Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 76656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
“Yeah.” Noah’s voice sounded concerned. “Visibility is terrible with this wind blowing the snow everywhere. And the roads are bad. There’s bound to be accidents tonight.”
I reached over and rubbed his leg. Because of his job, Noah knew firsthand how dangerous winter weather conditions were for drivers. “I know it’s selfish, but I’m glad you have tonight off. I wouldn’t want you out there in this.”
The drive to Cloverleigh took nearly double the time it normally did. It was close to seven when Noah pulled up to the inn’s main door and came around to the passenger side to help me to my feet. Icy wind gusts flattened my hair and snow swirled all around us as we made our way into the lobby.
“You good?” Noah said once we’d made it inside. “I’ll park and be right back.”
“I’m good.” I looked around and couldn’t help smiling. The inn at Cloverleigh Farms was always beautiful, but there was no time I liked better than Christmas. A huge fire roared in the massive stone fireplace opposite the reception desk, which was set up as a bar tonight. A towering, silvery-green Fraser fir tree dominated one corner, decorated with white lights, ribbons, berries, and ornaments in red and gold, and a shining star at the top. Beneath the tree, gifts were piled high, and carols played through the stereo system, adding to the joyful noise of laughter, conversation, and clinking plates and glasses. I inhaled, and the savory scent of my mom’s traditional Christmas Eve tenderloin mingled with the cinnamon-sweet aroma of mulling spices.
“Meg, you made it!” My mother hurried over, kissed my cheek, and helped me out of my coat. “How are you feeling?”
“Big,” I said. “But okay.” Another Braxton Hicks contraction hit me, and I grimaced through it.
My mom’s face grew worried. “You don’t look okay.”
“I’m fine. Seriously.” I rolled my eyes and rubbed my belly. “I’m just getting those phony contractions. I’ve learned not to get excited about them.”
“Meggie!” my father boomed, coming toward me with a cocktail in his hand. He pressed his lips to my forehead. “How’s my little girl?”
“She’s big as Santa Claus.”
“Let’s find you somewhere to sit,” he said.
My mom looked at my feet. “Should we take your boots off first?”
“Yeah. Noah has shoes for me in a bag. He’ll bring them in.”
She handed my coat to my dad, who hung it on a Victorian clothes tree near the door, and bent down to remove my boots. “Awful out there, isn’t it? Dad and I were so worried about you all driving here, we almost canceled. But everyone made it.”
“Good.” I put my hands on my lower back, which was aching worse than usual. Must have been the car ride.
“Come sit down.” My mom led me over to the leather couches and wide easy chairs near the fireplace, where some of my family had gathered. “Can I get you anything? Are you hungry? There’s plenty of food.””
“Not really. Even if I was, there’s no room in there for anything.” I lowered myself onto the end of one sofa with a considerable lack of grace. “But maybe some water?”
“Of course.”
“I’ll get it!” Little Winnie MacAllister popped to her feet from where she’d been sitting on the floor eating from a bowl of red and green M&M’s on the coffee table.
“Thanks, Winnie.” I smiled at her. She and her two older sisters were my “bonus nieces,” acquired when my youngest sibling, Frannie, married their dad, Mack. The other two, Millie and Felicity, were sitting opposite me on another sofa, holding their new twin sisters—seven-month-old Emmeline and Audrey—under the watchful eyes of Mack and Frannie, who stood behind them.
They weren’t the only new additions in the family. The Sawyer sisters had been popping out the next generation like it was their job in the last couple years.
My oldest sister Sylvia had a two-year-old, Steffan, with her second husband, Henry, who was the winemaker here at Cloverleigh Farms, in addition to two kids from her first marriage. I looked around and spotted teenage Whitney making sure Steffan didn’t pull any ornaments off the tree, and her younger brother Keaton eyeing all the presents. Sylvia and Henry were over by the food, which was laid out on a long rectangular table covered with a white tablecloth.
April, the second oldest, had given birth to a girl called Frankie four months ago. Her husband Tyler, a former MLB pitcher, held Frankie in one arm and a beer in the other hand as he and April chatted with my dad near the bar.
Between Frannie and me on the couch was Chloe, who had six-month-old Sawyer on her lap, feeding him a bottle. Her husband Oliver brought over a glass of wine, and she gestured for him to place it on the coffee table.
I sighed as I looked at it. “I totally thought I’d be toasting the holiday with the rest of you guys tonight. At this rate, I won’t even be able to have champagne on New Year’s Eve.”