I can tell it irritates her that I can read her so easily, but all anyone has to do is step foot inside Buttercream and Booze to see how much she loves the holidays. “Ceramic, not papier-mâché.”

“And you painted it yourself?”

“Maybe.” She pokes me in the shoulder. “Enough with all the questions. It’s an hour and a half drive; you’ll have loads of time trapped in a car to make fun of me.”

“Right. Yeah.” I’m not sure what a long ride in a car together is going to be like. “I’ll just change real quick. Can I get you something to drink while you wait?”

“I’m fine, thanks.”

I leave her to wander around my apartment while I change. She doesn’t seem the type to snoop, but you never know. Considering Blaire is wearing one of her dresses complete with festive holiday print, I decide a pair of black casual pants, dress shirt, and plaid tie are appropriate. I don’t bother with contacts since my eyes already feel gritty from lack of sleep.

I find her in my living room, staring up at a collage of family photos. “Ready to roll?”

She turns her head slowly, her expression soft. “I’m so sorry.” She reaches up and adjusts the wooden picture frame, and suddenly her apology makes sense. That was the last family photo we took, and the phrase “In loving memory” is etched into the matte in silver letters.

It’s never level, always listing to the right because the frame itself is unbalanced. I refuse to change it, though, because it was one of my first woodshop projects, and my dad and I worked on it together. It’s old and cracked and a whole lot ugly, but it’s a memory I can’t let go of. I nod and swallow around the lump in my throat. “Oh, uh, thanks. It was a long time ago.” But on days like this it feels like it was yesterday, not a decade ago, that they passed.

“How old were you when you lost them?” She presses her hand to her chest. “You don’t have to answer that if it’s not something you want to talk about.”

“It’s okay.” I jam my hands in my pockets and clear my throat again as I step up beside her. “I was twenty.”

She blows out a slow, tremulous breath, her smile sad. “That must have been so hard. It looks like you were close.”

“We were a tight family. My brothers are both older, so they were more settled, with careers and partners. It shook us all up pretty good. I ended up living with my gramps and grams for a couple of years after they passed.”

She nods, putting together the pieces of the puzzle, like why I took over The Knight Cap and why I kept all the pictures of him and Grams up.

“I’m sorry you’re not with your family today.”

“I’m used to celebrating after the fact.” If my brother’s place wasn’t so far away I might have made the effort to drive out there again today. But after spending all day yesterday taking Gramps up there and coming back, I just don’t have the energy. And sometimes the family stuff is harder on days like today, especially since my brothers are in committed relationships, and everyone gets on me for being alone. I force a smile and change the subject. “We should probably hit the road, huh?”

She gives her head a slight shake, as if she’s been lost in her own thoughts. “Oh yes. Definitely.” She squeezes my forearm gently. “Endless food awaits.”

Blaire wasn’t lying about her love of the movie Grease. The soundtrack is saved as a playlist. Apparently she’s a huge fan of movie and musical soundtracks.

“Feel free to change it to whatever you like. I know this isn’t everyone’s cup of tea.” She motions to the stereo system.

Blaire drives a midsized SUV that has a pretty prominent rattle in the engine. It also boasts a Buttercream and Booze magnetic sign on both the driver and passenger side doors. The engine rattle makes me wonder what kind of restaurant background she comes from and how much her family has struggled to make a living at it.

“You said your family is in the restaurant industry, right?” I ask, making small talk.

“Yup, they are.” Blaire taps the steering wheel, like she’s drumming to the beat of the song.

“So why don’t you work with them? Why go out on your own?” Clearly they’re at least somewhat close if she’s willing to drive an hour and a half for dinner.

“They’re more steak and lobster, and that isn’t where my passion lies,” she replies. “They like to hobnob, and I like…not to.”

There’s clearly more to that story, but I don’t know if I should push it too much since despite all our interactions—which have been mostly Blaire being pissed off at me for something—I’m not sure we’re at a place where she feels comfortable sharing too much personal information. Although I’m attending Thanksgiving dinner with her family, in part because it was better than being alone, and also because I’m curious about Blaire. It’s a bit of a strange situation all the way around. “Do you want to expand on that?”

She grips and releases the steering wheel, blowing out a breath. “My family is a little…odd.”

Considering Blaire dresses like she’s June Cleaver’s pinup-worthy sister I can’t say I’m all that surprised. “Aren’t all families odd?”

“Mine more than most, I think. They’re all very Type A and concerned about money and being the best. And of course I want to be the best, too, but on my own merit and not theirs. I could’ve worked my way up the ladder in one of their restaurants, but I love baking, and that was never going to fly with them, so I went out on my own instead.” She signals right and takes the next exit off the freeway. “They’re also kind of insane, and I spent the first twenty-five years of my life dealing with it on a daily basis. I figured I deserved some separation from that.”

“That’s fair. I love my brothers, but they drive me nuts on a good day. We worked for the same company for a while, but they ended up going out on their own and I don’t know that I could ever really work for them.” Which was part of the reason I went in a different direction. They wanted the three of us to go into business together and I already didn’t love the job.

“Mmm. Family businesses can be tough. It would be a lot easier financially if I went in the direction they wanted me to. They’d love to have me as their pastry chef, designing intricate, elaborate creations that would get them written up by all the highbrow foodie bloggers. But that’s not my style. I’d rather struggle to make ends meet for a while than give up my own dream.”

“I can’t imagine how intense it must be doing it all on your own.” It makes me even more grateful for Gramps’s support.

“The first couple of years are always hard, but I’m hoping in the end it’ll pay off. Someday I’ll be able to get more than five hours of sleep a night and my diet won’t consist mostly of leftover cupcakes and almost-expired sandwiches.”

“Because you don’t have time to cook?”

She lifts a shoulder. “Everything I have is tied up in Buttercream and Booze so if the money’s already spent on the food, then I might as well eat it rather than buy groceries that are going to rot in my fridge because I’m never home.”