Page 86 of Take Me Home

“Okay.”Good, she wanted to say. Like a child. Then, because she knew that was what she sounded like, she said, “It would be okay if you did. I was just wondering.”

Her father leaned back against the counter. He opened and closed his mouth, and she attempted to rescue them both from the awkwardness, tried to edge past, saying, “Well, good night! See you in the morning!” But he clutched her by the shoulders, steering her directly in front of him. “Kiddo. Hazel.”

He seemed not to know what to say after that. He looked determined and somber, and Hazel remembered Val, just that morning, recounting his proposal of marriage without ever having said he loved her. Finally, he asked, “Did I tell you how glad I am that you’re here?”

“You don’t have to…”

“Thank you for coming home. I am very glad you’re here,” he repeated, enunciating every word. It was different than his thank-you at the festival. Forceful and deliberate, like he’d practiced saying it. Like maybe he’d realized how painful that blurtedthank-you had been, and he’d been waiting to get it right. Even if it was a little sad that her dad had probably rehearsed the line, he could have not bothered to say it at all.

“Sure,” she said, because every response that came to her felt phony—happy to be here, my pleasure, thanks for having me.

He opened his arms, and she stepped into them.

Chapter

Twenty

The next evening, after joining Ash’s sisters and nieces for their delayed ice-skating outing—and accepting that she was not going to become an ice princess at twenty-three—Hazel was back at her dad’s house, debating changing her outfit again. She was supposed to be leaving in a few minutes for her father’s station holiday party, and she looked like an accountant in her white button-down and pencil skirt.

Hazel wasn’t looking forward to spending the evening with a bunch of her father’s colleagues, but he’d agreed Ash could come to the party.

As she buttoned and unbuttoned her collar for the third time, her phone lit up with a text from Sylvia.Tap, tap, tap. This thing on?

Hazel smiled. She’d meant to reply to Sylvia’s latest proof of life request, but she hadn’t trusted herself to take a picture while teetering on ice skates. She took a selfie and sent it, adding,Be honest. Am I going to look like one of the servers at this holiday party in this outfit?

Sylvia:Undo another button and leave your hair down.

Sylvia:Are you going to do a red lip? You should do a red lip.

Sylvia:Is that an enormous Christmas tree in your bedroom?

Sylvia:And who are you trying to impress by not looking like a waiter?

There was no time to explain everything before she had to go pick Ash up for the party. But the answer to Sylvia’s last question—who was she trying to impress?—pulled a giddy smile across Hazel’s face. She wanted to make Ash look at her again like he had in the barn. And a not insignificant part of her wanted to tell Sylvia everything about him.

But for now, she had to go.

Hazel:Can’t I just not want to be asked for cocktails all night?

—

The event hall had a distressed brick façade, faux gas lamps burning romantically on porch posts, arched windows in the upper level, and a gleaming red vintage pickup parked in the side lot.

While Hazel parked, she felt Ash crane around, using her seat for leverage to see out her back window.

“What’s back there?” she asked.

The look he gave her was cautious, considering.

But before he could say anything, the front door of the event hall opened, and a woman in a sparkly blue evening gown and long wool coat waved urgently at them, beckoning.

“Hang on,” Ash said. But as soon as she opened her door, the wind gusted and bit, and Hazel ran for the building.

“Come in, come in, come in,” the woman said, practically shoving them inside and letting the door slam. “You just made it.”

Hazel checked through the window, half expecting an apocalyptic dust cloud or a tornado touching down in the parkinglot, but nothing was amiss, just her father’s silver SUV turning into the entrance.

“Hazel,” Ash began just as the woman said, “The family is arriving now,” and prodded them toward another set of doors, which opened into a dim dining room. Sixty or more people sat at round tables with winter floral centerpieces and flickering tea lights, all arranged around a parquet dance floor. Was it her imagination, or did everyone deflate a little at the sight of them?

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