That was an order he didn’t mind following in the least.
Ten
Elizabeth
She sat with a blue plastic tray in front of her, a giant pile of numbered tiles on the table, and a handsome mechanic to her left. “Why am I doing this?”
Dale leaned close. “For business.”
“How exactly is this business?” she muttered back.
“Business relationships,” he countered. “As in, building them.”
Since that was the whole point of this trip and she was just feeling a little pouty because she’d lost the last three rounds, Elizabeth didn’t retort. Instead, she narrowed her eyes and declared, “You’re going down!”
Thus far, the conversation had been mostly filled with polite conversation about the ranch, about Melissa’s work—she’d met Kelly’s sister, the cooking show extraordinaire, when Melissa had shoved a plate piled high with food into her hands almost the moment she crossed the threshold—and about Hjerte, Justin expounding on their heart valve and his personal experience with it.
But her exclamation made the table go quiet and stare at her.
She felt her cheeks heat.
She was pleasantly full, had her ego stroked by Justin telling everyone how good their product was, and was relaxed, enjoying feeling like part of a family.
This wasn’t something she’d experienced before, gathering around a table, belly over-full, kids running in and out, their voices carrying and echoing through the room, hopped up on sugar and excitement, and so sweet.
“Those are fighting words,” Dale said.
“You’re too damned smug.”
“Damn is a bad word,” a blond cherub said as she skipped by.
Elizabeth felt her cheeks heat. “Sorry,” she told the table at large.
“Meh,” Kel said. “They’ve heard it all and much worse.” She nudged Justin’s shoulder. “Mostly from this one.”
“Hey!” Justin exclaimed.
“No,” Henry, the restaurant owner she’d met earlier, said, “he gets it from Isa.” His wife was a well-known pastry chef and she glared, equally as affronted as Justin.
“Lies,” she said, her voice speaking to her Italian roots. “It’s clearly Rex’s bad influence.”
Rex was Justin’s twin and a reformed troublemaker. He also had his arm around his wife, Tilly, who had given Elizabeth a gaily wrapped package earlier when the room had gone around exchanging presents.
“Oh, I can’t,” Elizabeth had said, trying to hand it back when the other woman had plunked it into her lap. “I don’t have anything for you.”
Tilly had simply patted her arm. “I’m a sucker for fancy wrapping paper.” Her voice dropped. “Plus, it’s small and from my shop.” Another pat, shoving the present a bit closer. “Humor me.”
“Thank you,” she’d murmured and had opened the package, revealing the loveliest smelling candle and bath set—citrus and spice and packaged in a sparkling container that caught the glimmers from the Christmas lights. “This is absolutely gorgeous,” she’d said and had meant it, touched by her first Christmas gift that year.
Tilly had just shrugged, her cheeks going a bit pink. “I make them, so I had to brag a little.” She nibbled her bottom lip. “Anyway, Happy Holidays.”
Normally, Elizabeth would have just nodded and said the same in return, but something about the scene in the bathroom—sharing with Dale—and being in this house, surrounded by so much happiness and love and open affection had unlocked something in her.
Yearning.
But also . . . joy.
Like maybe Christmas wasn’t just a consumer-driven holiday with nothing redeeming about it. Because there was a lot to say for the way the Roosevelts celebrated.
Hell, there was a lot to say for how this group loved.
And included.
She didn’t feel like a weird voyeur, creeping in on the festivities. She felt like part of the group.
Take that, Scroogey heart.
Maybe she didn’t hate Christmas so much as she hated what she’d been missing out on.
“Rude,” Rex said, pulling her out of her daydreaming. “I happen to be the most responsible one at this table. Dale, on the other hand, is the worst. Just look at that smirk on his face.”
“Them’s fighting words.” Dale scooped up a popcorn ball—some delicious combination of marshmallows, popcorn, and flavored gelatin she’d added to her stuffed stomach not long before—and chucked it across the table. Rex snagged it, saluted, and took a bite.
“You’re going down, Buchanan,” Kelly declared, stabbing a finger toward Dale.
More catcalls broke out, everyone talking and teasing over each other, declaring they would be the winner—
A tap on her arm had her looking to her right.
And spotting the cutest black-haired boy. He had striking blue eyes that reminded her of Melissa’s husband, Rob, the hero-of-the-day with his police door-kicking-in skills.
“Hi,” she said.
“Can I play on your team?” he asked, a bit shyly.
“Max,” Melissa said. “I’m not sure Elizabeth wants a teammate . . .”
She acutely remembered being on the sidelines like this, wanting to join in, being scared of being rejected. Well, the last was her projecting, especially when Melissa shifted and finished the sentence with, “If you want to play, come be on my team.”
“I don’t mind,” Elizabeth said, meeting Melissa’s gaze. “If it’s okay with you.”
Melissa smiled and nodded, and Elizabeth slid her chair over so Max could sit next to her. “You know how to play?”
His face was a study in determination. “Yup.” Max leaned around her and pointed a finger at Dale. “You’re going down, Uncle Dale!”
Laughter broke out around the table.
“I hear all this talk,” Dale said, moving his thumb and fingers like they were talking, “but I don’t see any game to back it up.”
More catcalls, this time paired with booing.
Then they began to play.
And it turned out she had a secret weapon on her team.
Because she and Max absolutely crushed everyone at the table, including Dale.
“Yes!” Max exclaimed, placing their last tile and fist-pumping.
Dale groaned. She put her hand up to Max for a high five. The table cheered and then Max was tugging her up, teaching her his Happy Dance.
Something she would have never done in public before.
Absolutely never.
But coaxed by a little boy, encouraged by the sweet taste of victory, and filled up with the love in this room, she got up, and she executed that Happy Dance like an absolute professional.
Eleven
Dale
He followed Elizabeth into the other room about an hour after his painful defeat at his favorite game.
Max as a secret weapon.
He’d need to remember that.
Though it hadn’t only been Max. Elizabeth was brilliant and would definitely give him a run for his money when they played again.
If.
Right.
Because it was an if. Elizabeth was leaving the next day, going back to her life, her work.