Page 33 of A Love Like Pumpkin Spice (Wayward Hollow #1)
Henry
“Aww, there’s our grandchild,” my mom coos as soon as she opens the door for Jensen and me, her gaze immediately dropping to my dog.
She’s in her usual weekend getup—a soft sweater, reading glasses still perched on her head, and that warm smile that somehow takes me right back to being six years old.
Jensen immediately barrels inside their house, tail wagging so furiously he’s about to lift off the ground, and singing the song of his people. His excited tippy-taps echo through the hallway as he zigzags indecisively—torn between saying hi to my mom or my dad first.
“No, Jensen, down,” I say sternly when he decides to greet my mom first and jumps at her. My mom has owned dogs all her life too and doesn’t give him any attention until he sits at her feet calmly, only his wagging tail to show how excited he is.
“Such a good boy,” she says in a high baby voice and gives him a treat, now finally greeting him with some pets and kisses—way more enthusiastically than she greeted me, I might add.
“Go to the living room. Food’s almost ready.” Mom waves me through, and I chuckle as I close the door behind me.
“Good to see you too, Mother,” I can’t help but point out dryly and shake my head at her with faux disapproval.
“ Yes, yes.” She kneels on the ground, letting Jensen lick her face and answering his whines. “Your owner is grumpy today!”
I hear another set of paws approaching and my gaze darts to the living room with a grin. “There you are, Nala.”
My parents’ golden retriever might be old already, but in her heart, she’s still a puppy. She greets me excitedly, zig-zagging around the hallway as she follows me to the living room.
Dad is in the kitchen, putting the finishing touches on the food. He’s wearing one of his well-worn flannel shirts, sleeves rolled up, and his reading glasses perched on the tip of his nose as he studies the food like it might try to escape.
Nala gets a distracted pat from him when she brushes against his leg. He’s completely in his element, humming something under his breath and perfectly content.
“Son,” he greets me with a quick hug and a strong shoulder clasp.
“Ooh, mashed potatoes,” I say happily and quickly swipe my finger through it, cursing when it’s way hotter than I expected, and promptly lick it off. “It’s delicious, Dad.”
“Thank you, thank you,” he says prouder than an Oscars winner and grins, not even pretending to disapprove of me taste-testing anymore. He lost that fight twenty years ago. “Help me set the table.”
“Sure.” I take the plates out of the cupboard and bring them to the dinner table, setting them at the same spots we’ve sat at ever since I can remember.
“Did she ever love me as much as she loves Jensen?” I ask amusedly, watching my mom entertaining her grandchild.
“I wouldn’t be sure,” my dad jokes as he hands me the cutlery. “Then again, remember, she had to raise you—tantrums, shitting in flower vases and whatnot—not just love you the way she does your dog. She’s stricter with Nala too.”
“Fair point,” I admit with a chuckle and put the forks and knives next to each plate.
“ Though I won’t ever complain about a human grandchild,” Mom says pointedly, sending a sharp glance my way with her eyebrow raised to her hairline, which makes me roll my eyes.
I don’t even dignify that little dig with an answer and continue setting the table.
“Hey, by the way, are we still doing a late Thanksgiving?” I ask as I pour us all drinks, giving Nala a pet as she gets into her “Please sir, may I have some food?” position right next to my chair.
What can I say? Mom might spoil my dog and sneak him food, but I do the same with theirs to get even.
“Yeah.” Mom and Dad nod, confused. “Why wouldn’t we?”
“No reason,” I explain with a shrug. “It’s just that Nic and Lauren asked if I wanted to join them for a Friendsgiving. I wanted to double-check with you that your cruise is still on, and it won’t impose on our plans.”
“It is very much still on.” Mom walks over to dad, who immediately snakes a protective arm around her while she kisses his cheek. God, those two are still disgustingly in love. I want that one day.
“We have a wedding anniversary to celebrate.”
“Damn right we do.” Dad grins and presses another kiss against the side of her head.
“Remember to invite Caleb, Honey. But speaking of Nic and Lauren …” She wiggles her eyebrows and motions for me to sit down while the two of them carry the pots to the table, and I groan. I know exactly what’s coming.
They might live three towns over, but gossip travels fast in this area.
“We heard about strange people hanging out in Wayward Hollow.” Mom glances at me, worried, and reaches for my hand. “Is everything okay? Are they dangerous?”
“I don’t think so,” I say and squeeze her hand back, then let go to put a good amount of mashed potatoes on my plate.
Jen sen is, of course, lying down right next to the table, shooting me a glare that says, “Go ahead, enjoy your food. I’m only starving here, but fine,” that I’ve learned to ignore over the past months.
“Who are they?” Dad asks, confused. “Nobody quite knows.”
I glance up, surprised. Seriously? That part didn’t make it into the gossip?
I chuckle and scoop up some potatoes with my fork, blowing on it to cool it down. My still slightly burning finger reminding me of the lesson I learned during my quality control earlier.
“They are Nic’s ex-fiancé and her sister.” The two of them shoot each other a confused glance before they turn to me again.
“That’s … not what we were expecting. Karen said they’re some kind of hooligans.”
I give them the rundown of everything that’s happened, and with each detail, my mom’s expression shifts further into shock. Even my dad’s usually solid poker face cracks, especially when I get to the part about her parents not only knowing about their scheme all along but encouraging it.
“Her fiancé? And her sister?” Dad asks, shocked, and I nod slowly.
“That poor thing,” Mom finally whispers, tears shimmering in her eyes. “Oh God, I can’t imagine. How are you two dealing with all of this?”
“She’s dealing with it … somehow. Sometimes I catch her on her back porch, staring at nothing, and know she’s still mourning the family she wanted to have. I don’t know how to help her,” I say, pushing my food around the plate, suddenly losing my appetite. “I can’t exactly wipe away her emotions.”
I take a deep breath, putting down my fork.
“ She’s suffering, but that encourages them. They enjoy putting salt in her wounds and watching her be in pain, and there’s nothing I can do aside from being there for her.”
“I mean, you could give them a proper ass-whooping,” Dad points out, but I shake my head, and Mom shoots him a disapproving glare.
“He will do no such thing,” she scolds him then shoots me a sharp glance. “Tell me you won’t.”
“Scout’s honor.”
“Good. Honey, from my understanding, what those two want is a reaction. It’s a tale as old as time, the true motivation for any regular old bully.
They don’t care what kind, but if you give them a reaction, they know they can get to you.
They’ve accomplished their mission. As much as I’m sure most people in Wayward Hollow would appreciate you breaking his nose, and as much as I’m sure Erik will coincidentally turn the other way and not see a thing, I don’t think it would be wise to give them what they want. ”
Mom frowns, putting down her cutlery. “I’m sure their comeuppance will come. And until then, the best you can do is ignore them. Maybe that will make them go away by themselves.”
“I’m not that optimistic, but we don’t exactly have a choice,” I say, my appetite slowly returning, probably because of that nice buttery smell from the potatoes that makes me salivate. “And if not … who knows? Maybe the pitchforks will actually come out.”
“I do expect a call in that case,” Dad says with a mischievous grin. “Last witch hunt was when we were in high school.”
“Honey, you realize that wasn’t real, right? Just some event they organized to build some neighborly spirit.”
“And it worked,” Dad laughs, and I shake my head at them.
“Oh, plenty is happening, though. Did you know that Jacob’s cow gave birth a few days ago?”
“ No way,” Mom says, full of excitement, her eyes shining happily. She adores baby cows. “You know, I wanted to visit your aunt soon anyway.”
“Suuure you did,” I say and shake my head amusedly.
If she could, she’d have half a farm here, but then again, she wouldn’t be able to go on that cruise. They might allow dogs, but I’m not sure about cows.
And while the two of them bicker about when to visit my dad’s sister, I can’t help but watch them.
The way they look at each other. How acutely aware my dad is of every single move my mom makes, putting his hand over the table’s edge when she picks something up off the ground, to prevent her from banging her head on her way back up.
That is the kind of love I want to have when I’m their age.
And I think I might know who I want to have that with.