Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 106798 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106798 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
“Good point.”
I smirk, feeling victorious with my reasoning.
“But I am going to be there on Christmas.”
“Yes, but it’s a gift giving holiday. That’s just weird. Christmas feels like a more personal holiday. And this will be your first Christmas without Suzie. That feels a little …” My nose wrinkles. “Sacred? And … what are you doing?” I cringe as he wraps the gifts, if you can call what he’s doing wrapping.
“What do you mean?”
“Have you ever wrapped a present before?” I toss the dusting rag over my shoulder and kneel on the floor next to him. “You need to cut off some of this excess paper so it rests flat against the side of the box. You’re wrapping a cube, and it looks like a clump of wadded paper. And don’t even get me started on your ribbon-tying skills. I thought you had perfectionistic tendencies.” I chuckle.
Zach holds his hands up. “By all means, Miss Art Degree Queen, feel free to wrap while I—”
“Finish dusting.”
He belts out a hearty laugh as he stands. “No. While I read a book. Watch TV. Twiddle my thumbs. Play my guitar. The possibilities are endless.”
Play his guitar. He’s been doing it a lot at night. He likes to watch me edit photos, but I love listening to him play his guitar in his bedroom. Sometimes he hums and sings too. Those are my favorite nights. When I move out, I’ll miss his fingers strumming those strings, my favorite lullaby.
“Endless possibilities … I like the sound of that, Zachary. I think you are going to be okay in this life.”
“This life?” He laughs from the kitchen.
I hear the crinkle of tinfoil. He’s getting into the Christmas cookies I made.
“Yes. This life. I can’t speak for any other life. You might be a hot mess in another life.”
He pokes his head around the corner. Sure enough, he’s eating one of the tree cookies I spent the afternoon decorating. “Can guys be a hot mess?”
“You can be a mess and …” I bite my lips and angle my head away from him to hide my blush as I curl the ribbon with the edge of the scissor’s blade.
“But not a hot mess?”
I shake my head in tiny increments at least a half dozen times. “I didn’t say that. I mean … yes. Some guys can be a hot mess.”
“But not me?”
I shrug and sweat. God … he makes me sweat way too much.
“I get it. You think of me like a big brother. You can’t think your big brother is hot.”
Big brother? No. I don’t think of him as a big brother. That would be so inappropriate.
We’re married.
I think about him all the time.
I mean … ALL the time.
“No. I can’t think of my big brother as hot. Maybe Aaron can be hot.”
But you’re not my big brother. You’re my husband. And quite the snack.
Zach stops midbite, slowly chewing what’s already in his mouth. “You like Aaron?”
I start working on (correcting) another present. “Sure. He’s nice. He’s funny. He’s in his twenties. He’s single. What’s not to like?”
“He’s my brother,” Zach murmurs, licking the crumbs from his lips.
Grinning, I eye him over my shoulder. “I know. I didn’t say I’m going to hook up with him or anything like that. I’m just making an observation since you asked.”
“I asked because you brought up his name.”
Zach is a little … I don’t know what. Agitated? I’m not sure why he would be agitated. Aaron isn’t ugly. He’s not Zach caliber (in my opinion), but he’s worth a second look.
The pain or whatever he’s harboring inside, that I’ve triggered, elicits a unique sadness in my chest. Legally, I’m his wife, but I’m not his source of happiness despite feeling invested in his happiness. Maybe not the source, but the angel watching over him, ensuring he’s okay. That much I did promise Suzie.
“In other news…” I refocus on my wrapping “…my temporary job is coming to an end. His assistant will return from medical leave in two weeks. And I’ve found another job I’m considering. A photographer slash travel blogger. I follow her on social media, and she’s looking for another photographer to travel with her next year. So many other people commented on her post. But …” I grin. “She messaged me, and she loves the photos on my page. I’m going to meet her the day after Christmas in New York. That’s where she lives, but she’s rarely home. Zach, I think she’s really interested in picking me!”
“So … you’d travel with her and take photos?” Zach asks.
“Yes.”
His lips twist to the side. “And she’s going to pay you?”
“Yes. Well, I don’t have all the specifics yet, but I’ll make a percent of what she makes on her social media pages.”
Zach nods a few times. “An influencer?”
“Yes, but I don’t think that’s the bulk of her income, not yet anyway. She has her own photography business too, and she’ll pay me a percent of those jobs if I’m with her to help shoot them.”