She led Belle to the back door and opened it. The dog stood there, sniffing the cold air, visibly shivering. Reggie closed the door, then grabbed one of Belle’s jackets. Once she was bundled up, the dog reluctantly went into the backyard and finished her business before darting back inside.

“I know,” Reggie told her, unfastening the coat. “It’s much colder here than in Seattle. Sorry.”

Before Belle could agree—nonverbally, of course—the doorbell rang.

“Reggie, be a dear and get that.”

Reggie walked to the front of the house and pulled open the door, only to stare in disbelief. The “friends” her mother had mentioned were Toby, Harrison and Toby’s grandmother, Judy. At least, that was what she assumed, seeing as they were standing on the front porch, looking expectant.

“Ah, hi,” Reggie managed weakly, all the while wondering what on earth her mother had been thinking. “Happy Thanksgiving.”

Toby’s semi-smug feeling that came from knowing Reggie had arranged the Thanksgiving invitation evaporated. Based on her shocked expression, she’d known nothing about them joining her family for dinner.

“Come in,” she said, stepping back. “You must be freezing.”

Everyone trooped inside. Dena appeared and helped with coats while Belle danced around Harrison, delighted he’d shown up in her house. Toby handed Reggie a covered dish.

“My grandmother made these.”

“Lefse,” Judy added. “They’re a family tradition.”

“It’s a Norwegian flatbread,” he added.

Reggie looked at him as if he was an idiot. “I’ve had it. At your house.”

When they’d been dating, he thought, surprised she remembered.

She smiled at Judy. “Thank you for this. My family’s in for a treat.”

Reggie’s parents appeared and ushered everyone into the family room. Vince turned off the game and put on music, and Harrison dropped to the floor to play with Belle. Toby saw Reggie duck into the kitchen with the lefse and followed her.

“You were surprised,” he said, causing her to spin to face him.

“Yes. My mother said friends were coming over but didn’t say who. I assumed it was one of her ladies-who-lunch group or somebody who works for Dad at the auto shop. I wasn’t expecting you.”

“So, not a good surprise.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You don’t sound delighted.”

“Delighted? Really? Like I should squeal?”

He leaned against the counter and raised an eyebrow. “You squeal when you’re delighted? That’s kind of unfortunate.”

“Oh, please. I don’t squeal.” She took a step toward him. “At the risk of once again not sounding ‘delighted.’” She made air quotes. “How did this happen?”

Her hair curved just beneath her jaw and emphasized her large brown eyes. She had on dark jeans and a sweater that was yellow, red and orange—all the colors of fall. She looked good. Different than she had in high school, but still good.

“The invitation?” he asked.

“Yes.”