10 Ways to Survive Christmas with Your Ex: A 27 Ways Novella (27 Ways Series Book 3)
Page 9
She emailed her contacts to let them know she was going off on her own, and within a week, she had her first freelance project.
I drove to Phoenix every weekend to visit her, and the weekends I couldn’t make it, she came to me. We officially started dating in February.
Our parents were thrilled.
“Isaac, can you hold Brianna for a minute?” Nita says as she pushes Georgia’s baby niece into my arms. If Georgia accepts the ring in my pocket, she’ll be my niece as well.
It’s been a year since Georgia called me out of the blue. The best year of my life.
Brianna babbles and waves her hand at her grandparents’ Christmas tree. This year, Georgia’s dad connected cables to the trunk, the baby-safe kind you affix to furniture, and secured them to the wall. Calliope hasn’t managed to knock the tree over once, though Poindexter still has a taste for ornaments.
“You look good with a baby,” Georgia says from behind me.
I turn, smiling. “You’d look even better.”
She laughs and leans against my shoulder, her face turning pink.
“Let’s go for a drive.”
Georgia glances out the window. “It’s snowing.”
“I’m not scared.”
I pass Brianna to my mom, who’s all too happy to hold the baby. You don’t have to be a psychic to know what she’s thinking.
“We’ll be back,” I call to the room, holding up Georgia’s coat for her.
It’s cold outside, and the gray clouds are low and thick. The snowflakes are huge, but they fall without urgency. Christmas lights twinkle around the neighborhood, bright in the dim day.
“Do you have a destination in mind?” Georgia asks as I turn off the highway and head toward the area where we cut the Christmas tree last year.
“Yep.”
“What are we doing?” she asks when I pull onto the snow-covered dirt road. “We’re going to get stuck out here.”
“Nah, the ground is frozen. We’re fine.”
I park the truck, walk to Georgia’s side, and open her door.
“It’s cold,” she says with a frown.
I hold out my hand. “I’ll buy you hot chocolate when we’re done.”
“What are we doing?”
“Going for a walk.”
“Are you serious?”
Laughing, I lean in. “You’re being difficult again.”
“I don’t have snow boots.”
“I put them in the back.” As I say it, I open the back-passenger door and pull out her boots, a hat, and a scarf. “I came prepared.”
Giving me the weirdest look, she exchanges her red ballet flats for the boots. Growing impatient, I wrap the scarf around her neck.
“Let’s go,” I say, taking her hand.
We don’t walk far before I turn to her, taking her gloved hands in mine. “Right here, a year ago, you made a list of rules—”
“Rules you promptly broke.”
I nod, smirking. Yes, I did.
“Today, I’m making a new list,” I say.
She raises her brows, telling me to get on with it. I know she’s cold, but I’m hoping she’ll forgive me.
“Number One: I will talk about the past because our story is awesome—especially the part where you called me after ten long, long years because you’d finally realized you couldn’t live without me.” She rolls her eyes, but I continue, “Number Two: I will suck up to your parents as much as I want, and you are free to suck up to mine. Three: There will be no bathroom schedules—those are obnoxious. Four: You may enter my room whenever you want, and vice versa, since it will be the same room—”
“Isaac,” she breathes, finally realizing why I’ve dragged her all the way out here.
“Five: I will continue to flirt with you and tease you and drive you generally insane. Six: There will be physical contact, and lots of it. Seven: I fix all the things. It’s what I do. Eight: I get to call you Gigi. Nine: Time in each other’s company will be kept at a maximum. Ten: I will kiss you all the time—before bed, when I leave for work, first thing in the mornings, and certainly when I’ve made you mad.”
Georgia’s eyes glisten, and she presses her lips together, looking like she’s trying not to cry. Hopefully that’s a good sign.
I take off my gloves and shove them in my coat pocket. I then pull out the velvet box and open it, sinking to one knee in the snow. “If you agree to my terms, then there’s only one thing left. Do you agree?”
She nods and wipes away a rogue tear that travels down her cheek.
I meet her eyes, remembering the last time I was on one knee in front of her. It was different then—we were only eighteen and had no idea where life would take us. It’s different now. Still, my hands shake with nerves. I hope she won’t notice.
“I know I’ve asked you before, but I’m going to take another shot at it. Georgia, beautiful woman who I love, have always loved, and will always love…will you marry me?”
She stares down at me, taking so long my heart freezes. She looks overwhelmed, and I’m half-terrified she’s trying to find a way to turn me down again.
Finally, she laughs, putting me out of my misery, and whispers, “Yes.”
Relieved, I stand. “You scared me there for a minute, Gigi.”
We fumble with her glove, and I slip the solitaire over her finger.
“Who knew you were so romantic?” She grins as she stares at the diamond. “I can’t believe you memorized that whole list.”
I wrap my arms around her waist and draw her close. “Why do you think I waited a year to propose? It took me forever to remember it.”
She laughs and rests her head against my chest. “This is the best Christmas present. I don’t think mine will top it.”
I squeeze her, loving that it’s my ring on her finger. “You said yes—that’s all the present I need.”
Georgia looks up. “Really? Because your mother convinced my mom to breed Calliope. She said I could give you one of the kittens.”
I close my eyes, groaning.
She laughs and drags me toward the truck. “I’m freezing, and you promised me hot chocolate.”
I open the door for her. She climbs into the seat and then turns to me, letting me kiss her.
“Sometimes I wish I could go back and do things differently,” she says softly, running her hand through my snow-covered hair. “I feel like I wasted those ten years.”
I smile, taking her hands in mine, brushing my finger over her ring. “I don’t regret that things turned out this way.”
“Why?”
“Because I still end up with you. When it comes down to it, that’s all that matters.”
Hello!
Thank you so much for reading Georgia and Isaac’s story! I hope you enjoyed it.
Here’s a little bit of random trivia for you. Calliope was inspired by my mother’s absolutely gorgeous American Curl, Dexter. He was a little insane, but we loved him. One of my own cats inspired the vet scene. He actually scratched his eye on a pine needle, and the veterinarian sent us home with a tube of ointment. Not fun.
If you liked the book, here are some fun extras:
I’ve included a preview of Sugar & Spice, the third standalone book in my Glitter and Sparkle series! Like this book, it’s set at Christmas. Just turn the page to begin reading it.
Book soundtracks are posted on my blog!
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Also, if you’d take a few moments to leave a review, I would be so grateful. Thank you for reading!
I hope you all have a beautiful Christmas!
Shari
Bonus Preview - Sugar & Spice
View the Book on Amazon
I’m going to become a hermit. Before you decide I’m crazy and move on to something else, let me explain why.
1. Hermits don’t fall in love with the sons of family friends and end up heart
broken when they bring home girlfriends from college at Thanksgiving.
2. Hermits don’t have well-meaning sisters who hound them to move on with their lives after such a heartbreak.
3. In fact, with all the lovely new grocery services, hermits don’t have to talk to people at all. They can peek out the door with wild hair, sans makeup, in pajamas, and pull the bags inside whilst tossing a tip at the delivery boy.
4. And, most importantly, hermits don’t end up on dates with good-looking guys who are so long-winded, they make even the worst politician seem concise in comparison.
“And that’s how I convinced management that blue ties should be stipulated in the dress code,” my date says, finishing up a long monologue about something that I’m sure you’ve already surmised was as boring as dirt.
I hold back a yawn, nod politely, and take a quick peek at my phone, which is sitting on my lap. It’s only seven forty-eight—too soon to call it a night and too late to crawl out a bathroom window and make a run for it.
“So, tell me about yourself, Harper,” Kevin says as he leans forward and crosses his hands on the table like we’re at a job interview.
Because he’s cute and it’s been too long since I’ve been on a proper date (or a date of any sort, actually), I set my elbow on the table, and let my hand drift over my neck as I give him my best come-hither smile. “What do you want to know?”
He frowns, perhaps confused why I’m asking for prompts. “The usual—where you’re from, hobbies, life aspirations.”
I sit back and sigh. It’s not going to work out with Kevin, no matter how good-looking he is. “I grew up here, I like to bake, and I’m still figuring out what I want to do with my life.”
“Really?” Kevin gives me a perplexed look. “How old are you?”
“I turned twenty-one last month.”
“And you don’t know what you want to do yet?”
I shrug. I had planned to become a pediatric dentist, and then I came to terms with the fact that I’m rather averse to bodily fluids. I’ve been considering going to culinary school, but I’m not sure that’s right for me either. What I really want to do is start a baking blog and write a cupcake cookbook. However, the thought of admitting those new life goals to my parents makes the idea far less appealing.
“There’s still time to decide,” I say, hoping with all my heart that’s true.
Kevin’s eyes dart to his wristwatch, and I almost laugh out loud. I’m boring him.
“Will you excuse me for a moment?” I ask, already rising. “I need to visit the ladies’ room.”
He stands with me, probably trying to be a gentleman, but it’s just awkward. I give him a small, somewhat forced smile, and hurry past the table. The restaurant is the usual fancy sort of establishment—white tablecloths, sparkling wine glasses, fussy settings. The waitstaff wears black slacks and white button-up shirts with short, black aprons. It’s all very classy and elegant.
The bathroom even has a couch, which is convenient since I have a call to make.
My sister’s phone goes to voicemail, so I proceed to call several friends. When no one answers, I frown and scroll through my phone book. Finally, I click “Lauren,” though I don’t expect her to pick up either. Everyone’s probably out celebrating since classes just let out for winter break, and my sister’s best friend is sure to be enjoying her Friday night like everyone else.
The phone rings twice, and then a guy answers. “Hey, Harper. How’s it going?”
No, no, no. I stare at my phone in horror.
He wasn’t supposed to answer. What’s he doing with his sister’s phone anyway?
“Harper?” he repeats.
“Bran…Brandon? I mean hi. Hello.” I grimace at how syrupy I sound and clear my throat, taking it down a notch or four. “Hey.”
“Hi, hello, hey,” he parrots, trying not to laugh. I can hear the grin in his voice, see the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles.
Be still, my stupid, punishment-loving heart.
“So, what’s up?” he asks.
“I need to talk to your sister,” I blurt out. “It’s kind of urgent.”
“You mean you didn’t call her phone to talk to me? I’m hurt.”
I laugh because that’s what Normal Harper would do, but it’s a tiny bit on the hysterical side. “Let me talk to Lauren.”
“Well, I’m afraid you’re out of luck.” I can tell by his tone that he’s settling in for a conversation. “My darling baby sister stole my best friend and left me all by myself for the evening. She forgot her phone on the counter, so I’m afraid you’re stuck with me. What can I do for you?”
“You know what? Okay. You can help me.” My desperation to end the night trumps my need to avoid Brandon for the rest of my life. “Call me in five minutes, okay? Then ignore everything I say.”
He’s quiet for a moment as if he’s trying to figure out why he would do that, but then he slowly says, “Okay…”
“Awesome, thanks.” I end the call, take a deep breath, and will my pulse to return to a normal pace.
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Also by Shari L. Tapscott
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27 Ways to Mend His Broken Heart
10 Ways to Survive Christmas with Your Ex: A 27 Ways Novella
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Just the Essentials
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WRITING AS SHANNON LYNN COOK
Obsidian Queen
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About the Author
Shari L. Tapscott writes young adult fantasy and humorous contemporary fiction. When she's not writing or reading, she enjoys gardening, making soap, and pretending she can sing. She loves white chocolate mochas, furry animals, spending time with her family, and characters who refuse to behave.
Tapscott lives in western Colorado with her husband, son, daughter, and several extremely spoiled pets.
Shari also writes new adult urban fantasy as Shannon Lynn Cook.
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