With a warm flush on our cheeks, we pick up our brushes again, but not before I steal one last glance at Jane. She’s concentrating on her painting, her tongue poking out the corner of her mouth. She’s adorable.
An hour later, I’m picking up a Berry Crumble pie from the bakery, which smells divine. While painting, I ran into Dolly, the owner of the bakery, and asked her what would be best to bring to the Brooks’s house for dinner.
She insisted on the Berry Crumble pie, saying it was the perfect blend of sweet and tart, not overly sugary, just enough to make the taste buds dance. Plus, she’d just pulled one out of the oven, so it was warm and fresh.
As I walk into Jane’s childhood home with the warm pie in my hands, her mother comes rushing towards me.
“Oh, you’re here! Come in, come in,” she exclaims, taking the pie from my hands and helping me out of mycoat. The house is already filled with a delicious aroma that makes my stomach rumble.
“I hope you’re hungry. We have a big feast prepared,” Jane’s father chuckles from where he’s standing near the fireplace.
“I wouldn’t dare come to a dinner unprepared,” I reply with a grin.
“Oh good. You’ll fit right in,” he laughs.
“I hear congratulations are in order, Harry. Jane told me you won the neighborhood competition.”
“Again,” Harry adds with a chuckle, looking proud. “It seems the Brooks are unbeatable when it comes to outdoor Christmas decorations.”
“I can only imagine the hard work it took...and how many trips to the attic to find all those decorations,” I tease.
Jane winks at me from where she’s helping her mom in the kitchen. “That’s the Brooks’s spirit for you,” she calls out, earning a round of laughter from everyone in the room.
Somehow, the nerves that I’d anticipated feeling don’t appear. Instead, there’s a comfort that washes over me like a warm blanket. There’s laughter. There are conversations that feel like they’ve been ongoing for years. Somehow, Jane’s parents make me feel like I’ve always belonged here. And the food—Jane was right, her mom cancook.
Harry jumps up with a clap of his hands. “Crazy carols time!”
My head furrows as both Greta, Jane, and Nonna giggle collectively. I can tell from the shifty eyes going around the room that something is afoot when Harry heads over to a speaker and puts his phone on it.
I turn to Jane, wondering what’s about to happen, and she gives me a smirk.
“You’re in for a treat.”
“I’m not a singer, by any means,” I plea.
If they think I’m going to sing, they are wrong. I can fake an emergency and run from here like my pants are on fire. What’s that I hear? The Midnight bandits escaped jail? Happily on my way.
Once at a Christmas party, my captain told me I sounded like a coyote howling with a sore throat when I sang. Let’s not embarrass myself or make anyone go deaf.
“Good thing that’s not a requirement. You just need to sing in a crazy voice, hence ‘crazy carols.’”
“You want me to sound ridiculous?”
“That’s the name of the game,” Harry replies.
“Okay, I can do that.”
“Two teams, each team picks a card, and you’ll sing the song based on what the card says. Ready?”
Jane and I both stand up and each pick a card.
“Holly Jolly Christmas” starts, and we take turns singing the verses: I rap, and Jane channels the Cookie Monster.
The three of them are bent in half, laughing hysterically. Greta even has tears in her eyes.
This is my future family. Never have I known anything more concretely in my life.
I love Jane, and I’m all in.
