Holly Pointe & Mistletoe : A heartwarming holiday romance

by Cindy Kirk

  Holly Pointe & Mistletoe

  Cindy Kirk

  Copyright © Cynthia Rutledge 2018

  All rights reserved.

  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, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Chapter One

  Eight days ago Stella Carpenter swore off caffeine. This morning she instructed the barista to add a second shot of expresso to the grande coffee she ordered.

  She’d quit because she didn’t like being dependent on anything. Or anyone. Excluding, of course, her good friend Tasha, on whose couch she was currently crashing every night.

  Shifting impatiently from one foot to the other, Stella pulled out her phone. She had time to wait. Being summoned to your former boss’s office demanded a little liquid courage.

  The middle-aged man behind the counter held up a cup and cast a glance in her direction. “Stella.”

  Until she’d been reduced in force from the Miami Sun Times three months ago, Stella had visited this particular freestanding kiosk daily. Eduardo had been a barista at this stand since she’d started her job two years earlier.

  “It’s good to see you again.” His voice was as warm as the morning sun. “Are you working out of the office today?”

  Her heart lurched as she lifted the cup from his hand. “Just came in for a meeting.”

  Stella stuffed a bill into the tip jar, then headed in the direction of the beautiful art deco building housing the Miami Sun Times.

  Even though it was nine a.m. and almost Thanksgiving, heat already rose from the sidewalk, and the hairs on the back of her neck were moist. In southern Florida, there was no hoping for snow on Christmas. When her parents had relocated the family to Miami when she was in her teens, she’d quickly discovered that hot and sunny was the forecast no matter what the time of year.

  Stella’s heels clicked on the glittering sidewalk as she entered the building that housed the city’s largest newspaper. For the past two years, she’d been a reporter and—in a pinch—a photographer and videographer.

  Now her job and those of many she’d worked with were gone, replaced by freelancers.

  Cool air rushed over her as she crossed the marble floor to the security station. Once cleared, she took the ornate bronze-decorated elevator to the office of Jane Myers, the newspaper’s managing editor. The early-morning text from Jane had sent Stella’s hopes soaring.

  Freelancing had fallen short of paying her bills. It was at times like this that Stella wished her parents hadn’t put her inheritance in a trust she couldn’t touch until she turned thirty.

  She’d been lucky her lease was up. Her first action had been to let her apartment go. The past three months, she’d been bunking on Tasha’s couch.

  Tasha’s roommate had started to grumble about having another person in their small apartment. Last week Tasha had brought down the hammer, telling her she needed to be out by the first of the year. Stella understood, though she wasn’t sure where she would go.

  Thankfully, she had over a month to figure it out.

  When the elevator doors opened onto the fifth floor, Stella stepped out and paused for a long drink of the steaming coffee.

  Larissa, Jane’s personal assistant, barely gave Stella time to push back her perspiration-dampened hair before ushering her into Jane’s office.

  Her boss’s dark-brown hair was pulled back into a severe chignon. The pale-blue eyes Jane fixed on Stella were firm and direct. The red “cheaters” hanging by an eyeglass chain around her neck added a bit of whimsy, but there was nothing whimsical about Jane’s no-nonsense gaze.

  “Thank you for coming in on such short notice.” Jane rounded the desk. Her stern expression softened infinitesimally.

  Stella relaxed when Jane finally smiled but didn’t let down her guard. “I was surprised to hear from you.”

  Jane leaned against her desk as if trying to ease the formal air of the meeting.

  “It’s been a while since we’ve talked.” Jane inclined her head. “Do you have plans for Christmas?”

  Whatever the reason for this unexpected meeting with the newspaper’s managing editor, Stella knew it wasn’t to discuss holiday plans. She found it odd that Jane was asking about Christmas when they’d yet to get through Thanksgiving. “No plans. I’m hoping to pick up a freelance job or two.”

  Something flickered in Jane’s eyes, an emotion Stella couldn’t interpret. Another woman might have launched into a speech about a balanced life. Those words would never make it past Jane’s lips. No one was more of a workaholic than her former boss.

  Stella inclined her head. “What about you?”

  “I plan to have a few friends over. An eclectic group of Miami’s movers and shakers. These men and women know where all the bodies are buried. Figuratively speaking, of course. I’m hoping to dig up some juicy kernels.”

  The comment didn’t surprise Stella. Last year Jane had been brought in to shore up the Sun Times’ bottom line. Immediately after her arrival, the paper began focusing on sensationalized news instead of serious, multisource journalism.

  Stella hadn’t liked the switch. She would always be grateful she’d been able to work for several newspapers that valued high-quality journalism.

  To be fair, the Miami Sun Times wasn’t the only paper doing what it could to set itself apart. Most were doing all they could to attract readers and increase sales.

  “So, Stella. You said you’re looking to pick up more freelance jobs before the holidays. Does that mean work has been slow?”

  Her assessment caught Stella off guard, as did her expression, which struck Stella as something between concerned sibling and hungry wolf. “Well, no, not exactly—”

  “Because I know how hard freelancing can be. Especially with so many journalists competing for work.”

  Hm, Stella thought, wolf it is.

  “I have an assignment for you.” Jane straightened, her tone all business. “It will involve travel and approximately six weeks away from Miami. All expenses will be covered.”

  Before Stella could comment or ask any questions, Jane continued. “If the end product meets with my satisfaction, there may be a staff position available for you starting the first of the year.”

  Stella kept her expression impassive despite the urge to jump up and do a happy dance. A chance to be back on staff was a dream come true. She’d spent the past three months sending out resumes all over the country but had yet to receive a single bite. “I’m intrigued. Tell me more.”

  Jane gestured to the guest chair before rounding the large modern desk to sit behind it, formalizing the interaction. Her boss folded her long, elegant fingers and rested them on the shiny onyx.

  “Holly Pointe, Vermont, was recently recognized as the Christmas capital of the USA. Not just commercially, the people have been rated as the kindest in the country. The ‘capital of Christmas kindness.’” Jane’s sarcastic tone told Stella just what she thought of the honor. “I’m interested in doing a feature on the town.”

  Stella experienced a surge of excitement. This could be fun. Since her parents had passed away, holidays had been especially lonely times. Tasha was spending Christmas with her family in Jacksonville. She’d invited Stella to come along, but
she’d gone the previous year and had felt like a fifth wheel. “I love heartwarming features, especially at holiday time.”

  “I don’t believe you understand.” Jane leaned forward, her eyes cool and assessing. “I’m not interested in heartwarming fluff. Positivity doesn’t sell nearly as well as drama. I want an exposé of the town’s underbelly. Whatever dirt there is, I wanted it dug up and in my inbox by December 24.”

  Stella hesitated. An infinitesimal second, but enough for Jane’s eyes to turn to ice.

  “I’m trying to help you, Stella, so I offered this to you first. But if this isn’t your cup of tea, it’s no problem. Juliet is also interested in coming back full time. I’m sure she’d be happy to take this on if you pass.”

  Though Jane offered no promises, Stella knew that if she delivered, she’d get her job back. Something told her that if she didn’t—or if she turned down this assignment—she could also kiss any freelance work good-bye.

  “I won’t disappoint you.” Stella met Jane’s steady gaze. “When do I start?”

  The day before Thanksgiving, Stella left for Holly Pointe. Instead of flying, she decided to drive the seventeen hundred miles to northern Vermont.

  Traffic was heavy, but once Thanksgiving hit, the congestion eased significantly. Everyone had likely reached their destinations and were enjoying turkey and cranberry salad with their relatives.

  That night, Stella ordered room service and researched Holly Pointe. She found numerous articles extolling the warmth and friendliness of the town’s inhabitants as well as all its wonderful traditions.

  She didn’t have traditions. Not anymore.

  Two years earlier, on a long holiday weekend just like this one, her parents had been killed by a drunk driver. Stella had been living in Gainesville at the time, working for the newspaper there, and her parents had driven up to celebrate Thanksgiving with her. They’d all been in high spirits because earlier that week she’d accepted a position with the Sun Times.

  “We’ll be able to celebrate Christmas in Miami,” her mother had happily declared as she’d slipped into the car after another hug.

  Stella could still see their smiles and her father’s thumbs-up. By the time the sun had set that evening, they were dead.

  It had been her work at the Sun Times that had gotten her through those hard days after the loss. Then she’d lost that, too.

  Stella closed her laptop and flipped off the lights. Just like she had back then, she would focus on the work. Soon she would have her job and her life back.

  The next morning, Stella completed her drive to Holly Pointe, arriving just before lunchtime. She snagged a parking space on Birch Road, which, according to Google Maps was the town’s main street and the sight of last week’s Snowman Parade. Stella stepped from her SUV. Her eyes were immediately drawn to the imposing courthouse at the far end of the roadway.

  Built of brick and stone, the late nineteenth-century structure reminded Stella of a church more than a municipal building. It had rounded arches, endless gingerbread accents, and even a bell tower.

  The buildings flanking both sides of the historic downtown district were equally impressive. Quaint storefronts boasted awnings and holiday lights. Brightly colored street-pole banners already touted the upcoming Christmas season.

  Of course, for all Stella knew, those banners could be up year-round, considering that she was now in the Christmas capital of the USA. The thought made her smile as she reached the curb and turned in the direction of the coffee shop half a block away.

  Once she had pulled into the parking space, she’d taken off her driving shoes and slipped on red heels. The way she saw it, there was no reason to be unfashionable simply because she was now in the boonies.

  Stella strode quickly, eager for that first jolt of caffeine. She never saw the patch of ice. One second she was moving swiftly, enjoying the crisp air, the next her arms were whipping the air like windmills. Despite her excellent sense of balance, she could feel herself falling.

  Please don’t let me break anything, was her last thought before strong arms wrapped around her.

  Once she was steady, the man immediately released his hold. But she’d been close in his arms long enough to catch the enticing aroma of his cologne. The woodsy, masculine scent of sandalwood and cedar fit this man to perfection.

  At five foot ten, Stella considered herself tall, especially with three-inch heels. This guy topped her by a good two inches. Like her, he looked to be closing in on thirty. He wore a well-cut wool coat and had eyes the color of Venezuelan chocolate.

  She realized she must have been staring when his gaze turned puzzled.

  “Are you okay?” His voice held a hint of the New England accent she’d been prepared to hear.

  “I am now, thanks to you.” Stella extended her hand. “Stella Carpenter.”

  “Sam Johnson.” He gave her hand a perfunctory shake.

  This time it was his turn to stare, but not at her. His gaze dropped to the small patch of ice on the otherwise-clear sidewalk. Dark brows pulled together in a frown.

  A man striding down the sidewalk stopped when Sam held up a hand and motioned him over.

  “Something wrong, Sam?”

  Stella noticed the man’s name—Nathan—was stitched on his coat, just below the City of Holly Pointe logo.

  Sam gestured with his head toward Stella then pointed to the ice. “Nate, this woman slipped and nearly fell. Can you please make sure this is taken care of right away?”

  “I’ll do it myself,” Nate assured him.

  “Thanks. I appreciate it.” Sam’s gaze returned to her, and Stella waited for him to continue the conversation. Perhaps ask where she was from and what she was doing in Holly Pointe.

  Before he could say a word, his phone buzzed. He pulled it from his pocket and read the message.

  “You’re okay?” he asked again.

  “I am.”

  He smiled. “Have a good day.”

  Puzzled, she watched him leave. He hadn’t flirted, not one little bit. She hadn’t noticed a wedding ring on his hand, not that the absence of the symbol guaranteed that the guy wasn’t married. Stella thought of her ex-boyfriend Tony and others of his ilk who frequented the South Beach clubs.

  She’d learned early on the necessity of “trust but verify.”

  Nate was now crouched low, scraping the last bit of ice from the concrete with what looked to be a putty knife. He, too, had obviously dismissed her.

  After scanning the crowded sidewalk ahead for any other hidden dangers, Stella resumed her trek. On her way to the coffee shop, she passed Dough See Dough, a bakery that emitted the most amazing scents, and Memory Lane, an antique store that boasted a display of vintage Christmas toys for children. Across the street sat Rosie’s Diner, and since it was lunchtime, the place was packed.

  Stella reached the Busy Bean just as a group of college-age men and women spilled out onto the sidewalk, laughing and talking. The last of the herd, a gangly boy in his early twenties, held the door open for her.

  Smiling her thanks, Stella stepped into the beehive, savoring the warmth and the smell of cinnamon and coffee.

  The place was already decorated for Christmas, with everything from coffee-bean wreaths and ornaments hanging from ribbons wrapped around a candy-cane rod in the window to a cookies-and-coffee-for-Santa display.

  Stella spotted the man who’d saved her from a fall sitting with a gorgeous woman with a sleek mane of blonde hair. His total focus was on the blonde and their conversation.

  At least, she thought, he could smile. She hadn’t seen a hint of it when he’d been with her. Shoving Sam Johnson from her thoughts, Stella studied the board behind the counter.

  When she reached the front of the line, she added a scone to her coffee order. Several minutes later, she carried the mug and the scone to an empty table in the middle of the dining area.

  Her plan was to eat and drink slowly and listen to the conversations of those seated at nearby
tables. To make it appear as if she weren’t eavesdropping, Stella pretended to scroll through her email.

  “I asked Dakota to come home with me for Thanksgiving.” The young woman—she couldn’t have been more than twenty—heaved a heavy sigh. “She turned me down.”

  “Her loss.” The friend with the pierced eyebrow lifted her cup. “More men for us.”

  Or, “more boys,” Stella thought with a smile. While she’d keep one ear open in case they started talking about something interesting, the girls appeared too young to give her the type of information she sought.

  Instead, Stella tuned her ears to a nearby four-top where three women who appeared close to her own age chatted.

  “It is a problem.” The redhead sighed. “It’s not like you can just pull a social media photographer out of thin air.”

  “Especially not at the last minute,” the brunette with startling green eyes confirmed.

  “Have you told Lucy yet?” The quiet, thoughtful way the woman with the soft-brown hair spoke reminded Stella of Tasha. That was where the similarity to her BFF ended.

  Tasha was bold and vibrant, with a hint of the devil behind her impudent blue eyes. This woman wore glasses and very little makeup, and her hair lay coiled at her neck in an intricate braid.

  Oddly, the understated look made Stella take a second glance. Or maybe it was the confidence that told everyone, including Stella, that this woman was in charge.

  “I haven’t mentioned any of this to Lucy. When she walked in, I was on the phone with Kinsley. She was calling from the ER.” The brunette sighed. “How do you fall and break both elbows? I mean, one would be bad enough.”

  “I feel so sorry for her.” The redhead’s voice deepened with sympathy. “Not only because she’s hurting, but she was really looking forward to tackling this job.”

  “We’ll find someone else.” The one Stella had dubbed the leader spoke with more confidence than she likely felt.

  “Santa arrives tomorrow,” the redhead announced.

  “I know when he arrives, Melinda.” The leader’s tone held the merest hint of exasperation. “If I have to, I’ll take the pictures myself.”