“We’ve been invited to Flash’s for Thanksgiving.” I try to keep my tone nonchalant as I prop my hip against the stainless steel counter in the kitchen at the studio. I glance down at my nails, noting the fact that I haven’t painted them since…before. I used to take a lot of joy in making my nails a different color every few days. Trenton used to tease me, saying that I liked to keep him guessing.

A ghost of a smile flicks across my lips at the memory, and the expected pain that should lance through me next doesn’t come. Just the memory…and the smile.

Before I have time to evaluate that, Brantley’s response jerks my head back up and in her direction.

There’s flour all over the flaming red apron she’s wearing; the one that matches the utensils and bowls she uses in her kitchen. “I thought…I thought you didn’t want to do Thanksgiving this year.”

Her spatula pauses in its efforts to scrape all the cupcake batter from the side of her mixing bowl, and her eyes meet my face, searching and studying.

I shrug. “I didn’t want to. And I’m still not thrilled about it. The idea of spending this first holiday without Trenton and Danté…”

There it is. At the mention of my little boy, pain so thick and heavy it threatens to suppress my very being settles over me. I swallow hard. “But what’s the alternative? Staying home and thinking about them? At least this way, I’ll be at Flash’s house. I’ll be with you and Flash and Axel, and I think Flash is inviting some of his buddies from the Air Force that he doesn’t often get to see anymore. I’ll be busy, surrounded with people.”

Silence stretches between us as Brantley tries to figure me out.

“You’ve been spending time with him.” It’s not a question, so I don’t bother to answer. “Like, a lot of time.”

“I need this, B. And I need you by my side to get through it. Please say you’ll come.”

She huffs a reluctant sigh. “Axel is going to be there?”

I try to hide the smile wanting to work its way onto my lips. “Yep. And as I recall, you two hit it off the last time we were all together.”

She shakes her head, glancing down at her mixing bowl as that spatula begins whipping around once more. “That was just one night of fun, Arden. I’m not interested in anything more than that.”

Sadness hits me then, for a completely different reason. “You spend so much time worrying about me, making sure I’m okay. But this friendship is a two-way street, B. What happened to you…it was a long time ago. We left it behind in Florida when we moved to Savannah. You can let someone in. Someone other than me.”

She shakes her head, the messy bun on top wobbling with the effort, as some loose strands fall down around her face. “Don’t go there, Ards. Let’s just…drop it, okay? I’m fine, you’re pretending to be fine, so we’re all fine and good. Right? Fine…I’ll come with you to Flash’s for Thanksgiving. I’ll bake some pies.”

I grin. “Good, because you know if I bake something, it won’t be fit for people to eat. I’m going to get going, but I’ll pick you up around five tomorrow to head over to Flash’s house.”

She nods, her eyes still focused on her work. Her head still full of the thoughts she tries hard not to remember.

Maybe focusing on me and my pain temporarily helped her to forget about her own demons, the ones she’s warred with every day since she was eighteen years old. But it seems like those demons are fighting like hell to reach the surface again.

* * *

When Flash opens his front door, I immediately drop down to greet Nitro.

“How’s my sweet boy today?” Nitro rubs his face against mine, and I stand up, pulling a peanut butter snickerdoodle out of my bag. “Do you want this, sweet boy? Do you?”

Flash leans against the doorjamb, arms folded, a smirk pulling up one side of his mouth in a grin that sends swarms of butterflies rioting around my stomach.

“Spoiled rotten,” he remarks.

Tossing the cookie into the air, I clap when Nitro leaps up to catch it and then gulps it down in one bite. He returns to Flash’s side, ready to serve his master just as before, and I give him one last scratch behind the ears before I turn to Flash.

“He deserves to be spoiled. Remember, you told me that once. And I just happen to agree. It’s his Thanksgiving too.”

One strong arm wraps around my waist as Flash pulls me toward him, dropping a kiss on top of my head. He lingers there a moment, inhaling the scent of my hair, which I happen to know he loves.

When I glance up at Brantley, she’s watching us with rapt attention, her mouth hanging slightly open.

“Wow,” she finally says. “I haven’t seen you two together since the last time we were here, and…damn. I guess things are progressing.”

Her tone is a mixture of teasing and concern, and I know I’m going to have to have a talk with her later, explaining where Flash and I stand.

But first, I’m going to need to figure out for myself exactly where Flash and I stand.

Flash senses the war currently raging inside me and lets go of my waist long enough to grab hold of my hand. “Right this way, ladies. Welcome to our first Thanksgiving That Isn’t.”

“Thanksgiving That Isn’t?” I wrinkle my nose in confusion. “What’s that?”

He leans down as Brantley brushes past us, heading toward the great room. “It’s what I figured you needed today. I hope you’re okay with it.”

I nod, letting him lead me down the hall and into the great room. Where my steps stutter to a stop. Just to my left, in Flash’s big, wide-open kitchen, are two caterers dressed in white jackets, bustling around the room. As my eyes find the giant slider heading out to the patio, I find that a large wooden table has been set up outside, one that wasn’t there the last time we visited.

“What’s…what’s going on? You’re having Thanksgiving catered?”

Even as my eyes scan the countertops, I see no turkey, no side items that remind me remotely of Thanksgiving at all.

Flash’s voice in my ear causes a shiver to run down the length of my spine, and I lean back against him without even realizing I’m doing it. One of his arms curls protectively around my waist.

“Yes, I’m having it catered. But it’s going to be different than any other Thanksgiving. I want today to be full of new memories for you, sweetheart. I don’t want to try to replace the old memories you have from holidays past. I just want to make brand new ones.”

The doorbell chimes, and his lips graze my ear before he pulls away. “You and Brantley head on outside. There’s a fire going; we can all hang out there until dinner’s ready.”

Brantley pipes up. “I brought pies.”

Flash sends a smile in her direction. “Put them on the counter, and we’ll dig into those as soon as dinner’s over.”

With one more squeeze to my hand, Flash and Nitro disappear back down the hall. As Brantley and I head out onto the patio, I hear the sound of the front door opening and the distant boom of laughter.

“Ladies,” Axel greets us from where he’s sitting in front of the fire pit.

He stands, moving over to kiss both our cheeks. “Nice to see you both again.”

“You too, Axel,” I reply, smiling warmly at Flash’s brother. “So, this is the Thanksgiving That Isn’t?”

He shrugs, spreading his arms out to the sides. I see his gaze flash quickly to Brantley standing beside me before he trains his attention back on me. “Don’t look at me. This was all Flash’s idea.”

“Thanks for throwing me under the bus, asshole.” Flash’s voice, from behind me, makes me whirl.

He walks out of the sliding glass door holding Nitro’s harness, with three people behind him. “Guys, you remember my brother, Axel. And this is a good friend of mine, Arden Fontaine. Her friend, Brantley Sloan, is right beside her.”

A tingle of discomfort shoots through me at the way he introduced me. Friend.

Why would that upset me? We’ve only kissed once, and sure, we’ve gotten close. But would I expect him to call me anything other than a friend? I don’t know. My brow furrows. My mind is such a jumbled mess when it comes to this man.

Not to mention my heart.

“These two are fellow fighter pilots. The really ugly one is Jake Rodriguez, and he’s with his wife, Alex. The woman who can probably kick all our asses is Lola Broderick.”

My eyes zero in on Lola, because she’s a fighter pilot and she’s gorgeous.

And she also has an arm linked through Flash’s.

Long, ultra-straight black hair hangs past her shoulders, and is much thicker than mine. Her creamy brown skin is flawless, and her body is curvaceous, like the proverbial Coke bottle all women aspire to be like. Where I’m thin and willowy, she sports lush curves for days. And she can’t hide them in the maroon skinny jeans she’s wearing, either.

“It’s nice to meet you all.” The words are right, but my voice sounds wrong.

Jealousy strikes, a vicious snake poised to sink its fangs deep into my heart.

Flash said he was inviting the three people who meant the most to him in the world after his brother, and one of them is this woman?

My eyes suddenly sting with tears I’m so thankful Flash can’t see. A small nudge from Brantley tells me that she knows exactly where my head has gone, and when I glance in her direction, she shakes her head slightly. Telling me that I need to relax, that I’m being ridiculous.

Which I know I am. Flash and I aren’t together. No labels have been thrown around where we’re concerned. Hell, I’m probably too much of a mess for him to even want to have that conversation with me.

Jesus. My palms begin to sweat as my breaths come fast, too fast. Forcing my feet to move on wobbly legs, I heft my purse higher on my shoulder and excuse myself.

Back in the kitchen, I ignore the delicious smells wafting my way and rush into the main level powder room, closing the door behind me.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

My back to the door, I slide down until my butt hits the floor. I place my head between my knees and try to take deep, calming breaths. Only every time I inhale, I picture Flash’s face, and how good he would look standing next to a beauty like Lola. And she’s a freaking fighter pilot? I’m not sure how many female fighter pilots there are, but I’m pretty certain this makes her a complete badass.

The total opposite of my waist-deep mess. There’s no comparison at all. My breathing accelerates, along with my heart rate, which beats an irregular tune just for Flash Jackson.

It’s been weeks since I had one, but the sound of the blood roaring in my ears and the way my hands shake as I pull out my bottle of anxiety meds is all the proof I need to know that I’m having a panic attack.

And this time, it’s not because of grief.

It’s because of the thought that I might lose someone else who’s become deeply important to me, before I even have the chance to make him mine.