Take Me Home Tonight

“Can you be over at eleven?” James had his hand wrapped in the sleeve of his coat for warmth, holding the phone to his ear as he stood in a mile-long line outside Whole Foods. They’d actually set up the pickup point in their parking lot because so many people were waiting for Thanksgiving dinners. James had a wool hat on and his collar up, but winter was getting the best of him.

“Come out tonight and we’ll go back to your’s after,” Rachel insisted. She’d been trying all week to get him to agree to join her Thanksgiving Eve party. People were home visiting for the holidays, so a bunch of friends she rarely saw would be there. Rachel had promised an epic night, the best of the year. James knew she probably had a few reasons for wanting him there, aside from coming over after.

“I have some things to finish at the house. I want it to be perfect,” he said. It was a half-lie, Harper never left anything undone. But James wanted to be extra-sure. “I’m nervous, I guess.”

“Okay, okay,” Rachel laughed. She’d been pretty good-natured about the whole things since he’d said Kristen could come to Thanksgiving. And that Crosby was coming. She’d be telling everyone tonight about her plans for tomorrow. “I will be there at eleven, and tell Kristen one o’clock.”
____

Harper blinked back the tears in her eyes. Next to her Liam slammed his shot glass down on the bar and called for another. The tiny tumblr seemed to magically fill with amber liquid. Harper took her refill, made a keep this a secret face and passed it to her friend Kelly, standing nearby.

Urban Tap was packed, but the night before Thanksgiving was always a shitshow. It was part reunion with out-of-town friends, part self-medication before family time and part kickoff to a five day weekend. It seemed like everyone in Pittsburgh was in this one bar, though she was sure every bar on the Southside looked the same. Liam and Paige, along with a cadre of other friends, were doing their best to hold their spot by running up a tab.

“What are you doing tomorrow?” Jason asked. He was Paige’s co-worker and host of the Halloween party they had attended. Kelly, Jason’s wife, picked up a fresh pint of beer. “We’re having orphans over if you want to come.”

Harper toasted for the drink. “You guys always throw a hell of a party, but I’m going to a friend’s. Thank you though.”

“Your friend the cowboy from Halloween?” Kelly asked with a wink.

“How do you even remember that?” Jason asked. “You were drunk as a skunk and dressed like a mummy. Hell, I had to hear the next day that James Neal was there and I never even saw him.”

Kelly elbowed Harper gently and gave her a conspiratorial smile. Jason must have been the only person at Paige’s office not to put the night together. They didn’t need to tell him now. “Yes, the cowboy,” Harper said. “And his girlfriend.”

“Hisssss,” Kelly made a face. “Want that shot now?”

Harper laughed. “That is the last thing I need. But I will take this.” She plucked the full beer from Kelly’s hand.

Hours passed. The crowd only seemed to tighten, until their group was stretched out like a chain behind Liam as he tried to anchor them to the bar. Drinks were handed back. Harper and Paige made friends with the people around them, a few more guests waded through the crowd to reach them. By midnight people were getting sloppy and Harper was enjoying the show.

“I have to peeeeeeeeeeeeeee,” Paige whispered loudly. “Come on you have to come with me.” She latched on like a claw to Harper’s arm and dove into the crowd. Excusing her way between chests, shoulders and purses, Harper tried not to spill her beer down anyone’s back. The end of the line wound deep into the crowd, but Paige kept asking till she found it. They shared the rest of Harper’s beer and hoped it would move quickly.

“It is,” a voice in the din caught Harper’s ear. “I mean, it’s a major holiday so that’s kind of a big deal, right?”

Rachel. Harper knew it without seeing her. Judging by the volume, she was just a person or two behind where they waited in line, closer to the bar. Casually Harper tried to glance back. Sure enough, there was Rachel’s blond hair and profile, a red cocktail straw between her lips. Harper could almost make out what she wore - something low cut and wide-necked, and by her height, definitely heels. Her words a little slurred. “He’ll be there. James invited him - I think so he could meet Kristen, you know? James says he like never dates.”

“OW!” Paige said loudly. Heads turned, including Harper’s. She was digging her nails into Paige’s arm.

“Sorry, sorry,” Harper dropped her grip. She looked back - Rachel had not seen her. Paige followed her eyes.

“Who’s that?”

Deep breath. “James’s...,” Harper didn’t finish. She had called Rachel the ‘girlfriend’ earlier, but it wasn’t necessarily true. She might be jumping to conclusions. Not that the alternative sounded any better:the girl James is sleeping with who is coming to Thanksgiving. “Rachel.”

“NO WAY!” Paige whipped around, stretching up. Even at close quarters it was tough to see. Harper pushed her down by the shoulders but Paige would not be deterred. “The blond with the boobs?”

“Of course.”

“Oh. She’s pretty.”“I know.”

Paige went lower, peering between bodies. “And I like her dress.”

“I’m sure.”

Then Paige turned to her friend and realized what she’d said. “And I’ll totally kill her and drop her in the river later and never get caught. You know, if you want.”

Harper laughed, but turned her face away. She didn’t want to have to see Rachel without James’ supervision, not after the tension of the morning they’d met over James’ clothes on the floor. Rachel bad the upper hand in that category, and probably would again tomorrow, presiding over James’ Thanksgiving like she was some kind of hostess. Harper gave Paige the last of her beer; she wasn’t in the mood anymore. The bathroom line inched forward and the last Harper saw, Rachel was tossing back a shot.
___

“Big day,” Harper told the orchid growing on her kitchen windowsill the next morning. She made coffee, watched a bit of the Macy’s parade, then took a shower and dried her hair. It was past eleven o’clock and her neighborhood was already filling with the cars of families and friends visiting the houses nearby. Kids tumbled out of back seats, followed by parents lugging dishes and bottles. Across the way, someone had raked a huge pile of leaves and left it waiting to be jumped in. Her phone rang.

“Did you burn the place down?” she answered with a smile, seeing the called ID.

“Hey - no. Not yet,” James said. “Uh, Happy Thanksgiving.”

“You too! Ready for today? How’s it going?”

James took a deep breath. “So, about that - could you come over? Like, early? I have all this stuff and I’m not quite sure where to start but if it doesn’t happen soon, it won’t be ready and there are like, forty dishes that need to....”

“Okay.” The panic was plain in James’ voice and Harper didn’t like it. She also didn’t know why he’d waited until the last minute to think about putting dinner together, when people were due at his house in under three hours. She had deliberately not offered to help because she didn’t want to overstep - and like she’d overhead Rachel say last night, it was a major holiday and kind of a big deal.

“I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

She quickly put on some makeup and assembled her outfit for dinner. Good thing she’d already showered. Harper hung her clothes in the back of her car, the bottom of her dress sweeping the boxes of dishes that she’s just bought yesterday when she realized James didn’t own enough plates or bowls. She grabbed whatever else might be usefull then wearing jeans and a Steelers t-shirt, Harper hurried over to bail James out.

“Holy shit,” she said when she walked into the kitchen.

James gave her a weak smile from behind a pile of containers. He had probably slept in that shirt and definitely hadn’t combed his hair. “Thanks for coming.”

It looked like a high-end, yuppie relief organization had dropped a helicopter load of food on James’ counter. The backsplash they’d so carefully installed was lost behind plastic bowls and boxes. Full paper bags lined up like soldiers waiting to deploy. It had all been in the garage overnight, as cold as any fridge but completely unstarted. No wonder he was freaking out.

An angry feeling crept into Harper’s mind. “Did you have a plan for this?”

“Rachel was supposed to help, but she’s really hungover. I had to call three times to wake her up. She’ll never make it before dinner.” His tone wasn’t sympathetic.

Of course she won’t. She was busy getting shitfaced and bragging about you last night, about this big deal dinner she was part of but wouldn’t deign to work toward, Harper didn’t say. Instead she replied, “Yeah, I thought I saw her last night at Urban Tap.”

James froze. Harper and Rachel confrontation in a bar? With Rachel on her way to the Darth Vader state that had finally answered the phone just a little while ago? That was not good. Not at all.

“I didn’t talk to her,” Harper read the tension in his shoulders. “It was way too crowded to get anywhere.”

He relaxed a little, but still hoped that Rachel felt like shit through dinner. Harper, wearing her jeans and a t-shirt uniform, started pawing through bags and arranging things in some kind of system he didn’t understand. James stayed back until there was a semblance of order. When Harper looked up, a big, sunny smile broke across her face.

“Think you got enough food?”

“Well eight people - and five hockey players, so ... they sell in increments of five, I ordered for twenty.”

Harper barked a laugh. “Hope you like leftovers.”

“Oh no, you’ve never seen these guys eat.”

The turkey was a thirteen pounder, accompanied by a seven pound ham. Harper showed James how to replace the foil on the roasting pans and put them aside until the oven pre-heated. James also had a large convection oven and Harper had brought hers from home. She took them both into the garage to leave counter space and loaded the mashed potatoes in one, the green bean casserole in the other.

“Okay, salad,” she said. James looked around for veggies. Instead Harper laid out a container of roasted butternut squash to be cut into smaller pieces, a bag of walnuts and a slice of Parmesan cheese to grate.

“This is salad?”

“It’s squash. It’s Thanksgiving!”

James put a chunk of the squash into his mouth. “Holy crap, that’s good.”

“No picking!” she smacked him with a spoon. After briefly confirming that James knew how to grate cheese, Harper turned her attention to the stuffing. There were two kinds - one with corn, one with beets - and she scooped each into an oven-safe serving dish and added them to heat.

James watched her work, reading the instructions on some packages while not bothering with others. She broke out box after box of servingware and loaded the dishwasher, running the new stuff through before piling it up. When salad was assembled, Harper had him load the turkey and ham into the oven, side by side. She glanced at the clock.

“Will it be ready?”

It was just noon, dinner was at two, or a little later. They only needed to re-heat. She calculated the weight, hoped she was right and smiled. “Perfect timing.”

James turned to fetch another bowl and noticed the bottle of tempranillo Harper had given him, still the only bottle in his wine rack. He went to the other room and fetched the case of wine he’d bought for dinner. When the wine rack was full of new stuff, he popped the cork on the tempranillo.

“Hey.”

His voice was lower and he was right behind her. Harper felt the warmth that poured off him. When she turned, James was looking right into her eyes and close enough to touch. The dark red liquid sloshed gently in the new stemware he’d bought. “I knew I was saving that bottle of yours for something.”

Harper accepted the glass without taking her eyes off James. There was such gratitude in his expression, with a little embarrassment and a healthy dose of anxiety. In that moment, she both loved and hated Rachel for not being here.

James did too. He didn’t want her here instead of Harper, but he wanted someone - anyone - else to be willing to help him. Why was it always Harper? She cut him slack and saved his ass and believed when he said he trusted her. She’d been bothered by him seeing another girl, yet she’d never tried to take Rachel’s place, not for love or money or this house that she was pouring herself into.

“Cheers,” he said. “And thanks.”

With what she considered to be wanton abandon, Harper put her hand on James’ bicep. Her fingers met the cotton of his sleeve, her palm flashed hot against the bare skin marked by his tattoo. It was the mildest touch, but his eyes widened like he felt it all over his body.

“Happy Thanksgiving, James.”
____

Half past noon wasn’t really that late, Rachel reasoned as she teetered up James’ drive in her heels. And it was still thirty minutes before other people would start arriving. No one was ever on time, anyway. Their fashionable lateness would make her even earlier. She tried the knob first and the door opened right up. Then she heard the shriek.

“JAMES!” A female voice. The only female voice it seemed like Rachel ever heard: Harper.

“No fuckin’’ way!” He was laughing. Rachel’s blood bubbled.

“If you don’t stop....”

“Then no one will ever know,” he insisted.

Rachel stormed toward the kitchen, turning the corner to see James backed against the fridge, arms high overhead. One had held a big green plastic bowl out of reach, the other a spoon. Below that, Harper was trying to climb him. That was the only description for the way she was jumping, pressed to his chest, sliding right down the front of his body as she tried to grab the bowl away. Neither of them were dressed for dinner - in fact James’ shirt had gotten scrunched by the friction of their bodies colliding and ridden four inches up his stomach. Rachel saw all that skin.

“Rachel!” James said far too loudly and wrenched his arms down, nearly crashing the bowl into Harper’s upturned face. Too slow, Rachel thought as Harper dodged the incoming vessel. Then to her surprise, Harper snatched the bowl and whirled around. She was laughing.

“Rachel! You have to try this. Otherwise it’ll just be gone and no one will believe how good it was!” Harper held out the green bowl and a clean spoon.

Rachel looked incredulous. Harper kept right on smiling, grateful for the excuse. She was breathing a little hard from wrestling with James, and not all of it was from actual effort. One minute they’d been working, the next he had discovered a bowl that didn’t match anything from Whole Foods. He was two spoonfuls in and moaning before she realized it was her homemade butterscotch pudding, the coup de grace of her kitchen abilities and meant to be a surprise for dessert. If it lasted long enough. After a glass and a half of wine on an empty stomach, Harper had been ready to do just about anything to get it back.

Leveling a hard stare at this intruding girl, Rachel dipped the spoon into the bowl and gave it a slow, suggestive lick as the flavor of the sweet treat danced on her tastebuds. Offended as she was, Rachel couldn’t muster a terse comeback. “That’s delicious.”

“I told you!” Harper slapped a plastic lid on the bowl, tucked it under her arm and announced, “I’m going to get dressed!”

When she was gone, Rachel looked around the kitchen. Dishes and plates steamed or cooled, the timer on the oven counted down. Empty containers were arranged in paper bags near the trash. Freshly washed plates she’d never seen waited in the drying rack, next to gravy boats and serving platters that may have been new. Everything looked finished, including the two empty glasses of wine next to the nearly empty bottle on the island. James watched her from behind it, shirt and hair still mussed from Harper’s touch.

“Looks like I got here just in time,” she said testily.

James rolled his shoulders back. Rachel’s makeup and hair were carefully done, her outfit a pristine winter white cap-sleeve dress. Hardly the look of someone who couldn’t move three hours ago. “Not a moment too soon. You look... not hungover.”

“I’m feeling much better, thanks.”

“Great,” he said. “I was worried.”
____

Harper closed the guest room door and leaned against it. That was close - close to Rachel catching her and James being inappropriate and close to actually doing something bad. They’d only had a little wine and he’d gotten so flirty. She had responded in kind. God, he was so tall all the time.

Back to reality, she told herself. That reality was not bad either - there was a ton of delicious food waiting downstairs and some cool people on the way. Harper slipped out of her jeans and into the dress she’d brought for dinner. It was bright yellow; a little on the summery side, but she didn’t care. It fit and flounced, showing off her figure while a light overlay made it modest. It had wide shoulder straps, a scoop neck and hit just above the knee. The pleated top accentuating her bust, and a black and white stripe cinch belt zipped her into an hourglass shape. Since they were staying inside, she went for open-toed shoes with a narrow three-inch heel. She reapplied her lipstick and gave her hair a shake. Show time.

“Well I know where I’m sitting,” Paul said as Harper came down the stairs. He was alone in the living room: once again admiring her decorating work, this time with a glass of wine in hand. He wore a pastel plaid button down, solid blue tie and dress pants.

“You’re so handsome in your glasses!” she said, giving him a hug. He seemed so much more mature than James. Harper knew this was the kind of guy she should want - someone stable and smart, who recognized value when he saw it.

“And you look fantastic, even without my glasses on,” he kissed her cheek, then tipped his head toward the kitchen. “They were having a talk. James just went to change. Thought I might be the first one here.”

“I came early to help. I guess Rachel was supposed to but....”

Paul nodded. “Part of the talk.”

Harper was about to bite the bullet and go make nice with Rachel when the doorbell rang and in burst Borts and Beau. in different color button downs, like a pile of puppies coming down a slide. They were so tall and skinny, all arms and legs and big smiles. Just behind them was Sidney Crosby.

Holler, Harper thought. He wore a navy blue blazer over a collared shirt with nice jeans and dress shoes. His hair was almost black, his brown eyes flecked with gold.

“Harper, this is Sid. Sid, Harper, decorator extraordinaire and turner-around of this now amazing house,” Paul said. Harper’s blush had nothing to do with his compliments. Hockey fan or not, any woman would blush in the presence of Sidney Crosby.

“Nice to meet you. That’s a great dress,” he said.

“Thanks,” she said weakly. Between Paul and Sidney, Harper mused she might just be able to forget about James after all.

It must have seemed safe now because Rachel emerged from the kitchen, making a face like she was exhausted from preparing this dinner for everyone. She made a show of welcoming people, including Sid, whom she had met before. Then James called hello from the top of the stairs, coming down at a run. Harper nearly lost her breath again. He wore chocolate brown corduroy pants with a red and orange plaid shirt, the sleeves rolled back over his forearms. Between the dark pants, bright shirt and reddish color of his hair, James was all the colors of fall like he belonged in an ad campaign.

Ugh, she thought,. Sorry other boys.

As for James, he likewise looked at the group and saw only Harper. That’s why he was running. James had never seen her in a dress before. She never wore lipstick. Hell, this was a girl who sported long pants and sneakers on Halloween. Twenty minutes ago she’d been elbow deep in mashed potatoes - now she was looking like that, and looking at him, and suddenly James was hot under the collar of his plaid shirt.

Paul rescued his at the bottom of the stairs with a handshake and a bro-hug. James waved toward the living room.

“What do you think?”

A waterfall of ‘gorgeous’ and ‘amazing’ and ‘huge change’ tumbled from the gathered friends. James glanced at Harper, that bright yellow dressed burned into his mind, for a nod of approval before he proudly showed off everything from the stripe around the ceiling to the perfectly hung artwork behind the couch. Then he lead everyone into the kitchen.

“No snacking,” he warned them. Harper noticed that James had arranged the dishes and plates so nothing blocked the work they’d done - the backsplash was displayed, recessed lighting was on, wine rack was full. He must have done that while talking with Rachel. Harper wondered if Rachel had picked up on it. More compliments rained down on them.

“James worked really hard,” Harper indicated the backsplash. “He did all that with his own two hands, and got it right the first time.”

“Only takes me one hand to get it right,” Beau said casually.

“You have to use your hands?” Borts cried.

Bottles were opened and poured, the party moved back to the living room. Everyone declared James’ couch amazing. Harper ducked away to the kitchen and gathered the first round of plates to set the table.

“Can I help?” Sid asked, coming in a second later.

“It’s okay, I’ve got it.” Sid took the pile from her hands anyway, flashed a smile and walked out. Harper grabbed placemats and a pile of linen napkins.

In the dining room, she put a pale blue placemat before each seat, Sid topped it with a plate. He aligned small bread plates next to each and Harper folded napkins. Before she was done, he was back with the flatware. The gray dining table had taken on a driftwood feel when accented by the blue chairs. Harper had stacked two squat hurricane vases with sea glass stones in blues and greens, filled them with water and floated candles on top. Sterling silver candlesticks stood between them to cast more warm light, spaced by cast iron trivets for the hot food plates. They stepped back and admired the layout.

“Hope dinner tastes as good as this place looks,” Sid said.

Harper shrugged. “Can’t promise, I didn’t make dinner.”

They joined the group, James’ eyes following them across the living room. He’d noted their combined absence almost immediately, but Rachel kept bringing him into her conversation. Already the boys were glancing longingly toward the kitchen. Rachel’s friend Kristen arrived, nearly tripping over her heels when she saw Sid, then actually bumping into a table at the site of Beau. Borts, who continued to call himself ‘Rob’ though no one else did, laughed out loud. Harper went around to pour Kristen a glass of wine and James watched Crosby’s gaze followed her too. Kristen gave a grateful smile in return. It was the end of the bottle, so Harper turned toward the kitchen.

“Oh Harper!” Rachel’s voice at his side broke James’ focus. Her tone dripped condescension. “Would you bring a white too?”

I will... Harper made it into the kitchen before she finished the thought. I will be nice and do nothing because it’s Thanksgiving. She checked the turkey thermometer, slid a tray of bacon-wrapped mushroom hors d'oeuvres into the oven, then opened one bottle of red and one white and carried them back toward the living room.

“Hey,” James got to her first. Everyone was talking, but Harper saw Rachel look her way, either impatient for wine or not liking a private conversation with James. Harper turned her full attention to him.

“You look beautiful,” he said quietly. All the other guys had said the same. From the way he was capturing her attention, Crosby may have said it more than once. James had every reason not to mention it, but he had to say something lest Harper think he didn’t agree. Or that he hadn’t noticed. Instead his mouth went dry being so close to her.

Harper wondered if, with her exposed neckline, James could see the pulse racing beneath her skin. He wore that cologne again, his beard was just starting to scruff up and he still towered over her in heels. “Thanks. You clean up nicely too, James.”

She ducked around him, so grateful to get away she even poured wine right into Rachel’s glass. Paul clicked his tongue softly, so only she could hear, and he took the bottle to pour his own. Everything he did was a demonstration of why he was a better choice thant James. The two bottles were empty quickly - not like the party needed help. Harper felt the atmosphere ripple as Sid come over to her side again.

“Harper, what is your professional opinion on man caves?” Borts asked.

“Incomplete without a stripper pole and a Murphy bed.”

“A what bed?”

“Murphy bed. Folds down from the wall, folds back up when you’re done,” she mimed pulling a panel open and lowering it.

Borts looked impressed and said, “You’re hired.”

“Does Nealer have a man cave hidden in here?” Paul wanted to know. “Or did you really make him toss that leopard print rug?”

She laughed. “It was the first thing to go.”

Soon the scent of food was mouthwatering. Rachel had James involved in a conversation with Beau, who stood next to Kristen, who said nothing. Harper waited another minute but it was clear no one was going to get the first round if she didn’t. Just as well, she figured, since she knew which plates to use for what so they didn’t run out, or some excuse like that. As soon as the guys were talking about something else, she excused herself. Pulling the cookie sheet from the oven, she carefully tipped the snacks onto a glass platter. Bacon sizzled and the dollop of cream cheese in the center of each was nice and melty.

As she walked back to the group, Paul said loudly, “Every time you leave the room, you come back with wine or food.” It was meant to be a dig at James’ hosting duties, but Sid just chimed in at equal volume: “Are you single?” Borts and Beau burst out laughing, and the smile that came to Paul’s face was more wicked than anything Harper could have imagined from him. She cut him a glare, but she was smirking too.

Fifteen minutes later, instead of just going to the kitchen herself, Harper waited to catch James’ attention. It wasn’t easy to do with Rachel wrapped around his waist, but she motioned to him that it was show time. He said, “Time for food.” but instead of following to help, Rachel stayed right in her spot talking to Kristen and Beau. James looked back, then at Harper.

“Paul,” Harper said, “give us a hand?”

If it were just she and James, Harper would have said something about the lack of help. She half-hoped Paul would do it for her, but he stayed mum so she did too. They confirmed the turkey and ham were warmed through. Harper mixed the hot mashed potatoes one more time while Paul put a layer of fried onion strings atop the green bean casserole. James was in charge of very carefully moving the turkey to one platter and the ham to another.

“Can I help?” Sid offered, setting his empty wine glass on the counter. He took the ham, James the turkey.

“Dinner!” James called.

They had not assigned seating, though the idea appealed to Harper’s decorating sense. She might have been crazy enough in the pre-meal flirting to put herself near James. Since they’d already been nearly busted for doing nothing really, and she’d since had more wine, Harper headed for the far end of the table. She almost thanked Paul for sitting next to her - it wasn’t a great idea to be so close to Crosby all the time either in this state. Plus his upper body was really wide - how could he take up a normal amount of space at a table? As if to answer, he sat across from her at the end. Rachel practically hip-checked Kirsten into the seat next to Sid. After two trips to the kitchen, it ended up James, Rachel, Paul then Harper on one side and Borts, Beau, Kristen and Sid on the other. Paul suggested that someone say grace.

Borts leaned forward and looked down the table. “Captain?”

Used to making the speeches, Sid folded his hands. “Thank you God, for this food and for friends to share it with, for this gathering in a beautiful setting. Please bless everyone here and everyone celebrating tonight.”

“Except the Flyers,” Beau added.

They all said, “Amen.”
____

Notes