A Very Merry Mess (Cider Cove Sweet Southern RomComs #3)

Ryanne

RYANNE

“Ry, come help me carry the lasagna,” my mom calls from the kitchen, just as I enter the house with Elliott on my heels. How she knows I’m here is beyond me, and I’m in the middle of a sentence as I brief Elliott on the finer points of Luckson family dinner politics. He meets my eyes, and he looks one breath away from fleeing back to the shed-guest-house and flinging my body to the hungry hyenas.

“I got this,” he says, and some of the tension in my body melts away. “I’ll be on the lasagna detail, and you save that salad from too much stirring.” He grins and bumps by me, goes past the immaculately set dining room table, and enters the fray that is my mother and oldest sister.

“Ry,” my next oldest sister says, and Cosette pulls me into a squishy hug. “Mm, it’s so good to see you.” She wears a smile in the words, and she’s always been the buffer between Anna and me. Anna is high-strung, and I get crazy around her, while Cosette smooths everything between us. Danny is the youngest of us all, and if I hadn’t brought Elliott, I’d be the seventh wheel in a big way.

My appreciation for him grows and grows—and then he yells, “I love Italian! Ry, come look at this lasagna!”

Cosette pulls away, her eyes searching mine before she bursts into giggles. I smile too, because Elliott sounded pretty sincere in his enthusiasm for layered pasta. I chuckle slightly as I head into the kitchen too, and he beams at me with the wattage of Times Square as he tilts the pan of lasagna toward me.

“You may want to dial it down a smidge,” I mutter around a smile. “Mom, this looks amazing.” I say louder.

My mother fusses over her famous spaghetti sauce, and at least ten layers of complex family dynamics lives in this dish. “It goes on the table, dear.” She smiles at Elliott encouragingly, like he’s a twelve-year-old who needs step-by-step instructions for how to walk a pan of lasagna over to a dining room table. She even has trivets all set out for him, and he goes in that direction while coughing the word, “Salad.”

I grab the red-and-green striped bowl and follow him. Dad yells, “It’s dinner time. Everyone to battle positions.”

If only he were kidding. Elliott puts down the lasagna and immediately searches for me. I place the salad bowl next to the lasagna and take his hand. “I sit on this side.” I take him around to the other side, because for formal family meals, we sit in age order. Dad sits at the head, with Anna and Cosette and their families on his left. Mom is across from him on the other end of the table, and then me and Danny take up the other side of the table.

Since Danny and Katherine don’t have kids, and Elliott and I are just dating, the four chairs fit just fine. Only Anna and James have a daughter, and her highchair fits easily between them and Cosette and Rob.

As the lasagna, garlic bread, and salad goes around the table, everything shines under the Christmas lights someone hung above the table. I take two pieces of bread, because of all the things Anna is, a bad cook isn’t one of them. Then I squeeze Elliott’s hand under the table, feeling less like a grumpy kitty cat and more like a loyal partner ready to have him at my side.

“Rob and I have news,” Cosette says as Danny places the bread platter back in the middle of the table. She’s shining like all the stars in the sky, and my mom gasps like she’s just inhaled a handful of breadcrumbs and needs to cough them out.

“Don’t say?—”

“Mom, just let her tell the news,” I say, which earns me a glare from my mother.

“Yes,” Anna agreed. “It’s her news to tell.”

Mom softens instantly, which only ignites my irritation, and she gestures to Cosette. My sister looks at Rob, who smiles back at her and puts a large forkful of pasta in his mouth. “This lasagna is so good, Grace,” he says.

What a suck up. Cosette says, “Rob and I are going to have a baby next year.”

My mother shrieks like she’s suddenly been possessed by a train approaching a busy intersection. Congratulations start to go around, and my dad gets up to pour drinks.

“Scotch?” he offers to Elliott, and though I’ve never seen the man drink, he nods and says, “Absolutely, sir. Thank you.”

“I bought some bubbly, hoping someone would have news like this,” Mom trills out, which is one of the truest things she’s said. Danny and Katherine have been married for a couple of years now too, with Cosette and Rob pushing up against five. I’m the only outlier in the group, and there’s no way she bought pink champagne thinking I’d announce an engagement.

She knows I hate the stuff, and I wave away her offer of a pretty flute of drink. A tornado of conversations blow into the room then, all of us attempting to keep up with each other. The subsequent chaos makes me want to curl up in a ball—Christmas just seems so hectic with my family all in one room.

I glance over to Elliott to see how he’s faring now that I’ve learned Cosette is due in June, which means I’ll need a couple of weeks off at that time. Everything in my life keeps changing, and while this is a happy one, it just adds to the weddings I’ll probably be attending this year for my roommates. Weddings and babies—everything I want but don’t know how to get.

“Okay?” I lean toward him as I speak, and he nods as he reaches for his drink. Except it’s not his drink. It’s a squat evergreen-scented candle—because my mom does not allow our Christmas tree to be set up until Christmas Eve, and it must come from the forest a little north of here.

Yes, the jar is a similar shape and size to Elliott’s scotch glass, but it’s got a flame flickering from the top of it. Surely he’ll notice, but he keeps bringing the jar toward his lips like he’ll take a sip of the melted wax.

“You know that’s a candle, right?” I ask.

Elliott’s eyes fly to it just as it starts to tip, and he swears as he hurries to set it down. A flush floods his face, and I can’t help it: I start to laugh. And laugh, and laugh.

Thankfully, Elliott grins too, but he doesn’t reach for his drink. I take a bite of bread and watch him for a moment. “What?” he finally asks, his voice quiet and meant only for me.

“I haven’t seen you take a sip of your scotch.”

He leans toward me, and I do the same to him, my mind already imagining what sleeping in that bed in the guest house will be like. “That’s because it’s disgusting.”

I grin. “Don’t let my dad hear you say that.”

“What should I do with it?”

“It’s rude to whisper at the table,” my mom says. “Do you two have news?” Her eyes glint as brightly as her pearls do, and I give her one of my severe diva-cat looks.

“No,” I say as Elliott’s hand lands on my thigh. I dang near jump out of my own skin, but I manage not to buck in my chair. “Thanks for the dinner etiquette, Mom.” I force my smile wider and then wider still as I swing my attention to the other end of the table. “And Dad, Elliott says this scotch is great.”

“I’m glad he likes it,” Dad says, and I nod at Elliott, who seems to get my message to move the glass of scotch closer to me. I won’t drink it, but I am an expert at getting rid of things I don’t want to eat or drink and making it seem like I have. So, as the meal progresses, I have to get up several times, first to get a new knife after I drop mine, then to get more marinara sauce to dip my bread in.

Every time I do, I take the glass with me and splash a little more down the sink, so by the end of the meal, it seems like Elliott has enjoyed his scotch, the lasagna…and even pine-scented wax.

The laughter and chatter from the dinner table and subsequent lounge-by-the-fireplace fades as I finally pull the door closed behind me. Maybe Anna is still in the middle of a sentence. I don’t know. What I do know is that I’m done. The night is pitch black and freezing cold, and I hurry after Elliott.

“Are you really going to go Christmas-tree-cutting with them tomorrow?” I ask when I finally catch him. He’s a fast thing when it’s cold, let me tell you. He pulls open the door to the guest house and ushers me inside, quickly sealing the winter out. Thankfully, the stove has done its job in the past few hours while we’ve been feasting inside the main house, and my muscles instantly start to relax.

I’m exhausted, as I usually am after dealing with my whole family, and I want nothing more than to change into my pajamas and climb into bed. But I eye it like it might turn into a Tasmanian devil and whirl toward me, ready to claw my face off.

Elliott stands right next to me. “What are you thinking?” The glow of the decorative fairy lights in the corners casts a soft golden hue across his face, and I don’t imagine the playful sparkle in his eyes.

“I’m thinking about how you have no idea what’s coming tomorrow.” An evil little smile breaks out across my face as I imagine Elliott standing amidst the dense pine forest and the men in my family, armed with chainsaws and winter gear.

His brows furrow, and I can’t help but crack up. “What did I get myself into?” he mutters, a mix of dread and humor dancing in his tone.

“You’ll have fun, I promise. It’s your first Christmas with a Luckson, after all. Every year comes with its own set of chaotic traditions.”

His charmed expression fades as he sinks deeper into the cushions of the couch. “You’re sure I need to be a part of the tree cutting?”

“Yes. Your initiation is due.” I bump him with my hip. “Didn’t you hear my mom? It’s a fam-i-ly trad-i-tion.” One females aren’t invited to attend. Oh, no. The men go out in the morning to cut the tree. We decorate it when they bring it back. Mom and Anna will cook and bake all day, and no one ever goes hungry, that’s for sure.

He moves over to his suitcase and hefts it up onto the couch. As he unzips it, he says, “Performance evaluation.”

I sigh as I walk over to my suitcase. “Pure perfection, as always, Ell.”

“You think so?”

“I’m sure they’re all talking about you,” I say as I sit on the opposite couch. I’m not sure why I let the negative things infect me the way they do.

“Us,” he corrects. He turns toward me with a wad of clothes in his hands. “You’re going to miss the scent of bacon and yeasty waffles in the morning, aren’t you?” He comes to sit by me, and he puts his arm around me, creating a space where I belong. Where it’s okay to be a little grumpy I got kicked out of the main house. Where it’s okay to be myself, just as I am.

Hot tears press into my eyes. “What are we going to do about the sleeping arrangements?”

He bends his head and nuzzles my neck, sending shivers and sparks—cold and hot—through my body. “I’ll do whatever you want, kitty-cat, but have I mentioned I have a bad back? And wow, this couch feels so lumpy.”

I nudge him with my shoulder, because he does not have a bad back. “Seriously.”

“And my suitcase is over there already,” he continues, his lips made of glitter and hot candle wax, as they leave a tingling trail along my neck and up toward my ear. “No way I can lift that thing again. And bending over every time I need a pair of socks? So bad on the back.”

“It’s a big bed,” I say.

“We’ll just sleep in it.”

The moment lightens as I reach over and take his hand. Our fingers entwine, the warmth of his skin mingling with mine, grounding me to this place at his side. “Midnight confessional?” I suggest next.

“As long as it’s you and not me,” he murmurs. “I don’t have anything else to confess right now.”

“There’s always something to confess.”

“I just said I wanted to share a bed with you,” he says. “Trust me when I say there’s nothing else right now.”

I turn and look at him, which is hard with how close he lingers. “There’s going to be a pillow wall between us.”

“I look forward to it.” He gets to his feet and grins. “Now, the door to the bathroom has been closed, which means it’s going to be freezing in there. You better change into your pjs fast…and get building, because I’m gonna be back out here in under sixty seconds.”

I yelp as he turns and jogs—actually jogs— around the couch and toward the bathroom. I jump to my feet, looking frantically from the bed to my unopen suitcase as the bathroom door slams shut. Three precious seconds are lost while I try to figure out what to do. Then I say, “Wall first. I can change in the bathroom after him.”

“It’s below zero in here!” he yells.

Still, I throw myself into pulling the pillows from the bed and making a line of them down the middle. Elliott has severely underestimated me if he thinks I can’t construct a wall in less than sixty seconds.