Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 56961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 285(@200wpm)___ 228(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 285(@200wpm)___ 228(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
Miller nodded and realized it was time for more introductions. “Grandpa, this is Darius Grant. Darius, this is Wes Wilde, my great-uncle. And everyone else here is pretty much a second cousin.”
I shook the man’s hand. “Nice to meet you, sir.”
Anyone around us who hadn’t already seen me began to take notice there was a stranger in their midst. Several raised eyebrows and quirky grins warned me that a boatload of teasing was incoming.
“Well, well, well,” a woman with a big mane of dark curly hair said, making her way over to us. “And who might you be?”
Miller blushed. “Simone, this is Darius. He’s the man who made the baklava you cried over last night.”
Simone’s grin dropped, and she clapped a hand over her heart. “You made that? I want to marry that baklava. Holy cow. Tell me everything. How do you make it? Where do I get the recipe? I’ve never had baklava like that.”
A large, muscled guy stepped up and reached out a hand to shake. “I’m Simone’s husband, Joel. Nice to meet you. Please forgive my wife. She’s in the cravings stage of pregnancy.”
She glared at him. “I’m not pregnant, asshole.”
We all looked down at her obvious bump.
“Fine,” she said, throwing up her arms. “I’m pregnant. I was going to surprise everyone on Christmas Day. There, are you happy now?”
Joel wrapped his arm around her and smiled wide. “Super happy. Also? You told everyone last night you needed a fourth piece of baklava ‘for the baby,’ so I kinda assumed you’d already spilled the beans.”
“Wasn’t she just pregnant like two months ago?” someone else asked.
“She’s always pregnant,” someone else replied.
I had to admit, I kind of liked this family already. But I could tell Miller was getting more and more uncomfortable the longer we went without an update about his grandmother.
“Do you want me to ask them what’s going on?” I murmured into his ear. “I know Sheriff Stone. I can ask if he’s here.”
Miller shot me a grateful look and nodded. “If you don’t mind.”
I left him with his cousins and made my way to the reception counter. “Is Declan here?”
The receptionist nodded. “Yes, but he’s dealing with a situation at the moment,” she said, tilting her head toward the crowd in the lobby.
“I was hoping to get an update on that situation. What if I promised him a dozen bear claws if he can tell us what’s going on?”
Her face cracked into a wide grin. “You sure know the way to our sheriff’s heart, don’t you? You must be the new baker they all keep talking about. My aunt Peg says your sugar cookies are to die for.”
After sweet-talking her a little longer, the receptionist finally agreed to go find out what was taking so long. Within moments, the locked door to the back opened, letting Senator Cannon out with a lovely older woman on his arm and two more ladies trailing behind. The tiniest one was spewing profanities.
“Not a single damned strip search. What’s the world coming to when a woman can’t even get a little action in the pokey?”
The tall woman sighed. “I offered you action, and you declined.”
The little one flapped her hand in the air. “I can get that action any old time.”
The tall one lifted an imperious eyebrow. “Can you?”
Miller surprised everyone by racing to his grandmother and throwing his arms around her. I could tell she was one of the most surprised, but then she quickly squeezed her eyes closed and tightened her arms around him. “I’m okay, child. No harm done,” she seemed to say before pulling back and offering him a reassuring smile. I moved a little closer so I could hear better. “It was a lot of stuff and nonsense over a simple sleigh ride.”
Senator Cannon added, “A simple sleigh ride in which the three of you hijacked the sleigh, lifted your shirts to flash a large man in a snowman costume, and caused a stampede.”
Miller’s grandmother patted her hair into place. “We were under the mistaken impression they had beads to throw,” she said with a sniff. “Never trust a six-and-a-half-foot snow beast to know what’s what.”
“Are you okay, though?” Miller demanded. “I was worried you might have gotten hurt.”
“Nothing a hot toddy and a long nap won’t cure, I’m sure,” she said with a wave of her hand before catching sight of me. “And who might this young stud be?”
I stepped forward and noticed Miller’s cheeks turn a light shade of pink. “Tilly, this is Darius Grant. He’s the owner of Honey’s, the bakery that’s been providing the sweets at the lodge.”
Tilly looked me up and down. “I see.”
I resisted the urge to fidget. “It’s nice to meet you, Tilly,” I said. “I’m happy to see you on this side of the door.”
“Thank you. And what exactly are your intentions with my grandson?”