Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 80969 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80969 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
“No, it wasn’t. I was going there anyway. I just took you with me because you’re pregnant, and whether I’m an asshole or not, my gran would rise from her place of rest and come and kick my ass for leaving a pregnant woman to haul a Christmas tree around.”
“Fair enough. And … I’m sorry about your gran.”
“She was old.” He shrugs. “And it was years ago.”
“Well, I’m still sorry.”
I want to ask about his mom, but I don’t know how. So, instead, I skip right back to our conversation. “You were nice to Ellie when we were at the store.”
“I was respectful. I was taught to respect my elders.”
By his gran.
“Respect. Right.” I nod. “You were nice to Macy—well, after I prompted you to be.”
“Prompted? More like forced. And, if you think that was me being nice, then you need your head checked.”
I smile wide. “Maybe I do.”
“There’s no maybe about it. Now, can we stop fucking around? It’s wasting time and annoying me.”
“Do you have somewhere to be?”
“No.”
I tilt my head to the side, something occurring to me. “What do you do for a living?”
“This and that.”
“Sounds vague.”
“It is.”
“I work at the diner.”
He looks at me like I’m as thick as the Christmas tree. “Uh, I know. Because you already fucking told me.”
“I’m a waitress there.”
“Wow. Really? I’m shocked to learn this.”
“I could have been the cook,” I tell him.
“No, you couldn’t because Guy is, and he still works there. Aside from a cook and waitress, there aren’t any other jobs at the diner. So, let’s cut to the chase and get to the point of this conversation.”
“Well”—I lift my shoulders—“I just thought, if I told you what my job is, you might tell me yours.”
“You thought wrong.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s none of your business.”
“You’re being rude, River.”
“I was nice before, according to you.”
“You were. And, now, you’re being rude.”
“I am rude. And mean. And an asshole.”
“I can’t argue with that.”
“Good. So, stop fucking arguing with me now and go get me your pruning shears, so I can trim this damn tree for you.”
“How do you know I have pruning shears?”
“Because I’ve seen you in the garden, trimming your bushes.”
Laughter splutters out of me. “You do realize how that sounded, right?”
He gives me an innocent look. “I have no idea what you mean.”
“Sure you don’t.” I roll my eyes. “And you do realize that, by offering to trim my tree—”
I snort and then clamp a hand over my mouth, and he laughs.
“You have a dirty mind, Red.” He slowly shakes his head, holding my stare. “And did you just snort?”
“You laughed, too.”
“But I didn’t snort.” His eyes darken with some unnamed emotion. “And I never claimed to be clean.”
Well … hells bells and Christmas tingle.
Something has tightened low in my belly, causing an ache to start between my legs. I press my thighs together and bite the inside of my cheek.
“You’re being nice again,” I say in a quieter voice.
“No. I’m offering to trim this tree because you’re half as small as it is, and you’re pregnant; therefore, you ain’t going up any ladders.”
I release a breath. “Yeah, you’re right. That’s not nice. That’s called being kind and thoughtful.”
“For fuck’s sake,” he groans.
“And I’m not that small, by the way.”
Both brows rise in question. “Can you reach the top of the tree?”
“Well … no.”
“Go get the fucking shears, Red.”
Sigh. “Fine.”
I go and retrieve my pruning shears from the cabinet under the sink where I keep my gardening things and take them to River.
“You want anything to drink?” I ask him as I hand the shears over.
“Coffee. Black.”
“Like your heart,” I quip and then instantly regret it. “Ugh. Sorry, that was rude.”
Especially after he took me to get the tree and is now helping me with it.
He stops and looks at me. “Don’t be sorry. I’ve said worse things to you.”
Has he though? He’s said some jerky stuff but nothing as bad as that.
Turning away, I walk back into the kitchen, but guilt is prickling at me. I stop in the doorway and look back at him over my shoulder. “River …”
He doesn’t look at me, but I know he’s listening.
“I don’t think your heart is black.”
No response.
“River …”
“I heard you, Red. You don’t think my heart is black.”
“No, not that.” I turn fully to face him. “I wanted to ask you something.”
“Do I have to answer?”
“Only if you want to.”
“I really don’t.”
“Okay.”
“For fuck’s sake.” He sighs and turns to look at me. “What is it?”
I feel a bit stupid now. But I started this, so I have to forge on. I rub my hands together. “Well, I was just wondering … are we … friends?”
“Wait.” He holds up a hand. “Have I just defied the laws of time and traveled back to grade school?”
“Funny.”
“I know. And, no, Red, we aren’t friends.”