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“Because Emma and I are gonna host an oyster roast for Thanksgiving. But since you’re being so dang ornery, I don’t think I’ll invite you.”

“Please. Holidays without me would be boring,” I say with a smile. Thea holds up a wallpaper sample—a pretty Sister Parish block print pattern—and I give her a thumbs-up. “What can I bring, other than the shuckers I don’t have?”

“Emma asked if you could do the centerpiece for the table.”

“Done.”

The colors of the block print, a pretty sage and a deep pinot red, take on new life inside my head as a centerpiece for Samuel’s massive dining room table. A garland of eucalyptus, studded with real pomegranates and maybe some dried oranges, too. Yes! And red velvet ribbon weaved throughout the eucalyptus branches. A few antique white roses and peonies in there for good measure. It’ll be a little Downton Abbey and a little farmhouse chic. Utterly charming and cheerful. Emma will especially appreciate the nods to her favorite subject, wine—the color of the ribbon, the flavors and scents of the plants.

I can already picture it taking pride of place in the bustle of meal prep. Samuel will be at the counter, carving the turkey he smoked overnight. Hank will be slurping down his fifteenth oyster on the porch. The kids will be trying to climb the Christmas tree with my mom peeling them off the branches one by one. Annabel and Emma and Stevie will set the table with heirloom china and silver, taking breaks to sip the exceptional Willamette Valley Pinot Noir Emma selected for the meal.

I blink when I realize they’re all laughing at a joke Nate just made. Because Nate is setting the table right beside them, spewing off a line about how I always want to fork and he always wants to spoon.

Oh, God, I’ve really lost it. Nate and I have been hanging out for all of a week, and I’m already fantasizing about him cracking dirty jokes while setting the Thanksgiving table with my family.

My imagination’s been in overdrive lately, as evidenced by the riot of magazine clippings and mood boards and takeout containers of Mexican food that litters the studio.

It’s pure chaos, and I don’t hate it.

I also don’t hate the idea of actually inviting Nate to Thanksgiving. My stomach somersaults because it is a dicey proposition. But how else can I show Nate that things are different this time around?

How else can I show him I want to make it work because I’m so in love I can’t focus or sleep or do anything but think about when I get to see him next?

I don’t want to keep our relationship in the dark anymore. I want to show it off. I want to show him off. I know my family will love him if I can just convince them to give the guy a chance. Beau did say he’d help out.

Nate will love them too. And maybe that will show him shared blood isn’t the only qualification for family.

Maybe if I show him how well we can love and support him, he’ll be less beholden to his own fucked-up family.

I get chills just thinking about it.

“Great,” Samuel is saying. “We got some competing nap schedules happening right now, but Rhett seemed to think Liam could nap at my place. How does four sound? We’ll plan to eat around five or five thirty.”

“Sounds great.” I pause, glancing at Hadley, who’s busy banging away on his laptop. “But before I let you go, I have a favor to ask.”

“Shoot.”

“It’s a big favor.”

Hadley’s eyebrows pop up. Thea’s hands go still in a basket of fabric samples.

My instinct is to leave the studio and find someplace private to have this conversation. But screw it, I’m done hiding.

“I’d like to bring Nate Kingsley with me. As my date.”

There’s a long pause on the other end of the line. The room around me goes dead silent. My heart pounds, pulse marching in my ears.

“I don’t know what to say,” Samuel replies at last.

“I knew it!” Hadley hisses, and I nearly faint with relief when I see him and Thea smiling.

They may be judging me right now. Trust me, I get it. But they also seem to be kinda thrilled by the news. Maybe . . . hell, could they be happy for me? And if they are, does that mean I’m allowed to be happy for myself too?

“Just say yes, Samuel,” I continue. “I promise he will behave if y’all do too. I love him. I think I’ve always loved him, and I want to be with him. He treats me better than any guy—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. I’m throwing a flag here. You’re saying the dude who totally ghosted you treats you well?”

“It’s a long story.”

“I’m all ears.”

“Better yet, let him show you how well he treats me by inviting him as my date to your oyster roast.”