That Time We Kissed Under the Mistletoe (Abieville Love Stories #4)

Chapter 31

Chapter Thirty-One

Sara

I’ve been stewing for precisely one hundred nineteen minutes of the two hours since Three left. I did just take a quick sixty-second break to chug a glass of water, which means it’s been a full minute since I wondered what he’s doing with Ryan Detweiler.

He wanted to show her what Abieville would offer guests from Platinum Stays, so I’m guessing he’ll take her by the best shops for tourists, like Gracie’s Glass Emporium, Bookishly Yours, and that old store next to the market with all the antiques and souvenirs. Flower Power is pretty cool too, especially for people into fresh arrangements and gifts. I wouldn’t care too much if they stopped by Spill the Tea. But my stomach flips over imagining Three bringing Ryan to Dips & Scoops. Sure, it’s not exactly ice cream season, so there’s a chance he skipped that place.

But Three loves Dips & Scoops.

Well, he used to love it. Back when I thought he loved me too.

But we’re not going to talk about that, remember?

Right.

Instead, I finish stowing the last of the Hawaiian Luau supplies in the storage room behind the bookshelf, then take a moment to survey the house.

The space looks the way I assume a normal vacation home would appear during Christmastime. Since the tree still only had strands of white lights on it, I took the liberty of hanging all the ornaments myself. Three wasn’t here, so I had to pull the couch over and climb on top to reach the highest branches, but I did get it done myself. I even placed the star on at the end.

I felt bad tossing the construction paper rings Three cut out into a drawer, but I figured a homemade Advent calendar wouldn’t impress Platinum Stays. Honestly, I’d gotten so caught up in recreating the Fuller family traditions, I lost sight of the goal that brought me here in the first place: convincing Ryan Detweiler to approve our lake house for their listings.

Speaking of which, she could come back anytime now.

ANYTIME.

I plop on the couch in front of the Christmas tree, hoping the twinkle lights will improve my mood. No such luck. I’d been so excited to experience the kind of holiday Three grew up with, but decorating the tree alone turned out to be … anticlimactic.

The truth is, I miss my own family.

So I decide there’s no time like the present to call my mom. She’s already left me multiple messages asking for updates, so I’m planning to put as positive a spin on the situation as possible, leaving out the glitch with Three and the Hawaiian Christmas luau. And the surprise storage room. And the fact that Ryan Detweiler has yet to evaluate the house.

And it’s all my fault.

I take a couple of deep cleansing breaths then try to FaceTime her. The call rings and rings with no answer. Weird. I expected her to be waiting with bated breath.

I’m about to give up, when my dad’s face suddenly appears on the screen. He’s wearing a pinstriped suit with a red tie, and his salt and pepper hair is slicked back at the temples.

I wrinkle my nose. “Where’s Mom? ”

“Hello to you, too.” He chuckles. “What am I, chopped liver?”

“No,” I quickly backtrack. “Of course I’m happy to see you, Dad. It’s just … I called Mom’s number, didn’t I?”

He hoists an eyebrow. “Excellent observation, counselor. Your mother left her phone on the table so I answered it for her.”

“But it’s a Monday. Why aren’t you at work?”

He peeks at the staircase to the second floor of their penthouse. “I surprised your mother by coming home to take her to lunch. She’s been so stressed about the gala and the auction and this whole Platinum Stays situation, I wanted to give her a break. I made reservations at Gramercy Tavern. She’s just getting dressed now.”

My jaw drops. “You left the office in the middle of a weekday? Who are you and what have you done with my father?”

He flashes his piano-key teeth at me. “Let me fill you in on a little secret.” He leans in close to his screen. “One of the perks of being the boss is getting to call all the shots. But you’ll learn that soon enough.”

“I see.” My mouth goes crooked. “Is this your way of officially offering me that associate’s position?”

Another chuckle slips out of him. “I may be a founding partner, but making that decision unilaterally wouldn’t be a good look.”

“Oh, I know that, Dad. I was only kidding. But the partners are making their final decisions soon, though, right?”

His smile stretches even wider. “We’re meeting on Friday, as a matter of fact.”

“Huh.” I do a quick mental calendar-check to be sure I’ve got my days straight. Today is Monday. Three’s follow-up appointment is tomorrow, a Tuesday. Wednesday is the gala and my birthday. Then Christmas is Thursday. “You’re meeting the day after Christmas?”

“Yes, and I’m glad you’ll be home by then.” Another arch of his brow. “I’m anticipating an extra reason to celebrate this year. ”

Right. My job offer.

“I would’ve thought you’d close the office on the 26th for a three-day weekend.”

“No rest for the wicked,” he quips. “Or is it no rest for the weary ?” His eyes drop into a squint. “I can never remember which one’s the correct phrase. In any case, I already gave everyone the 25th off. And New Year’s Day next week.”

I press out a weak laugh. “That’s so generous of you.”

“I thought so.” He straightens, tugging at his tie. “It’s what’s expected around here, Sara. And you’ll be putting in long hours once you officially come onboard too. Not a lot of vacation time. Working on some of the lesser holidays.”

“Like Arbor Day?”

“Yes.” He nods, either ignoring my sarcasm or missing it completely. “That is, until you’re the managing partner.” He glances at the staircase again then back at me. “Then you can squeeze in a spontaneous lunch date every once in a while.”

I arrange my face into a smile. My dad’s expectation that I’ll run Hathaway Cooke someday shouldn’t come as a complete shock. After all, I’ve followed in his footsteps from prep school until now. Still. Working toward a goal is one thing. Having no choice in the matter is another. “I think you’re getting a little ahead of yourself,” I say.

“Once again, you’re correct, counselor.” He splays his hands, triumphant. “We’ll have many other milestones—big and small—to celebrate before then, won’t we?”

“Yes.” A bead of sweat forms at my temple. Maybe two beads. “We will.”

“Speaking of which, your mother told me you have some new ideas about the firm’s mentorship process. I’m sure the partners would love to hear your thoughts.” He pauses. “In the event that you’re offered a position, of course.”

“Oh, yes.” More beads of sweat. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that.”

My dad checks his watch. “Now’s as good a time as any.”

Okay. I inhale deeply, square my shoulders. Here goes nothing. “Obviously Hathaway Cooke has a long-standing scholarship and mentorship program with the Daughters of the American Revolution.” I take a beat to meet my dad’s gaze. “But what if we established a duplicate program with Youth Save, starting this year?”

“The non-profit?” He tips his head. “For foster kids?”

“That’s the one.” I swipe at my brow. “They work closely with Children’s Village, but their specific mission is to get older children adopted. I’ve been doing some research, and the ones who are still in the system by the time they reach high school are far less likely to go to college. So I was thinking?—”

“Sara.” He tilts his head. “You have a good heart, and wanting to make a difference in this world is one of your greatest strengths.”

“Thank you.” My smile falters as I wait for the but .

“Of course your mother and I love Children’s Village,” he continues. “The Hathaway Gala is our way of personally supporting them. But Hathaway Cooke is a different story. We’re looking to mold future associates. Our firm isn’t in the business of mentoring kids who have no expectation of going to law school, let alone working for us one day.”

“But that’s the point, Dad.” A ribbon of frustration wraps around my insides. “They should be able to become an attorney if they want to. They should have a shot at big law. Their dreams are just as important as anyone from the DAR, don’t you think?”

“I think we’d be setting a bunch of kids up for disappointment, filling their heads with endgames that aren’t realistic. At least not for most of them. You went to Stanford because that goal was achievable for you from the beginning, Sara.”

No, I went to Stanford because you went to Stanford .

“Dad.” I set my jaw. “I just think every kid deserves the chance to pursue any future they want. And if I’m going to be a part of the firm, I’d love for Hathaway Cooke to be a part of making that possible.”

“ If ?”

I blink. “Well. I haven’t been offered the job yet.”

“Sara.” My father exhales a long gust of air. “Your mother and I have made a lot of sacrifices to set you up for the best life possible, so I hope you’re not forgetting your place in the Hathaway legacy.”

I swallow hard. “Of course not. I just wanted to?—”

“Charles?” my mother calls out. “Is that Sara on the phone?” In the corner of the screen, I see her sail down the stairs in a cashmere trench coat worthy of Gramercy Tavern. I’d originally called to update her in the first place, but a thread of anxiety unspools in my gut. She’s going to ask about the evaluation. And I’m going to have to answer.

“Hi, Mom.” I wave at the screen as my dad hands over the phone.

“I’ve been waiting to hear from you!” Her eyes go wide, and her red lips part in anticipation. “Are we approved?”

Yep. There it is.

“We should get the official sign-off on Wednesday,” I chirp. Hopefully , I think. Bonus points for my positive spin being almost entirely the truth.

“Wednesday?” Her hand goes to her throat. “But that’s Christmas Eve. The night of the gala. We’re counting on the lake house to be one of our top auction items!”

“And we’ll be a Platinum Stays property that morning, Mom. Plenty of time.”

“But … why Wednesday?”

“Ryan Detweiler just wants to come back to double-check everything.” I take a beat. “There was a surprise we couldn’t anticipate.” I use the word ‘we’ because my mom did, but also because I’m thinking about Three and me. We sure didn’t anticipate last night.

“What kind of surprise?” My mother’s eyes fly open.

I lean in close, pasting a grin on my face. “ Are you ready for this? I discovered a secret storage room in the den behind the bookshelves!”

She gasps. “A what?”

“A secret storage room! Isn’t that cool?” Okay, I’m laying it on thick, but that’s as much for her benefit as mine.

“Cool?” she squeaks.

“ Very cool.”

Even as I say this, boot steps thud up the stairs outside, and two distinct voices in two different octaves are speaking on the porch.

Three is back. And he’s got Ryan Detweiler with him.

“Anyway, I’ve gotta go, Mom.”

“I’m just worried that?—”

“Everything’s all right. Better than all right.”

“Sara.” She stares at me. “Are you absolutely sure?”

“Just trust me.” I swallow hard.

Everything has to be all right.