(Not So) Alone for Christmas: A Sweet Romantic Comedy Holiday Novella

by Jenny Proctor

  “So you’re snowed in with Bo,” Chloe said, her tone full of mischief. “Mom is going to die.”

  “Yeah, I want to have a conversation with Mom about Bo. He said his mom has been giving him updates about me. What’s with that? And why hasn’t Mom told me he was asking?” Or Mrs. Bradshaw was asking, anyway. Whether the updates were unsolicited or not, I had no idea.

  “I don’t know. Mom made it sound like he hadn’t been single in a very long time.”

  Bo had confirmed as much downstairs. But it still felt like relevant information.

  “But he’s single now,” Chloe said in a sing-song voice. She laughed. “Merry Christmas to you.”

  A part of me thrilled at the thought. But a bigger part felt no small measure of trepidation. Bo was the first boy I had ever loved. With a young and inexperienced heart, to be sure. But my feelings had been real and deep, and when he’d graduated and left home, having never paid me the slightest bit of attention, I had nursed a broken heart for months.

  I’d meant what I’d said to Bo downstairs. I didn’t want to be alone at Christmas. But how could I be sure spending a week with Bo wouldn’t put me on a crash course to repeat heartbreak?

  Chapter Four

  I woke to the smell of coffee and sizzling bacon. It took blinking at my ceiling for a few minutes for me to remember where I was and what I was doing there. And to process the fact that there was only one person who could be cooking in my parents’ kitchen.

  After I’d gotten off the phone with Chloe the night before, Mom hadn’t waited five minutes to call me herself. She was devastated, of course, that I wouldn’t be able to join them, at least not for a few more days, but just as had Chloe predicted, she was also thrilled at the prospect of me having some quality “get-to-know-you” time with Bo.

  “It’s not a big deal,” I’d told her, willing confidence into my voice. “He has a life here, and I have a life in Chicago. Please don’t call Mrs. Bradshaw and make something out of this.”

  Mom had huffed. “Fine. I won’t call Melinda, but promise you’ll at least try to be charming.”

  I’d rolled my eyes. The way Mom talked, it sounded like I was sabotaging my dating life on purpose. Nothing could be further from the truth. I wanted to meet someone. To settle down. To have a relationship that really meant something. I couldn’t help it if men failed to notice what I had to offer. And they did. Over and over again. For whatever reason, I just wasn’t the kind of woman men tended to notice first.

  Jenna always said it was because I never looked like I wanted to meet someone. “Stop looking like your only job is to be the designated driver,” she always told me. Only, I usually was the designated driver. But where was the problem in that? Somebody had to be. Why not me?

  I turned and stared at the bulletin board that still hung above the desk in the corner of the room. It was filled with pictures, certificates, and various other tokens from my days in high school. Funny how it had all seemed so important back then.

  My eye caught on the red and green trimmed sash I’d worn during the Christmas Choral Concert my sophomore year, the bottom of the sash still speckled with mud. I’d had a solo that night.

  I closed my eyes, remembering how hard I’d worked, the hours and hours I’d practiced making sure each note I sang rang clear and true. I wasn’t soloist material—not really. But what I lacked in talent, I’d made up for with sheer perseverance. In my head? It had been the perfect opportunity for Bo to finally notice me.

  I cringed at the thought, wondering, not for the first time, if he had any memory of that night . . . if he’d glanced back and seen me through his rearview mirror.

  Mom had wanted to try and get the sash cleaned with the rest of my costume, but I’d refused, claiming I needed the mud as a reminder of the lesson I’d learned that night.

  That had been the night I’d finally given up on Bo.

  A light knock sounded at my door. “Maddy?” Bo’s voice called, soft enough that had I actually been sleeping, I wouldn’t have heard him.

  “I’m awake,” I called, suddenly hoping he didn’t take that as an invitation to come in. Awake, yes. Looking like a total booger woman? Also yes.

  “I made breakfast,” he said through the closed door. “Are you hungry?”

  “Sure. I’ll be down in a minute.”

  I hurried into the bathroom and brushed my teeth then splashed water on my face. My hair was still good; despite my rush to catch my flight, I’d managed to blow it out and curl it the day before which generally gave me waves for days. But I did look a little tired. Would mascara make me look like I was trying too hard?

  Would no mascara make me look like I wasn’t trying hard enough?

  “Get a grip, Mads,” I said to my reflection, grabbing the mascara out of my makeup bag. “He probably won’t notice either way.”

  I found Bo in the kitchen wearing jeans and a faded purple Clemson hoodie. His hair was tamer than it had been the night before, and he looked as though he’d trimmed his beard. The kitchen table was set, a spread of pancakes, scrambled eggs, and bacon filling the center of the table.

  Bo handed me a mug of coffee. “It’s just black,” he said. “There’s cream and sugar on the table.”

  I lowered myself into a chair, noticing that he’d set the table so that we sat perpendicular to each other on one side, rather than sitting on opposite ends.

  For practical reasons, I told myself as I added cream to my coffee. To be closer to the food.

  “This looks amazing,” I said.

  “I don’t do a lot of cooking, but I’m good at breakfast. And since you were so hungry last night, I figured you might enjoy something more substantial than cereal.”

  “You figured correctly. Thank you.” I grabbed a piece of bacon and snuck a bite before putting anything else on my plate. “How are things looking outside?”

  “It stopped snowing,” Bo replied. “But it’s cold. Izzy had no idea what to do when I took her out this morning.”

  I poured syrup onto the pancakes I’d forked onto my plate. “I guess she wouldn’t. I don’t think she’s ever seen snow before.”

  “They’re warning we might see some power outages over the next couple of days.” Bo picked up the plate of bacon and offered it to me.

  “I’m used to power outages from hurricanes, but from snow? This is crazy.”

  “We might actually get to use the fireplace,” Bo said with a grin. “That will be fun.”

  I smiled. Charleston winters were usually mild enough that actually needing to use the fireplace for anything other than ambiance was rare.

  We made fast work of the food Bo had prepared, talking the entire time. Conversation was easy and light, so easy that I stopped worrying about what Bo might be thinking. We talked about Chicago and the elementary school where I worked. We talked about Jenna and Costa and their impromptu trip to Greece. We talked about his farm and how excited he was to be growing the business his uncle had left in his obviously capable hands.

  An hour after we’d finished eating, Bo leaned back in his chair, cocked his head, and looked at me. “Would it be rude of me to say I’m actually kind of glad you weren’t able to fly to Hawaii today?”

  Heat flooded my cheeks. It wasn’t rude, but I still wasn’t sure what to do with the information.

  “Not rude,” I said softly, though I didn’t have the courage to meet his eye. All my life I’d been dreaming of Bo Bradshaw noticing me. Now that he was, I didn’t have the first clue how to respond.

  “You look good, Maddy. You’ve . . . grown up.” His voice was low and sincere and slightly suggestive.

  “I feel like cookies. Do you want cookies?” I stood up quickly, bumping my chair and nearly knocking it over. I caught it and righted it then started gathering the dishes from the table.

  “Cookies sound great,” Bo said hesitantly.

  I turned, dishes in hand, ready to head for the sink.

  “Hey,” Bo said, reaching out and to
uching my arm. “Did I say something wrong?”

  I stilled, my eyes drawn to the spot where his fingers rested just above my wrist. Why did his touch have to feel so good? If he were any other guy, the touch would hardly be a big deal. It could even be something casual—something that said, ‘hey, I’m interested in getting to know you a little better.’ But this was Bo. There was so much history. Even though I had grown up and left my feelings behind, it had only taken an extended conversation over breakfast to bring everything right back up to the surface. My heart was way too compromised for his touch to feel anything but explosive.

  His hand fell, and he dropped his eyes. “Sorry, I—”

  “You didn’t say anything wrong,” I said, cutting off his apology. He didn’t owe me one. I couldn’t hold him accountable for a whole pile of feelings he didn’t know about.

  I moved into the kitchen and lowered the dishes into the sink.

  “I didn’t say anything wrong,” Bo said, following me to the kitchen island. He put down the pancake syrup and slid the empty bacon plate toward the sink. “But maybe I should have asked about your current relationship status?”

  My heart hammered in my chest. What did that even mean? That he was interested? That he was hoping I was single? If only it were so simple.

  “I made an assumption,” Bo said, holding up his hands, “based on what you said about your Mom looking for single guys. But I shouldn’t have. I promise I can respect boundaries and I won’t—”

  I shook my head, stopping his words. “I’m not . . . that’s not it. I’m not seeing anyone.”

  He pushed his hands into the back pockets of his jeans, his lips lifting into a playful smile. Maybe even a hopeful smile? “Okay. I’m not either.”

  Okay, yes. That was definitely hope in his voice. I grabbed the orange juice off the table and carried it to the fridge, using it as an excuse to keep my back to him for a few seconds longer. Was this actually happening?

  A thousand imagined scenarios floated through my head. It’s not like I hadn’t had years to think up the things I might say when Bo finally noticed me, the ways I would be charming and witty and sexy.

  I closed the fridge. But that was back then. I was an adult now. An adult with a life and a relationship history and enough experience to know that I wasn’t in high school anymore. And I couldn’t let nostalgia run away with my good sense.

  “Tell me about your break-up,” I said. If there was any possibility of anything happening in the next forty-eight hours, I needed to know more about this guy. He wasn’t just the cute teenage neighbor next door anymore. I had to approach this situation like the grown-up that I was.

  Bo’s smile dropped, and he ran a hand across his face, his expression saying he’d really been through something.

  “Sorry. Is that too personal?” I kept my hands busy rinsing the dishes and loading them into the dishwasher. “We don’t have to talk about it.”

  Bo dropped onto a barstool across from me. “I don’t mind you asking. There just isn’t much to tell. Her name was Alicia. We dated for almost a year, then broke up because we wanted different things. She wasn’t super sold on the idea of farm life, but the farm—” He looked up. “Bradshaw Farms. It was my uncle’s, up in Ridgeville. But it’s mine now.”

  I nodded. “I pulled up your website.”

  That seemed to give him pause, but gratefully, he didn’t make a big deal out of it. So I’d Googled him. I wasn’t going to pretend like it wasn’t something every unattached person on the planet did the minute they met someone new.

  “The farm is my life,” he continued. “My livelihood, at least. She said my lack of willingness to give it up for her was telling. And I guess it was.”

  “That makes sense.”

  “The thing is, I’d like to think I’m the kind of guy who would give anything up for the person I love. I think I’m still that guy. But with her, it just,” he shook his head, “didn’t seem worth it.”

  I turned off the sink and dried my hands on the holiday-themed dishtowel hanging on the microwave door. Bo must have done the dishes as he cooked because there was little else to do to clean up. “But you love the farm, right? I mean, we’ve never talked about it, but the website is amazing. You’ve clearly put a lot of work into it.”

  “I do love it.”

  “Then she shouldn’t ask you to give up something you love. Relationships are about compromise, sure. Do we get a dog? Do we not get a dog? Do we take the job in Phoenix? Or stay in Chicago? But I don’t think love should be about ultimatums.”

  The lights overhead flickered momentarily, and we both glanced up at the ceiling. “Uh-oh,” I said. “That’s foreboding.”

  “Hopefully it’s just a flicker.”

  “I should start baking right now.”

  Bo raised an eyebrow.

  “What? Don’t look at me like that. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve. I can’t do Christmas without Christmas cookies.”

  He grinned. “You bake. I’m going to gather some supplies in case we do lose power.”

  ***

  Late that evening, we sat in the family room, a plate of frosted sugar cookies on the coffee table and mugs of hot chocolate in our hands.

  Bo reached for a cookie. “All right, I admit it. This cookie is absolutely worth the wait.”

  I sighed. “I’m so glad the power stayed on.”

  “Me too,” he said through a mouth full of crumbs.

  I hadn’t just made frosted sugar cookies. I’d also made molasses sugar cookies, raspberry thumbprints, and peppermint snickerdoodles. And I’d made a giant pot of soup and homemade bread that we’d enjoyed for dinner. Even if we did lose power, we’d still be able to warm up what was left of the soup on the gas stove. I’d never been so grateful for my mother’s extensive and well-stocked pantry.

  The distraction of something to do had also been nice. While the prospect of uninterrupted get-to-know-you time with Bo was thrilling, it was also incredibly intimidating. I needed to pace myself.

  While I baked, I thought about his ex-girlfriend and her lack of willingness to embrace Bo’s life for what it was. A part of me understood. Ridgeville was . . . small. So small. But it wasn’t so very far away from Charleston, and it was even closer to Summerville, which was a big enough town to have shopping options and decent restaurants.

  I could do it. Probably. Live in Ridgeville.

  The thought brought heat to my cheeks. It’s not like anyone had actually asked. That my mind was willing to leap all the way there after one shared breakfast was maybe a little concerning. But I couldn’t figure out how to slow my brain down. Bo was here. Bo was kind and helpful and really good looking and he’d built a successful business and he liked my cookies and . . . he wouldn’t stop staring at me.

  I raised my mug to my lips, hoping the light was low enough to hide the blush in my cheeks.

  Bo grabbed another cookie, his eyes only darting away for a moment before they locked right back on me. It was almost unnerving how attentive he was. It’s possible I just wasn’t used to a guy who looked at me instead of his phone. My last boyfriend, Jacob, had been a commercial real estate agent. He literally worked all the time. Work call in the middle of dinner? Sure. Negotiate a deal while I finished a movie by myself? No problem.

  Toward the end of our relationship, Jenna had asked me why I let him get away with ignoring me so much. “He doesn’t see you, Maddy,” she’d said. And maybe that was the reason. I was good at not being seen.

  “You like to bake, I take it,” Bo said.

  “Love it. It’s good stress relief for me. And it’s a great way to make other people happy, which is another thing I love to do.”

  He licked a spot of icing off his finger, and I had to look away. There was no one, anywhere, who had ever made eating a cookie look so sexy.

  “Is this an original recipe?” He took another large bite, closing his eyes as he chewed. “I’m serious. I’m not generally a cookie person but these are amazing.”


  Warmth pulsed in my chest at his praise. “It is original. Took me a few years of experimentation, but I think I’ve finally nailed down the perfect ratios.”

  “Have you ever thought about doing this professionally?” He retrieved a third cookie from the plate. “I’d pay a few bucks for one of these.”

  Funny. I had thought about doing it. Every time I was in the kitchen, I thought about it. But it was silly. I had a teaching degree. And even though I didn’t make crazy good money, it was consistent. Reliable. I could live anywhere and get a job as a teacher. That security was important to me.

  I shook my head. “No. I mean, yes, but not really.”

  “Why not?”

  I shrugged. “Because. There are people who go to school for that kind of thing. I’m a teacher. And I like teaching.”

  “As much as you like baking?”

  Not hardly. I narrowed my eyes.

  “Why are you asking me such hard questions?” I reached for my own cookie, nibbling on the edge. I’d possibly had more than too many while I was baking.

  “There’s something to be said for loving what you do.”

  “Right. But there’s also something to be said for stability and security. And that’s what teaching gives me.”

  Bo scrunched his nose as if considering my words. “I get that. But maybe there’s an acceptable middle ground in there somewhere. You could start small. Sell them on the side while you’re still teaching.”

  I pulled my legs up under me and draped a blanket across my lap. “It isn’t that easy. Because to sell food on the side, you have to prepare it in a commercial kitchen. My apartment in Chicago is way too small for that kind of kitchen-conversion, and renting commercial space is too expensive to justify when there’s no guarantee it would actually work.”

  Bo ate another cookie. “It would definitely work. I can’t stop eating these things.”

  I grinned. “You’re going to make yourself sick.”

  “Well worth the possibility.” He patted his midsection and breathed out a satisfied sigh. “The fact that you’ve put so much thought into this already tells me it’s an idea you shouldn’t let go of.”