Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 83059 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83059 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
“I get it, brother,” I tell him.
“It’s about time you run the play, Reynolds. I was worried you couldn’t pull it off,” Knox jokes.
“Shut it, Beckett. Get your ass over here so I can hug you both,” I tell him.
“We’re on our way, man. Congrats, both of you.”
Ending the call without saying goodbye, I toss my phone on the couch and kiss my fiancée. This woman, she’s mine for eternity, and that makes me the luckiest man alive.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Rowan
It’s Christmas Eve, and even after everything that’s happened, I’m in the spirit. How could I not be? Landry and I have the entire house decked out, from the trees to the lights to the garland. I even have Christmas hand towels hanging off the handle of the stove.
My fiancé has once again spoiled me. I’ve never had a home—not one that I was allowed to decorate for the holidays. Chaz allowed a tree, but said that was stupid since you had to do all the work just to take it down.
Not Landry. My man not only helped me put up the massive tree in the foyer, but we also have one in the theater room and in the main living room. He’s spent hours after practice the first few weeks of December helping me turn our home into a Christmas winter wonderland.
He really does love to spoil me.
Today, I’m baking sugar cookies. Knox’s family invited us for Christmas dinner, and when I asked what to bring, they said nothing, but I refuse to go empty-handed. So sugar cookies it is. Besides, I know Landry will eat them even if no one else does. There’s also the added benefit that our house smells incredible.
The door from the garage opens, and my future husband stalks toward me, wrapping his arms around me from behind. He kisses my neck, causing a shiver to race down my spine. “It smells so damn good in here,” he says, reaching out to try and snag a cookie.
I smack his hand. “Those just came out of the oven. They have to cool.”
“Then I guess, I’ll just eat you,” he says, biting at my neck and making me squirm.
“Nope. Not until these cookies are done, mister.”
“Babe, I know I eat a lot, but this is a shit ton of cookies,” he tells me.
“This is the last batch,” I tell him, as I continue using the Christmas-shaped cookie cutters to cut the dough before placing it on the baking sheet. “They’re for when we go to the Becketts’ tomorrow for dinner.”
“But I get some tonight, right?” he asks sweetly.
“As soon as they’re cool. I still have to decorate them.”
“Then what?”
“Then, I’m done for the rest of the day. All the presents are wrapped for when the gang comes over the day after.”
“When are we giving gifts?” he asks, resting his chin on my shoulder.
“I assumed we’d get up tomorrow morning and do it before leaving for Knox’s parents' place.”
“How about we do it now?”
I stop what I’m doing and turn to glance at him over my shoulder. “Now? It’s Christmas Eve.”
“Let’s make it our tradition,” he suggests. “We’ll put the kids to bed, and then we'll give each other gifts.” At my raised brows, he laughs. “Not that kind of gift, dirty girl, but we can definitely add that to the Christmas Eve tradition.” He winks.
“But then we won’t have anything to open on Christmas morning.”
“Hmm, okay, compromise. We give each other one gift on Christmas Eve, just the two of us, and then we add in your dirty-girl suggestion before going to bed.”
After placing the final cookie on the cookie sheet, I wipe my hands and turn in his arms to peck a kiss to his lips. “Deal. Now, I need to finish baking.”
“What can I do to help?”
“Do you want to decorate?”
“Sure, but fair warning. I can’t be in here, decorating these cookies as good as they smell and not sample them.”
“You drive a hard bargain, Mr. Reynolds, but I accept your terms.” I kiss him one more time before pushing at his chest. He backs away and allows me to grab the final baking sheet and place it into the oven.
“We need some tunes,” he says, pulling his phone out of his pocket. He connects it to the Bluetooth speaker system in the house, and I’m pleasantly surprised when he chooses Christmas music. “Happy wife, happy life.” He grins.
“Not your wife yet.”
“Bite your tongue, young lady. Those are bad words. Bad, bad words, Roe.” He tries to give me a stern look as he shakes his index finger at me.
I blow him a kiss. “Love you, number one.”
His eyes soften, and the mock scowl disappears. “I love you too, baby.”
We get to work decorating all the cookies, and two hours later, we’re exhausted and high on sugar because my future husband was oh so right. It was impossible not to sample the goods.