The Bluff (Graham Brothers, #2)(86)

“Hear, hear!” someone calls at the last one, eliciting chuckles around the dining area. Even Burt raises his glass at this.

A big hand lands on my shoulder, and the knot of worry in my chest loosens, even if only a slight amount. James slides into the chair beside me. His lips brush my temple, making goose bumps pop up on my arms and legs and a smile on my face.

“What’d I miss?” His voice is husky, and my goose bumps get goose bumps. He isn’t smiling, but I don’t expect that from him. His expression is tight, but his eyes thaw slightly as they skim over my face.

“Not much,” I tell him. “But I sure missed you.”

I press a quick kiss to his cheek and adjust my chair so I can lean back against his broad chest. I need the contact. After a brief pause, one of his arms snakes around my waist, and only Chevy coughing—or, fake coughing—loudly keeps me from crawling right up into James’s lap. I toss a glare Chevy’s way, and he only shakes his head.

As Judge Judie continues, James leans close to my ear again. “There’s a turkey,” he whispers.

There are multiple turkeys on the food table—two fried, one smoked, and at least two oven-roasted. But I know the one he means, and it’s the actual, living turkey strutting his way through the tables like this is HIS event. Which, technically, one could make the argument it is. Stormy, the younger of Harper’s two dogs, is following at a semi-safe distance, trying to sniff discreetly. He yelps and bolts when the turkey lunges at him.

“That’s King,” I whisper back.

“But it’s a turkey … on Thanksgiving.”

“Yeah, and?”

James tilts his head a little so he can meet my eyes. His expression is so serious I almost laugh. “We’re eating his friends,” he whispers.

I force my face into a concerned expression. “Oh, no! Do you think King saw?”

James gives me that James look, patent pending, and now I do laugh, but quietly because heaven forbid someone interrupt the benediction. But this moment feels almost normal with James, so I’m willing to risk the wrath of Judge Judie. I’ll cling to this scrap like a junkyard dog. Just try and take it away from me—I DARE YOU.

“I don’t remember whose idea it was, but years ago, we started having a live turkey as our way of honoring the bird.”

“While eating the bird.”

“Other birds, but yes,” I whisper.

“How long has King been attending Feastivus?”

“Technically, we’re on King the third. But we just call them all King.”

“Did Kings one through three end up on a plate?”

“Oh no. All the Kings get to live out their natural avian lives. Just turns out those lives aren’t very long.”

“I see.” He pauses. “I’m not going to be the one scrubbing turkey droppings off the cement when this is over with.”

I sigh. “I volunteer as tribute.”

James nods, jaw clenching. But this time, as he turns away, I realize it’s because he’s trying to hide a smile.

Okay, then. Maybe this is okay; maybe he’s okay. Relief pours over me like water, and I sigh deeply.

“Finally,” Judge Judie says, clearing her throat and turning her gaze directly on our table, “I would be remiss if I didn’t acknowledge the Graham family.”

James tenses behind me, and something shifts in the air, leaving a very weighty silence. I swallow past a lump in my throat, hoping this is going to be a good blessing and not a complaint. Most of the people present have already offered grudging support after Tank bought the town. Pat marrying Lindy had a lot to do with it, as most people are suckers for a happy ending, especially if it involves one of Sheet Cake’s own. And no one can argue that he didn’t come in and take great care of Lindy and Jo.

Judge Judie continues, “While their introduction to Sheet Cake certainly has not been without its share of drama and several arrests, I think many of us have begun to see the good these interlopers have brought.”

“Who are you calling an interloper?” Pat calls out. “I married Sheet Cake royalty!” As though to demonstrate, he tips Lindy back, planting a kiss on her lips that has people giving wolf whistles and Jo covering her eyes.

“Get a room!” Chevy shouts through cupped hands.

Judge Judie rolls her eyes but otherwise ignores the outbursts. “Today, James Graham showed real Sheet Cake hospitality by allowing us to meet and congregate here, at the site of what I think we all know will be a successful brewery. Though we can all agree it’ll never be as good as my family’s moonshine.” She raises her mason jar.

There are several shouts of agreement, mostly from other people holding glasses of said moonshine. James relaxes a little with the attention off him.

“Raise a glass of whatever you’ve got,” Judge Judie says, and around the space, people lift glasses in the air. I hold up my water, but behind me, James is still impersonating a corpse. “To the Grahams and their first Feastivus. We hope you’ll stay to see many more!”

“To the Feast!” a chorus of voices rings out. One more part of our tradition I should have prepared the Grahams for. But that’s okay. By next year, they’ll be old pros.

The thought of next year or the future in general makes something drop inside my stomach. What will the next year bring? Will I still be working alongside James? More importantly—will I still be with him? Will the brewery be open and successful, the town of Sheet Cake revived?