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)
“What about your family? Can they not help you?”
“No.” She grimaced. “They… don’t speak to me anymore. Not since I told them about Zara.”
Ah.
I knew exactly what she meant by that.
“Well, with any luck, they’ve gone back to eighteen-twenty-two where they belong,” I quipped.
Beth stared at me for a moment then burst out laughing, throwing her head back. It was a real, deep belly laugh that brought a smile to my face because it was so genuine.
“Now that,” she said, wiping under her eyes. “I needed.”
I grinned. “You need this, too.”
She looked at me, furrowing her brow in confusion.
I dug in my bag for my purse and pulled out one of my cards, then scribbled on the back of it. “I know you don’t have my personal number, so here. I might only be here for a month-ish, but you’re not the only one who doesn’t have many friends here.”
She took it from me with a watery smile. I didn’t know if the tears were from her recent laughing fit or from me giving her my number, but either way, I just wanted to hug the poor woman.
I knew how hard it was to live in Castleton without having many friends, but I’d always been lucky enough to have my family with me.
Beth didn’t even have that. The one she did have was grieving.
She turned around and motioned to the waitress with the universal sign for the bill. I reached back into my bag for my purse to get my card out, but Beth reached over the table and touched her hand to my arm.
“Please,” she said. “This is on me. Consider it payment for the therapy session.”
My lips curled to one side. “If you’re going to pay me in food, consider me your therapist.”
She grinned.
Yep.
I had a new friend.
***
“I don’t knooooow,” Hazel whined, dramatically leaning against Julian’s side. “This is so hard!”
I buried my face in my hands. “Hazel, you’ve had eleven months to come up with your songs. I need to know them in the next forty-eight hours.”
Julian slid his gaze towards her. “She’s not wrong, babe. We do need to figure this out.”
“There are just so many songs I love! What do I choose? Is a Christmas song too cheesy? If not, which one? Most of them are about wanting love for Christmas, but we’re getting married, so I can’t do that. I don’t want love for Christmas. I already have it.” Hazel groaned, hiding her face behind her scarf. “Julian, help me!”
He looked at me. “I’ve tried. I’ve offered at least thirty solutions that haven’t felt right for her. At this rate, I’m just going to suggest bloody Mariah Carey and be done with it.”
My eyes widened.
Talk about a declaration of war.
“Don’t. You. Dare.” Hazel shot up and glared at him. “Sylvie, if that song is played at any point during my wedding, I will strangle you with a holly garland.”
I held up my hands, dropping my pen on the floor in the process. “Don’t worry, I’ve already told everyone in charge of music that there is a ban on Mariah Carey for the duration of the wedding. If anyone even thinks of asking, they’ll be warned they’ll be kicked out if they mention her name again.”
If I was going to die this Christmas, it would not be by garland at my sister’s hands, thank you very much.
“Seems extreme.” Julian looked at me. “Do you not think so?”
Yes.
I did think so.
I wasn’t going to say that out loud in front of my sister, though.
Hazel turned her head oh so very slowly until she was facing her fiancé. She stared daggers at him, and Julian stilled.
Something told me he saw that look a lot.
“Mariah Carey is extreme,” Hazel said. “Mariah Carey at Christmas is nauseatingly extreme. My hatred of her is not extreme. I want to plug my ears with superglue every time she melts after Halloween. As soon as November first rolls around, I get twitchy.”
No.
Her hatred was not extreme at all.
“You love Christmas so much you insisted on getting married on Christmas Eve,” Julian pointed out. “She’s like… part Santa Claus at this point. How can you love Christmas and not like Mariah Carey?”
The distinct tinkle of a xylophone that could only be the opening to one particular song rang through the air, and we both peered at my sister to see what she’d do.
This really couldn’t be worse timing.
“She’s everywhere,” Hazel hissed, looking around the pub, baring her teeth, almost deranged. She smacked her hands against the table, sending my pen rolling off. “There’s no escaping her.”
Laughing, I shuffled across the bench seat and bent under the table to retrieve my runaway pen.
“You know you don’t have to hide under the table to avoid me.”
The sound of Thomas’ voice made me jolt, and I smacked my head on the underside of the table.