Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 86828 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86828 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Zane shrugs. “I thought so too. Then—”
“You had too many candy cane cocktails and turned into an elf?”
He takes my comment as intended. After tossing back his head and laughing, he wiggles his slightly pointed ears. “I’ve got the ears for it.” Once he garnishes my eggs with fresh dill, he places my plate in front of me. “Eat up. We’ve got a ton of work to do.”
I stab my fork into the feast he prepared. “Since you seemed to have missed the memo, I guess I better spell it out. I got fired yesterday, so I have endless dreary, boring, non-joyful hours at my disposal.”
You’d swear my voice wasn’t whiny when Zane says, “Even more reason for us to spruce up the place.”
After swallowing a mouthful of buttery, eggy goodness, I say, “You want to go furniture shopping? My budget could be stretched for a handful of necessities, but it seems odd to do on a third date.”
Zane doesn’t balk at the dreaded D word. “We’re not going furniture shopping. Your couch is a bitch to sleep on, and you only have enough place settings for two, but you’ve got enough to get by.” He kicks a box at his side, which I hadn’t noticed until now. “Can’t say the same for this. There are barely enough decorations inside to cover a tree, let alone an entire apartment.” Oblivious to my shock, he ensures he’s not speaking with a full mouth before asking, “Talking about trees, when is yours being delivered?”
“It’s not. I… ah…” How do you explain that your ex-fiancé collected your tree and decorated it with your ornaments with his new fiancée in front of you because you were snowed in at the venue meant to host your Christmas Eve wedding?
There isn’t a way to explain that without sounding like a loser, so I give him a half-truth. “I wasn’t meant to be home for Christmas, so I didn’t order a tree.”
“Oh…” The dip in his tone makes sense when he says, “I didn’t realize I’m not the only one leaving before the festivities truly begin.” He sounds as devastated as I feel. “When do you leave?”
“I’m not. Plans changed.” Hating that I’m letting a man like Peter make me forget I have an Adonis sitting shirtless across from me, I say, “So I guess I no longer have an excuse not to get a tree. We can pick one up today, if you want?”
I overemphasized “we” on purpose to scare him.
Zane once again acts blasé. “Sounds good. Let me clear my schedule.”
The rejection attempting to burn its way up my esophagus returns to my stomach when he collects his cell phone from the kitchen counter and dials what I assume is a regularly dialed number.
“Casey…”
“Just a little more. You’re almost there.” When pine thistles scrape my doorframe, I act ignorant. “It’s almost there. You’re nearly fully through.”
In homage to myself, I picked the tree with the biggest curves. Its top half fitted through the opening of my apartment without incident, but its curvy backside is proving difficult. Zane is pushing while I’m tugging. We’ve been going at it for nearly twenty minutes, but Zane has not once lost his cool as Peter would have nineteen minutes ago.
If I was still with Peter, I wouldn’t have gotten the tree out of the lot. He hates vacuuming, and even with me promising to vacuum every day of December, he forever opted for a fake tree.
That ghastly sham was what filled most of the box Zane highlighted earlier today.
When the tree doesn’t appear to be moving, I ask Zane, “Can you push a little harder?”
“If I go any harder, I could break some of her branches,” he replies, his voice projected over the tree that stands two feet taller than him. “But if you’re okay with that, I’ll give it a go.”
I don’t want to hurt the tree, but wouldn’t it be worse if we left her out in the cold instead of showing her that it’s okay to incur damage if you’re still striving to live your best life?
“Push her. She’d want that. She would rather have a handful of flaws than a fake, loveless relationship unworthy of her beauty.”
“All right.” Zane peers at me through her thick branches before flashing me the grin he hit me with when the cab refusing our ride for fear the tree would scratch the paintwork moved out of the way enough for us to see the horse and carriage parked across the road. “Stand back. I don’t want you being knocked down with her.”
I almost say, Too late, but the worry in his eyes that I could get hurt stops me.
He truly seems oblivious to my flaws.
If only he were as blasé about Santa’s attention.
The carriage ride was everything a romantic lovestruck idiot could wish for. The horse was large and white, the carriage was covered with tiny flickering fairy lights, and the hot chocolate and blanket the driver supplied were as warm as the heat that trekked through me when Zane placed his hand high on my bare thigh partway home.