From Hope Lake, With Love: A Novella (Hopeless Romantics Book 4)

by Nina Bocci

  “Terrible,” I said, smiling when he stood to extend his arm for me to loop mine thorugh.

  “Besides, no patients tomorrow. Free day.”

  We exited the library and headed outside, down the stairs, our arms still linked together.

  “Wow, what a novelty. What do you plan on doing with it?. Sleeping I hope,” I said, taking a sip of the cocoa.

  It was a little spicier than the first batch he made, but I liked it. “You should put this on the menu,” I said as he held the door open for me. “I think people would love it.”

  “Maybe I will. I’ll talk to Ross, and there’s no such thing as sleeping in. I haven’t been able to do that, in, well, forever. I was never much of a sleeper.”

  “Not me,” I said with a laugh.

  He closed the door and walked over to the driver’s side. The Range Rover was already on, and warm.

  “So, you’re a sleeper?“

  I thought about my answer as he pulled out of the drive and onto the main road that I felt like I hadn’t seen in days.

  “I could waste a day in bed with a book, or a television full of crappy shows. As long as the pillows are soft and the curtains are closed.”

  His head lolled toward me while he was at a stop sign. “That sounds like a perfect day.”

  “You should try it,” I said, and I felt the heat rush up. “I don’t mean with me. Jesus, I am a foot-in-the-mouth kind of girl around you. I mean, in general. Hell, with someone without someone. Whatever you want. I’m going to stop now.”

  “You make me laugh, Cami,” he said, with a yawn.

  “We don’t have to stay long,” I said feeling guilty that he was clearly so tired, and still taking me into town to see the lights.

  “I wouldn’t miss it, even if you weren’t with me but this makes it that much more worth it.”

  This time, there was no hiding the rush of warmth in my face, or in my stomach. I reached over the console, and rested my gloved hand on top of his. I could see him smile even in the darkness.

  By the time we reached the center of town, it was completely dark – at least in the sky. Every other inch of Hope Lake seemed to be bright with Christmas lights. Max pulled behind a two-story brick building and parked in a spot labeled, Dr. Max.

  “Ah, reserved parking. Convenient for when you’ve got a town full of people, three feet of snow piled all over and nowhere to park.”

  “What can I say, perk of the job,” he teased, and slid out of the car.

  He tapped the hood lightly when he saw me reaching for the door handle to let myself out.

  “Thank you,” I said, as he helped me down.

  Christmas music was playing but I couldn’t tell from where. It was a popular tune and someone was singing a bit off-key but it was great nevertheless. Holiday spirit didn’t care if you didn’t sound exactly like Mariah Carey.

  He pulled my arm through his again as we made our way up the driveway and directly into the square where people milled about.

  “Wow,” I breathed, unable to think of something more impressive to say. “It’s just . . . I’m so glad you weren’t too tired.”

  He was watching me take it all in. There was something intoxicating about knowing that you’re being examined and I thought about Max being newish to town too. I wondered what he thought the first time he saw the winter specatular.

  People dressed in varying states of holiday, milled about sipping drinks, chatting and some even had shopping bags. The stores around the square appeared open but glancing up at the tall clock near the fountain, I wagered they would be closing in fifteen when it hit nine o’clock.

  “There’s always a popcorn stand, somewhere to grab cocoa and then someone from Mount Hazel came this year with their homemade chocolates. They’re spaced all around the square.”

  “Yes, yes and yes,” I teased, leading him toward the group near a bunch of young people with various instruments.

  “School band?” I asked, as we stood off to the side so we weren’t in their way as they set up.

  “Yes, they play carols and the kids from the elementary school sing a couple songs. Then Fr. John says a prayer by the manger scene and then boom, tree lighting. A couple oohs and aahs, and then people scatter. It’s actually sort of funny to see how it empties right after.”

  “I don’t blame a single person. It’s cold.”

  “The older people head home, the kids go to friends and our age range head’s to Casey’s for pizza, HLBC brewing company for beer or Notte’s Restaurant by the river for some wine.”

  “Sounds pretty perfect to me,” I said open-endedly bumping into his shoulder with mine.

  Max led me around, introducing me to a couple people if they came up to him but mostly, we walked silently taking in the general splendor of it.

  Christmas was big in Palo Alto but this, with the added snow and frigid temperature made it feel like it was a different level of holiday cheer.

  At the small gazebo near a cropping of snow-covered trees, Cooper, the mayor, knocked on the microphone a couple times before it screeched loudly earning a groan from the crowd. One of the band kids did a rim shot and everyone laughed, including Cooper.

  “The Annual Tree Lighting is one of the most time-honored traditions in Hope Lake and this year is no exception. We challenged you to bring the spirit of the holidays, and you all rose to the occasions. I want to wish all of you a happy, and healthy Hanukkah, Kwanzaa and Christmas season and with that, I will turn it over to Dr. Imogen Bishop to flip the switch!”

  The spotlight turned toward Gigi was in her motorized chair, though it had a couple emellishments on it including white lights, and a piece of garland wrapped around the back. The crowd began counting backward from ten when Cooper raised his hand.

  When the final number was called, Gigi flipped the switch and the tree lit up, sparkling from top to bottom, including a bright and enormous gold star at the top.

  “I’m sure L.A. and San Francisco have great traditions and gigantic trees like New York does, but this one…” Max began, but I cut him off.

  “Takes the cake for the best that I’ve seen.”

  I turned to Max, looking up at him as he smiled down at me. Maybe I was cocoa drunk, or perhaps the lights, the merriement and little voices singing had me caught up in the holiday spirit but I felt happy and delirious .

  Patricia’s words came rushing back, ‘Let yourself be swept away.’

  Following her sage advice, I reached up, took Max’s face in my gloved hands and kissed him softly on the lips.

  “Thank you for an amazing night. I’ll never forget it.”

  We should have talked about the kiss on the way to HLBC, or even on the way back to the B&B but we didn’t. It was just a kiss.

  Even my inner voice thought I was lying to myself. It’s never just a kiss.

  When we got back to the B&B, it was closed up tight, only a few lights on to allow us to easily navigate throughout the main floor.

  “Well,” I said standing in a way that I hoped was inviting. Or, at least as inviting as I could be in a flannel shirt, thick wool coat and heavy winter boots. Not too mention the seriously sexy winter hat, scarf and gloves.

  Apparently, the vibe I was aiming for fizzled like a dud firework. “Good night, Cami,” he said, leaving me on the stairs to watch him walk away.

  Chapter Nine

  Inspiration struck again. This wasn’t the same sort of energy that I had this morning, when I was eager for the day, but frustrated energy that led me to bang out four thousand words in about two and a half hours. I didn’t even hate them – which I counted as a huge win.

  When I still couldn’t sleep, I took the laptop and opened up to the pages that I was writing for my editor, Patricia to take a look at. It wasn’t my usual type of piece—factual, full of photos, general information, and suggestions on what to see and eat.

  Instead, it was more of a story. A different story than the book that I was writing. I was worried because I
had no idea if she was going to go for it or not.

  I was still tooling away with the pages hours later when I stumbled into the library again to try and kill time until it was socially acceptable to be awake and hunt for breakfast.

  There may have been a moment when I dozed off just before sunrise, against the back of the chair because when I jolted awake, Max was sitting across from me with two cups of piping hot coffee on the table between us.

  “Can I take a look?”

  I shrugged. “Sure,” I said, handing him the laptop and diving for the coffee.

  Once Max had it and I and saw him beginning to read it, I got up to pace with the warm mug in my hand. It didn’t bother me that he might not like it, that was always a risk you took when you put yourself out there, it was that he figured prominently into it, as were his mom and his business.

  The entire piece was built around the people, not the town. Because they made up the town. It was the anecdotes Gigi shared about her granddaughter’s journey back into Hope Lake. The candid way that Mancini talked about Parker, who owned The Baked Nanas, and how she described her comings and goings and what made her finally stay even though she contemplated being a resident of both Pennsylvania and her native New York.

  I talked about one of their cohorts and how she came here after meeting and marrying her husband after only three weeks of knowing him. She had previously never left Barreton, one of the other local small towns.

  This didn’t leave out the history of Hope Lake. The research had me deep diving into a rabbit hole with information that Emma provided about how the original founders, Campbell and Lovegood, had originally sought to build the town on a completely different section of land but that their horses stopped on the outskirts of the woods here and wouldn’t leave.

  “Does it seem like crazy old wives’ tales?” I asked, anxiously gnawing on my thumbnail.

  He held up a finger. “I started over again,” he explained, and had changed positions, now sitting and placing the laptop on the table in front of him. He used his finger to follow along as if memorizing it.

  The pacing continued until, finally, he spoke up. “This is just…”

  Terrible? Horrible? I’ve given you a very bad day?

  “Incredible.”

  I exhaled and collapsed onto the floor beside one of the tall bookcases. “You have no idea how much I needed to hear that.”

  “Well, I had no idea that they weren’t originally settling here. How did you find that out? You’re here a week!”

  “See what happens when you go to Standford and not Harvard” I teased, ducking from the pillow he playfully tossed my way. “They don’t teach you how to take forever unless it’s a wildly in-depth story that needs months of investigation, sources, you know the drill. You get in, you get the information you need, you get out. It helps to have someone like Emma and her skills and resources pointing you in the right direction.”

  “But the whole bit about Mancini’s husband. I had no idea. You really think this place has something?”

  I shrugged. “Listen, I’m not a believer in much of anything. I’m not religious and I’m not usually a universe-lines-things-up-in-a-special-way kind of thinker either, but when pieces fall into place a certain way, even the greatest of skeptics has to scratch their head and ponder life’s great mysteries.”

  “Are you going to send this to your editor?”

  I nodded. “Eventually. It’s not due, or even something she was looking for. I just mentioned it off-handedly and she said go for it.”

  “Send it. Now. Don’t wait until you can tinker and toy with it. Do it so you can’t back out of it.”

  Max pushed the laptop toward me until it was precariously near the edge and I had to get up to grab it. “Don’t think twice, just send it,” he encouraged, smiling brightly when I nodded my head.

  “I’ve sent her hundreds of articles over the years. Why is this one making me nervous?” I admitted, my heart skipping a beat when I pushed send.

  “Because it’s different? You said this wasn’t like the normal pieces you send, and you have that sense of what if that you don’t usually have. It’s totally normal.”

  “Thanks for the diagnosis, Dr. Reese,” I teased and swallowed thickly when his eyes flashed.

  I guess calling him doctor lit a bit of a fire in Max. Was he thinking of the kiss? Of what could have happened afterward if he hadn’t left me on the stairs.

  “I should be going,” he said, standing quickly and heading to the door. “I’ll see you, later. Cocoa, Nine o’clock, in the kitchen with the moonlight.”

  “Perfect,” I agreed. “Though, this sounds like something out of Clue.”

  He laughed. “Dr. Reese in the kitchen with the cocoa.”

  “Dastardly,” I teased, wondering if there would be a repeat. Another potential kiss in the moonlight.

  “Maybe by then you’ll have heard from your editor,” he said, before disappearing into the hallway.

  I stayed in the middle of the floor until my back and rear couldn’t take it anymore. I read and re-read the pages from the book that I had been piecing together. If I was feeling energized from sending the article, maybe she would also read the opening chapters of the book too.

  But, I fell into the rabbit hole of re-reading. Each time I added a little something extra. I poured everything I had into it until it was eight fifty-five at night and I was fast asleep next to the laptop.

  Chapter Ten

  The following night, after hours of toiling away at busy work, I had come up with a plan. I had just lit the final candle in the center of the place settings when Max appeared in the doorway.

  “What’s the celebratory dinner for?” Max asked, coming into the dining room looking too handsome for his own good.

  I never thought scrubs would do it for me, but I was wrong. Perhaps, I needed to see Max in them and a ratty Aersosmith t-shirt to fully appreciate the aesthetic.

  “Me,” I said, carrying the printed email out from my editor.

  “What’s this?”

  “It’s from my editor. I thought, well it’s been a bit since we talked and I had a lot to fill you in on.”

  “I’m sorry, I’ve been busy and I wasn’t sure what I was thinking—"

  “Same. I’m in the same boat but I haven’t had another job to keep my mind occupied. I fell asleep the other night and slept through our cocoa date. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize. It’s probably good that we didn’t see each other that night.”

  “Why?”

  “We’ll get to that later. I want to hear about this,” he said, flicking the paper. “Is it good news?”

  “It’s probably not going to run as a standard article,” I explained, and watched his smile slip until I continued. “They’re thinking of running it for the big Spring issue.”

  “Is that a much bigger one?” he asked, keeping my shaking hands tucked into my pockets.

  I nodded. “It’s twice the print size for one, but also the advertising budget is almost quadruple. I could be the cover article. Well, not me, but you know. My piece.”

  “Oh, Cami, that’s amazing! You must be beside yourself.”

  I nodded. “I’m just—I’m proud of myself. I hope that doesn’t sound obnoxious, but I am. I’ve worked so hard for this and for this to potentially be the payoff, I’m just . . . I want to celebrate.”

  “I’m so proud of you,” he said, placing the email on the table. “I got the other work you sent. I was going to knock on your door last night to tell you I read it but I got back so late, I didn’t want to wake you.”

  I had printed the first ten chapters of what I had for the novel and left it on the front desk with his name on them. They were gone when I popped back down the following day, but still no word. I left my cell, email, and a brief apology for missing the cocoa date that I slept through.

  “It was a good surprise,” he said, walking over to the side-board near the wall to take the stack of pape
rs from it.

  I didn’t notice them when I walked in.

  He handed it to me, and pulled out the chair. Sitting, I placed the pages beside me and noticed that he had made notes. “Oh, you marked it up.”

  Admittedly, it made me anxious until I saw that the marks were smiley faces or hearts near passages that he liked. Some spots were underlined or added exclamation points for emphasis.

  “I take it you liked it?”

  He took his seat, and with the candlelight, he looked eager, happy.

  “Loved it. You mentioned something interesting in the article.”

  “Oh, yes? What is that?”

  “Something very important that I would like to talk to you about. Something that your editor discussed with you.”

  “Ah, yes. That detail.”

  He was referring to a section toward the end of the article where I contemplated my role in the storied history of Hope Lake. Would I just be a visitor, or would I, too, be sewn into the fabric of the town like the others who came, fell in love, and stayed.

  “She offered to put me in touch with an agent friend that she has in New York. If she like the book, maybe this is the start of a new writing career. It’ll be new, but someone wise said just because you’re scared of something new doesn’t mean you don’t do it.”

  “I think I would like that too. You know you’d have a place to stay when you’re here, you know, visiting.”

  I grinned. “And if someone that loved to travel had some time off, they could come on some new adventures.”

  “This is a story that I really want to read the ending of.”

  Chapter Eleven

  When you begin writing an article on a relatively unknown place, there’s an extra bit of nerves to it. Especially when you’ve found yourself really loving the town you’re in. Objectivity seems to be out the window.

  Logic and brutal honesty are things of the past but that’s okay. Maybe, just maybe, that’s what the world needs a bit more of these days.

  Fun, simplicity, kindness.

  All of those things you’ll find in Hope Lake. A small, secluded section of Pennsylvania you’d drive right past if you weren’t looking for it.