Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 30858 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 154(@200wpm)___ 123(@250wpm)___ 103(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 30858 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 154(@200wpm)___ 123(@250wpm)___ 103(@300wpm)
A few hours later
“What are you doing?” I slipped into our room and spotted Nicholas sitting on the edge of the bed.
“I’m checking my email.”
“We agreed that we weren’t sharing the bed.”
“I’m aware, Miss Dawson.” He looked up at me. “I’m just sitting here, if you don’t mind.”
“I don’t want you to get comfortable,” I said. “Next thing I know, you’ll want to take a nap there, and then after that, you might get the idea that I want to have sex with you.”
“You definitely want to have sex with me.” He stood to his feet. “Where do you suggest I sleep, then? There’s no sofa or chairs in here.”
“I’ll have my dad bring you some. No, wait.” I walked over to the closet. “Better yet, here.”
I pulled a stack of super-thick, fluffy blankets and dropped them onto the floor.
“You can make a pallet,” I said. “I used to sleep on them all the time when I was a kid.”
“I’ve never slept on one, and I’m not going to start now.”
“You can try sleeping while you stand, if you like.” I shrugged. “It’s pretty uncomfortable, though.”
He looked at the blankets, then at me—slowly accepting his fate.
“I’m going to remember this shit when we get back home,” he said, his eyes lingering on mine a second too long.
“Let me know when you’re ready to go to your mom’s,” I said. “I’m fine with today or tomorrow.” I slipped out of the room before he could say another word, before the look in his eyes could make me give in just once.
Moving through the tree-lined hallway, I grabbed a cup of pecan coffee and made my way to the front porch.
To my surprise, it was completely empty.
Letting out a breath, I plopped down in a rocking chair and looked ahead at the snow-covered acres.
I miss when Mom and I used to do this…
As I was envisioning her smile, the sound of crunchy footsteps came from the side of the house.
“Who’s there?” I called out. “Who is that?”
“Don’t worry,” a familiar voice said. “It’s just me.”
My longest-term boyfriend—well, still an ex-boyfriend—Brandon stepped onto the porch. He was dressed like my father now—navy blue coat and waders. A long way from his days of khaki pants and polo shirts as a journalist.
“I heard through the grapevine that you were in town, and I had to come see it for myself.” He smiled. “You’re even more beautiful than I remember.”
“Thank you.”
“Did you, um…” He paused. “Did you come home to fulfill the pact that we never talk about?”
“Actually, I came back because—”
“My mom said we can stop by now.” Nicholas joined us on the porch, sliding his arms into his custom black overcoat. “I told her that we’re en route.”
He looked at Brandon, then over to me. “Am I interrupting something?”
“No.” I stood up and adjusted my scarf. “Nicholas, this is Brandon. Brandon, this is Nicholas. He’s my boyfriend.”
“Fiancé.”
“Nicholas…” I warned. “Remember what my Aunt May said…”
He didn’t take his words back.
“I didn’t know you were seeing someone.” Brandon feigned a smile. “Nice to meet you, Nicholas. I’m Brandon.”
“Brandon Forest?”
“Yeah.” He nodded. “Are you Nicholas Saint? I’m kidding…”
“I am.”
“What?” Brandon’s eyes widened. “Jenna, are you serious? The asshole you used to complain to me about?”
“Probably so.” Nicholas smiled. “Things change, though.”
“I doubt they change that much…”
“Who is this lovely gentleman?” Mr. Reaves appeared, once again perfectly timed. “I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting you yet.”
“Well, you’ll be seeing me a lot more these next couple days.” Brandon shot me a dirty look. “I guarantee it…”
13
NICHOLAS
Iwas still seeing red after watching Jenna with her ex-boyfriend, and she must’ve felt the anger rolling off me, because she hadn’t spoken for miles.
You’re not his anymore. You’re mine…
“I can’t wait until we get to your mom’s place,” Jenna finally spoke when we were halfway there. “I hope she’s being a bit more normal and not as out of touch as you for the holiday season.”
“I can’t believe you think I’m out of touch, sweetheart.”
“Oh. Sweetheart.” She tossed the word back at me. “You’re joking, right?”
“I think you’re a bit out of touch,” Mr. Reaves chimed in from the backseat. “I mean, your driver has a driver, and you tipped the guy who pumped gas a hundred dollars. That’s a bit out of touch.”
“Thank you so much, Mr. Reaves.”
“You’re welcome. That’s what I’m here for, right?”
I held back my umpteenth eye roll. This man had no idea how to read the room.
“So, Mrs. Saint-to-be,” he said. “While he’s driving, would you mind telling me your top five favorite things about your husband? Things that I can’t possibly glean from any of his interviews or magazines?”
“He makes up most of the stuff in his interviews anyway,” she said. “It’s all prepackaged for his image.”
I shot her a glare, and she shot one right back.