by Becca Colton
I exchange looks with my parents, worried, feeling that something bad is coming. I don’t know why but I can’t shake the feeling.
Dad gives me a reassuring smile. “He’s still the man who own’s the largest Christmas store in the world . . . and it’s almost Christmas. It would be strange if he didn’t get unexpected phone calls.”
I nod and try to concentrate on the food. It’s easy at first — Mom has always been great in the kitchen — but I look toward the front door more and more as the minutes pass. After twenty minutes have passed, I finally give in to my curiosity. Excusing myself from the table, I put my coat on and go out the front door.
I was worried I’d find Joe in a heated argument with someone over the phone. Instead, he’s just standing in the middle of the yard, looking at the Christmas decorations. He glances over at me for just a moment before returning to his contemplation of Santa, Frosty, and the rest of the gang.
“Joe?”
“That was the chairman of the board of directors.” His voice is empty, hollow-sounding.
I go to him and take his hand. “Is anything wrong?”
He makes a strange sound, something between a chuckle and a choking sound. “They talked with the accountants, and the mighty number crunchers have spoken.” His hand slips away from mine as he steps away, still looking at the decorations, the ground, the sky. Anywhere but at me.
“It’s been decided,” he says, “that keeping the Christmas Shack is not a sound financial investment.”
“What’s that mean?”
“It means the board voted and sold the Christmas Shack.” He rolls his eyes. “Some world-famous chef wants to open a bistro here. He says the population to restaurant ratio is favorable for the enterprise.”
“But . . .” I don’t even know what to say. “But what about the changes? The website? The new products? The newsletter subscribers?”
Joe finally looks at me, and his eyes look haunted. “The board says everything can be folded into the other Christmas World stores, that there’s no reason to have a location here.” He drops his gaze again. “The deal is already done. They’re just waiting for the guy to sign and return the papers.”
“You can’t fight them on it?”
Joe shakes his head. “Nothing to fight. The vote was unanimous, so even if I was there to vote no it wouldn’t have changed anything.” He sighs again. “They say since all the business dealings are taken care of that I need to return home.” He looks at me. “You could come with me, Krissy.”
“Come with you?” I can’t even wrap my head around the idea. “My parents just lost their business. Again. And you’re letting it happen.”
“Krissy —”
“No,” I shout, swiping at my eyes, refusing to let him see me cry. “I’m not leaving my parents. They need me.” I wave him away as if I were shooing away a fly. “Go home, Joe. Your ‘business dealings’ are done so there’s no reason to stick around.” I turn and head back to the front door. “Go home and have a merry fucking Christmas.” I slam the door behind me, and then the tears finally start to fall.
Chapter 8
Joe
“Well have a merry fucking Christmas.” I slam down the phone. Those words have become my mantra, my motto, my personal life philosophy. It’s a reminder that life sucks, as if I could forget that tiny little fact.
I turn in my chair and look out the window of my office on the twelfth floor of the Christmas World building. The city is sprawled out below me, and it looks depressing as hell, all gray and dirty and ugly. Christmas is days away, and there’s not a speck of snow anywhere. That’s not exactly new for this area; I never even thought about it before. But I was shocked when I stepped off the plane and the ground wasn’t covered in the stuff, shocked to learn my heavy-duty coat was a bit too heavy-duty for what passed as winter here.
What I’m not shocked about is how much I miss Krissy. When I first got back, I told myself I just needed a little time. But I knew even then I was lying to myself. There’s no getting over Krissy, or forgetting about her, or getting used to not having her in my life.
“Well somebody is in a holly jolly mood.”
I swing my chair back around and see Gladys, my admin assistant. Everyone was surprised when I chose her. She’s in her early sixties and has been with the company for several years. And she doesn’t take crap from anyone, which is why she was stuck covering for the younger, prettier, more docile assistants when they took sick days or vacation days. I appreciated that fire, though. She doesn’t need money because her husband was very wealthy. He made sure she was taken care of before he passed away, which means she’s now very wealthy. Because of that, she’s not afraid to speak her mind.
I saw my father fire her once. She just laughed, shook her head, and returned to her desk. She showed up promptly at eight the next morning. Dad was so shocked he didn’t even bother reminding her she was fired. It simply became the firing that didn’t happen. I took her on as my assistant that same day.
“Is anyone around here in a holly jolly mood, Gladys?” I ask. “Does anyone really even care about Christmas around here?”
She tilts her head and looks at me through her silver wire-rimmed glasses. “That little town did something to you.”
I snort and roll my eyes.
“Don’t give me that.” She frowns. “Acting like I don’t know you. I’ll be the first to admit you don’t have the same icicle shoved up your butt that your father has shoved up his, but you’ve also never really cared about Christmas either. At least not in any way that didn’t involve bank accounts and profits.”
“Fine,” I sigh. “I met someone there.”
Gladys smiles.
“And I put her family out of business.”
She loses the smile.
“I thought I had a way to save it, was saving it. And then the board sold it.”
Gladys opens her mouth, shuts it, opens it again, and then shuts it again.”
I stare at her. “You look like a fish out of water, Gladys? You okay?”
She looks back over her shoulder, as if making sure nobody else is close enough to hear. “Well . . . it’s just . . . I sort of overheard through the office gossip the board isn’t very happy about that deal because it hasn’t happened yet.”
I lean forward, trying to tamp down the hope that’s trying to spring to life. “What do you mean it hasn’t happened yet? When I last talked with the chairman, he was just waiting for the papers to be signed.”
Gladys nods. “You’ve been so busy hiding away in here and hating everyone you probably haven’t heard the owner of the bistro chain has a daughter. She was pregnant. She went into labor probably about the same time the board was sending the final documents over, and the new first-time grandpa decided he was going to spend as much time as possible with his daughter and new grandson.” Gladys gives me a knowing look. “Those papers won’t be signed until after Christmas, so if that’s what’s stopping you from being with that girl . . .” She arches an eyebrow, then turns and leaves the office.
I stare at the phone for a few seconds, letting it sink in, making sure I didn’t just imagine that whole conversation. The Christmas Shack hasn’t been sold yet. I pick up the phone and punch in a number. I don’t even give him time to say anything. “Mr. Chairman? I have a new buyer for the Christmas Shack, and before you tell me why it can’t be done let me tell you why it’s an offer you won’t refuse.”
Chapter 9
Krissy
Tomorrow is Christmas Eve, and I’m so sad I just want to crawl into bed, hide under the covers, and not come out until at least Groundhog Day.
We packed up the Christmas Shack earlier today, and I’ve just been sitting on my bed, staring at the wall, since we got home.
I’ve tried really hard to hate Joe. But I can’t. It’s not his fault the company’s board of directors sold the Shack to some guy who wants to turn it into a bistro. But I took it out on him. I can still remember the hurt lo
ok in his eyes. He was in pain even before I blew up at him and storming off didn’t help matters. I’d hoped he would call, but why would he? Who would want to talk to someone whose last words to them were “Go home and have a merry fucking Christmas”?
I still can’t believe I said that to him. He was helping to save the business, and we were . . . well, we had moved well past the one-night stand phase of our relationship. I’ve wanted to call him ever since that night. I still want to call him. I want to hear his voice. I want to tell him I’m sorry. And I want to feel his arms around me, his lips kissing the top of my head. But I can’t. I’ve tried. The same thing always happens. I pull up his number, my finger hovers over the “call” button, and then I get a panic attack, my last angry words to him echoing in my mind.
Mom yells from downstairs that dinner is ready and I reluctantly drag myself off the bed and head for the door. I might be depressed, but I still need food.
Just as my hand closes around the doorknob, I hear a light tapping sound behind me. I glance over my shoulder. Nothing looks out of place
I turn the doorknob.
TAP TAP TAP
I turn and sweep my eyes across my room, slowly settling my gaze on the bedroom window. I walk toward it slowly. Taking a deep breath, I reach out and jerk the curtain back. And see Joe. Hanging upside down from the branch that stretches from the tree out toward my window. And he’s smiling.
I open the window, so stunned to see him I don’t even feel the cold. “What are you doing here?”
Joe smiles at me. “I’m here to save Christmas.”
“What?” Seriously, it’s like my brain is frozen. I’m still trying to convince myself he’s really here and it’s not just some delusion.
He starts to say something when a loud popping and cracking fills the air. The limb he’s on gives a sudden jerk, and Joe’s eyes widen, his mouth forming a big “O”.
And then there’s another cracking sound and both the tree limb and Joe disappear.
I’m out the bedroom door and heading downstairs before I even realize I’m moving. Someone is saying “shit, shit, shit,” over and over and I’m shocked to discover it’s me. I grab my coat, head out the front door, and run around to the back of the house, ignoring Mom and Dad as they ask what’s wrong.
Joe’s laying in the snow, groaning, the tree limb beside him.
I kneel down beside Joe. “Are you okay?”
He grins. “Another great thing about snow. It’s a great cushion.” With a groan, he sits up, looking at me. He reaches out and takes my hand. “I —”
“I love you,” I blurt out. “I’ve missed you and I’m sorry I blamed you for the business decisions your stupid board made.”
“Did I hear her right?” I hear Dad say.
I look over and see Mom and Dad standing a few feet away.
“Hush,” Mom says.
I laugh. “Yes, you heard right. I love Joe. It’s not his fault the Christmas Shack closed.” I look back at him. “After all, Christmas isn’t about stores and presents, right?”
He leans close, pressing his lips to mine, and I wrap my arms around him, pulling him close.
After a couple of minutes, Mom clears her throat.
I pull back from Joe, giggling as his cheeks turn red. He looks into my eyes. “I love you, too, angel. I want to spend the rest of my life making you happy. That’s why I bought the Christmas Shack.”
I hear Dad breathe in sharply. I blink, wondering if I misheard him. “You bought the Shack?”
Joe smiles and nods.
“How? I thought it was going to be turned into a bistro.”
Joe shrugs. “Think of it as a Christmas miracle. The chef was too busy being a grandpa to sign the papers, and when the chairman of the board started to put up a fight when I offered to buy it I told him I’d step down if they let me have this.”
I blink, unable to believe what I’m hearing. “You quit your dad’s company?”
Joe stands as he gives the broken branch a dirty look. “Yep. It was a bad fit for me, anyway. They’re too used to doing things the way my dad did things.” He smiles at me. “Besides, I’ve heard from a very reliable source that the person in charge over there killed Christmas, and who wants to associate with someone like that?”
He glances over at my father. “And I don’t mind selling half of it if you’re interested in a partnership.”
Dad chuckles. “That sounds like a splendid idea, but why don’t we save the business talk for after the holidays?”
“Business after the holidays?” Joe smiles. “That sounds like a great plan.”
Epilogue
Krissy
Eight years later . . .
“Mom! Dad! Get up. Santa came.”
I slowly open my eyes and look at the clock on the nightstand. The digital numbers take a minute to come into focus, and when they do I wish they hadn’t.
Joe groans, his voice thick with sleep. “It’s barely six o’ clock, champ.”
Our son, Chris, bounces up and down at the foot of the bed. “But it’s Christmas.”
Experience has taught both of us the bed will be turned into a trampoline if we take too long getting up. “Okay, champ. Head on downstairs. Me and Mom will be down in a minute.”
“Yah!” Chris pumps his fist in the air and charges out the door.
Joe sighs, looking over at me. “Did we ever have that kind of energy?”
I flash him a naughty grin. “Well, you were pretty energetic last night.”
He chuckles and kisses me, his hand coming to rest on my rounded belly. “We do the present thing and then you come back to bed. You need your rest.”
My stomach growls. “How about we do the present thing, the breakfast thing, and then I come back to bed?”
Joe laughs as my stomach growls again. “It sounds like our daughter is hungry. Only a fool would argue with her.”
We both crawl out of bed, dressed in our Christmas pajamas. Joe’s are red, with snowmen all over them, while mine are green and decorated with reindeer and Santa in his sleigh. The Christmas pajamas became a holiday tradition when Chris was old enough to walk, thus beginning the other holiday tradition of waking us up before the sun was up.
This year I had to upgrade to extra-extra large pajamas because my belly was just a bit to confined in the regular ones. But it’s only for couple more months. As luck would have it, the Christmas family is having a groundhog baby. That’s right. While the rest of the world will be waiting to see if the groundhog sees his shadow, we’ll be welcoming our own little groundhog into the world. And I’m sure she’s going to absolutely love that little nickname when she gets older.
“Just think,” Joe says. “In a few years, we’ll have two kids bouncing at the foot of the bed yelling for us to get up.”
I put my arms around him and look up into his hot chocolate eyes. “And how does that sound to you, Mr. Christmas?”
His smile is bright enough to compete with the Christmas tree downstairs, and that tree has a serious amount of lights. “It sounds simply wonderful, Mrs. Christmas.”
Hand in hand, we walk downstairs. The Christmas tree shines bright in the corner, and Chris has already turned on the lights for the little ceramic village over the fireplace. Colorful garland covers almost every available surface, paper snow flakes hang from the ceiling, and the Santa Claus Express, a smaller version of the train that still runs daily at the Shack, is making its rounds on the coffee table.
Chris waits patiently as Joe and I grab some coffee, and then eagerly starts passing out presents for everyone. I reach over and take Joe’s hand, unable to hold back a smile as our son completely destroys the wrapping paper on his first present.
Our daughter gives me a kick in the ribs, as if irritated that she’s missing out on the fun. I rub my belly and talk softly to her. “Patience, little one. You’ll get your turn. After all, your dad is the man who saved Christmas.
Dear Reader . . .
Hi ther
e. This is the first Christmas story I’ve ever written and I really hope you liked it. Feel free to get in touch at [email protected] to let me know what you thought.
By the time you read this, I should have another Christmas story out. You can click the Amazon link on the next page to find that.
Next on my to-do list is the second book in the Practice Guy series. If you read Rowdy and have been waiting for the second book for a while, I apologize for the wait. The second book should be out soon.
If you missed The Ranger and the Summer Camp Cutie you can get it by clicking the cover below. It’s sort of a prequel to a Texas Rangers series I have planned, and a couple of the sexy guys in future stories are introduced in this story so I hope you give it a try.
For now I’m going to get back to writing. Hope you have a merry Christmas and a happy new year.
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Copyright Notice
Copyright © December 2019 Becca Colton
Cover image © Depositphotos/_italo_
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations used for review purposes.