by Jody Holford
Her eyes went back to Beth. “It is,” she said, impressed the woman had recognized the faint outline at the center of all the color. She’d nestled the shape in a storm of color before she was done so it wouldn’t be so easy to recognize.
“Owen never mentioned your work, but he’s said plenty about you. While you were friends, of course. I was certainly surprised to hear you two had taken the next step. All the time I’d ask him, are you sure she’s just a friend? How can she be just a friend? I can’t believe it took you two this long to end up together,” Beth said. Leo chuckled and rolled his eyes, but Beth kept talking. “I was always asking, don’t you want to be more than friends? And he’d say, Mom, really, we’re just friends, nothing else. I knew there was more. I could feel it. But of course, a boy doesn’t tell his mother everything.”
“Thank God for that kindness,” Patty said behind her as she filled the kettle.
“Mom, breathe. Maybe let Gabby breathe,” Ophelia said, shaking her head with a smile.
Gabby smiled so wide her cheeks hurt, unsure of what to say.
Beth put her hands on her hips. “What’d I do? I’m just excited. And to think, he probably wouldn’t have told us a thing if we hadn’t decided enough was enough. We live a train ride away and he can’t come home for Christmas? The holidays are for family.”
Gabby’s heart pinched, but no one noticed her wince. Ophelia put an arm around her mother and led her back to the fireplace. “Gee, I wonder why Owen doesn’t want to tell you everything.”
“Though I can see why he wouldn’t want to leave you, Gabby. Especially on your own.” In a hushed tone, Beth leaned closer and continued. “Owen said you have no family, is that right, dear?”
Gabby laughed in part because the whole situation was funny but also because, what else could she do? She was saved from having to answer Beth’s question when the door opened.
It closed and Owen’s voice called out. “Gabs? I’m back. Sorry it took so long. Hey, I was thinking, we should probably talk about sleeping arrang…” Owen’s voice trailed off and Gabby could picture him taking in the suitcases and the boots as he neatly stored his own. When he appeared in the doorway that separated the living room-kitchen area from the entryway, he stopped, several bags in each hand and stared, open mouthed.
Gabby nearly sagged with relief. “Guess who’s early?” Their eyes locked and she wasn’t sure if the look he gave was panic or pleasant surprise.
Perhaps a good dose of both.
Chapter Seven
Owen tightened his grip on the bags he was holding. Gabby stood in the middle of the lovable—in small doses—chaos that was his family. Her eyes were wider than normal and maybe a little wary. He didn’t know whether to laugh or swear. He didn’t have a chance to do either before his parents were on him.
His dad took the bags after giving him several hard slaps on the back. Owen swore he felt his bones move.
“Good to see you, son. About time,” his dad said, his booming voice bouncing off the walls. His mother’s hug was all consuming. She rocked back and forth, her arms nearly strangling him. It was like he’d been overseas rather than a few hours away. He’d been home once since last Christmas when he went to see one of their theater productions. She acted like it had been a lifetime.
Owen tried to pull out of his mom’s clutches. “Mom. Okay.” He laughed. “Let go, you’re choking me.”
“I missed you. I wouldn’t have to hug you so hard if I didn’t miss you so much.”
Owen laughed and squeezed her back, feeling instantly horrible at the hint of tears he heard in her tone. He kissed her cheek. “I missed you, too.” Maybe he needed to add being a better son along with being a better friend to his to-do list.
As soon as she let him go, Ophelia was there and then Aunt Patty. Patty looked happy enough, though her tired eyes suggested she wasn’t getting much sleep. Owen couldn’t imagine going through the break-up of a nearly four-decade marriage. His dad came back from the kitchen, handing Owen a beer. Owen took it, figuring it couldn’t hurt.
“You never told us Gabby was so pretty,” his mother said. Owen’s eyes found Gabby, leaning against one of the stools he had at the breakfast bar. Her cheeks were pink. He hadn’t ever mentioned it, he supposed. It wasn’t the first thing that came to mind when he spoke of her or thought of her. Or it hadn’t been. Now, he couldn’t stop thinking about it; how pretty she looked in the quiet light of the Christmas tree or when she was focused on her art. How she’d snuggled into his side last night while he’d had to hold his breath and think too hard about Chevy Chase just to make sure his body didn’t cross out of any “friend zone,” even in his mind. Never a problem before, but it certainly had been last night.
Show time. He walked over and gave her a small kiss on the cheek, whispering in her ear, “You okay?” and felt her nod. Of course she was. Gabby was great in a crowd. Owen was the one who didn’t like feeling hemmed in.
“I grabbed food. You guys must be hungry. We didn’t expect you until tomorrow,” Owen said. Moving into the kitchen, he opened one of the grocery bags and started unloading purchases. Gabby followed him and did the same. She stood close enough that their arms brushed when they moved. He was too aware of her now and it was jumbling his thoughts.
His mother inserted herself between them and pushed their hands aside. “Never mind feeding us. We weren’t expecting you to do that. I’ll cook. Let me see what you’ve got here. You two go sit down and visit.” She shooed them, actually waved her hands at them to get them to leave.
His dad laughed and lifted his beer. “Don’t argue with her, son. Get over here.”
“Yes, please. Let them interrogate someone else for a change.” Ophelia sat down on the raised, stone hearth of the fireplace. She grinned and wound her hair up on top of her head in that strange way women did. He’d missed seeing his sister but texted with her on a regular basis. His mother wouldn’t miss him so much if she’d let them teach her how to text. Maybe he’d insist on it over the next few days.
Owen took Gabby’s hand, squeezing it, and led them over to the love seat. They sat hip to hip, as they had in the past, but he kept his fingers laced with hers. It felt easier than it had last night. More natural. Maybe because you can’t think about her body while your family is sitting right here. Only now you’re thinking about her body. What the hell, man? Patty was sipping tea in the kitchen and arguing with his mom’s choices on what to cook. Owen felt like he should be prepping the meal for his company but knew his mother wanted to cook for her whole family. Besides, he wanted to stick close to Gabby. She wasn’t used to big families and though there were only four of them visiting, they had the personalities for ten.
“So Gabby, tell us more about your art show,” Ophelia said, stretching out her long legs.
Owen glanced at her with a smile. “You told them about your show?” She was typically shy about her work and adorably superstitious of jinxing herself by talking about success before it happened. He had far more faith in her inevitable success than she had for herself.
Gabby pointed to her canvas. “I didn’t get a chance to cover it.”
Owen got up from the couch, stepped over his sister, and moved closer to the painting. He never understood where her ideas came from. She’d start with nothing and by the time she was finished, she told a story, one layer at a time. She had paintings and sketches he stared at endlessly, always seeing something new, always feeling something new. This was the same canvas she’d started the other night before he’d interrupted her. More color had been added, more depth with the addition of thick, painted brushstrokes. She’d gotten quite a bit done while he’d been gone. She had to be nervous about his family having seen it, but when he looked back at her, it was him she was watching, not his sister or parents.
His stomach did one small flip when their eyes met. Looking away, ignoring the sensation, he took in her canvas and pride swamped him. “It’s going to be incredible, Gabs. I love the colors.
Is there symbolism in the fact that this outline looks like a heart at the center of chaos?” He’d been unsure, but he saw by the quick intake of breath and the way she darted her eyes down to the floor, then back up, that he was right. Why would it bother her that he’d understood? Ignoring the feel of his family’s attentive stares—he’d never had a significant other be part of a family occasion—he walked back to the couch, ran a hand down Gabby’s hair. Now that he knew how soft it was, he had a hard time not touching it.
“It’s beautiful, Gabby. Like you.” He kissed her cheek as he sat beside her again, wondering if he’d ever told her she was pretty. He must have. She used to stop by his apartment and ask for an opinion on her date outfits. None of them had rivaled what she’d worn last night, but surely he’d said she looked gorgeous or beautiful. Her hand on his thigh arrested his train of thought. The subtle warmth of her palm on his leg was all he could feel, and he did his own fast intake of air. Their eyes locked.
“You’re biased.”
Obviously, he hadn’t told her enough. He’d change that from now on. Covering her hand, he wondered if, going forward, everything would change. No. He wouldn’t let this week of pretending affect their friendship. He relied on it too much. Neither of their track records in terms of long-term relationships were especially good. If they crossed that line, for real, he’d be risking a connection with someone who made him laugh, who understood him, who he truly enjoyed. Romance ended. Friendship—their friendship—was forever.
It didn’t matter that he knew how her lips felt against his or how she tasted. Or that she made a small sound in the back of her throat when his hands moved up her body. That wouldn’t change anything. What they had was too special to be wrecked by some slight pull of unexpected attraction. Okay, strong pull. At the moment, Herculean pull. Stop it.
The smell of garlic filled the air, reminding him how hungry he was and that his family was right here, in his house. The sizzling sound coming from the kitchen and his mom’s laughter at something Patty said felt homey. It felt better than he’d thought it would and he wondered why he’d waited so long—held back from welcoming his family into his home.
Ophelia asked if he had any cards, and while his mom and dad regaled them with stories of theater students, they taught Gabby how to play Hearts.
Ophelia shuffled the deck with the speed of a Vegas dealer she’d played on a show once.
Gabby shook her head in wonder. “So it’s called Hearts but you don’t want to pick them up?”
“I should have taught you this sooner. Lia is a shark,” Owen said.
His sister stuck her tongue out at him. “And Owen is a sore loser.”
Gabby laughed, the sound light and, oddly enough, sexy. She lowered herself onto the floor, crossing her legs and getting comfortable as they told her the basic rules. He’d forgotten how much he loved sitting around playing cards. Other than poker with Brady and a couple of Brady’s mechanic friends, Owen hadn’t played in a long while. He’d spent many nights getting his butt kicked by Lia. It had never occurred to him to ask Gabby if she wanted to play.
“I’m well aware of the sore loser part,” Gabby said after glancing at her cards.
“What?” Owen looked up and scowled at Gabby’s grin.
“He’s been like that since he was a toddler,” his mom called from the kitchen. Patty agreed loudly enough for them all to hear.
Had he just been thinking it was nice to have them here? “When am I a sore loser?” He arched an eyebrow, daring Gabby to give an example.
She shared a look with Ophelia. “Um, any time we play one of your video games?”
“Because you win by luck, not skill,” he said. Which actually did piss him off. But mostly because, if he was a sore loser, Gabby was a worse winner. The few times she managed to beat him, she’d toss the controller like she was dropping the mic. Then she performed some sort of ridiculous victory dance while he tried to get her to go one more round.
“You’re making their case for them, Owen,” his dad said.
Outnumbered, he pointed a finger at Gabby. “Should I tell them how you celebrate a win?” Her cheeks flushed pink from the truth of his words, but he was interrupted before he could tease her about it.
“Owen and Lia, stop arguing and come set the table,” his mother called.
Owen let out a growl of frustration. “Mom! What are we? Eight?” Okay, maybe he was a sore loser. Gabby’s smirk didn’t settle the irritation brewing under his skin.
“If you were eight, I’d give you a good swat for that tone,” his mom replied.
Standing, he threw his hands up when the others, including Gabby, laughed. One evening with them and he was as dramatic as they were.
“I’ll help, too,” Gabby said. She held out a hand to him, and when he pulled her up to standing, her body brushed up against his. He put his hand on her waist, meaning to steady her or stop her, or maybe just touch her. Whatever reason he’d had vanished, along with any irritation. For a second, it was just his hand on her nicely rounded hip, touching bare skin where her tank top slid up a little. She bit her lip, looking at him through lowered lashes. He stared at her, caught in the easy way she smiled at him and touched his shoulder.
“Which means you have to move out of my way, O,” she said. Her tone was so amused that he wanted to kick himself. He’d thought, for a second, she felt the same heat surround them when they touched. But she looked at him with such indulgence, he figured he imagined it. Because it’s not real, you idiot. She’s doing exactly what you asked and you’re turning it into something else.
They made it through dinner with a minimum of “let’s embarrass the hell out of Owen” stories. He kicked his sister once under the table, which his mother actually scolded him for.
Ophelia laughed even as she played up the injury. “As if you’ve never told humiliating stories in front of my boyfriends.”
“That’s different,” Owen griped, twirling the spaghetti around his fork. “Your boyfriends were losers.”
“Hey,” Lia said.
His mom set down her drink sharply. “Do you need to leave the table, Owen?”
“Jesus, Mom,” Owen said, hanging his head.
Everyone chuckled, but Gabby squeezed his hand under the table and that made the rest not matter.
“I don’t scare easy. If I haven’t run yet, I probably won’t,” Gabby said, quietly so only he could hear her. Which was strange, since it was the perfect pretend girlfriend thing to say.
“Beth,” she continued, “this pasta sauce is delicious. I’ve eaten in Italian restaurants that aren’t as good.” He almost kissed her for so easily diverting his family’s attention.
His mom sat up straighter, giving Gabby a toothy smile. “Aren’t you the sweetest thing? Thank you, honey. Do you like to cook?”
Owen snorted and earned a pinch from Gabby. “What?” he asked as he removed her fingers from his leg. “You don’t like to cook. You like to be fed. Most days, by the time I see you, you haven’t even remembered to eat.”
“That’s not good. It’s not healthy,” his mom said, passing more biscuits down to Gabby.
She took them and scowled at Owen. “I eat. It’s only when I’m caught up in something that I forget. Owen makes a good sauce, but yours is definitely better.”
Owen swore she would have stuck her tongue out at him if no one had been looking. He squeezed her hand. “Maybe she’ll make it for you at midnight when you haven’t eaten all day.”
Ophelia sighed. “That’s so sweet. You do that? Who would have thought my uptight little brother could be so romantic?”
Romantic? He’d brought Gabby meals at all hours on the weekends. Sometimes she forgot to take care of herself when she was deep in a project. Not that she couldn’t, but he liked checking on her, seeing her progress and making sure she was doing fine. He liked just being with her, but he hadn’t intended those gestures to be romantic. Did Gabby think they were romantic? Had she thought he was hit
ting on her? Had he been, without even realizing it? Panic fluttered tiny wings in his chest.
Was there a chance they’d always been headed here? Was there any possibility that if they did explore this, for real, it would work? Why hadn’t he wondered before? Thinking about it now made him feel like there was a boot on his lungs, blocking his airway.
“So Gabby, what does your family do over the holidays?” Patty asked.
Owen froze, his eyes darting to Gabby. He’d shared with his parents and sister that Gabby didn’t have a family, but no one had mentioned it to his aunt.
Before he could fill in the silence, Gabby spoke. Because he knew her so well, he knew every word tore at her insides. “I don’t have a family. My parents died when I was a teen. A car crash. Both of my parents were only children. I lived with my mother’s parents for a few years after the accident, but they died when I was twenty-one. My father’s parents passed away when I was little.”
Patty gave a small gasp. “Oh, honey. I’m so sorry. That’s so much loss at such a young age. Though I don’t know that loss at a later age is any easier.”
“I’m sorry, Gabby,” Ophelia said softly.
“We all are, sweetheart,” Leo said, reaching over to squeeze Gabby’s hand.
“You can just consider us your family now,” Beth added.
Gabby’s lips firmed into a tight line and she nodded, her eyes catching Owen’s. He hated the wetness he saw. Reaching under the table, he linked their fingers again.
“Thank you, everyone. It was a long time ago.”
But Owen knew it would never be long enough for her to heal or put her guilt behind her. He was grateful when Patty enthusiastically shifted the topic.
“We need to do a bit of Christmas shopping,” Patty said.
Owen bit back his groan when his mom and Ophelia jumped on board.
His mother pushed her plate forward. “I’ve been looking online the last few days,” she started.
“Scary words,” Ophelia said. Owen laughed and their mom gave them a mock frown.