Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 70368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 352(@200wpm)___ 281(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 352(@200wpm)___ 281(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
“Don’t tempt me away from the cinnamon roll French toast,” I mock-scolded, which earned a girlish giggle from Martina.
“You look hungry. How about adding a half order of biscuits-and-gravy to that cinnamon roll French toast?”
“Sold.” Martina and Zeb might have to roll me out of the diner, but I was determined to wring every bit of joy I could out of this weirdly wonderful Christmas.
When Martina returned with our food, she asked the inevitable. “You boys from around here?”
Like always, I had no clue how to answer, but for the first time in many years, I had a specific yearning. Or rather, the ghost of a childhood memory, begging my folks to put down roots in Kringle’s Crossing, give us a real home and real friends like Gabe and his family.
And an answer as easy as Zeb’s. “Kringle’s Crossing. My family runs Seasons.”
“That’s a nice joint.” Martina nodded, then cackled as she topped up our cups. “Our coffee is better.”
“I’ll never tell.” Zeb put a finger on his lips. He waited until Martina had moved on to speak again. “This might be the best Christmas breakfast ever.”
“Agreed. Pretty damn perfect. And the food’s not bad either.” I winked at him, and his answering blush made my chest all warm. But I wasn’t lying—the company mattered far more than where or what we were eating. “What should we do after this? It’s not going to take us that long to gather Gabe and Paige’s stuff for later.”
“I think we need to do something easy and lazy after this carb coma, and I’ve got the perfect idea.”
And thus, after loading the SUV with the things Gabe and Paige needed, we ended up in Zeb’s bed yet again, sprawled in front of his bedroom TV, watching an animated Christmas movie neither of us had seen. The piece was surprisingly engaging for a kid’s movie, and I laughed more than I had during any other holiday in memory.
“See? I was right.” Zeb leaned over and kissed my cheek. “Best Christmas ever. Full from breakfast. Movies. Bed. You. I can’t ask for more.”
We actually could ask for more, way more, but perhaps Zeb was right, and we needed to be grateful for what we had, the perfection of this holiday season, and not waste time worrying about might-have-beens.
Twenty-Five
ZEB
“Congratulations must be in order.” A nurse in holiday scrubs gave me a cheery smile as I hauled the last load of things Gabe and Paige had requested. The red-haired nurse looked to be heading home after a long shift, and I grinned back. Making my way through the parking garage, I carried two empty infant car seats with a bag of food stashed in each seat.
“Merry Christmas, but these aren’t for my babies.” I wish. There was a world where I might adopt a pack of little gamer cousins for Plum and Pine, but that world seemed hazy and rather lonely at present. “My brother and his wife had twins last night.”
“Oh! The Christmas Eve blizzard twins! They’re going to be famous. Congrats, uncle!” The nurse gave a last wave before continuing on to a small compact, leaving me to trudge up to the maternity ward on my own. Atlas and I had already made one trip, and since the car seats and food didn’t require both of us, I’d left him to visit with Gabe and Paige.
I’d also deliberately volunteered for the trek because I was scared Gabe, Paige, or both would guess about Atlas and me like Aunt Lucy had. As much as I would love to publicly claim Atlas, the last month had also made me rather protective of him. Sure, he had his parents and his lengthy list of military contacts, but Gabe was family to him, and I refused to be the thing that strained that friendship. Bad enough that awkwardness would likely persist for years for Atlas and me. If I couldn’t have him for myself, I at least wanted him happy, best friendship intact.
I didn’t trust Gabe not to go into big-brother mode if he learned about our fling. Never mind that I was twenty-eight or that it had been my idea. Gabe, the world-class worrier, would likely have thoughts with a capital T, and dread over those opinions slowed my steps further and further as I approached Paige’s hospital room.
Outside the door, I paused to peek in. Atlas sat in the rocker, the double twin pillow Paige had requested from the twins’ nursery on his lap, and a twin wearing a jaunty Christmas sleeper nestled near each elbow. I wasn’t sure what it was about big men and tiny babies, but a piercing want struck me square in the chest.
“Atlas has the magic touch,” Gabe whispered from the daybed in front of the window. Aunt Lucy sat in a plastic chair near Gabe, and the hot-pink scarf she was working on was far longer than yesterday. Paige still occupied the hospital bed, but she was sitting up with far more color to her tired complexion than the day before.