Finally, this afternoon, wrung-out, cranky, and too nervous to even read the People magazine sticking from her purse, Emma had been hit with yet another hurdle in her caper to get home.
“I’m sorry,” the uniformed woman said as she typed into her computer. “Your flight from Chicago was over two hours late, and you missed your connection. It’s gone.”
“We had to fuel up. Then they had to switch planes.” For all the time it had taken, the pilot had probably worked in some last minute Christmas shopping as well. “You have no idea what it’s taken to get here. Please, you have to find me another flight to Bentonville. I’ve got to get there by Christmas.”
The woman lifted an unsympathetic brow. “Last time I checked the sad voicemails from my kids, it is Christmas.”
“I’m sorry you have to work. Truly.” Emma had worked every holiday. She understood. “But it’s so important I’m home by midnight.” The long run of terrible holidays ended this year. She was determined to be in Sugar Creek for Christmas, telling Noah exactly how she felt.
“There are no more flights,” the gate agent said. “We can get you a voucher for food and a hotel for—”
“I don’t want another voucher.” Her voice was so whiny, it was barely recognizable. “I have to get to Arkansas.” Emma checked the time on her phone. It was already four o’clock. In eight hours Christmas would be over.
“There might be a few rental cars available, but I doubt it.”
“Where do I find one?”
The woman pointed south. “Take the escalator down. Good luck.”
Emma didn’t care that her bags were somewhere in the guts of the airport. There was no time to get them. She grabbed her carryon and purse, pulled off the horrible, pointy-toed heels she’d been coaxed into yesterday morning, and ran through the Dallas airport, dodging in and out of fellow travelers, shoes in hand. Her hair had long been thrown into a top knot, she had washed her TV makeup off back at La Guardia, and she was pretty sure she was sweating right through her new outfit.
Her boss had immediately gone to commercial after her surprise announcement. So while America watched an advertisement for bladder protection or pillowy insoles, Emma sat in her producer’s office while he terminated her employment. She’d reminded him she had already quit, but Mr. Peterson hadn’t heard a word she’d said.
Emma knew quitting on live TV had been the ultimate in unprofessionalism. She’d already received a hundred texts and calls from friends in the business, wanting to know if she’d lost her mind. A fellow anchor from CBS had left a message of support, love, and the number of a doctor who could “prescribe you something for that.”
She had handled today in an abysmal fashion.
And yet she’d never felt more free.
Yes, she would take that marketing job.
Yes, she would love Noah for the rest of her days.
And yes, she would like to build a life in Sugar Creek, Arkansas.
Ten minutes later, after dumping her heels in the trash, Emma bought some fuzzy slippers for her feet and found the car rental desk. She pounded her palm against a tiny bell. “Hello? Hello?”
A man wearing a black vest with a rental car logo finally appeared behind the counter. “We’re closed.”
“No, you can’t be. I have to get to Arkansas.”
“Lady, it’s Christmas. We closed an hour ago, and if I don’t get home in time to eat my mother-in-law’s dried-out turkey, my wife won’t talk to me for a week.”
Emma dug in her bag for a few crisp hundred dollar bills, then slid them his way.
The man’s beady eyes checked right and left, then slipped the cash into his pocket. “A week without the wife’s yapping actually won’t be too bad.”
“Thank you.” Emma melted against the counter, grateful for the change in fortune. “I’ll take whatever you have.”
“Good. Because all we have is a twenty-person conversion van. Super handy if you happen to be traveling with a rock band, like the last people to use the vehicle. In fact, my boy Joe hasn’t even had time to clean the—”
“I don’t care. I’ll take it as is.”
“I can’t give it to you dirty. It’s against policy.”
Emma handed the guy another twenty. “Let’s get that paperwork going, okay?”
He grinned, revealing two missing teeth. “We’ll have you on the road before you can say Acid Puppies Death Cry.”
Emma blinked. “Why would I say that?”
He shrugged. “It’s the name of the band who had the van. Those were some crazy guys.”
Thirty minutes later Emma pulled onto the interstate, her hands on the steering wheel of a van that reeked of cigarette smoke, gas station burritos, and a potent mix of illegal substances. A pair of red thong panties dangled from the rearview mirror, Solo cups littered two of the four backseats, and someone had written Rock-N-Roll Anarchy in squeeze cheese on the dash. She popped the top on a can of something that promised to keep her energized for six hours, and turned the radio from a screamo station to something a little more mellow.
Nearly every station played Christmas tunes.
Well, who needed music?
Emma turned the thing off. She might’ve been a new convert to Christmas, but that didn’t mean she was ready to love and cherish every single thing about the holiday. She still didn’t like carols. Or egg nog. Or the onesie pajamas her grandmother insisted on sending her every year.
Two hours in, Emma took a wrong turn.
Three hours later, her energy drink reneged on its neon promise.
By hour four, she was at least in Arkansas, but the fog had slowed her and the rest of the sparse traffic to speeds reserved for dirt roads and Sunday drives.
By hour five, she called Noah, but it went straight to voice mail. Emma pulled over on the side of the road and cried.
Hour six had her singing along to an Acid Puppies Death Cry CD she’d found beneath the seat and wishing for a cigarette and gas station burrito.
But by 11:50 p.m., running on fumes and sheer willpower, Emma pulled the giant van into Noah’s driveway.
She didn’t care that she smelled like someone else’s sweat or that her top-knot was now a limp appendage hanging from the side of her weary head. And who cared if she was a walking fashion disaster? Emma was at Noah’s.
She was home.
But unfortunately Noah Kincaid was not.
She hammered her fist to the door and laid on the doorbell, but no one came. She tried his phone again and again, but only his recorded voice answered.
Noah was gone.
An exhausted whimper escaped her lips as she climbed back into the van of stench and debauchery. She would drive to Sylvie’s and get some sleep. There was nothing left to do.
Emma prayed the red light on the gas gauge was just a friendly little warning, as there was no gas station open in Sugar Creek on Christmas. The town still glowed in all its tiny light glory, and even with her eyes swollen in fatigue, Emma smiled at the sight. She drove past the Kiwanis Club display, with its intricate scene of kids opening gifts. The high school’s science and technology club’s laser show still impressed. And downtown looked like a Rockwell painting outlined in white. The Star of Bethlehem beamed down on the nativity, and Emma slowed the van to get the last look of the season at dear Mary staring so contentedly at her child.
Instead she saw a familiar figure reaching into the manger.
Emma rubbed her burning eyes and peered closer. Someone was out there.
And that someone was Noah.
She whipped the van into a parking spot and flung open her door, punk music shrieking out like a terrible soundtrack to the scene unfolding. And this scene included Noah, Jesus, and if Emma heard right, a song titled, “Chain Me With Your Electric Nose Hairs.”
“Noah!” Emma’s slippered feet hit the cold pavement. “Noah!”
He turned, his frown visible from thirty feet away. “Emma?”
She couldn’t seem to quit
nodding her head. It’s me! It’s really me. The girl who loves you. The girl who needs you.
The sleep-deprived girl who smells like the inside of a tenth grader’s gym bag.
Emma stopped when she was a mere arm’s length away. Just one reach and she could touch him.
But she didn’t. Because Noah stood there, hands in his coat pockets, and just stared.
“Hi.” She really needed a Tic-Tac. “Did I make it?”
He looked down at her Dallas Cowboy house shoes. “What are you doing here, Emma?”
“What time is it?”
“I don’t—” He huffed in frustration, his breath a plume of chilly air. “It’s eleven fifty-seven.”
Relief sang through Emma’s whole body. “I made it. I made it here for Christmas. But why are you at the nativity?”
Noah still regarded Emma like he wasn’t sure she was operating on a full tank. “Some lady called about another possible doll theft. The good one got taken again.” He glanced down at the manger at the baby with the globe of frizzy red hair. “But nobody seems to want to steal her.”
Emma swallowed and licked her lips. It was go-time. “I have to get this all in before midnight, but I need to tell you that I love you. “I don’t want to live without you. You love Sugar Creek, and I love Sugar Creek, and I want to build a life here with you. You were right, Noah.” Fatigue seemed to delete every eloquent word she had prepared on the long drive.
“I didn’t love my job,” she said, plodding on. “And I was using it as a filler. I thought it would make me happy at some point, but you know what? Years had gone by, and it never really had. But I was scared. That job was so significant, and I wanted to be more than the daughter in a cheesy Christmas song. I wanted accomplishments—exclusive interviews, killer ratings, a Daytime Emmy—and okay I still kind of want the Emmy. But I just filled my days with work and more work. And where did it get me?”
Noah took a step to her. “You tell me.”
Oh, his voice. Emma couldn’t wait to wake up to that voice and go to bed at night with that voice. “It got me a very nice apartment that was never a home. Just a place to sleep in because I was never there. I couldn’t even get a cat because I was away so much. Even a fish required more care than I could give it. I’m telling you right now, Noah, I want a darn cat. And a fish. But maybe not together.”
His brow furrowed in beautiful concern. “Are you on something?”
“No. Well, not technically. But I would not sniff too heavily in that van. Noah, you said you would follow me anywhere if I was all in.” Emma reached out and clutched his coat sleeves. “I’m all in. I quit my job. Then I hopped on a plane—a few planes actually. Then I drove like a million miles. Because I love you.” Why wasn’t he saying anything?
“I had this elegant speech all planned out. But then everything turned upside down, and I went from starring in a nice Hallmark romance to some new version of Planes, Trains, and Automobiles.” Emma’s chest rose and fell in marathon-running heaves. “I honestly do not remember what I was going to say.” She searched her brain and came up with nothing. “But it was good. Like amazing good.” Emma waited for Noah to say something. Anything.
“Was it Emmy-worthy good?” A smile tipped Noah’s lips, and Emma felt the breath return to her body.
“Oh, wow. The star still leads.”
“What?”
Hope was still alive. “I’m sorry for everything I said. I didn’t expect to come back to Sugar Creek, and I sure never dreamed I would lose my heart to you again. But it happened.”
Noah slipped his hand over her messy head. “Is this beef jerky in your hair?”
“It’s been a very rough two days.” Put your hands on me. Tell me you love me. Make this right. “But if there had been no more planes, no more demonic rental vans, and no buses, I would’ve ran here. I came back to tell you that you, Noah Kincaid, are what I want.”
His piercing eyes held hers, and Emma thought the earth had time to spin a full rotation before Noah finally spoke.
“Emma?” His voice, hoarse and raw.
“Yes?”
“I love you.”
Emma threw herself into Noah’s arms. “Thank, God.” And she kissed her love with all the certainty she needed. Right there in his arms was where she belonged. She had finally found her place. It wasn’t glamorous, it didn’t come with a VIP press pass, and nobody would ever greet her every morning to do makeup and hair. But pressed next to Noah’s beating heart, his strong hands holding her tight, it was an extravagance no TV show could ever offer.
She trailed kisses along Noah’s sandpaper cheek, as she dug into his pocket, pulled out his phone, and peeked at the time and smiled. 11:59 p.m. She’d gotten her man for Christmas with one minute to spare. “This is the best Christmas ever.” He was her present. No bow required.
“I saw you on TV.” His lips lingered at her temple.
The mention still made her stomach wobble. “I had every intention of picking up where I’d left off.” She wrapped her arms about Noah’s waist and looked into his eyes. “But thirty minutes in, and I couldn’t do it. I was miserable without you, and I knew that feeling wasn’t going to go away. I didn’t want to end up like my dad. I don’t want his version of love. I want a life that brings me joy, that fills me up. A life without you could never make me happy.”
“Em, if you want to work in New York, I’ll go.”
“Pretty sure I’m not welcome in that town. And I don’t want to be there. This is where I’m meant to be.”
“Are you absolutely sure? I don’t want you to regret what you’re giving up.”
“I’ve only given up the things I should have a long time ago. I just couldn’t see it. I’m all in.”
Noah lifted her chin with his thumb and brushed his lips over hers.
“But”—she pressed her hand to his chest and took a small step back—“I need you to be all in, too. Because I’m not good at this relationship stuff. The very words roots and permanence make me itchy with hives.” Emma wanted her voice to sound daring and certain. But the hesitancy came through anyway. “So maybe we don’t put down roots. Maybe we put down love and memories. And children and laughter.”
Noah took her hand and sealed her palm with his lips. “I like this idea.”
Who needed an energy drink when relief was the ultimate high? “Oh, I’m full of ideas. This is why I’m a great marketing director. That job is still open, right?”
“Nah.” Noah winked. “I gave it to Delores.”
“I guess I’ll have to wrestle it back from her.”
“I think I might like to see that.”
“Noah?” Emma leaned up and kissed his skin. “Would you marry me?”
His entire body ceased to move. “That’s my question.”
“I’m full of bold declarations lately.”
He slid a piece of her wayward hair through his fingers. “This one’s mine.” Then the most gorgeous, most beautiful man in all of Sugar Creek eased down to one knee right beside the manger. The very place Emma had dropped her new Christmas prayer. “Emma Sylvia Sutton . . .” He clasped her hand in his. “Will you marry me?”
“Yes. Oh, my word, yes.” Emma didn’t even give him time to stand. She dropped to the ground and pulled her fiancé to her. She kissed him with all the love and hope that bubbled within her like the fountain on the square. “I’m probably going to drive you crazy, Noah Kincaid.”
He pressed his forehead to hers. “I’m counting on it.”
“Merry Christmas, Noah.” In her hands, Emma held the face of the greatest love she had known. “You are the best gift I could ever receive.”
“Merry Christmas, Emma.”
Beneath the Star of Bethlehem, Emma promised her heart to the boy she had fallen for so many years ago. The Wise Men still held their gifts. Joseph still bowed in prayer. Mary looked on and smiled, this woman-child who had just given the world the good news they’d been waiting for.
The Chr
ist child was born. The silence had ended.
And somewhere beneath that wide-eyed, puffy-haired doll in the manger sat Emma’s prayer.
More than a crumbled bit of paper, it was hope piercing the fear.
Because on this night, Emma Sutton had finally found her Christmas.
Dear Reader,
I hope you enjoyed A Sugar Creek Christmas. This town is very near and dear to my heart. I love small town life and am so excited to finally write about this unique corner of Arkansas. My friend Sylvie Sutton won’t be content until all her grandchildren are happily wedded. But we all know sometimes love goes astray and just needs a little meddling nudge. Come on back to Sugar Creek, where folks say hello, life moves a little slower, and romance is in the air.
Wishing you all the hope and beauty of the season!
Jenny
For updates on future releases in the Sugar Creek series, join my newsletter for book updates.
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About the Author
Award-winning author Jenny B. Jones writes romance with sass and Southern charm. Woefully indecisive, she writes YA, New Adult, and women’s romance. Since she has very little free time, Jenny believes in spending her spare hours in meaningful, intellectual pursuits, such as watching bad TV, Tweeting deep thoughts to the world, and writing her name in the dust on her furniture.
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Can’t Let You Go
An old love whose kisses make her weak, but whose secrets threaten to destroy all she holds dear...
Sugar Creek Christmas Nook Page 14