Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 80217 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80217 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
“Oh! I forgot about my stocking,” she exclaims when there’s nothing left to open. “And I have the present for the baby!” She runs into her room and comes out with a wrapped present. “Here.” She hands it to her mom, who smiles softly.
She opens it up and inside is a tiny little green and white knitted hat. “I made it with Aunt Naomi. It’s for his head.”
“His, huh?” I ask.
“Yeah. It’s a boy,” she states matter-of-factly.
Sophia laughs. “It’s beautiful. And even if he’s a her, she can use it.” She grabs her daughter and lifts her into her arms for a hug. “Thank you, Sunshine.”
“You’re welcome.” She kisses her mom’s cheek.
“It’s perfect,” I add. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
She climbs off Sophia’s lap and grabs her stocking, dumping it out all over the floor. Candy and toys litter the area, as well as a piece of paper.
“What’s this?” she asks, handing it to her mom.
Sophia reads it, then darts her attention over to me. “Easton…”
“Don’t look at me. It was all Santa.” Unfortunately, the only shows left are long distance. So, I got them tickets to my show in Los Angeles. It’s on a Friday night, and I’m planning to fly them out and afterward show them around where I live, since I’ll be done with the tour.
“What is it?” Kendall asks, taking the paper and attempting to read the words.
“They’re tickets to see Easton in concert,” Sophia tells her.
“What’s that?” Kendall asks.
“He performs songs like ‘Lost’ and ‘Lies’ in front of a big crowd. Santa brought you two tickets to go.”
“Wow! Cool!” Kendall’s gaze meets mine. “Can I sing too? I know all the words.”
“You can sing too,” Sophia says, “from your seat. He’ll be on stage, though.”
Kendall’s brows knit together. “Why can’t I go on stage?”
Sophia explains to her how a concert works, pulling up one of my previous concerts to use as an example.
“Hey, Kendall, can you give your mom her stocking?” I ask, when the girls are done discussing the concert and Kendall understands.
“Oh, Santa doesn’t bring me anything,” Sophia says. “I’m too big.”
Kendall is already at the stocking and peeking inside. “Mommy, you have papers in your stocking too!” She pulls them out and brings them over to Sophia. “What did you get?”
Sophia glares my way then opens the papers, reading them to herself before telling Kendall. On one is a monthly pregnancy pampering package at a local spa my mom loves. She can go in every month for the next year and they’ll give her a massage, facial, pedicure, and manicure. On another one is a gift certificate to an upscale maternity store. And on the last paper is a certificate of purchase for a pregnancy box. According to the website, they deliver a monthly box full of stuff a pregnant woman would want, like snacks and stuff for cravings. I found it in a pregnancy forum and thought it might be something she’d like.
Sophia reads it all to Kendall, explaining what each thing is. Because Kendall is little and doesn’t really get it all, she simply says, “Cool,” then runs off to play with her toys.
When she’s gone, Sophia glances up at me, her eyes filled with tears, and I worry I fucked up. Until a beautiful smile stretches across her face and she comes over and hugs me. “Thank you,” she murmurs into the crook of my neck. “Did you do all this last night?”
“I bought it all before and had it printed out to give you when I saw you, but when I realized I would be here, I printed it all again so you would have it this morning. Now, Kendall’s was done last night. But only because I didn’t know about her until then.” I hit her with a pointed look.
“I feel so bad I didn’t get you anything,” she mutters softly.
“Trust me,” I say, kissing her forehead. “You’ve given me plenty.”
“Honey, I’m home,” a feminine voice rings out. Since Sophia and Kendall are both passed out—Kendall in her new mini pullout couch and Sophia with her head in my lap, stretched out across the couch—I know it’s neither of them. After we made breakfast, we spent the morning putting the rest of Kendall’s toys together. Then, while Sophia made lunch, I bagged up all the garbage and set it outside to take down to the dumpster. Kendall started to get cranky, so we put a movie on for her that she got for Christmas, and both girls, within minutes, fell asleep.
“You’re not my honey,” the woman says, glancing from Kendall, to Sophia, to me.
“I’m not,” I agree. “I’m Easton.”
“Oh, I know who you are,” she says. “I recognize your pretty face from the photos.”
“You must be Naomi.”
“That’d be me,” she says, as a guy comes in, closing the door behind him. “And this is my fiancé, Dante.”