From Hope Lake, With Love: A Novella (Hopeless Romantics Book 4)
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FROM HOPE LAKE, WITH LOVE
By Nina Bocci
Praise for The Ingredients of You and Me
“With all the makings of a Hallmark movie, this story will delight small-town romance readers.”, Booklist
"Satisfying… the true charm of this story is the path Parker takes to rediscovering her passion for baking with help from a cast of supporting characters that will make readers want to reach for the first two books in the series and look forward to future installments.”, Library Journal
"Parker's journey through a transitional period is interesting, and her close relationships with her girlfriends add humor.", Kirkus Reviews
Praise for Meet Me on Love Lane
"A sweet exploration of what it means to come home again… With a relatable heroine, witty dialogue, and an idyllic setting, Meet Me On Love Lane is a contemporary romance that is essentially a Hallmark movie on paper. While it's perfect as a standalone, readers will enjoy visiting Hope Lake time and time again.”, Booklist
“In the feel-good second installment of Bocci’s Hopeless Romantics series… the idyllic setting is vividly rendered and Charlotte’s personal growth as she builds a home for herself is handled with compassion. Readers will enjoy this sweet, fluffy tale that sits squarely at the intersection of romance and women’s fiction.”, Publishers Weekly
“Filled with small-town charm and a sweet cast of characters.”, Woman's World (Best of Week Book Club pick)
"A feel-good romance that will add a spring to your step and light a fire in your heart, Meet Me on Love Lane was a heartfelt follow up from one of my new favorite authors, Nina Bocci.", Harlequin Junkie (4 1/2 stars)
“With the sweetest cast of characters and a rich history to fall madly in love with, I dare you to resist the allure of Hope Lake. Especially with charmers like Cooper, Nick, and Henry strutting their stuff all over town. Meet Me On Love Lane is the perfect follow up to On the Corner of Love and Hate, with all the same sweetness and tear-jerking true love you can expect from Nina Bocci.”, Hypable
ALSO BY NINA BOCCI:
THE HOPELESS ROMANTICS SERIES
On The Corner of Love and Hate
Meet Me On Love Lane
The Ingredients of You and Me
WITH ALICE CLAYTON
Roman Crazy
Copyright © 2020 by Nina Bocci
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may
be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form
or by any means, including photocopying, recording,
or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the
prior written permission of the publisher, except in the
case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews
and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by
copyright law.
This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters,
locations, and incidents are products of the authors’
imaginations. Any resemblance to actual persons,
things, living or dead, locales, or events is entirely
coincidental.
FROM HOPE LAKE, WITH LOVE
Published with assistance by Brower Literary & Management
ISBN: 978-1-7326143-5-2
ISBN: 978-1-7326143-6-9 (eBook)
from hope lake, with love
For the family and friends that helped to create Hope Lake.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Epilogue
Prologue
My leg shook, a steady tap, tap, tap against Patricia’s hardwood floor.
“Are you nervous?”
“No,” I lied.
“Camille,” she breathed a heavy sigh and set the proposal, my proposal, onto her desk. My boss, who is notorious for being a speed reader, was taking an unusually long time reading it. “You’re a terrible liar. You’ve always been a terrible liar.”
“Uh?” I raised an eyebrow.
“Just say thank you. It’s one of your more admirable qualities,” she quipped, tucking a piece of her thick grey hair behind her ear. Picking up the pages again, she smiled as her eyes began moving quickly.
But still no comments.
“The suspense is killing me,” I said, shifting in the plush leather seat.
“Shhh.” Another grin.
I shook my head. “You’re doing this on purpose. You’re making me squirm because this is my final hoorah with the magazine.”
“As if,” she said with a smirk.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, she set the papers down, folding her hands over them. “A few things.”
I took a deep breath, hoping to steady my nerves.
“I’m so happy that you remembered about Hope Lake. That was years ago that we discussed it.”
“Well, you said try something new. Traveling cross-country for a piece is about as new as I can get,” I said honestly.
“You’ll love it,” she insisted. “Especially because it’ll be decorated for Christmas when you arrive.”
“I’m getting there the night after Thanksgiving,” I responded, perplexed.
“And?”
“And, isn’t that a bit early to be decorated for Christmas?”
Pushing out her chair, she came around her desk and leaned against the edge. “Cami, Hope Lake would decorate the day after Halloween if it could get away with it.”
“You’re talking about the town like it’s a person.”
She shrugged, looking thoughtfully at a framed photo that hung on her wall. I knew it was from a summer she spent at Hope Lake as a child. “It sort of is, I suppose. It’s become a bit of a character. I think collectively the residents treat the town like it’s a living, breathing thing they have to take care of.”
“I suppose that’s a good thing. Must be a huge reason for the reputation it has in the travel community.”
Reaching behind her, she took the proposal and handed it to me. “I’m happy that you’re doing this piece, but I would be doing the magazine an injustice if I didn’t try and keep you here.”
“I appreciate that but I need to try something new.”
“I know, dear. Just know that the door is always open, Cami.”
I stood, and pulled her into a hug. “I will forever be grateful for the start you gave me, Patricia.”
When I pulled back, she was wiping a tear away. “Any last bits of advice?”
Slinging my bag over my shoulder, I walked to the door and waited for her piece of wisdom.
“Hope Lake has a way of enchanting people, Cami. Let yourself be swept away.”
Chapter One
A California native’s first experience with snow shouldn’t have included driving a dodgy rental car through an unfamiliar state. Especially with the gas tank nearing empty. Yet, there I was, braving a wild snowstorm at the end of November.
Unless I totally misunderstood how seasons worked on the East Coast, something was seriously amiss. Snow was piled high against the sides of the highway, trees were barren and draped in the white stuff that was falling as fast as my windshield wipers were.
Patricia had said that the town embraced Christmas the second the turkey carcas was in the trash but I wasn’t actually expecting to drive into the North Pol
e. “If I see a sled, or hear a ho, ho, ho, I’m turning around and heading back to the sun.”
Christmas music was on a local radio station, a young voice happily singing about her list for Santa. Even with the blaring holiday tunes, I was struggling to stay awake at the wheel. The extra jingle wasn’t cutting it.
I switched on the air conditioning and put all four windows down a few inches, which let in a rush of snow, but it helped. Shivering at the blast of cold, I turned off the radio as if somehow the silence would help me find my destination. Thankfully, snow had just slid off one of the green highway signs perched on the roadside indicating gas was available at the next exit. That was one thing off the list.
After fueling up and getting some snacks to last me until I got to town, I pulled back onto the highway just after a snowplow rumbled by.
Thank goodness!
Once my GPS recalculated, it alerted me that there were only another twenty miles on this stretch of highway. Driving behind the plow would add at least another half hour thanks to the slow and steady pace. After that, who knew how the roads would be once I got into town and off the state roads. Hope Lake was nestled in a deep valley, which meant the likelihood of things being plowed seemed… slim. My guess was booking a small sedan without snow tires or four-wheel drive was not my smartest move.
“I should have asked Santa for an upgrade,” I groaned.
Exhaling, I sent out a couple good thoughts into the universe hoping that things wouldn’t be doom and gloom when I arrived. I was used to buses, cabs, hell any kind of public transportation that made traveling easy. But none of that was in the cards where I was headed.
From what I researched, Hope Lake, a small town about two hours north of Philadelphia, was a must-see burgeoning tourist stop and perfect for the small-town feature that Patricia insisted we run monthly. I’ve never written small town pieces, always preferring the big city travel columns, plus, I didn’t cover the East Coast. There was nothing wrong with it, of course, but the magazine had a long-time writer who covered hotels and B&Bs on the eastern seaboard. Small town was her cup of tea. I was West Coast, big cities and flashy hotels and, because there is a God, and She is good, Hawaii.
Maybe I took this assignment because I wanted to challenge myself with a piece that I never aimed for before, or maybe it was because I knew if it flopped, I was done at American Adventures anyway.
My hope, for Hope Lake, was to sit by the water, either the lake, or the river, I wasn’t choosy, and write. Or maybe by a fire pit in the yard of the B&B I had booked. The only real pre-requisite was that I was inspired. The way Patricia talked about the town, I had high hopes for Hope Lake.
The inspiration had to be dynamite. For both the article, and for the book that I was hopefully going to finish, or start over for the third time, while I was away. I guess in my fantasy I didn’t imagine it being freezing and snowing outside, but I knew I’d make it work.
“This town better be everything she promised,” I mumbled and dug out another Twizzler from the bottom of the plastic bag.
By the time I made it into town, I was full of Twizzlers Strawberry Twists, a bag of onion rings, and two Dr. Peppers.
I was also lost.
Signs were mostly covered in snow, but I managed to work out where the town square would be by sheer dumb luck.
I may have been lost, but, I was also in the center of Who-ville. Or, Christmas Vacation, or Bedford Falls. I half expected George Bailey from It’s a Wonderful Life to come careening around a corner, skidding on the falling snow and yelling about Clarence, his guardian angel.
Parking the car to what I thought was the side of the road, I turned off the ignition, bundled up as best I could and shuffled out into the snow filled town.
Oh.
My.
God.
I couldn’t help but smile. It was as if my timing was for once perfect. Maybe it was like Patricia said, and the town was enchanting. It knew I was coming, and managed the perfect snowstorm to highlight the Christmas spirit.
It was as if I was in a shaken snowglobe. The snow swirled against my lame-excuse for winter footwear—a pair of high-top Converse that had seen better days. It didn’t matter though as I stared at the lights, the bows, the massive sparkling ornaments, a smile dancing on my lips.
I’ve heard the phrase before, ‘it looks like Christmas’ but I wasn’t sure I had ever seen what that exactly looked like. Most cities had a prettily-decorated tree with an angel on top or shaped lighting arrangements on telephone poles. It certainly helped usher in the holiday spirit but the sight didn’t usually make me immediately want to sing carols, wrap presents and bake cookies.
Hope Lake looked like Christmas. It felt like Christmas and I was only there for ten minutes.
It wasn’t a cheap or tacky holiday display but like a thousand of Santa’s most highly-skilled elves traveled from the North Pole to decorate every inch of the town’s square perfectly.
I found myself in the center of the most magical wonderland. Ornately decorated wreaths hung from each of the old-fashioned lamp posts. Warm, yellowy-white lights twinkled softly in the falling snow. A foot-wide holiday red bow was hanging in the center of two of the lampposts, long tails swaying in the breeze.
There was a fountain in the center of the square with six tall white pillars surrounding it. Each pole swirled with red ribbon to look like a candy cane. From the each top, thick green ivy was wrapped in the same white lights and the garland swagged between the poles.
In the center of the square stood a beautiful, full and well-decorated fir tree. Nothing the size of Rockefeller Center of course, but it was still proud and perfectly placed so that it could seen from anywhere around the square.
“I wonder when they’ll light the star?” I whispered, my breath showing in puffs of cold air before me. Considering it was only the day after Thanksgiving, I figured not for a bit. Hopefully, I would be able to see it while I was here.
“Tomorrow night,” a strong female voice said from beside me.
I jumped, stumbling back toward a drift of snow that had blown against the fountain.
“Sorry, dear. I thought you heard me shuffling along in the snow,” the woman explained. “You’ll catch your death out here dressed like that. Come on over to the bakery, we’ll get you fixed up with something warm to drink and a plate of treats.”
My initial reaction was to say ‘no, thanks’ but I was lost and still hungry even after a bag full of unhealthy food. “That’s kind, thanks,” I said, following the woman back through the tracks she had made.
She was quite tall, and dressed in a chic winter coat with a gorgeous faux fur collar pulled up to her ears. “Where are we going?” I asked, thinking I should have questioned her before agreeing to follow a stranger. But what could a little old lady do to me?
When we reached a brightly lit shop, a bakery if I had to guess judging by the large muffin, loaf of bread and cupcake etched into the glass door, a few women were piling into a large black SUV that was idling at the curb. I couldn’t see the driver from my vantage point, but they beeped when they saw us coming.
A diminutive elderly woman with sleek gray hair and a wry smile was leaving out of the front door as we approached and ushered me inside, tsking when she saw what I was wearing. Needless to say, I wasn't prepared for snow.
“Come, dear, you’ll catch a cold,” the woman who had met me outside said, and pointed to a chair near the window.
Settling in, I pulled my coat tighter around me but snow plopped onto the floor near my soaking sneakers. I didn’t realize how wet I had gotten in the snowfall.
A woman in a motorized wheelchair zipped up beside me and quickly began barking orders. “Viola, get a cocoa and some cookies and maybe another blanket, and, Mancini, try and look like you’re being productive.”
The old leather chair that I sank into was the perfect combination of worn in and supportive and I realized just how exhausted I was from a full day of traveling. Al
l I wanted was a toasty fire in the hearth, my favorite blanket and a glass of wine. Instead, I had a room full of adorable strangers.
“What is this place?” I asked, unable to read the name on the sign that was hanging above front window on the other side of the shop.
“This, is The Baked Nanas,” the woman in the motorized chair said, handing me a thick, long cardigan sweater. “Here, your coat is soaked, this will help take the chill out of your bones.”
“Thanks.” I slipped the wet coat off. The woman that had met me out in the snow took it, and hung it on a coat rack near an old-fashioned radiator in the corner. “I appreciate it.”
On her way back toward us, she grabbed a plate of cookies, and offered it to me along with. I thanked her, and warmed my hands on the sides.
The three women were huddled together at an antique-looking wrought iron bistro table with lovely, colorful padded seats that had snowmen on them.
Like the town square, this shop was classically decorated for the holidays. A small tree was in the corner, this time with large, old-fashioned colored bulbs in green, blue and red. Atop it sat a delicate angel with wide, white wings.
Garland was artistically draped around the front door, and the two street-facing windows were covered in soft colorful lights.
“You guys sure like Christmas here, huh?”
“You could say that,” a woman with inky black hair that defied gravity and the brightest yellow tracksuit said.
I set the mug down on the dainty table beside me and looked up at the women—my curious, and nearly silent, audience—the only sound was coming from the low Christmas music playing in the background.
“While I don’t necessarily mind being stared at, it appears you have some questions? I mean, this is an odd situation, I’m sure. Or perhaps, if I have overstayed my welcome, I could see myself out,” I asked and began folding the blanket up that was on my lap.
“You’re more than welcome to stay. Our meeting is over but we aren’t leaving just yet, we’re waiting for our rides, and yes we have so many questions,” the woman from outside said animatedly with her hand in the air. She was possibly the youngest of the group with long dark hair and a blouse that left little to the imagination.