Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 59022 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 295(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59022 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 295(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
Christmas shopping and champagne a cold bed make.
On day five, after a brutal reality check from Grace, I realize Stetson Nicholasen is not going to call me. Nor is he going to text me. I signed the clause and I got one night with Mr. Wonderful… maybe not so wonderful, all things considered… but pretty damn wonderful if you ask me.
I try not to cry.
I try not to be sad.
But then I get a genius idea to put up a Christmas tree as a sort of way to say F-you I’m going to celebrate anyway; hey broken hearts don’t always make sense. I mean, why the hell not? Once it goes up though—once it’s up there in all it’s simple glory with its white twinkling lights and red and green bulbs I realize I put it up because I like torture. Because I want to think of him. Because when I see the tree I feel a glimpse of his warmth and I think of his magic and the world doesn’t feel so dark anymore. Was it a gift? The clause? I don’t know, maybe years from now I’ll look back and think of it that way like a sliver in time that was given to me where everything was perfect where all the pain and sadness that I’d suffered allowed me to turn in my signature in exchange for one beautiful Stetson, a gift from Santa.
But for now? For now I would look at the tree and allow sadness to descend just a bit.
There was only one glass of eggnog, not two spiked glasses of hot chocolate, no crazy pantry, and no Santa humming off key. It was just a pretty tree and me. I swipe the hot tears.
“Damn it Stetson, you just had to be The One didn’t you?” I sniffle. “You lacked one thing though, bravery.” I sigh. “Sure, wrestle some polar bears but the minute your heart beats too fast, oh no, better pull back and hide under the covers.” I have to assume that’s it because if I assume it’s because I’m not enough I might just drown myself in the eggnog I’m drinking.
Horrible sad girl tears start making their way down my face, the kind that make your nose more than red and your eyes swollen like you have some type of infection worse than pink eye.
“Charlie?” My baby brother, Ethan’s worried voice breaks through my ugly tears.
I look over at him standing in my family room in shock and relief. How did he get here? When did he get here? How long has he been standing there watching me cry over a tree?
“Ethan!” I run over and throw myself in his arms and cry myself good.
He doesn’t say a word, my brother. He just holds me in his arms and rocks me around like I’m a little girl. I calm down after a while.
“Who do I need to beat up?” He grumbles into my hair as I pull away from him so I can stare into his handsome face.
We have the same eyes, but his hair is brown, and he likes to keep it long, with one of those man buns. Ethan’s a bit of a hippy, all namaste and peace and love. He teaches yoga and does regular ashrams in India.
I don’t blame him considering the childhood we had—even though he never has a bad word to say about my parents. I’m the sibling that will need help getting into heaven but since Ethan’s communing with the universe on a daily basis, I’m hoping he’ll put in a good word for me.
“Unfortunately, this one is all my fault,” I tell him with a sigh. “Walked in with eyes wide open and brain in temporary dumb mode.”
“You’re never dumb,” he says loyally. I love him for it.
I let out a snort. “Want a list, dear brother?”
He laughs as I walk out of his embrace.
“Can I get you some eggnog?” I ask him staring into my empty glass.
“I’d prefer a beer,” he says. “I’m trying not to do dairy, no sugar and sweets for me—and speaking of, what is happening on this coffee table? Diabetes?”
I have the grace to blush. I may have gone overboard in hopes someone would stop by—I wonder how many years that’s going to last.
Besides, ever since Stetson I have a sweet tooth that is insatiable. Not normal and completely out of hand—at least I haven’t noticed it in my ass—yet.
“Did you buy out the bakery at the grocery store?”
“Pretty much,” I nod.
“Are you expecting people?”
“No,” I shake my head and can’t stop myself from leaning over and taking a bite out of the pound cake.
“You’ve got it bad,” he shakes his head at me in sympathy.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I can feel the lump in my throat start to grow. “How long are you staying?”