Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 126840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 634(@200wpm)___ 507(@250wpm)___ 423(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 634(@200wpm)___ 507(@250wpm)___ 423(@300wpm)
He had a great bathroom. The flippers that had rehabbed his house had gone the extra mile in there with white tile laid in a herringbone pattern with black grout, a soaking tub as well as a big shower, and a long, black vanity with double sinks, which were kick-ass white bowls sitting on the counter.
There were also illuminated mirrors, which were perfect for doing makeup.
He had his space at the basins, and I had mine.
But it couldn’t be denied, not only was I was encroaching on his, his side was very tidy and mine was…not. Not just the makeup and hair stuff, but the dust from the makeup was sprinkled on the white counter and some of it had smudged.
It looked like shit.
It also looked like Oscar and Felix were sharing a bathroom.
In fact, Core was generally tidy, not leaving his keys and phone just anywhere. When he grabbed the mail (and Core always grabbed the mail), he sorted through it, his correspondence whisked away to wherever he tucked his paperwork. When I got home from work, I’d see my mail stacked in a neat pile on the little built-in desk that sat in the corner of the kitchen by the door to the laundry room (and, truth, I hadn’t touched that growing pile in days).
He had cleaning people come every two weeks.
But although I’d never seen him do it, we had a dog that was hella fluffy, yet the dog hair did not overwhelm us between these visits. I knew this was because, before I’d even moved in, Core had one of those expensive rechargeable, cordless vacs that were superpowered so they sucked up dog hair.
He had to run it, almost daily.
I thought this because I hadn’t run it, ever.
Evidence was suggesting my man was a neat freak, and I was not super messy, but if I got caught up in work and life, I could let things get out of hand, and maybe that was bothering him.
However, he was a grown-ass man, so if it was, he could use his words.
But in the meantime, at the very least, I needed to remember to put my mascara away because I wasn’t super hip on the idea that he might break his neck tripping on it in the bathroom.
Quickly, I tucked everything where it was supposed to be and wiped up the makeup sprinkles with a hand towel. I put out a new towel (our last clean one, eek!), took the dirty one with me, tossed it on the hamper (it rolled off and onto the floor…mental note: do a couple of loads of laundry tomorrow) and headed out to Core.
“Ready to go?” I asked.
“Yup,” he answered, hitting the remote to turn off the Christmas tree lights and then heading to the garage.
I’d done preliminary research, and considering the aesthetic we seemed to share, assessed that CB2 and West Elm were our primary targets for Christmas décor. Therefore, Core headed us to Cherry Creek.
“I’m sorry about the mascara,” I said.
“Not a big deal,” he replied.
“I’ll do better at putting away my makeup,” I told him.
“Again, not a big deal.”
“Things have just been busy. I’m usually a lot neater than this.”
“Doesn’t matter, babe.”
He sounded like it didn’t matter, but I looked at him anyway.
He looked like Core driving, not Core driving while he was ticked.
Okay, so maybe I read into that glance in the closet. I, too, would be ticked if I tripped on something he left out and it rolled onto the floor.
Then I’d get over it.
He reached a hand my way.
I put mine in his, he squeezed it, tucked it to his chest for a second and then let it go.
Yes, I’d read into it wrongly.
He was cool.
We were in CB2, and I was trying to talk Core into buying a trio of white, fluffy (as in, they were made of feathers) baby Christmas trees for table décor.
He was not feeling it.
And as such, right in that moment said, “No.”
Or I should say he repeated the word no, since he’d already said it once.
I grinned at him. “It’s perfect for a festive arrangement on the kitchen island. Maybe we could buy some candles and those little snowmen over there.”
I pointed to the snowman figurines that would go perfectly, nestled among the fluffy trees.
He looked that way and said nothing.
I leaned into his side, grabbing his hand in both of mine. “Trust me, I have a vision.”
It was then I caught the expression on his face and the fact he seemed frozen.
I turned that direction, and this time, I didn’t see the snowmen figurines.
I saw a very pretty woman, her gaze darting up and down between Core and me, and she was walking our way.
I knew who she was before she got to us and Core greeted, “Kiki.”
“Hey,” she pushed out breathily, gazing up at him like she’d been dieting all year long in order to let loose during the holiday season, and he was a life-size chocolate Santa.