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Wynnter’s eye twitches. “Where he’d been sleeping for weeks?”

“I’m sure they just wanted to get me in the dark. I had the worst headache of my life that day, and I don’t even want to think about how bad it would have been if I’d woken up to sunshine. I was very grateful to lie there in the cold darkness for several hours after I came to.”

“I guess,” he mutters, lifting his phone, swiping to his texts, and opening a Winslow family group chat.

“It was my casket first, you know. August bought it for me. You Winslows are in the business of buying me places to sleep then giving them to Alister, which is hardly fair.” I let my lip jut. “I also feel somewhat compelled to inform you that Alister is very much a brother to me now that he’s married my soul sister. Do you think he’d react like this if you were taking care of a hungover August?”

Almost conceding, Wynnter huffs, scrolling through his missed messages in the group chat. “It seems our brother made us a spreadsheet. Which I’d appreciate more if he weren’t dead to me right now.” He opens the spreadsheet to reveal a pristine account of who’s bringing what, with drop-downs and neat rows that go on…and on…and on. “Huh.” He glances at me. “Dece.”

“Yes?”

He points the screen at me and thumbs through the endless list of food. “I think we’re gonna starve.”

I giggle.

His features soften. “Is there anything you like that you see missing, or do you need several more hours to read through this epic before you can answer that?”

As far as I can tell, there are going to be seven different pies. “What do you normally bring to Thanksgiving?”

“Myself. I use my masculine card and pretend to be useless in the kitchen. Everyone dotes on and feeds me. It’s great.”

“I do not have a masculine card.”

“But you are basically useless in the kitchen.”

I gasp. “I’m learning, though!”

He eyes me, severely. “They don’t need to know that.”

My mouth opens, but I recognize that he has a point. And it absolutely isn’t like we’ll starve if I don’t bring anything. It just feels wrong to not bring something to my very first Thanksgiving with his family. I want to make a good impression. I want to declare to all his relatives that I am wifey material. I…want his family to like me and approve of me with him.

And I absolutely don’t want to be the prissy little heiress in their midst.

When I’ve not replied for a full minute, Wynnter taps on an empty cell and types in snowballs.

“Snowballs?” I ask.

“They’re an easy dessert. They’re us. Screw autumn; we’re gonna make a wintery Christmas treat.” His cheek rests against my shoulder. “We can make them together, but don’t you dare tell anyone I helped. I gotta keep my manly man card intact.”

I comb my fingers through his dark brown hair and smile. “I shall diligently protect your right to be lazy one single day out of the year.”

Kissing my dimple, he murmurs, “Consider my gratitude insurmountable.”

Chapter 12

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Merry Thanksgiving!

December

Lazy my left toe.

The second we entered Wynnter and August’s grandparents’ home, their grandmother, Leeann, otherwise known as Granee, did a double take on my presence, handed Wynnter a honey-do list, then dragged me and my platter of snowball cookies into the living room, where I am now being attacked.

“How long?” Granee asks, pointing a stolen snowball at me.

“Huh?” I squeak.