Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 75107 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75107 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
Next year, with or without the Costa donation, I would do the same. Or more. Maybe I could try to include presents for the moms, who could surely use a little joy as well. Or for kids in domestic violence shelters.
I would have a whole year to prepare this time.
It was going to be amazing.
But I wasn’t going to let the hopes for the future outshine the joy of the moment.
“How do you want to celebrate?” Venezio asked, spinning my wheelchair around to face him. “Champagne at a bar? Fancy dinner at a restaurant?”
“Freshly baked cookies in bed with a cheesy made-for-TV holiday rom-com?”
“I see your holiday rom-com and raise you an action-suspense.”
“We’ve been through this. Die Hard is not a Christmas movie.”
“Says who?”
“Me. The Christmas expert between the two of us, I might add.”
“Fair,” he agreed. “What kinda cookies are we making?”
“Chocolate chip. With a side of Snickerdoodle.”
“Sounds good. But we have a check-up with Salvatore on the way home.”
I grumbled at that.
We both knew it had nothing to do with Salvatore, just the whole being laid up thing. I wasn’t used to having to think through literally every aspect of my life. There was no going into the kitchen to get a coffee or food, since there was nowhere for me to stash a cup or plate. There was no taking a shower, making me curse my way through a bath every morning after Venezio undid my bandages but before he slathered on cream and wrapped me back up.
Sure, Venezio was there all the time.
I was just not accustomed to relying on someone else for just about everything.
That said, Venezio kept my spirits up by keeping me naked and too come-drunk to even form a coherent thought, let alone a complaint.
“You’re just cranky because Salvatore told you it was going to be at least two more weeks until you’re walking somewhat normally again.”
“Hey, he also said I’m a fast healer.”
“Yeah, which is why he said it’s gonna be two weeks, not four to six.”
“Ugh. Don’t remind me.”
I felt my stomach bottom out at that first estimate. Luckily, though, between Venezio, the wheelchair, and my own healing abilities, we cut that down.
“After Christmas, you’ve got nothing to do,” he reminded me.
That was fair. While the charity would run through the year—mostly relying on me setting up plans for the fall—I had nothing on my schedule but recording a fun summery rom-com in January. And, eventually, taking down all the decorations.
“But for Christmas, I have lots of plans.”
“That you will relay to me and I’ll handle.”
“Says someone who has never even made pasta before.”
“Everyone’s gotta learn sometime. And you’ll be there overseeing it all.”
I would be doing more than overseeing. There was no reason I couldn’t prep the foods while seated, then just trust him to do the cooking part. With lots of instructions.
I was disappointed that I couldn’t be the one doing it all. I really wanted to be the magic-maker, to prepare Christmas for Venezio the way my mom had done it for me for many years before I insisted on starting to help.
Especially because this was Venezio’s first real Christmas.
Well, at least he would have presents.
I’d been on my new phone, ordering gifts to be delivered to Andy and Sammy’s house for him. I was going to have to find a little time to slip over there to wrap them, since Andy would put everything into gift bags if I asked her to handle it. But I wanted Venezio to experience opening mismatched, colorful wrapping paper like I’d done for years.
“Where you going?” Venezio asked later that night as I tried to discreetly gather extra tape and scissors to bring with me to Andy and Sammy’s place.
“Andy and Sammy’s. Just for like an hour.”
“No,” he said, the sound bursting out of him.
“What?”
“I mean… did you call and ask?”
“I don’t really need to call and ask. We’re drop-in kind of friends.”
“Yeah, but they’ve been, you know, busy…”
He was being really weird.
“Alright. I’ll call,” I said, reaching for my phone in the little bag that I bought that hung off the arm of the wheelchair. “Hey!” I said when Andy answered. “I was just going to come visit for an hour, you know, before Christmas.”
“Oh. Um. No,” Andy said, making my brows pinch. “No, uh, we’re… about to have sex.”
“You’re… what?” I asked, a half-laugh escaping me.
“Yep. That’s right. Sweaty, amazing, pre-Christmas sex. You should have some too.”
“Andy, I need to… you know… with the stuff?”
“Oh, that. Sammy already handled that.”
“Really?”
“Yep. All sitting here ready to be snuck in once your man falls asleep tonight.”
My man.
That was still new. But, God, I loved it.
“Oh, well, thank her for me. That was really sweet. She didn’t have to do that.”
“Sure she did. You’re laid up. She watched gift-wrapping videos and everything to make sure she got it right. They look awesome.”