The Christmas Letters: A Magnolia Bay Romantic Comedy

by Brenna Jacobs

  Connor stilled. “But she wouldn’t have—”

  “She would have,” Grandma June said, cutting him off. “They’d been saving for years. Your father wanted nothing more than to make your mother happy. I remember the phone conversation when she called and told me they had enough for a down payment and had started shopping for boats. And it was months before the sale on the company went through. It was an accident, Connor. And a terrible one. But it didn’t have anything to do with them assuming a new lifestyle or pretending to be something they weren’t. They earned their money through hard work and discipline. Your father was very good at what he did. And he wouldn’t want you to limit yourself for a reason as silly as this.”

  Connor only shook his head, trying to make sense of what his grandma had told him.

  “Blame the ocean. Blame that blasted sailboat. Blame the weather.” His grandmother’s voice lowered. “But don’t blame your parents. And don’t blame their money. Especially don’t blame rich people.” She scoffed. “I know you, Connor, and if that’s what you’re doing here, disqualifying a young woman who seems to be lovely and wonderful just because she comes from a world that you blame for taking your parents? Well, maybe you don’t deserve her then. That’s about the most stubborn thing I’ve ever heard.”

  The truth of his grandmother’s words resonated in his chest, but they also needled painfully, deeply. Pride was a prickly, unpredictable thing and facing his own left Connor feeling hollowed-out and uncomfortable. “But I don’t want to be rich. I like being a paramedic.”

  “Who says you can’t be both? Keep working. Be a paramedic. But don’t leave your money untouched out of spite. If you keep insisting you don’t want the money, then fine. Donate every last penny to an orphanage, for all I care. Just don’t make judgements about people based on the number of zeros in their bank account. There are horrible rich people in this world. There are also horrible poor people in this world. No more blanket statements. Especially not when it comes to women.”

  “Wow. Tell me how you really feel.” Connor had always known his grandmother was a straight talker, but she’d maybe taken things to the next level this time around.

  She smirked. “I just want to see you happy, Connor. And if this girl will make you happy, I don’t want your stubborn pride to keep it from happening.”

  Would Dahlia make him happy? The energy that buzzed through his veins whenever he thought of her said she would. But he was still . . . scared. That he’d be a disappointment. That he wouldn’t measure up. That he’d constantly be fighting to prove his value to Dahlia’s family and friends. But his grandmother was right. It was wrong for him to make assumptions about Dahlia, about how she would or wouldn’t feel.

  Was it a risk? Probably.

  Was she worth it? His gut was telling him yes.

  “You’ve given me a lot to think about.”

  She raised her frail shoulders, giving her the look of someone much younger than her eighty-two years. “Somebody has to keep you in line.”

  He grinned, feeling some measure of the tension in his shoulders ease. “You do a good job of it, that’s for sure.”

  “Is she really beautiful? Dahlia?” Grandma June asked, a soft smile on her lips.

  An image of Dahlia flashed through Connor’s mind. “Yeah. Maybe the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met.”

  Grandma June whistled. “Do you think she figured it out too? That you’re the one writing her letters?”

  Connor had wondered if she might pick up on the clues he’d given her, though it hadn’t been an intentional effort. Asking her about olives on her pizza had been innocent enough, but a flash of something had passed through her eyes when he’d mentioned the last book he’d read. But was that enough to convince her of his identity? He’d only been signing his letters as C.M. He didn’t even know if Dahlia knew his last name.

  “I don’t know,” he finally responded. “I don’t actually think so. She might suspect, but I don’t think she’s got as much to go on as I do. I mean, the fact that she’s the person assigned to respond to the Santa letters is pretty convincing evidence. She doesn’t have anything so concrete.”

  “Are you going to tell her?”

  He would have to, eventually. Connor knew that. But when? And more importantly, how?

  Chapter 15

  Dahlia

  Every day that Dahlia didn’t receive a letter from her Christmas pen pal was a day she grew more and more convinced that Connor really was the letter writer. Deacon had promised he’d find a reasonable way to find out Connor’s last name without being obvious; he’d even agreed to call a few friends and see if he could look up the probate records he’d mentioned. But Christmas was only five days away and everyone was crazy busy with holiday parties and last-minute shopping. Dahlia couldn’t hound him about it. Not when she was pretty sure it wouldn’t make a difference anyway.

  A part of Dahlia didn’t actually want to know. How many times would she have to suffer through Connor’s rejection? In person was bad enough. But not getting a letter somehow hurt worse. Why was he so bound and determined to ignore the connection they had?

  Sunday afternoon, Dahlia lounged around her apartment, restless and irritable. She tried to commit herself to the Winter course guide outlining the classes she’d start in January, but she was too distracted to focus on something as dry as business class descriptions. Then she’d tried to respond to more of the Santa letters she’d picked up from Mrs. Greenly, but her heart wasn’t in it. She still had three days before they all had to be in the mail anyway.

  She wound up on the couch, mindlessly watching Hallmark Christmas movies and bingeing on popcorn and Reese’s Pieces.

  When her phone rang, she nearly ignored it. But then she saw Lily’s face on the screen, and she thought of the baby. She couldn’t not answer Lily’s calls. Not until after she’d delivered safe and sound.

  “Hey,” she answered. “Are you okay? Is the baby okay?”

  “It’s way too early for you to start answering calls like that,” Lily said. “I still have six weeks left.”

  “Still,” Dahlia said. “Six weeks isn’t a very long time.”

  “Maybe not,” Lily said, her voice calm and patient. “But if something were truly wrong, it would probably be Deacon calling you and not me. So save your freak-out answers for him.”

  “Fine,” Dahlia said. “What’s up?”

  “Want to come over? Deacon’s grilling, and Janie and Emmett are in town.”

  “Oh, fun,” Dahlia said. “I guess so. Can I bring anything?”

  “Nope. Just yourself. We’ve got it all covered.”

  “K, cool. I’ll be there soon.”

  “Oh, and um, it’s possible Connor might stop by so just be aware that might happen,” Lily said, her words in a rush. “Okay, bye!”

  “Lily Calhoun. Don’t you dare hang up on me,” Dahlia said.

  Lily sighed into the phone.

  “I’m not coming if Connor is going to be there.”

  “Why not?” Lily said. “You have no reason to ignore him.”

  “I have every reason to ignore him. The biggest one being that he’s ignoring me.”

  “Dahlia, listen to me. I would be the first person to tell you to give up on a guy if I didn’t think he was into you. You’re too amazing and too beautiful to waste your efforts on someone that can’t recognize those things about you. But I think this guy does get it. I don’t think you should give up on him.”

  “What makes you think he gets it?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. The way he hung on your every word at dinner last week? The way he hung around way longer than he needed to after the toy drive, his eyes glued to you the entire time. The way he asked about you not seconds after he showed up this afternoon.”

  “What? He’s already there? You said he might stop by.”

  “I worried you wouldn’t come if you knew he was here for sure.”

  “Please tell me he’s not in the room l
istening to our conversation. And what did he say when he asked about me?”

  Lily chuckled. “He asked if you were coming. With hope shining brightly in his eyes.”

  “You are watching too many Hallmark movies.”

  “Please just come. Deacon knows his last name. He says he’ll tell you if you show up.”

  “Now you’re just playing dirty.”

  “Only because you’re being so stubborn.”

  “Fine! I’ll come. But you better not be obvious. No sending us out to buy ice or something.”

  “We’ve already got plenty of ice,” Lily said, her tone smug. “See you in half an hour.”

  Dahlia rolled her eyes and hung up the phone, dropping back onto the couch cushions.

  It was possibly a good sign that Connor had asked about her. But the thought of learning his last name ignited a flame of fear in her gut that was almost enough to keep her home. Because then she’d know. And she had no idea what she’d do with the information.

  On her way out, Dahlia stopped by her mailbox, checking out of habit before remembering it was Sunday.

  “Stupid mail,” she mumbled under her breath. “Stupid pen pal.”

  She arrived at Deacon and Lily’s a few minutes later, giving herself a quick once-over before letting herself in the back door that led into the kitchen. Dark jeans. Red sweater. She looked kind of Christmassy, though that hadn’t been her intent.

  Deacon was alone in the kitchen. He turned at her entrance. “Hey. You look nice.”

  Dahlia smiled. “Thanks. Where is everyone?”

  “In the living room. They’re watching Emmett’s new music video.”

  “Oh, sounds exciting. Is this the one Janie is in? With her cello?”

  “Sure is. They just started it. You could catch most of it if you want to head in there.”

  Dahlia nodded. “Okay. But, um . . . Lily said you found out Connor’s last name?”

  Deacon stilled before he nodded and crossed the room to stand directly in front of Dahlia. “I’m still not convinced he’s the same guy.” He put his hands on Dahlia’s shoulders. “But it does fit. His last name is McKay.”

  Connor McKay. C.M. Dahlia stared at the buttons on Deacon’s polo, the news settling into her mind and heart. She’d already suspected, yes. But this felt a little like a final puzzle piece clicking into place. Suddenly, she felt terrified to face him. She hadn’t gotten a letter since before the toy drive. The only explanation was that Connor had figured out she was his pen pal and had chosen not to write her back, and not to tell her in person.

  For the second time that day, she asked herself how many times she’d have to get the message for it to actually click. “I think I’m going to go,” she said, taking a step back from Deacon.

  “Don’t do that,” Deacon said gently.

  “Hey, you’re here,” Lily said, stepping into the kitchen. “Dahlia’s here!” she called back into the living room.

  Dahlia sighed in defeat. Now she had to stay.

  “Come on,” Lily said, grabbing her hand. “Come say hi to everyone. We’re watching Emmett’s video, but we can restart it so you can watch with us.” She looked at Deacon. “How’s the food coming?”

  “Meat is going on the grill in five,” he said.

  She nodded. “Perfect. I’ll be back in just a sec to get everything out of the fridge.”

  Lily pulled Dahlia toward the living room. Janie and Emmett stood to greet her, taking turns hugging her. Connor stayed where he was, lifting a hand in a wave when they finally made eye contact. Dahlia walked forward, surprising even herself with her own boldness, and stopped right in front of him. “Hello, Connor McKay,” she said, emphasizing his last name. “Nice to see you.”

  Something flashed in his eyes. Did he know? Had he figured out that she knew?

  “Thanks,” he said slowly. “Nice to see you too.”

  “Come on, let’s start it again,” Lily said. “The end is where Janie’s cello part really shines, right? I want to see it.”

  Connor scooted over on the couch. “Want to sit?”

  Dahlia hesitated for only a moment before settling into the space in between him and Lily.

  Connor leaned toward her. “Confession?” he whispered.

  “Okay,” Dahlia said, her heart picking up speed.

  “I had no idea Deacon’s brother was Emmett Calhoun.”

  Dahlia grinned. “You like his music?”

  Connor stared. “I saw him in concert last month. I looked like a total idiot when I showed up today and saw him. Deacon laughed at me for a solid ten minutes.”

  “Emmett was probably mortified. I still don’t think that guy is used to his fame.”

  “Yeah, he seems pretty chill.”

  They turned and shifted their focus to the video, though Connor kept his head close to Dahlia. Close enough that if she breathed deeply she could catch hints of his aftershave and if she shifted just slightly, their shoulders would touch.

  They stayed that way for all of Emmett’s video, and then for the ten minutes of conversation that followed after Lily went to the kitchen to help Deacon finish up their dinner prep. Through dinner, even though they were sitting at opposite ends of the table, Dahlia’s eyes were constantly drawn to Connor’s as if they were holding a separate conversation that only the two of them could hear.

  Finally, after dessert, Connor asked Dahlia if she wanted to go for a walk.

  Dahlia exchanged a brief glance with Lily who nodded her encouragement. She could do this. It was just a walk.

  They stepped out onto Lily and Deacon’s porch and Dahlia pulled her coat tightly around her, blocking the December chill in the air. December wasn’t always chilly in Charleston. It was just as frequently balmy and seventy-two degrees. Still, even that was a break from the intense summer heat they endured every year. She’d never known a white Christmas, but she’d grown to love the mild, breezy temperatures of a Charleston winter. She could live without the snow.

  “It’s a little colder than normal,” Connor said as they descended the steps together. “I like it.”

  “Yeah, it’s a nice change,” Dahlia said.

  They walked in silence down the winding length of the driveway. At the end, Connor turned and looked back at the house. “It’s some house,” he said softly.

  Dahlia turned and looked back down the driveway to the house Deacon and Lily had bought out on Mt. Pleasant. “Yeah. They’ve only been here a few months. They hired Shellhouse Construction to build it once they decided they were ready to have a family.”

  “Shellhouse built this house? I should have known.”

  Connor shoved his hands into his pockets and shook his head as he started walking again.

  Dahlia hurried to catch up. “Peyton seems really great,” she said, wondering what had suddenly made Connor seem so prickly.

  “Yeah. She is. Her whole family is.”

  “And Will, too. That’s his name, right?”

  “Yep,” Connor answered, his voice terse.

  “Hey,” Dahlia said. She reached out and touched his arm. “What just happened? Why are you upset? What did I say?”

  Connor’s face relaxed and he closed his free hand over the top of hers. “I’m sorry. You didn’t say anything wrong.”

  Fire shot up Dahlia’s arm at his touch, and she closed her eyes. One thing was perfectly clear. She either needed to make out with the man or never see him again. There was definitely no middle ground. To be around him and not be with him was the worst kind of torture. She swallowed, willing him to keep his hand on hers. “Then what is it?”

  He gave her fingers a gentle squeeze before stepping away and dropping her hand. “I’m not going to lie. It’s hard not to feel inadequate hanging out with your friends, Dahlia.”

  “Why? Because Deacon and Lily have a nice house?”

  “It’s not the house. It’s the . . . expectation. It’s your dad. It’s my friend’s brother and his wife.”

  Dahlia sc
runched her brow. “Your friend’s brother?”

  Connor ran a hand through his hair. “He works two jobs so they can live in the same neighborhood that she grew up in. He loves her, but he’s killing himself trying to provide the life she expects.”

  Dahlia scoffed. “What is she doing to provide the life she expects? Why does it have to be all on him? This is the twenty-first century. Teamwork is a thing now.”

  Connor grinned. “I admire your conviction. But the world has a ways to go before everyone sees things like you do.”

  “What about you, though? How do you see the world? How do you see me?”

  Connor sighed before raising his eyes to meet hers. He held her gaze for a long moment. “I don’t know.”

  Dahlia stepped closer. “Well, let me tell you what I know. I know that I want to live in a world where the amount of money someone has in their bank account doesn’t matter. You’re right to be annoyed with my dad. He was out of line when he was critical of you. But I am not my father. And I would have that same stupid little exchange with him a thousand times a day if it meant being with someone I cared about. I’m not afraid of my father. Not his narrowminded judgements. Not his expectations. Not anymore.”

  She took another step forward so that they were only inches apart. Her heart pounding in her chest, she reached out and slid her hands up Connor’s shoulders. “I’m not making this up, am I?” she whispered. “How right this feels?”

  He leaned forward so their foreheads touched, his hands snaking around her waist. “You’re not making it up. But this can’t be the only part of a relationship that works.”

  “How can we even know if the rest of it will work if we don’t try?” It was the boldest she’d ever been with him, the most candid conversation they’d ever had. But she was afraid if she didn’t keep pushing, Connor would never jump. He’d just keep standing on the side of the pool, believing he wasn’t allowed to swim.

  She tilted her head upward, bringing her lips closer to his. She’d been the first to kiss a guy on more than one occasion. But she’d never been so nervous, never felt so much riding on one single kiss. Their noses touched first and Connor’s grip on her tightened. She closed the distance between them slowly, intentionally. His lips were soft and warm and inviting. It took all her will power not to crush herself to him, lose herself in his taste, his touch. But then Connor pulled her closer, tilting his head and intensifying their kiss until she lost all sense of time or space or anything aside from the man in front of her.