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Mrs. Winslow touches my arm. “She means he’s married to Bear’s.”
Oh. Their family’s steak house. That’s far less dramatic than him having another family, but it is also far more palatable.
“Alister might want to contribute. It is his first official Winslow Christmas after all,” August offers, scanning the bustling home steadily filling with more and more relatives. “Now, where did I lose him?” Once it’s clear the man isn’t going to appear any time soon, she tuts and sighs. “This is what happens when I give him an assassin role. I swear, for days I’ve hardly seen him unless he’s attempting to coerce me into drinking poison.”
“Wait just a second. Assassin? What happened to my yandere jester request?” I blurt.
August’s face turns into a crimson canvas for all her freckles as she robs my platter of another snowball. “So…about that one…let’s just say it inspired content that’s outside my comfort zone to write and has, officially, been shelved.”
My disappointment is immeasurable. “What’s a sad little girl like me got to do to get a yandere jester in her life?”
Mr. Winslow lifts a brow and looks between us. “Are you two speaking English right now?”
“Mostly,” August says after murmuring something in Japanese. “But, trust me, you don’t want the explanation. Live in blissful ignorance for all time, Father.”
“Maybe I should see what Wynn’s up to…” he murmurs, beginning to rise.
“He’s either fixing my shower or your father’s car,” Leeann offers, amicably.
Once Mr. Winslow has left, the rest of the immediate Winslow family begins a hefty discussion concerning their plans leading up to Christmas. I sit, in awe, as they arrange a slew of activities, bargain which houses will host what, and debate which movies will be allowed to play in the background during any crafting times.
Every last event is scheduled in the evenings, which explains why I’ve never been invited to join a single one before. It’d be cruel to mention so many fun things if they’ve always happened after dark when I wasn’t allowed out of the house.
Midway through plotting a Christmas cookie decorating night, Wynnter lowers himself against the backrest behind me. A finger appears to point at my lap, and he murmurs near my ear, “Is that for me?”
I jump, looking down at the single snowball left in the plate I’m holding. Lifting the platter for him, I say, “I have defended it to my dying breath.”
“Thanks, baby.”
“Ew,” August sneers. “Baby? Is that the best you could do?”
“Leave me alone,” Wynnter mutters, teasing my hair as he munches.
The repetitive combing of his fingers soothes me even as he and his sister begin to bicker over appropriate endearments. August accuses Wynnter of being too lazy to find something more unique as though he even knows the meaning of the word “lazy” when he’s been spending the past hour making sure his grandparents’ house doesn’t implode.
In rebuttal, Wynnter accuses me of being his baby, which I can’t argue with—but his sister sure can.
“Excuse you,” August balks, “December is a princess.”
Wynnter’s cheek plops against the top of my head. Simply, he says, “Nah.”
“How dare you!” August snaps. “Blasphemy against the throne!”
“You’ve gotta settle this, Dece,” he murmurs, peaceful.
My eyes widen. “You’re making me choose between the love of my life and my best friend? That’s cruel.”
“I’m cruel. You like it.”
I…
Ha.
Well, he’s got me there.
“Ew, ew, ew. Don’t make her blush in my presence. I’ll throw up.” August whacks her brother in the side with a pillow.
“Hey,” he mutters, “don’t do that. You don’t know where I’ve been, and I don’t want to ruin Granee’s upholstery.” Somewhat pointed, he adds, “Lest she wait until next Thanksgiving to have me fix it.”
