Elissa smiles at him and shakes her head. "Yeah, that's a real danger. Maybe I should make you wear a bag over your pretty face to prevent that from happening."
Josh puts his arm on the back of her chair and leans forward. "You honestly think a little paper will protect her from the power of all of this?" He gestures to himself. "You're dreaming, lady. I mean, I'll try not to break up one of the most popular couples in the history of Hollywood, but I can't promise anything. The heart wants what it wants, and I predict Angel Bell's heart wants a hot-geek assistant stage manager who can recite the Gettysburg address in Klingon if he's had enough booze."
Elissa suppresses a laugh. "Of course she does. It's every girl's dream."
Josh glares at her. "The sarcasm is hurtful, Lissa. Hurtful and unnecessary. Bah humbug to you, too."
Now, everyone laughs, and I'm touched to see how Cassie gazes at my sister with clear adoration. Even when Cassie hated my guts she loved my sister, and Elissa couldn't be happier that one of her best friends is going to become her sister-in-law.
"Well, little sister," I say and raise my glass. "Congrats on the new job. I hope you have a great time; even though looking at Quinn's ugly mug every day will probably make you sick to your stomach."
She blushes and gives me a small smile. Considering my sister hardly ever blushes, I'd say that rehearsal process with her and Liam is going to be as entertaining as hell.
"To Elissa and Josh, and their new endeavor," my dad says as we all toast. "And merry Christmas to all Holts." He gestures to Josh and Cassie. "Especially those who are honorary, or Holts-to-be."
Beneath the table, Cassie takes my hand, and I squeeze it. I get a strange sense of possession every time I think about her being my wife. It's not some sort of douchey sense of entitlement. More like a manifestation of what we've always known to be true: we belong to each other. I don't need to stand up in front of my friends and family to confirm that, but I want to. Considering I was the guy who used to believe that true love was a ridiculous concept, it's important for me to show just how much Cassie has changed my life.
We all chat quietly as we eat, but in an effort to protect Cassie from the inevitable backlash over her cooking, I make sure to keep an eye on what everyone is putting in his or her mouth. Unfortunately, Mom gets to the beans first. If anyone is going to be brutally honest, it's her.
I hold my breath when she takes a mouthful. She chews for a few seconds before her eyes go wide. Then she swallows and moans in what I can only assume is pain.
God, I'm a terrible son. I should have saved her from this torture.
"Ethan, that green bean casserole is—" There's a slight groan in her voice.
Dammit, she's going to say it's disgusting. Cassie will be heartbroken.
"Mom, wait –"
"-- absolutely delicious." She beams at me. "Much better than you usually make."
For a moment, I swear I've misheard. "Uh ... what?"
Mom eats some more, and then everyone is scooping the beans into their mouths, and I'm sure this is what it feels like to be in a horror movie, because I have no doubt that in about thirty seconds, they're all going to go full Linda Blair in The Exorcist.
"Wow," Elissa says as her eyes roll back into her head. "So good!"
"Absolutely," my dad agrees. "Restaurant quality."
Even Josh moans in pleasure. "Dude. Forget Angel Bell. I'm marrying this casserole. That's legal in New York, right?"
What the hell? I tried that casserole before we left Cassie's place. It tasted like the unholy love child of thousand-year-old-eggs and congealed grease. Actually, that's not fair. Certain types of congealed grease are tasty. That casserole was like a pile of boiled Odor Eaters, topped with slivered almonds. At least, I hope to God they were almonds.
I look around at the four faces currently smiling in rapture over Cassie's dish. Could I have been wrong about her cooking this whole time? Maybe Cassie is actually a genius chef, but my peasant taste buds are just too basic to recognize it.
I scoop some casserole into my mouth to test the theory.
As soon as I start chewing, the flavor hits me. Sautéed mushrooms, beautifully breadcrumbed onions, beans cooked to perfection and bursting with some sort of tangy deliciousness I can't place.
"Jesus," I mumble. "What the hell?" I turn to Cassie, who's smiling smugly. "You made this?"
She shrugs. "Like cooking is hard or something?"