Page 86 of Keepsakes and Kismet

“No worries.” Callum tugs on my hand, trying to lead me into the kitchen.

But I stay put, picking up one of the frames. “Oh my God. Is this you as a toddler? Baby Callum is so cute. Your hair used to be even redder than it is now. It’s really darkened up over the years.”

He shrugs. “I guess so. We should get going though.”

My feet stay planted in front of the bookshelf. “No way. Your mom hasn’t called us for dinner yet, and I have about one million more frames to go through.”

Callum drops my hand to scratch the back of his neck, looking a bit uncomfortable. He has nothing to be embarrassed about. He’s literally one of the cutest children I’ve ever seen.

The pictures appear to be in age order, from left to right. Each child has their own shelf, though it looks like the twins share one. Makes sense—I’d imagine most of their pictures are together.

I spy another picture of him on the Callum Shelf, this one a bit older—maybe fourteen. He’s sitting on a soccer field surrounded by his teammates. A huge trophy is in front of them. “That trophy is almost as big as you. What did you win?”

“It was a state championship.” His voice comes out completely monotone, and I wonder if he’s being modest again.

“Well, that’s pretty epic for a high schooler.” My eyes travel the length of the shelf, but there aren’t any other pictures of him from high school. The frame after the state championship houses a picture of him at college graduation. I sneak a glance at his sibling’s shelves. They’re fuller. They have at least three pictures of each sibling as a teenager.

“Did you have a teen wolf phase you’re hiding from me?” I joke, nudging him.

He laughs woodenly. “No. We should probably⁠—”

“Dinner!” Mrs. Galvin shouts from the kitchen.

Callum picks my hand up again. “Don’t want to keep Ma waiting. Let’s go.”

Something’s off about his reaction to the bookshelf, but plenty of people don’t love seeing themselves in photos, especially from childhood. I shudder to think about showing him pictures from my pageant days—the magenta lipstick smeared over my braces wasn’t a great look for me.

When we get back to the kitchen, Callum offers to help his mom with drinks, and Lila runs up to me immediately, grabbing at my leg.

“We might as well just move her booster seat next to you, if that’s okay,” Cait says, an apology in her eyes.

“More than okay. I can’t be separated from my new best friend.”

“What’s this about a new best friend?” Callum returns with a sparkling water in his hand, setting it down in front of me. Cherry-lime, my favorite flavor.

I frown dramatically. “I regret to inform you that you’ve been demoted to Best Friend Number Three.”

“Dang,” he mutters. “I was just starting to think I might be gaining on Tessa.”

“Sorry,” I tut. “Chicks before di⁠—”

“Turkey time!” Mrs. Galvin comes out with a giant turkey on a platter, setting it down in the middle of the table.

I lean toward Callum’s ear. “I’m surprised you don’t have your thermometer out to poke the turkey.”

He shrugs. “I already checked it in the kitchen. The breast was 169 degrees, and the thigh was 178. Safe to eat as long as it’s consumed within two hours at room temp, honey.”

“Your food safety knowledge is starting to sound hot, and that deeply concerns me,” I mutter.

“If you’re good, I’ll tell you all about botulism later,” he whispers sultrily in my ear.

“Now,” Mrs. Galvin announces. “Before we get started⁠—”

A chorus of groans cuts her off.

“Order in the court!” She knocks on the wooden table and glares at her children. “As I was saying, before we get started, we’ll go around for our annual tradition of saying what we’re thankful for. Who’d like to start?”

“I’ll go,” Caitlyn says. “Same as last year. These two little monsters.” She juts a thumb out on either side of her, pointing to Lila and Logan.