Total pages in book: 38
Estimated words: 36643 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 183(@200wpm)___ 147(@250wpm)___ 122(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 36643 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 183(@200wpm)___ 147(@250wpm)___ 122(@300wpm)
The bandage has been ripped off and I’m left trying to staunch the bleeding.
“I’m sorry,” Clara says and rushes over to me. “I’m still hurt, but I’m trying. I’ll get past it.”
I hug her to me, burying my nose in her almond-scented hair. Because I’m aching to soothe the throbbing in my chest, I allow my hands to slide down her back to where her sweater ends. She stiffens when my fingertips dance over her bare flesh.
Did I just fuck up?
She hugs me tighter and then relaxes, resting her head against my chest. I take it as permission to stroke her lower back. We stand in silence, hugging instead of speaking. Her body trembles when my fingertips get closer to her sides since she’s ticklish.
“I know I messed up by leaving,” I tell her roughly. “I think I was supposed to come back, though. Being here with you right now feels good.”
Too good in fact.
“It wasn’t that you left,” she says softly. “It was that you disappeared after you left.”
“How do I earn back your trust so we can go back to the way things used to be?”
She pulls away from me and flashes me a devious grin that makes my blood run hot, straight to my confused cock. “You can start by fixing my snowman. Get to work. We leave in half an hour.”
I don’t care if I have to accost this Travis guy and make him work by knifepoint. I’m fixing that damn thing. I’m going to make Clara happy again like it’s my job.
Since I don’t have an actual job, I’ve got plenty of time to do just that.
Clara
I’m going to have to call Travis because Eric is not an electrician no matter how much he wanted to fix my snowman. The fact that he tried, though, warms my heart.
He’s back and I think it might be for good.
Or is that wishful thinking?
I think being here is good for him, especially after the trauma of getting fired because of someone he thought was a friend. In less than twenty-four hours, Eric has pulled the proverbial stick out of his butt and relaxed. It’s great seeing his easygoing smile again.
Every time the hurt trickles back in, I attempt to push it out. He’s not perfect. Neither of us are. And, he’s here, being in the moment with me. Eric always has been and always will be my person.
As he drives my car, I can’t help but sneak peeks at him. He’s belting out the lyrics to “White Christmas” by Bing Crosby, intensely focusing on the snowy drive. I like watching him when he lets loose. In his dark gray pea coat and styled dark hair, he could totally be transformed to a 1950s Christmas era and fit in. He certainly looks the part with his roguish grin and enigmatic aura.
Are you crushing on your stepbrother again, Clara? I thought we were over this.
Apparently not. I can’t count how many times I’ve compared guys I’ve dated to Eric. If only they were funnier like him or more thoughtful like him. If only they knew their way around the kitchen like him. If only they knew the inside jokes like he does.
They never measured up.
And when I finally liked a guy, he never liked me back.
Which is why you have got to stop drooling over your stepbrother. It’s a recipe for disaster.
I join in on singing, hoping to shove away those dangerous thoughts. Too many times when I was a teenager I cried myself to sleep about the unfairness of it all. The day he lost his virginity to my friend, Raquel, my heart was broken.
You can’t sleep with your stepbrother.
That is what I drilled into my head over and over again, but it still didn’t erase the pain I’d felt knowing my friend got to have him when I couldn’t.
If he ever knew I had these feelings toward him, he’d no doubt be uncomfortable. I’m not sure we could ever go back to our easy relationship if I ever revealed that. I’ve lost him once and I can’t risk it again which is why I have to stop looking at him like I might have a romantic chance with him.
“This place is new,” Eric says as he pulls into a parking spot in front of the Smoke & Sugar restaurant.
“No, it’s not. You just haven’t been here in a hot minute.” Rather than saying any more on the subject, I climb out and shudder against the icy wind. I walk around to his side of the car and point down Main Street. “All the places that decorate are that direction. Smoke & Sugar is basically the end of the line. We can hit all the ones on the other side of the road and then come back up on this side.”