Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 78357 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78357 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
“Well then, I’ll trust you with that task.” I pull out the waffle maker and plug it in so it can warm up before I start the simple batter.
“How do you take your coffee?” he asks as I spoon batter into the waffle maker.
“Just a little of the vanilla creamer that’s in the fridge.”
“Got it,” he says, and then a moment later, he steps up next to me, placing a cup of coffee on the counter and resting his hand against my lower back. Having him so close makes every inch of me feel hyperaware, especially after years of crushing on him from afar. “They smell good.”
“They taste better.” I swallow hard when I realize how close he is. All it would take is for one of us to lean in slightly, and our mouths would brush. Not wanting to read into things, I turn back to the counter and pick up my coffee, taking a sip of the hot, sweet liquid. “So what are your plans for the day?” I twist around, and his hand drops away as I rest my hip on the counter so we’re face-to-face.
“My sister Connie and her husband are in town with my niece, so my parents are planning a big dinner tonight. What about you?”
“My parents are in Paris, and my brothers are spending the day with their spouses. They said I could join them for dinner, but I don’t know if I will, or if I’ll just find something to watch here and curl up on the couch for the day.” I shrug.
“You can come with me to my parents’,” he offers, and my stomach flips. “It should be pretty low-key, and the food will be good.”
“Do think that’s smart? I mean, before last night, we never had more than a few dozen interactions.”
“Are you afraid my family will ask if we’re dating?”
“Well, yeah,” I say like duh, because what else would they think? It’s not like we were friends before now.
“I promise I won’t tell them we’re dating.”
“Umm,” I whisper as he wraps his hand around the back of my neck and his thumb skims the underside of my jaw.
“Don’t start panicking, Milly.”
“I’m not panicking,” I lie as my heart starts to pound.
“So you’ll go with me to dinner at my parents’?”
Looking into his eyes, I know without a doubt that I’ll regret it if I say no, so I say a silent prayer and nod, then say, “Yes, I’ll go with you.”
“Good.” He touches his nose to mine, and the sweet, simple gesture makes my toes curl.
“Now, you need to stop distracting me before I burn the waffles.” I place my hand against his chest and push him back a step, needing the space in order to think clearly.
He leans against the counter next to me and watches as I flip out the first waffle, and like most men would, he picks off a piece of it and takes a bite, groaning as he chews and swallows. “Damn, this is good, babe.”
“They taste better with butter and warm syrup, but thanks.” I smile at him, and then we talk quietly as I finish making the waffles. When I’m done, we each load up a plate then settle in my breakfast nook to eat with the snow falling outside the window, casting the perfect backdrop. The conversation flows easily, like we’ve talked every day since we met years ago, and I wonder if there’s a little bit of Christmas magic in the air.
Wiping the invisible window in front of me, I laugh as Tyler, who is on my team in charades, tries to guess what I’m doing, coming up with every answer except for cleaning. I would have thought I might be uncomfortable at his parents’ house, today of all days, but since the moment I arrived, I was made to feel welcome and wanted. His mom reminds me of my own mom, just much more casual in the way she dresses and with her personality. And his dad is a lot like mine, surprisingly sweet for his size and with an aura of authority.
“Time!” his sister shouts, and Tyler groans as he falls back onto the couch.
“Cleaning.” I pretend once more that I’m washing a window. “I was cleaning. How did you not get that?” I laugh as he pulls me down on the couch to sit next to him and wraps his arm around my shoulders.
“Babe, I thought you were pretending to be a mime.”
“I know you did, because that’s the only thing you kept saying over and over.” I roll my eyes at him as his mom laughs. Meeting her gaze, I watch her face soften with a warm, hopeful smile.
“You know, if you keep being sweet, it’s going to break my mom’s heart when I tell her we’re not dating,” Tyler says close to my ear. “I don’t see the harm in lying to them for a while, do you?”