Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 70570 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70570 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Nadine strolls right over to the shattered mess, gives a shard of it a nudge with the toe of a high heel, then lifts her eyebrows at me. “Well, sweetie, it looks like you owe me sixty-seven cents for this candy cane ornament I got from Randy’s Dollar Central down Main Street. Or maybe you can just get a broom, sweep it up, and we’ll call it even-steven.” She gives me a sudden laugh, shakes her head, then gestures at the tree. “Doesn’t Samuel do a great job? My tree is outta this world! Way better than Cissy’s. Oh, I’ve gotta check on the back and see if they buffooned the dang centerpieces.”
As she heads off, my eyes drop back to the shattered mess on the floor. My eyes narrow as I smirk at the broken ornament.
Racking up my bill, Samuel said?
I shake my head. What a jerk, working me up for nothing.
I find an abandoned broom by the side door, bring it to the tree, and eliminate the mess I made, navigating around the legs of a ladder I assume Samuel was standing on when I fell into the tree. Judging from the lack of ornaments near the top, he must’ve been in the middle of hanging them. A few boxes of glittery things rest on the floor near the ladder, which I casually glance at as I sweep up the shattered dollar-store candy cane. A wooden Rudolph face stares up at me, cross-eyed, with a big red nose I assume lights up or blinks when the ornament is attached to the Christmas tree lights. I stare at it for too long, frowning, feeling like it’s staring back in silent triumph of my misfortune.
What is it about that Samuel guy that got under my skin so fast?
I don’t have to wonder long. The moment I finish sweeping, the front door swings open, and in comes Samuel flanked by a pair of teenagers—probably the guys who knocked into me in the first place—and they’re all carrying a load of bulky tubs and containers from my dad’s catering truck. As they take them to the kitchen, Samuel spots me, gets this overly confident smirk on his face, and shoots me another wink, as if we’ve got this “thing” now.
I tighten my jaw and look away, annoyed.
This week is going to be hard enough. The last thing I need is some showy guy who thinks he’s my gift from Santa just because my clumsy ass fell into a damned tree.
And then fell on top of his tree.
Humiliating.
For the next hour—despite Nadine’s orders to relax, mingle, and enjoy a glass of lemonade—I opt to keep myself busy. I join the ladies and two bowtied gentlemen in the long dining room sorting things, which is surprisingly calming despite the chaos, keeping my mind occupied. As it turns out lately, my mind is a dangerous place when it’s bored and left to roam on its own.
While working in the kitchen, guests start to arrive. I guess in a town like Spruce with little else to do, this party is on every citizen’s calendar with no other plans for the day. Upon seeing Nadine at the front door welcoming each person or family inside by name, with a question or lovely comment catered personally to each guest, I marvel at that woman’s social stamina. I’m exhausted just watching her endless energy, which I can imagine has run nonstop since the second she woke up this morning and the first helper arrived. It’s certainly no wonder she’s now the mayor of Spruce; she knows everyone down to the names of their pets.
I’m out back at the covered tables helping with the silverware when the grooms arrive. It’s noted by the eruption of cheers in the house, which causes me to look up from the table I’m setting.
Through the tall glass windows, I see Bobby Parker.
Somehow, I seem to see him clearly.
So clearly, it’s as if there isn’t even a window in the way.
Bobby, the cute, well-mannered boy-next-door who used to play soccer. Bobby, the secret sweetheart of Spruce with eyes as soft as cotton candy.
Bobby, the guy who was almost mine.
The guy I lost.
I watch him greet all of his friends and family inside—waving, shaking hands, dishing out hugs. His annoyingly energetic fiancé Jimmy Strong does the same, but with about twice the vigor. The pair work the room, basking in all of the attention and love.
I watch them for a while with a fork loosely balanced between my fingers, forgotten. I don’t know how I feel right now. It’s not jealousy. Not bitterness. I’m not sure it’s even altogether negative.
Maybe it’s just nothingness.
Or detached curiosity.
Perhaps it’s just the ghost of defeat I thought I accepted years ago, which still finds ways to pass though my emotional wall and haunt me.