As they stood back together and looked at the tree, she saw Grant smile.
“Not bad, not bad at all,” he said. “Who knew I had tree-lighting skills. I just wish they were multicolored. These all-white lights are a little boring.”
Emmie looked at Grant like he just said he didn’t like Santa. “White lights are the best!” she insisted, but before she could elaborate, the referee whistle on her phone went off again.
“What’s next?” Grant asked, trying to look at her phone.
She quickly moved it away from him. “Don’t look. I want you to be surprised.”
Grant looked nervous, but he smiled. “Okay, I’m all yours.” He put his arm around her and pulled her close.
Emmie smiled up at him. “You’re going to love this. You’ll see.”
WHEN THEY ARRIVED outside of Frosty’s Café, Grant had a confused look on his face. “Isn’t it a little early for lunch?”
Emmie laughed. “We’re not going to lunch.” She pointed at a sign on the door that said: Pictures with Santa Today.
Grant stopped dead in his tracks. “You’re kidding, right?”
Emmie grinned up at him as she pulled him into the café. “I’ve never been more serious about anything in my life.”
They didn’t get too far inside, because there was already a big line forming. All the café tables had been moved to the outside corners, and right in the middle of the café were decorations to make it look like Santa’s village.
The showstopper was a giant red velvet chair with elaborate gold trim that Santa was sitting in, looking every bit the king of Christmas. He had a sweet little girl sitting on his lap who was whispering in his ear while he listened closely.
“Ho! Ho! Ho! Who is next?” Santa asked as the little girl ran back to her mom.
“No! No! No!” Grant said to Emmie, mimicking Santa’s jovial voice. When Grant turned to flee, Emmie grabbed his hand.
“Come on,” she said. “This will be great.”
Grant looked down and saw a little boy about five years old standing in front of them. The little boy was watching him. Grant pointed him out to Emmie. “This is for kids. This isn’t for us,” Grant said. “I think we’re a little too old for this.”
Emmie laughed. “Nonsense. You’re never too old to see Santa.”
Grant glanced over at Santa. “Okay, I see him. Let’s go.”
Emmie laughed. “Very funny.”
Grant looked completely serious.
Emmie smiled up at him. “Don’t worry. This won’t take long. The line is moving fast.” Emmie saw Grant look at the little boy again and shake his head. The child seemed fascinated with Grant and kept staring at him. He then stuck his tongue out at Grant.
Grant answered by sticking his tongue out at the little boy.
Emmie grabbed Grant’s arm. “Seriously, what are you, five? And you’re saying you think you’re too old to see Santa?”
When the little boy laughed, Grant frowned. “Fine, you both win. But there’s no way I’m sitting on that guy’s lap.”
“Deal!” Emmie said, excited.
But when Grant’s phone rang, Emmie’s smile disappeared. Emmie grabbed his hand as he reached for his phone. “Call them back,” she pleaded with him.
He shook his head. “I need to get it.”
“You can call them back in five minutes,” Emmie said.
When Grant’s phone rang again, he grabbed it out of his pocket, but Emmie snatched it away.
Grant wasn’t amused. “Emmie, seriously, I need my phone.”
“I’m only asking you to wait five minutes, then call them back,” Emmie said. “It’s almost our turn.”
When Grant’s phone rang again, he held out his hand. “Seriously, Emmie, give me the phone. Now.”
The sharp tone of his voice evaporated her joy. Even the little boy watching them looked a little scared. Disappointed and without a word, she handed Grant back his phone.
Grant answered it immediately. “This is Grant. Can you hold for a minute? I’ll get somewhere where we can talk.” When he left the line and headed for the door, Emmie called out after him: “But you’re going to miss our picture!”
Grant was already to the door. “You go ahead. I’ll meet you outside.”
Emmie’s shoulders slumped. She couldn’t believe it. How could he not wait just five minutes?
The little boy looked up at her. “He’s going to miss seeing Santa.”
Emmie shook her head sadly as she looked back at the child. “He’s missing a lot of things.”
When Santa waved the little boy over, Emmie, depressed, got out of line and was about to leave, too, when Santa called out to her.
“Ho! Ho! Ho! Don’t go. You haven’t told me your Christmas wish yet.”
Emmie felt her face flush red and knew everyone was looking at her. The little boy jumped off Santa’s lap and ran toward her.
“He’s really nice,” the little boy said. “Don’t be afraid.”
Emmie couldn’t help but laugh. She smiled at the little boy. “Thank you. Great advice.”
As she slowly walked toward Santa, she recognized him as the same guy who’d sold her and Sam the chestnuts. His smile was warm and genuine just as it had been yesterday.
When he patted the chair next to him, she sat down. She whispered to him, “Loved the chestnuts.”
He smiled back at her, staying completely in character. “So what is your Christmas wish this year?”
Without hesitating, Emmie answered. “To celebrate Christmas with my boyfriend.” She then looked outside and saw Grant in front of the café talking on his phone. She turned back to Santa. “And I think you’re going to have your work cut out for you.”
When the cameraman snapped a picture of her, Emmie was sure she’d been looking outside and frowning.
Great, she thought, just what I need, a grumpy picture with Santa. She was sure that was going to land her on Santa’s naughty list, right next to Grant, who was still talking on the phone.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Sam was alone at the inn, pacing back and forth in the living room. Alone except for Dasher, who was sitting by the fire watching him.
“Well, she should be here any minute,” Sam said to Dasher. “She’s never late.”
Dasher wagged his tail and then seconds later jumped up and barked and ran to the front door.
Sam laughed. “Told ya.”
He followed Dasher to the front door and opened it just in time to see Candace get out of her car.
She was immaculately dressed in a tailored slate-gray cashmere coat with black pants. Her fur-trimmed snow boots looked like they belonged more on a fashion runway than actually in the snow, but that didn’t stop her from heading up the path at a quick pace. When she noticed all the Christmas decorations, she didn’t look impressed. What she looked like was a woman on a mission.
“This better be good” was all she said when she came toe-to-toe with Sam.
“I hope you think so,” Sam said. He stepped back and held the door open for her. Candace started to take a step inside but stopped when she saw Dasher guarding the entryway.
“Is this going to be a problem?” she asked, pointing at Dasher.
Sam laughed. “No, this is Dasher. Dasher, this is Candace. She’s a friend of mine.”
When Dasher barked at Candace, he was wagging his tail. He then turned around and ran into the living room and lay down in his usual spot by the fire.
Candace gave Sam a look. “Let me guess. This dog is going to be in your new book.”
Sam nodded. “Yes, as a matter of fact, he is.”
“Great,” Candace said. Her voice was dripping with sarcasm.
Dasher barked again as she walked into the living room.
“It’s okay, Dasher,” Sam said. “We like Candace.”
Candace rolled her eyes. “Look, if you want to be stuck up here in Christmasville, talking to dogs and eating yourself into a sugar coma, that’s fine, as
long as you’re writing again. Do whatever it takes.”
Sam walked over to Candace. “Thank you for coming all the way up here. I really thought you needed to see this place in person to understand where I’m coming from and my inspiration for my next book.”
Candace gave him a shrewd look. “Oh, I didn’t come up here to understand anything. I came up here because if this idea isn’t good, I’m making sure you’re coming back with me to Seattle, and we’re going to find one that is.”
Sam gulped.
He could see in Candace’s eyes that she wasn’t messing around. The one thing he could always count on with Candace was that she didn’t sugarcoat anything. Instead, she’d just jump right in and rip off the Band-Aid. As painful as it could be, Sam appreciated the honesty. So far she’d never led him astray. He needed someone to trust in his life, and she was his person.
But now he was starting to genuinely worry that she might not like what he’d come up with. It was different from his usual style, and Candace always wanted him to stay on brand. He couldn’t remember the last time he was so excited about a story, and it made him feel vulnerable, because he didn’t know what he’d do if Candace didn’t like it.
“May I take your coat?” he offered.
Candace nodded but looked reluctant. “I don’t plan to stay long.”
“Understood,” Sam said as he went to hang up her coat in the entryway closet.
Candace moved closer to the fire and looked down at one of the giant Santas. “You weren’t kidding when you said this place goes all out for Christmas.”
Sam smiled. “It’s really amazing. You should see the town. Every single shop gets into the holiday spirit, and everyone in town works together to decorate. It’s like a Norman Rockwell painting come to life.”
Candace turned her attention back to Sam. “Okay, then, let’s see what you’ve brought to life, finally. What do you have for me?”
Sam took a deep breath. This was it. This was the moment of truth. He walked over to the coffee table and picked up his outline.
“I did this really fast,” Sam said. “I still need to do a lot more work on it, but it will give you an idea where I’m going with the story and what it’s about and—”
Candace held out her hand and locked eyes with him. “I know what an outline is. Stop stalling.”
Sam laughed nervously. “Of course.” When he handed Candace his pages, he felt his stomach knot up. He held his breath as he watched Candace sit down on the couch and take her reading glasses out of her designer tote bag. As she began to read, he started pacing back and forth in front of the Christmas tree.
Candace, irritated, took off her glasses and looked back up at him. “No,” she said as she pointed her glasses at him, “you’re not going to do that pacing-back-and-forth thing. It’s distracting. Do you want me to read this or not?”
“Of course?” Sam said.
Candace looked over at Dasher, who was also staring at her.
“Then take this dog and go for a walk or something, because he keeps staring at me, too,” Candace said.
When Dasher heard the word walk, he jumped up and raced over to Candace. He wagged his tail as his hopeful big brown eyes gazed up at her.
She gave Dasher a look. “Not me, dog. Him,” she said and pointed to Sam.
“Come on, Dasher,” Sam said. “Let’s go.”
Dasher didn’t need to be asked twice. He raced past Sam and waited for him at the front door.
“Okay, I’m out of here,” Sam said. “But if you need me for anything or have any questions or—”
“Go!” Candace said.
“Sorry,” Sam said. “I don’t know why I’m so nervous.”
Candace gave him a look. “Maybe because your entire career is riding on this.”
Sam laughed. “Oh, great, no pressure. That makes me feel SO much better.”
Candace pointed to the door. “Go!”
SAM WASN’T SURE how long he was outside with Dasher, but it felt like forever. He kept looking at his phone and only seconds had gone by, not minutes. All he could think and wonder about was what Candace was thinking of his outline. Now he wished he’d spent more time on it, finessing it, but he’d been anxious to get her take on it, and he knew his time was running out to make his publisher’s final deadline. He’d written it so quickly, he knew there was still a lot to flesh out, but he also knew it was enough to get a thumbs-up or a thumbs-down from Candace. She usually didn’t need much to know if it was a story she thought would work.
Throughout his career, he’d always written what he’d wanted, and Candace had loved it. But this last year, after his sister passed away, Candace had passed on the few ideas he’d sent her, telling him to keep trying.
If he was honest with himself, he’d known when he’d sent her the stuff that it wasn’t any good. He’d just felt pressure to send her something by the deadlines, so he did. He always thought he just needed more time and something great would come to him.
But as time went by and he missed more deadlines, nothing had come to him—until now. He just hoped his idea was as good as he thought it was and that it met with Candace’s approval.
He walked over closer to the living room window and sneaked a peek inside. Candace was still reading his outline. He hoped that was a good sign. He looked over at Dasher by his side.
“The one time she reads slow,” he said. “She’s usually a speed reader.”
Filled with nervous energy, he walked over to one of the decorated Christmas trees in the front yard and adjusted a strand of garland that had come loose in the wind and was flopping around. After he had safely tucked the garland back into place on the tree, he straightened up some ornaments, including a cute ceramic snowman. He smiled thinking about the snowman family he and Emmie had made outside of the Christmas Cabin.
He’d never met anyone who loved Christmas as much as Emmie. In fact, he’d never met anyone like Emmie at all.
He was still blown away by all the work she had done on the scavenger hunt just so she could create a special Christmas vacation for her boyfriend. She’d obviously put her whole heart into it. What Sam didn’t understand, after meeting Grant, was how Grant could be so oblivious to how much this all meant to Emmie. He’d just met Emmie, and it was clear to him how much this special trip she’d planned meant to her. Either Grant wasn’t paying attention or he didn’t care. Either way, he worried that Emmie was going to end up hurt and disappointed.
When his stomach knotted, he took a deep breath, because he knew he’d hurt Emmie and disappointed her, and that was the last thing he’d ever wanted to do. The look in her eyes when she’d accused him of using her for his book had killed him, but she had run off before he could explain.
Sam knew Emmie was someone truly special. She was caring and had a kind heart. She was funny and smart, and she liked to do things for other people.
Once he had gotten the idea to write a story about a girl, like Emmie, who had a missing boyfriend at Christmas, he couldn’t write fast enough. It wasn’t just because he was using the general idea of her story. It was because he felt so connected to the main character and her journey.
And that was the problem.
He had fallen for Emmie.
And while in his story he wanted to write about her and her missing boyfriend, in real life, Grant was here and very much part of the picture.
The crazy part was he didn’t know when it had happened—when he had fallen for her. He couldn’t pinpoint the one specific moment. It was more like a dozen tiny moments that had all combined together to capture his heart.
He tried to tell himself that he was just feeling emotional because he was finally celebrating Christmas again, but he couldn’t deny the fact that by letting Christmas back into his heart, Emmie had slipped in there, too. He feared it was much more than that, though. He feared that the feelings he had for her weren’t going to go away when the snow melted.
But he didn’t know what to do abo
ut it. What could he do? She had a boyfriend she obviously loved enough to plan this amazing vacation for, and he needed to respect that, and now she wasn’t even talking to him.
All he knew how to do now was to write the story that had grabbed hold of his heart and imagination and see it through until the end to find out what happens. That was the thing about the way he wrote. He never planned an ending. He always let the characters guide him. They were always in control. He knew to someone who didn’t write, it was probably hard to understand, but that had always been his process, and so far he’d been successful at it.
But this time, this book, he knew was going to be different. It wasn’t just about the mystery; it was also about the relationships and finding true love by finding Christmas.
He bent down and scooped up some fresh snow. When he packed it into the perfect snowball, Dasher waited eagerly.
“What?” Sam teased. “You want me to throw this, Dasher? Really? You sure?”
When Sam held up the snowball, Dasher leapt up into the air and almost got it. Sam laughed and threw it hard, and Dasher went running after it. Of course when the snowball hit the ground, it broke into pieces, but Dasher didn’t know that. He circled around trying to find it. He’d put his nose in the snow and run forward, plowing snow like a snowplow.
Sam laughed. “Dasher, you’re crazy.”
Dasher barked and ran back over to him. His tail was wagging a mile a minute. He was obviously ready for round two. But this time when Sam looked into the living room window, he saw Candace stand up. His heart raced.
This was it.
“Come on, Dasher. The verdict is in!” As Sam hurried to the front door, Dasher ran ahead and was there waiting for him.
Inside, Sam found Candace holding his outline, facing the fireplace.
He took a deep breath. “Tell me you don’t hate it so much you’re about to toss it into the fire.”
When Candace slowly turned around, her expression was blank. It was impossible for Sam to know what she was thinking. His heart beat faster, and he could feel a trickle of sweat snake down the back of his neck. He rubbed his hands together. Even though they were cold from being outside, they still felt clammy.
Finding Christmas Page 21