Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 92743 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92743 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
“But if that hadn’t happened,” she says, “we might not have happened. And I’m really glad we happened.”
“Me, too,” I say, relief making my entire body feel lighter than it has in days. “I’ll cancel the flight and maybe I can take you to dinner? Since we don’t have to hide anymore?”
Her lips hook up on one side. “Or I could come with you.” She nods toward our bags. “That’s why I brought a suitcase. In case you decided you wanted company.”
Heart soaring, I nod. “Yeah, I’d like some company. I’d love it, actually.”
And I do.
I love her all the way to New York and during the cab ride to my apartment in the East Village. I love her through our takeout meal on my terrace and the tour of my place, and then I love her in my bed, showing her with every kiss, every touch, how much she means to me.
She’s the most precious thing I’ve ever had entrusted into my care and for the next several weeks, I bust my ass to prove it.
By the time we return so Sea Breeze to celebrate Christmas with her family, we’re so close, I can read her mind without her having to say a word.
“Don’t worry,” I say as I park the rental car behind her spot in the garage. “If things get tense, I’ll fake a headache and wait for you in your apartment.”
She shakes her head. “No. No way. If things get tense, we’ll both leave. They don’t get to scare you away. If they want me around, they have to be nice to my boyfriend.”
Her boyfriend…
I plan on being more than her boyfriend before this week is through. The ring is burning a hole in my coat pocket, but it isn’t time for that yet, not until we clear this final hurdle. If we can make it through a holiday celebration with her family—half of whom still think I’m the Antichrist—then we’ll have proven we can make it through anything.
“All right,” she says, pressing a quick kiss to my lips. “Let’s go, Mr. Fancy.”
We’re barely out of the car before the door flies open and her grandfather appears, silhouetted against the glowing lights inside. “Get in here, you two! Before you freeze your asses off. It’s bitter out there.”
“And we have hot toddies,” a cheerful voice bubbles from behind him in the kitchen.
As we step inside, I see that it’s Mia, his former nurse, dressed in a red sweater with a reindeer on the front and a matching pair of jingle bell antlers on her head. I arch a brow Sully’s way and she gives a little shake of her head as she smiles. Apparently, she had no idea Gramps and Mia were family-Christmas-party level friends, either.
“Hey there, Weaver, welcome,” Gramps says, giving my hand a firm shake as he closes the door behind us. “Let me take your coats and you two grab a drink. We’re about to start the trivia.”
“I’m going to win,” Cathy calls from the living room, where half a dozen Sullivans are gathered around the fire. “I always win, so don’t feel bad, Weaver. I’ve got a brain for facts.”
“You’ve got a brain for nonsense,” an older man I’m guessing is her husband says from beside her, laughing when she smacks him on the leg.
“Bring me a beer before you start and say hi, will ya, Gert?” calls a feminine voice from upstairs. “I’m still wrapping the kids’ presents. I’ve got to keep going or there’s no way I’ll be done before Blake drops them off for dinner. We’re doing our presents tonight and Santa at my mom’s tomorrow.”
Sully casts a glance my way, ensuring I’m okay to go it alone while she delivers the drink. When I nod, she calls back. “Okay, what do you want Henna? A lager or a pale ale?”
“Pale ale,” Henna shouts. “And a peppermint cookie please.”
Sully pulls a face, whispering, “Beer and peppermint? Gross,” before snatching the beer from the ice bucket on the kitchen island and pressing a kiss to her grandfather’s cheek. “Be good, Gramps. This is the man I love.”
“I know, I know,” he says, chuckling as she goes. When she disappears up the stairs he turns back to me, adding in a softer voice, “She doesn’t need to worry. You’ve done good since you two left, kid. She’s happy and so excited about that show you helped her land at the gallery. We’re all taking the train down in February to see it.”
“She landed it all on her own,” I say. “I just made the introduction. She’s the one with the talent.”
Gramps beams. “She does have talent. I think she got it from me. I wasn’t a bad artist when I was young. I always drew the girls my air force buddies had tattooed on their biceps while we were deployed.”