But when I look at him, there’s something in his expression that suggests we’re both starting to blur the lines between character and reality.
This is dangerous territory. The kind that leads to broken hearts and professional complications and all the messy emotional entanglements I’ve spent two years avoiding.
I could get used to this, I realize as I watch his family work together to secure the tree, as I feel the warmth of Mitch’s handin mine and the way his presence makes me feel like I belong somewhere.
I could get used to being part of something warm and real and beautifully chaotic.
But I can’t let it become real. Can’t forget that this is temporary, that in a few days we’ll go back to Dallas and pretend this never happened.
Chapter Nine
One Bed Situation
Clare
The Drake dining room is a study in organized chaos. The table, easily big enough for twelve, groans under the weight of Karen’s culinary ambitions—honey-glazed ham, roasted vegetables, some kind of potato dish that likely needs a warning label, and enough sides to feed a small army. The walls are adorned with family photos spanning decades, from awkward school pictures to hockey team shots to graduations, along with Maddie’s wedding photo and images of Evan’s kids.
It’s a warm, lived-in space, the kind that people write songs about going home for the holidays.
“Clare, honey, tell us about your family,” Karen says, passing me the green bean casserole for the second time. She has made it her personal mission to ensure I never see the bottom of my plate.
My stomach clenches. This is exactly the minefield I was afraid of. “There’s not much to tell. Just my parents and me.”
“Any siblings?” Tom asks. He has been quietly observing me all evening with the kind of steady attention that probably made teenage Mitch confess to crimes he didn’t commit.
“No, just me.” I take a sip of wine to buy time. “My parents divorced when I was in high school. Mom remarried and moved to Oklahoma. Dad’s pretty busy with work. They’re both… doing their own things now.”
The silence that follows is loaded with pity—the very thing I’ve spent my entire adult life trying to avoid. These people, withtheir big family dinners and obvious affection for one another, can’t imagine what it’s like to spend holidays alone.
“Well, you’re here now,” Karen says with fierce warmth. “And that’s what matters.”
The words hit me like a sucker punch to the chest. Unexpected tears prick behind my eyes, and I have to blink hard to keep them from falling. When was the last time someone said I mattered? When was the last time anyone was genuinely happy just to have me show up?
I swallow hard, trying to regain control of the emotion threatening to crack me wide open at this woman’s kitchen table.
Under the table, Mitch’s hand finds mine. His fingers intertwine with mine in a gesture meant for show, but the squeeze he gives my palm feels like an anchor.
“What do you think of Minnesota?” Maddie asks, settling back in her chair with one hand resting on her belly. “I know it’s probably quite different from Dallas.”
“It’s beautiful,” I reply, and I truly mean it. “Everyone has been so welcoming.”
“That’s the Minnesota way,” Karen says proudly. “We take care of our own.”
The casual way she includes me in that statement—‘our own’—creates a dangerous warmth in my chest.
“So tell us,” Tom says, cutting into his ham with surgical precision, “what’s the story here? This one’s usually gun-shy about bringing anyone home.”
“Dad,” Mitch protests, but he’s grinning.
“It’s a fair question,” Maddie chimes in. “We all know Mitchell can be... selective.”
“Very selective,” Mitch says, his thumb tracing lazy circles on my knuckles. “It took me a while to convince her I was worth the risk.”
My mouth twitches as I glance over at him.
“What made you take the chance?” Karen asks, leaning forward with sweet maternal curiosity that’s hard to deflect.
I look at Mitch, caught off guard by the genuine interest in his eyes, as if he actually wants to hear my answer, even though we both know it’s fiction.