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)
Dread or hope?
The question churned in his gut with no relief.
Wren skipped across the snow-dusted square, her crimson knit hat bobbing like Rudolph’s nose as the jingle bells tied to her boot laces chimed with every stride.
“I hope you stretched,” she yelled, breath misting from her wide grin. “Because we’re getting a holiday workout today.”
Greyson shoved his hands deeper into his coat pockets as wind whipped across the square. “I feel the work part of it.”
Wren spun to face him, clutching spiced cider like a lifeline. “Don’t be a grinch.”
“You knew this wasn’t going to be easy.”
“And you know I’m not someone who gives up.” Her eyes sparkled. “We’re going full-tilt, Hawthorne. Hot cocoa, mistletoe, all the trimmings! We’re making memories, whether you and your brothers accept it or not.” She pressed a cinnamon kiss on his lips and nuzzled him with her cold nose. “Trust me, there will come a time that you’ll all appreciate having them.”
He believed her, but that time wasn’t now.
This was his fault. He’d asked for help. What did he expect her to do, nothing? That wasn’t Wren. She saw a problem and put her whole heart into fixing it.
Harbor & Home beckoned like a Christmas cottage, its window ablaze with twinkling lights and handmade ornaments.
Inside, cinnamon-scented potpourri and Christmas music bombarded him. Sugar cookies shaped like snowflakes sat beside a large carafe of mulled wine.
“First, a little Christmas fuel.” Wren handed him a cookie and bit hers with a satisfied hum.
“Do you even know who made them?”
She licked sugar from her lips in a way that took his mind to a place it shouldn’t go. “As long as they aren’t Birdie’s, I’m sure they’re fine.”
He followed her through aisles overflowing with holiday treasures, mesmerized by the sway of her hips as she piled their basket with beeswax candles, ceramic reindeer, and glass ornaments.
“How much are you getting?” The basket was already overflowing so he relieved her of its weight, but that only freed up her hands so she could shop twice as fast.
“We’re hosting Christmas dinner, Greyson. A lot goes into that.”
At the register, the proprietor showed them bone china plates painted with Victorian Christmas scenes in rich burgundies and forest greens.
“Oh, these are beautiful.” Wren traced the gold-leafed edge with wonder.
“We’ll take them.” He didn’t give a damn about china patterns. The pure joy radiating from her face was worth every penny.
“We’ll need a set of eight.”
“Eight?” His mind raced. “Last I counted, we were a party of five.”
“There’s you and me, your brothers, and your dad. Then my dad, Aunt Astrid, and Jocelyn.”
“Jocelyn’s coming to fake Christmas?”
“It’s not fake, Greyson. Christmas is a vibe, not a date. And Jocelyn’s my best friend.”
He scowled. “I’m your best friend.”
“Yes, but you’re also...” She brushed close, batted her lashes playfully, and whispered, “My lovah.”
They carved a zigzag path through town, hitting every shop. Hand-dipped candles, artisan soaps, and locally-made maple syrup in bottles shaped like Christmas trees. If Hideaway sold it, and it had a Santa, angel, or elf on it, they bought it.
Three trips back to his truck barely made a dent in their haul.
At the Christmas Market, Wren bartered like a seasoned trader. He loved when she got fired up about a few pennies, and found it irresistible when she got all huffy about not getting her way.
“Eight dollars for jam! Who does he think he is?” she griped, stomping away from a booth at the Christmas market that was apparently overpriced.
“Isn’t jam just fancy jelly?”
“Exactly.”
When they drifted back to the town square, her mood quickly lightened. An ice sculptor transformed a massive block into Larry the Lobstah.
“Ralph would die,” Wren joked. “He’s finally getting his moment of fame and he’s nowhere to be found.”
“I’m sure he’ll see it eventually.”
Outside Love at First Sip, they were caught in spontaneous caroling. Of course Wren sang along without needing lyrics.
They grabbed more hot cocoa and a gingerbread man the size of a dinner plate. Wren bit off the head with theatrical relish and smiled up at him. “Mmm, so good. Wanna bite?”
“Any more sugar and I’ll go into diabetic shock.”
“Impossible.” She laughed. “Everyone knows, calories aren’t real in December. It’s science.”
“None of this is real.” The words escaped before he could stop them.
She paused mid-bite, her happy expression frozen and then crestfallen. “You don’t mean that.”
Truth was, he didn’t know what he meant. “It’s just…a lot.”
“It’s supposed to be a lot. It’s Christmas.”
“I think I’m just tired. I didn’t sleep well last night.”
Her expression fell even more. “We can go home if you want.”
“No.” Despite his incomprehension of holiday cheer, he liked seeing her happy. “I’m enjoying myself.”
“Liar.”
He closed the distance, yanking the lapels of her coat together and also pulling her in for a kiss. Holding her stare, he whispered, “I’m enjoying watching you. It doesn’t matter if everything else goes over my head. As long as you’re by my side and having fun, I’m happy.”