ROBIN DANIELS
Table of Contents
TITLE
COPYRIGHT
ALSO BY
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
ABOUT ROBIN
Published by Bluefields
Copyright © 2019 by Robin Daniels
Edition 1.0
Edited by Jennifer Henkes (www.literallyjen.com)
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
ALSO BY ROBIN DANIELS
YOUNG ADULT
Perfectly Oblivious
Perfectly You
Perfectly Summer
Perfectly Misunderstood
Fate & Fortune
Kismet & Karma
One of the Girls
NEW ADULT
Millionaire B&B
I hate Christmas, loathe everything about it. My list of reasons is a mile long, but the bulk of my Grinchy attitude could be blamed on my parents. If they were normal people, I’d probably be helping make gingerbread cookies right now.
Instead, I was wrapped in a blanket, watching Die Hard on FX. Most would argue that Bruce Willis shooting up bad guys at a holiday party isn’t enough to qualify Die Hard as a Christmas movie. In my opinion, it’s the only Christmas movie worth watching.
“Chrissy!” Mom called from the kitchen. “I’m going to the store this afternoon. What do you want for your birthday dinner?” I grabbed the remote and muted the television.
“Pizza…” I yelled back. “…from Mazatti’s.”
She came into the living room, shooting me a dirty glare. “Mazatti’s is closed on Christmas. Is that really what you want, or are you being difficult?”
I smirked. I was being difficult. “If I can’t have Mazatti’s, I don’t care what we have.”
She started to scold me but stopped when she noticed what I was watching. “Is that the edited version?”
Mom was such a goody-goody. I rolled my eyes. “John McClane just said Yippie-kai-yay, brother trucker…” The sarcasm in my voice didn’t go unnoticed.
“Christmas Eve Jensen, don’t you take that tone with me.” She pointed a stern finger in my face before heading back into the kitchen.
And there you have it. The number-one reason why I hate Christmas. It’s bad enough that I was born on December twenty-fifth. Sharing a birthday with Jesus means I can’t even gripe about being overshadowed. But seriously, who names their daughter Christmas Eve? People missing a few screws, that’s who.
I’m the youngest of four children. We all have seasonal names. My sisters Holly and Noel don’t live at home anymore. My brother Garland is nineteen and off at his first year of college. For them, nobody thinks twice about the kitschy family theme. I totally got stiffed. I’m seriously contemplating a legal name change when I turn eighteen. In five days I could be called something boring and regular, like Susan or Carrie. Julie Jensen has a nice ring to it.
There were dozens of other names for my parents to choose from. Ivy or Candy, Bell or Winter. Heck, even Star and Snowflake would have been preferable. But no, I’m Christmas Eve, poster child for the madness we call home—Rudolph, Vermont. It’s not just my parents, either. Our whole town is nuts. The Welcome to Rudolph sign is currently sporting a pair of antlers and a bright-red nose.
I settled back on my pile of silky red pillows, embroidered in gold with words like joy, peace, and love. Ordinarily I’d have kicked them to the floor, but they were so darn squishy I made a rare exception. My thumb hovered over the unmute button when the doorbell rang.
“Chrissy, can you get that? My hands are covered in molasses.”
“Yes,” I replied grudgingly. I whipped off my blanket and chucked it at the wooden snowman in the foyer. His beady little coal eyes mocked me whenever I got up. This was the third time I’d been interrupted in the last forty-five minutes. If I had to hear the stupid bell play “Deck the Halls” one more time, I’d go full-out Hans Gruber on the person ringing it.
I padded to the door and pulled on the bow-clad handle. A blast of icy wind hit me. It was late afternoon, but it already felt like evening. The sky was dark and gray, threatening to dump a fresh coat of snow at any moment.
“Is your father home? I really need to speak with him. It’s urgent,” Kathy Newport, my next door neighbor, blurted without so much as a hello.
If she wasn’t borderline hysterical right now, Kathy would be the epitome of Mrs. Claus. With her rosy cheeks, crinkled eyes, and silver-white hair pulled into a tight bun, all she needed was a warm smile. But a smile seemed unlikely. The speed of her voice and the flailing arms were a dead giveaway. She had a pageant emergency.
“Sorry, Kathy, he’s not here. Did you try Town Hall?”
Her lips pursed and her hands flew to her hips. “Of course I tried Town Hall. He’s the blasted mayor. I went there first, but he’s never where he’s supposed to be when I need him. Never answers his phone, either.”
He’s probably avoiding you, I snickered to myself behind a sweet, innocent expression. “Would you like me to send him over when he gets home?”
She waved me off and spun around. While stomping down the stairs, she grumbled loudly, “No need. I’ll find him before then.”
Mrs. Newport practically plowed over my best friend, Nate, when she passed him on the sidewalk. He stared after her with wide eyes before making his way up to the door. “Wow,” he said. “I think your dad’s in trouble. She was muttering something about the blasted mayor.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if he was dodging her on purpose,” I replied.
Nate knocked the snow off his boots and stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. “Let me guess, she has a pageant emergency?” A knowing chuckle rumbled in his chest.
I walked back to the couch, where I flung myself once again onto the squishy pillows. “There’s always a pageant emergency.” I sighed.
He hung his jacket on the candy cane coat rack, then started to follow me but stopped short when he saw my blanket, haphazardly covering the snowman’s head. He quirked an eyebrow. “Are you feeling extra ornery today, or was Frosty giving you the evil eye again?” Nate grabbed the plaid fleece and dropped it on my face.
I tugged the blanket off and frowned. “He was being judgmental.”
“Judgmental?” Nate echoed. His eyes trailed mine toward the television, and one side of his mouth turned up. “Frosty is right. Die Hard isn’t a Christmas movie.”
“Hmpfh.” I grunted. “Sure, take his side.”
Nate sat on the couch and propped his legs up next to mine. With a flat look, he said, “If you weren’t such a bah humbug, I wouldn’t have to take his side.”
Mom walked into the room, drying her hands on her apron. “Hello, Nathan. Were you the one at the door?”
“No,” I answered for him. “It was Kathy.”
Mom’s jaw tightened. “What did she need?” Her voice held a hint of concern. “Is there a pageant emergency?” Nate could barely con
tain his laughter.
“Mom,” I cooed soothingly. She was easily flustered, and the last thing I needed was her freaking out over something she couldn’t control. “I’m sure everything’s fine.”
Mom glanced at the clock on the side table. It was shaped like a bell tower with a tiny snow-covered train that circled around it. She wrung her hands anxiously. “I better call to see if your father needs help. It’s already four, and Garland will be here soon.” She scurried from the room. I shook my head.
Rudolph’s official nickname was “Christmas Town USA.” Every year, Main Street was transformed into a holiday wonderland with lights, wreaths, and murals painted on every shop window. The planning committee set up an entire Santa’s village in the town square. St. Nick spent the weekends on a velvet throne, taking requests from bright-eyed kids all over the county. The Saturday after Thanksgiving, my dad emceed the official Christmas kick-off by lighting the giant evergreen tree in the middle of the park. Each day held a town-sponsored holiday festivity.
But none of that held a candle to the hoopla of the Yuletide Pageant. The whole thing started when I was young. Originally, it was a two-hour tribute to Christmas dresses. All the little girls in town got dolled up and paraded down a runway in the high school gym. Since then, it’d morphed into a four-day contest of Christmas spirit, complete with crafting projects that would put Martha Stewart to shame. The culminating event was still a pageant, only now the people showing off their Christmas best were the ten finalists with the most decorating savvy.
The whole competition was ridiculous, but people in Rudolph took it very seriously. Being dubbed Christmas Queen or King was accompanied by clout that rivaled the mayor’s. They got preferred seating at local restaurants (all three of them), free coffee from the café, were ushered to the front of every line, and got their own float in the next year’s Thanksgiving Day parade. The actual prize was nothing more than a cheap crown and bragging rights, but it was enough to make everyone bonkers with excitement and anticipation.
“What time is your brother supposed get in?” Nate asked.
I shrugged and unmuted the TV. “Don’t know. Before dinner, I think.”
Nate settled back, resting on the arm of the couch. “What’s for dinner?”
“I heard something about meat loaf,” I replied carelessly, eyes glued to the television.
Nate hummed, no doubt pondering where he’d be eating tonight. He lived two houses down (on Mrs. Newport’s other side) and generally consumed his meals at whichever home had the most favorable menu that day. “Mama J?” he yelled into the kitchen.
“Yes, you can stay for dinner,” Mom answered loudly. Nate and I had been friends for so long that he didn’t even have to say what he wanted.
He rubbed his hands together greedily. “Sweet. My mom’s heating up a frozen spinach quiche.” I shot him a brief glance, my face contorted in disgust. He laughed. “I know, right?”
We settled into a comfortable position. I fluffed the blanket over both of us and wiggled my toes against Nate’s side. That was code for “massage my feet, please.” Without being asked, he grabbed my right foot and went to work on my arch. My best friend was the best at a lot of things. But he gave the very best foot rubs.
Nate had seen Die Hard as many times as I had. I made him watch it with me every year. I think he’s lucky that I’m not into the kind of cheesy movies where A Christmas Carol plays out in real life. Or a recently heartbroken woman finds love and Christmas spirit in the arms of a handsome stranger. Bleh! Traditional Christmas movies were so predictable.
The fireplace was roaring, and the living room was cozy. It didn’t take long for both of us to fall asleep. But our peaceful slumber was interrupted by a frozen shock. “Eek!” I screeched at the same time Nate bellowed, “Ahh!”
My eyes snapped open to find Garland kneeling beside us with a fistful of snow clenched against our bare skin. Reflexively, I kicked out. But Garland was too fast, and the only person I hit was Nate. “Ow! Don’t take it out on me.”
“Sorry.” I winced for half a second before lunging over the couch to chase my brother, who was laughing hysterically. “You little…” I started to curse at him but trailed off when I came face-to-face with the most beautiful boy I’d ever seen. “…brat.”
The boy was flashing me a gorgeous smile, with pearly white teeth and full lips that looked softer than the pillows I’d been sleeping on. He stepped to the side and ushered me past. “Don’t let me stop you.”
I blinked hard, stunned by the stranger’s words. We’d never met, but he spoke to me as if we were old friends. “Uhh…” I stammered, realizing how stupid I sounded but unable to produce a coherent sentence. Garland snuck up behind me and shoved a handful of snow down my shirt. “Gah!” I yelped, before pursuing my brother into the kitchen.
I was foiled in my attempt at retribution. Mom saw Garland and went into a tizzy of motherly affection. “Oh, you’re home!” She squealed and pulled him into a tight hug, then held him back at arm’s length. “I think you’ve grown two inches since you left.”
Garland chuckled. “That’s physically impossible. You just saw me at Thanksgiving.”
“What are they feeding you in the cafeteria?” Her eyes roamed over him from head to toe, checking for who knows what. I might have been the youngest child, but Garland was her baby.
“Oh, the usual.” He shrugged and snaked his arm around Mom to grab a warm gingerbread cookie. He shoved half of it into his mouth. “Steak, potatoes, veggies, milk laced with growth hormone.”
Someone snorted from behind, and I remembered that Nate was here. He stood in the doorway with an amused smirk. Next to him was the mysterious visitor. Mom realized we had company. “You must be Evan.” She rushed over to hug him. If he was uncomfortable with her forwardness, he didn’t show it.
“Yes ma’am, Mrs. Jensen. Thank you so much for having me.”
“I’m glad you came. Nobody should spend Christmas alone in a stuffy old dorm room.” A timer beeped, and Mom startled before skirting around the island to grab her potholders. We had a double oven, and she pulled another batch of cookies from the top one, then cracked open the bottom door and peeked inside. “The meat loaf will be done in about fifteen minutes.” As if on cue, Nate’s stomach growled. He ate more than a horse.
“Ahem.” Evan cleared his throat and nodded toward me. “This must be the infamous Chrissy.” There was a playfulness to his smile and a twinkle in his eye.
“Yep.” Garland jutted his chin toward Nate. “And that’s Nate—her other half.”
Nate puffed up his chest and stuck out his hand. “Hey, man.”
Evan shook it. “Hey.” The exchange sounded friendly, but Nate’s expression held a challenge. He could be a bit overprotective when it came to me and guys. I’m sure he’d noticed me drooling a minute ago.
I broke the awkward tension by asking, “How come you didn’t tell me you were bringing your roommate home?” Or that he was so hot? My brother and I weren’t besties, but we were close enough that he should have said something.
“I didn’t know until this morning,” he replied, reaching for another cookie.
Mom swatted his hand. “You’ll ruin your dinner.”
Evan spoke up. “My parents are in Europe on business. The deal they’re brokering hit a few speedbumps, and they need to stay until the new year to work things out.”
His parents were abandoning him on Christmas? How horrible. I hated the dumb holiday, but even I wouldn’t want to spend it alone. “Well,” I drawled, “that sounds fancy…and lame.” My mom frowned at my rude comment. I didn’t care. I was notorious for speaking my mind. “Must be a pretty big deal if they’re willing to ditch you over the holidays for it.”
“They wanted to fly me out,” he defended quickly. “But I didn’t like the thought of spending Christmas in a hotel room, so your brother suggested I come home with him.”
Nate narrowed his ey
es, folded his arms across his chest, and proceeded to grill the newcomer. “Don’t you have other family? What about your siblings?”
“Only child,” Evan replied.
“Grandparents?”
“All dead.”
“Aunts and uncles?” Nate pushed. “Cousins? Second cousins?”
“Nathan.” Mom hissed.
“I have cousins, but they’re little.” Evan gave Nate a smug look before he fixed a dreamy gaze and flirtatious grin squarely on me. “And meeting you guys sounded like more fun.” Mom nodded her approval. Garland rolled his eyes. Nate grimaced. I almost swooned.
Kathy Newport eventually found my father and waylaid him for a good half hour. Evan helped me set the table while we waited for Dad to get home. Our conversation was innocent enough, but there was a seductive, teasing quality to everything he said. He was a champion flirter. Such a pro that, despite my best effort, I had difficulty keeping up.
Evan was exotic. His dark curls, glassy hazel eyes, and smooth caramel skin gave him a sophisticated edge that the bumpkins from Rudolph could never achieve. The boy was probably a player, but frankly he was too hot for me to care. Each time he reached for something out of the china hutch, his shirt pulled tight across his muscular back and shoulders. He dropped a napkin on the floor once, and I tried not to peek at his butt when he bent over. I failed.
Dinner was barely underway when my dad started peppering our guest with a million questions about his family, school life, and career plans. I was relieved that the subject of Christmas hadn’t come up yet. But apparently, just thinking that was enough to jinx me.
“So, Evan,” Dad switched topics, “does your family have any special holiday traditions?”
Evan looked thoughtful. I only knew that because I was sitting across from him. I’d tried to sit next to him, but Nate took that chair, specifically so I couldn’t. I’d been giving him dirty looks through the entire meal. He’d been ignoring me with stoic smugness.
“We do the normal stuff,” Evan answered as he pushed his food around on his plate. “Big tree, fancy dinner, gift exchange.”
The Trouble With Christmas Page 1
