I'm Scheming of a White Christmas

by Kate O'Keeffe

  I nodded at him, my lips pursed into a thin line as my old friend mortification knocked on the door. I knew I was supposed to be seducing and then dumping him to give him a dose of his own medicine, but in an instant our Three Point Revenge Plan felt irrelevant, childish.

  I hung my head. “You didn’t have to do it, Brady.” My voice came out in almost a whisper.

  “I know that now. It was really crappy of me. I’m sorry.”

  I looked up into his eyes. We held one another’s gaze as my heart squeezed. I wanted to pinch myself, make sure this wasn’t another one of my fantasies. “That’s okay.” I could barely hear my voice over the thud of my heart.

  We were interrupted by a ruckus over by the drinks table. “What the hell?” a man’s voice boomed.

  “I wonder what’s going on?” Brady asked.

  I spotted Tobey with another man over by the drinks table. Lana was standing a few feet away, phone in hand, filming the unfolding events.

  I shrugged, knowing exactly what was happening. “No idea, although I’m sure it’s none of our business.”

  Brady shot me a puzzled look. “I guess.”

  I spied Lana approaching us. “Oh, look. There’s Lana. Doesn’t she suit that color? I think so. It’s totally her. I wonder how she’s doing. Lana! How are you?” I babbled.

  She glanced uncertainly from me to Brady and back to me again. “Hey guys. Look, Tilly, I think we need to get going. We’ve got that thing, remember?”

  “That thing?”

  She glared at me.

  “Oh, yes, of course. That thing.”

  “And we need to go. Now.”

  The voices got louder on the other side of the terrace. I turned to Brady. “Thank you, Brady, for a lovely evening. It was—”

  “Bye, Brady.” Lana dragged me towards the door before I had the chance to finish my sentence.

  “Tilly!” Tobey yelled, stomping over towards us, his face like thunder.

  “Yikes!” I tottered in my ridiculous heels behind Lana, who grabbed our coats as we headed hastily for the door.

  As we reached the threshold, I turned back to look at Brady. He stood watching me, open-mouthed, confusion written across his face. I stopped still and savored the moment—not because I knew Tobey had got his comeuppance for being the ring leader in my humiliation after all this time, but because, in a matter seconds, Brady would know what I’d done. And he would think less of me.

  “Tilly, get back here!” Tobey shouted, closing the distance between us.

  I mouthed “sorry” to Brady then tore my eyes away from him. Together Lana and I dashed through the door, down the stairs, and ran as fast as our heels would take us to the elevator.

  “Come on! Come on!” Lana cried in frustration as she pushed the elevator button repeatedly. Like that was going to make it come faster.

  As if by some miracle, the elevator arrived a couple of seconds later. We dived in and hit the ‘close’ button, willing it to weave its magic. As the doors slid together we heaved a collective sigh of relief, both leaning up against the elevator wall, hearts hammering with adrenaline.

  “That was close,” Lana commented, shaking her head. “Too close.”

  I let out a deep breath. “It was. How did you know what had happened?”

  “I saw it. That idiot Tobey stole our present from under the tree and gave it to his boss! Can you believe it?”

  I let out a nervous, high-pitched laugh. “I know. Only he didn’t steal it. I gave it to him.”

  She shook her head. “Genius, girl. Genius.”

  “I know, right?” I took a couple of deep breaths, grinning from ear to ear. But my triumph was short lived. In an instant, my mind turned to Brady. What must he think of me?

  Lana was oblivious to my inner turmoil. “I don’t know about you, but I think we rocked that party.”

  “Yeah. Totally.”

  The elevator reached the lobby and pinged as the doors slid open. If this were an action movie, Tobey would be standing there, waiting for us, an axe in his hand and a crazed look on his face. Lucky for us it was not and the coast was clear.

  We slipped our coats on and walked out onto the street. “Where do you want to head?” Lana asked.

  “I know this is probably really cheesy for you, but is it okay if we go to the Rockefeller Center? It’s been on my mind tonight.”

  “Sure. It’s only a few blocks away.”

  We arrived a short stroll later. I stopped and stared at the huge Christmas tree, mesmerized by its twinkling lights, the giant, bright star atop, the huge gold statue beneath. People were milling around, while others were ice-skating to Christmas music under the giant tree.

  I let out a sigh.

  “You really like this place, don’t you?” Lana asked, smiling, her eyes kind.

  “I do. I came here to see the tree when I was a teenager. I fell down ice-skating there.” I pointed to a spot on the rink below. “And there.” I pointed to another spot. “And there.”

  “Sounds painful to me.”

  I shrugged. “It was magical.”

  She shook her head. “Tourists.”

  We stood in companionable silence as I got swept away by the scene before me.

  This. This is why I’m in New York at Christmastime. With all the people, the endless traffic, the twenty-four hours a day noise, the pollution, being where I am right now makes it all worthwhile.

  Lana nudged me in the ribs, pulling me back to earth.

  “Ouch! Why’d you do that?” I protested.

  In response, she nudged me again, cocking her head to the side like a confused spaniel.

  I turned to see what she was looking it.

  Brady.

  My heart leapt into my mouth. “What? What are you doing here?”

  “You left so fast.” He puffed as he spoke. “So, I ran.”

  “How did you know where to find me?”

  “I guessed you’d be here.”

  I glanced down at his hand. “You ran here with your beer?”

  He lifted the beer up and looked at it as though he hadn’t seen it before. “Ha. I didn’t realize I did that.”

  We stood for a moment together in silence until Lana said, “I’m going to head over and look at the thing over there.”

  Before I had the chance to ask, she was gone.

  I turned to Brady. “Why’d you follow me?”

  “We . . . I didn’t think we’d finished talking.”

  A fresh wave of guilt slammed into me. “Brady, I . . . I need to tell you something.”

  “That you tried to prank me with a pile of turd wrapped up in a present?”

  I shifted my weight. “Ah, yeah. I’m really sorry. It was dumb of me.”

  He shrugged. “Yeah, it kinda was. But no harm, no foul. Well, for me, anyway. Tobey’s not in the best space right now.”

  I bit my lip. “I bet.”

  “And to top it off he thinks he’s come down with a tummy bug. He looked pretty green when I left.”

  “Oh. That’s no good.” An urgent change of subject was required. Stat! Something had been nagging at me since we’d last met. “Did you really not remember who I was when you came into the store?”

  He scrunched up his face. “Yeah, about that. I might not have been totally honest with you. I put two and two together: the nametag, your accent. You may look different from high school days, Tills, but I could still tell it was you.”

  I regarded him with surprise. “You didn’t seem to.”

  He kicked the floor. “I was embarrassed. Back in high school, I was a bit of a—”

  “Complete asshole?” I offered.

  Brady chuckled. “I was going to say ‘jerk’, but asshole is probably more accurate. I’m glad I have the opportunity to make up for it now.”

  I grinned at him, suddenly shy. He smiled back as he absentmindedly raised his beer to his lips.

  Oh, god. The laxative! And, knowing Lana and her excessive approach to revenge, enoug
h of it to fell a fully-grown elephant. Action was required: and fast! In an instant I reached up and hit the bottle with my palm, sending it flying out of Brady’s hand and onto the ground. It smashed, the remains of the beer—and liquid laxative—frothing over the broken glass.

  Brady gazed down at the smashed bottle and back up at me, his mouth agape.

  Okay, how are you going to explain this one, Tilly?

  “Is that another New Zealand tradition?” he asked, clearly dumbfounded.

  “Yes!” I replied, relieved he’d come up with an almost believable explanation for me. “It’s . . . considered bad luck to . . . to drink from a beer that’s been held in the hand for more than ten minutes at Christmastime.”

  What?

  He grinned. “I’ll be sure to drink my beer faster in the future then.”

  “Or put it down on the table in between sips. You could do that,” I offered reasonably.

  He nodded. “I guess you can never be too careful with these things.”

  He smiled at me and the hamsters banged against the walls in my belly.

  He dropped his chin. “I thought you’d hate me after what happened.”

  I shrugged. “I did.”

  “Past tense?” The look on his face was . . . hopeful.

  “We all do things we’re not proud of and would rather forget.” Such as Three Point Revenge Plans.

  “True. You know, I always kind of liked you.”

  “You did?” I squeaked.

  “Yeah. I’ll admit, you’re much cuter these days, but you’ve always been really nice. I remember how fun it was doing that history project together. I liked you.”

  My face glowed. “Thanks. I liked you too, despite the asshole behavior.” I laughed. “And that’s saying a lot.”

  His grin crinkled the edges of his eyes and lit up his face. “Does that mean I can do this?” He took my hand in his. “Wow, you’re cold.”

  “I know.” My mouth went dry.

  He pulled something out of his pocket. It was the mistletoe that had slipped off the chocolate Santas. Without another word, he held it above our heads, leaned in, and brushed his lips against mine. It was achingly good. He pulled away for a moment before kissing me again, wrapping his arms around me, pulling me into his wonderful, warm, firm body.

  I’m kissing Brady McKinnon! I’m kissing Brady McKinnon!

  I know it’s a total cliché, but my knees actually did go weak.

  Eventually—but far too soon for my liking—he pulled away from me again. “Tilly? How about we come to a deal. If I forgive you for this evening, would you forgive me for what I did to you in high school?”

  A smile spread across my face. Without a moment’s hesitation, I offered him my hand. “Deal.”

  We shook and he grinned back at me. “What are you doing for New Year’s? Would you like to go out with me? As long as you leave any poop presents you may still have lingering around at home, of course.”

  I looked at him, agog. Not only did Brady McKinnon just kiss me—and oh, mercy, what a kiss!—now he was asking me on a date? I slipped my hand up my coat sleeve and gave myself a sharp, firm pinch. I sucked in air at the pain. Yep, I wasn’t dreaming: this was really happening. I looked into his gorgeous brown eyes. “Brady, I would love to.”

  His face broke into a grin, his eyes sparkling. He leant down and kissed me again, sending tingles down my spine. It was so incredible, I swear I nearly fainted.

  I noticed small snowflakes landing on his head and looked up to the dark sky above filled with delicate snow gently floating down around us. It was a picture-perfect Christmas wonderland with my picture-perfect high school crush.

  “You have to promise me one last thing, though, Tills.”

  From my state of utter bliss, I responded, “Oh, yeah? What’s that?”

  “You never, under any circumstances, take me to New Zealand at Christmas.”

  I grinned at him, warmth spreading through my belly. “I promise.”

  THE END

  Thank you so much for reading I’m Scheming of a White Christmas! I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did writing it. Please consider leaving a review—they provide authors with invaluable feedback and help others find new stories to enjoy.

  Read on for a sneak peek at the first book in my series, the bestselling Cozy Cottage Café series, One Last First Date.

  Here’s the book blurb:

  Cassie Dunhill and her friends make a pact to marry the next guy they each date. What could possibly go wrong?

  Cassie Dunhill is sick of dating. It's been ten years and it's time, time to find The One. It's either that or buy a fetching habit and veil and abandon the whole thing. But Cassie believes in love, and she's not ready to give up yet.

  Cassie and her best friends make a pact that the next date they go on will be their One Last First Date. The pressure is on to find Mr. Right, and Cassie's the first to find him: Parker Hamilton. He's good-looking, smart, cultured--and a doctor. Despite his obvious credentials, Cassie's not taking any chances. She's vetted Parker so thoroughly she could offer some pointers to the CIA. Needless to say, he passes with flying colors.

  Things get complicated when Will Jordan, her irritating work colleague, muscles in on her dream job and her love life. Will is a typical guy, complete with nicknames for everyone, even Cassie. His good looks and relaxed, easy nature can be distracting. But Cassie can do without that kind of distraction right now, no matter how good Will looks with his shirt off.

  In the end, is there only One Last First Date?

  You can order One Last First Date from Amazon (or read it in Kindle Unlimited for free) here

  Here’s that sneak peek I promised you . . .

  “SO, WE ALL AGREE? We’re really doing this?” Marissa’s upturned face was illuminated by the crackling fire as the waves continued their dark, rhythmic pounding against the shore.

  We stood in a tight little group, empty wine glasses discarded carelessly on a picnic blanket next to the glowing fire. I looked from one of my friends to the other. They were both smiling, their faces full of hope and excitement, their right hands placed on top of one another’s, awaiting mine.

  I bit my lip as goosebumps rose on my bare legs in the late summer evening breeze. “After more than ten years of dating, we need to take things into our own hands.” I placed my hand on top of theirs. A surge of anticipation hit me, and my face broke into a grin. “Let’s do this.”

  “Yes!” Paige cried, almost piercing my eardrum.

  “Good,” Marissa added more calmly, nodding. “Let’s begin, then.” She cleared her throat. “We, the three present on this beach tonight, agree that—”

  She was cut short by Paige. “Umm, Marissa?”

  “What is it?” Marissa asked.

  “It’s just . . . shouldn’t you name us?”

  “Why?”

  “To make it, you know, more official,” Paige replied.

  We were still standing in the circle, our hands piled up on top of one another. My arm began to hurt.

  Marissa rolled her eyes. “Okay, Paige. I’ll start again.” There was a sizeable note of irritation in her voice. Marissa cleared her throat once more, closing her eyes momentarily to collect her thoughts—and, perhaps, to try to remember our middle names.

  “We, Marissa Jane Jones, Cassandra . . .”

  “Clementine,” I whispered after a beat.

  She shot me a surprised look. “Really? Pretty.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Long story.”

  She nodded. “Cassandra Clementine Dunhill, and Paige Prudence Miller, agree that—”

  “Why does my name have to be last?” Paige interrupted again, sounding indignant, as she dropped her hand from ours.

  I let out a frustrated breath. “Does it matter whose name comes first, Paige? It’s getting cold here.”

  “Of course it matters, Cassie,” she insisted. “It won’t be real otherwise. Plus, Marissa always puts herself first. We need to be more . . .
egalitarian.”

  “Egalitarian?” Marissa questioned. “This isn’t some sort of committee, Paige. We’re just three friends on the beach, who have, quite possibly, had a little too much to drink and have decided to make a pact.”

  There was a low rumble of thunder in the distance, diverting our attention. All three of us broke into nervous laughter as the wind picked up, whipping our hair around our faces. I glanced around the deserted beach. All we needed now was a cauldron on the fire and we’d look like a coven of witches, brewing up a spell.

  Paige shrugged, looking wounded.

  “I guess this was Paige’s idea,” I offered, ever the peacemaker.

  Marissa’s hands shot up into the air in surrender. “Okay. Do you want to do it?”

  Paige’s face beamed. “Yes, I do.” She smoothed her full skirt down and stuck her hand out in front of her.

  Marissa and I added ours once more.

  Paige looked from Marissa to me and back again. She tossed her dark hair in a dramatic fashion, and then began. “We, the three maidens of the beach—”

  Marissa sniggered. Paige glared at her. Unperturbed, she continued, “The three maidens of the beach, Paige Prudence Miller, Cassie Clementine Dunhill, and Marissa Jane Jones—”

  Marissa scoffed.

  “—agree that the next date each of us goes on will be with the man we marry.”

  A Girl Scout knot looped in my belly.

  “We agree to this pact in the presence of the Goddess of the Beach,” Paige continued.

  My eyes darted around, half expecting to see a goddess floating nearby. Hmm, definitely too much chardonnay for me tonight.

  Marissa scoffed again. “I don’t remember agreeing to any goddess crap,” she protested.

  “Just go with it, will you?” Paige replied, arching her eyebrows. “I know what I’m doing; this isn’t my first beach pact.”

  I looked at Paige in surprise. “It’s not?”

  Paige shook her head. “No.”