Page 32 of Spicy or Sweet (Wintermore #2)

SHAY

Before Georgie died, I like to think we were a close family. I have a big extended family on my dad’s side, and we had Harland dinners, vacations, and game nights. It was a good way to grow up.

After Georgie died, no one could face it. Part of me still wonders if no one could face me and how much I look like her, but, regardless of the reason, there were no more dinners, vacations, or game nights.

When I married Philippe, the Moore family was much more formal than I was used to growing up.

Their dinners were stuffy, and I never felt quite at home.

I never felt like a Moore. Which I wasn’t, to be fair—I never changed my name, something I was grateful for after the divorce. One less thing to deal with.

Needless to say, it’s been a while since I had a family dinner that wasn’t reserved. But I can tell within ten seconds of walking into Noelle’s parents’ house that the Whittens don’t have that problem.

They greet me like they would anytime I see them around town, with welcome smiles and a warm aura.

It explains so much about who Noelle is that this is the family she was raised in.

Noelle squeezes my hand as her mom, Kate, tells me how happy they are to have me, and I feel some of the knots in my chest loosen.

Rora and Henry arrive just after us, with Sunny hanging out in a carrier on her dad’s chest.

“Hi, Shay. It’s good to see you,” Henry says with a glowing smile.

Rora lifts a hand to wave beside him. “Hey.”

I wasn’t kidding when I told Noelle that Rora scares me.

Unlike the Whittens, she’s not a smiley person.

She has a reputation in Wintermore for being “a bit of a Grinch.” Which is to say, she doesn’t like Christmas, and she’s not big on people—and she doesn’t feel the need to pretend otherwise.

It’s admirable, really, and I like her a lot, even if she scares me.

She runs her gaze down until it catches on Noelle’s and my clasped hands, and something in her expression softens.

“Enough of the introductions. I think you know what I’m going to ask,” Noelle says, looking at Henry.

He shakes his head, but he’s smiling as he unclips the baby carrier. “‘Ask’ implies that you don’t usually demand,” he says, kissing his daughter’s head and handing her over.

Noelle squeezes my hand once more before dropping it so she can take Sunny, her face lighting up.

“Hi, Sunny girl.” She bounces her, and Sunny flashes a toothless smile.

She looks over at me, curiously. “You remember Shay, don’t you?

I suppose we have you and your dating app antics to thank for this, actually,” Noelle points out.

“Hi, Sunny,” I say softly. She reaches for me, and I offer her my finger, which she immediately squeezes in her little fist.

“That’s her version of a stamp of approval,” Henry tells me.

Thank god. Sunny not liking me would be a dealbreaker, I think.

I’m not a big baby person—kids, sure, but babies can’t talk, and I’m never sure what to do with them. Noelle looks cute with Sunny, though, chatting away like the four-month-old might start talking back.

Noelle told me everyone would be dressed casually for family dinner, but I’ve been burned before, so I made her pick something out for me.

She picked jeans and a burgundy sweater, and I fit right in—Kate and Felix are both wearing Christmas sweaters, which doesn’t surprise me.

Neither does the Christmas tree in the living room, bigger even than Noelle’s.

Truthfully, I’d expect nothing less from the Whitten family.

Rora notices me looking at the tree and says, “So, Shay. Thoughts on Christmas?”

Everyone turns their full attention to me, even Sunny. You could hear a pin drop—or a pine needle, I suppose, to stay on theme.

I glance sideways at Noelle. “I… like it?” She wrinkles her nose. “But I don’t come from a big Christmas family, so I’m sure I’ll learn to love it.”

Noelle’s lips lift, and, if I do say so myself, I’m passing the Whitten family tests with flying colors. Well, for most of them.

Rora groans. “Damn it. I hoped I might finally have an ally here.”

“You never know—Sunny might grow up to be a Grinch,” Noelle suggests, and her dad, Charlie, glares at her.

“Don’t even put that out there. Not that we don’t love you, Ror, even though you hate everything this family stands for,” he says, patting Rora on the shoulder.

“I love you too,” she replies, rolling her eyes.

I know Charlie isn’t actually Rora’s dad, but from what Noelle has told me, he may as well be, and I can see it.

The interaction is so reminiscent of how my dad used to act with me and Georgie.

All of this is so reminiscent of before.

This is what family used to feel like for me—what it could feel like again, here, with the Whittens.

It’s comfortable and homey, and I don’t feel out of place.

Sure, it’s not technically my first time meeting any of the Whittens, but being in their home is a lot different from running into Kate at the grocery store or Charlie spotting me lugging sacks of flour from my trunk and offering a hand. I don’t know any of them, not really.

But I could. I could have people here. For so long, it felt so far out of reach, but I never could have guessed that I’d fall for Noelle.

Fallen, not falling. I might not have spoken the words yet, but I feel them all the same.

I startle as Noelle touches my knee.

“Hey. You okay, sweetheart?” she asks softly, and I realize she’s no longer holding Sunny. Shit, how long did I disappear into my head for?

“Yeah, of course. Sorry, I just zoned out.” Noelle doesn’t look convinced, so I cover her hand with mine and add, “I really like it here. With your family.”

Understanding crests Noelle’s ocean eyes.

She just gets me, like it’s some inherent, natural thing.

She brings our joint hands to her lips and presses a soft, searing kiss against my skin.

“I like having you here. We all do. On that note, don’t be alarmed if my mom asks you for your size for Christmas PJs later,” she warns, and I chuckle.

Only here would I be warned about something like that.

I can see where Noelle got her love of food; both of her parents are incredible in the kitchen.

I’ve been to Italy half a dozen times at least, but I’ve never had pasta this good: pumpkin and sage ravioli, with a creamy brown butter garlic sauce and maple-glazed walnuts, and rosemary olive focaccia—Felix’s addition. It’s divine.

We finish with Noelle’s and my pie, and a fresh bowl of cardamom whipped cream. It’s a perfect pairing, and everyone digs in happily.

“Should we feel bad that we’re the only ones who didn’t make and bring something?” Henry asks Rora as she spoons extra cream on top of her apple pie.

“We brought Sunny,” she answers with a shrug.

Sunny is sitting on Felix’s lap while he eats dessert, babbling up at him.

Of all the Whittens, I know Felix the least. Mostly, I know what Noelle has told me, and he’s not what I expected.

He, Rora, and Noelle bicker almost constantly, and he comes across as someone who doesn’t take much seriously, but he’s so soft with Sunny, he made a perfect focaccia from scratch, and he set the table without being asked, with napkins folded to look like bows and everything.

He and Noelle look alike, though Felix has Kate’s soft hazel eyes.

In some lights, they look green like Rora’s, in others, they’re a warm brown.

Eyes aside, Noelle and Felix are unmistakably siblings.

Their mannerisms are identical, from the way they eat left to right across their plates, to the way they light up from head to toe when they laugh.

It’s the same way Charlie laughs; it’s easy to see that they’re a patchwork of their parents.

“That was damn good,” Charlie says, finishing the last bit of his pie.

Charlie, Kate, and Henry all grew up in Texas, and Noelle and Felix lived there for a good few years before moving to Wyoming.

It’s been more than twenty years since they moved here, but Charlie and Henry still have a strong southern drawl.

Kate has all but lost the twang, and Felix and Noelle only have it on certain words—it’s stronger when they’re around their dad and uncle, though.

“Thanks, Dad,” Noelle says, barely fighting a yawn. “Shay gets all the credit, though. I was going to bring cookies from the freezer.”

“They would still have been delicious,” I chime in, and she glows.

“So,” Charlie continues, just as I take a sip of my lemonade. “Shay. What exactly are your intentions with our daughter?”

I almost spit out my drink.

“Dad!” Noelle immediately shouts, aghast. “What the hell? No. We’re not doing this.”

“But honey, we didn’t get to do it with Rora,” Kate says. “This is our only chance.”

“Yeah, we all knew exactly what Uncle Henry’s inten—hey!” Felix protests as Rora balls up her napkin and throws it, hitting him square in the face.

“What was that about intentions?”

Henry clears his throat, interrupting before they start fighting. “Personally, I don’t think we need to subscribe to that kind of patriarchal bullshit, anyway.”

Rora looks at him like he’s just stripped naked in front of her, and I get it; Henry’s not my type, but feminism is hot.

I put my hand on Noelle’s knee, and she automatically snuggles closer to me.

“Since Noelle and I have officially been together for about”—I look at the mistletoe clock above the kitchen door—“twenty hours, we haven’t had much time to talk about that kind of thing.

But I guess right now, my intention is to do what I can to take some of the stress off her shoulders and help her through the holiday season—as much as she’ll let me, anyway. ”

I look around the table to gauge the reaction, and Rora actually looks impressed. Thank god.

Kate sighs. “Damn. That was a great answer. How are we supposed to interrogate you now?”

“You’re not, Mom.” Noelle’s eyes crinkle when she looks at me. “It was a great answer, sweetheart.”

Suddenly, I can’t wait to get her home and in my arms. I love being here, but I miss holding her.

Felix pushes back from the table and stands, Sunny perched on his arm. “Who’s ready to get their A-S-S beat at Monopoly? Sunny’s on my team.”