Total pages in book: 244
Estimated words: 236705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1184(@200wpm)___ 947(@250wpm)___ 789(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 236705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1184(@200wpm)___ 947(@250wpm)___ 789(@300wpm)
River brings his finger to his lips. “Shh. I won’t tell if you won’t tell.”
I wink at him. “Your secret is safe with me.”
He pops up, heads to the kitchen, and grabs the bubbly. “By the way, I texted Grant and Declan. Told them we needed to spend the night here. They were totally fine with it. Did you tell Nisha?”
“I texted with TJ, so she knows, but I’ll give her a quick call,” I say, then grab my phone from the floor, and hit her name.
One ring, and she picks up.
“You had me so worried,” she says, and I can practically see her in her home, shaking a finger, all statuesque and goddess-like.
“Sorry, Mom,” I tease.
“If it weren’t for TJ, I would have gone to Markleeville and tracked you down myself,” she says, sighing like she’s still annoyed, though I know she’s not.
“Yes, you are definitely a mom.”
“Not yet.”
“Wait. Are you and Hailey trying to?”
“Don’t change the subject, Owen Hayes. You had me so worried that for two hours I was pacing and convinced you were dead.”
“Well, there was snow, and I took a nap.”
“You and your nap fetish,” she says. “Anyway, if the snow doesn’t melt by tomorrow, I’m sending a helicopter for you. I really want you here.”
“You are a determined goddess. But question—can helicopters fly in this weather?”
“My imaginary one can. You’re in that little car, right?”
“Yes, River has a Honda.”
“My cousin has a new van for work. It’s all weather, or all-terrain, or jet-fueled, or something. Anyway, I can send him to pick you up tomorrow if the snow is still shitty. He loves helping. It’s his thing. Send me your address.”
“I’ll text it when I hang up. See you tomorrow.”
“See you,” she says, then takes a beat. “Also, have fun.”
“Goodbye, Nisha.”
I hang up and text her the address of the cabin.
Then, I join River in the kitchen as he swings open the cupboards and grabs two mugs.
Thank God.
If he got out champagne flutes, it’d be far too romantic for me.
Mugs are what friends drink champagne from.
He pops open the bottle, pours some for me in a For Fox Sake mug, and some for himself in one with the words Gopher It under a drawing of that animal.
He lifts his mug to toast.
I step closer, clink the ceramic to his.
River clears his throat. “To our first fight ending,” he says.
“I’ll drink to that.” And I do, taking a big, thirsty sip, then sigh happily. “I fucking love champagne.”
“Of course you do.”
“Why do you say it like that?”
“Because you have good taste, Owen, and champagne is delish. So of course you like it,” he says, then grabs a bag of popcorn. “Let’s snack and drink and play . . .” He stops, screws up his brow. “Monopoly?”
“I slaughter you every time. It’s not challenging.”
River snarls. “So cruel. But so true. We’ll find another.”
In the living room, we sink down onto the plush carpet, tugging games from the drawer in the coffee table.
Uno.
I pretend to fall asleep.
He grabs Catan.
I shake my head. “We’ll be up all night.”
River points to the window. “Got somewhere to go?”
I knock back some champagne. “Nope. But I am not playing a game that requires me to pull an all-nighter. My commitment level to a board game is about an hour.”
“A man who knows his mind. Gotta love it,” River says, taking another drink, then opening the popcorn.
We root around for more games, while munching on the salty snack.
“Exploding Kittens?” He waggles the Russian-roulette style game in front of me.
“Possibly. We’ll consider it a front-runner,” I say, grabbing another box, then moaning in mock pain as I set it on the table.
“Risk.” I cringe. “Pretty sure you have to be into Game of Thrones to like Risk.”
His jaw comes unhinged. “You don’t like Game of Thrones? How did I not know this juicy tidbit?”
“Maybe because we never talk about it. Does that”—I stop, cross my fingers—“mean you don’t like it either?”
“I tried a few episodes. Too much violence to get to the nakedness.”
“Am I right? I’m all for more skin, just less blood and guts.”
River lifts his mug in another toast. “To more fucking and less violence.”
“I will definitely drink to that.”
I take another swallow and he does the same, then we grab some popcorn too, as the snow keeps falling and the fire warms me up.
River pokes his head under the table, then grabs a box of cards. Would You Rather…? “What do you think, cutie?”
That last word tugs on my brain. Reminds me of our conversation from years ago in college as we left the Old School coffee shop and created the Harry and Rod rule. I called you a cutie because I can’t call you a hottie. Even with those Clark Kent glasses. I can’t call you hot because you’re seeing someone.