Page 73 of Embers in Autumn
“Dean isn’t here yet. Our father’s plane landed an hour late. He and Dean are on their way from the airport.”
“Oh.” I tried to hide my relief at hearing why Dean wasn’t here yet. For some reason, the idea of walking into this houseful of strangers without him had tied my stomach in knots, though everyone had already been kinder than I expected.
“Come on,” Sarah said, gesturing toward the kitchen. “You’ll keep me company while we finish up.”
The kitchen smelled heavenly—roasted turkey, sage, butter, cinnamon, and just a hint of pie crust waiting to crisp. It wasspacious but clearly lived in, the counters lined with bowls of half-prepared dishes, a pie cooling on a rack near the window, and handmade Thanksgiving decorations taped up by eager small hands. A banner made of construction-paper leaves stretched across the cupboards, each scribbled with something the kids were thankful for:*my dog, mac and cheese, PS5, family.*
Sarah handed me a glass of wine without asking, and I accepted gratefully, the first sip calming my nerves. She pulled a pan from the oven, the scent of sweet potatoes smothered in marshmallows wafting out.
“Looks amazing,” I said honestly.
“Thanks. It’s chaos, but we love it.” She brushed her hair back from her face, leaving a streak of flour on her cheek. “The flower shop has been madness this week. Thanksgiving, weddings, people trying to get ahead of the Christmas rush. I was up at five arranging centerpieces.”
“Sounds like you’ve been busier than me,” I admitted, setting my glass down so I could help peel the potatoes sitting on the counter. “I had a few last-minute shoppers this morning, but mostly everyone wanted to buy before the rain started. I can’t imagine running a flower shop *and* hosting this.”
Sarah smiled, though there was a tired edge to it. “It helps when everyone pitches in. Andrew’s a good sport, and the kids…” She trailed off with a fond shrug. “Well, they try.”
We shared a laugh, the kind that eases into a friendship without warning. I found myself relaxing into the rhythm of chopping and peeling, the clatter of pans, and the hum of conversation in the background.
“Dean told me you make pies,” Sarah said after a moment, glancing at me sidelong. “Cherry, wasn’t it? He said it was the best he’s had.”
My cheeks warmed again. “That’s generous of him. It was…okay. A little tart.”
Sarah chuckled, shaking her head. “You don’t know my brother. He doesn’t hand out compliments lightly. If he said it was the best, he meant it.”
There was something in her tone—protective but approving—that made me smile, even as my heart fluttered nervously. I looked around the bustling kitchen, the decorations, the smell of holiday cooking. It was so different from the quiet solitude of my own place, and yet it didn’t feel alien. Somehow, it already felt like the kind of chaos I could get used to.
The front door swung open on a gust of crisp afternoon air and the sound of voices spilled in from the porch. I wiped my hands on a towel just as Dean stepped into the entryway with a tall, well dressed man at his side. The family resemblance was immediate in the shape of their mouths and the set of their shoulders, though the older man’s hair was a dignified silver, neatly cut, and his eyes had the quick spark of someone who misses nothing.
“Sorry we’re late,” Dean said, crossing the room in three easy strides. He kissed me, a soft brush that tasted like cold air and airport coffee, then rested his hand at the small of my back. “Flight got in an hour behind, then luggage took forever.”
Sarah’s face lit with relief. “How was the trip, Dad?”
“Endless,” he replied with the kind of dry humor that makes complaints charming. “The gentleman next to me believed the armrest was his birthright and the airline believes coffee should be a rumor, not a beverage. Worth every minute to be here, though.” He opened his arms and Sarah went into them without hesitation.
Andrew stepped forward to shake hands. “Heard you’re staying with us till Christmas.”
“That is the plan,” he said, giving Andrew’s grip an approving squeeze. “Christmas in Florida is sun, golf shirts, andinflatable snowmen that wheeze. I prefer real pine and actual cold.”
He turned to me next, and his expression softened. “You must be Amber.” His voice gentled on my name, as if he had practiced it. “I am very glad to meet the woman who convinced my son to own a suit.” His smile deepened when I laughed. “He tells me you run a bookstore. I will try not to talk your ear off about the mysteries I loved when I was young.”
“I can take it,” I said, surprised at the warmth rising in my chest. “And I have a stack ready to tempt you after dinner.”
“Dangerous,” he said, eyes crinkling. “I like you already.”
Before anyone could say more, Lana barreled in with Jacob on her heels and Sophie right behind, the three of them forming an eager semi-circle around their grandfather. He set a small leather carryall on the bench by the door, unzipped it with ceremony, and produced three tissue wrapped bundles.
“For the reader,” he said, handing Lana a slim package. Inside was a beautiful leather bookmark stamped with a tiny bow and arrow, the leather dyed a deep green. Lana’s face went soft with surprise. “For the engineer,” he told Jacob, who tore paper to reveal a small metal puzzle set in a tin. “And for the artist,” he said to Sophie, giving her a watercolor travel set and a pad of thick paper tied with twine.
“Grandpa,” Sophie breathed, “these are perfect.”
“Grandpa,” Jacob echoed, already trying to free a puzzle from itself.
Lana looked up and met her grandfather’s gaze and something sweet moved between them, quiet and certain. “Thank you,” she said, and slipped the bookmark into her pocket like a secret.
“Alright,” Sarah called, clapping her hands once. “Wash up, all of you. We are ready to sit.”
The dining room glowed like a postcard. A runner of burlapand lace traveled the length of the table, dotted with votives and tiny glass pumpkins from Sarah’s shop, each one cradling a spray of seeded eucalyptus and miniature mums. Place cards cut into leaf shapes waited by polished forks, and the platters were a parade of autumn color. Turkey browned and fragrant, a boat of gravy glossy as satin, bowls of buttery mashed potatoes and maple glazed carrots, green beans with toasted almonds, sweet potatoes crowned with marshmallows, cranberry sauce quivering like rubies in a cut glass dish.
