Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 91216 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91216 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Jack’s eyes twinkle with mischief. “Nah, that was all you. But I’ll take credit for the save.” He takes hold of my hand. “But I will keep a hold of this. Just in case.”
“Just in case,” I parrot as our fingers lace together.
We continue walking, our footsteps stomping in the fresh snow. The city feels quieter than usual, muffled by the blanket of white.
“So, Ms. Scrooge,” Jack says, breaking the comfortable silence. “What’s your usual Christmas tradition? Sitting alone in a dark room, plotting against holiday cheer?”
I snort. “Close. It usually involves a bottle of wine, Chinese takeout, and binge-watching true crime documentaries.”
Jack’s eyebrows shoot up. “Wow, you weren’t kidding about the Scrooge thing. That’s . . . intense.”
I shrug. “Hey, don’t knock it till you’ve tried it. Nothing says Happy Holidays like learning about serial killers while stuffing your face with lo mein.”
Jack laughs, squeezing my hand. “All right, all right. No judgment here. But maybe you can find a middle ground between murder docs and Miracle on 34th Street?”
I groan dramatically. “Next thing you know, you’ll be asking me to hang stockings and sing carols.”
“Don’t tempt me.” He grins. “I’ve got a great singing voice. I could serenade you with ‘Baby, It’s Cold Outside’ right here on the street.”
“Please don’t,” I laugh, bumping his shoulder with mine. “I’d hate for you to become the next victim of one of my true crimes.”
Jack feigns a hurt expression. “Ouch. And here I thought I was making progress with you.”
I roll my eyes again but can’t help smiling. “You’re doing all right, I guess. But don’t push your luck.”
We round a corner, and suddenly we’re face-to-face with a massive Christmas tree in the center of a small park. It’s decked out in thousands of holiday lights, ornaments of all sizes, and a giant star on top. The sight is breathtaking, even to my Grinch-like heart.
“Wow,” I breathe, unable to hide my awe. “I haven’t seen this lit up before. I’m not usually out at night much.”
Jack’s grin widens. “See? Even the toughest nut can crack a little.”
I try to scowl at him but fail miserably. “Fine, it’s pretty. Happy now?”
“Ecstatic,” he replies, tugging me closer to the tree. “Come on, let’s get a closer look.”
As we approach, I notice a small group of carolers gathered near the base of the tree. Their harmonies float through the crisp air, and I find myself humming along despite my best efforts not to.
Jack notices, of course. “Is that ‘Silent Night’ I hear you humming?”
“Absolutely not,” I deny quickly. “I was just . . . clearing my throat.”
“Right,” he says, clearly not buying it. “Well, since you’re ‘clearing your throat,’ why don’t we join them?”
I shoot him a look of mock horror. “Join the carolers? Me? I thought you were trying to spread Christmas cheer, not traumatize innocent bystanders.”
Jack laughs, the sound warm and rich. “Come on, it’ll be fun. And I promise to sing extra loud to cover up any, uh, throat clearing you might do.”
Before I can protest further, he’s leading me toward the group. They welcome us with bright smiles and nods, barely missing a beat in their rendition of “Deck the Halls.” Jack jumps right in, his voice surprisingly melodic. I stand there awkwardly for a moment, mouth firmly shut.
But then Jack gives my hand a gentle squeeze, his eyes encouraging. And something in me softens. Maybe it’s the magical lights, or the infectious joy of the carolers, or just Jack’s unwavering enthusiasm. Whatever it is, I find myself opening my mouth and joining in, quietly at first, then with growing confidence.
We stay with the carolers for a few more songs, and I hate to admit it, but it’s . . . nice. There’s something magical about our voices blending together in the cold night air, with the magnificent tree towering above us.
As we finish “We Wish You a Merry Christmas,” Jack leans in close, his breath warm against my ear. “See? I knew you had it in you, Cindy Lou.”
I elbow him playfully. “Don’t get cocky, Fireman Jack. This doesn’t mean I’m going to start watching Hallmark movies or anything.”
“Baby steps.” He gives me a toothy grin. “But I’d say this is definitely progress.”
We bid farewell to the carolers and continue our walk toward my home, our joined hands swinging between us. The neighborhood seems different now, softer somehow. Or maybe it’s me that’s softening.
“So,” Jack says after a while. “Chinese food and true crime, huh? You know, that doesn’t sound half bad. Maybe we could do that together sometime before Christmas to get us in the spirit. It might be a better date than ice skating and more Christmas cheer in Bryant Park. What do you think?”
I nearly trip over my own feet at his suggestion. He used the word date. A date? With Jack? The idea sends a flutter through my stomach that I’m not entirely sure how to interpret.