Christmas Promise
A Contemporary Romance Novella
Kaylie Singleton
Copyright © 2019 Creative Brand Ventures, LLC. All rights reserved.
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, organizations, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, organizations or persons, living or dead, is fictionalized or coincidental.
This book is a Red Theory Romance production. For inquiries regarding this book, please email [email protected].
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author or publisher, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Contents
Prologue
1. A Partridge in a Pear Tree
2. Two Turtle Doves
3. Three French Hens
4. Four Calling Birds
5. Five Gold Rings
6. Six Geese a-Laying
7. Seven Swans a-Swimming
8. Eight Maids a-Milking
9. Nine Ladies Dancing
10. Ten Lords a-Leaping
11. Eleven Pipers Piping
12. Twelve Drummers Drumming
Epilogue
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Red Theory Romance
Prologue
Christmas Eve has always been my favorite night of the year. In my eyes, December 25th comes second best, even though it’s the main event. Sure, the turkey tastes great, the gifts are amazing, spending time with the family is heart-warming, and getting a little drunk on mulled wine tops the day off nicely, but there’s something about Christmas Eve that is even better.
I always work on Christmas Eve. I’ve had the same job at my local supermarket for the last three years, and I volunteer for the shift. Most people are desperate to get home to their families, which is totally understandable. But for me, it’s double pay, and I love the feeling of coming home after a day of hard work to a warm apartment and new fluffy pajamas.
My boyfriend and I have a tradition, ever since we were sixteen and falling in love for the first time. Tonight, we’ll both pretend to be surprised that we’ve bought each other new sleepwear for the occasion. We’ll kiss under the mistletoe he’s hung over the doorway to our bedroom at midnight, just as we always have. The warmth and love of the tradition make me smile, even after a long day behind the tills. There’s nothing better than knowing the next day is due to be full of joy and merriment. Christmas really is the most wonderful time of the year.
My shift has finished now. I’m the last out of the store, long after my other colleagues have waved goodbye and wished me a Merry Christmas, but I don’t even mind today. A not-too-glamorous job isn’t the end of the world. I have so much to look forward to over the next few days, and I can’t wait to enjoy it to the fullest.
I didn’t fancy navigating the subway tonight, so I’m treating myself to a taxi ride, resting my face against the cold window and making cheerful small talk with the driver. Normally it’s busy on the roads of New York on Christmas Eve as people attempt to cram in last-minute shopping, but it’s almost as though the streets cleared just for me in the warmth of my taxi. Everything feels like it’s perfect.
I’m home twenty minutes earlier than planned. I guess it’ll be a nice surprise for David. We’re childhood sweethearts. Everyone told us it wouldn’t last, but I guess seven years on, we’re proving everyone wrong. As I walk up the five flights of stairs to our apartment, I’m smiling so much that my face is hurting. I can’t wait for the warmth of his arms, something I seem to have been lacking a little lately. I can’t wait to put our worries on the back burner and enjoy tonight.
I fumble for my keys as I approach our door. I wonder if he’s remembered to pick up our mince pies from the bakery and if he’s poured me a glass of brandy, as is the tradition between us. Sometimes, I worry that he doesn’t care as much for all these traditions as I do, but maybe tonight, he’ll prove me wrong. Maybe all the little doubts I’ve been having will just fade away and—
I stop dead in the middle of the corridor. There’s a woman in my doorway. David is holding her face in his hands, whispering to her frantically. I duck in someone else’s doorway, my heart racing like it’s never raced before. Who is she? What is she doing at my apartment on Christmas Eve?
Why is he holding her desperately, the way he used to hold me?
“You have to go,” he hisses as though his life depends on this woman disappearing as quickly as possible.
It’s hard not to notice that she’s beautiful—cropped blond curls, red lipstick, wide eyes that are full of emotion. She looks a little like I used to when I was younger.
How do you expect her to leave when you’re holding her like that, David?
“When will I see you again?” she asks.
His hands slide from her face, down her skinny arms to her petite waist.
“Soon,” he says.
It sounds like a promise. It’s the voice he uses when he assures me we’re doing okay together. When he tells me he loves me.
When he lies through his fucking teeth.
I watch him kiss her while my lungs collapse in on themselves. I clutch my stomach. I feel physically sick. I’m watching my entire world crumble before my eyes. Years of trust dissolving in an instant. I hardly notice as I sink to my knees, but when I let out a loud sob, the happy couple springs apart, turning to me in horror. The woman glances once at David and then makes a run for it, scooting past me as though I’m an inconvenience to her on her journey. As if she’s not the one knowingly sleeping with a taken man.
I feel him touch me before I see him. I’ve scrunched my eyes closed and pressed my hands up to them. I don’t want to see him, and I certainly don’t want him to touch me. I move away from him, shaking my head as I open my eyes and stumble toward the apartment. Our apartment, full of so many of our memories. Now, all I can picture is her, smearing her presence all over my perfect life. How did I let this happen? How did I allow myself to think I could be this happy?
“Hazel…please listen to me.”
“Don’t even bother,” I say, entering the apartment with flushed cheeks and anger bubbling inside me. How dare he wreck everything so carelessly. How dare he think that this can ever be solved. I sob as I see our presents neatly wrapped under the tree. I kick the Christmas tree in disgust, watching it topple over before heading through to our bedroom.
“Hazel, you’re being so overdramatic… Can’t you sit down and talk to me?”
I shut the door behind me and bolt it, listening to him pathetically trying to talk to me from behind it. I cry as I rip handfuls of his clothes from their hangers and throw them in a suitcase. He has to go. Why should I have to leave, after all? I’m the one who made this our home. I worked hard to make it somewhere we’d want to come back to after a long day. I feel sick at the thought of living here alone, surrounded by evidence of the things he’s done, but what else can I do?
I almost can’t believe I’m doing this. I thought I would marry him someday. Before this, I would have done anything for him. He was my life, and now I have no idea what to care about anymore.
Midnight hits. He’s gone now, and so has my dignity. I’m sitting alone, drinking wine straight from the bottle. I threw the mince pies in the bin, but I can still smell them. It’s sickening. I take another swig of wine and try to forget the moment I threw David’s new pajamas at him as he retreated down the corridor with his belongings. He didn’t even put up much of a fight, and that’s how I know he’s been wasting my time for the past seven years.
&nb
sp; Does he love me at all? Did he ever?
Now, the place feels so empty. He left a lot behind, expensive things that we bought together, but my eyes are drawn to the place where his favorite mug used to sit beside our toaster. I can’t help noticing the marks on the wall where his diploma used to hang proudly. He’s taken our welcome mat—an ugly brown feature that I always hated, but I feel tears stinging my eyes now that it’s gone.
Did I see the signs? Did I notice that he’s been spending a lot more time away from me than with me? Did I get a sense that he was living a lie, hiding something from me when I thought we were fine? I don’t know. My head is a mess.
But I know one thing for sure. I have no doubt in my mind. This is over between him and me.
And so is my love of Christmas.
1
A Partridge in a Pear Tree
Four years later…
Six o’clock in the morning is a time all too familiar to me these days. My first alarm goes off at five to the hour, and I let myself pretend for a few moments that I can just drift back to sleep. Then my second alarm blares, seemingly louder than the first, and I sigh, forcing my feet to swing over the side of the bed. My toes feel the cold of the mountain lodge the second they leave the comfort of my duvet, and I shudder. Today is particularly icy. It also happens to be Christmas Day.
But Christmas Day doesn’t mean too much to me these days. As a chalet girl, my duties are still very much in place while half the world celebrates. I’m working for the entirety of the holiday season, which suits me just fine. I don’t celebrate Christmas anymore.
I dress quickly in my warmest clothing. Colorado at this time of year is pretty chilly, especially in the mountains. A few times, I’ve been skiing here and felt as though my nose was about to drop off from the cold. Since this is my third year in the job, though, I’m kind of used to it by now.
There’s a lot to do. It’s quarter past six, and none of the other chalet girls are up yet. I sigh and knock loudly on each of their doors. I’ve been sharing this lodge with these girls for several weeks already, but they still seem to find ways to irritate me anew. I keep my head down, get on with my work, and enjoy the slopes in my spare time, but the others here spend half their time drinking and entertaining the younger guests. I shouldn’t be mad at them for that. I wish I could be that happy and carefree. But since I kicked David out of my life, I’ve found it hard to enjoy the winter months at all, even in one of the most beautiful locations in the world.
Since it’s Christmas Day, I decide to cut the girls some slack, and I head out alone to start the day. I head out in the cable car to pick up fresh-baked bread and pastries from below the mountain and then head back up just as the sun is rising. It’s a part of the day I always love. With splashes of orange and yellow filling the morning sky, it’s a nice break from the tranquil, but bare landscape. It always makes me want to rush for my camera and take some photographs, but I don’t utilize my hobbies much these days.
This morning is particularly lovely, and I can’t help feeling privileged to see this sight while everyone else is tucked in bed. It makes me feel peaceful, even on my least favorite day of the year. I breathe in the smell of the pastries and count myself as one of the luckiest people on Earth. I’m not stuck spending this day performing dumb traditions or lying in bed next to a heartbreaker.
I’m fine. I really am.
When I get back to the top of the mountain, the other chalet girls have risen from their beds and are heading for the main chalet. We need to serve up breakfast before we can do anything else, and it’s the part of the day I’m dreading the most.
From experience, I know how cheerful everyone is on Christmas morning at this ski resort. They drink prosecco with their breakfast, laugh louder than normal, and pull Christmas crackers from England before the sun has even fully risen in the sky. It’s hard to be around people who seem so undoubtedly happy—because it’s a stark reminder that I’m not. Of course, I’ll smile and pretend to join in with the festive cheer. Just because I hate the holidays, it doesn’t mean I’m going to ruin it for everyone else. But at the same time, I’ll be glad when today is over.
I let the other girls head into the kitchen to start on the cooked breakfast while I set the large table. There are twelve people going to be crowded around it very soon—a large family who come every year to stay at this lodge. This is the third year in a row that I’ve been helping for them, so they know me a lot better than the other chalet girls. Last year, they gave me gifts and tried to get me involved, which was a lovely gesture, but it still couldn’t make me feel happy.
As I’m finishing up with the table, one of the guests enters the room. I suppress a groan. It’s James, one of the guests from the large family. He’s around my age, but we couldn’t be more different, as far as I can see. His whole being exudes posh boy vibes. He always wears white shirts under colored sweaters and has perfectly ironed trousers. His hair is dark and tousled, but in that pristine way that some boys have. He has the calm coolness of a rich boy who never has to worry about a thing, and despite myself, I feel attracted to him.
“Merry Christmas, Hazel,” he says softly in his fruity British accent.
I’ve never quite gotten used to his accent; he sounds as though he could be related to the royal family, though he’s insisted indignantly on many occasions that not all London-born rich kids are a relative of the Queen. I grimace back at him. He’s the only guest who knows my hatred of Christmas.
“Merry Christmas, James…I guess,” I mutter.
Since I’ve known him for a while, I don’t particularly feel the need to suck up to him or pretend to be enthused about this day. He grins at my annoyance, sitting down on the sofa in front of the fire and settling his sketchpad on his knee. He never goes anywhere without it. He glances at me for a moment, his amber eyes full of mischief.
“You don’t even have an ounce of Christmas cheer, do you?” he says, his gaze returning to his sketchpad in amusement.
I try not to scowl. He might be good-looking, but he’s also totally annoying.
“I don’t see why I should. We’re all told that it’s a special day and that we should all feel good as a result, but what if you wake up in a bad mood? What if you’re having a bad hair day and it gets you down?”
“I can’t relate. I never have a bad hair day,” James says smugly without looking up. “Besides, you control how you feel. You are in charge of how much you let things affect you.”
I don’t have a response to that. I know he’s only playing around, but it’s true that I made the decision to hate everything about Christmas. But I just couldn’t allow myself to love it any longer after David tainted every good memory I ever had of it. He was such a huge part of my celebrations from a young age, and now that he’s gone, it feels impossible to be excited about the big day.
“Well, it’s just not for me, okay?”
James puts down his pencil and looks up at me in genuine horror. “Is that your big excuse for not liking Christmas? It’s not for you?”
“Sure.”
James shakes his head and stands up, abandoning his drawing tools on the sofa. He starts following me around the table like a puppy as I finish up preparations.
“Are you insane? Don’t you realize how much you’re missing out on? The mince pies, the yule log, the turkey, the stuffing…”
“Are you just listing foods right now?”
“…the fairy lights, the presents, the roaring fire! Come on, Hazel, you’re telling me that none of that appeals to you?”
It used to, I think to myself.
“Will you just let it go? I won’t tell you how to live your life if you stop telling me how to live mine.”
James sighs, leaning against the table. If he messes up my place settings now, I might go insane.
He’s not going to let up. “I won’t settle for this,” he says. “I can’t stand the thought of someone hating this day for no good reason.” He grins at me. “Lo
ok, I go home on the sixth of January. The day after the twelve days of Christmas end. Give me that time… I’ll convince you that Christmas is good.”
I laugh. “Oh, will you now? How exactly do you plan to do that, James?”
He chews his lip. “I’m not certain on the details yet…but I will, I swear.”
I shake my head with a wry smile and turn to him. “Well, give it your best shot. I’m interested to see how this will end.”
He smiles back at me. His eyes skim over me and it feels as gentle as a caress, as exhilarating as a rollercoaster, as warm as the roaring fire in the room with us. His eyes glimmer with the excitement of the challenge.
“As am I.”
2
Two Turtle Doves
As I wake this morning, the first thing I notice is the weight of Christmas being lifted from my chest. The pain that the day always brings me feels less immediate, more like the distant ache of an old heartbreak.
Yesterday was hard for me. I can’t deny that. Watching James and his family enjoying themselves around the massive dinner table, exchanging gifts and comparing their ugly Christmas sweaters, felt like being homesick for a home I’ve never had. I’ve never been close to my family, and when I left my parents behind at seventeen, David became the one person who I considered close enough to be family. It’s part of the reason the holiday season hurts so much. I felt a longing to be a part of it, but each time James and his family tried to get me involved, I withdrew. I knew I didn’t belong with them, as much as I wished they were a part of me.
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