by Emily Lowry
The Christmas Crush
A Sweet Holiday Romance Novella
Emily Lowry
Cover Art by
Canva Pro
Eleventh Avenue Publishing
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Contents
1. Marley
2. Ryan
3. Marley
4. Ryan
5. Marley
6. Ryan
7. Marley
8. Ryan
9. Marley
10. Marley
11. Ryan
12. Marley
13. Marley
14. Ryan
15. Marley
16. Ryan
17. Marley
18. Marley
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1
Marley
Outside the windows of Beekman’s Bakery, the snow was thick and heavy, coating the streets of Evermore in a generous layer of glittery frosting. Beyond the falling snowflakes, ropes of multi-colored fairy lights twinkled merrily above Main Street.
It was a postcard-perfect Christmas display.
Inside Beekman’s Bakery, however, the festive scene left a lot to be desired. For one, the entire bakery floor was covered in a generous layer of flour, courtesy of my own clumsiness.
Secondly, my attempts at Christmas decor consisted of some sad strings of tinsel and a slightly terrifying blow-up Santa who smiled from the corner. I’d been too busy baking to do any proper decorating.
And last, but certainly not least, I’d forgotten to pay my heating bill. Which meant that I was currently decorating cookies while wearing three sweaters, an overcoat, and a fluffy pink woolen hat — all of which were covered in flour.
Only two hundred ugly sweater shaped cookies left to decorate before I could go home and crawl into bed with a family-sized box of peanut brittle. Honestly, I don’t know why I bothered. On a good day at Beekman’s Bakery, I’d be lucky if I sold fifty cookies.
My friend Ryan always said that I was an eternal optimist, and that this was both my greatest strength and flaw. I never really understood what he meant until I opened the bakery three months ago. It had been ninety days of bills, ordering mix-ups, more bills, sleepless nights, broken ovens, ten pounds of weight gain from stress eating, and more bills. Why had I never imagined owning my own business could be so stressful?
Right. My eternal optimism.
A rap on the window jolted me from my thoughts. I had closed shop for the day two hours ago. Who could want cookies at this hour?
I made my way to the front of the store, brushing flour off my cheek. Outside, a pair of perfectly made-up eyes peered through the front window.
Oh, great.
I unlocked the door and my older sister stepped inside, shaking the snow off her expensive-looking wool peacoat.
“I’m closed,” I said.
“But not to me, right?” My sister barged in and air kissed me twice. “Why on earth are you covered in flour?”
I touched my cheek and frowned at her. What was with the kissing? It’s not like we were French. In fact, the only hint of any European culture in our family was my father’s claim that we were Irish (we weren’t) and that our ancestors had come over on the Mayflower (they hadn’t).
It was my running suspicion that Dad simply made these claims to justify his two-a-day Jameson whiskey habit.
“Baking accident.” I shrugged.
Katherine rolled her eyes and thrust a hand on one slender hip. “Look at you, Marley. You’re exhausted. Are you sure you don’t want to be done with this… experiment? Pack up shop here and let me hook you up with a clerking job at the DA’s office? I have lots of good connections there, you know.”
I did know. It was something that Katherine, eldest Beekman daughter and successful attorney slash mother slash hostess with the mostess, was constantly reminding me of.
“I’m fine, thanks.”
“Well,” Katherine sniffed, offended. “At least let me lend you a serum for those dark circles under your eyes.”
Charming, in the way only an older sister can be.
“Why are you here?” I asked through clenched teeth.
“Ooh, yes.” My elder sister perked up and whipped her brand-new iPhone out of her pocket. She scrolled on the screen for a few minutes before presenting me with a picture of a cake. A huge cake, in the shape of a stethoscope, to be exact. “Can you make something like this?”
I nodded cautiously. “It would take some time to do the decorating properly. Is this for Annika?”
Our baby sister was currently in her first semester of med school, much to my mother’s constant, bursting pride — she was going to have a lawyer and a doctor for offspring. Which only left one broke, unsuccessful, eternally single daughter to deal with. But, as I had once overheard her say – two out of three ain’t bad.
“Yes! Mom just heard from her — she’s coming home for Christmas with her new boyfriend and she was top of her class this semester. I thought we should celebrate her success.”
I swallowed back my bitter, middle child syndrome. I loved my sisters. I really did. Honest. “That’s great news, Katherine. I can certainly make something like this for her.”
“Perfect!” Katherine pulled back on her leather gloves. “She’ll be home on the 21st, we will have a welcome-home party for her that night. My place, of course.”
“Of course.”
Katherine air kissed my cheeks again — at a safer distance from the flour this time. “Well, ciao for now, Marley. Don’t work too late.”
“Ciao,” I muttered sarcastically as I locked the door behind her retreating form. Apparently, we were both French and Italian now.
I turned around and flinched at the unfamiliar sight of blow-up Santa in the corner. I’d forgotten he was watching.
“You were probably having a great laugh just now, weren’t you?” I asked him as I made my way back to the kitchen area.
This was gearing up to be the Holiday Season from my nightmares, I was sure of it.
Now, only two hundred ugly sweater cookies to decorate and a stethoscope cake to plan before I could go home to my peanut brittle.
2
Ryan
Denver International Airport was all decked out for the holidays with jolly plastic snowmen, clusters of shimmering candy canes, and — strangely — a large display of LED light-up deer. What did deer have to do with Christmas, exactly?
I didn’t know, nor did I particularly care. All I really wanted for Christmas was to get out of the hot, crowded airport.
Yes, I was in complete scrooge mode, but this was mostly because I hadn’t slept in 24 hours. Additionally, I’d made the mistake of taking my phone off Airplane Mode when my flight landed, and my pocket was now making constant pinging sounds.
Choosing to ignore the flood of work emails likely detailing the latest disaster I’d have to solve, I navigated throngs of screaming chi
ldren and squealing family reunions, my eyes firmly set on the neon EXIT sign.
By the time I got out of the main terminal and over to the rental car desk, I was sweaty, disheveled and, admittedly, impatient.
“Ryan Kennedy. I have a reservation.” I slid my driver’s license over the counter.
“Good evening Mr. Kennedy, I’ll be happy to help you. How was your flight?” The girl on the other side of the counter beamed. She was young, rosy-cheeked, and wore a novelty Santa hat.
A wall of shame hit me. Where were my manners? I could hear my mother’s mortified voice ringing in my head: I raised you better than that, young man.
Clearly, I’d been living in New York too long.
I smiled at the girl, apologetic. “Good, thank you. How are you this evening?”
“Wonderful, thank you for asking. Now, just to confirm some details: the reservation is for a four-door car, for ten days, correct?”
“Yup.” Unfortunately, that was correct. Ten days in Evermore. I usually avoided my hometown like the plague over the holidays. A good Christmas for me was spent on the beach in Cabo, margarita in hand.
But this year, my little brother had announced his engagement to a girl he barely knew. And, while I personally saw this as no reason to celebrate, my family heartily disagreed. Which meant that I, Ryan Kennedy, was homeward-bound for the holidays for the first time in years.
“Sir?” The girl’s sweet voice brought me out of my trance. She was looking at me strangely — like I was an exotic animal who needed to be handled with extreme care.
“Sorry, what was that?” I picked my license up off the counter, my face flushed. At least my New York license concealed the embarrassing fact that I was a Colorado native with zero manners.
“I asked about collision insurance.”
“Oh. Yes. Give me all of the insurance, please.”
I was sure I would need it.
I cruised down the highway, thankful it wasn’t snowing. As I drove, I fiddled with the radio in an attempt to find a station that wasn’t playing Christmas music.
Somewhere around the far suburbs of Denver I admitted defeat and let Mariah Carey keep me company.
Evermore was only an hour outside of the city. I was getting close.
I turned off the radio. “Siri, call Mom.”
As the phone dialed my mother, I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel. A strange feeling was beginning to creep over me.
Was it nerves? No.
Dread? Strangely, also no.
“RYAN!” My mother’s voice blared through the car speakers, making me jump.
“Hi Mom, I’m about half an hour out.”
“Ooh, I am so happy you’re home. I have your favorite dinner all ready for you. Pot roast and mashed potatoes. Will you be home by dinner time?”
“Mom, I just told you — I’m half an hour away.”
“So yes or no?” My mom asked, blissfully unaware.
“Yes,” I sighed. “I’ll be home for dinner. Sounds delicious.”
I’d never really cared for pot roast, but that didn’t stop my mother insisting it was my favorite meal. She’d been making it for so long, I didn’t have the heart to correct her.
"Oh good!” Mom sighed happily. “Theo and Anna are here, waiting. Your father is in his shed. Trying to fix the engine on the lawn mower, goodness knows why. There’ll be snow on the ground for the next few months.”
"Mom, we can talk about this when I get—"
“Now, you’re probably not up-to-date on the latest in Evermore,” Mom said.
I sighed, my protests unsuccessful. Whenever I talked on the phone with Mom, she wanted to tell me what everyone I had ever met was doing with their life. I listened to her drone on, adding an "interesting" or "oh, wow" where appropriate. I was ready to completely disengage from the call when she said something that caught my attention.
"And you remember Marley?"
I choked on the coffee I'd been sipping. Marley. It had been three years since I'd seen her. Three years since I'd caught a glimpse of her wild, curly hair, her wide eyes, her feisty expression.
The strange feeling was getting stronger.
My belly twitched. Could it actually be… excitement?
Surely not.
But as the distant lights of Evermore glowed up ahead, the sound of my heart thumping in my chest was undeniable. I would get to see Marley very, very soon.
The corners of my mouth quirked upwards.
Yup, that was definitely excitement.
Marley had been my best friend for as long as I could remember. Over the years, we’d shared everything from scraped knees and blanket forts to first date horror stories and Monday night football marathons. Back when we were teenagers, I’d hoped there could be something more between us. But she was never interested in me like that.
After being in New York for the past three years, I’d finally accepted that fact. Moved on. I’d done a lot of casual dating, but I’d never met a girl who gave me the aching belly laughs, stern lectures, quirky advice and consistent optimistic perspectives that Marley did.
Let’s just say that she had set the bar high.
“Ryan? Are you there? DID YOU CRASH?”
“No, Mom, I didn’t crash,” I said, pulling myself from my daze. “Of course I remember Marley. I’m actually on my way to see her right now.”
3
Marley
In my twenty-four years on planet earth, I had experienced two great loves: peanut brittle, and my Bernese Mountain Dog, Meatloaf.
Meatloaf was 105lbs of pure fluff and cuddles, and though he cost me a fortune in kibble each month, I was eternally grateful to have a roommate to come home to every night.
“Come on, boy. Walkies,” I called, pulling on my old flannel jacket. It had a rip in the sleeve and a coffee stain on the front, but I didn’t mind. I valued comfort over style. Plus, it wasn’t like I was going to run into any prospective dates on a Monday night dog walk.
From his prostrate position in front of the fireplace, Meatloaf opened one eye lazily, then turned his head away with a “hmph.”
I clipped on his leash and gave it a tug. “Come on, Mr. Lazypants. Move it or lose it.”
He didn’t budge.
We played this game daily, and by casino standards, my odds of winning were good — around 50%. Tonight, it took a while, but things eventually went in my favor.
Ten minutes later, I was stepping onto my front porch, a semi-cooperative Meatloaf by my side. In an effort to appear holiday cheerful, I’d dressed him in a green velvet elf collar. The bells jangled loudly as we set off.
The homes along my street had all been decorated with elaborate displays of blinking lights. One particularly festive front yard housed a family of plump snowmen, complete with striped scarves and carrot noses. Another featured a gigantic inflatable Santa sleigh. A third house showed off a trio of animated, light-up deer.
What did deer have to do with Christmas, anyway?
It was freezing out, and I pulled my hat further over my ears as we trudged towards Main Street, where the promise of hot chocolate lingered.
On the corner, the village chapel was lit from within, its stained-glass windows glowing. The haunting minor key of O Holy Night carried through the crisp, cold night air. I paused for a moment, letting the choir’s beautiful melody enchant me.
By the time I reached Chino’s coffee shop on Main Street, I couldn’t feel my toes.
Main Street was something of a point of pride with Evermore locals. The old-fashioned street lamps, brick walkways and colorful, locally-owned storefronts were straight out of the 1950’s. No big box stores here; Evermore was quaint as little mountain towns came.
“Stay, boy,” I told Meatloaf, and tied his leash to a lamppost. He whined. “I’ll just be a moment, promise.”
Ding! A little bell chimed as I stepped inside the warm, fragrant coffee house. A huge Christmas tree dazzled in the store window, and green and red paper chains
were strung from the ceiling. I pushed my hood backwards and stamped the snow off my boots.
“Hi, Marley!” The plump barista looked up cheerfully.
“Evening, Adele.” I smiled.
“What will it be? The usual?”
The usual was a large mocha with extra whipped cream, but made with skim milk — you know, for balance.
“Maybe not. I’m in the mood for something a little more festive. Any recommendations?”
“Peppermint hot chocolate with candy cane sprinkles?”
“Perfect, I’ll take a large one.” I said.
Outside the shop, Meatloaf barked. “Oh, and a pup cup for Meatloaf.”
“How could I forget?” Adele laughed. She expertly finished making my hot chocolate, and then filled a takeout cup with spray cream. “That’ll be five ninety-five.”
I paid for my drinks, tipping generously. “Happy Holidays, Adele.” I smiled at the barista and stepped back into the frostbitten night.
“Come on, Meatloaf. Let’s go home.”
We set out along Main Street, and I was glad of the rich, sweet drink to keep me warm. But after only a few steps, Meatloaf started whining. Loudly.
“What’s up, boy?” I asked him. “Did you not like your pup cup?”
RUFF!
Meatloaf let out a huge bark and tugged on his leash so sharply I almost fell backwards. Peppermint hot chocolate sprayed the air.
“Whoa! What’s gotten into you?”
RUFF! RUFF!