Naughty or Nice - Alexis Winter Page 0,61

Wonder Home Magazine office. Wonder Home Magazine is fairly new to the shelves when you compare it with other publications in the same genre, like Better Homes & Gardens. Our main focus is giving ideas and inspiration to transform an old, outdated home into something more beautiful and modern while still holding on to its classic charm.

I have to admit, the things I’ve learned by writing here have been put into action during my current home remodel. I can’t wait to learn more and apply it to my own place. I’ve only worked here a year, so I’m still fairly new and get assigned the smaller articles. It’s my dream to work my way to the top, writing the hard-hitting features that make the front cover—maybe even moving up to become editor-in-chief.

I drop off my things at my desk before heading to the break room to load up on the sugar I’ll need to finish my article and get out of here. I grab two glazed donuts and take them back to my desk. Turning on the computer, I take a bite and wash it down with my coffee. By the time my computer is up and running, and I’ve returned all the necessary emails, my sugar-and-caffeine buzz has kicked in enough to get to work.

I write a meaningless article on how to turn pallets into garden and patio additions—swings, planters, patio furniture, and fire pits—then read it over before submitting the story for approval. While I wait to hear back, I grab my phone and call my mom to make sure she remembers I’m coming home tonight.

“Hey, honey,” she answers.

I smile from her always-sweet and welcoming tone. “Hey, Mom. What’s up?”

“Oh, you know, just working in the flower beds while watching your dad try to build me that built-in grill you wrote about.”

I laugh. “Are you serious? You got Daddy to build you that grill?”

“Well, it was lovely and I think it would look great out on the patio, don’t you?”

“Well, yeah, but . . .”

“No buts. What I want, I get,” she giggles out.

“Whatever you say. You guys remember I’m coming home tonight, right?”

“Of course, dear. Your room is already made up with fresh bedding.”

“Mom, you didn’t have to change the bedding.”

“I really did. Your Uncle Peter and Aunt Beth stayed with us last weekend. Between you and me, I think something freaky went down in that bed. Maybe I should buy a new one.”

My mouth drops open and I can’t hold back my laugh. “Gross! Why would you tell me that?”

She laughs. “You know how much I love messing with your head.”

“I’ll probably have nightmares now, Mother.”

This only makes her laugh harder. “Well, they did forget a book on the nightstand. It was Kama-something . . . Kama Sutra maybe?”

“Ugh,” I groan. “Mom, stop talking.”

She laughs. “I’ll see you this evening.”

“Bye, Mom.” I hang up the phone and shiver with disgust.

To give you the mental picture I have, imagine this: My Uncle Peter, who is my dad’s brother, is about 250 pounds. He’s short and round and covered in patches of dark curly hair—everywhere but the top of his head, that is. His wife, my Aunt Beth, is tall like an Amazon. She easily towers over my uncle. She’s built like a linebacker. I mean, they’ve been married for years, so of course they have sex, but that’s not what I want to picture when I climb into my childhood bed.

Another shiver runs through me, but I shake it off when I see an email pop into my inbox with the subject line “Article Approved.” With a smile on my face, I sign out and pack my things. I’m happy I get to leave early. This will give me more time to spend at home with Preston and my family. It’s going on 2 p.m. when I make it to the parking lot, and it’s nearly 3 p.m. by the time I’m packing my car for the weekend.

As I make the long drive home to central Illinois, my mind goes back to the daydream I always have, only this time, when I tell Preston how I feel, he looks at me with pity as he shares the news of his recent engagement. That would be my luck. You’d think that since these are my daydreams, I’d have control over them, but nope. They surprise me just as much as they would anyone else. Things like this make me not want to tell him how I feel at