Free Spicy with a Side of Cranberry Sauce by Rachell Nichole Page A

can I do?” he asked his new supervisor. If the day hadn’t been proving difficult enough already, it was now going to be close to impossible. He’d hoped he could talk his mother into separating the jobs in the kitchen and put some distance between him and the temptation of Amy. But he clearly wasn’t that lucky.
    She looked down at her list. Since he was the one who wrote it, he knew what came next. But he stood there and waited for her to tell him to go chop celery and onions.
    She handed him the cutting board. “Celery and onions, please.”
    He grabbed them out of the fridge where he’d helped her put them away just hours before. She walked by the stairs and smiled shyly while both their parents were looking the other way. He winked. He couldn’t help it. He was rewarded by a soft blush beneath her cheeks. He set to work on chopping, focusing so he didn’t cut off a finger, and listened to Amy dole out orders. She sounded so sure of herself, so in control, so unlike the overwhelmed woman he’d seen in the wee hours of the morning.
    After finishing the veggies, he turned and bumped right into Amy.
    “Sorry,” he said as heat zinged through his body.
    She shrugged her delicate shoulder, and he wanted to lick his way from there up her neck. He was staring, he knew, but he couldn’t help himself. A slight red mark marred her neck. She quickly covered it with her hand.
    “So what next?” he said loud enough for his parents to hear. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t realize…” he whispered.
    “It’s okay,” she murmured back. “Fry ’em up,” she said, louder.
    She moved back from him, taking her hand from her neck and getting back to work. As the four of them worked in the kitchen, he couldn’t help the bloom of holiday cheer that took root in his chest. Two pumpkin spice candles sat on the counter behind the sink, spilling an aroma into the kitchen that he would forever associate with his home and his family. He’d always been a sucker for family time, for the love that his mother brought with her wherever she went. Today it permeated the air in the kitchen, surrounding him with the certainty that while he might have made the wrong move with Amy last night, this morning was more important and seemingly untainted by his idiocy. As long as he kept it a secret.
    A pang of sadness wrapped around him at knowing the rest of his family wouldn’t be there this year. He would miss Elly and Dan, but probably not his father. He pushed the feelings aside. If Amy could overcome the loss of her mother at such a young age and deal with not having her mom around for every birthday, Thanksgiving, and Christmas thereafter, he would be okay without his little sister and older brother for one holiday.
    He couldn’t help but follow Amy’s movements around the kitchen and delight in every order she gave. Letting Amy run the show seemed to please both women. James took direction well from his daughter, and the way he looked after Mom, helping her, warmed Mason. A few times, melancholy darkened James’s face, and Mason wanted to give him a hug. But Mason didn’t know him well enough. Nor had James shared the painful history of losing his wife with Mason. He didn’t think the other man would appreciate Amy’s telling of that tale or Mason’s interference.
    After the turkey was in the oven and the smells of the kitchen overwhelmed him, he couldn’t stop thinking about getting Amy alone again. She excused herself for a moment, and he practically ran out of the room after her.
    He followed her into the living room where he found her sitting on the blue sofa, her head in her hands. He could hear his mother and James talking softly in the kitchen, but he put them out of his mind. He sat beside Amy on the sofa.
    “What’s wrong?”
    She sniffed. Tears had streaked her mascara in dark lines down her face. “Nothing. It’s… God, it’s fucking perfect.”
    Her shoulders shook with a sob, and she shoved her fist in her