I’m already embarrassed, and nothing has even happened yet.

  I can just see my mom giving the pair of us heart-eyes, already dreaming of grandbabies loud enough that I can practically see the imaginary babies floating around her head, like some sort of Looney Tunes character.

  For the most part, I love my family, even if they drive me crazy seventy percent of the time (or more, depending on the given day and type of situation).

  But right now, with the strain between Vick, Max and me? I just don’t know how today’s gonna go, and I’ve relegated myself into believing that Brody’s actually in my corner, that I’ll have someone to talk to while Vick and Max keep giving me the cold shoulder.

  Honestly, though, no one’s going to ruin my enjoyment of my aunt’s pumpkin pie, no one.

  It’s never been like this, this sort of radio silence between us in the group chat, and no individual texts on the one-on-one from either of them.

  I don’t even know what’s going on with them—how angry are they? How upset with me are they?

  Never has there been such a disconnect between the three of us, and where the three of us have given each other some space, Brody has happened to slide right through the gap and taken residence as a daily reminder in my life.

  For the past three weeks or so (if I’m doing the math right), Brody has been bringing me lunch every single day, showing up around noon to our office building with a paper bag from Petros (and a rice pudding for later despite me trying to restrict my calories).

  On top of that, depending on whether I’m busy or not, Brody might even pop in to say hello in my office, and we’d chat for a little bit, making me firmly believe that he’s on Team Amber. I really, really need him to be in my corner today.

  Which I didn’t know I needed as much as I do.

  And now we’re here.

  “Hey,” Brody says, as soon as my ass hits the passenger seat. “Looking good, good-lookin’.” He grins, blasting the heat and moving the air vents towards me since he knows about my constant fight with the outside temperature.

  I grin at him, freeze, and flip the visor down to see if I’ve got lipstick on my teeth, nervous as ever.

  “Oh my god, look at this.” I run my tongue over my teeth and pucker up at the mirror, wishing I had picked a glossier lip gloss, but them’s the breaks, and I’m not going back inside.

  “What’s up?” I ask, turning towards him, watching his throat bob in a hard swallow, and then he’s turning towards the front, gulping one more time.

  I barely stifle my grin.

  It’s been easier, yeah, being around him, allowing myself to move slowly with him in this new relationship we’re (re)building, despite all the outside pressure, despite my life not being ideal for someone like Brody to become a part of it easily.

  But maybe that’s the point—you’re never really ready, and you just have to do the best you can.

  Which, you know, as someone who’s studied a million years in school and aced exams and assignments because of a diligent work ethic and a disciplined study schedule, has me quaking in my boots, palms sweaty with nerves, convinced I’m going to mess this up.

  It’s not like there’s a perfect manual out there on how to excel at my relationship with Brody, there’s no step-by-step guide, and winging it has me feeling cold dread deep in my bones.

  And then he turns to smile at me again, and I just…I just let out a long a breath, and his smile gets even bigger, and everything feels just a little bit better than it did a mere few seconds ago.

  “Do you remember how to get there, or do you want me to pull up the GPS?” I mumble, coughing to clear the frog in my throat as I try to get my breathing back under control.

  “Just tell me as we go. I hate the voiceover; it drives me nuts.”

  “Yeah, cool, I can do that.” I snap my bubble gum, wanting to blow a bubble, but don’t want to ruin my gloss, and hence the lipstick underneath. “So…what’s new and interesting?”

  Brody snorts, leaning back in the driver’s seat, easing us into traffic only after I’ve snapped my seatbelt on. He’s the picture of a relaxed driver, one hand at the bottom of the wheel, the other at the very top, knuckles flashing white for a second, like he’s strangling the wheel.

  “Me? What’s new with you? Every single day seems the same. I wouldn’t even know what day it was unless it was in my calendar. My life’s become that Spider-Man meme. You know the one—”

  And we both point at each other at the red light he’s pulled up to and start laughing.

  Brody turns his gaze back to the road, moving us onto the 40 and heading east, where we spend the next twenty minutes stuck in traffic, because that’s life in Montreal. There’s a pothole the size of Jupiter on the right-hand side of the highway that has been cordoned off and everybody’s looking at it, and probably marveling at its size.

  Brody hums along to his Spotify playlist, a lot of it classic rock, some of it rap that I know some of the lyrics, too, but nothing that I would call Top 40, which is my forte.

  It’s nice, comfortable, and I go over the plan with him again.

  “Relax, Amber, I know everyone already.”

  “Yeah, I know, but it’s been literal years, and Vick and Max and I haven’t been talking, so you might get the cold shoulder like I am going to get.” I sigh. “Just stick close, okay?”

  “Why, you like me or something?” Brody laughs and glances over at me and grins, reaching blindly for my hand when he turns his attention back onto the road. I cradle one of his giant hands in the two of mine and pretend like the explosion of butterflies in my belly aren’t eating me from the inside out.

  Or something.

  Honestly, Brody, I’m pretty sure I never really stopped liking you, and I’m an idiot for doing it all this time. I’ve been stuck, a stick stuck in the mud over you. Shit.

  And now we’re giving it another go, and it’s terrifying. Terrifying!

  “I think this is the first year in forever that I don’t wanna do this.”

  “Do what?” Brody indicates, and switches lanes, passing another car by accelerating. “Go to your aunt’s? I thought you wanted pie.”

  I sigh, leaning back against the headrest, getting more comfortable. It’s kind of soothing, being the passenger without having to have my attention on the road.

  “I have the recipe, I’m just too lazy to actually make it most of the time.” I lean my head against the cool window, pulling down the zipper of my coat, fully warm now as we keep driving to what’s bound to be an awkward time.

  “I don’t know how it’s going to go, so you just have to be prepared. It might not be kittens and rainbows, you know?”

  “I’m always prepared, but I don’t think it’s going to suck as much as you think it’s going to suck.”

  “We’ll see.” We’ll see.

  Brody parks in front of my Aunt Lisa and Uncle Tristan’s house. Most of the cars in the driveway are the ones I recognize, but don’t see Max’s car – unless she parked around the corner.

  Maybe the focus won’t be on Brody and me after all if there’s more news that the family’s going to want to pick and prod at.

  But we are the Prewitts, and they’ve been Team Brody and Amber’s Happily Ever After since day one, a whole ten years ago.

  Brody holds onto my hand, giving me a reassuring squeeze as I raise my hand and knock on the spruce-green door, knocking my signature knock that I’ve always done practically since the day I was born, it seems like, and wait for Uncle Tristan to show up.

  My uncle opens the door, holding his beer bottle at the neck, eyes going wide with surprise, and genuine excitement at seeing Brody again, his one lacrosse idol when I couldn’t even be bothered with the sport.

  “Brody Kane! Holy shit, kid, you got huge!” Uncle Tristan laughs, holding his arms out for a hug, while I silently fume behind Brody’s broad frame, completely hidden from view now due to his larger size.

  I can pretend it doesn’t bother me that my own uncle seems to be happier that Brody’s here than I am, but really?

  Really?

  Uncle Tristan ushers us both inside, and I know I’m going to need the wine bottles I’m currently carrying inside once I take off my boots and stuff my feet in a pair of hot pink house slippers ’cause my feet are always notoriously cold.

  With my stomach twisted into knots, my heart is in my mouth as I follow Brody and my uncle towards the ruckus coming from the kitchen.

  There’s a lot of exclamations, my uncles knocking their beer bottles together, my aunts, too, everyone just all together looking at Brody practically with constellations in their eyeballs, like he’s the Second Coming. It’s like I’m not even here, I swear.

  Brody gets clapped on the back, like a football quarterback after a good play (or something, I hate football, I don’t know). Brody gets a beer shoved in his face, while my Aunt Lisa is pinching at his cheek, talking about how much he’s grown, how he’s filled out, and basically, toeing the line of saying something incredibly inappropriate, but I get it, Brody’s a good-looking guy, and it is what it is.

  “Aunt Lisa,” I say, putting myself in the non-conversation that is just talking about Brody, Brody, Brody. “I heard you were playing around with the recipe of your world-famous pumpkin pie.”

  “No, Aunt Lisa!” Brody theatrically gasps, clutching at his chest, and Aunt Lisa blushes, which boggles my mind and pinches me somewhere on the inside, but I refuse to analyze it right now.

  My uncle Tristan puts an arm around his wife, leaning in to kiss her on her cheek, with a loud snort. Aunt Lisa slaps at him, seemingly annoyed. Jesus, all this cute couple shit is going to make me gag and die, even while a part of me wishes Brody would stand closer to me, like an idiot.

  “No, no. Don’t worry, Brody. Why mess with a good thing?”

  “A great thing. After I left Montreal, I dreamed about that pie for years.” Brody flashes the grin he uses when he does his endorsement deal photo shoots, and after all that, being who he is, he’s also freaking photogenic as hell. It’s unfair, really.

  Aunt Lisa places her hands on her heated cheeks, and Brody slides his eyes over to me, a slick smile on his face that I want to wipe off by any means necessary.

  “Oh, stop it,” my aunt says, waving him off. “You know I can’t take a compliment ever. Right. Time to work. Turkey should be ready in another half hour or so,” she says, and by past experience and all the historical data I’ve gathered since we’ve been doing this back when Max, Vick and I were wearing nothing but diapers, it means we’ve got another hour until the bird is ready to be eaten, at a minimum.

  Which is always the fun part, being around the family, watching whatever’s on TV, just being together—if it just wasn’t this year.

  I need to find my cousins, clear the air enough that we’re able to share a meal together, not ruin the holiday for our families, Aunt Lisa would kill me.

  The Prewitts live for the holidays and ruining one of them because of family drama is like committing a felon or some sort of cardinal sin. So, no, I don’t want to be on the business end of the stick if it all comes crashing down, and we end up wearing the food instead of eating it.

  The kitchen is in a bustle, little Evie who’s not so little anymore (she’s biologically 25 years old but resides somewhere in her late forties when it comes to patience), hanging halfway out of the fridge, sticking her ass out as if she’s begging to be kicked by yours truly.

  I restrain myself, just barely, and get bumped in the shoulder by Brody, who’s seated himself at the kitchen island, in one of the rickety stools that always needs grease, but no one ever really gets around to it, like the stools are more of a decorative piece more than anything else.

  “Everything all right?” he asks, crinkling his nose at me, which honestly, should not be allowed with how cute it is and the way it makes my dumb heart race for no reason at all.

  I gingerly take the seat next to him, leaning my head on my hand, knowing this is as close as Aunt Lisa will let me get to the food on the stove before I start sampling, moving toward the end goal of popping the button open of my jeans tonight.

  “Is everything all right with you? Isn’t it weird that they’re all so happy to see you? Like the prodigal son?” I tilt my head at him, pushing my lips out, watching his gaze flicker down to my mouth like he’s thinking about kissing me.

  And I don’t think I would be opposed.

  Brody looks into my eyes and leans back a little so we’re no longer as close, just talking now, like two friends might, like two people might with a shit-ton of history together.

  “I don’t know, it’s pretty nice, though. I feel like they actually want me around.”

  I narrow my eyes at him, ready to clap back at that dig, but instead decide to stow it. I know I’ve been hard to be around, I know that. Doesn’t stop me from bristling though.

  “I’m sorry about that,” I say, meaning it, keeping my voice barely above a murmur.

  “We’re here now, right?”

  I glance at him, feeling sure that he has my back today, for the rest of the day, no matter what happens. And I let myself marvel at the fact that he does, that he looks so ready to fight for me when all I’ve been is an epic bitch to him, no matter how much it hurts to be around him sometimes.

  I nod at him, ignoring the hot flare of pain in my throat, glancing away, just for a second, just to collect myself. I sigh, letting out the tension in my shoulders, letting the comforting smells soothe me in a way that food always has, that being around my family always has—despite the current situation between my cousins and me.

  Brody’s here, and so am I. We’re here together, after so much time has passed.

  I can’t believe it.

  Brody Kane’s the one that got away, and that should be the end of that particular story.

  Except he came back, and he’s looking at me with those eyes, and I do the one thing that I’ve been longing to do for such a long time, it feels like the moment’s been a whole decade in the making.

  I lean forward, hand coming up to meet his cheek, soft stubble grazing my palm and fingertips, and I swear to God that he holds his breath as I come closer, gasping in surprise when I lean in to kiss him.

  His eyes flutter closed nanoseconds before our lips meet, his body going rigid, as if he’s expecting some sort of agony that he’s going to have to endure.

  And then a thought rises hot like a flare in my brain—maybe Brody’s been waiting for this moment, too.

  “Oh my god!” Evie yells, her voice going high and distressed, and even as I start to pull back, heart a jackhammer against my sternum, Brody’s already surging forward, as if he wants this as much as I do.

  We kiss for the first time in forever, and it’s just as good as it was, just as sweet and perfect, and maybe even a little better—a bit more desperate, a bit hungrier.

  Colors swirl behind my closed eyelids, and the world tumbles away for a few split seconds, my entire attention focused on none other than Brody Kane.

  When we pull back and stare at each other, the both of us trying to catch our breath, he smiles at me, the happiest I’ve ever seen him since he’s come back to Montreal, and it’s directed at me with the full force of a hot, burning sun.

  “That was worth the wait,” he says, leaning in to kiss me again, his lips almost ghosting across my mouth, making my lips tingle. “I’ve missed you, Amber Prewitt, with all of my heart.”

  I ignore the pinch of pain somewhere behind my own heart, and kiss him back, for everything I’m worth, wishing we weren’t here, wishing we were back at my house where I could control the shots.

  I pull back first, licking at my lips and watch his eyes track the movement, making me shiver on the spot. And because my brain isn’t fully back online, and I’m all muddled, I say the first thing that comes to my mind, when he’s clearly told me how he feels about me.

  “Pie,” I blurt, blinking at him, as if he can somehow connect the dots with what we’ve been doing and the lack of pumpkin pie in my life, when even I don’t know what’s coming out of my mouth.

  Brody just laughs, throwing his head back, roaring with it at the ceiling, the deep kind of belly-laugh that makes everyone within a close-enough radius smile and want to join right in.

  He turns that boisterous laugh on me, the laughter petering out until his smile is bright as the sun, and it makes my heart do acrobatics in my chest, my palms are clammy, my skin hunger is erupting with the desperate need to be touched with gentleness and warmth, exactly the way he’s smiling at me right now.

  “We’ll get you some pie, don’t you worry,” he says, kissing my mouth again, and I let him, satisfied that this day isn’t going to suck after all.

  I mean, I’m pretty sure.

  FOURTEEN

  Aunt Lisa comes strolling back into the kitchen after leaving for a probably much-needed bathroom break. Her eyes are big and wide as she looks between me and Brody like we’re doing something truly scandalous (like filming our own amateur porn right here in the damn kitchen).

  I frown at her, wondering what the hell is going on, when she nudges her head in the general direction of the dining room. The living room is where everyone is sitting, watching yet another hockey game and doing the drinking, and eating of some snacks, and just talking and shit. The dining room on the other hand is silent like a vigil, waiting for all the plates and the rest of us to descend on the food like the animals we are.

  It’s a silent signal that someone’s in the quiet dining room, instead of being part of the imploding noise-level from the living room, my uncle Tristan getting louder and louder the more beer he drinks, and I think he’s already hit his three-beer limit before we all sit down to eat.

  “Why don’t you go see my uncles and dad? I bet they don’t even know that you’re here. I’m gonna go talk to my cousins,” I murmur, pushing at Brody’s shoulder while I get vertical and give him what I think is a reassuring smile.