Total pages in book: 46
Estimated words: 44474 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 222(@200wpm)___ 178(@250wpm)___ 148(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 44474 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 222(@200wpm)___ 178(@250wpm)___ 148(@300wpm)
“What are you watching?”
“Match Game, circa 1977. It’s a hoot. Comedy genius with innuendos coming out the wazoo.”
I perched on a corner of the sofa. “The wazoo, eh?”
“Yes, have you seen it? The host presents a fill-in-the blank query for the contestants and celebrities. Simple sentences that can turn perverse in a hot second. And the seventies were very un-PC. They can make a question about how you’d spend your earnings on a million-dollar lottery ticket into a saucy advertisement for an online sex shop. Of course, there was no Internet in those days.” He wrinkled his nose as if deep in thought. “I think they had sex shops, though.”
“Definitely.”
Moody snickered softly. “Now that would be embarrassing. I can’t imagine walking to the register with flavored body oils or a toy of some ilk. Can you?”
I grinned, unsure if I was more amused by his choice of sex shop goodies or the word ilk. “No, that would be awkward.”
“So awkward,” he agreed. “Ah-choo.”
“Bless you.” I was pleased he’d dropped the crabby act and had seemingly forgotten he wanted me out, so I pressed my luck. “What would you do?”
Moody widened his eyes over his tissue-covered nose. “At a sex shop?”
I guffawed. “No, with a million-dollar lottery ticket.”
“Oh. Uh…I’d have to think about it.”
“Off the top of your noggin…what’s your first purchase?”
“I’d pay the mortgage on my shop and Vicki’s,” he replied automatically.
I furrowed my brow. “You’d spend your first chunk of change on someone else. Gee, that doesn’t sound very scroogey of you, Moody.”
He scowled…adorably. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”
“Nope. I’m good.”
Moody opened his mouth, then shrugged and turned his attention to the television.
And maybe it was wishful thinking, but I could have sworn his lip twitched in the teensiest hint of a smile.
Yeah, I know. That wasn’t much to go on. However, it seemed like a pretty big hint that Moody’s holiday mood was a big ol’ front. I’d bet that winning million-dollar lottery ticket that he was hiding something behind that shield of cantankerousness. Something dark enough to cause his sunny soul serious pain.
I’d had some personal experience with pain. I knew what it felt like to put on a smile when you wanted to fucking cry. Not so easy.
And though I didn’t know him well, I thought it was a safe guess that Moody wasn’t too bummed that a pesky cold had taken him out of commission for a day or two. No doubt a little escape in mindless television under a sea of blankets in the middle of the day probably sounded kind of amazing. Again, I understood. I’d had a bad case of the flu this time last year, and I’d never been happier to have an excuse to be alone with no one walking on eggshells around me.
I’d just wanted to be alone. Except…not really. ’Cause being lonely also kinda sucked.
Call it a hunch, call it a shameless tactic to ingratiate myself into his life at a low point, but my gut told me the adorable grinch with a red nose and pale skin needed company. Neutral company. So I took my hat off, tossed it onto the coffee table, and settled in to watch some TV with my new friend.
7
MOODY
My common cold came with a side serving of a sinus infection that knocked me flat on my booty for the entire first week of December. If I hadn’t been groggy and congested with a runny nose and a general feeling of malaise, I might not have minded that my illness had taken me out of circulation just as holiday festivities were getting underway in town. I’d missed the Elf on a Shelf competition, the candy cane making demonstration, and the church boutique.
Boo-hoo.
Okay, fine. Do not tell a soul, but I’d secretly always enjoyed the candy cane demo. Vicki held it at the café every year as the Christmas Candy Emporium wasn’t large enough to hold the throngs of peppermint lovers who swarmed into town for the event. She took the opportunity to test new holiday scones and drink concoctions, like orange cranberry with eggnog glaze and peppermint hot chocolate.
Like any wise salesperson, Vicki anticipated that her treats would be a hit and sold them prepackaged by the dozens. Of course, all that extra activity next door meant a big boost in sales for me, so I couldn’t complain. But I was me…so I usually did.
Not this year.
This year I was home recuperating from the blergh.
I hardly remembered the first two days. I’d drifted in and out of sleep, vaguely aware that I wasn’t alone. For some reason, I liked that. I’d figured it was Vicki, but that didn’t explain the hum of sports commentary in the background. Touchdown, wide receivers, and end zone penetration? Nope, those words did not compute.
On day three, Vicki had dragged me to the doctor, who’d given me antibiotics and strict instructions to rest. I’d been too miserable to argue. I’d just wanted to be home with my remote control…and no visitors. Except whoever was supplying me with endless tissues and cups of peppermint tea.