Total pages in book: 31
Estimated words: 29000 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 145(@200wpm)___ 116(@250wpm)___ 97(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29000 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 145(@200wpm)___ 116(@250wpm)___ 97(@300wpm)
“You’ll figure it out,” he assures me gleefully.
“But I’m not good enough for her, not nearly good enough,” I add, the confession spilling out before I can stop it. I’d blame sleep deprivation, but I suspect it’s something bigger, something to do with the way Holly’s changed me for the better, in just one night.
Imagine what a few years—or maybe, a lifetime—with my perfect girl could do?
“She doesn’t think so,” Elliot says, appearing at my other side. “She thinks you’re the bee’s knees, big brother. She always has and, if you play your cards right, maybe she always will. Just speak from the heart.”
“And bring cupcakes,” Ashton calls from behind us. “Cupcakes are way better apology gifts than flowers.”
“Or maybe a cake?” I mutter, an idea forming. I stop, turning back to my sister in the doorway. “Is it possible to make a cake and decorate it in just a few hours?”
Ashton smiles like I’m an adorable idiot and nods. “Yes, it is. What flavor of cake would you like to make? I can look up a recipe while you’re showering.”
“Vanilla,” I think, then shake my head. “No, chocolate raspberry. With chocolate filling. And I want to make it into a tree shape and put something on top.”
My sister’s brows lift. “Okay. A little more complicated than I was expecting, but we can make that happen, I think. I bought raspberries at the store yesterday and I saw dark chocolate chips in the pantry. I’ll go gather supplies and preheat the oven. Meet me in the kitchen when you’re done. We’ll give Cook the day off and get busy.”
“Thank you,” I say, the anxiety that’s been swirling in my gut since we left town hall fading. I glance to each of my brothers. “All of you. Thank you.”
“No thanks necessary,” Elliot says. “This is what family is for.”
Bran claps me on the shoulder. “And what the holidays are for. New beginnings, fresh starts, and cake. Lots of cake.” He turns to my sister. “Can we make one for us, too? In case Holly isn’t in the mood to share?”
“Yes, but I want vanilla cream filling,” Ashton says with a happy moan. “I know it’s basic, but I love vanilla.”
I leave my siblings discussing cake flavors and hurry up to my room to shower and change. In my closet, I start to select a suit, as usual, but then think twice, and reach for the sweater drawer. For the gag gift Ashton gave me as an early present last night before Elliot and I went to town…
Sometimes actions speak louder than words.
And reindeer speak even louder…
I flick the jingle bells on the sweater reindeer’s antlers and prepare to humiliate myself in the name of love.
Chapter Twelve
HOLLY
It’s impossible to be sad with a happy puppy licking your face.
Impossible!
Or so I would have assumed before today. But even with Greta and Gizmo, twin golden retriever puppies, wiggling in gratitude on my lap as I hand out popcorn kernels for a photo shoot well done, my smile feels forced.
But that’s okay, faking it until you make it is a long tradition in my family.
My mother faked it until she made it as a reporter for The Manchester Evening Gazette. She started with zero journalism experience and no college degree and went on to become one of the most respected voices on the local politics beat. Ditto for my dad and opening a goat dairy. His ancestors were sheep farmers for centuries, dating back to New Zealand and his great aunt Chastity, who brought a starter flock with her to Vermont in the 1800s.
But Dad wanted to make goat cheese, and damn it, he made his dream a reality.
I will, similarly, make my dream of being ridiculously happy without Luke Ratcliffe a reality. I will move on, find an even sexier, more-perfect-for-me man, and live happily ever after on my five acres with my sexy husband, Geppetto the cat, and dozens of rescue dogs.
I’m only a few thousand dollars away from being able to afford to start my own rescue kennel. If I snag the contract for the senior portraits at the new charter school in Dorset, I’ll be able to start construction in the spring.
Which is why in spite of a certain grumpy billionaire leaving without so much as a thank you for saving him from arson charges for attempted peg leg incineration, I should be in a decent mood. I have a life filled with family, friends, and a menagerie of cute animals. I was gloriously happy before I encountered Luke and his wood, and once I have my five acres covered in frolicking dogs handing out even more puppy kisses, my joy cup will overfloweth.
Still, I’d rather be kissing Luke.
But he doesn’t deserve to be kissed after making that kind of exit! What kind of guy ditches out the morning after without at least a cheek kiss and the standard, “I had a great time?”