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)
“Nah. You look good,” I assured him. Crap. Maybe that was too much? I swallowed. “Fine, I mean fine. Let’s go.”
I grabbed my coat before I could hand out any other unintended compliments, then frowned as he did the same.
“You need a warmer coat.”
“Maybe.” He zipped the jacket up and buried his hands in the pockets. “Not going to be here that long though.”
I didn’t like the reminder that he wasn’t staying, wouldn’t ever stay in Kringle’s Crossing, any more than I liked him getting cold. Digging around in my hall closet, I came up with a pair of stretchy fleece gloves that were too big for me and one of my many scarves from Paige and her mother.
“Here. Don’t want you to freeze.”
A strange look crossed Atlas’s face as I draped the scarf around his neck.
“Thanks,” he said softly. “Can’t say as I’m used to people worrying about my comfort. It’s…nice.”
“Good. Get used to it.” I had the ridiculous urge to spoil the man silly. If he thought a simple breakfast and the loan of a scarf were nice, I could do so much better. Assuming he’d let me. But for the first time, I was emboldened to try. Atlas deserved all the caretaking.
Six
ZEB
“Put your finger here,” I ordered Atlas, keeping my tone confident. This might be new to him, but I knew exactly what we were doing. “Firmer.” I made a happy noise when he complied. “That’s it. You’ll be an expert in no time.”
“Wrapping presents is harder than it looks.” Atlas scrunched up his face as he tried to duplicate my technique. I’d been gift wrapping for years as part of our annual ornament and gift sale, and never once had I found the process a turn-on.
But that was before I’d tried teaching Atlas.
We were standing side-by-side at the wrapping station near the registers, and I was acutely aware of his proximity. And my every word suddenly seemed to have a double meaning. I had sex on the brain, and I needed to cut it out because we’d be opening to customers soon. I couldn’t be having tie-me-up-and-put-a-bow-on-me fantasies in the middle of one of our busiest days of the year.
“You’ll get used to it,” I said breezily as Atlas bungled my fold-fold-press-tape technique. It was honestly nice to be better than him at something, especially considering how many clumsy mistakes I’d made the day before. “However, if you want, I can handle the wrapping requests.”
“Nah, I need to get good at it.” Atlas tried again, this time with perfect creases on the first time. Naturally, my time as the wrapping expert was short-lived. “Wrapping is probably better than helping people pick gifts.”
“Helping pick is the best part of Seasons.” In addition to the event space we rented out and used to host special events like the Thanksgiving dinner, Seasons also featured a large year-round gift shop of seasonal decor. Tourists, in particular, loved selecting handmade ornaments during their summer vacations. We did nods to Valentine’s, Easter, and other holidays, but winter was far and away our biggest business. Many families annually drove an hour or more to select a one-of-a-kind ornament for their collection. Figuring out which items would appeal to which shoppers kept me from getting too bored while working in the retail area when we didn’t have a catered event. But Atlas didn’t seem moved by the magic of Seasons. “You don’t like to shop?”
“Not really. If I need something, I get it.” Stretching, he straightened the wrapping station, paper rolls perfectly aligned and scissors back in their holder. “Buying for others is difficult. Expectations, you know? And growing up, we were never in one place long enough to keep gifts around, so exchanging presents started to seem pointless.”
I had vague memories of Atlas’s parents visiting, especially the year or so he’d lived in Kringle’s Crossing for high school. His mom was Paige’s father’s younger sister, who had skipped out on an Ivy League scholarship to travel the world with a trust-fund guy. Somewhere along the line, they’d had Atlas and had simply continued traveling with occasional pit stops in Kringle’s Crossing.
“Your parents didn’t keep stuff you gave them?” I shouldn’t have been surprised since Gabe and Paige complained all the time about Atlas’s entitled parents.
“Nah.” Atlas carefully rewrapped a spool of ribbon. “It was mainly silly stuff. Drawings. Craft items from school the years we landed somewhere long enough to do embassy school or whatnot.”
“Atlas, you’re breaking my heart here.” I lightly touched his arm, then thought better of it and quickly dropped my hand. “My mom kept all those sorts of things from Gabe and me. It’s what moms do.”
“Not mine.” He said it so simply that I wanted to personally track down the woman and shake her.
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” Liar. He sounded exactly as fake as I had earlier. “Not like they keep in touch these days anyway.”