Page 150 of Until the Last Star Fades

“Yup. I was a messenger! From another clan. Said two lines”—he flung his hand away, his cast a white blur—“then fucked off.”

“I’m so proud of you! That must’ve been fun.”

“Yup…but Riles, ma’ wee lassie, I had nothin’ on under ma’ kilt. I wuz bollock nekked…”

Nice! “Well, I would’ve liked to have seen that…”

“I…show ya now!” He yawned and lay back, trying to stuff his phone down his jeans. Riley got an eyeful of his belt. “Let’s ’ave…” He closed his eyes. “Ssssssex…” His voice trailed off into gentle snores.

• • •

Next morning 6:05 A.M. in NYC / 11:05 A.M. in the UK

Riley slept through the arrival of Ben’s text.

Riley!!! Last nite, SO sorry. I was happy cuz Lairds but missing you + frustrated AF. I’m an idiot. Please 4give me? Luv u. xoxoxoxoxoxoxox

A second text landed. ‘4 Riles!!!’—a new addition to his eighties playlist: “Tenderness” by General Public.

Sixty-Three

Three weeks later

“Hey, kids! Could one of you toss that bag of marshmallows to Frank?” Can of cranberry sauce aloft, Casey’s mom, Tina, squeezed past Maggie, who was busy stirring a mixture of pork, cumin, garlic, and chili powder in a sizzling skillet atop the crowded stove. The delicious smell, along with the aroma of roasting turkey, was too much for Riley’s growling stomach to ignore.

“I’ve got it.” Hugging her parka, cheeks still pink from watching the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade with Casey and his three sisters, Riley handed his dad the final ingredient destined for his sweet potato casserole.

“Thanks, Riley.” He smiled. “Case, can ya grab that bowl with the corn husks over there?”

“I haven’t had a chance to wash the parade off my hands yet.” Casey huffed, removing his coat.

Frank nodded to a card table in the corner of the kitchen, a staging area for his Thanksgiving feast. “Careful! Don’t spill the water.”

“I wish we were having Yorkshire pudding.” Rolling his eyes, Casey picked up the soaking husks and turned, stopping just short of chinning his youngest sister, Carrie, with the bowl.

“Aww! I thought I was stuffing the tamales!” the ten-year-old pouted.

“Carrie, I’m getting them ready for you.” Maggie grinned over her shoulder. “Come dry the husks, and then you can spread the dough and add the pork.”

“’Kay!” Carrie beamed. “Just gonna dump my coat.”

“Oh, Care Bear, take mine?” Riley pulled her phone from her parka’s pocket and stuffed her coat in Carrie’s waiting arms. “How can I help?”

Frank wiped his brow with the back of his hand. “Well, Maggie’s got the tamales taken care of, I’m finishing the casserole…Tina’s opening the occasional can—”

His wife swatted his butt with a dish towel.

“Peel some potatoes?” Frank shrugged.

“I’m on it!”

Casey’s twin eighteen-year-old sisters, Cherie and Chastity, opened the fridge, gawking at the homemade desserts Maggie had brought as a thank you for the kind invite.

Frank shook his head. “What’s wrong with this picture, huh? My guests are workin’, and my kids—”

Riley’s phone awoke with a request from Ben. Yay, he’s FaceTiming! Fourth time this week! Happiness warmed her from head to toe.

“I’ll start the spuds,” said Casey. “You go.”