Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 133682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 535(@250wpm)___ 446(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 535(@250wpm)___ 446(@300wpm)
I slide open the door, Mac right behind me. My daughter snags a front-row seat on the living room couch while I make my way to the woman I adore, wrap my arms around her from behind, and say, “What are you doing on New Year’s Eve?”
Mac and I are slated to see her mother’s concert the next day, and I’d like to invite Fable to that, too, a family event. But first things first—a date.
Setting down the mug on the counter, Fable turns in my arms. “Is that a trick question?”
“Um, no.” My brow furrows. I am perplexed. I’ve asked out women before. I don’t usually get this response.
“The answer,” Fable says, “is that on New Year’s Eve I’m going to be in bed at ten-thirty, reading and then falling asleep.”
And I fall even harder. She’s so delightfully blunt. But I can be direct too. “Then when I take you out that night, I better get you home before ten-thirty.”
She arches a brow. “Presumptuous.”
“Yes,” I say. “I can work with your schedule. I’d like to take you out for a rooftop dinner and a helicopter tour of the city. Or a pottery-making class and dinner at Happy Cow. Go out with me. On a real date. On New Year’s Eve.”
Her eyes say yes before her lips do. “Yes.”
Mac pumps a fist. “Did it!”
“It seems we have a little matchmaker,” I murmur.
“We do, and I choose…both dates,” Fable says, then lifts her coffee and downs some.
“I’ll give you both,” I say.
A knock on the door keeps me from basking in these plans. I check my watch. The car I arranged to pick up my mother at the airport is about due, and when I head to the door and open it, my timing proves accurate. She’s here—dark wavy hair, clever eyes, and arms open wide. “Merry Christmas, kiddo!”
“Grandma!” Mac pops up from the couch, rushing over to greet my mom.
It’s another group hug and when we pull apart, Mom walks inside, takes off her coat and scarf, and smiles. “You must be Fable? So good to meet you.”
Fable crosses the living room to give her a hug. “Good to meet you, Elizabeth. Would you like some coffee or tea?”
Mom doesn’t hesitate. “Coffee, please. I’ve been in London too long, and the tea tastes like muddy water.” She tilts her head, crinkles her brow. “Though, I suppose some might say coffee tastes like mud.”
Fable smiles. “That’s the Libra in you.”
Mom’s eyes light up. “You remembered.” Then she looks Fable up and down. “And you? Wait. Don’t tell me.” Mom blows out a thoughtful breath, then declares, “Leo.”
“How did you know?”
Mom nods toward me. “Wilder told me. He texted after you arrived. Told me a little bit about you. All good things.” Mom leans in to whisper in Fable’s ear, but not so low I can’t hear. “He seems quite taken with you.”
Fable meets my gaze with a hopeful one of her own. “The feeling is mutual. In fact, we’re having a real date in San Francisco after Christmas.”
“And I set it up,” Mac puts in.
Mom ruffles Mac’s hair. “Of course you did.” She looks at Fable, then me, then smiles smugly. “I hate to say I told you so, Wilder. But I told you so.”
“And you were right,” I say.
“Yes, I was.”
A little later, we check the agenda for Evergreen Falls Annual Best in Snow Winter Games Competition. Since the last event is the gingerbread house-making tonight, we’ll have plenty of time for a family shopping trip. As promised, I found a local group organizing a community toy drive with nearby charities. I spoke to the organizer, and she emailed me a list of top requested type of gifts this season. We’ll pick up some items from the list, then visit the community center where volunteers are gathered to collect and wrap donations for the drive.
I show Mom to her cabin next to Mac’s, where she can set down her bags before we tackle our shopping. We’re about to head out when Mom stops in her tracks on the soft carpet. “I can’t believe I almost forgot. I need to say hello to my sister.”
I wince. “Good catch.” If we’re going to Bibi’s now, I should invite her to join us. My aunt’s position as head of charitable contributions at Blaine Enterprises is more than a job. It’s part and parcel of who she is. She’ll want to come with us.
At Bibi’s cabin, it’s a hugfest, and when the sisters finish bestowing endless compliments on how fabulous the other one looks, I ask Bibi if she’d like to join us.
“Of course I would, but I have to be back in time for my date,” she says with a mischievous grin, then adds, “Before the gingerbread house-making competition.”
“Who’s the date with?” Fable asks, then answers her own question. “The sheriff.”