The soft buzz of laughter and the warmth of the fire filled the room, but Lauren couldn’t shake the unease that had been gnawing at her since the moment they’d all sat down. It wasn’t like the usual Christmas chatter. It wasn’t even about the holiday itself. It was about Larry.
He hadn’t said much all night, and every time she caught his eye, he looked away quickly, as if he was trying to avoid something—or maybe just avoid her.
Margaret and Emily were sitting by the fireplace, sipping their wine and talking about their trip to Paris, recounting stories of cobblestone streets, overpriced coffee, and quirky street performers. Sophie was sprawled out on the floor with her Christmas crafts, humming a tune to herself, her concentration on a paper snowflake that was turning out less than stel
