The Christmas Layover

by Robert Tate Miller

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Epilogue

  Preview of A Family by Christmas

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Find your Bliss with these great releases… A Christmas Miracle for the Doctor

  The Daddy Coach

  The Cowboy’s Christmas Baby

  Wrong Brother, Right Match

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2018 by Robert Tate Miller. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

  Preview of A Family for Christmas © 2019 by Viv Royce

  Entangled Publishing, LLC

  2614 South Timberline Road

  Suite 105, PMB 159

  Fort Collins, CO 80525

  rights@entangledpublishing.com

  Bliss is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC.

  Edited by Stacy Abrams

  Cover design by Cora Graphics

  Cover photography by Estrada Anton/Shutterstock

  ISBN 978-1-64063-683-5

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  First Edition November 2018

  Dear Reader,

  Thank you for supporting a small publisher! Entangled prides itself on bringing you the highest quality romance you’ve come to expect, and we couldn’t do it without your continued support. We love romance, and we hope this book leaves you with a smile on your face and joy in your heart.

  xoxo

  Liz Pelletier, Publisher

  For Mom and Dad

  Chapter One

  “What does that mean, diverted?”

  A collective groan swelled up among the 280-plus passengers of Flight 1225. Ally Henderson sat up in her window seat and yanked the earbuds from her ears.

  The question was posed by the pregnant woman from New Jersey sitting in the middle seat to her left. Ally’s seatmate had a deer-in-the-headlights look on her pink flushed cheeks. Though they’d only been sharing a plane row for a little over an hour, Ally knew virtually every minute detail of the woman’s life. The overly friendly passenger had arrived at row sixteen ready to talk, though Ally surmised her chattiness was likely designed to calm her own nerves. She was pregnant and flying alone. She had to be a little nervous.

  Ally liked the window seat, and she always paid extra to board with the first group. By the time Noel had waddled to her seat, Ally was already curled up, legs folded beneath her, her well-broken-in LA Kings cap pulled low, earbuds in. She was lost in her favorite yoga music Bhakti Without Borders and was looking forward to an undisturbed five-hours-and-change flight to JFK. Noel Rogers of Ashbury, New Jersey, was having none of it.

  “Excuse me?”

  Ally had heard the voice, but at first made no connection to it. Surely the words weren’t directed at her. “Hello? Miss? Are you awake?” Ally had cracked her left eye open, and her peripheral vision told her that her assumption that the voice wasn’t directed at her was incorrect. There was a large woman leaning across the stone-faced guy in the aisle seat and looking right at her. She was youngish, Ally had guessed late twenties, with chubby cheeks, pink rouge, and lipstick-stained teeth. Her strawberry hair was tied up in a bun, and she was wearing a lavender maternity maxi.

  Ally had slipped out her earbuds and given her a cautious “yes?” The woman shifted, and Ally could see she was pregnant. Very pregnant. Her first thought was, Why in the hell is she flying? Her second thought was, Please don’t let her be in the center seat.

  “I’m Noel,” the woman had said as if they were at a sorority rush party.

  “Ally,” Ally said. She wasn’t sure why they were making introductions.

  “Sorry, but I’m the window,” the pregnant lady said. “I’m E.”

  Ally gave her a puzzled look as if maybe it was all a big airplane practical joke. But, when Noel the pregnant lady held up her boarding pass and aimed a finger rather pointedly at the big 16E, Ally knew it was no ruse.

  “Oh,” Ally said, shifting as if she needed to move. “Wait. You do know that E is the middle seat, right?” The pregnant woman seemed puzzled. She looked at her ticket, then at the seat sign above her head. She narrowed her eyes as if trying to calculate an equation.

  “Oh no,” Noel said. “I’m in the middle?”

  “’Fraid so,” Ally said, tacking on a very small victory grin.

  “But I’m pregnant,” Noel said and then giggled. “Oh, well. I guess if you two don’t mind, why should I?” The man in 16D didn’t say a word. He just unbuckled his seat belt and wiggled out into the aisle so Noel the pregnant solo traveler could pass. It was then Ally realized that the woman had a Christmas-green canvas tote bag of stuff. Lots of stuff. Noel smiled at Ally and held out her bag. “Do you mind…? What’s your name again?”

  “Ally. Not at all.”

  Noel removed a lunchbox-sized pink plush stuffed teddy bear from her canvas tote. “This is Mr. Pinkie Pinkenstein,” she said, handing him to Ally. Ally squeezed him, looked at him, and wondered what the hell was going on. “This is Mrs. Penelope Pinkenstein.” Another pink bear, this one with lavender ribbons tied on the ears, emerged and was thrust into Ally’s arms. “And…” Ally’s new seatmate reached back inside her tote for the cours final, a two-sizes-smaller pink plush bear, and handed it to Ally, sans name. “This is simply Baby Pink. He doesn’t have a name yet.” Ally held the three stuffed bears on her lap as Noel wedged her way through the not-nearly-enough-room-for-a-pregnant-woman seat row spacing and plunked down with a “Hmpf. Whew.” Ally looked at the smallest of the bears and then at Noel. Her curiosity was eating away at her like sulfuric acid.

  “Why doesn’t the little one have a name?”

  “They haven’t named him yet.”

  “They?”

  “Mr. and Mrs. P haven’t decided what to call him. It’s really a little cruel, if you ask me. He’s just Baby P until they come up with a permanent name.”

  “Oh,” Ally said.

  “You can hold them until takeoff, if you want,” Noel said. “They’re my support bears, but I only really need them for takeoff, landing, and severe turbulence.”

  “That’s okay,” Ally said. She handed them to Noel, who gathered them in her ample arms.

  “Thanks, Ally. I really don’t like flying. Flying and the dentist’s office—oh, and anchovies. And it really sucks when you’re almost eight months pregnant.”

  “Eight months?” Ally said. “Wow, isn’t that a little…late to be flying? Not that I’m judging.”

  “My ob-gyn was pissed,” Noel said. “But I still have four weeks till my delivery date, and everybody in my family delivered late. My sister was six days late, my cousin Cheryl was nine days, my mom said I was born eight days past the due date. So, you’ve got nothing to worry about. Besides, I just had to come see my Great-Aunt June be
fore she goes. She’s my grammy’s sister on my momma’s side. Ninety-three. Shoot, I hope I don’t live that long. The drool is nasty. Anyway, she’s always been there for me, and I wanted to see her before she passed. Junie has Alzheimer’s, so she didn’t know who the hell I was, but it was nice to just hold her hand one last time. They don’t think she’ll make it to Christmas.”

  Ally was both amused and moved. “I’m sorry,” she said. “That’s very sweet of you to visit her, especially being so…pregnant.”

  Noel leaned into Ally, sucking up her personal space. “Mind if I check on my luggage?” Ally tried to meld back into the seat as Noel leaned across her and stared out the window. Below, the conveyer belt was moving bags and boxes of all shapes and sizes into the cargo hold. “Oh no,” Noel said. “I don’t see my things. I hope they don’t lose my luggage. I’ve got my husband’s Christmas present in there.”

  “I’m sure it’s fine,” Ally said. “It’s probably already been loaded.” Now, will you please give me back my space? Finally, Noel moved away. She looked at Ally as if seeing her for the first time.

  “You’re really pretty,” Noel said. “Are you an actress or a singer, or maybe a reality star?”

  “Oh no,” Ally said. “But thank you. You’re pretty, too.”

  The pilot came on with the latest from the flight deck. “Okay, folks. Looks like we’re number three for takeoff. According to our forecast, we’ll have pretty smooth flying most of the way, with a touch of chop over the Rockies.” Ally reached for her earbuds. It was time to get back on the path to Nirvana.

  “So, where are you headed, Ally?” Noel asked. Ally hesitated. Should I tell her? Oh, what the hell.

  “New York City…to get married.”

  “What?” Noel said. “Ally, that’s amazing! Congratulations!”

  “Thank you.” Ally felt her cheeks flush. Noel was attracting the attention of every passenger in their section, except for Mr. Poker-face in 16D. “I’m excited.” At least I was, Ally thought to herself. Why the hell haven’t I heard from Tim?

  “I bet you are,” Noel said. “First marriage?”

  “Yep.”

  “Well, where is your fiancé? Why are you traveling alone?”

  “He’s flying out in a couple of days. He had to stay in L.A. to tie up loose ends at our studio.”

  “Movie studio?”

  “Yoga. I’m marrying my business partner.”

  “Well, isn’t that awesome?” Noel said. “I tried yoga once, but I wasn’t flexible enough. I split my yoga pants right across the crotch. It was actually a little embarrassing, because I didn’t realize it until much later, after I’d gone shopping at Super Foodtown. Oh, and I wasn’t wearing panties. Looking back, I do remember getting a lot of strange looks. I thought it was my hair—I’d just done a Jennifer Aniston trim—but later I realized it was probably my exposed crotch.”

  Ally smiled. “Well, I guess yoga’s not for everybody. I can’t believe I just said that. I’ve been telling everyone I meet that it is for everybody.”

  “I bet you’re a good teacher,” Noel said. “I guess I just didn’t have a good teacher. She was sort of mean. Wanna guess the sex?” Noel put her hands on her stomach.

  Ally was impressed by how quickly her seatmate could shift topics. She looked at Noel’s bulging belly. “Girl.”

  “Wow, you’re good, Ally.”

  “Well, I had a fifty-fifty chance. And it looks like you’re carrying high. That’s supposed to be a sign that you should paint the baby room pink.”

  Noel caressed her bump. “We’re naming her Chelsea. Chelsea Rose. Does that sound too snooty? I don’t want her to become one of those mean girl queen bees. I’d rather her be the quirky girl who wears funky clothes and listens to weird music.”

  “Chelsea Rose is a lovely name,” Ally said. “And I think quirky’s cool.”

  “Thanks, Ally. Ally…is that short for Allison or Alistair?”

  Ally laughed out loud. “Allison.”

  “So, Allison, tell me all about your wedding plans.”

  Suddenly, unexpectedly, out of the blue and totally out of character, Ally teared up, and, before she even knew what was happening, one renegade tear broke free and rolled down her right cheek. She quickly wiped it away, tried to play it off. “Oh, wow. Must be allergies. Flying always does that to me.”

  Noel wasn’t buying it. She took Ally’s hand, lowered her voice. “It’s okay. You don’t have to keep whatever’s bothering you to yourself. You can talk to me. Everybody talks to me. I’ve been told I’m very empathetic and non-judgmental.” Ally looked into the young woman’s eyes. Is she kidding? I’m not going to tell a perfect stranger my innermost secrets. “Go on,” Noel gently coaxed. “I know you want to. Sometimes it’s easier to share with someone you’re never going to see again.”

  Ally took a deep breath. For some reason, this odd pregnant woman from New Jersey made a lot of sense. She was right. Why not unburden herself? I can’t believe I’m going to do this, Ally thought. But Noel was giving her a look that said “whenever you’re ready, I’m ready to listen.”

  “Well, his name’s Tim, and his proposal was amazing and incredibly romantic.”

  …

  Ally was sure he’d do it on her birthday. Tim had booked the best table at her favorite restaurant, the M Street Kitchen on Main Street in Santa Monica. She liked M Street because it wasn’t so fancy as to be intimidating. It had a nice, snug, and homey feel. Ally thought Tim seemed a little distant at dinner that night, and, when she tried to draw him out as to why, he said he was tired. What’s his problem? she thought. It’s my damn birthday…dammit, she thought, her heart sinking.

  By the time the main course had come and gone, Ally was certain her yogi’s intuition about Tim popping the question was just wishful thinking. He had seemed distracted all evening, like he was late for an appointment. She was a little peeved and disappointed when Tim signaled the server for the bill. She tried to put on a happy face, told him how much she enjoyed her birthday dinner, but deep down she was bummed out. What a letdown, she thought. Is he ever going to do the deed?

  And then the night took a turn.

  As Ally was gathering her bag to go, she noticed the waitstaff converging on their booth. A half dozen male and female servers formed a semi-circle next to the table. Ally thought, spare me, here comes the cheesy birthday song. She didn’t want to be cynical, but she had hoped for a little more. But, when they broke into verse, it wasn’t some lame restaurant birthday medley, it was a song she knew oh so well. Her favorite old song by the 5th Dimension.

  “Wedding Bell Blues.”

  Only, the name Ally had replaced Bill. Ally felt her face flush bright pink as the servers harmonized. They were pretty good. Without her even noticing, Tim slipped out of the booth to join them as lead singer. And then, Ally realized, this wasn’t at all spontaneous. He’d rehearsed with them. He’d actually taken the time to practice with the waitstaff of M Street Kitchen.

  Ally, I love you so, I always will.

  I look at you and see the passion eyes of May.

  Oh, but am I ever gonna see my wedding day?

  The entire restaurant joined in for the final verse, finishing with Oh, but Ally you know. I wanna take my wedding vows. Come on Ally. Come on Ally. I got the wedding bell blues.

  Then, as the patrons cheered, Tim dipped down on one knee, slipped a ring box from his pocket and, as coolly as James Bond, spoke those five magic words.

  “Ally, will you marry me?”

  “Oh, Ally, that’s so romantic,” Noel said. Ally looked at her row mate. She thought maybe she should just leave it there—with the happy ending. But Noel was looking at her in a way that said go on. Let’s hear it all. Ally was so into her story, she’d scarcely noticed the takeoff. The nose of the plane was pointing upward as they ascended to the cruising altitude.

  “Yes,” Ally said, “it was.” She sighed and adjusted her legs. “And I should be happy and excited.
I mean, I’m going to New York to get married. I’m going to see my friends and family. I’m going to give my heart to my best friend.”

  “Then, why are those eyes troubled?” Noel asked. Wow, she’s good, Ally thought. She oughta hang out a shrink shingle in New Jersey and start charging by the hour.

  “Because,” Ally said. “Something just doesn’t…feel right. And it all started this morning.”

  …

  “Devyn, have you heard from Tim?”

  Ally called her yoga studio just before boarding her flight, and after her dozen-and-change texts and calls to Tim had gone unanswered. Crickets.

  “Haven’t seen him,” Devyn said. “He left this morning not long after you did.”

  Devyn Marks was the Yogi Village studio manager. She was twenty-five and reeked of competence. Ally had hired her on the spot two years earlier, on a recommendation from a yoga student who had used Devyn as a temp when her assistant was on maternity leave. Ally and Tim both agreed that they had no worries about leaving their studio in Devyn’s capable hands while they were gone for three weeks for the wedding and Bora Bora honeymoon. She was efficient and honest and made their lives so much easier.

  “Okay, Devyn. Thanks. Can you text me if you hear anything?”

  “Sure. Ally, is everything okay?”

  “Of course, yes,” Ally lied. “He was just supposed to get in touch earlier. His phone probably died, or he can’t remember where he left it. Typical Tim.” Devyn chuckled, but Ally knew that her manager knew Ally was bullshitting her. Tim wouldn’t even brush his teeth without his phone in hand. Ally hung up and mentally replayed the last time she’d seen Tim at the studio that morning. Was there something I missed. A clue?

  Ally and Tim had ended the morning level 2 class early so that Ally could be sure she made it to the airport on time. It was a simple plan. Ally would head back east on the 20th to take care of last-minute wedding stuff, and Tim would join her at her parents’ apartment two days later. He’d linger behind in L.A. to help dot the Is and cross the Ts at the studio. Tim handled the money end, so he would make sure all the bills were paid, and that Devyn had everything she needed before they headed off to their Polynesian paradise.