Unfortunately, we didn't give the festive crew enough time to recover from my orphaned status. Even Rebecca was incapable of keeping the conversation going in the kitchen. There were a few times that she clearly tried to console me with some hushed conversation. But she'd always pause to look over at the others, eventually deciding it was best to avoid the topic. So instead, she gave me an apologetic smile and stayed ever at my elbow, waiting to help me in any way she could. Tim and Jordan made some small talk about the local high school's recent football game, but Marge continued to keep to herself, other than ordering us out of the way or instructing us to finish up with one dish or another.

The pies were all out of the oven and cooling on their racks by the time everyone gathered up their coats and purses. They admired my handiwork, marveling at the flaky golden crust before wishing me a happy Thanksgiving one last time. Then Jordan escorted them to the door with his own well wishes for a pleasant evening.

Once they were gone, Jordan and I went about moving the various dishes and platters out of the kitchen and into the dining room. Though it wasn't even six in the evening, night had settled in and Jordan turned on the dazzling chandelier light and lit the candles lining the table.

"Is it all right to light those?" I asked as I maneuvered a platter of roasted corn on to the table. "Are they coming soon? We don't want them to burn down."

"They'll probably be here in the next ten minutes," he said with a shrug.

"Oh, okay." I mumbled the words, casting a quick glance towards the kitchen. "If you don't mind, I'm going to pop my dinner into the microwave and get that going. I'd like to get settled into my room before they get here."

For a moment, he said nothing. Instead, he looked at me with a blank expression that slowly shifted into a raised brow and pinched lips. "Wait, you're not staying for dinner?"

"Well, no," I said with an uncomfortable laugh. "Why would I? This isn't meant for me."

"But you're the host..."

"No," I said with a wag of my finger. "If anyone here is the host, it's you." I grabbed the back of a nearby chair, my hands wringing the wood as I bit my lower lip. "I just came along for the ride. Besides, I don't want to encroach upon their evening. It's not like I'm family to them. I'm sure they just want to have a good time with people who they're familiar with."

"Hold on." He walked around the table to stand beside me, and his proximity sent a wave of prickles across my skin. "You aren't just trying to get out of this. You honestly think no one would want you here."

"There isn't a seat for me at this table." I bowed my head, ashamed of the meekness in my voice.

"Of course there is," he said with a pitying laugh that drew my eyes up to his face. There I found a smile curling his lips and a flash of his teeth. I think it was the first time he ever really smiled at me. "You'll be sitting where Georgina always sat. At the head of the table, where she could admire all the fine food we made and the enjoyment it brought to our guests."

"I don't..." Before I could make an excuse, the doorbell rang and Jordan turned towards the foyer.

"Looks like our guests are here. Come on." He grabbed my hand, his grip firm and his fingers rough from hard labor. Still, he kept a gentle hold, and I tried to remember the last time anyone had touched me outside of brushing shoulders on the sidewalk or bumping into people at a checkout line. There was, of course, Mary's hug before I left. Even so, this was different.

He kept his hold on my hand as he opened the door and greeted a representative from the charity. Perhaps he hoped to keep me tethered there so I couldn't scurry away and retrieve my TV dinner from the freezer. If so, it was working. Had he released his hold, I probably would have pulled up whatever excuse I could throw together before disappearing up the stairs. However, instead I was trapped by the moist heat building up between our palms, by the feel of his fingers as they brushed the back of my hand, and by the closeness of our bodies, huddled up in the foyer's corner as a stream of men and women filed into the room, making their way to the feast we spent all day preparing.

He didn't let me go until I was seated in my chair and looking out over the happy faces surrounding me. Though I did little to insert myself into the conversation around the table, I spent a lot of time listening. They didn't dwell on what got them there. However, I was familiar with the process of burying pain and I picked up a few hints about where these people had been and what had landed them in the difficult position that brought them to our table. Some were born into poverty, some were recovering addicts who were doing all they could to piece their lives back together, some were victims of a cruel economy, and some needed medical attention they just couldn't afford.

Though I knew nothing of their struggles, having always had a roof over my head and food on my plate, I found myself oddly comfortable with some of the feelings lingering behind their words. There was the ever present demon of pain and loss clawing at their backs, and after a while I felt at ease in their company. It was a small, thin thread to share between us, but it was more than I often had with those whose lives resembled my own.

As they dug into their slices of pie, many uncertain they could even fit it after the extravagant meal that preceded it, I wondered what would happen if the new owners didn't want to continue my aunt's tradition. Certainly there must be others out there willing to help these people, I thought. I convinced myself there had to be, and that I wasn't abandoning them. This affirmation repeated in my head every time one of them came forward, shook my hand, offered me their condolences, and thanked me for making sure this tradition stayed alive. I put so much energy in reminding myself that I wasn't the Grinch or Scrooge, that I had trouble finding my voice. So I just smiled and nodded to each of them and gave them a wave as Jordan and I stood out on the porch, watching them leave.

"Do... do we do this again for Christmas?" I asked, my voice raspy in the chilly night air.

"Oh, no." He chuckled a little as he held open the door and ushered me back into the inn's warmth. "We have far too many guests booked during Christmas. I mean, we could do it if you really wanted to. We're simply a bed-and-breakfast, so the dining room is free for use at dinnertime. However, having to take care of our guests on top of organizing a big meal it would just be difficult." He closed the door behind me and then offered me an amused smile that brought some color to my cheeks. "But if you want to do it, I'll make sure we pull it off."

"N-no." I shook my head and cast a longing look towards the stairs and the bedroom that waited for me on the upper floor. "I was just curious."

"Well, if you decide to stick around, maybe we can do it next year." He bounced on the balls of his feet, and I responded with a pinched brow and pursed lips. A retaliating remark was hot upon my tongue, but he cut me off with a smile. "But," he said, the word drawn out so I could vent some steam before he continued, "there's plenty to do around here on Christmas already, so it really is best not to add to that."

"Like what?" I asked, a whimpering groan curling my words.

"Well, there's hot cocoa and Christmas cookies served every night; Christmas movies on Friday nights; ornament crafting on Saturday afternoons; and, Gina's favorite, caroling on Sunday nights. We bus everyone down to the town center to listen to the caroler's guild concert in the park. We even sometimes sing along..."

"I don't sing," I muttered.

"Really?" His voice rang with genuine surprise. "You really aren't like your aunt."

"That's what I've been telling you." I rolled my eyes and turned for the stairs. "I'm going to bed."

"Sleeping on the floor again?"

"I don't know."

"Well, we can go over all of this in the morning before the guests arrive. There are a couple of other things you should know about Christmas..."

"Do I have to?" I asked, only half-serious.

"You can skip all these things if you want, but you should know we have advertised it all on the Hound and Sparrow's website. The guests may demand refunds if you don't follow through."

"Fine." I headed up the stairs with no intention of being kept from my bed any longer. "We'll talk about all of it in the morning. For now, I think I've had my fill."

"Good night."

"Night." I took everything in me to hide the smile fighting to answer his impish grin.