Total pages in book: 24
Estimated words: 23132 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 116(@200wpm)___ 93(@250wpm)___ 77(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 23132 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 116(@200wpm)___ 93(@250wpm)___ 77(@300wpm)
Epilogue
“Ouch!” I pulled up my knee and clutched my foot, resulting in a one-legged jump back into the kitchen. Motherfucker. I wanted to shout and possibly punch a hole in the wall, but that would wake up Reese.
I just didn’t like stubbing my toe.
As I breathed through the excruciating pain, I grabbed another bag of chocolate Santas and the box of candy canes. Then I went back to the Christmas corner I was creating. I’d had to step out last night under the guise of replacing the smokes I’d stolen from Pop, and I’d bought firewood at the gas station. The one where Brian didn’t work. And now I had a working fire in the living room. It did look cozy with a fireplace, and the tree looked good next to it. I’d hung the ornaments and placed the gifts underneath.
A Christmas garland went across the mantel of the fireplace, along with our two stockings.
I’d just filled mine with candy.
I flicked a glance at the clock across the room and cursed silently. Time to pick up the pace; Reese was the early riser in the family, and it was almost six in the morning. I’d been up since three, knowing full well I’d struggle with the gift-wrapping. That’d taken me the longest.
After placing the Santas all over the mantel, some around the tree, and hanging the candy canes, I surveyed the corner and wondered if I should push aside the dining room table a bit more. It still felt a little cramped—and clearly, one could injure toes on the chairs.
A minute later, the table and chairs were pushed farther toward Pop’s chair and the TV area of the room, and my toe didn’t hurt any longer.
“What else…” I scratched my stomach and eyed the floor. The rug was comfortable enough to sit on, but a couple blankets might crank up the Christmas feel. I grabbed them from a closet in the hall and dropped them on the floor by the fireplace, and then I squatted down and checked the fire. Chimney must be in good condition, at least.
Only thing left to fix was breakfast, and my confidence wasn’t at an all-time high on that one, I had to be honest. But it should be fine. I’d just throw the sausage patties into the microwave and pop the muffins in the toaster, and then the hot cocoa would—
“River?”
Fuck!
I shot a look down the dark hall leading to our room. “Go back to sleep—I’ll be there in a minute.”
Maybe he’d woken up and figured I was in the bathroom.
“What’re you doin’?” he grumbled sleepily. And fuck me if his voice wasn’t coming closer. I panicked, but there was nothing I could do, not even make a bad decision. My brain went blank, and I just stood there as Reese appeared from our doorway and walked into the living room.
He rubbed his eyes. “You were gone for…” He blinked and landed his gaze on the furniture I’d moved, which prompted him to look toward the fireplace.
Goddammit. I wouldn’t get to surprise him.
“Merry Christmas,” I said lamely.
He tightened the drawstrings on his sweats and walked over to me, eyes glued to the fireplace, the stockings, the tree. “Did you—I mean, how—” He shook his head quickly. “When did you get all this?”
I cleared my throat and couldn’t help but feel disappointed. I’d wanted to wake him up with breakfast…
“The other day when you went out with Brian,” I replied.
He tore his stare from the Christmas items, and his gaze softened.
“You woke up too early, though.” It was possible I sounded a bit accusatory. “I haven’t fixed breakfast yet.”
His mouth twitched, and he closed the distance between us, cupped my face in his hands, and kissed me. “Let me.”
It would probably spare us both some trouble.
“You did this for me,” he murmured.
I mustered a little smile and shrugged. “You like this shit, and…I don’t know. I wanna make you happy and whatever.”
He grinned into a quick kiss. “I wanna make you happy and whatever too.”
All right, there was no fucking use in trying to stay cool. And with him, I didn’t have to.
He grabbed my hand and threaded our fingers together. It felt ridiculously good, and he pulled me with him into the kitchen, where I showed him what I’d bought for our breakfast. He nodded along and started taking shit out of the fridge, so I assumed he’d put his own twist on the English muffins.
Twenty minutes later, we had our own breakfast spread on the floor in front of the fire, and I could admit I got curious when he excused himself quickly, only to return with a stack of presents.
“You brought that one,” I stated, pointing to the bottom gift in the pile. It was wrapped with paper Nana had at home.
“I did.” He nodded and sank his teeth into his food. “I found it in September. Insane sale.”