Christmas in July

by Debbie Mason

  Skye’s smile froze on her face, a drawn-out “no” echoing in her head. She’d overheard someone say that senatorial candidate Ethan O’Connor had another speaking engagement and was heading out of town. If she’d known he was sticking around, she would’ve hidden out at the bakery. She’d been humiliated enough for one day, thank you very much.

  Her gaze shot to the pastel-painted shops across the street to her left. Seriously? she thought, at the sight of her best friend Madison standing beneath the purple-and-white-striped awning of the Sugar Plum Bakery. How could anyone’s luck change so dramatically?

  Since bemoaning the situation wasn’t going to save her further humiliation and neither was standing there, Skye did the only thing she could think of and dropped to her knees. Forcing a smile for the worried faces looking down at her, she said, “I lost my wand,” surreptitiously tucking the aforementioned item beneath her dress.

  “Excuse me. Pardon me. Lost wand,” she explained, duckwalking through the crowd as fast as the position allowed.

  “I’ll help you find it, Sugar Plum Cake Fairy,” a little girl, her dark curly hair caught up in red, white, and blue ribbons, offered.

  “Me, too,” volunteered a little boy, a miniature American flag clutched in his small hand.

  Before long, Skye had a line of children waddling after her. She was like a mother duck with her ducklings following behind. They looked so darn cute that she would’ve had an “aw” moment if she didn’t feel like throwing up.

  She’d been feeling that way a lot lately. And it wasn’t because the jig was up and Madison had found out that her best friend, who’d once had more money than God, was now as poor as Jesus. Or that Ethan O’Connor, the man Skye’d had a one-night stand with—and Skylar Davis did not do one-night stands—was in town and looking even more breath-stealingly gorgeous than she remembered. Or that the first time she saw Claudia Stevens, the bane of her teenage existence, she’d be in Christmas on Ethan’s arm instead of Texas, where she belonged.

  An old family friend, Claudia’s name came up in every single it’s-time-to-grow-up conversation Skye had with her father, William Davis. “Why can’t you be more like Claudia?” was his constant refrain as he compared the other woman’s many accomplishments to Skye’s non-existent ones.

  Nope, none of them were responsible for her upset stomach. It was the stress. However, they were responsible for her humiliation, which, she supposed, could indirectly lead to stress. So, yeah, maybe they were responsible for her upset stomach after all.

  As she made her way to the front of the crowd, beads of perspiration rolled into her eyes, blurring her vision. She went to rub the drops away with the hand that held the wand. Oops. “Look at that,” she said, turning to the children. “It’s my magic wand. Silly me. I should’ve wished for it sooner.”

  She winced at the crestfallen expressions on their cute little faces because she’d found her wand without their help. In an effort to counter their disappointment, Skye raised it, nodding at the sparkly sugar plum on the end. “You know what, my wand just told me it didn’t find me because of my wishes—it was because of all of yours. Yay, you guys.” She clapped her hands, relieved when they joined in.

  “That makes us your fairy helpers, doesn’t it?” said the first of her volunteers.

  “Yes, it does.” Skye smiled, looking through a sea of legs to get her bearings. A few more yards, and she’d be on the path to the park. She felt like clapping her hands again. “I have to go now. Thanks for all your help.”

  “Can we have tiaras like yours?” asked a little girl, her blue eyes hopeful behind her pink-framed glasses.

  Skye fingered the jeweled crown with the tiny cupcakes glued to each point. She’d frigging love to give the tiara away. When Grace, her friend and boss, had first broached the idea of Skye being the Sugar Plum Cake Fairy, she’d jumped at the chance. But that’s when she thought it was a paid position. When she found out it wasn’t, she kind of thought it was cool that she’d be the face of the Sugar Plum Cake Fairy in the book. It wasn’t until they fitted her with the costume, and she realized they meant for her to wear it in public, that she wanted to say “no way, no how.” But she couldn’t. Even though Grace didn’t have the money in her budget to hire Skye, she’d given her a job at the bakery. So Skye had no choice but to accept the role as the bakery’s mascot to repay Grace for her kindness.

  Today was Skye’s debut as the Sugar Plum Cake Fairy. And as her newfound bad luck would have it, she’d been in costume when she saw Ethan for the first time in three months, and Claudia for the first time in ten years. Ethan had restrained his laughter. Claudia, not so much. And the woman was bound and determined to get a picture of Skye, looking like an idiot, to post on social media.

  “I wish I could, sweetie, but there’s only one tiara like this in the whole, wide world.” At the little girl’s disappointed look, Skye did a quick head count. She got paid next week, so she should be good. “But because you’re all my special helpers, you get a free cupcake from the bakery this week. You just tell them the Sugar Plum Cake Fairy sent you.”

  “Yay.” The little girl bounced up and down and her friends joined in.

  Oh, gosh, they were getting kind of loud. Afraid they were going to draw unwanted attention, Skye put a finger to her lips. “Shush, we don’t want anyone else to know. It’s our secret. Okay?”

  They nodded and Skye went to stand up. Several of the children threw their arms around her. “We love you, Sugar Plum Cake Fairy.”

  “Aw, I love you guys, too.” Maybe this job wasn’t so bad after all, Skye thought. She’d always enjoyed spending time with kids. Some people told her it was because she still thought she was one. She didn’t know what the big deal was. In her opinion, the world would be a better place if more adults kept their inner child alive, holding on to that natural curiosity, the ability to appreciate the simple things in life and have fun. She supposed that was easy for her to say. She’d never had to work for a living or worry about paying bills or putting a roof over her head or clothes on her back.

  She sighed. Not until now she hadn’t.

  Skye waved good-bye and speed-walked to the path.

  “Auntie Skye, I’ve been looking all over for you. Mommy wants to talk to you.” Madison’s stepdaughter Lily ran toward Skye, her chestnut-colored ponytail bouncing, and caught her by the hand.

  Skye couldn’t help but smile. She loved that Madison’s stepdaughters called her Auntie. In a way, it was true. Since she was an only child, Skye thought of her best friends Madison and Vivi as her sisters. But she wasn’t quite ready to face her sister just yet. Skye needed time to put a positive spin on her situation.

  Her gaze darted to the park, and she spotted the bright-blue Porta-Potty in the distance. “Tell Mommy I’ll catch up with her in a bit. I have to go.” She nodded in the direction of the outdoor toilet.

  Lily frowned. “Mommy’s at the bakery. It’s closer.”

  Too bad Lily was as smart as she was adorable. Skye shot a look at the crowd working its way up the street and caught sight of the tourists. “Right, but I promised some people I’d take a picture with them. I won’t be long.”

  Skye waved and headed down the path. To her left, a man shouted out for Ethan. Please, let it be another Ethan. She glanced in the direction he’d called from. Sure enough, there was the man himself entering the park with Claudia on his arm. Skye took off at a run. By the time she reached the Porta-Potty, she was out of breath.

  This hiding-out crap is exhausting.

  A big, burly man with a full beard stepped out of the Porta-Potty and gave her an apologetic shrug.

  How bad could it be? Skye thought, stepping inside. She slapped a hand to her mouth and nose. It smelled like someone had died in there. Several someones, and a long time ago. She whipped around, about to get out, when she heard, “Is that Kendall?”

  Skye ducked inside, slammed the door, and locked it. There was only one person who called her by her le
gal name and that was Claudia. Skye had started using her middle name when she left Texas. The one her mother had chosen. It suited her better. It was Skye’s way of thumbing her nose at her father’s attempt to change her into the daughter he wanted her to be. Someone William Davis, the former governor of Texas and right-wing Republican, could be proud of.

  Someone like Claudia.

  Breathe, Skye told herself in hopes of calming her jack-rabbiting pulse. For goodness’ sake, you idiot, don’t breathe! She lifted the hem of her dress and pressed it to her face, gagging into the silky fabric. The claustrophobically small space was closing in around her, the temperature about twenty degrees hotter than outside. Holding her breath, she fanned herself with her dress. When the lack of oxygen began to make her dizzy, she once again buried her nose in the purple fabric and released it.

  Okay, relax, think of walking through the forest in winter, the snow crunching underfoot, your breath a crystallized cloud. Yes, she almost cheered, it was working. The room felt cooler, the space less confining. But the smell… she retched, automatically leaning toward the black hole. She jerked back when she realized what she was doing. Hurry up, think of… think of something that smells amazing, something you want to… Do not think of that!

  She couldn’t help it. Once the images started, she couldn’t make them stop. The memory of that night with Ethan played out in her mind. Oh, but he had smelled amazing, and all that lean, sculpted muscle, his large… arms, his arms! Voices coming in her direction snapped her back to the here and now.

  Good, that was good.

  “Claudia said she saw her going in there, Madison.”

  Bad. Very bad.

  That was Ethan’s voice. Ethan’s incredible, swoon-worthy voice. She scowled as the thought popped into her head. The sewage must be poisoning her brain, she decided, pinching her nose and breathing through her mouth. The man was a right-wing, judgmental conservative who was as critical of Skye’s lifestyle as her father.

  Oh no, now she could taste it. She made small retching sounds as the cupcakes she’d eaten earlier curdled in her stomach.

  “Skye, are you in there?” Madison asked, tapping on the door. “Skye?” She tapped again.

  If Skye stayed quiet, maybe they’d leave. She moved away from the door, which put her closer… She started gagging, loudly, and stumbled backward, bouncing off the wall.

  “Skye, Lily said she saw you running over here. Are you okay? Do you need help?”

  “Fine, I’m fine. I’ll be out in a minute. You can go…” She started gagging again before she got “back to the bakery” out.

  “You don’t sound fine, and we’re not going anywhere until we know you’re all right,” Ethan said, his voice whiskey smooth and deep.

  “I am. It’s the door.” She rattled it for effect. “It’s stuck, and I can’t get out. So if you could go and get someone… if all of you could go and get someone, that’d be great. Thanks.” And when they did, she’d escape to the woods. The sweat trickling down her chest and back had turned the sparkly purple fabric to shrink-wrap, while the humidity had rolled her long, wavy hair into a frizz ball. There was no way she was going to face Mr. and Ms. Perfect looking like something the dog had dragged in and shaken a couple of times before he did.

  “Okay, I’ll try and get it to open,” she heard Ethan say.

  “No, no, that’s not a good idea.” The door handle moved, a metallic scraping sound coming from the other side. “What… what are you doing?”

  “Picking the lock.”

  “You can’t pick locks,” she blurted in desperation, swiping her arm across her damp forehead. “You’re a lawyer, and you’re running for political office.”

  “Appreciate the concern for my reputation, cupcake. But it’s a Porta-Potty, and I’m rescuing a damsel in distress.” She heard the amusement in his voice.

  “Don’t call me cupcake, and I don’t need rescuing. Go away.” She stupidly took a deep breath to calm herself and started retching again. She sounded like she was horking up a hair ball. Covering her mouth and nose with both hands, she turned away, hoping to muffle the noise.

  “Hang in there, sweetheart. Just a little bit… There, got it.”

  Her eyes widened, and she whipped her head around, reaching for the handle just as it turned. She dug her heels into the damp floorboard and held on with both hands.

  “Huh, the lock released, how come…” He pulled on the door, a sliver of light entering the space.

  They played a silent game of tug-of-war; she leaned back, he inched her forward, she leaned back, he inched her forward. Then, with one last yank from his side, she went flying out the door. Landing hard on her hands and knees at his feet, her tiara askew, Skye threw up on Ethan’s Italian leather shoes.

  THE DISH

  Where Authors Give You the Inside Scoop

  From the desk of Debbie Mason

  Dear Reader,

  While reading CHRISTMAS IN JULY one last time before sending it off to my editor, I had an “oops, I did it again” moment. In the first book in the series, The Trouble with Christmas, there’s a scene where Madison, the heroine, senses her late mother’s presence. In this book, our heroine, Grace, receives a message from her sister through her son. Grace has spent years blaming herself for her sister’s death, and while there’s an incident in the book that alleviates her guilt, I felt she needed the opportunity to tell her sister she loved her. Maybe if I didn’t believe our departed loved ones could communicate with us in some way, I would have done this another way. But I do, and here’s why.

  My dad was movie-star handsome and had this amazing dimple in his chin. He was everything a little girl could wish for in a father. But he wasn’t my biological father; he was the father of my heart. He came into my life when I was nine years old. That first year, I dreamed about him a lot. The dreams were very real, and all the same. I’d be outside and see a man from behind and call out to him. He’d turn around, and it would be my dad. I always said the same thing: “You’re here. I knew you weren’t gone.” Almost a year to the day of his passing, my dad appeared in my dream surrounded by shadowy figures who he introduced to me by name. He told me that he was okay, that he was happy. It was his way, I think, of helping me let him go.

  I didn’t dream of him again until sixteen months ago when we were awaiting the birth of our first grandchild. I “woke up” to see him sitting at the end of my bed. I told him how happy I was that he’d be there for the arrival of his great grandchild. He said of course he would be. He wouldn’t be anywhere else.

  A week later, my daughter gave birth to a beautiful baby girl. When I saw my granddaughter for the first time, I started to cry. She had my dad’s dimple. No one on my son-in-law’s side, or ours, has a dimple in their chin. He used to tell us the angels gave it to him, and we like to think he gave our granddaughter hers as proof that he’s still with us.

  So now you know why including that scene was important not only to Grace, but to me. Life really is full of small miracles and magic. And I hope you experience some of that magic as you follow Grace and Jack on their journey to happy-ever-after.

  From the desk of Kristen Ashley

  Dear Reader,

  Usually, inspiration for books comes to me in a variety of ways. It could be a man I see (anywhere), a movie, a song, the unusual workers in a bookstore.

  With SWEET DREAMS, it was an idea.

  And that idea was, I wanted to take a hero who is, on the whole, totally unlikable, and make him lovable.

  Enter Tatum Jackson, and when I say that, I mean enter Tatum Jackson. He came to me completely with a kapow! I could conjure him in my head, hear him talk, see the way he moved and how his clothes hung on him, feel his frustration with his life. I also knew his messed-up history.

  And I could not wait to get stuck into this man.

  I mean, here’s a guy who is gorgeous, but he’s got a foul temper, says nasty things when he’s angry, and he’s not exactly father of the year.
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  He had something terrible happen to him to derail his life and he didn’t handle that very well, making mistake after mistake in a vicious cycle he pretty much had no intention of ending. He had a woman in his life he knew was a liar, a cheat, and no good for anyone and he was so stuck in the muck of his life that he didn’t get shot of her.

  Enter Lauren Grahame, who also came to me like a shot. As with Tate, everything about Lauren slammed into my head, perhaps most especially her feelings, the disillusionment she has with life, how she feels lost and really has no intention of getting found.

  In fact, I don’t think with any of my books I’ve ever had two characters who I knew so thoroughly before I started to tell their story.

  And thus, I got lost in it.

  I tend to be obsessive about my storytelling but this was an extreme. Once Lauren and Tate came to me, everything about Carnal, Colorado, filled my head just like the hero and heroine did. I can see Main Street, Bubba’s Bar, Tate’s house. I know the secondary characters as absolutely as I know the main characters. The entirety of the town, the people, and the story became a strange kind of real in my head, even if I didn’t know how the story was going to play out. Indeed, I had no idea if I could pull it off, making an unlikable man lovable.

  But I fell in love with Tate very quickly. The attraction he has for Lauren growing into devotion. The actions that speak much louder than words. I so enjoyed watching Lauren pull Tate out of the muck of his life, even if nothing changes except the fact that he has a woman in it that he loves, who is good to him, who feeds the muscle, the bone, the soul. Just as I enjoyed watching Tate guide Lauren out of her disillusionment and offer her something special.