Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 59265 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 296(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59265 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 296(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
“Not gonna lie, the lights and garland make it look like a magazine spread.”
“Ugh. I might hate you a little for confirming that,” she said, shooting me a little smile.
“I have a Christmas get-together each year. You and Adelaide should come.”
“I might just take you up on that. I think she’s going to be enamored by the twinkle lights.”
“She’s gonna be a really fun age at Christmas.”
“I know. I caught myself shopping for new lights the other night when she was refusing to sleep. I’ve always been a warm white light person, but I think I need to become a colored lights person for her.”
“I do color. Inside and out.”
“And crazy, chaotic, non-matching wrapping paper?”
“Had to build a wooden storage bin for all the different rolls I have.”
“No way.”
“Santa’s workshop down there. Got organization for boxes, bows, gift tags, extra tape, and the good scissors.”
“The ones that make that satisfying slicing sound?”
“Yep. My grandfather was Santa Claus when we were kids. He lived for it.”
“I love that you are carrying on the tradition for your extended family. Just think how amazing it will feel to do for your own kids.”
“That’s what I’m counting on.”
“Tuna is going to be a great big brother.”
“He was made for it. You should have a dog.”
“Because I live alone?”
“Yeah.”
“I have a security system. I never considered it before because I worked so much. But I’m hoping to scale back my hours when I go back. Or doing some of my hours remotely. It would let me feel less guilty about having a dog. Though I don’t think any dog could be as innately perfect as Tuna.”
“Well, if you ever want the company, he is happy to help you watch Adelaide. Or clean up floor crumbs. He’s great at that too.”
“Hey, anytime you have a long day and want to drop him off to me, I’m happy to have him. I know you have a dog-walker, but if there’s ever an issue with that or anything.”
“I’ll take you up on that.”
She said it so easily.
Like it was nothing to imagine Tuna spending his days at her house. Like it was nothing to imagine me dropping him off and lingering for a few minutes. Like it was nothing to start building little pieces of a routine together.
I had to remind myself that this was how friendships happened. Neighbors helped each other. Clients became friends. People with dogs borrowed things and watched each other’s pets and occasionally shared dinner.
There didn’t have to be anything else underneath it.
Except there was.
I was already picturing it.
Not some grand romantic fantasy. Nothing dramatic. Just small things. Adelaide growing old enough to recognize me. Her and Tuna running around the yard. Willa telling me some story about what they did that day as we shared coffee.
Little things. Yet, somehow, everything.
“I need to go check on the potatoes. Stay up here a while if you want.”
“No, I’m coming down to top off my coffee and watch you cook.”
“It’ll be nice to have the company.”
We both got up and she followed me back down to the kitchen that smelled like garlic and rosemary from the potatoes.
“Oh, that smells amazing,” Willa groaned. “There has to be something I can do. Set the table?”
I was raised never to let a guest lift a finger when I was hosting. That said, if she kept making little moaning sounds, I was going to lose my damn mind.
“Sure. The dishes are up there,” I said, waving toward the cabinet as I transferred the asparagus to a cast iron pan to bring out to the grill.
I made my way out there, fiddling with the grill and pretending not to look in the back door and watch Willa moving around my kitchen and dining room. She looked way too much like she belonged there.
I could see a thousand nights just like this—me prepping dinner while she set the table, a baby upstairs, maybe kids playing in the backyard.
Maybe that was what was getting to me more than anything.
It wasn’t just that Willa looked beautiful in my kitchen.
It was that she looked comfortable. She wasn’t hovering awkwardly, waiting for me to tell her what to do. She wasn’t acting like a guest who was afraid to touch anything. She’d found the plates, set the table, checked on the baby, poured herself coffee, and somehow managed to make my house feel different simply by being in it.
Warmer.
More lived in.
I caught myself watching her through the window again.
She was standing at the table, smoothing the edge of the placemats before setting a fork down. Completely ordinary. And somehow it hit me harder than the dress had.
I liked ordinary.
I wanted this woman doing ordinary things in my house.
I wanted to know what she looked like on a Tuesday morning when neither of us had gotten enough sleep. I wanted to hear her complain about the air being too cold and stealing food from my plate. I wanted to know what kind of Christmas traditions she would bring into my house and what she would say about my ridiculous collection of wrapping supplies.