Adult Thanksgiving Books Novels & Stories

She walked away, closing her door behind her, leaving me standing there, grinning like an idiot. *** "So are you going to Grand Rapids for Thanksgiving?" I took another bite of the blackened Tilapia fillet in front of me. Oh, so good. Sarah swallowed her own bite and shook her head. "Not this year. We do every other, on odd number years my sibs go to their in-laws and my parents take a vacation." The calendar had flipped over to November. Heidi had a bag of Halloween candy on the top shelf of the pantry and the colors were fading from the trees in the neighborhood. This would be my fourth Thanksgiving without my dad.

I tried it over and over, needing to believe I was mistaken. A sudden, sickening thought hit me. I rushed into the walk-in closet. Her clothes were all gone. The bookshelves were empty. Her coffee mug, her favorite houseplant...all of it, vanished. Every drawer, every cabinet was a blank canvas. She was gone from my life, as if she had never existed at all! My legs gave out. I collapsed onto the floor, my wolf whining deep in my chest. "She's gone. " "No," I said hoarsely, scanning the room again and again, refusing to believe.

She observed them from the doorway—family, friends, past, recovery—and her heart filled with thankfulness. Later that night, the dining table creaked under the burden of food and discussion. Bailey's pumpkin pie was a success, although Chad claimed it was his. The children delivered an intense presentation of a Thanksgiving skit they had rehearsed, showcasing a turkey that broke free and created a jazz band. Soon after dinner, while the others enjoyed board games in the living room and Jonah and Jace conversed by the fireplace, Lyla quietly slipped into the study. She was searching for a misplaced gift card when she found it—an old envelope tucked between books. Her mother’s handwriting star

It is late November, and I am American enough to feel the pull of it. Not sentimental—I spent most of my adult life outside the country and Thanksgiving was never a consistent feature of my life. There were years when I didn't think about it at all, years when I was in countries that didn't mark the date, years when the fourth Thursday of November passed like any other Thursday.

Cela remains disappointed. "C'mon. It's not like they bought everything. They just thought of giving the books as Christmas presents apart from the corporate giveaways. You must know that your mother enjoyed your first book so much. Too bad that she passed before the second one is out," Nanny Rita continued. "You've always been loyal to her," Cela said.

I walked away from the dress shop, I stopped to look at my map and make sure I was heading in the right direction. I walked in the direction the map was suggesting. When I arrived, I saw a cute older lady inside with a dusting brush. The bookstore seems quaint and antique. I was looking for a vintage book that I heard Hunter used to love as kid. The book is very old, it was published in 1821 so perhaps his grandmother used to read it to him? I only heard him mention it to my mother. Father’s Day is soon, and I want to get him a gift. It is called “The Two Doves and The Owl.”

(I am leaving the office. The day after the party, River came to my room and asked if I had anything to do on Thanksgiving Day. "There's nothing special planned," I replied. I sat cross-legged in the center of the bed, reading a book I'd taken from River's library. In his study, which was in front of his bedroom door, a large bookshelf took up one side of the wall. And he filled it with books. "Thanksgiving Eve the last two years, I celebrated with Evan. And he was gone the next morning. Why do you ask?"

ahem, yell. Trudging up the front walk, comprised of builder grade, two-by-two concrete squares and unattractive stairs, he inhaled the crisp, clean air. The afternoon sun waned, the chill of autumn hard at work on turning the leaves. Some people loved summer for the sunshine and heat. Others loved winter for the crisp snow and skiing. Chris, however, would take the fall anytime. The brisk breezes which rifled through the colorful foliage. The crunch of leaves when he dove into the pile his brothers made when it was their turn to rake. Screwing outside without fear of bug bites on the ass. Football season. Oh, and his favorite holiday ? Thanksgiving, with juicy turkey, savory stuffing, mom's

“Thank you. Is he here?” “Inside with the team. Birthday cake is already being cut.” I walked through the crowded living room, the gift box in my hands. The smell of expensive steak and expensive wine filled the air. I kept looking for Noah. When I finally saw him in the corner talking to his best friend Humphrey, my heart did something weird. He was laughing at something Humphrey said, his hand on Humphrey’s shoulder for just a second. They looked… close. Too close. I told myself I was imagining it. I walked over, smiling, and held out the gift.

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be constructed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental. I’ll Be Home for Christmas (A Thorntons Christmas Novella) Published by Blue Violet Press LLC Seattle, Washington Copyright © 2017 by Iris Morland Cover design by Resplendent Media All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for