Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 67831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
He would be tall, with an easy smile, dark eyes, and messy brown hair that fell over his forehead just so. He’d be jaded, but with a secretly tender heart. He’d love adventures as much as I did and have a quick wit like Flynn Rider from Tangled—my favorite animated film—with an equally quick temper, only I could calm.
I don’t know why I thought it was romantic for men to be cranky, but let’s blame the patriarchy. If you drill down far enough, the patriarchy is to blame for most things.
But it isn’t responsible for the web of lies I’m currently trapped in.
That’s all on me.
But at least I’m trapped with my childhood dream guy, right down to those clever eyes, and a deep voice that holds a hint of sarcasm as he asks, “Candy, I presume?”
My brows shoot up. “Caroline, actually. Only people from my hometown call me Candy.”
He makes a thoughtful sound low in his throat. “So, the man in flannel who ran by calling for Candy is…a friend from home?”
“My boyfriend.” I hate telling this delicious man that I’m taken, and I hate myself for feeling that way even more.
Chris is an incredible guy! But is he the guy for me? I’ve been having doubts about that for a while now.
Doubts that are getting stronger with every passing second…
I want to kiss this stranger more than I’ve ever wanted to kiss Bobby Christmas Williams, which is probably proof that I’m a terrible human being.
“I told him I was going to my aunt Theresa’s house for a few days,” I continue. “I knew if I said I was going to the city, he’d insist on coming along to protect me.”
“But you didn’t want protection,” Mr. Sexy says, a statement, not a question.
I shake my head. “No. I went to NYU. I lived in the city for four years. I know my way around. But I made the mistake of telling Chris about the time I was mugged in the Bowery my freshman year.” I sigh. “Now he thinks New York is filled with thugs with knives who steal coeds’ backpacks. So…I lied. I was trying to spare him worry and time away from the farm. I had no idea he’d be at the convention selling trees.”
The stranger frowns. “He’s a Christmas tree farmer?”
“Oh yeah. Hardcore. Third generation. His full name is Bobby Christmas Williams, but he goes by Chris,” I say, laughing when the stranger’s frown becomes a “just sucked a lemon dry” face. But even with lemon face, he’s still ridiculously good-looking. “I know. It’s awful. But we live in Reindeer Corners, Vermont so…not totally out of left field. The entire place is Christmas crazy.”
“Interesting,” he murmurs, nodding thoughtfully. “And you work at a hotel there?”
My eyes widen, but then I remember I’m at a hotelier’s conference and he probably isn’t a mind reader, after all. Duh, Caroline. “Yes. At the Reindeer Corners Inn. For over a decade now. Are you in the industry?”
“No, I’m a producer for a reality show shooting in the city right now,” he says. “My assistant and I are here to recruit a last-minute contestant for Innkeeping with You: Holiday Games Edition. It’s a hospitality-themed competition we’re shopping to the Realer than Real channel. The winner gets one hundred thousand dollars to put toward upgrading their current inn or opening something new.” His tone grows more pointed as he adds, “Say, a place with fewer Christmas sweaters and more decorating options? If a person were tired of that sort of thing?”
My lips part, my heart beating faster as I realize where he’s headed with this. “You don’t mean…” He nods, and I exhale a soft laugh. “Really? Me? In your show? But you don’t know anything about me.”
“I know you’re a small-town girl with years of innkeeping experience. You seem sweet and well-spoken. And you’re beautiful, so you’ll look amazing on camera. What else do I need to know?” His brows shift closer together. “You aren’t a felon, are you? Or keeping dark secrets you wouldn’t want to get out if the show becomes popular and reporters dig into your backstory?”
“No, I’m not a felon and no secrets,” I say, sort of wishing I did have a dark secret. Or at least a secret of some kind, aside from the fact that I’m in New York when I told my boyfriend I’d be at my aunt’s house. But I don’t, so I shrug. “Sadly, I’m very boring.”
“That isn’t sad. Boring is underrated. At least it means nothing bad is happening.”
I tip my head to one side in acknowledgement of that pearl of wisdom. Sexy and damaged enough to be grateful for the simple things in life.
Be still my heart…
“But I seriously doubt you’re boring,” he continues. “You had my interest from the moment I saw you, even before you crawled into an igloo.” He smiles, and I’m suddenly warm all over for the first time since I got off the train in the windswept city. “Would you like to hear more about the project? See if it might be something you’d be interested in being a part of?”