I shrug and finish another bite of turnover. “His humor anyway.”

Sean grabs a kitchen towel and wipes his hands. The more I watch him, the more I see a lifetime of military training in him. Not a single movement is wasted or hesitant. He manages to be utterly graceful, yet proudly commanding.

He reminds me of a less impulsive Finn.

“You haven’t asked where my son is,” Sean remarks.

“If I had to guess, I’d say he was out running.”

Sean’s lips curl in a smile that is very reminiscent of Finn’s when he has something on me.

“It’s eleven,” I feel obliged to point out. “He always exercises at ten. Before returning starving and in search of food—”

Finn breezes into the kitchen, sweaty and flush. Gym shorts ride low on his hips, the white tank he’s wearing sticking damply to his skin. “Do I smell meat pies? Man, I could eat a dozen.”

Sean catches my eye before grabbing another plate from the cabinet.

Finn pours himself a massive glass of orange juice before coming over to stand beside me. He smells of sun and sea and sweat. “Chester.” He kisses my cheek. A sweet gesture that makes my skin tingle. Memories of being wrapped up with his long, hard body flutter through my mind, and it’s all I can do not to lean into him now.

From the speculative look he’s giving me, I’m guessing he’s remembering things as well. “I see Dad’s taking care of you.”

“Very well,” I agree, focusing on my coffee. His gaze slides to the food on my plate and turns absolutely covetous. Rolling my eyes, I offer him and bite, which he takes without hesitation.

“Fuck, that’s good,” he says with a little groan that I find way too appealing, given that it’s over food.

“You’re stinking up my galley, Finnegan,” Sean says mildly. “You know the drill. Shower before meal service.”

“Aye-aye, Cap!” With a waggle of his brows to me, Finn grabs his glass and hustles off.

I’m left alone with Sean who looks at me as if he knows something I don’t. He’s astute enough to keep silent. But inside, I am a storm of guilt and uncertainty.

Finn’s family adores him. Their joy over him being in a relationship is so lovely it threatens to break my heart. I don’t want to lie to them.

But I don’t get to discuss it with Finn. We are effectively swept up in family activities. Starting with putting up the Christmas tree.

Gathered around in the big living room, Meg, Emily, and I watch as the men pull sections of a white, artificial tree out of boxes. Sean’s quiet commands keep Finn and Glenn from arguing while they try to figure out what goes where, and soon, the ten foot tree is assembled before the picture window and plugged in to glow in softly lit splendor.

“I know fresh trees have that lovely scent,” Meg says to me. “And some traditionalists would sneer at artificial, but I just love my white tree.”

I take a picture of Finn and Sean adjusting a few branches. “I have a silver tree. Or had one. I suppose it’s melted now.”

My laugh sounds brittle, even to my ears. Meg gives me a gentle squeeze around the shoulders, a move so much like her son’s that it’s eerie. “Well, I’m glad you’re here to enjoy this tree.”

I almost don’t know what to do with the Mannus brand of tactile affection. My mother would have recited a poem about loss and patted my hand before drifting off. As new as it is for me to be cuddled and hugged, I find it comforting. Especially since they never cling or make me feel pathetic.

Meg announces that she’s going to make her “special nog”, which has Finn and Glenn snickering, and I really don’t want to know why.

“You shouldn’t be working,” Emily tells me as she starts opening up ornament boxes. “Come relax and trim the tree.”

Glenn’s wife is petite, her curly hair so dark brown it’s almost black, her skin a deep, even tan that speaks of Hispanic descent. Silver bangles around her wrist tinkle as she works.

“I actually prefer this,” I tell her. “Putting up ornaments makes me tense. I’m never satisfied with where I place them.”

“Glenn is the same.”

My expression must convey my surprise because she gives me a wry smile. “He’s a landscaper. Everything has to be just so, the visual balance just right, or he’s twitchy. Whereas, I teach fifth grade students, so I’ve learned to go with the flow.”

I glance at Finn’s older brother, who is currently trying to get Finn in a headlock. I take a picture of that. “You been with Glenn for a while.”

“How can you tell?”

“The way you two interact with each other. It’s fluid. Like you’ve been together so long that you know which way the other will go before one of you even moves.”

Emily beams. “That’s lovely.”

“Just an observation.”

Thankfully, Finn walks up with a glass of nog for me, and a glass of what smells like hot cider for Emily. “Sorry, Em. Meg’s special sauce is not good for the baby.”

Emily laughs. “It isn’t good for any of us.” She glances at me. “Watch yourself. That stuff is lethal.”

When she heads toward the tree, I lean closer to Finn. “I like your family.”

“Good. They like you too.”

We’re alone now, off to the side of the action. But I keep my voice low. “I like them too much to lie to them.”

Finn does a double take at that. “You aren’t.”

“I am.”

He doesn’t roll his eyes, but his tone implies he wants to. “Have you said to them, I’m in love with your son and we are having wild sex?”

“Who says crazy crap like that to someone’s family?”

The corners of his lips twitch. “Well, it would be kind of awkward, I’ll give you that.”

“You are annoying me. Stop being purposely obtuse. I came here playing the role of your girlfriend.”

This time he actually does roll his eyes. “I’m trying to make it simple. Stop thinking of it as playing a role.”

“But it is a role.” I take a drink of nog to keep from yelling at him. And immediately regret it. “Holy lighter fluid, what the hell is in this drink?”

“Fireball cinnamon whisky.” Finn calmly pats my back. “You’re here because you’re my girl. Sex doesn’t change that fact.”