Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 69877 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69877 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
“Nope. It was the week before.”
“And you didn’t want to go?”
I snort. “Not even a little bit.”
He smiles but looks a little bothered. “You don’t think that’ll come across as sour grapes, as my mom would say?”
“They already denied me tenure, Christian. And forced me into a sabbatical. I am feeling a bit sour toward them.”
“As you should!” he agrees quickly. “I’m just looking forward to watching you get back on the top of your game. Making them see they screwed up.”
I sip my tea again, a little surprised by the flicker of annoyance I feel at his words and the implication that being at the top of my game means reclaiming my place at Nova. And I suppose he’s not wrong. That is where I’m likely headed back to, after all.
“I know you weren’t up for going out tonight. But you’re sure I can’t bring you dinner?” he asks.
Christian had suggested we grab dinner and recap our respective holidays, but I’d requested a rain check. Hence the FaceTime. I got back home from Boston a few hours ago, and all I really want is a good night’s sleep and some alone time.
“I’m good,” I say. “Thanks, though. And I’ll see you in a couple days for your party.”
He touches his ear. “Ah. I’m hearing a dismissal.”
“You’re hearing the aftermath of a Reed family Christmas.”
“Not a good visit?”
“Eh. You know how the holidays can be.”
“I want to hear all about it. Later.”
“Thanks,” I say. “Tell Kylee I say hi.”
Christian rolls his eyes. “I will if she ever comes out of her room.”
“Good Christmas haul for her?”
“Let’s just say her mom and I may have made a mistake by giving in to the video game console request. Now I have to go tell her she’s reached her daily limit of screen time. Pray for me.”
“Godspeed,” I say with a laugh as I end the call.
I make myself another cup of tea, and then, because I’m tired but not quite sleepy, I grab my coat and watering can and make my way up to the roof. The forecast called for clouds all night, and there’s only a crescent moon today, so I’m not expecting to see Archer, but the Buzzes still need their water. Sure enough, the roof is practically pitch-black as I make my way to the plants. A quick poke of the soil tells me Archer made good on his promise to water the plants while I was gone.
When I turn to go back inside, I let out a squeaking noise, because Archer is sitting at my outdoor table. Lounging, actually, legs outstretched, hands crossed over his thick winter jacket as he stares up at the cloudy sky.
“Hey! What are you doing over here?” There’s no sign of his easel.
He looks my way. “Randy. Good Christmas?”
I let out a little huff and drop into the chair beside him.
“Same,” he remarks.
“You stayed here, right?” I ask, since I haven’t seen much of him the past few weeks. December weather doesn’t exactly lend itself to lingering outdoors on the roof at night.
“Yup.”
“Alone?”
He looks over. “I like being alone. But no. My brother and his family were here for a couple days.”
“Oh. I don’t think I knew you had a brother. Any nieces or nephews?”
“Three. All under the age of five. Hence this,” he says, pointing at the generous whiskey jar in front of him.
Wordlessly, I reach out and help myself to a sip, then do a double take when I see a bulky object covered by a sheet beside the table and chairs. “What the heck is that?”
He shrugs. “Was here when I came up.”
“And you didn’t think to inspect it?”
“It’s your roof, Randy.”
“Right. Because you’re so diligent about respecting my personal space,” I reply, setting my mug on the table and reaching for the base of the sheet.
“I’d tug it carefully,” Archer says, his tone a touch more hurried than usual. “Don’t yank.”
“Aha, so you do know what it is,” I say, taking his advice and sliding the sheet off gingerly.
What’s beneath leaves me speechless.
“It’s a telescope,” I say, running a hand reverently over the tube, casting a stunned glance over at Archer. “Is this… from you?”
He shrugs. “It was selfishly motivated. I figured it could be something to keep you busy while you’re up here instead of talking at me.”
I’m too flustered by the generous and thoughtful gift to come up with a retort, or to point out that he’s the one on my roof.
As though he was waiting for me.
To give me the telescope. A telescope. A gift that’s so thoughtful, so perfect, I can’t even quite comprehend it.
He clears his throat. “Kylee mentioned you donated yours. Didn’t seem right, you not having one.”
I run a hand over it, dying to try it out, but I know from experience that I can lose myself for hours on the viewing end of a telescope, and I want to give him his gift.