Renee Harless
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Copyright ©2019 Renee Harless
This work is one of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to persons, living or deceased, is purely coincidental. Names, places, and characters are figments of the author’s imagination. All trademarked items included in this novel have been recognized as so by the author. The author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
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If there was one thing January Douglas disliked more than spilling coffee on her favorite blouse, it was Christmas. Despite her family’s love of the holiday, she was a self-proclaimed Scrooge. The songs, the decorations, and the forced cheer - they were all nails scratching down a chalkboard to her.
When Deckard Spruce barged into her life with his Christmas enthusiasm and a smirk that made January weak in the knees, she’d had enough.
One wish on a snowflake was all it took to change everything, but as soon as the damage was done, she knew her hate for the holidays had gone too far.
Could Deckard help her realize that she might not hate Christmas after all?
Maybe one more wish would make everything right.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
Coming Alive - Sneak Peek
Chapter One
Music filtered into the bedroom from the small rectangular box January kept on her nightstand. She had a fondness for the old alarm clock that her parents had given her when she was in middle school, always preferring it to the alarm on her mobile phone. But the dreadful song playing through the small speaker only intensified January’s desire to grab the box and throw it against the wall.
As the chorus from “I’ll be Home for Christmas” continued to fill the room with its melodic verse, January grabbed the closest pillow and chucked it against the box from Hell. When that didn’t diminish the sound, she slammed the pillow over her head in hopes of drowning out the remainder of the noise still blaring between her ears.
Just as sleep tiptoed January back into unconsciousness, the phone sitting adjacent to the alarm clock began to play a song meant to torture January even further. She couldn’t help but wonder who was out to get her today.
Her hand jutted out, blindly reaching for the device, but her sleep-filled limbs knocked the phone from the nightstand. A groan escaped from January’s puckered lips at the loud sound of a clatter against the hardwood floor. Of course, her luck would have her lifeline shattering against the hard surface instead of the soft cushioned rug beneath her bed.
The music continued to play as she reached over the bed. Her eyelids remained squeezed tightly together trying to fight off the morning.
Without a glimpse at the screen she knew was now cracked, January brought the phone to her ear.
“I hate you so much right now,” January mumbled into the receiver.
“Good morning, Sunshine!”
Ignoring her co-worker’s chipper attitude, January rolled over in her bed, finally prying her tired eyes open, their dryness making it more difficult than usual.
“Why did you change my ringtone, again?”
“Because if anyone could use the Christmas spirit, it’s you.”
January moved her body languidly as she sat up in bed and turned on the speaker setting for her phone as she spoke with Samantha. Taking a deep breath, January filled her lungs with fresh air at the same time she stretched her arms above her head.
“I thought I told you yesterday to stop messing with my phone.”
A disappointed voice sounded on the other end of the call. “Oh, I figured you just didn’t like that song.”
“Samantha,” January chastised, “I haven’t liked a single Christmas song for the last two and a half decades.”
Silence filled the room as she finished her stretch.
“Samantha?” she prompted.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it,” her friend replied solemnly.
“I know, and it’s okay. Anyway, why the early call?”
“Oh, yes,” Samantha’s excited voice filled the room again. “I pulled the research you requested on the baking contest and how Ms. Smith is being accused of copying Mr. Daugherty’s recipe. And I also got you an interview with the head of the Christmas Festival.”
January tossed her legs casually over the side of the bed and stood, the image of her pajama-clad body ignored in the mirror.
“Why do I always get these assignments?”
“Because you’re the best reporter in Lifestyles and everyone knows it.”
For the first time this morning, a smile graced January’s lips. “Thanks. I’ll see you soon.”
Ending the phone call, January shuffled to the adjacent bathroom, doing her best to ignore the twinkle of tinsel that glistened on her Christmas tree in the corner of her living room - the tree her mother set up without her knowledge three days ago. But no matter how hard she tried, the soft light coming from the window made the shiny metal hard to ignore.
Her shuffles quickly turned to stomps as she marched herself into the bathroom and slammed the door shut.
“Ten days. Just ten more days,” she mumbled as she ripped off her pajamas and stepped into the shower, twisting the knobs to adjust the water temperature. January was always one of the few that loved the initial chill of the water as it pelted her skin; it’s what woke her up every morning. Caffeine had nothing on cold water.
Tugging on a deep-purple sweater and a pair of brown slacks, January prepared herself for work. Just a quick blow dry of her hair and a few last touches of makeup had her ready with enough time to snag a bagel and hot chocolate at the bakery in town.
January stepped toward her front door, grabbing her keys, purse, and jacket, then closed the door behind her as she walked out to the crisp morning. Dark gloomy clouds loomed low in the sky, and January knew that snow was in the forecast for Pineville, Ohio.
As much as she despised Christmas, January had quite the fondness for winter in general. She loved the snow, the barren landscapes waiting for their regrowth in the spring, the silence when darkness fell on their town and the stars offered the only light. Winter always seemed magical to her.
“Good morning, Samantha,” January greeted as she walked into her office with a paper bag in one hand and two large cups of steaming hot chocolate in a carrier in the other.
The petite woman’s feet clicked at a quickened pace on the laminate flooring of the office as she rushed toward January. “Is that what I think it is?” the woman whispered in amazement as she took in the loot January carried.
“If you’re thinking two cinnamon and sugar bagels and hot cocoa, then you’d be wrong,” January joked, doing her best not to laugh at the forlorn expression growing on Samantha’s face. Unable to hold out any longer, January clarified, “It’s two cinnamon and sugar bagel
s, hot chocolate, and a handful of peppermint drop cookies.”
January had never seen someone orgasm from the thought of food, but she was fairly certain she had just witnessed it with her co-worker. Samantha had a sweet tooth unlike anyone she had ever met, and as the woman’s cheeks flushed and her breathing became erratic, January was sure she had just observed it happening in the flesh.
As her friend reached out to grab the paper cups, she asked, “Does this mean you’re no longer mad at me?”
With an upward tilt of the corners of her lips, January answered, “Maybe. You know I can’t ever stay mad at you.”
Samantha followed January into her office space, and they set the cups and food on the small table in the corner.
“Now, let’s eat some breakfast while you tell me all about the baking allegations and the research you found.”
The two friends and co-workers sat with their heads together at the table, switching between taking small bites of their favorite local bagel and taking notes for the article. Ms. Smith claimed that her recipe had been handed down to her from her great grandmother and she had it memorized, whereas Mr. Daugherty said that he had proof of her taking a picture of his recipe card for his award-winning butter pecan cookies when he stupidly left it out during one of the competitions.
Three years ago, the two competed against each other, both making butter pecan cookies. It was Ms. Smith’s first year, but Mr. Daughtery’s tenth. The competition came in at a tie.
January poured over her notes as she finished off her cup of hot chocolate, and Samantha left to take a call in her cubicle across from the office. She couldn’t help but wonder why this was such an interesting piece to the town, the local gossip only added fuel to the fire. She felt that the entire ordeal could be solved easily without her having to write something akin to Unsolved Mysteries - just ban butter pecan cookies from the competition.
Seemed like a simple enough solution to her.
Shrugging her shoulders, January dropped the pen in her hand just as her mobile phone began singing in her purse. Blindly reaching into the sack, she griped the device and brought it to her ear. There was only one person that would call her while she’s at work.
“Hi, Mom,” January chirped, knowing that if she gave even the slightest hint of not being in the Christmas spirit, her mother would go to the ends of the Earth to change it.
She spent the next ten minutes piping into the conversation when it was expected. Listening to her mother explain how January’s older sister’s, April and June, had sent the cutest Christmas cards of their families and how she couldn’t wait for Augustus to visit from his home in Montana where he runs a ranch with his wife and their three kids.
Leave it to her mother to remind her that, as the youngest, she’s the last one they get to see married off – it’s her mother’s Christmas wish. At least that’s the guilt trip she threw January’s way.
“Oh, and don’t forget about decorating the family tree in two days when Augustus arrives.”
Like she could ever forget.
“Yes, ma’am. I haven’t forgotten in twenty-six years. Don’t think I’ll forget anytime soon.”
“Don’t you sass your mama or I’ll make your house look like the North Pole threw up there.”
“I regret giving you a key now.”
Chuckling, her mom added, “No, you don’t, or you’d never have a stocked fridge.”
“You’re right,” January lamented.
As the call began to dwindle down, Samantha popped her head in to remind January about the interview that they had scheduled in thirty minutes.
“I have to go Mom, but I’ll see you on Thursday. I promise.”
“I know, sweetheart. I’d love it if you had a special someone to bring with you. The more, the merrier.”
The little dig at January’s lack of love life stung. The last date she went on happened almost a year ago. It was slim pickings in Pineville. January supposed that she could try branching out to another town or attempting online dating, but neither of those seemed like a great choice.
Ignoring her mother’s jab, January ended the call after making another promise to be there Thursday.
Sliding her frame onto the cushioned chair behind her desk, January made sure to double-check her family countdown on the calendar. Since she was little, her parents had created their own countdown to Christmas, including everything from a day to make cookies and gingerbread houses, to family night with a Christmas movie, and going to the town Christmas parade.
She knew the schedule by heart – it never varied. You could always count on the list to remain the same.
A ping on her computer warned her of a calendar notification sent by Samantha. It was a preset alarm reminding her to pick out an ornament for her parents. It’s the fourth one; she had been ignoring the previous alerts.
Of course, she had purposely ignored them, but as the days slipped away, she now had even less time to find the perfect gift for her parents. When January had been five, she gave her parents a handmade ornament for Christmas, as did her siblings. Since then she has given them one every year for their tree. It was an easy gift to find, and it definitely seemed to make her parents happy when they unboxed a piece of metal or glass covered in filigree.
A dark brown head of hair popped in from around the doorframe, reminding January that they needed to leave for the interview.
“I’ll meet you out front in five. Oh, what is the name of that new shop in town with all of the Christmas things?” she questioned because she wouldn’t have time to order the gift online, which was her usual MO.
“Nick’s Knacks. We can stop by after the interview. It’s not far from where we’re meeting Ms. Davis and the volunteers for the Christmas Festival.”
“Okay, great.”
January thought about researching the shop online. It hadn’t been in town but a few years, and if memory served her right, the older couple that ran the store retired here because of how much they loved the Christmas Festival. She had never stepped foot inside but knew that it carried a bit of everything.
Just as her hands hovered over the keyboard she thought better of it. It seemed doubtful that a small shop like that would have an online catalog or store. She’d just have to grin and bear it for a few minutes inside the shop until she found something her parents would love.
Four torturous hours later, January and Samantha walked away from their interview, both sporting two completely different expressions. Samantha’s face was lit up as bright as a star tree-topper, whereas January’s face looked as if she had eaten something sour with how tightly her lips were pinched together.
They had been invited by the festival committee to walk in the Christmas parade as elves around Santa’s sleigh, a massive honor if Samantha’s expression was anything to go by, but January would rather not be present at all.
“I can’t believe we get to be in the parade!” Samantha joyfully exclaimed, her arms waving up and down as if she was about to take flight.
“Yeah.” January’s sarcastic tone earned her an eye-roll from her friend.
“You can at least pretend to be excited. No one will know it’s you with the costume.”
“And that should make me feel better?” January asked just as she stopped in front of a store with a wide window looking into a small Christmas village. “Is this the place?”
“Yep!” Samantha clapped her hands with a resounding cheer. “I can’t believe you haven’t been here before,” she added as she held the door open for both women to enter.
“I do my shopping online and get it delivered in a day or two. Why do I need to go to a general store?”
January paused as she looked around the shop taking in the bags of mulch and gardening supplies lining the left wall and then housewares scattered along the right side of the building.
“What kind of place is this?” she mumbled to herself as she followed the brunette sprite toward the back of the shop, the leader bounced on h
er toes with each step that she took.
“This. . .this is heaven,” Samantha explained with her arms open wide showcasing the area.
January finally pulled her eyes away from the stacks of trinkets lining the end caps of the aisles and focused on the creation in front of her. Even though she hated Christmas, she couldn’t deny the beauty of the wonderland fashioned at the back of the shop.
Fake snow fell from the ceiling, tumbling delicately onto the makeshift Santa’s Workshop and the tree line of Firs and Pines. On the other side of the room, there were twenty or so decorated trees, each one covered in lights and themed ornaments. Each tree was given its own personality.
“Wow,” the word dripped from her lips before she could catch them.
“Pretty impressive, huh?” a deep voice said from behind her, causing January to jump in surprise as she turned around.
What she found was no less impressive than the displays that had garnered her attention. A tall man with dark, almost black hair smiled warmly while balancing a large cardboard box in his well-muscled arms. Arms that stretched navy blue shirt sleeves to their limits.
With an apologetic smirk rising above his scruffy jaw, the mystery man murmured, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” He adjusted the box in his grasp.
“It’s okay. I’m usually not so easily distracted, especially not with Christmas displays.”
He situated the box again and she asked if he needed any help, taking a step toward him.
“No, that’s okay. Joey!” he shouted across the shop. It didn’t take long for a thin teenager to step over to them. “Can you start unpacking these onto tree fourteen?”
“Sure.”
“Thanks.”
January watched as the teen quickly took the box from mystery man’s arms and carried it over to one of the decorated Christmas trees.
“Now,” he stated, bringing her attention back to him. “Can I help you find anything?”
“You work here?”
January never would have imagined this rugged man with a hint of CEO running through his veins would be caught dead working at Nick’s Knacks. He didn’t have that down-home air about him. Instead, he reminded her of many of the men in high profile positions that she has interviewed for the paper. The only local thing about this particular man was his pair of boots and worn-in denim jeans.
A Snowflake Wish Page 1
