Christmas Blessings: Seven Inspirational Romances of Faith, Hope, and Love

by Leah Atwood

  It’d grown on her, this town and its people. Or perhaps not grown so much as promptly attached itself to her heart. Ever since that day Drew had shown her around and followed her up the bell tower.

  “So.” Drew steered his truck around a curve. “How’s the book coming along?” “The book’s fine. I’m actually pretty happy with it at this point.”

  “Good.”

  Not one to prattle on, this man, but he had a way of saying more in one word than most could in rambling replies. And in his “good,” she heard his hint of gratification, same timbre in his voice when Winnie came home with a pleasing grade report or Leigh mentioned she might apply for an assistant manager position at the restaurant. He felt a part of it—didn’t he?—their lives, their progress.

  And he was. It was his attic where she’d finally found the productivity she’d needed. It was seeing his work ethic that pushed her to fit in more writing hours each day than she would’ve normally. It was his town that’d inspired a new depth in Ethan Whitney’s latest storyline.

  “Listen, I should probably…” Drew’s hands slid down the steering wheel as he fumbled for words. “I should probably warn you about what we might…”

  He pressed his lips together and reached up to pull off his sunglasses. The sunlight turned his eyes such a strobing blue, she had to look away to keep from staring.

  “I should just tell you,” he finally sputtered. “The last time I saw Colin…it wasn’t good. We argued and it got ugly. Actually most of the times we’ve seen each other in the past few years have been that way. He might not be all that happy to see me.”

  “He didn’t seem overly antagonistic toward you when he talked about you.”

  Snow flurries twisted in the air outside the car. “Of course he didn’t. He was on a date with a pretty girl.”

  In other words, Colin was too suave to air his dirty family laundry in front of her. Fair enough. But still. “I just think if it’s been that long since you’ve seen him, you should hold out hope. A lot can change in a year. He might not be the same person.” Who it seemed, reading between Drew’s sparsely uttered lines, must’ve been something of a party guy. “He’s probably changed. Matured. People do that, you know.”

  Drew didn’t reply so much as grunt, his grip tightening on the steering wheel as he avoided a curling snow drift.

  She waited minutes before speaking again. “Are we going to hit bad weather?” “Maybe a little snow. Nothing I can’t handle.”

  She believed that. She’d watched from the attic window a couple days ago as he attacked the latest round of snow with a snow blower. And she’d seen him throw tire chains in the truck bed before leaving.

  Silence pattered through the front seat then, accompanied only by the rumble of the engine and the swiping of the windshield wipers as the snow picked up. Too, the chugging puffs of warm air from the heater.

  And the first hint of her own doubt whispering in.

  What if the Colin you met last year, the man you’ve pictured in your daydreams ever since, isn’t the person you think he is?

  What if he wasn’t anything like the man she remembered? Nothing at all like Ethan Whitney, the man he portrayed—solid and dependable, the kind of man a person could count on?

  What if men like Ethan Whitney don’t even exist?

  Just like Dean had said.

  She leaned her head back against the headrest, closing her eyes against the memory but it barreled in anyway.

  “You spend hours locked away working on this thing.” Dean had held up the story notes he found scattered on her couch. “I swear, you care more about this fictional person than me.”

  “That’s not true—”

  “He’s not even realistic. Look at these notes. He’s a flippin’ caricature.”

  “He’s not. Yes, he’s a good guy, but he’s also layered. And flawed. He has weaknesses. You haven’t read the book.”

  “This isn’t working, Mare.”

  It’d unraveled from there. A year-long relationship, done, just like that. Because the real man in her real life resented the fake one in her fictional world.

  But what if Dean had a point? Maybe even more than one? She had spent crazy amounts of time on that book. Let it consume her. She had started to see this made-up character as the key to her publishing dream coming true. She’d known Ethan Whitney would make readers swoon because he’d made her swoon.

  But in the process of writing him into existence, had she unintentionally made Dean feel less-than?

  “I’m just worried that…maybe you’re hoping for something that isn’t going to happen.”

  Maren’s eyes opened to see Drew’s probing gaze on her once more. Right, they were talking about Colin. Not Dean.

  A howling wind brushed a wave of white over the road in front of them. “I’m just hoping we make it to Des Moines safely. That’s all.”

  Another quiet minute passed, then two, her what-ifs fading as weather worry took their place. If the wind kept up and the snow fell any thicker, they could be on their way to a whiteout.

  “You sure you’re okay driving through this?”

  Drew only nodded, his quiet confidence almost enough to smooth her concerns.

  “You know, my parents met in a blizzard.” The cold of the near-storm outside seemed to claw through the passenger window.

  “Oh yeah?” Drew turned up the heat at her shiver.

  “They were at ski lodge in Colorado. I heard the story over and over growing up Dad was working at the lodge, his first job out of college. Mom was a junior on a winter break trip with friends. There was a snowstorm on the last day of the trip, so instead of skiing, Mom spent the whole day with the cute ski instructor.”

  “And they lived happily ever after?”

  Maren laughed. “Actually, Mom went back to college and Dad went back to his everyday life. They wrote a couple letters, but that was it. And they didn’t meet again until two years later when Dad got a job managing a lakeside resort in Minnesota. Just happened to be in Mom’s hometown. They instantly reconnected and get this, got married just two months later.”

  Drew whistled. “Growing up with a story like that, I’m surprised you don’t write romances for a living instead of mysteries.”

  “But the best is when Mom talks about the moment they first met, back in that ski lodge.” Maren reached for the lever on the side of her seat that tipped it back. “According to her, she knew even back then that Dad was the man she’d marry. That even when the trip was over and the letters stopped, she just knew—the moment was that magical and unforgettable.” She propped her feet on the dash.

  “You believe that?” It wasn’t doubt in Drew’s voice so much as curiosity.

  “Yes, but I’m a writer, Drew. We tend to believe in grand romance and enchanted moments.” She downed the last of her mocha. “Probably sounds silly.”

  The car’s heater filled the air with warmth even as the snow hurled outside. Drew looked over. “Not so silly.”

  * * *

  An angry wind flung itself against Drew’s truck, plastering his windshield with white. The near- blizzard had charged in seemingly out of nowhere, swift and harsh. His headlights barely cut through the storm—sheets of snow twisting in the wind to turn the road treacherous.

  At least it wasn’t dark. And if his GPS knew what it was talking about, they’d be at Colin’s place within minutes. Stripped trees bent over the Des Moines street, branches iced and weather-weary. Through hazy white, he could see snowdrifts covering porch steps and slanting along rooftops.

  He’d tried calling Colin one more time this morning. Left one more veiled message.

  “Hey, Col, it’s me. I’m to the point of thinking maybe this isn’t your number anymore. But if it is and if you get this, we’re on our way—Maren and I. Maren’s the author I told you about a few messages ago. I’m sure you remember her. Um…so maybe we’ll see you in a couple hours?”

  “You don’t understand, Drew.” Maren’s v
oice cut into his thoughts, her jaunty tone pushing back at the reluctance needling through him. “Every single Starburst in this package was pink. Every single one. I saved the wrappers as evidence.” She nudged his arm with her elbow, motioning to her purse sitting open in her lap. “See? Proof.”

  “I believe you, Mare. I just can’t believe we’ve been talking about Starbursts for twenty minutes now.” Ever since she’d pulled a bag from the backseat and announced, “Road trip snacks!”

  Snacks for a drive that barely maxed at an hour and fifteen minutes. She was way too excited for this.

  And way too naïve about his brother.

  “All. Pink. Has that ever happened to anybody ever?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe we should be calling CNN. Or at least the Maple Valley News.”

  The truck lurched just then as his tires hit something—a snowdrift, a patch of ice, he didn’t know and didn’t have time to think as the vehicle whipped into a spin. His gasp was lost in the sound of squealing tires and his foot slamming into the brakes. The curb came careening into view.

  He winced as he heard the clunk of Maren’s head hitting her window as his antilock brakes kicked in. Maren’s computer bag and purse, the bag of snacks, everything went flying, and the tread of his tires growled over slick road. But as quickly as the truck had spun out, it shuddered to a stop.

  For a shocked, silent second, his heart pummeled his rib cage…until he jerked against his seatbelt to face Maren. “Are you okay?”

  Eyes wide, face white, she nodded.

  “Are you sure? I think you hit your head.” He reached out one hand to brush her hair away and let his fingers feather over her forehead. No cuts but he could already see a splotch of red that would likely be a bruise before morning.

  His gaze dipped down to meet her still-wide eyes. She swallowed.

  “It’s…it’s not even just that all the Starbursts were pink, but also the fact that that’s my favorite flavor.” Her grin started in one corner of her lips before filling out.

  And despite his truck sitting at an angle in the road, idling against a curbside snowdrift while the wind pounded outside, and his white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel, he laughed. “You’re a nut.”

  “And you’re the calmest driver I’ve ever met. I’d have panicked and driven into a tree if I was in your seat.”

  “Well, I need to keep you safe. Winnie would kill me if something happened to you before you finished your next book.”

  With a shaky breath, he shifted into reverse and fought against spinning tires until he’d freed them from the snowdrift. The truck slogged forward then, and he peered through whipping snow, scanning the numbers on houses that look as fatigued as he was beginning to feel. Worn siding and crumbling brick. A strand of Christmas lights had detached from the house on the corner and dangled to the porch floor.

  But maybe…maybe this wouldn’t be as bad as he was imagining. Maybe Colin had simply lost his phone and that’s why he hadn’t returned any of Drew’s calls. Maybe he was doing well and had put last year’s tussle behind him and would welcome Drew with open arms and…

  And maybe Maren is seriously rubbing off on you.

  One block more and he found it. 1226 Cedar Street. Plastic covered the windows, flapping in the wind. Snow layered the lawn and edged up to the house—no sign of footprints or shovel tracks.

  Maren had her seatbelt off before Drew had even parked in the unshoveled driveway. “I think I should probably go in first.”

  If Maren wanted to argue, she must’ve thought twice. Because she only nodded and settled back against her seat.

  He opened his door, a blast of frosty air barreling in. “Go ahead and keep the truck running and the heat on.” He closed the door and tromped through snow that reached his knees. It trickled into his shoes, dampening his socks by the time he reached the front door. He knocked, then reached down to brush the snow from his pants.

  Nothing.

  He knocked again.

  The storm door swung open.

  His brother’s disgruntled form stared at him on the other side of the screen door—wrinkled t-shirt and sweatpants, a beard, tousled hair. And not even a hint of welcome.

  “Drew.”

  Wind chimes from the porch next door clashed. Had Colin just woken up? After one in the afternoon? “So you, uh, didn’t get my messages?”

  Colin didn’t answer, only turned away from the door, padded footsteps sounding over hard floors. “Ooo-kay.” The word came out a drawled sigh.

  But at least Colin hadn’t slammed the door. Apparently that was as much of a welcome as Drew was going to get. With one last glance over his shoulder to where Maren waited in the car, he slung open the screen door and stepped inside.

  Colin sat at the bottom of an open staircase, pulling a pair of socks over his feet. Drew’s gaze roved past the stairs into the living room—open pizza box on a coffee table crowded with magazines. Garments hanging over a couch, a couple chairs. A muted game show flickered from the TV that took up half of one wall.

  “So what do you want? Life update?” Colin stood now, raking his fingers through his hair. “Highlight reel: Booked two commercials and a magazine spread earlier this year. Lately? Nothing. So I’m working in the theatre department at Drake University and playing cell phone salesman in my off-hours.”

  A row of beer cans lined a living room windowsill. “And throwing parties for students?” Drew regretted the words the second they slipped out.

  Colin swiped a sweatshirt from over the bannister and yanked it on. Ire laced his laughter. “One year and you haven’t changed a bit, big brother.”

  And obviously Colin hadn’t either.

  Not fair.

  Just because this place looked and smelled like a frat house didn’t mean Colin was still living that life.

  He doesn’t need your judgment. He needs…

  Well, Drew didn’t know what Colin needed. And maybe that was the problem.

  When Mom and Dad had moved south several years ago, thrown up their hands and cut Colin off, Drew had tried to step in. He’d paid Colin’s rent for a full year, for one thing. Sent money when his brother was between modeling gigs. Called and visited and did all he could to wheedle Colin into something resembling adulthood, maturity.

  But clearly he’d always gone about it wrong. Because Colin had clung to the same-old, same-old. Wild parties that led to damaged property and fines. Lavish spending. Wasting the few good job opportunities he’d had.

  “If it’s been that long since you’ve seen him, maybe you shouldn’t assume he’s the same guy he was back then.”

  Maren’s words. Idealistic and hopeful. Maybe…

  “Look.” Colin pulled a water bottle from between two couch cushions and uncapped it. “If you’re here because you heard about me and that student—”

  “What?”

  “It’s all a stupid misunderstanding. It was just one dumb kiss at one cast after-party and she goes and blows the whole thing out of proportion. I’m appealing the college board’s decision and—”

  Drew couldn’t listen to this. “And you think I’m the one who hasn’t changed?”

  Colin capped his bottle and chucked it at the beer cans in the windowsill. “Why are you even here?”

  Drew moved across the room, booting a paper plate out of the way. “Because I had the crazy thought in my head that maybe—just maybe—you’d like to actually come home for Christmas. See your sister and your niece. See the farm and all the work I’ve done—”

  “You’re wasting your time on that place?”

  “And because I’ve got an author out in the car who happens to think you’re some kind of dreamy Prince Charming. Man, if I ever had any doubt of your acting skills…” He cut off at the sight of Colin scratching his beard.

  “An author?”

  “Maren Grant. You went on a date with her. You were on the cover of her book and…” He shook his head. “You don’t even remember her, do you?” Whate
ver disappointment he’d felt in the past few minutes, it was nothing to the disenchantment he knew Maren would feel if she realized Colin Renwycke didn’t even recall her name.

  “I remember the book cover shoot.” Colin shrugged. “And yeah, I hung out with the author afterward, but…” Another shrug. “Why’s she with you?”

  He should just lie to Maren. Go back out to the car and tell her Colin wasn’t home. That the man who’d answered the door was someone else. They could find a restaurant or hotel or something, wait out the storm and then go home and pretend this never happened.

  “Stop it, Drew.” Colin moved around the couch. “Stop what?”

  “Stop looking at me like I’m a colossal disappointment.”

  “I’m not—”

  Colin jerked forward. “You are. You always do.”

  Too familiar, this argument. Like an echo of the past. And suddenly it was last year, the day after Christmas and they were standing outside the farmhouse—Colin having just returned home after a night of partying and Drew picking the wrong time to lecture him.

  He should’ve known to stand down. Should’ve known he was probably the last person Colin wanted to hear from, considering it was just the day before Dad had made a show of handing him the deed to the farmland. Colin had walked out—wordless—soon after.

  But instead of guarding his words, he’d let loose.

  “Can’t you see what you’re doing to yourself? Haven’t you learned anything from what Leigh’s been through?”

  Colin, still hung over from the night before, had thrown the first punch.

  “We don’t have to do this again, Colin.”

  “I’m not the one who showed up out of the blue.”