“Hugh MacKinnon is my cousin, you know,” Fergus says, appearing out of nowhere and addressing the elderly white-haired man I’ve been speaking to. “He asked me to move into the caretaker’s apartment in the old funeral home after he bought it to keep vandals and such away while they organize a team to do renovations.”

  The old man’s bushy eyebrows skyrocket. He fires off a series of questions at Fergus, who slips in front of me and makes a subtle shooing motion with his hand. Irritation surges through me until I realize his intention is to save me, not snub me.

  Making a mental note to thank Fergus later, I dash away. Unfortunately, I don’t get far before I run into Ned. I swallow the groan that rises in my throat, covering it with a delicate cough.

  “You seem to be in a hurry to get somewhere, Evelyn.”

  And yet he makes no effort to get out of my way and let me pass. My mom sure knows how to pick ’em. “I was just looking for my friends.” I make a show of peering around the room. The show becomes real when I don’t spot the girls anywhere.

  “They were all clustered around your mom with Wesley a few minutes ago,” Ned says. “Wesley was doing all the talking and then the four of them disappeared.”

  “Oh.” I continue searching the room. There’s no way they’d leave without telling me.

  “I’m more than happy to keep you company.” He doesn’t give me a chance to speak before he launches into details about a case he’s working on. Since my mother drilled good manners into me from a young age—and forced me to take actual etiquette lessons after she started hosting events for my dad’s coworkers and clients—I try my best to pay attention to what Ned is saying. It quickly becomes evident he’s one of those people who talks at you rather than to you, so my efforts turn to hiding the disinterest from my expression while I cast surreptitious glances around the room in search of escape.

  I’m half listening to Ned, my eyes nearly crossing from boredom, when my gaze lands on my dad across the room. I send him a beseeching look, giving him my best ‘please get me out of this conversation’ eyes. Amusement plays across his face as he takes a few steps forward. My relief is short-lived as someone intercepts him. Dad shoots me an apologetic look over the man’s shoulder. If I’m not mistaken, he’s now giving off his own ‘someone save me’ vibes.

  I’ve always considered my dad an extroverted introvert, or at least an introvert who’s good at putting on an act. When I was little, he seemed to thrive at the casual parties my mom hosted, and he was the grill master at our many summer barbecues. That continued for a while after we moved here, and our barbecues included pool parties in the Olympic-size pool out back. Things soon changed, though; those relaxed gatherings became fancy cocktail and dinner parties, charity events, and fundraisers.

  Dad always appeared at ease as he circulated, but at nearly every event, there was a point when he’d slip away for a short period of time. Eventually, I realized he was going up to his office, and I assumed Mr. Workaholic was handling business. My curiosity got the best of me one night about ten years ago, and I followed him. Instead of taking a call or banging away at his computer like I expected, I found him sitting in the dark save for the glow of his Tiffany lamp, feet propped on the corner of his desk, and whiskey tumbler in hand.

  He invited me in, poured me a glass of the Jameson whiskey he apparently kept hidden in a drawer in his desk, and we sat in silence. Since that night, it’s been our secret ritual at nearly every event my mom hosts. Sometimes we sit quietly, and other times we talk about work and life, books we’ve read, or places we’ve discovered around town. I cherish those times, and I was looking forward to our getaway tonight, but it appears it might not happen.

  A throat clears beside me. Oops. I haven’t even been pretending to listen to Ned. He wasn’t the one trying to get my attention, though, which I realize as I glance up into Fergus’s moss-colored eyes. Disappointment rushes through me at the sight of his coat draped over one arm, until I notice my coat is tucked underneath it. “Sorry to interrupt, but I’ve been sent to collect Evie.”

  Ned is surprisingly gracious about the interruption. Fergus places his hand on the small of my back as he leads me across the room.

  “Where are we going?” I ask, and then in the same breath, add, “Actually, you know what, I don’t even care. I know we only met tonight, but you’re officially my new favorite person.”

  Fergus chuckles. “I’m honored.”

  We make our way through the house to the kitchen, which is still bustling with staff. At the French doors that lead to the backyard, Fergus dons his coat and then holds out mine for me to slip my arms into. The moment he opens the door, I catch the scent of woodsmoke in the air. Like countless other times in the past few days, I’m transported back to my childhood: cookouts, bonfires, camping in the backyard of my childhood home.

  It’s a perfect autumn evening, with a slight chill in the air, and a full moon illuminating the yard. The moon isn’t the only bright spot out here; flames dance in the firepit past the pool. In the glow of the blaze, I can see my friends sitting on the padded benches surrounding the pit.

  Fergus grins down at me as he offers me his arm. I hook my arm through his, and we set off across the perfectly-manicured lawn.

  Wesley is the first one on his feet. He thanks Fergus for getting me out here, and Fergus squeezes my arm before moving to take the empty seat between Hollie and Louisa.

  “How on earth did you manage this?” I ask.

  “I used my powers of persuasion on your mom,” Wesley says, taking my hand and leading me to the bench where he was sitting. “I told her being back in town was making me nostalgic and I wanted to recreate a moment from our childhood.”

  I glance around at my friends’ smiling faces. “And she actually went for it?”

  “She made me promise to save her a s’more.”

  “There are s’mores?” My ears perk up at the mention of the treat I haven’t had in years. Even though I’m stuffed full of turkey, half a dozen side dishes, and a giant slice of pumpkin pie, I can always make room for s’mores.

  Stella holds up a bag of jumbo marshmallows, while Hollie brandishes a box of graham crackers and a giant chocolate bar.

  “I also swiped a couple bottles of wine for us to pass around,” Wesley says.

  “That was never part of our childhood bonfires.” My voice wobbles slightly as an expected wave of emotion washes over me.

  Wesley’s hand tightens where it grips my arm, as if he’s trying to convey his understanding. “Perks of being an adult, Buttercup. Here, sit down. It’s time to get the real Thanksgiving party started.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  I expect to stay outside only long enough to eat a few s’mores and pass around the wine. Before long, it’s evident Wesley meant what he said: the real party is now out here. I know it’s serious when he goes to his car to get a wireless speaker to connect to his phone.

  “DJ Wes in the house,” I say in my best announcer voice as he cues up a playlist. To Stella, I add, “How often do you get a private show from an actual DJ?”

  Stella makes a non-committal sound, her narrowed gaze trained on her brother across the firepit. Throughout the evening, the two of them have been giving each other the stink eye and having conversations in heated whispers. It reminds me of how they used to fight over the most trivial, juvenile things when we were younger. Nobody knew how to push each other’s buttons quite like the McGrath siblings did. I rarely fought with either of them and ordered them to leave me out of their spats since being friends with both of them made it uncomfortable for me.

  I cast a glance around our little circle. My gaze snags on Louisa and Fergus, and I smile at the sound of Lulu’s laughter. I can hear the low rumble of Fergus’s voice, although not what he’s saying as he appears to tell Louisa a story, his hands gesticulating as he speaks. He leans closer to Louisa, lowering his voice, and she laughs again, tilting her head back in delight. The sight warms me from head to toe.

  Louisa hasn’t had an easy life; events in her teen years left her with severe anxiety that she still struggles with to this day. She’s usually painfully shy around new people, especially men. She seems mostly at ease with Fergus, though. Not completely—her hands are clasped tightly in her lap, which is one of her tells to the people who know her well—but her smile and eyes are bright, and her laughter is genuine.

  A cool gust of wind makes the flames in the firepit dance. Louisa shivers noticeably, and Fergus offers her his jacket. Is it possible I’m watching a blossoming romance right before my eyes?

  I pull my own jacket around me tighter and hop up from my seat. “I’ll run inside and grab the blankets my mom keeps for outdoor use.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Wesley offers.

  Beside me, Stella jumps to her feet. “Actually, Wes, can I talk to you for a minute?”

  I witness a brief staredown between the siblings before Wesley sighs and nods his head once.

  “It’s fine, I can manage.” Part of me wants to ask if I should stick around to referee whatever’s going on between them, but I didn’t want that role as a kid and I certainly don’t want it now. I head inside to the laundry room where Mom keeps the blankets in one of many neatly organized and labeled totes. The house is quieter than it was when we went outside, which must mean guests have started leaving. I keep expecting Mom to appear in the backyard and insist I return inside to say goodbye to people or stand by as she continues to play matchmaker.

  With that thought in mind, I pick up my pace. The kitchen is now empty of staff, and the surfaces have been returned to their former gleaming spotlessness. Talk about efficient. I’m contemplating asking Mom for a referral when someone steps into the room, making me jump and clutch the stack of blankets to my chest.

  “Only me,” my dad says with a chuckle. “You look like I caught you doing something you shouldn’t be.”

  I give him a wry smile. “I was afraid if Mom saw me she’d redouble her matchmaking efforts. Is Ned still here?”

  “He is. He asked me a few minutes ago if I knew where you’d run off to.”

  “Welp, that’s my cue to leave.” I inch toward the door, making Dad laugh quietly again.

  He crosses the room, stopping in front of me. Up close, I can see the weariness in his eyes and the slightly hunched set of his shoulders. He’s used to late nights with his job—Mom has often told me how many nights he spends tucked away in his office, working on a case—but for him, socializing is draining in its own way. “Do you ever get tired of all this, Dad? The parties, the schmoozing…the excess.”

  He ponders my question for longer than I expected. Finally, he says, “More than you know, Evie.” He looks guilty as soon as the words are out, as if he somehow betrayed Mom with his admission. “It makes your mom happy, so it’s worth it. Did you know she makes a large, anonymous donation to the food bank where Hollie works every Thanksgiving and again at Christmas?”

  “I didn’t. She does it anonymously?”

  Dad nods. “You should give her more credit, Ev. Not everything she does is for show or recognition. She’s always believed in the importance of us sharing our wealth. It’s something I’m glad to see you’ve inherited from her.”

  I’m not sure how to respond to that. Dad seems to understand because he simply nods again and goes to open a cupboard near the fridge. He returns a second later with a bottle of Jameson, which he carefully lies on its side on top of my pile of blankets.

  “You’d better hurry, kiddo. Mom was on her way in here when I last saw her.” He opens the back door for me. “There’s no time to get you as many glasses as you’d need, so don’t let her see you drinking from the bottle.”

  I kiss his cheek as I slip past him. “Thanks, Dad.”

  Back outside, I only make it a few steps before I hear voices coming from the side of the house. I squint toward the firepit; the only people missing are Wesley and Stella. They must still be arguing about whatever it is that’s had them giving each other dirty looks all night.

  I take another step, pausing when Stella’s voice lifts and she says, “Stay away from her, Wes.”

  I should keep walking. This is none of my business, and I’ve already promised myself I wouldn’t get involved. But…my curiosity is piqued. Which ‘her’ is Stella referring to?

  “That’s kind of hard to do, considering we’re at her parents’ house. Oh, and she’s one of my best friends.” Wesley’s tone is casual, borderline flippant. The fact they’re talking about me has my feet rooted to the ground, even though I know I should keep walking.

  “You know what I mean. If you hurt her, I’ll…I’ll…”

  “You’ll what?” Wesley’s voice is amused now, with a hint of the good-natured taunting I remember from our childhood.

  “I’ll hunt you down and hurt you.”

  Wesley’s burst of laughter startles me. He laughs and laughs, and I wish I could peek around the side of the house to see him. I imagine him with his head thrown back and his hands clutching his belly, while Stella silently seethes.

  “Oh, Little Star, I’ve missed you,” Wesley says, his tone full of affection now.

  “Don’t you ‘Little Star’ me,” Stella says, although the heat is gone from her voice. “I mean it, Wesley.”

  “I know you do. I can’t stay away from her, though, Stels. I’ve stayed away long enough. From all of you.”

  Guilt finally propels my feet forward, and I hurry away from my hiding spot. When I reach the firepit, I set the whiskey on the ground and hand out the blankets. “I ran into my dad inside and he sent me out with this,” I tell the others, brandishing the bottle. “Sorry it’s not Scottish, Fergus.”

  “No worries. My grandad was Irish, so I’m an equal opportunity whiskey drinker.”

  I open the bottle and hand it to Hollie, who says, “I feel like a college kid, swigging from bottles of wine and now whiskey. I hope we’re all prepared to have hangovers tomorrow. Should make work extra fun.” She wrinkles her nose at me since I have the week off, then takes a swig from the bottle. She passes it to Louisa, who holds it for a moment, her expression uncertain, then hands it to Fergus without taking a drink.

  Fergus accepts the bottle without question. I joked with him earlier that he was my new favorite person, and I think I now officially love him, even though we only met tonight. A lot of people would ask Louisa why she didn’t drink or tell her there was no harm in taking a sip. Someone’s choice to drink or not is nobody’s business, but that doesn’t stop some people from prying. Not Fergus, though. After taking a healthy pull, he releases a satisfied sigh and returns the bottle to me, murmuring, “Cheers, Evie.”

  I salute him with the bottle and take a drink. A second after I’ve lowered it to my side, warm fingers brush mine as they remove the bottle from my hand. Wesley and I lock eyes as he takes a drink of whiskey.

  “Where’s Stella?” I ask.

  “She went inside to use the bathroom.”

  He takes another sip and then hands the bottle to Hollie. To me, he says, “Can I pull you away for a sec?”

  Without a word, I follow him back across the yard. We stop just outside the pool of light cast by the lamps over the back door. “Dare I ask what’s going on with you and Stella?”

  “Oh, it’s…” He trails off, shaking his head and running a hand through his hair. It looks like inky liquid in the dark, soft and touchable. “It’s nothing. I just wanted to see how you’re doing. We haven’t had a moment alone yet tonight.”

  “Oh. I’m good. Dinner was a lot more tolerable than I expected after you finagled a spot beside me.”

  He laughs under his breath. “I do what I can. This is fun too, right?” He waves a hand to indicate the surprise bonfire.

  “So fun. If you’ll allow me a moment to be sappy—”

  “Well, it is Thanksgiving,” he says, grinning when I give him a narrow-eyed look for interrupting me. “Go on.”

  “That’s actually connected to what I was going to say. Thanksgiving is all about being grateful and counting your blessings, and I…well, I have a lot to be thankful for. This year more than ever. Having us all back together like this makes me happy beyond words.”

  “I’m glad.” His voice is whisper soft. It feels like an intimate caress in the dark, cool night. I realize I’m staring at him a second before he clears his throat and averts his gaze while he digs his phone from his jacket pocket. “I made you another playlist, this time online. I’m going to send you the link so you can listen to it later.”

  “Okay, thanks.” My phone pings in my pocket. I leave it there, knowing I wouldn’t be able to resist immediately opening the link.

  “Remember when you first moved and you were determined to spend as little time here as possible?” Wesley asks. “You said this house was too big and didn’t feel like home, but my place still felt like home, so you’d come over every day after school and most weekends.”

  How could I forget? The McGrath house had always been my second home, and it became a haven the year my family moved. It was a strange, difficult year, full of more changes and challenges than I’d ever experienced in my fifteen years. Stella’s accident happened that year, and her recovery was slow and painful. She became quiet and withdrawn, angry at the world. She insisted I hang out with Wesley since she didn’t feel like talking and couldn’t do much. I was too young to fully understand why she was pushing me away and, because it hurt to see her in so much pain—the emotional kind as much as the physical—I would stop by her room for a quick visit after school and then leave without argument when she told me to.