Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 121898 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 609(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121898 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 609(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
“Why are you telling me this?” I asked him, peering over at him. “We’re not friends. We never have been.”
“Thank you,” he said, somewhat unexpectedly. “For being a friend to her today when she needed one.”
I pushed off the bar and grabbed my glass. “Someone had to be.”
Thomas sighed, and I walked back to the table without turning around. I really didn’t want to get involved in his family drama—organising my sister’s wedding was enough family drama for me—and I certainly wasn’t going to be his shoulder to cry on.
I was sorry about his dad.
I was sorry about the fact his fiancée left him.
I was sorry his sister was struggling and channelling her grief in a way that hurt the people who loved her.
But that was none of my business. None of it.
So why the fuck did I feel awful about walking away from him just now?
More specifically, why did I want to find out more about that mystery fiancée of his?
Why did I even care?
CHAPTER SEVEN – THOMAS
If I heard Mariah Carey’s song one more time, I was going to throw myself into the nearest pond.
Considering four inches of snow had fallen overnight and all the ponds nearby had frozen, I was relatively confident it would finish the job off.
It was on every Christmas playlist known to man, and those were insufferable at the best of times.
No, I didn’t want to be fucking happy.
I didn’t want it to be Christmas every day.
I didn’t want to see ‘mommy’ kissing Santa Claus.
And I certainly didn’t care about the aforementioned gentleman coming to town.
If I had it my way, I’d make like a bear and hibernate for the entire winter. Gorge myself on food, hide in a cave, and emerge when the weather was warmer.
They had it all figured out.
I unwound my scarf from my neck and kicked off my boots. If Mum wanted to spend hours in the snow with Danny, she was more than welcome to. I’d just make sure Heath had his fresh tomato soup still warm in the slow cooker for them to eat when they came in.
I walked into the kitchen and looked around. Heath was nowhere to be found, but as he’d promised, the slow cooker was ticking over on the counter, and the rich scent of tomato soup filled the air.
So did fresh bread.
There was a big basket next to the pot, and I lifted the cloth that was covering it.
Ah. Thick, fresh, crusty bread.
I got a bowl and scooped out some soup, then grabbed some bread on a side plate and sat down at the kitchen island to eat, only to be glared at by a seven-foot-tall green tree.
Why the fuck was there a Christmas tree in my kitchen?
I had one rule for my mother.
She could put trees everywhere she wanted, but the kitchen and my bedroom were off-limits.
That did, of course, mean we had approximately sixteen Christmas trees dotted throughout the interior of Castleton Manor, the seat of the Dukedom of Castleton, but it was fine.
My mother loved Christmas.
My father had loved Christmas.
They’d always selected the tree locations together, and I suspected this year’s overload was her way of both making up for not decorating to her usual level last year and feeling close to him this year.
Heck, putting up sixteen Christmas trees was a relatively healthy way of coping with grief, as far as I was concerned.
Or, rather, seventeen, given the undecorated one that was staring at me from the corner of the room.
I shook my head as I dipped some bread in the soup. Fine. Whatever she wanted. If seventeen Christmas trees made her happy and brought her peace for our first real Christmas without my dad, then she could have them. She could have two in every room, as long as they didn’t creep into my bedroom.
I knew this year was hard for her. I didn’t really count last year as being our first Christmas without my dad as it’d barely been a month since he’d died. I can barely remember it. The only things I remembered with any kind of clarity at all was Danny’s face when he’d realised Santa had been there, then my mum crying because she’d forgotten to dust footsteps in front of the fire with flour like Dad always used to.
I pulled my phone from my pocket and set a reminder for Christmas Eve at eleven p.m.
Dust footsteps in front of the fireplace.
Hell, I didn’t like Christmas. The past three had been nothing but pure pain for me, but I wasn’t going to ruin it for my nephew.
Even I could fake a little Christmas spirit for him.
He was the only person I could fake it for. I wasn’t even sure I could for Mum this year. Christmas was not only the reminder that my dad was no longer here, but the reminder that I was alone.