THANKFUL
Thanksgiving Day.
It had been a week since Eric had heard from Juliet. He'd continued to throw himself into work, taking his role as CEO more seriously than ever before. He'd hit the gym harder, practically begging Terrell to challenge him more and more. He didn't go out with the guys, he didn't take social lunches, he removed himself from nearly all the things that had comprised him as a whole before Juliet came along. Because before Juliet, he'd realized, he'd been a boy. A young man merely going with the flow and flirting with life in a grown man's shoes, taking it one day at a time, each stride easier than the last.
But not anymore.
Gone were the days of womanizing, bar-hopping, and taking the city by storm. Gazing at his favorite picture of Juliet that he'd chosen as the wallpaper for his phone, he realized that life was staring him in the face. It was time to grow up. It was time to be the man he knew he was destined to be, once and for all--powerful, successful, mighty, and bold. He was his father's son, after all. He was the CEO of Reynolds Construction, one of the most prominent construction companies in New York, a multi-billion dollar outfit that seemed to only grow by the project. And that was the truth. The company was growing larger at seemingly lightning speed and it was finally time for Eric to man up and take a firmer handle on the reigns.
Not only was it time to man up for his business, but it was time to man up for Juliet, as well. It wasn't a huge revelation or a thought that had ever been lost on him, as he'd known that Juliet needed someone larger-than-life from the very beginning. On the outside looking in, Juliet was strong, independent, successful--the picture of the woman that every man wanted and every woman wanted to be. But to be lucky enough to be afforded the rare opportunity come inside, to see and know Juliet for who she really was, took someone with incredible strength who had the ability to see straight through her and appreciate the warmth in her smile, feel the caring in her touch, and be willing to endure her horrors if only to take them away and make them their own. That was who Eric was and he knew it. He'd been accused, over time, of having issues with his confidence and sometimes that may have been true. But not about this. Eric Reynolds and Juliet Carson were put on this earth to find each other and Eric would never lose confidence in that.
That was why he had to keep trying.
That was why he had to keep fighting.
That was why he had to roll with the punches, take the good with the bad, be willing to let her go at her own pace so that one day she would be confident of the very same thing. That they belonged to each other. Eric was already hers. That was something she would never have to question. Hell, that was practically half the battle, wasn't it?
It was late morning in Manhattan as Eric sat above traffic in his truck, thumbing his steering wheel to a beat that played on his stereo that he wasn't really listening to. Eric was an idiot sometimes, that much he'd attest to. He should have listened to Travis when he'd invited him over to spend the night in the penthouse last night so he wouldn't have to deal with any of this parade traffic. But Eric, ever the hopeful optimist that he was, without revealing it to Travis, turned him down in hopes that, since it was a holiday, Juliet might call or turn up all of a sudden. Eric had never prayed so hard in his life.
Except that when his phone never rang and his door never buzzed, he'd gotten up and showered and trudged begrudgingly out of his apartment and into the bitter air.
What killed Eric in this moment was that the damned parade was streets away. Streets. Did the detour really have to be routed all the way out here? The kicker was, the penthouse wasn't even that far away. But, yet, here he sat, a good solid fifteen minutes sitting still and alone with his thoughts.
Ah, the penthouse. One of the multiple properties Travis practically chose to ignore once he'd inherited them. When their grandfather died, after the initial mourning period and after the will had been carried out, Travis finally threw his temper tantrum and attempted the obligatory self-righteous, spoiled rich kid pissing contest with Eric. It took two weeks and constant bitching out of Travis before Eric physically pinned his twin brother to the wall and finally forced Travis to read between the lines. Travis didn't need the money because he was smart enough to make the money. Hence the properties. Eric was given the money because nobody in their god damned family had faith that he'd ever amount to anything beyond serving as their father's puny little lap dog. This calmed Travis down, once and for all, and then the brothers sat and had a beer and let it all out in the open.
'Well, guess what, Pops?' Eric thought. 'I'm running circles around Dad in his chair right now, making the most money this company's ever seen. Who didn't amount to what?'
When Travis sat down with Eric less than a week ago and told him he was giving up his apartment and moving into the penthouse, Eric thought his eyes would fall out of his head. When Eric thought he'd heard it all, Travis revealed the future plans to turn the penthouse into a home for both him and Beth. When Eric confronted him about the amount of time he'd known Beth and reminded him of what a womanizer he'd always been, Travis had sat back in his chair and looked at him smugly, holding up two fingers. "Two words," Travis had countered. "Juliet Carson."
And that was the end of that conversation.
Now, all of a sudden, the newly smitten couple was hosting their first Thanksgiving together and it was supposed to be quite the celebration. They were already bringing their families together. Her family was coming from Brooklyn, the brothers' parents were coming in from Rhode Island, Andy and Caroline were flying in, their uncle, Walter, was coming, Terrell would be there since he wasn't able to make it home to Charleston, and several other friends would be there, as well. When Juliet's name wasn't mentioned, Eric hadn't even had to ask. Of course she'd been invited, but she'd turned it down.
When Beth hadn't seemed worried about the denial, Eric nearly lost his mind. "She has no one," he argued. "Where the hell is she going to go? Certainly she's not going to hole up in her apartment, alone, just to avoid me. This is ridiculous. I'm going over there. Count me out of Thanksgiving, too."
"She won't be there," Beth suddenly blurted.
Eric had narrowed his eyes at the brunette in sinking suspicion. "Where the hell else is she going to go?"
"It's not my business to tell," Beth blinked simply. "But she'll be celebrating the holiday and she won't be alone."
Eric was livid, but what could he do? She hadn't made the attempt to contact him and he knew that if he'd tried to contact her, she wouldn't reply. He knew how to play these games well enough by now.
There was never a shortage of activity on the streets of Manhattan, no matter what time of the day it was, holiday or not. But on this particular street, there was hardly any hustle and bustle at all. Eric was rarely ever on this street, but when he was, he always enjoyed how quaint and quiet it seemed to be. It was probably nice to live in one of the Brownstones that lined the street. Quiet, safe neighborhood, never waking up to homeless people sleeping under your window or the loud sounds of the concrete jungle that the island was. These people walked their Border Collies safely and slept through the night with no interruption. Eric had that peaceful luxury now, living on the top floor of his building, but he decided that if he ever wanted to move, he would look into this neighborhood.
Despite the quiet city street, however, as traffic finally decided it wanted to creep a couple of inches, movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. Turning his head to the left, his eyes fell on a sign that sat just inside of a wrought-iron gate: "The Loving Care Home for Children EST 1933"
The large Victorian house was definitely much older than 1933 and Eric couldn't help but wonder what the history behind it was beyond that. The house wasn't exactly in ill repair, but the refreshers it could use stuck out like sore thumbs to Eric. He figured it was roughly three stories with its impressive bay window and wrap-around porch. The front yard, what he could see of it, was small and was littered with plastic playground equipment and children's toys, items that looked severely outdated.
He'd lost himself in the house's charm and its structure for a moment longer before he was brought back to the present by the movement that had caught his eye to begin with. The facility was located along the sidewalk but away from the street enough that you couldn't make out discernible faces in the windows if there were any to be seen. That was why the faces on the porch weren't clear, but he could recognize the one woman a mile away.
An older woman with a graying bun and an apron around her sweatshirt and jeans spoke to another woman with a warm smile, the other woman causing Eric's heart to pound violently in his chest. Her hair was pinned into a thick, dark mess on top of her head and she also wore an apron over her dark jeans and cream-colored sweater, no mistaking the tantalizing curves of her body that kept Eric awake night after night. But what--what the hell was she doing there?
When he was finally able to gather his composure, Eric rolled down his window and opened his mouth to call out Juliet's name, but thought better of it. Instead, he fought his way out of his seat belt and unlocked his door when, all of a sudden, traffic decided it wanted to move. At a pace faster than two inches per hour. Eric cussed. He pounded on his steering wheel in fury and he swore out loud as he was forced to carry on with traffic. And then, after he'd recovered from his unexpected, missed opportunity, he scrambled for his phone and found the number he needed.
Beth answered almost too cheerfully. "Well, you called just in time! I was literally about to be elbow-deep up a turkey's ass, Happy Thanksgiving!"
Eric wanted to laugh at her greeting, but he was in no laughing mood. Instead he spat out, "Where is Juliet?"
Beth sighed and Eric could detect the exhaustion in her breath. A pang of guilt soared through him, but only for a second. "Eric. We've been over this--"
"Um, no, apparently we haven't. Because I just saw her and I know where she is."
The line fell silent for a moment. "How did you see her?" Beth asked quietly.
"Because I was sitting in fucking traffic right beside the place!" Eric replied in frustration. "I saw her on the porch. What I want to know is why does she seem to have some secret double life that I'm not allowed to know about?"
"Because she doesn't do it for recognition," she finally confessed. "This is something that she dedicates her own, personal time to in private, out of the public eye. Once or twice a month and on most holidays, especially Thanksgiving and Christmas, Juliet volunteers at the children's home. She's done it for years. She's sort of a permanent fixture there."
Eric's jaw went slack and the breath left his chest. He didn't even have to think about it to know what that establishment must have meant to her. He'd always known that she was involved in charities for animals and children, but the most he'd witnessed was the benefit party for the Humane Society. He supposed he'd always imagined, liked most high-society rich people, that was the extent of her support. Anyone could organize a party and write a check, though. It was so easy. But Juliet was no ordinary "high society rich socialite" either, and there she was, as he'd seen with his own two eyes and now heard with his own two ears, and she was about so much more than that. She was very personally involved, right down to throwing what was left of her heart right there on the very front, vulnerable lines.
If Eric had been willing to admit it to himself in that moment, he would know that that wasn't just one of the many times he thought he'd fallen in love with Juliet Carson--that was the exact moment that he'd known.
"Eric?" Beth's voice suddenly interrupted his thoughts, shaking him out of his trance. "Are you there?"
"Why wouldn't she tell me something like that?" He whispered.
"Because she doesn't want glory or a pat on the back or anything like that. She does it out of the kindness of her heart and expects absolutely nothing in return. We'd known each other for about three years before I stopped begging her to come to dinner with my family because I knew it was never going to happen. She became a volunteer there before we started the company--back when we both had nothing. And now she's able to help fund them and their programs as well as getting her hands a little dirty with the cooking or the cleaning--sometimes she just simply goes to read books to the kids. She's there because she wants to be. Not because she has no family or nowhere else to go. It's where her heart is, Eric. It's why I love her."
Eric swallowed the lump in his throat before he replied to her statement, stopping himself from vocalizing his agreement. Instead, he sucked in a breath, straightened his spine and darted his eyes around in his mirrors. "I'm turning around. Take a place setting off the table."
"Eric. No," Beth's voice demanded firmly. "Don't you dare show your face there like that. If you care for that woman, even an ounce, you will not barge in there unexpected like that and turn her world upside down. On the days she is at the home, her first priority is the children. Eric, I swear to God, you will not win this if you show up there." Then her voice calmed and he could hear here taking a deep breath. "Just calm down, come here, have dinner with your family, and address this later. Juliet isn't alone. Today she's happy. Let her be happy."
Defeated, Eric knew Beth was right. She'd singlehandedly ended their conversation with the magic words, "Let her be happy." It was all Eric ever wanted for Juliet, even if it meant sacrificing his own happiness to make it happen. He couldn't be selfish, no matter how badly he had wanted to abandon his truck in traffic, storm onto the porch, take her in his arms, and kiss her until she lost the capacity to breathe. His grand gesture wouldn't make her happy. But his distance and his respect would.
And so he continued on through traffic, on to the penthouse, to be with his family and give thanks to the good that life had to offer--even when the best thing in his life would be absent.
______________________________________________
Beth's nerves had been shot for at least two days now. Travis was a force of nature to be reckoned with and she was getting a crash course on what it was like to be hopelessly infatuated with a man like him. It was unpredictable, constant surprises, never a moment to sit and let anything register or sink in before the next curve ball came her way. He was a bundle of energy and excitement and there had absolutely never been a dull moment since he'd stepped unexpectedly into her life.
Case in point: Thanksgiving.
To begin with, when Travis had mentioned ever-so-casually that he was going to move into the penthouse that he owned, Beth shrugged it off after the initial shock as a bridge that would be crossed when they came to it. Except that when he put his mind to it, he wasted no time whatsoever getting whatever it was accomplished. So when, in less than twenty-four hours after the conversation, she couldn't reach him on his cell phone after work and he'd finally called her after two in the morning to apologize because he had been packing a truck and moving his apartment into the penthouse, Beth had to scrape her jaw off of the ground. It had taken him less than three days to transfer his residence and then he dropped the bomb that he wanted Beth to come in and decorate. "Do whatever you want with it," he'd told her. "Anything, I don't care. Work your magic, make it yours." And as if that wasn't enough of a shock, he'd added, "But make it relatively snappy because we're hosting Thanksgiving here next week."
Beth had very seriously nearly fainted.
After Beth had run to Juliet with a near panic attack of her own, Juliet had been more than gracious enough to be Beth's right-hand man in the decorating of the penthouse. Beth couldn't count the number of times Juliet had to save her from hyperventilating and the way the two of them would sit in the floor night after night with papers and plans strewn about over red wine was about the only thing that kept her sane.
One of those nights, Travis had seemingly materialized out of nowhere with a bottle of red wine, freshly opened, topping the women's glasses off, and he had crouched down, tucked Beth's hair behind her ear, and asked her softly, "Is there anything you need me to do?"
The way his unruly blonde hair fell around his shoulders and the way his crystal blue eyes twinkled at her and the way his smile warmed the very depths of her soul merely took her breath away and sent her lips agape. Unable to speak, she'd merely shaken her head and he'd kissed her forehead and made himself scarce for the rest of the night.
Something in the moment had shaken Beth to the very core and she turned to Juliet and she whispered, "I love him."
Warmly, Juliet had smiled and appreciatively turned up her wine glass. "I know."
"I love him," Beth repeated. "I am head over heels, deathly seriously, irrevocably in love with him. This is it, Jules. There's no turning back now." Suddenly, Beth looked at the mounds of papers that surrounded them and she grabbed for them all blindly. "We need to get this finished. There's no more time to waste, it needs to be done. He wants us to host Thanksgiving here."
"This year?" Juliet had squeaked.
"Yes," Beth had replied, her expression stone cold.
And now, on Thanksgiving morning, Beth couldn't remember the last time she'd slept.
In fact, she barely remembered what her own apartment looked like. She'd been at the penthouse every single night with Juliet and a vast array of contractors, movers, and decorators. She'd only collapsed in bed with Travis at night just long enough to get some shut-eye for a few hours before having to get up for work. "Babes," Travis had said to her one night. "Please. I'm begging you, give me something to do. You're so overworked."
"No. It's okay," Beth had replied. "This is what Juliet and I do. I got this."
There wasn't even any time for sex. That was the most unfortunate part.
She had done it, though. Most of the penthouse had actually gotten done in the ridiculously short amount of time she'd been given and she was just able to break a couple of days before Thanksgiving to now plan the menu and the celebration. Lunch breaks and late nights were for shopping, decorating, and cooking. Finally, by the previous night, when all the stress had finally come to a head and Beth had reached her limit and had a nervous breakdown in the middle of the kitchen when she had messed up the consistency of an entire pan of dressing, Travis finally grabbed her by the wrists and nearly shoved his nose in her face. "Beth," he breathed calmly, his warm tone firm. "Beth. Guess what? I can cook."
She'd blinked at him and finally fallen quiet, letting his words sink in, her eyes glancing and darting around his face as she registered his presence. The kitchen around them smelled of pie and bread and boiled potatoes for salad and her eyes filled with the beautiful sight of his kind smile, his luscious lips, and the messy bun that sat on top of his head. She loved the scruff of his dark blonde five o'clock shadow and the warmth of his light tan-colored sweater somehow calmed her down and caused her to pause and listen to him. "What?"
"I can cook," he repeated again with a smile. "It doesn't happen often, but when it does, I'm the fucking man. Please. Just tell me what you want me to do. Believe it or not, I'm actually pretty good at taking direction."
"But I wanted to do this," she'd whispered. "You wanted us to host Thanksgiving--"
"Right," he said, releasing her wrists and cupping her face in his hands. "I wanted us to host Thanksgiving. If you don't give me something to do, I'll start taking initiative and I know how crazy that will drive you. And I don't think you can be driven much crazier."
And then he'd lowered his lips and he'd kissed her so softly she swore a tear came to her eye.
"Travis," she'd whispered, gazing up at him through hooded lids. "Travis, I--"
He returned her gaze, smile widening, his perfect white teeth weakening her at the knees.
"You make me so happy," she finally whispered.
And then their moment had been ruined by a pot on the stove that had begun boiling over.
Now here they were. Thanksgiving morning. Much to Beth's relief, her own family had started arriving early and her mother and her sisters had filled their kitchen with more food than Beth had expected to see. Besides her restless week and the stress of the holiday, this was the first time they were meeting the families and the families were meeting each other. Travis looked like a dream and Beth couldn't take her eyes off of him. His khaki pants fit him perfectly and his light blue button-down shirt he wore brought out his eyes like nothing she'd ever seen. He wore his hair soft and brushed down, tucked behind his ears. He had wanted to pull it back but Beth had insisted he leave it alone. His hair was part of who he was and Beth wanted him to be nothing less than himself. He perused the floors with his normal bare feet and she adored the way his cuffs were lazily rolled up over his wrists. She loved the way he winked at her from across the counter as he helped her prep food or the way he slid on his glasses to glance over a page of the recipe book that sat on the counter. She swore the frames of his glasses were made of gold and sex.
Travis had instantly charmed the pants off of her family, sending her mother and her sisters into perpetual swoons with his gracious smile and her father had become absolutely smitten when Travis had nearly automatically announced his plans to park himself in front of the television to watch the game after dinner. "You drink beer?" Travis had asked him. "We have beer, we have football, and we have pie. If you ask me, Thanksgiving doesn't get much better than that." With that, Travis had Beth's father, hook, line, and sinker.
By the time Eric had called her to lament about Juliet, there were more bodies in the kitchen than Beth could handle. She handled it with a smile, though, trying to ignore the stress of the crowding, the stress of Eric's current frustrations, and the stress of learning that the rest of Travis's family was currently en route. Everything was great when her own family was there. Not a problem. But the fact that it was starting to hit home that she was about to share a holiday, family meal with Carl Reynolds put her on edge all over again. She'd already met Travis's older brother and sister-in-law and, for some reason, she couldn't fathom that meeting his mother would be any more intimidating than being cordial with Carl Reynolds. After all, Beth had never actually met the man. She'd just been on the receiving end of Juliet's horror story about him. And that was gospel enough for Beth.
When Eric walked through the door, looking as if he'd walked straight off the runway, as he always did, in slacks and a sweater layered over a button-down, Beth nearly fainted with relief that he was the first of Travis's family members that she was actually close enough to to consider family and that he'd been the first of them to arrive. She'd uncharacteristically wrapped her arms around his neck in appreciation of his presence, allowing her nervous apprehensions to act for her, and he'd smiled and hugged her back and then presented her with a wine bottle. "Happy Thanksgiving. I brought wine," he offered.
"Oh, bless you!" She breathed. "Please. Please open it. And not a moment too soon!"
Eric smirked as he helped himself to the kitchen, momentarily clear of her family and Travis, and she felt a pang of guilt when she detected the pain in his eyes that hid behind the smile. Oh, Eric. Poor, sweet, romantic Eric. He'd gone and allowed Juliet to consume his entire world and he wore it all on his sleeve, unable to hide an ounce of it. At least not from Beth, anyway. She wished things were different. Eric deserved so much to be happy and so did Juliet. And they were so happy in the short time that they'd been together that it broke Beth's heart to see the two of them apart. Or maybe she was in that stage of infatuation with Travis where she wanted everyone around her to be happy. She honestly couldn't pinpoint any of her feelings at the moment, but she prayed that the delicious shade of red that Eric was pouring into her glass would help her out.
Suddenly, Beth's face fell as she watched Eric bring his own wine glass to his lips. "Oh. You're having some?"
He paused before the glass touched his lips, arching a suspicious eyebrow at her. "Yeah."
Instantly she regretted the observation. She had such a bad habit of sticking her nose where it didn't belong and sometimes she had a hard time forgetting that the things that she and Travis discussed were to stay between her and Travis. Except now she'd opened the door and she couldn't help but stick her toe over the threshold. She nodded. "Oh. Okay."
"Is that a problem?" He asked her, a glint of amusement in his eyes.
"Uh, no," she replied sheepishly, shaking her head. "No, I just...I mean, after, you know, you got sick that night--"
"You watch Travis walk around with a beer bottle glued to his lips nearly twenty-four seven and you're concerned about me?"
"Well, he doesn't--he doesn't drink that much--"
"I'm fine," Eric replied before finally taking a swig of his drink. "And this wine is delicious. I chose well."
"It's Juliet's favorite red," Beth whispered before turning up her own.
The blood momentarily drained from Eric's face before his Adam's apple visibly moved up and down his neck. "So, uh, are you okay? You seem...really on edge."
"Are you kidding, I'm nervous as hell!" Beth spat. "Your brother has no off switch! In one entire week he has moved into this place, had me decorate it, and now here we are hosting a lovely holiday dinner. All while putting in fifty plus hours at the office. I haven't slept in...in...fuck, I don't know when I slept last. But I...I..." She paused, glancing around the room, aware of her surroundings, allowing the wine to flow through her bloodstream and warm her body. Then she peered across the small kitchen at Travis's twin. "I wouldn't change a thing in this world. I wouldn't have it any other way. If I could go back, I'd do it all over again and in record time. I'd do anything for him, Eric. Anything at all. I've never known happiness like this and sometimes it...it scares the hell out of me."
Eric was leaning against the sink and he looked back at her, a shy smirk crossing his face as he glanced at the floor and crossed his ankles. "This is, uh, honestly the most sure of himself that I've ever seen Travis in our lives. I won't lie to you."
Beth let out a breath and crossed her arms over her chest, letting her glass dangle over her elbow. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to unload on you like that, I just...you're easy to talk to."
With that, Eric's expression fell and he shrugged a shoulder, resting his glass on the counter behind him. "I try. I mean, I don't have much else going on these days, you know?" And then, in a blatantly obvious attempt to change the subject, he lifted his chin to the air. "It smells amazing in here." Then he motioned to the oven. "May I?"
"It's your brother's kitchen, have at it."
He smiled as he walked past her, pulling open the oven door and peering inside. "I thought you said you had your hand up a turkey's ass not so long ago?"
She smiled and shook her head. "There are two turkeys." Then she let out a strangled breath. "Travis insisted on deep frying the other one. On the balcony. God help us all."
Eric shook his head in return before he reached for a fork and started rooting around. She made a face as she watched him, recalling every holiday that her father could never resist checking on the meat in the oven, whether it was turkey or ham or any other kind of roast or protein-laden entrée. She'd always believed that men scouring for handouts was a cliché holiday myth, but damn if it wasn't true. She was reminded of it every year. But Beth didn't know what Eric was getting out of a turkey that was still cooking. So she basked in the aroma that came from the open oven door until Eric straightened his spine and looked at her. "So when's the last time you basted this thing?"
Her wine glass hit the counter a little harder than she'd intended but she refused to admit defeat and reveal that she'd honestly forgotten about it. "What, are you a gourmet chef, too?" She snapped at him.
His eyes widened with regret, combined with a hint of nervous innocence, and he closed the oven door and backed away for a moment. "No. I was just asking. I mean, it's a turkey, you baste it. That's, like, Thanksgiving 101."
She flipped her hair off of her shoulder, glanced at the clock on the wall, and shoved her chin high into the air. "Well, would you look at that? It happens to be time right now. If you'll excuse me."
Out of her peripherals, she spied Eric resume his previous position with his wine glass, turning it up and watching her work on her bird. "Jesus, no wonder you and Juliet are so close. You're practically the same person," he muttered.
Well. That was just fine. He could spend his holiday moping and brooding and pining away for her best friend all day long, she didn't care. Her number one priority today was making sure that every single dish on the menu was delicious, cooked to perfection, and that all the China would make it through the day in one piece.
"Hey, sweets!" Travis's voice rang cheerfully from a section of the house she hadn't been aware he was in. "My parents are here!"
"And...Thanksgiving has officially begun," Eric declared quietly from his perch.
Beth closed up the foil on the bird and tossed the oven door shut, whipping around to face Eric. "You make sure my glass stays full. That's your job today."
And Beth's job would be to make sure to keep it together.
________________________________________
Travis wished Beth would calm down.
He'd tried his hardest to be the calm, smooth presence in her life that she needed in order to recognize that everything really was going to be okay. He had to admit, he felt a little bit like an asshole by throwing the decorating of the penthouse on her and then springing Thanksgiving the way he had. But in his defense, he had no idea that she would tackle the projects like an NFL linebacker at his first Super Bowl. He'd expected maybe a half-finished penthouse, maybe decorating the rooms that mattered just for the sake of the holiday, except that she had taken the project and had the entire thing completed, from top to bottom, in startlingly record time.
But it was the mention of the family Thanksgiving, however, that seemed to have finally sent her over the edge. For the past two nights she had practically lived in the kitchen, newly equipped with state-of-the-art appliances and cookware, enough China and crystal to host a dinner party worthy of the royal family, and cookbooks as far as the eye could see.
There was a bookshelf. In his kitchen.
Beth dazzled in a burnt orange, three-quarter sleeved sheath dress that stopped right above her knees. Her black heels strapped around her ankles, her white apron covering her entire dress, and her hair, in loose curls, was tied carefully in a low ponytail.
Travis loved her lashes. He loved her lashes so much that, in the deep, dark depths of the bathroom, shut away where nobody existed in the world but the two of them, she allowed him to apply her mascara for her. It was easily the most intimate act Travis had ever found himself engaged in and he loved every single thrilling second of it. Her eyes were gorgeous anyway. His favorite thing in the world was to watch them come alive right in front of him.
Except that on Thanksgiving, her gorgeous eyes lacked their usual fire.
"Did you know Juliet met your father?" Beth said to him anxiously. "And she said that he said absolutely horrible things about Eric. I have not heard good things! How am I supposed to act today, knowing that?"
"It's no secret that Dad and Eric...don't see eye to eye a lot of times when it comes to work. But we're not at work. We try very hard to keep work and home separate in our family. My dad's not really that bad. And he will adore you. And so will Mom. Just like Andy and Caroline do. I promise."
And he'd been right. Of course he'd been right. On a day that had all the right ingredients to create the perfect disaster, it couldn't have all come together more perfectly than it did. Travis's heart was the warmest and fullest it had ever been in twenty-seven years. His cheeks hurt from smiling so much and he couldn't resist reporting to Beth every five seconds how well their parents were getting along with each other.
He'd been in the kitchen, helping Beth with the turkeys, when his mother entered the kitchen in search of more wine. Libby Reynolds was a beautiful woman, a fact that had never been lost on her sons. Travis and Eric had always been proud that their looks came from her side of the family, with her soft blonde hair and her bright blue eyes. She was the picture of poise and perfection and her smile was always so warm and comforting.
Pausing in her tracks, she bestowed one of her award-winning warm smiles on Beth now. "Beth, darling," she said. "I just wanted to take a moment to tell you that your presence in my son's life is the freshest breath of air that I've breathed in a long time. I'm a worry wart and I worry about my boys alone in this city sometimes. But you've made Travis's life so much brighter and I just wanted to thank you for--well, for everything. For seeing him for who he is and bringing out the best in him--for this wonderful dinner and holiday and--Trav says you decorated the penthouse?"
Travis thought Beth might cry all over the turkey.
"I did," Beth finally breathed. "And thank you so much for coming, it's been such a pleasure to finally meet you."
His mother smiled again and opened her mouth to reply, but then she closed it when her eyes floated past Beth and Travis and landed on Eric. "Eric. What's the matter with you?"
Eric's eyes filled with alarm and he straightened his spine. "Um, nothing. I'm fine."
"Did you take your--?"
"Yes," he replied firmly.
She looked him over one more time and she nodded. "Hm. All right, then. Anyway, I wanted to remind you that your father and I brought along your tickets for the show tonight."
"Tickets?" Eric asked.
"Yes. Did you forget? We planned this a few weeks ago, going to the theatre after dinner. You said to make sure we got you two extra tickets. You were adamant about it." Then she paused and looked around. "By the way..."
Eric's face fell, his eyes reflecting those of a worn and broken man. Travis's heart went out to his brother. "Oh," he replied. "Right. Look, uh, I appreciate it, but, uh...maybe give them to Andy and Caroline. I, um...those plans kinda fell through, so...turns out I don't need them after all."
It was then that Travis realized that today was meant to be a big day for Eric, too. He'd meant to introduce Juliet to their family, go to the theatre with their parents. This day was supposed to be as momentous for Eric as it was for Travis. And then Juliet freaked out and dumped him and--man. Travis wished there was something he could do.
"Oh, sweetheart. I'm so sorry," their mother said with regret. "Maybe you can come anyway--"
"I don't think so," Eric replied. Then he smiled. "Andy and Caroline would love it, I'm sure. You'll have a blast with them, you know you always do."
With that, Eric refilled his mother's wine glass and followed her out of the kitchen.
Beth's eyes were filled with compassion and sadness as she turned and looked up at Travis. "Oh, Travis," she whispered. "Juliet loves the theatre."
"Well," he replied dryly. "It was her choice to dump a perfectly good man. Not his."
She searched his eyes for a moment before her pained expression resumed focus on the food in front of them. Damn it. He'd hurt her feelings. He couldn't have kept his opinions to himself, just for today?
Beth didn't argue with him. She didn't glare at him, she didn't fight, she didn't jump to her best friend's defenses. Instead, she replied in a small voice, "Did you know that the reason she's not here today is because she's serving Thanksgiving dinner at the orphanage?"
They didn't make a shoe big enough to shove inside his mouth.
"Eric knows it," she said, her hands practically manhandling the turkey with every word she spoke. "He also knows why she ended it with him. They still speak. Did you know that?"
Travis's palm landed on the counter a little harder than he'd intended. "Yeah? Well, that's all well and good, but right now my brother is the picture of a man who's had his heart dragged violently through the mud and he has yet to retrieve it off the filthy fucking ground. Forgive me for being just the slightest bit defensive, but he was nothing but fucking good to her. He treated her like a god damned queen."
Finally, Beth shoved the carving knife hard into the top of the turkey, causing Travis to step back a step. Her eyes met his and there he saw the fiery glare he'd expected to begin with. "Can we not?" She spat. "It's Thanksgiving." Then she stepped back from the counter. "Here. Carve the turkey while I set the table."
"Fuck," he muttered under his breath as she walked away. This was not what he wanted to happen today. He hadn't wanted to argue and he certainly hadn't wanted to hurt or offend Beth in any way. Hell, if it wasn't for her, he literally wouldn't be standing in the position he was standing in at the moment. And from the moment he'd first laid eyes on Beth, it was the only place he wanted to be.
Except that when everyone was seated at the table, a banquet table longer than anything he'd ever expect to have under his own roof, and after the blessing had been said and everyone had gone around the table and announced what they were thankful for, by the time Eric's turn came up, Travis knew he stood by his argument. "I'm thankful for family. For friends, old and new. I'm thankful that I was raised by a set of wonderful parents who taught me how to love with an open heart. I'm thankful that there are still people on this earth that care for others. People who have hope and believe in humanity. People that make self-sacrifices just to brighten someone else's day. And I'm thankful to have a person like that in my life--whichever way that may be. To be frank, some days I'm just thankful to be alive." And then he raised his water glass and he turned it up and that was the end of that.
Travis gaped at his brother, who sat on his right. He shared the expression with a good portion of the table and, for a moment, you could have heard a pin drop. An orphanage. Juliet Carson, notorious man eater, popular socialite, dumps his brother out of the blue and then turns around and serves dinner at an orphanage. God damn it, was she a saint or not? Travis's head spun and he was exhausted. More importantly, he was concerned for his brother. He vowed, from that day forward, to keep an extremely close eye on him.
Thanksgiving Day.
It had been a week since Eric had heard from Juliet. He'd continued to throw himself into work, taking his role as CEO more seriously than ever before. He'd hit the gym harder, practically begging Terrell to challenge him more and more. He didn't go out with the guys, he didn't take social lunches, he removed himself from nearly all the things that had comprised him as a whole before Juliet came along. Because before Juliet, he'd realized, he'd been a boy. A young man merely going with the flow and flirting with life in a grown man's shoes, taking it one day at a time, each stride easier than the last.
But not anymore.
Gone were the days of womanizing, bar-hopping, and taking the city by storm. Gazing at his favorite picture of Juliet that he'd chosen as the wallpaper for his phone, he realized that life was staring him in the face. It was time to grow up. It was time to be the man he knew he was destined to be, once and for all--powerful, successful, mighty, and bold. He was his father's son, after all. He was the CEO of Reynolds Construction, one of the most prominent construction companies in New York, a multi-billion dollar outfit that seemed to only grow by the project. And that was the truth. The company was growing larger at seemingly lightning speed and it was finally time for Eric to man up and take a firmer handle on the reigns.
Not only was it time to man up for his business, but it was time to man up for Juliet, as well. It wasn't a huge revelation or a thought that had ever been lost on him, as he'd known that Juliet needed someone larger-than-life from the very beginning. On the outside looking in, Juliet was strong, independent, successful--the picture of the woman that every man wanted and every woman wanted to be. But to be lucky enough to be afforded the rare opportunity come inside, to see and know Juliet for who she really was, took someone with incredible strength who had the ability to see straight through her and appreciate the warmth in her smile, feel the caring in her touch, and be willing to endure her horrors if only to take them away and make them their own. That was who Eric was and he knew it. He'd been accused, over time, of having issues with his confidence and sometimes that may have been true. But not about this. Eric Reynolds and Juliet Carson were put on this earth to find each other and Eric would never lose confidence in that.
That was why he had to keep trying.
That was why he had to keep fighting.
That was why he had to roll with the punches, take the good with the bad, be willing to let her go at her own pace so that one day she would be confident of the very same thing. That they belonged to each other. Eric was already hers. That was something she would never have to question. Hell, that was practically half the battle, wasn't it?
It was late morning in Manhattan as Eric sat above traffic in his truck, thumbing his steering wheel to a beat that played on his stereo that he wasn't really listening to. Eric was an idiot sometimes, that much he'd attest to. He should have listened to Travis when he'd invited him over to spend the night in the penthouse last night so he wouldn't have to deal with any of this parade traffic. But Eric, ever the hopeful optimist that he was, without revealing it to Travis, turned him down in hopes that, since it was a holiday, Juliet might call or turn up all of a sudden. Eric had never prayed so hard in his life.
Except that when his phone never rang and his door never buzzed, he'd gotten up and showered and trudged begrudgingly out of his apartment and into the bitter air.
What killed Eric in this moment was that the damned parade was streets away. Streets. Did the detour really have to be routed all the way out here? The kicker was, the penthouse wasn't even that far away. But, yet, here he sat, a good solid fifteen minutes sitting still and alone with his thoughts.
Ah, the penthouse. One of the multiple properties Travis practically chose to ignore once he'd inherited them. When their grandfather died, after the initial mourning period and after the will had been carried out, Travis finally threw his temper tantrum and attempted the obligatory self-righteous, spoiled rich kid pissing contest with Eric. It took two weeks and constant bitching out of Travis before Eric physically pinned his twin brother to the wall and finally forced Travis to read between the lines. Travis didn't need the money because he was smart enough to make the money. Hence the properties. Eric was given the money because nobody in their god damned family had faith that he'd ever amount to anything beyond serving as their father's puny little lap dog. This calmed Travis down, once and for all, and then the brothers sat and had a beer and let it all out in the open.
'Well, guess what, Pops?' Eric thought. 'I'm running circles around Dad in his chair right now, making the most money this company's ever seen. Who didn't amount to what?'
When Travis sat down with Eric less than a week ago and told him he was giving up his apartment and moving into the penthouse, Eric thought his eyes would fall out of his head. When Eric thought he'd heard it all, Travis revealed the future plans to turn the penthouse into a home for both him and Beth. When Eric confronted him about the amount of time he'd known Beth and reminded him of what a womanizer he'd always been, Travis had sat back in his chair and looked at him smugly, holding up two fingers. "Two words," Travis had countered. "Juliet Carson."
And that was the end of that conversation.
Now, all of a sudden, the newly smitten couple was hosting their first Thanksgiving together and it was supposed to be quite the celebration. They were already bringing their families together. Her family was coming from Brooklyn, the brothers' parents were coming in from Rhode Island, Andy and Caroline were flying in, their uncle, Walter, was coming, Terrell would be there since he wasn't able to make it home to Charleston, and several other friends would be there, as well. When Juliet's name wasn't mentioned, Eric hadn't even had to ask. Of course she'd been invited, but she'd turned it down.
When Beth hadn't seemed worried about the denial, Eric nearly lost his mind. "She has no one," he argued. "Where the hell is she going to go? Certainly she's not going to hole up in her apartment, alone, just to avoid me. This is ridiculous. I'm going over there. Count me out of Thanksgiving, too."
"She won't be there," Beth suddenly blurted.
Eric had narrowed his eyes at the brunette in sinking suspicion. "Where the hell else is she going to go?"
"It's not my business to tell," Beth blinked simply. "But she'll be celebrating the holiday and she won't be alone."
Eric was livid, but what could he do? She hadn't made the attempt to contact him and he knew that if he'd tried to contact her, she wouldn't reply. He knew how to play these games well enough by now.
There was never a shortage of activity on the streets of Manhattan, no matter what time of the day it was, holiday or not. But on this particular street, there was hardly any hustle and bustle at all. Eric was rarely ever on this street, but when he was, he always enjoyed how quaint and quiet it seemed to be. It was probably nice to live in one of the Brownstones that lined the street. Quiet, safe neighborhood, never waking up to homeless people sleeping under your window or the loud sounds of the concrete jungle that the island was. These people walked their Border Collies safely and slept through the night with no interruption. Eric had that peaceful luxury now, living on the top floor of his building, but he decided that if he ever wanted to move, he would look into this neighborhood.
Despite the quiet city street, however, as traffic finally decided it wanted to creep a couple of inches, movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. Turning his head to the left, his eyes fell on a sign that sat just inside of a wrought-iron gate: "The Loving Care Home for Children EST 1933"
The large Victorian house was definitely much older than 1933 and Eric couldn't help but wonder what the history behind it was beyond that. The house wasn't exactly in ill repair, but the refreshers it could use stuck out like sore thumbs to Eric. He figured it was roughly three stories with its impressive bay window and wrap-around porch. The front yard, what he could see of it, was small and was littered with plastic playground equipment and children's toys, items that looked severely outdated.
He'd lost himself in the house's charm and its structure for a moment longer before he was brought back to the present by the movement that had caught his eye to begin with. The facility was located along the sidewalk but away from the street enough that you couldn't make out discernible faces in the windows if there were any to be seen. That was why the faces on the porch weren't clear, but he could recognize the one woman a mile away.
An older woman with a graying bun and an apron around her sweatshirt and jeans spoke to another woman with a warm smile, the other woman causing Eric's heart to pound violently in his chest. Her hair was pinned into a thick, dark mess on top of her head and she also wore an apron over her dark jeans and cream-colored sweater, no mistaking the tantalizing curves of her body that kept Eric awake night after night. But what--what the hell was she doing there?
When he was finally able to gather his composure, Eric rolled down his window and opened his mouth to call out Juliet's name, but thought better of it. Instead, he fought his way out of his seat belt and unlocked his door when, all of a sudden, traffic decided it wanted to move. At a pace faster than two inches per hour. Eric cussed. He pounded on his steering wheel in fury and he swore out loud as he was forced to carry on with traffic. And then, after he'd recovered from his unexpected, missed opportunity, he scrambled for his phone and found the number he needed.
Beth answered almost too cheerfully. "Well, you called just in time! I was literally about to be elbow-deep up a turkey's ass, Happy Thanksgiving!"
Eric wanted to laugh at her greeting, but he was in no laughing mood. Instead he spat out, "Where is Juliet?"
Beth sighed and Eric could detect the exhaustion in her breath. A pang of guilt soared through him, but only for a second. "Eric. We've been over this--"
"Um, no, apparently we haven't. Because I just saw her and I know where she is."
The line fell silent for a moment. "How did you see her?" Beth asked quietly.
"Because I was sitting in fucking traffic right beside the place!" Eric replied in frustration. "I saw her on the porch. What I want to know is why does she seem to have some secret double life that I'm not allowed to know about?"
"Because she doesn't do it for recognition," she finally confessed. "This is something that she dedicates her own, personal time to in private, out of the public eye. Once or twice a month and on most holidays, especially Thanksgiving and Christmas, Juliet volunteers at the children's home. She's done it for years. She's sort of a permanent fixture there."
Eric's jaw went slack and the breath left his chest. He didn't even have to think about it to know what that establishment must have meant to her. He'd always known that she was involved in charities for animals and children, but the most he'd witnessed was the benefit party for the Humane Society. He supposed he'd always imagined, liked most high-society rich people, that was the extent of her support. Anyone could organize a party and write a check, though. It was so easy. But Juliet was no ordinary "high society rich socialite" either, and there she was, as he'd seen with his own two eyes and now heard with his own two ears, and she was about so much more than that. She was very personally involved, right down to throwing what was left of her heart right there on the very front, vulnerable lines.
If Eric had been willing to admit it to himself in that moment, he would know that that wasn't just one of the many times he thought he'd fallen in love with Juliet Carson--that was the exact moment that he'd known.
"Eric?" Beth's voice suddenly interrupted his thoughts, shaking him out of his trance. "Are you there?"
"Why wouldn't she tell me something like that?" He whispered.
"Because she doesn't want glory or a pat on the back or anything like that. She does it out of the kindness of her heart and expects absolutely nothing in return. We'd known each other for about three years before I stopped begging her to come to dinner with my family because I knew it was never going to happen. She became a volunteer there before we started the company--back when we both had nothing. And now she's able to help fund them and their programs as well as getting her hands a little dirty with the cooking or the cleaning--sometimes she just simply goes to read books to the kids. She's there because she wants to be. Not because she has no family or nowhere else to go. It's where her heart is, Eric. It's why I love her."
Eric swallowed the lump in his throat before he replied to her statement, stopping himself from vocalizing his agreement. Instead, he sucked in a breath, straightened his spine and darted his eyes around in his mirrors. "I'm turning around. Take a place setting off the table."
"Eric. No," Beth's voice demanded firmly. "Don't you dare show your face there like that. If you care for that woman, even an ounce, you will not barge in there unexpected like that and turn her world upside down. On the days she is at the home, her first priority is the children. Eric, I swear to God, you will not win this if you show up there." Then her voice calmed and he could hear here taking a deep breath. "Just calm down, come here, have dinner with your family, and address this later. Juliet isn't alone. Today she's happy. Let her be happy."
Defeated, Eric knew Beth was right. She'd singlehandedly ended their conversation with the magic words, "Let her be happy." It was all Eric ever wanted for Juliet, even if it meant sacrificing his own happiness to make it happen. He couldn't be selfish, no matter how badly he had wanted to abandon his truck in traffic, storm onto the porch, take her in his arms, and kiss her until she lost the capacity to breathe. His grand gesture wouldn't make her happy. But his distance and his respect would.
And so he continued on through traffic, on to the penthouse, to be with his family and give thanks to the good that life had to offer--even when the best thing in his life would be absent.
______________________________________________
Beth's nerves had been shot for at least two days now. Travis was a force of nature to be reckoned with and she was getting a crash course on what it was like to be hopelessly infatuated with a man like him. It was unpredictable, constant surprises, never a moment to sit and let anything register or sink in before the next curve ball came her way. He was a bundle of energy and excitement and there had absolutely never been a dull moment since he'd stepped unexpectedly into her life.
Case in point: Thanksgiving.
To begin with, when Travis had mentioned ever-so-casually that he was going to move into the penthouse that he owned, Beth shrugged it off after the initial shock as a bridge that would be crossed when they came to it. Except that when he put his mind to it, he wasted no time whatsoever getting whatever it was accomplished. So when, in less than twenty-four hours after the conversation, she couldn't reach him on his cell phone after work and he'd finally called her after two in the morning to apologize because he had been packing a truck and moving his apartment into the penthouse, Beth had to scrape her jaw off of the ground. It had taken him less than three days to transfer his residence and then he dropped the bomb that he wanted Beth to come in and decorate. "Do whatever you want with it," he'd told her. "Anything, I don't care. Work your magic, make it yours." And as if that wasn't enough of a shock, he'd added, "But make it relatively snappy because we're hosting Thanksgiving here next week."
Beth had very seriously nearly fainted.
After Beth had run to Juliet with a near panic attack of her own, Juliet had been more than gracious enough to be Beth's right-hand man in the decorating of the penthouse. Beth couldn't count the number of times Juliet had to save her from hyperventilating and the way the two of them would sit in the floor night after night with papers and plans strewn about over red wine was about the only thing that kept her sane.
One of those nights, Travis had seemingly materialized out of nowhere with a bottle of red wine, freshly opened, topping the women's glasses off, and he had crouched down, tucked Beth's hair behind her ear, and asked her softly, "Is there anything you need me to do?"
The way his unruly blonde hair fell around his shoulders and the way his crystal blue eyes twinkled at her and the way his smile warmed the very depths of her soul merely took her breath away and sent her lips agape. Unable to speak, she'd merely shaken her head and he'd kissed her forehead and made himself scarce for the rest of the night.
Something in the moment had shaken Beth to the very core and she turned to Juliet and she whispered, "I love him."
Warmly, Juliet had smiled and appreciatively turned up her wine glass. "I know."
"I love him," Beth repeated. "I am head over heels, deathly seriously, irrevocably in love with him. This is it, Jules. There's no turning back now." Suddenly, Beth looked at the mounds of papers that surrounded them and she grabbed for them all blindly. "We need to get this finished. There's no more time to waste, it needs to be done. He wants us to host Thanksgiving here."
"This year?" Juliet had squeaked.
"Yes," Beth had replied, her expression stone cold.
And now, on Thanksgiving morning, Beth couldn't remember the last time she'd slept.
In fact, she barely remembered what her own apartment looked like. She'd been at the penthouse every single night with Juliet and a vast array of contractors, movers, and decorators. She'd only collapsed in bed with Travis at night just long enough to get some shut-eye for a few hours before having to get up for work. "Babes," Travis had said to her one night. "Please. I'm begging you, give me something to do. You're so overworked."
"No. It's okay," Beth had replied. "This is what Juliet and I do. I got this."
There wasn't even any time for sex. That was the most unfortunate part.
She had done it, though. Most of the penthouse had actually gotten done in the ridiculously short amount of time she'd been given and she was just able to break a couple of days before Thanksgiving to now plan the menu and the celebration. Lunch breaks and late nights were for shopping, decorating, and cooking. Finally, by the previous night, when all the stress had finally come to a head and Beth had reached her limit and had a nervous breakdown in the middle of the kitchen when she had messed up the consistency of an entire pan of dressing, Travis finally grabbed her by the wrists and nearly shoved his nose in her face. "Beth," he breathed calmly, his warm tone firm. "Beth. Guess what? I can cook."
She'd blinked at him and finally fallen quiet, letting his words sink in, her eyes glancing and darting around his face as she registered his presence. The kitchen around them smelled of pie and bread and boiled potatoes for salad and her eyes filled with the beautiful sight of his kind smile, his luscious lips, and the messy bun that sat on top of his head. She loved the scruff of his dark blonde five o'clock shadow and the warmth of his light tan-colored sweater somehow calmed her down and caused her to pause and listen to him. "What?"
"I can cook," he repeated again with a smile. "It doesn't happen often, but when it does, I'm the fucking man. Please. Just tell me what you want me to do. Believe it or not, I'm actually pretty good at taking direction."
"But I wanted to do this," she'd whispered. "You wanted us to host Thanksgiving--"
"Right," he said, releasing her wrists and cupping her face in his hands. "I wanted us to host Thanksgiving. If you don't give me something to do, I'll start taking initiative and I know how crazy that will drive you. And I don't think you can be driven much crazier."
And then he'd lowered his lips and he'd kissed her so softly she swore a tear came to her eye.
"Travis," she'd whispered, gazing up at him through hooded lids. "Travis, I--"
He returned her gaze, smile widening, his perfect white teeth weakening her at the knees.
"You make me so happy," she finally whispered.
And then their moment had been ruined by a pot on the stove that had begun boiling over.
Now here they were. Thanksgiving morning. Much to Beth's relief, her own family had started arriving early and her mother and her sisters had filled their kitchen with more food than Beth had expected to see. Besides her restless week and the stress of the holiday, this was the first time they were meeting the families and the families were meeting each other. Travis looked like a dream and Beth couldn't take her eyes off of him. His khaki pants fit him perfectly and his light blue button-down shirt he wore brought out his eyes like nothing she'd ever seen. He wore his hair soft and brushed down, tucked behind his ears. He had wanted to pull it back but Beth had insisted he leave it alone. His hair was part of who he was and Beth wanted him to be nothing less than himself. He perused the floors with his normal bare feet and she adored the way his cuffs were lazily rolled up over his wrists. She loved the way he winked at her from across the counter as he helped her prep food or the way he slid on his glasses to glance over a page of the recipe book that sat on the counter. She swore the frames of his glasses were made of gold and sex.
Travis had instantly charmed the pants off of her family, sending her mother and her sisters into perpetual swoons with his gracious smile and her father had become absolutely smitten when Travis had nearly automatically announced his plans to park himself in front of the television to watch the game after dinner. "You drink beer?" Travis had asked him. "We have beer, we have football, and we have pie. If you ask me, Thanksgiving doesn't get much better than that." With that, Travis had Beth's father, hook, line, and sinker.
By the time Eric had called her to lament about Juliet, there were more bodies in the kitchen than Beth could handle. She handled it with a smile, though, trying to ignore the stress of the crowding, the stress of Eric's current frustrations, and the stress of learning that the rest of Travis's family was currently en route. Everything was great when her own family was there. Not a problem. But the fact that it was starting to hit home that she was about to share a holiday, family meal with Carl Reynolds put her on edge all over again. She'd already met Travis's older brother and sister-in-law and, for some reason, she couldn't fathom that meeting his mother would be any more intimidating than being cordial with Carl Reynolds. After all, Beth had never actually met the man. She'd just been on the receiving end of Juliet's horror story about him. And that was gospel enough for Beth.
When Eric walked through the door, looking as if he'd walked straight off the runway, as he always did, in slacks and a sweater layered over a button-down, Beth nearly fainted with relief that he was the first of Travis's family members that she was actually close enough to to consider family and that he'd been the first of them to arrive. She'd uncharacteristically wrapped her arms around his neck in appreciation of his presence, allowing her nervous apprehensions to act for her, and he'd smiled and hugged her back and then presented her with a wine bottle. "Happy Thanksgiving. I brought wine," he offered.
"Oh, bless you!" She breathed. "Please. Please open it. And not a moment too soon!"
Eric smirked as he helped himself to the kitchen, momentarily clear of her family and Travis, and she felt a pang of guilt when she detected the pain in his eyes that hid behind the smile. Oh, Eric. Poor, sweet, romantic Eric. He'd gone and allowed Juliet to consume his entire world and he wore it all on his sleeve, unable to hide an ounce of it. At least not from Beth, anyway. She wished things were different. Eric deserved so much to be happy and so did Juliet. And they were so happy in the short time that they'd been together that it broke Beth's heart to see the two of them apart. Or maybe she was in that stage of infatuation with Travis where she wanted everyone around her to be happy. She honestly couldn't pinpoint any of her feelings at the moment, but she prayed that the delicious shade of red that Eric was pouring into her glass would help her out.
Suddenly, Beth's face fell as she watched Eric bring his own wine glass to his lips. "Oh. You're having some?"
He paused before the glass touched his lips, arching a suspicious eyebrow at her. "Yeah."
Instantly she regretted the observation. She had such a bad habit of sticking her nose where it didn't belong and sometimes she had a hard time forgetting that the things that she and Travis discussed were to stay between her and Travis. Except now she'd opened the door and she couldn't help but stick her toe over the threshold. She nodded. "Oh. Okay."
"Is that a problem?" He asked her, a glint of amusement in his eyes.
"Uh, no," she replied sheepishly, shaking her head. "No, I just...I mean, after, you know, you got sick that night--"
"You watch Travis walk around with a beer bottle glued to his lips nearly twenty-four seven and you're concerned about me?"
"Well, he doesn't--he doesn't drink that much--"
"I'm fine," Eric replied before finally taking a swig of his drink. "And this wine is delicious. I chose well."
"It's Juliet's favorite red," Beth whispered before turning up her own.
The blood momentarily drained from Eric's face before his Adam's apple visibly moved up and down his neck. "So, uh, are you okay? You seem...really on edge."
"Are you kidding, I'm nervous as hell!" Beth spat. "Your brother has no off switch! In one entire week he has moved into this place, had me decorate it, and now here we are hosting a lovely holiday dinner. All while putting in fifty plus hours at the office. I haven't slept in...in...fuck, I don't know when I slept last. But I...I..." She paused, glancing around the room, aware of her surroundings, allowing the wine to flow through her bloodstream and warm her body. Then she peered across the small kitchen at Travis's twin. "I wouldn't change a thing in this world. I wouldn't have it any other way. If I could go back, I'd do it all over again and in record time. I'd do anything for him, Eric. Anything at all. I've never known happiness like this and sometimes it...it scares the hell out of me."
Eric was leaning against the sink and he looked back at her, a shy smirk crossing his face as he glanced at the floor and crossed his ankles. "This is, uh, honestly the most sure of himself that I've ever seen Travis in our lives. I won't lie to you."
Beth let out a breath and crossed her arms over her chest, letting her glass dangle over her elbow. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to unload on you like that, I just...you're easy to talk to."
With that, Eric's expression fell and he shrugged a shoulder, resting his glass on the counter behind him. "I try. I mean, I don't have much else going on these days, you know?" And then, in a blatantly obvious attempt to change the subject, he lifted his chin to the air. "It smells amazing in here." Then he motioned to the oven. "May I?"
"It's your brother's kitchen, have at it."
He smiled as he walked past her, pulling open the oven door and peering inside. "I thought you said you had your hand up a turkey's ass not so long ago?"
She smiled and shook her head. "There are two turkeys." Then she let out a strangled breath. "Travis insisted on deep frying the other one. On the balcony. God help us all."
Eric shook his head in return before he reached for a fork and started rooting around. She made a face as she watched him, recalling every holiday that her father could never resist checking on the meat in the oven, whether it was turkey or ham or any other kind of roast or protein-laden entrée. She'd always believed that men scouring for handouts was a cliché holiday myth, but damn if it wasn't true. She was reminded of it every year. But Beth didn't know what Eric was getting out of a turkey that was still cooking. So she basked in the aroma that came from the open oven door until Eric straightened his spine and looked at her. "So when's the last time you basted this thing?"
Her wine glass hit the counter a little harder than she'd intended but she refused to admit defeat and reveal that she'd honestly forgotten about it. "What, are you a gourmet chef, too?" She snapped at him.
His eyes widened with regret, combined with a hint of nervous innocence, and he closed the oven door and backed away for a moment. "No. I was just asking. I mean, it's a turkey, you baste it. That's, like, Thanksgiving 101."
She flipped her hair off of her shoulder, glanced at the clock on the wall, and shoved her chin high into the air. "Well, would you look at that? It happens to be time right now. If you'll excuse me."
Out of her peripherals, she spied Eric resume his previous position with his wine glass, turning it up and watching her work on her bird. "Jesus, no wonder you and Juliet are so close. You're practically the same person," he muttered.
Well. That was just fine. He could spend his holiday moping and brooding and pining away for her best friend all day long, she didn't care. Her number one priority today was making sure that every single dish on the menu was delicious, cooked to perfection, and that all the China would make it through the day in one piece.
"Hey, sweets!" Travis's voice rang cheerfully from a section of the house she hadn't been aware he was in. "My parents are here!"
"And...Thanksgiving has officially begun," Eric declared quietly from his perch.
Beth closed up the foil on the bird and tossed the oven door shut, whipping around to face Eric. "You make sure my glass stays full. That's your job today."
And Beth's job would be to make sure to keep it together.
________________________________________
Travis wished Beth would calm down.
He'd tried his hardest to be the calm, smooth presence in her life that she needed in order to recognize that everything really was going to be okay. He had to admit, he felt a little bit like an asshole by throwing the decorating of the penthouse on her and then springing Thanksgiving the way he had. But in his defense, he had no idea that she would tackle the projects like an NFL linebacker at his first Super Bowl. He'd expected maybe a half-finished penthouse, maybe decorating the rooms that mattered just for the sake of the holiday, except that she had taken the project and had the entire thing completed, from top to bottom, in startlingly record time.
But it was the mention of the family Thanksgiving, however, that seemed to have finally sent her over the edge. For the past two nights she had practically lived in the kitchen, newly equipped with state-of-the-art appliances and cookware, enough China and crystal to host a dinner party worthy of the royal family, and cookbooks as far as the eye could see.
There was a bookshelf. In his kitchen.
Beth dazzled in a burnt orange, three-quarter sleeved sheath dress that stopped right above her knees. Her black heels strapped around her ankles, her white apron covering her entire dress, and her hair, in loose curls, was tied carefully in a low ponytail.
Travis loved her lashes. He loved her lashes so much that, in the deep, dark depths of the bathroom, shut away where nobody existed in the world but the two of them, she allowed him to apply her mascara for her. It was easily the most intimate act Travis had ever found himself engaged in and he loved every single thrilling second of it. Her eyes were gorgeous anyway. His favorite thing in the world was to watch them come alive right in front of him.
Except that on Thanksgiving, her gorgeous eyes lacked their usual fire.
"Did you know Juliet met your father?" Beth said to him anxiously. "And she said that he said absolutely horrible things about Eric. I have not heard good things! How am I supposed to act today, knowing that?"
"It's no secret that Dad and Eric...don't see eye to eye a lot of times when it comes to work. But we're not at work. We try very hard to keep work and home separate in our family. My dad's not really that bad. And he will adore you. And so will Mom. Just like Andy and Caroline do. I promise."
And he'd been right. Of course he'd been right. On a day that had all the right ingredients to create the perfect disaster, it couldn't have all come together more perfectly than it did. Travis's heart was the warmest and fullest it had ever been in twenty-seven years. His cheeks hurt from smiling so much and he couldn't resist reporting to Beth every five seconds how well their parents were getting along with each other.
He'd been in the kitchen, helping Beth with the turkeys, when his mother entered the kitchen in search of more wine. Libby Reynolds was a beautiful woman, a fact that had never been lost on her sons. Travis and Eric had always been proud that their looks came from her side of the family, with her soft blonde hair and her bright blue eyes. She was the picture of poise and perfection and her smile was always so warm and comforting.
Pausing in her tracks, she bestowed one of her award-winning warm smiles on Beth now. "Beth, darling," she said. "I just wanted to take a moment to tell you that your presence in my son's life is the freshest breath of air that I've breathed in a long time. I'm a worry wart and I worry about my boys alone in this city sometimes. But you've made Travis's life so much brighter and I just wanted to thank you for--well, for everything. For seeing him for who he is and bringing out the best in him--for this wonderful dinner and holiday and--Trav says you decorated the penthouse?"
Travis thought Beth might cry all over the turkey.
"I did," Beth finally breathed. "And thank you so much for coming, it's been such a pleasure to finally meet you."
His mother smiled again and opened her mouth to reply, but then she closed it when her eyes floated past Beth and Travis and landed on Eric. "Eric. What's the matter with you?"
Eric's eyes filled with alarm and he straightened his spine. "Um, nothing. I'm fine."
"Did you take your--?"
"Yes," he replied firmly.
She looked him over one more time and she nodded. "Hm. All right, then. Anyway, I wanted to remind you that your father and I brought along your tickets for the show tonight."
"Tickets?" Eric asked.
"Yes. Did you forget? We planned this a few weeks ago, going to the theatre after dinner. You said to make sure we got you two extra tickets. You were adamant about it." Then she paused and looked around. "By the way..."
Eric's face fell, his eyes reflecting those of a worn and broken man. Travis's heart went out to his brother. "Oh," he replied. "Right. Look, uh, I appreciate it, but, uh...maybe give them to Andy and Caroline. I, um...those plans kinda fell through, so...turns out I don't need them after all."
It was then that Travis realized that today was meant to be a big day for Eric, too. He'd meant to introduce Juliet to their family, go to the theatre with their parents. This day was supposed to be as momentous for Eric as it was for Travis. And then Juliet freaked out and dumped him and--man. Travis wished there was something he could do.
"Oh, sweetheart. I'm so sorry," their mother said with regret. "Maybe you can come anyway--"
"I don't think so," Eric replied. Then he smiled. "Andy and Caroline would love it, I'm sure. You'll have a blast with them, you know you always do."
With that, Eric refilled his mother's wine glass and followed her out of the kitchen.
Beth's eyes were filled with compassion and sadness as she turned and looked up at Travis. "Oh, Travis," she whispered. "Juliet loves the theatre."
"Well," he replied dryly. "It was her choice to dump a perfectly good man. Not his."
She searched his eyes for a moment before her pained expression resumed focus on the food in front of them. Damn it. He'd hurt her feelings. He couldn't have kept his opinions to himself, just for today?
Beth didn't argue with him. She didn't glare at him, she didn't fight, she didn't jump to her best friend's defenses. Instead, she replied in a small voice, "Did you know that the reason she's not here today is because she's serving Thanksgiving dinner at the orphanage?"
They didn't make a shoe big enough to shove inside his mouth.
"Eric knows it," she said, her hands practically manhandling the turkey with every word she spoke. "He also knows why she ended it with him. They still speak. Did you know that?"
Travis's palm landed on the counter a little harder than he'd intended. "Yeah? Well, that's all well and good, but right now my brother is the picture of a man who's had his heart dragged violently through the mud and he has yet to retrieve it off the filthy fucking ground. Forgive me for being just the slightest bit defensive, but he was nothing but fucking good to her. He treated her like a god damned queen."
Finally, Beth shoved the carving knife hard into the top of the turkey, causing Travis to step back a step. Her eyes met his and there he saw the fiery glare he'd expected to begin with. "Can we not?" She spat. "It's Thanksgiving." Then she stepped back from the counter. "Here. Carve the turkey while I set the table."
"Fuck," he muttered under his breath as she walked away. This was not what he wanted to happen today. He hadn't wanted to argue and he certainly hadn't wanted to hurt or offend Beth in any way. Hell, if it wasn't for her, he literally wouldn't be standing in the position he was standing in at the moment. And from the moment he'd first laid eyes on Beth, it was the only place he wanted to be.
Except that when everyone was seated at the table, a banquet table longer than anything he'd ever expect to have under his own roof, and after the blessing had been said and everyone had gone around the table and announced what they were thankful for, by the time Eric's turn came up, Travis knew he stood by his argument. "I'm thankful for family. For friends, old and new. I'm thankful that I was raised by a set of wonderful parents who taught me how to love with an open heart. I'm thankful that there are still people on this earth that care for others. People who have hope and believe in humanity. People that make self-sacrifices just to brighten someone else's day. And I'm thankful to have a person like that in my life--whichever way that may be. To be frank, some days I'm just thankful to be alive." And then he raised his water glass and he turned it up and that was the end of that.
Travis gaped at his brother, who sat on his right. He shared the expression with a good portion of the table and, for a moment, you could have heard a pin drop. An orphanage. Juliet Carson, notorious man eater, popular socialite, dumps his brother out of the blue and then turns around and serves dinner at an orphanage. God damn it, was she a saint or not? Travis's head spun and he was exhausted. More importantly, he was concerned for his brother. He vowed, from that day forward, to keep an extremely close eye on him.