The Christmas Crush: A Festive Romantic Comedy Novella

by Emily Lowry

  With an almighty tug, Meatloaf broke free from me and the rest of my hot chocolate ended up soaking my coat. He went galloping down Main Street, barking at the top of his lungs.

  “Meatloaf!” My scream echoed through the night. He didn’t slow down. In fact, he sped up. It was almost like he was running straight towards something… was that a person?!

  Oh no.

  No no no.

  I watched, frozen in horror, as my wayward dog leaped into the air and collided — SMACK! — with some poor soul up ahead.

  I sprinted towards the carnage, slipping on the snowy sidewalk.

  Meatloaf’s victim was currently spreadeagled on the ground, pinned to the sidewalk courtesy of 105lbs of slobbery dog on his chest.

  “Sir! I am so sorry!” I scrambled to grab Meatloaf’s leash, but he was whimpering, licking the man’s face.

  “I think he remembers me.”

  What?

  Wait. The man’s voice was… familiar.

  I took a step closer. The fancy shoes, designer pants, and perfectly cut dark hair didn’t belong to anyone I knew, but the smile — well, I would recognize that grin anywhere.

  “RYAN?!”

  Ryan pulled one arm out from under Meatloaf’s bulk and waved.

  “Uhh, surprise?”

  4

  Ryan

  Marley’s expression went from horrified, to shocked, to excited, to… angry.

  Pure, red-faced, fiery anger, to be exact.

  As I staggered to my feet, she gave me a little shove. Not hard, exactly, but rough enough that I almost took another tumble.

  “Hey!” I fixed my eyes on her hazel gaze. “What was that for?”

  “How could you not tell me you were here?” Marley half-yelled, her eyes flashing. She attempted to grab Meatloaf’s leash. He jerked sideways, foiling her.

  “It was a surprise, Mar.” I rolled my eyes and grabbed Meatloaf’s leash, handed it to her. “Surprises usually involve not telling people about them in advance.”

  “I hate surprises,” she muttered darkly. She wore an old, ratty coat that was drenched in hot chocolate.

  No wonder she was mad.

  “Come on, let’s get you a new drink.” I slung my arm around her, and we started walking. “And you absolutely do not hate surprises. Remember the surprise Sweet 16 party that your sisters threw for you?”

  The corner of Marley’s mouth twitched. “We played seven minutes in heaven and you had to go into the closet with Karina Cowley. You were so nervous, I thought you were going to pass out.”

  “I almost did.” I grinned. “And then, when we finally got in there, she wouldn’t even talk to me. She just spent the whole seven minutes texting.”

  Marley cracked a ghost of a smile. “Guess you weren’t such a big shot ladies’ man back then.”

  “Not my fault I hit puberty tragically late,” I said. “You had better luck than me that night — you kissed Jamie Winton during spin the bottle. You were obsessed with him, remember?”

  Marley snorted, and smiled for real. “My first kiss. Back then, I hadn’t yet worked out that the only person Jamie Winton was in love with was himself.”

  “I tried to tell you.” I teased.

  “I wonder what ever happened to him?”

  I laughed. “I’ll bet he’s either a professional model living in a penthouse in LA, or stocking shelves at Safeway. One or the other.”

  Marley shoved me again. “Just because you have some big shot career now doesn’t mean you can make fun of grocery store workers.”

  “I honestly wasn’t.” I held my hands up. “I was being serious. Do you not remember how obsessed the guy was with fresh produce? He’d bring those cut vegetables for lunch every day?”

  “Oh my gosh!” Marley laughed. “I forgot about that. He’d have them in those little Tupperwares, color-coded and everything.”

  “See, Safeway would be crazy not to hire him.” By this stage, we were both keeled over laughing. It felt just like old times, and I knew I was forgiven.

  I squeezed Marley’s arm. “I missed you, Mar. Sorry I didn’t come back sooner.”

  Marley’s eyes met mine. A snowflake caught in her hair. “That’s okay.”

  I smiled. “High school sometimes feels like yesterday.”

  “But it was a lifetime ago.” Marley nodded. “Crazy to think it’s been three years since you’ve been back in Evermore.”

  5

  Marley

  To avoid another potential man vs dog collision, I waited outside Chino’s with Meatloaf, both hands firmly wrapped around his collar. Ryan ducked inside to get me a new hot chocolate — he’d insisted on the gesture, and I wasn’t about to say no to sugar right now. It was the only thing that would help me get over my shock.

  Ryan Kennedy. Here, in Evermore. In the flesh.

  I could have pinched myself, just to make sure I wasn’t dreaming.

  Ryan had left town three years back. We had just finished our studies at Evermore Community College — he had taken Marketing, while I’d studied Culinary Arts — and we were talking about what would come next in our lives. Then, one day, he made the decision to go to NYC and basically upped and left. I hadn’t seen it coming. I’d always known I wanted to stay in Evermore and open my own bakery one day, and part of me took for granted that Ryan would always be around, too. Which was, of course, ridiculous.

  Fast forward three years and 800 graveyard shifts at a local bread supplier’s warehouse, and I finally had enough money scraped together to open a now-floundering Beekman’s Bakery. It was hardly a success story for the ages. Ryan, meanwhile, had gone from strength to strength in the Big Apple, earning promotion after promotion at the fancy digital marketing firm he worked for. He lived in a great apartment and had a constant string of casual dates going. Nobody serious — he had no time for that, he claimed.

  Meanwhile, I lived on the main floor of a century old, rickety heritage house, with an insomniac saxophonist as an upstairs neighbor. Oh, and I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had a date.

  Not that I was comparing my life to Ryan’s.

  I peered through the window of Chino’s, sizing up my oldest friend as he chatted to Adele. He was leaning forward on the counter, and she threw her head back and laughed at something he said, before collecting herself and patting her hair — a nervous, unconscious gesture. What a charmer.

  I had to admit, though, Ryan did look amazing. City-sleek, complete with incredible clothes, designer stubble, and expensive-smelling cologne. It suited him, but I almost missed the Ryan I had known. The Ryan who had a penchant for flannel shirts, old jeans and ball caps. The Ryan who smelled like clean laundry and fresh pine.

  Whoa. Reel it in, Marley. You don’t need to be thinking about how your best friend smells. That’s just creepy.

  When Adele was finally done batting her eyelashes at Ryan, he emerged from the cafe with two paper cups in hand.

  “Peppermint hot chocolate for the lady.” He grinned.

  “Ooh, thank you.” I accepted the steaming hot drink. “What did you get? White hot chocolate with extra marshmallows?”

  He smiled bashfully. “Herbal tea.”

  I put a hand to my forehead and feigned fainting. “Who are you and what have you done with Ryan?”

  Ryan’s blush deepened. “My trainer says it's good for digestion.”

  “You have a trainer?!”

  “Uh, yeah…”

  Buzz.

  Ryan’s pocket beeped. He ignored it, turned to me. “New York’s not like Evermore, Mar.”

  “I’ll say.” I rolled my eyes.

  Buzz.

  There it was again, more insistent this time. Ryan appeared not to notice. “You should come visit sometime. I’ll take you to see the sights — not just the clichés like the Statue of Liberty and Times Square, but real New York.”

  I folded my arms across my chest. “I’m okay with the clichés.”

  Buzz.

  “Ice ska
ting at the Rockefeller Center it is, then.” Ryan smiled easily.

  “I’ll think about it,” I replied, pretending to huff.

  Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

  Okay, this was getting ridiculous. There was no way he couldn’t hear that.

  “Aren’t you going to get your phone?”

  Ryan looked at me, wide eyed as a deer caught in headlights. Then he sighed, his face clouding over.

  And the penny dropped.

  “Oh,” I said. “You’re ignoring it on purpose.”

  He nodded.

  Ugh, I should have known.

  “Who’s the unlucky lady getting the silent treatment this time, Mr. Big Shot?”

  “It’s nobody. Come on, why don’t you take me to see your new bakery? It’s along Main Street, isn’t it?”

  He wasn’t getting off the hook that easy.

  “You are such a typical man, do you know that? All it takes is one quick phone call to let her down gently, tell her you’re not interested, at least.” I was scolding him like an angry mom, but I didn’t care. “It’s called courtesy, Ryan.”

  6

  Ryan

  “Tell her you’re not interested,” Marley insisted. “It’s the least you can do.”

  Obediently, I reached into my pocket for my phone, and opened one of the twenty emails I had from Krista.

  Boy, would I love to tell Krista I wasn’t interested.

  But I couldn’t.

  Because Krista was my boss.

  And all twenty emails were about a project she wanted me to work on during my time off.

  I squinted at Marley, who was watching me expectantly. I could tell her the truth. But that would mean owning up to the fact that I’d been embellishing for years. The real truth was that I was miserable at my job. That my life in New York was little more than a fancy façade. That I spent way more time with my boss than doing any actual dating, contrary to what I’d let Marley think.

  And if I admitted all of that, Marley would ask me why I didn’t just move home. And that would be a question I really couldn’t answer truthfully without causing disaster.

  So, I did what any self-respecting, mature adult would do. I grit my teeth, and I lied.

  “There, all done. Happy now?”

  I wiggled my phone at Marley and she nodded.

  “Very happy. And please tell me you feel better for being honest with the poor girl. You shouldn’t lead people on, Ryan. You’re a good guy.” She poked me in the stomach. “Somewhere deep, deep down in there.”

  Her eyes were laughing once again, but a sharp pang of guilt jolted through me. I wasn’t a liar. And I especially didn’t lie to Marley.

  I took a deep breath. Opened my mouth. Closed it again.

  I wanted to keep everything light and happy between us. We hadn’t seen each other in years, for goodness sake. Now was not the time for difficult conversations.

  Or at least that’s what I told myself.

  “Shall we go see your bakery?” I asked, desperate to change the subject.

  Marley flung her arms open dramatically, spilling her hot chocolate for the second time tonight. “Oh yes, come one, come all, to the marvelous, outstanding, stupendous success story known as Beekman’s Bakery.”

  I grinned down at her. “It’s going that well, huh?”

  “Hah!” Marley laughed roughly. “Ryan, it’s an unmitigated disaster.”

  “How so?”

  We arrived outside a store covered in peeling blue paint with an old-fashioned, striped awning. The window was adorned with a picture of a giant cupcake, and the words BEEKMAN’S BAKERY were written in swirly, difficult-to-read script below.

  Marley unlocked the front door. “You’ll see.”

  We stepped inside, and Marley flipped on the lights. The space was tiny, and though it smelled like cinnamon and sugar, the stark white walls and stainless-steel counters looked cold and unwelcoming. Meatloaf ran to a dog bed in the corner and curled up under the watchful eye of a large, blow-up Santa Claus.

  “That thing is terrifying,” I said.

  “I know. It makes me jump out of my skin about a thousand times a day. Serves me right for not taking the time to put up proper Christmas decorations.”

  “Well, creepy Santa aside, it looks…” I glanced around the small, sparse space furtively. What was the word real estate agents used to describe a place that looked terrible? “Rustic.”

  “Don’t lie, Kennedy.” Marley picked up a spatula and swatted me with it.

  I ducked out of the way.

  She laughed. Launched forwards again.

  “Okay, okay!” I held up my hands to shield myself. “It looks…”

  “Like I failed.” Marley finished my sentence for me. She exhaled heavily, and set the spatula on the counter with a thunk.

  “Mar, that’s definitely not what I meant.” I leaned against the counter next to her hunched form. All the life had suddenly been sucked out of her.

  “I wasn’t joking when I said it was an unmitigated disaster.”

  “Your cookies and cakes are amazing, I’m sure everyone in Evermore loves them. And the bakery’s not a disaster — a little TLC and some decorations and it really could look great in here.” I looked at Marley with concern.

  “I’m not so sure, Ryan. Owning a business is way too stressful. I think I need help.”

  “If only you knew New York’s best marketing consultant.”

  Marley perked up. “Do you have their number?”

  “Hilarious,” I said sarcastically. I grabbed her hand, suddenly inspired. “You already have a great product, that I know for sure. All you need is a little marketing finesse.”

  I began gesturing around the bakery, really getting into the idea. “I can help you with establishing a brand identity, with social media engagement, and promotions, and attracting corporate clients, and…”

  “Ryan.” Marley cut me off mid-sentence. “There’s no way I can afford your rates.”

  I waved off her concern. “Rates, schmates. I would never charge you. It would just be me helping out a friend.”

  “I would never be able to accept that.” Marley’s mouth was set in a stubborn line. I knew better than to argue with her. She was as proud as she was stubborn, and, to Marley, the thought of free help stung like salt in a wound.

  I knew she could use my help. Where was the eternal optimist I knew and loved? She didn’t even have any Christmas decorations up, for goodness sake — Marley usually loved Christmas. She was stressed and overwhelmed, and I wanted to take that stress away and see her succeed, more than anything.

  I just had to think of a new approach, a different marketing angle to sell my idea to her. And then it hit me. “Theo’s engagement party.”

  “Theo’s engaged?” Marley’s head snapped up. “To who? And isn’t he, like, twelve?”

  “I know, right?” I rolled my eyes. “He just met the girl, too. It’s all happened pretty quickly. Her name’s Anna. She’s a waitress at Romano’s.”

  Marley made a face. “I hate that place. But still, I can’t believe your baby brother is getting married. That makes me feel old.”

  “Tell me about it. Needless to say, my mother is thrilled.” I hopped up to sit on the counter. “So will you?”

  “Will I what?”

  “Come with me.”

  “To Theo’s party? Why would I do that?”

  “Simple, Mar. To get my mother and all my pushy aunts to back off and stop asking me when I’m going to move home and settle down with a nice girl.”

  “But Ryan, when are you going to move home and settle down with a nice girl?” Marley put her hands on her hips in a perfect imitation of my mother.

  “Please?” I asked. “It’s a perfect trade off. A favor for a favor.”

  “Stop using all your marketing strategies on me.” She folded her arms across her chest. “It’s so much work for you, Ryan. I just can’t ask you for that kind of help.”

  “How about this?” I re
ached for an oversized Christmas cookie in the display case and took a huge bite. “I’ll help you in return for a party date and this cookie.”

  The sparkle was back in Marley’s eyes. “Didn’t your mother ever teach you not to talk with your mouth full?”

  7

  Marley

  DING-DONG!

  The nightmarish noise cut straight through my dreams and echoed inside my head. Who could possibly be outside my house first thing on a Sunday morning? And, more importantly, didn’t they realize that they were intruding on my one day of the week I didn’t work, and therefore got to sleep in?

  DING-DONG! DING-DONG!

  “Go away,” I moaned, pulling a pillow over my face.

  DING-DONG!

  Fine! I’d get up. The person on the other side of the door was clearly very, very insistent. And I was going to make them very, very sorry.

  I rolled out of my comfy blanket fort and stuffed my feet into my fuzzy slippers. Then, I padded to my front door, wiping drool off my face as I went.

  Meatloaf was already by the front door, doing a frantic happy dance that involved tapping all four paws off the ground and moving his head from side to side.

  “Who’s there, boy?” I stroked his head and threw the door open.

  Ryan stood on the other side, perfectly groomed in dark jeans, stylish winter boots, and a gray wool peacoat. His arms were full of boxes.

  “What are you doing here?” I hastily wiped the rest of the drool off my face.

  “Good morning. Lovely to see you too, Marley.” Ryan neatly stepped past me into the hallway, and Meatloaf began to howl with pleasure.

  “I don’t recall inviting you in,” I grumbled under my breath.

  “I heard that,” Ryan called in a sing-songy voice. He kicked off his boots and headed to the kitchen, Meatloaf at his heels.

  “Traitor,” I muttered at my dog’s retreating back.

  I took a quick glance at myself in the hallway mirror. This morning’s reflection report was not a good one. Hair — out of control crazy. Clothing — boxy flannel PJs with a toothpaste stain on the front. Face — mostly drool-free, so that was one plus.