Total pages in book: 24
Estimated words: 22390 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 112(@200wpm)___ 90(@250wpm)___ 75(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 22390 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 112(@200wpm)___ 90(@250wpm)___ 75(@300wpm)
“And I forgive you,” she says as she pats my back.
“For what?” I sniff, mystified as to what I said earlier that could have hurt her feelings.
She chuckles. “For wrecking the Mustang all those years ago.”
I pull away to search her face. But there’s no anger in her expression, only amusement. “You knew?”
“Honey, a mother always knows,” she answers with a wink.
8
CASSIE
Why won’t these people all just go home? Why do they insist on putting their sticky kids on Santa’s lap and taking a dozen photos with him? Alright, maybe I’m feeling a little grumpy because I want to knock the kids out of the way and sit on Santa’s lap instead. Only instead of telling him what I want for Christmas, I’ll tell him about my dirtiest fantasies.
It doesn’t help that West keeps glancing at me across the room. The look in his eyes is pure fire. He’s not bothering to hide his desire and every glance feels like a caress.
My phone dings and it’s a message from Micah. He’s the only one left that doesn’t know. Mom told Dad when he arrived. But he didn’t seem to care. He just gave me a big hug and told me I’d always be his girl. Ledger even knows if the smirk he was sending West tells me anything.
Sorry I couldn’t make it. Talk tomorrow.
West said he was sick. He had that funny hitch in his voice, but he wouldn’t tell me anything else. He said that Micah wasn’t as bad off as I was thinking and that I’d have to get the full story from him.
I send a message back. Try to get some extra sleep.
His little dots appear to show he’s typing. They disappear and reappear before another message comes through. You too.
I snort. That’s not likely if everything goes the way I’m hoping. But I can’t tell him that. Instead, I settle for telling Micah I love him and closing out of the messages. Tomorrow, we’ll talk, and I’ll get the chance to clear the air.
For now, the night belongs to me and my grumpy cowboy.
“Are we done here?” West asks. He’s changed out of his Santa costume and into his usual jeans and plaid button up. All of the families have gone home. We’re the last two people left in the community center since it’s my job to lock up tonight.
“Almost finished,” I answer, scooping up the last of the paper plates. I turn toward the kitchenette. Tonight was a smashing success. We gave out twice as many toys this year and helped a record fifty-five needy families. But the best part was seeing the pride on Mom and Dad’s faces as we pulled everything off. I have a feeling this might just become an annual tradition for me and West.
He slings an arm around my waist, stopping me. His lips are so close to my ear and his breath is so hot. “Are you running from me?”
“Would that put me on the naughty list?” I mean to ask the question to distract him, so I can slip away and finish straightening up the room. But the question comes out flirty and suggestive in a way I didn’t mean.
West’s eyes darken. “Do you want to be on that list?”
I chew my bottom lip, loving the way his gaze tracks the simple motion. “It depends on what happens to naughty girls.”
He chuckles then, the sound rough and dangerous. “You’ll have to come back to my place to find out.”
“I packed a bag,” I admit, my cheeks growing warm. I left halfway through the event when everyone else was distracted to pack an overnight bag. Mom and Dad know where I’ll be tonight, so they won’t be up late worrying.
“I like the way you think.” He presses a kiss to my nose and holds out his hand. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”
The entire ride back to West’s place, he holds my hand. We’re silent as he navigates his aging truck through the slick, snow-covered roads. But it’s not an awkward silence. It’s a comforting one. We know each other so well that we don’t have to talk when we’re together.
“You need lights on the front porch,” I finally tell him when he pulls into his driveway. There’s nothing sadder than coming home to a dark house. I always hated that when I was a foster kid. “You need something warm and welcoming.”
He squints up at the dark house, as if seeing it for the first time. “Then you should pick something out and I’ll install it.”
“It’s your house. You need to do stuff that you like. But maybe a garden out front. Ooh, and a little wishing well.”
“It’s not my house anymore. It’s our house,” he answers.
My heart warms at the words. This thing between us is still so new that I haven’t spent a lot of time thinking about our future together. But now that we can be out in the open, all of the possibilities are right there. “You want me to move in here with you?”