with that?”

“Yes,” I respond a little too fast.

With a small smile, Briar makes her way to the kitchen, rounding the island and settling next to me. When her shoulders relax, I know everything is going to be okay.

“What do you want to do?”

“What do youneedme to do?” she asks, looking up at me. The golden flecks in her brown eyes shine in the afternoon light filtering in through the windows, and I want so desperately to pull her into me.

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