“What did Mommy get you for Christmas?” Charlotte asked Kalani.
He looked to Lena. “You mean besides a big kiss?”
The girls giggled.
“Your mother gave me a coffee mug and the shirt that I’m wearing right now.” He sat up straight while Lena read the message.
“Coffee before Everything” Lena read. “Because Kalani is a coffee farmer and has fields of coffee bushes.” She reached across the coffee table to a framed photo. And he gave me this.” Lena held up the framed picture of their underwater selfie that Kalani called ‘Our Very First Date.’
Just then, Tammy inserted herself between the girls.
Billy spoke off camera. “Just let the girls talk.” The tone of his voice suggested this wasn’t the first time he’d suggested such a thing.
“Hello, Kalani,” Tammy said snidely. “We saw you in Kona yesterday. Did you and Lena have a fight and then make up?”
“No fights over here.” Kalani looked at Lena and took her hand. “How ‘bout you?”
Lena didn’t wait for Tammy to answer. “Girls, when you come home, Kalani is coming for dinner.”
“Is he your boyfriend?” Audrey leaned in, her face only inches from the camera.
Tammy pulled her back, annoyed.
Lena directed her words to the camera as if telling a secret. “I heard that he loves ice cream and when we invite him for dinner, he’s bringing your favorite flavors.
“I’ll bring ten flavors,” Kalani said. “What are your favorites?”
The girls listed Birthday Cake, Moose Crunch, and Candy Cane to which Kalani declared he “clearly had to get out more.”
Billy peeked his head in to say hello and shot Tammy a look that would have withered Lena when they were married. Tammy pushed her chair back and stormed off. When the call finished, and the girls signed off with kisses blown at the screen, Lena reciprocated and hit the power button. She turned to the man sitting next to her. “Mahalo, again.”
Kalani couldn’t resist teasing her. “Do I have to open an ice cream shop now?”
She smiled at him apologetically. “Did I take it too far? My girls love ice cream.”
He shook his head. “If it helps those girls like me.”
“Oh, they already like you,” she said. “I like you a big bunch for your willingness to be in these calls.”
The back of Kalani’s hand trailed along the side of her cheek. “Not only do I not mind making Tammy mad, but I don’t mind being your boyfriend, or showing up at your house with ten flavors of ice cream.”
She kissed Kalani tenderly, drew back and whispered. “Let’s put Christmas dinner on the table, eat to capacity, then spend the next few days trying to work off the calories.” She winked knowing that tonight they would spend the whole night together. In her bed. Making love. They didn’t need to leave the bedroom until it was time to go to the Shipton brunch the next day.
Kalani grinned, something that did things to Lena she’d never thought she’d feel ever again. “And after this week,” he said seriously, “let’s fly back to Kona and I’ll help you paint that kitchen, a place where I hope to eat lots of meals in our future, including next year’s Christmas dinner with the girls. That will be a very Mele Kalikimaka.”
Just as the timer went off to signal the turkey was ready, Lena was thinking that on this beautiful Kalikimaka night, she felt ready too. Ready for love in her life.
Mele Kalikimaka, indeed.
~ The End ~
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BOOK 8
The Santa Trial
By
Tess Thompson
Neither Ryan nor Rena are thrilled about jury duty. He's a widower with a small daughter who needs him. She's a struggling single woman who can't afford to miss a day's pay. But when they spot each other across the courtroom, suddenly jury duty doesn't seem like such a burden after all. Together with their fellow jurors, they must decide the fate of a defendant who believes he's Santa. It's a seemingly unromantic task for two infatuated strangers, but love could find a way with a little help from the magic of Christmas. Like a stocking stuffed with all the special treats of the season, this Tess Thompson novella is as sweet as sugar plums and as satisfying as a batch of fresh, warm cookies.
COPYRIGHT 2017 TESS THOMPSON
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported License.
Attribution — You must attribute the work in the manner specified by the author or licensor (but not in any way that suggests that they endorse you or your use of the work).
Noncommercial — You may not use this work for commercial purposes.
No Derivative Works — You may not alter, transform, or build upon this work.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to similarly named places or to persons living or deceased is unintentional.
Part One
Hi Santa,
This is Morgan Scott. I’m seven years old and don’t know how to write that great yet, so I’m sending this videotape instead. I’m in my room here in Seattle, Washington. Daddy is still asleep because it’s Saturday, so I borrowed his phone to make this video. I looked up your email address on the internet. I really hope this gets to you. Aunt Rosie says you can’t believe everything you read on the internet.
Could you please consider this my official letter to Santa? If you could ignore the one I sent in asking for the Barbie Townhouse, that would be great. If you could put that one on hold until next year, I’d appreciate it.
What I want this year is very big, maybe the biggest thing any kid has ever asked for—so big that it cannot be made by your elves. In fact, I believe you’ll have to work with Jesus to make it happen. But working together should be easy for you two. You guys have a lot in common. Sometimes I think you might be the same person. When I mentioned that theory to Aunt Rosie, she laughed and said, “You might be onto something, Sweets.”
I would like a new wife for my daddy. My mommy went to heaven when I was just a baby. I don’t remember her, but I have her picture. Daddy doesn’t talk about her much. When I ask questions about her, his face goes all still and his eyes stare out into space like he can’t see what’s right in front of him.
Grammie told me Daddy used to be full of life like my Aunt Rosie. She said he always believed something amazing was about to happen at any moment, but when Mommy died, it was like the spark went out of him. He doesn’t have much fun because he’s so worried about his business and all his employees and taking care of me all by himself. Grammie says it’s not easy for a man alone. Aunt Rosie says a little girl needs a mother.
Aunt Rosie told Daddy he should try online dating. I don’t know exactly what that is, but it sounds like you can just order a date from the internet. That got me thinking. Wouldn’t it be better to go through you? I mean, you’ve been around way longer than the internet. You know everyone. You know who’s naughty and who’s nice. So, you would know just the right woman for us.
As you know, my daddy is on the nice list and deserves a special person in his life to give him his spark back. Since Grandpa died and Daddy had to take over the agency, it’s been a huge responsibility on his shoulders, but he’s never once complained. That says a lot about a person. Daddy treats his employees with respect and pays them well, plus he always gives them a Christmas bonus and a turkey. I think the turkey thing’s kind of weird, but p
eople seem to love it. He’s handsome and smart and a good dresser, mostly thanks to Aunt Rosie. She helps him pick out all his clothes. Also, he gives the best hugs and reads bedtime stories with all the voices and everything. Sometimes I laugh so hard I almost fall out of bed. He always tucks me in and reminds me to say my prayers. Even though he has a big job, he never misses my soccer games or stuff at school. He tells me how much he loves me every single day.
I hope this won’t put me on the naughty list, but the other night I snuck downstairs to listen to Daddy and Aunt Rosie talking when I should’ve been asleep in my bed. I don’t know if you’re aware of this or not, but all the good stuff happens after kids go to bed. Anyway, Daddy and Aunt Rosie were talking on the couch, and Daddy had his head in his hands, and I think he might have been crying which scared me a whole bunch. She said she understood how lonely he was, but that he had to at least try and stay hopeful.
My daddy sacrifices everything for me. Could you work a little of your magic and send Daddy a new wife?
I’ve thought about this a lot and have come up with a list.
One—she must be good with children, especially high energy ones because, apparently, I’m a handful. My teacher, Mrs. Green, told her assistant that I’m too smart for my own good. This might sound like a compliment, but I can assure you it’s not. I ask too many questions and read ahead in our assignments and finish all my work before the other kids. That bothers her for some reason, even though I try to sit still and wait for the others to finish. I’m not as good at sitting still as I am at reading.
Two—if she could be a great cook, that would be awesome. Daddy and I like to eat. A lot. But, between you and me, he’s not too good at cooking. At least we always know the fire alarm works.
Three—I don’t want to sound shallow, but could you make sure she’s pretty? Grammie tells me “pretty is as pretty does,” but Aunt Rosie tells me men are visual, and I want Daddy to notice her right away.
Four—a kind heart. Maybe a little like my best friend, Sierra? She’s one of those girls who thinks of others before herself. Grammie says that’s a really good quality and maybe I should try it more often.
Five—likes dogs. That one’s self-explanatory, given my Christmas wish from last year. Thanks again, by the way. Tinsel’s doing great. She’s the best dog in the whole world. Even Daddy says so.
Six—she doesn’t mind being my mom. I already mentioned that I might not be the easiest kid to love or take of, so this part might be a little tricky. She must love my dad and me too. That’s a tall order. I’ll do my part and try to be extra good and not so precocious. That’s another word Mrs. Green used to describe me. I don’t know what it means, but I’m pretty sure it’s not a good thing.
Seven—loves Daddy for exactly who and what he is. She doesn’t try to change him because she knows he’s perfect for her.
And lastly—so special that my daddy falls hopelessly in love like they do in the movies.
This is a lot to ask. If you can’t do it, I understand. I know there are tons of kids out there who don’t have a nice house or many toys or even enough to eat, and you must look after them first. But if you have a little extra time and a direct line to Jesus, maybe you two could work something out? I promise to be the best girl I can be.
Signing off now. Your friend, Morgan Scott.
Part Two
No one would ask Rena Burke to cast a courtroom drama. But if they did, she would choose an actress exactly like the real Judge Warren. With posture like she carried a book on her head and world-weary expressions that seemed a split-second shy of an eye roll, she was just right. The attorneys, however, were all wrong. They were too young. No older than Rena. She guessed late twenties at best. The defense attorney’s complexion was like a baby just out of a bath—pink and plump. He was way too young to have this kind of work. Not that she would know. Her work was a job, not a profession. She was a potential juror, not a judge or an attorney. She might not even be chosen for the final fourteen.
She was certain she wouldn’t be. Rena had a way of blending into the crowd. The wallflower who dreamt of being asked to dance, but never was. The wedding photographer, but never the bride. Who was she kidding? She wasn’t a wedding photographer any longer. Not since she had to sell her equipment to pay the doctor bills after her appendix had almost burst. Even before then, two wedding gigs didn’t really constitute a thriving business. Instead, she made a paycheck-to-paycheck living as an administrative assistant to a sales team. It wasn’t awful. They treated her well. She loved being needed, and over the past five years she’d made herself indispensable to them. The steady paycheck gave her a small sense of stability, even though it was just barely enough to meet her expenses each month. Regardless, there was this itch inside her to create something beautiful from her talent. Someday she would. Always someday, never today.
Rena glanced at the courtroom clock. She’d missed three hours of pay already and they hadn’t even chosen the first thirty jurors—or whatever number they started with. So much for paying her student loans this month. It was either those or food. On cue, her empty stomach rumbled. Payday was tomorrow, thank God. She was out of almost everything. Hopefully they’d get a break soon. She could eat half her peanut butter sandwich at break and the other half at lunch. Peanut butter had a way of sticking with a person.
What was going on at the office? Probably not much. Her boss always took his family on a ski vacation at Whistler the week before Christmas. Most of the salespeople she supported were either off or working from home, which gave Rena a chance to catch up on tasks she couldn’t get to during busy times. For three years now, she’d done a thorough sweep of the entire office during the week before Christmas. She wore jeans and flats and let her organizational guru run wild. Old marketing material out. New ones organized. Files audited. Equipment cleaned. It was great.
At lunch, she usually went to Nordstrom and wandered around the festive displays and watched people. She imagined their stories: The young woman bought the cashmere coat for her grandmother. Little did she know, her grandmother had bought her the exact same one. On Christmas morning, they would exchange gifts before a roaring fire and laugh. The gentleman with the cane bought his wife a new purse every year. He gave it to her on Christmas Eve before they left for church.
On the way back to the office, she always stopped at the window of Tiffany’s and watched men pick out engagement rings. A ring on Christmas morning. So dreamy.
The scene in front of her was not dreamy. It was downright depressing, without a bit of swoon-worthiness. If this was a film, who would she cast in the movie of this case? The defendant looked like Santa. The Santa, not the fake ones with the ill-fitting beards she saw at the mall when she was a kid. This guy was a dead ringer for the real thing. If there was a real thing, which of course there wasn’t. But this guy—this guy could play Santa in a movie. He had a head of fluffy white hair and a bushy white beard, with a “belly that jiggled like a bowl full of jelly” if ever she’d seen one. His ruddy cheeks rivaled Rudolph’s nose. Even his eyes twinkled. Which was disconcerting. Anyone accused of a serious crime should not be twinkling, smiling, or otherwise looking as if he were greatly enjoying himself, which is exactly what John Smith appeared to be doing.
Rena stifled a yawn. Her eyes burned like grains of sand nestled just under her lids. She couldn’t have gotten more than four hours of sleep last night. The temperatures in Seattle had dipped into the twenties, with clear skies and sunny days that made for frigid nights. She couldn’t afford to heat her apartment and had shivered for hours under her thin blankets. Finally, she’d had the bright idea to put on another layer of pajamas. Then she’d fallen into a dead sleep. When her alarm had gone off, she’d awakened in the frigid room to the scent of pancakes. For a split second, she’d imagined she was home in Idaho and her mother was still alive. But it was the upstairs neighbor. The smell of whatever they’d cooked had drifted into her room. Her mother had been dead for six yea
rs.
A yawn escaped. She hid her mouth behind her hand. If she hadn’t overslept and been so late, she could have stopped for her morning latte like she did on ordinary workdays. Every Christmas, her boss gave her a Starbucks gift card that lasted the entire year. It was a small pleasure—one she looked forward to more than was on the scale of normal behavior. Some mornings the thought of that coffee was the only thing that motivated her to get out of bed. Like the romances she read on the bus on the way into work, it was a reminder that a better life was possible.
White marble and dark wood provided the courtroom with the proper sense of austerity, but it was as cold as her apartment. Perhaps King County couldn’t pay their heating bill either. Rena buttoned her coat and tucked the sleeve’s frayed ends inside. A tattered coat told her story. A story she didn’t want to be told. Broke and lonely in Seattle.
Never mind that, scroogy-scrooge. She must do her civic duty without complaint. It was the least she could do to live in this great country.
Why did they have court cases four days before Christmas? This time of year was busy enough. For other people, anyway. Not her. She didn’t have anyone to shop for, or trees to trim, or cookies to make. Marvin, her goldfish, was oblivious to the holidays. She would give him a little extra food on Christmas morning, though. He was a fish, but he deserved a treat. If she could keep him alive. He hadn’t been his usual frisky self when she’d sprinkled food into his bowl that morning. He was probably cold too.
Judge Warren gave instructions. This was the beginning of the jury selection process. By the end of the day, only fourteen of the fifty would be chosen to serve. The defendant was accused of breaking and entering, and robbery in the second degree. We should count on the trial going until Christmas Eve.
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