Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 80555 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80555 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
“Why do we have to eat food then presents?” Wren kept glancing over toward the dining room and living area beyond. At some point after Thanksgiving, a small tree had appeared and been duly decorated by the kids. More seasonal decor graced the mantel and numerous other spots, including the snowman oven mitts Eric used to pull the bacon from the oven.
“Because we’re civilized like that,” he said mildly as he dished up the food. “And some of us are hungry.”
“The dogs didn’t have to wait for their presents.” Wren motioned at the dogs, who had found new toys waiting on their beds in the breakfast nook and were now chomping away.
“Coffee.” Rowan swept down the back stairs in flannel pants and a black silk robe, a combo that would be comical on anyone else. I poured him a cup before he reached the kitchen island. “Bless.” He offered a grateful grin, eyes widening like he was only now registering my presence. “Magnus. Did you sleep over?”
“Uh. No.” The skin at the back of my neck heated. “Diesel fetched me.”
“Well, flannel suits you.” Rowan’s gaze turned decidedly appreciative, and Eric made a strangled noise, looking up from arranging biscuits on a platter.
“Rowan.”
“And you look good too, Dad. Don’t get jealous.” Rowan laughed lightly, clearly out to rile Eric. “I’ve got compliments for everyone. And gifts.”
“Do they all have your show logo on them?” Wren used a suspicious tone.
“Not all.” Rowan waved a hand before snagging a biscuit. “How many of your gifts are alive?”
“Define alive.” Wren turned cagey, looking back at the living room again.
“Wren.” John paused in piling a plate high with food. “Please tell me there’s no ant farm this year.”
“You liked that gift.”
“Until it shattered and Dad had to pay for an exterminator,” John countered as several of the others groaned in sympathy.
“I was willing to test a new deterrent compound.” Wren shook their head with another guilty glance toward the tree. Uh-oh. I hoped John’s gift wasn’t a spider or worse.
Not surprisingly, a short time later, after we had devoured the mountain of breakfast food, Wren was first to lead the charge toward the living room.
“Everyone’s done with food. Presents!”
Eric cast a longing glance at the sink full of dishes.
“I’ll help later,” I said, giving his shoulder a fast pat on our way to the living room where Maren had Diesel distributing fuzzy stockings.
“And a stocking for you.” Diesel passed one to me.
“For me?” Although I’d snuck my own presents under the tree a few days earlier, I hadn’t expected much, if anything, in return.
“You’re part of the household.” Eric nodded like this was a simple fact. “Maren insisted.”
“It’s mainly candy,” Wren shared, looking up from their own haul. “Don’t be too impressed.”
I slipped most of my candy onto Wren and Diesel’s piles but kept a few fancy pieces for later, along with a bag of gourmet popcorn kernels that had to be Eric’s doing. After stockings, Diesel continued his unofficial Santa role, handing out presents and ensuring that Maren was the first to open hers from him.
“I love it.” Maren held up the ring, which the jeweler had done a wonderful job restoring and resizing. The center stone gleamed in the light from the front window. Outside, snow continued to gust, the white Christmas vibes continuing.
“Put it on,” Rowan urged, phone camera ready.
“Oh. This makes it seem so much more real.” Maren slid the ring on her slim finger. “Well, not that the baby dancing on my bladder isn’t real, but…”
“I get it,” I said softly. Sharing yet another holiday with this family made things real for me as well. I saw Maren and her growing belly on the regular, but the baby and all the associated changes seemed that much more real and overwhelming this morning. And whatever I had going on with Eric felt that much harder to ignore as well. What we had was real in a way past connections had never been.
I belonged here. We belonged together—cooking and laughing and simply sharing space.
“Here. Open a present.” Eric nudged me with a suspiciously familiar gift bag.
“Isn’t this yours?” I could have sworn I’d done a red foil bag for him, wrapping not being my forte.
“It’s from me if that’s what you mean.” Eric frowned, flipping the tag over.
“Oh, it’s just similar to mine to you.” I fetched the other red foil bag, a slightly different shape but similar weight. “Here.”
“Um.” We opened our bags at the same time and hoots of laughter burst out around the room.
“Did you guys seriously gift each other the same shirt and bottle of brandy?” Diesel could barely speak from laughing so hard.
“Uh…” I looked down at my lap. We had, in fact, gifted each other near-identical presents of a T-shirt with a quote from a nineties comedy we both loved and a bottle of liquor. I’d picked mine because it was impersonal enough to be opened in front of others while hopefully conveying to Eric that our time together was meaningful. Hilariously, he’d done almost the same thing, gifting me the shirt and an artisanal brandy that looked perfect for next year’s Thanksgiving pies. “I got him tequila.”