“We splurged and got the lotion to go with it,” Henry added. The first year they had given it to me, Henry had groused about the price: “What did you do, Bailey, go to the cosmetic counter and ask for the most expensive and weirdest perfume they made?” But each year, they gave it to me without fail. I sprayed the new fragrance. I loved it.

“Honey, you smell as good as Thanksgiving dinner,” Daddy said. These are the kinds of compliments I got from my men. If Griffin had ever told me I smelled like filet mignon, I knew I was on to something. Henry went next.

“Let’s see what ‘used merchandise’ Bailey is giving us this year,” he said good-naturedly. We all laughed. I had discovered that I loved estate sales and consignment stores almost as much as I loved designing restaurants—and my men.

“It’s vintage,” Daddy and Griffin proclaimed as they had every year since I discovered the allure of “repurposed” antiques.

I chuckled. This year, I had broken with my tradition. Not only had I given Henry something new, it technically wasn’t even out yet. “You just might be surprised.” Henry looked intrigued. He slid the sprig of rosemary I had tucked into the ribbon. If some cooks favored butter and sugar, Henry thought everything was better with a little rosemary. He opened the package and just stared at it. It was a coffee-table book entitled Last Suppers. Famous chefs described what their favorite last meal would be. Henry had been featured in the up-and-coming chef section.

“It still has that new book smell,” I said.

“How?” Henry asked.

“I have my sources. Daddy why don’t you open yours now?” Henry noticed their identical gifts and moved closer to Daddy.

If Henry preferred rosemary, lavender reminded me of Daddy because it grew in his beloved garden. He rubbed the herb between his hands and took deep breaths. I knew he rolled lavender in his pocket square because, occasionally, he would leave his handkerchief on the kitchen counter and I’d bring it to my nose, hoping the smell would connect Daddy and me.

“Well, Bailey has given us the same thing. Thank you, Bailey,” he said formally.

“Check out the bookmark, Daddy,” I said. In his interview, Henry said that his last meal would be “anything my father, Hank Edgeworth, fixed me. But I wouldn’t be opposed to a side of his famous macaroni and cheese with lobster in a béchamel.” Father and son, mentor and apprentice, older man and younger one stared at one another. Their love, admiration, and respect written in the expression they exchanged. I may have given Daddy the present, but it was Henry who had given him the gift. I would’ve given anything for Daddy to bestow that kind of look on me when I was growing up after the boys left for college. Theirs was a mutual admiration society with only two members.

Griffin smiled at me and interrupted, “Well done, Bae.” I appreciated his gesture, but I was also eager to see his reaction to my gift. I had had his the longest, and I had spent more money on it than anything in the past. I knew it was perfect. I wanted it to be perfect. When I learned his parents never bought a Christmas tree or even bothered to give him a present, I knew I wanted to be the person who did.