Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 74782 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74782 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
But after this season, I’m finding a house. Janelle will be an adult, though she’s welcome to stay with me. Of course, I’m going to do whatever I can to get her settled into a good college. However, as our mom did nothing to encourage Janelle to think about life after high school, she’s severely behind in the college application process. Luckily, the counselor at her new school is working with her to overcome that.
I slip the key in the lock, enter the foyer wearily, and let my duffel slip quietly to the floor. I disable the alarm and reset it after I close the door.
Turning around, I take one step into the living area and come to a complete halt before stepping backward in shock. The whole place is an explosion of red, green, silver, and gold. My brain can’t even process what I’m seeing, and for a second, I’m afraid I’ve walked into somebody else’s condo.
But that’s ridiculous… I used my own key to get in.
Gradually, I recognize my furniture, and yes, this is my condo covered in Christmas decorations. And I’m not talking about a few knickknacks here and there. Almost every square inch has something festive, shiny, or blinking. A large Christmas tree sits in the corner with twinkling lights, the branches loaded with ornaments. Those red plants you find at Christmas are scattered around. There are snowmen, Santas, elves, reindeer, gnomes, angels, gingerbread men, and light strings everywhere. It’s like someone transported the North Pole here, sliced it open, and let it bleed all over my home.
It’s way too much, and I have no clue how or why this has happened.
“What the fuck?” I grouse.
A small cry of distress comes from the couch, and I’m stunned to see a woman scramble off it, looking around with bleary eyes.
I hadn’t noticed her before, because, you know, blinded by Christmas bling.
But yeah… there’s a woman I do not know sleeping on my couch.
Again, am I in the right condo?
I glance around wildly, trying to see past all the color, then back to the woman.
She is strikingly beautiful. Maybe this is a dream.
But then I notice she’s wearing one of my T-shirts, so I know I’m definitely in the right place, and she doesn’t belong here.
Her eyes, an almost luminescent green, lock with mine. She has golden-blond hair in tangled disarray, and she looks deeply confused. Clearly, I woke her from a heavy slumber.
“You scared the hell out of me,” she finally says as her hand flutters near her throat.
My eyes sweep the room again, grimacing at the Christmas explosion before coming back to her. “What in the hell happened in here?”
The fuzziness in her eyes clears, and irritation flashes over her beautiful features. She puts her hands on her hips and doesn’t bother to answer my question, instead saying, “I’m Veronica, by the way.”
My tone is droll. “I sort of figured that one out on my own.”
Her eyes flash again, more than just irritation at my response, and for some odd reason, I find a subtle gratification in pissing her off.
I don’t know why poking at her gives me perverse pleasure, but I’ll chalk it up to the fact that I’m exhausted and completely caught off guard.
Veronica’s voice is saccharine sweet, laced with biting sarcasm. “Well, it’s an absolute pleasure to meet you. You must be Riggs, Janelle’s brother.”
I don’t bother giving her affirmation of something she clearly knows to be true and instead sweep my hand toward the tree, the most obvious representation of all that is wrong in my house at this moment. “I ask again… what the hell happened in here?”
Her features transform, and it’s not mere irritation marring her lovely expression but flat-out fury. It’s most definitely not something that gives me perverse pleasure because, by the look on her face, I fear I may have poked a very dangerous beast.
She takes one bold step forward and points a finger right at me. “I took it upon myself to decorate because you have a seventeen-year-old sister who deserves a good Christmas. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve, for fuck’s sake, and you didn’t even have a damn Christmas candle in this place. You sure know how to make the holidays special, Mr. Nadeau.”
I jerk—her words have an absolute physical force to them. But how dare she cast judgment when she doesn’t know me, and she sure as shit doesn’t know my sister the way I do? “Why the fuck do you assume my sister wants this?”
Once again, she smiles, and it seems sweet, but I suspect if she had a hockey stick in her hand, she’d smack me upside the head with it. “Because I expect I’ve talked to her more in the past couple of days than you have in the past six months.”
She bats her eyelashes at me to punctuate her snark, boiling my blood.