Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 47241 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 189(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47241 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 189(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
“Yeah. It’s sort of my thing,” I said.
“I like it.”
I pushed back a big grin. “It’s no big deal.”
He turned in place, taking in the lights attached to the ceiling. They weren’t plugged in at the moment, but I’d sequenced them to look like runways.
I added, “I need to fix the motor for my miniature Santa and sleigh, but when it’s plugged in, they run on a small cable so Santa can travel around the ceiling. It’s for a party I throw each year.”
We stared at each other for an awkward moment, and I suddenly felt intensely aware of his presence. His tall frame and muscular build took up space like any large man would, but the energy in the room felt different. Warmer maybe?
Maybe it’s just me. I’d bet my dancing-elf vibrator that my cheeks were flushed right now.
“Okay, well, I’m going to get cracking on work. There’s the candy for passing out.” I pointed to two grocery bags by the door and a bright orange bucket. “There’s a fold-out chair in the hall closet so you can sit by the mailboxes out front. Just be sure to remind the kids not to revenge-raisin the place.”
“Got it.” He glanced at the bathroom.
“Oh, uh, make yourself at home. I’ll just be in the kitchen on my laptop.” I liked working in there for the light. Also, the mint green tile and red appliances gave it a cheery holiday vibe.
“The Y didn’t have hot water this morning. Would you mind if I showered?”
My discomfort spiked. It was one thing to let him crash on my couch or use the toilet, but showers were kind of personal. He’d see my lady razor, touch my soap, and judge my shampoo choices—sugar cookies and cream was my favorite at this time of year. I got it from a shop down the street.
“If it’s too uncomfortable, I understand,” he added.
“No, go right ahead. There are cleaning supplies under the bathroom sink. I mean, in case you feel like bleaching the tub when you’re done. Or before you shower. Either-or. Or both. I mean, can’t be too careful when it comes to hygiene.”
“Thanks. Appreciate it. Also, do you have pen and a paper? I’m going to leave a note in the alley; just in case my delivery comes, they’ll know where I am.”
“Sure. I’ll go get them.”
As I spoke, he pulled out a bright red sweater from his bag. It was a gorgeous, handmade piece from the Wild Winterland Clothing Store. They cost over five hundred dollars. Mostly because they used organic, hand-dyed cotton yarn. The quality was so good that some people claimed to have inherited their sweaters from family members, decades old. The question was, how could he afford one?
“You have a Winterland,” I said. “Any Rolexes in there, too?”
He gave me a side glance. “No. And the sweater was a gift from my mother.”
“Well, she has great taste.”
“Had.”
My heart twitched with sadness. “I’m sorry. I bet you miss her.”
He nodded and disappeared into the bathroom with a handful of stuff.
I exhaled. “What am I doing?” I’d invited this stranger into my home, and clearly I was unable to stop myself from prying. The last thing I needed was to get vested in his life. I had my own things to take care of.
Well, thankfully, he’d be out by morning.
I didn’t see Beau after his shower, but I’d heard him go out the door, so I assumed he’d found the paper and pen I’d left on the coffee table before he went to pay for his keep.
Honestly, I was kind of bummed out having to work on Halloween, because seeing the kids’ costumes was the best, almost as fun as watching my nieces and nephews open gifts on Christmas morning. Usually on Christmas Eve, I drove to my parents’ house, and I’d stay for a week as friends I grew up with and family would pop in and out for visits. After my big party, which I usually held a few days before Christmas, going to their place to hang out and enjoy some nature, along with seeing people I missed, was a welcome time. I just had to put up with my mom’s nagging: You should go to church more often. Why aren’t you married yet? Have you seen my new Brazilian Jesus?
Around 9:20 p.m., I heard the front door open, followed by heavy footsteps.
“How was the candy giving?” I called out.
Suddenly, a tall man appeared in the kitchen doorway. He had on a forest green ski cap, a black parka, jeans, and perfectly shined black boots.
I screamed. “Who the fuck are you? What do you want? I don’t have any money.”
He stared, confused.
That was when I noticed him holding my empty candy bucket. He was also wearing Beau’s red sweater beneath the parka.