Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 92062 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92062 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
“Should I make breakfast?” he asks me, leaning his elbows on the island.
“We would not say no to some pancakes and scrambled eggs.” I pet Whiskey’s head. “Would we?”
“So, you want pancakes and scrambled eggs.”
“I mean, if you are making them for yourself”—I hold up my hands—“I won’t say no.”
“You could just say, ‘Yes, Nate, that sounds great.’” He looks at me. “‘I would love to have some pancakes and scrambled eggs.’”
“If you’re making them, sure, I would like that very much.”
“Were you always this much of a pain in my ass?” he asks me and I shrug.
“Pretty much.” I turn back to look at him watching me. “I plan to be a pain in your ass every single day I’m here.”
“Well, unlike bowling.” He snorts. “You are killing it at that.”
“Do you hear that, Whiskey?” I rub his head. “I’m a pain in his ass.”
“Hey, at least now you’re talking to me,” he mumbles, and my head turns to watch his back as he takes the egg carton out of the fridge.
“What does that mean?” I ask him, the pit of my stomach now getting tight.
“It means exactly what I said it means.” He puts the things on the counter.
“Are we talking in code?” I ask him, taking another sip of my coffee. “Because I don’t understand a thing you are saying.”
“Really?” His eyebrows go up. “You have no idea?” The back of my neck starts to tingle. “None?”
“I have no idea.” I stand up and head toward the kitchen. “Do you want to say, add anything?”
“Nope.” He shakes his head, turning and walking to the stove and I just watch him. “I also have no eggs.” He holds up the white container. “So how about we get dressed and I’ll take you out for breakfast?”
“Are you going to fill me in on what I need to know?” I ask him and he’s about to say something when the phone rings again, this time I see it’s my mother.
“That would be for you,” he says, pushing his phone my way. “I’m going to get changed.”
I grab the phone and put it on speakerphone. “Super Sex Hotline, how may we assist you on the road to the best orgasms?”
My mother gasps at the same time Nate does, which makes me burst out laughing. “You are incredible,” she hisses.
“I know.” I smile as I walk past him with his phone in my hand. “I’ve been told. Many times.” I look back at him and my eyebrows go up. “How can I help you this wonderful morning, Mom?”
“I just got off the phone with your brother,” she answers, “and he says you’re being unreasonable.”
It’s my turn to gasp. “Mom, he’s becoming groomzilla,” I say in my defense, “and he said I was bigger since he saw me last.”
“He did not.” Nate takes his side.
“No one is asking for you to intrude in my private conversation, Nate,” I hiss at him before turning my attention back at my mother. “He said I needed extra time with the seamstress, what do you think that means?”
“I’m sure you misunderstood.”
“Wow.” I stomp up the steps. “I think I know what I heard.”
“I’m coming to get you,” she states. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
“No,” I sing out, “Nate was going to take me for breakfast.”
“I’ll take you for breakfast. Nate, you can come with us.”
“No worries, Denise. I have a bunch of things to do for the wedding anyway.”
“Liar,” I mouth to him, and he smirks. “Bye, Mom.” I hang up the phone. “I hope you’re happy.”
“Why is this my fault?” He walks up the steps and stands in front of me. He holds out his hand and I hand him his phone. “It’s your fault because you made me answer the phone.”
“She knows where I live,” he points out to me, “so she would have just shown up here.”
“You are just full of excuses,” I tell him. “Figures,” I snip and walk to the bathroom.
“What the fuck does that mean?” he snaps at me.
I shrug my shoulders. “It means exactly what I said it means,” I throw back in his face. “Now, as much as I would love to stand here and discuss whatever the fuck we are talking about, I have to get changed.” I turn and head to the bathroom, shutting the door behind me and locking it. “He’s not worth it,” I mumble before I start the shower. “Just forget it. The time to talk about this was the day after, not now, after seven freaking years.”
CHAPTER 10
Nate
MISTLETOE
A Christmas carol is playing softly on the radio as I turn onto the gravel road that leads to the parking lot. Christmas trees line the wooden fence all the way to the open parking lot. Looking at the clock on the dashboard, I see I’m about one minute early and I was expecting there to be more people here already.