“You’d never guess I had a hand in picking the decorations,” he teased.

“Really?” Julie asked. “Most of the guys I know are color-blind.”

“I might have had a little help.”

Rachel laughed.

He wasn’t sure if Julie caught on or was simply thirsty. “I’m grabbing a glass of wine, want one, Rachel?”

“I’m good, thanks.”

“Suit yourself.”

Jason leaned close, whispered in her ear, “You’re killing me in that dress.”

She smiled. “I had a black one, but someone painted it green.”

He kept a respectful three feet away and wished they’d picked a smaller venue as an excuse to move closer. “Where is Owen tonight?”

“Staying with Ford.”

“Any news on Daddy coming to visit?”

She frowned. “Christmas Eve. We’re invited to the Colemans’ for a perfectly stuffy dinner with tension.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Me too. I tried to push it off. Owen wants nothing to do with it.”

“Don’t go.”

“I have to, Jason. Tereck assured me there wouldn’t be any more bad-mouthing of Emily. And TJ has the right to see his son. We need to try and make this work.”

“Hey, Jason.” They both turned to the sound of Trent’s voice.

“Hello, Rachel.” Monica moved between them. “Merry Christmas.”

The women hugged.

Jason envied his sister-in-law.

“How are you liking your first New York winter?” Trent asked Rachel.

“It’s not as bad as I thought it would be.”

“Are you going home for Christmas?” Monica asked.

“No. Owen and I are staying here.”

“Just the two of you?”

She nodded. “He’ll probably play video games most of the day and only duck his head out of cyberspace long enough to eat.”

Monica glanced at Jason and Trent. “You should join us.”

Now Jason wanted to hug Monica.

“I couldn’t—”

“Why not? We have room. There is already a crowd. Don’t you think, Jason?” Monica asked him.

“I think that’s a great idea.”

Rachel matched his stare.

“I don’t know . . .”

“I’m ten minutes down the road. If we’re boring, you can go home.”

“Hey, speak for yourself, I’m not boring,” Trent told his older brother.

“I’ll talk to Owen.”

“Good, that’s settled.” Monica pulled Rachel away by her elbow. “Let me introduce you to Mary.”

Their voices faded as they walked away.

“Looks like someone has a date for Christmas after all,” Trent said.

“Don’t let her hear you say that, or she’ll back out.”

“Why?”

“Because she works for us.”

“It doesn’t look as if that is going to stop you.”

Jason couldn’t keep his eyes off her ass. “It’s not.”

Trent patted him on the back. “C’mon, let me buy you a drink.”

“It’s an open bar.”

“Okay, let me get you a drink . . . and I’ll join in.”

The Colemans lived forty minutes north of them, and holiday traffic made it worse. “We won’t have to deal with this tomorrow,” Rachel told Owen as they drove bumper-to-bumper.

“I wish we didn’t have to deal with this today.”

“It might not be that bad.”

“You say that every time.”

She gripped the wheel. “That’s because I pray every time that it will get better.”

“What if it doesn’t? What if they continue to be douchebags?”

“I wish I had an easy answer for that, Owen. Maybe TJ will help the situation.”

“Or maybe he’ll be a superior ass and make it worse.”

“Watch your language.”

Owen rolled his eyes. “Oh, please. You’re thinking it, too.”

“Thinking, not saying.” She smiled at him.

He grinned back.

“We’ll get through this. Play nice. We eat dinner. They will probably give you a present or two.”

“I don’t want their charity.”

“Take it anyway, and smile. Then, when you’re ready to go, tell them you’re feeling sick, or have a headache or something.”

Each home sat on a minimum of two manicured acres. The lawns were covered with leftover snow from two nights before, a pattern that Rachel had noticed since the first flake fell. People had told her it was unusually warm for that time of year and warned her that it wasn’t uncommon for snow to come down and stay for quite some time.

It was the second time they’d been to the Colemans’ home. The colonial, three-story brick structure was as cold as the people inside.

They stood by the white lights from the front door and waited while the ridiculous chime of their doorbell went through its song.

Owen hummed the death march under his breath, and Rachel started cracking up.

They both stopped laughing when Tereck opened the door.

“Come in, come in . . . Merry Christmas.”

There was noise in the house. A lot of noise.

“Are we late?”

“No. You’re right on time.”

They stepped inside the white stone foyer and took off their coats. Rachel had opted for slacks and a sweater and insisted that Owen wear a button up shirt.

Tereck took their coats and placed them in a very full hall closet.

“Come in. Let me introduce you to everyone.”

Owen stuck to her side and whispered, “I thought it was just them and us.”

“So did I.”

They realized their mistake when they walked into the great room packed with people.

“He’s here,” Rachel heard a woman say from across the room.

Deyadria approached them, wearing a dress that belonged in a runway fashion show. The floor-length formal made Rachel feel completely underdressed.

“Here is my lovely grandson.” Her smile was entirely too wide, her words overly animated. She pulled him away from Rachel’s side without so much as a hello. “Let me introduce you to your family.”

Rachel scanned the room for TJ and found him in the back, watching his son.

Owen was surrounded by people within seconds.

The hair on Rachel’s neck stood on end. They’d been ambushed. No one had said anything about some massive family reunion. Although she should have thought it was a possibility, she didn’t see it coming.

Rachel stood out like a red apple in a sea of green. Nearly everyone ignored her, as if she wasn’t in the room. A few looked her way and whispered to each other.

“Hi,” a voice came from behind. “I’m Selma. You must be Rachel.”

Selma had the only kind smile in the room aimed at her. “Hello.”

“I’m Deyadria’s niece.” Somewhere in her early twenties, and owning some of Deyadria’s height. “You look shell-shocked.”

“We weren’t expecting this many people.” And from a few feet away, Rachel noticed when Owen’s face went blank. He was going through the paces of being nice, but she didn’t think it would last.

“Aunt Deyadria always leaves out details.”

“Is everyone here family?”

“Mostly.”