Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 50080 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 250(@200wpm)___ 200(@250wpm)___ 167(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 50080 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 250(@200wpm)___ 200(@250wpm)___ 167(@300wpm)
“If you run out of salt, I can stop by Auggie’s Hardware and pick some up for you.”
“No, I have some. I’m just trying to conserve it for a major storm.”
I have always liked Mr. Whitaker. Our relationship grew stronger when I dated his son, and we have remained close even after the breakup. I place my hand on his shoulder and give it a reassuring squeeze, hoping he understands he can rely on me. “Just give me a call if you need anything. Dad and I will be back shortly with some trees, and I’ll help with setting everything up.”
Mr. Whitaker is well beyond retirement age. The plan was for his son, Zane, to take over the store or at least move back to Deer Ridge and manage it on the side. However, Zane had different plans, as many kids do in today’s world. They no longer desire to live in small, rural towns; they seek the bright lights and fast pace of big cities. However, I couldn’t care less about that. Returning home after law school was the right decision for me. This is where I want to raise my future family, if I have one.
Mr. Whitaker let out a sigh. “I will, Eve. Have a good day and drive carefully. Those city folk have a tendency to run stop lights.”
Except we don’t have any stop lights in Deer Ridge.
“You too. We’ll be back soon. Remember to call if you need anything.”
I cross the street and climb into the cab of my truck, pretending to review the list of errands I have to run for my mom, even though I have it memorized. It’s the same list every year. There are a few more stops to make on this street before I head toward the next block. Peering out my window, I observe Mr. Whitaker working on the patch of ice. It would devastate him if someone were to slip and fall. Technically, the town would be held responsible, but in today’s sue-happy society, the last thing Mr. Whitaker needs is a lawsuit. I pull out my phone and text my dad, asking him to send one of the kids to the store to give Mr. Whitaker a hand. It’s the least I can do.
TWO
ZANE
The glass of red wine sits comfortably in my palm, its stem resting delicately between my fingers. It was handed to me by my fiancé, Caryn, without me even having to ask. In her parents’ lavish house in the Hamptons, it seems like everyone always has a glass of wine or a famous aged scotch or whiskey in hand. Personally, I’m not a fan of either, so I stick with wine.
Ever since I met Caryn, I’ve spent my holidays here. At first, it didn’t bother me. Who wouldn’t want to spend Thanksgiving and Christmas miles away from the city, in a somewhat secluded property with the ocean just steps from our doorstep? It’s an experience everyone should have at least once. But now, it’s become such a routine that I’m not sure how to break it. I’d like to go home to visit my father. It’s been years since I’ve been back, and he hasn’t even met Caryn yet. He should probably get to know his future daughter-in-law before we send out the save the date cards.
Looking outside the large window, the grass appears invitingly green, despite the bitterly cold weather. With such low temperatures, one would expect snow, but there isn’t a hint of Christmas in the air. I tilt my head to the side, studying the grass and wondering if it’s spray-painted to achieve such vibrancy. We haven’t seen the sun in weeks.
Inside the house, a decorating company is diligently transforming it into a Christmas wonderland, while holiday music fills the airwaves, playing one festive tune after another about Santa coming to town or dreaming of a white Christmas.
There’s a themed tree in each room, which changing from year to year. When I first started coming here, I found it charming and festive. But now, it just seems excessive. I let out a heavy sigh and take a sip from my glass. Once they’re finished here, the company will head to our penthouse in the city and repeat the process. It feels like we’ve spent endless hours in Macy’s during the holidays. It’s great for a day, but not every day. I suppose since it’s not technically my place and I’m not footing the bill, I don’t have much say.
Caryn comes up from behind me, and wraps her arms around my waist. My hand covers hers, my palm pressing against the diamond on her fourth finger. Asking her to marry me was a natural progression in our relationship.
We met while I was interning at her father’s office, and we hit it off. We kept in touch while she was back at school, but that was the extent of our relationship until her dad hired me full-time. A month later, we started dating. A year later, I moved into her penthouse. Living together has allowed me to pay off my student loans, for which I am incredibly grateful. But there are times when I feel like we should move because I don’t feel equal in her world. Caryn’s parents cover all our expenses, and sometimes it bothers me. I want to be able to build a life with her, but Caryn doesn’t make any decisions without consulting her parents first. I have a sneaking suspicion that they might even join us on our honeymoon.