Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 83718 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83718 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
I swallow. “I’m sorry.”
“It was no one’s fault but mine. I thought I was so noble to walk away, and all I did was hurt us both.” She squeezes her bare ring finger in a way that makes me wonder if she once wore a piece of jewelry there. Or if she only wanted to. “I can’t take that back.”
“That video is an embarrassment to the whole family,” I say softly. “You’re all so important to this community and so rock solid, but I’ve come along and tarnished that. I’m not being petty. This stuff is awful, and I don’t want it to affect you guys.”
She shrugs. “What about letting us decide if we’re embarrassed?”
“Aren’t you?”
Her grin stretches across her beautiful face and shows all her straight white teeth. “Nah. But I work out with Austin’s mom sometimes, so I gave her a call this morning. She was so pissed at him—embarrassed that he’d post such a thing—that she shut down his social media and took away his phone and car. He deserves worse, but it’s a start.”
“Thank you, Shay.” I pick up my beer, then put it back down before I take a drink. I’m not foolish enough to think that means the video is gone forever, but it feels good to know Austin’s not getting away with it.
“Are you still doing Christmas morning at Brayden’s?”
This time I do take a drink. “If he’ll let me, I’d like to.” I take another sip and sigh. “For Noah, and because Brayden made him a promise that’s important to them both.”
“Then Christmas at the family cabin after?” she asks. “It’s a blast. We do a Nerf gun fight and stuff ourselves. Between Nic and Jake’s cooking, it’s the culinary event of the year.”
“I have no doubt.” I look up from my beer, search my friend’s eyes, and only see sincerity there. “It feels selfish to show up to your family Christmas.”
She shrugs. “So be selfish.”
The waitress returns with our food, and Teagan emerges from the hallway and slides into her spot next to Shay.
I poke at my salad and recall what Brayden told me about Sara. She left because she thought it was the best thing for him, but he said he wanted to be loved enough that she’d dare to be selfish. Isn’t that what he said about his feelings for me, too? That he was selfish when it came to me? I wonder if he might ever wish I was selfish enough to hold on to him.
When I think of the Instagram video, I know I don’t deserve to ask any such thing, but the selfish devil on my shoulder folds her arms and tells me I should ask anyway.
Brayden
Molly: Are you okay with Noah and I coming back to the house tonight and staying until after Christmas? I understand if you’d rather we didn’t, but I want to leave that choice to you.
The text is a kick in the nuts. On the one hand, she’s going to let me fulfill my promise to her son. On the other hand, there’s nothing in that text that makes me believe she didn’t mean it when she broke things off last night. But at least if she’s here, I’ll have a chance to speak to her.
Me: You and Noah are always welcome here. Thank you for letting me make good on my promise.
I have to run around town finishing my Christmas shopping Sunday evening, but when I get home, Molly and Noah are back, and it looks like a bag of flour has exploded in my kitchen.
“You have to roll it flat, remember?” Molly tells Noah. She has flour on her nose, her cheeks, and even smeared across her red Rudolph T-shirt. My steps falter. She looks like she belongs here, like she’s home, and today is only one of many days she’ll spend making cookies with Noah in this kitchen.
This is happiness for her—spending time with her son, making a mess and laughing—and the joy it brings her is so bright that it outshines the lights on the tree in the family room and fills the room more than the Christmas music playing on the stereo.
I swallow back the lump of emotion in my throat. “It smells amazing in here.”
When she lifts her eyes to meet mine, the smile she was giving Noah is replaced by a cautious one. “Sorry about the mess.”
I shake my head, surveying their progress. A dozen sugar cookies cut in various Christmas shapes fill the cooling rack, and a fresh cookie sheet is half filled with another batch. “It smells delicious. Noah must be making me dinner.”
Noah’s eyes flash to mine, and he releases a delighted screech. “You can’t eat cookies for dinner!” His eyes widen as he turns to his mom and lowers his voice. “Can we?”