“Yes. Drive carefully, please,” I begged, worried about him on the dark, snowy highways.
“I will. Love you. Merry Christmas.”
“Love you, too. Merry Christmas.”
I hung up and finished getting ready, trying to focus on all the good things in my life, not on how much I’d miss him tonight. But it was hard.
Christmas Eve was for family, his mother insisted. I didn’t disagree, and I loved my family fiercely. But I wanted him in it.
Was that crazy?
I set the phone down and smiled. Pulling off the white lie about tonight hadn’t been easy, since I was so bad at deception, but every time I thought about her face when she saw Scotty and me at the party tonight, it gave me the strength to keep up the act. At least she couldn’t see my face today, I thought, which hadn’t been straight at all during our conversation. It had been much harder the other night when I’d had to turn down her invitation in person.
I felt a twinge of guilt thinking about the comment I’d made regarding family but decided it would make her that much happier when she saw that family to me included everyone I loved most—and that meant her.
I hummed a holiday tune as I went to collect Scotty from his room for his shower. “Ready, bud?”
“Yes,” he said, putting his hands over his ears. “But Dad. Stop singing.”
I grinned. “You got it.”
? ? ?
“Where are you going?” he asked as I drove through the snowy dark up the highway on Old Mission peninsula.
“We are going to a Christmas party.”
“At Grandma’s house?”
“No, at a new place.”
“This is a snowstorm.” Worry made his voice shake a little.
“Don’t worry, I’m driving nice and slow, see? It’s not bad. And there will be treats there.” I’d double-checked with Sebastian that it was OK for Scotty and me to be there, and he said Skylar was thrilled and wouldn’t say a word to Jillian about it. I’d also asked about how many people would attend, and while he wasn’t positive, he didn’t think it would be more than thirty.
Miles had told him to let me know I should arrive by eight, so I tried to leave extra time for the drive, knowing the roads would be slow. We pulled up at the winery at about five to eight, and I felt exceedingly proud of myself for being on time. With a quick thank you, God for letting Scotty have a good day today, I got out of the car, took Scotty’s hand, and hustled up the front steps.
The winery looked beautiful, the tasting room decked with candles, white lights and holly, mistletoe hanging in every archway, and a huge evergreen tree in one corner, hung with French-themed ornaments and colored bulbs, a fleur-de-lis at the top. Instrumental carols played on hidden speakers, the wine flowed, and the food was delicious. Instead of tables and chairs, as there had been for the rehearsal dinner, the room was staged with cozy couches and chairs in conversational groupings to encourage mingling, but I noticed that the area in front of the fireplace had been cleared. Maybe they didn’t want anyone sitting too close to the fire, which crackled and popped, giving the room a warm glow.
The guest list was intimate: just my family, the Fourniers, the families of a few Abelard employees and two families who were visiting the Fourniers for the holidays. I got chatting with one of the wives, a lovely woman with strawberry blonde hair and flawless porcelain skin, whose name was Erin. She told me she had grown up across the street from Mia Fournier, and they’d remained best friends. The third in their trio, a gorgeous brunette named Coco, was at the party as well. She spent almost the entire evening chasing around three young sons with dark eyes and mischievous grins.
“Coco was Mia’s roommate in college,” Erin said, taking a sip of her water. She was pregnant with her second child; her handsome husband Charlie, a cop, was walking around with their adorable blonde one-year-old daughter on his hip. “The three of us are really close, so this is so nice to spend time together up here.”
“How often do you get up to see her?” I asked. I couldn’t imagine moving away from my sisters.
She smiled. “Not as much as we’d like, but that might change. Coco’s husband, Nick, is opening a restaurant up here.” She gestured toward an attractive, dark-haired guy who was chatting with Natalie and Miles.
“Really? That’s great.”
“What about you? Are you married?”
For once, the question didn’t bother me at all. “Not yet. I’m dating someone,” I said shyly, looking into my wineglass, “but he couldn’t be here tonight.”
“Oh, that’s too bad.”
“Yeah, he has an eight-year-old son, and they always go to Grandma’s on Christmas.”
“Totally get it,” Erin said. “Charlie has a daughter from a previous marriage too.”
“Really?” I stood up taller. “Was it…hard to make that work? When you got married, I mean?”