Page 82 of Holiday Hopefuls
“Uncle Chris, I saved you this carrot,” Goldie declares. She stabs her fork into the only vegetable still on her plate—a baby carrot Prescott has tried three different times to get her to eat.
My surly brother smiles, rounding the table to sit in the empty seat next to her. “Thanks, Goldie. I knew I could count on you.”
I can’t help my grin as Chris eats the carrot from Goldie’s fork. Feeling eyes on me, I look around to find Oliver watching me.
Cue another blush.
Flipper nuggets, he didn’t even touch me that time. Get a grip, Callie.
Oliver is clearly trying to one-up himself since he leans into the miniscule space between us.
A single peck on the lips is all it takes, and my entire face is absolutely on fire. With my luck, the Honeyville fire departmentwill show up any moment, only to discover it’s just me and my stupid feelings.
How humiliating.
Across the table, Marigold Rutherford snickers into her hand like the little gremlin she is.
Just when I think my oldest brother is a lost cause, he shoots his daughter a look that silences her immediately. Prescott is a lot of things. Most of them aren’t all that amazing.
But he is a great dad.
An unbidden image flashes in the front of my mind—Oliver, years from now, happily married to some awesome woman and holding a daughter of his own. Holding her, protecting her. Supporting his wife, whoever the lucky woman ends up being.
Tears prick at my eyes. The thought of him spending his life with someone else and my never seeing him again invites a bitter taste to my mouth. Keeping my head low, I blink back the tears and shove in another forkful of mashed potatoes.
“What do you think, my dear?” Oliver asks, voice low in my ear.
In the most unflattering way humanly possible, I turn to him, wide-eyed and cheeks stuffed to the brim with buttered carbs.
He coughs to cover his laughter. “Your mom asked what you thought about her putting a reserve on the Grand Ballroom here.”
“For what?” I ask, managing to swallow the remaining potato. Reaching for my hot cocoa, I take a big sip.
Oliver rolls his lips together.This can’t be good.“For our engagement party.”
My brain short-circuts and I choke on my drink, causing Oliver to gently pat me on the back. When I finally regain brain function, I spin around to look at my mother. “Why would you ask such a thing?” I demand.
Mom primly dabs her napkin against her lips. “We have to think about these things, Calloway. Venues don’t just book themselves. Nor do they just wait around, chock full of availability on a moment’s notice. And wedding venues are even trickier. At least, ones worth having are.”
Rubbing circles into my forehead, I sigh. “Look, let’s just take one thing at a time. Okay? And not put any pressure on this?”
Mom purses her lips. “Fine. But don’t blame me when your dream wedding venue isn’t available because you waited too long to book it.”
“Believe me, I won’t.”
“Oh, Callie,” Oliver leans back in his seat, tossing an arm over the back of my chair, “tell them about the grad program you were looking at the other day.” He shoots a megawatt smile my way, knowing exactly what he’s doing as he draws circles on my shoulder.
The only problem is that I’ve never actually looked into any graduate programs. I know my university offered them for my department, but I was never interested. Apparently, I am now.
Oliver raises expectant brows.
Heat rises in my face. I stumble over my words, struggling to maintain concentration. “Oh, yeah, um, right. The program. The one I was looking at.”
“Yeah, we got that, Calloway,” Chris interjects.
I narrow my eyes at the nuisance.
My dad leans forward, intrigued. “This is a graduate program? At what university?”
