Total pages in book: 190
Estimated words: 181992 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 910(@200wpm)___ 728(@250wpm)___ 607(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 181992 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 910(@200wpm)___ 728(@250wpm)___ 607(@300wpm)
“No, I’m still going in. But I’ll only be staying until lunchtime. Then I’ll be heading to a tree farm.” I could tell by his unenthusiastic expression that he was going to veto accompanying me. It was no shocker—he had nothing against this particular holiday, he just didn’t feel compelled to throw himself into any celebratory activities.
I got it. I respected it. And I wouldn’t want him to be part of things he’d find no actual enjoyment in. That wasn’t what the holidays were about anyway. But, with how much I’d come to enjoy us doing things together, my stomach sank in disappointment all the same.
Having no intention of letting it show, I gave a casual shrug. “It’s fine if you’d rather sit this one out. I know you’re super busy, and I know the thought of Christmas doesn’t exactly get you excited. I just wanted to make the offer, since this is your home and I figured it was possible you might want some input. But if you do want input without having to make the trip, I can text you pictures of trees I like and you can then tell me which you prefer,” I offered.
He watched me steadily for a long moment. “Do you usually do this alone?”
“No, I generally rope someone into coming with me. Usually one of my sisters or Ollie unless—” I stopped speaking and twisted my mouth.
“Unless you have a boyfriend at the time,” he guessed, the warm languidness in his eyes beginning to cool.
“Uh-huh. But I often tended to be single during the month of December.”
“Why?”
“No reason. It wasn’t a purposeful thing. It just regularly turned out that way.” For the first time in years, I wouldn’t be alone for the holidays. I’d wake up Christmas Day to someone sleeping beside me.
Though my relationship with Grayden had been serious, we hadn’t been together Christmas morning. He’d rightfully spent the night before in his own home with his daughters—he and Felicity used to spend alternate Christmas Eves with them.
Dax exhaled a long sigh. “I’ll go with you.”
I blinked, taken aback. “You will?”
“Yes.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really.”
I felt my lips part. “Now I feel bad.”
His brow pinched. “You feel bad?”
“It’s just that I can quite clearly see that you don’t want to go, and I don’t like that I’m pulling you into something you’d prefer to not do. Why are you agreeing to come?”
He pushed off his elbows. “Just because I don’t have many personal traditions doesn’t mean I don’t understand how important they are to people. If this is something you do every year, it’s clearly important to you—I respect that. And I might as well get on board, since it has now become my tradition by virtue of us being married.”
I cleared my throat and plucked at the coverlet. “Oh. Well. Than—”
“Don’t,” he threw out, narrowing his eyes.
Feeling my brow crease in confusion, I cocked my head. “Why don’t you like me to thank you?” It always seemed to annoy him.
“You thank me for things that it’s only natural I do, given you’re my wife.”
Really, though, he didn’t need to do such “natural” stuff. We still weren’t a couple in the truest sense of the word. He was free of many expectations wives generally had for their husbands. And yet … he was going to accompany me, because he took things that were important to me seriously.
I swallowed hard, touched. He might not care deeply for me, but he cared what mattered to me. That meant a lot.
The moat that existed between us had narrowed over the past couple of weeks. I felt it. Heard it in his words. Saw it in his actions.
“I’m a person who likes to express her gratitude,” I said.
“Well, don’t.”
I sighed. “But I don’t want you to think I take you or the things you do for granted.”
His face softened. “I already know you don’t, because I know you. So, you can keep any thanks to yourself in future.”
That wasn’t likely to happen, and he’d just have to suck it up.
He flicked back the covers. “Closet. I want to choose what you wear today.”
I felt my forehead crease. “You only usually ask to do that on days we spend apart.”
One brow crawled up. “Is that a no?”
I shook my head. “I’m just making an observation. Are you ever going to tell me why it ‘pleases’ you that I consent to this?”
“Probably not.”
“Because you’d prefer not to, or because you like that not knowing vexes me as much as it does?”
Humor danced in his eyes. “A little of the first, a lot of the latter.”
I barely held back a huff. Ass. “Maybe I should start not telling you things, like … I don’t know, but I’ll think of something.”
His mouth quirked. “I’m sure you will. But it should make you feel better that you’ll be leading me around a Christmas tree farm this afternoon.” A pained expression took over his face.