Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 78634 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78634 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
I leaned in, brushing his cheek with mine as I whispered, “I love being with you. If you don’t know that, then you haven’t been paying attention.”
Before he could respond, Uncle Charles joined us and joked, “Are you two telling secrets?”
I said, “I was whispering sweet nothings in my husband’s ear,” which made him grin.
Bryson asked, “Will Fallon be joining us?”
“I assume he’s passed out in his room, since he polished off a bottle of very expensive whiskey earlier.” Uncle Charles loosened his tie and unfastened the top button of his dress shirt. Hadn’t anyone in this family heard of leisurewear?
“I guess he’s taking the split with his wife pretty hard,” I said.
Uncle Charles shrugged. “One of my granddaughters spoke to Julia, and it sounds like she has proof he was cheating on her. Infidelity voids their prenup, so maybe what he’s upset about is having to pay through the nose.”
I couldn’t help but feel a little bad for Fallon. Sure, he was a grade-A douchebag, and if he’d been cheating then he was an even bigger jerk than I’d thought. But he was spending Christmas without his wife and kids, and that had to hurt, even if he’d brought it on himself.
Edmund returned a minute later, followed by the bartender, who was carrying a tray of drinks. I moved to my own chair and slid it over so I was right beside Bryson. He claimed I wasn’t heavy, but that had to get uncomfortable after a while.
Uncle Charles raised a toast, and I took a sip of what turned out to be a whiskey sour. The drink was much stronger than what I was used to, so I was proud of myself for managing to swallow it without coughing.
I swirled my glass, waiting for the ice to melt and dilute my cocktail as I said, “I want to know what Bryson was like as a little boy. Who has some good stories?”
Bryson groaned and covered his face with his hands as his grandfather told me, “He was adorable, with his thick glasses and cowlick.” Edmund gestured at the crown of his head as he said that.
“He was a quiet kid, always on the sidelines,” Uncle Charles added. “My grandkids would organize games and sporting events, and he never wanted to take part.”
“That’s because I was scrawny and uncoordinated,” Bryson muttered. “I didn’t hit my growth spurt until I was seventeen. Those sports and games always felt like the Serengeti, with the rest of the herd trying to cull the runt of the litter.” Now I was sorry I asked, since this obviously wasn’t a good memory.
“But then, beginning when he was thirteen or fourteen, he began spending time in my kitchen,” Uncle Charles said. “He seemed a lot happier after that.”
Bryson nodded. “You had a great cook, and he taught me a lot. I was sad when Phillip retired.” To me, he said, “I was always the kind of kid who was more comfortable with adults than with other children. My uncle’s private chef was nice enough to take me under his wing and let me help out.”
I thought that explained a lot about Bryson. He’d learned early on that the kitchen was a refuge. No wonder he’d become a chef.
Since he didn’t love being the center of attention, I shifted the conversation by asking Uncle Charles about the wine he produced. It turned out to be a subject he could talk about endlessly. I was glad when I saw Bryson lean back in his chair and relax a little.
Between cocktails and dinner, we ended up spending over four hours with the family. Introvert that he was, I could tell it drained Bryson’s social battery. By the time we made it back to our room, he was totally spent.
We both got ready for bed, and Bryson shut off the light and put his glasses on the nightstand before joining me under the covers. I curled up on my side so we were facing each other, and I said, “It’s not midnight yet, so happy birthday one more time, Bry. I hope you had a good day, even though you had to change your plans.”
“I actually forgot it was my birthday.”
He sounded sad, so I told him, “We’ll make up for it next year by spending the whole day doing whatever you want.”
“That’s the day our agreement ends.” He said that very softly. “If we make it that far, then one year from today you’ll be packing your bags and getting ready to go back to your life.”
“But we’ll still be friends. That doesn’t come with an expiration date.”
“You don’t think you’ll be sick of me by then?”
“No chance.”
After a pause, he said, “Thank you for today. I know my family is a lot to deal with, but you were amazing. You even managed to look interested during my uncle’s forty-five-minute lecture on wine production. That was truly impressive.”