Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 67991 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 340(@200wpm)___ 272(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67991 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 340(@200wpm)___ 272(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
I’m at the oven, peering at my casserole when Rafferty steps up beside me. His hand goes around my lower back, grips my waist and he brushes a kiss on my cheek. “It doesn’t look that bad,” he says kindly.
Farren peers over his shoulder. “It’s far better than Rafferty’s cooking.”
I laugh and shake my head. “You’re both far too kind. But I’ve at least got other food to eat.”
Farren nudges Rafferty aside, grinning as she surveys the smoky scene. “Need some help?” she offers.
“Please,” I say, grateful for the backup. “If you can put the rolls in the oven, and Rafferty”—I look to him with a curious expression—“think you can handle slicing the ham?”
He gives me a smart salute and I’m overwhelmed with a sudden urge to kiss him.
So I do. It’s meant to be quick and affectionate, but as I start to pull away, he growls and wraps his arms around me. His tongue slides into my mouth, ever so briefly for a quick swipe, and that’s all it takes to daze me. I’m dizzy when he lets me go and gives me a quick pat on the butt. “We’ve got it covered.”
“Um… okay,” I say, my eyes drifting to his mouth.
He grins at me knowingly, but it’s Farren clearing her throat that has me jumping into action. “I’ll go rally the rest of the Martin family. Be back in a jiff.”
I bolt upstairs, barge into Cooper’s room and pull off his headphones. “Rafferty and Farren are here.”
Cooper’s eyes light up and he tosses the controller, rushing past me to hurtle down the stairs at breakneck speed. I get a glimpse of him in socked feet, sliding into the kitchen, as I slowly take the steep staircase.
In my mom’s room, I help her into her wheelchair, spend a minute in front of the dresser mirror so she can put on some lipstick, and then I wheel her into the kitchen so she can sit at the table and watch us minions hard at work.
Together, we manage to salvage dinner. Cooper keeps up a running stream of chatter with Rafferty about hockey as he slices and plates the ham. I finish mashing the potatoes, and to my surprise, Farren has the green bean casserole free of burnt edges and looking only a little pathetic. I set the table, using my mom’s good china and linen napkins. The entire time, the room is filled with laughter and the mood is festive as we all pitch in.
We’re cramped around the small kitchen table as it only seats four, so Rafferty brings down Cooper’s desk chair and squeezes in between me and my little brother. We’re elbow to elbow, passing plates rather than bowls, serving up portions for one another. The adults drink the red wine Rafferty brought and Cooper tries to guess what presents he got. While we normally open them in the morning, we agreed to wait until this evening to open them with our guests.
After we eat, we migrate to the living room where the Christmas tree twinkles merrily, gifts piled underneath. Rafferty excuses himself to go outside and when he returns, he has a huge red velvet bag comparable to what Santa might carry around, filled with more presents. Cooper practically vibrates with excitement as he watches his hockey hero hand them out.
I’m on the couch with Cooper on one side of me and Rafferty on the other. Farren has the love seat and we settle Mom into the recliner, Rafferty causing my heart to squeeze in all the right ways when he settles a blanket over her lap.
When we all have piles in front of us, we take turns opening them up. My mom is first at my insistence as she’s the one who needs the most holiday cheer. She oohs and aahs over a pretty sweater I picked out for her, delights in a box of handmade ornaments that Cooper worked on up in his room, and gushes over the tea gift basket I bought for her.
When she opens up a box from Rafferty, she gasps in delight at the new set of international cookbooks.
“Tempe said you’re a foodie,” he says helpfully.
“They’re perfect,” my mom says, shooting him a fond smile. “That gives me more incentive than ever to get back on my feet.” She glances at me, her tone so loving my heart aches. “Besides… we got to get this girl back to school so she can finish her degree. Right, Tempe?”
There’s challenge in her words because this is something we’ve been recently fighting about. She’s not going to be fully mobile by the time the semester starts in a few weeks and I’m going to defer one more semester. My mom is adamantly opposed to it and we haven’t been able to come to an agreement. I take a neutral approach though, merely saying, “Let’s get past the holidays and then we can discuss it more.”