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But what if he is? What if he could be real? What if we could become everything?
What if, like Mom on her girl’s trip to Arizona, I could fall in love on a Christmas trip to Colorado.
What if I could find my forever guy? The one I’m meant to be with by simply answering an ad online, flying to a new State, and falling for the guy on the other side of a big wood door? That would be a story.
We would tell our grandkids, and our grandkids would tell their grandkids because it's just that epic.
Casting my gaze to the window, I see darkness beyond the white that tells me it's early. Really early. I'm not sure I should be getting up this early in someone else's house, but I do want to make Nick breakfast and I have a feeling he's an early riser. He seems like a get up and go kind of guy. The kind of man who doesn't like to sit around. The kind of man who gets itchy in his skin when he’s still for too long. So, I want to make him breakfast. Waffles, maybe. With all the toppings and a side of bacon. Surely in all Lucy’s shopping, she remembered to buy bacon.
Yes, I want to make him breakfast. But first, I want to make myself look good. Because I do want him to kiss me again. I want him towantto kiss me I can again. So, I take care getting ready. I pick my nicest leggings, the ones that make my butt look great and I pair them with a thin creamy sweater. It's just see-through enough that I can see the outline of my bra. My lightpinkbra.
In the mirror, I dust blush on my cheeks and mascara on my lashes. Then I stand back for a quick study as I call it good. I’m pretty—not try-hard—because I don't know how to try hard. And if I do try, he's going to know.
So I keep it like fresh, simple, but pretty.
As I open the door to the bedroom, my hopes of making Nick a waffle breakfast are crushed at the smell of bacon.
I was right. Nick is an early riser, and today isn’t the day I’m getting my starring chance to surprise him with an epic breakfast.
I make my way into the kitchen and just as I expected, I find him at the stove. He's in another black sweater and faded jeans that hug his ass in the best way. Still, I'm disappointed. I’m disappointed that he's not shirtless, the muscles in his back rippling as he flips the bacon, entirely unaffected by the bacon spitting hot daggers of grease at his bare torso. His rock-hard washboard abs wouldn’t feel it anyway, because he’d be immune to such things.
The fantasy and the disappointment stems from the copious amounts of romance novels I read.
Again, unrealistic expectations.
This is why I can’t find a man who lives up to my dream of forever. This is why I’m alone. Romance novels.Who’d have thought?
Because in my romance-novel-fantasy he should be shirtless in faded, ripped jeans with the top button undone, serving me eggs, sunny side, two strips of bacon and well buttered toast. With coffee and a sexy-come hither grin, of course.
He's not in faded, ripped jeans, however. And he's definitely not shirtless.
And as he turns to bid me, “Morning,” I see that the button on his jeans is also not undone. I bite my lip at the utter disappointment.
“Morning,” I finally return, and he frowns, probably sensing my disappointment. Little does he know that it has everything to do with the fact that the button on his jeans is not undone.
“You sleep all right?”
“Yeah. The bed is lovely, and the duvet is heaven.” I wrinkle my nose. “I don't want to admit it. But I'm probably going to have to tell Lucy she has excellent taste.”
He barks a laugh. “I’d keep that to myself, if I were you. Her head’s big enough.”
I raise a brow. “That so?”
“That’s so, Sunshine.”
Ignoring the flutter his name for me induces, I slide onto a stool and watch him at the stove. “What are the plans for today?”
I'm hoping that he's going to say he's going to go out there in his plaid mountain man jacket, looking hot as hell as he takes on the Colorado storm, and cut down a tree.
Then he's going to lug it inside like the big mountain man that he is. And he's going to set it up, and we're going to decorate it for Christmas. That's what I'm hoping he's going to say. My hopes are again, dashed, as it seems to be the theme for this morning.
“With morning light, I'll head out and make sure everything on the property is good.”
“Good?”
“No trees blocking the road out. Nothing fallen on any outbuildings. No walls blown in by the wind.”
“Don’t people do that after the storm has passed?”
