Awkward.
Cassie touched his chest. “We’re family, after all.”
I looked at her hand on him. Then at his face. Then at the backyard full of relatives pretending not to listen.
“You’re right,” I said quietly. “Family is exactly why I came tonight.”
Cassie’s smile tightened.
Dinner was called before she could answer. Everyone gathered at the long tables, and Grandma sat at the head beneath a canopy of lights, small and silver-haired and sharper than anyone gave her credit for. She wore a navy dress and her old pearl necklace, the one Grandpa had bought her after saving for six months.
I sat six seats away from Cassie and Ryan.
For a while, the party almost worked.
People passed plates. Kids complained about vegetables. Grandma laughed when Uncle Mark told a story about setting fire to a Thanksgiving turkey in 1989.
Then Aunt Linda asked me, “Nora, sweetheart, how’s your business?”
I opened my mouth, but Cassie was faster.
“It’s inspiring, honestly,” she said, loud enough for the table to hear. “Nora has always been creative. She does these small outdoor spaces. Gardens, yards, little community things.”
Several relatives glanced at me.
Ryan leaned back in his chair, smiling.
Cassie continued, “Ryan’s company is moving into commercial construction now. Big contracts. Real development. Maybe he could send you something. Help you get into a larger circle.”
The table went quiet in that special family way, where everyone hears the insult but waits to see whether the victim will make them uncomfortable by naming it.
Ryan shrugged. “The offer stands. We believe in helping people up.”
Helping people up.
The man who helped knock me down said it like charity.
I placed my napkin on my lap, smoothed one corner, and looked directly at him.
“That’s generous,” I said. “But my firm’s Morrison Campus project alone brings in more annual revenue than most small renovation companies see in three years.”
Ryan’s smile faded.
I took a sip of water.
“But I’ll keep you in mind,” I added, “if we ever need subcontractors.”
No one spoke.
Cassie’s eyes flashed.
Then my phone buzzed beside my plate.
A text from Thomas appeared on the screen.
Landed early. Ten minutes away.
Cassie saw the name before I turned the phone over.
“Thomas?” she asked, voice bright again. “Your husband, right? I keep forgetting we haven’t properly met him.”
“You haven’t.”
“How mysterious.” Her smile sharpened. “I hope he’s good to you. After everything, you deserve someone stable.”
I looked at her, then at Ryan.
“I have someone honest,” I said. “Stable came with it.”
That was when the front door opened.
PART 2
I heard Thomas before I saw him.
His voice carried from inside the house, low and warm, thanking my younger cousin for showing him the way. He appeared through the sliding patio door in a charcoal jacket, travel bag still over one shoulder, a wrapped gift tucked under his arm for Grandma.
He did not scan the yard to measure who mattered.
He did not pause to perform.
He came straight to me.
“Hey,” he said softly, placing one hand on my shoulder. “Sorry I’m late. Denver tried to trap me.”
I laughed despite myself. “You made it.”
“Always.”
Then he bent and kissed my temple, brief and natural, as if the entire room did not suddenly feel smaller around us.
Cassie was staring.
Ryan was staring too, but differently. Cassie’s stare was calculation. Ryan’s was irritation. He had always hated men who did not ask permission to be confident.
Thomas turned to Grandma with the gift in both hands.
“Mrs. Whitaker,” he said, “happy birthday. Nora has told me about your roses, your lemon cake, and your terrifying ability to know when someone is lying.”
Grandma looked at him for one long second.
Then she smiled.
“Sit down, young man,” she said. “You’ll do.”
That made half the table laugh, and just like that, Thomas belonged more naturally in the family than Ryan ever had.
He took the empty chair beside me. Under the table, his knee touched mine, steady and grounding. He asked Uncle Mark about the grill. He listened to Aunt Linda explain the cake recipe. He complimented Grandma’s rose bushes and actually meant it.
Cassie watched him with narrowing eyes.
I knew that look. She was searching her mental filing cabinet.
Cassie collected people the way some people collected expensive handbags. She remembered names, jobs, salaries, connections, weaknesses. Everyone had a category. Useful. Impressive. Disposable. Dangerous.
At first, Thomas did not seem to fit.
Ryan decided to test him.
“So, Thomas,” he said, too casually, “what do you do?”
Thomas took a sip of water. “Civil engineering. Infrastructure consulting. Mostly sustainable site systems and environmental compliance.”
Ryan sat a little taller. “Construction-adjacent, then.”
“In some ways.”
“I run a renovation company,” Ryan said. “But we’re scaling up. Commercial development. Actually, we’re in talks with Hartwell Properties right now. River corridor project.”