Christmas Wishes and Mistletoe Kisses: A feel good Christmas romance novel

by Jenny Hale

  “Have you bought the turkey for tomorrow, Abbey? If not, you’ll want to get it soon or all the good ones will be gone.”

  Her mom hobbled toward the table, swinging her boot in front of her with every step, her broken ankle a reminder of the burden Gramps was putting on her. She set down the pills in a little pile and placed a glass of water beside them.

  “I already have the turkey,” Abbey said with a smile, glad that she was able to put her mother’s mind at ease. “And I bought some of those oven rolls. All I have to do is make the pumpkin pie. I was hoping I could bring Max over tomorrow morning and make it here. Maybe Gramps could help since he was always so good at it. Gramps, do you still have your recipe?”

  “You’ll have to ask your mom,” he said. “She packed up my whole house. She’s put it somewhere, I’m sure.”

  “It’s in the recipe box,” her mom said.

  “Would you make the pie with us tomorrow morning?” she asked.

  With a shaky hand, Gramps picked up the pills and dumped them all into his mouth at once. He chased them with a swig of water. “Yep.”

  “Perfect,” she said. “I’ll come by first thing.”

  Chapter Three

  “Hello?” Abbey said, her phone resting on her shoulder as she cradled the pumpkin mixture in a ceramic bowl, stirring it with a wooden spoon. Gramps was pressing the piecrust to the rim of the tin, his fingers so unsteady that the edges were uneven and lumpy. He used to cut holly leaves out of the crust and place them around the edges. They’d get golden brown in the oven, and Abbey would pick them off and eat them before she ate her slice of pie.

  Abbey could see his frustration, and she wanted to help, but Nick was on the other end of the phone, and she was too busy trying to control her nerves. Nick probably has a chef bake his pies, she thought.

  “Get it into the oven as quickly as you can, Abbey. We’ve still got the turkey to bake,” her mother said before Abbey could wave her quiet. Abbey turned around and shook her head, pointing to the phone with the spoon.

  “I’m sorry to call on Thanksgiving, but I’m trying to tie up a few loose ends. I wanted to find out what your timeframe would be,” Nick said. “I remember you needed to check your schedule to determine what times and days you’d be available, and I’d like the house finished by Christmas.”

  She’d only told him she’d check yesterday. Nick Sinclair did not wait very well, did he? And now he was calling her on a holiday. Even though he’d apologized, it indicated to her that he didn’t seem to put a lot of importance on the special day. Abbey wondered if she would be able to slip away later to check on Caroline. She didn’t want her spending the holiday all by herself.

  “I have the dates for you,” she said, setting down the bowl and spoon and grabbing her calendar from her handbag. With pumpkin on her fingers, she thumbed through the pages. “I can start tomorrow…” She told him the hours each day when she was available, glad that Max would be in school for most of them.

  Before she could finish the call, there was a crash! It scared her so much she nearly dropped her phone, fumbling to keep it from hitting the floor. She turned around to find Gramps shaking more than usual, bits of ceramic and splattered pumpkin mixture all over the floor. Señor Freckles had suddenly appeared and was licking it off the ceramic pieces. Her mom came running in, Max following.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m making a pie at my mom’s, and I now have pumpkin pie mixture all over my floor. Can I call you back?”

  “I apologize,” Nick said, clearly startled. “I’ve interrupted your holiday.”

  “It’s fine. It’s not your fault.”

  She motioned for her mom to take Max into the other room. Her mother would only worry about everyone, and Abbey could easily clean it all up. Gramps was irritated—she could tell by his face. He wiped his hands on the kitchen towel, his head bobbing worse with his anxiety.

  “It’s okay,” she mouthed to him.

  “You don’t have to call me back. Again, I’m so sorry,” Nick said. “I’ve got the dates now. It’s fine. I’ll see you tomorrow. You’re at your… mother’s?”

  She could hear remorse in his voice, uneasiness as he cleared his throat before trying to end the call. She hadn’t meant to make him uncomfortable. As she bent down to pick up the pieces of broken bowl, Señor Freckles darted away, leaving orange paw prints across the floor.

  She ended the call as gracefully as possible. Gramps was grumbling when she finally put her phone away. “It’s really fine, Gramps.”

  “No, it’s not. Those pills don’t do a damn thing. I can’t even make a pie anymore. And now, on Thanksgiving—the only time we ever eat pumpkin pie—I’ve gone and ruined it.”

  “You know what?” She moved in front of him. “The pie is ruined, but it doesn’t matter. We’re all going to have a nice dinner. We’ll sit down, talk about everything and anything, and we’ll forget about this one, lost pie,” she said, her arms full of shards of ceramic.

  His face stayed taut, annoyed.

  “It’s just a pie, Gramps.”

  With a thud, the pieces of ceramic hit the bottom of the trashcan.

  * * *

  “I’m sorry I snapped at you,” Gramps said after Abbey had slid the turkey out of the oven and put it on the burners to cool. Max was at the table, coloring, and her mom was going through her serving dishes, setting them out on the counter. “I just get irritated. It bothers me that I can’t do the things I used to do.”

  Max watched him out of the corner of his eye for a minute and then looked back down at his coloring book.

  “I know. It’s okay, Gramps.” Abbey carved slices off the turkey and began arranging the slices on a serving plate.

  They were beginning to settle in to the final Thanksgiving preparations when the doorbell rang. Abbey and her mother looked at one another. Who would be coming by on Thanksgiving right at dinnertime?

  “I’ll get it,” Abbey said, pulling a piece of foil from its roll and draping it over the turkey to keep it warm.

  Still wiping her hands on the kitchen towel, she opened the door to find an unknown man holding a picnic basket. “Hello,” she greeted him, unsure of his motives.

  “I’m looking for Abbey Fuller,” he said.

  What in the world could this be about? she wondered. “I’m Abbey Fuller.”

  “I figured, since this is the only house on the corner of Maple and Ivy Streets.” He smiled, but Abbey’s confusion clearly caused him to refocus and speed up his explanation for interrupting a national family holiday. “I have a delivery for you,” he said, holding out the picnic basket.

  She took it from him.

  “It’s from…” He looked down at his clipboard. “Mr. Nicholas Sinclair.”

  “Thank you.”

  He turned around and started down the steps, the snow now a sheet of ice after a deep freeze had set in. She shut the door to keep the cold from freezing the whole house, the jingle bells on her mother’s wreath clanging against the door. Abbey looked inside the picnic basket. When she realized what it was, Nick’s gesture gave her heart a flutter of gratitude.

  “Who is it?” her mom called.

  Abbey took the basket into the kitchen. “It’s from Nick Sinclair. He’s sent us pumpkin pies.” She didn’t recognize the bakery, and from the look of the packaging, she had probably never spent that amount of money on a pumpkin pie before. There was a complimentary card included. She pulled the card from its tiny, white envelope. It read, I’m sorry about your pumpkin pie. I hope this reaches you. Happy Thanksgiving. Nick

  “How did he get a pumpkin pie delivered on Thanksgiving?” her mother wondered aloud. “Everything’s closed.”

  “I have no idea.”

  “If the price is right, I suppose,” her mother said, her eyebrows jumping up and down suggestively. “He must like you.”

  Abbey shook her head. “I doubt that.”

  Immediately, she wanted to call him and thank him. Initially,
she’d been intimidated by him, but now she wondered who was really behind that reserved demeanor. Was there more to this man than his empty house and excessive car collection? She hoped that he didn’t think the dropped pie was a result of his phone call. The fact that he’d sent a replacement made her wonder. Nonetheless, he’d been thoughtful tonight, and she wouldn’t forget that. The thrill of it made her want to see him again and thank him personally.

  “Let’s hurry and eat,” Max said. “I want some pie!”

  The minute they had all the dishes on the table, as Abbey scooted her chair into place, Gramps said, “So, tell us about this mysterious pie-delivering man.”

  “Abbey has an interior decorating job,” her mom cut in. She was still holding her knife and fork and talking with her utensils. “I’ve been dying to say something.”

  “It’s just a favor for a lady that I provide care for,” Abbey said, trying to play it down. Abbey didn’t want Gramps making a big fuss over it until she’d been successful. She hadn’t proven herself yet. But every time she thought about it, she got a tingle up her spine. What if she could actually do this? There were wealthy people coming to his Christmas party—possible clients for her. What if she got the chance to actually live out her dream of being an interior designer? She tried not to think about it because it sent her hopes sky high.

  “He’s paying her,” her mom pressed.

  Gramps looked at her, his head cocked to the side. He was interested, and for the first time since she’d arrived, he looked happy, relatively still. “Tell us more,” he said.

  “I’ve agreed to decorate his house. Well, I wouldn’t really call it a house.”

  “What is it then, Mama?” Max said. He’d made a volcano with his potatoes, and he’d filled the crater at the top with green beans. She let it go. Normally, she’d say something, but if he wanted to eat a volcano-shaped dinner, then so be it.

  “It’s a house. Just a very big house. Bigger than any house you’ve ever seen,” she told Max. “It has eight bedrooms, and a ballroom that’s the size of this whole house. It’s this giant mansion of a home but it’s almost totally empty. It’s so cold and sparse, it gives me shivers just being in it.” Abbey turned back to her mother and Gramps. “You know what struck me most? There isn’t a single Christmas decoration either.”

  “Well, not everyone decorates as early as we do. Even the early birds decorate tomorrow. I just wanted to get it done before Gramps moved in.”

  “Maybe he doesn’t celebrate Christmas,” Gramps said.

  “Well, he said I could decide what to put in the house, so he’s getting Christmas decorations. He said himself that his family is coming for Christmas and he’s having a Christmas party! What would a house full of family be like on Christmas without a tree full of presents, stockings hanging on the fireplace, and plates of cookies and cakes waiting to be had?”

  She noticed Max watching Gramps again. Gramps’s eyes were wide, entertained, happy.

  “You need to thank him for the pies,” her mom said.

  “Should I call him on Thanksgiving?”

  “Why not? He called you.”

  “I suppose you’re right.” She didn’t want to call Nick Sinclair all of a sudden. The mere thought of it sent another wave of anxiety through her. She tried to place why she was having that reaction just now, and the only conclusion was too alarming to think about, but it kept rising to the surface: she found him interesting. He was gorgeous, rich, and now thoughtful. She caught herself wondering about him. Suddenly, she couldn’t eat another bite.

  “It’s just us here, Abbey. Don’t feel like you have to be polite. Why don’t you call him? We’ll finish eating, and I can get some pie for Max.”

  Abbey nodded and excused herself from the table. She tried not to look at Gramps’s giddy face as she dug around in her handbag. As she held her phone, her mind wasn’t on the people at the table anymore. She’d see Nick tomorrow, and she could thank him then, but now her family was full of anticipation, excited for her, and she felt like she should go ahead and call. She went into her old bedroom and shut the door.

  The springs on the mattress squeaked out their age as she sat down on her childhood bed. She’d redecorated the room for her mother, turning it into a guest room a few years ago. She pulled up her call history and, after a moment of hesitation, she tapped his number. The phone started to ring. Abbey fixed her eyes on the wall, trying to calm her beating heart. Why was she getting so nervous? Her palms were getting sweaty, a tingling sensation moving around in her limbs.

  “Nick Sinclair,” he answered.

  “Hello, Nick.”

  “Abbey?”

  “Yes. It’s Abbey. I was just calling to thank you for the pies.”

  “Ah, good. I’m glad you received them. All I had to go on was your description of your mother’s house: the corner of Maple and Ivy.”

  “How did you remember?” She lay down on her back, her blonde curly hair fanning out along the hunter green and cream color-coordinated comforter.

  His slight amusement came through the phone in a short, quiet breath. “I hardly ever forget a detail. I can recall almost everything.”

  “Really? I’d love to remember everything,” she said, but before she’d even finished saying the words, she regretted them. She wouldn’t want to remember the sting of hurt when Vince, Max’s dad, had left them, or the intense worry she’d had at a young age when she’d found out she was pregnant, and she hadn’t made a life suitable for raising a child yet. She didn’t want to recall with perfect clarity the conversation she’d had with her mother about her alcoholic father who wasn’t allowed near her. Those emotions were now diluted with all kinds of other emotions that had happened over the years.

  “Am I interrupting your Thanksgiving?” she asked suddenly.

  He laughed quietly again. “No.”

  “Are you doing anything with Caroline today?” She knew it was a bold question since they’d just met. It wasn’t to pry; she only asked out of concern for the both of them.

  “I’m working, so no. And she hates turkey,” he said, and Abbey could almost feel the smile in his words. “She refuses to eat Thanksgiving dinner, so it hasn’t been a big holiday for us in a long time.”

  He’d said, “a long time,” which meant that there was a time when he did celebrate Thanksgiving. Had he sat around that enormous dining room table of his, the chairs full of family members, passing dishes from one to the other, telling stories and enjoying each other?

  “So, you used to celebrate Thanksgiving?” she asked. “Why don’t you celebrate it anymore?”

  The line was silent for so long that she pulled the phone back to view the screen to check that she was still connected. Just as she opened her mouth to say something, Nick said, “I just don’t.”

  “I never knew Caroline didn’t like turkey. She’s funny,” Abbey said, trying to lighten the mood after his last comment. It was clear he wasn’t planning to share the details of his life with her, and she couldn’t blame him. “It’s a tough job, taking care of an elderly family member,” she ventured.

  “Yes.”

  “My mother and I take care of my gramps.”

  “Perhaps that’s why you’re so good with my grandmother,” he said. “Your grandfather is lucky to have you to care for him.”

  “Well, he’s always been there for me. I haven’t seen my dad since I was four, and Gramps filled in when he wasn’t there.”

  “I’m sorry you haven’t seen your dad.”

  “According to my mom, he wasn’t in the best shape to care for me. He died before I could really talk to him and find out his side of things.”

  The line was silent.

  “Are you still there?”

  “Uh, yes. I apologize. I’m just thinking about what you said.”

  “I wish my memory was as good as yours. I have fuzzy memories of my dad, but I wasn’t quite old enough to really remember him. What bothers me the most is that my memories of
him were good ones, and they didn’t paint the same picture my mom painted once I’d gotten old enough to hear her story.”

  “What do you remember?”

  “I remember his kisses before bed, the smile I got when he walked in from work, the way it felt to snuggle up next to him when I didn’t feel well… He was nothing like what my mother remembers.”

  “What did she say about him?”

  “That he was an alcoholic. Things could get heated… She wouldn’t allow him near me.” Abbey had never shared any of that with anyone before. “But Gramps was there for me every day. He taught me how to ride a bike, change a tire on my car, keep a checkbook… He was great.”

  “I understand,” he said. “My grandmother spent a lot of time with us when we were growing up as well… Perhaps I’ll stop over and see her today.”

  “She’d like that, I’m sure.”

  “Well, I won’t keep you. I’m sure you’d like to be with your family. I’m glad you received the pies. Have a wonderful holiday, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Okay,” she said, self-conscious about opening up so much. She didn’t even know him, but he was a good listener.

  “Goodbye,” he said.

  “Bye.” She dropped the phone onto the bed beside her and stared at the ceiling. The room was drafty. Her toes were like ice in her socks and her arms had goose bumps. She grabbed a pillow—encased in a matching green and cream sham—and laid it across her chest to keep warm.

  There was a knock at the door and Max peeked his head in. “Mama,” he said. “I cut you a giant slice of pie.” He was smiling, his eyebrows up in anticipation. “I’m waiting to eat mine until you come out.”

  “You are?” she said, smiling.

  “Yes! I want to see how much whipped cream you want on yours. I’ve covered my whole top with it! Nana said I could.”

  With another grin, she got up and followed Max to the kitchen to be with her family.