Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 122216 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 611(@200wpm)___ 489(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122216 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 611(@200wpm)___ 489(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
He smiles again. I want to smack that expression off his face. I strum my fingers on the table, waiting for his response. He seems to be putting a lot of thought into his answer. I lift an eyebrow at him to let him know that I’m impatiently waiting.
“How about we get to know each other a little better? Let’s say over the next two weeks that I’ll give you a few boxes every time we do something together.” My face drops when I realize what he’s suggesting.
“But then my house won’t be done for two weeks.” I look down at my hands in my lap, my fingers wringing together.
“You win.” He sighs.
My head snaps up.
“I’ll loan you the lights.”
“Loan them to me?” Hope blooms in my chest.
“Yes, loan them. Just stop making that sad face.” He reaches over the table and brushes his thumb across my bottom lip.
I sit there shocked by the action.
“Your pout is adorable but it’s also effective.”
I want to tell him I wasn't pouting but maybe I was. “I’ll help you put the lights up, but if you miss one day over the next two weeks, I’ll be coming over to take them back.”
“Every day?” I exclaim.
Everyone in the restaurant turns to look our way.
I slip down in my seat and put a hand to my face to hide from the attention. “You didn't even know I lived across the street. Now you want to hang out with me?” Damn it. Why can’t I let that go? I want people to not notice me, but not too much. Is that so hard?
“Deal?” he asks, ignoring my question.
The server comes back, setting our food down and asking if we want anything else. I shake my head no.
“Angel?”
“Whatever,” I mumble and pick up my fork. He wants to hang out with me every day, fine.
He doesn't know what he’s in for. No one really does when it comes to me. I’m shocked Laura still comes around, but she’s weird herself, so we work. I don’t think Satan Claus knows what he’s signing up for.
“Say it, angel.”
I should tell him to stop calling me that, but I don’t. I like it too much, but he doesn't have to know that. I’ve never had someone give me a nickname before. Unless you count the ones about me being weird. My mother always made sure to call me that.
“Deal.” I give in. I need those lights.
He smiles at his victory. I still don’t get why he wants to spend two weeks with me, but whatever. I’m in this to win it. This is just a minor setback, but it will get me closer to my end goal.
“Stop pouting and eat.”
I pick up my fork—not because he told me to and not because his bossiness does something funny to my insides, but because I’m hungry. At least that’s what I’m going to keep telling myself.
7
BRENDAN
The ladder stays firmly put as I lean over and fasten the last strand of icicle lights to her leaf gutters.
“Umm, the two left ones are too close. The wire isn’t tight enough.” She frets below me, her exacting gaze on the offending icicles.
I lean farther and make sure they’re evenly spaced. “Better?”
She nods, the green fluffy ball on the top of her knit cap waving. “That’s perfect.”
Climbing down, I stand next to her and look up at the lights. “These look great.”
“They really do.” She smiles. Actually smiles. And I have to fight myself to keep from pulling her into my arms.
A chilly breeze blows by, and I step closer to her.
“Don’t think this means we’re friends.” She crosses her arms, the smile fading, but not completely.
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” I expect us to be much more than friends.
“Now you can go back to your place.” She makes a brushing motion with her hands. “I can handle the rest of it.”
“I’m happy to help.” I walk up her front porch to her door and grip the handle. “But you’re looking cold. How about we go inside—”
“Hey!” She hurries up to me and smacks the back of my hand. “You aren’t allowed in my house. That wasn’t part of our agreement.”
I sigh. “Angel, you’re going to freeze out here.”
“I’m fine. If you’re cold, go home.”
I try a different tack. “Wow, you don’t have a wreath up.” I make a show of shaking my head at the door.
“I did.” She eyes me angrily.
“No wreath.” I point across the street at the fresh fir greenery on my door. “Mine’s up, though. I guess that’s good enough for the both of us.”
That breaks her. She pushes past me, opens the door, and stomps inside. “I have a wreath. I had to fix it.” She keeps going and turns right into her dining room.
I follow and close the door behind me, shutting out the chill. Her house is neat, the living room comfortable with a low fire burning. My house has a similar layout, so I already feel at home. Striding into the kitchen, I admire the cute little Christmas display around her sink window. Snowmen and Santas smile back at me.