Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 131486 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131486 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
His brows lower, furrow. If something is “simple,” Kassim assumes he should be able to do it.
“Maybe spaghetti?” His voice evens and his shoulders square with determined confidence.
Today, spaghetti. Tomorrow, the world.
“I already ordered Indian.” His features relax with what looks like relief and I laugh. “But thanks for the offer.”
My cell phone rings on the desk, and Mark’s contact flashes up at me on-screen. I frown, tempted to ignore the call. We were never exclusive or serious. I was completely honest with him about that, but it still feels wrong talking to him when I can’t move without long-unused “screwing” muscles aching from my night with Josiah. That man still puts it down. I’ve been shoving away memories…okay fantasies…spawned by that night in Charlotte ever since he dropped me off from the airport yesterday and headed home.
“You gonna get that?” Kassim asks, flopping into the chair across from my desk and pulling out his phone.
“I guess privacy’s too much for a mother to expect,” I mutter, knowing he’s oblivious.
I grab the phone on the fourth ring. “Mark, hey.”
“Yasmen.” A pleased note runs through his voice. “Glad I got you. Thought for a minute it was gonna roll into voice mail.”
“Sorry. I was…” I glance at Kassim, engrossed in his game. “Busy. How are you?”
“Good. I’ve missed you.”
I’m not sure how to respond to that in a way that is honest and also not hurtful.
“That’s so sweet.” I wince at my not-exactly-enthusiastic reply. “It’s good to be home. What’s up?”
“I wondered if you’ve got your Christmas tree yet?”
“Christmas tree?”
I regret the words as soon as they leave my mouth. Kassim’s eager eyes flash up to meet mine. We’d usually have our tree up by now, even though Thanksgiving was only days ago.
“My family owns a tree farm,” Mark says. “That lot off the square that sells trees all month? That’s my dad’s.”
“Oh, those are the best trees in Skyland.”
“That’s what the sign says,” he chuckles. “I just grabbed a great one from the lot. I could bring it by if you wanna take a look.”
Kassim’s stare has been fixed on me since “tree.” He and Deja love Christmas, and I did have getting the tree on my list for this week.
“If you don’t like it,” Mark continues, “I’ll just take it to my sister. She’s a single mom of four and works full time. Knowing her, she hasn’t thought of a tree yet.”
“Why not just take it to her then?” I ask, keeping my tone light.
“Because I’d like to see you, and this seemed as good an excuse as any.”
It’s just a tree, but when he puts it like that…
“Oh…okay.” I agree after a beat of silence. “Why not?”
“And maybe we could grab dinner after the tree’s up? Or a drink?”
“Um…it’s a school night and my kids—”
“Right. Sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I can just drop off the tree then.”
The man is bringing me a tree.
“I ordered takeout,” I force myself to offer. “You’re welcome to stay for dinner.”
“You sure?” he asks, but I hear his yes poised and waiting.
“Of course. I hope you like Indian.”
“I hope you like this tree.”
Thirty minutes later, Mark stands on my front porch with one of the biggest Christmas trees I’ve ever seen.
“You weren’t kidding.” I laugh, my gaze climbing the branches to the top. “It’s massive and beautiful.”
“Is this our tree?” Kassim asks, poking his head from behind me to the porch. “Whoa!”
“If you want it.” Mark raises querying brows at me.
“Yes!” Kassim shouts before I can confirm.
“Of course, we want it.” I step back so Mark can come in and maneuver the tree with him.
I’d already set the base up in the family room in front of the window we use each Christmas. Mark makes quick work of getting the tree in the stand and upright, its branches brushing the ceiling.
“Day!” Kassim bellows from the base of the stairs. “Come see our tree!”
At the top of the landing, the door to Deja’s room opens and she sticks her head out. Half her hair is loose and held in clips on one side. The other half is in braids. Blue this week.
“What tree?” she asks, her eyes settling briefly on me before shifting to Mark behind me in the foyer. “Hey, Mr. Lancaster.”
Her tone is studiously polite considering she mocks him as “the goofy guy with the signs” any time he’s mentioned.
He returns her greeting with a smile, and an awkward silence settles over the four of us. The sound of the doorbell saves the situation from getting even more weird.
“Food’s here.” I rush over to the door and take the bags of savory-smelling food from the delivery man.
“I guess I should get going,” Mark says, his eyes drifting up the staircase to Deja’s face set in lines of careful impassivity.
“No, stay.” I tilt my head toward the kitchen. “I told you we’d love to have you for dinner. It’s the least we can do after you brought us that amazing tree.”