The Clause in Christmas
A Poppy Creek Novel
Rachael Bloome
Secret Garden Press
Copyright © 2019 by Rachael Bloome
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.
For my Husby,
I look forward to creating many more traditions together in the years to come.
Contents
Letter From the Author
A Special Note
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Epilogue
Bonus Story
Acknowledgments
Edible Kindness Recipe
Christmas Calendar
Book Club Questions
A Season of Hope
Letter From the Author
* * *
Dear Friends,
Thank you for joining me on this journey to Poppy Creek. The town and its quirky, kind hearted characters are dear to my heart, inspired by people and places I love. I hope you’ll feel at home here and visit again soon!
The idea for this story first came to me two Christmases ago, when a friend commented on how many traditions my husband and I celebrate during the holidays. Many carried over from our families and some we started ourselves.
I’d love to hear some of your family traditions! You can share them in our Facebook Group, The Secret Garden Club. And maybe discover some new ways to celebrate the Most Magical Time of the Year.
Blessings & Blooms,
A Special Note
* * *
Christmas is a special time of year. The beauty and magic spread throughout every aspect of our lives, from the sights, smells, and sounds to things we touch and taste. I hope to capture this immersive experience in my novel. Which means I’ve included all sorts of extra goodies for you!
For the full reading experience, be sure to explore the book page on my website. I’ve added a playlist with a corresponding song for each chapter. You can also download your very own copy of the Christmas Calendar to follow along with Cassie!
For a visual treat, follow me on Pinterest where you’ll find photos showcasing everything from my inspiration for the cottage to character outfits to recipes.
And speaking of recipes, I’ve included a scrumptious one in the back of the book, so you can taste the very same fudge Cassie delivered to someone special for her Random Act of Kindness.
I hope you enjoy these festive extras!
Now, happy reading!
Chapter 1
Cassie Hayward hated Christmas.
Candy canes made her cringe.
Santa Claus made her shudder.
And tinsel… don’t even get her started on the lowliest of holiday decorations.
To Cassie, arriving in the quaint, postcard-perfect town of Poppy Creek days before December was akin to stepping foot on the studio lot of a holiday-themed horror flick.
Murder in Mayberry: Poison in Plum Pudding.
Chuckling at her fictitious movie title, Cassie clutched her insulated thermos filled with life-inducing caffeine. She’d savored every sip of the earthy, exotic Sumatra blend while she drove the three-plus hours northeast from her apartment in San Francisco. Now, huddled against the winter morning chill, Cassie relished the piping-hot liquid as it warmed her from the inside out. Plus, her favorite beverage had a special way of grounding her, providing a sense of calm in less than ideal circumstances.
And being in Poppy Creek definitely qualified as less than ideal.
Even if it was technically her hometown.
As her heeled ankle boots tapped against the cobblestone sidewalk, she tried to ignore the extravagant holiday displays crowding the shop windows of the Western-style shiplap buildings. But the further she walked down Main Street, the more claustrophobic she felt.
The square configuration of the town center meant all four streets, with their garland-entwined lampposts and bedecked storefronts, seemed to close in around her. Cassie picked up her pace, scanning the whimsical names of the various establishments as she breezed past them.
Thistle & Thorn: Curiosities and Collectibles.
Mac’s Mercantile.
The Buttercup Bistro.
Hank’s Hardware and Video Rental.
Cassie did a double take. Video rental? Hadn’t the town heard of Netflix?
Shaking her head in disbelief, she glanced at the crisp white envelope in her hand. The return address read L. Davis Law Office. Squinting across the town square, she studied the surrounding buildings again. Only one storefront on the far corner lacked signage. At least, she couldn’t see it behind the absurdly enormous wreath and larger-than-life nutcrackers flanking the front door.
Cassie sighed. Just her luck. She could only hope her late grandmother’s attorney, L. Davis, wasn’t clothed in a flimsy red suit and Santa hat. And if he even tried to hand her a candy cane…
Cassie wrinkled her nose at the thought.
Rather than continue down Main Street toward Dandelion Drive, Cassie decided to cut across the expansive lawn in the center of town. A gentle gust of wind fluttered the fringe of her plaid scarf, carrying the festive aroma of pine garlands and sugary cinnamon rolls.
Good grief, Poppy Creek even smelled like Christmas.
Thud!
Startled, Cassie turned to see a baseball roll down the angled roof of a white gazebo and plop into an oversized mitt worn by a small child. After brushing aside his shaggy blond bangs, the boy plucked the baseball from the tattered leather glove and lobbed it back onto the roof.
Thud!
Cassie’s features softened as she watched the ball roll past the gingerbread trim and topple, once again, into the boy’s outstretched hand. While she’d never played catch a day in her life, the sight stirred memories Cassie wanted to forget. Memories of lonely Sunday mornings when her mother had yet to return from her designated booth at the neighborhood bar.
Cassie tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear, as though sweeping away the unwelcome thoughts. Glancing over her shoulder one last time, she caught sight of the boy scrambling up the side of the gazebo. Teetering precariously on the railing, he stretched his scrawny arms toward the roof, where his ball lay wedged in a crevice. When he couldn’t reach, he jumped, missed the edge, and tumbled to the ground.
Cassie’s internal debate lasted only a second.
Crossing the distance, she set her belongings on the gazebo steps and lifted the boy to his feet. “Are you okay?”
He nodded, wiping both hands on his grass-stained jeans.
“I commend your effort,” Cassie told him with a smile. “But
you have to work smarter, not harder.”
“What does that mean?”
Cassie strode toward the giant oak tree a few feet away and returned with a long, mossy branch. “Here, I’ll show you.” Standing on the top step, she grabbed a post for support and stretched onto her tiptoes, jabbing the stick at the baseball. “Come on,” she cajoled the branch. “A little bit further.”
Still a few inches shy, Cassie groaned. Why had she worn her most expensive pair of skinny jeans? Not to mention the incredibly impractical high-heeled boots.
Swinging her left leg, she placed one foot on the railing and tried again. In full lunge, she prayed her fitted jeans wouldn’t rip at the seams. She really couldn’t afford to buy another pair. Three months of unemployment meant her credit cards were maxed out on rent and ramen noodles.
This time the tip of the branch made contact with the scuffed leather, and with one solid nudge, it popped over the edge.
The boy cheered and raced over to collect his recovered treasure. “Wanna play?” He thrust the baseball toward her, his huge chocolate eyes filled with hope.
Cassie tossed the stick into the grass and brushed her palms together, scattering flecks of bark and moss. “Sorry, I can’t.”
“Okay.” The boy hung his head, tugging on Cassie’s heartstrings.
“I would,” she added. “But I’m meeting someone.” She gestured toward the door guarded by nutcracker infantry.
A delighted grin spread across the boy’s ruddy face. “Uncle Luke!”
Cassie offered a short, half-shrug in response. She supposed the L could stand for Luke. But it didn’t really matter. “Be careful where you throw the ball, okay? Try to stay away from the corners.”
To her surprise, he sprang forward and threw his arms around her waist. “Thanks!”
She awkwardly patted his back. “No problem.”
“Say hi to Uncle Luke for me.”
“Sure. See you around.”
Cassie cringed as the perfunctory expression escaped her lips. Why had she said that? Once she signed the necessary paperwork to claim her inheritance, she’d put Poppy Creek in her rearview mirror quicker than jolly ole St. Nick could down a glass of ice-cold milk.
Gathering her things, Cassie said another silent prayer the proceedings with the attorney would be brief.
But once inside the law office, her stomach flipped with uncertainty. Had she mistakenly stepped into someone’s living room?
The expansive space boasted a fully decorated Christmas tree, complete with presents underneath, a cozy, crackling fire in a brick hearth, the mantel strung with homemade stockings, and…
Cassie blinked in surprise. An elderly woman swayed in a rocking chair by the fire, her knitting needles click-clacking in rhythm with Dean Martin’s “Jingle Bells” emanating from an antique record player. A gargantuan tabby cat purred by her feet on a plush ottoman, its ears twitching ever so slightly at Cassie’s entrance.
“Have a seat, dearie,” the woman said without glancing up. “Luke’s in with Frida Connelly, and you know that woman has the gift of gab.”
Confused, Cassie hesitated. Surely, she had to be in the wrong place. “Is this the law office of L. Davis?”
The knitting needles paused as the woman raised her head, studying Cassie through thick-rimmed glasses.
For the first time, Cassie noticed how much the woman resembled Mrs. Claus.
“You’re new in town?” Her question sounded rhetorical.
“Yes, I am.” Cassie didn’t bother to explain she’d been born in Poppy Creek, but her mother had relocated them to San Francisco before her first birthday.
The woman smiled, her plump, rosy cheeks appearing even rounder. “Well, welcome, dear! Always happy to see more young people moving into town. Luke should be out shortly. Help yourself to some coffee and gingersnaps. I made them myself. The cookies, not the coffee.” Tipping her head toward an empty chair, she added, “Sit a spell. Do you knit?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“Well, that’s all right. There’s always time to learn. Harriet Parker hosts a knitting circle every Thursday night.”
“Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.” Eager to avoid more chitchat, Cassie made a beeline for the refreshments. An exquisite foyer table, with the most intricate engravings Cassie had ever seen, offered a welcoming display of gingersnap cookies, mismatched china teacups, and a silver coffee urn.
Cassie unscrewed the cap of her thermos and filled it halfway with the lukewarm liquid, already passing judgment on its lackluster aroma.
Her mother always said you could tell a lot about a man from his favorite whiskey. But Cassie preferred to judge a man on a different beverage of choice.
And if this coffee tasted half as bad as it smelled, Cassie wasn’t impressed with Luke Davis.
Not one bit.
* * *
Luke Davis nodded as Frida Connelly described—in excruciating detail—the latest quilt she wanted added to her last will and testament. It didn’t matter how many times Luke told the elderly woman she didn’t need to update her will each time she finished another quilt. Or bring him photographs. She could email him. Or call. Or, better yet, they could update her will once a year, as he’d suggested a hundred times before.
Still, while it drove him crazy, it also made him feel closer to his dad, who held the position of the town’s lawyer before Luke. He warmly recalled countless stories his father shared over family dinners of pot roast and fingerling potatoes. For as long as Luke could remember, Mrs. Connelly insisted her will be as current as possible, even calling his father as often as six times in one day the occasion her yellow Lab, Goldie, had a litter of six pups, each left to a different grandchild.
Luke supposed his father’s anecdotes could be considered a breach in client confidentiality, but things like that didn’t matter much in a town like Poppy Creek where everyone knew what you had for breakfast before the eggs were fried.
“Can we add… Oh, what do you call those things?” Mrs. Connelly scrunched up her face, doubling the number of creases in her wrinkled brow. “A clause? Yes, that’s it. Can we add a clause stipulating Francine only gets the quilt on the condition she hangs it in her dining room as a decoration? It really is too pretty for everyday use.”
Luke’s lips twitched, and he cleared his throat, suppressing a chuckle. “Of course.” He jotted the note down on a yellow legal pad. “Anything else?”
“That’ll do.” Easing herself from the leather club chair, Frida narrowed her eyes with a sudden thought. “Actually, would you tell Dolores to keep her nosy opinions to herself? I don’t need her and that obese tabby cat judging me every time I pop in here. You know, she had the nerve to tell me I was wearing a hole in your welcome mat?”
Luke smothered another laugh. “I’ll have a word with her.”
Although it would most likely be to thank her. Over the last year, since her husband Arthur’s death, Dolores Whittaker had become an unofficial greeter in Luke’s office. At first, he thought she simply didn’t want to be alone in her large, rambling farmhouse. She kept showing up with one excuse after the next. Sometimes bringing him cookies or knitting him a sweater. Until Luke made her a rocking chair and set it by the fireplace, inviting her to hang out whenever she liked. But unlike Frida, Dolores and her tabby, Banjo, didn’t have a penchant for trifling and tiresome addendums.
Luke led Frida back into the reception area and nearly stumbled over the braided area rug after catching sight of a stunning brunette standing near the refreshment table.
Their eyes locked, and a guilty blush swept over her cheeks. It took Luke a moment to realize he’d just caught her spitting coffee into her thermos.
“Hi,” he said lamely, immediately wanting to kick himself. Hi? Was that the best he could do? Get it together, Luke.
He cleared his throat. “Hope you haven’t been waiting long.”
That was better. But had his voice raised an octave? He heard Frida snicker.
“Well, I’ll scurry on home and let you get to your other client.” She wiggled her eyebrows and exchanged a grin with Dolores.
Luke tugged on his collar, suddenly feeling too warm in his thick sweater. Oh, no… the sweater. Until that moment, he’d forgotten he’d worn the sweater Dolores made him. The one with Frosty the Snowman appliquéd on the front. He suppressed a groan. “Bye, Frida. See you soon.”
Heart hammering in his chest, Luke forced himself to meet the stranger’s eyes. Her mesmerizing, almond-shaped green eyes. The exact color of the holly wreath on his front door. “What can I do for you?”
Stepping forward, she held out a white envelope. “I’m Cassie Hayward. You contacted me about my grandmother’s will.”
Luke’s heart stopped. This was Edith Hayward’s granddaughter?
Oh, great. What he was about to do would be a whole lot harder than he’d thought.
Chapter 2
Cassie pressed the back of her hand to her flushed neck, wondering when the reception area had become a sauna.
But then, that was a silly question.
She knew exactly when.
Her cheeks had decided to double as a furnace the moment Luke Davis stepped into the room. Well, more like stumbled into the room. Why on earth did it have to be the exact millisecond she’d spit the horrid-tasting coffee back into her thermos? She silently cursed her refined taste buds. Not that it mattered. She’d sworn off dating until the end of eternity. Plus another five years.
The Clause In Christmas (Poppy Creek Series Book 1) Page 1