15. Autumn

Christmas Day

The aroma of cinnamon and nutmeg wafted through Pearl’s on Christmas morning, mixing with the scent of Rose’s sweet potato pie. Red and green stockings hung along the exposed brick wall behind the counter, each embroidered with a family member’s name. A massive fir tree commanded one corner, its branches heavy with ornaments collected over decades – many handmade by the kids in Rose’s extended family.

Everyone was here – my family and Tyson’s.

Michael’s twins raced between tables, their new Christmas sweaters already dusted with cookie crumbs. Madison skidded to a stop in front of me, brandishing a candy cane. “Aunt Autumn! Did you see what Santa brought me?”

“Show me, princess.” I scooped her up as she dug through her tiny purse, producing an art set with professional-colored pencils.

“Uncle Ty said these are just like yours!” Her eyes shone. “Will you teach me to draw like you?”

“Of course I will.” I kissed her forehead, catching Tyson’s eyes across the room, where he helped Rose arrange platters of ham and turkey. He winked, and my heart did that familiar flip it had been doing since our first kiss in this very building.

“There’s my girl!” My stepmother Diana, swept in, pulling me into a hug that smelled like her signature perfume and fresh-baked rolls. “You look radiant.” She held me at arm’s length, studying my face. “Love suits you.”

It was no secret that Rose had told everyone in the family that Tyson and I were dating. Everyone kept adding their ‘finally’ into the mix whenever they heard it, and I knew they couldn’t wait to bring it up today.

“Mama...” But I couldn’t hide my smile.

“Don’t ‘Mama’ me.” She straightened my red cashmere sweater. “That boy finally got his act together, and I intend to enjoy every minute of it.”

My father appeared behind her, wrapping an arm around his wife’s waist. “Leave them be, woman. Though I have to say,” he lowered his voice, “it’s about time.”

“I can hear you both,” I said, but their teasing warmed me. Everything felt right – the festive decorations, the family gathering, Tyson’s steady presence as he moved through the space like he owned it. In many ways, he did. Pearl’s had been his home since childhood.

“Rose needs help with the mac and cheese!” Angela called from the kitchen.

“That’s my cue.” I headed back, pausing to squeeze Tyson’s hand as I passed. His fingers caught mine, pulling me in for a quick kiss that tasted like peppermint.

“Hurry back,” he murmured against my lips.

Warmth spread through me, and the kitchen buzzed with activity. Rose directed traffic while stirring gravy, a different royal blue dress protected by a crisp white apron. Tyson’s friend LaMont carved turkey as Angela assembled her famous seven-layer salad. Christmas music played through surround-sound speakers—Mariah Carey’s ‘All I Want For Christmas’—elevating the true spirit of family and loved ones in this season.

“There you are!” Rose pointed her wooden spoon at me. “Taste this gravy. Something’s missing.”

I sampled the rich brown liquid. “Needs more thyme.”

“That’s my girl.” She added the herb, then lowered her voice. “How are you holding up?”

“I’m perfect.” And I was. Last night’s gallery launch still felt like a dream – the permanent collection bearing my name, young artists getting their chance, Tyson’s pride as he watched it all unfold.

“Mmhmm.” Rose stirred the gravy with extra vigor. “And my grandson? How’s he treating you?”

“Like a queen.” I hip-bumped her. “You raised him right.”

“Course I did.” But she beamed. “Now take these rolls out. The natives are getting restless.”

I carried two baskets of steaming bread to the dining room, where the family had gathered around the long table. Tyson pulled out my chair – a gesture that earned whistles from his cousins and an “About time!” from Aunt Marie.

The feast began with Rose’s traditional blessing:

“Dear Heavenly Father, thank You for this food and the hands that prepared it. Thank You for family, old and new, and the love that brings us together this Christmas Day. Lord, we’re especially grateful for finally opening these children’s eyes.” She squeezed both Tyson’s and my hands. “Thank You for showing them what we’ve all seen for so long - that their hearts were meant to beat as one. Watch over their union, guide their path, and keep their love as sweet as my potato pie. In Your Son’s mighty name, Amen.”

A chorus of “Amens” mixed with chuckles. Rose opened her eyes, dabbing at their corners with her napkin. “Now, let’s eat before this food gets cold.”

The blessing dissolved into the controlled chaos of passed dishes and overlapping conversations. Tyson’s thigh pressed against mine under the table as he fought Michael for the last piece of honey-glazed ham.

“One time when these two used to race their bikes down Cottage Grove,” James gestured between Tyson and Michael with his fork. “They crashed into Mrs. Johnson’s rose bushes,” Diana laughed. “She made them replant every single one.”

“It was worth it, though,” Michael grinned. “I won that race.”

“You did not,” Tyson pointed his knife. “I was ahead until you cut me off.”

Angela piped up, “What I want to know is when are you two giving us another wedding to plan?”

“Let them breathe,” my father’s deep voice cut through the chatter. “Though I must say, watching you two dance around each other all these years nearly drove me crazy.” My father winked at Tyson. “Good thing I always kept a bottle of bourbon handy.”

“Like you needed an excuse for bourbon, Daddy,” I teased.

“No, but it helped during those nights you two would sit on my porch planning your dreams, both of you too blind to see what was right in front of you.” He raised his glass. “Now look at you – building those dreams together.”

Tyson nodded at my father with respect. The kind of exchange that spoke through a look of understanding.

Silence fell as Tyson pushed back his chair and stood, pulling me up with him. “Actually, James, I have something to say.”

My heart stopped. Started. Raced.

“You know what I remember most about this place?” Tyson smiled at Rose. “The day I brought Autumn here for the first time. I was covered in paint because this one,” he squeezed my hand, “knocked over an entire set of acrylics in art class. Grandma took one look at her and said we finally had someone else in the family who understood art.”

“And I meant it,” Rose added softly. “She fit right in.”

“That’s the thing about you, Autumn.” Tyson turned to face me fully. “You didn’t just become part of my family - you became my heart. Every Sunday dinner, every late-night conversation, every dream we built together brought us to this moment.”

He reached into his pocket and dropped to one knee. The room collectively gasped.

“Autumn Williams, you’ve been my best friend, inspiration, and heart. You taught me that true beauty is in how you fight for young artists, how you light up when describing a new piece, and how you’ve loved me even when I was too scared to love you back.”

Tears spilled down my cheeks as he opened a black velvet box. Inside, a ring that caught the Christmas lights was nestled—rose gold with a black diamond surrounded by smaller white stones.

“I don’t want to spend another day pretending you’re just my friend or business partner. I want forever with you. Will you marry me?”

I fell into his arms, and he caught me with ease. Nuzzling my face in the crook of his neck, emotions dripped from my eyes, and I was overcome with unimaginable love.

“Is that a, yes?” he whispered, drawing a few chuckles from our family.

I nodded frantically. “Yes!” The word came out on a sob. “Yes, yes, yes.”

He slipped the ring onto my finger, pulling me into a heated kiss and setting my soul on fire. The room erupted in cheers and applause. Rose sobbed into her apron while Diana hugged James, both of them beaming.

“Finally!” LaMont shouted over the chaos. “Now I can stop watching him pine over you.”

Laughter cruised around, but the only thing I could focus on was the man who gripped me in an embrace so tight that I never wanted to be let go.

“I have one more thing,” he whispered, producing another box, this one huge and square.

“I can’t take anymore,” I cried.

“I’ll take it!” Aunt Marie shouted. “Whatever it is!”

Tyson chuckled and opened the box. The sparkle that gleamed across my eyes nearly blinded me.

“Tyson!”

The necklace was diamond studded and was so exquisite I knew it came off the museum floor.

“I love you,” he said.

And I fell back into his arms and wept.

Six Months Later

The Autumn Williams Gallery buzzed with energy as another class of young artists prepared for their first showing. Denise Jordan, now our lead instructor, helped a teenage girl adjust her painting while Anthony – our youngest teacher – demonstrated brush techniques to a group of wide-eyed kids.

The program had exploded since Christmas. What started as a small community initiative had spread across Chicago. Three more teaching spaces had opened in different neighborhoods. The Benefield hotels now featured rotating exhibits from our students, many of whom had gone on to sell their work to serious collectors.

“Ready for the next batch?” Tyson’s voice carried across the gallery. He’d just finished installing track lighting for our newest exhibition space.

I crossed to him, admiring how his t-shirt stretched across his shoulders. Just looking at him made my pulse race. “Yes, I’m ready.”

“Good.” He pulled me close, kissing me soundly. “Because I have plans for this place. Big plans.”

“Tell me.”

“First, we expand the scholarship program. Then, we open a residency for international artists. After that...” He gestured expansively. “The world.”

I laughed against his chest. “Dream big, Mr. Benefield.”

“I learned from the best, Mrs. Benefield-to-be.”

“I love you.”

“I love you more.” He lifted my chin, our mouths crushing in a mouthwatering kiss.