The doorbell cut through the jazz.

I checked the clock. 7:30, on the dot.

Jason paused mid-sentence, annoyed. He snapped his fingers at me without turning his head. “Babe, get the door. Probably the late arrivals.”

I didn’t move. I leaned against the mantel and let a radiant smile cross my face.

“Not this time, Jason,” I said, my voice carrying over the chatter.

The guests nearest us stopped talking, sensing the shift.