Page 87 of Binding Their Hearts

“Not with any notable skill. Endless lessons were de rigueur in my childhood, only slightly updated from the embroidery and music of the Middle Ages.” She inhaled just above the rim of the wineglass and smiled. “I was a grown woman before I learned to sew a stitch.”

The conversation bounced among them, interrupted occasionally by Henry swapping items in the oven and everyone exclaiming over the wonderful new scents wafting from the dishes as Jay carried them to the table.

“—spared me, actually.” Will, arms folded across his chest, leaned against the wall, straddling kitchen and dining room. “Were I at my parents’ residence today, I would be receiving quite the earful about pressing forward with the divorce. Did I tell you I have new living quarters now?”

A chorus of nos answered him, followed by a garble of overlapping questions.

“When?”

“What’d you get?”

“Whereabouts?”

“Are you happy there?” Alice realized too late her question didn’t sound at all like the others.

“Ah.” He gazed at the ceiling. “In order…” A single finger went up. “I closed Monday.” A second finger. “Nothing so grand and historic as this place; it’s one of those modern condos with views of the Charles.” A third finger. “About a ten-minute walk east of you. Toward the North End. I’m rubbing shoulders with the new money. Could bring interesting investment opportunities.”

He extended a fourth finger, stared at his hand, and dropped it before catching her gaze. His eyes held something that twanged in her chest. “And I’m not certain yet. I’m less unhappy. Happiness, I think, demands more than leaving a bad situation. It requires seeking out and embracing new and better ones.” He raised his glass. “Like this one. To good friends, and conversation beyond small talk.”

They all sipped in agreement. Jay carried the basket of freshly made Parker House rolls to the table, and a memory burst into sudden life—sitting under a dining room table with Ollie, legs crossed, knee to knee, a basket of rolls cradled in their laps, the two of them shoving bread into their faces until one side of the tablecloth flipped up and away. Aha! Here’s your thieves. Don’t expect they’ll be eating much of anything else now they’ve filled their bellies. She sheepishly handed the half-emptied basket to her uncle as Ollie crawled out and Dad lifted her onto his hip. Kneeling, he held his hand out for Alice. She squirmed out between the chairs and stood beside him, her hair falling around her face. I know you girls won’t be doing that again, he intoned, as they solemnly shook their heads. No, Daddy. But he elbowed her ribs, a teasing poke, and whispered, Bet they were good though, weren’t they? Your great-grandma’s recipe. Can’t resist ’em myself.

Ignoring the ache behind her ribs, she fetched two salad plates from the refrigerator and helped Jay finish filling the table. Roasted carrots and green beans, a tart that Henry swore had potatoes beneath the purple leaves, a salmon steak coated in a syrupy maple glaze, and individual ramekins at each place with a raft of melting cheese floating above a creamy sea of scallops. Not like any Thanksgiving she’d ever been to, but as they all sat and she shook out her napkin across her lap, her stomach seemed just as eager for this meal—maybe more so—as it had been to feast on rolls as a kid.

Jay, beside her, filled her plate for her. Emma, across from Jay, did the same for Will, putting items on his plate without a single question about what he wanted. Once Jay sat down after arranging a plate for Henry, she squeezed his knee and kissed his cheek. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

He gave a happy wriggle and dug into his meal. He hadn’t said anything about how different the day might be for him. Unlike her, he’d always been at his parents’ house for the holiday. They didn’t have a dozen kids tearing through the house here. Or overbearing older siblings and uncaring parents, either, but still. And Henry had given up visiting his mother and spending the holiday with her and his brother’s family. She was the only one not sacrificing something. Last year she’d eaten takeout and texted Ollie and brooded about her contract partners who were definitely not boyfriends and would no way, not ever, be husbands. She curled her hand around her wedding ring. This was better, by far.

Emma complimented the new dishes, and Henry told the story of their acquisition, with much praise for Jay’s cleverness in nearly tripping over them at the antique shop.

The fireplace behind Henry—which absolutely required clarification, because the house had a gazillion fireplaces, including one in their bedroom—held photos on the mantel now. Some from the boxes they’d unpacked in the last week, but three new ones, too. Her birthday gift from Jay, who’d sneakily conspired with Ollie—and really, how many conspiracies were floating around her at any given time?

Each frame contained a picture of Alice as a kid. A little, little kid. Kicking her feet in the air on a swing. Charging out of a pile of leaves. And Jay’s favorite—riding a bike straight toward the camera, her arms wide, no hands on the handlebars, sporting a giant grin with a missing tooth. In almost no permutation would Ollie have that photo album out in California. It would be on the bottom shelf of the dining room hutch in their parents’ house. Which meant Ollie would’ve had to have called Mom and asked for those photos.

“—never did end up using the cabin for a weekend.” Will followed one of the spicy carrots with a sweet bite of salmon, and she resolved to try that combo too.

Henry ostentatiously peered to his left and right, at the ceiling, and finally at his left hand, waggling his ring finger. “We had a rather busy autumn, as it happened.”

Last time they’d been at Will’s cabin, Henry had promised them sex in front of a roaring fire when the season was right. “And now we have our own fireplace.”

“I believe we have a half-dozen.” Henry speared a pair of green beans on his fork. “Though I cannot vouch for the operability of them all. We’ll need to bring in a chimney sweep.”

Her belly warmed. This house had benefits she hadn’t even contemplated yet. “But once we do, we could have a fire?”

“We could.” Henry snapped his teeth shut around the roasted veggies, intent on her all the while.

“Hmm.” She tried to mimic his neutral hum, then dodged his stare by focusing on her plate. “Interesting.”

Will hung his head. “Tragically beloved only for my fireplace.”

“It’s not the fireplace.” Jay split open a roll and slathered butter down the center. “It’s the sex in front of the fire.”

Emma stifled a laugh behind her napkin. Will let his out. Henry gazed at Jay with a tender promise in his eyes.

Jay paused with the roll directly in front of his mouth, his eyes wide. “Which we could have on almost every floor.”

“Now this one”—Will pointed his fork at Jay—“has his priorities in order.”

No fire in the fireplace tomorrow, but Jay would hopefully love his part in her birthday festivities. She and Henry had run through the concept plus a backup pivot in case tomorrow just wasn’t the right time. But they would have all day, not be waiting until seven o’clock.

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