Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 122216 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 611(@200wpm)___ 489(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122216 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 611(@200wpm)___ 489(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
“Breakfast, and then I’ll take you to the pet store?” he suggests. “I’m guessing you need to get a few things.”
“You’ll go with me?” Going to the store doesn't sound as daunting if I have someone with me.
“Sure. I know all the toys and treats your little friend needs. Charlie can be pretty particular, so I’ll just stick to what he likes.”
I hold Mrs. Claws closer to me. She’s fascinated with my sweater now that it’s lighting up. She paws at the lights when they flicker.
“She’s not my friend.” I kiss the top of her furry little head. “She’s my baby.”
Brendan smiles at me. “Good. Wouldn't want you planting random kisses on friends.” He puts his hand on my back and leads me toward the front door. I snag my hat and purse off the table by the entryway. He takes them from me and puts my hat on my head for me. He even tucks my hair behind my ears and makes sure that the hat covers part of them too. It’s a small thing, but it feels sweet and intimate. He rubs Claws’s head, and she purrs for him, enjoying his touch. I know the feeling. If it wouldn’t make me seem crazy, I’d purr every time he touched me, too. He makes me feel things that I shouldn’t, but I can’t control my body.
“Can I take Mrs. Claws with me?” I ask as we step outside.
“You can do anything you want, angel.”
It takes me a moment to realize we aren't going to his car but over to his place.
“I don’t want to eat here,” I protest. “This house is my enemy!”
Mrs. Claws meows in agreement with me.
He leads me across the street and opens his front door as I strengthen my protests with every step. Curiosity takes me inside, and I gasp. “This is a cheater’s house! You don’t even have a Christmas tree!” I turn to look at him. “You’re an imposter!”
Mrs. Claws jumps from my arms and chases after the big fluffy orange cat. The orange cat doesn't put up a fight as she tackles him; he merely begins to clean her. He ignores her fight. She gives in, eventually rolling over and letting the other cat have his way. What the hell? That fluffy orange thing may have my innocent baby fooled, but if his owner thinks that I’m going to roll over and play nice, he’s got another think coming.
9
BRENDAN
“Just a faker.” She moves farther inside, and I close the door behind her. “No tree, no wreaths, no Christmas village, no cinnamon broom, no candy canes, no holly, no mistletoe, no Christmas music, no Santa figures, no candles, no stockings, no nutcrackers, no—”
“Hey.” I take her hand and pull her back around until she’s looking at me. “I prefer to focus on outside. With Charlie around, he’d tear down everything I put up.” Then I decide maybe I should be more truthful with her, because she deserves it and because I want her to trust me. “And, on top of that, you can’t see the inside of my house. Not usually, anyway.” I squeeze her hands. “And you’re the reason I decorate.”
“Me?” She cocks her head to the side. “I’m the reason?”
“Yeah.” I feel almost sheepish. “I’ve been doing all this to get your attention.”
“That’s sort of insane.” The words should be an insult, but she says it with wonder as she looks up at me. “Like, totally nutty.”
“I did try knocking on your door.” I shrug. “It didn’t work out so well. And when I would go outside to try and speak to you—”
“I’d run inside.” She nibbles her bottom lip.
“Yes, but I get it.”
“You do?”
“Sure. You have these quirks, differences that I lo—” I stop myself. “That I really like about you.”
“You like my differences?”
“You’re a homebody like me, you’re meticulous, dedicated, creative, and you never give up. All those qualities rolled into one woman—plus you’re fucking gorgeous—what man wouldn’t want to get your attention?”
She blushes and looks over at Charlie and Mrs. Claws grooming each other. “I thought you didn’t like me and that’s why you kept trying to compete.” She adds quickly, “Not that it’s a competition.”
“Of course I want to compete.” I laugh. “How else could I get your attention?”
She seems to think about my words for a bit, her gaze far off.
“Hey, come on. I’ve set everything up, and the griddle is hot. Sit at the bar and watch me work.” I lead her to the granite bar that runs along the sunny side of my kitchen.
She sits. “So, you don’t even like Christmas?”
“I wouldn’t say that.” I pour the pancake batter in the shape of a Christmas tree on the hot griddle.
Her eyes light up. “You do shapes. Christmas shapes!”
“Wait ‘till I do the snowflake.” I shoot her a grin and flip on the pan with the bacon.