Luke hadn’t come from the city, exactly, but the nature surrounding him here was different from the acres of dry pastureland that fanned out around his family’s country farmhouse just three hours south in Kernlyville. While he loved their horses and their rescue facility, he’d gladly trade thundering hooves for the light prancing of deer and woodland creatures. Change of scenery—even if only temporary—was always a good thing.
Truth be told, Luke hadn’t been exactly sure what to expect from Merrylark. The website nearly made it seem like something out of Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, fairytale folklore at its best. It wouldn’t have been his first choice, but he hadn’t been the one to originally make the reservation. Even still, the trip had been booked—nonrefundable—and he’d be darned if he let it go to complete waste. From what he remembered from childhood, Snow White hadn’t been all that bad. At least there was that happy, fairytale ending.
“Just another mile up ahead. What’s the address where you’re staying?”
Luke had to reach his hand into his shirt pocket to pull out the sheet of paper he’d remembered to grab off the printer at the last minute. “10 Spruce Way,” he read.
“Ah! The O’Connell cottage. Of course. You’ll love it.” Roger’s hands gripped the wheel tightly. “Jojo’s been keeping it in great shape. Just got a new dock last summer. Brand new boards and posts and all that jazz. Best fishing in the lake is off that pier—left side, not right. Don’t be surprised to wake up to find the locals casting their rods off it. It’s quite the hotspot, even in these wintery temperatures.”
“I didn’t even think to bring a fishing pole,” Luke admitted mostly to himself but out loud still. He was embarrassed by the statement since he would be spending a week at an actual lake with water and fish and boats and docks. Even six months after the fact, he hadn’t been able to wrap his brain around the change in purpose for this trip. Originally, he hadn’t figured he’d be spending any time outside of the cabin at all. Fishing had been far, far from his mind.
“Jojo will fix you up with some gear. No worries about that.”
It took a moment for Luke’s train of thought to shift back to the conversation at hand. He got stuck in the past more than he cared to admit. He snapped from his wayward thoughts. “Fishing gear. Sure. That would be nice. Appreciate it.”
It turned out Bessie had almost proven her worth, stranding Luke just ten minutes away from his ultimate destination. Before he knew it, Roger’s truck engine shut off in a slushy driveway belonging to a lake house that was a smaller version of the others surrounding it: a quaint, white-sided box with a tiny front stoop, outfitted with a brilliant, bright red door. It looked as though it could serve as the in-law quarters to the more expansive home just to its left.
“This is you.” Roger nodded to the modest house. “Enjoy your stay, Luke. I’m just up the road at 18 Spruce if you need anything, but Jojo’s pretty good at tending to her neighbors, so feel free to try her first. Plus, I know she appreciates the company. Especially this time of year.”
Luke was grateful for the man who’d been a stranger up until fifteen minutes ago and he told him so. Though the time they’d spent together was limited, it was remarkable what a kind gesture could do for the soul, and Luke’s soul had been in desperate need of this type of mending. Generosity wasn’t dead and good people still existed. This was welcome news. He liked Merrylark already.
Just as the emailed instructions indicated, Luke found the key waiting for him under the rubber mat. Pine needles collected in the embossed word Welcome, so he lifted the mat to shake off the stray barbs. There was a metal screen door that he opened first, then he fumbled with the key and the lock while the weight of his duffel bag tugged downward on his shoulder. Jostling a bit, he shoved the strap higher. After teetering for a while, he finally settled his luggage onto the ground near his feet and used both hands to turn over the deadbolt.
“Work smarter, not harder, Handley,” he half-scolded with a laugh as he shoved the key into the lock and swung the door wide.
The lake house smelled old, must trapped in the walls and furniture like it had been baked into the materials, marinating there for decades. Yet it wasn’t at all unpleasant. In fact, Luke liked the smell. It smelled as a cottage should, worn with time and memories.
Even if the smell had been off-putting, the view more than made up for it. Along the west-facing wall of the home were floor-to-ceiling windows, expansive enough to outline the lake in its entirety like a gilded frame around a painting. Something about the scene—the icy blue water and the aluminum boats overturned on the docks—lowered Luke’s blood pressure and loosened the tightness that had wound in his chest more fiercely than the curving roadway up here.
And even more inviting than the draw of the lake was the lone bottle of champagne perched on the butcher block counter. He wasn’t really a bubbly-drinking kind of guy—couldn’t recall ever actually having a glass of the stuff—but a drink was a drink and he needed one, desperately. After tossing his duffle bag on the plaid green and blue couch, he rummaged through the kitchen drawers to locate an opener. What he couldn’t locate was an actual glass, but the bottle would be fine. He wouldn’t be sharing.
Warmth slid through his veins with the first crisp sip. Relaxation came with the second. Several hearty chugs and he finally felt like he might be able to loosen up enough to enjoy himself on this trip. He’d have to come up with another name for it though, because honeymoon wasn’t going to fly.
A time out.
That might best describe what he planned to do here. Or a sabbatical. Even better. His lifelong buddy, Craig McGraw, took one of those last semester. While the rest of Craig’s coworkers had grumbled in the break room about the absent science teacher, Luke felt like Craig had been onto something with his scheduled removal from society.
A sabbatical. It didn’t have a bad ring to it.
Luke was rolling around the new title for his vacation in his mind and on his tongue when he made the mistake of meandering down the only hallway toward the master bedroom. Immediately, he froze in the doorframe. The bed was huge—king-sized. One with notched and knotty logs for the posts and the frame, and the dresser and armoire matched in a similar style and feel. There was a bear motif, with a carved wooden cub placed on the nightstand for the base of a lamp and a stuffed teddy bear settled neatly on the center of the bed like some furry lake house mascot.
And sprinkled all around like confetti were crimson red rose petals. Hundreds of them. A bouquet full, probably, torn from their stems and scattered ceremoniously over the wedding bed.
Luke’s face went hot.
Pivoting on the heel of his boot, he pulled the door shut, deciding the couch would be a perfectly fine place to sleep instead.
3
Jolene
“MARK?” JOLENE CALLED out as soon as she heard the unexpected knocking. There was a naïve hope in her voice, but it fell flat the moment she opened the door. The man standing before her—the one with the dirty white baseball cap, wary smile, and upturned palmful of crushed rose petals—didn’t really even resemble her Mark. She wasn’t sure why she’d said it. She just couldn’t keep the name from falling from her lips each time she had a surprise visitor. It had become an inexplicable and instinctual habit of hers, to blurt out her hope without first protecting her heart.
“Nope. Not Mark. Luke, actually. But if we can find a Matthew and John we might have ourselves a pretty good start.”
Jolene shook her head, tossing off the vision shrouding her reality. The man on her porch instantly snapped into view, like the grabbing adjustment and focus of a camera lens. He didn’t look anything like Mark other than the light hair and lighter eyes, but even those were off. This man’s eyes were blue, icy almost. And his skin was too tanned for this time of year, which hinted that its pigment was more genetic than sun given.
“Jolene, right?” His words weren’t slurred, but they weren’t distinct and separated as they should be.
Rather, they bled together like they were strung along in a stanza of music, different notes in the same measure. She figured it was just his way of talking; lazily and relaxed. “You are Jolene, aren’t you? I do have the right house? I’m not great with directions, but next-door-neighbor seemed easy enough to follow.” He smiled again, this one more confident and sure, revealing brilliant white teeth behind full lips.
“Yes,” Jolene stammered, aware she’d been practically gawking. She shook her head another time. “I’m sorry. Jolene. Jolene Carter.”
Two hands jutted toward her. She glanced down to see the flower petals she’d used earlier that day as decorations now crumpled and offered back, like they were being returned at a department store counter.
“These,” the man said as his hands crossed over the threshold and into her home, “I can’t have these and they were too pretty to just throw away and my new friend Roger said you were helpful so I was hoping you might help me figure out what I can do with them that won’t seem as wasteful as throwing them into the trash bin since they’re so nice and all.”
Those words—those were all spoken in one breath, like it was the last one he had and he had to get everything out before it ran out.
Jolene’s mouth dropped open.
“I’m sorry,” he said. He took all the petals and squished them into his left palm, freeing up his right so he could extend it in greeting. “Luke Handley. Your neighbor for the week. I’m staying in that house right next door.” His head nudged toward the O’Connell place.
“Right,” Jolene spoke. “Yes, Luke. I knew you were coming. I’m sorry to be so—”
“Surprised by the random man on your doorstep?”
“Have you been drinking?” Jolene quietly gasped at her own boldness the instant the words trickled out.
“Not nearly enough.”
“I don’t mean to insinuate that you have,” Jolene stammered over his answer as she tried to regain some dignity. She felt that awful, sick tugging in her stomach from knowing she’d spoken with no filter. This man must’ve thought she was an utter fool, and a rude one at that. “That was just a really, really long sentence you spoke there.”
All of the words Jolene offered felt like the wrong ones. She took his proffered hand into her grip and shook it, albeit hesitantly.
Luke only smiled. It was an honest, genial grin. “For what it’s worth, I’m not drunk. Never really have been. You’d think an entire bottle would completely do me in, but this one seems to have no effect. Not that I didn’t try.”
“That bottle on the counter?” Jolene tried not to snicker as she began to comprehend what he was saying. “That was sparkling cider, Luke. I used to leave the real stuff for the guests, but that led to some pretty rowdy neighbors in the past.”
Luke brought a hand to the back of his neck and rubbed at it in a way that made him look boyish and self-conscious. “Well that certainly explains it.” He huffed out a laugh. “Probably for the best, anyway. I don’t need to start off my sabbatical with a headache.”
People came to Merrylark for all sorts of reasons, but sabbaticals usually weren’t at the top of the list. Jolene hadn’t recalled that information in Luke’s reservation. In fact, if she remembered correctly, there was supposed to be one more tenant joining him during his weeklong stay.
“Sabbatical? As in from your job?”
“From my life.”
“Wow,” Jolene muttered before she could stop herself. And then she did the one thing she knew to do in a situation like this. “Luke, would you like to come in for a cup of coffee? I was just about to put a pot on.”
Luke had been looking at the ground—at the Welcome mat that was a twin to the one on his stoop—but his gaze shot up with Jolene’s remark. “Actually, even after all that cider, I really could use something to drink.”
JOLENE WASN’T USED to having male company other than Roger and she honestly didn’t even consider him company anymore. Roger was family. In fact, most of the Merrylark residents were like family. It was a small, tight-knit community that stayed woven together even when tourists and vacationers periodically threaded their way into the tapestry during summer months and holidays. Jolene loved that. There was always room for a newcomer in these parts, and most of the time, they integrated so quickly it was like they were also long-time residents. There was just something so homey about Merrylark, for visitor and long-timer alike.
But Jolene rarely had these particular visitors in to share a cup of coffee. She was great at making sure the O’Connell place was a warm, inviting retreat. Often, those who rented the lake house never really needed to venture out for anything. It was all right there, provided and ready for their stay.
Maybe that’s why she was so surprised to see Luke at her front door just a half an hour after his arrival.
In her kitchen, Jolene pulled the coffee grounds from the freezer, measured them out, and placed them into the maker, trying not to glance back at the handsome stranger standing in the center of her living room. Suddenly, she became insecure at the way Christmas had exploded within her house—how the eight-foot tree was not only flocked with fake, fluffy snow, but leaning like the Tower of Pisa from the uneven weight of hundreds of handmade ornaments and kitschy decorations. Every flat surface in her home boasted a snowman figurine or Santa sculpture. The sofa table was adorned with a ceramic sleigh, with eight reindeer to pull the load and there was the customary antique train that circled the skirt of the tree, chugging ‘round and ‘round on the plastic tracks. It even blew a faint little whistle every few minutes, creating a holiday soundtrack of tidings and cheer.
Christmas was Jolene’s favorite time of year and her home was a visual testament to that.
“A lot of those decorations were handed down,” she said, feeling the need to offer an excuse for why her place rivaled the splendor of the North Pole. “Some were gifts. Others I got after Christmas for like fifty percent off or at thrift stores or garage sales.”
“I think it’s perfect,” Luke commented as he touched one of the glittering ball ornaments on the tree with the tip of his index finger. He looked over his shoulder at Jolene and she felt a low flutter in her stomach when their gazes connected. She rapidly broke from his stare.
“Makes me almost wish my place had a tree,” Luke confessed with a nonchalant shrug.
“A tree!” Jolene exclaimed. “We can totally get you a tree! I’m so sorry I didn’t even think to do that. Of course you’d want a tree. I was so focused on restocking the toilet paper that a Christmas tree totally slipped my mind!”
“I wasn’t complaining, Jolene.” Hearing her name spoken in his deep, yet intimately soft, drawl made Jolene suddenly hot. It could’ve been the steam from the brewing coffee, but she doubted it. “And thank you for the T.P. That’s a much appreciated necessity,” he said, winking in a way that looked so effortless and natural on him. “A tree would be nice, though. You happen to know where I can find one?”
“Of course I do!” Tree shopping was at the very top of Jolene’s list of favorite Christmas traditions. “There’s a little lot down on Glenn Street that I can take you to tomorrow. Not a huge variety, but they’ll have what you need.”
“That would be great. S’pose I’ll need to grab a few ornaments when we’re in town too. Forgot to pack those in my suitcase.” Luke chuckled.
“Goodness, I think I could just give you a few of mine.” Jolene hovered over the coffee pot, unsure where to place her body within her own home and she laughed in a way that felt forced and phony. She’d never felt so awkward within these walls before and knew this man was the reason for her blunder. He rattled something deep in her nerves.
“I’m not going to take your ornaments.”
“Oh, I have more than a few to spare,” she admitted. “Plus, it’ll be good to thin it out a little. I always feel bad for ones in the back that never get any attention.”
Luke slowly turned to face her. “You feel bad for the ornaments?”
/> “Hey, you’re the guy who came over with a handful of rose petals you couldn’t bring yourself to throw away. I’d say we’re even.”
“True. True.” Luke still had the flowers in his palm, and at that moment he placed them onto an empty candy dish that looked like a ceramic peppermint in a twisted cellophane wrapper. He glanced down at the discarded petals and then up to Jolene. “That coffee almost ready?”
Just then, the machine beeped as the last of the carafe filled up. “Speak of the devil.” Jolene clapped her hands together in small celebration and then opened the cupboard to retrieve two mugs from the top shelf. “How do you take it?”
“Black.”
Jolene wished she could read a man by the way he drank his coffee because she wanted to know more about this particular one in front of her. She rarely fraternized with the O’Connell tenants, but she couldn’t say she was upset to have this surprise visitor. He seemed polite enough—courteous, even—and although Jolene was content to be alone most of the time, during the holidays that aloneness inevitably turned into loneliness. It was just the way of things.
She brought Luke his coffee and gestured toward the corduroy couch where they both lowered to sit. It felt a little too formal, so Jolene kicked off her ballet flats and tucked her legs up underneath her body to cozy into the cushions and pillows there. Steam rose from her mug and she cooled it with a breath blown between her pursed lips. Wrapping her fingers around the warm ceramic, she looked over at her new neighbor. He was cooling his drink the same way.
“I’m really sorry to come over here like this.” Luke’s light eyes creased at the corners, his strong brow furrowing noticeably in thought. “To intrude on your evening and all.”
A Lake House Holiday: A Small-Town Christmas Romance Novel Page 2
