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)
He pulled her gloved hand to his chest and pressed his hand over her heart. “You’re my home, Wren. When I’m away, I feel sick because all I want to do is come back to you. Now that I have you, I never want to leave again.”
She looked stunned. Maybe even a little afraid. That was a lot to digest, especially coming from someone who avoided talking about his feelings like most people avoided plagues.
He needed a damn ring.
Tugging off his glove, he unlaced his boot and snapped the string. “Give me your hand.”
She held out a shaky hand, and he pulled off her glove, tying the tattered lace around her knuckle. “I love you,” he said matter-of-factly. “I don’t know how to stop, so this is me promising that I never will.” He kissed the bow tied around her knuckle.
Twin tears fell down her cheeks. The makeshift ring looked ridiculous, but it was the best he could do in a pinch.
“Are you going to say something?”
She grinned, and more tears fell. “Yes.”
“Yes, as in you plan to say something, or yes, as in you—”
“I’ll marry you—”
He scooped her up in his arms and hugged the breath out of her. Pressing his face into her neck as he swore, “I promise to be a good husband to you, Wren.”
“I know you will, Grey.”
His mouth found hers. She tasted of sweets and tears. She tasted familiar, like she was already his. His home. His future. His Wren.
When he pulled away, she wiped her tears and laughed, then threw her head back and yelled, “We’re getting married!”
Her voice echoed off the snow-laden pines, startling a pair of cardinals from their roost. The birds took flight in a flash of crimson. A perfect December picture his mind would never forget.
Maybe that bridge held magic after all. Not the hokey, fairy-tale variety the locals peddled to tourists, but something real and achingly human.
The rightness of that moment sank into his bones and he realized something. “You’re right!”
“About?”
He finally had a good memory for this time of year, one he’d hold onto forever. “It feels good to make new traditions. I want to come back to this place every year with you, on this exact day.”
She smiled. “It’s a date.”
He planned to grant her wishes every year, because making Wren happy somehow chased away all the fear and sadness. He loved her and he loved taking care of her. It was a privilege, one he’d honor for the rest of his life.
Closing his hand around hers, he ran his finger over the tied string and grinned. She was officially his.
CHAPTER 30
“With termites in your smile, you have all the tender sweetness of a seasick crocodile, Mr. Grinch”
Pine, sap, and fresh snow invaded the house as the double front doors burst open. Heavy boots stomped across marble, leaving wet puddles as Greyson, Soren, and Logan wrestled their prize inside.
“You’re bending it!”
“Drop it down!”
“Not that way. The other way, dumbass.”
Wren followed the arctic draft and the path of pine needles to investigate. “Did you get the—oh.” Each brother gripped a different branch of the enormous fir, the tree bound in rope like a captive giant. “I see you went with the Rockefeller Center starter pack.”
Pine needles scattered across the silk Persian rug in a festive massacre as they angled their kill awkwardly in the foyer.
Logan grinned proudly as he looked at her. “You said to get a big tree.”
“I meant big as in normal-sized.”
“Maybe normal-sized in this family is bigger than most.” Soren waggled his brows.
“Oh good, more penis innuendos.” She moved to shut the front doors, but froze at the sight of Soren’s overcompensating—and extremely muddy—luxury SUV. “Car’s a little dirty, Soren.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” He shoved the tree with renewed violence, muttering under his breath, “Two fucking pickup trucks and somehow we end up taking my Cadillac.”
“Where are we putting this monster?”
Three sets of eyes turned to Wren. She pointed toward the den where Magnus had his hospital bed arranged. “In there, so your dad can enjoy it.”
Soren snorted. “Yeah, he’s gonna love this.”
They heaved the tree into the den, propping it against the corner with collective grunts.
“What the hell is that?” Magnus barked from his bed, newspaper crumpling in his grip.
“Seriously?” The boys were dirty and in no mood for their father’s unappreciative attitude.
“It’s a tree,” Wren said, rushing into the den. “A Christmas tree.”
“Just what I want—” A wet cough interrupted his tirade, shaking his brittle frame. “A nest of ticks and spiders and God knows whatever else is living in that thing.”
Monica, the housekeeper, materialized with water. “Drink, Mr. Hawthorne. You must have lots of fluids.”
He gulped down several sips before continuing his protest. “How one of the filthiest traditions survived this long is beyond me.”
“He loves it, Wren,” Logan cheered, his cold sarcasm dripping like melted icicles.