by Olivia Miles
Small Town Christmas
a Blue Harbor novel
OLIVIA MILES
Rosewood Press
ALSO BY OLIVIA MILES
Blue Harbor Series
A Place for Us
Second Chance Summer
Because of You
Stand-Alone Titles
Meet Me at Sunset
(Evening Island)
This Christmas
Oyster Bay Series
Feels Like Home
Along Came You
Maybe This Time
This Thing Called Love
Those Summer Nights
Still the One
One Fine Day
Had to Be You
Misty Point Series
One Week to the Wedding
The Winter Wedding Plan
Sweeter in the City Series
Sweeter in the Summer
Sweeter Than Sunshine
No Sweeter Love
One Sweet Christmas
Briar Creek Series
Mistletoe on Main Street
A Match Made on Main Street
Hope Springs on Main Street
Love Blooms on Main Street
Christmas Comes to Main Street
Harlequin Special
Edition
‘Twas the Week Before Christmas
Recipe for Romance
Copyright © 2020 by Megan Leavell
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission.
Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
Small Town Christmas
contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Epilogue
1
Cora Conway popped open the box for her window display with the same sense of thrill that she experienced each year when it was time for the task. She knew that some people might think it was silly to put such effort into her annual Christmas window when she ran a year-round holiday shop, but it was tradition, and Cora loved nothing more than upholding traditions.
And that was why, every year, on Thanksgiving Day, when the store was closed, she spent the better part of the afternoon putting out the personal decorations that would not be on sale come tomorrow, when the shoppers decided to come in by the dozens, stuffed with turkey and cranberry sauce and pumpkin pie, ready to think about their next holiday. She had many decorations that were passed down from her grandparents to her mother and then, because she loved them the most of the four sisters, to her.
There were the nutcrackers and the porcelain village pieces, and the angels with delicate, gilded wings. There were the snowmen, and the snowflakes that sparkled when they caught the winter light.
But first, there was mistletoe.
Cora pulled her ladder to the front of the store, careful not to bump one of the many display tables that were overflowing with seasonal items, and stopped just beside the front door where she always hung a giant ball of mistletoe by a thick, velvet ribbon. She purchased it from the tree lot next door (yes, another tradition), because the only fake greenery she liked were the twelve-themed trees that filled the meandering rooms of her shop, and even then, she always kept a pine-scented candle lit to set the mood.
She climbed carefully, knowing from her father’s recent experience that it wasn’t always wise to climb a ladder when no one else was around unless you wanted to end up with a broken bone or two, but she had done this many times before, and besides, she was due at her childhood home for dinner in less than an hour. Surely, one of her sisters or cousins would come looking for her if she didn’t show up—especially since she was in charge of the butternut squash casserole this year. She was no cook, and it was hardly her favorite side dish, but it was the only bargaining chip she had with her father’s girlfriend, who loved nothing more than decorating a table. If Cora could only have one holiday to be in charge of overseeing, she called Christmas, leaving Candy with Thanksgiving, and Cora with…squash.
Of course, Candy had already thought of a wonderful idea for Christmas. Candy had hoped to create a candy cane theme, no surprise there. She’d been sure to let them know every chance she had, but Cora was planning on something more elegant. Something that went with the theme of this year’s window display at her shop: White Christmas, just like the snow that was already started to fall outside, covering Blue Harbor’s Main Street in a quiet blanket, and filling Cora with all the feels that she lived for, year-round. Here at Harbor Holidays, she was always surrounded by carols, and the smell of cinnamon and cloves. Even on the hottest of summer days, when tourists flocked to the small, lakefront Michigan town, they came into her store and smiled.
Christmas made people happy. It brought out the best in them. And it brought out the best in this town.
And maybe, Cora thought, as she reached her arm as high as she could, feeling for the hook, with the help of this mistletoe, it would eventually bring her a little romance, too.
She finally felt the ribbon catch when there was a jostling of the ladder and the jingle bells over the door jangled, and Cora felt herself get precariously close to losing her step. She cried out, her arms reaching for the tree topper on her nearest themed tree (also White Christmas, just for this year) but instead, she felt a strong hand on her wrist.
She looked down to see warm gray eyes staring back at her with the slightest sheen of amusement when it was established that she was, indeed, okay.
Her heart began to beat quickly, and this time, it had nothing to do with nearly falling off a ladder. Dark hair. Strong jaw. Swoon-worthy grin.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” the man apologized.
“We’re not open today,” she said, regretfully, knowing that she would gladly make the exception and not wanting him to make a quick departure, either.
“Of course.” The man shook his head, looking doubtful for standing there, and set a hand on the doorknob. “It’s Thanksgiving. I saw the light on, and I thought I would try.”
Cora glanced at her box of decorations and then at the coo-coo clock on the wall (Nutcracker themed, and not for sale!) and knew with regret that she couldn’t invite him to stay even if she wanted to.
And oh, did she want to.
“I’m afraid I’m just wrapping up. No pun intended,” she added with a smile, before immediately giving herself an internal kick. It wasn’t every day that handsome men walked into her shop, not unless they were on the hand of a wife or girlfriend, and she was a little out of practice when it came to the art of flirtation. She stepped off the ladder, only realizing then that the man was tall, and age-appropriate, too. Early to mid-thirties, she’d say, with the faintest laugh lines at the corners of his eyes that made him feel approachable. From the expensive wool coat and slick leather shoes he was wearing, she pegged him for a tourist, city stock, no doubt. But then, it was a holiday. Perhaps he was just dressed up for the day.
Likely, he was just in town for the day.
Still, it wo
uldn’t hurt to ask. “But we open early tomorrow?”
She framed it by way of invitation, hoping that he would see that she wanted him to return, and not just because she could use the sale.
“Of course. It’s a holiday. You must have plans.”
“Family dinner,” she said, nodding. “I don’t think my sisters would ever forgive me if I let the turkey go cold.”
The man seemed to look panic stricken for a moment, before rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Turkey, right. That’s what people usually do on Thanksgiving, isn’t it?”
Cora frowned at the man, wondering if this was some sort of joke or attempt at banter, but realized by the bewildered expression that had come over his face that he was dead serious. He scanned the room for a moment, as if he was trying to think, or remember something, and then took a step back, sighing with what seemed to be regret.
Cora bit back her own sigh of the exact same feelings. Turkey was great, and she usually loved Thanksgiving, but right now, standing alone in this shop with this man, she couldn’t help but feel the urge to start some new traditions. Ones that would nicely start right under this ball of mistletoe.
“Tomorrow then,” he said, nodding.
“I’ll be here,” she said, smiling broadly, and hoping she was simply coming across as friendly, rather than eager. “Happy Thanksgiving!” she added, showing her hospitality. After all, at Harbor Holidays, there was something for every season and holiday, even Halloween. A girl had to do what a girl had to do around here.
“Of course.” The man looked distracted as he pulled open the door, letting a gust of icy wind float through the usually warm and cozy space. “Happy Thanksgiving.”
He gave her a grin that made her knees go more than a little weak, and then disappeared out onto the quiet street, where the snow immediately began to gather on his dark hair. Cora pretended to straighten the sign on her door as she watched him go, wondering just exactly what that was all about and if she really would see him again.
She glanced up at the mistletoe that hung above the ladder and bit her lip to hide her smile, just in case he happened to be looking back.
Tomorrow. She didn’t know how she’d sleep through the night, but luckily, a big turkey dinner with all the fixings might just do the trick.
*
Phil opened the door to his luxury SUV and slid onto the heated seat, even though the silent fumes coming from his daughter had kept him all too warm and uncomfortable for the entire drive from Chicago. He’d hoped to make the visit to the holiday shop quick, nothing more than an errand, really—and he had—but he hadn’t accomplished what he’d set out to do. He’d been too distracted by the fumble at the door, the harried but tense road trip, and the pressure of everything he was missing back in the office taking not just today but tomorrow off as well.
And he’d been admittedly disarmed by the sweet smile of the shop girl, and the warmth of her blue eyes. And then there was the matter of Thanksgiving! He had the nagging feeling that take-out wasn’t an option.
“Everything looks closed,” Georgie finally said, sharing his sentiments. The stretch of downtown Blue Harbor was dark, well, other than the overwhelming amount of twinkling lights.
Honestly! Thanksgiving wasn’t even over yet and they were already in full Christmas mode?
Wryly, he supposed the city was no different. He just hadn’t taken the time to pay it much attention. Besides, in the city, he was busy. The days blurred together. Whereas in Blue Harbor…everything was different.
He swept his eyes up the street again and over to his daughter, daring to hope that he’d be able to turn that frown around with the promise of a better day tomorrow, because he was clear out of options for tonight. Even the inns looked dark.
Trying his best smile, Phil said, “Maybe there’s food at the house.”
“Why would there be food at the house?” For a nine-year-old, Georgie was very perceptive. She paid attention, and she remembered everything. Something he should keep in mind from now on, or at least until she went back to her mother’s house.
“I thought you said that no one lives there,” Georgie pointed out. “That Great-Grandma and Grandpa hadn’t lived there for almost a year.”
Damn. She was right. He’d stupidly hoped that the grocery store would be open, but the only storefront with the lights on in all of downtown came from the holiday shop. Of all places.
He eyed it now. The converted Victorian home at the edge of Main Street that was crowded from the floor to the ceiling with tchotchkes and dust catchers. The woman who had worked there had been nice enough, though, meaning with any luck, she wouldn’t cause trouble. She was pleasant. Pretty, too.
He thinned his lips. Well. No need to go down that path. He was in town for a reason. And that reason was currently overshadowed by the fact that it was Thanksgiving Day, he didn’t have a turkey much less a slice of pie to offer his daughter, and against his wishful thinking, she wasn’t willing to part with these traditions.
He was failing. Day one of getting a little time with his daughter and he was already mucking it up, just like his ex-wife had always insisted he would.
“I’ll make you a big turkey dinner this weekend. Tomorrow, in fact,” he promised, remembering that the woman in the holiday shop had told him she was open the next morning. Surely every other store would be too. And restaurants, too, he thought, knowing that he wasn’t much of a cook, whereas Georgie’s mother was one step away from being an official gourmet.
Not that he’d had much experience appreciating her culinary efforts. Even when they were married, most of his dinners were business-related: with clients, or in the office, surrounded by take-out containers.
“You know how to cook a turkey?”
Shoot. She was on to him again. “We can learn together. Can’t be that hard, right?”
Georgie raised a single eyebrow. Her silence spoke her true thoughts on the matter, and he was fairly certain that they matched his own.
“It won’t be the same if we do it tomorrow,” Georgie eventually grumbled. “Just forget it. This is the worst Thanksgiving ever!”
“Well, now, I won’t say it’s the worst Thanksgiving ever,” he chided, pulling up a memory of one particularly disastrous holiday, and the last he ever spent here in this town. It was Thanksgiving, he was in his senior year of college, already accepted to a competitive MBA program by early admission, and his father had reluctantly agreed to a weekend in his small, Michigan hometown after Phil’s grandfather’s recent stroke. He had recovered well—that time. Well enough to tell Phil’s father exactly what he thought of him, and his priorities.
Phil had looked on, silenced, wondering if his father cared that they weren’t proud, knowing how badly that must have hurt, even if his father didn’t say anything in response.
They’d left that night. Before the timer had even popped on the turkey. They’d stopped at a pizza joint somewhere near the state border, his mother sipping her wine nervously, his father glaring at the table. That had been the last time that Phil had come to this town. It was also the last time that his father had ever spoken to his parents.
But that wasn’t a story for a nine-year-old. And from the looks of it, Georgie wasn’t interested in hearing it, either.
Right. Time for an executive decision. Usually Phil ate his turkey and mashed potatoes in a hotel in the city, if he bothered with the silly tradition at all. Sometimes he didn’t even remember it was Thanksgiving; work kept him too busy for those sorts of trivial interruptions. But it was late, the town was closed, and Georgie had made a point that they would not find any provisions at his grandparents’ house.
He turned the car around and backtracked ten minutes to the gas station on the edge of town, where, inside he grabbed two frozen pizzas, some instant coffee, a gallon of milk, and a handful of whatever treats he thought might put a smile on his daughter’s face. Yet again, Georgie preferred to sit in the warm car rather than accompany him on the errand. He was
n’t going to argue with her, or push her. They weren’t used to spending time together since the divorce, when her mother moved her out to California.
He pushed back the guilt that reared as he handed over a twenty-dollar bill and gathered up the bags. According to his ex, he hadn’t spent enough time with his daughter long before that. He’d been too busy providing, or so the argument went. And that argument, well, that was just one more thing that hadn’t changed since the divorce.
Back in the car, Georgie cranked up the volume on the radio when he tried to cajole her with a candy bar—her favorite kind, too.
Christmas music, he thought with annoyance. It was still November! But then, as he knew all too well, Blue Harbor loved the holidays…
He turned down the dial, slanting her a glance while he kept his focus on the road. “Look, Georgie, I’m sorry. I didn’t plan ahead and I assumed that some restaurants would be open. Things are different in small towns.”
Very different, he thought, as he wound his way down the dark streets toward town for the second time. It was already growing dark and he turned on his bright lights for better vision. The last thing he needed was to hit a deer or get into an accident on Thanksgiving evening in this remote area.
As a kid, he’d enjoyed a few summer weeks in Blue Harbor, splashing in the lake, and learning to fish from his grandfather. His parents saw it as a way to get him out of the city so he wasn’t underfoot when school was out of session, and he didn’t complain. Unlike in the city, here he could wake to the sunlight streaming through the window, to the sound of birds calling over the open water, and stay up late enough to see the stars fill the sky. His grandmother always cooked his favorite foods, and they would eat together outside on the faded picnic table, or inside, at the cramped kitchen table. It wasn’t exciting, but it was peaceful, and very different from his life back in the city.
