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)
Greyson stepped back to assess their handiwork. The tree nearly brushed the ceiling. “How are we standing this sucker up?”
Three expectant faces turned to her and she shrugged. “Don’t you have a stand?”
“We haven’t had a tree in years.”
Greyson’s fingers scratched his jaw as he surveyed the room, memory flickering in his eyes. “It used to go there.” He pointed to the large bow window flanked by the grand fireplace and velvet wingback chairs. “We have to have stuff in the attic.”
“The attic?” Logan whined. “You said we were having a party. This day’s been nothing but work.”
Wren smacked the back of his head. “It’s for your father.”
“Don’t pin this nonsense on my account,” Magnus griped.
“Yeah, he’s thrilled.” Logan rubbed his scalp.
Another gust of cold air cut through the den as the front door opened and Jocelyn’s voice called from the foyer. “Hello?”
Soren stiffened. “What’s she doing here?”
Wren shot Soren a warning glare. “We’re in here, Joce.”
Jocelyn swept in like a winter storm, kicking off stilettos and trailing a cranberry-colored fur coat. “Glaðligr Jól!”
Soren’s face scrunched. “How are you a bestselling author when no one ever knows what you’re talking about?”
“It means happy Yule, dumbass.” She thrust a covered dish forward. “Wren, where do you want this?”
Soren eyed the dish with suspicion. “Back at your house?”
“Ha. Ha. Very funny, Daddy Issues. Just wait until you have a taste.”
“What is it?” Wren lifted the foil, releasing an intriguing blend of sweet and savory aromas.
“Pork and apples—just like the Vikings ate.”
Soren rolled his eyes, picking sap from his nails with studied indifference.
Jocelyn pivoted and noticed Magnus for the first time. The volume of her voice cranked up to a controlled shout, “How are you feeling, Mr. Hawthorne?”
Magnus’s caterpillar brows collided as Wren grabbed Jocelyn’s arm, dragging her toward the kitchen. “He’s sick, not deaf, Joce.”
“Oh. My bad.”
Wren steered her toward the kitchen and added the dish to the growing collection of sides on the marble counter. “Thanks for coming.”
“Of course. You know I always love to come.”
Wren shot her a warning look. As much as she adored Jocelyn’s unfiltered, colorful personality and inappropriate humor, today was about creating a healing, wholesome, holiday atmosphere, not a chaotic one. “Try not to fight with Soren today, okay? They’re going through a lot.”
“What are you talking about? I never fight with anyone.”
“Oh, please, you two are always bickering and at each other’s throats.”
“Seriously don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Wren rolled her eyes. “Just...behave.”
“I’m always behaved.” They held each other’s gaze for exactly two seconds before Jocelyn’s composure dissolved with snorting laughter. “All right. I’ll try to be a good girl.”
“Good would be a miracle. Just try not to fight with him. Come on. We can’t leave them unsupervised for too long.”
Magnus, in his monogrammed sweater, surveyed the chaos from his medical throne, micromanaging his sons. “You’re getting needles everywhere.”
“And joy, Dad. Don’t forget the joy.” Logan examined his sticky palms with disgust. “Hey, how do you get sap off?”
Magnus drew a breath from the oxygen mask. The blanket Wren gave him draped his knees with presidential dignity. “Try soap.”
Wren moved to the other side of the room, where Greyson surveyed the designated tree area. He seemed less tense, but still reserved whenever in his father’s presence. None of them chose to spend their day this way, but she hoped the forced merriment might help them face down their demons. Magnus was still an intimidating presence, but he seemed to be softening the longer his sons stuck around. At least she thought he was.
Grey’s arm hooked around her waist, pulling her against his solid warmth. Gentle breath teased her neck as he pressed a kiss to her pulse and whispered, “What do you think?”
She tilted her head back to study the bound giant. “It’s big.”
“I know. But what do you think about the tree?”
She swatted his chest. “You’re as bad as your brothers. Will you see if you can find a tree stand for it?”
“I’ll take a look.” His fingers traced the shoelace now wrapped around her wrist, their secret burning between them.
Their eyes met, and her smile bloomed. They hadn’t breathed a word about the proposal. With Magnus’s condition and the family drama, adding engagement news felt like throwing gasoline on a yule log. Besides, Greyson insisted on replacing the shoelace with a more traditional symbol of his love before they shared the news.
“Logan.” Greyson pointed toward the stairs. “Come on. We’re going into the attic to hunt a tree stand.”
“And anything else Christmas-y that you find!” Wren called after them.
Across the room, Soren and Jocelyn huddled at the wet bar, their whispered conversation punctuated by sharp gestures. Rather than referee whatever battle brewed between them, Wren approached Magnus.
“Do you need anything, Mr. Hawthorne?”
His unimpressed, somewhat bothered disposition hadn’t lightened much since morning, yet she believed he was secretly enjoying the chaos. He lowered the oxygen mask with trembling fingers. “There hasn’t been a tree in this house since Sable was alive.”