Christmas in Echo Creek_A Sweet Holiday Romance

by Kacey Linden

  “I…” She swiped at her eyes and tried to smile to reassure him. “It’s nothing, really. I just now realized that”—she gestured helplessly—“I have a date. With you. And you’re so amazing that for a second there I almost couldn’t breathe.”

  Cale looked a little stunned. “And here I was beginning to think I was doing this date thing all wrong,” he said, brushing at her tears with his thumbs. “I was definitely not planning to make you cry.”

  “It’s not you,” she promised. “Well, it is but not because you did anything wrong.”

  “Oh, speaking of doing something wrong, I almost forgot.” He pulled a wrapped package out of his coat pocket. “Is it okay to give you this now? I would do it later, but I thought you’d prefer getting it before everyone else gets here.”

  “Cale, it’s not Christmas yet,” she protested, feeling her face heat, “and I still don’t know what to get you.”

  “Oh, but this is a pre-Christmas present,” Cale insisted. “I’m allowed to give my girlfriend pre-Christmas presents at any time.”

  “Is that actually a thing?” Willow demanded suspiciously.

  “That’s what I love about traditions.” Cale grinned and held out the package. “We get to make our own if we want to, and this one seems like a great idea to me.”

  “You’re a very difficult man.” Willow accepted the gift reluctantly and looked it over. “And your wrapping skills are still pretty terrible. But thank you.” She went up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek, marveling at her own boldness. “So should I open it now?”

  “Yes, please,” he said fervently, “so that if you hate it, no one else will ever know how bad I am at presents.”

  “Cale, no one has given me a Christmas present in…” She thought about it. “I don’t remember how long. I’m going to love it, no matter what it is.”

  “You say that now,” he teased, and took a few steps away from her. “I think I’m going to stand over here in case you decide to throw it at me after you see what it is.”

  Willow rolled her eyes and tore off the wrapping paper. Inside was something soft and fuzzy and white, with a little ball on top… “A hat?” She held it up and started laughing. “Of course you got me a hat.” She couldn’t even be annoyed, it was so adorable, knitted from some incredibly soft white yarn with tiny silver threads. The bobble was white and silver and inside of the hat… were a pair of fleecy white gloves.

  She’d told herself she didn’t need them, but the truth was, she hadn’t wanted to feel indebted to anyone for something so small, and she hadn’t wanted to spend her paycheck on unnecessary personal items when she was saving for her car.

  “I hope that’s not upsetting,” Cale said, running a hand through his hair and watching her cautiously. “I know you said you thought they were a waste of money, but I hated the idea of you being cold all the time. You don’t have to wear them if you don’t want to, but… I guess I wanted to know that you didn’t have to be cold.”

  “They’re perfect,” she told him earnestly. “I knew I needed them, it just seemed like such a frivolous thing to buy when I’m saving to pay Marty for my car.” She smiled up at him, wondering how she had ever gotten so lucky. “Thank you. I love them.”

  She thought from the look in his eyes that he was about to kiss her, but Marcia walked in from the kitchen and he pulled back, looking sheepish.

  “Cale, don’t just stand in the hallway,” she insisted, patting him on the arm. “Come in and have some cider!”

  He complied, but looked back over his shoulder at Willow with a comical expression of panic. She burst out laughing and followed. It was going to be an absolutely perfect evening.

  They stayed at Marcia’s for about an hour, as a steady stream of neighbors drove or walked up and came in for cider and cookies. Marcia glowed with pleasure as she reconnected with friends and received numerous compliments on both her baking and her decorating. Two groups of carolers came and went as laughter and conversation flowed from the front sitting room to the kitchen and back again.

  Around eight o’clock, Willow was just putting another log on the fire when Cale strolled up and rested his hands on her shoulders.

  “Ready?” he murmured, and as she nodded, a thrill shot through her. It was time for their first date.

  Willow’s boots and coat were already downstairs, so she slipped into them and reverently pulled on her new gloves. The hat she drew carefully over her braid. Last of all, she peeked into the kitchen and waved to Marcia, who winked and waved back, fully aware of her guest’s plans.

  As they stepped out into the snowy night and shut the door behind them, Cale held out his hand. “Ready to go make some memories?”

  Willow slid her hand into his with a shiver of anticipation. “What are we going to do first? Do we drive? Walk?”

  “First,” Cale declared, drawing her closer, “I’m going to kiss you.” He did so, which made Willow glance around nervously to see who might be watching. “And don’t worry, the only one watching is Mrs. Dillon through the front window.”

  Willow whirled around, and sure enough, Mrs. Dillon was waving at her from the window.

  “I think you just wanted to make me blush.” She hoped Mrs. Dillon hadn’t seen everything.

  “No, I wanted to kiss you,” he corrected, “but I won’t if you don’t want me to.”

  Willow was certain she blushed after that. “I don’t actually mind…” she started to say, and Cale responded by kissing her again, sending a rush of heat from her lips to her toes.

  “Good. Now, in answer to your question, we’re going to drive first. There are four houses to visit in a neighborhood on the other side of town. We’ll park the truck and walk to each of them if you want to.”

  “Yes!” Still feeling a little shaky from the aftereffects of that kiss, Willow was glad to hear they were starting out by driving. But she also wanted the evening to last forever. If they walked around the neighborhoods, each visit would take longer.

  “Just let me know if you’re getting cold or tired,” Cale said, “and we can start driving to each house.”

  “How many are there?”

  “I think twenty-five signed up, but we won’t hit all of them. Just the ones where I know for sure the cookies will be good.”

  “Then we’d better get started,” Willow said seriously, “because cookies are the world’s most perfect food.”

  “By the end of the night,” Cale promised, tucking her hand beneath his arm, “you will know that there is a tremendous difference between a mere ‘cookie’ and a ‘good cookie.’”

  “If you say so,” Willow replied, doubting his word, but not really caring much about cookies. Just spending the evening with Cale would be perfection enough.

  Their first stop was the Wrights’, an enormous log house on the edge of town, where two fireplaces blazed and mugs of hot chocolate were handed out with a liberal helping of marshmallows. Willow counted eight decorated trees, one of which was over fifteen feet tall.

  Cale disappeared shortly after they arrived, at the request of Mr. Wright, who was hoping he could help fix a car that had stalled in the driveway.

  Fortunately, Mrs. Wright was a frequent customer at Creekside, so she and Willow chatted easily in his absence—about holiday plans and the increasingly large crowds at the downtown shops, drawing several other visitors into the conversation as they talked.

  With a strange sense of detachment, Willow marveled at the scene, wondering how she had come so far in so few weeks. Somehow, in this place where she should have felt like an outsider, she felt completely comfortable, surrounded not by strangers but by acquaintances. A few of them might even be friends.

  About the time Willow finished her chocolate, Cale returned, his eyes bright and his cheeks red from the cold. As he walked into the kitchen with three other men, laughing and sparring with them good-naturedly, Willow felt her pulse quicken with admiration and something like disbelief.

  How had it happened
that she was on a date with the handsomest man in the room? Ever since she’d come to town, she’d seen the glances other women cast at him, and wondered secretly what it would be like if a man like Cale were to have eyes only for her.

  And now here she was, catching his gaze from across the room. His eyes were filled with warmth and promise, asking without words whether she was okay.

  She was so much more than okay.

  After saying their goodbyes, they set off through the neighborhood, where log homes nestled well apart from each other on two- to three-acre lots under the shade of towering pines. The snow had been cleared from the streets and the driveways, but had reached six inches in places where there were no trees to provide protection, and Willow made a point of finding untrodden ground to leave fresh tracks in as they made their way to the next house.

  “I love walking in the snow,” she confessed, when Cale pointed out it would be less tiring to walk in the street. “I rarely got to see snow, as a kid. I mean, it snowed a little, most winters, but it never lasted long.”

  “If you like snow that much,” he joked, “you can come shovel my driveway next time.”

  “Won’t you feel awful when I actually take you up on that,” she teased him.

  “Actually, I’m pretty sure I’ll just feel warm and well-rested.”

  Willow laughed, and listened in amazement as the sound rang out through the night. When had she ever laughed so easily, or smiled so much? How had her life turned from such a mire of worry and pain to this—a Christmas stroll through a gorgeous snowy night with a man who seemed to be everything she’d ever dreamed of?

  As they walked hand in hand and fresh flakes landed softly on her cheeks, Willow felt a surge of thankfulness for whatever fate had decreed that she run out of gas here, in Echo Creek.

  The next house, the Bells’, loomed up ahead, with four vehicles in the driveway. Every bush in the landscaped yard was covered in lights, and through the enormous front window, Willow could see a towering Christmas tree, bedecked in white and gold, surrounded by visitors while the two small Bell children darted around the room.

  She sucked in a breath as she remembered her desperate wishing, as a young girl passing house after house, hoping and dreaming that one day she wouldn’t have to just keep walking, but could go in and be wrapped in that warm festive scene as though she belonged.

  “Cale, look,” she said, stopping in her tracks and pointing at the house.

  “What is it?”

  “We’re going in there,” she said, in awe that her dream was about to come true. “We don’t have to just walk on by and survive until next year on what we imagine it would be like to be a part of it. We’re going to go in, and they’ll be glad to see us, and at the end of the night we’ll go back to Marcia’s and it will be just as perfect.”

  “Yes,” he said softly, coming to a stop by her side. “You’re a part of this now. You never have to wonder again.”

  Cale felt his heart rip wide open as she threw her arms around him and whispered, “Thank you.”

  “For what?” he protested, returning her embrace. “I didn’t do any of this.”

  “You took a chance on a complete stranger.” Her voice was muffled by his coat. “You brought me in from the cold and showed me that there is real kindness and hope in the world. You made Christmas real to me, and I can never thank you enough for that.”

  He continued to hold her, even as his heart sank with apprehension. She believed he was some kind of miracle worker, a shining knight with a pure heart and praiseworthy motives.

  Someday soon, reality was going to tarnish that view irretrievably. But not today. She deserved to have today as a perfect Christmas memory to keep.

  “I don’t merit any thanks for that,” he said seriously, tucking her under his chin and pressing his jaw into the softness of her hat. “I did the only thing I could have lived with under the circumstances. And now that I know you, it scares me to think of how close we must have come to never meeting at all. What if you’d run out of gas anywhere else? What if someone else had been on duty that night? I might never have met you. Mrs. Dillon would be alone in an empty, cheerless house, and all of these people”—he pulled back and pointed at the cars in the Bells’ driveway—“would be doing Christmas for themselves and not remembering what it feels like to share it with their neighbors.”

  “That had nothing to do with me,” Willow protested.

  “You’re wrong,” he promised. “You’ve made a huge difference here in Echo Creek, and even if I’m the only one who knows, that doesn’t change the fact that we’re the ones who should be grateful.”

  “We’d better go in,” Willow muttered, “before I develop a permanent blush.”

  “Does that mean you don’t want me to kiss you again?” He desperately hoped she’d say no, because he wanted nothing more than to kiss her, and keep kissing her, while the lights twinkled and the snow fell around them.

  But just then a family with several noisy children spilled out of the front door and into the yard, breaking the silence with their enthusiasm.

  Willow shook her head. “You can kiss me later?” she suggested.

  “Is that a question or permission?” he asked hopefully.

  “Both.” She tugged him forward, into the glow of the lights, and the moment dissolved into greetings and goodbyes, wonder and laughter, even as her eyes promised better things to come.

  Five houses later, their cookie argument was still going strong.

  “But you can’t pretend the plain peanut butter were as good as the apple cinnamon peanut butter.”

  “Maybe they weren’t as good,” Willow insisted, “but they were still delicious. If they were the only cookies you could get, you would have said they were amazing.”

  “And what about the cardamom spice? You don’t taste a cookie like that more than once in a lifetime.”

  “It was good too. But so were the oatmeal scotchies. And the chocolate-dipped macaroons. And the gingerbread cutouts. But I’m honestly not sure I’ll be able to eat another cookie for a week when I think about how many I’ve had tonight.”

  “Bet I can change your mind with my famous oatmeal raisin cookies,” Cale teased her.

  “You have my enthusiastic permission to try,” she told him, grinning. “But seriously, I think we should probably head back soon. It’s late, and I’d like to help Marcia wrap things up.”

  “Me too,” he agreed. “Would you be okay with one more house? Tess convinced Finn to put his place on the tour and I’d like to stop by to see how he’s doing.”

  He wanted to see Finn, but he also didn’t want to make anyone uncomfortable. Although he’d seen Willow and Tess chatting with each other at Creekside a few times in the past week, it seemed safer to ask than to assume the two women were on their way to becoming friends.

  “I’m okay with it if you think they will be.” Willow climbed into the truck and rubbed her gloved hands together. “I think it’s gotten colder since we started. My hands are numb even inside the gloves.”

  Cale cranked up the heat as he navigated the three blocks to the Becketts’. “Good thing you’re not running around out there without any, then,” he said, with mock dismay.

  She shot him a glare, as he’d intended. “Cale Matthews, don’t push your luck. Your credit is good right now, but there is a lot of snow out there and I’m not afraid to use it.”

  “I think you’re forgetting who won the last snowball fight.”

  “You didn’t win the snowball fight! I did. You tripped me into the snow in craven fashion after you’d been honorably defeated by my superior tactics.”

  “That’s not at all how I remember it,” Cale said innocently. “I recall being ambushed by a stunningly beautiful snow warrior and defending myself by whatever means necessary.”

  “Then I think you’d better give me this woman’s name so I can hunt her down and stuff her face with snow out of sheer jealousy.”

  “Hey!” he prot
ested, but they were arriving at the Becketts’ and Willow jumped out of the truck, laughing, forcing him to pursue her up the front walk of the Becketts’ two-story colonial-style home. Her eyes were shining and her cheeks were pink from the cold as they walked in the front door and were greeted by a rush of warm woodsmoke-scented air and enthusiastic hugs for Cale from the three Beckett boys.

  Finn stood by an enormous river-rock fireplace, arms crossed, looking weary and stoic. Cale’s heart hurt to watch him trying so hard—striving to be present for the boys, but clearly wanting to be elsewhere. Anywhere that didn’t remind him of what he’d lost.

  “Cale, come in the kitchen,” one of the boys demanded, bouncing up and down on his toes. “We have a surprise for you.” All three grabbed his arms and began to tug him that direction. “Just wait till you see who’s here!”

  “No.” Finn seemed to wake up from where he’d been listening half-heartedly to two other guests. “Boys, don’t go in there…”

  But it was too late. They’d already pulled Cale far enough that he stumbled through the doorway into an open kitchen with an enormous granite island. On the other side of the island was Tess, her expression tense and angry as she faced a tall, dark-haired woman wearing a bright red sweater…

  Both women turned as Cale, Willow and the boys entered, and the taller one’s face brightened into a delighted smile.

  “Cale!” she cried, before racing around the island and launching herself into his arms.

  Chapter 12

  Stunned, Cale pulled back and disentangled himself from the clinging embrace of his former fiancée.

  “Marissa,” he said carefully, taking a step away from her and keeping his face as neutral as possible.

  “Cale, I’m back.” She was looking at him as though he were crazy. “Why aren’t you happy to see me?”

  He took another step, until he was standing directly beside Willow, who had remained frozen in place ever since they entered the kitchen. Putting his arm around her shoulders, he deliberately addressed her first.