Page 88 of Game On
We make it down the hall and into the living room where my mom’s still sitting with the same cup of coffee, glancing at her watch.
“Hi, Ms. Fox,” Ella says, startling her.
My mom glances up, eyes wide, her smile stretching across her entire face. “Hi, Ella. I’m so glad Hudson brought you along.” She stands, pulling her in for a hug. “You can call me Lydia.”
“Thank you, Lydia,” Ella says. “You have such a lovely home.”
My mom gives her a radiant smile. “Thank you. You are quite lovely yourself.”
A hint of a blush creeps up Ella’s cheeks. She looks at me, her eyes shining with a hint of embarrassment. “That’s very kind.”
As they break apart from the hug, Carter and Levi barrel into the room, caught mid-wrestle. But Carter freezes when he sees Ella, his neck flushing a deep red as he straightens up.
“H-h-hey,” he stammers, before attempting a deeper, more manly voice. “I’m Carter Fox.”
Levi snorts and smacks him on the back of the head, then whispers loudly enough for everyone to hear, “Dude, you have zero chill.”
I can’t help myself: I wrap an arm around Ella, pulling her slightly closer. It’s a possessive gesture, unnecessary and a bit showy, but I know it’ll make Carter squirm a little. “This is Ella Davies.”
Carter eyes her, then looks back at me. “You’re too pretty for my brother, you know?” he blurts out.
Ella smirks. “I’m not with your brother.”
Mom, not missing a beat, adds under her breath, “Yet.”
The room fills with a light, easy laughter, and I’m relieved to see Ella taking it all in stride. She’s not just holding her own; she’s fitting right in.
Before long, Mom lays down the law on who’s cooking what for Thanksgiving. We all shuffle into the kitchen and divvy up tasks. Ella, surprisingly adept with a knife, partners up with Mom for stuffing, cranberry sauce, and vegetable duty, while Levi, Carter, and I are on turkey watch.
The next few hours are a whirlwind. The kitchen is filled to the brim, five bodies all busy with their own little jobs and chatting away. Carter takes every opportunity to try to embarrass me, regaling us with a story about the time I accidentally dyed my hair green. It was before a big game, and it wasn’t my proudest moment.
In my defense, it was a tradition for the high-school seniors to bleach their hair for homecoming. I didn’t realize that the cheap dye I used would react that way.
“I’m sure you looked great even then,” Ella says. She’s standing at the counter, chopping vegetables with careful precision. Her dark hair is swept up into a half bun, a few tendrils escaping to frame her face. A light dusting of flour smudges her cheek, and she’s humming the tune of a Miley Cyrus song under her breath. I’m not sure at first if it’s for my benefit or her own, but when our gazes meet, she flashes me a bright, knowing smile.
Warmth spreads through me, the heat rising to the tips of my ears. I like that feeling. The comfort of having a shared secret between us. I manage to look away as my brother and Levi struggle to get the bird back in the oven after I’ve basted it.
There’s too much laughter, too much messing around, making this simple task impossible. Mom throws them disapproving looks over her shoulder, but Ella just giggles, shaking her head at their antics.
Then Carter nudges Levi, who stumbles backward right into me, and I drop the baster. It clatters noisily to the floor, turkey juices spraying everywhere. We all stop in our tracks,Mom and Ella turning around, us three boys wearing matching sheepish grins.
“Do we need to ban you all from the kitchen?” Mom asks. “Or can you be men about it?”
“Nah, we’ve got this,” Carter says quickly, picking up the fallen baster and passing it to me.
“It’s like herding cats,” Ella chimes in, earning a fond pat on the shoulder from Mom.
Later, once everything is finally cooked to perfection, we settle around the dinner table, Sourdough nestled between the legs of my chair. Mom’s eyes are glistening as Carter tells Ella all about which colleges he’s applied to. She throws in her two cents, weaving in stories of England and Oxford.
It’s easy to see she’s already charmed my whole family without even trying, just like she did with me the night we met. And has continued to, day by day, especially now.
As dinner winds down, Ella and I opt to clean up, and the murmur of a football game floats in from the living room. She leans in close, her voice soft. “Thank you for inviting me along. Today felt like … home. A real home.”
“You’re welcome,” I say as I tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. “And I—I’m glad you felt it, too. It’s nice to be back.”
“Yeah, I wouldn’t mind spending holidays at home if this is what I was coming back to.”
I hand her the last plate, our fingers brushing, lingering. I tap the side of her thumb, and she smiles. “Not a warm reception at your place?”
