Starr wanted to roll her eyes at his political grin. How had she ever thought him to be sincere and trustworthy?
“We’ll be sure to vote, won’t we?” Her mom attempted to stare at each of them in the eye.
“Supporting Ashton is very important. After all, in a month, he’ll be family.” Angel looked up at him adoringly.
Starr fought against the rising nausea. Maybe she wouldn’t have such a problem with the two of them if they’d bother apologizing for backstabbing her. Instead, they seemed to think she should applaud them for finding their “soul mate.”
She took a sip of her drink, cooling the welling rage. It wouldn’t do any good to show an emotion other than happy to be back home. Her family wouldn’t understand the turmoil that made her head ache on a steady basis. How worried she was that not one application she’d filled out would lead to an interview. How she didn’t know where she was going to live. How being a failure kept her up at night as she compared her accomplishments—or lack thereof—to her siblings’.
Starr discreetly looked around the table. How long did she have to sit here before she could excuse herself? She was not in a festive mood, and if Angel said one more thing about her wedding, Starr would scream.
But you have a month’s worth of torture to endure. She bit back a whimper. Lord, save me now.
“Don’t forget the tree lighting next Thursday.” Her father’s commanding voice resonated in the dining room.
“But, Dad, that’s the day of our wedding-favor social.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You won’t be stuffing favors all day, Angel.”
“It’s in the evening.”
“Then change it. Tickets are hard to come by.”
Her lips pursed.
“Waylon, I have an extra ticket if you’d like to join us.” Dad waited expectantly for his answer.
“Thank you, sir. I really appreciate that. I’ll be there.”
As she watched how comfortable Waylon was around her family, an idea began niggling in the back of her mind. Maybe she should befriend Waylon. Friendship always made the holidays more enjoyable, and this year had to be particularly hard on him since his mom passed. Was his sister around?
Well, she’s not at the dinner table, so guess not.
“I expect everyone to be here by six,” Dad boomed.
“Yes, sir,” they all chorused.
It was like Starr’s childhood all over again. Her father never talked much, unless issuing a command he expected to be followed without complaint. Just like when they were kids, Angel had raised an objection before relenting.
Starr peeked at Waylon. What did he think of her family? She remembered how he’d hung around a lot when he and Noel were in high school. But had he come back during college? She wished she could see inside his thoughts . . . or pass a note across the table. Her lips twitched at the thought. He tilted his head as if to ask her what was so funny.
She shook her head slightly, but he discreetly placed his palms together prayer-style and poked out his bottom lip. She snorted, clapping a hand over her mouth and coughing to cover the sound.
“Is there a problem, Starr?” Her father’s black eyes locked on to her.
“No, sir. Wrong pipe.” She made a show of sipping her drink and sighing loudly afterward. “All better.”
“Hmm.” Her father checked his watch. “I need to return to the office for a couple of hours.”
“Russell!” her mother exclaimed.
“It can’t be helped.” He kissed her mother on the cheek as he rose. “Happy Thanksgiving, everyone, and welcome home, Starr.”
“Thank you, Dad.”
He straightened his tie. “Noel?”
“Coming.” Noel shoved another bite of food into his mouth, then followed their father out of the dining room.
“May I be excused too?” Starr looked at her mom expectantly.
“Sure, honey. You must be tired from traveling.”
More like tired of the forced family cheer. “Like you wouldn’t believe.”
“Have a nice night, dear.”
Starr strode out of the room, thankful to escape and retreat into quiet. She took the stairs until she made it to the attic floor. As she stepped into her room, her mind went back to the past. Her dream board was posted above her old desk, holding pictures of her and her high school friends. Her first car. Her short story that had been printed in the school paper.
“I imagined you as a writer.”
Waylon’s words echoed in her head. Once upon a time, she’d held that same dream. Yet when she went to college and received advice from her parents, Starr had chosen a communications degree instead of the creative writing one she’d wanted for years.
She shook her head, trying to physically dislodge her thoughts. Heaving her suitcase onto her bed, she unzipped the luggage. She hadn’t had time to unpack everything earlier before changing for dinner. Somehow her rummaging through the contents had shifted her notebook to the top, as if waiting for her attention.
The rom-com was an enemies-to-lovers story set in New York. So far, the witty banter between the hero and heroine had her laughing to herself. She slid the notebook onto her desk. Maybe she’d play around with the story in between job hunting.
Or now. You’re not doing anything.
She stared at her closed bedroom door. Since the rest of the family was in the dining room, Starr wouldn’t have to worry about anyone coming up here. She grabbed a pencil and sat in the white chair in front of the matching desk.
After reading a few sentences to refresh her mind and wake up her creative thinking, Starr started writing once more.
“Do you need a bib, baby?”
“Did you just call me ‘baby’?” Aria’s eyes flashed with fire.
“Not in a romantic sense. You’ve got a stain a mile wide on your shirt.”
She froze, horror dropping her jaw. Slowly she looked down to see that guacamole had dropped from her tortilla chip and made a slimy trail down her beautiful white sweater. Was it possible to die from mortification?
Starr looked down at the words she’d written. They were trash. This was why writing would only be a hobby for her. She didn’t have what it took to make it into a career. She used her eraser and got rid of the new words, hating that her insides felt like curling into a fetal position. But if she didn’t like her own writing, surely no one else would.
She closed the notebook and rose. Going back to her suitcase, Starr peeked at all the clothes she’d stuffed inside. Since she wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon, it would be a good time to hang up things in her old closet. Hopefully she had packed enough clothes to get her through the holidays and on to the next job.
“Welcome back, Starr,” she murmured.
four
Waylon leaned against the wall as some of the Lewis family filtered out of the home to go to the National Christmas Tree Lighting Ceremony.
“Let’s go, Starr,” Noel called. “We’re going to be late.”
“Sorry, Noel.” She stepped down the last step and hustled down the hallway. “Misplaced my phone.”
Her pale blue peacoat came to her knees and a white-and-blue scarf filled the open collar of her jacket. She looked beautiful. And surely not the reason he hung around with Noel instead of going with the others.