“We’ll tell him it’s a rocket ship,” Winona said with a smile on her face and a dismissive swish of her hand. Her gaze shifted to something over Suzanne’s shoulder and she called, “Hey, you two…mistletoe.” She pointed at the bunch hanging in the doorway between the long hallway and the living room.

Suzanne turned to find her parents—Ho three and Ho four, who had been god knew where all this time—standing in the doorway, everyone watching them expectantly. Without missing a beat, her father wrapped his arm around her mother’s waist, dipped her backward, and dropped a lingering smacker on her lips.

“Well, well,” Winona said quietly to Suzanne as the room cheered. “Looks like your work here is done.”

Suzanne blinked at her parents still kissing. Yeah. Mission accomplished. For her parents anyway.

Lunch was served and everyone ate till they were stuffed full. Some, like Burl, beyond that point, claiming he was going to pop if he ate another thing as he stuffed one more bean from the casserole into his mouth. Cora rolled her eyes.

After lunch, Winona made everyone play silly old-fashioned English parlor games she’d been researching for her latest book. Everything from the minister’s cat to musical chairs to wink murder that were all a hoot before they moved on to a massive game of charades—men versus women—that got very competitive.

Suzanne was impressed Grady was joining in and even appeared to be enjoying himself. Maybe he was just playing the role of over-the-top Christmas guy she’d forced upon him and he was silently counting down the minutes, but he seemed to get along with the other men present. He hadn’t suggested they leave. Not yet anyway.

At four in the afternoon, they had a special visitor who came bearing pies. Annie was welcomed with open arms even as everyone protested they were too full to eat anything more. They managed somehow, though, and not a single crumb was left when Annie left an hour later.

“That’s it,” Burl said, pushing his empty bowl away. “I’m never going to eat again.”

“From your lips to God’s ears, Burl Grady,” Cora quipped, and everyone laughed.

“Okay,” Winona said. “Let’s—”

“Oh god, no, please,” Arlo interrupted. “Spare us another one of those awful parlor games.”

“Hey.” Della whacked her brother on the arm. “Speak for yourself.”

“Thank you, Della,” Winona said, smiling sweetly at her. “But what I was going to say”—she shot death rays at Arlo—“was I think it’s time to go around the table and tell one another what we’re thankful for today. I know it’s not Thanksgiving, but Christmas is a time for reflection, too, and we’re so lucky to have full bellies and a warm house and clothes on our backs when so many don’t.”

“Hear, hear,” Burl said.