Previously…
– Tempest proposed to Samantha at Thanksgiving dinner, and Samantha accepted.
– Natalie told Sonja that she wants to set her up with Conrad.
– Rosie and Travis spent Thanksgiving apart, and Rosie made a covert trip to the store, where she picked up a home pregnancy test.

The bar inside Windmills glows with warm, wintery elegance: white lights twined through garlands, soft gold ornaments clustered in glass bowls, and a pianist at the baby grand, tinkling out a soft-jazz version of “The Christmas Song.” Coats hang off the backs of chairs as early diners mingle over cocktails and appetizers.

Conrad Halston brushes cold air from his collar as he enters the restaurant. He spots his ex-wife seated at the bar, waving him over with a curious amount of enthusiasm in relation to the text she sent — the one about going over Bree‘s skating expenses for the current season.

He approaches cautiously. “Natalie… you said this was about Bree’s skating.”

“It is!” she insists in a too-bright tone. “In a way.”

“In a way?” He sits beside her but doesn’t remove his coat.

Natalie glances behind him. Conrad follows her gaze and sees Sonja Kahele perched on a nearby barstool, sipping a pale cocktail through a dark-red straw. She lifts her eyes, startled to be noticed, as if she didn’t expect her part of whatever this is to begin so soon.

Conrad blinks. “What are you up to?”

“Bree needs a dad who’s happy in all aspects of his life,” Natalie explains, “and my friend Sonja needs some lightness after a very tough year. So I thought…”

“I’m about to begin a murder trial,” he says flatly.

“See? You’re all stressed and tense. A little socializing could help you relax.”

Conrad offers Sonja an apologetic nod. She looks just as mortified as he feels. Then he turns back toward Natalie.

“You dragged me down here for a blind date?” he says.

“I didn’t drag you. I invited you with purpose,” Natalie responds.

He rubs his eyes and sighs. “Natalie–“

“Gotta run!” she says, hopping up and wiggling her fingers at both of them. “You two just… chat.” She plucks her purse off the bar.

“Natalie!” Conrad says, but she is already halfway across the bar, tossing a final, chipper grin at both of them. Conrad simply sits there, coat still on, defeated. He turns and sees Sonja watching him, a lump in her throat and embarrassment in her eyes.

The pianist transitions into a somber rendition of “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.”

—–

“I was thinking Windmills for the engagement party,” Diane Bishop declares, hands folded together as she sits on a gray upholstered side chair in Samantha and Tempest‘s cozy living room.

The last vestiges of winter daylight trickle in through the apartment’s windows, catching on the strings of white holiday lights that Samantha put up the day after Thanksgiving. The TV hums with a YouTube playlist of holiday classics.

“That’s fancy,” Samantha comments with surprise. “You don’t have to–“

“I want to,” Diane cuts her off. “Your daughter only gets married once. God willing. And I know that’s asking a lot for this family, but if any Bishop has the ability to make a marriage stick, it’s you, Sam.”

Her daughter pushes her glasses up on her nose. “Thanks? I think.”

Tempest, who sits cross-legged on the sofa beside her newly minted fiancée, mulls over the offer. “You really want to throw us a big engagement party?”

“Of course I do,” Diane says. She reaches into her oversized designer bag and pulls out her iPad. “I even sketched out some theme ideas — you know, décor, table settings, florals. There are a bunch of directions we could go: Cozy Rustic Lodge, Chic Midnight Frost–“

“How is midnight frost chic?” Samantha wonders.

Diane exhales. “Use your imagination, kid. It’d be elegant.”

Samantha turns to Tempest. “What do you think?”

Tempest rocks forward, and her mouth shifts as though she is about to say something, but no words come forth.

“What is it?” Samantha asks.

“It doesn’t have to be Midnight Frost,” Diane adds.

“It’s not that,” Tempest says. It takes her another few seconds to level her gaze upon Samantha. “And it’s really nice of you to wanna do something like this for us. I just kinda wonder…”

“I don’t mind spending the money,” Diane says.

Tempest nods. “Okay. Because I was thinking… maybe we skip the engagement party and put all that toward a wedding. Soon.”

Touches of December help to soften the sterile environment within King’s Bay Memorial Hospital: a row of poinsettias lining the base of a wall, garland hung over the reception desk. Rosie Jimenez steps off the elevator and turns into the vast lobby, holding onto the papers that her doctor just gave her. Her expression is carefully neutral, but her eyes betray the distant, stunned quality of someone whose world has been shifted an inch or two to the left.

It still doesn’t feel real. Pregnant. It didn’t at all feel real when she took the home pregnancy test, but she could cling to the possibility that it was a false positive. But after the blood test that she took today, there is no denying the truth.

She passes the gift shop, displaying winter scarves and novelty elements in its window, and looks out to the cold evening. The sun — or what traces of it bothered to come out at all — has retreated, leaving the outdoor sky a flat black.

“Rosie?”

With a start, she turns. Claire Fisher stands only a few yards away, dressed in her light-blue scrubs and carrying a patient’s chart.

“It’s good to see you,” Claire tells her daughter-in-law as she steps closer.

“You, too.” Rosie adjusts the purse strap on her shoulder. “Happy holidays.”

“Happy holidays. We missed you at Thanksgiving.”

Rosie nods politely, but she feels as if the hospital is spinning around her. Between the news from the doctor, and now coming face-to-face with Travis‘s mother… the stressful swirl begins to whip about, and she reaches for a nearby chair to steady herself.

“Are you okay?” Claire asks, moving toward Rosie to support her.

“I’m fine.” Rosie rights herself as best she can.

But Claire studies her intently. “Are you okay? You look a little pale.”

“I’m fine,” Rosie insists, but just then, it feels as if the floor is rolling in waves beneath her feet. She grasps for the chair again — and this time, the papers in her hand fall to the floor. Claire instinctively stoops down to gather them.

“No!” Rosie cries out. Claire, half-bent-down, glances up at her in confusion.

—–

A stunned Conrad lingers In the bar area of Windmills.

“I’m really sorry about this,” Sonja tells him, wincing sympathetically.

He looks to her and offers an apologetic expression. “And I’m sorry you got dragged into this ambush.” He extends his hand. “Conrad Halston. I know we’ve been in the same place at the same time once or twice.”

Sonja offers him her hand for a delicate shake. “We have, yeah. Sonja Kahele.”

The pianist’s soft, slightly mournful playing flits through the air.

“Can I at least buy you a drink for your trouble?” she asks.

Conrad softens. “You don’t have to do that. But I did come all the way down here…” He begins removing his coat. “How about I get myself a drink and join you?”

Moments later, the bartender is sliding a bourbon across the varnished wooden bar top. Conrad sits on the stool beside Sonja’s.

“If I’m not mistaken, your son is doing well after his transplant,” Conrad says.

Her cocktail straw halfway to her lips, Sonja pauses. “How did you know that?”

“I know the Fishers,” he explains. “I’m actually representing Travis in his upcoming trial.”

“Oh.” Sonja’s eyes widen, and she sets down her glass. “Wow.”

“I’m sorry to overstep by mentioning your son–“

“Don’t be sorry.” She brightens a little too forcefully as she swats a hand through the air. “I appreciate you bringing him up, actually. He’s the light of my life.”

“Here’s to his recovery,” Conrad says, lifting his glass. Sonja clinks hers against it.

“To his recovery,” she says before taking a sip. “You and Natalie have a daughter, yeah?”

“Bree. Yes. She’s in college at King’s Bay U.” Conrad feels his jaw begin to unclench. “She’s an excellent kid. Also a terrific athlete. She’s an ice skater — she trains under Tim‘s brother.”

“Wow! I hadn’t made that connection.”

“I have another daughter, Grace,” Conrad says. “She’s a few years older than Bree. From my first marriage–” He stops himself, laughing. “Do you find it as absurd as I do that Natalie is trying to set up her friend with her own twice-divorced ex-husband?”

Sonja winks as she finishes her drink. “We all have our red flags.”

Conrad considers her for a moment and then gestures toward her glass. “How would you feel if I offered to buy you another one of those?”

“You don’t have to do that.”

He smiles. “I’d like to.”

A soft grin slowly spreads over Sonja’s face. “Then I’d like that, too.”

—–

Both Diane and Samantha gawk at Tempest with surprise.

“How soon are we talking?” Diane ventures to ask.

“Like, real soon,” Tempest says. She shifts her position on the couch so that she is facing Samantha head-on. “I don’t wanna wait ’til next fall or even next year. When I said I wanted to marry you, I meant, like, now.”

Samantha reaches for her fiancée’s hand. “I want to marry you soon, too.”

Tempest shakes her head. “You could’ve died. And they wouldn’t even let me in the room to see you.”

The words land in the middle of the room like a leaden weight.

“I’m okay now,” Sam tells her. “I’m healthy.”

“What if something else happens?” Tempest questions. “To you or to me.”

“She’s got a point,” Diane chimes in.

“I don’t want to get married out of fear,” Samantha says.

“Not fear,” Tempest says. “But we shouldn’t hold out for some ‘right moment’ that might never come. Right now is the right moment.”

“Tempest is right.” Diane picks up the iPad, which has been resting in her lap. “And all this info works just as well for a wedding as it does for an engagement party. The vendors are available, too.”

Samantha looks back and forth between her fiancée and her mother a few times, their eager expressions encouraging her. The air in the apartment hums with intense energy.

“What do you say?” Tempest presses. “Let’s have a wedding soon?”

“Let’s have a wedding,” Samantha replies, eliciting cheers that drown out her quiet hesitation.

—–

Rosie’s heart thuds as she watches Claire reach for the papers that the doctor just gave her — the very papers confirming her pregnancy. Claire, as a nurse, would be able to decode them in a moment.

“You don’t need to do that,” Rosie says, and she kneels down and begins snatching up the paperwork.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Claire asks, though concern rather than suspicion appears to be her primary motivator.

“I’m fine. Yeah.” Rosie quickly gathers the papers. “I should get going. It’s, um, it’s good to see you.”

Claire rises from her stooped position. “I know it isn’t my place, but… Travis would really like to talk with you.”

Rattled, Rosie folds the papers, stuffs them in her purse, and holds the purse in front of her stomach. Although she is still in her first trimester and is hardly showing at all, she suddenly feels as if her stomach is a big, blinking sign announcing her news.

“I’m sure he would. I’ve… I’ve just needed some time,” Rosie says. “Have a good day, Claire.”

She hurries away, through the lobby and out into the evening cold. She stops by a lamppost, wrapped in garland and decorated with a festive red bow, to catch her breath. The festive decoration feels like a taunt in the face of how tense and joyless she feels right now. She presses a hand to her abdomen, a gesture so small and private that she barely realizes she is doing it.

“What am I gonna do?” she asks herself, her voice barely a whisper, carried away by the December air.

END OF EPISODE 1283

Is Rosie going to come clean with Travis?
Should Tempest and Samantha get married right away?
Could Sonja and Conrad have a future?
Discuss it all in the comments below!

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