by Amy Lamont
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Epilogue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
A Christmas Duet
Amy Lamont
Productive Ink Media
Copyright © 2017 by Productive Ink Media
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Contents
Joyfully Yours
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Epilogue
Please Have Snow
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Excerpt: Christmas with the Billionaire
A Message from Amy
Joyfully Yours
Chapter 1
Faith Leary tapped out a staccato beat with her toe on the dingy linoleum floor. She stretched up and leaned sideways in an attempt to see around the man in front of her. A loud sigh escaped her as the customer at the register pulled out a wad of coupons. With a quick huff to blow the fringe of bangs out of her eyes, she shuffled both cans of cranberry sauce into one hand and dug into her over-sized bag with the other. Two minutes later, she found her phone swimming around amid the debris that lived in her purse.
The line didn’t move an inch.
Faith checked the time on her phone. 2:10. She’d promised Mrs. Marshall she’d arrive no later than 2:30 to pick up her paycheck. If she didn’t make it, she’d have to wait until after the Thanksgiving weekend to get paid for walking Mrs. Marshall’s ancient Lhasa Apsos. She had a few bills to pay, and in another week her rent was due. Her negative bank balance meant she couldn’t afford to wait.
That’s what you get for waiting until the day before Thanksgiving to buy cranberry sauce. Honestly, Faith. She cringed and almost turned to see if her mother stood behind her in the grocery line. She stopped at the last minute. That voice was all in her head.
Decisions, decisions. Stay in line and miss any chance of making rent this month or put down her only contribution to Thanksgiving dinner and risk her mother’s anger? The worst that could happen for being late on rent was eviction. And that was a lengthy process. Her landlord worked with her in the past. Maybe he’d do it again.
There would be no working things out with her mother. For the rest of her life she’d hear about the Thanksgiving she’d completely ruined by waiting until the last minute to get cranberries. Sighing, Faith dialed Mrs. Marshall and told her it didn’t look like she’d make it.
Faith checked her phone again when she reached the head of the checkout line. 2:20. Was it possible only fifteen minutes passed?
“That’s $3.58,” the cashier said around a huge gob of gum.
Faith once again plumbed the depths of her bag, this time in search of her wallet. Opening it, she found two crumpled dollar bills. Wasn’t there a five in there yesterday?
Oh, wait. She gave it to the bartender when she bought a Coke at the place her band played last night. What remained in her wallet was the change he gave her. She offered the cashier a weak smile as she dove back into her bag. Surely she’d stuck a few singles in a pocket here or there.
Dragging her fingers across the crumb-coated bottom, they closed around some change. Snatching it up, she counted out seventy-two cents.
“How much is it again?” She squinted at the price glowing green on top of the cash register, mentally cursing any store for having a cash-only line in this day and age.
“$3.58,” the cashier repeated in a bored tone. Faith went in again, this time coming up empty-handed. She pulled items out, piling her sunglasses, lip-gloss, tissues, and a half-eaten Hershey bar on the conveyor belt. She cringed as the toe of the man in line behind her started tapping.
“Let me get that for you.”
Faith turned toward the end of the checkout lane to find a man standing there holding two crisp dollar bills toward her. A pair of startling blue eyes met hers, their color enhanced by the dark hair dipping over his forehead. Her lips curled into a smile in reaction to his friendly grin. Her gaze skimmed down as she admired his sharp cheekbones and strong jawline and then roamed lower…only to lock on the spot under his chin.
Her mind switched into overdrive as it tried to catch up with what her eyes were telling her. The man she just ogled wore a black shirt and a white tab collar.
She blinked once, then again. The vision in front of her didn’t change.
Holy crap. How fast does a person get sent to hell for checking out a priest?
Faith turned to the cashier again as she forced down all thoughts of what she had almost done. She had absolutely not been about to start batting her eyelashes at a priest. Nope, not her.
While she was working her way deep into denial, she decided she’d also ignore the long line of people sending death glares her way.
Ha! One good thing about having a priest appear out of thin air—the people behind her would probably refrain from showering her with stinging insults and just settle for dirty looks.
Faith dug in her purse again, telling the priest over her shoulder without making eye contact, “Thanks, but it’s okay. I’m sure I have….”
“Lady,” the man waiting in line behind her said, “take the money so the rest of us have a chance to make it home before Thanksgiving.”
Faith’s shoulders dropped in defeat as she turned back to the priest. “I can pay you back.”
“Don’t worry about it. Consider it my good deed for the day.” He flashed another grin that made her want to melt into a puddle at his feet. You know, before she remembered the whole priest thing. He handed her the two dollars and she paid for her cranberries and stuffed her belongings back in her purse.
She turned back toward the priest to offer her thanks, but he’d already disappeared.
She grabbed her bag and hurried outside before the other patrons had a chance to grab their torches and pitchforks.
Holidays sure did seem to bring out the best in people.
Out in the parking lot, Faith braced herself against the cold November chill, pulling her black pea coat tight around her body. Just a few yards away, her Good Samaritan leaned against a car, talking on his phone.
There was something bizarre about a priest talking on a cell phone. Like the time she’d driven through Pennsylvania and snapped a picture of an Amish woman filling the gas tank of a ginormous SUV. In this case, she decided to refrain from taking advantage of the photo op. She’d already ogled the guy. Taking a picture might elevate her to stalker status. She was pretty sure nothing good could come from stalking a priest.
He hung up the phone before she had a chance to escape the parking
lot, and her shoulders sagged. She might not want to be accused of stalking, but she should go give him a real thank you for helping her out. He had saved her from the unruly masses in the grocery store.
“Excuse me,” she called before he could get into his car, a sensible looking Ford. “I just wanted to thank you again. I think you may have saved my life back there.” She jerked a thumb over her shoulder in the direction of the store.
“My pleasure.”
“Is there somewhere I can send the money? I thought I had a little more cash in my wallet….” She trailed off as he waved her offer away.
“Don’t worry about it. Happens to all of us.”
Faith bit her bottom lip, trying to imagine the handsome, clean-cut man in front of her digging in his pockets for spare change.
As if he could read her mind, he laughed. “Even me. Once I was late for an appointment and didn’t have money for the parking meter. I asked a lady passing by if she had any change. I even told her I was a priest. She hit me with her purse and told me I should be ashamed of myself for impersonating a man of the cloth.”
Faith laughed at the picture he painted, but cut it off with a choking wheeze when his eyes dipped down for an instant.
Holy crap. Was it her imagination or had the priest just checked her out? She hopped backward a step and stuttered out another quick thanks before scurrying away. Must be her imagination. Or maybe he was one of those pervy priests.
As she made the trek to the train platform, half her brain dwelled with disgust on the idea of him checking her out. The other half was happy she’d taken the extra few minutes to do her hair and put on some makeup this morning.
Michael stood in the parking lot, leaning against the car door after the young woman took off. She’d caught his attention when she’d whizzed down the canned food aisle, scanning shelves, her long hair flying out behind her. He’d almost laughed out loud when she breezed past him muttering under her breath about cranberry sauce.
When he saw her struggling at the checkout counter, he couldn’t have asked for a better opening. His gut had tightened when she turned and smiled at him. There was no mistaking the interest lighting her eyes.
Right up until she noticed his collar.
He raised his hand to his throat, fingering the white tab. He didn’t wear it often, his church wasn’t known for being strict on the dress code, but he’d been visiting an elderly member of his congregation this afternoon. He’d learned early that when people were sick, they took comfort in seeing the collar.
He shook his head and took one more look over his shoulder at the spot where the woman stood just a few moments ago. He couldn’t help the rueful chuckle that escaped him.
Some of his congregation might find comfort in the collar, but damn if the thing wasn’t hell on his love life.
Chapter 2
Faith trudged up the walkway of her mother’s duplex clutching her two cans of cranberries to her chest. Looking up at the house, she couldn’t help but shake her head in wonder. Distance-wise she was only a few miles or so from her own apartment. But her neighborhood, with its mixture of industrial buildings, artists’ studios, and funky little shops, was a long way from the tree-lined streets and neat rows of duplexes that marked the Brooklyn neighborhood where she’d grown up. The house looked exactly the same as when she was a kid—faded brick with white awnings, wrought iron railing dividing the steps up to the door to each home, too-steep concrete steps.
Definitely too steep. Faith tottered up the front stoop on her slim heels, wishing her feet were snug inside a toasty pair of Uggs instead of the heels that were sure to be the death of her. But there was no way she could arrive at her mother’s house for a holiday in comfortable clothing. Her mother would have her head if she showed up in the jeans and boots she wanted to wear. She’d opted instead for a little black dress and the silver heels of death. She might still catch hell for not being more festive, but for some reason—Faith rolled her eyes as she remembered the outfit her sister Maddie wore to Thanksgiving last year—she had no sweater sets featuring pumpkins and fall leaves.
Raising a hand, Faith almost tripped into the entryway as the door burst open.
“Faith, thank God.”
She found herself snatched into the house and shoved into the powder room just inside the front door before she could so much as blink.
“Frank, what the heck?” She gave her brother the stink eye as he took her by the shoulders.
“Wait. Just wait. Wait until you see the yummy morsel Mom invited to dinner.” Frank didn’t usually have such a flair for the dramatic, but they did seem to share the same taste in men. A fact their mother tried to ignore, often inviting a “nice girl” over for dinner in an attempt to convince Frank that being gay was just a phase. His excitement over their mother’s guest definitely raised her curiosity.
Frank slid her coat off her shoulders and opened the bathroom door just enough to slip an arm out and hang it on the hall coatrack. He cracked the door a bit wider, poking his head out to make sure the coast was clear before tugging her by the hand to the living room doorway. With a finger to his lips, he motioned for her to take a peek around the corner while he moved stealthily to the other side to get his own gander at their guest.
Faith’s gaze immediately fell on the man standing in front of the fireplace admiring the considerable display of family photos. With only a view of his back, she contemplated what she could make out—dark hair falling just over his collar, starched blue oxford shirt tucked into khaki pants.
The outfit was a little conservative for her taste, but those broad shoulders, long legs, and tight buns could make up for a plethora of fashion faux pas. She narrowed her eyes as a thought began to tickle at the back of her mind. The tickle became a smack upside the head as the man turned from the mantel. Brother and sister jumped back, each hiding on their respective sides of the doorframe.
“Dibs,” Frank whispered.
Faith smirked and shook her head. She didn’t need to see full frontal, so to speak, to know who her mother’s guest was. “He’s taken.”
“What? By who?”
“God.”
“What?”
“He’s taken by God, Frank. He’s a priest,” she informed him, voice low enough to ensure the room’s occupant couldn’t hear her.
“No way!” Frank whispered, his mouth dropping open.
“What are you two doing skulking around out here?”
Faith and Frank jumped as if on cue. Talk about skulking. Faith rolled her eyes. Of course they hadn’t heard their mother come down the hall from the kitchen. Stealth was one of their mother’s greatest gifts. Right up there with giving guilt and matching her shoes and purse to her lipstick. “Faith don’t roll your eyes. Come in and greet our guest.”
Great. Back home for less than five minutes and already feeling like a ten-year-old. She figured just like back then, a little kissing up couldn’t hurt. She leaned over and pecked her mother’s powdered cheek. “Happy Thanksgiving, Mom.”
Her mother gave her an affectionate, if absent-minded, pat on the shoulder and immediately homed in on Faith’s hands. Faith’s empty hands. “You forgot the cranberries.”
Faith knew she made the right decision forgoing her paycheck in favor of getting those cranberries. The horror in her mother’s voice made it sound like forgetting the cranberries was a sin akin to selling herself on the street. Now if only she could remember where she left those cans.
“Oh!” Faith scooted back into the powder room. There were the cranberries, perched exactly where she left them on the edge of the sink. She emerged from the bathroom holding up a can in each hand just as their guest appeared from the living room. Their eyes met and a slow grin spread across his face as he caught sight of her standing there holding her cranberries aloft.
God had an interesting sense of humor.
Before either of them could say a word, Faith’s mother swooped down, rolling her eyes—Faith came by that talent na
turally—and taking the cans. She placed them on the hall table and ushered all of them into the living room.
“Faith, Frank, this is Father Michael Flannery. Father Michael, these are my youngest, Faith and Frank.”
Frank reached over to shake Father Michael’s hand. Faith didn’t miss the quick up-down Frank gave the other man or the small headshake and sigh before he smiled.
“Nice to meet you,” Frank said.
“You, too.” Father Michael smiled before turning and holding a hand out to Faith. She swallowed hard as his gaze landed on her. She hadn’t imagined the intense blue of his eyes. She pulled in a deep breath and offered her hand, biting her bottom lip at the tingle that came with the contact.
Priest, priest, priest. She repeated the litany in her head. She needed the reminder that the man in front of her dressed just like any other guy was anything but. He gave a whole new meaning to the phrase “off limits.”
“He’s from over at St. David’s,” her mother explained before Faith or Father Michael admitted to having met already.
Not that they really needed an explanation. Faith and Frank were used to various priests, rabbis, reverends and assorted religious figures showing up for dinner at the house. For all her conservative ways, Faith’s mother tended to try on religions the way some women tried on shoes. And when she tried it out, she immersed herself in it, inviting people for dinner, going to services several times each week, and volunteering for whatever event or charity they supported.
For some reason, none of the religions seemed to take. But it served for some amusing meals at the Leary household. The best was the year her mother invited the rabbi from Temple Beth Torah over for Easter dinner. The man was polite and had a sense of humor about the whole thing, but suffice it to say there wasn’t much talk from her mom about converting to Judaism after that.