Page 104 of Moonshine Kiss
“No, Cass. That’s because I was holding out for you.”
Mr. Charming.I swooned internally.
“Jeez. Are you guys just constantly making out?” Jonah groaned, looking pained from the doorway. He was sweating and dressed as a turkey. The turkey head was tucked under his arm.
“What the hell happened to you?” Bowie demanded.
“It’s a Turkey Trot, man. You have to have a turkey.”
49
Cassidy
“Ugh. How can you be going back for thirds?” I asked Jameson as he heaped a small mountain of mashed potatoes onto his plate.
“If your mama learns to start makin’ lumpy potatoes from a box then I promise to cut down on my helpings,” he winked, sliding back in between Leah Mae and Devlin’s mom, Geneva McCallister.
We had a lot of extra faces around the extended table this year. Not only was there the new and improved Jonah Bodine, as Bowie called him, we also made room for Devlin, his parents, Leah Mae, Leah Mae’s daddy, Clay, and her future step-mama, Betsy.
We were an army in number, and I didn’t even want to imagine the hours of dishes that would be waiting for us after the feast. If any of us could move.
My parents had put all the leaves in the dining table and popped up three extra folding tables in the living room, dining room, and kitchen. Bowie and I were cozied up to a card table in the kitchen with Gibson, Gram-Gram, and June. Above the table, we were playing it cool. Beneath, my leg was hooked over his and his hand was squeezing my knee.
“What’s the score now?” Gram-Gram stage-whispered to Gibson.
My mother had a very strict “no football rule” while we ate. June, Gibs, and Gram-Gram always secluded themselves at the table farthest from my mother so they could check their phones.
“Nine to six,” Gibson said, surreptitiously checking his phone.
“Saints?” Gram-Gram whispered.
He nodded. “You got action?”
“Fifty on the Saints.”
“Would you be interested in a side wager?” June asked.
Someone in the dining room barked out a laugh and someone else moaned about too many carbs. Jonah was lecturing Scarlett on how to mix her protein and carb ratios so she wouldn’t feel like a parade float.
This was Thanksgiving. This was family. And damn if it wasn’t just about perfect.
I squeezed Bowie’s leg under the table. “Wanna go upstairs to my old room and make out?” I whispered so no one else could hear me.
“As many times as I’ve had that particular fantasy, you’re gonna have to give me about an hour so I can definitely be sure that I won’t throw up on you,” he teased.
“Always a gentleman,” I said, batting my eyelashes at him.
“Get you another beer, Bow?” My dad laid a hand on Bowie’s shoulder, and I jumped away from him like I’d been caught with forbidden candy in my bedroom.
They both looked at me like I’d lost my dang mind, and I turned my attention back to my mashed potatoes. As nice as it would be to tell everyone that Bowie and I were seeing each other, to celebrate with everyone, the secrecy was vital. I wanted it all. My job, Bowie, Connelly’s respect. And I had to be strategic about getting it.
So for now, to all eyes and ears, I was Bowie’s next-door neighbor.
“Psst, Gibs. What’s the score?” Dad asked, leaning over the table.
“What are you doin’ in there, Harlan Tucker?” my mother called from the dining room.
“Just takin’ drink orders, my pearl.”
