Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 125117 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125117 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
“So what made you come this year?”
Ash squirmed and blinked owlishly. “Oh, well. I don’t know. Just felt like it, I guess.”
Before Truman could tease him about that being a total nonanswer, Don came downstairs and began making the rounds. When he reached them, he slapped Ash on the back and squeezed Truman’s shoulder.
“Good to see you boys here. Ash, glad you changed your mind. Make sure you get some of the sweet potato casserole. I made it using my secret ingredient.” He winked. “And don’t bother asking, because I’m taking it to my grave.” He turned to leave. “Oh, and the eggnog’s got quite a kick.”
“You changed your mind?” Truman asked, eyeing the buffet table for the eggnog. “How come?”
Ash mumbled something that sounded like “Fridunnow.”
Truman cocked his head in question, and Ash let out a sigh.
“Because I wanted to hang out with you,” Ash said.
Truman felt like a balloon had inflated in his heart and he was being pulled upward by the string. Since their kiss in the cave, they had sat close and hugged, and Truman had touched Ash’s hair a lot. But they hadn’t kissed again. In fact, Truman had started angsting about whether maybe Ash had only been moved in that moment to kiss him but wasn’t actually into it.
But Ash’s face was not the face of a man who wasn’t into it.
Aware his mouth was hanging open, Truman closed it with an audible snap. He slid an arm through Ash’s and squeezed.
“Whaddaya say we get some of this eggnog?”
“I hate eggnog, but yeah.” Ash smiled and squeezed Truman’s arm back.
The dinner was served buffet style, with guests filling their plates and mingling in Don and Maisey’s living and dining rooms. As the night went on and the eggnog and wine flowed, Truman found himself hearing snatches of gossip about everyone in town. He also heard no fewer than five people exclaim about how surprised they were to see Ash.
Truman found himself drawn into a discussion about business tax itemization and left with several requests to do people’s taxes. Then Ash subtly gestured him over to the corner. Assuming Ash was looking for a rescue, he squared his shoulders and approached.
“Ginny, this is my friend Truman. Truman, Ginny does that journaling thing you do.”
“You do bullet journaling?” he exclaimed and was delighted when she nodded. His delight grew when she pulled her journal out of her bag.
“I need a cover for it,” she said idly, smoothing a bent corner as she opened it to show him.
Truman mentally added protective covers to the list of things he could potentially sell.
Ginny’s style was completely different than Truman’s. She used a lot of stickers and washi tape, which made for a riotously colorful journal. She also tried different media throughout the year—watercolors one month, colored pencils the next. Truman admired her flexibility.
They got to discussing the spreads they were most recently using, and Truman found himself confiding in her.
“I’ve been thinking of starting up a little side business, actually. Designing stickers and page borders but also printable spreads kind of based on my style of hand lettering.”
He showed her a few pictures he’d taken of his bullet journal spreads.
“God, these are gorgeous,” she said. “Totally not my style, but I have a friend who does BuJo, and she’s always looking for bold, minimalist stuff like this. So much of the stuff that’s out there is a little more flourishy, you know?”
Truman nodded. “Yeah, I feel like it could be something people might be into,” he ventured.
“If you’re interested, my friend—different friend—has an online shop where she sells her stuff. I can send you the link if you wanna check it out. And I’m sure she’d be happy to talk with you about how she started it. All that stuff.”
“Yes, please! I’d love that.”
***
And so Truman left the party with a promise from Ginny that she’d connect him with her friend and a date to go over to Ginny’s for coffee and to discuss bullet journaling the following week. He was giddy with it (and the eggnog didn’t hurt) as he and Ash waved their goodbyes and ventured out into the cold night.
He slid his arm through Ash’s and tried to skip. Of course, since he hadn’t informed Ash of this plan, it was not successful.
Ash chuckled. “Are you tipsy?”
“Nah, just happy. Well, a tiny bit tipsy, but mostly happy. I like Ginny. Thanks for introducing us. Did you go to high school with her too?”
“Ginny? No, Ginny moved here a few years ago when she married Mort Hazeldon. She’s, like, ten years older than me. Do we look the same age?”
Truman came to a halt and made a show of peering at Ash’s face. Of course, this was really just an excuse, because Ash’s face was quite wonderful and he enjoyed looking at it. When Ash became uncomfortable being stared at, Truman shrugged.