Total pages in book: 149
Estimated words: 145731 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145731 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Dad, what’s the best way to count down to Christmas?
I scratch my head, wondering what she’s up to.
Wanda, my seven-pound Chi-Pom-Papillon rescue-mix, struts into the kitchen in her black jean jacket. Today, the jacket is decked out with metallic studs and a Ramones pin.
“Looking sharp, Wanda.” She hops onto her little dog bed by the table and curls up like she owns the place. Since, well, she kind of does. She lets out a tiny snort when I don’t immediately toss her a snack.
I get on with snack prep and find a Post-it note stuck to the apple cutter. Written in Mia’s unmistakable pink ink is: Santa’s elves say The Peppermint Patrol knows all about surprises!
Okay, Mia’s got a Christmas-y plan. But I’ve no idea what. “Mia,” I call out, “are you trying to tell me something?”
The sound of little feet precedes my daughter, who rushes out of her room holding a brush and two hair ties. “What would I be telling you, Dad?”
She tilts her head, so good at the innocent act, it’s scary.
“I don’t know, cupcake. That’s why I’m asking.” I set a Cosmic Crisp on the cutting board and press down with the apple cutter.
“Why would I be telling you anything?” She bats her lashes like a cherub from the kitchen entry.
“Well,” I say, gathering the neat, even slices of apple, “I’ve found these little notes all around.” I reach for the homemade peanut butter—it’s healthier and tastier than the processed peanut butter. But when I lift the mason jar, something catches my eye.
A sleigh ornament hangs from a loop of twine around the jar, along with another note. A sleigh ride’s no fun without surprises along the way!
Mia snickers. I spin around, and she wipes that smile off so fast I almost laugh.
“All right, what’s the story, kiddo?”
“Story,” she says, over-the-top thoughtful. “Funny you should use that word.” She skips into the kitchen, wearing her white sweater and leggings, and strikes a pose like she’s revealing a grand idea. “I know Christmas isn’t your thing,” she starts diplomatically, and that’s putting it mildly, “but I read in The Peppermint Patrol about an Advent calendar the characters did, plus all my friends are doing them, and I really, really want one.”
“You really want an Advent calendar? Those things are usually just full of junk.” I’ve tried to teach her the value of books, puzzles, and games, not junky plastic crap that ends up in a landfill. She’s definitely my kid—she hates that kind of waste almost as much as I do.
“Well, you won’t really let me decorate the house, except for my bedroom,” she says with a pointed little pout, “so I thought—what if we make our own Advent calendar instead? We could do anything with it, like they do in the books. It could be crafts, decorations, Christmas toys, Christmassy things. It could be something fun!”
Twenty-four days? Twenty-four freaking days of Christmassy things? I hate Advent calendars. They’re so excessive—they’re pure holiday torture in a box. I’m about to say as much when I hear my teammates ribbing me. You do have a hate list, and we’re subjected to it every year.
Shit. Are they right? Well, Advent calendars belong on a hate list. Still, I probably shouldn’t unintentionally tell Mia what she should and shouldn’t like. I slice another Cosmic Crisp and rack my brain for a less grinchy response than I hate Advent calendars. Then I spot something on the opposite counter, propped up next to the coffee maker—Sleigh Bell Scout, the book she asked for last Christmas.
I nod to it, raising an eyebrow. “What’s this doing out?”
There. Points for Christmas neutrality.
Mia glances over, then shrugs. “Oh, that? No reason. I just…thought maybe you’d like to read it to me sometime, since there’s another one coming out in the series, and it has mysteries—you like mysteries.”
Uh-huh. Sure.
But the book gives me an idea. Maybe I don’t need to do a Christmassy thing with an Advent calendar. We can do a book thing. I lean against the counter, arms crossed. “Okay, kiddo. I’ve got an idea.”
Her brown eyes sparkle. “I like ideas. Can you tell me your idea while you braid my hair?”
She hands me the brush and hair ties, and I pat the kitchen chair. After she plops into it, turning away from me, I set the apple and peanut butter in front of her, then get to work making two French braids, just the way she likes.
“Do you like bookstores?” I ask as I twist one chunk of hair over another.
“You know I do,” she says around an apple bite.
“Then before we drop you off at your skating lesson, we’ll swing by An Open Book. But that’s all I’m saying for now.”
“Da-ad!”
“Mia,” I taunt.
She huffs. “Fine, make me wait.”
I laugh. Maybe a little nefariously. “You’ll like it.”