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)
He did have a great time. I had a great time. Even Andy had a great time, thanks to my cleavage snacks. And it’s not like I’m asking for flowers or an edible arrangement. I’m not expecting romantic texts or professions of undying love…though I wouldn’t be mad about any of those things.
How could he have thought leaving like that was okay?
Maybe we should have talked a little more before jumping on the play mats with a can of whipped cream.
My cheeks burn at the memory, but in pleasure, not regret.
No regrets, Holly Jo. And no hurt feelings. Luke told you flat out he couldn’t be what you needed him to be.
But he was what I needed for one night.
I guess that will have to be enough.
Greta and Gizmo’s mom, Janie Lancaster, is practically bouncing in excitement as she hurries over with the puppies’ leashes. “Oh, you did such a good job, I can tell already. When can I see the photos of my babies?”
Maneuvering carefully with the pile of puppies in my lap, I turn my camera so she can see a few shots. “They’re all fantastic, but I like this one where they’re popping out of the gift box best. So adorable.”
Janie beams. “They really are adorable, aren’t they?” She smiles at the Santa’s Workshop set up on my side of the gazebo before casting a fond glance out at the winter wonderland beyond. “I love this time of the year.”
Normally I love it, too.
The town square is bustling with families, pets, older couples strolling hand in hand, and holiday vendors. The smell of fresh air, pine needles from the Christmas tree lot, and cinnamon from the bakery cart at the corner clogs the nostrils with the scents of the season.
Santa Claus (played by Bill Sykes, Mayor Misty’s sixty-year-old son) is working double duty at both photography stations, running back and forth between crying kids by the Christmas tree and barking Labradors here in the gazebo.
At one point, he was hustling so quickly, he tripped on Candy Cane Lane and took out a whole row of giant plastic peppermints. There was a collective gasp from the crowd before Bill leapt to his feet with impressive dexterity and shouted, “Santa’s fine!” He even did an impromptu Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers dance number with a peppermint to prove it.
It’s happy chaos.
The most joyful time of the year.
My favorite shoot of the season, bar none.
But as Janie coaxes her fur babies down the gazebo steps with promises of “good dog” treats if they behave on their leashes, I once again find myself fighting the urge to tear up.
I’m ridiculous. Pathetic. And likely to remain that way until I can get home, take a ten-hour power nap, and rewatch my favorite holiday episodes of Gilmore Girls, while mainlining a pound of cookie dough. I’ve rarely met a heartache Gilmore Girls and cookie dough can’t fix, but for now I just have to keep going.
At least I have a fifteen-minute break while Santa Bill is on kid pic duty.
I sip hot chocolate and tidy the set—putting the lids back on the present boxes and rearranging the selection of pet-sized Santa hats from smallest to largest so I can reach for one quickly as needed. There are also reindeer antlers, but I haven’t been able to bring myself to put one on any of the dogs, and I wore my elf costume today.
After last night, I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to look at reindeer the same way again…
The thought has just drifted through my head when I see it, a broad chest covered in the most obnoxious reindeer Christmas sweater I’ve ever seen. It has a bright neon green background, a giant reindeer wearing sunglasses holding a mug of cocoa, and light up antlers that flash red, green, and blue as it crosses the square.
The sweater is being worn by a tall, dark, and cranky billionaire I was certain I’d never see again. Or at least not at a cutesy Jingle Bell Junction holiday event.
But he doesn’t look cranky.
He looks…nervous. And he’s making a beeline straight for me, cutting through the line for kettle corn, two kids having a snowball fight, and tromping through the middle of the cakewalk, earning a “watch it!” from a man in a blue puffer coat. But Luke doesn’t seem to hear the man or see the line or feel the smack as a rogue snowball knicks his shoulder before falling to the ground.
His gaze is locked on mine, sending a heady mixture of anxiety and hope swirling through my already discombobulated insides.
I tell myself there could be a perfectly reasonable, not-at-all-exciting explanation for Luke being here in a holiday sweater with fire in his eyes. He could have been forced into the sweater by his family and be suffering from dry eye after sleeping on the dusty floor all night.