The Christmas Love Column: A laugh-out-loud wholesome Christmas romantic comedy by Katie Bachand

Author:Katie Bachand [Bachand, Katie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-11-06T16:00:00+00:00

25

Francis was cocooned in her comforter on the couch when the knock on the door came.

She heard Dickens' low growl as it barely surfaced from the hole he was sleeping in. Her eyes refused to pop open when she turned her head and listened again.

It felt early, so maybe it was a dream?

With the winter chill seeping through her walls and windows, Francis snuggled back into the plush blanket and relished the feeling. Without hearing another knock, she turned her head back into the pillow and sleepily smiled at the thought of an entire day to enjoy the season and relax before another week of work.

Then, the knock came again.

This time, Dickens' head popped up. He yipped once while his little tail thumped inside his burrow.

Francis squeezed her eyes closed and groaned.

"Too early." Her raspy morning voice cracked as she slowly rolled over and off the couch.

On her hands and knees, Francis crawled out of her covers and used the end of the couch to pull her tired body off the floor. She eyed the desk in the kitchen with disdain as if it were the sole reason for her early morning bedtime. She didn't know when she finally dragged herself to the couch, but it couldn't have been more than three or four hours ago.

She rubbed her face a couple of times, then tapped her cheeks to help her wake up. And when she felt a crusty area of dried drool next to her mouth, she did her best to scratch it off as she pulled the door open and yawned.

Her eyes opened, and she looked up.

"Oh my God," she said, too tired to want to die where she stood, so she opted for irritation. "What are you doing here?"

Francis blinked a few times so she could get a good focus on all that was Jake McCormick.

She assessed: Tall, stubbled-faced, red winter-bitten sharp cheeks, and eyes that looked much too amused with her appearance.

He smiled at her, and far too sweetly for her liking. She was supposed to be irritated with him.

"I tried to call," he offered rather than answering her question.

Right, because you standing here is my fault, Francis thought.

"It's Sunday." Her response was curt and ended there. As if that alone was an answer to her phone being off.

Francis narrowed her eyes at his grin but found herself standing a little straighter as his eyes assessed her current situation.

Francis looked down at her ratty red sweatpants, fluffy gray socks, long sleeve thermal t-shirt, and, though she couldn't see it, she was pretty sure her hair looked like it had been shoved into a frozen lake and then attacked by a blizzard. And how could she forget the crusty drool?

When Jake said nothing, Francis exaggerated her eye roll and added, "I keep my phone off on Sundays."

Jake ignored this, too. Instead, with a free hand, he lifted the Sunday edition. "I brought you the paper."

"I get the paper. And, like my phone, I also ignore that." Francis eyed the tiny black print on the flimsy gray pages.

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