Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 70368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 352(@200wpm)___ 281(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 352(@200wpm)___ 281(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
The chat box filled with commenters trying to get their own wishes and last-minute questions in before I ended the broadcast.
Happy New Year!
Thanks for another great year of content!
Best wishes!
Hey, how did your love-life dilemma the other night turn out? Got a hot New Year’s Eve date?
“Ha.” I laughed aloud. “Your chat comments are great, as always.” I liked how invested my viewers now were in my love life, but I wished I had something, anything to report. “And I’ve got a date with pizza any minute, along with a warm shower and a pint of ice cream. Hot times, indeed. The rest of you stay safe. Signing off.”
Patience. That was the name of the game. I’d barely been in Virginia for twenty-four hours. Enough time to unpack my equipment and set up shop in the second bedroom of this small bungalow. I’d updated my address in my meal delivery app and found decently-rated local pizza. Baby steps forward.
While warmer than Kringle’s Crossing, the weather was far windier, and the older bungalow was drafty. I’d been counting down to my shower the whole livestream and couldn’t wait to be less chilled.
Buzz. Buzz. The friend I was renting from had talked me through setting up my phone with a doorbell app for deliveries. Since I knew the buzzing was my pizza, I didn’t bother clicking the camera app and instead strode toward the door.
When the buzzing on my phone was joined by a rap at the door, I called out, “You can just leave the pizza. The tip is on the app.”
“What pizza? Is that you, Zeb?” a familiar voice called back.
“Atlas?” I raced the rest of the way to the front door, scarcely daring to hope, but there he was in my entryway in dusty BDUs, looking cold and exhausted with deep lines around his eyes and mouth. But he was here. “Oh my God, you came.”
“You asked.” Shrugging like he’d grant any command I made, he gave me a small smile. His eyes narrowed, though, confusion clear. “Not sure what you’re doing here, but I came.”
“You did.” I tugged him into the house, letting the door shut behind us. The entryway featured mocha-colored walls, optimistic art typical of vacation rentals, and warm lighting from a faux Tiffany lamp on a small table. The light cast amber shadows across Atlas’s face, making him look that much more tired. But also more real. More here. “That was a quick deployment.”
“Some missions are like that. Have another meeting in the morning.” Atlas sighed as his eyes continued to search mine. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they ship me out again as part of my new role, but I’m here now.”
“I’m here too.”
“I see.” He looked beyond me into the furnished living room, expression even more befuddled when his gaze returned to mine. “Zeb, what are you doing?”
“Well, that’s a pretty broad question.” Hedging, I offered him a lopsided grin.
“Okay, what are you doing here?” He motioned at the house around us.
“I’ve got a gamer friend, fellow streamer, who has a side hustle of vacation rentals around Virginia Beach. Slow season for him, so I worked out a deal on an open-ended long-term rental on this place.”
“Open-ended?” Tilting his head, Atlas considered me more closely.
“I wasn’t sure how long your deployment would last.” It was my turn to shrug, to act like this leap of faith was no big deal. “Or whether you’d want me to stick around after you were back.”
“Of course, I want.” Atlas made an exasperated noise. “But, Zeb, your whole life is in Kringle’s Crossing.”
“And my whole future is right in front of me.” Moving to stand directly in front of him, I reached for his hand. “I came to show you that I believe in us. I believe we can have a future.”
Atlas let me take his hand even as he vigorously shook his head. “You can’t leave Seasons, your family, your community simply for me.”
A knock at the door startled us both into jumping apart. “Pizza!”
“Thanks,” I called to the delivery person before collecting the pizza. Returning to Atlas, I gestured at the living room. “Come in. Let’s eat.” I grabbed two soda cans from the otherwise empty fridge and handed one to Atlas. We sat side-by-side on the couch, the pizza box open on the coffee table in front of us, the sausage and cheese aroma joined by a distinct stiffness between us.
“This is…good. Thank you.” Atlas was being kind because the pizza was light on the sauce, heavy on bland cheese, and missing the zing of real Italian sausage. The Mafia Meat Trio it was not.
“If not for you, maybe I can leave Kringle’s Crossing for mediocre pizza?” I laughed. Atlas didn’t. “And why can’t I use you as a reason?”
“Because.” Atlas’s tone was more stubborn than stern.