Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 133682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 535(@250wpm)___ 446(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 535(@250wpm)___ 446(@300wpm)
“It’s her only flaw.”
We take a moment to survey the other Christmas trees as the judges wander around checking each one, but something catches my attention at the eggnog stand once more. I jerk my gaze back over to the commotion.
The bride-to-be is clasping a hand over her mouth, like she’s shocked as she looks down at Brady, who’s kneeling on the snow. Looks like he was tying his boot. Only now, his head is covered in eggnog. “I’m so sorry,” my sister says loudly, holding an empty cup, like she’s so terribly contrite for her clumsiness.
I fight off a smile as I tug Wilder’s hand and we rush over to get a better look at the scene.
“I’m so very sorry,” she says again but I don’t detect an apologetic note in her voice.
“It’s fine,” Brady mutters, but there’s a hitch in his voice. Poor guy. He always did love his hair.
Wilder peers down at my ex. “Same, Brady. But good thing you and Iris are really, really good at cleaning up eggnog messes.”
Brady gulps, his eyes widening. Oh shit seems to flash in them.
Charlotte lifts her chin at her groom’s cousin, shooting death stares at him. “I bet you are.” She walks off to join the groom, who I suspect is none the wiser that his bride just delivered some unexpected payback for me.
A second later, Mac joins us empty-handed. “I lost my appetite for eggnog.”
“Perfect,” I mouth to Wilder.
And so is the end of this afternoon, since a little later the three of us win and come together in a group hug.
The theme of the tree-decorating competition sticks with me later that evening when we’re back in our cabin. Wilder’s lounging on the couch, listening to a podcast, while I gather up the red and green glitter dick T-shirts I brought so I can head to Charlotte’s cabin for a little bachelorette party. All of my best friends are here, and I’m lucky like that—to be surrounded by people who make me feel like I’m home.
An idea starts to form as I drop the shirts in a bag, but my focus turns elsewhere when Wilder sits ramrod straight and stares at his phone, then me. He whispers cautiously, “It’s a text. From my dad.”
“What did he say?” I ask desperately as Wilder hits stop on the podcast.
His eyes are sad, but his lips curve up slightly. “He says he’s sorry to worry me. And that he’s okay.” He pauses, then adds, “And that’s all.”
“Maybe it’s enough?” I sit down with him on the couch, setting a hand on his shoulder.
“Maybe.”
I don’t know if Wilder feels reassured from the text, but he covers my hand with his and says, “Thank you.”
“Anytime,” I say, meaning it in a whole new way, hoping to find the courage to tell him sometime soon how I feel.
I glance at the time. I should go and meet my friends, but the idea is crystallizing. Today, I felt like I was home for the holidays, but what about people like his father, whether it’s from their own doing or not, who don’t have this warm, cozy embrace of family and home at this time of year? What about children and families who don’t have all…this? Chalets and lights, seven-layer bars and movie evenings? Those who are fighting just to keep the lights on rather than to decorate with them?
“Wilder?” I begin.
“Yes?”
“What if we make some time tomorrow to wrap presents for kids who don’t have them? To buy and to wrap,” I clarify.
His smile is warm. “Let’s do that. I’ll find a local organization and set something up.”
That’s so very him to jump right in.
Wilder joins Mac and her friends and cousins along with his sister for a movie while Charlotte and I catch up with our girlfriends. We wear the glitter dick T-shirts, pour champagne, and indulge in the most fantastic charcuterie board that Josie has put together. It’s low-key by bachelorette party standards but that’s what Charlotte wanted—just some time with friends before her big day in two more nights.
We toast several times and when it’s my turn I lift my flute high. “To the eggnog spiller. She is the queen!”
Everyone clinks and says, “Long may she reign!”
Charlotte’s eyes fill with pride and happiness. “I swear it was an accident.”
Josie nods, exaggerated. “Say that in court. You nailed it.”
“I will,” Charlotte says, then lifts a glass my way. “A toast to my sister who means the world to me. And who’s helped make this holiday into the best Christmas ever.”
That’s what I’ve always wanted for her. I pull her into a hug, grateful I told her the truth the first night here, and grateful, too, for all these new Christmas memories that we’re making.
The party winds down around eleven, and I return to the honeymoon cabin, looking around at the fireplace, the twinkling tree, and the sleigh bed. It’s just me in this quiet suite. Wilder’s not here, but a text on my phone says he’s having a scotch out on the deck with Leo and will be back soon.