Pudding shook. ‘Thank you, sir.’
Christian tried to speak with Clara, but it wasn’t happening. She was too busy helping the pastor wrangle the gospel singers. Mistletoe’s Christmas Eve concert, with its carols in the candlelight, its readings, its award presentations, and its announcements, felt to many like the busiest time of the year.
Clara was wearing a faux-fur lined coat dress with a matching hooded cape. She loved the costume, but lately she’d been thinking the costume was a little infantile. After all, she wasn’t twenty anymore.
‘What nonsense,’ Christian had told her when she brought this up three days before. ‘Since when is there an age limit on fun?’
He wasn’t sure if Clara had heard.
Now the mayor asked Clara to step forward and introduce the Santa, and she said sure, she’d do the introduction, and then stood in front of the microphone, while she visibly shivered beneath the twinkling lights.
The crowd waited respectfully. Clara opened her mouth, perhaps to tell them how she had misstepped, how she had failed to deliver on her promise to bring a Top Fifty Santa to the town of Mistletoe.
It was then, perhaps, that Clara decided to admit the truth. That life wasn’t a fairytale, and that last minute triumphs don’t happen to small town people, just superstars in the movies. Clara cleared her throat, and Christian shut his eyes. Despite her belief and her letters and her coaching, despite her love of Christmas, she’d failed.
But when Christian opened his eyes, there was Santa. Santa! His eyes shone blue behind half moon spectacles, and his pink cheeks had two perfect dimples. His beard was as white as snow, and his belly was round and jolly.
‘Good evening, Mistletoe,’ Santa said to the crowd. He said it with a warm chuckle, and everyone cheered. ‘I was hoping you wouldn’t mind if I read you a poem. It’s one of my favorites.’
Santa’s eyes twinkled behind his half moon spectacles as he reached into his sack and pulled out a book. It was a very old book, with a weatherbeaten cover, and a title embossed in gold: ‘Twas The Night Before Christmas. The crowd hushed. George reached up and took his uncle’s hand.
‘‘Twas the night before Christmas,’ Santa said, his voice warm and strong, ‘when all through the house...’
Christian watched Clara through the entire reading. She stood on the wing of the stage, her eyes wide with wonder or perhaps disbelief. The Santa who stood before her wasn’t just any old Santa—it was Nikolai Nilsson. It was Merry Living Magazine’s Number One Santa and current cover star. Hazel nodded to her photographer, who started to capture hundreds of photos.
‘Happy Christmas to all,’ Nikolai said as he finished the poem, ‘and to all a goodnight!’
The mayor stepped up to the microphone. ‘Three cheers for Santa,’ he cried softly. ‘And three cheers for Clara James, who brought Santa here, to his home away from home!’
The applause lasted for an hour.
Twenty One
Christian left the Christmas Eve celebrations early. Fine, Holly said. Run back to New York. But then don’t complain when Clara gets back with Ridge.
Christian wanted to tell Holly that Clara would not be the first woman who made him a Hallmark Christmas Widow. Lately, he’d been remembering his ex-girlfriend Mia, the copy editor sent to an extreme winter sports outpost for a special assignment, only to fall in love with a reclusive photographer. Christian had found out he was dumped when he turned up to surprise Mia at the resort.
But then, Clara wasn’t Mia. He got over Mia, and when he returned to New York, he’d get over Clara. Except that wasn’t true. Sure, Christian would return to New York. He would eat Chinese food that would fill him with an extraordinary sense of fullness. He would wake up the next morning and drink his glowing green smoothie, which he would make from celery and kale and apple, and then he would go to the gym. Wait—the gym. He’d have to find a new gym now, which was a shame. But he didn’t want to run into Miles Pine. He didn’t want to run into Magdalena, who liked the Spin Class there.
But he would never get over Clara James.
He knew that now.
Hazel St. Claire walked back to the inn with Christian. She wouldn’t return to Yuletide, she told Christian, not now that she had her angle and her interviews and enough information to fill several pages of Merry Living Magazine’s post-Christmas editions. ‘Next year will be bigger,’ she added as she pinched his arm.
‘Bigger?’
She was misty eyed. ‘Huge.’
And Hazel would play a part in that hugeness. That was why she looked so delighted. Sugarplum Mary, the kidnapping of Henri, the rivalry between Mistletoe and Yuletide—Hazel had all the drama she needed to break through the tinsel ceiling and earn a permanent writing position on the Merry Living Magazine staff. Hazel didn’t say as much, but Christian understood. He had now seen himself twice in Hazel. First, when she traveled to Mistletoe on the word of an elf named Cuddles. Then, when she left the celebrations early in order to file her story with her editor.
Christian helped Hazel hail a sleigh outside of the inn, and then he went upstairs to pack and repack his suitcase. He didn’t know why he now felt hesitant to leave. Surely, he should go now before everyone returned to the inn. But it was too late for that. He heard them all laughing downstairs. Christian didn’t know how to say goodbye, so he sheepishly slipped into the sitting room and said to Holly, ‘Well, thanks for everything.’
Holly drew him into a hug. ‘Call me when you get into New York,’ she said.
Christian had no intention of calling. Holly knew this. He smiled. She smiled. They hugged again, and let each other go, despite maybe wanting to hug a second or two longer. The Thornton siblings! Showing affection! Christian laughed under his breath.
He felt a hand on his arm, and turned to see Clara standing behind him.
‘Why did Nikolai pick Mistletoe?’ she asked. She wanted to know. She wanted a rounder sense of why the world’s leading Santa, according to Merry Living Magazine, the world’s leading expert on the world’s leading Santa, had chosen Mistletoe, and chosen Mistletoe at the very last minute.
‘Ask him yourself,’ Christian replied. He nodded to Nikolai, who stood in the doorway.
It was a question which led to Nikolai reaching into his red coat and pulling out a letter. Christian recognized the handwriting at once. It was his handwriting, albeit a little messier than usual.
‘I get a lot of letters,’ Nikolai said, ‘and each letter I get is wonderful. But this, I’ll admit, is one of my favorites.’
Dear Santa,
Do you know I’ve always hated you? Did you ever discover that the reason I can’t stand Christmas is because I asked you for my parents back, the holiday after they died? It wasn’t possible for you to grant me that wish. That didn’t stop me from believing I was robbed of my Christmas miracle.
Then again, maybe we only get one Christmas miracle. Maybe I got mine on a snowy December night, thirty-three years ago, when a woman named Caroline James knocked on the door of an inn called Milleridge. Maybe I got mine the night Clara James arrived in Mistletoe, asleep in her mother’s arms.
I know you can't come to Mistletoe. I know you picked your town in June or perhaps July. But I like to believe that you'll think of us as you spread joy this Christmas, in whatever town you believe is in need of joy the most. I like to believe that the reason you have never picked Mistletoe is because you know that Clara James has Mistletoe covered. And I like to believe that despite this, you’d still be here with us, given half a chance.
Have you heard of Clara James before? I think you must have. Clara believes she needs you to make Christmas feel like Christmas, the way Christmas hasn’t felt like Christmas since she lost her mother. I don’t know how to show her that all she needs is herself.
I know I’ve been cynical at times, even horrible. Yet even I have always believed that the things which set us apart from our friends are the very things which light up their world. Well, Clara does
n’t want to light up any worlds. She just wants to light up her hometown. The town in which her mother found shelter all those years ago.
I spent the last fifteen years patting myself on the back for escaping this town, but it turns out that I never left Mistletoe at all. After all, home is where the heart is, and my heart has always been here, wearing an ugly Christmas sweater.
The love you put up on a pedestal is never supposed to be as lovely as you remember, but my love is still just as lovely. She is still just as mad, and as stubborn, and as brilliant. I wish you could meet her. I think you would have a lot to tell each other.
You know, I knew my heart would break again when I saw her. I just never expected that a broken heart could still beat this fiercely. Do you think it will ever mend? Do you know, I actually hope not. Not many men are given the honor of having their heart broken by such an extraordinary woman.
Your new friend,
Christian Thornton III.
P.S. Please let Rudolph guide your sleigh one of these nights. I’ve got a good feeling about that little reindeer.
Clara wove her arm through Christian’s. Her eyes were damp. ‘I don’t know what to say. I genuinely have no idea what to say.’
‘It was the least I could do,’ he replied carefully.
‘True. Christian, were you the one paying for my subscription to Merry Living Magazine this whole time?’
Christian felt his ears burn. ‘Guilty.’
Clara squeezed his arm and smiled. ‘So?’
‘So?’
‘What do you say, Mr. Thornton—one last sleigh ride? For old times’ sake?’
Christian raked a hand through his hair. ‘But no one here knows how to drive a sleigh.’
‘Just who do you think I am, boy?’ Nikolai set his peppermint latte down on a table.
‘Wait—you know how to drive a sleigh?’
‘How do you think I deliver presents all around the world in one night?’
Clara elbowed Christian in the ribs. ‘Go on. Put on a sweater. It’s cold outside.’
When Christian returned, Clara was waiting for him in the sleigh. She held up a flask.
‘Peppermint white hot chocolate.’
Christian raised an eyebrow. ‘But what about my candy cane intervention? You said peppermint was giving me hives.’
‘It’s Christmas Eve—if you can’t indulge now, then when?’
The sleigh cut through the newly fallen snow. Clara dug around the blankets for a pair of gloves. Instead, she found a small, Tiffany Blue box. ‘Look, Christian, I found a present in Santa’s sleigh!’
‘Would you look at that?’
‘Is it for me?’
‘Does it say your name?’
Clara checked the tag. ‘Yes!’
‘Open it.’
She did. ‘Christian, it’s a ring made of tinsel.’
Christian cleared his throat. ‘I am in agony, Clara. I won’t repeat what I said in that sleigh fifteen years ago, and I won’t repeat what I said the other night, but know that my feelings for you have not changed. You are too good. I have never met your equal. Would you do me the honor of being my wife?’
Clara took Christian’s face in the palm of her hands. But she didn’t say anything. Christian leaned over and kissed her—he kissed Clara. After all that time, a kiss. But then, this wasn’t just any kiss, because this wasn’t just any couple. His hands cupped her face, as strong and sure as his love for her, the love which had haunted him for fifteen years. He felt the warmth of her body, and the pain of those long, bitter years vanished. He inhaled her, the sweet orange of her perfume, the woody punch of the pencil she’d perhaps been sharpening that morning, and she inhaled him.
‘No,’ she murmured as he pulled back slightly. He’d only wanted to shift her into his lap, to feel her comforting weight in his arms, but he gave up on that idea now, too focused on raking his hands through her soft blond hair.
For an odd moment, he really liked how she’d rejected him; how special this kiss felt because this kiss was rare. His heart beat louder and louder as Clara’s radiant face pressed up against his own; they weren’t kissing any more, but they were breathing together, and he knew that when they parted, their breath would stay like this, synchronized, for the rest of their lives. He would never again breathe alone.
‘Clara—’
‘I love you too.’
She had such a grave little expression on her face that Christian wanted to laugh. He touched the tip of her nose with his. ‘Do you like your ring?’
‘It’s so elegant,’ she said, looking at the tinsel ring in her hands.
‘Yes, I bought it from Tiffany’s.’
‘How much did it cost?’
‘Millions and millions of dollars.’
Their mouths found each other again, already hungry for another kiss.
‘Really,’ Clara said when they had finally stopped kissing. ‘You didn’t just snip a bit of tinsel off the Christmas tree in the sitting room?’
‘Do I look that cheap to you, Clara?’ Christian scoffed.
‘How many carats?’
‘Seven.’
‘Obviously. I always dreamed of a pink oval cut diamond set in rose gold with pavé diamonds around the band, and now all my dreams have come true.’
Suddenly Christian’s heart pinched, ‘Clara, you haven’t said yes?’
‘To the diamond or to the man?’
‘It’s a two for the price of one deal.’
‘Then yes.’
‘Yes?’
‘Look, Christian, I need to be honest. I’m only saying yes because the ring was millions and millions of dollars.’
‘I understand.’
‘Also, nothing would make me prouder than being your wife. We’re going to be Mistletoe’s Christmas power couple!’ Clara cried.
‘Er—we’re going to live in New York.’
Clara laughed. ‘Who said Christian Thornton III didn’t know how to tell a joke.’
‘I’m not living in the crazy town of Mistletoe, Clara.’
‘Yuletide doesn’t have a power couple,’ she said conspiratorially.
‘Funny, neither does Mistletoe.’
‘Our babies are going to look so cute each December in their ugly Christmas sweaters.’
‘No, they’re not.’
‘I can’t believe you have the audacity to call our children ugly. They haven’t even been born yet.’
‘I didn’t.’
‘You just said our children are not going to look cute in their ugly Christmas sweaters.’
Christian scoffed. As if the offspring of Children Thornton III would be dressed in anything but Tom Ford. ‘Because we’re not going to dress our children in ugly Christmas sweaters,’ he said.
‘It’s the law in Mistletoe.’
‘It’s undignified. Besides, we’ll be living in New York,’ Christian replied, because he wished it were true. But all it took was one soft look from Clara for him to sigh and say, ‘Yes. All right. I know we will be living in Mistletoe.’
Clara squeezed Christian’s arm. ‘And the inn is safe?’
‘Didn’t you hear? Oh, Clara, the inn is yours.’
‘What?’
‘I spoke to the Relic shortly after Magdalena left.’
Clara looked pale. ‘I can’t afford to buy Milleridge.’
‘You won’t pay a single cent. The inn is yours when the Relic passes, completely free. She agreed with Holly and with me; there is no one better to carry on the tradition of Milleridge than the daughter of Caroline James.’
‘Oh, Christian.’ Clara threw her hands around Christian’s shoulders and burst into tears. ‘I never thought I could ever feel this happy.’
Christian brushed away her tears. ‘You and I have that in common, kid. Hey,’ he added playfully, ‘I thought it was tradition for you to say no when I asked for your hand in marriage?’
‘Didn’t you hear what happens when two people come together as one?’ Cla
ra replied as she twisted the shiny tinsel around her ring finger and smiled. ‘They start new traditions.’
Connect With Keira Candace Clementine
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The Next Book In The Series
(Mistletoe Miracles Book 2)
On His Majesty’s Secret Santa
In a world where to lose means to die, MI6 agent Jack Sharpe only knows how to win. But has Sharpe finally met his match in his endlessly stressed handler, Jubilee Hall?
When a hard drive containing the identities of every British intelligence officer falls into the wrong hands, MI6 agent Jack Sharpe is sent to hide in the American town of Mistletoe. But he’s not going alone. Joining Sharpe is his handler, the perpetually frazzled Jubilee Hall.
Sharpe and Jubilee could not be more different. While Sharpe is charming, dashing, and coldly efficient, Jubilee is exasperated, tired, and a bit of a mess. While Sharpe moves like a shark, slinking through the world until he smells blood and attacks, Jubilee can’t get a paper cut without fainting. But when fellow MI6 agent Aleksei Trevelyan bets Sharpe he can’t win Jubilee’s heart, Sharpe starts to wonder whether he and Jubilee Hall are so different after all.
From the author of Rebel Without a Claus comes yet another unforgettable sweet and wholesome Mistletoe Miracles Christmas romance that will enthral readers until the very last page.
Note: the novels in the Mistletoe Miracles series do not have to be read in any particular order.
About the Author
Keira Candace Clementine grew up in Darwin, Australia, which means she’s never seen snow. But that has never stopped her from dreaming of a white Christmas.
Keira loves the idea of building snowmen and ice skating and roasting chestnuts on the open fire. If she can’t enjoy these things in Australia, where Christmas happens at the height of summer, then she is determined to enjoy them through her characters.
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