by Frankie Love
“Give me a break! I remember your bakery rendezvous pretty vividly,” I tell her. “You haven’t even given him a chance.”
“Because he was supposed to be a fling—a fun time—not forever,” Maggie says. “You’ve lost your marbles, Greta.”
I’m fuming, and I stomp up ahead. “Lucy, Milo, where are you?” I was so distracted with the argument, I’ve lost sight of them.
“Greta,” Clive calls. “Stop running.”
“Stop telling me what to do,” I shout back. I had been nothing but supportive of them when they decided to fall in love in a week— why can’t they be happy for Ansel and me?
Not that we’ve said I love you … but the feelings are there. I know they are. And as my family pushes against me, the truth hits me harder than ever.
I love Ansel.
I love that his words pieced me back together and his laughter fills the hole that has been in my heart for so long.
I love him.
But I can’t think about that— not right now. Right now I need to find the kids. “Milo?” I shout. “It’s not funny. Come here!”
I start moving faster, running clumsily up the path, until I lose my trail.
Shoot. “Lucy?” I call, this time there is fear rising in my voice … in my belly. “Mommy is right here.”
But I hear nothing in return.
No. No. No.
I try to turn back around, but can’t remember which way I came. My heart is pounding in my chest. Why am I on this mountain? I hate this mountain. It’s full of bad memories. How have I’ve lasted living in this town so long anyway?
A town where every street, every store, everywhere holds a memory of Luke and I.
Maybe I should just pack up my house and move west, to Seattle, to be with Ansel. A fresh start where there’s no worry about getting lost in the woods.
Tears well up in my eyes—I can’t see the kids or hear anyone—I’m lost on the mountain I hate.
“Help,” I cry. “Help!”
I’m hyperventilating, my chest aches. I need to get off this snow covered mountain and find my family and I swear… if something happens to my babies I will never recover I’ll never—ever—be whole again.
I’m spiraling out, running farther into the woods, or farther to the parking lot—I don’t even know, that’s how spun around I am. I scream again, knowing it’s the kids I’m really worried about.
The past rushes toward me, past reason and sense and all I see is the free-fall after losing Luke. I know in my heart that I’m strong, but as I drop to my knees, lost and alone, and so damn scared—all I see is losing the things most precious. Most dear.
My family.
Chapter 14
Ansel
Fuck that. Her family says I can’t be there? Well, forget it. I know I have no formal claim on Greta’s heart, but we’ve made it loud and clear to one another how we feel.
This is real. And I’m not going anywhere. Not without her. Without her by my side—without her forever.
With a bag of Christmas cookies from her bakery in the passenger seat, I drive my car to the mountain. Hey, maybe I wasn’t invited to this family gathering, but I won’t show up empty handed.
I know where she was headed—the mountain she is terrified of—and with good reason.
I’m not gonna let her go face those demons alone. Her family—while I love them to death, is so hell bent on all the reasons we’re wrong for one another, that they won’t be able to realize how badly she actually needs their support today—now more than ever.
She had a love that was real and true with Luke, and thank God for that. What they shared made her into an amazing woman.
A mother so brave and strong that her kids look at her with more love than I thought possible.
And Goddammit, somehow I ended up here, in this town, this Christmas, sharing a part of that love with her and with her kids.
I slam my car door shut and grab the bag of cookies as I hike into the mountain to tell Greta I love her.
A hell of a lot can happen in two weeks.
You can build a house in two weeks. Hell, you can win a war, topple a government—you can certainly fall in love in that span.
As I move toward the trail, I’m more resolved than ever. Shit, I know what I want to do—and the ring in my pocket proves it. When the moment is right, I am not going to hold back. I’ll tell Greta that I love her and then drop to one knee.
I’m focused on finding her and that’s when I hear it.
The sound of Greta calling.
I spin, headed toward the sound of her voice, but I can’t find her. Fuck, I knew I should have come with her from the get go.
I run down the trail, calling for her as I move. As I cut through a path, I see her family—Milo and Lucy and Charlie—hell, the whole crew. “Have you seen Greta?” they ask, fear in their voices.
I shake my head. “No, but I heard her, I’ll go this way to look.”
I take off in a different direction than Clive and Charlie and head back toward the voice, immediately realizing I don’t know this mountain. Looking at the cookies in my hand, I rip open the bag and crumble a gingerbread man.
Then I start making a trail of crumbs as I run. I keep moving, sliding a few times in the snow, my only focus is on getting to Greta. The trail will lead us back to her family once she’s in my arms.
“I’m here,” I shout. “Stay put.” I keep moving, seeing footprints in the snow, and realizing, with relief that I’m practically to the parking lot. Greta isn’t in danger; she just got turned around and scared.
“Greta?” I say, once I see her back. She kneels in the snow, crying. “Baby, you okay?” I run toward her, and drop to my knees. “I’m right here.”
She looks up, tears in her eyes and fear on her face. “My kids, I can’t find them, Ansel!”
“Shhh, shh, baby, they’re okay. I just saw them. Both Milo and Lucy are with your family. Everyone’s okay. But honey, are you?”
Her shoulders fall, her face crumbling in relief. “Oh, thank God. I couldn’t find them and got so scared. It’s my worst nightmare.”
I cup her cheek with my hand. “I know, sweetie. That’s why I came. I couldn’t bear the idea of you braving this mountain alone.”
“Ansel,” she says, looking past me. “Did you leave a trail of breadcrumbs?”
I push my lips forward, looking at the crumbs dotting the snow covered ground.
“You told me our love story was a fairy tale, but Ansel, crumbs? Really?” Her face breaks out in a smile.
“I didn’t want us both to get lost,” I tell her, grateful that she’s smiling and no longer terrified. “I’m so sorry you were out here all alone.”
“I’m not alone anymore.” She wraps her arms around me. “You got me in trouble with my family. They’re all pissed that I‘ve fallen for you.”
“You fell for me? Is that so?” I ask, pulling back to look into her eyes, already knowing the answer.
“I didn’t stand a chance. Not really. Not with you showing up in Linesworth with that man bun,” she says with a smirk.
“I’ll never live that down, will I?”
She shakes her head no, then swallows, and leans into my hand that rests on her cheek. “So, you were saying you came out here for me?”
“I did.”
“Why?”
“You know why, sweet cheeks.”
“Spell it out for me,” she asks. The moment has suddenly turned intimate, the two of us here, kneeling in the snow. The pine trees heavy with snow laden branches and the crisp mountain air between us.
“It’s pretty simple really,” I tell her, looking deep into her eyes. My knees practically frozen, but I don’t give a damn. Right now, this woman in front of me is the only thing I care about.
“Oh yeah?” she asks in a whisper.
“Yeah, truth is, I love you, Greta.”
“Stop,” she says, eyes brimming with tears. “I don’t deserve love like this,
twice in my life.”
“Oh yes you do. And you can’t run from it. It isn’t just a dream, or a story someone else wrote—it’s real and it’s true and it’s ours.” I press my forehead to hers, holding her close, wanting to hold her like this until the end of time.
“I love you too, Ansel. So much it makes my chest hurt. The idea of not having you, that’s what scares me.”
“I’m not going anywhere, hell, if you try to get rid of me I’ll pour buckets of breadcrumbs down your driveway. I’m here to stay.”
“Linesworth is not Seattle. And I’m a mom and the kids and … Ansel—, you want all that?”
“The life we choose is the only one that matters,” I quote for her.
She wraps her arms around me, sinking against my body. “That will never get old. You reciting lines from your book.”
“I think I have a new story idea,” I tell her.
“Really?”
I nod, reaching into my pocket. “Yeah. It’s a book about a man who meets the love of his life.”
Greta raises an eyebrow. “Not terribly original, you know.”
I smile softly, pulling out the ring. “This story has a twist.”
“And what’s that?” she asks, covering her mouth as she see the diamond I’m holding out to her.
“In the end, when he kneels down, asking her to marry him, he doesn’t know if she’ll say yes.”
“Why does he doubt her?” she whispers.
I tuck a loose strand of hair behind Greta’s ear. “Because she’s been through a hell of a lot. And going all in a second time might be too scary.”
Greta’s eyes twinkle. The same way they did the night I met her at the wine bar. “But Ansel,” she says. “I think you’re underestimating the heroine.”
“Oh yeah?”
She nods, her face a rosy glow. “Mhhmm. Because this character is thoughtful, reliable and resourceful.”
I frown playfully. “Sounds like Sarah.”
Greta shakes her head. “Nope. Because this woman is also really good in bed. Sarah was kinda uptight.”
I grin. “Oh, so this novel will be a little hotter, you think?”
“Much hotter.”
“In that case,” I say. “Don’t make me wait another minute. Marry me, Greta.”
She beams, her answer obvious. “Yes. Please. Let’s start our life together.”
I slide the ring on her finger and she laughs in awe at the sparkling diamond. “You know there’s a lot about me you still don’t know, right?”
“I know, hell, you’ve never even been to my place in Seattle. I’m a total neat freak.”
“Good, because I’m a total mess.”
“And I work at home, which will be totally annoying sometimes.”
She grins. “But that means you’ll be able to help with the kids.”
“Speaking of kids … should we go find your family?”
“Our family?”
I nod. “Our family.”
“Did we seriously just get engaged?” she asks, as I pull her up to standing, wrapping my arms around her.
“We did, Greta, we did.” I kiss her, and I swear I’ll never let her go.
This snow-covered mountain that broke her heart once is now the backdrop to our own fairytale.
Epilogue
Greta
One Year Later
Christmas Eve
“It’s perfect, Mommy,” Milo squeals in delight as he adds the angel to the top of the Christmas tree. Ansel holds him up to the top, and below, Lucy beams. Both of my children’s faces are written in joy, and colorful lights make the room sparkle.
It is certainly the happiest time of year.
“Now we’ve got to put cookies out for Santa,” Lucy directs, taking Milo’s hand and leading him to the kitchen. Calling to me over her shoulder she asks, “Mom do you think Santa would want milk or eggnog?”
I look over at my husband, Ansel, and smile. “Eggnog,” I answer, knowing Ansel will add a little whiskey to it once the kids have gone to bed. “And you can each pick a cookie to have before bed.”
They shout their thanks with glee and I turn up the Christmas music. The living room is filled with Bing Crosby crooning about a White Christmas. I look around our home, I feel so at peace. Ansel’s laptop is on his desk in the corner, closed for the week—we’re both taking time off actually—and the tree is already stacked high with presents for extended family.
“Thank you,” I tell him, as he pulls me against his chest. “For making this Christmas so special.”
“I’m glad we have this night as a family,” he says. “Because I know that tomorrow, with Maggie and Charlie here with their little guy Andrew, and Clive and Hazel here with Luke Jr, the day will be busy.”
“I know,” I sigh contentedly as Ansel pulls me to the couch. I hear the kids in the kitchen giggling over their Christmas treats. “But it’s easier for us to host, so they don’t have to hassle with company when they’re busy with their newborns.”
“Will that be us next year?” Ansel asks, lacing my fingers with his, resting them on the slight bump of my belly.
“Nah.” I look up at him, his handsome face still taking my breath away. “I’ve been through this before, I won’t be a basket case like Mags or overly intense like Hazel.”
“What will you be?”
“Grateful, mostly.”
Ansel leans down and kisses me tenderly. My chest tightens—sometimes it’s overwhelming to have so very much.
“Ewww,” Milo groans throwing himself at us on the couch. “No kissing, it’s present time!”
Ansel tickles him, pulling him into his lap as I scoot over and make room for Lucy.
“No, Milo,” Lucy says. “Not until tomorrow. We just set out cookies and milk. Now it’s time for bed.”
I raise my eyes, smirking. “Wow, a little girl declining presents! I’ve never heard such thing, have you honey?” I ask, looking over at Ansel.
“Never. And such a shame, since we put a gift for each of you under the tree.”
“But that’s Santa’s job,” Milo says, scrunching up his face.
“Well, we’re Santa’s helpers, tonight.”
“Did you really get us an early gift?” Lucy asks, her eyes so bright I’m nearly blinded by her beauty.
“We did,” Ansel says, pulling himself off the couch and kneeling under the tree. “Looks like one for Lucy,” he says, handing it to her.
She takes it from him, then wraps an arm around his neck and kisses the side of his head. “Thanks Daddy.”
Her words cause a lump to form in my throat. It is the most bittersweet thing, hearing her say that. When Ansel hands Milo a wrapped package, I think the gift-giving is done, but then, he hands me a box too.
“For me?” I frown—not having an early gift planned for him.
He nods. “The kids first though.”
Lucy tears hers open and finds a gorgeous hardback copy of Hans Christian Anderson Fairy Tales. And when Milo opens his, he finds an illustrated edition of Brother’s Grimm. Their tiny hands flip through the pages, enamored by the books Ansel and I chose with care.
Lucy closes her book, running her fingertips over the title. “You two are cheesy, you know that?” she says, grinning.
“We know,” I say, laughing, and loving my daughter’s ability to pick up on our family’s inside jokes.
“Now your turn, Mommy,” Milo says.
I look at the box in my lap—it’s pretty heavy and I guess Ansel found a book for me too. Unwrapping the corners of the wrapping paper, I pull off a lid.
Inside is a stack of papers, probably three hundred pages thick.
“What’s this?” I ask, my eyes already filling with tears. Because I know.
“It’s for you,” Ansel says. When I dare look up at him, I blink to stop the tears from falling down my cheeks. “It’s the sequel to Sarah’s story. The first draft.”
Reading the title, I say, “Her Strong Heart.”
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The dedication on the first page is everything:
For Greta
This life we’ve made is its own kind of fairy tale.
Broken and beautiful and ours.
A Little Holiday Treat!
I wanted to give my readers a little holiday gift—so here it is:
Recipes from some of my favorite authors!
After reading about Hazel, Maggie, and Greta finding their sugary sweet happily-ever-afters, I thought we deserved a few extra treats ourselves!
Hope you enjoy the collection and be sure to check out the yummy holiday books along with the recipes!
xo, frankie
Brill Harper
Snicker’s Salad
From Brill:
I brought this dish to a family thing one time because it was easy—and it became the THING I was known for. Now I have to bring it to every holiday an get-together.
Which is fine because it takes very little time or energy and it makes me look like a goddess in the kitchen.
-Recipe:
1 bag of Snickers: mini or fun size
1 big container of Cool Whip (easier to use if defrosted)
3 Granny Smith apples
1.Unwrap and chop candy bars into bite size pieces. (I cut the minis into 4 usually)
2.Cut up apples into bite size pieces
3.Mix apples and candy bars
4.Fold in whipped topping
5.If I’m feeling fancy, I’ll scrape the chocolate shavings left on the cutting board onto the top.
6.That’s really it. Keep chilled until served.
Tagged
By Brill Harper
My name is Sergeant Charlie Warner. Or it was. I’m a retiring soldier, just got out, with no family of my own, and I reluctantly agreed to spend the holidays in picturesque Maple Grove to transition to life after the Army. I’m a drifter now and have no business getting involved with my buddy’s family—especially with his sweet little sister who pretends she’s frumpy and boring to ward off attention from men. Men like me. I have no plans for Emily other than being an extra brother for a week. That’s what I tell myself. I really should let her be, but the harder she tries to hide, the more determined I am to seek. Under those baggy clothes and plain, simple looks is a woman who deserves to know how desirable she is. She thinks I can have any woman I want. And I want her. Author’s Confession: You must know by now that I love my tropes, right? Military romance, older man/younger woman, opposites attracting like whoa, small town, older brother’s best friend, ugly duckling who’s really a swan (though an introverted swan), holiday romance complete with snow, Santa suits, and caroling during a fight scene. Oh, and pudding. Let’s get figgy with it.
