Page 47 of Christmas with Holly

“Where did this come from?” Mark asked, setting the pan on one of the counters.

Maggie grinned at him. “It pays to have connections. Elizabeth’s son-in-law has a restaurant on Roche Harbor Road, and they’re serving Thanksgiving dinner all day. So I called and ordered some turkey to go.”

Bracing one hand on the counter, Mark looked down at her. Freshly showered and clean-shaven, he possessed a rough-and-ready handsomeness that stirred her senses.

The soft gruffness of his voice made her toes curl reflexively inside her boots. “Why aren’t you on the ferry?”

“I changed my mind about going.”

His mouth lowered to hers, offering a soft, searing pressure that brought hectic color to her face and took all the starch out of her knees. Blinking, Maggie realized that Mark had kissed her in front of his family. She frowned at him and glanced around his shoulder to see if they were watching, but Sam seemed absorbed in peeling potatoes, and Alex had taken it upon himself to start fluffing mixed greens in a large teak salad bowl. Holly was on the floor with Renfield, letting him lick the gravy lid.

“Holly,” Maggie said, “make sure you throw that lid away after Renfield finishes. Do not put it back on the gravy.”

“Okay. But my friend Christian says a dog’s mouth is cleaner than a human’s.”

“Ask your uncle Mark,” Sam said, “if he’d rather kiss Maggie or Renfield.”

“Sam,” Mark said in warning, but his younger brother grinned at him.

Snickering, Holly took the lid from Renfield and ceremoniously dropped it into the trash can.

Under Maggie’s direction, the group managed to assemble a respectable Thanksgiving dinner, including the replacement dish of mac and cheese, sweet potato casserole, green beans, salad, turkey, and a simple dressing made with French bread crumbs, walnuts, and sage.

Sam opened a bottle of red wine and poured glasses for all the adults. Ceremoniously he gave Holly a wine-glass filled with grape juice. “I’ll make the first toast,” he said. “To Maggie, for saving Thanksgiving.” They all clinked glasses.

Maggie happened to glance at Holly, who was swirling and sniffing her grape juice in an exact imitation of Sam, who was sampling his wine. She saw that Mark had also noticed, and was biting back a grin. The sight had even brought a smile to Alex’s brooding countenance.

“We can’t just toast me,” Maggie protested. “We need a toast for everyone.”

Mark lifted his glass. “To the triumph of hope over experience,” he said, and they all clinked again.

Maggie smiled at him. A perfect toast, she thought, on what had turned out to be a perfect day.

After dinner and a dessert of pie and coffee and milk for Holly, they cleared the dishes, cleaned the kitchen, and put the leftovers in covered containers. Sam turned on the television, found a football game, and stretched out on a recliner. Full and replete, Holly snuggled in a corner of the sofa and promptly fell asleep. Maggie covered her with a throw blanket and sat next to Mark at the other end of the sofa. Renfield went to his dog bed in the corner and flopped down with a grunt of contentment.

Although Maggie didn’t care much about football one way or the other, she liked the ritual of watching a Thanksgiving game. It reminded her of all the Thanksgivings she had spent with her father and brothers, all of them hooting, moaning, and protesting the ref’s calls.

Alex came to the doorway. “I’m heading out now,” he said.

“Stay and watch the game,” Sam said.

“We’ll need help eating the leftovers,” Mark added.

Alex shook his head. “Thanks, but I’ve had enough family time. Nice to meet you, Maggie.”

“Nice to meet you, too.”

Sam rolled his eyes after Alex had left. “Spreading joy and sunshine wherever he goes.”

“With his marriage breaking up,” Maggie said, “it’s normal for him to go through a dark period.”

The brothers seemed to find this highly amusing. “Honey,” Mark said, “Alex has been in a dark period since the age of two.”

Eventually Maggie found herself leaning in the crook of Mark’s arm. His body was hard and warm, his shoulder supporting her head perfectly. She only half watched the game, the television screen a blur of color as she absorbed the feeling of being close to Mark.

“The mac and cheese,” he said, “was even better than I had imagined.”

“Secret ingredient.”

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