Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 90524 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90524 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Tears filling the brim of my eyes is an impossible feat to stop.
“I love you, Joeski.” Ig lifts both my hands to plant a kiss on the back of them. “What play we make next is totally your call.”
What call should I make?
Should we go in there?
Should I send him in, tell him to give her my number, and start texting?
Build up to a face to face?
What if she hates me?
What if she remembers what happened to us and it was my fault?
What if I’m the reason to blame that our parents are gone?
Or the reason we were split up when we were kids?
Uncertainty fills every inch of my body causing me to shake uncontrollably.
“Relax, Joeski,” my boyfriend sweetly coos, face craning downward to mine. “Think of this as that part in Noelle where she finally finds her brother doing yoga, and she’s grateful to find out that he’s alive and safe and happy.” He waits for me to smile to continue. “If we’re gonna go in there, just remember…she’s gonna feel that exact same way about you.”
The Christmas movie-themed pep talk to no surprise spurs me to nod, turn towards the double doors, and lead us inside to where the person I haven’t seen in decades is waiting.
Our stroll towards the closed area fills me with snowflakes in my stomach every step of the way; however, the second we step inside and set eyes on my older sister, they completely melt away. Bright brown eyes that undeniably match my own light up like the big NYC Christmas tree on its opening day.
“Jo Jo E,” the slender woman whose skin is covered in the same amount of freckles as mine longingly whispers out at the same time she rises to her feet, “it really is you…”
New tears begin flooding my gaze during my slow nodding.
I don’t consciously remember being called Jo Jo E.
But the tightening in my chest tells me some part of me recognizes it.
Her.
Ig releases his hold on my hand and gently nudges me forward to continue on my own.
“Do you remember me?” Jovani cautiously questions while gradually approaching. “Jo Jo V?”
The single twitch of my brow pulls a slightly heartbroken smile to her face.
“It’s okay that you don’t. You were so little when we were split.”
“How old was I?”
“Not quite four.”
My entire frame sulks at the answer. “Is that why I can’t remember much?”
“Likely.” Rather than force a hug, she sweetly offers her hand. “I’m Jovani, but everyone calls me Nani.”
“Joey.” My grip connects to her. “Unless you’re my boyfriend and then it’s Joeski.”
“The boyfriend,” Ig politely chimes in over my shoulder.
“Alexeyev, right?” She sends her attention over to him. “Your PI found mine?”
“Rightskies.”
“How about we sit?” Nani suggests, toned tattooless arm gesturing to the table. “Eat? Catch up?” Her eyes frantically search mine for approval. “Would that be okay? Do you have time? If not, we can try for dinner later? Or breakfast before I fly home in the morning.”
“You don’t live here?”
Her hand lands on her skinny jeans covered waist. “No, I actually live on South Haven Island.”
“So, you flew here just to meet me?”
“Technically, Alexeyev flew me here and put me up,” she announces, giving credit where credit is due, “but I would’ve absolutely done those things myself just to see you again, Joey.”
Not swooning is impossible.
And not mouthing my love to him immediately afterward is also not possible.
I can’t believe he’s done all this.
I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to repay him, either.
What’s the right gift to give someone for finding your long-lost sibling and shipping her out to visit you?
Is there even a gift for that?!
I’ve never seen it done in a Christmas movie for reference!
The three of us settle at the round table where glasses of water are already waiting for us. Our waitress comes to greet us shortly after as well as go over the lunch specials for the day. We spend the first few minutes together perusing over the menu with me having to continuously remind my starving athlete to aim for something closer to his typical pregame day meal which always consists of a pasta dish with chicken and a side of veggies. Post ordering, Nani asks more about what Ig does, a topic that naturally leads her to what I do and how we met. The conversation, thankfully, feels comfortably natural.
Like we’re sitting around with someone we’ve met hundreds of times for dinner versus just this once.
My big, burly defenseman keeps one arm draped around my shoulders in a protective fashion yet allows for the rest of his body language to stay on the offense.
To be open to the stranger he summoned here rather than skeptical.
Nani listens well to every word we say and asks questions whenever she has the opportunity.
Around the arrival of our food is when the spotlight switches from our lives to hers. “Oh, no, I didn’t grow up on South Haven Island,” she off handedly explains while adjusting her veggie bowl. “Me and Kent, my husband, moved there about five years ago to expand the program we work for. I actually grew up in New Hampshire.”