Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 121898 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 609(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121898 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 609(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
“Ow, shit, owww,” I said, looping around so I didn’t do it again. I rubbed the back of my head as I stared up at him. “What makes you think I care enough about you to hide under a table when you show up?”
“The fact you were just under the table when I showed up is rather convincing.” He quirked an eyebrow.
I held up my pen. “Just getting this. Sorry to disappoint.”
“Stop bickering,” Hazel said, still glaring at various spots around the pub as if her stare alone would make the music stop.
Thomas leant against the back of the bench and bent down towards me. “What’s she doing?”
“Silently declaring war on Mariah Carey.” I grimaced.
“That’s fair. I can’t bloody stand her either.”
Julian smirked. “You can’t stand anything to do with Christmas.”
“I’d rather gauge my eyeballs out than celebrate the stupid thing.” Thomas pointed at him. “With good reason.”
I looked up at him.
Right.
Beth had said that.
Three years ago, his father was diagnosed with cancer, the following year they found out it was terminal, his mystery fiancée broke up with him, and it wasn’t that long before Christmas last year that his dad passed away.
I could understand how that would make anyone hate Christmas.
“I hate this song.” My sister grabbed her fork and stabbed it against the table, gripping it tightly.
“I think you need therapy,” I told her, tapping the end of my pen against the notebook. “And to tell me what songs you do like, so you have something to dance to at your wedding, or I’m going to instruct the DJ to make your first dance the Macarena.”
“Yes,” Julian said. “Please decide. Although the Macarena might have my vote.”
“Oh,” Thomas said, leaning over and tapping my notebook. “Write down the Cha Cha Slide, too.”
I peered at him. “A good idea? From you? Nana’s pig must have taken flight.”
He tugged on a lock of my hair in response, and I whacked my pen against his fingers.
“Ow, ow.”
“How can I decide anything with this offense to my ears playing?” Hazel asked, glaring at all three of us. “Not to mention you two bickering. Or are you flirting? I don’t even know.”
I pressed my hands against my face and huffed out a breath. Choose your battles, Sylvie. “Okay, fine. While you sit here and steam about Mariah and her perfectly harmless festive song, I’m going to get a glass of wine since Julian is driving, and I need something to deal with how neurotic you’re being.”
Julian laughed, and I shooed Thomas out of the way so I could get up. I leant over to grab my purse from my bag and headed up to the bar.
I wasn’t kidding. I really did need a drink to deal with her madness. If nothing else, going to the bar would get me away from her little ball of anger until the song was over.
I leant against the bar and tapped my thumb against the surface. Thomas came up next to me and mirrored my stance, sliding his gaze in my direction.
“Can I help you?” I asked without looking at him.
“Can we talk?”
“Without shouting at each other? Unlikely.”
He inclined his head in agreement. “About before. At Beth’s shop.”
I should have known that was coming.
I finally looked at him. “Did you come all the way here just to talk to me?”
“To the bar? I thought that was obvious.”
“I meant the pub, and you know it. You’re too old to be a brat.”
“Yet here you are. Being a brat yourself.”
I slapped my purse on the bar and turned to the side, glaring at him. “What do you want, Thomas? I’ve seen far too much of you in the last five days, and I would quite happily go from now until the wedding until I must do such a thing again.”
“Beth. What did she tell you when you had lunch?”
“That’s between us. It’s none of your business.”
“She’s my family.”
“And that doesn’t give you the right to know every single detail about her life. She’s entitled to privacy. She’ll share with you what she wants to share with you.” I looked at the bartender and ordered my glass of wine.
When the bartender left to get it, Thomas sighed, and his shoulders dropped. “I spoke to her when she got home.”
“You won’t bait me into telling you anything, if that’s what you’re hoping.”
“I know she’s pregnant. I know how she got pregnant. I’m going to kill my sister.”
I turned around and leant on the bar again, not saying anything until after the bartender put my glass in front of me. I pulled out my card and waited for him to retrieve the machine, then tapped it, got my receipt, and tucked it and the card back into my purse.
“I didn’t realise how alone she was until she told me, and I feel awful. My sister has abandoned us all so she doesn’t have to grieve and that’s not fair.”