“Welcome!” Claire says, pulling me into a quick hug. We’ve met once before, but she’s so warm and welcoming it’s hard not to feel like I’ve known her forever. “We hoped Jake would bring you all.”
“Thanks so much for having us,” I say, nerves dissolving. “Your homeis beautiful.”
Inside, the place is buzzing with conversation and laughter. It’s exactly what I would imagine Thanksgiving should feel like—cozy, welcoming, and full of life. This isn’t some formal event. It feels relaxed, like I’m already part of the family.
Zoe swoops in, hugging me tight. “I’m so glad you’re here!” She turns to Meadow and Noah, leading them excitedly toward the rec room. “Games and snacks this way, guys!”
Elijah ambles over from the sofa and claps Jake on the shoulder. “Well, if it isn’t the man of the hour, finally bringing Charlotte around.” He turns to me. “We hoped you’d come and put us out of our misery.”
“Oh really?” I shoot Jake a teasing glance. “Been talking about me, huh?”
Jake chuckles, completely unrepentant as he tightens his arm around me. “Only the good stuff. Maybe a few of the bad, just to keep them interested.”
“You’re too kind,” I say, giving him a playful nudge. He squeezes my waist in return, his hand lingering a little longer than necessary.
“Chase is here somewhere too… probably trying to convince the kids to play indoor football. You might want to rescue them,” Claire says, gesturing toward the hallway.
I laugh, feeling some of the tension ease. “Thanks for the heads up.”
Jake squeezes my waist once more before I drag myself out of his grip and head toward the large rec room, leaving him to speak to his friends for a moment.
I walk into a scene of organized chaos: Zoe is leading Meadow and Noah in a game of tag, while Chase is trying to convince them to play indoor football instead. The room is large enough that the kids are zipping around, both Zoe and Chase trying to convince them to be on the other’s team. Meadow is giggling, her cheeks flushed with excitement, and even Noah looks like he’s having fun.
“Hey, boss lady!” Zoe calls out, waving me over. “Come join the fun!”
I laugh, shaking my head. “I think I’ll leave the running around to you. Besides, someone has to keep an eye on Chase. I don’t trust him not to throw a football at one of my kids’ heads.”
Chase scoffs. “I would never!”
Zoe rolls her eyes, clearly not buying it. “Don’t listen to him, Charlie—he’s been trying to convince me to play tackle football all afternoon.”
“I’d pay to see that,” I say.
Chase waggles his eyebrows. “I’m sure we can arrange something.”
Zoe swats him with a playful glare.
The banter is light and easy, and I feel a sense of belonging creep a little further in. This is Jake’s world, and he’s invited me into it, giving me a place beside him that feels comfortable.
Jake appears at my back, his hand instinctively finding the curve of my waist, head dipping close to my ear.
“Hey, Coach,” he calls out to Chase, keeping his grip anchored on me. “You thinking about switching careers?”
Chase grins, shaking his head. “Nah, just trying to keep the kids from tackling Zoe. She’s already threatened to break my kneecaps if I don’t keep itnon-contact.”
“I said notackle football, Walton. They're children, not linebackers.” She turns her attention back to the kids. “Who’s ready for some snacks?”
We watch the kids cheer and careen off with Zoe, having the best time of their lives. “See?” Jake says, breath tickling my neck. “They’re having a blast.”
I hum, leaning back into him. “They’re gonna be hyped on sugar thanks to her.”
Before he can respond, Claire steps in, inviting me into the kitchen with her and Tamara. Jake squeezes my hand once, as if to let me know he’s here if I need him, and then I follow Claire.
The kitchen is a warm, inviting space, filled with the sounds of bubbling pots and the occasional clatter of utensils. Tamara is already pulling out wine, pouring a glass and handing it to me when we enter. I take it gratefully.
Claire hands me a bowl of fresh cranberries and a recipe card, her easy smile calming something restless in me. They’re not just welcoming me—they’re folding me in, like I belong here. “Are you any good at cranberry sauce? It’s a family recipe, but I’m terrible at it.”
Tamara looks over from the stove, her eyebrows shooting up. “Wait, you’re making cranberry sauce? Like, from actualcranberries?”
