“It’s not like we just met,” she said quietly. “I told you about my parents and that I lived with my aunt and uncle.”

“I’m sorry,” I replied. “It never even occurred to me. Here’s the thing…” I paused, trying to figure out how to explain my reasoning. “These are my parents, okay? Kate is my sister as much as Bram is my brother. It’s not ‘here’s my adoptive parents.’ It’s ‘here’s my parents.’ I don’t mention that I’m adopted, because they’re just my family. It isn’t any different than any other, biological family, and I don’t want people to view it that way.”

“But I’m not people,” she said softly.

“You’re right,” I murmured. “I guess not mentioning it is just habit at this point. I am sorry. It didn’t have anything to do with how I feel about you.”

“I understand,” she said, giving me a little half smile. “How did your first mom pass away?”

My first mom. Damn, I liked that. I didn’t tell many people that I’d been adopted, but it was common knowledge in our small hometown, and I couldn’t even count the times people had asked me about my “real” mom growing up. I’d hated it. Calling my biological mother my real mom was a slight to my adoptive mother. She was just as real as the woman who’d given birth to me and Bram.

Sarai watched me, waiting for my answer, and I suddenly felt as if my heart were going to beat out of my chest.

“A broken heart,” I answered, my voice grave. “At least that’s what Bram and I have always thought.”

Sarai made a small sound of sympathy and kissed my chest.

“This conversation has taken a surprisingly morbid turn,” I joked, uncomfortable with the emotion clogging my throat.

“Thanks for telling me about your mom,” she said simply, resting her chin on her hand.

“You know, Thanksgiving is next month,” I said, changing the subject to the first thing I could think of. I stared at all the details that made up her gorgeous face. The strong nose and dark eyebrows, the full bottom lip and cupid’s-bow top lip that were rosy from being pressed against my skin. The gap between her two front teeth that drove me crazy.

“Yep. Four days off,” she murmured. “I can’t wait.”

“Are you going home for the holiday?” I asked, running my fingers through her hair.

“No,” she replied. “My family’s never really made a big deal about Thanksgiving.”

“Really?”

“Really,” she confirmed. “I mean, we’ve always had dinner, but it’s not a big celebration or anything.”

That was pretty much the opposite of how my family did things. Every major holiday was a celebration to the Harris and Evans clan. As I looked into her sleepy eyes, an idea formed.