When We're Thirty

by Casey Dembowski

  She handed him a water bottle from the cart and a package of fruit snacks shaped like Minions. “Come on, this is great! Have a fruit snack.”

  She pushed her chair against the adjacent wall and turned in her seat so her feet could rest on Will’s legs. “Tell me about the Thorne Christmas traditions.”

  For all of his father’s fuss about family gatherings, there weren’t many things that Will considered traditions. Sure, his father had put up the trees, but really, it was just another extended stay—one marred by dysfunction. He thought back to the last few Christmases before the drama.

  “I don’t know if this qualifies, but we stay up until midnight on Christmas Eve to ring in the holiday,” he said, leaning his head back against the wall. “One of the trees is in the back den, and we sit around the fireplace with the tree all lit up and drink and tell old stories—mostly about Mom.”

  He hadn’t even thought of that as a tradition until right now, but he looked forward to it. It was one of the few times his dad was really just his dad.

  “When we were kids—” Wow, he hadn’t thought about that in years. “My mom loved French toast. We had it every Christmas morning—heaping plates of homemade French toast. We all piled into the kitchen and made such a mess. Granted, we had a live-in cleaning lady, so it’s not quite the same. But still, half my Christmas presents were sticky with syrup every year.”

  “That sounds nice.”

  Grief swept through him, the tangible loss weighing on him. He cleared his throat. “What about you? What are Abbott Christmases like?”

  Hannah’s face froze. He realized his mistake too late. They’d done a fabulous job of avoiding the topic of Hannah’s parents, but there was no avoiding it after that.

  “You still haven’t heard from them?” he asked to break the silence.

  Hannah shook her head. “No, but I’ve stopped trying lately. I’m embracing my new identity as a Thorne.”

  “Hannah.”

  She looked at him, glassy-eyed.

  Perfect. He’d taken her to a laundromat and made her cry. Best. Date. Ever. “Maybe you should try starting with your dad.” He rubbed the back of her ankle, letting his hand rest just under the hem of her jeans. “He viewed my profile on LinkedIn the other day.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Leave it to Dad to not know about private mode.”

  “But he’s obviously interested in me,” Will said, turning on the optimism. “He could be your way in.”

  Hannah met his gaze, her eyes wide and full of hurt. “But what if he’s not?”

  “Well, I guess then you would know.”

  Chapter 33

  Hannah

  It was Christmas morning. At home, it had always smelled of the cookies they spent Christmas Eve baking. She’d never had a Christmas morning in her own apartment, and that was still the case. The Thornes’ mansion didn’t smell like cookies. From this side of the house, it didn’t even smell like pine needles. And there were trees—three of them. Will had said they congregated at the one in the den, which made sense since the den seemed to be the life of the mansion. The tree was a beautiful Douglas fir, decorated in a silver-and-blue color scheme. It looked like it had fallen out of Pinterest. Still, it would’ve been nice to be at their own place, watching the Yule log, making out under the tree, and opening presents while forcing Binx to wear the Christmas sweater she’d bought him. Maybe next year.

  True to his tradition, the boys had stayed up drinking and telling stories. She and Madison had taken the opportunity to exchange gifts since Jonathan had made it quite clear this was a men-only tradition. Will had stumbled in—weary with exhaustion, not intoxication—well after midnight. He’d smelled like old expensive whiskey, but his eyes were steady and his words clear as he crawled into bed beside her. She’d barely tucked her book away before he was asleep, his head on the pillow next to her, his arm slung across her chest. That was exactly how he’d remained all night.

  It was early, and she suspected that the rest of the Thorne brethren would sleep in for at least a few more hours. But Hannah and Will had a mission to complete. She nudged him, but he only rolled over with a groan, taking the comforter with him.

  She kissed him lightly. “Time to get up.”

  His eyes fluttered open and he smiled. “Merry Christmas, Mrs. Thorne.”

  “Ready?”

  “Two more minutes?”

  “Okay, but only two. I told Renata we’d be down by eight to get started.”

  Twenty minutes later, they stood in the kitchen. She was dressed in her morning worst with her hair clipped back in a loose half ponytail. Will had pulled a shirt on over his pajamas but otherwise looked like he’d rolled right out of bed. Renata dug items out of the fridge as Hannah eyed the coffeepot warily. She’d forgotten to smuggle in her own coffee grounds, and even if that little shop was open, Hannah had a strict no-shopping rule on Christmas, especially after so many years as a barista. If there was ever a day she could make her own coffee, it was Christmas.

  “Stop glaring at the pot like that,” Renata said from behind a stack of ingredients.

  Hannah looked up from the text message she was composing. Will had suggested she start with her dad. A simple Merry Christmas seemed the easiest way in. She hit Send before pulling a mug down from the cabinet. “How do you drink it every day?”

  Renata’s laugh echoed off the vast stainless steel. “Pour a cup and see for yourself.”

  She didn’t even have to pour the coffee. The mild and smooth smell of hazelnut hit her nostrils. “What did you do?”

  “Rebels come in all shapes, my dear,” she said with a grin.

  “All this time, Renata?” Will asked, holding a hand to his heart in mock shock.

  Hannah giggled and poured them each a cup. No matter what he said, she knew Will didn’t actually like his father’s coffee of choice. His cup always went back to the kitchen mostly full.

  “Now, tell me what we are doing with all of this,” Renata said, though the glint in her eye hinted that she knew.

  Laid out in front of them were the makings of the best French toast assembly line ever. Though she might be biased.

  “Will’s most familiar with the recipe,” Hannah said, taking an apron from Renata. Will was already tying one around his waist. “And I can’t make French toast to save my life, so I figured Will can dip or dredge or whatever, you can cook, and I’ll sprinkle powdered sugar on top.”

  “I see your evil plan,” Will said, looping an arm around her waist. “Make me and Renata do all the work while you get to make everything look pretty.”

  She nodded and took her place at the end of the production line. “Sugar and then cinnamon, right?”

  “Yes, Abbott,” Will said, sticking the first piece of bread into the mixture with a grin.

  A half dozen slices later, Will sent a bemused Arthur off to wake up the rest of the house. Arthur seemed so stiff when she had first met him, but his face lit up as he watched them make a mess of the kitchen. He’d even tried the first piece, given his nod of approval, and stolen a cup of Renata’s coffee with a wink in Hannah’s direction. Had Will known this side of the staff before that morning? Did anyone in the house?

  They were nearly done when the kitchen door swung open. It was too soon to be Arthur returning from waking the rest of the household. She and Will turned at the same time, passing a dish towel between them to dry their hands.

  Daniel stood in the doorway, still in scrubs. Bags ringed his eyes, and he had a sort of wired look about him. He must’ve had an overnight shift and come straight from work. “What’s this?”

  “How much coffee have you had?” Hannah asked, handing him a plate.

  “Not that much, actually,” he said, flipping a piece of French toast onto his plate. “Mom’s Christmas French toast?”

  Will nodded with an easy smile. “Yeah. It just felt like time to bring it back.”

  The kitchen door opened again, and Jon and Madison entered, chattering
about being summoned to the kitchen. They froze once inside, taking in the trays of French toast, fruit salad, and the platter of bacon Renata was filling. A fresh batch of coffee—Jonathan’s sludge—brewed noisily on the other counter.

  Her father-in-law appeared at the other side of the kitchen. He must have come through the back entrance Renata had shown her. Hannah had never seen him in anything but his Sunday best, but there he stood in a dressing gown and slippers, looking like every TV dad she’d ever seen. His ever-keen eyes took in the spread before him. His face, which never softened, relaxed a fraction, and she swore she saw nostalgia in his eyes.

  When Will had told her the story about making French toast with the biggest smile on his face, Hannah had the idea to bring back the missed tradition. His smile had been followed by an onslaught of emotions she’d never seen out of him before. She hadn’t considered that the unexpected reminder might be too much for the Thorne men, that they had been repressing their emotions about their mother’s death for a long time. But Will had been excited by the idea, texting Renata to pull out the old recipe book before she’d even finished her sentence.

  Standing in the kitchen, Will was relaxed and happy. As Daniel slung an arm across his shoulders, Will’s eyes stayed on his father, but not in the tense way they usually did. “Merry Christmas, Dad,” he said, waving toward the spread.

  It wasn’t Jonathan who spoke next but Jon. “Man, I’ve missed that smell.”

  The spell broke with those words. The silence dissipated into conversation and the clinking of plates as everyone gathered around the counter.

  Will pulled Hannah in and kissed her among the chaos. His eyes were light, his expression open and hopeful. “Thank you.”

  “It was nothing,” she said, stealing a piece of bacon off his plate. “You did all the work.”

  He kissed her temple, leaning his forehead against hers. “It’s everything.”

  Chapter 34

  Will

  “Ouch. Ouch, Will.” Hannah stopped walking and rubbed a hand over her hip. “Can I please look now?”

  He maneuvered her out of the path of the table and urged her forward, his hand still covering her eyes. “Two more steps. Nothing’s in front of you, I promise.”

  Will dropped his hand as they entered their bedroom. It looked perfect in the dimmed lights and the glow of the little Christmas tree he’d acquired from Kate. Kate had added Christmas lights around the doors and windows. Under the tree sat presents and a bottle of wine with two flutes wrapped together with ribbon.

  “How did you get the tree?” Hannah asked, her eyes taking in the space.

  “A courier.”

  “Courier?”

  “Yes.” He straightened a bent branch, making the light come into full view. “I made a few calls to a certain mutual friend of ours, who brought the tree to our apartment while we were in the Hamptons.”

  “Kate brought the tree all the way uptown for you?” Hannah sat down and trailed her hand across the plastic branches. Will could almost imagine what she was remembering because he was remembering it too.

  “I earned some goodwill by letting her watch football here a few Thursday nights while you were covering shows,” he said. “And promised her she could stay and watch Sunday Night Football on the big screen.”

  “You know, if you weren’t you, it would be really creepy that you hang out with my best friend without telling me.”

  “Kate’s my friend too,” he said, meaning it. He had missed both Hannah and Kate separately and together, each in their own way. “Technically, I think I was her friend before I was your friend.”

  Hannah turned a betrayed glance at him. “You did not just go there.”

  He laughed. “After this morning, getting the tree back hardly seems like an effort.”

  Her cheeks flushed at the compliment. “So, it was a good Christmas?”

  “It was the best Christmas.” He sat down next to her, letting their toes touch. “I think you may have made a believer of Jonathan.”

  “That’s because it’s undeniable.” She climbed onto his lap. “I’m crazy about you, Will Thorne.”

  He loved when he said his name like that. “And I you, Hannah Abbott.”

  She cupped his face, and her expression softened, becoming shy. “Hannah Abbott-Thorne.”

  Wow. His heart skipped a beat. “Really?”

  She looked up, and their eyes locked. He understood everything—everything they hadn’t said, didn’t need to say. Her lips came down to his, and in all his life, Will had never felt so loved. Hannah had seen behind the curtain. She understood the burden that came with the Thorne name, and she wanted to bear it with him.

  “Really,” she said, a gleam behind her eyes.

  “Best. Christmas. Ever.” He grinned and planted a giant, wet kiss on her forehead. “Can I give you a present now?”

  He leaned over and picked up the small jewelry box wrapped in red Santa paper.

  “Clara wrapped this for you, didn’t she?” Hannah said, pulling at the fold gingerly as if she didn’t want to mess up the wrapping paper. It was pristine, after all.

  He shook his head at her accusation. “‘Only neat corners will earn you a buck.’” He pitched his voice high and affected a Southern accent, wagging a finger at her. “Miss Lauraine’s gift-wrapping crash course.”

  Her nose scrunched as the memory came back to her. She laughed and shook her head. “Is there anything you don’t remember?”

  “Not when it comes to you.”

  Another blush crept up her cheeks. She turned her focus to the box in her hands. The discerning look in her eyes made it clear his disguise had worked—she was expecting jewelry. She pulled the lid off, her eyes narrowing at the two laminated sound check passes. It had taken a lot of phone calls and owed favors, but he knew what it would mean to Hannah to meet Leonard Nulty. For all the times they’d seen Wilderness Weekend, for all the merch they’d bought, they had never met him.

  She ran a finger over the passes, a smile lighting her face. “No freaking way.”

  “I figured we might as well make a day of it,” he said, grinning. “Go to sound check and meet Leonard Nulty then head back that night for the best show of our lives. We also have a reservation at that restaurant you like near Astor Place.”

  This time, when he looked at her, he was certain there were tears in her eyes—happy tears, he hoped.

  “Best. Christmas. Ever,” she said, parroting his words. “Thank you.”

  He wrapped his arms around her waist, his fingers digging into the thin fabric of her dress. “Anything for you, Mrs. Abbott-Thorne.”

  Saying the words was so much more powerful than hearing Hannah say them. Desire rolled through him, his whole body alight. He pulled her into him. Their lips collided, hard and desperate. He inched her dress up over her hips, his hands sliding up against the sensitive skin of her thighs. Her fingers curled into the short hair at the back of his neck as she trailed kisses down his chest, her hands working the final buttons of his shirt. He pulled the dress over her head and she pushed him back until they lay on the floor. He quivered under her touch, goosebumps sprouting on his arms as she skimmed a hand down his chest, over his hips, and lower. Every touch was kindling, and Will wanted to burn.

  Chapter 35

  Hannah

  Hannah tapped her finger to the beat of the song playing in the restaurant. They had picked a restaurant near Penn Station to make it easier on her father, but that meant it was more crowded and that her father’s tardiness didn’t go unnoticed. The waitress had been giving them dirty looks for the last ten minutes, even though she and Will had ordered drinks and an appetizer—not that she thought she could stomach food right then.

  “How was your dress fitting?” Will asked, though she knew he didn’t care. “Did you end up meeting the rest of the bridal party?”

  Hannah shook her head. “No, Madison decided not to do that. I guess I’ll just meet them at the bridal shower or somethin
g.” She looked around the restaurant again but didn’t see her dad. “The dress is... well, I’m glad I’m not paying for it.”

  “I’m sure you will look beautiful.”

  “Honey, hey!” Her father strode up to the table with an apologetic smile. He was alone. She hadn’t expected anything else, but it still stung that her mother couldn’t be bothered to make the trip. He slid into the open spot next to Hannah. “Sorry I’m late. I should’ve taken the car.”

  “You hate driving in New York,” she said, feeling herself relax. There was no preamble with her dad, not even now.

  “Not as much as I hate taking the train anywhere.”

  “That’s sacrilege on this side of the river,” Will said jokingly, taking a sweep of the restaurant.

  Hannah laughed and turned to Will. “My mom once had this brilliant idea to take the train to Florida.”

  “It took thirty hours,” her dad finished. “We could’ve walked there faster.”

  “How old were you?” Will had a smile plastered across his face that was unmistakably filled with amusement, but then, this was a part of her that he’d never experienced. She could see why the way she played off her dad would delight Will. It was the basis for so much of her sense of humor.

  “Thirteen. Stephanie was nine,” she said, remembering how Stephanie had run up and down the aisle for an hour straight. The other travelers in their car had been saints.

  Hannah’s eyes wandered toward the door. A gaggle of women with bridesmaid sashes had just come in, and behind them were a few loners in business clothes. She tried to see them better through the gaps in the bridal party. They were only young businessmen, not her mother.

  “She’s not coming.” Her dad frowned. “I’m sorry, Hannah. She just... needs a little more time.”

  Hannah nodded and pulled a piece of bread onto her plate, afraid that if she made eye contact with her dad, she’d burst into a million little pieces.