After swallowing my last bite of pumpkin pie, I leaned back in my chair with a sigh and patted my overstuffed stomach. “Vicky, that pie was delicious but it just about did me in.”

Vicky beamed at me across the dining room table, the light from the chandelier catching the silver buttons on her black cardigan as she leaned forward. “I wasn’t sure you’d like the flavour with the kirsch liqueur, but I’m sure glad you did. The meal was wonderful, Alessa, top to bottom.” She threw a glance at my mother, who’d begun gathering the empty dessert plates and forks. “From what I’ve heard about your famous Italian cooking, I was expecting maybe lasagna or ravioli. I don’t suppose they have Thanksgiving in Italy, do they? Anyhow, I don’t think I’ve ever had a more delicious roast turkey dinner in my life. Have you, Ed?”

“No, never,” Ed agreed, while sliding his fork across his plate to collect the last crumbs of pastry before Mom could snag his plate.

“I’ve been cooking a turkey at Thanksgiving ever since I first came to Canada,” Mom said with a grin. “I was excited to take part in the tradition and learn some new dishes. The first year, the meat and the potatoes tasted like cardboard—but Drew, bless his heart, ate everything like it was the best meal he’d ever had. If he hadn’t done that, I might have given up then, and we would have eaten fettucine tonight instead.”

I smiled up at my mother, pleased by her rare words of praise for Dad. “Mom, let me help you.”

She motioned for me to stay put. “Sit, Carly. Relax. Anyone want more coffee? I’ll go get the coffeepot.”

As she sauntered toward the kitchen with an armful of dishes, I slid a glance at Ed and caught his gaze fastened on her shapely posterior swinging in her snug black skirt. I rested my chin on my fist and pretended not to notice.

I’d seen Ed and Vicky around town all my life but never given much thought to either of them. Ed was one of those men who never seemed to age, other than his full head of dark blond hair gradually lightening to silver-white. He was graced with a tall, lean frame, and aside from the surgical boot encasing his foot under the table, he looked to be in superb condition for a man who I guessed was around sixty. Come to think of it, he wasn’t bad looking overall, and he smelled nice—I’d noticed a sandalwood fragrance when we were introduced. Heck, were I a couple of decades older, I might have taken a shine to him myself, despite his vocation as a dispatcher of rodents and cockroaches.

Ed hadn’t talked much over dinner, but then it wasn’t easy getting a word in with his sister prattling a mile a minute. At one point he’d recounted the details of yesterday’s bunion removal, though I’d only half-listened as I contemplated how serious things might get between him and my mother. I’d noticed the long glances and furtive little smiles between them. They were behaving themselves with Vicky and me there, but who knew what might be simmering below the surface?

“Your mom’s an absolute gem, and a dynamite hairdresser,” Vicky said, pointing to her spiraled, shoulder-length golden curls. ”She’s the only one who can tame this mop. Italians are so stylish, aren’t they? You being a florist, you must have inherited her flair for design. And you got her lovely looks, too.”

I smiled in thanks for the compliment. “It’s a shame I can’t cook like she does,” I said, without admitting I’d made the dressing that she and Ed had left barely touched on their plates.

“It’s not too late. Your mom can teach you,” Vicky assured me, her pencil-thin eyebrows arching. “You know, that old adage about capturing a man’s heart through his stomach might be considered archaic nowadays, but it’s not all that far off the mark. It sure doesn’t hurt your chances. Am I right, Ed?”

Here we go. I pictured my mother fastening curlers to Vicky’s scalp, bemoaning my failure to secure a husband while her window of opportunity for grandchildren dwindled. And it had taken Vicky only two hours to get around to offering me advice on how I might remedy the situation.

“I’m not about to step into that trap, even with my good foot,” Ed muttered with a small smile. He slid a glance at me and lifted his thick silver brows. “So, Carly, will you be back in Eastport for Christmas?”

“I suppose so,” I replied, warming further to Ed now that we were allies. “I’ve sort of lost track of whose turn it is to have me, but since Dad and my stepmom are planning to visit her relatives in Alberta, Mom wins by default.” Thinking of Mitch, I wondered if he’d be back in town in December, and barely managed to constrain the grin that sprang to my lips.

Vicky eyed me with a sympathetic tilt of her head. “Tricky, isn’t it? Even as a grown-up, splitting yourself between two households. I know it was hard on my girls when my husband and I broke up, but at least my ex and I lived only a few streets away from each other. Your parents live so far apart.”

“It’s not that bad,” I replied with a noncommittal twitch of my shoulders. The whole discussion left me feeling like I was still a teenager being shuttled between my parents’ homes. I imagined I’d always feel that way as long as they were alive, until such time as I started cooking Christmas dinner myself—and I didn’t think anyone in my family relished that possibility.

---

When my mother began filling the sink with soapy water to wash her good china, Vicky shooed her away, insisting on taking over the chore. She tried to send the rest of us to the living room, but Mom and Ed elected to stay in the kitchen to keep her company.

The sleep-inducing chemicals in the turkey and pie having hit my system, I wandered to the living room by myself. Sinking onto the leather couch, I tipped my head back against the cushion and let my eyes slide shut, half-listening to the chatter drifting in from the kitchen.

A gentle sound of tapping on glass made me look up. When I caught sight of Mitch’s face in the window, behind the potted begonias and philodendrons lining the windowsill, my heart leapt.

Standing on the porch, near the door, he motioned for me to come to him. I leapt off the couch, hurried to open the door and stole quietly out into the dark. The cold night air bit through my sweater, but the chill no longer bothered me once Mitch swept me into his arms and sealed his mouth to mine.

“You slipped away from your family dinner?” I asked, once released from his sultry kiss.

“I had to see you.” He kissed me again, slow and lush, until my knees grew limp and I clung to his shoulders to keep myself upright. “Come back to the tavern tonight.”

“I can’t. Mom would kill me.”

“I’m heading back to Kitchener tomorrow morning.” Mitch’s gaze roamed hungrily over my face, his dark eyes luminous in the pale light from the porch lamp. “Meet me for breakfast first?”

I nodded eagerly. With his hand softly caressing my cheek, I felt cherished. “Why don’t you come inside for a bit?”

“I shouldn’t. Grandma’s about to serve her signature pecan pie and I’d better be there.”

“I wish you were staying longer.” I linked my fingers at his nape, my heart growing heavy at the thought of letting him go.

“Me too. I hate leaving you.” Rather than break away from my arms, he bent his head and teased my throat with tantalizing little kisses, his breath heating my skin. I shivered with yearning as his fingers wove into my hair and made my scalp tingle pleasantly.

“Can’t you stay another day?” I asked, my voice trailing off into a moan.

“I have a meeting on Tuesday that I can’t get out of.” His lips traced my jaw and lingered at the corner of my mouth. “Why don’t I come down and spend next weekend with you? The Niagara region’s beautiful this time of year.”

No sooner did my heart thump with excitement at the idea than trepidation crept up my spine. “Can we keep this going, Mitch? How long before the hour-and-a-half drive between St. Catharines and Kitchener gets to be too much?”

He gathered me a little closer, his gaze warm on mine. “I’d drive all night to see you.”

“You say that now, but you just might get tired of it after a while.”

“Carly, don’t look for problems. I think we have something special here. It’s worth a few sacrifices, don’t you think?”

“I do.” I couldn’t tone down the grin that spread over my face. For the first time in ages, I felt purely happy. His arms around me felt just right, like the second chance I’d never expected—or thought I deserved.

“Good.” He kissed my lips one more time, slow and sweet. “See you tomorrow.”