Peace & Goodwill: An Inspirational Contemporary Christmas Novella (A Guitar Girl Romance Book 4)

by Hope Franke

  “It’s cozy.” Ian placed his goods on the table and removed his coat. Belle gasped a little as she once again took in his army-built physique. Strong arms, broad shoulders, a narrow waist—he looked fantastic in his jeans and a tight long-sleeved T-shirt.

  She snapped to attention when Ian caught her staring and quickly retrieved two plates, cutlery and a couple glasses from the cupboard.

  “Sorry, I don’t have actual wine glasses,” she said as she set it all down.

  “It’ll taste the same no matter the glass.”

  Ian twisted off the bottle cap and poured. “Did I hear you playing the guitar?”

  Belle forgot how thin the doors and walls were in this place. “Oh, yeah.”

  “You’re good. You’ll have to play me something.”

  “I don’t know.” Belle felt embarrassed. She wasn’t used to playing in front of people. She sometimes stopped to watch the buskers in the streets and admired not only their talent, but their courage. She wanted to try it, but so far she was just too chicken. She always dropped a few pence into their open cases to show her appreciation.

  “The pizza smells great,” Belle said, deftly changing the subject. “What kind is it?”

  “I wasn’t sure what kind you liked, so I got a deluxe. Is that okay?”

  “It’s great.” Anything that didn’t smell like tuna or baked beans—her normal eat-over-the-sink-directly-from-the-tin fare—was great.

  She moaned over the cheese as the sharpness exploded in her mouth and the strands stretched from her mouth to the crust in her hand. “So good!”

  Ian laughed. “That’s what I love about you, Belle. You find joy in the simple things in life.”

  Belle’s face flushed at the use of the word “love,” and she hid behind her glass of wine and took a drink.

  “I get the impression by the way you refer to your mum that you were close,” Ian said in between bites. “Tell me a about her.”

  Belle’s mind drifted back. Her mother used to sit in the very spot that Ian occupied now. “She was kind. Hardworking. She’d wanted to be a nurse, but then I happened, so she never had a chance to finish her training. She cleaned houses instead until she was too weak to do so. She was a good person.”

  “You miss her, don’t you?”

  “Yes. It was just the two of us against the world for so long. Now it’s just me.”

  Ian’s eyes softened. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “Thanks.”

  He’d asked her a personal question and now she wanted to ask him one. “I know you don’t like to talk about your time on the field in Afghanistan, but was there anything good about it, or was it all…terrible?”

  “Mostly it was just boring. And hot. The best part was when we could give something back to the village children. Simple things like pencils would make them smile and laugh. We often handed out water and rice and sometimes we’d get candy to give away, like at Easter time.”

  “That’s nice.”

  “Yeah. I’ve been fortunate so far. None of my tours have seen a lot of action, but we hear about the horror and loss of life. I have one more tour to go. I’ve heard my regiment is going closer to the front this time.”

  A black inkblot spread across Belle’s chest. “When do you go back?”

  Sadness flashed behind Ian’s eyes. “At the end of the month.”

  Belle’s heart dropped to her shoes. “That’s only three weeks away.”

  He reached across the table and threaded his fingers through hers. “I’ve learned to live in the moment, Belle. Make each one count. I’m so happy I can spend some of those moments with you.”

  Belle’s emotions ran amok. She finally met someone she really, really fancied, and he fancied her, but he was going to leave her before they even had a chance to get started.

  “How long will you be gone?”

  “Eight months.”

  Oh, Mercy. Belle stood, pulling her hand free. She cleaned the table, keeping her eyes averted. This was bad. She was falling for a lad who was on leave. She was so stupid!

  She felt the warmth of Ian’s hand on her shoulder. “Belle,” he said softly. “Look at me.”

  Belle placed the dishes on the counter and turned slowly. Ian tipped her chin up with his finger and scorched her skin. He ducked down to catch her eyes. “This moment is for us. Let’s just enjoy it.”

  She swallowed and nodded. He leaned in and she thought, This is it, he’s going to kiss me. Her lips parted, but his mouth skimmed across her cheek, stopping at her ear. “How about that guitar?”

  Her knees quivered at his closeness and she was like a snake charmed by the flute of his voice. She couldn’t deny him anything. He clasped her hand and led her to the sofa where she’d left her guitar. She propped it across her knees, thankful for the barrier it created. He was too much, her attraction to him too strong. She had to pull back. Way back. She shifted her body to face him, putting a couple more inches between them.

  “I don’t know what to play.”

  “Do you know any Christmas songs?”

  “I have one.”

  Belle fiddled with the tuning pegs, making sure her guitar was in tune, but really she was stalling. Her palms were damp and she quickly wiped them on her jeans. She felt so nervous but not singing it now would cause even greater embarrassment. She closed her eyes and began.

  Promise of the prophets

  Image of the artist

  The hope of the broken

  Song of the psalmist

  Dream of the mystic

  The word of God spoken

  Then you sang your song into the world

  On that holy Christmas night

  Lyric clothed in a flesh of a little babe

  Lying in star-light

  She stumbled a bit on the second verse. “Sorry. I haven’t played it a lot.”

  “Keep going,” Ian encouraged. “It’s brilliant.”

  Lord, my eyes have seen the star

  You’ve drawn my heart to behold this child

  This light of God who’s dawning upon the world

  I come to offer him the costly vows of my love

  Come all to this palace-barn

  This manger-throne

  Of the king, the Christ

  It’s Christmas time

  Treasure of the seeker,

  Reward of the martyr

  The voice of the Father

  Companion of the loner

  The rose to the briar

  The Kiss of the lover

  Ian stared at her with wonder in his eyes. The space between them was magnetic, pushing and pulling, reverent with a sense of awe.

  “I wrote it as a gift to my mother,” Belle whispered. “Our last Christmas together. We didn’t have any money to spend on presents.”

  She couldn’t stop the tear that escaped and trailed down her cheek. Ian gently tugged the guitar from her hands and leaned it up against the lone chair beside them. He shuttled closer and drew the pad of his thumb across her wet face.

  “Your song is beautiful and so are you.”

  He tilted his head forward and closed the space between them, his lips hovering over hers. She grabbed the back of his neck, pulling gently, until his lips touched hers. Their kiss was a torch alighting dry leaves.

  She kissed him like a crazy person, like this was the first and last time she’d ever kiss a boy. Their frenzied movements released an earthquake in the room. Belle’s guitar tipped over landing on the floor with a bang, the strings ringing out like a foghorn. She snapped back to awareness.

  Oh, dear Lord! What was she doing? She didn’t even know Ian Connor that well. This was what, their second date? Third if you counted the horrible dinner experience with Ian’s gran and sister, which she didn’t.

  Belle put a palm on Ian’s chest and pushed back gently. She let out several short breaths. “We need to slow down.”

  She was panting and closed her eyes as she wrestled to gain control. Now she understood h
er mother’s words of caution. “Passion takes over like a hurricane and you won’t know what hit you,” she had said. “Before you know it, you’re staggering through a field of loss and debris. Just be careful.”

  Ian jumped off the sofa and sprinted to the tiny bathroom, shutting the door. Belle heard the water running in the sink. She sat up, pulled down on her shirt, and smoothed out her hair. She understood now, what her mother had been trying to say. Belle was the result of an intense moment of passion between her mother and a near stranger. She couldn’t believe how close she had come to doing the same thing.

  Ian eventually returned, his face red and a little damp. He pushed two fists into the front pockets of his jeans and grinned at her. “I’d say I should go home, but I don’t really want to.”

  “I don’t want you to, either,” Belle said. She patted the sofa beside her. “How about we watch a little telly?”

  “Good idea.”

  Ian sat beside her keeping several inches between them. Belle used the remote to click on the television. “Charlie Brown’s Christmas is playing,” she said. “I love this show.”

  They’d caught the ending where the kids were putting on the Christmas play.

  “That tree looks like yours,” Ian said with a grin.

  “I love it that way,” Belle returned.

  Ian placed his palm on the couch face up and nudged Belle with his elbow. She placed her hand in his but didn’t dare look at him. She was afraid she’d throw caution to the wind if she did and suffer the consequences later. She pictured her mother’s face and stared hard at cartoon Linus as he gave his soliloquy on the true meaning of Christmas.

  “‘For unto you is born this day in the city of David a saviour, which is Christ the Lord. And this shall be a sign unto you. Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes lying in the manger.’ And suddenly, there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host, praising God and saying, ‘glory to God in the highest, and on Earth peace and goodwill toward men.’”

  Linus picked up his blanket and walked back to the piano. “That’s what Christmas is all about, Charlie Brown.”

  Anna

  Anna pressed into the frigid wind, thankful that the chemist wasn’t too far away. The bell tinkled over the door when she opened it and she welcomed the warm air that greeted her from inside. She pulled the prescription out of her pocket and waited in the queue for the pharmacist.

  The short wait gave her a chance to recover from the shivering that had overtaken her body and her fingers prickled as the white tips turned back to pink.

  Anna emptied her wallet to pay for the medication when it was ready.

  “Merry Christmas,” the cashier said as she bagged Anna’s purchase.

  “Merry Christmas,” she replied as she turned to leave.

  She heard laughter and conversation from the other side of the aisle. She recognised the warm baritone voice. A peek through the cracks in the shelving confirmed it. Rhys Williams. He was with a woman—an in-law?

  Anna didn’t loiter. The last thing she wanted was for Rhys to see her again, to compare her brokenness with the well-put-together lady at his side. She moved quickly out the door and let out a low breath of relief.

  Part of her wanted to go home, just nestle in with Angel and sleep the day away, but another part of her knew she needed to eat and that it would be foolish to pass up a free Christmas dinner. She turned down the side street that led to the soup kitchen.

  Anna sighed as she walked through the doors behind two elderly ladies. She’d seen them before on the few times she’d stopped in for the free soup that was offered at noon on weekdays. Anna always felt like a fraud because she wasn’t technically homeless. But her cupboards were bare, and that was enough to drive her out on occasion.

  The waft of roasted turkey assaulted her immediately and she inhaled deeply. The aroma was heady and her mouth secreted saliva in a way it hadn’t in ages.

  A long queue had formed. The patrons were all dressed in several layers, and they looked unkempt and worn out. Was that what she looked like? Is that what Rhys saw when he looked at her? Probably. Anna had stopped looking at her reflection in the mirror around the same time her hair started to fall out in clumps in the shower stall.

  Anna filled her plate with turkey and cranberries, mashed potatoes and gravy, steamed and buttered brussel sprouts, and picked up a small bowl of Christmas pudding as she searched for a place to sit.

  There was an empty seat at the end of one of the tables and Anna slid in. All the bodies and the hot food had heated up the room and Anna felt warm, a sensation she hadn’t experienced since the summer. She removed her cap and straightened out the scarf she kept on her head. It didn’t hide the fact that she was bald, but it was better than nothing at all. She hated the thought that the lights in the room would reflect off her shiny scalp, and even though she would’ve liked to take it off, she didn’t.

  There wasn’t a lot of chatter, especially considering how many people were present. Most just focused on what they’d come there to do. Eat.

  Anna forced herself to go slow. She wanted to savour every moment, every flavour as it tantalised her tongue and filled her stomach. She felt too full long before she could finish, something she’d anticipated. She slowly tugged on a plastic bag she’d slipped into her pocket for this reason and dumped the remainder of her meal into it. Angel would have Christmas dinner, too.

  She poked at her pie and accidentally caught the eye of the older gent across from her. He flashed her a gapped-tooth grin and she smiled back politely.

  “Someone should tell ‘er that she’ll never find a fella if she shaves her head.”

  It was one of the two elderly women Anna had followed in. Anna suspected they were both hard of hearing and unaware that they talked so loudly to each other.

  “Maybe she doesn’t want a fella.”

  “Of course she does.”

  Anna didn’t know if she should laugh or cry. Instead she nodded at the friendly man in front of her and stood to go.

  Mr. Hutchens’s fat face peered out his window when she turned down the lane to her flat, his permanent scowl directed at her as she approached. He accosted her before she could make it up the steps to her door.

  “Your dog barked the whole time you were gone,” he snapped.

  “I’m so sorry, Mr. Hutchens. I didn’t mean to be gone so long.”

  “I don’t care for your excuses. Do something about it, or next time I’ll call the pound.”

  “It won’t happen again,” she said resignedly. “I promise.”

  Angel’s nose went directly to Anna’s pocket when she walked in. Anna poured the contents of the bag into Angel’s plastic bowl. “There you go, girl.”

  It had grown dark and Anna didn’t bother to flip the switch. She looked out the window, at a rare winter cloudless night and gazed upon the sliver of the crescent moon in the glow of starlight.

  Belle

  Ian picked her up from work and took her out to dinner every night after that. They avoided going up to her flat because Belle thought they both knew what would happen if they did, and even though the idea of what could happen appealed to her, it was too risky.

  Because the sad, sad truth was that Ian was leaving on New Years Day. Even though she’d known him for only a short while, she couldn’t imagine life without him in it. The anticipatory loss injured her in a deep place.

  They walked along the main street arm in arm, window-shopping on Christmas Eve. As if sensing her melancholy, Ian pulled her close and spoke into her ear. “Stay in the moment.”

  He was right. She had plenty of time to be sad in the future. Today she’d be happy. They came upon a fudge shop nestled between a newsstand and a produce shop, and Ian tugged her inside. The sweet aroma was heavenly and the perfect antidote to heavy heartedness.

  “What kind do you want?” Ian said. “Chocolate? Rocky Road? Caramel? You pick.”

  Belle chose butterscotch, and Ian broke the
bar in two, handing her half.

  Ian stopped them outside the window, and pointed at their reflections as they stuffed fudge into their mouths. “We’re a cute couple,” he said with a muffled voice.

  Belle laughed. “Indeed.”

  Ian kissed her again. She never tired of his kisses. A million a day wouldn’t be too many. His tongue tasted of butterscotch and she feasted on his lips. Her heart swelled a thousand sizes. She’d never been in love before, was never a believer in love at first sight, and though she’d read her share of instant love affairs in the romance novels she read, she thought them to be pure fantasy. No one fell in love that fast.

  Yet, here she was after only two weeks, seriously and completely snared.

  “Do you want to come up tonight?” she asked. The next day was Christmas and Ian would be spending it with his gran and sister, and so for the first time since they started dating, they’d be spending the day apart.

  He smirked. “Do you have a present for me?”

  She smirked back. “I might.”

  “Then yes, absolutely yes!”

  Belle didn’t know what she’d just promised him, but she didn’t care. Even though he was leaving soon, it wasn’t like he wasn’t coming back. The tour ended in August. He’d be back in the summer. She’d write him letters. He’d write her back. It would be okay.

  Stay in the moment, Belle!

  They skipped up the snowy steps, and Belle fumbled with the key in her cold fingers. They peeled off their winter coats and Belle put on the tea for warmth.

  “I do have a present for you,” she said, placing a wrapped gift on the table. It was rectangular and thick, obviously a book. “It’s not much.”

  Ian’s dark eyes sparkled as he ripped off the paper. “The last book in the Song of Albion Trilogy. Precisely the right gift.” He wrapped his thick arms around her and kissed her. “Thank you.”

  He rested his forehead on hers. “I have a gift for you but it won’t be ready until next week. Sorry, I can’t give it to you in time for Christmas.”