Seventeen

Oakley

Present Day

When I walked into the kitchen the next morning, I was wearing my red plaid flannel pajamas. Now that I knew there was a camera in here, I felt the need to cover up more. Not that Wilder would be looking at me. He acted as if I were a sexless being. I had done it because I wasn’t going to give him a reason to not ask me to come stay with Sarah again. I would not be giving him reason to use the bad role model excuse.

Belladonna nudged her food bowl at me while I started the coffee.

“I hear you, girl,” I told her, bending down to get the bowl and go fill it with her morning portion of food.

She stayed right beside me until I set the bowl down beside her water. When she began to devour the food as if she hadn’t eaten in days—which was so far from the truth—I went to get the supplies for pancakes out. I planned on making turkey-shaped pancakes. My favorite Instagram influencer had posted a how-to video about them yesterday, and I was going to surprise Sarah for breakfast. She’d stayed up late last night, so I figured I had another hour before she woke up.

My phone began to ring, and I looked down at it on the counter, where I had laid it, to see Hamilton’s name lighting up the screen. I pressed Answer, then turned it on speaker so I could continue to work.

“Good morning,” I said to him before pulling the milk out of the fridge.

“Good morning, beautiful.”

Smiling, I set the milk down and turned to get the oil. “Flattery before coffee is always a plus,” I told him.

“Before? Did I wake you?”

“No. I am brewing it now.”

“Oh good. I miss you.”

Pausing, I stared down at the phone. Truth was, I hadn’t much thought about him. That was a bad thing. Especially if he meant what he had said and he missed me. Maybe that was just him being polite.

“What? You’ve not found another female to charm by now?” I teased, trying to lighten the mood and get out of telling him I missed him, too, because, well, I didn’t.

“Oakley, you’re real damn hard to compete with. Trust me.”

I chewed on my bottom lip nervously. Uh-oh. What did I say to this? I needed my coffee first. Glancing over at it, I was relieved to see it was done.

“That’s flattering, but I learned long ago not to believe all the words that fall from a pretty boy’s mouth.”

He had no idea how thoroughly and painfully I had been taught that lesson. I had said it in a teasing tone, but I meant it. Every word.

“Pretty boy? I’m wounded. You don’t think more of me than that?”

I filled my mug and took a sip just for the caffeine jolt before adding cream and sugar, then turned back to the phone. “Okay, fine. Beautiful man. Is that better?”

He laughed then, and I relaxed. Good, he wasn’t being serious. I didn’t need him going deep on me. He was a model, for God’s sake. He took pictures in his underwear with half-naked women all day. Gorgeous females with perfect bodies, who I was sure flirted with him. Daphne had told me all about his wild exploits. It was one reason I’d agreed to date him. He would never want more than casual from me.

“What are you doing for Thanksgiving?” he asked.

I frowned and stared at the phone. Why was he asking me that? I had no plans for Thanksgiving other than driving home. My dad hadn’t called and invited me over. He was still ignoring me. Wilder would want me out of his house as soon as my eyes opened.

“Uh,” I said, “nothing.”

My phone dinged with a text alert, so I picked it up. Wilder’s name was on the screen.

“Hold that thought, Hamilton. I have a text from Sarah’s dad. I need to check it.”

Opening the text, I hoped he wasn’t about to tell me he was coming home today and I had to pack up and go already.

You have plans on Thanksgiving.

That was all it said. I looked up and scanned the room. Had he heard my conversation on that camera of his? The phone dinged again.

Look to the left of the chandelier in the far corner.

I did as he’d said, and the phone dinged again. I dropped my gaze back to his text.

That’s it.

I picked up the phone and texted.

Thanks. I can now tape a piece of foil over it.

Grinning, I pressed Send, then looked up at the far corner and smirked.

That’s just one of them, Oakley, and foil doesn’t mute the sound.

I scowled at the camera before replying.

Whatever. I’m on the phone, but you know that. Are you saying you won’t be home on Thanksgiving?

I waited while the dots popped up to show that he was texting.

I will, but I won’t make it until right before lunch. Plans have changed. I need you to take Sarah to my mom’s. My mom will force you to stay and eat. If you don’t stay, she will blame me, and she won’t feed me, and I want my mom’s turkey dressing and pecan pie.

I reread that three times. He was telling me that he wanted me at his mother’s for Thanksgiving. I hadn’t misread that.

Okay, I can do that.

I hadn’t known what else to say to him. It had taken me off guard.

What are you making for breakfast?

I glanced up at the corner, unable not to, knowing he was watching me. I started to just tell him since he could hear me, then remembered that Hamilton was still on the phone.

I pressed Mute, then said to the camera, “Turkey-shaped pancakes.”

“I’ll have to check back in a bit and see those.” His voice came over the kitchen speakers, causing me to jump. Then, he laughed.

“You can talk through the thing too?” I asked, still staring at the tiny camera.

“Yes. I’ll call Sarah later. Make sure she has her phone with her today.”

“Will do,” I replied.

When he said nothing more, I unmuted my phone, then put it back on speaker. “Sorry about that. Didn’t mean to be gone so long.”

“No worries. So, about Thanksgiving?” he said.

I chewed on my destroyed thumbnail for a moment and almost looked at the camera. “I have to stay here through lunch. But I might be free that night. Depends on when I leave. It’s a five-hour drive after.”

I didn’t want to be free. I didn’t want to go see Hamilton. I wanted to be with Wilder and Sarah all day. Admitting that sucked. More than likely, I would go home, depressed. Drink a bottle of wine and watch Christmas movies, alone.

The moment with Wilder in the kitchen had stayed with me all of that day, making me question things.

But the next three days, there was no more talking over the speaker or texting me. All contact he made was with Sarah. What I had thought might mean he wanted me around hadn’t been that at all. He really had just asked me to stay for his mother’s sake. It’d had nothing to do with him wanting me there.

I mentally scolded myself for even letting my thoughts go in that direction. I should have known better. It had been nine years. The man he was now was not the man I had once known. I was also far from that girl who had loved him with every fiber of her being.

When I pulled up to Wilder’s mom’s house, there were already four other vehicles outside. I glanced over at Sarah, who was over-the-moon excited about my being with her for Thanksgiving.

“There are a lot of people here,” I said to her.

She nodded, smiling brightly. “Yeah, that’s Uncle Scott’s Jeep and Mrs. Jojo’s red convertible. The blue car is Honey’s, and the gray truck is Pop’s.”

Great. I only recognized Honey as what Sarah called Wilder’s mom and Pop as what she called Wilder’s stepdad. I’d had no idea there was an Uncle Scott.

I nodded and reached in the backseat to get out the turkey-shaped charcuterie board we had made. This was the first time I’d driven Wilder’s Range Rover. But we’d needed the room to store the food safely and put Belladonna in the back. Wilder had put in a net screen that kept Belladonna in the very back of the car so she wouldn’t climb over while he was driving.

Belladonna barked at me, as if to remind me I needed to get her out too. I was glad that Sarah had asked about bringing her. I’d hated the idea of leaving her alone at home all day.

“I’m coming to set you free,” I assured her, then turned to Sarah. “You take in the tray of cake pops,” I told her.

They also looked like turkeys. At least, the fudge-centered ones did. The pumpkin ones had pumpkin pie centers. We had stayed up late last night, working on them. Wilder had told Sarah we didn’t need to take anything, but I wasn’t going to a house for Thanksgiving and not bringing something. I was from Georgia, for crying out loud. It was what one did.

“Some of our turkeys look like chickens,” Sarah said, giggling.

I laughed, looking over at the tray of cake pops. She was right. The turkeys hadn’t turned out as well as the pumpkin ones.

“But they’re yummy.”

“Yes, they are!” she said happily while Belladonna jumped down from the back of the Range Rover and ran over to the closest patch of grass to pee.

Sarah headed for the front door, and I followed her. I only remembered meeting Wilder’s mother at Sylvia’s funeral. I knew she had been at their wedding, but that day was not one I liked to think about. I’d been a mess emotionally and blocked out most of it. The front door to the Spanish-style home opened up, and Azalea Shelton stepped outside with her arms wide open, beaming at Sarah, who went as quickly as she could to her grandmother without dropping the cake pops.

Azalea was in her late fifties with a short brunette bob and brown eyes that were so much like Wilder’s. The bohemian dress she was wearing hung loosely on her tall, thin frame, and her earrings were feathers that almost brushed her shoulders.

“My best girl in the whole wide world!” she exclaimed, then clapped her hands as she looked down at the tray of treats Sarah was holding.

“We made these last night, Honey. The turkeys kinda look funny, but they are the best ones. They have fudge inside,” Sarah told her.

“Then, I’m going to sneak one right now,” she whispered loudly and took a turkey cake pop from the tray.

Belladonna finished her business and ran past me to get in on the action at the front door. Her bark caught Azalea’s attention, and she lifted her eyes to see the exuberant dog headed for her. Laughing, she bent down and met Belladonna face-to-face.

“So, you’re the famous Belladonna I have heard so much about. I think we will be fast friends, you and I. To make sure of it, I have some special treats just for you inside.”

I liked this woman. A lot. I was also instantly thankful that Sarah had this. A real grandmother. This was not the kind of reception she got from Cleo. Most holidays were very formal, and Cleo expected everyone to be dressed in their Sunday best, but no one could wear shoes in the house, and Belladonna was never welcome. She would be “in the way.”

Azalea stood then, and her eyes met mine. Her soft smile as she took me in made me feel welcome. “You are just as stunning as I remember,” she said. “We’ve never gotten a chance to chat and visit. I was thrilled when Wilder said you would be coming today.”

“Thank you for having me,” I replied. “I didn’t know what all you were making, but Sarah and I thought we’d make something extra to bring.”

Azalea’s eyes seemed to twinkle with delight at just having us here. It was more having her granddaughter, but it still felt as if she was pleased to see me too.

“It looks delicious. Both of you, come on in. Make yourself comfortable. Meet everyone,” she said, reaching out to take the tray in my hand. “Sarah, you follow me with those cake pops, and we will take these to the bar and set them out. We have hungry men who want to eat now and can’t seem to wait until the meal is served.” She took a bite of the cake pop in her own hand. “MMM,” she hummed, then winked at Sarah, chewing.

Sarah glanced up at me with her bright eyes shining.

I instantly felt bad that she’d missed so many Thanksgivings here. Where she would have had a much better time. Her memories would have been those she cherished. Not the uptight, uncomfortable, religious meals Cleo forced upon us. I hoped Sarah had this every year for the rest of her life.