Page 70 of When in December

“I’m bored. Can I go outside? Are there animals out in the woods? What about lions? Can we build a snowman? Do you have any snacks?” Gavin asked at least a dozen questions at once.

I fought to find the answers.

Already, I stared at him as he befriended Oz.

The dog was curled up on the floor, letting my nephew—who I thought I’d met once shortly after he was born—scratch the space between his ears, not bothered by the bent, tattered one.

Oz blinked at me, as if saying,What did you expect me to do?

Traitor.

“Why is your house so empty? Don’t you have a Christmas tree yet? My mom put up our Christmas tree after Thanksgiving. Do you not celebrate Thanksgiving? Do you not celebrate Christmas?” Gavin let his mouth drop open in shock.

“I celebrate Thanksgiving.” Sort of.

I couldn’t quite remember the last time I’d had a proper Thanksgiving like I was sure he was thinking about. Everyone at a table, talking and stuffing themselves with turkey and potatoes.

“Why weren’t you eating with us then? My mom said that you’re family. Doesn’t family come to Thanksgiving? Even my aunt Portia comes to dinner sometimes. She brought puffy-looking orange flowers.”

I smirked at the way Gavin said Portia, likePorta. I didn’t know who the hell Portia was. I hadn’t known that Sarah’s husband, Nathan, had a living aunt either.

“I wasn’t around,” I said.

“Oh,” said Gavin. “Where were you?”

“Uh …” I glanced around the cabin. I doubted my sister wanted her impressionable son to know that his uncle was recovering from nearly being blown up. “Away.”

That seemed to satisfy him enough. But he had a point about snacks. Soon enough, they were going to get hungry. I ate out most of the time and not three meals a day, like I was sure they were used to getting at home with my sister and her likely all-natural, organic diet.

I was so out of my league here.

Liana continued to tap away at some game on her tablet.

She didn’t look up, glued to the screen.

The doorbell rang with a calm yet insistent chime.

“What the …” I made my way toward the door.

No one was supposed to be here today.

The final shipment of furniture should be here tomorrow or the next day. The chairs by the bookshelves held the loose paperbacks that had previously been hidden at the bottom of my closet. The dining table would also arrive, so the homemaker could do whatever she wanted to make it look like the place had come out of a Martha Stewart holiday collection.

Not today.

Running a hand through my hair, starting at my forehead, I swung open the front door to tell whoever it was to go back and check their schedules.

The homemaker blinked at me standing in front of her. She had her tote bag she always wore looped over her shoulder. In her hands, she held more than a few boxes.

“Poppy.” I looked at her and the way she grinned at me to form words. “What are you doing here?” I asked.

She adjusted herself to hold the stack of boxes in her hands better. “Sounded like you could use some help.”

“It’s fine,” I said stiffly, turning around. I knew she was going to follow me inside anyway. “I don’t need any help.”

“Oh.” There was a small slam of something falling to the ground. I forced myself not to flinch. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. You’re not going to be able to get any work done today with them here. They’ll be gone tomorrow, so you can come back then.”