by Linda West
Manufactured in the United Stated of America
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
First Edition
Copyright@LindaWest
All rights reserved including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
For my dear sister Cheryl
Other books by Linda West
Death by Rolling Pin
Death by Crockpot
The Magical Christmas Do-Over
Christmas Kisses and Cookies
Holiday Wishes and Valentine Kisses
Olympic Wishes and Easter Kisses
Firework Wishes and Summertime Kisses
Paris Wishes and Christmas Kisses
Christmas Belles and Mistletoe Kisses
Hello!
It’s the Christmas season, the happiest time of the year!
Before we begin, let's get you settled in with a cup of cocoa and a comfy chair. Let’s imagine a crackling fire is beside you casting a warmth and glow. Perhaps a light snow has begun to fall outside. When Christmas is upon us and joy fills the air, we remember that all good things are possible. So, sit back, relax, and have a nice drink. You're about to take a wonderful fun-filled adventure with the adorable inhabitants of the Christmas-obsessed town of Kissing Bridge. Now on to the story. I hope you enjoy it.
Sending you love and cheer and mistletoe wishes. May your days be filled with Christmas cookies and kisses!
With love,
Linda West
Don't forget to look in the back to get my
best-selling book
Christmas Kisses and Cookies
FOR FREE!
Happy holidays!
Chapter 1
“WHAT IS THIS?” I screamed to no one, because I was the only person crazy enough to be outside in this snowstorm.
The driving snow gusts whipped me in the face, and I regretted that I was too vain to wear one of those face sweaters that make you look like a hoodlum.
I slid my backpack off and threw it on top of the snow, ready to do battle. I wiggled the post of the For Sale sign on our lawn back and forth and attempted to unleash it from the ice that had formed around the base. I couldn’t believe someone would play a joke like this—especially around Christmas.
I scanned the neighborhood for possible offenders before spotting Mr. Aikens through the sheets of white, shoveling his car out of his driveway next door. He looked innocent enough. Even if he didn't donate to my Save the Trees Campaign.
I waved. He waved back and shouted, "Hey, Allie. I spotted you down the block. Was that an Uber car you got out of?"
I gritted my teeth and looked back over my shoulder at my drop off point. I concocted a little fib because I couldn’t tell Mr. Aikens the truth, or he’d blab it to my father for sure. They played bocce ball every Wednesday.
I swear those older men gossip more than my girlfriends.
"No, of course not. Ex-Boyfriend—boyfriend's car…"
I still hadn't gotten used to the ex part, although I should have it tattooed on my forehead by now.
"Go out with me, and I promise you'll leave me for someone better."
My ex, Shane, had officially left me two years ago, one day after my mother lost her long battle with cancer. I still hadn’t the heart to tell my dad that Shane had left me when I needed him most. I kept saying he was busy. It was hard enough for me to deal with the fact he had bailed on me at the worst time of my life. At twenty-seven, I wasn't old enough to be jaded, but honestly, I was scarred.
I continued my struggle with the unwanted sign and wondered again who had the nerve to put up a For Sale sign in our yard? I had heard prices had been going up on the Jersey Shore, so maybe some overly zealous realtor made a mistake?
I called out through the whistling snow flurries. "Mr. Aikens, by any chance do you know who put this sign up?"
Mr. Aikens looked over with a tilt of his head to study the oddity. "Nope."
Humph. Now I was officially annoyed. I finally got on both sides of the darn sign and tugged straight up with all my force. It gave loose suddenly, of course, with my last thrust and sent me flying across the yard a good three feet. I landed with a thud on my back and the stupid sign on top of me. I wrestled it off and dusted off the snow.
"Need help?' Mr. Aikens offered now.
“No, no, I got it, thanks.”
I stood up and gathered my sense of humor, and my backpack. If I had seen anyone else do this, I would have laughed my butt off. Since it was me, I wasn’t as amused.
“Well, Merry Christmas to you, Allie.” Mr. Aikens smiled. "You tell your father hello for me."
“I will. Merry Christmas to you and Mrs. Aikens.”
I waved goodbye as I started the trudge up our tundra-like driveway with the hated sign tucked under my arm. When I found out who did this, they were going to hear it from me.
I tossed the offensive sign in the garage and shut the door. It was time to lie to my father. He'd ask me where Shane was, and I'd say I took the bus because Shane was busy– again.
The honest to goodness truth is, I did take Uber. I'm broke as heck, but I couldn't deal with the train-bus-train combo I'd have to endure. Christmas was always tough emotionally since mom passed, and I didn't need to freak out over a little Uber.
It's all Shane's fault, anyway, as far as I'm concerned. He's the one who talked me into college in the city–how romantic—driving together and forever after. All of those were lies! He left me for an Icelandic blonde intern at the dean's office! He said she was polished and perfect and he had fallen in love by mistake.
By mistake?
To add insult to injury, he had also stopped driving me to college at the request of Ms. Sweden. This is why I had to deal with the dreaded bus-train combo and ultimately be lying to my father and my neighbor right now.
This is why I hate men.
You give them everything, and then they disappear like a leech full of blood that falls off when it’s done using you.
That is why if this were a real love story, my true love would be Uber. Uber has never let me down. Uber is always there for me. Uber does not prefer Icelandic blondes. I’m no Einstein, but I know that falling in love with an inanimate object is far safer than falling in love with a man.
Chapter 2
Unfortunately, my affair with Uber is an unrequited love since my family is in the car service business. Sadly, the company profits from Archer Premier Transport had been cut in half due to the arrival of my perfect Uberian love. The mega driving service had, without a doubt, revolutionized travel in the modern world.
I opened the side door, and Christmas music welcomed me in. The archway had been newly lit with twinkly lights and mistletoe. My stomach did that pit-drop thing it does whenever I feel something. I realized it was the decorations.
We had always done them together, but now Dad must have put them up for me. I took a deep breath. Christmas had a way of bringing up all the memories people tried to shut away.
Dad was in the middle of stirring something in a big pot when I came into the kitchen. I guessed it was Hungarian goulash, which was his signature and only complicated dish.
He had a defeated slump to his stirring. I kissed him on the cheek and threw my purse on the chair, which elicited a big, resentful meow!
My cat, Piewacket, leapt off the chair and gave me the evil cat-eye. It’s not my fault her brown-toned fur blends in with all the colonial furniture! I’ve sat on her numerous times. I should get her a white collar.
“Sorry, Pie,” I called over. She resent-meowed back at me and sashayed out of the room.
I pulled off my snowcap and ran my hands through my tangle of mousy hair. It was flat at the top where my ca
p has crushed it, and no amount of fluffing was rectifying that today.
“Dad, did you know someone put up a For Sale sign on the lawn?”
He stopped stirring and stared out the window at the falling snow.
“Dad–did you hear me?” I asked. He finally looked at me and shook his head. Uh oh. His eyes were navy tone.
Dad is the easiest person to read. He has amazing blue eyes, which change like a mood ring. His eyes can go from joyous royal blue to peaceful cerulean blue, to serious deep blue to this–crisis navy blue color they were now.
"Dad, what's wrong?"
“I didn’t want to worry you, Allie.” I felt this ominous cloud hit me. He put down the ladle and hung his head.
“After your mom got sick, I leveraged everything we had to help with the hospital bills, but it wasn’t enough on any account…” He paused. “We’re…I’m losing the house.”
I froze.
“Wait –are you saying you put the For Sale sign up?”
He nodded sadly.
I threw my hands up. “You have got to be kidding me! I can't believe you’d even think about this!”
“I have no choice. I’m sorry, Allie. We have to sell or they’ll foreclose on it. If I sell now while the area is hot, maybe I can save some of my investment and the business.”
“You leveraged Archer Premier as well?”
He nodded.
I tried to make sense of this, but it was shocking. Dad had never mentioned money problems before. Sure, I knew things had been tight because of the medical bills, but I had no idea it had gotten so bad.
“Dad, we can’t sell Mom’s house!
A tear sprang to his eyes. “I’ve been trying to save it, honey. I just haven’t been able to catch up. This is my last resort.”
I looked around the living room I knew like the back of my hand. The sunflower stencils Mom and I had done…the penciled graph on the wall of me growing, or not–I had hoped for more than my five-foot-three but, alas, it was not to be. The fake Christmas tree we’d had as long as I could remember…I loved this house. I had planned to live here for the rest of my life.
I began to hyperventilate, which is my go-to panic attack coping mechanism.
Dad came over and wrapped his beefy arms around me.
“Breathe, Allie. Breathe.”
I sucked in deep breaths, and I sniffed in his Old Spice cologne that Mom had gotten for him every year at Christmas. I wondered if he was running out. Two years now. Mental note—get more Old Spice. Never thought I’d say that.
“Mr. Somerset mentioned the Carriage House being available. He’s very generous. Of course, it's much farther from the college…”
“There is no way we are taking charity from the Somersets, Dad. I hate them." I pulled back and Betty-Booped him with my own big, blue-eyed look that meant I was serious.
“Dad, I thought the business was doing fine. You never mentioned…”
“People don’t need private cars anymore; they take Uber. Thankfully we have the Somersets, or we would go under just like all the other car services.”
I swallowed my guilt and promised myself I would delete my Uber app as soon as I was alone.
“What can we do now? I want to help.”
He looked me in the face, and a half-smile lifted the side of his full lips that didn’t quite make it to his eyes. “We can move on, darling. A house is not home–a home is where the heart is…”
I repeated the words with him.
My mother had always said that. But the only thing we had left to show she had lived, loved, and made a place for her heart was right here. I’d be darned if I ever let this house go.
I wiped away a tear with an irritating swipe of the hand. “I’ll put off finishing college. I can get a full-time job or work with you–whatever it takes. How much do we need to save the house?”
He let out a deep huff of defeat. “Two hundred thousand dollars.”
“Two hundred thousand dollars?” I reeled.
He nodded.
“Did you just say two hundred thousand dollars?” Full Betty-Boop eyes now.
“Yep, that’s right. Two hundred thousand dollars.”
“Two hundred thousand dollars!” My heart sank. The staggering sum deflated my optimism like a prick to a balloon. Impossible.
I squeezed my eyes tight. I worked part time as a waitress at the Caddy Shack, but it barely paid for my books and mounting college bills. How the heck was I going to help find two hundred thousand dollars?
Two hundred thousand dollars.
Two hundred thousand dollars.
Two hundred thousand dollars.
I wracked my brains. How does one get money like that when they need it?
Chapter 3
"I assume you tried to leverage the house—” I began.
Dad went back to stirring the goulash. "I’ve taken out three loans on the house, honey. We’re loaned out."
“Anything we can take out of Archer Transport?”
He glanced at me with his guilt royal blue orbs. “As much as I could without losing it.”
I let out my breath. I was not overly smart, and this was beyond my thinking capacity. I was running out of options.
“Do we have any rich friends I don’t know about?” I asked with hope.
Dad shook his head. “Not that I know of.”
“What about in the movies when those gamblers get into trouble? They always find some seedy guy to loan them money. I wonder how they go about getting two hundred thousand dollars?”
Dad shrugged. "Not sure how to go about soliciting the mob."
I made a mental note to ask the cook at work, Frankie Musso, if he had any connects. He always bragged about being from Sicily. I wondered if inquiring about mob connections would be considered offensive. Not that I care about civilities now.
Still, it was a loan. I would have to pay the mob back sometime. I wondered what the penalty would be if you didn’t pay back the mob. Would they kill me, or maybe just break my leg so I could pay them later? Two hundred thousand dollars for a broken leg seemed fair.
I imagined myself with a broken leg taking one for the team. It wouldn't be pleasant, but I wasn't an athlete or anything, so I could deal with a hobble for six months until it healed.
I did wonder how exactly they would go about the process of breaking my leg, though. Would they shoot it with a gun, or just hit my poor kneecap with a big bat? The mob guys on TV seemed to use bats a lot. Then again, who's to say they'd stop at one leg?
Maybe two hundred thousand dollars with no payback would mean a double leg breaking. I looked down at my innocent legs and rubbed them. I suddenly had more appreciation for limbs.
I needed some creative way to get the two hundred grand—without needing to pay it back.
A college pal, Tammy Hines, put her virginity up for sale to the highest bidder on Facebook to pay for her tuition.
I wondered what that total had come to and if Tammie had shared it in her Saturday morning confessional at St. Paul’s. Not sure how many rosaries that would come to. Maybe that’s why I hadn’t seen her lately.
I’d have to call her later in any case because desperate times called for desperate measures– and I liked my legs.
A happy Christmas song came on in the background and I choked up. This was so messed up. Christmas had always been my favorite time of year. We made cookies and homemade gifts for each other like we were in some Rockwell sketch. Now everything had a gray veil over it, like the whole photo album of memories had been switched to monotones.
Dad spooned goulash into Christmas bowls decorated with bells and elves. He put them on the table and plopped down beside me. The spicy stew wafted up and my stomach grumbled. I blew on my goulash and took a big spoonful.
“Good?” he queried.
I smiled. “Awesome as usual.”
Dad grew the tomatoes himself in the back office, along with multiple herbs during the winter months. It was his passion. I coul
d taste a hint of the basil and its fresh bite against the heavier flavors.
“Good job with the lemon basil–nice touch.”
He glowed and took another spoonful.
I glanced around the kitchen and the twinkly lights that rimmed the ceiling—we pulled them out every year during the holidays. We lived a middle-income, cozy life, and I had always been fine with that. Now for the first time I wanted more. I wanted that two hundred grand.
“Dad, I just don’t get the world! We're good people with good morals, how come we aren’t getting rewarded for it?’
“We have each other …”
"I know, and I’m grateful, but I’m talking about money! How come all of the mean people have all the money?”
He let out his breath as he added some pepper to his goulash. "You can’t change the world, Allie."
I cocked my head to the side. I’d given up on men, but I wasn’t about to give up on the world. I still had hope that if I threw all my energy into helping the world, I’d live a life well lived. Maybe get a park dedicated to me with my name on it. Better yet, buy the rainforest in the Amazon and protect it forever. I took in a deep breath. It did sound impossible.
"Maybe I'll double down on the scratch offs and get lucky. I brought you some home by the way—they're in my backpack.”
Dad’s eyebrows rose and he got up from the table. He just loved his scratch offs.
“They’re in the side pocket,” I called over.
He fished them out and held them up triumphantly.
“Thanks, honey. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”
He brought them back to the table and pulled out his lucky quarter and got scratching.
“I don’t know, maybe I should think outside the box – what would I do if I wasn't a nice Catholic girl?”
