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)
“God. So fucking beautiful, Zeb,” I gasped as I also came. Orgasms always hit me hard and fast, a knockout punch that usually left me drained and sleepy, but today it hit on a deeper level, one where his pleasure enhanced mine and the sensations spiraled out, a long, lazy ride back down to earth. And instead of sleepy, I felt triumphant and content, like I’d reached a summit I never wanted to leave.
“How many more times do you think we can come before the snow stops?” Zeb laughed as he lightly nipped my shoulder.
“I’m game to find out.” I nuzzled the top of his head. “After another shower.”
“What if it snows till Christmas?” The hope in Zeb’s voice was almost too much. He was thinking exactly what I was—Christmas was too close now, the countdown truly on, and we needed to hoard every spare second.
“I hope it does,” I said gruffly. I’d take all the snow the universe wanted to dish out if it meant that much more time with Zeb.
Twenty
ZEB
CHRISTMAS EVE: ONE SHOPPING DAY UNTIL CHRISTMAS
“There are certain advantages that come with age.” Christine Maurice, the ninety-year-old matriarch of one of Kringle’s Crossing’s oldest families, was full of sage wisdom and merry humor. Her short, curly, snow-white hair was adorned with a tiara for the occasion.
“A Christmas Eve birthday party being one?” I teased as I cleared the luncheon plates from the table at the front of the event space where Miss Christine had the place of honor. I had no idea what sorcery was up with the calendar. How was it Christmas Eve already?
“After ninety Christmas birthdays, I’m entitled.” At least Miss Christine was delighted at the date on the calendar, and hers was officially our last event before Seasons closed at four p.m. for the holiday. We’d reopen on the twenty-sixth with our famous Boxing Day sale, but our month-long rush was nearly over.
I hated it.
For the first time ever, I wanted December to go on and on. I wanted all the parties, all the chaos, all the disasters, and all the near-misses. I wanted whatever it took to keep Atlas here in Kringle’s Crossing, working alongside me at Seasons. Screw my urge to get back to making regular content for my channel. Atlas felt way more important.
“I hope this is your best birthday yet.” I managed to keep my own wistfulness out of my tone. Miss Christine had earned her large family and friend celebration, and she didn’t need a mopey server. “Can I get you more punch?”
As this was a nonalcoholic event, Atlas had come up with a creative fruity and spicy punch for the signature drink, along with several other spritzers and mocktails.
“No, dear.” Miss Christine patted my arm with her papery hand. Barely five feet, she had an air of fragility, but she was also sprier than many folks forty years younger. “There’s a chill in the air. More snow is on the way. I wonder who bribed the weather people for the coldest December in decades?”
“Ha.” Atlas and I. I couldn’t admit to that, of course, but our wish for more snow days had come true over the past few weeks in a big way as the Northeast had been pummeled by back-to-back storms. “I’ll write to the news station and demand a better forecast for you, Miss Christine.”
“You’re a sweet boy. We need to find you a nice girl to settle down with.” Miss Christine touched her pearl necklace as I glanced over at Atlas, who was working the bar with his usual good humor, smiling as he handed out more cups of punch.
“Or a nice boy,” I said it lightly with a laugh, but I also wasn’t going to lie. Miss Christine and the Maurice family brought us a lot of business, but none of it was worth sacrificing myself.
“Ah. Yes. That works too.” Miss Christine did an admirable job covering any shock with a wide, impish grin. She had a little spot of mauve lipstick on her teeth, which somehow made me like her that much more. “I knew your grandfather back in the day. Quite the charmer. Just like you. He’d be proud.”
Charmer? Successful? Miss Christine undoubtedly had the wrong Seasons brother in mind. “It’s really Gabe who has made Seasons a success.”
“I didn’t mean the business.” She waved a hand, gold bracelet jangling. “I meant your video game channel thing. Streaming, they call it?” Her eyebrows knit together. “All the great-grandkids have been raving all afternoon about meeting you in person. Don’t think I didn’t notice how generous you were with the autograph requests. You’re doing something right. A good example and a self-made man.”
She was right that an eagle-eyed young guest had recognized me as Zipster from my channel. I didn’t show my face in every video, but I was getting recognized more and more, especially after my con appearance in Atlanta. Getting asked to sign a few game cartridges and manuals earlier in the day had been a kick.