Chapter 11

CHAPTER

ELEVEN

Blakely

“Now this is the true spirit of Thanksgiving.” I lay my last Uno card down on the table. “I win.”

“How is that Thanksgiving spirit?” my little brother, who’s seventeen and several inches taller than me, asks.

“It’s a tradition. I’m the reigning Uno champion. Ask anyone.” I raise my brow at Beckham, daring him to deny that I’m the Kincaid champ at Uno.

“That’s only because you’re old,” my cousin Caden chimes in. Caden and Beckham are the same age and thick as thieves. You rarely see one without the other close by.

“Yeah, you had a million years of practice before we all came along,” my cousin Orion adds. He’s a year older than Beckham and the oldest boy of the cousin group.

“Keep running that mouth, boys.” I grin at them. “Green looks good on you.”

“Whatever,” Beckham mutters. “You know we’re going to take you down during the football game.”

“I don’t know,” my cousin Remi, who’s nineteen, speaks up. “We’ve been beefing up.” She flexes her muscles, and we all laugh.

“Us too,” Brynlee and Ada announce. They’re the same age as Beckham and Caden. They’re all in the same class. God help the teachers at that high school.

“Did someone say football?” Uncle Merrick asks. His three kids, Henry, Hazel, and Harper, are standing next to him, bouncing on the balls of their feet, ready to get started.

“Who are the team captains this year?” Orion asks. “I can’t remember where we left off.”

“My dad,” Brynlee announces, talking about Deacon. He’s not really my uncle, but that’s what I call him. We all do. Brynlee’s mom, Ramsey, is my dad’s cousin, but she was more like a sister to all nine boys. Aunt and uncle is how we see them.

“And mine,” Leo answers. His dad is my uncle Brooks.

“Let’s do this!” Uncle Brooks calls out, and everyone rushes to grab their shoes and hoodies. It’s a cool fifty degrees out today, so it’s perfect weather to play with just a hoodie. Once we get started running around, we’ll all be burning up.

It’s the perfect day with family, lots of good food, an Uno victory, and I’m happy to report that I was on Uncle Deacon’s team and we crushed our competition. I don’t know what life would be like without this big, crazy family of mine, and I never want to find out.

“Are you coming over tomorrow to help us put up the tree?” Mom asks.

“Is Rudolph’s nose red?” I ask, and she smiles.

“Good. It wouldn’t be the same without you there.” Mom pulls me into a hug that I return with vigor.

“Can I get in on this?” Dad asks. He doesn’t wait for us to reply as he wraps his arms around both of us. “Love you,” he says, and I know he’s speaking to both of us.

“Love you,” Mom and I chorus.

“I’ll see you all later.”

“Wait!” Aunt Stella comes rushing in and hands me a bag.

“What’s this?”

“Pumpkin pie!” Aunt Crosby calls back.

“A whole pie?”

“Yes!” Aunt Alyssa replies from her spot in the kitchen next to the rest of my aunts.

“And this.” Aunt Courtney grabs another bag off the counter and brings it to me.

“What is this?” I ask her.

“I’m not sure. Jade packed it for you,” she says, referring to Uncle Orrin’s wife.

“I can’t eat all of this. I’m one person.” The bag has some weight to it.

“That just means you and Isla don’t have to cook for a couple of nights,” Aunt Palmer chimes in.

“Here, take this too,” Aunt Jordyn says, handing me another small bag.

“What’s in this one?”

“Rolls. We made way too many rolls.”

“Are you trying to fatten me up?” I tease.

“Nope, we just don’t want this to go to waste,” Aunt Scarlett calls out.

“There are a lot of you. Why are you sending me with so much?”

“Trust me,” Mom says. “We’re all going to be taking bags like this home. You know we cook for a massive army when we only have a small one.” Her smile lights up her face.

“Fine, but sheesh, ladies. Maybe we need to dial it back a little next year.”

“Never!” Uncle Maverick calls back, and everyone erupts in laughter.

“I’ll see you crazies later. Love you all!” I holler over my shoulder before taking my loaded bags of leftovers out to my car. When I get in my car, my phone alerts me to a message, so I check it before I leave.

Isla: Staying at my parents’ tonight. I’m in a turkey coma. I’m too lazy to drive.

I take a picture, even though it’s dark, of the bags of leftovers in the passenger seat and send it off to her.

Me: Well, there will be plenty more waiting for you when you get home.

Isla: Do they think we’re starving? They do know we both have good jobs, right?

Me: Yep. Apparently, everyone is getting bags of leftovers to take with them. They went even more overboard than usual.

Isla: I love your family, but how will we eat all of that? I don’t think I’ll need to eat again for at least a week.

Me: LOL

Isla: See you tomorrow.

Me: See you tomorrow. Happy Turkey Day.

Placing my phone in my cupholder, I point my car toward home. I don’t know why I do it, but I take the long way, which has me driving past Oliver’s place. I’ve thought a lot about him today. I wanted to send him a Happy Thanksgiving message but decided against it, which is why I don’t understand why I’m pulling into his driveway at seven o’clock at night. All the lights are on, but there are no cars in the driveway.

I could back out, and he’d never know I was here. At least, I hope that’s the case. Instead, I put my car in Park when an idea hits me. Grabbing the bag that has the full pumpkin pie, I turn off the engine, grab my phone and keys, and, with the pie in hand, make my way to his front door.

I’m standing outside staring at his front door, trying to talk myself out of knocking, when the door opens, taking away my choice. My ability to think clearly or even speak is also taken away when I see Oliver.

“Blake?” he asks, brow furrowed in concern. “Are you okay? What are you doing here?”

“Shirt.” That’s the first word to come out of my mouth because the man isn’t wearing one.

“Get in here.” He reaches for my hand, the one that’s holding the bag with the pie. He swiftly takes the bag from me and tugs me into the house, closing the door. “Are you okay?” he asks again.

“Fine. I brought pie,” I blurt. My eyes rake over his chest. His abs look like peaks and valleys that my fingers would love to trace. And damn, I was right about the arm porn. I wonder if I could sneak a picture to show my mom and aunts.

No, not going there, Kincaid.

“Pie?”

I shake out of my thoughts. “Pie. Homemade. Although I don’t know which one of my family members made it, but it’s good. I promise. I had a piece earlier, but they sent me home with an entire pie and lots of food, more food than Isla…. That’s my roommate, did you know that? Anyway, way too much food, and I was driving by and saw the lights on and thought you might want some pie.” I pull my gaze away from the lovely view of his defined abs to see him smiling down at me.

“You brought me pie?” he asks, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

I nod, because he’s touching me, and for some reason, this man affects me like no other before him.

He steps closer, sliding his arm around my waist. “What kind of pie did you bring me?”

“P-Pumpkin.” I swallow hard. “Where is your shirt?”

He laughs. Not just a “ha-ha, you’re funny” kind of laugh; no, this one is from somewhere deep inside him. It’s a new sound I’ve never heard from him, and I’m already wondering what I can do or say to hear it again.

“This is my house, Blake. You came to me, remember?”

I ignore that, because he’s right. “Did you eat pie today?”

“No. As a matter of fact, I didn’t eat pie today.”

It takes a minute for his answer to register, and that quickly helps clear some of my fog. “No pie? Don’t tell me you hate Thanksgiving too?”

“No, I don’t hate Thanksgiving. My parents are at a medical conference. Brad and his wife, Marisa, invited me to eat with their family, but I declined. I stayed home and just had a chill day on my own.”

“Wait… you’ve been home alone all day? Today? On Thanksgiving?”

“I have.”

“I’ll be right back.” I go to step out of his hold, but he stops me, keeping a firm grip around my waist.

“Where are you going?”

“To my car. I’ll be right back.”

“It’s cold out. Tell me what you need, and I’ll go get it.”

“You have on less clothing than I do. I’ll be right back.” He’s not impressed, if his expression tells me anything, but he lets me go. After pulling open the front door, I jog down the steps to my car and tug open the passenger door. I grab the rest of the leftovers that I was sent home with and rush back inside.

“More pie?” he asks.

“No.” I raise the bags in the air. “This is Thanksgiving dinner.”

“You brought me dinner too?”

“Technically, it’s the massive amount of leftovers we all got sent home with, but since you didn’t have a proper Thanksgiving dinner, then yes, I brought you dinner too.”

“That’s yours, Blake.”

“Are you kidding me? Isla and I would never eat all of this. Besides, I’ve decided you’re eating.” I step around him, move toward the kitchen, and start unpacking the bags. He joins me, placing the pumpkin pie bag on the island before sliding onto a stool and watching me work.

“Are you going to eat with me?”

“No,” I groan. “I’m stuffed. I don’t think I could eat another bite.”

I collect a plate, remembering where I saw him grab them, and get to work piling turkey, ham, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, broccoli casserole, macaroni and cheese, corn, green beans, and stuffing onto the plate.

“Wow. You all really do go all out.”

“You have no idea.” I laugh as I pop the plate into the microwave and grab a fork from the drawer.

“You seem to know your way around my kitchen.”

“I pay attention.” The microwave beeps, and I make quick work of removing the plate, plopping two deviled eggs and two rolls on the side before placing it in front of him.

“That’s a lot of food.”

“That’s what Thanksgiving is about. Spending time with those who are special to you, being thankful for what you have, and eating way too much food.”

He stares down at the plate for a long time, so long in fact, I’m not sure he’s going to eat. His eyes finally find mine. “I’m thankful you’re here.”

My heart stalls in my chest. The look on his face, the earnest look in his eyes, cuts my chest wide open and wraps around my heart. “Me too, Ollie. Me too.”

“Come sit with me.” He pulls the stool out next to him, and after I grab us both a water, I take the seat as suggested. “Tell me about your day.”

So that’s what I do. I tell him how I beat my cousins in Uno and how my team won the annual Thanksgiving family football game. I tell him about the Christmas movie the ladies watched while the guys glued their eyes to the other TV, watching the game. I ramble every little detail until his plate is clean.

“Ready for dessert?” He’s cleaned his place, and it makes my heart smile that he enjoyed the meal my family prepared with love.

“Not yet.” He laughs.

“Fine. How about we watch a movie while your food settles?”

“Sure.”

“My choice.”

“Yeah, Blake, your choice.”

I don’t hide my grin. He has to know I’m picking a Christmas movie. I’m determined to bring the holiday back into this man’s life. It just so happens that I get to spend time with him—something I’m enjoying way more than I thought I would, or even than I should, but I’m not going to let that stop me. Come on, our family motto is to work hard, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do. I’m going to work hard to show Oliver Thompson that his past is that, in the past, and that he can still enjoy the holiday.

At least that’s my plan.

Oliver cleans up, choosing to rinse his plate and leave it in the sink while I settle on the couch and pick out a movie. He sits in the spot right next to me.

“What are we watching?”

I nod toward the screen.

He chuckles. “Yeah, I figured.”

“You’re not going to tell me no?”

He looks over at me, and his eyes soften. “I’m not sure that I can.”

“Why’s that?”

“Baby, I’m pretty sure there isn’t anything I wouldn’t give you.”

Oh, holy night. This man. I can’t find words, so I ignore his and hit Play on the remote. Oliver stands and turns off the lights. Just a dim glow of the light over the stove from the open-plan kitchen and the light from the massive TV we’re watching fills the room.

It’s difficult to focus on the movie, but that’s okay. It’s one I’ve seen before. Instead, I kick off my shoes, fold my feet underneath me, and curl myself in a ball. I’d really love a blanket to snuggle with about now.

“Are you cold?” Oliver asks, his voice soft.

“No. I just like to snuggle while I’m watching movies. Especially Christmas movies.”

“Who do you usually snuggle with?” His tone is a little harder than before.

“My blanket.”

“Oh. I’ll have to do.” He puts his arm around my shoulders and pulls me into him. My hand and head end up resting on his bare chest. “Is this okay?” he asks.

“Perfect.” I’m not just blowing smoke up his ass. The moment is perfect. The man is too, and you already know where I stand on the Christmas movie. It’s so perfect I end up falling asleep. I wake to a dark house. The TV is off, but there is still that soft glow from the kitchen.

“Go back to sleep.”

I freeze and take stock of my current situation.

I’m in Oliver’s house. I recognize that.

I’m lying on his couch.

He has his arms wrapped around me.

“I should go home.”

“It’s late. Go back to sleep.”

“I can’t stay here.” My plea is halfhearted at best.

“Why?” He doesn’t release his hold on me.

“I just can’t.” Because I think I’m falling for you, and sleeping in your arms is only going to make those feelings grow.

“I texted your roommate. I found your phone and told her you wouldn’t be home. She’s not coming home either.”

“Oliver!” I scold, but to be honest, that was sweet of him. However, he still should have just woke me up so I could drive home.

“It’s late, Blake. Just sleep.” He pulls me a little tighter into his chest.

I close my eyes and relax into his hold. It’s surprisingly easy to do considering I’ve never spent the night with a man. Not one I felt this way about. You know, one responsible for all the tingling between my thighs. I decide not to dwell on it. We’re just sleeping. Sure, he’s holding me as if his life depends on it, but he’s warm and safe, and at some point he found us a blanket. That’s my last thought as I drift off back to sleep.