by Susan Wiggs
Two warm-hearted romances to take the chill out of your winter.
The St. James Affair
Elaine St. James has it all—a thriving career as an elite Manhattan publicist, A-list best friends and a gorgeous, high-profile boyfriend her parents adore. But when Byron breaks up with her on Christmas Eve, Elaine is faced with the prospect of spending the holidays alone...until the man she loved long ago reappears, much like a ghost from Christmas past.
Tony Fiore was everything her Upper East Side parents wanted Elaine to avoid—the Italian American boy from Brooklyn was hardly an ideal match for their perfect socialite daughter. Despite their differences, they always found themselves together on Christmas Eve, ice-skating at Rockefeller Center. Until the year Tony failed to show up and broke Elaine’s heart. Now, seven years later, on another Christmas Eve, they might finally have a second chance at first love...
Candlelight Christmas
A single father who yearns to be a family man, Logan O’Donnell is determined to create the perfect Christmas for his son, Charlie. The entire O’Donnell clan arrives to spend the holidays in Avalon, a postcard-pretty town on the shores of Willow Lake, a place for the family to reconnect and rediscover the special gifts of the season.
One of the guests is a newcomer to Willow Lake—Darcy Fitzgerald. Sharp-witted, independent and intent on guarding her heart, she’s the last person Logan can see himself falling for. And Darcy is convinced that a relationship is the last thing she needs this Christmas.
Yet between the snowy silence of the winter woods and the toasty moments by a crackling fire, their two lonely hearts collide. The magic of the season brings them each a gift neither ever expected—a love to last a lifetime.
Praise for #1 New York Times bestselling author Susan Wiggs
“Wiggs’ carefully detailed plotlines, one contemporary and one historical, with their candid look at relationships and their long-term effects, are sure to captivate readers.”
—Booklist, starred review, on Snowfall in the City
“Wiggs delights with this Christmas-themed installment in her Lakeshore Chronicles series.... The evolution of Darcy and Logan’s relationship makes enduring love believable.”
—Publishers Weekly on Candlelight Christmas
“With the ease of a master, Wiggs introduces complicated, flesh-and-blood characters... A refreshingly honest romance.”
—Publishers Weekly on The Winter Lodge
“Wiggs is at the top of her game here, combining a charming setting with subtly shaded characters and more than a touch of humor. This is the kind of book a reader doesn’t want to see end but can’t help devouring as quickly as possible.”
—Publishers Weekly on Snowfall at Willow Lake
“Wiggs hits all the right notes in this delightful, sometimes funny, sometimes poignant Christmas treat, which will please Lakeshore Chronicles fans as well as garner new ones.”
—Library Journal on Lakeside Christmas
“This is classic Wiggs, with its emphasis on the strength of family and friends, and a landscape integral to the plot.”
—Publishers Weekly on The Apple Orchard
Susan Wiggs is the author of more than fifty novels, including #1 New York Times bestsellers from her hit series The Lakeshore Chronicles. She is a three-time RITA® Award winner, and her novels have been translated into two dozen languages. Born in Upstate New York, educated in Brussels, Paris and at Harvard, Susan and her husband make their home on an island in Puget Sound. Visit her at www.susanwiggs.com or Facebook.com/susanwiggs.
Also by Susan Wiggs
Contemporary Romances
Home Before Dark
The Ocean Between Us
Lakeside Cottage
Summer by the Sea
Table for Five
Just Breathe
The Goodbye Quilt
The Lakeshore Chronicles
Summer at Willow Lake
The Winter Lodge
Dockside
Snowfall at Willow Lake
Fireside
Lakeshore Christmas
The Summer Hideaway
Marrying Daisy Bellamy
Return to Willow Lake
Starlight on Willow Lake
The Bella Vista Chronicles
The Apple Orchard
The Beekeeper’s Ball
Historical Romances
The Lightkeeper
The Drifter
The Mistress of Normandy
The Maiden of Ireland
Tudor Rose
At the King’s Command
The Maiden’s Hand
At the Queen’s Summons
Chicago Fire Trilogy
The Hostage
The Mistress
The Firebrand
Calhoun Chronicles
The Charm School
The Horsemaster’s Daughter
Halfway to Heaven
Enchanted Afternoon
A Summer Affair
Look for Susan Wiggs’s new novel,
The Oysterville Sewing Circle,
available now!
Susan Wiggs
Snowfall in the City
Table of Contents
The St. James Affair
Candlelight Christmas
Excerpt from The Apple Orchard by Susan Wiggs
For dreamers everywhere.
May the spark of your imagination take you wherever you wish to go.
The St. James Affair
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
chapter one
Elaine St. James hurried along Fifth Avenue, trying to outrun Christmas, but it was gaining on her. She was only a few steps ahead of a troop of apple-cheeked carolers belting out “Hark the Herald Angels Sing” and collecting donations from shoppers and tourists. She dodged to avoid a Santa reeling in the crosswalk, his breath smelling of too much holiday cheer too early in the day.
Although she had a cell phone glued to her ear, Elaine could barely hear Byron, her boyfriend. Still, she’d heard enough to know the news was not good.
“A bra model?” she yelled into the tiny daisy-decorated phone.
His response was a garbled remark ending in “Huh?”
And so she yelled even louder, “You’re dumping me for a bra model?”
Too late, she realized the heralds had stopped harking, and the stoplight had brought traffic to a halt. Everyone within half a city block had heard her.
Caught in the glare of dozens of curious looks, Elaine dropped her hand to her side and hitched her purse strap up on her shoulder. Byron’s mosquito-voiced reply squawked faintly from the receiver, but she didn’t want to hear another word. Belying the flames of humiliated color in her cheeks, she held her head high and said to no one in particular, “Whatever.”
Then she clicked off her Star-Tac, turned on her kitten-heeled boot and headed up the street. Behind her, traffic started up as the light changed. The carolers struck up “Silver Bells,” and the city sidewalks became busy sidewalks again.
Okay, so it’s Christmas, Elaine told herself, appalled to feel a sudden sting of tears in her eyes. Tear
s. Not for Byron, she realized. But for yet another dream gone, just like that. It was hard to say goodbye to a dream, hard to close the door on hope.
Elaine squared her shoulders and soldiered on down the avenue. The fact was, she had enormous reserves of self-discipline. She’d been raised to do what was expected of her, and she was extremely good at it. She just had to get through the day. How hard could that be?
She tried to get into the spirit of children laughing, people passing. She saw smile after smile and even made a valiant attempt at smiling herself, but it felt more like gritting her teeth.
Why was Christmas so easy for some people, but so impossible for Elaine? Where had she been when they were passing out Christmas spirit?
She knew where she’d been—in the chill confines of the right boarding school, the right summer camp, the right college. She’d been so busy training herself to do what was expected of her that she’d forgotten to ask herself what the point of all her efforts was.
At the next crosswalk, a woman laden with glossy bags and beribboned parcels shoved herself in Elaine’s way like a barge pushing into port. Elaine bit her lip to keep from making some smart remark, but she couldn’t help scowling. She was later than ever for her lunch, and in no mood. Given her current situation, a slight edge of crankiness was justifiable.
There had been a time, long ago, when the bustle and noise of the season had filled her with a sense of magic. She missed her former self, but had no idea how to revive that breathless, boundless feeling. Clearly Byron was not the answer. Of course, she should have known that from the start, but in spite of all the ways life had disappointed her, deep down, she still had this secret, frisky inner self that wanted to believe in magic.
Someone had a set of real silver bells. She heard them chiming like a windup alarm clock.
A moment later, she found herself confronted by an elf holding out a collection jar with a picture of a grinning orphan. Clenching her teeth, she merely stared straight ahead, pretending she hadn’t seen him. If she didn’t make eye contact, she might be able to shake him off. Elaine was pretty successful at avoiding contact. It had kept her safe for years.
These street singers for charity were bogus, she reminded herself, thinking of the reeling Santa. The donations went into the collectors’ pockets, to be spent later at the pool hall or package store. Falling for that game merely encouraged more panhandlers.
“Soon it will beeee Christmas day,” sang the elf.
Duh, thought Elaine, eyeing the swags of plastic greenery and twinkling lights that had infested the city since the day after Halloween. The season seemed to descend earlier every year. Yet every year, Elaine couldn’t help feeling a little secret jolt of excitement. And hope. Maybe this year will be different, she always thought. But nothing ever changed, and she grew more cynical and brittle as time went on.
“Come on, lady, gimme a break. Bestow a trifle.” The elf rattled the collection jar at her. He had a sing-along songbook and a stick-on name tag that said, “Hi! My Name Is Larry.” He wore a bright red muffler and an unjustifiably cheerful grin.
The light changed and she joined the surge of pedestrians in the crosswalk, but the persistent caroler kept stalking her.
“Just a little something for Westside Children’s Charities.” He flashed an official-looking permit.
It was probably forged, Elaine thought.
“Do it for the kids, lady.” Jingle bells bobbed from his pointy cap.
She scowled at him. “Go away.”
He gave her a puppy-dog look.
Be strong, she told herself. If she gave in to this one, another would take his place, and the next thing she knew, half the city would be wanting something from her. Pointing her face into the icy wind, she strode on.
“Away in a Manger” swept through the marauding carolers. The elf bobbed along at her side. “Look,” he said, “it’s not my fault the guy dumped you for some bimbo. Don’t take it out on the kids.”
Finally she could hold her tongue no longer. “This is not endearing you to me.”
“Think of the kids, then. There’s magic in giving, don’t you know that?”
“I don’t believe in magic.” There. Saying so aloud made it as real as the pitted, frozen sidewalk beneath her fashionably clad feet.
“That won’t keep it from happening. But you have to make a donation. Come on. What’s five bucks to someone wearing thousand-dollar Manolo boots?”
An elf who knew footwear. This was getting stranger by the moment.
“Five bucks, and the magic starts happening,” he said. “Guaranteed.”
“What, I pay you, and you disappear?”
He winked, and sent her a gladsome look. “Trust me, you won’t be sorry. Help us out, and the world will start helping you.”
“What makes you think I need help?”
“You can’t keep edging your way along the crowded paths of life, warning all human sympathy to keep its distance,” he pointed out.
Great. Not only did he know shoes, he quoted Dickens. I live in a world of fools, thought Elaine.
“Make it a ten, and I’ll throw in a miracle,” Larry offered.
“Oh, for Pete’s sake.” As the last threads of her patience unraveled, she reached into her purse, then shoved a twenty at him.
“Merry Christmas, Elaine,” he called cheerfully.
“Whatever.”
Then it struck her that he’d called her by name. She stopped, causing a businessman to slam into her from behind, then walk around her with only the gruffest of apologies. She searched the bustling crowd, but Larry the elf was nowhere in sight. How had he known her name? A lucky guess? No, he’d probably seen something with her name on it when she’d whipped out the twenty.
Dismissing the incident with a shrug, she continued up the avenue. The herd of carolers brayed, “We Wish You a Merry Christmas.”
Christmas didn’t mean merriment of any sort to Elaine. It hadn’t for a long time. These days, the holiday meant more meetings to schedule, more events to plan, more clients demanding her time.
Without Byron, it meant one less gift to buy this afternoon. The only discomfort his defection would create was a pained and awkward explanation to her parents, who had given Byron the St. James stamp of approval. The only fallout would be invisible to the world and felt only by Elaine. And she was getting awfully good at covering up her pain.
She ducked down a side street, mercifully uncongested except for a panhandler in an army surplus jacket and his scruffy dog. They watched her from a stoop next to Fezzywig’s Bar and Grill.
In her haste, she dropped her handbag and half the contents spilled across the dirty, rock-salted sidewalk. Gritting her teeth in irritation, she squatted down and scooped up the spillage—her cell phone, a tin of breath mints, her Coach leather agenda, a lipstick and assorted other gear—and stood up.
“Miss, you forgot something.” The panhandler held out a cluster of keys, strung on a ring attached to a silver skate.
“Thanks.” She grabbed the keys, stuffed them in her bag. She started to walk away, then hesitated and fished a bill from her wallet. Elaine was no pushover when it came to money, but she expected to pay for services rendered. Besides, the panhandler had given her back her silver skate key ring and for that he deserved a reward.
That key ring had a special purpose for Elaine. She kept it as a reminder of the price of giving her heart.
chapter two
Elaine hurried under the awning leading to Fezzywig’s, a supertrendy spot that had recently become the hottest in the city. Thanks to Elaine’s publicity firm, the upscale place was currently the favorite midday rendezvous of the twenty-somethings whose names graced the society pages and celebrity columns.
She dashed inside, and was immediately enveloped by the sleek, dimly lit decor of chrome and leather, the cheerful
clink of glassware, and—mercifully—no piped-in Christmas Muzak. Instead, sinuous strains of vintage Coltrane provided a tasteful sound track for the ultrachic crowd. Gratefully, she shrugged out of coat, hat and gloves and handed them to the coat-check girl.
She ducked into the ladies’ room. Her ivory cashmere slacks and sweater looked fine—particularly with the buttery-soft Manolos, she thought—but her hair and makeup were a disaster. Yet another thing she hated about Christmas—the rough winds, not to mention the brutal cold and the icy streets.
She fluffed her hair back into a shining blond bob, then took out her compact and went to work, restoring order to her face with practiced strokes. Her mind worked furiously as she performed the damage control.
So Byron had dumped her. She had to decide the best way to play it. On the one hand, she could assume the role of the wounded party, fragile and in desperate need of support. That would allow her to bask in her friends’ soothing platitudes about how the jerk didn’t deserve her, how he’d never been good enough for her in the first place, how he’d grow old and bitterly regretful, thinking of the opportunity he’d passed up with her.
Leaning toward the mirror, she used an eyelash comb to de-clump her mascara. On the other hand, she could mask her humiliation and disappointment behind sarcasm, turning Byron Witherspoon into the joke of the day among their crowd. In throwing her over for a grade-A bimbo, he’d certainly given her adequate material.
Okay, she thought, holstering her lip-gloss wand and pasting on a smile. It’s Christmas Eve. The perfect time for amusement. She’d breeze through this, pretending the loss of her boyfriend was nothing.
Except she didn’t have to pretend. Her brow puckering a little, she studied her image in the mirror. Not bad, with that tousle-haired, cashmere-sweater, gold-earring thing going on. She hardly looked like a woman scorned.
Searching her feelings, she discovered she’d suffered no emotional breakdown over this. The only twinge of regret she felt was that losing Byron now meant showing up at her parents’ party dateless tonight. How terribly inconvenient. She’d never hear the end of it.
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