And I’m glad no one can see my face right now because I’m scrunching it up furiously. Doing everything I can to keep from falling apart in the middle of another family’s holiday gathering.
That would be overly dramatic. And I’m not big on dramatics. I just put my head down and get shit done.
Reconciling with my sister needs to get done. So here I am.
“Me too,” is all I can say back before she pulls away, one hand on my shoulder while the other wipes at her big brown doe eyes. They’re the same shape as mine, but a different color.
We both have our dad’s features, but I took after our mom’s coloring.
“Hi, Winter!” An older man crosses the kitchen, wiping his hands on his pants, which makes the clean freak in me wince a little. “I’m Harvey Eaton. Rhett’s dad. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
He sticks a large palm out at me, and try as I might, I don’t find a single shred of judgment on his face. I don’t know what kind of Brady Bunch shit is happening on this homestead, but it throws me off.
“Uh, hi,” I reply a little tentatively as I take his hand. “Thank you so much for allowing me to crash your dinner.”
The man makes a pfft sound and waves me off. “You’re not crashing a single thing. This is a family dinner. You’re family. And so, if my math is right, you’re right where you should be.”
I swear my jaw drops open. Who is this guy? Cowboy Ned Flanders?
He smiles. Like . . . a nice, normal smile. Not one that has me second-guessing what the actual intent behind it is. Then he walks away. Back to whatever he was cooking, like having me here is normal and not at all bizarre or monumental.
Family? Maybe this Harvey Eaton fella is already in the sauce. Because Summer and I haven’t felt like family in a very long time. And I haven’t met a single other person here, except for—
“Here.” An elbow nudges at my arm, and I smell him before I even give in and look at him. Oranges, fresh and sweet, mixed with something spicy. Cloves? Ginger? He smells like mulled wine.
It’s intoxicating. It’s masculine. It’s not bright and tart, and it doesn’t sting my nostrils.
My eyes shift over before my head turns. And I can see his hands, rough and calloused, like I guessed. Big and warm.
A glass of wine in each of them. One red, one white.
“Double fisting tonight?” I tilt my head, quirking one brow at him. “That tracks. You drive like you already were.”
One side of his sinful mouth tips up, and I’m struck by the realization that Theo Silva knows how good looking he is. He probably practices his angles in the mirror. “We already have so much in common. That’s exactly what I thought when I was stuck behind you for the most boring ten minutes of my life.”
The smile I give him is flat, intentionally bored, as I lift a hand and inspect my nails. If I could go for a manicure, I’d get a warm brown. I don’t care if it’s Christmas. Red is too showy. But it doesn’t matter because the hospital doesn’t allow us to have painted nails anyway.
“Well, now you have a window into how women feel in your presence.”
“Is that why they scream Oh Theo, this is so boring! when I’m inside them?”
I snort and gaze up at him, blushing a little at the knowing look in his eye.
It’s unnerving. He’s unnerving. So I volley. Hoping I can wound him enough to make him leave me alone.
“They just tell you that so you’ll finish and stop flopping around on top of them.”
“Do you think? Maybe we could arrange a time when you can instruct me on how to flop less. I do love to practice.”
My eyes narrow into a glare.
Leave it to me to attract the one man in the world who seems to be unoffendable. The one man in the world who won’t leave me alone when I feel ready to join Wonder Woman on her women-only island.
“Which one?” He shoves the two glasses of wine in front of me, interrupting my daydream.
“What?”
“Red or white? You said you needed a drink. I wasn’t sure which one you like better, so I poured both. I’ll drink whatever you don’t.”
I am struck dumb. I want to make a jab about how I’m not surprised at all that he’ll drink whatever he can.
He seems like the type. Cocky. Handsome. Thinks far too highly of himself. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know a man like him gets around. He reeks of experience, something I am sorely lacking.
Because I had stars in my eyes over Rob—until I didn’t.
I eye the wine speculatively. Is this considered having a drink with a man?
Rob would have brought a specific bottle of wine from a specific region and had it chilled to an exact temperature. And then he’d shove a glass of it at me and whisper some ostentatious comment in my ear about how the hosts have the cheapest wine out to share.
I reach forward, tentatively taking the white wine. Red will stain my teeth, and I already feel self-conscious enough being here.
I’m about to say thank you, even though it pains me, but the tips of my fingers brush briefly against his and a static shock passes between us. It has my eyes shooting up. My hand darts back from the wineglass as I cradle it to my chest.
“You okay?” His brows knit together.
Okay? I almost laugh. It’s just the dry prairie air. Everything is staticky. It’s not like I got shot. But he’s genuinely concerned, and that is . . . unnerving.
A word I keep coming back to tonight. Word of the day. My life is now Sesame Street, and I am Oscar the Grouch.
Pretty sure Elmo just brought me my wine.
I snag it and walk away, planning to try my hand at mingling. Because much as I hate to mingle, I think I hate standing there staring into Theo Silva’s deep, dark eyes while basking in his citrus and ginger scent even more.
“Any news on Beau?” Summer asks from beside me at the huge family-style dining table.
Harvey clears his throat and sits up a little taller. “Yeah, yeah. He’s doing well, actually. There are third-degree burns on his feet. They had to do a skin graft and were monitoring pretty closely for infection to flare back up. But the update yesterday is they’re impressed with how quickly he’s healing.”
“Leave it to Beau to be fucking good at everything,” Rhett murmurs, shaking his head.
He gets a chorus of laughs for that one. I haven’t met this other brother. The gist of what I understand is that he’s in the military and something happened during his deployment. He’s now in a military hospital.
Burns are nasty business. I’ve seen my fair share in the emergency room. Wouldn’t wish them on my worst enemy.
Well, okay. I would Rob. I’m not that nice.
“We’re gonna have to get him set up with some docs when he comes back home.”
I shrug as I spear a brown sugar-glazed carrot from my plate and the offer leaps from my lips before I even have a chance to shut it down. “I can help with that.”
“Yeah?” Harvey’s face brightens from across the table, and I wonder if being nice is infectious somehow.
It wasn’t covered in med school. But science is always evolving.
My eyes lock onto Theo’s. He’s sitting right across from me and I’m finding it hard not to stare. The way the candle between us flickers against his lightly stubbled face is distracting. And blinking away quickly like a child caught peeking is immature.
But I do it anyway. Like I’m reverting back to my teen years with some popular boy who sits across the class from me.
Everything about me tonight is so out of character. I opt not to analyze it with a microscope.
“Sure.” I drop my gaze back to my plate. “No problem at all. I’d be happy to help in any way I can.”
Summer reaches under the table and gives my knee a reassuring squeeze. I look over at her, wondering how two people raised in the same household could have turned out so differently. Opposites. Winter and Summer. Our names weren’t just a stupid gimmick, they actually represented us somehow.
But I know the answer. Our parents never split from each other, they just split up everything around them instead. One team versus another.
I got my mom. Summer got our dad.
Rhett pipes up now, talking about a game of Christmas shinny, and how he and Sloane cleared the ice for it. Sloane, the dainty blonde sitting beside Harvey, launches into a story about a similar time she and Jasper played at some other farm.
And she’s talking about NHL superstar Jasper Gervais. One of my dad’s clients, and the man who is sitting beside her, staring at her like she can shoot rainbows out of her vagina or something.
I don’t even think he’s listening. He’s just staring at her like she hung the moon. It hurts to see his expression. I hate feeling jealous, but so much of what I see here tonight fills me with that dark, bitter emotion.
I could burst with it.
Not like I begrudge anyone else what they have. It’s more that I long to have it too.
It makes me realize what I’ve missed out on all these years. It makes me realize all the things I don’t have.
The things I never will.