Page 64 of Tides of Change
As I hung up, I stared at my phone for a moment, that lingering warmth still curling inside me.
A knock sounded at my door, and when I swung it open, I barely had time to register Garrett’s warm smile before Noah launched himself at me.
“Mr. Ethan!” He wrapped his arms around my legs in a tight hug. “I missed you!”
My chest squeezed, and the simple affection hit me with a pang, easing the ache of not spending Thanksgiving with my own family. I rested a hand on the back of his head for a moment and let the warmth settle in my gut. “Hey, buddy. I missed you too.” Honesty rang in my voice.
Garrett stood behind him and shot me a knowing look, his eyes crinkling with a grin that made my stomach flip. “Hope you’re hungry. Mom’s been cooking since dawn.”
I gestured toward the pie sitting on the side table, neatly wrapped in cling wrap. “I brought reinforcements.”
Noah gasped dramatically. “Is thatapplepie?”
“Sure is.”
His eyes widened. “You made it yourself?”
“Sure did.”
Noah turned to Garrett and stage-whispered, “He can bake apple pies. That’s even better than dinosaur nuggets.”
Garrett rolled his eyes. “All right, pie expert, let’s go before Grandma sends a search party.”
We piled into Garrett’s Escape, and Noah chattered away in the backseat about how many rolls he planned to eat.
“You have to eat turkey too,” Garrett admonished.
I turned my head to see Noah pouting and suppressed a grin.
When we pulled up to the house, a sixties ranch home with a festive fall wreath on the door, my nerves kicked in. I was new to meeting parents, and this felt significant.
Garrett’s mom opened the door before we even knocked. Her face lit up as she pulled Garrett into a hug. “You’re late,” she scolded, but she said it with affection. Then her gaze landed on me. “I’m Carol. You must be Ethan.”
“That’s me.” I offered the pie. “Happy Thanksgiving. I come bearing gifts.”
Her eyes twinkled as she accepted it. “A man who bakes? I already like you.” Then, with a pointed glance at Garrett, she added, “You must be someone special—because my son has never brought a man home before.”
Heat crept up my neck, but I forced a casual smile. “Good to know I’m breaking new ground.”
Garrett groaned. “Mom,please.”
“Don’t ‘Mom, please’ me,” she shot back. “It’s true. Come on in. Food’s ready.”
Inside, the scents of roasted turkey, stuffing, and something sweet and spiced filled the air. Garrett’s dad gave me a nod and a firm handshake. “John Whitlock.”
Harper greeted me with a hug. “I’m glad you’re here,” she whispered in my ear, settling the nerves in my stomach.
Dinner was a spread straight out of a holiday commercial—a golden turkey, mashed potatoes heaped in a steaming pile, cranberry sauce shimmering in a delicate glass bowl. Plates were passed, wine poured, and before long, conversation flowed as easily as the food.
“So, what’s it like being a bestselling author?” John asked with polite interest.
I took a sip of wine and considered my answer. “Equal parts amazing and exhausting. There’s nothing like seeing your book in readers’ hands, but the pressure to follow it up with another hit is real.”
Carol leaned in, intrigued. “Where do you get your ideas?”
Garrett cut in before I could answer. “Mostly by people-watching at Thanksgiving dinners.”
I shot him a mock glare. “Hey, I also make things up sometimes.”
