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A Time To Come Home
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Thanksgiving dinner with all the trimmings at his sister Susan's made Will appreciate how good he'd had it all these years when his parents had been the holiday hosts. Susan was a better cook than their mother, but she dished Will up a hard time in addition to homemade cornbread stuffing, succulent turkey and delicious pecan pie.

"You know I love you, little brother," she said, looking up at him as he helped her clear the table. "But what were you thinking when you asked Shea Sullivan out?"

"Uncle Johnny shouldn't have made my social life dinner conversation. And where are Johnny and Paul, anyway?" he asked, referring to Susan's husband of seven years. From the living room, he heard the sounds of a TV football game. "I'm the only man in the family who's helping."

"I'm he'ping, Uncle Will." Paul Jr., his five-year-old nephew, removed an empty glass from the table and tromped into the kitchen on his short legs.

"Good going, sport," Will said, looking wildly about for an ally old enough to stick up for him. His mother always supported him, but she and his father were wintering in Florida to be near his younger sister's newborn twins.

"Uncle Johnny told me that Shea's pregnant, Will. I already heard the rumor that she's looking for a husband. You'd be doing her a huge favor to stay away from her."

"Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence." He managed to smile even though her comment stung. "I'm starting to think nobody in this family loves me anymore."

He felt little fingers tug at his pants leg and looked down to find Paul Jr. gazing up at him with adoring, brown eyes. "I love you, Uncle Will."

"Not half as much as I love you." Will bent down, swooped his nephew into his arms and tossed him in the air. The little boy's giggles filled the air, reminding Will of one of the things well worth giving thanks for.

Will managed to avoid talking to Susan about Shea through a marathon session of football watching and nibbling on leftovers, but feared his sister had called to continue the one-sided conversation when his phone rang later that night.

The number that appeared on his caller ID wasn't familiar, but he recognized Shea's melodic, apologetic voice before she identified herself.

"No need to apologize for calling on Thanksgiving," he said. Forcing himself not to jump to conclusions about why she was calling, he asked about her holiday. Pleased with his patience, he finally got to the point. "What's on your mind?"

"It's the most ironic thing. Remember when we ran into each other yesterday at the newspaper office?"

How could he forget telling her to let him know if she ever changed her mind about dating him? "Sure do."

"I was on my way to ask Charlie if he'd give me occasional freelance work," she said. "He assigned me to write about the Christmas project you'd just told him about."

He swallowed his disappointment and tried to be pleased for her. "Congratulations. I'm happy you got the job."

"I didn't get it yet. I have to write the story, and Charlie has to like it. So can we come up with a time to talk?"

Will hesitated, then decided to give blackmail a shot. "What if I told you I wouldn't talk unless you agreed to go out with me?"

"I'd say you're bluffing. It's a charitable cause. You want the information published as much as I want to write about it."

"You got me," he said, the mental wheels still turning. "Okay, then, how about if we talk about the story tomorrow night at Nunzio's? I'll pick you up at seven-thirty."

"Will Sandusky, that sounds suspiciously like a date," she said, her voice sounding more teasing than angry.

"Your word," he said. "Not mine."

Her musical laugh filled his ear. "You win. I'll see you tomorrow at Nunzio's."