The "What If" Guy (11 page)

“Cool.” His eyes flicked over to Tabitha, who studied him coyly.

“Hi,” she said.

His face turned seven shades of red. “Hey.”

Holly rolled her eyes, and patted her scarcely protruding belly. “I can’t believe I’ve got one flirting, and another cooking.”

Tabitha strode from the room, grabbing Elliott’s sleeve as she passed. “C’mon. Let’s get away from the old people.”

“Uh…okay.” His voice cracked.

I looked at Holly’s stomach. “Girl, you are too thin to be knocked up.”

She breathed in the aroma of Thanksgiving dinner, then looked like she might throw up. “That’s because I can’t keep anything down.”

Poor Holly. I’d brought over casseroles twice this week, since she’d been too nauseated to even walk past her kitchen.

“Hey, Auto,” my dad hollered from the next room. “Holly got any beer in there?”

“I don’t want your Thanksgiving to be ruined because of us,” I whispered to Holly.

“It won’t be.” She looped her arm through mine. “This is our first Thanksgiving back together again, you and I.”

She looked at me with happy eyes, and my heart tugged. All those years I’d looked down at Holly for being a redneck or a hick, I’d been so wrong. I tried to think of something touching to say, but came up with nothing. The moment passed. I pushed up my shirt sleeves and said, “Put me to work.”

“Peel those.” She pointed at the carrots piled in the sink. Then she whirled around to face Trevor, who danced around her feet, singing to himself. “And so help me, if I hear that song one more time, I will have to roast you like the turkey. Do you understand me? Go hang out with the guys in the living room.”

Trevor gave me a wicked grin, then glanced at Holly. “Does she know yet?”

“Do I know what yet?” I threw a curly carrot peel at him. “That your mom’s pregnant? Yes. I know. We were just talking about it.”

He plucked the peel off of the floor, dangled it into his mouth, then chewed. “No. Do you know who else is here?”

“Shush,” Holly hissed, and scooted him out of the kitchen. “And take that out of your mouth.” She shook her head. “That kid, I swear—”

“Who else is here?” I asked.

Holly resumed mashing the potatoes and avoided my eyes. “Can you pass me the pepper?”

We worked amicably without talking for few beats. My mind reeled, wondering what she was up to, while we were serenaded by the sounds of tween pop music playing upstairs and men hollering at a football game in the next room.

I could get used to this
.

Maybe holiday dinners with the family weren’t as bad as I’d thought—as long as it wasn’t my family.

“This is nice,” I mused.

Holly nodded. “That’s what I hoped you’d say.”

Cheers resounded from the living room, followed by excited conversation, muffled by the sound of the football game. My ears perked up. I tightened my grip on the peeler. The gravelly tone of one of the voices sounded way too familiar. I slowly turned and faced Holly. “Who’s in there?”

She set down her potato masher and put up her hands. “Don’t be mad.”

“Why would I be mad?”

Holly tried to gesture something to me. Some sort of hidden code, but it looked more like she’d suddenly developed a tic. I nodded, shook my head, nodded again—as if I was trying to decipher one of Lassie’s messages. “No… Yes… In the living room? What’s that, girl? Timmy fell down an abandoned well? Or was it Jimmy? No, it was definitely Timmy. Anyway, why am I going to be mad at you, girl?”

“Shut up,” Holly whispered, flailing her arms. “He’ll hear you.”

“Who?”

She looked like she’d been busted. “I invited Henry Tobler to dinner.”

“What?” I craned my neck and peeked around the corner into the living room.

Sure enough, there he sat on the couch, wearing a vintage-looking, fitted denim shirt with pearl-snap buttons and rolled-up sleeves. I tried not to swoon. He was relaxed and gorgeous—drinking a bottle of soda, laughing at something Cody said, his smile wide and uninhibited. I wanted to turn a back flip.

Holly pulled me away from the doorway. “I’m sorry. He got here a half-hour ago. It was supposed to be a surprise.”

“What were you thinking?” I looked at my light blue sweater and gray slacks. At least the slacks made my butt look good. Divine intervention, maybe? “This is nuts. I don’t want this. I don’t want him.”

Holly shook her head. “You don’t want him? Who do you think you are kidding?”

I started to braid my hair. “I don’t want to look like this in front of him. I look like a schoolmarm.”

She took me by the shoulders. “You don’t look like a schoolmarm. Leave your hair down, it looks beautiful. I just wanted to give you a nudge, that’s all. Don’t be mad.”

“I’m not. I’m just embarrassed. This is pointless. It’s old news.”

“What’s old news?” Cody stepped into the kitchen, stretching.

“She just realized that I invited Henry,” Holly said quickly.

“Yeah. The big fix up.” He waggled his eyebrows at me, then planted a kiss on top of Holly’s head. “You gonna go say hi to Henry, or what?”

“How do you guys even know him?” I carped. “You didn’t tell him that you wanted him to come because of me, did you?”

“Of course not.” Holly’s words came out fast. “Cody is a volunteer fireman with Henry.”

“Henry joined the fire department?” I asked. What was next? Did he nurse orphaned animals back to health in his spare time?

Cody popped an olive in his mouth. “He’s great with an axe. Broke the door down in Carl Harrison’s burning barn in September. Saved a mare’s life.”

“He’s here in town all alone,” Holly said. “Why shouldn’t I have asked him to come over? You two know each other, after all.”

Cody grabbed a couple more olives and a deviled egg and gestured in my direction. “You should at least go in there and talk to him.”

“That’s right,” Holly said.

“No, seriously.” Cody reached into the fridge and pulled out a soda. “Henry needs a date. Go get him. Go after him like an assassin.”

“An assassin?” I laughed.

“Yeah, like those women in the James Bond movies.”

“That would make Autumn Pussy Galore.” Holly stifled a laugh.

“Not my style, guys.”

“Just go say hi.” Holly stepped back and took a long look at me. “Run your hands through your hair.”

I obeyed, hoping that my hair would lie calmly, which was unlikely, then smoothed the front of my sweater. “How do I look?”

She and Cody examined me for a second. Cody shook his head. “I don’t understand what I’m looking for.”

“Amateur,” Holly said. “Okay, pinch your cheeks, get a little color going.” She plucked one of Tabitha’s sparkly hair pins off of the counter and fastened it behind my ear. “Now, go knock him dead. Cody, help me round up the kids for hand washing.”

An ear-piercing scream rang out from the living room, and the three of us charged in to find Thomas and Tanner wrestling over a Batman toy. Everyone watched as Cody and Holly split them up, except my father, who leaned half out of his chair to see the TV around the crowd. Henry sat on the couch, holding back laughter. A knot formed in my belly.

“Okay, all you kids,” Holly said, sounding weary. “Go wash your hands. Dinner is almost ready.” A chorus of cheers was followed by a stampede of footsteps as the herd moved into the dining room.

Henry’s gaze locked on mine and he stood. We stared at each other, dazed. Finally, I smiled moronically and waved.

All he said was, “Autumn.”

The knot twisted. “Henry.”

I wanted to say, “Happy Thanksgiving
.
” I wanted to say, “I’m gonna go all Pussy Galore on you.” Hell, I wanted to pin him against the wall and kiss him until his pearl buttons popped open. But none of that happened. Henry just gazed at me with that familiar half-smile that made me feel stupid and turned on all at once.

I turned and slinked away. He followed, touching the small of my back as we entered the dining room, which sent a missile of electricity shooting up my spine. Everyone gathered around the table where the feast was arranged.

Elliott sat next to Tabitha. They were so cute together.

My dad sat next to Elliott, and looked around the table wearily. It was nearing three o’clock, and he’d started to shake a bit. He’d insisted on leaving by five, so he could get home to his recliner and beer. He eyed the giant bowl of mashed potatoes in front of him with a concerned expression on his creased face.

“Autumn, you can sit there,” Holly pointed to the chair across from her.

“And Henry, why don’t you sit here by me?” Cody looked from me to Holly, who winked at him conspiratorially.

Subtle, guys.

They’d done a rather obvious job positioning Henry and me next to each other. My nerves ratcheted up a notch. I lifted my water glass and took a long drink, hoping to soothe my sudden case of cotton mouth. From the corner of my eye, I could see Henry watching me.

Cody said the blessing, and then we began the Judd family tradition, each person announcing what they were thankful for. Holly and Cody’s kids declared their thanks—surprisingly poignant statements from a pack of blond-haired tyrants. Home, family, and mom and dad topped the charts.

When it was Elliott’s turn, he looked at me with a shrug and said, “I’m thankful for my mom.”

I sniffled stupidly and grabbed my water glass again.

“Oh,” Elliott said, “I guess I’m also thankful for Mr. T’s class. It’s pretty cool.” Elliott held up his hand. He’d capped his fingers with olives and offered them to baby Ty.

I looked at Henry and saw the crooked smile I’d expected.

“Thanks.” He gave Elliott a nod. “I guess it’s my turn. I’m thankful for…” He quickly glanced at me then straightened his knife and fork on the table. “Surprises.”

I choked on my water. What did he mean by that? Was he referring to me? Was I the surprise?

Henry patted my back several times, and I thanked God for inspiring me to wear my soft angora sweater. “You all right, chief?” he asked.

Chief
? Did he just call me chief?

“Fine.” I wiped my eyes with a napkin. “Totally fine.”

“So what are you thankful for, Mom?” Elliott asked.

I cleared my throat. “I, um, I guess I am thankful for…” I glanced around the table at all of the faces. “All of you. Thank you for making Elliott and me feel so at home back in Fairfield. You’ve all been great.” I raised my water glass. “Happy Thanksgiving.”

The kids gave a cheer, and we began passing the food.

It is extremely difficult to eat a holiday meal with your ex-boyfriend sitting next to you. I took a modest helping of everything, then pretended to nibble on a slice of turkey every time Henry’s eyes roamed in my direction. When his attention wandered elsewhere, I rammed spoonfuls of the gloriously fattening homemade stuffing into my mouth. The conversation flowed casually from everyone but me. Every time I tried to say something to Henry, or to respond to a question, my throat closed, and I felt like I’d swallowed half a bag of cotton balls. Maybe I was allergic to Henry.

I fumbled with my knife, then turned to him, my cheeks hot. “I…um… How’s dinner?”

“What’s wrong with you?” he asked, squinting at me.

“Nothing.” Sweat pricked my forehead.

Henry frowned and lowered his voice. “Are you high?”

“No. What kind of a question is that?”

“You were never this jittery when we were dating.” He slid his fork beneath a sliver of cranberry sauce.

“You were never this…”

That intoxicating tug pulled on the corner of Henry’s mouth.

“Intimidating,” I said, glowering at him.

Henry almost laughed. “I intimidate
you?”

“Never mind.” I stabbed my fork at a black olive on my plate, and it shot toward my father like a bullet.

“Goal,” Cody cheered, then picked up the bowl of mashed potatoes and served himself seconds. “Holl, you did an excellent job on these spuds, as usual. Say Billy, you still driving that old Datsun?”

My dad nodded, and they slipped back into their conversation. Henry took the bowl of potatoes from Cody, helped himself to more, then raised his eyebrows at me. “Want some?”

His plate was piled high with mashed goodness.

“Think you’ve got enough there?” I asked.

He looked at his plate, then served himself one more spoonful. “Nope.”

“Do you think they’re as good as Cody says they are?” I asked.

“They’re almost as good as mine,” he said. The corner of his mouth turned up even more, revealing a sliver of white teeth.

Is he flirting with me?
Butterflies fluttered amid the stuffing in my stomach. “Cocky, aren’t you?”

Henry took another bite. “Just confident. I’ve got mad potato mashing skills. But mashed potatoes are nothing without gravy. An empty palette, if you will.”

Holy hell, he
is flirting with me.
I cleared my throat, and searched the table for the gravy boat. “Holly, could you please pass the gravy?”

She handed it to Tanner and whispered for him to pass it to me. I turned back to Henry. “What do you do to your mashed potatoes that make them different?”

“Oh, I could never tell you that,” he said. “It’s an old family secret, and my mother would kill me.”

“It’s really sexy to see a man who is still afraid of his mother.” I reached for my fork as the gravy boat was slowly passed our way.

“Here’th the gravy,” messy-faced Tanner said.

I turned just in time to grab the gravy boat before it slipped from his chubby hands. “Yikes. Close call. Do you need a napkin, honey?”

Henry handed me a napkin from a stack of extras on the table. “Here you go.”

“Thanks.” I turned to grab it.

Wham.
The gravy boat collided with Henry’s chest, tipping and spilling hot, brown gravy down the front of his shirt and onto his lap.

For a split second, nobody moved or made a sound. Everyone stared as the steaming-hot gravy slid down Henry’s shirt.

“Hot.” Henry jumped up, sending the gravy boat flying onto the hardwood floor, where it shattered.

“Sorry,” I whimpered, grabbing for all of the napkins still on the table, jerking them from under plates and out of people’s hands. “You turned and I turned and then it hit you and I…”