Christmas in Echo Creek_A Sweet Holiday Romance

by Kacey Linden

  After compiling the facts he had, Cale composed an email to a friend in the Seattle PD. There might not be anything Russ could do, but it was worth a try.

  Later that night as he played with the dogs and readied himself for bed, Cale found himself looking around, wondering why the house suddenly felt so empty. He’d bought it after becoming engaged to Marissa, believing that they had a future together and dreaming of the life they would make in Echo Creek.

  When she left, those dreams had been shattered, and he’d simply never bothered to finish furnishing the house. He didn’t need more than the few simple furniture pieces he had, and the empty rooms left more space for the dogs.

  But the overall effect was more cold and bleak than he really noticed on a daily basis. Somehow, the idea of Willow seeing his house that way made him oddly uncomfortable. He suspected she would see right through his protestations of economy and simplicity to the loneliness underneath.

  But why did that even bother him? Did he simply not want to be pitied, or did he have some other reason for wanting to hide his weaknesses from her?

  His phone rang.

  “Hey, Uncle Pete.” He held the phone up with his shoulder while he put dishes in the sink and wiped down the table.

  “Hello, nephew mine,” his uncle greeted him jovially. “You never answered my texts the other night, so I thought I’d call you up and see what your plans are for the ninth. I was hoping you’d make it to pinochle night.”

  “I don’t know,” Cale hedged. “I have a few projects I’m working on that are taking up a lot of my time.”

  “Projects? Do any of those projects have to do with a beautiful woman who’s stranded here while her car is being fixed?”

  Cale sighed. “Is it my imagination or do you use squirrels as spies? How do you hear all this stuff before everyone else?”

  Pete chuckled. “That would be telling.”

  “Well, since you asked, yes, once of my projects does involve her. Her name is Willow, and she may need a new car.” He hesitated, but no matter how mysterious his uncle’s methods, Pete always got impressive results. “Actually, you could help me with that.”

  “Always happy to help,” Pete said without pause. “What do you need?”

  “If you could keep an eye out for anyone selling a good used car, for cheap, let me know. No more than, say, fifteen hundred tops. She’s working at Creekside to pay for it, but I don’t think she plans to stay in town long.”

  “Will do,” Pete promised. “Especially if you promise to bring your new friend to pinochle night.”

  “Uncle Pete, she’s new here and incredibly shy. There’s no way I’m subjecting her to the craziness of an Echo Creek pinochle tournament.”

  “At least ask her,” Pete urged him. “And even if she isn’t interested, you should come. It’ll be good for you to get out and spend time with people outside of work.”

  Cale could feel himself shutting down. No matter what he’d promised Willow about embracing the season, he didn’t want to go where he was likely to be pitied. “I’ll think about it,” he said instead. His uncle could be pushy, but Cale still hated to disappoint him. He would also hate to disappoint Willow, but she wasn’t going to be at pinochle night either.

  “Then I’ll be in touch. Later, nephew.”

  They hung up and Cale tossed his phone onto the couch, feeling restless and frustrated. Maybe if he showed up one of these times, everyone would stop trying so hard.

  Maybe. And maybe it would all just get worse.

  He was still ready for Christmas to be over.

  Willow briefly considered running away as she stood in front of the Creekside Coffee Shop at 8:27 the next morning. She wasn’t sure she could face the scrutiny she knew was coming her way.

  Mrs. Dillon had gone early to the drugstore and found some concealer for her bruises, which meant Willow was safe from those questions at least, but she’d learned enough about small towns by now to know that they would find plenty of other things to be curious about.

  Where was she from? Why was she there? Why had Rory hired her? What had she been doing picking out Christmas trees with the handsome town deputy?

  But she needed the job. And in a few weeks she would be gone, leaving all the gossip and speculation behind. She could do this for that long. Trying not to look as terrified as she felt, Willow pushed the door open, heard the jingling of bells and was sent into near panic by a shriek of pure outrage.

  “Watch where you’re going!” Alicia Alverson stood at the end of the open door, a lidless coffee cup in her hand, while rivulets of brown liquid cascaded down the front of her pure white sweater. Coffee dripped from her red skinny jeans and was immediately absorbed by the previously unmarred surface of her white, fur-lined Uggs.

  “What are you, twelve?” Alicia snapped, brushing at her sweater while her face turned an unhealthy shade of red. “You don’t crash through a door without looking first! This sweater is cashmere, and I bought it in New York! I can’t just run out and replace it! And my boots!”

  Her glare punctured Willow’s carefully conjured courage and set her to stammering in dismay.

  “I’m sorry,” she managed, fighting for composure and searching for the right words. “I couldn’t see through the glass, so I didn’t know you were there. I’m so sorry, Mrs. Alverson.”

  “Of course you can see through the glass,” Alicia hissed, “if you had bothered to look instead of charging in like a reckless teenager.”

  Willow backed up a step and bumped into a chair. “I’ll get you another cup,” she said desperately.

  “I don’t want another cup.” Alicia drew herself up and managed to look icily superior, despite the fact that she was still dripping. “Can you get me another pair of boots? Because these will never be the same. How about a new sweater?”

  “Is there a problem?”

  The question came from someone standing behind Willow and made her wince, despite the calm, casual tone. She hadn’t even started her new job yet and she’d already managed to irritate a customer.

  “Don’t bother yourself about it, Aurora.”

  Willow cringed in horror. Just her luck that her new boss was now witnessing her humiliation.

  “I was hit by a door, is all,” Alicia went on, “and now I have to replace my entire outfit because this girl came flying in without looking where she was going.”

  “I’m sorry about your sweater,” Rory said coolly, “but you know it’s next to impossible to see in from outside on a sunny day. Let me get you a lid for your coffee so next time the spill will be better contained.”

  As Alicia gaped like a beached fish, Rory fetched a lid from behind the counter, and called one of her employees from the back to mop up the spill.

  “Oh, and here.” Rory handed her disgruntled customer a brown paper bakery bag. “A white chocolate raspberry scone, to bring back some festive cheer after your trying morning.” She smiled, and even Willow couldn’t tell whether the expression was genuine or not, until Rory turned her back on Alicia, locked gazes with Willow and rolled her eyes.

  Stunned, Willow followed when her new employer beckoned her behind the counter, through the kitchen and into a small but tidy office.

  “I’m so sorry,” Rory said, taking a seat and folding her hands with a rueful look at Willow. “Of all people for you to run into on your first day.”

  “No, I’m sorry,” Willow apologized, sitting on the edge of the chair across the desk from Rory. “I was so worried about not messing up that I immediately messed up.”

  Rory shot her a pointed look. “That was not your fault, Willow, so please don’t feel bad. Alicia shouldn’t have been walking around with a full cup of coffee with no lid on it, and it really is almost impossible to see in. Far easier for her to see out, but I’m sure she just assumed she should have the right of way.”

  Relieved that her boss didn’t seem to be angry, Willow relaxed a fraction and tucked her feet under the chair. “I swear I don’
t normally drive away customers,” she said earnestly, wrapping the end of her blonde ponytail around one finger. “I’m also not usually quite this nervous.”

  “Why are you nervous?” Rory seemed perfectly content to sit back and wait for an answer, so Willow tried to be honest.

  “I can’t afford to mess this up,” she said. “And I’m worried about being a new person in a small town. There’s bound to be questions and gossip and I really would rather keep to myself.”

  “Not a problem,” Rory assured her, waving a dismissive hand. “Your life is your business. If anyone gets pushy, you’re free to politely decline to engage. And if you ever feel that a situation is threatening in any way, it becomes my problem not yours. My employees are not punching bags or doormats. They’re people, and I won’t put up with them being harassed.”

  Willow nodded, feeling a tiny surge of relief. “I appreciate that. And I promise to be more careful with doors in the future.”

  Rory chuckled. “I always say if you’re not spilling anything or breaking any dishes, you’re either not human or not working very hard.”

  Even Willow had to smile at that. “Then you’re a very unusual boss. Maybe I should have believed Cale when he said you’re the best.”

  At that Rory laughed out loud. “That I’m not, but Cale Matthews has always been nicer than anyone that good-looking has a right to be.”

  Willow nodded in agreement. “The first time I met him, I was convinced he had to be faking it. Men who look like that are usually colossal jerks.”

  “And have you determined to your satisfaction that Cale is not a colossal jerk?” Rory asked, her eyes twinkling.

  “I…” Willow’s mouth snapped shut on whatever response she might have made. Rory was kind and supportive and helpful, but there was no way Willow was going to instantly confide in her about her opinion of a certain handsome deputy. Especially considering that Willow couldn’t even say for sure what her opinion was.

  She was definitely more comfortable around him than she had been at first. He didn’t seem to get angry quickly and spent his days off feeding lonely old ladies and adopting homeless dogs. Cale was quick to smile, quick to apologize, and willing to admit his mistakes. It would be hard not to like him.

  But even though she’d let her guard down a lot where Cale was concerned, she wasn’t ready to form any conclusions or confess to any feelings.

  Speaking of feelings. “Are you two, uh…”

  “Together?” Rory asked, looking faintly surprised. “No. Has anyone said something to that effect?”

  “No,” Willow said hastily. “But when he hugged you yesterday…” She felt herself blush. “Never mind. I shouldn’t have asked.”

  “No really, it’s fine,” Rory said. “I can see how you might have thought so, but no. He’s a good friend who’s helped me out a lot, but we’re not an item. He’s too…” She paused. “Too… perfect,” she finally settled on.

  “And that’s a problem?” Willow felt her eyebrows shoot up.

  “I know it sounds crazy, but it doesn’t seem like he needs anyone or anything. He’s kind and caring and gives relentlessly to everyone in town. He’s even polite to Alicia, which is more than I can manage on most days. I guess I’m just looking for… for someone with scars, if that makes any sense.”

  “So you won’t feel as self-conscious about your own?” Willow asked bluntly, feeling as though she knew exactly what Rory was talking about.

  “Yes.”

  They shared a look of complete understanding, and Willow wondered how many scars a beautiful, successful woman like Rory could be hiding.

  “So, now that we’ve settled that Alicia Alverson is a thorn in my side, how about we go get you started?”

  Willow nodded. Whether Rory was the best or not, she couldn’t yet tell, but she knew she liked the older woman a great deal. Working for her might not actually turn out to be horrible.

  Despite her previous experience, it took about a week for Willow to feel comfortable with the structure and routine at the coffee shop, and to feel like she wasn’t constantly needing someone to correct her. The other employees ranged from curious to curmudgeonly, but were generally helpful rather than dismissive when she made a mistake.

  Howard did the baking, and was rarely around during the day. He was in his fifties and didn’t say much that wasn’t in grunts, but he made delicious pastries, deadly cookies, and to-die-for cinnamon rolls. Chief chef and sandwich maker was Greta—a charming, sixtyish woman with grey-streaked black hair and a round pink-cheeked face. She never seemed to run out of energy, enthusiasm, or stories about her seemingly innumerable grandchildren.

  Isaac and Kristal were the baristas, who also ran the counter and bussed tables when the shop wasn’t busy, while Jess, Darcy, and Willow filled in as necessary. Darcy was only nineteen, and had a tendency to giggle and flirt with any available male, but she was hard-working and always willing to warn Willow about which customers might be particularly prone to gossip.

  After a period of adjustment, Willow found that she actually enjoyed the job. There was something comforting about the shop, with its smells and its warmth and its homey atmosphere. Her fellow employees were completely non-threatening, and she had yet to encounter a customer who made her feel uncomfortable.

  Alicia Alverson was the lone exception. She pointedly refused to allow Willow to serve her, but that didn’t seem to bother Rory, so Willow didn’t let it bother her either. What bothered her more was how little she saw of Cale.

  Since helping put up trees and garland at Mrs. Dillon’s house, he had come into the shop occasionally and always had a moment to say hello and chat with Willow about trivialities. But that had only lasted until Sunday, after which he seemed to disappear. Had they pressured him too much about putting up his own tree? Or had he decided he had better things to do than spend time with casual acquaintances so close to Christmas?

  She was still wondering on Wednesday afternoon when an unfamiliar older man came into the shop and approached the counter.

  “How can I help you?” she asked, focusing on producing a welcoming smile rather than a terrified grimace. Her coworkers had informed her that this was an area in which she could potentially stand some improvement.

  The man smiled in a somewhat knowing way while his eyes glinted from behind silver-rimmed glasses. His hair was peppered with white and his build verged on stout, but there was something familiar about his eyes.

  “I’d like a cinnamon roll and coffee, black,” he requested. “You must be Willow.”

  “So I’ve been told,” she returned calmly. “That’ll be five ninety-eight. Would you like your roll warm?”

  “Is there any other way?” He was still smiling, and Willow began to grow uneasy.

  “Darcy, can you plate up a warm roll?” she called, dispensing freshly brewed coffee into a tall cup with the Creekside logo on it.

  She exchanged the coffee for a credit card and ran it, after surreptitiously glancing at the name. Peter Parrish.

  “Cale told me you were working here,” the man said, “so I wanted to stop by and invite you to drop in at the Community Center on Friday for pinochle night.”

  “Uh… why?” Willow thought back over her various conversations with Cale. Why would he have been talking to someone about her? Wait… “Uncle Pete?” she blurted out without thinking.

  “That’s me,” he said with a chuckle. “I call my nephew every few days and make him fill me in on what’s going on in his life.”

  “And he… told you about me?” She couldn’t help her incredulous tone.

  “Well, he had to,” Cale’s Uncle Pete explained. “I’m worse than an old woman when it comes to wanting to know everything about my neighbors”—he winked—“and he was hoping for my help to find you a car.”

  “Oh.” So Cale hadn’t forgotten about her after all.

  “So you’ll come to Pinochle Night?”

  “I… don’t know,” she hedged. “I’m no
t that into crowds, or parties.”

  “It’s not really a crowd,” the older man insisted. “Just something fun we do here in Echo Creek to help bring the community together. And this week there will be Christmas music and a prize for the winning team.”

  Oh goody. Sounded like exactly what Willow didn’t want to spend her evening doing, but she tried not to let him see her skepticism.

  “I’ll think about it, Mr. Parrish, thank you,” she said, grateful to see his warm, gooey cinnamon roll appear on the counter next to her. “Here’s your roll. Please enjoy, and let me know if I can help you with anything else.”

  He smiled like a meddling, beardless Santa Claus and went to find a table.

  Willow shuddered. Pinochle night.

  “He’s okay, I promise,” Darcy said, from right behind Willow’s shoulder. “He was telling the truth—he really is worse than any of the ladies in town when it comes to gossip and matchmaking—but he’s a good guy. Just lonely and likes people.”

  “That’s what they say about serial killers,” Willow muttered, knowing she was overreacting.

  Darcy laughed and flipped her dark brown ponytail. “Before he broke his legs, Pete led a search and rescue team that covered the eastern half of the Oregon Cascades.” She lowered her voice. “He misses being able to help people, so he does it in other ways. Organizing community events, putting together meals for families in need, that sort of thing. If he somehow gets wind of you being by yourself at Christmas, watch out. He’ll be determined to fix that one way or another.”

  “You mean, by myself as in don’t have family?” Willow asked, a little afraid to hear the answer.