Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 50080 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 250(@200wpm)___ 200(@250wpm)___ 167(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 50080 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 250(@200wpm)___ 200(@250wpm)___ 167(@300wpm)
I go back to the window, leaving my barely touched glass of wine on the table next to the sofa. With my hands in my pockets, I stare out at the spray-painted lawn and let my gaze travel toward the water. This time of year, the water is void of sailboats, cabin cruisers, and yachts. It’s actually refreshing to see the water and not a cluster of mostly white boats cluttering the ocean.
Caryn comes into the room, with her phone pressed against her ear. Her hand flies wildly through the air, and she fake laughs. I’ve seen this act a time or two. There isn’t a doubt in my mind she will get what she wants. I’m honestly not sure she’s ever been told no. Lord knows, I’ve never uttered the word to her.
She hangs up and smiles. “All set.”
“Really?” I should’ve known better than to doubt her.
“Of course my love.” She steps toward me and gives me a lingering kiss. “Now, I’ll just make sure we have the best Christmas yet.”
“Meaning?”
She brushes imaginary lint off my sweater. “Well, being as this will be the first time I’m meeting your family, I want to make things special.”
“Caryn . . .” I drag her name out in warning.
“Don’t worry.” She cups my cheek and smiles, but I see the glint in her eyes. She’s up to something.
“I am worried. My dad is a simple man. He doesn’t like much.”
“What do you mean?”
I hold my arm, gesturing to the grand space of the living room, which is larger than the home I grew up in. Every square inch of the room is ready for Christmas, including the fifteen-, or was it a twenty-foot tree.
“He wouldn’t know what to think of this,” I tell her. Her parents are extravagant, and I get this is all she knows, but still. There needs to be a limit to some things.
She rises and kisses my cheek. “We can show him.”
Caryn rushes off, leaving me with my thoughts. I don’t know how to tell her or get her to understand that this over-the-top lavish lifestyle we lead isn’t what I grew up with. My parents were, well, my dad still is, the rise-before-the-sun type. They worked hard to put food on the table and never cared about material things, probably because they were always out of reach. I had a good life, but I fear taking Caryn home to Vermont will somehow traumatize her.
Maybe it is better if my dad can come to New York. He could spend a day or two here, meet Caryn and her parents, and then head home. As it is, I doubt I’ll be able to convince him to come for the wedding.
As these thoughts run through my mind, I can only wonder when I stopped being Zane Whitaker of Deer Ridge and became Zane Whitaker, fiancé to socialite Caryn Bamford.
“Shit,” I mutter to the window. I can’t even pinpoint the moment I lost who I was to become who I am.
Going home definitely isn’t the brightest idea I’ve had, but it has to be done. Besides, I want Caryn to experience sugar on snow by the fire, with a hot mug of homemade cocoa. I think she’ll love the closeness of what a small town can bring during the holidays. And it would be good for her to see a tree lighting ceremony with hundreds of people in attendance and not thousands.
I tell myself this will be a good trip, and it’s something we need. Caryn will be able to work on the wedding plans while sitting by the fire, and maybe I’ll be able to convince my dad to finally sell the store and retire.
He’s definitely earned it.
THREE
EVANGELINE
The sound of my radiator hisses and clanks, then fizzles. I snuggle deep under my electric blanket and exhale, sighing heavily at the sight of my breath. At some point in the middle of the night, the heating in my house went out. This isn’t the first time. Nor will it be the last. This is what I get for living above my law practice, thinking it would be smart to save money. But when the old fire station—a one-truck station that served Deer Ridge until the town built a new one—was renovated into office space and a loft, I had to jump at the opportunity to open my practice here. The renovation wasn’t exactly the best and now I’m paying the price.
The radiator makes some more ungodly noises, forcing me to give up on my slumber and face the bitter cold that my loft offers. Thankfully, I had the keen sense of mind to keep a pair of woolen socks next to my bed. Only someone who has experienced brutal mornings would think of something like this. I slip my socks on and then set my feet on my threadbare rug. It’s threadbare by choice because my robot vacuum had trouble going over the thicker rugs I had, and they give my loft a quaint feeling. It’s only during the winter when I wish I had something different.