We'll Always Have Christmas: A gorgeously uplifting Christmas romance

by Jenny Hale

  “So what will you be doing?”

  “The woman I spoke with was named Melinda Burnett. She’s the house manager. Have you heard of her at all? She’s local.” It wasn’t at all what Noelle had imagined doing for a living, but Heidi had said she’d heard the pay range was good, and Noelle couldn’t afford to be picky.

  Jo frowned, shaking her head.

  “I hadn’t either. When she called back to say I had the job, I asked for details, and she said she’d email them all to me, and then I could decide if it sounded like something I’d be interested in pursuing. I know the elderly man’s name is William but that’s it. I don’t know anything else yet. But to be honest, it doesn’t really matter. I need the job. I still want to make Christmas special for Lucas and I’d like to be able to move out of my parents’ house sooner rather than later.” Noelle didn’t want to divulge her finances too much, but the truth was, she was broke. She’d scraped together the last bit of her paycheck to pay rent before the sublet took over, and she was hoping to use the remainder of her earnings before Christmas to buy presents for Lucas. All she had was a savings account with a small amount of money that she was keeping in case of emergencies.

  “It will be nice to be back home, though,” Jo said, focusing on the positive. “You’ll live even closer to Phoebe.” She laughed before she’d even said anything funny, and Noelle knew why: Phoebe was a hoot to be around.

  “It will be good to see her,” Noelle said, laughing right alongside her.

  Chapter Two

  After she’d left Jo, going their separate ways following lunch, Noelle dropped her shopping bags off at her parents’ house in a slightly better mood. Just as she’d thought, Jo had made her take stock of what mattered. She had the opportunity to make a living, and that was a good thing. Maybe things would turn around. The house was oddly empty, so she headed straight to see her dad and Pop-pop at the bakery, wondering where everyone else was.

  When Noelle arrived, she opened the glass front door of Hope and Sugar bakery, and, even a year after her death, it was a shock not to see her behind the counter, her white hair pinned up, away from her remarkably youthful face, those blue eyes sparkling like sapphires as they reflected the happiness in her smile.

  Noelle’s attention was drawn toward her favorite spot as a child: the bookshelves Pop-pop had built. He’d covered one entire wall with mahogany shelving. Noelle was nine when he’d built it—she could still remember. The radio had been on, and a good song played, causing Gram to come around the other side of the counter, that smile on her face. She pulled Pop-pop’s tools from his hands and danced with him. As the song played, he spun her around, and she twirled as if she were young again, her giggles like wind chimes until Pop-pop silenced her with a kiss. That was the first time Noelle had been old enough to really understand the affection between them. They were perfect together.

  From the floor to the ceiling the shelves were full of books that people placed there when they’d finished reading. The policy was that if a person left a book, they could take one, but the donations over the years had been so plentiful that the books were pressed into any available space, some sitting sideways or stacked on others. Regulars were known to leave bookmarks with their names in them, coming back to pick up where they’d left off. Noelle couldn’t imagine a time when there wasn’t someone reading in one of the chairs.

  Surfacing from her memories, she looked at her family sitting in the small dining area by those bookshelves, their attention on her. Her mother and father, Pop-pop, and her older sister Heidi were all there. So this was where everyone was.

  “I came right away, but there was traffic,” Noelle said, out of breath.

  She had literally run up the street, her heart pounding from more than just the effort it had taken. When she’d called her father after having coffee to tell him she was on her way to the bakery, there’d been an awkward silence before he’d said, “We need to talk, Noelle.” That was the second time he’d said that. His voice had been unreadable and he’d refused to go into detail until they could meet face to face. She couldn’t imagine what in the world he had to tell her that was so serious that her family was all there. Was it good news? Was she finally going to be able to run Gram’s bakery and begin the new chapter of her life that she’d been waiting for?

  But now Noelle stepped in to a silence that enveloped her. Immediately she realized it was an eerie silence—not like the kind that bounced around just before happy surprises. It was the heavy sort, as if some type of energy had settled upon them like a fog and was about to lash out at them all when they weren’t expecting it.

  She searched Heidi’s eyes for any indication of what was to come, but there wasn’t the slightest hint of a suggestion. Her mother was too still, a wad of balled tissue hidden in her fist as her eyes darted over to Noelle’s father. Pop-pop was looking down at his shoes while fiddling with the cuticle of his nail. He looked up as she passed him but didn’t meet her eye. Slowly, Noelle lowered herself into one of the chairs that had been pulled away from its table to make a circle for them all. Her heart still slamming in her chest, she didn’t bother to take off her coat for fear she might need to run out into the street to catch her breath after seeing everyone like this.

  “Noelle, we’re closing the bakery,” her father said, getting right to the point.

  She felt the icy sensation from the paleness that must have washed over her, only her breath coming through her lips, words absent. It felt as though a freight train were speeding through her head. Gram had promised her the bakery. She’d told her that Pop-pop would run it until he had enough to retire and then it would be hers. Her sister hadn’t been interested in taking on the responsibility of running it completely, but she’d been thrilled at the idea of keeping it in the family, and she’d said she wanted to still be a part of it. Her parents had retired, so they were ready to spend their days leisurely. All of that was just fine for Noelle because running the bakery was in her blood.

  A planner by nature, she’d been dreaming about how she’d manage it her whole life. Even as a child, she had a notebook full of ideas that she carried with her every time she went to the bakery with Gram. While her grandmother kneaded the dough for her pastries, flour up her arms, she’d nod and offer her opinions as Noelle read her ideas out. Over the years, Gram’s sweet smiles at Noelle’s thoughts became concentrated focus, and it was clear that Noelle was the right person to take on Hope and Sugar. She and her gram were alike; they always had been, which was why they were so close. Noelle learned the business from Gram and she’d been ready for years, just waiting for the moment that Pop-pop decided it was time to rest.

  She remembered that second week in November when her grandmother would open up the giant jukebox in the corner—its gleaming silver and pearly white bright against the ruby-red piping—and replace the usual records with Christmas classics. For a quarter—she’d never bothered to raise the price—people chose their favorite carols. They played softly in the background beneath the chatter and local gossip. It had stopped working shortly after her death, and, as far as Noelle knew, it hadn’t been repaired. No one in the family could bear to take the Christmas records out or ship it anywhere for service. Now it would be packed away, collecting dust, God knows where.

  Just thinking about it all gave Noelle an acidic punch in the gut. She’d never allowed the thought to come through, but she, too, had felt like Pop-pop: letting the bakery go would be letting a piece of Gram go, and she didn’t know if she could handle it. All those memories, all that wonderful time there—it would be carried out of that building piece by piece, crushing her.

  Noelle’s dreams to inherit the business and run it one day slipped away like ice down her body. But worse than that, she knew that her father had planned to keep the bakery open to fund Pop-pop’s retirement. Without the money from the bakery, she had no idea what he would do. Noelle found herself frantically searching the bakery with her eyes; for what, she didn’t know herself
. Her gaze settled on the empty chair by the fire just as a sob rose in her throat.

  If she closed her eyes, she could still see Gram, holding two mugs—they were cream-colored ceramics speckled with toffee brown—the thick, bittersweet coffee steaming to the brim in her delicate hands. With her head tilted just so and that look that said she’d make it all better, she’d hand one to Noelle and then wrap her fingers around her own as she sank down into that chair by the fire, ready to listen.

  Noelle couldn’t say she’d taken those moments for granted, but she certainly didn’t realize how much the absence of those conversations would hit her when Gram was gone. She missed Gram so much that just the smell of pastries and coffee would make her tear up on the right day. If only she could be here now. Noelle needed her. What was she supposed to do?

  “It isn’t turning a profit anymore,” her father said, once she’d turned toward him again, her vision glazing over like she was peering at him under water, the way she had at the public pool when she was a girl. This time the sting came from tears instead of chlorine. She blinked them away and tried to steady herself, trying to refocus and think of ways to salvage this.

  “Maybe there’s something I can do,” she said, her mind going into overdrive. “Certainly, there must be some way that we can bring in more income. It turned a profit before. We might just need to rethink our offerings.”

  Her father shook his head. “It won’t matter what we offer. We’re not turning a profit because the rent on this place is so high now.”

  “Can’t we—”

  “No.” He cut Noelle off gently before she could offer any more ideas as to how to keep it afloat. “The new rental rate is incredible—too big for a small family company like ours. Believe me, we’ve tried to think of every possible scenario, and it just isn’t going to work. We’ve already let the owner know and they’ve extended the lease to someone else.”

  Pop-pop finally looked at her. “I’m sorry, honey. We’ll be open through Christmas, but then we’re closing the doors for good. There’s nothing we can do.”

  Pop-pop’s words pinged around in her head, sounding tinny and hollow, as she sat there, trying to keep herself from falling apart. What kind of Christmas would it be if she knew that the bakery was closing? It wouldn’t be a Christmas at all. She felt like she’d had the rug ripped out from under her. All she’d worked for was gone just like that. And she was letting Gram down.

  Gram had trusted her to carry on her dream. It had taken all of her meager savings and even some of Pop-pop’s—he’d given her the money to start it before they’d even gotten married. Gram had told Noelle that Pop-pop had teased her, telling her that they were starting with nothing but a hope and a prayer. Gram had corrected him, saying, “No, dear. I’ve had more than just one prayer over this. We’re starting with a hope and some sugar.” That was how they’d named the bakery.

  She felt like the walls were closing in on her, and she wasn’t getting enough oxygen, her chest not allowing her to catch her breath. She glanced around at everyone—their sad faces only making it worse. She had to get out of there. Everything around her reminded her of Gram and how she wasn’t there to help Noelle through such awful news. She didn’t know how to deal with this without Gram. Noelle ran out of the bakery and into the icy chill without saying anything. She stopped at the end of the street, putting her hands on her knees, still unable to breathe and feeling lightheaded. No one tried to stop her, but she didn’t expect them to. They all knew how much the bakery meant to her.

  Chapter Three

  Noelle had driven around for hours. She’d texted her mother and told her she wasn’t ready to come home yet, and her mom had said she’d get Lucas from school. So many thoughts had gone through Noelle’s head. She remembered how great Gram had been whenever things had gone wrong in Noelle’s life, and how valuable her support had been. Noelle knew that she, too, could be that strength for her family. But, while she had come to terms with the fact that the rent was high, she wasn’t quite ready to let the bakery go, and she wasn’t going to give up without a fight.

  She pulled into the driveway of her parents’ house and turned the car off. The large brick colonial was aglow with Christmas lights, the tree twinkling in the front window. The light outside had greenery spiraling up the pole, exploding in a bright red Christmas bow, cascading scarlet ribbon falling down toward the ground. She and her mother had spent all yesterday decorating for Christmas and continued after breakfast this morning. Noelle had only stopped helping her so she could meet Jo, and it was no surprise that her mother had finished while she was gone.

  Muffy, her parents’ cocker spaniel, was at the glass front door as Noelle climbed the steps. The dog’s tail was wagging furiously, so much so that her whole hind end was swinging back and forth on the entry rug. Her parents had brought home the puppy seven years ago, when Noelle had gotten into college, claiming that they weren’t ready to be empty nesters yet. Her mother had told her that she couldn’t imagine her house without her babies in it. Little did she know they’d have a baby to dote on sooner than they thought.

  As Noelle made her way to the porch, treading lightly on the icy steps, Lucas, now standing behind Muffy on the other side of the storm door, pressed his forehead against the glass. He was a quiet boy, keeping to himself a lot, but he always stopped what he was doing to greet his mother. He stepped back when she let herself in.

  “Hi, baby!” she said to Lucas, bending down to give him a kiss. She’d always called him “baby” when she came home to him, just like her mother had called her. Noelle couldn’t break it, even though he was six years old. She’d probably call him that all his life. It was her term of affection for him.

  Even so, she tried very hard not to baby him. He was small for his age and always seemed a little uncertain whenever they were out together, and she wanted him to feel strong and comfortable in his surroundings. She knew that it was her job to build the man within him and help him to see his strengths, but she wanted him to know that, in the end, she was still his doting mother. If he had his way, he’d spend the whole day in his room, reading.

  Noelle used to check the books that he chose at the library before he read them to make sure they were age-appropriate, but he’d started reading before he’d even gotten to kindergarten and he’d gotten so fast in the last year that she couldn’t keep up, so she had to scan the blurb and ask the librarians for their opinions. It was the only place she saw that light in his face, that twinkle in his eye. He nearly ran to his section, having learned almost the whole place by heart.

  With meticulous speed, he’d drag his finger down the shelves, looking for that one book he hadn’t been able to get last time because he’d hit the check-out limit. She took him as much as she possibly could, because that was the time when he’d talk to her the most. She just adored seeing his happiness. While his voracious reading didn’t bother her, his self-seclusion did, and she tried very hard to make sure he spent time with people.

  She’d signed him up for baseball with the other kids in his class, but every practice, as they’d load the car with balls, bats, and water jugs, his bag full of equipment, the excitement that she saw in his eyes when he was in the library was completely absent. He never threw a tantrum, but it was clear that he was doing it for her. One day, she peeked into the dugout to take a photo of him and his friends as they sat in a long row on the bench in their uniforms, laughing with each other, the excitement of the game buzzing all around them. Lucas was at the very end, a good foot or so away from his team, alone, his feet swinging above the dirt. Her heart broke. At the end of the season, she didn’t sign him up again, and he never mentioned it, so she figured she’d done the right thing.

  Heading toward the kitchen, Noelle reached down and greeted Muffy, who’d been pawing her leg before she’d even gotten the front door shut, letting the normalcy of the atmosphere settle in. It was clear that her mother was making an effort to enjoy the evening, so Noelle put on a smile and
decided to make the best of it too.

  “Did you and Grandma make cookies for the neighbors?” she asked Lucas, the buttery, sugary aroma wafting out from the kitchen. Every year, her family made enough cookies to supply their close neighbors with a hefty assortment, and still they had tins of them left over to nibble during the holiday.

  Lucas nodded with a quick smile.

  Noelle kissed the top of his head, and then admired the twinkling Christmas tree through the door separating the kitchen and living room. Muffy, who had followed dutifully behind her through the room, had stopped to sniff one of the presents that was positioned on the edge of the tree skirt.

  “I never got to ask you, how was coffee with Jo, dear?” her mother called over her shoulder. The water was running, drowning out the Christmas music that played.

  Noelle and Lucas both took a seat on two barstools at the island counter. Her mom had candles burning—the peppermint ones in the large jars—Nat King Cole on the small CD player by the microwave, and plates and plates of cookies covering the counter. She turned around. “Jo doing well?”

  “Yep.” Noelle snagged a gingerbread cookie, stopping briefly to admire the white-and-red piping her mother had so meticulously drawn on it just like Gram had taught her. Gram had insisted that whether by birth or marriage, every woman in the family should know how to ice a cookie. Noelle could still remember the lesson: “Hold the piping bag in your fist or your hand will shake too much,” Gram had said. Then she’d winked at her.

  Noelle admired her mother’s cookie again and then took a bite.

  Lucas had climbed down and sat in the middle of the kitchen floor with the dog. Muffy was kissing his cheek, nuzzling his face, and licking the cookie crumbs off him. Watching them lightened her mood—she was so thankful for Lucas. Without him, she probably wouldn’t be in the Christmas spirit at all this year with the loss of the bakery, but she was determined to give him one. He brought out the best in her, and gave her strength she didn’t even know she had.