Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 80969 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80969 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
“New Braunfels.”
“And where’s New Braunfels?”
A smile touches the edge of his lips. Not a full-on smile, but still the first time that I’ve seen his mouth resemble anything close.
He did laugh last night. Not that I saw that. Only heard it. And it was at my expense.
I notice he has nice lips. Lower lip is slightly fuller than the top.
“It’s a thirty-minute drive from here.”
And my little shred of hope disappears. “Oh.” Well, that’s out then because I still haven’t invested in a car. I really don’t want to use the money I took from Neil. I want to pay for it with my earnings from the diner, and so far, I’m nowhere near getting one, especially not with the money I had to pay out for Buddy’s vet bill. “Do they maybe deliver?” I guess I could call up and say what size tree I wanted. Then, I could pick up some decorations from town while I wait for it to come.
He shakes his head.
My lips turn down a little. “Oh. Well, never mind.” I force myself to perk up. “A rubbish tree is better than no tree. Right?”
“Not really. It’s just a waste of money.”
Well, thanks for that, River.
So damn honest. It’s annoying.
“Well, it’s my only option. So, I’m going with it and making the best of it.”
The look on his face … it’s like he’s looking at a brand-new species. Something he’s never seen before.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” The words are out before I can stop them.
Surprise flickers across his countenance. But it’s gone as quickly as it arrived.
“Because you’re so fucking odd.”
Well … okay. Guess I asked for that.
He shifts on his feet and shoves his hands in his jeans pockets. “Look … Red, I’m heading out to Thistleberry Farm later. I have something to drop off there. I can take you with me.”
That brightens me up.
He’s being nice again. Mean one second. Nice the next.
It’s whiplash city with this guy.
And I do really want to take him up on his offer. But I don’t want to impose. I’ve done that once already—the night he took me and Buddy to the vet. Well, twice, if you count last night. Although his truck wasn’t involved in that. Just penises. Well, one penis—his—this garden fork, and my ridiculous pajamas.
Why am I thinking about it again?
Because, now, I’m looking at it again. Well, the bulge in his jeans.
Christ almighty.
Pregnancy hormones are wreaking havoc on me.
I blink my eyes away and up. “Are you sure?” I brush my hair behind my ear. “I don’t want to put you to any trouble.”
“Wouldn’t offer if I wasn’t.” He’s already backing away from me. “Look, take the mutt for his walk, and when you get back, we can head out to the farm. You can pick a tree out, and we’ll bring it back in my truck.” He turns on his heel and heads back to his house without waiting for my response.
I watch him walk away. Then, I look down at Buddy. “Well … that was unexpected.” I laugh softly. “Come on, Bud. Let’s get you walked, so I can go pick out our Christmas tree with the whiplash king.”
Carrie
“How’s your foot doing?”
“Oh. My toe. Yes, it’s fine. Thanks again for fixing me up.”
“I only put a Band-Aid on it.”
And blew on it …
Sweet Lord in heaven.
I swallow down. “Yes, well, I appreciate it.”
Silence.
“Did the blood clean up okay?” I ask.
“What?” His word is sharp, surprising me.
“My blood that I got on your floor. I’m hoping it didn’t leave a stain.”
“No. It cleaned up fine.”
“Oh, good. I’m glad.”
Silence again. The low hum of the engine and the whoosh of noise from passing cars are all that can be heard while River drives us to Thistleberry Farm.
“Do you mind if I put the radio on?” I ask him.
“Knock yourself out.”
I reach over and press the On button, bringing the radio to life. “Last Christmas” by Wham! fills the car, and he groans.
“You don’t like this song?” I ask him.
“Does anyone?”
Well, I do. But I keep that nugget of information to myself. Don’t need to give him any more ammo to use against me.
I select another radio station.
The Pogues and Kirsty MacColl’s “Fairytale of New York” is playing.
“I love this song,” I tell River.
I know everyone is all about Mariah and the other upbeat Christmas songs, but for me, this tale of longing and melancholy is the best. I don’t know what that says about me. Probably nothing good.
Neil always hated this song.
That’s possibly one of the reasons I love it so much.
“You love this song?” He’s skeptically looking at me.
“Yes. Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like you don’t believe me.”
“I’m just surprised. It’s not the most well-known Christmas song in the US. And it has some offensive words in it. Just doesn’t seem like your thing. I thought you’d be more of a ‘All I Want for Christmas Is You’ kind of girl.”