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 lands on the hot griddle with a sizzle. “See?”
He gives an approving nod. “I stand corrected.” Then he chuckles. “Also, flippability? Is that a new thing?”
“It’s definitely a thing,” she says.
“Let me guess—it’s a thing you saw online when you were watching videos on pancake making?”
“Are you saying the only place I learn anything new is from videos?” she retorts as she gently presses one pancake on the griddle, then does the same to another.
“I don’t think I was suggesting it. Pretty sure I was simply stating the truth,” he says, dryly. I love that he’s a little sassy with her, just like she is with him.
“I learn a lot of things online. I learned about how to make pancakes and how to make Christmas ornaments. About how to live on a houseboat, or in a tiny house, or in a tent.”
As he stirs more batter, he tilts his head, looking at her with a hint of real concern. “Does this mean you don’t like our home?”
My hand flies to my chest. He’s so full of dad angst at the moment, and it’s adorable and unexpected. This morning, he was commanding, bossy, and outrageously hot as he wrung orgasms from me and told me to get him off. Now, he’s human again, and it’s a wonderful sight.
“Dad, of course I do,” she says warmly, then wraps an arm around his waist. “I love where Penguin, you, and I live. I just like to see what the world is like. To check out different places.”
“You’re a true learner,” he says.
“Just like you.”
And I feel like a true snoop. I’ve been enjoying this sweet moment far too much. I should make my presence known.
I take a step from the hallway into the kitchen, clear my throat, and say, “Hi there.”
Wilder spins around, and my chest squeezes. His apron is red with Santa hats across the bib over the words Santa’s Official Cookie Taster. When his green eyes meet mine, they flash with filthy memories of early-morning trysts.
Mac turns her gaze toward me then waves her spatula my way. “Want some of the world’s best pancakes?”
“Does Santa come down the chimney? Is hot cocoa life? Are Christmas cookies the best food ever? Yes, yes I do. I love pancakes,” I say.
“Of course you do,” Wilder says, the corner of his lips tipping into a grin. “You have excellent…taste.”
Oh yes, his smile is full of…secrets between us. I’m pretty sure this dirty, dominating man is full of innuendo this morning, but I’d like to think he’s saying I have great taste in fake boyfriends.
Because I do. Wilder Blaine is sexy as sin, including in the morning with his messy hair and fleece Henley under that apron. His stubble is thicker than usual. He probably didn’t shave today, and I don’t mind the beard-ier look.
I close the distance between us and head toward the cupboards. “How about I grab some plates and set the table? Or really, the counter. I don’t want to get in the way though. I hear there’s a big flippability debate going on,” I tease, as I reach for three red plates with snowflake trim. Then, because I don’t want him to think I was spying, but rather to know I was, I admit, “I kind of overheard you two.”
Wilder arches a playful brow. “Kind of overheard?”
Busted.
“Fine. I definitely overheard since I listened to some of your pancake debate and also the tiny house one.”
“I should show you these tiny houses. They’re so cool, Fable,” Mac says, enthused as she slides several golden-brown pancakes from the griddle onto a serving plate while I grab utensils. I head to the counter and set napkins, forks, and knives down.
“But houseboats are amazing too,” Mac continues. “And did you know that some people have really remote cabins up in the snowy mountains and heat them with woodstoves? I’m not sure I’d want to live that far away from town.”
“I don’t think I would either,” I admit as Mac turns around, giving me a glimpse of her apron for the first time. There’s a drawing of a whisk on it, captioned, We Whisk You a Merry Christmas. “Nice apron.”
“Thanks. I found these two here last time we visited, and I hid them for us for this year,” she says, conspiratorially.
Wilder chides her, “Mac.”
“What’s wrong with that?” she asks.
“These cabins are available for others to rent,” Wilder explains. “What if the guests needed them?”
But I’m more interested in where she hid them. “Where were they all year?”
Mac smiles impishly, then points to a cabinet. “At the bottom of the kitchen towel drawer. So really they were hidden in plain sight.”
“So they weren’t entirely hidden then,” I say, sitting down at the counter.
“Exactly,” Mac says, then pauses, clearly thinking, before she adds, “But if you think about it, a lot of things are hidden in plain sight.”