Merry Hearts: A Small Town Holiday Novella

by Amber Kelly

Blake clears his throat. “We were discussing work.”

  “Liar. I heard you talking shit.”

  He looks around nervously. He’s obviously met drunk, pissed-off Charlotte before. “Charlotte, let’s not make a scene.”

  “A scene? Oh, I haven’t begun to make a scene yet. Why don’t you repeat what you just said to Tyler?”

  “Char, calm down.”

  I can see this is about to be bad, so I interrupt.

  “Fellas, your drinks,” I say and hand off the glasses I’m holding.

  “Thank you,” Tyler says as he takes his.

  “When did you become such a snob, Blake?” Charlotte continues.

  That clearly rubs him the wrong way because he loses the fake facade and his expression turns icy.

  “Snob? That’s rich, Charlotte. You and I come from the same breed.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Look, if you want to go slumming with the farmer, that’s fine and dandy, but that doesn’t mean I have to pretend to like it,” he spits out.

  “Did you just hear what came out of your mouth? Do you think that because he’s a farmer, you’re somehow superior to him?”

  “Charlotte, please,” he asks as if it was a silly question.

  I step up to intervene, and she throws her arm out to halt me.

  “This farmer has his own four-hundred-acre orchard. He owns and runs it like a well-oiled machine. He lives in a house that he built with his own two hands. Do you even know how to use a hammer? He drives a John Deere, a big-ass truck, and a speed boat. He can ride a horse and a bull. You have to pay someone to take you around the city because you don’t even have a license.”

  She leans in close. “Want to know what else he can ride really well that you never will? Me.”

  I come up and wrap an arm around her waist. “All right, down, tiger.”

  She shrugs me off and gets in his face. “That farmer is more of a man than you’ll ever be. If you don’t believe me, ask any woman in here who she’d rather take her home—him or you.”

  After she lands that last punch, she turns to me. “Come on. Our drinks are on Blake tonight. Let’s go,” she demands as she stomps toward the exit.

  I look over at the group and grin.

  “Ladies, it was a pleasure,” I say before I pull my wallet from my back pocket and drop a wad of bills on the table.

  Then, I follow my feisty girl across the lobby and out to the sidewalk.

  She is standing there, tapping on the screen of her phone.

  “You know those guys didn’t bother me. We could have stayed and had dinner with your girlfriends,” I say as I come up behind her and wrap an arm around her neck.

  “Hell no. No one gets to talk about you that way and get away with it. I never realized what a conceited jerk he was.”

  “He has a thing for you, babe.”

  She looks up. “What?”

  “Yeah, he has it bad.”

  “Ew, he’s the geeky son of one of my mother’s oldest friends.”

  He was a bit stuffy and definitely proud of himself, but he didn’t seem particularly geeky to me.

  I shrug.

  “I just ordered us an Uber to take us home,” she says.

  “I thought your apartment was close by?”

  “It is. I’m not talking about my apartment. I’m talking about your home. I’m booking us a flight to Denver for tonight.”

  “Charlotte, baby, let’s just go back to your place. We’ll order food, and you’ll feel better in the morning.”

  She shakes her head. “I’d rather be in Poplar Falls. I haven’t even seen Lily Claire in person yet. It’s Christmas, and even though I appreciate you coming all this way, I know you’d prefer to be at home, doing Christmas with Dallas and Beau and Faith. And honestly, I would too.”

  “What about your mother?”

  She sighs. “She’ll get over it. I’ll just have to be back before New Year’s Eve. She’ll have a fit if I miss both.”

  A black car pulls up to the curb and rolls its window down.

  “That’s our ride,” she says, and the sparkle is back in her eyes.

  “You sure?” I ask.

  “Take me home, cowboy.”

  I guide her toward the waiting vehicle. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Foster

  “Is this all of them?” Truett asks as we carry the last of the poinsettias from the truck.

  Myer’s mother had us pick them up from a nursery in Aurora this afternoon. People ordered them from the church and will be coming to get them at her table in the market during the Poplar Falls tree lighting and Christmas festival tonight.

  “This is it,” I inform him.

  “Great. I’m starving. Let’s get in line before it gets too crowded,” he suggests.

  All of the restaurants in town have trucks set up to serve the festival. So, we deliver the last of the pots to Beverly and set out in search of food.

  We grab a couple of cheesesteaks and take a stroll down Main Street to see what all the vendors have to offer.

  Everything from handmade scarves and gloves, ornaments, Christmas trees, wine gift baskets, quilts, soaps and lotions, cornhole boards to homemade pies, cakes, and cookies are for sale.

  Kids are lining up to see Santa. We see Myer and Dallas waiting for their turn with Beau and Faith. Myer is holding his baby girl, and Dallas has Beau’s hand.

  “Hey, guys. Where did you get those?” Myer asks.

  “Butch has a truck over past the hardware store,” Truett tells him.

  “Awesome. Beau and I want one.” He gestures toward his son.

  He is going over his Christmas list with Dallas because he doesn’t want to forget anything once he makes it to Santa. “… and a horse of my very own,” he ends.

  “A horse and a dirt bike? Baby, maybe you should ask for just one. That’s a lot for Santa,” Dallas tries to persuade him.

  “I’ve been very good this year, and I’m a great big brother,” he pleads his case.

  “That’s all true,” Dallas says, clearly defeated.

  She gives Myer a look, and he grins. We’ve had Beau’s new gelding for a few months now, and Myer has been working with him to make sure he is ready for his son. We already devised the workaround concerning the dirt bike, which Dallas thinks he’s still a little too young for. I’m sneaking the gelding over to their house in the wee hours of Christmas morning and tying him to the tree in their front yard with a bow and note from Santa, explaining that he couldn’t fit both the horse and a dirt bike in his sleigh so one would have to wait until next year and that he hopes the new bedroom made it up to him this time.

  “Sonia,” Dallas calls out, and she stops and walks over to us.

  “Is your mom selling tree skirts this year?” she asks her.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Will you have her save me one of the white ones with the embroidered manger scene if she has any left? I’ll come straight there after our pictures with Santa,” Dallas says.

  “I’m headed there now to help her. I’ll grab it for you.”

  “Thank you!”

  She looks up at me and smiles before she walks off in the direction of the market.

  “I’ll be back in a second,” I tell Truett as I hand him my half-eaten sandwich.

  I hurry to catch up to Sonia.

  I make it just as she steps behind a booth filled with all sorts of Christmas decor. I come up to the front and start browsing the merchandise while she chats with her mother before spotting me.

  “Hey, Foster. Are you looking for anything in particular?” she asks.

  “Um, I’m looking for a gift for my mom. She’s hard to shop for.”

  “We have a wreath-making station. You could make her one with your own two hands. Mothers are suckers for handmade gifts,” she whispers out of her own mom’s earshot.

  “I’m afraid I’m not very crafty,” I confess.

  “That’s why I’m here. To help make things be
autiful.”

  “Oh, I think you are doing a fine job at that,” I say out loud.

  She blushes. “You want to give it a try?”

  “Yeah, I do,” I agree.

  “Follow me,” she says as she turns and walks over to a large table off to the side of the booth. It is covered with ribbons of all sizes and colors, small pinecones, berry sprigs, and shiny ornaments.

  “Just pick your wreath size, and then we’ll get a design together for you.”

  I do as she instructed, and then we stand side by side as she makes suggestions on what to include and where to place it. She leans in and rests her hand in the crook of my arm as she guides me while making me do it all myself. Her eyes sparkle in the lights around the table, distracting me.

  “You’re going to burn yourself with that glue gun,” she shouts, and that brings me back to the task at hand.

  “I told you I wasn’t good at this sort of thing.”

  “You’re so great. Look how it’s shaping up. She’s going to love it.”

  I look at the wreath, and she’s right. Mom will love it.

  Once we finish, I pay her mom while Sonia wraps it carefully.

  “Here you go. Let me know what she thinks when you give it to her,” she says as she hands me the package.

  “Can I help you?” I have no idea why I said that.

  “Huh?”

  “I mean, do you guys need help breaking down after the festival?”

  “Mom’s shop is right there.” She gestures to the consignment shop directly behind them.

  “Oh,” I say awkwardly.

  “We could still use help with carrying everything in,” her mother answers from behind her.

  “We could?” she asks her mother.

  “Yes, it’s a lot of stuff. The more hands, the faster we’ll be done.”

  “Okay, I guess we do need help.”

  “I’ll be back after the parade, then.”

  “Sonia, dear, I got this. Why don’t you go watch the parade too?” her mother suggests.

  “I thought you wanted me to run the craft station for you while you sold the premade items?”

  “I’m almost out of skirts, and I think I can handle it now.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, go enjoy yourself.” Her mother shoos her off.

  “Make sure Dallas gets the skirt I put back,” she calls as she joins me.

  We walk in silence for a few minutes when Elle spots us.

  “Can I hide something in your apartment?” she asks Sonia.

  “Hide what?”

  “Hi, Foster,” she calls to me before she continues, “I had an axe-throwing target made for Walker for Christmas and a personalized axe handle that says Sexy Beast. I don’t want him to see it, and he’s meeting me here when he leaves the ranch.”

  “You bought him what? Are you insane? He’s going to hurt someone,” Sonia scolds.

  “Probably, but I know he wants one, and he is the hardest person to buy for. He’ll love it.”

  “I guess. Remind me to wear protective gear when you invite me over for barbecues,” she says as she fishes her keys from her pocket.

  “You two mind helping me get it up there? It’s kind of heavy.”

  “Not at all,” I answer.

  We follow her over to the vendor who made the board and axes, and the three of us pick it up and carry it across to Sonia’s apartment and put it in her living room.

  Elle uses the bathroom before we head back.

  “I love this space,” I tell her.

  It’s a small apartment above her mom’s shop. It has one nice-sized bedroom and an open kitchen and living room.

  “It’s not much,” she starts.

  “It’s cozy,” I interrupt.

  “I guess it is that. What about you? Are you still at your mom’s?”

  I bunked on my mother’s couch for a couple of months after my wife and I split.

  “No. I’m renting the silo from Dallas’s folks.”

  “Really? I love that place so much. When Dallas moved in there, I thought it was the coolest,” she states.

  “It is. You’ll have to come by to see it now that I’ve been renovating it. I redid the floor, and I’m adding a fireplace.”

  “I’ll have to do that,” she agrees.

  “I could make dinner,” I offer.

  “Dinner?”

  “Yeah, I mean, if you come by, just let me know you’re coming, and I’ll make enough for two.”

  “You cook?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I love to cook,” I admit.

  “Me, not so much. I help my patients cook all day, so when I get home, I just don’t have it in me.”

  “Then, it’s settled. I’ll cook for you.”

  Elle returns before Sonia accepts or declines. We head back and make it just as the parade is about to start.

  “Oh, I got ya!” we hear as we are looking for a spot to sit along the route.

  Across the street sits an old man with a fishing pole. We look up, and dangling from his line is mistletoe, and he has it perched above Sonia’s head.

  “What are you up to, Mr. Hinson?” she calls.

  “Fishin’ for kisses.” He grins.

  Elle looks at me and urges me forward with her eyes.

  I hesitate for a moment and then decide to just go for it.

  She is still focused on the old man when I press my hand into her lower back and turn her to face me.

  She looks up in surprise as I come in to kiss her cheek, but she bears up on her toes and meets me, her lips planting to mine.

  I bring her in closer, and we part as we are both shocked by the current that ran between us. I lean back in and softly kiss her again. I want so badly to deepen it and kiss her thoroughly, but I don’t think this is the right moment.

  She blinks up at me as I let her go.

  Elle gives me a fist pump behind her.

  “Hey now, you stole my sugar!” Mr. Hinson complains.

  “I’ll give you your sugar,” Elle says as she prances across the street and plants a kiss on the old man’s cheek.

  “That’s more like it.” He grins at her.

  She rejoins us, and we watch as he casts his line again. This time, it stops above Doreen’s head. Emmett keeps batting it away, but the man is persistent. She finally gives in and kisses his cheek as well.

  We walk till we find Brandt, Bellamy, his mom, Ms. Elaine, and Pop Lancaster. They are running a pet adoption booth and offering free initial visits and six months of care to new owners while Ms. Elaine sells her handmade goat’s milk soaps to benefit Annie’s Heart, the charity they set up in honor of Brandt’s late wife. The girls purchase a couple of bars, and then Pop fetches us a blanket, so we can sit with them to watch the parade.

  Truett is across from us, and I can see the confusion on his face as he sees me sitting with the group.

  I shrug and he gallops across the street to join us just before the first float comes by.

  “You ditched me. Not cool, dude.”

  “I found better company,” I tease him.

  “I can see that. I don’t blame you, but it still hurts, man,” he says as he takes a seat.

  We watch the parade, and then everyone gathers around the large tree beside the gazebo outside town hall just as dusk settles in. We sing a couple Christmas carols before Reverend Burr says a few words about the true meaning of Christmas, reminding us all that we are celebrating more than a family holiday, but the birth of our Lord. He urges us all to be at service this Sunday to see the children’s Christmas play and to celebrate together in the house of the Lord before he says a prayer for the town. Then, Pop Lancaster comes up to do the countdown. He waves Beau over to join him, and we all count loudly. When we get to zero, they press the button together to illuminate the gigantic tree. Everyone begins to cheer.

  Sonia leads us over to the tree lot. Everything is picked over, and she finds the scrawniest little tree and decides to buy it.

&nbs
p; “I’ll be getting a new batch tomorrow, and I can bring you one in much better shape,” the owner offers.

  “No, thank you. It looks like it’s been battered by the wind, and all it needs is a little love to flourish. If it doesn’t, I’ll just love it anyway,” she tells him.

  “I like that way of thinking,” I confess.

  “Yeah, well, some of us know what battered feels like more than others,” she says as she cuts her eyes to me.

  Elle grins and declares, oddly, “Hm, I think I just heard a goat.”

  Sonia gives her a startled look before Elle smiles and leaves us when she spots her brother, Braxton, and his wife.

  Sonia bids me goodbye to return to help her mother for the remainder of the night, but before we part I remind her of my promise to make her a meal.

  “Let me know when you want to come by for that dinner.”

  “Okay,” she says shyly before walking away.

  Truett and I stick around and eat all the things until it’s time to help them close up their booth.

  It is an amazing night.

  Vivian

  “I pumped a couple of bottles, and they are in the fridge. She should sleep until we get back, but if she wakes up, try the bottle. Warm it up in a pot on the stove, not the microwave. The microwave may make it too hot. You may want to hold her really close when you give it to her. She’s not had a bottle before, so you might have to trick her into taking it by cradling her to your chest. I wrote both Braxton’s and my phone numbers down, and they are on the corkboard beside the phone in the kitchen.”

  “Sophie, darling, I have your numbers,” I remind her.

  “I know, but what if your phone dies and you need us and can’t remember them?”

  I listen as she repeats her instructions once again. She is afraid she is forgetting something.

  “We’ll be fine, Sophia. I took care of you as a newborn, and you survived,” I tease.

  “But that was a really long time ago, and you had Gram in the house,” she continues.

  “Trust me, it’s like riding a bike. It all comes back. Besides, Stanhope should be back from his trip to Denver anytime now. If my phone dies, Stan has three.”

  “I know; you’re right. I just haven’t left her before. It feels wrong,” she says.

  “Oh, honey, every mother has the same thoughts the first time she leaves her baby in someone else’s care,” I assure her.