True to his tradition, the boys had stayed up drinking and telling stories. She and Madison had taken the opportunity to exchange gifts since Jonathan had made it quite clear this was a men-only tradition. Will had stumbled in—weary with exhaustion, not intoxication—well after midnight. He’d smelled like old expensive whiskey, but his eyes were steady and his words clear as he crawled into bed beside her. She’d barely tucked her book away before he was asleep, his head on the pillow next to her, his arm slung across her chest. That was exactly how he’d remained all night.

It was early, and she suspected that the rest of the Thorne brethren would sleep in for at least a few more hours. But Hannah and Will had a mission to complete. She nudged him, but he only rolled over with a groan, taking the comforter with him.

She kissed him lightly. “Time to get up.”

His eyes fluttered open and he smiled. “Merry Christmas, Mrs. Thorne.”

“Ready?”

“Two more minutes?”

“Okay, but only two. I told Renata we’d be down by eight to get started.”

Twenty minutes later, they stood in the kitchen. She was dressed in her morning worst with her hair clipped back in a loose half ponytail. Will had pulled a shirt on over his pajamas but otherwise looked like he’d rolled right out of bed. Renata dug items out of the fridge as Hannah eyed the coffeepot warily. She’d forgotten to smuggle in her own coffee grounds, and even if that little shop was open, Hannah had a strict no-shopping rule on Christmas, especially after so many years as a barista. If there was ever a day she could make her own coffee, it was Christmas.

“Stop glaring at the pot like that,” Renata said from behind a stack of ingredients.

Hannah looked up from the text message she was composing. Will had suggested she start with her dad. A simple Merry Christmas seemed the easiest way in. She hit Send before pulling a mug down from the cabinet. “How do you drink it every day?”

Renata’s laugh echoed off the vast stainless steel. “Pour a cup and see for yourself.”

She didn’t even have to pour the coffee. The mild and smooth smell of hazelnut hit her nostrils. “What did you do?”

“Rebels come in all shapes, my dear,” she said with a grin.

“All this time, Renata?” Will asked, holding a hand to his heart in mock shock.

Hannah giggled and poured them each a cup. No matter what he said, she knew Will didn’t actually like his father’s coffee of choice. His cup always went back to the kitchen mostly full.

“Now, tell me what we are doing with all of this,” Renata said, though the glint in her eye hinted that she knew.

Laid out in front of them were the makings of the best French toast assembly line ever. Though she might be biased.

“Will’s most familiar with the recipe,” Hannah said, taking an apron from Renata. Will was already tying one around his waist. “And I can’t make French toast to save my life, so I figured Will can dip or dredge or whatever, you can cook, and I’ll sprinkle powdered sugar on top.”

“I see your evil plan,” Will said, looping an arm around her waist. “Make me and Renata do all the work while you get to make everything look pretty.”

She nodded and took her place at the end of the production line. “Sugar and then cinnamon, right?”

“Yes, Abbott,” Will said, sticking the first piece of bread into the mixture with a grin.

A half dozen slices later, Will sent a bemused Arthur off to wake up the rest of the house. Arthur seemed so stiff when she had first met him, but his face lit up as he watched them make a mess of the kitchen. He’d even tried the first piece, given his nod of approval, and stolen a cup of Renata’s coffee with a wink in Hannah’s direction. Had Will known this side of the staff before that morning? Did anyone in the house?

They were nearly done when the kitchen door swung open. It was too soon to be Arthur returning from waking the rest of the household. She and Will turned at the same time, passing a dish towel between them to dry their hands.

Daniel stood in the doorway, still in scrubs. Bags ringed his eyes, and he had a sort of wired look about him. He must’ve had an overnight shift and come straight from work. “What’s this?”

“How much coffee have you had?” Hannah asked, handing him a plate.

“Not that much, actually,” he said, flipping a piece of French toast onto his plate. “Mom’s Christmas French toast?”

Will nodded with an easy smile. “Yeah. It just felt like time to bring it back.”

The kitchen door opened again, and Jon and Madison entered, chattering about being summoned to the kitchen. They froze once inside, taking in the trays of French toast, fruit salad,  and the platter of bacon Renata was filling. A fresh batch of coffee—Jonathan’s sludge—brewed noisily on the other counter.

Her father-in-law appeared at the other side of the kitchen. He must have come through the back entrance Renata had shown her. Hannah had never seen him in anything but his Sunday best, but there he stood in a dressing gown and slippers, looking like every TV dad she’d ever seen. His ever-keen eyes took in the spread before him. His face, which never softened, relaxed a fraction, and she swore she saw nostalgia in his eyes.

When Will had told her the story about making French toast with the biggest smile on his face, Hannah had the idea to bring back the missed tradition. His smile had been followed by an onslaught of emotions she’d never seen out of him before. She hadn’t considered that the unexpected reminder might be too much for the Thorne men, that they had been repressing their emotions about their mother’s death for a long time. But Will had been excited by the idea, texting Renata to pull out the old recipe book before she’d even finished her sentence.

Standing in the kitchen, Will was relaxed and happy. As Daniel slung an arm across his shoulders, Will’s eyes stayed on his father, but not in the tense way they usually did. “Merry Christmas, Dad,” he said, waving toward the spread.

It wasn’t Jonathan who spoke next but Jon. “Man, I’ve missed that smell.”

The spell broke with those words. The silence dissipated into conversation and the clinking of plates as everyone gathered around the counter.

Will pulled Hannah in and kissed her among the chaos. His eyes were light, his expression open and hopeful. “Thank you.”

“It was nothing,” she said, stealing a piece of bacon off his plate. “You did all the work.”

He kissed her temple, leaning his forehead against hers. “It’s everything.”

Chapter 34Will

“Ouch. Ouch, Will.” Hannah stopped walking and rubbed a hand over her hip. “Can I please look now?”

He maneuvered her out of the path of the table and urged her forward, his hand still covering her eyes. “Two more steps. Nothing’s in front of you, I promise.”

Will dropped his hand as they entered their bedroom. It looked perfect in the dimmed lights and the glow of the little Christmas tree he’d acquired from Kate. Kate had added Christmas lights around the doors and windows. Under the tree sat presents and a bottle of wine with two flutes wrapped together with ribbon.

“How did you get the tree?” Hannah asked, her eyes taking in the space.

“A courier.”

“Courier?”

“Yes.” He straightened a bent branch, making the light come into full view. “I made a few calls to a certain mutual friend of ours, who brought the tree to our apartment while we were in the Hamptons.”

“Kate brought the tree all the way uptown for you?” Hannah sat down and trailed her hand across the plastic branches. Will could almost imagine what she was remembering because he was remembering it too.

“I earned some goodwill by letting her watch football here a few Thursday nights while you were covering shows,” he said. “And promised her she could stay and watch Sunday Night Football on the big screen.”

“You know, if you weren’t you, it would be really creepy that you hang out with my best friend without telling me.”

“Kate’s my friend too,” he said, meaning it. He had missed both Hannah and Kate separately and together, each in their own way. “Technically, I think I was her friend before I was your friend.”

Hannah turned a betrayed glance at him. “You did not just go there.”