Total pages in book: 23
Estimated words: 22407 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 112(@200wpm)___ 90(@250wpm)___ 75(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 22407 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 112(@200wpm)___ 90(@250wpm)___ 75(@300wpm)
“Ohmygod, that’s so easy!”
“Except we’re not going.”
The stern statement stops me dead in my tracks. “Excuse me?”
“We’re not going.”
“Because?”
“Because Christmas should be spent at home, and our home is here.”
“Yeah, but our cottage – our vacation home – is there.”
“Christmas should be spent where your family is.”
“Christmas should be spent where your family will be happy.”
“Christmas should be spent where it’s safe, and the weather is stable, not unpredictable.”
“Christmas-”
“We’re not going, Brynley.”
“But-”
“And we’re not discussing it further.”
To my surprise, he storms away, leaving my mouth slightly agape.
Fuck. Me.
Why do I feel like taking The Grinch to see himself in a starring role on the big screen isn’t going to actually have his heart expanding three-sizes this holiday season?
Chapter 3
Brynley
What’s worse than living with one Ebenezer Scrooge?
Living with two.
They’ve managed to turn spreading holiday cheer into a full-time fucking gig during my vacation from my regular one.
Honestly?
Had I known this was how I was going to be spending time off I saved up, I would’ve spent it more irresponsibly through the year.
Like going with Nae to that Empowered Women, Empower Women retreat in Fiji.
Sun, sand, and sharks sound so much better than snark, snipes, and shortbread.
Popping my head into the library across from Wes’s upstairs office, the same library I remember him pretending he wasn’t watching me in whenever I ventured this way to use the laptop I was borrowing, reveals to me one of my favorite sights.
Stretched out on the couch is Wy re-reading one of his many, many history of surfing books while the two cushioned chairs sandwiching it are occupied by the twins, Blakely doing a word search and Brae enthralled by a vampire themed comic book.
And cuddled together in the very middle of the space?
Our beautiful, fluffy, water-loving barbets, Board and Betty.
Wy wanted the dogs.
Wy demanded to the name dogs.
And considering when we got them, he was just easing into his hang ten lifestyle, their names – like their breed – made sense.
Getting your child a pet is always an ordeal; however, getting your child a pet that fit certain criteria is a lot fucking harder than people make it seem.
With us both being ocean lovers, an aquatic pet made sense, but he didn’t want another creature for the aquarium.
He wanted something he could hold.
And pet.
And that could follow him around or be taken on trips with us.
All that shit really limited our options, and thankfully, during the whole elimination process, Mom was doing her dog research – knowing that’s exactly where we were headed – and not only led us to the right breed – one that literally wants to swim whenever we do – but right breeders.
Barbets are ridiculously fucking rare.
They’re basically an endangered species, which really is my fucking shit.
We bought each one from a separate source, had them medically checked out by a veterinarian recommended by Calen from the veterinary organization he joined, and then created a plan that would ensure we added knowledge to those studying the breed.
Over the past five years, Betty has only been pregnant once – lucky heifer – and her pups went to my nephews, so they’re not really separated.
I will say that’s one of my favorite benefits of living on a sprawling estate.
There’s always room for everyone we love.
“Why aren’t there more Polynesian vampires?” inquires Brae during a page turn.
“Because vampires hate the sun,” her brother answers without bothering to look in her direction.
“That doesn’t mean they couldn’t come out at night,” she swiftly argues, attention snapping to him. “It just means they couldn’t be surfers.”
“You can surf at night,” Wy announces. “Uncle C does it all the time.”
A dramatic gasp suddenly escapes Blakely. “I would totes watch a movie about cute boy vampire surfers!”
My glasses bearing child waves a victorious hand in the direction of her twin. “See.”
Regardless of how fucking strange I find their conversations, I’m simply thankful they have them.
I’ve heard too many battle stories from those I work with, Wes works with, and those we are forced to socialize with about their children barely being able to stomach one another.
I know I’ve fucked up a shit ton of things, but I’m glad I got that one right.
“Wilcox warriors,” I warmly interject before the debate can continue, “Maz just made fresh malassadas you might wanna grab before Gramps finds out.”
There’s no hesitation from them to scramble onto their feet and out of the room past me, prompting our jingle bell wearing dogs to hastily follow. However, before rounding the corner for the stairs, my son stops, shoots me a small smirk, and flashes me a tiny hang loose sign in gratitude.
Of course they were my idea for her to make today.
Why?
Because malassadas aren’t just a well-known Hawaiian dessert.
They’re the first treat he shared on the beach with Kendall.
And now?
Now, they’re my way of wordlessly letting him know that I’m working on his Christmas wish.