by Alicia Best
Bright Christmas
A Shady Piers Romance
Alicia Best
Bright Christmas © 2018 by Alicia Best.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, actual events, locations or organizations is entirely coincidental.
All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be used, reproduced or transmitted in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in critical articles and reviews.
Published by Mellow Publications 8345 NW 66 ST, Suite #C8309 Miami FL 33166-789 USA
mellowpublications.com
Alicia Best may be contacted at: -
Facebook at aliciabest17
Website at aliciabest.com
Twitter at abestauthor
Amazon at author.to/AliciaBest
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Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Epilogue
About Alicia
Prologue
Hannah
I’d always wondered what Christmas was like with snow.
I’d watched all those old movies like White Christmas and It’s a Wonderful Life dozens of times. I’d even found some old version of Dickens’ ‘A Christmas Carol’ on CD that I’d played without fail every December since I could remember. I’d dreamed about snow and sleigh rides and hot cider and the smell of pine in the freezing air.
Even though I knew deep down inside myself that all that movie stuff was probably just a sound stage in the backlot in downtown Burbank, you couldn't take it away from me. Not back then. It was magical, and I couldn't wait.
My Christmases were never cold. They always played out in the California sun, and to be honest, they weren’t always fun. As I grew older, my family life made sure of that—so much so that it stained the feeling I had for Christmas and I put it away for years. I hid it in a back pocket of my mind and threw out romantic notions of cinnamon and Yankee Candles, unless I came across them in a mall, of course.
Work became my escape, and in the end, that was what brought Christmas back to me. An offer to spend Christmas in the frozen North on the other side of the continent. An offer that took me less than three seconds to agree to.
What could possibly go wrong?
I never thought about that for a minute, for the sound of the adventure ticked all the boxes of my old dreams and the romance of Christmas was back in me with a vengeance.
And then, even as I arrived, this wonderful gift of a revitalized Christmas began to fall apart.
Chapter 1
Hannah
I hug my camera bag closer to my side, holding my breath as I take in the strings of glowing lights twinkling from every building above lush wreaths dotting the doors. The moon is peeking out from between the clouds, its sparkling reflection shimmering on the powdery white sidewalks.
Every time one of the shop doors swings open, cheery music spills out onto the street along with the scent of gingerbread and cinnamon and the light laughter of those within. Even though I want to stay out here, soaking up the Christmas cheer as much as I can, I check the address one more time on my phone and then turn down the road towards the community center.
The building ahead is modern but small, and festive stickers of Santa Claus and his elves and reindeer cling to the windows. I push open the door, a breeze of warm heat blows the chill off my cheeks.
“You must be Hannah!” a cheery voice calls out. A woman sweeps forward, her long flowing skirt billowing behind her and showing a peek of thick wool tights beneath. “Welcome to Shady Piers! We’re so excited to have our little festival shown off in such a big travel magazine. I’ve been researching it ever since you reached out to us.”
“This is not a little festival!” I laugh, gliding my phone into my back pocket. “You’re decked out to the nines here.”
“Hah! You haven’t seen anything yet,” she teases me. “It rarely snows this much, so it’s slowed us down with our preparations. I guess the weather is getting into the Christmas spirit.”
I grin and pull out a little notepad, scrawling down her words as fast as I can. Even though my writing is like chicken scratch, I’ll be able to read it just fine later. While some of my colleagues like to type out their notes on their phones, that just feels so impersonal to me.
“It’s hard to believe anyone wouldn’t be in the spirit here. You guys have made the town look fantastic. It’s like a real-life gingerbread house, all covered in gumdrops and white frosting.”
The woman smiles warmly in welcome, sweeping ruffled hair off her forehead and glancing out the window towards the white-speckled roads of her Maine seaside town.
“Oh my, I haven’t introduced myself. I’m sorry. I can be a little scatterbrained. My name is Calla. I’m running this year’s Christmas festival with my friend, Maddie… It seems I’m not responsible enough to run it on my own.” She pauses and winks. “They’re probably right!”
“Let me just say that I’m so excited to be here, Calla. This time of year is my absolute favorite, but I’m from southern California. I’ve never seen snow. I’ve always dreamed of a white Christmas though.”
“By the looks of the weather, it seems like this might be your year!” Calla says cheerily. “Once you wake up to snow on Christmas morning, you’ll never want to open presents without it again. I wouldn’t be surprised if you decided to move here by the end of your visit.”
I suppress a surprised laugh, lifting my eyebrows. “My home is in California, and so is my job. I think if I want a white Christmas after this, I may have to just book a holiday.”
Her chin bobs in a nod. “Well, you’re always free to visit us; it’s much quieter outside the holidays. Let me just introduce you to Maddie as well. She runs a farm outside town, and she’s got a real knack for organization, and with the weather being like it is, she has a little extra time on her hands to help us out.”
Calla glances around, shrugging when she doesn’t spot her friend and hugging her oversized sweater around her body. She steps closer, her eyes shining. Her voice becomes secretive and yet playful. She’s so open, like she’s willing to be best friends with anyone.
“You know, I have no idea why they picked me to help out with this thing. I can’t organize the shoes in my closet, let alone a whole celebration.” She notices my pen and paper and gives a faint yelp. “Oh gosh, tell me that’s off the record.”
With a wink, I pretend to zip my lips. “Don’t worry, not everything gets written down here, just the important stuff. Besides, I owe you for letting me have this exclusive interview. I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to swing a meeting with the planning committee this close to Christmas Eve.”
She laughs and shrugs. “I didn't realize a meeting with me or Maddie could be something that warranted exclusivity. To us, we’re just trying to plan something that our townies and tourists will all enjoy and remember. It’s such a tradition here!”
Even though Calla may not recognize how important this interview is to me, I do. It means everything to me. This piece could be my big break, the one I’ve been waiting for since I graduated top of my journalism class in college and got an apprenticeship at SoCal Press—the most modern and popular travel magazine in my state. It is my abso
lute dream job. Sometimes I still think I’m dreaming when I head into the office or show off my press badge.
There is a downside though: not only is being an apprentice at the magazine fabulous, it is also extremely competitive.
After the apprenticeship comes to an end in the next few months, they will offer just one upcoming journalist a job on the staff. That means everyone else will have to take their resumes and their ambitions elsewhere.
One of our last chances to impress the magazine editors is to find the perfect story for the annual Christmas edition of the publication. All of the apprentices, including myself, are out hunting for the perfect festive story, but just one of us will get the spotlight. That person is all but guaranteed to be the one who secures a job at the end of our apprenticeship.
I’m sure that once the editor reads my article on this quaint little town’s beautiful Christmas-tree-lighting ceremony, I’ll be a shoe-in. There’s no way anyone wouldn’t love reading about this place. When I close my eyes, I can practically see sugarplum fairies dancing about these frosted streets.
We have only three days to submit our completed pieces to the editors, so I will have to cover it as brilliantly as I can in that time. I don’t mind having to work on the holidays. I haven’t had one off in so long that it no longer stings. It doesn't hurt that I'm something of a workaholic anyway and chasing the next story means as much to me as celebrating St. Patrick's Day or New Year's ever would.
“What else do you need for your article?” Calla asks, dragging me back to reality.
“Well, for starters, I’d love to just hear a little bit about the origins of the festival and why you all celebrate with a tree lighting. I’ve heard the tree is always at least fifty feet tall, is that true? How long does it take to string a tree that size? Oh my, and how long are the light strings themselves?” I bite my tongue when Calla goes a little pale, knowing that I’m getting way ahead of myself. My editor is always telling me that I need to handle my interviews in a more structured way, but with anything Christmas, it’s just so hard for me to stay calm. “Sorry. I didn't mean to barrage you with questions. For now, let's start with the history of the festival."
Calla’s pale face now goes blank, her mouth frozen with an uncertain smile. I can tell before she says anything that she has no idea what the background of the festival might be. With all the interviews I’ve done throughout my education and apprenticeship, I’m able to spot a liar and read faces well. Still, to my amusement, she sucks in a deep breath and sets her hands on her hips.
“Well,” she begins, gaze drifting away like she’s staring through time right back to the very first Christmas commemoration here, “it all began during the Revolutionary War. The people still wanted to celebrate Christmas, of course, so they lit candles in a giant tree and then the flames leaped higher and higher, scaring off nearby enemy troops—”
“Calla,” I interrupt, lifting my pen and tapping it against my chin. “Whatever you’re saying will be on the record this time, so you might want to take a minute and think about whether or not this explanation is based on facts.”
She pouts, arms folding. “Well. That’s no fun.”
“So, I take it you don’t know much about why the festival started? It’s so famous that even in California, I sometimes see pictures of your tree lighting. The inns and hotels here get booked up like six months in advance. I had to beg and plead just to find a tiny room.”
“I’m afraid I’ve got no real idea why the festival started or why we do the tree lighting. The town has done it since my grandmother was a little girl.”
“In those years it’s turned into a grand event to be remembered, hasn’t it?” I murmur, scribbling away.
Calla nods. “It’s a huge deal not just to those of us who live here but also to the tourists who come to experience a little piece of small-town holiday heaven. I can’t wait for you to see it all, Hannah. Have you had time to walk through the streets yet? A few of the horses from Maddie’s farm are being used for carriage rides to see the lights.”
I shake my head, longing to get back outside. “I’m so excited to see the town all lit up once the sun sets.”
“You must get some hot cocoa. I know the perfect place. I’ll write down the address for you. If you tell Delia I sent you, she might even give you extra whipped cream,” she says with a twinkle in her eye.
“Is there anything else you want to tell me about the festival? It sounds like you’ve grown up around here.”
Calla nods, obviously focusing on a more truthful story this time. “The streets smell like pine and clove and hot cider. Everyone is so happy and peaceful. It is truly a time for us to reflect on what we have and who we love and what will come in the next year.” Her face is filled with joy. “Isn’t Christmas wonderful?”
“It really is,” I agree.
Though each of my twenty-four California Christmases has been beautiful and balmy—more than one ending with a trip to the beach—I've always imagined what it would be like to be in a postcard-perfect village like Shady Piers for the holidays. I’ve already taken so many photos on my phone that the memory card has filled up. I’m glad now that I brought my camera for the tree-lighting ceremony.
“Oh, speaking of the tree. Where does it come from?” I press my pen to my notepad again, watching Calla blink her eyes as she returns to the moment.
“The tree?”
“Yeah, the big one that you all light every year. I think I heard something about a local tree farm? Is that Maddie’s farm that you were talking about?”
“Oh! Yes, it’s a tree farm––but it’s on the opposite end of town from Maddie’s place.”
“Can you tell me anything about the farm or who runs it?”
Calla frowns, chewing her lip. “To be honest, Maddie will know more about that. She’s the one who’s been the liaison between the farm and the festival’s planning committee. Now, where might you be, Maddie?”
The woman turns in a slow circle, twirling her hair around her finger and tugging at it. While I wait, I doodle little Christmas ornaments in the corner of my notepad.
“You think she could be in the committee office?” Calla asks, turning towards me as though I might have some source of knowledge that she wouldn’t.
“Uh…maybe?” I offer, tucking my pen behind my ear.
“Let’s see, shall we?” Calla lifts her arms in a sweeping gesture, guiding me away from the lobby of the community center and towards the back hallways.
I just shake my head and trudge after her, snuggling deeper into my coat. While everyone else looks comfortable in jackets and cozy pants, my California blood is still freezing in a thick parka and a double layer of leggings.
“I keep forgetting that this office is back here. The community center is letting us use one of their back rooms for our planning,” she explains as I jot the details down.
We come to a metal door painted blue with another wreath dangling upon it. Up close, I can smell the fir stems. The wreath looks freshly made. I resist the urge to touch it, having never seen one that wasn’t artificial. I write that down too. Freshly made wreaths and greenery.
Calla knocks on the closed door as she flings it open, making me wonder why she even bothered to knock in the first place.
“Hey, Maddie! I’ve brought this nice reporter here who—um. Maddie...” Calla trails off and clears her throat. “What on earth is wrong with you?”
“It’s bad!” the woman seated at the desk says, her head in her hands. “Oh man, it’s terrible.” Maddie doesn’t seem to notice me, looking up at her friend with panic on her face. “I think the whole festival is ruined,” she croaks in desperation.
My pen freezes on my notepad. I can feel myself staring. “Ruined?”
The woman seated at the desk seems to notice me for the first time, sucking in a ragged breath. “It’s all Jackson Vokes’s fault. For years he’s given us his biggest tree, but this time… just today, he’s saying we can’t have it�
�–we can’t have any.”
“He won’t give us a single tree?” Calla squeals. “Why would he do that?”
“I don’t know, but I sent an assistant over, and it seems that Jackson isn’t even selling regular ones to families trying to get trees for their houses. How are we going to deal with this? It’s almost Christmas; there’s no time to get another big tree in.”
“What about the tree lighting?” I splutter, tripping over my tongue. “What can we do about that?”
“We can hope for a miracle,” Maddie answers with a grim grind of her back molars. “But if there’s one thing I know about Jackson, it’s that when he makes up his mind, that’s it.”
I plunge my pen back behind my ear, nestling it against my hair.
“Ah, but he hasn’t met me yet,” I say, straining to keep my voice as firm but optimistic as possible.
Calla stares at me in blank surprise. “Wait, you’re going to talk to him? Why would you do that?”
My story, my career, my Christmas depends on this tree being lit. Whoever this Jackson is and whatever his problem might be, he’s about to have a whole can of Christmas spirit opened on him. There’s no way I’m letting this festival go down without a fight.
I look from Maddie to Calla, setting my jaw in deliberate resolution.
“I came here to write up a story on my first white Christmas with a gorgeous tree lighting, and no one is going to stop that.”
Chapter 2
