Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 76780 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76780 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
“Don’t you think that’s cheating?”
“His is the best.”
“You made it.”
“Hence why it’s the best.”
“If I vote for it, I’m breaking the rules.”
“Since when do you care about rules.” He flashes me a cute grin. “Come on. You need to see what we did.”
Our fingers thread together as we walk. The wind isn’t insane today, so we can actually enjoy the breathtaking view. It’s been a long time since I’ve been in Brigs Ferry Bay at Christmastime. I forgot how charming this place could be.
We reach the front of Jarrett’s antique store and admire the wreath Callan made. Brie’s and Cato’s is corny with a mix of dog, cat, and police ornaments, while Callan’s is pure art. His wreath is made of wicker and painted in varying shades of brown to look weathered and vintage. He’s woven in red velvet ribbon and tied on antique-looking bulbs.
“I made these,” he says, pointing to one of the bulbs that looks like it’s straight from the 60s. “Just bought regular bulbs at the grocery store but then made them look aged.”
His talent shouldn’t surprise me, but it always does. He’s incredibly gifted. I’m not sure what exactly he wants to do with his abilities at this point, yet I know when he finally decides, he’ll be the best at it.
“I might vote for the donut shop wreath,” I tease. “I mean. They had donuts on there. Real ones.”
Callan scoffs. “The birds have been eating them. It’s a disaster. No. You’re not voting for that nightmare wreath.”
“Shelly’s is pretty awesome,” I say with a grin.
He glowers at me. “She bought it at Granger’s. It’s not even handmade!”
I love riling him up.
Clutching onto his throat, I press my thumb into his jaw, tilting his head up so I can see his pretty face. “You could convince me yours is the best.”
He licks his lips that are too damn inviting. “Yeah? And how should I do that?”
“From your knees. Beg me.”
“Here?”
As much as I’d love to fuck his sexy mouth on the sidewalk in the middle of the day, I refrain. I’m not ashamed to walk with him on my arm or kiss him in public, but I think an indecent exposure charge might stick. I’ve barely dodged the last bullet. Not looking to get my ass in trouble again.
“Home.” I press my lips to his cold ones. “Let’s go home, and I’ll let you beg until it’s time to have dinner with your family.”
Sparkles purrs loud enough to be heard over Mariah Carey’s “All I Want for Christmas is You.” That cat loves his new bed we bought him. His tail flops lazily as the fireplace warms his back, and he watches us open our gifts.
A sudden rush of gratitude and happiness punches me in the gut. It only deepens when my gaze finds Callan again. He’s changed into one of my T-shirts that’s way too big for him and has on a pair of my thick socks from Bean’s. It’s the most boring outfit I’ve ever seen him wear, yet he’s never looked so goddamn hot.
He’s marveling over a set of colored pencils I bought for him. I had to scour the internet for them. Cost me a pretty penny to have them shipped overnight from New York, too. They’re high-end and not something you can get from a local craft store. I’m excited to see what he’ll draw with them.
“Aren’t you going to open your present?” he asks, a devious smirk on his face. I was with him when he bought it. Kind of corny, but I love that about him. With a roll of my eyes, I pick up his gift. Slowly, I tear the tissue paper out and pull out the coffee mug he bought at Granger’s one day while we were there.
ANTIHERO JUICE.
“I prefer villain,” I tease.
“You’re sometimes heroic. Maybe about twelve percent of the time. Villains are only heroic about one percent of the time.”
“Ha-ha,” I deadpan.
“Look inside.”
I tilt the mug, expecting candy or something. Instead, it’s a card. Confused, I pluck it out. The first thing I realize is it’s Callan’s face grinning back at me. The second thing I notice is that it’s a driver’s license.
“Holy shit,” I blurt out. “When?”
“This week. When I told you I was having lunch with Shelly. It was the truth, but we also went by the DMV as well. Passed on my first try.” He beams proudly at me. “I wanted it to be a surprise.”
“Come here,” I growl, setting the ID and mug on the table beside me. “I need to kiss you.”
He stands up and prances my way. When he’s close, I grab his hand, yanking him into my lap. His legs straddle mine as his fingers find their way to my hair.
“I’m so proud of you,” I tell him. “I guess you can drive my truck legally now.”