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)
Soren used a pair of bolt cutters to cut the rope. Branches sprung free in a green explosion and Wren gasped. The enormous pine had a few blemishes, but it would look great once decorated.
“Don’t scratch the paint,” Magnus hollered, his gruff words muffled through the mask.
“We got it, Dad.” Logan’s patience frayed. “Soren, get over here and help me balance this.”
Jocelyn perched on Magnus’s bed like she belonged there, settling in for the show with her drink.
Magnus glared at her. “Who are you?”
She playfully caressed his bruised hand. “Mr. Hawthorne, it’s me, Jocelyn Collins. You’ve known me since the third grade.”
His brows knitted. “Of course.”
While Jocelyn let him get away with the lie, Wren knew he didn’t remember her. Still, Jocelyn played along.
“Are you sure you’re not faking for attention?” Her friend squeezed his bicep playfully. “You look too strong to be sick.”
Color bloomed in Magnus’s cheeks as he chuckled like a schoolboy. “I’ve got a little life in me yet. Feel free to roam about—“
“Dad!” Soren’s horrified face appeared from behind pine branches. “That’s Jocelyn.”
“I know who it is! I’m sick, not senile.” He turned back to Jocelyn with a wolfish grin. “Far from dead, sweetheart, if you want to take a walk upstairs, we can test my virility.”
Jocelyn laughed. “You’re bad. I like that in a man. But, as fun as that might be, I’m afraid I can’t. I’ve recently sworn off all men.”
Soren’s snort carried from behind the tree where branches jostled. “Yeah, right.”
“I’m sorry, did you say something, Your Royal High Maintenance?”
He peeked out from behind the mammoth tree—no doubt to toss out a quick comeback—but Greyson pulled the trigger on his drill. “Soren, hold it still!”
Six hands and two bolts later, it stood straight as a soldier. Each brother claimed a tattered box from the attic, unwrapping ornaments while Wren wove lights through the branches. Every laugh made her heart swell. Whether they realized it or not, the holidays were already bringing them closer.
“I think we’re ready,” she said, winding the last of the lights around the lowest branches.
“Drumroll,” Greyson announced, plug in hand.
Masculine hands drummed against denim thighs in crescendo. He shoved the plug into the outlet, and the branches glowed under hundreds of tiny lights, altering the room into something magical.
Silence fell like snow as they absorbed the transformation. She never knew what it was that made twinkle lights so enchanting. Maybe they were called fairy lights because they actually possessed magic.
“Wow.” Soren came to stand by her side. “You don’t even need the ornaments.”
Logan joined them. “I thought they’d be colored lights.”
Soren scowled at his brother. “Colorful lights are tacky. Mom liked a classy tree.”
“That’s the beauty of it,” Wren said. “Sometimes, tacky is fun.”
She glanced at Greyson, his expression a mixture of awe and stricken emotion. Of the three boys, he’d had the most Christmases with his mother and would therefore have the most memories to combat.
Sensing her stare, his gaze pulled from the tree, and he gave her a weak smile.
“All right, boys,” she said, lightening the mood as she draped pearl beads over her shoulder and twirled them like a 1920s flapper. “Who’s ready for some garland?”
They worked in tandem, the boys handling the heights while she and Jocelyn managed the lower branches. Compared to the dressed windows in town, they did a horrible job. But Wren decided all the cockeyed, crooked swoops and loops added character.
Stepping back, she admired the sloppy tree, proud of her boys and the effort they put into it. “Now, we decorate.”
Newer ornaments went up first since the vintage ones required more reverence and care. As they unearthed the relics from their mother’s boxes, they carefully handed them off one by one.
“That ornament goes at the top,” Magnus’s voice cut through the chatter. The room stilled as they followed his trembling finger to the ornament Logan had just hung. “Sable liked it close to the angel.”
Wren looked at the crystal snowflake, and stretched on the stepstool to move it near the crown. “Here?”
Their father nodded, satisfied, but still scowling.
When the doorbell chimed, Wren handed off the next ornament. “That’s probably my dad and my aunt.”
Monica beat her to the foyer, and greeted their guests. Bodhi and Astrid swept in on a gust of winter air and patchouli.
“Will you look at this place,” Astrid marveled. “Is that chandelier real crystal? Oh, Wren, there you are. We brought nut roast with turmeric gravy and reishi mushrooms.”
“And I made my famous kombucha stuffing.” Bodhi presented his creation like a proud alchemist.
Wren took the dish from her father and led him into the den. “Grey?”
Greyson turned and smiled as if relieved to see her family’s familiar faces. “Bodhi! Astrid!”
Wren realized then how difficult this isolated time with his father had been. The boys might be paying a toll with each grumbled criticism from Magnus’s mouth, but they were still gaining from the enforced togetherness. They were brothers, and they needed each other right now, no matter how much they fought it.