Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 59022 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 295(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59022 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 295(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
“So how did you guys meet?” He asks us as he stirs the stew with one of his wooden spoons. Is this where I say well he showed off by wrestling a polar bear in a front of my very rich friends making all of us swoon, flashed us money and abs, made me sign a clause and here I am?
Stetson’s sitting on one of the barstools watching us with a moody look on his face. I can’t tell what he’s thinking.
“We—” Stetson begins but is cut short when his dad raises his hand.
“I’d like to hear from Charlie.” Santa interrupts.
I gulp.
I look over at Stetson and smile awkwardly before meeting his dad’s gaze.
“We met when we were out looking for polar bears,” I tell him. “Your son stopped one dead in its tracks.”
“He did?” Santa cocks a brow.
“He sure did,” I nod. “I’ve never seen anything like it, not even on National Geographic or a Netflix documentary.”
Stetson’s dad throws his head back and has a hearty laugh.
“No, I’m sure you haven’t.” He grins. “Showing off for the lady.”
“It was pretty epic,” I must admit and give Stetson a smile as I chop more veggies for the soup, careful not to cut off a finger now that I’m thinking about his heroism again.
“And did the ground shift beneath your feet?” Stetson’s dad pins him with his astute gaze.
Did the ground shift? Huh. What a strange question.
Stetson’s quiet for a second. He stands up and makes his way to the fridge and pulls out a few bottles of what I’m assuming is a beer. Is he shaking? Why would the ground shifting matter?
One reads: Frosty Ale. Another, Claus Lager with a hint of cinnamon cheer.
“Well?” His father prods.
Stetson couldn’t look more serious if he tried.
And strangely, not very happy about it.
“Indeed, it did, not just the ground, my world.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
“That was the best Christmas stew I’ve ever had in my life.”
Honestly, I’ve never had Christmas stew before but I’m going to take a wild guess and bet that this is probably the best anyone could ever had.
And made by St. Nick himself.
Stetson has been oddly quiet, or maybe just reflective. I don’t know if it’s the stew that’s subdued him or if he’s still thinking about his father’s intrusive question.
“I’m glad you loved it,” the man of the hour says in pleasure as he leans back in his chair. “This was Stetson’s favorite meal as a child. There was a long period he ate it for breakfast, lunch and dinner.”
I smile at Stetson.
“Breakfast too?” I tease. “I’d expect only donuts for you.”
His dad thinks this is vastly amusing.
“He was salty until he turned thirteen.”
“Salty?” I ask.
His dad shrugs and rubs his beard.
“His sweet tooth didn’t kick in until then.”
I stare at him with wide eyes. “I find this very hard to believe.”
“Oh no, my dear,” Santa shakes his head. “He was quite the precocious child. Rebellious in every way. There was nothing sweet about him.”
“Nothing?” I smile at Stetson who’s staring down at his beer in silence. “I find that hard to believe.”
“Believe it,” He declares quickly. “He was not always this well-mannered, docile man you see before you. He drove us all crazy with his wild antics. Sometimes I thought he had to be Scrooge’s offspring and not mine.”
I laugh.
“So he just turned a leaf at thirteen?” I prod, wanting to know as much about Stetson as I can.
I can totally picture him as a wild child… even if he was salty, I’d bet anything he was still adorable.
“Thirteen is a pivotal year for us,” his father tells me. “That’s when the shift happens and it’s as though you were never anything but this.”
I allow his words to settle in.
What a legacy. I can’t even imagine the weight of it— because I know there must be a ton of that.
“Now enough about the unruly Stetson,” he says with a wink. “My perfect boy in every way.”
He takes off his spectacles—I’m guessing there’s only one optical shop in the village because he too has a pair that look like they were made in the sixteenth century—and wipes them clean.
“I hope you saved room for dessert,” he says. “I have so many treats from Star and they’re all delicious.”
“I can’t eat another bite,” I tell him as I hold onto my stomach and lean back in the chair.
The feast before us is insane, especially for three people.
Stetson and his father impressed me with how much they can eat. I’ve never seen anything like it, seriously. Like they have some bottomless pit of a stomach that can fit food for an army.
I look over at Stetson and clock his mood again.
Since we’ve been here with his father the energy between us has shifted. He’s aloof and closed off, very different from what he was before. I didn’t give it much thought until now. I assumed it’s because we ran into his father when we were about to fool around.