Total pages in book: 31
Estimated words: 29000 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 145(@200wpm)___ 116(@250wpm)___ 97(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29000 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 145(@200wpm)___ 116(@250wpm)___ 97(@300wpm)
He was going to kiss me! I know he was.
Yes, I have a vivid fantasy life, but the smolder in Luke’s eyes wasn’t a figment of my imagination. I was legitimately seconds away from full-on lip lock with my first—and maybe only—crush. I probably had a crush on Perry, my ex, in high school, before we got married, but I’ve blocked that out. I’ve blocked out most of our relationship. Not because it was bad, per se, but because it was so…not what I’d hoped it would be.
I wanted lifelong romance with my best friend. Instead, I got a roommate situation with a tall, dark, and grouchy guy who never outgrew playing video games all weekend while I cleaned the house. The only good part about Perry is that he was too stoned to get too upset when we split. He went along with a peaceful divorce, gave me full custody of our cat, Geppetto, and I’ve been single for seven years.
Seven long years without so much as a steamy make out session with a beefy local lumberjack to keep my hope in romance alive. All the lumberjacks are either married or old enough to be my father and I don’t spend nearly enough time in the woods to run into them anyway.
Seven years is a very long time to go without mouth to mouth felicitations.
I want to take Andy aside and remind him just how long it’s been since I’ve been kissed. But I don’t speak chipmunk, and I know this one well enough to realize that once food enters the picture he can’t be reasoned with.
Shooing him away from the mixing bowl, I dump the batter into the trash bin at the end of the prep table and turn back to Luke.
“You’re in luck,” I say. “Thank your lucky chipmunk you don’t have to do a salt taste test. Though we will have to thoroughly sanitize the bowl. I didn’t bring another.”
“Exactly why is there a chipmunk in the town hall basement swiping dog biscuit dough?”
“Andy’s an old friend. He follows me around in the winter begging for nuts.” I shrug, a little sheepishly. “I usually give in.”
“Hence the following and begging,” Luke says dryly.
“It’s a vicious cycle, but what can you do when he’s so freaking cute? And chipmunks live longer in captivity with a little help from humans than they do in the wild, so I don’t feel guilty.” I reach for the zipper at the front of my reindeer costume. Andy lets out an excited squawk and leaps onto my arm.
“Watch out!” Luke lurches forward, clearly ready to defend me from death by chipmunk—be still my heart—but I wave him off.
“It’s okay. He’s not going to hurt me. He’s just hungry.” Pulling a peanut out of my bra, I hold it out to Andy.
Luke’s brows shoot up.
“This costume doesn’t have pockets,” I explain, then arch a brow. “Where do you keep your nuts?”
Probably wisely, he ignores that last question.
“So, you’re feeding a rabid chipmunk peanuts from your cleavage. This is a thing you do often enough for him to anticipate it?”
“I just told you. No pockets. And he’s not rabid. Don’t go spreading ugly rumors, bucko.”
Andy takes the nut, jumps back onto the table, and stands up on his hind legs, his little body twitching with delight. He gnaws at a corner of the shell with an adorable little nibble.
I sigh. “I know I need to make sure I’m not overfeeding him—he shouldn’t get too much salt—but I struggle with boundaries.”
“I’m not sure what’s more extraordinary in that statement. That you’re concerned about the sodium intake of a rodent or that you thought I needed to be informed of your boundary struggles. Even in my limited experience, it’s clear you blast past all boundaries with a flash of that adorable smile.”
He thought my smile was adorable? I find myself a lot like Andy—quivering with excitement. “Aw,” I say. “Thanks, Luke.”
“That wasn’t a compliment. Is there residual pot from Gina Jorgensen’s son in this kitchen?” he asks, eyeing Andy skeptically. “This feels like a hallucination.”
Unconcerned, I reach into my costume again.
“What are you going to pull out of your bra next? A banana? Is a monkey suddenly going to appear?”
I grin. I would give anything to actually have a banana in my bra, but sadly that joke will have to wait for another time. “You’re a little dramatic,” I point out, instead, passing a second nut over to Andy. “I just love animals and want to have snacks on hand. Always have, even before I started working as a pet photographer.”
“I do seem to recall you wanting to save the worms in every puddle after every summer storm.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “Pet photography makes sense as a career choice. But thanks to a certain greedy chipmunk, we’re now short of supplies for your treats. We’re clearly in a pickle, Holly Jo.”