Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 133682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 535(@250wpm)___ 446(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 535(@250wpm)___ 446(@300wpm)
He laughs. “Yes, exactly.”
We spend some more time straightening up the kitchen. I shoo my sister and Leo—who’s also Wilder’s best friend—out to the living room so they can relax before the dessert course.
Hmm. Not sure what happened to Iris. She was quite keen on dish duty before we got started. Come to think of it, I haven’t seen her in the kitchen post-dinner at all.
She’s probably cleaning up the table.
Soon, we’re finished. I glance at the clock, then around the kitchen, then into the dining room. “Where’s Brady? Seems to be taking a while to wrap the gift.”
Before Wilder can answer, Bibi barks, “Who’s ready for dessert? I had a terrible dream that someone ate all the pies without me, so we’d better get to it. Dreams can come true, you know.”
“I guess someone woke up hungry,” I whisper.
“Sugar plum fairies were probably dancing in her head,” Wilder says, then checks his watch like he’s keeping time in a sporting event. “I need to go help Leo…with a thing.”
A thing? What thing?
He sounds a little evasive. But my sister’s beau is a venture capitalist, and Wilder’s a billionaire. Maybe the two friends need to count commas on their bank statements.
“Good luck with your thing,” I tease. “I’ll track down Brady.”
Wilder nods to the living room. “Thanks again. Leo will want Brady here.”
I’m not quite sure why it’s so vital that Brady be around for the pies, but I’ll be a good girlfriend and fetch him anyway.
I head down the steps to the garden level, past the floor-to-ceiling glass windows overlooking Richardson Bay and the twinkling lights of San Francisco beyond, and finally along the hall to the last room.
But the door is shut.
Odd, but if the present is a secret, maybe Brady wanted to keep it that way.
I reach for the knob and yank it open.
Well.
Iris the caterer is definitely not on dish duty.
She’s helpfully wrapping Brady’s package though.
With her mouth.
Brady’s hand curls around her sleek blonde hair, tangling his fingers in the strands as he pumps with his eyes closed. “Mmm. Yes. That’s right. Take that eggnog, baby. Take it all.”
I freeze, trying to process what’s in front of me. To make something of it that’s not what it seems. Like, they’re secretly practicing for a porn career to supplement the bills. Or they run a lucrative OnlyFans account to raise money for orphans.
Because why else would my boyfriend be fucking the caterer’s mouth? I blink, then look again. And this time, when I peer down at Iris, I see red—in the form of fuzzy socks.
She’s wearing Christmas-themed fuzzy socks as she jingles his bells.
I point at Brady, outraged. “You were playing footsie with her! That’s why you wanted her at the table?”
Brady’s eyes fly open right as they glaze over. He lets out a long cow-like grunt like he’s mooing. “Coming.”
Then Iris, on her knees, starts to swallow with an audible gurgle before she turns to me, freezing, a guilty look in her big, blue eyes.
“Babe, I can explain!” Brady blurts.
Iris’s mouth is still full as she mumbles something that might be, “Me too!”
I raise a rigid, stop-right-there finger. “This does not require an explanation. Everything is quite clear.”
As clear as eggnog.
2
READY OR NOT
Wilder
Leo’s been planning this moment for months. He even learned to bake a pecan pie in preparation. Hell, he’s been vision-boarding this proposal for the last year. My best friend is as romantic as they come.
He met Charlotte when he hired her as an interior designer for his penthouse in Cow Hollow and then his corner office in the Financial District—I’ve been expecting this moment ever since. Doesn’t make me a fortune teller though. Leo called me that fateful day and said, “I’ve met my future wife.”
Now, I’m ready to help the guy I grew up with in Las Vegas, far, far from the glitz and glamor of the Strip.
Once Charlotte sets the table with red and green dessert plates—where the hell did Iris go?—I tug Leo aside into the kitchen. “All set?”
He pats his pocket, then nods to the pecan pie he baked for the proposal setup. Talk about commitment. “I am.”
“As soon as I say the pecan pie is a cherished family recipe, you’ll cut me off.” I’m echoing his instructions, not wanting him to worry about a thing.
Leo breathes out, and I get a rare glimpse of nerves in his eyes. “And then I’ll say…” He recites his speech, volume low. When he’s done, I clap his shoulder and reassure him, “You’ve got this.”
“I do.” He nods a few times and then flashes an excited grin. “And I kind of can’t wait.”
Briefly, a wistful pang lodges in my chest. What would that be like? How would it feel to have that intense enthusiasm about a woman? A romance? A future?
But I don’t linger on those thoughts too long. I’ve got my daughter, and she deserves all my attention. I’m just glad my friend is so enchanted.