Love on Main Street: A Snow Creek Christmas

by Juliet Blackwell

  A former anthropologist and social worker, Juliet has spent time in Mexico, Spain, Cuba, Italy, the Philippines, and France. She currently resides in a happily haunted house in Oakland, California, where she is a muralist, portrait painter, and recipient of the overly zealous attentions of her neighbor's black cat, who seems to imagine himself her new familiar. Juliet served two-terms as president of Northern California Sisters in Crime.

  Visit her at http://www.julietblackwell.net.

  Facebook.com/julietblackwellauthor

  Twitter.com/julietblackwell

  Check out her books on Amazon:

  Tarnished and Torn: A Witchcraft Mystery

  Home for the Haunting: A Haunted Renovation Mystery

  The Holiday Show

  by L.G.C. Smith

  Christy Monroe hates Christmas. The excess, the inevitable disappointments--bah. Dan Rose loves Christmas. The fun, the way his bakery smells—it’s all a little magical, especially in Snow Creek. When their first-grade daughters decide they want to be sisters, Christy and Dan had better watch out. The girls maneuver their parents into organizing the elementary school holiday show together. It doesn’t take long for Dan to make it his goal to change Christy’s mind about Christmas—and taking a chance again on love.

  Chapter One

  Christina Monroe stopped short of the holly-wreath-bedecked door to Rosie’s Bakery and pulled her six-year-old daughter, Madison, around to face her. In her blue and white Fair Isle sweater and cap, scooter skirt, down vest, tights, and furry white boots, she looked like a mutinous Smurf.

  Madison raised her shoulders and huffed dramatically. “What now?”

  “Hey. Watch that tone of voice.” Christy smoothed back her daughter’s bangs. They needed a trim before the school’s holiday show in two weeks.

  Madison sighed and rolled her head to avoid her mother’s touch. Then she caught sight of the display of cookies and other holiday goodies in the window. “I’ll apologize nicely if I get something here.”

  No. Then a petite Bûche de Noël caught Christy’s eye. It had been her favorite holiday treat when she was Madison’s age. Next to the Yule cake stood a card listing sizes and prices, and advising customers to pre-order for Christmas. She wouldn’t be ordering one. “Since when did this become a negotiation? Nothing in there is remotely nutritious, and we aren’t here to eat.”

  “They have raisin bread. That’s healthy. It has whole grains and not very much sugar. Or gingerbread cookies. They aren’t very sweet. Grandma got me some last Christmas. They didn’t make me sick or anything. Besides, it’s not as if one cupcake would hurt me.”

  “You’ve been listening to your grandmother too much. Are you ready?”

  “Raisin bread?”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “It would motivate me.”

  “I don’t do bribes.”

  Madison rolled her eyes. Wasn’t she too young for that?

  “I do,” she said. “Or we could gamble. Rock, paper, scissors?”

  They were never going to get this over with, and Christy had meetings lined up all afternoon with clients who couldn’t take time off work during business hours. “Fine. One, two, three, go.”

  Christy threw down a rock, and Madison threw paper. Great.

  “I win! Let’s make it gingerbread!”

  “Raisin bread or nothing.” Christy opened the glass door. Madison didn’t move. “In we go.”

  “I don’t see why I have to apologize.” Madison set her little Smurf jaw and scowled.

  “Aside from the fact that if you don’t, there will be no raisin bread, there’s that matter of coloring Piper’s hair red and green with markers. And then lying about it to Mr. Kyle. And then painting her hair brown when you were supposed to be helping with the holiday show banners.”

  “She wanted me to do that.”

  “That’s why she cried about it.” Christy pointed through the open door. “March.”

  “She cried because it was the wrong color of brown. She wanted the Christmas tree trunk color and I used the elf hair color. Honest mistake.”

  “Madison Monroe. Inside. Now.”

  Christy was assailed by a blast of holiday bakery smells. Warm bread, fresh coffee, cinnamon rolls, and gingerbread. Toasted almonds, apple pie and cranberry muffins. Every table in the place was filled, and there was a short line at the counter. The espresso machine hissed, and baking trays rattled in the back by the ovens. A real Christmas tree stood in one corner, scenting pine among the sweet fragrances. The whole bakery glowed with lights and sparkly silver and white gingerbread stars, snowflakes, and dreidels. A toy train ran around the bottom of the tree, in and out of a gingerbread station. A menorah reigned atop the biggest display case, which also sported a host of wooden elves perched among the piles of tarts and cookies. There were Santas made of bread and old-fashioned coconut macaroons that looked like snowballs. Mitch Miller and the Gang sang “Winter Wonderland” in the background. The whole effect was so over-the-top, straight out of a syrupy Hallmark Christmas movie, that Christy thought she might fall into a diabetic coma if she had to spend more than a minute inside.

  Nobody ever said being a parent was easy. Being a single parent was even tougher. Christy blinked slowly to block out the sight of Christmas overkill, even if only for a fraction of a second.

  “Mom, it’s beautiful in here,” Madison whispered in awe. “This is what Christmas should always smell like. Look at all the little lights and stars on the ceiling!”

  Christy looked up. Sure enough, colored lights and cookie stars covered the ceiling, and wound in and out of pine branches and solid oak beams. They were a beacon for all the little rodents and insects to come and feast for the holidays, and it made Christy shudder.

  The scent of chocolate and peppermint brought her gaze back to the counter, where a pair of to-go cups of hot chocolate steamed under mounds of whipped cream. A peppermint stick leaned in each cup and while she watched, a big, long-fingered hand sprinkled crushed peppermint candy over the whipped cream—just the right amount—then pushed the cups forward.

  “Here you go,” a deep voice said to Mr. and Mrs. Cornelius, ahead of her in line. “Extra peppermint. Just the way you like it.”

  It was a nice voice. Very East Coast and Ivy League. With an unexpected smile in the words.

  That wasn’t going to last long.

  The Corneliuses took their cups with thanks and kind words, and then Christy and Madison reached the head of the line. Dan Rose, Piper’s dad, raised his eyebrows and his smile went from holiday warmth to professional cool.

  “May I help you?”

  She’d seen him at back-to-school night and the first-grade Halloween play, though they hadn’t been introduced. She hadn’t realized he was quite so tall. Taller than she was by several inches, and that was saying something since she was almost six feet in her stocking feet. The lack of enthusiasm in his greeting accentuated her guilt. She introduced herself then got down to business. “Madison has something to say to Piper. When would be a good time for that?”

  “Piper!” he bellowed. “Now’s good.”

  Christy cringed. Madison moved a little closer.

  “She’ll be right here.” Dan inspected Madison from head to toe. “So you’re Madison Monroe.”

  “Yes, sir,” Madison said in a very subdued voice.

  Christy wished she could command such good manners.

  “I’ve never seen you in here before.” Dan sounded concerned.

  “No, sir.”

  “Got something against bakeries?”

  Madison shot a look up at her mother. “No, sir.”

  Piper’s appearance saved Christy from commenting. The other girl was half a head shorter than Madison, with a lanky frame and white blonde hair that stuck out all over her head like straw, thanks, no doubt, to Madison’s marker dye-job and paint application.

  Without any prompting, Madison got right to it. “I’m sorry about what I did to your hai
r. I didn’t think it would hurt it.” She frowned. “I really do feel bad. I won’t do anything like that again.”

  Piper nodded. “Thanks. It’s fine. The paint and the marker washed out.”

  “But….” Madison looked over Piper’s wild hair.

  “No buts.” Dan clapped his hands together. “Are we all good here? Yes?”

  Piper nodded. He looked at Madison. After a quick glance at Christy, she nodded, too.

  “Great. Thanks for apologizing, Madison. That’s the right thing to do, even though no lasting harm was done.” A wicked grin bloomed on his face, and Christy was surprised she hadn’t noticed before that he was so attractive with his short thick dark hair, big sherry eyes, and strong mouth that smiled easily. “Who wants hot chocolate and gingerbread cookies? On the house.”

  Both girls raised their hands high and squealed, “Me!”

  Christy grabbed Madison’s hand and lowered it. “No, thank you. We have to go. I have to work.”

  “Really?” Dan’s face fell with what looked like genuine disappointment.

  Madison tossed her head and did the doe-eyed thing she did when she wanted something badly. “Please, Mom?”

  Christy put on a fake smile and cupped Madison’s cheeks in her hands. “Really. A lot of my clients can’t meet me during the week. I’m sorry, chickadee.”

  “What do you do?” Piper wanted to know.

  Piper looked almost as disappointed as Madison, which seemed odd given what Madison had done to her yesterday. Kids could be pretty forgiving, especially when treats were involved, though Piper had to have regular access to cocoa and cookies.

  “I’m a CPA,” Christy told her. “A certified public accountant.”

  Piper’s eyes got big. “Cool. My dad—”

  Dan cut his daughter off with a hand on her shoulder. “How about I get you a couple of cocoas and cookies to go?”

  “That sounds great!” Madison bounced twice on her toes before she caught herself.

  “No, thank you. Perhaps another time.” Christy didn’t want to be rude, and it was awkward to go into why she didn’t want Madison to have cookies and cocoa.

  “Mom! What about the raisin bread?”

  Dan reached for a loaf at once. When Christy drew breath to refuse, he waggled it at her. “Oh, come on. It’s all organic. No sulphur in the raisins, even. Half whole-wheat flour. Only a drop of honey, and no bad sugar at all.”

  Madison gripped her hands. “See, I told you. Please?”

  Her daughter sounded exactly like Oliver pleading for some more, like a poor starving orphan. The people at the table closest to the line were looking at Christy as if she were the wicked witch. This was why they didn’t visit the bakery. This, and all the Christmas hoopla. She just wanted to get away.

  “Fine. One loaf of raisin bread.” She extracted her wallet from her bag and plastered on a smile. “How much?”

  “Yay!” Madison turned in a complete circle and flung her arms around Christy’s waist. “Thanks, Mom!”

  Dan slid the loaf into a white paper bag and reached over the counter to give it to Madison. “On the house.”

  Christy glanced at the prices written on a chalkboard up on the wall and slapped down a five-dollar bill. “Thank you.” She glanced at Piper. “It was nice to meet you, Piper. If you need any advice about conditioner, call me.” She dug out a card and handed it to the little girl.

  “I will,” she said. “Thanks.”

  Madison had her nose buried in the bag. “This smells like heaven.”

  “Thanks,” Dan said. “Come back tomorrow for a cinnamon roll.”

  Madison cut a cautious look at her mom and shrugged. “I wish.”

  Christy ignored the disbelieving shake of Dan’s head and the shrug he shared with Piper. “Okay, let’s go, Madison. Have a lovely day,” she said as she hustled her daughter out the door and into the cold, clean, cinnamon-free air of Snow Creek’s Main Street.

  Chapter Two

  “Give me that.” Dan held out his hand for the card his daughter clutched.

  “Why?”

  “Because I said so. You know the drill.” He plucked the card away from her.

  “Don’t lose it. I need hair help.” Piper floated off toward his office where she had set up her fairy house as a Christmas hair salon.

  Christina Monroe. CPA. Office off Main Street at the south end of town. What was up with her? You’d think he’d offered her kid crack and a pipe instead of cookies and cocoa. How could he have been in Snow Creek for two years and not met her? What kind of mother never took her daughter to the bakery? Geez. Let the poor kid have a cookie once in a while.

  June Hoard, a potter who worked out of her garage and spent a good portion of her mornings at the bakery, brought her coffee cup up for a refill. June had been in town three decades, and knew every scrap of gossip that had ever been attached to each resident and their families down to third cousins by starter marriages.

  June handed over her mug. “Haven’t you met Christy before?”

  “I’ve seen her at school a couple of times. She’s never come in before.”

  “She’s got celiac disease. Can’t eat bread or any of your goodies.”

  That fast, he felt awful for judging her. “I guess that explains it.”

  “Yeah, that and she hates Christmas.”

  Dan held June’s cup while his barista, Jackson, filled it from a fresh pot of drip coffee. “Who hates Christmas? How can she hate Christmas? Especially in Snow Creek. This town lives for Christmas. Why is she here if she hates Christmas?”

  June took her cup and laughed. “She was born here. Only lived away during college. You know her mother.” She pointed up at the lights and tree boughs hanging from the ceiling.

  “Kayla?” Kayla had helped him find fake, fireproof pine branches that looked real. She’d sprinkled them with balsam pine oil so they smelled real, and helped him arrange the lights and star cookies made with salt dough. “Kayla loves Christmas as much as I do. How could she have a daughter who hates it?”

  June shrugged and returned to her table, leaving Dan to ponder the mysteries of Christy Monroe, hater of Christmas. He still had her card in his hand. Hater of Christmas and Amazon Accountant. Piper was right, he kind of needed to talk to an accountant. Might be worth his while to drop in on her next week.

  He could take her some macaroons. He could make a gluten-free batch. And it wouldn’t hurt to get her recommendation on a good conditioner for Piper. She’d offered. Even if she’d been motivated by guilt over her kid destroying his kid’s hair. Poor Madison. She’d probably been driven to such bad behavior as a plea for help, what with having a mother who hated Christmas.

  How could a woman who looked like a Snow Queen hate Christmas?

  ***

  Madison spent the afternoon at her grandmother’s house cutting up old Christmas cards to make ornaments for a woodland-inspired Christmas tree that her Grandma Kay was designing for the Christmas Ball. She hunted through the bin of old cards for trees, holly, birds, and animals, which she then put in a pile for her grandma to cut out. Once they were cut out, Madison carefully glued them onto cardboard.

  Grandma’s cell phone rang as Madison finished working the air bubbles out of a bright cardinal. Grandma answered, then held the phone out to Madison. “It’s for you.”

  Madison had been expecting the call. She wiped her fingers on a damp cloth and stood. “I’ll take this in the living room.”

  Her grandma waved her off and kept cutting.

  “So what did you think?” Piper asked.

  “Your dad’s nice,” Madison said cautiously. “And taller than my mom. That’s good.”

  “That shouldn’t matter.”

  “I know. But I think my mom fell for all those tall princes in the Disney movies. What do you think of my mom?”

  “That was really nice of her to give me her card and offer to help with my hair. It needs help.”

  “She knows a lot about hair
. She gets advice from Miss Bonny at the drug store. And your hair is a lot like my mom’s.”

  “Sorry you didn’t get any cookies.”

  “That’s okay. The raisin bread is great.”

  “My dad feels sorry for you. Because you never get to come to the bakery.”

  Madison giggled. “How long should we give them before we cause more trouble?”

  “Monday. Let’s stick to the plan.”

  “Okay. See ya.”

  “Bye.”

  Madison returned her grandma’s phone and took up her glue stick again.

  “What was that about?” Grandma Kay asked.

  “Nothing. This fawn is so cute!” Madison avoided eye contact. “It’s going to make the best ornament of all.”

  Grandma Kay bought it. She didn’t ask any more questions.

  ***

  Christy’s one o’clock appointment finished early, so she had her lunch on her desk when she heard a familiar voice in the reception office. Didi, her receptionist/PA/office manager and all around lifesaver, responded with a crisp but friendly “I’m afraid Ms. Monroe is busy just now. Can I have her call you when she’s free?”

  “Her door’s open,” Dan Rose said in an exaggerated whisper. “I can see her lunch on her desk. And I brought treats.”

  A paper bag rustled and Christy watched as a big white ball the size of a healthy snowball appeared in a very large, very male hand.

  “Oh, now—” Didi protested, only to be cut off.

  “I have lots.” A huge white bakery bag appeared in the other masculine hand. “Take one. Gluten-free. Don’t be shy.”

  Gluten-free? He’d been asking about her, then. Christy slammed her fork down and got to the door in time to see Didi take a tiny nibble of the huge white whatever-it-was.