Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 96312 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 482(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96312 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 482(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
“Lord help us if people are learning survival skills from clickbait shorts,” he muttered. His breath was warm against my cheek as he arranged the kindling.
“As opposed to learning it from lecturing assholes? I could make an argument that—”
He cut me off. “Larger pieces on top, leaving space for air flow. Fire needs oxygen to—what are you doing?”
I looked up from where I’d pretended to take notes on my hand with an invisible pen. “Making a title note for my Instagram story. ‘Mansplaining Fire: A Tutorial.’ It’s bound to be a hit with the ladies.”
“Fuck off,” Maddox muttered, elbowing me away from him. I teetered before falling on my ass.
I couldn’t help but laugh. “No, seriously. Tell me more, Fire Whisperer.”
“Humanity would be better off if you froze to death.” But his voice lacked any real heat, and his eyes crinkled at the corners.
“I bet you a billion dollars that a clip of you making this fire will have at least a hundred women fanning themselves in the comments. No, make that a thousand women. Men, too, come to think of it.” Although the idea of my male followers wanting Maddox made me feel a little gut twist.
“I’ll take your billion-dollar bet,” he said, grinning. “The commenters will be too busy roasting you for not knowing shit about fire building.”
I shrugged. “Unfortunately, I don’t have a billion dollars. But I’ll bet you another date.”
Maddox rolled his eyes. “Fine. We’ll post that clip right now, and if it gets a thousand comments about me instead of your ineptitude, I’ll…”
“Ice-skate with me tomorrow?”
“Can’t skate. How about a holiday-themed date of my choosing?” he suggested.
I studied Maddox’s face to see if he was playing me. “Your choice will be something stupid like snow shoveling.”
His laughter was unexpected. “I actually have date game, Hayes. Admittedly rusty, but it exists.”
“Prove it,” I teased, enjoying both the warmth of the growing fire and the heat of our banter.
“What if I promise it’ll be romantic? The kind of holidate your fans will lose their minds over.”
I couldn’t resist teasing him some more. “Deep down, you already know you’re gonna lose. You said it’ll be, not it would be,” I said smugly.
“I’m not gonna lose. I’m just saying if I did, I’d make it the most romantic date you’ve ever been on. How about that?”
My heart leapt like the jumping flames in the fireplace next to me. For a moment, I let myself imagine it—Maddox Sullivan planning something special just for me. “Deal,” I croaked.
I glanced over at the ornaments, suddenly anxious to get to work filming the tree decorating—if only it would change the tension in the room—when an idea came to me.
“In the meantime, you can help me string up these lights, generously donated by Sullivan Hardware store.” I grabbed the box and pulled out one of the light sets. “What kind of lights are these anyway?”
Maddox seemed oblivious as he automatically began explaining what was great about those particular lights. His whole demeanor changed when he talked about something he was passionate about, his hands moving animatedly, eyes bright with enthusiasm. As we moved around the tree, preparing it for light-stringing, Maddox expounded on his knowledge of the different kinds of Christmas lights and why his store only carried the ones they carried.
“They’re shatterproof, energy-efficient, and the wiring’s reinforced. I tested them before I ordered a single box,” he explained.
“Probably could have picked up cheaper ones at the dollar store,” I said offhandedly, deliberately provoking him.
He glared at me from the other side of the wide tree. “Sure, if you want your place to burn down and your family harmed. Jesus, Hayes. The cheap ones don’t just burn out. They overheat. The last thing I want is someone’s house catching fire over a strand of faulty lights.”
I spent a few moments arranging the lights in the branches before passing the rest of the string around to him. Every time our fingers brushed, I felt a spark that was hard to ignore. “What if I don’t like all these twinkling colors? The fancy trees in California designer homes all have trees with white lights.”
“Screw your fancy California trees,” he said from the far side of the tree. “People around here like color. They like twinkling. They like some life in their holiday decorations.”
After a minute, he sighed. “But if you want plain white lights, you can just change the selector here like this,” he said, showing me the little green box at the end of the strand. “Easy peasy.”
I bit my lip to hide my smile. “These are pretty cool. They have selectors for all kinds of options. What if I need more strands?”
“We have plenty at the store. You can connect them together.”
“Are they expensive?” I asked, already knowing the answer because I’d seen the display in the window.