Page 60 of Theirs for the Holidays

That seems to solidify their decision even more, and the three of them order both pastries for me and then pick out their own treats. Rhett presses the wrapped brownie and hand pie into my hands, and I smile, feeling my cheeks flush.

Every time he looks at me now, it feels like I’m in that bathroom with him all over again. But I need to keep it together. This is not the time or the place for that to come out.

“Thanks,” I tell them, unwrapping the hand pie and taking a bite. It’s still warm, and the apples are bursting with juice and flavor. The cinnamon and clove are a pleasant spice on the tongue, and the pastry is flaky and buttery. It’s good, and I make a mental note to add hand pies to my menu one of these days.

Maybe berries, for spring and summer.

“I know that look,” Rhett says softly. “You’re thinking about experimenting.”

I smile at him, nodding. “Eventually. Not tonight, though. Tonight is for this.”

Of course, as soon as I say that, someone taps the mic and we all turn to see the infamous Mrs. Henderson, dressed from head to toe in sparkly, sequined gold.

“No,” Lennox groans. “Still?”

I can’t control my laughter, and I press a hand over my mouth to try to stifle it. “Sorry. It’s tradition. At least it’s just the one song?”

Her voice isn’t bad, husky and rich, but Mrs. Henderson was in her sixties the last time Lennox and his brothers were in Sweetwater Lake for one of these festivals. She’s even older now, and there’s something unsettling about watching an old woman in a tight evening gown croon about wanting special presents from Santa.

Lennox shudders and turns away. “Come on,” he says. “At least if we’re moving, we won’t be watching the performance.”

So we keep looking, and I make a note of things to go back and get as gifts for people. Getting presents for my family is always an ordeal.

Dad’s easy, he’ll take whatever and be happy for it, but Mom and Isabelle are notoriously picky while also being stingy on top of it. At least with other people.

As if thinking about them somehow summoned them, when we turn another corner, my parents are there. Mom is in a conversation with a man selling soaps and body butters, and Dad stands off to the side, holding bags already laden with purchases.

He sees me first and waves, but then spots the guys behind me, and his face does something complicated.

When my mom finishes her conversation, she turns and sees us as well.

“Let’s get this over with,” I mutter, mostly under my breath, but Lennox, who is standing closest to me, hears and puts a hand on my arm.

As a unit, we walk up to my parents, and I force a smile. “Hey Mom, Dad. Enjoying the festival?”

Dad smiles back. “It’s a good one this year. Lots to see. And old Mrs. Henderson has still got it.”

“Got what, is the question,” I reply, making him laugh softly.

“Violet,” Mom cuts in, giving me a tight smile. “It’s good to see you and your… partners.” The word comes out like she’s trying to make it sound as neutral and bland as possible.

“Hi, Mrs. Bentley,” Sawyer says, turning on the charm. “It’s great to see you two again.”

“And you, of course.” Mom can’t be rude in public, even though I can tell she wants to. “How is your visit to Sweetwater?”

“Been great so far,” he replies. “Violet’s an amazing hostess, and being here tonight reminds us of all the things we loved about living here.” He drapes an arm over my shoulder, pulling me in close. “Although she’s the best thing by far.”

It’s funny, watching the emotions play out in my mother’s eyes while she keeps her face locked in that smile. “Of course,” she replies. “Violet, can I speak to you for a minute?”

“Oh, uh. Sure,” I say. I look to the guys. “I’ll be right back.”

Mom grabs my arm and practically tows me off to the side, to a quiet corner of the hall. I’m anticipating something about the wedding, some last minute favor she or Isabelle needs, and I brace myself to be roped into something irritating.

“What’s up?” I ask her.

“Do you really have to be here with all of them tonight?” Mom asks, keeping her voice low.

“What?”