“Good.” Winona beamed. “Why don’t you start first, Burl?”

Burl turned to his wife. “Cora, you go first, sweetheart.”

“I’m thankful for Suzanne,” she said, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “We look forward to spending many more Christmases with her.”

Grady went very still beside her as Suzanne’s cheeks heated. She knew Cora was aware of the real situation between Grady and herself, but it seemed like she wasn’t above meddling, either.

“Me too,” Burl chipped in. “Suzanne’s been like a breath of fresh air at the ranch.”

There was a general murmur of consent around the table, but Grady said nothing, his jaw tight, his smile not reaching his eyes. He obviously hated how Burl and Cora had built up their hopes despite his warnings.

They went around the table next, the relative newcomers, including Della, naming different aspects of their new town they were grateful for. Little Henry was unanimous in his decision—his new daddy was the best Christmas present ever, followed closely by his baby sister inside his mommy’s tummy.

“Rocket ship cookies,” Drew said with a smile.

Simone didn’t hesitate when it came around to her. “Angels,” she said, followed quickly by Albie saying, “Snow angels,” and then smiling at his wife like they were eighteen again.

Then it was Grady’s turn. “What about you, Grady? And you can’t say Suzanne,” Winona ordered.

Suzanne felt like all eyes were on her as Grady considered his answer. She held her breath as she smiled at him with something she hoped looked like adoration and not some weird kind of facial palsy. “Tacky Christmas T-shirts, of course,” he said after a considered pause, which got some laughs.

“Your turn, babe,” Winona said, her voice soft, her eyes gentle as she delivered an encouraging squeeze to Suzanne’s thigh.

Suzanne glanced at Grady, his expression carefully neutral. Blizzards. That’s what she wanted to say. But given how much destruction they could wreak, she didn’t think anybody but Grady would understand. Her gaze fell to the table, landing on the snow globe sitting there all garish and awful next to her empty bowl. “Muses,” she said, deliberately not looking at Grady as she picked it up and shook it, causing a flurry of snow. “I’m grateful for muses.”

“Good answer,” Winona said with another squeeze to Suzanne’s leg, and somewhere inside Suzanne, her muse preened.

“What about you?” Drew asked Winona. “You’re the last one.”

Their hostess grinned, raising her glass above her head. “Eggnog,” she said, then toasted them all. “Merry Christmas, everyone.”

…

It was seven before Grady stopped the pickup outside the back door to the cabin. Suzanne’s parents had already disembarked from their vehicle and had barely stopped to say good night before disappearing into the cottage. No money for guessing why they were in such a hurry.

Looked like that had all ended well, at least.