by Shyla Colt
This Book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, duplicated, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
Editing: There for You Editing
©Text Copyright 2020 Shyla Colt
Table of Contents
Copyright Page
Tangle of Tinsel
Tangle of Tinsel | Shyla Colt
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Epilogue
About the Author
Dedication
For the goddess realm and Mint Fairy Godmother who helped me break through my block. To family and friends who supported me through a year no one will forget, and to my creator who makes all things possible and lights my way through the light and dark times.
Tangle of Tinsel
Shyla Colt
Chapter One
Romy
No victory has ever tasted as sweet as proving those who mocked and doubted me wrong. I stomp on the cardboard box and relish the crunch under my rubber sole. The pink pom-poms on my slippers swing violently. Exhaling, I stretch my arms above my head. The last box has been unpacked, arranged, and now broken down. When the universe decided to give, she was not stingy about it. All my visualization, mediation, and hard work has paid off in spades.
After picking up the flat box, I place it next to the back door to later carry out to the recycling bin. Turning to look through my bungalow, I admire the open layout. Mine. The word is my greatest wish realized—a home of my own and enough money to live comfortably. Moving from Indianapolis to this small town in Vermont was a huge change. The job I interviewed for turned out to be an opportunity I couldn’t pass up. The smaller physical therapy practice offered a sign-on bonus, bomb benefits, and a more relaxed environment than the hospital. I loved my patients at the hospital, but there are times when cash has to be king. Working as an occupational therapy assistant pays well. I should’ve been further in life than I am now, but debt takes time to climb out from under. This year, I’m back on top.
I sink onto the dark gray suede couch and admire the matching wingback chair and white crochet stools. I’ve managed to create a welcome living space I look forward to coming home to each day. Leaning forward, I light the pine-scented candle on my custom Millennium Falcon coffee table. The crisp, spicy scent mingles with the cinnamon-coated pinecones in the bowl on my black buffet table.
A strip of burlap, hand-stamped with Star Wars Tie fighters, contrasts with the dark color and makes the Kylo Ren lamp stand out. The Sith Lord greets me as I enter and wishes me farewell when I leave. Here, I’m allowed to let my interests and style shine. There will be no more cramped living spaces with multiple roommates forcing me to keep a dull beige and white color palette. I’ve used the week I have off for the holidays to put the finishing touches on my home. Now I’m out of busy work and fighting loneliness. As an only child, Christmas was the one time I made it home no matter what I had going on. Breaking that tradition hurts. The lack of decorations reflects that.
Snowflake window clings, seasonal candles, and a row of white lights in my front window are the only bit of cheer that has invaded my house so far. A month ago, I didn’t have time to get into the spirit. The bags under my eyes required so much concealer I considered buying stock. The baristas at the local shop now know me by heart. I caught up on my rest, but the overindulgence in pastries is still lingering around my hips and waist. This is why walking around to purchase decorations is a winning plan. My phone dances on the coffee table. Mom flashes on the view screen.
“Mom, I was just thinking about you.”
“I’m missing my Romy. How’s your day going?”
“Good. I’m enjoying the week of vacation Dr. Carver gave us all. I’m already seeing the perks of working for a private practice.”
“You were working too much in the past couple of years.” She clucks her tongue.
I had to work that way to keep the debt collectors at bay. Ashamed, I never told her about the depth of Trent’s betrayal. Running up my credit cards, buying things we didn’t need, and hiding the bills, he left me drowning in the debt while he moved on with another woman.
“I’m turning over a new leaf with this move.” This year I’m releasing the negative things I’ve carried with me and cutting the cord with the disastrous heartbreak that turned me off serious dating.
“I’m proud of you, honey. You’ve worked hard for this. I want to see you enjoy it.” She sighs, and I sense the guilt. “You took on more responsibility than you should’ve when you were younger. It’s one of my biggest regrets.”
“You taught me how to survive and care for myself. I’m grateful for that. I never felt lost when I was out on my own because of it.” Mom worked ridiculous hours to not only take care of me but to give me the best she could. Private school wasn’t cheap, and she did it all on her own. Being aware of how much things costs and living on a tiny budget opened my eyes to the importance of putting fun on the back burner.
“Yes, but you should’ve had more time to just be a kid.”
“I thought I might go buy some real decorations since I can keep them to use every year,” I say, eager to lighten the conversation. I admire my mother for everything she’s done for me and accomplished on her own.
“Promise me you’ll do that today.”
“I will. As a matter of fact, I’ll fire up my computer and find a shop near me now.”
“Pictures, or it didn’t happen,” Mom teases.
“Of course. Who do you think you raised? What’s going on your way?”
Settling back into the couch, I soak in the maternal love pouring over the phone line as we catch up. An hour and a bit of gossip later, I’m blowing out the candles, then exchanging my slippers for knee-high, black boots, a heather gray cowl, and gloves. The thigh-length wool coat is the thickest coat I’ve ever possessed. Winter here in the mountains is a far cry from those in Indiana. The chill slices through clothing and sinks into the bone. Stepping outside, I shiver as a cloud forms from my breath. fifteen inches of snow turns the street into a painting.
Wading through the powdery fluff, I make a mental note to resalt the driveway in the morning as snowflakes continue to drift down to the ground.
THE STORE BITS AND Baubles is lit up like a lighthouse as I turn into the strip mall. The large window is outlined in giant, colorful bulbs that draw my attention to the name stenciled across the top in white. The scene inside has me ready to press my nose to the glass. A mechanical Santa climbs a ladder that rests alongside an eight-foot spruce pine tree dusted with fake snow. Brilliant crimson and gold ornaments line the branches beside homey, handmade-style ornaments. Gold ribbons cascade down the tree like a shimmering waterfall. A beautiful angel with rosy cheeks, wheat-colored curls, and a tiny, pink, cupid bow lips holds a glowing candle. Her flowing white gown completes the stunning glass masterpiece.
Pushing open the door, I step inside. The smell of cookies floats in the air as bells jingle above my head. My Christmas spirit soars upward like an eagle. Trees of all shapes, types, and themes fill the store space. Between the tinsel, and pops of color from the bulbs and ornaments, it’s a feast for the eyes. Angel toppers compete to be fairest of them all among crystal stars and decorative metal pieces. It’s like I’ve entered an alternative universe. I wouldn’t be shocked if Mr. Tumnis stepped out from one of the towering trees.
A petite woman, with chocolate brown hair streaked with gray pulled
up into a high bun, approaches. Dressed in a red sweater and a green apron full of Christmas pins, she could be a modern-day Mrs. Claus. I’m charmed.
“Welcome to Bits and Baubles. I’m the owner, Natalie.” She holds out her hand, and I shake it.
“Hi, Natalie. I’m Romy.”
“What brings you in today?” She tucks her hands in the front of her apron.
“I just bought my first home, and I’m looking to decorate my place, so I’ll be stocking up.”
“How exciting.” Her brown eyes sparkle behind round, gold wire-rimmed frames. “Congratulations on the home.”
“Thank you. I’m excited about it.”
“Do you have a theme in mind?”
“For the first time, no. I usually think up a theme each year. Today, I thought I’d browse and see what calls to me.”
“Well, if there’s anything I can do to help you, please let me know. We have baskets by the registers, but don’t feel like you have to carry all your choices around. We’ll get you started with a collection upfront, and you can leave them as you shop, and we’ll wrap them up and set the tags aside.” She rests a tiny hand on my upper arm. “Take your time. We have cookies and coffee in the back if you’d like a snack. I bake them myself. You know Christmas calories don’t count.” She winks and moves on to greet another customer.
Moving toward the back, I eye the intricate glass-blown tree toppers. The three-tier cylindrical forms end in a long spike. The white one coated in glitter reminds me of my childhood before my father left when we’d assembled the ancient tree that was passed down from generation to generation. Every vintage ornament had a memory and a meaning. It felt like visiting with the ancestors every time we put it together. The old technology had been a puzzle piece. The wooden rods screwed together and had slots marked with different colors. The colors coordinated with the pipe brush end of the branches coated in the same shades. I’d cried when we had to throw it away. It felt like the final nail in the coffin that held the hope that Dad would come back.
“Those are locally made.” The deep voice sends a chill down my spine. I turn, not sure what to expect. Tilting my head back, I crane my neck to look at the six-foot-four man attached to the Severus Snape smooth voice. What is a living giant with the face of a god doing working in this Christmas wonderland? Is he the embodiment of wishes from women on the nice list? His light brown-colored eyes are fringed by thick, sooty lashes that match his neck-length hair worthy of expensive shampoo and conditioner commercials.
“Oh?” I ask. Lame.
“Yes, the local artist drops off his work throughout the year, but these have become a bit of a seasonal staple.”
“I can see why.” I scan his left hand for signs of a ring.
“Did you want one?”
I want a lot of things from you. “Ah. Yes, please.”
He plucks it from the hook and hands it to me. Our fingertips brush—my stomach flutters, and heat blooms in my face. I step back, stunned by the intense response.
“Thank you,” I say throatily.
“Of course. Let me know if you need anything else.”
Your number to start with. Then let’s take it from there, slim. I’m always wittier in my mind.
“I will.” Concentrating on keeping my drooling to a minimum, I force myself to stop ogling the man long enough to make a quick getaway. There’s no way a man this good looking is single. Spotting a white pom-pom garland, I start to form a vision in my head. I study the ornaments hung onto the tree with prices. Losing myself in the hunt, I occasionally pause to take my items up to the register. My body tingles, and I glance behind me to catch the worker’s gaze.
Heart speeding, I give a small smile and turn back around, trying to play it cool. It’s not the first time our eyes have locked. Suddenly, I’m a twelve-year-old girl with a crush. If we keep playing this game, one of us will have to say something or risk looking like freaks. So, he’s got killer genetics. This isn’t a romance novel. I won’t swoon into his arms and find my happily ever after. I said I’d turn a new leaf, but I’m not sure initiating flirting is part of that mission.
The bells shake hard above the door as it swings open with too much force. I watch as a family of four boys ranging in age from about seven or eight to diapers and in a baby carrier on Mom’s chest troop in. Speaking amongst themselves loudly, the boys seem to take up more space than their small bodies should. I move farther to the back as the kids spread through the store. Circling the charming collection of pinecone hedgehogs again, I bite the bullet and decide to buy them. A toddler appears out of thin air, and I stop short as my feet tangle together. I fight for balance and lose. Determined not to crush him, I choose to fall backward. Time seems to slow down and speed up.
“Joey.” His mother’s cry rings in my ear seconds before I smack into a tree. It cushions my body on the way down, but the unforgiving ground greets the back of my skull with a painful kiss. The world blurs and blackens before it comes back. Glass slivers slice into my skin. I crouch, spitting out the tinsel that tried to climb inside of my mouth at some point.
“Ma’am, please don’t move. We’ve got an ambulance on the way. You lost consciousness for a few minutes there.”
“Oh, no.” A whimper spills from my lips at the sound of his voice. A tear rolls down my face as it leaks from the corner of my eye. Pain throbs at my temples and the back of my head.
“Hey. Hey. It’s okay,” the man croons.
“I-I’m so sorry. I’ll pay for it all.” I struggle to focus on his light brown eyes full of ... concern? I was expecting anger.
His plush lips form a thin line. “You aren’t the one who should be apologizing or paying.” His face gentles. “Can I call someone for you?”
“No.” I shake my head and groan, instantly regretting the movement as the ache threatens to split my head in two. “I just moved here from another state.”
“Caleb, you can’t let this sweet girl ride to the hospital alone.”
“I won’t, Nona.”
“Miss ...” He looks down at me and arches a brow.
“Romy,” I whisper.
“Romy, I’m Caleb.” He holds my hand between his massive palms. The warmth is comforting. Sirens wail in the distance, growing closer by the second. Soon, the door is opening, and a team of paramedics is entering. Life gets hectic as they shine a light in my eyes and ask me questions. The world tips and spins like a Tilt-A-Whirl as they lift me onto the stretcher and raise it with a noisy click. I grasp the sheets and breathe deeply. A shadow moves, blocking out the chaos around me.
“I’m coming with you.”
My tongue thickens as my throat swells with unshed years. I don’t want to do this alone.
CALEB
Her blatant acceptance of injury keeps replaying in my head like a horror movie stuck on repeat. Her wide-set, almond-shaped eyes close, and her body tumbles back. Ornaments flew to the ground, smashing into pieces. The angel tree topper took flight. It was a selfless act of kindness for a tiny stranger. Living in New York for so long, I briefly forgot that not everyone is self-involved and out for blood. Romy Foster caught my eyes the minute she walked into the store. Her full, pink lips beg to be kissed, and those long legs seemed to go on for miles in her leggings and boots. Guilt makes me shift in the chair. The woman has a concussion, and who knew what else. It’s not the time to think with my prick. I run a hand through my hair and stretch out my legs to relieve the knee cramps forming. These tiny seats are a form of torture for a man of my size.
“Caleb?”
“Yes.” I hop from my seat.
“You can head back with me now. Ms. Foster is waiting for you.”
“Okay, thank you.”
I dig the phone from the side pocket and shoot a message to Nona. She’s been worried and waiting for news. It might have been an hour, but the time trickled as slow as tree sap. The stench of cleanser and medicine increases as we walk down the hallway toward the beds separated by curtains. If
Romy’s in the outpatient area, her condition can’t be too bad off. My gut twists. I clench and release my fists to ease the tension.
“She’s the last curtain on the left.” The nurse points.
I shove my hands into my pocket. What do you say to someone who damn near died in front of you in your family store? If she wanted to sue, the negligent party would be the child’s mother, and they hightailed it immediately after the incident. Therefore, there’s nothing to be nervous about. The lawyer speak works well in court, but not on my brain. I’m attracted to her, and I want to find a way to salvage the situation. I prefer facts and situations I can control. I’m going into this blind.
I clear my throat. “Romy?”
“Come on in, please.” Her voice is soft and edged with exhaustion.
I push the curtain aside, slip through the opening, and, closing the cotton material, seal us in together.
Sitting on the bed with the off-the-shoulder, black, cable knit sweater I hadn’t glimpsed under her coat, the woman is a damn snack. An edible confectionary I’d love to sample. I’ve always had a sweet tooth. The shallow cuts sporadically scattered over her dark brown skin make me frown. I run my thumb lightly over the Band-Aid covering her collarbone, and she gasps.
“Sorry.” I step back.
With her braids pulled into a high bun, her make-up-free face is highlighted. Those full lips are still just as pink and tempting. My fingers itch to caress her long neck.
“Thank you for coming here with me,” she says softly.
“It’s the least I can do when you were hurt in Nona’s store.”
“Right.” The warmth of her tone dips slightly. “I’m fine other than a mild concussion.”
Other than a small concussion. “You can’t be alone with that condition.”
She clears her throat. “I’m sure it’s not ideal. But it’s what I have to work with.”
“No.”
“Excuse me?” Her lips pull back to reveal straight white teeth. She’s a lioness ready to defend her position.
