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I think about this and nod with assent. “Okay, but why are you saying this?”
Her eyes drift from mine to my chest, where she traces her finger in a circle over my heart. “To thank you.”
Cupping her hand in mine, I lift it to my cheek. “You don’t have to thank me.”
She blinks up to her hand in mine. “I used to be so worried all the time. I was afraid of what might happen, and whether I could handle it on my own. What would happen if I couldn’t?”
My brow lowers, and I lift her hand again, kissing her wrist. “I never want you to be afraid of that. You’re not alone.”
A smile lifts her cheeks, and her eyes meet mine again. “I haven’t been afraid once since I met you. Every day, since that first time we were here together in this bed, I’ve only felt found and safe and home.”
Pride warms my chest, and I’ve given up fighting that stubborn sense of ownership taking root in my heart when it comes to her.
“I wonder what changed,” I tease, and a puff of air escapes her lips.
She rises higher, kissing my lips, and when she slides down again, her eyes close. The temperature is falling, but we’re warm in bed together. I think she’s asleep when she speaks again.
“In Japan they have a technique where they use 14-karat gold to repair broken pottery.” Her finger traces my chest again. “They melt the gold and use it to create something new and even more valuable. It’s calledKintsugi. It means ‘golden seams.’ Isn’t that beautiful?”
“Jack reminded me today when bones break they heal back stronger.”
Her head lifts, and she rests her chin on her hand looking into my eyes. “Stronger, like gold.”
Leaning down, I press my lips to hers once more. Gold, like the start of a new day. The bright sunlight after being so long in darkness.
“Remindme never to make grape moonshine ever again.” Allie sits on the other side of Rachel, holding her glass of iced tea to her cheek.
“You were so sweet to make me a special drink for my first girls’ night.” Rachel rests her head on her friend’s shoulder. “Don’t ever do it again.”
I chuckle, putting my arm around my girl and pulling her to me. “Eat something. It’ll make you feel better.”
The rain stopped overnight, but as predicted, the temperature dropped. We’re all dressed in sweaters and jeans for the big day.
Gathering at Cooters & Shooters has become our Thanksgiving Day family tradition. It’s all decked out for the holiday, and we know to be here at noon.
Once everyone arrives for lunch, we gather for a family prayer led by Jack, then break into serving lines to sample the varieties of turkey Thomas and Jack made—oven baked, fried, and smoked. Dylan made the side dishes, dressing, spicy and non-spicy mac and cheese, fruit salad, cranberry dressing, green bean casserole, corn, and rolls.
As we make our plates, we drift out to the long table situated in the middle of the dining room with Jack at one end and Thomas at the other.
Family and friends filter out of the kitchen and join us as they make their plates.
Allie stabs her scoop of cornbread dressing. “It tastes so good. I just wish the restaurant would stop rocking.”
“Oof, I hate that feeling.” Logan sits across from us, holding a heaping helping of smoked turkey, dressing, cranberry sauce, rolls, corn, and cheesy pasta.
“Is anything left in the kitchen?” Allie teases, and he tosses a grape at her.
“Not grapes! They’re Satan’s tiny hand grenades.”
“I love grapes,” Rachel argues. “It’s not their fault you nuclearized them.”
“Is that a word?” Dylan joins us with a plate piled high with cornbread dressing. “I can’t believe I made it out of bed this morning. Whose idea was it to have girls’ night on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving?”
“I think it was yours.” Rachel rests her head on my shoulder, and I kiss it.
“That’s all you’re having?” I glance at my little sister’s plate.
“It’s the only thing that doesn’t make me feel woozy.”
