Total pages in book: 131
Estimated words: 131387 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131387 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
She was getting there, though.
“Love you too, babe. Bye.”
“Bye. And Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas.”
I rang off and grabbed the Tupperware that I was going to use to transport the Christmas tree cookie stacks I’d made for the party.
“What are you supposed to talk to me about?” Hutch asked.
“Mona wants to meet you sooner rather than later,” I told him. “So she’s asked us to come down in March or April.”
I could tell by the way his beard flattened around his lips, he was not at one with a trip to Orlando, in March or April, or ever.
“Maybe we can meet them there, spend a day or two, and we can all head down to the Keys. The good Keys, not the touristy Keys. So you can go out and fish or…whatever,” I suggested.
And now I could tell by the way his brown eyes lit, that was a consideration.
“We don’t have to make a decision immediately. We can think on it,” I said.
“Good, because now is food,” Hutch replied, loading up our plates.
I abandoned the cookie stacks and headed for the coffee pot.
I warmed both our cups and sat with him at the table in front of the stove.
“Is all the shit we’re taking in those totes by the back door?” he asked before munching a bite of bacon.
“All the shit” was all the presents I bought and wrapped that we were going to take around to our friends’ houses after we did our first thing on the schedule for the day (our first thing after making love, doggie business, showering, getting ready, me packing totes, Hutch making breakfast, and a conversation with Mona, that was).
We weren’t visiting with friends. It was Christmas Eve, and I didn’t want to take anyone’s time if they were celebrating or preparing for the big day.
And anyway, the presents were no big deal. It didn’t need a production.
We were just going to drop them at doors, drive away, and I’d text to say, when they had time, they should go grab what we left and enjoy.
Except for Abigail and Brett’s house.
That was going to be the end of the day, because they had what Abigail called their yearly No Nonsense Buckner Christmas Eve Potluck.
It was a tradition. They started it the first year they moved in together.
They provided wine and beer and some minimal snacks.
The rest was provided by whoever showed up.
It started at five and ended at nine.
I had no idea how they pulled it off on top of having two little kids and needing to handle their Christmas as both Mom and Dad and Santa.
But Abigail said, “They’ll grow up with that. Family. Friends. People around. Telling jokes. Making memories. Eating food. Exchanging presents. It might be a tradition they continue. It just gives you more to look forward to during the season. And as far as I’m concerned, there can’t be too much to look forward to at Christmas.”
One could say, if Abigail started wearing all Christmas, all the time, Kimmy would have a run for her money.
“Yeah. Just have the cookie stacks for the potluck to pack up and it’s good to go,” I answered Hutch’s question.
“I’ll load after we do the dishes,” he muttered to his plate.
Another thing about my guy I just had to let go.
I was perfectly capable of carrying totes to the truck.
And sure, I liked to look good, turn myself out, do up my face and hair and stuff like that, but I wasn’t a primper, and I was already mostly ready.
But I’d find things to make myself busy doing so he could load up the truck and his woman could remain inside to stay warm.
There were things to bicker about and things to fight about.
But that wasn’t one of them.
“Great, honey,” I said, forking into some eggs.
“Our first Christmas.”
The way he said that made me look at him.
Gone was the let’s-eat-and-get-this-show-on-the-road vibe.
In its place was another version of Hutch looking at me like the fan, the filter and the good lighting was back.
He had many versions of that look.
I cherished every one of them.
“Our first Christmas,” I whispered.
“You know I love you, Mabel, yeah?”
Oh God, oh God, oh God.
I knew he did.
But that was the first time he put it out there.
“Yeah,” I said. “You know I love you, Hutch, yeah?”
“Oh yeah,” he said.
“We need to stop this or I’m going to jump you over the kitchen table,” I warned.
His beard twitched, and he went back to his food, muttering, “No matter how hard I work, seems I never top you up with orgasms.”
“This is your lot for the rest of your life,” I said to my own plate.
He chuckled.
He didn’t mind.
Though, I hoped he knew I wasn’t kidding.
We stood in the snow, away from the bed of Hutch’s truck, all of us bundled up against the cold.