Total pages in book: 20
Estimated words: 18349 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 92(@200wpm)___ 73(@250wpm)___ 61(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 18349 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 92(@200wpm)___ 73(@250wpm)___ 61(@300wpm)
Leia will be mine – my wife, my love, and the mother of my child. So what if I had to go through unconventional means to get her? I come from a broken home, and for a long time now, the mob has been my family. But finding her was a miracle, and now that I have her, I’ll be able to forge a family of my own.
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
1
Leia
“I hate Christmas.”
I look over at Brit like she’s lost her mind as I tape up another line of tinsel over the napkins and straws.
“How could you hate Christmas, you cuckoo bird?” I ask. “It’s like, the cheeriest, happiest, friendliest—”
“Annoyingest—”
“Most annoying,” I correct her.
“Like you.” She smirks, pointing a finger at me. “Annoyingest time of year.”
I faux-gasp, placing a hand over my gaping mouth. “Sinful!”
“Oh, shut up! Everyone is running around pretending to like each other, pretending to be cheery, pretending they don’t all want to kill each other over politics and religion every five seconds—”
“Yeah, it’s great!” I interrupt. “I don’t want to argue over politics and religion. I just want to sing some Christmas carols, drink some hot chocolate in my ugly Christmas sweater, and forget about everything else that goes on during the other eleven months of the year. Is that too much to ask?”
Brit, my co-worker, who hasn’t done much other than hold the things required for me to decorate the shop today, smirks and shrugs.
“Is it also too much to ask for you to help me with this long piece of tinsel over the high top?” I ask, handing her the end of a green piece of tinsel and a piece of tape to go with it.
“Only if you tone down the cheer a bit,” she replies as we both hop up on a couple of stools.
“Never.” I smile. “Miss Scrooge.”
Brit is my co-worker at Mucho Mocha, the coffee shop where I’ve been working now for almost a year. You’d think with the amount of responsibilities I have and my competence compared to the other workers here, I’d be manager by now, but nope. Still just a barista who also gets asked to do all kinds of other things she shouldn’t be asked to do.
No one asked me to decorate the store in a holiday theme—I just volunteered. I mean, what kind of coffee shop in an area filled with hipsters and young professionals isn’t going to have Christmas decorations up?
“I don’t know why I do this,” Brit says rhetorically as we step down from our stools and I admire the now-festive high top seating section of the shop. We’re closed and have been closed for over an hour now, and neither of us are getting paid for the extra work we’ve done here.
“Sure you do.” I smile. “Because you’re my friend who loves me, and the Christmas spirit has you in such an extra good mood that you’re willing to go out of your way to help me!”
Brit frowns, but I can see there’s a hint of a smile on her face as she grabs her purse from behind the counter. Laughing, I throw my arms around her and pull her in for a hug.
“Stop!” she protests. “How can you be so happy anyway?”
“What do you mean?”
“Every year you tell me the same story.” We both slip into our coats as I turn off the main shop lights, all except the festive ones. “You give your dad a Christmas list which he completely ignores, you do all the work decorating the house, and then he passes out early in front of the TV with a glass of spiked eggnog in his hand.”
We step outside into light flurries falling down gently all around us. There’s an even blanketing of snow on the ground yet to be disturbed, and the hanging lights glow like colored fireflies above us.
“Yeah, but this time, I think things are going to be different.” Brit blows air out of her mouth and gives me ‘the eye’ as we trudge to her car. “I do! This year he told me he’s been saving up money, and he’s going to help get my own car. He’s going to pay for half!”
“I’ll believe it when hell freezes over,” Brit scoffs, opening her car door.
“Come on,” I reply. “Have a little faith in my dad! Don’t you want to not have to drive me everywhere anymore?”
I hop in the passenger seat, but Brit is just giving me ‘the eye’ again. That’s all she has to say. Then we’re off, driving slowly through the snow on the way back to my house.