Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 68293 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 341(@200wpm)___ 273(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68293 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 341(@200wpm)___ 273(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
“Hmm.”
Wes immediately began parsing what would and would not work, filing away the former and rejecting the latter, narrowing to a plan.
Adam said, “Wes? Are you mad?”
“Huh? No, course not.”
“Oh. You’re frowning.”
“Sorry, just thinking,” Wes said. “Where is the bus stop?”
“I’m not sure what road, exactly, but I can ask Caroline next time I see her.”
Wes nodded, already miles ahead.
“Maybe I can get a map of the bus stops from the school district. If I overlay a map of the lighting grid from the Department of Energy, I can see which stops would be in darkness starting on which day of the year, given sunrise times, then I could—”
Adam cut him off with his mouth, kissing him passionately.
Wes laughed and kissed him back.
“Too much detail?” he asked.
Adam nodded. “You’re amazing. Now shut up and kiss me.”
Wes was happy to oblige.
Chapter Nineteen
Adam
The day had started out perfectly. Adam had woken in Wes’ arms with Wes nuzzling his neck, then Wes had slid beneath the covers, pressed kisses to the sensitive skin of his inner thighs, and then brought Adam to transcendent orgasm, light bursting behind his eyes and shock waves of pleasure rolling over his whole body.
Matheson’s Hardware was cheerily busy all day, customers buying tools and fixings to hang decorations and searching for the perfect aid for their last-minute holiday projects.
Rye had even come in to help out for the day, though he mostly seemed to swear at the cash register as it jammed or spat out long scrolls of tape. During one lunchtime lull, he regaled Adam and a customer with the tale of his own failed DIY, which he’d meant to be a laptop desk for Charlie, but which had turned out a hunched and mangled hunk of wood so covered in glue that Charlie deemed it unsafe even to burn in effigy.
Adam was laughing at this when Charlie came out of the office and gave him a questioning look. Rye simply said mournfully, “Laptop desk. RIP,” and Charlie snorted and pulled Rye against his side in a tight hug.
As he drove home, Adam got a text from Wes that said, You’re so lovely. Thanks for liking me, and was moved to tears. How very like Wes to thank him for that.
At a stoplight he texted back a string of heart emojis, and sighed happily, turning the radio to a station playing Christmas music. He’d even had an idea for Gus’ Christmas gift. His heart was very, very full.
He was trying (and failing for the thousandth time) to whistle a Christmas carol as he walked in the front door, planning what to make for dinner and wondering if Wes would want to come over again tonight.
Shoes off, Adam paused. The house was oddly silent. Usually when he got home from work, the television was on or Gus was laughing or River was talking. But now, nothing.
“Hello?”
River came into the living room, looking drawn, and Adam’s heart felt like it leapt to his throat.
“What is it, what’s wrong, what happened?”
River squeezed his arm.
“She’s fine,” they said immediately. “She’s just...uhh.”
Adam pulled River down on the couch, his entire being desperate to hear what had happened.
If one of those little shits hurt my baby I will rend them limb from limb!
But before River could explain, Adam’s phone rang. It was Gus’ school. He showed the screen to River, whose eyes went wide.
“Yeah, yeah, get it. I’ll see you later.”
They waved and were out the door.
Adam answered the phone, a pit forming in his stomach as he listened to the principal.
“Mr. Mills, August is a delightful child. She’s engaged and curious, and quite an, er, critical thinker. It’s the last of these that I need to talk with you about. I’ve had multiple calls from parents about an incident that transpired today with August. It would seem she made an announcement on the playground during recess that Santa Claus does not exist.”
Oh, Gus.
“She was quite insistent about it, even after it clearly upset several of the other children. Now,” Mrs. Gordon said gently, “Of course it is up to each family what they teach their children, but as I’m sure you’re aware, the timing of the Santa-isn’t-real discussion is something that most parents want to choose for themselves.”
Adam pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache threatening.
“Gosh, I’m really sorry. I get that, of course. I’m not sure what I can do, though,” he said honestly.
The loud sigh on the other end of the call rather suggested that Mrs. Gordon also didn’t know what there was to be done.
“Perhaps a conversation with August about which are at-home conversations and which are at-school conversations.”
Adam rubbed deeply into the spot between his eyebrows.
“Yeah, I can do that,” he said. “But Gus is eight. Eight-year-olds are gonna say what they’re gonna say, and there really doesn’t seem to be a power on earth that can stop them. I’ve tried. I’m sure there were plenty of kids saying that Santa does exist. So...”