Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 82077 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82077 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
My husband was a riot. Hannah and Jake were not.
Something needed to give in the house, because between Hannah’s arctic silence and Jake ignoring her completely, I was done. Sam had said in the past that if they broke up, he was keeping both of them, but it was downright depressing. I always thought that if they broke up, they would remain friends, but that didn’t seem possible. I hoped at first that they’d be capable of reverting back to the companions they were before things became romantic between them, but apparently, I was wrong.
At the beginning of the month, Hannah celebrated Imbolc with the rest of her coven, but other than making the candles, as usual, she went to her friend Raven’s house instead, so we didn’t get to hear any chanting, see the robes, or have any part of the first sabbat of the year. Normally Sam is educated by his daughter on whatever sabbat she is taking part in, but this year, Kola was the one who explained that Imbolc was meant to mark the halfway point between winter solstice and the spring equinox. Sam wasn’t all that interested, as Hannah wasn’t there to flit around the house and talk to him. He blamed Jake for her changing the venue for her celebration. It was hard on him, because as much as Sam loved Jake, he loved Hannah more, and seeing her sad did nothing for his mood.
And then, of course, there was actually Valentine’s Day.
Hannah went out to a party downtown with some girlfriends so she wouldn’t be home and sad about Jake being out with whatever girl was his date. They left about fifteen minutes apart. Kola and I were the only ones there, as Harper had a date.
My son had just returned from his five-mile run—how he could be outside when it was so cold was beyond me—but as he was guzzling water in the kitchen, I posed the question.
“Sorry, I missed that,” he said, bending to pet Chilly and Dobby, who had both come to welcome him home. Chilly, especially, liked to rub on Kola’s knees when he returned.
“I said, do you wish you had a date tonight?”
“On a manufactured holiday?” he asked with a squint, the look conveying everything—his disgust, my clear insanity. “If I loved someone, they would be as horrified over this ridiculous holiday as I am.”
“I blame your father.”
“So many guys I know are running around getting stuffed animals and flowers and candy, and I know most of their girlfriends, and they’d rather have food.”
I chuckled.
“If I said to them, hey, you wanna come over for Valentine’s Day, my pa’s making baked spaghetti with meatballs from scratch, they’d love that way more.”
“I see.”
“Or how about office supplies? All the women I know love planners and the stickers that go in them and pens and mechanical pencils and frou-frou paper clips.”
“What you’re telling me is if you had a girlfriend today, she’d be getting these things.”
“Or something to keep her warm, because all the women I know, like, all of them from Nana on down, are always freezing.”
“Okay.”
“And maybe I might get a guy flowers, because how often do men get flowers, or he might get something warm too. The point is, Valentine’s Day is a racket, and people should elect not to play. You making Dad dinner is way more romantic in my book.”
“I make your father dinner every night.”
“During the week, yeah, because you know he comes straight home from his stress-ball of a job and his one drink and food grounds him.”
“Grounds him?”
“You know it does,” he assured me, smiling. “He knows he’s home, and it makes him feel okay. Like he’s in his lair with his mate and his cubs and he’s all good.”
“Well, you and I are going to be eating alone here soon if your father doesn’t show up.”
Kola checked the iWatch on his wrist. “It’s after nine, where is he?”
“He called an hour ago and said he was finally heading out, but I’ve had no updates.”
Which immediately made Kola call. Sam knew better. If he said he was on his way and didn’t materialize, we all started to worry.
“Do you know how to drive?” Sam roared over the line that Kola had put on speaker, having had his phone in the pocket of his running jacket.
“Don’t yell at the young whippersnappers, old man,” Kola teased him, cackling into the phone. “They’re trying not to kill people out there.”
On his best day, Sam Kage could not go half a mile without yelling at someone. He was an angry driver, and since a large part of the population could not, in fact, drive well, the swearing, venting, and sheer volume was terrifying from the love of my life in response. He had been banned, years ago, from losing his mind while any of us were in the car, but alone, he was the crazy man in the car behind you. Not that Sam would ever let it escalate to road rage, and had, on occasion, pulled over to make sure that other people remained safe. He once had two guys cuffed with zip ties when CPD arrived.