Vermont Christmas
Tracey Pedersen
Daring Online Adventures
Vermont Christmas
Copyright © 2019 Tracey Pedersen
All Rights Reserved
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All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, mechanical or electronic, including photocopying, scanning or recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without permission in writing from the author. This includes transmission by email.
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Vermont Christmas is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locations is purely coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized by, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Contents
Chapter One - Cherie
Chapter Two - Brant
Chapter Three - Cherie
Chapter Four - Cherie
Chapter Five - Brant
Chapter Six - Brant
Chapter Seven - Brant
Chapter Eight - Cherie
Chapter Nine - Brant
Chapter Ten - Cherie
Chapter Eleven - Brant
Chapter Twelve - Cherie/Brant
Chapter Thirteen - Cherie/Brant
Chapter Fourteen - Brant
Chapter Fifteen - Cherie
Chapter Sixteen - Brant
Also by Tracey Pedersen
About the Author
Before you go…
Chapter One - Cherie
Greg’s office is on the tenth floor of the reflective glass building before me. On a normal day security would call upstairs and give me access to his level. I forgot about that when I dropped in here on a whim. I haven’t visited Greg at work in years.
I slide my phone from my pocket, but there’s no need to call ahead. His secretary appears beside me, somehow, and ushers me toward the elevator. She’s carrying Chinese food. “Hi there, Cherie. It's nice to see you, again.”
“Thanks, Sheila. I’m just here for a minute to see Greg before I go out for dinner with the girls. Can I assume I’ll find him in his office?”
“Oh, a girl’s night. One of my favourite things. You should invite me next time. I'm totally the life of the party.” She ignores my question about my boyfriend’s whereabouts and punches the button for the top floor.
Greg’s secretary would be an unlikely match for my girls.
She’s kinda fancy.
I’ve never seen her in shoes other than towering stilettos, and I swear every shirt she owns is low cut, flirty, and very sheer. She has an air about her, like she knows a secret, or three. Her confidence is intimidating, even when it’s just the two us stepping into the elevator. If I showed up for dinner with her, my girlfriends would immediately turn inward. Of our group, I’m the most extroverted, and even I’m intimated by Sheila.
I placate her as I watch the floors rush past on the digital display. “I’ll keep that in mind, Sheila. For next time.”
I smile at her and we both look up as the elevated dings. When we exit, she goes left, and I go right, heading for Greg’s office at the end of the corridor. I once asked him why he didn’t move closer to the elevator and he explained he liked the privacy. The corner office gives him a great view of the city, and it’s tucked away, meaning less people wander past during the day and stop for a chat. Not that anyone would be that brave, without a specific reason. If Sheila is intimidating, Greg is the master of stand over tactics.
His office actually takes the space of three separate offices in the corner. That means he has room for his own closet and his own bathroom—which frankly seems like overkill. My own office in a building twenty minutes away is pretty fancy and I earn a teensy bit more than my big-shot accountant boyfriend. I don’t have a bathroom adjacent to my office.
The corridor is dark as I make my way toward his closed door. I can just hear his muffled words and for a moment I hesitate on the threshold and look toward Sheila’s desk. Normally she’d announce my arrival, but she hasn’t come back yet. If he’s on the phone, no problem, I can slip in and wait for him to finish. But if he’s in the middle of a meeting, my interruption could be unwelcome.
I bite the edge of my nail and glance at the clock on the wall. I have to be at the restaurant in half an hour, which means I don’t have much time to spare. I sigh and raise my hand, my quiet knock echoing in the deserted offices. I’ll just make my apologies, say a quick hello, and be on my way.
I open the door, peering through the gap to see the back of his chair facing the door. He’s still talking quietly, and it seems he didn’t hear my knock. At least there’s no meeting. I open the door wide and close it behind me, before settling myself in one of his plush visitor’s chairs.
I examine the wide padding of the armrest. I’ll have to look into getting some of these. They’re comfortable and luxurious. I’ll bet Sheila picked them out. They seem like they’d suit her. He turns in his seat, sees me and raises one finger to promise he’ll only be a minute. I take the opportunity to stare out the window at the city lights and almost exactly a minute later Greg disconnects and gives me his full attention. He rises from his chair and comes around the desk, taking both my hands in a formal manner. It’s the one thing that annoys me about Greg.
Why doesn’t he grab me and spin me around, just once? Maybe a grin from ear to ear could be something different. But no, his style is to be serious and sensible at all times, even when we’re intimate. I can’t remember the last time I heard him giggle or laugh out loud at something. Not even at one of the jokes I tell him every weekend when we’re sharing the newspaper.
He’s more a reserved kind of guy. Always on the right path. Always doing just what’s expected. Happy to have a partner with a career, who’s also a homebody with a side interest of baking. He never fails to compliment my latest cookie experiment, and I know it fills him with pride when I send boxes of them for the office.
Which is why I’m pretty certain there’s an engagement ring in my immediate future. We have a date tomorrow night, and he insisted that it just be us.
I know what that means. The white diamond I’ve dreamed of is about to become a reality.
I have a surprise of my own, though. To celebrate the wedding I’ve been planning in my head forever, I’ve booked us the cutest chalet in the snow in Vermont. The cost was extraordinary, but we’re worth it. It’s been two years since we took a holiday together. Celebrating our engagement three years since we met seems like the perfect excuse for a blowout holiday to me.
“Cherie.” He kisses both my cheeks. So like him.
I laugh at his formal greeting and match it with my most serious voice. “Greg.”
“I thought you had an evening planned that did not include me.” He drops my hands and leans against his desk, his hands stretched out to the sides.
“I do. I wanted to stop in and say hi, though. I didn’t see you this morning, or last night. If we’re not careful we could go all week and not know if the other was still alive.” I grin and press against him, my fingers playing with his tie. It’s a very fancy tie. Not like the ones he usually wears to the office.
He sighs and covers my hand with his, stilling my fingers. “We have dinner planned for tomorrow.”
“I know.” I kiss his mouth. “I’m only here for a minute, just to chec
k in.” He kisses me back, but his mind is elsewhere. Maybe on the call he just took, probably cut short when I interrupted. “I’ll let you get back to work. Don’t wait up, ‘kay?”
I squeeze his hand and slip out of his office without another word, being careful to close the door quietly behind me. If anything makes Greg happy, it’s everyone around him treating his office like his kingdom.
I didn’t get to tell him about our holiday, but that can wait for tomorrow’s dinner. I can’t wait to snuggle in the snow, drink mulled wine, and make sexy new memories in front of the fire.
I’ve never skied before, or even been to the United States, but the thought of that cabin for a few days at Christmas strikes me as very Vermonty…
Chapter Two - Brant
I count the vibrations as I decide whether to answer or ignore the call.
My phone is on a shelf beside the fridge I’m cleaning, and Mum’s picture stares at me from the screen as I consider how many times she’ll call back before the afternoon is over. I’m guessing she won’t leave me in peace for long if I don’t answer today. It is, after all, my thirty second birthday.
After two rings I’ve convinced myself I’m not going to answer. She’ll check the time, realise I must be busy with the cabins and call back later. That’ll give me a few hours before I have to think up a new excuse not to go home.
At four rings I feel mildly bad, since we haven’t spoken in a month. I ignored her call last week, and the one a few days before that. Frenzied wiping of the inside of the fridge doesn’t block out the sound of the vibrations or make me feel like a good son.
I resolve to clean something further from the phone if she doesn’t hang up in the next ten seconds, but Luthor, my caretaker, reaches over my shoulder, swipes the screen to answer, and says loudly, “Hi, Mom!”
I glare at him and he smirks before disappearing into one of the bedrooms. We’re getting the cabin ready for new renters tonight and we only have that bedroom to finish. Now we’ll be delayed by my mother’s gossiping. He can change the sheets on those bunk beds by himself. Serves him right.
My mother doesn’t realise it wasn’t me who answered. I could blame a bad line but again, this probably falls into the bad son basket. “Brant. There you are. I was starting to think you’d been caught in an avalanche.”
“It’s not quite avalanche season, Mum. And you already know there’s barely a risk of them here.”
“I’ve been checking the internet. I know you said they’re rare, but it’s not like there’s never been an avalanche in Vermont. There are plenty of stories about them.”
“I know. I barely ski, though. I’m too busy. You can stop worrying about me. I’m old enough to look after myself.”
“Oh, happy birthday!” Her voice takes on a festive cheer as she, no doubt, remembers the reason for her call. “I can’t believe my baby is so old. Do you know how old that makes me feel?”
“About fifty-three, I’d guess.”
“Oh, we have a comedian in the house. Anyway, happy birthday. What are you doing to celebrate?”
“Luthor and I are going to finish preparing this cabin. Then we’ll get a beer on our way home. I’m having dinner with him and his wife after that.”
“I’m glad you’re not alone on your special day. If you were home, we’d have planned a big party. Have you changed your mind about Christmas, by any chance?”
“Afraid not.”
There’s a silence on the line and I glance at the screen to check if we’ve been disconnected. Unfortunately, the line is still open and the words I dread soon follow.
“It’s been three years, Brant.” My mother’s voice is low, but her disappointment screams down the line at me. “You have to come home sometime.”
“I don’t actually. I have a new visa which allows me to stay another year.”
“Another year?” She’s silent again, and again I feel like dirt.
What kind of son stays away from home for years without a single visit home? A shit one. One who has two sisters so doesn’t feel like his mother is alone in the world. One who suffered a hurt, and even though he’s over it, refuses to return. There’s nothing much for me at home after so long away. I might as well be lonely in paradise than be lonely back home.
If I stay in Vermont much longer I’ll be part of the scenery. I know my way around like a local and I’ve even noticed my accent has changed. If I work on it a little bit I can pass as a local, a theory I plan to test on the tourists this year. Tourists are the only ones who’ll accept it. Any Vermonter worth their salt will see through my attempts. That’s just how they are up here.
“I’ll see what I can do when quiet season comes around, okay?”
“And when is quiet season in Vermont?”
My mother knows me well, and I can’t help but laugh. “I’ll have to get back to you on that. The cabins are heavily booked for most of the year so it’s hard to get away.”
“I can manage the cabins for you,” Luthor says from behind me. He’s using his loud voice again, so mum hears every word.
“Oh, that would be amazing, Luthor. He needs a break don’t you think?”
“He sure does. You should see him. He’s skin and bones. Pasty. He barely goes o—”
“Enough.” I shove Luthor sideways. “Just need to wipe the stove down and we’re done.” Then I turn my attention back to mum. She’s prattling in my ear and I spend the next few minutes calming her down before I can convince her to hang up. “Okay. Bye. Talk soon.” Luthor snorts as I hang up. “Thanks for that, Dick. She’ll believe anything you tell her, you know.”
My six-foot-three caretaker shrugs and tucks the cleaning cloths under the sink. He steps back and appraises the now-sparkling kitchen, then turns to me. “Maybe you should get yourself home and give her what she wants.”
“You trying to get rid of me?”
“Not forever. But it has been a while and you could use the break.”
I frown. “I take plenty of breaks. I was in New York last week.”
“I mean trips home. To reconnect with your family. Not sightseeing around here.”
“I’ve been thinking about it. After Christmas I’ll confirm dates with you. A January visit is what I’m thinking. I’m not telling my mother, though. I want it to be a surprise, and she’ll call me every day wanting an update if she even gets a sniff of my plans.”
Luthor nods as we move toward the door. “January works. Why is she so obsessed with avalanches, anyway? Even I know you’re way too scared of falling off the mountain to put yourself in a risky situation.”
I nod and say, “I can’t seem to get that across to her. She found an article when I first announced I was coming here, and she’s been fixated on it from that day.” I snort. “And you’re right. As if I’d find myself up on a mountain in a risky situation. I check conditions multiple times before I drive across a snowy bridge.”
“Yeah. And we have all those covered bridges. They should be the one thing you’re not worried about.” He pats my shoulder. “Maybe in your fourth year you’ll get over that little issue you have.”
“Maybe. Can’t imagine it, though. I probably get it from my mother, but I’ve read so many books where people die in the snow after falling off a mountain somehow, that it kind of sticks.”
“You don’t need to tell me. I see your knuckles turn white every time we drive down in the truck to get supplies. Meredith and I joke about you most nights.”
I lean into a half-bow. “I’m honoured to be at the centre of your world. Knowing Meredith thinks about me every night makes my insides tingle.” I say the words with a waggle of my eyebrows, and a smirk, and Luthor shakes his head.
“I deserved that.”
“You did.” I push him toward the door before I give the cabin a last glance. Everything looks right and I take a deep breath in the warm air, before I pull the door closed and the crisp mountain infiltrates my lungs. It’s a sunny day, but it’s still freezing. Lucky I only
have to drive a mile to the refuge of my own warm home.
Chapter Three - Cherie
I press the button for the elevator over and over, but it appears to be stuck on the ground floor. The red G stares at me from the top of the silver door. I check my watch and see I have plenty of time. Five minutes is all I spent with Greg, before I slipped away for the evening. He has such a heavy workload that he often doesn’t spare me more than a few minutes for chatter, as he calls it. Tomorrow night is just what we need to reconnect after a busy few weeks.
I jiggle the button again and wonder if the elevator shuts down after a certain time at night. I hope I don’t have to take the stairs.
I can’t wait to surprise Greg with our overseas holiday plans. Even more reason he needs to hurry up and ask me over dinner to marry him. I hope he doesn’t string it out all night. I want to spend the whole night sharing my research for our trip.
As I’m thinking about the best shade of white for my dream wedding dress, I remember Greg’s cat is out of food. He's particular in his tastes, a little like Greg, and the housekeeper reported the food he likes wasn’t available when she shopped for it this week. Greg will need to stop off at the specialty pet store on his way home. He hates it when the cat nags him for food, and after missing his morning snack our furry friend is bound to be vocal about his needs.
The lift still hasn't left the ground floor, so I turn back and make my way through the darkened work areas again. I'm still several feet from the door, now mindful of the time, when I hear a new sound. One I hardly recognize.
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