by Rebel Hart
Copyright © 2020 by Rebel Hart
www.RebelHart.net
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Contents
Prologue: Hazel
1. Hazel
2. Chris
3. Hazel
4. Chris
5. Hazel
6. Chris
7. Hazel
8. Chris
9. Hazel
10. Chris
11. Hazel
12. Chris
13. Hazel
14. Chris
15. Hazel
16. Chris
17. Hazel
18. Chris
19. Hazel
20. Chris
Epilogue
About the Author
Also by Rebel Hart
THE CHRISTMAS GRINCH
Rebel Hart
Prologue: Hazel
My heart leaped as I came around the corner from my mother’s kitchen and saw the guys kneeling around the fireplace, bickering over the best way to arrange the logs. Tom, being older, insisted on ordering Josh around on how to do it. All while my dad sat in his recliner, supervising and throwing out his own instructions here and there.
My sisters, Margo and Payton, stood in the corner with their arms crossed, smiling and giggling at their men. I surveyed the scene, sucking in a deep breath. Once the men could agree enough to get the fire going, the room would be lit up from the orange glow. I stared at the stone mantle, filled with anticipation. Soon, it would be lined with a garland of pine needles. There would be little red velvet bows for each of us with a stocking hanging beneath.
“The dishes are done,” I smiled wide to my sisters. “You know what that means.”
Mom came in behind me, plopping down on the couch. “It means we all sit and relax for a little while. Some of us were cooking all day.”
“Hey, don’t forget I’m the one who was responsible for the turkey,” Dad told her. “Cooked to perfection.”
“It was perfect,” I nodded. “And so was the cranberry sauce and the stuffing and ham...and all of it. Delicious as always. But now the real fun can begin. Does anyone want to help me?”
“Mom’s right,” Margo darkened her eyes at me, even though I was already half-way towards the stairs. “Can’t we just sit by the fire for a moment?”
I submitted to sitting in between my parents with a sigh. I had waited all year. I could wait just a few more minutes, I guessed.
“Fine, but don’t get too cozy,” I groaned.
Being the daughter of a man who owned Christmas tree farms all across the state, the holidays had always been a big time for our family. But the magic of it all seemed to infect me more than anyone, Dad included. It had always been that way. My love for Christmas started when I was just a little girl, but it seemed to be growing every year.
I only wished everyone else still felt the same. After so many years of being the primary cook and maid and everything else behind our holiday feasts, even Mom’s excitement over the holidays seemed to be waning.
Dad regarded the month of December with appreciation. It was responsible for how he made his living and supported us, after all. But his overall attitude still took on a begrudging sort of smog, like it was with most dads I supposed. He did all the tasks, grumbling every step of the way, but spiked his drinks with whiskey and was usually the first one to fall asleep, snoring loudly by the end of every gathering. Judging by how heavy his eyelids were becoming just as the warmth from the fire started radiating out into the room, I figured he was getting close to doing that very thing. Soon we’d be trying to carry on conversation over the, sometimes alarming, wort-hog sounds ripping out from his mouth and nose.
My sister, Margo, and her husband, Tom, were both lawyers and if they did love Christmas as much as I did, it must have been some kind of occupational hazard for them not to allow themselves to show it. Our little sister, Payton, only seemed to appreciate the opportunity to show off whatever new college boyfriend she had roped into coming home with her for winter break. This year’s fella was named Josh, and he was a football player who didn’t even bother changing out of his baggy, gray university logo hoodie into something nicer for dinner.
I squirmed in my seat impatiently, glancing down at my thin gold watch every few seconds. I let exactly twenty minutes pass before flying to my feet, ordering Josh to come with me to help carry the boxes.
“We really could wait until tomorrow,” Mom protested, watching me bolt for the stairs.
“No, we can’t. We always start right after Thanksgiving dinner. Why on earth would we change such a steadfast tradition now!?”
She mumbled some sort of argument, but I took off without hearing the words. I pulled down the chain for the attic door and instantly felt a flutter in my heart. My bones knew what the creaking sounds of those stairs and the musky scent of the stale attic air meant. It was time to start pulling down all the Christmas decorations.
“These three boxes are the ones we always bring out after Thanksgiving dinner,” I explained to Josh, piling one on top another in his arms. “The Christmas towels and mugs, a few strands of garland and lights, and, of course, the ornaments.”
Each of us unwrapped and washed our Christmas mugs before filling each one to the brim with hot cocoa. A few minutes later, I sat in the middle of the rug in front of the fire, pulling out the ornaments one by one. I would dangle them in the air and swing each one around for everyone to see.
“Yes, we know, Hazel,” Margo whined. “We know what all the ornaments look like by heart. The whole show and tell thing really isn’t necessary.”
“It’s tradition,” I snipped. “Oh! Look at this one! It’s always been my favorite!”
I let a little ceramic ballerina twirl around from the string wrapped around my finger. A souvenir from the year Mom had taken us to see a performance of the Nutcracker - which quickly became a staple in my own repertoire of Christmas must-do’s.
Margo grumbled into Tom’s ear. “We all thought she’d outgrow this by now.”
“You don’t outgrow Christmas. Besides. Mom loves the holidays as much as I do. Don’t you?” I looked over to mom, who looked like she might beat dad in being the first one to doze off.
“Huh?” she jerked to attention. “Oh, yes, dear. Of course.”
I ignored my sneaking suspicion that she hadn’t actually heard what I said, and continued defending my relentless love for the holiday. “Christmas is like a new paint job on everything. For a little while, it all becomes so bright and magical.” I danced the ballerina ornament through the air in front of the fire with a dreamy look in my eyes, before lovingly tucking it back into its box of tissue paper, with care.
“Christmas makes everything extraordinary,” I sighed.
“Some people think love can do that too, you know,” Payton quipped, sparking snickers from Margo and the guys. “Only it lasts longer than just one month, if you find the right one anyway.”
I resisted pointing out that there was no way Josh was the right one. They were too young for that to be the case, no matter how young our parents were when they met. They were the exception, not the rule. For that matter, so were most love stories that ended with a happily ever after.
No, Christmas was far better than that. To know that every single year, no matter what, from the time the turkey was carved to the ringing bells of the New Year...the air would be filled with that intoxicating Christmas magic that swelled us all up with warmth and joy and love. There was no better feeli
ng in the world.
Sure, it was tempting to wonder if love could have the same effect, but transform every day of every year into a magical fairytale like Christmas. To think of that much happiness being spread across your whole life like hot melting butter...It was enticing, but I was convinced it wasn’t possible. At least not for me.
“No thank you,” I mumbled. “I’ll just stick with my holiday, if that’s alright with the rest of you.”
1
Hazel
The Christmas splendor was in full bloom with twinkling lights draped across the trees that lined the sidewalks. The classic black street lamps were wrapped in pine garland with big red velvet bows. Mistletoe arranged with bells hung lovingly from the awnings of shops with their windows full of their best merchandise on display.
Smells of cinnamon and nutmeg wafted from the coffee shops and bakeries, which I sucked in through long, deep inhales. I breathed in every ounce of them I could get like they were crack. Christmas was kind of like a drug for me, and I was an all too willing addict.
All holidays and special occasions were intoxicating to me, though none of them could really compare to the queen mother of all holidays. I loved how everything in normal life could stop for a birthday, anniversary, or other special occasion. Families would move their schedules around, take off work, and come together with friends and loved ones. There were the decorations, the fancy clothes, presents and gift wrap, and all the special foods.
It was that fondness for special occasions that led me to starting NonPareil. It started as a hobby. Just a silly old blog that I loved dearly, but never really expected it to go anywhere. Oh, but it had. My dedication to composing the perfect shots of decor and holiday arrangements along with my flourished words about it all had grown my silly little blog into a huge success.
Sometimes it was still hard to believe just how my one-woman operation had flourished into a full blown online publication complete with a whole team of employees. That day was no exception as I walked into the lobby of our office building. The whole place was buzzing in preparation for our month long agenda full of Christmas articles. This was when I really shined.
My love for Christmas shared through each and every new post and article through the months of November and December had become the cornerstone of our site. It brought our biggest traffic of the year, and I loved every moment of it.
The workers had already put up the massive tree in the corner of the lobby, which I had fought for despite certain employees thinking it was overkill. That was one of the many benefits of being the boss. They didn’t have to like it, but they did have to do it if I insisted.
I smiled at the glowing white lights as they flickered on. Our main secretary was busy draping a garland along the front desk, which I breezed past toward the elevator with my to-go cup of caramel brulee latte in hand. I greeted everyone with a quick grin and a cheerful “Good morning” on my way to the conference room where my top writers and advisors were assembled for our morning meeting.
“Good morning, everyone,” I beamed, making my way to the head of the table to put down my coffee and bag.
Outside, the workroom floor was filled with photographers and bloggers scurrying back and forth in front of Christmas crafts and trays of food that they were shooting for the site. I was buzzing with excitement over the scene playing out behind the big windows of the meeting room.
“Thank you all for coming,” I started. “Our biggest time of the year is in full swing. As you all know, NonPareil keeps getting bigger every year with most of our growth in traffic and followers booming around December. They all turn to us for snapshots of the perfect Christmas, and I don’t intend to disappoint them. More than that...I strive and expect to exceed their expectations.”
One of my assistants, Joel, stood in his tight fitted blue knit cardigan and started passing out folders of reports on the numbers. “The traffic this week has been comparable to what we were experiencing the week of Christmas last year, so it’s safe to assume those will double by the end of the month.”
“We have a slew of daily articles going up, with three larger ones each week,” Veronica explained from the other side of the table. “And then there are the weekly full length features, with the biggest one going up on the fifteenth...just over one week before the big day.”
My heart swelled at the mention of it. “Palmer Department Stores,” I beamed. “The big fish. Which we’re only getting access to because of our gained popularity in recent years.” I turned to the projection screen behind me and started flipping through photos for reference.
Every major city had a Palmers, but the biggest store - the headquarters of it all, rested right there in our city. Just down the street from NonPareil headquarters, actually. Every year they put up the biggest, most fantastic Christmas displays. They were far more elaborate than anything you’d find at one of my Dad’s tree farms or even the standard shopping mall Santa display. They were truly breathtaking, and one of the main things Palmers had become famous for. Their commitment to putting up a display even bigger and better than the last year’s stretched far back into the fifties when the chain of stores were first founded.
I marveled at one of the displays from 1954 on the screen. Everything seemed to be so perfect then with the women in their vintage dresses complete with coats, hats, and gloves. The children were just as dressed up as they lined up in front of the windows, gawking at the toy trains circling the marvelously decorated Christmas trees. I wished I could travel back in time when more people seemed to be just as committed to the image of perfection as I was.
“And this year,” I continued. “We get to feature them. When’s the interview, Joel?”
“We have it set up for tomorrow afternoon, just before the big unveiling.”
I had to stop myself from doing a little squealing dance right then and there, which hardly seemed professional.
“Perfect,” I smiled wide, still transfixed on the slideshow of grandeur displays from years passed. “Once we’re done here, will you two help me review the list of questions? I want this one to be perfect. The man behind Palmers and the famous Christmas displays. We’re going to show the world a peek behind the scenes of it all. It’s huge.”
Reluctantly, I let the meeting slip off into other matters of business for the day. Afterwards, it didn’t take long for Veronica and Joel to help me settle on the perfect interview questions for Mr. Palmer. After directing a few shoots, editing some articles, and handling all the emails waiting for me in my inbox, the only thing left for me to do was to find some way to manage sleeping that night in preparation for the big day. I was just like a little girl on Christmas Eve all over again. Getting to peek inside the world of the fantastic Palmer Christmas displays was the best gift I could ever have asked for.
On my way home, I stopped in front of Palmers to gawk at the boarded up windows. The big festive signs that read COMING SOON made my heart pound with anticipation. Tomorrow evening, the boards would come down. The speakers in front of the store would start blaring their usual classic Christmas tunes for everyone in the city to hear. The Christmas shopping season will have officially begun.
I watched little kids with their moms stop and try to peak in between the cracks of the covered windows, trying to steal the smallest glance of what jaw-dropping surprises the Palmers had in store for them that year. It warmed me to know that through my blog, I would be giving them that kind of sneak peek into how it all came together, and into the mastermind behind it all.
Slowly, I forced one heel in front of the other and pushed on my path home. It was hard to walk away, and it would be even harder to contain myself until time for the interview. Since I couldn’t seem to think of anything else, I spent that evening googling everything I could about the Palmers.
Jack Palmer was the current owner, after taking the whole operation from his father in the eighties. To imagine a family building their own business from the ground up and passing it down through the
generations. It was as classic and timeless as the store itself, and the display that represented everything they stood for - quality, high standards, and class.
While many stores started selling out to cheap mass produced products, with the subpar advertising and decor to match, years ago, Palmers had stuck with a commitment to quality. Their clothing featured only the best designers working with the finest products. Their toys and home goods reminded you of an older time, when things were still made with such pride and care.
Maybe it was silly for me to think I shared something in common with the Palmers - that commitment to perfection. But whatever talent they possessed in selling their vision to the masses had obviously been blessed on me too. I had the traffic on my website to prove it.
I couldn’t wait to drill Jack Palmer’s process of how he created the displays and every other little thing that went into them and his job. Was it crazy to think we might actually become friends? It was a fun little hope, but I would settle for one of the best features our site had ever published.
2
Chris
“I hate Christmas,” I scowled, looking out the windows of my father’s office at the ridiculous display being tediously arranged at the front of the shop. The spectacle, as much as I loathed it, was a welcomed distraction from that afternoon’s business.
“More things for you to sign,” He announced, straightening a stack of contracts on his desk...the desk that would be mine once I finished putting pen to paper on everything.
