Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 83355 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83355 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
“Score!” I yell with a fist pump. “A direct hit.”
She cranes her neck to look at the mess on her back but only considers her options for a second before going for the potatoes again. She grabs a scoop and I run around the kitchen island. She lets her missile fly and I duck, satisfied as the gooey mess flies over my head and lands on the tile floor.
Laughing, I pop up and taunt, “Your aim sucks, little sister.”
Only to catch a cool slice of cranberry sauce right on the cheek. Apparently, she reloaded fast.
I shriek with laughter and disgust, running around the island but I don’t go for the food. Instead, I wind up my towel again and crack it at her. I miss three times but I have her on the defensive, backing her up and leaving the cranberry sauce unguarded. I pick up a piece and I’m close enough that I mash it into her face. I expect her to yield, but she scoops the red gelatin from her cheek and mashes it back into my face. She tries to grab another slice and I’m laughing so hard, I can barely stand up.
“Enough,” I yell as I drop my towel and wrap my hands around her wrists to prevent her from grabbing anymore food.
“Never enough,” she snarls with a giggle. “I’m going to dump that entire pan of gravy on your head if you’ll just let me go.”
We tussle, both of us slipping on bits of mashed potato and cranberry sauce.
“Mommy.” Izzy’s tentative voice freezes us both and I slowly turn my head her way.
She stands with three huge men behind her, but it’s King my eyes land on. His lips are quirked as he scans me and Brittany and I cannot even imagine what we look like.
He throws his thumb back toward the door. “We rang the doorbell and Izzy let us in.”
I glance at Brittany whose tongue darts out to lick sauce off her upper lip and I release my hold on her. I primly smooth the edge of my blouse, ignoring the gooey potatoes smeared between my breasts.
“If I’d known there would be a food fight, we would have brought more ammunition to replenish,” King says as he walks into the kitchen.
I’m slightly mortified but only because I know I must look like a mess, but my charming hostess personality takes over. I grab the towel and wipe off my hands, keenly aware I have food all over my face. I step forward to introduce myself to the men, as does Brittany.
All three are gorgeous and highly amused over what they’ve stepped into. Rafferty has a pumpkin pie in hand, North a bottle of wine and King holds a casserole dish.
“Does that need to be heated?” I ask, eyeing the glass pan covered with tinfoil.
“Yeah… it’s a green bean casserole. My mom gave me the recipe.”
I’m touched he actually cooked something to bring, even when I told him not to. I point at the double oven. “The bottom one is free. Think you can figure out how to work it?”
“I think I can handle it.” He then winks at Izzy. “Besides, I’ve got a helper.”
Izzy beams a smile up at him. “I can help, Coach King.”
“Good,” I say and then wave the guys into the kitchen. “Everyone make yourself at home. I’ve got cold beer in the fridge if you prefer or if you want to open the wine, there’s a corkscrew in the drawer to the right of the sink. I’m going to get cleaned up.”
“Me too,” Brittany says, scrambling over to me. She latches onto my arm and drags me out of the kitchen and up the stairs. She bumps my shoulder as we ascend, giggling. “God, that was so embarrassing.”
“It will be memorable for them, that’s for sure,” I reply with a laugh.
“How can that many hot guys be in your house at once?” she whispers as we reach the landing.
“It’s like a Christmas miracle in November.” I snicker, although frankly, none of them hold a candle to King.
“I’m so taking lots of pictures and making sure Scott sees them. He’s still one of my Facebook friends.”
“You’re rotten,” I say, giving her a quick hug before we part ways into our own rooms. “But I love you anyway.”
♦
Brittany wasn’t wrong when she said I love to entertain. I’m not sure where I get that from as my parents never had guests over because Dad was always too drunk. But I love all the planning, cooking and decorating that goes into making a welcoming environment.
The house I moved into after I divorced Scott is much smaller than what we had, but I took my time redecorating it to my taste. The dining room is a cozy, inviting space, painted in a warm taupe that complements the dark wooden furniture. I set the large dining table with care, adorned with a crisp white tablecloth and elegant silverware. Candles flicker softly in the center, surrounded by a festive arrangement of autumn leaves and miniature pumpkins. The table is laden with an array of dishes: golden-brown turkey, glazed ham, a large bowl of creamy mashed potatoes—thank God I’d made a mountain of them—savory stuffing, sweet potatoes with marshmallow on top, King’s green bean casserole, and a basket of warm rolls.