Page 33 of Family Forever
Marissa took the wine from the tall, thick lady who leaned back against the counter. The woman’s gaze studied her intently from over the rim of her glass as she sipped on her white wine.
A nervous shiver sifted through her. What was the woman thinking? Did she wonder what the heck she was doing here with her nephews? Marissa wondered that very same thing herself sometimes. How had she come to end up in this house full of men who were nothing more than neighbors, strangers at one time, but were now very much her family?
“I’m glad to finally meet you, Marissa. I’ve heard so much about you.”
“You have?”
The woman’s sincere smile spread across her plump cheeks. “I talk to my nephews, and they’ve done nothing but rave about you.” The woman took another sip of her wine, but kept her gaze fixed on her as if waiting for some sort of response.
Marissa returned the woman’s soft smile with one of her own and assumed most of her information came from Braden and Nate. “I’m very fond of them as well. Braden and Nate are quite the little chatterboxes on the phone, aren’t they? Even Luke is starting to talk more.”
Mitzi’s warm smile turned wicked, matching the sassy look emitting from her gaze. “Yeah, they are, but I get most of my information from Dylan.”
Heat instantly flamed in Marissa’s cheeks, and out of the corner of her eye, she caught Dylan freeze in place as he set the two pans of stuffing on the stovetop. His shoulders tensed. He looked stiff as a board. Excitement rippled through her. What has the honorable Dylan Jacobs been telling his aunt about her?
A few beats of uncomfortable silence filled the kitchen before Mitzi left her and Dylan off the hook. “Marissa, why don’t you and I fill the serving dishes as Dylan carves the turkey.”
Marissa mustered a nod.
When Dylan was finished carving up the turkey, he called the masses into the kitchen for dinner. Dylan and Bob sat at the short ends of the table and everyone else filtered in as if they knew exactly which seat was theirs, leaving the spot to Dylan’s left for Marissa. Cole sat to her left. How had she come to be sitting at this table, with this family, between two of the kindest, most handsome men she’d ever met?
The boys settled down quickly, she supposed they were hungry and ready to get on with the feast. She nearly chuckled out loud. Dylan probably hadn’t allowed them to raid the fridge for the past several hours which would be a long stretch for them, especially Aric.
Dylan clasped his hands together and looked across the table. “Uncle Bob, would you like to do the honors.”
“Absolutely,” Bob replied as he lowered his head for prayer.
“Wait!” Mitzi exclaimed. She glanced around the table. “Let’s all hold hands this year.”
Braden and Nate glanced at each other, and then looked at their aunt in horror as if she’d just asked them to hold hands with the devil himself.
“It won’t kill you guys, hands, now.” Her voice held both a tinge of tease and command.
Cole held his hand out to Marissa. She hesitated, her palms were already sweaty. Not because of his gesture but she knew Dylan’s hand would be waiting for her on the other side. And once she grabbed hold of his hand she wasn’t sure she’d be able to let go. All eyes were on her, they were waiting. She took hold of Cole’s hand, then slowly turned her head toward Dylan. He held his hand, palm up. Her heart hammered in her chest and the second her skin touched his an electric shock snapped through her like a whip, nearly knocking her off her chair.
They bowed their heads and Bob began speaking. His words faded into the back of her brain. All she could think about was her tingly fingers resting in Dylan’s large, warm hand. His hold was firm, but not too firm. Cole’s long, slim fingers held her other hand looser, and his skin was softer than Dylan’s, likely a direct result of the nature of work he did versus the farm work Dylan so loved.
At the clang of dishes, Marissa snapped out of her reverie. She’d already released Cole’s hand, or he released hers, she didn’t know which, but what she did know was her other hand still rested in Dylan’s. Staring at their hands she realized he’d loosened his grip and it was she that continued to hold his. She yanked her hand back and swung her gaze away from him only for it to be caught by Mitzi’s whose knowing stare read her like a book.
Everyone began passing food around the table—turkey, stuffing, potatoes, gravy, corn, rolls, and Jell-O. There was enough food to feed an army, and Dylan had prepared everything, probably without breaking a sweat. If she’d been asked to prepare a meal this large she would have probably failed miserably, kind of like she did the first time she prepared dinner for just him and his brothers.
Marissa listened as the boys told their aunt, uncle, and cousins all about what they were studying in school, and about Cub Scouts, band, and basketball. It always amazed her how Dylan could keep all his brothers’ activities straight, especially again now that he was going at it alone without her help.
Jessica and Bianca talked about the school musical in which they had both just performed. Jessica had landed the leading role, and Bianca was involved in the small group of kids that played the music. Marissa wasn’t surprised to hear of the girls’ talent. She knew from what little she’d heard about Mitzi in the past that the entire family was talented in art and music. Even Dylan, Aric and Nate who took more to athletics showed an artsy side on occasion.
Marissa wasn’t sure which was more plentiful, the food at the table or the conversation, and she was thrilled to be a part of it. Large family holiday dinners had not been something she was accustomed to in the past but had longed for on several occasions.
Though everyone groaned about being stuffed, they all willingly accepted a piece of pie when Mitzi offered it; in fact, Dylan, Cole, and Aric took two, one of each kind. Marissa opted for the pecan, and a bite of Luke’s pumpkin pie topped with extra whipped cream.
Dylan stood and started clearing the table. Marissa sprang to her feet to help.
Mitzi rose as well. “Seriously, Dylan, you made this wonderful meal for us, I don’t think you need to clean up as well. The girls and I will take care of this. Go in the living room with your uncle and brothers and watch football or something.”
Dylan’s near frantic gaze bounced between her and his aunt. Was poor Dylan afraid of what Mitzi might tell her about him?
“Yeah, Dylan, we got this,” Marissa reassured. She wanted to hear what Mitzi had to say about things, Dylan in particular.
“Go,” Mitzi added as she shooed him out of the kitchen.
