He nodded. “That track record, my dear, is about to be laid to rest. For good.”
Chapter Eight
On the first day of December, one year after the holiday-bucket-list Christmas, Celeste picked up a small cake from a local bakery, put on a brand new white dress, and officially gave up on single life.
She and Mike, surrounded by their children, stood before the Justice of the Peace and crossed the first item off of their Happily Ever After bucket list.
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Sarah M. Eden is the author of multiple historical romances, including the two-time Whitney Award Winner Longing for Home and Whitney Award finalists Seeking Persephone and Courting Miss Lancaster. Combining her obsession with history and affinity for tender love stories, Sarah loves crafting witty characters and heartfelt romances. She has twice served as the Master of Ceremonies for the LDStorymakers Writers Conference and acted as the Writer in Residence at the Northwest Writers Retreat. Sarah is represented by Pam van Hylckama Vlieg at D4EO Literary Agency.
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Chapter One
Monica’s phone buzzed a few minutes before her alarm was supposed to go off. Without opening her eyes, she knew it was David. And she knew he wanted to apologize about the night before— their relationship was that predictable now.
Reluctantly, she reached for her phone and read the text.
Sorry about last night. Didn’t mean to blow up. Lunch today?
It was always like that. He’d get mad at something small, and it would escalate into a huge fight that was about everything from the beginning of their relationship up until now. Then she’d finally push back and tell David if he couldn’t stand so many things about her, then they should just break up.
Monica turned off her alarm and lay back in bed, closing her eyes for a few minutes. There was no risk of her falling back asleep. Over the past couple of months, she had found herself becoming more and more distant with David. She’d never meet up to his ideal woman, and she should have never gone on that second date with him, especially after he showed her his list.
The list had driven a wedge between them from the start. David’s list contained twenty attributes his wife needed to have. It didn’t bother Monica that he had a list per se, whether written down or just in his head, but it did bother her that he continually brought it up.
Last night over dinner, David had pointed out that he didn’t want his wife so dependent on electronics. That he wanted to be able to drop everything and take off camping for a few days. Monica had defended herself, saying she had so many things going on that she had to set her calendar alarms or she’d get off track.
“That’s exactly why you should turn your phone off,” David had countered. “You wouldn’t have so many distractions if you weren’t always checking it.”
Monica had argued back. She was the assistant manager of the Ungritches’ shop, Christmas Around the World, and had a lot of responsibility. True to previous arguments, David told her she should go part-time, and Monica countered that she needed the money to help with her mother’s care. And if she could afford to only work part-time, then she wanted to go back and finish college.
Monica opened her eyes and puffed out a breath. She was getting worked up again, and the buffer of a night’s sleep had disappeared.
She typed a text to David: I’m swamped today. We’ll talk tonight.
Tonight, she told herself, she’d tell him it was over. For good. She loved her job, she loved her routine, and she loved her system of keeping all of her tasks properly juggled. And she wasn’t a bad person. Let David take his list and find another woman to patronize.
Monica climbed out of bed. She was a few minutes ahead of schedule thanks to the early morning text from David. She crossed off yesterday’s date from the calendar on her wall: December 20. It might seem childish, but she was counting down the days until Christmas Eve. This year, she’d play Mrs. Claus to all the young guests at the Ungritches’ annual neighborhood Christmas party.
Her bosses, Mr. and Mrs. Ungritch, were getting on in years, and more and more over the past few months they’d given her increased responsibility of their Christmas Around the World store. Something David didn’t like at all, of course.
In fact, paperwork was being prepared for Monica’s purchase of the store right after the New Year. The Ungritches wanted to leave it in good hands. They’d hoped to pass it onto their only son, but there’d been a falling out years ago, and they hadn’t spoken to him since.
When Mr. and Mrs. Ungritch first approached Monica with the idea, she had been hesitant. She’d always planned to go back to college and finish her degree. She’d only been about eighteen months into school when her father died and she had to move back home to watch over her mother, who was dealing with dementia.
Monica had found a part-time job at the Christmas shop, and when her mother went to a care center after the dementia progressed to Alzheimer’s, Monica worked full-time in order to keep up with all the bills. She ended up having to sell her mother’s house and now rented the upstairs apartment above the shop.
The “apartment” had just been a big open space, but now as Monica looked from her wall calendar and scanned the room, she was pleased to see that it had all come together nicely. She had a set of used, but decent couches that sectioned off a living room, an old-fashioned Japanese privacy screen she’d found online that separated her bed and wardrobe, then a refinished kitchen table and mismatched chairs— all adding to the charm of having her own place.
Monica wrapped her arms about herself and gave a happy sigh. December 21. Only four more days until the big party, and only a week after that until she would officially own her own store. The Ungritches had been more than generous and were selling it below market value, and Monica had agreed that they’d be a part of the store for as long as they wanted to. She’d even pay them for their help— although they both refused any pay. Becoming the owner would require a loan from the bank, but she’d already qualified, and the banker had showed her how to set up a salary for herself.
Tonight when she met with David, she’d tell him of her plans to buy the shop. If he wasn’t supportive, then that would be her final clue that their relationship had come to a screeching halt.
She couldn’t imagine telling the Ungritches that she’d changed her mind on the shop because her boyfriend didn’t like the idea. Thinking of the Ungritches’ generous hearts always made Monica a bit misty-eyed. The Ungritches had become like her second parents. When she visited her mother at the care center every few days, there was less and less to talk about as her mother slipped farther into an unseen world.
At twenty-four, Monica would make a rather young Mrs. Claus, but she would remedy that with the right makeup. It was early yet, but today the makeup kit she’d ordered online should arrive. Her phone beeped a reminder that it was time to head down the stairs and open the shop. Monica turned off the reminder, thankful for cell phones and alarms, despite David’s abhorrence to electronics. If she didn’t set an alarm, then she’d probably forget to eat. Besides, not everyone could spend days camping in the woods like David.
She entered the shop, and, as usual, the scent of cinnamon and pine charmed her. It might be strange for some to be surrounded by Christmas every day of the year, but Monica loved it. She loved to see the customers transformed by the time they left. Whether it was April, June, or September, the painted bulbs, cheery Santa statues, and bins of colorful candies brought a smile to the faces of both the young and the old.
Monica loved spending time browsing through catalogs, finding unique gifts to sell that came from all over the world.
The front door rattled and then opened as Mrs. Ungritch unlocked it.
“You’re here early,” Monica said, crossing to the woman as she stepped inside. The cold wi
nd caught the door for a moment, and Mrs. Ungritch had to yank it shut.
She turned to face Monica, and Monica knew immediately that something was wrong. The woman’s gently lined face now had dark circles beneath her red-rimmed eyes.
“Is everything all right?” Monica asked.
Mrs. Ungritch handed Monica an envelope. “Read it.”
She took the envelope and looked at the return address. “Who’s Jaxon?” Then she read the last name. “Oh. Your son.”
Mrs. Ungritch only nodded and motioned for Monica to open the letter. She felt reluctant to read something that was likely personal. But she couldn’t stand for Mrs. Ungritch to be so upset and would do anything to help her.
Dad and Mom,
I’m coming home Christmas Eve. We have a lot to talk about.
Jaxon
Monica turned the letter over, but it was blank on the other side. After years of not speaking, Jaxon had written a very short and cryptic note. She met Mrs. Ungritch’s watery gaze. “What does this mean?” Monica asked. “Is it good news or bad news?”
“I don’t know,” Mrs. Ungritch said, placing a trembling hand on Monica’s arm. “My husband is furious. No explanation. But I— I can’t wait to see him.” Her voice cracked, and Monica pulled the woman into her arms.
“Of course you do. Whatever has happened, he’s still your son.” Monica was more curious than ever as to what had happened between the Ungritches and their son. They were the most loving and generous people she knew.
“Let me make you some tea,” Monica said, drawing away from Mrs. Ungritch. “And I got a brand new catalog from London yesterday that will be fun to look through.”
Mrs. Ungritch wiped her eyes and gave Monica a tremulous smile. “You’re such a dear. I don’t know what we would do without you.”
Now a lump formed in Monica’s throat. She busied herself preparing the tea for Mrs. Ungritch, and when the woman was settled on a stool next to the counter, Monica got the shop ready for opening. She had a couple of deliveries from the day before to unpack and display and then sort out the money for the register. Today they’d be open two extra hours.
“Do you know why Jaxon left?” Mrs. Ungritch said suddenly.
Monica stopped pulling out the bubble wrap from a delivery box. She turned to look at Mrs. Ungritch. “No, but you don’t need to tell me.”
“I need to tell someone,” she said in a soft voice. “It’s been about eight years, but it feels like a lifetime.”
Monica rose to her feet and crossed the counter to give Mrs. Ungritch her full attention.
“He fell in love,” Mrs. Ungritch said.
This, Monica didn’t expect.
“He was in his first year at the college, and all along we planned that he’d take over the shop someday.” Mrs. Ungritch’s eyes welled with tears, and she sniffled. “He was taking business and advertising classes even though we knew he’d just prefer to work with customers and stock things, and then... he met her.”
Monica waited, not interrupting.
“At first we thought it was a fling, but if you know Jaxon, he doesn’t have flings. Had a girlfriend for a year in high school, then nothing until Cynthia.” She let out a small sigh. “Her father owned a logging company up north. Before we knew it, Jaxon had dropped out in the middle of the semester, moved up north, married Cynthia, and started working for her father.”
Monica placed her hand on top of Mrs. Ungritch’s.
“Saying it like that seems to make it not sound so bad,” Mrs. Ungritch continued. “I mean, our son changed his mind. No big deal, right? But my husband was crushed. He thought Cynthia was manipulative— that her whole family was— she was pregnant, you see. And the baby wasn’t Jaxon’s. My husband tried to reason with Jaxon, told him to get to know her better before jumping into it all. But Cynthia had a tight grasp on him. We don’t even know if the child was a boy or girl, or if Jaxon has any children of his own by now.”
Monica was silent for a while. “Maybe he’s bringing his children to meet you.”
She gave a hopeful smile. “That’s what I told my husband. It only made him more upset... ‘Why now?’ he keeps asking. And I don’t have an answer. He’s still hurt, and so am I, but I’m ready to make amends.” She met Monica’s gaze. “If that’s even possible.”
Monica looked at the letter sitting on the counter between them; it certainly didn’t give a lot away. “He must want to make amends if he’s coming home.” Then an awful thought took over. What if Jaxon Ungritch wanted the store? What if he’d heard about his parents retiring and selling it and was coming to stake his claim?
Chapter Two
Jaxon nearly cursed out loud, then curbed his tongue just in time. The woman with two small kids standing in line in front of him probably wouldn’t appreciate his swearing. His car had broken down the night before, and the repair was going to cost more than the value, so his only recourse to reach his parents’ in time was to take the Greyhound. But his knee was already aching like crazy, and he was regretting every minute of this trip in advance.
Jaxon was the first to admit that his life was in shambles, and he dreaded returning to his parents like a dog with its tail between its legs. But there was no other choice right now. The knee surgery had taken every bit of his savings, and his ex-father-in-law had fired him, for good this time. Despite the fact that Jaxon had overlooked his cheating wife’s antics for years, reared her son, then finally divorced her after the umpteenth betrayal, he continued on as the underpaid foreman... It seemed that apparently Jaxon was still the bad guy.
And all because Jaxon had torn his ACL on the job. He’d been denied worker’s compensation since his ex-father-in-law claimed that the injury had occurred offsite. There were no witnesses, so it was Jaxon’s word against Cynthia’s father. And Jaxon’s insurance only covered a limited amount. While still recovering in the hospital, Jaxon had received termination papers.
“Next please,” a woman’s voice sailed through Jaxon’s thoughts.
He limped the few steps toward the window. “One ticket to St. Charles.”
The woman looked at him over the brim of her reading glasses. “Eighty-five dollars.”
Jaxon handed over his credit card, trying not to think how everything had gone on his credit card lately— even groceries. He’d canceled the lease on his apartment, but he had to pay through the end of January regardless.
The woman slid the ticket across the counter, and Jaxon grasped it and shoved it into his jeans pocket. Then he turned and picked up the two black suitcases he’d brought. He’d packed the past eight years into those cases. Everything else was left behind— his handmade furniture, his books, and every picture of Cynthia and her son, Ricky. He was leaving behind good choices and bad choices, good memories and bad.
He only hoped he could swallow his pride enough to tell his father he’d been right all along... Jaxon should have waited to marry Cynthia. He should have finished college. He should have taken over the shop for his parents. He should have stayed in St. Charles and built a safe life, one free from heartache, instead of spending the past eight years wallowing in regret.
Once on the bus, Jaxon popped his second-to-last Lortab and closed his eyes. In six hours he’d be home. In six hours he’d have to face the consequences of being gone for eight years. But for now he just wanted to sleep and to have no pain for a few hours.
The bus took a corner, and then it was heading for the highway. Despite Jaxon’s exhaustion and his craving for sleep, he couldn’t help but think about the last time he’d taken a bus on this same highway. It had been going the other direction of course, but he’d been sitting hand-in-hand with Cynthia. He thought he’d been in love. But no, infatuation wasn’t love.
Love was built on trust and respect. It didn’t include cheating and betrayal.
The only thing Jaxon would miss about the last eight years was Ricky, but even that had faded into memories of him as a baby. A year into the marriage, Cynthia
cheated on Jaxon for the last time, and he filed for divorce. Spending time with Ricky had slowed to a trickle after that since the boy had become the apple of his grandfather’s eye.
Jaxon continued working at the logging company since he felt like he’d burned too many bridges with his parents. He made no demands for a pay raise, time off, or worker’s compensation when injured. His years as a loyal employee never amounted to anything more than putting food on his table and continually living in a cloud of regret.
Still, when Jaxon saw Ricky from afar, his heart tugged. And he wished Cynthia could change and somehow things would work out between them. But then it only took seeing Cynthia flirting with another man to harden Jaxon’s resolve again.
The sun rose higher in the sky, casting white light on the snowy landscape as the bus sped along the highway. Jaxon put in his ear buds and plugged them into his phone. If he couldn’t escape the memories, maybe he could drown them out with music.
But the closer he traveled to St. Charles, the more keyed up his mind became. And by the time the bus arrived, the sun had set, and Jaxon was starving. The granola bars he’d brought were long gone, and he didn’t want to show up at his parents’ cranky with hunger.
It was about a mile’s walk to his parents’ house, and if he stayed on Main Street for a bit he could stop at Daisy’s Diner. He hoped they still served chicken-fried steak and potatoes. He couldn’t remember when he’d last had a decent meal.
By the time he reached the diner, his knee was aching from the effort of carrying the two suitcases. He was actually grateful for the cold air since it seemed to keep him a bit numb. Stepping into the diner was like standing in front of a blasting furnace.
The hostess looked up from the cashier’s desk, her thick brows lifted, and Jaxon was grateful it wasn’t someone he knew. He wasn’t ready to face a series of questions that he didn’t yet know the answers to himself. He felt a bit awkward asking for a table for one, but it wasn’t something he could help.
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