Total pages in book: 146
Estimated words: 142214 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 711(@200wpm)___ 569(@250wpm)___ 474(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142214 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 711(@200wpm)___ 569(@250wpm)___ 474(@300wpm)
No, he wasn’t going to pollute a good thing with his father’s toxic thinking.
Once out of the marina and turned around, his gaze drifted back to Wren. Standing near the stern, bundled in coat and ski overalls, her mirrored sunglasses reflected the sun as she smiled and laughed with the mayor over something he said. Her cheeks flushed pink from the cold, and her hair whipped like golden kite tails from the knitted hat she wore. Holding the beanie in place by the fur pompom on top, she looked sexy as sin all bundled up at sea.
The mayor pushed the thermos on her again, and this time Wren took a sip. “Whoo!” she hollered, coughing into her gloved fist. No doubt the mayor spiked the mulled cider with a heavy hand of rum to keep himself warm.
Locke laughed. “That’ll put a little hair on your chest.”
“I hope not.” Sputtering and laughing, Wren shook her head. “You better be careful with that. Too much, and Santa could wind up run over by a reindeer like Grandma.”
Clapping a gloved hand to his head, the mayor perked up. “That reminds me. Ralph, did you bring the music?”
“I’ve got it on my phone.” Reaching into the red lobster costume, he fumbled with the claws. As soon as the phone came into view, it went hurling through the air. Lunging forward, Wren caught it in the nick of time.
“Thanks, Wren.”
“No problem.” Holding onto it, she took pity on Ralph and offered, “Do you want me to set it up for you?”
“Yeah, if you don’t mind. I can’t get these darn claws to cooperate.” As soon as he lifted a hand, the oversized claw sagged dramatically, whacking him in the head.
“The town really should invest in a newer costume.”
“That’s up to the treasury,” Mayor Locke said, refilling the thermos cup with more steaming cider.
Ralph frowned from under the enormous headpiece. “Yet, somehow Santa got some new duds this year.”
When they all looked over at Mayor Locke’s spiffy new boots, he blustered, “Well, let’s face it, Santa’s the main event. You have to know where you rank, Ralph.”
“Larry the Lobstah is a time-honored tradition! He’s just as popular as Saint Nick. Tell him, guys.”
Greyson shook his head and Wren shrugged. “Sorry, Ralph. Nothing beats Santa.”
“Whatever.” Waving a floppy claw, he instructed, “Track one. It’s a nonstop loop of holiday music. Volume ten.”
As Wren connected the playlist to the Bluetooth speaker, Greyson steered them toward open waters with deft confidence. The twin diesel engines purred like old cougars beneath the deck, and sea spray hit cold against his face as the boat nosed into the bay. Wind screamed from the northeast, belting the garland against the ship rails as Ralph’s lobster claws twitched violently.
Closing his gloved hand around the throttle, Greyson shifted forward, easing the Sable Rose into deeper waters. The salt-stained memories of the merciless sea felt familiar and nostalgic in a way he couldn’t express into words.
“Give me your hand,” he called to Wren.
She stepped closer, and he moved her in front of his body, blocking her from the spray. He curled her fingers around the throttle and pulled back, giving the ship a bit more speed. She smiled as the ship’s impressive power moved under her command.
“Feel that?” He pressed her other hand to the wheel. “Give it a pull. You’re in control.”
When she did, and the ship moved with her guidance, she squeaked with excitement. “Oh, my God! I’m steering a ship!”
He pressed his lips close to her ear, his breath warming her skin despite the frigid air. “Don’t tell the Coast Guard.”
As she let her weight sag into him, he once again had the urge to take her. Maybe they could steal a few seconds below deck once they dropped off the other passengers.
The radio crackled. “Anchor One, this is Silver Spoon. What’s your location?” Soren’s voice came clipped across the speakers as the music blasted from the stereo. “Parents are gettin’ antsy and the kids are chanting. They want the big guy.”
Ralph perked up but instantly deflated when Greyson shook his head. “He means Santa.”
“I’m sure they’re just as excited to see Larry,” Wren said, taking pity on Ralph.
His face lit with enthusiasm. “Thanks, Wren.”
Great. Another admirer. What the hell did it say about him when a woman could make him jealous of Ralph Peabody?
“Copy that,” Greyson answered, then clicked off the radio as he turned the ship into harbor. They rounded the coast slowly, his gaze shifting between Wren’s excited expression and the docks ahead.
Beyond the wharf, hundreds of townsfolk lined the shore. Children bounced in place, their scarves flapping, as little hands gripped the wooden rails. Adults sipped steaming beverages from to-go mugs, shoulders hunched against the whipping winds.
The music selection blared over the choppy waves, echoing off the walls of the cove. Sleigh bells clattered from Santa’s gloved fist, the one not holding the thermos of spiced rum.