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“Was Elliot in there?”

Taavi shook his head. “I told him he could go up to our room to get a break from everybody.” The downstairs, where Elliot had been sleeping on the futon, had been converted into a temporary dining room with multiple folding tables, several of which had been brought by other people, along with various dish sets, tablecloths, and all the other accoutrements that went along with full Hart-Bergmann family events.

Elliot had been in the living room with me for a while, although he’d come up with some excuse to go to the kitchen after about an hour of people’s sympathetic comments. “I heard some of it. Was there more than just constant reminders of his dad?”

Taavi leaned into me. “Your Aunt’s comments weren’t helping, I don’t think. But they at least weren’t aimed at him.”

“Only because Elliot’s never brought anyone home, either,” I muttered.

“Either?” He pulled away a little to look at me, his expression surprised.

“What, you think I would ever intentionally inflict this on anyone I wasn’t serious about?” I tried to make it sound lighthearted, but the truth was that I hadn’t ever brought anyone to Christmas. Well, okay, anyone besides Elliot, who didn’t count in that particular capacity. My whole extended family had essentially adopted the Cranes—Elliot and his parents—back when we were kids.

“You didn’tintentionallyinflict it on me, either,” he pointed out. Which… Yeah, okay, I hadn’t planned for this trip to end up overlapping with Christmas, but… Well. If I had decided to come back this year, I would have brought him anyway.

I pulled him back against me, using my hand to guide his head against my shoulder. “I would have,” I murmured into his hair.

I half-expected him to call bullshit, but he actually snuggled a little into me, putting one hand on my stomach. “Really?”

I kissed his forehead, not giving a flying fuck what the relatives filling the room and pretending not to stare thought of this egregious public display of affection. Fuck them if they didn’t like it.

That said, when I glanced around, there were a few smiles along with the more obvious stares. “Really,” I murmured into Taavi’s dark hair.

“I’m glad I came,” he said softly, and I felt emotion ball up in the back of my throat.

“Me, too,” I managed. Because even though both of us had probably seriously regretted that choice for a few weeks there, I really was glad he was here. Not just here for Christmas, although there was that. But here, even when I didn’t come home. Here, to comfort me after my nightmares. Here, to help Elliot, to help my mom, to learn football from my dad. To take care of me when I inevitably did something epically stupid and got myself stabbed with a dirty fucking switchblade that had probably last been used to gut a deer.

I drew in a long breath, scenting cloves and soap. “Taav?”

“Want me to go check on him?”

“Would you?”

He turned and kissed my cheek. “Of course.”

And then he left me on the couch, surrounded by relatives who were a combination of awkwardly trying to look anywhere else but at me or who were grinning at me or—far, far worse—who were making suggestive eyebrow waggles.

That last one was my Uncle Doug. He was always wildly inappropriate, which is why I’d always liked him. At that precise moment, he was making me rather uncomfortable, but I suppose that was better than the pursed-lips look my mom’s cousin Cheryl and her husband Dennis were giving me.

I chose to ignore all of them, as well as my grumbling stomach. Dinner—done potluck style—would be set out just as soon as everyone arrived and all the things that had to be slightly heated went through the oven and into one of my dad’s cousin’s set of warming trays. Tricia—my dad’s cousin—and her husband Steve also lived in Madison, so they and my Aunt Susan were typically in charge of hosting and food. My mom’s family—Aunts Kathy, Helen, and Iris, Uncles Doug and Charlie—along with their spouses and kids were all here, as well.

In addition to Susan and Rose, Dad had two brothers, Oscar and Rupert. Add in cousins, spouses, and kids, and, well… that was one hell of a lot of people.

I sighed inwardly and braced myself as Doug of the waggly eyebrows crossed the room, Old Fashioned in hand. I was a little bitter that I didn’t also have one, but between the pain meds and the antibiotics, alcohol definitely wasn’t allowed, and there wasn’t much point to a virgin Old Fashioned.

Doug, who looks like the male version of my mother, only slightly taller and slightly broader with a beard, plopped down beside me on the couch, and I had to try very hard not to wince as his weight shifted all the cushions and, therefore, me.

“So, Valley Boy.” I did not miss that nickname. Not at all.

“Yeah, Doug?”

“Your new boyfriend’s cute, right?”

“Is that a question?” My Uncle Doug had never once shown any indication of being gay. Or bi or pan or whatever.

“I mean. I dunno. He’s kinda a little pretty like a lady.” Doug’s cheeks turned slightly more pink.

“I—” I wasn’t entirely certain what to say to that. I was pretty sure Doug was trying to be nice to me, but it was coming out really weird. “I mean, I think so,” is what I finally came up with.