Page 73 of Deck the Hauls

“We’re down at this end, with the cousins,” Emily said, gesturing to the end of the table where Lucia was sitting with a couple who looked to be in their thirties.

The table was covered in antipasti—stuffed red peppers, roasted eggplant and artichokes, olives, cheeses, and cured meats. My stomach rumbled. I hadn’t eaten enough today, especially given I’d been up so early and spent a good thirty minutes digging out the snow to get the tractor out of the barn. My arm and leg muscles were still aching from the exertion. An ancient protein bar I found on the floor of the truck was definitely not sufficient.

“This is delicious,” I mumbled through a mouthful of cheese.

Emily laughed, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. “Just make sure you save room for the other courses. I always regret eating too much at this stage.”

I swallowed down the cheese and grinned at her. Damn, she was beautiful.

My smile wavered. Was this how Kelsey and Jake had felt at all our family gatherings? Trying to fight their attraction to each other, pretend it wasn’t there. I’d never thought about how hard that must have been for them, too.

Emily’s cousin Lisa was a fan of HolLove movies and peppered Emily with questions about the filming. Her husband, Tom, kept getting dragged down to the kids table in the basement to sort out various dramatic disputes, which he then regaled us with. Another cousin updated everyone on their first family vacation to Italy, which involved eating enormous amounts of gelato, pasta, and pizza, and the kids having meltdowns at all of Rome’s most famous locations. Lucia asked me about Red Tractor Farm and, in turn, I asked her about life in LA and her marketing job at one of the large record labels.

Vincent placed a large tray of lasagna on the table in front of us. It smelled incredible. My family would probably be eating slightly overcooked turkey, Brussels sprouts, and candied yams right now. I didn’t miss the turkey, but I did miss their banter, the town gossip, the gentle jibes. I should call Mom and Dad later today, at least wish them a happy Thanksgiving.

I groaned as I bit into the lasagna. It was perfect. Rich meat sauce, fresh layers of pasta, deliciously cheesy and golden brown on top. Exactly what I needed. After polishing off my first generous serving of lasagna, I helped myself to seconds. I might never get the chance to eat it again. Lasagna must be the Italian-American equivalent of turkey, and it wasn’t Thanksgiving if you didn’t over-indulge a little. I took another mouthful. I should ask Emily for the name of her parents’ restaurant. I would be willing to do a five-hour round train ride for this lasagna.

I was just considering unbuttoning the top button of Emily’s already tight jeans when Lucia and Emily started to clear our table.

“Can I help?” I asked as I handed Emily my plate.

“No. Please sit and relax. The next course will be out in a minute.” Emily grinned.

Next course? It must be dessert by now. I breathed out. I wasn’t sure how I was going to fit it in.

Just as the trays of lasagna were removed, bowls of salad replaced them, along with clean plates. Okay, that was not what I was expecting. I could probably squeeze in a few greens in, although Emily’s jeans weren’t doing me any favors. As we ate the salad, the conversation moved on to neighborhood gossip. Lucia, Emily, and their cousins had all attended the same local school, which many of the cousins’ kids now attended.

There were updates on ancient teachers who’d been at the school for decades, a scandal involving the now-ex principal and a significantly younger, married seventh-grade teacher, and a recent church service where two rival restaurant owners nearly came to blows.

“Sorry, this is probably a little boring for you,” Emily murmured, placing a hand on my thigh.

My eyes widened, my whole body buzzing at Emily’s touch.

That was…nice, but unexpected.

Was she having second thoughts about being just friends, or was she just being friendly? Maybe her glass of Chianti had made her more relaxed.

“No, it’s fine. I like hearing these stories. It’s so different from my family.”

“In what way?”

“I don’t have a big family. Only one set of grandparents are still alive, and they live in Boston. I have a few cousins in Tennessee and Massachusetts, but we’re not close. My parents didn’t grow up in the area, so we don’t have the kind of connections and history you all seem to have here. It must be nice.”

My chest ached. Mom, Dad, Jake, and Kelsey would have finished eating by now and would be watching the football game in my parents’ living room. We were a small family, but we had been close.

Emily set her fork down on her plate. “It has its drawbacks, too. The one time I skipped school to buy candy, I ran into my auntie and she told my parents. And the story of me sobbing in church because I refused to ‘eat Jesus’ when they passed around the bread during Communion is, unfortunately, still brought up on a regular basis.”

I laughed.

Footsteps sounded behind us, and Emily yanked her hand away.

My laugh faded. Yes, Emily had a tight-knit community, but she wasn’t comfortable being her true self in it. I glanced at my watch. It was almost three o’clock. I should go soon.

“Looks like we’re ready for the next course,” Emily said as her parents started to clear the other end of the table.

Thank god. Dessert would be here any minute, and then I could make my excuses and leave. If I was lucky I’d be able to fit in a small slice of pie without feeling too sick.

I was deep in conversation with Tom about how best to improve soil for growing vegetables when a huge platter of sliced turkey appeared in front of me.