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)
“Bye, Kay.” I ended the call.
“Everything all right?” Beau asked.
Besides the fact my friends all want you? “I have to drive home next weekend to help Kay’s mom with a charity thing. You’re welcome to come, but I’ll be staying with my parents.”
He gave me a look.
“I know. Meeting my folks is a lot. Just forget I asked.”
“No, I’d love to meet them.” He smirked. “I want to see who’s responsible for making you—”
“Such a mess?”
“Such a persistent woman.”
I stared at his handsome face for a long moment. I loved looking at him—those intense, sparkling blue eyes, those soft lips, and thick dark lashes. He was edible.
Suddenly, the announcement went over the plaza’s loudspeakers. They were about to light the tree. Both Beau and I turned to face it, holding our warm cups of cocoa. I wanted to be holding something completely different, attached to his body.
“Persistent, huh?” I smiled, staring up at the big dark tree. Maybe that was Beau’s way of saying I shouldn’t give up on him. Or he was just trying to pay a compliment, you big dork.
“You convinced me to stay last night, didn’t you?” he said.
I had. And now he’d be coming home to meet my parents, and I didn’t know what any of it meant. Just friends. Just friends. Just friends…
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The rest of the evening with Beau was, well, incredible. Like, as in vibing-on-all-levels kind of incredible.
After the tree-lighting ceremony, we did a little shopping before the department store closed to get him some clothes. He paid for everything with money he’d kept from crabbing, which wasn’t much but enough for jeans, tees, and socks. No undies.
Thank you, god of fantasies. The commando memories would live on.
One thing I noticed, though, was that Beau had the most incredible luck. He’d had a list of everything he needed to buy, and there they were, waiting for him on a shelf in the store. No exaggeration. The button-fly jeans he wanted were right next to a navy blue T-shirt and a white sweater, both on his list. In his size. In the sock aisle. Next to a bag of socks also on his list. What luck.
“I wish I could get that lucky when I shop,” I’d said. “Would save tons of time.”
He’d tapped the side of his head. “It’s all in here.”
Yeah, sure. I’d tried the whole manifestation thing. Never worked. “Can you do my shopping from now on? Make sure there’s a bag of cash on my list, wuddja?”
He’d laughed. “Who needs money when the universe provides?”
“Someone is in a very optimistic mood tonight.” I’d smiled, thinking how good it felt to see him like this.
After, we went back to my place, and he made bow-tie pasta from a recipe he’d learned growing up. We laughed, drank wine, and told each other embarrassing childhood stories. But the biggest surprise of the evening? The thing that rattled me down to the core? I found out how much we had in common:
Loved holiday music from the 1950s.
Favorite colors: red and green.
Hated black licorice.
Secretly liked rom-coms and true crime, but only cried for movies when the hero or heroine broke free of their past.
Spicy food, yes.
Sweets only during the holidays.
Always felt guilty when we had over fifty items in our carts because the people behind us had to wait so long for their turn.
We. Both. Loved. Christmas.
And puppies. Couldn’t walk past one without petting their furry little faces. Cats were cool, but their independent, curious nature made us worry too much.
Most of all, Beau and I discovered that we both grew up feeling restless all the time, like a cosmic itch we couldn’t scratch. It used to drive my parents crazy when I was a child because all I wanted to do was run around, exploring or taking things apart and putting them back together again. I was bad at that last part.
I also read a lot, but they were always “practical” books, like how a rocket ship worked. Sometimes I dug holes in search of treasure, or I panned for gold in the backyard pond. Then one day, I got into crafting Christmas decorations and never stopped.
Beau was still learning to deal with his “wild energy,” still as restless as ever. Which was the very reason I convinced myself that our similarities were not a sign. I’d only be setting myself up for disappointment to fall for someone like him, and I knew it.
The only problem now was that the entire evening, Beau kept smiling, and when he did, his face lit up in a display that was impossible not to stare at. His dark hair seemed to shine a little more, and that beard he’d shaved off on Halloween was now a thick carpet of black. Together, they framed his face like a picture of radiant joy.