Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 92779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
“Why does Mom still hide the presents in the closet anyway?” I ask Dad, who chuckles. “It’s not like we’re sneaking in to snoop through them like when we were kids.”
Ben and Shepherd walk in with perfect timing, automatically taking the rest of the stack from Dad with ease. “Speak for yourself,” my brother says snarkily. “I totally snooped and know what I’m getting, what Hope’s getting, and what you’re getting. Want a hint on yours? It’s coal because you’re definitely on the naughty list.” He laughs at his own joke while I roll my eyes.
“You have no idea how naughty she can be,” Hope calls, apparently listening to us.
I feel the blood drain from my face. “Hope! Don’t go telling all my secrets!” I laugh as I scold her, trying to make it seem like it’s one big sisterly joke, but I send a twin-lepathy shout of shut the fu-cupcakes! and hope she receives it from this far away.
Dad grins at our antics as usual. “It’s good to have everyone home for the holidays,” he says in a dreamy voice. “And Lorie likes traditions, one of which has always been hiding the presents and wrapping them at the last minute. I’m just glad we were only up till two this morning finishing. Not like the time she decided—at midnight, mind you—that we needed to assemble the trampoline from Santa. Did I mention there was two feet of snow in the backyard? And it was dark. And cold.” He shakes his head, sounding more amused than put out by Mom’s long-ago request. “Went through the better part of a bottle of Jack making whiskey apple ciders to stay warm, burned out my best headlamp, and got less than an hour of sleep, but seeing the smiles on you kids’ faces made it all worth it.”
Mom is a planner. That’s where Hope got her always-plan-everything tendencies from. And while Mom’s got a Santa app, complete with cost breakdown, numbered lists, and store orders to track the presents she buys, she does tend to leave the actual wrapping until the last minute. She always has. Even when it’s the huge trampoline we spent several springs and summers jumping, lying, and camping on.
Mom pops her head out of the kitchen. “Thanks, Jim. Appreciate the teamwork as always.” She smiles at him happily, and then her eyes light up even more when she sees the tree, with its overabundance of sentimental decorations, strands of multicolored lights, and stacks of gifts below. I wonder if Mom leaves some of the work of Christmas till the last minute on purpose to create a sense of surprise and wonder that wouldn’t be the same if all the presents were under the tree weeks ago.
Last-minute wrapping also gives her and Dad another holiday date, in addition to driving around to see the town’s Christmas light displays, visiting the Winter Festival, and going shopping together. Yeah, Dad is definitely not the type to ask What’d we get you? when it’s time to unwrap things. He knows exactly what he and Mom planned, shopped for, and wrapped, plus he always comes up with great gifts to surprise Mom. Like last year, he had an artist do a watercolor painting of the two of them based on a selfie they’d taken. It’s hanging in their bedroom so she sees it first thing every morning and last thing every night. I’m curious to see how he’s gonna top that this year.
“Let me take a picture of the tree,” I say as I finish unpacking my bag of Santa goodies and spread them out amid the other packages. I stand back, snapping a picture with my phone, and then click to send the picture to Dalton.
Ho! Ho! Ho! Looks like Santa came early!
He left two days ago to go home for the holiday, and we’ve been texting like crazy, sharing our Christmas traditions along with some things that’d definitely put me on Santa’s naughty list.
Looks great! Wish I were there or you were here.
A picture comes through, and I expect it to be his family Christmas tree. But a laugh pops out of my mouth when I see what he’s sent. The picture is of his lap, with one hand resting at the crease of his thigh, highlighting the bulge in his dark denim jeans. He wishes I were there.
“What?” Shep asks.
I jerk my eyes up as I quickly hit the button to turn the screen off. “Nothing. Just noticing that there’s only a couple of presents with your name on them.”
“No there’s not,” he balks, rushing for the tree to double-check.
He must not have done a very good job snooping if he doesn’t know exactly how many presents are for him, I think with a smirk.
Ready?
I send the text and then smile when the FaceTime call comes through.