Page 104 of The Fine Art of Faking It
Satisfied that she’d reminded the Beautification Committee to add “thankful for not being in jail” to their holiday to do list, she topped off Phoebe’s wine glass and her own and went to browse the appetizer selection. She was debating whether she should be judicious with her choices or embrace the gluttony of the holiday when a pair of hands slid around her waist.
She leaned back into Davis’s familiar body.
“How’s it going so far?” he asked quietly, plucking a canape from her plate.
“Not bad. They tried to pump me for info on how happy and in love we are, and I laid the mother of all guilt trips. By the way, you’re secretly devastated by the fire,” she whispered in his ear.
“Got it. I’m secretly devastated, and you’re head over heels for me largely based on my performance in bed.”
“Gossips,” Eden teased.
40
He’d underestimated the volume of food of a progressive Thanksgiving meal and overestimated the settling effect of the walk from Jax and Joey’s to Carter and Summer’s. They’d moveden massefrom the log cabin near the barns to the pretty white farmhouse where turkey, tofurkey, and every holiday side dish known to man awaited them.
Given the number of guests, Carter set up the tables on the first floor of the little red barn next to the house. The wood floors were swept spotless and a potbelly wood stove in the corner warmed the room to cozy.
Eden wedged her green bean casserole onto the overladen table that was covered in a cheerful turkey-themed tablecloth. The legs buckled as if they couldn’t withstand one more addition to the feast. “I’m already full,” she confessed to Davis.
“You? I had two beers and six of those pigs in a blanket,” Davis complained. “I thought the walk over would make some room. It just gave me more time to realize how full I am.” Eden patted him on the back, and he had to resist the urge to burp.
Summer appeared in the doorway with two casserole dishes piled on top of each other and Meatball the beagle sniffing after her hoping for spills.
“Good God. We’re going to die here, aren’t we?” Eden whispered to him.
He put his arm around her, though the effort hurt his full stomach. “We’re in this together. And by my count, there are at least one-hundred dogs here that we can slip food to.”
“You’re so sexy when you’re smart,” Eden told him.
“Remember the plan. Naked Thanksgiving Sex,” he reminded her.
She pressed a hand to her stomach and nodded. “Okay, we can salvage this. No more booze. Tiny portions.”
Vegetarian Carter lugged in a gravy boat labeled “vegan.” “This is the last of it,” he announced, balancing it on top of the broccoli casserole and broccoli salad.
Summer bit her lip and swept Jonathan up in her arms. “I think Mommy got a little bit carried away.”
“Cake?” Jonathan asked.
“Not ‘til later,” Aurora told her cousin with regret.
“Well, we are feeding an army,” Carter reminded her.
It was true. Davis surveyed the room. Couples and kids and dogs—and was that a goat peering in the window?—gathered together. His own family holidays were… quieter. More sedate. Bryson was the cook or, more accurately, the amateur chef in the family and would create artistic, gourmet “cuisine experiences” with Davis’s or Tilly’s help. They would enjoy a few bottles of wine, a tiny helping of some sculptural dessert, and call it a day.
The Pierces made messy and complicated look… fun.
“Here come the Cardonas,” Phoebe said, pointing at the drive as Donovan’s parents pulled up in their shiny pick-up truck.
Davis noticed the look that passed between Donovan and Eva. Excitement, nerves, and pure joy.
“Hey, y’all,” Hazel Cardona greeted them as she and Michael made their way inside.
“We figured you Pierces would go completely overboard, so we brought antacids and gas pills as our contribution.” Her husband Michael held a plastic drug store bag aloft.
A cheer went up, and Davis made mental note to get his hands on that bag.
“Now that we’re all here,” Eva began. “Um, Donovan?”
