Jude bent over and picked up what turned out to be a toddler. “Easy, Maeve,” he said, holding the little person up to his face. “You okay? Do you remember me?”
“Yood,” the little girl said affirmatively.
“Close enough,” he smiled then, and I could only stare. I hadn’t seen a full-wattage Jude smile in what felt like forever. And I’d never seen him hold a child. She looked small against his broad chest. The sight of her there made my own chest shimmy.
There had been a time when I thought that someday I’d have Jude’s babies. I’d never described this fantasy to him, because we were so young it was laughable. And even in my wildest daydream, I wasn’t bearing this hypothetical child until my career on Broadway was well established.
But I’d wanted to. I’d wanted to be the girl who tamed the wild boy. I pictured his tattooed arm rubbing my pregnant belly, and then holding my child against his bare chest.
My adolescent heart had some pretty crazy flights of fancy.
“Where’s your mama?” he asked the tiny human politely. She pointed one stubby finger in the direction of what could only be the dining room.
Jude beckoned to me and I followed him. We almost made it across the busy kitchen when Mrs. Shipley caught up to us.
“Jude!” She ducked in to kiss him on the cheek. “Happy Thanksgiving. And Sophie Haines! It’s good to see both of you.” She patted me on the arm.
“Ruth,” Jude said. “Sophie was at loose ends tonight, so…”
Ruth held up a hand. “Don’t you start apologizing, sir. We’ve had this conversation before.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She gave my elbow a friendly squeeze. “Lovely to see you, honey. We have the year’s new cider in the dining room. Griffin will pour you a glass, and dinner’s almost ready.”
“Is there anything I can do?” I asked. I felt pretty sheepish, walking into their kitchen on Thanksgiving.
“We’ve got it down to a science,” she said, waving a hand at her daughters. “Have a drink, or if that’s not your style, there are sodas on the porch keeping cold.”
“Thank you,” I said.
“It’s honestly better if we get out of the way,” Jude said, reaching back to catch my hand in his. The sensation of his fingers closing over mine made me feel even more muddled than I already was.
Jude led me through a doorway and into a spacious dining room. Even before I stepped over the threshold I was surprised by the number of voices rising up in conversation. This was quite the party, and that was a good thing—it made me less of an interloper.
The moment Jude went through the door, more voices called his name. I followed just in time to see May Shipley hug-tackle him. “You’re even on time…” Her gaze slid to me. And then her eyes widened.
The room grew quieter, and I felt eyes on me. Jude put an arm around my shoulder. “I think you know Sophie from church?”
May blinked, and then seemed to recover from her surprise. “Of course. Good to see you, Sophie. It’s been a while since we had to wear those angel wings and a halo in the Christmas pageant.”
“I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t let me near the angel’s wings anymore,” I said. “And forget the halo.”
More than a few people laughed. “Let’s find her a chair,” May suggested.
Jude handed the toddler off to a young couple, and I was introduced in quick succession to the parts of the Shipley family that I didn’t know by name. Griffin Shipley introduced me to his girlfriend, Audrey, two cousins, an aunt and an uncle and an elderly grandfather. There was also a hunky blond farmhand named Zach and two more neighbors.
“Got that?” Jude joked after the introductions were made.
“No,” I said, and everyone laughed.
“Let me get her a glass of cider,” Griffin said. “Actually, grab two glasses, Audrey. I want her to taste the Dooryard and our prizewinner.”
“Yes, captain!” his girlfriend quipped, opening a cabinet full of stemware.
“You know they win awards for these?” Jude asked. “The price of all that success is that he has to talk like a French wine snob. You should hear how they go on about the terroire and the fruity overtones and the mushroomy lowlights.”
“Mushroomy lowlights?” I laughed.
Griffin snorted. “That sounds like something in the laundry hamper after we muck out the dairy barn.”
Jude smiled at me as I took the first glass from Griffin. To say that this evening had become much more interesting than I’d expected was a massive understatement. I tasted the cider. Truly, it was wonderful—just the right balance of sweet and tart. “Wow,” I blurted. “This is great.”
“Tell him the flavor is ‘round.’ That’s snobspeak for ‘good.’ He pops a boner if you say it’s ‘round.’”
“Stop.” I gave Jude a slight elbow jab. “It’s really good. No mushroomy lowlights. Here.” I offered Jude the glass.
Jude gave his chin a tiny shake. “No thanks. Not my thing.”