Page 76 of Mad About Yule

“This is probably good, but if she needs—” He shoots me a dirty look over his shoulder. Taking that long to hear my sarcasm proves just how distracted he is. “Get lost.”

“No way, this is highly entertaining. You good, Rowan?”

She cranes her neck to see me over her hovering husband’s back. Her usually plump and rosy face turned pale a couple of minutes ago, when Caleb leaped into action. “I’m good.”

He straightens and hits me with a flat look. “She said she was feeling woozy.”

I nod like a doctor on a medical drama. “Yeah, I get it. Wooziness calls for all the pillows.”

Rowan snickers softly in the plush armchair made even plusher with the addition of something like sixty-five throw pillows. She’d protested just a touch when he led her out of the kitchen and straight into the living room to sit down, but after a minute, she’d fully surrendered to his care.

“Let’s talk again whenyou’vegot a pregnant wife to take care of.”

I lift my hands in defense. “No need to make threats.”

Even if that word sends my thoughts spiraling in one particular direction. Which is crazy. I haven’t even taken Hope on a date.

Crap. I need to take her on a date.

“When it’s his wife, he’ll be just the same.” Mom joins us in her living room and throws an arm around my waist. “Or I didn’t raise him right.”

“I don’t know,” Caleb says. “His wife will have enough to deal with takinghimon, let alone adding a literal infant into the mix.”

“I bet he winds up beingthe mostprotective.” At least Rowan feels well enough to add to the color commentary against me. “He’s not going to let his wife out of his sight.”

“Can we all stop talking about my imaginary wife?” An itch works between my shoulder blades every time they lob that word at me. Even if that’s exactly how I see myself being—one day, far off in the distant future—I’m not about to admit anything for this group.

“Sure, honey.” Mom rubs my back for a second like I’m a cranky toddler. “Why don’t you come help me in the kitchen?”

I follow her into the next room, but Caleb stage whispers behind me. “Someone’s sure touchy about his imaginary wife.”

The smell of turkey roasting in the oven would normally have my mouth watering, but this doesn’t feel like a holiday. It feels like the memory of one, with the most important parts blurred out. It’s a wall that’s been stripped of sheetrock, leaving the supports exposed. Celebrations without Dad are just one more piece of the new normal I don’t want to get used to.

“Want to help me make the rolls?” Mom asks.

I roll up my sleeves and jump in, hoping the task will distract me. Ground me. Something.

She stands at the counter next to me, and we take turns tearing off chunks of the risen dough to form into easy tear-apart rolls like I’ve been helping her make since I was a kid. It’s both comforting and jarring to do something so familiar when everything feels a little off-kilter without Dad around.

“Have you seen those lots for sale down by the lake?” she asks. “Signs just went up this week.”

I make a sound of acknowledgement. I’d had to stop myself from driving by and nosing around. “They’re too small. They’re going to be skinny two- or three-story jobs. They’ll have nice lake views, but no space on the sides from their neighbors.”

I’d built plenty of houses like that, but I wouldn’t want to live in one. When I build a house for myself, I want some land to go with it.

“Maybe they need someone to tell them.”

“Pretty sure they wouldn’t be interested.” Anybody selling lots that small knows exactly what they’re doing and wouldn’t be talked out of getting a couple of extra houses out of the land.

“I heard a custom home builder out of Salem is looking to expand to Sunshine in the new year.” She leaves that there, but I can’t tell if it’s a test or a dare.

Either way, I put it out of my head.

“Where did you get that information?”

“You might be surprised to know I’m well-connected in this town.” She says it like she’s a mob boss making threats.

“Remind me never to cross you.”

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