Hi
Everyone,
Sweet Christmas Kisses 5 brings you contemporary romances that celebrate the
joy of the season around the world, including snowy Maine and the sun-kissed
skies of Florida, the mountains of Colorado to small-town Illinois and
Virginia, New York to San Francisco, and even the glittering lights of Paris and
the old-world charm of Florence. The Sweet Christmas Kisses 5 bundle features
all-new, standalone novellas that will make you smile and warm your heart with
the Christmas spirit.
Today,
I’m sharing an excerpt from Chapter One of my contribution, Sweet Peppermint Kisses:
Chiara
Johnson sat on a chair near the chrome table in her kitchen, inhaling the
enticing scents of vanilla and almond wafting from the oven as her cookies
baked. Sighing, she peered around her modest apartment. Although she
categorized the first day of December as the beginning of the holiday season,
it didn’t feel much like Christmas.
“Sugar
cookies,” her mother had always said, “were the answer to all life’s problems.”
Well,
maybe they were.
Nostalgic
images of baking with her mother and sister brought misty tears. These pangs of
nostalgia erupted at the oddest moments, although in December, homesickness was
justifiable.
Of
course, she would volunteer at the women’s center. Chiara believed in giving
back, especially to an organization that had indirectly affected her. Adeline,
one of her co-workers, had been homeless for a while until she secured a job.
The shelter had enabled her to get back on her feet.
Besides,
Chiara thought, volunteering gave her a sense of purpose.
It
was just … well, … she hadn’t imagined herself still living in Turning Point,
Virginia after three years.
Sure,
she’d made friends. Adeline had even launched a book club that met in town
every Friday evening, and the women were a delight to be around. However, with
Chiara’s work schedule, she had attended only a couple times.
She
turned the volume louder on her cell phone as “I’ll Be Home For Christmas,” the
1943 version sung by Bing Crosby, came on. One of her favorite holiday tunes,
she sang along to the last few bars: “If only in my dreams.”
Dabbing
the tears from her eyes, she stood to check on the sugar cookies.
Her
cellphone rang and she answered, recognizing the incoming caller’s ID.
“Hi,
Emma,” she said as she settled back in her chair.
“Are
you sure you can’t move home by Christmas?” her younger sister asked.
“You
read my email? Yes, I’m positive.” Chiara cradled the phone to her ear. “I
accepted a full-time job for December to help pay off my last tuition bill.”
“Couldn’t
someone else in your nursing agency work instead of you?”
Emma
was a typical nine-year-old girl. She had a lot to say about every subject,
couldn’t see any side of the story except hers, and regarded Chiara as the
world’s best sister.
Chiara
smiled. It was wonderful to feel adored.
“Everyone
else in the agency either has a significant other or children or both,” she
replied. “And they all had holiday plans. I didn’t, and I was available. Plus,
the agency was scrambling to fill the position on such short notice.”
“Mom
and Dad said you’re an awesome nurse. They say you genuinely care about
people.”
“Thank
goodness parents put us on a pedestal, right?” Chiara laughed. “Between classes
and other expenses, I’ve worked hard to make ends meet. Right now this job is
necessary.”
Wasn’t
that the understatement of the year?
Obviously,
she couldn’t ask her parents for money. Due to the recent economic downturn,
they struggled financially. The Midwest had been hit particularly hard.
However,
Chiara was determined to succeed. She’d studied hard to earn her RN degree at a
high-quality Virginia university and planned on securing a stable, well-paying
position.
“So,
you start your new job right away?” Emma asked. She was chewing on something,
presumably a fruit snack. The little girl ate fruit snacks endlessly.
“Monday
is my first day, and it’s a live-in position above a garage, so I’ll be saving
rent money,” Chiara said. “My client is a woman recuperating from a fall and a
concussion.”
“Did
she trip or something?”
Chiara
went to the sink to run water into the mixing bowls. “She was riding a horse.
The woman lives on a horse ranch.”
“Horses?
Lucky you! I want a brown and black pony for Christmas.”
“Umm,
horses are way too big for my liking and can be extremely dangerous. Also, it’s
not my ranch, and I won’t be riding any horses.”
“Maybe
Santa will bring me a horse from the ranch. Tell him.”
“I’ll
be staying in a guest apartment over the garage, and I probably won’t run into
Santa.”
Chiara
wondered if the over-the-garage apartment would be an improvement over her
current home. The bland beige walls in the galley kitchen screamed for a
colorful face-lift, and the bland vinyl flooring was outdated. A dose of
Christmas decorations should have been on her to-do list. Unfortunately, between
her classes and home-nursing appointments, she was beyond exhausted.
“Doesn’t
Santa come to Virginia?” Emma asked.
“I’m
sure he does, although I’ve never seen Santa ride a horse.”
Emma
paused. “Do you think you’ll see one of his elves?”
“You
never know.”
“Well,
one of his elves riding a horse is almost as good as the real Santa.”
“I
agree.”
“Just
in case, I’ll tell Santa I want a pony when I see him at the mall.”
Chiara
chuckled. “You do that.” Homesickness welled again. She blew out a breath and
kept her voice light. “I’ll Skype all of you on Christmas Day, okay?”
She
envisioned her parents and Emma attending the festival of lights exhibition in
Kansas City. Oh, how her family delighted in the festivities, marking off the
four Sundays before Christmas on the Advent calendar, skating every weekend on
the city’s outdoor rink. Emma would be the first one on the ice, gliding
fearlessly, not afraid to fall.
Her
chest squeezed. Family togetherness was the most significant part of the
holidays, and she’d once again miss those days with the people she treasured
most.
As
she listened to Emma’s excitement about the cool Harry Potter book she was
reading, Chiara opened the oven to an eruption of heat. According to the
recipe, the cookies were done. According to her eyes, they weren’t. However,
the last time she baked cookies, she had burned them until they were
unrecognizable.
To
be prudent, she removed the raw-looking cookies from the oven and set the trays
on the stove. Hopefully, they didn’t taste the way they looked.
“Are
you still there? Did you hear what I said?” Emma asked.
“Yes.
I’m overjoyed you’re liking the Harry Potter books.” Chiara nodded into the
phone. “I’m baking sugar cookies for my agency’s holiday party and had to take
them out of the oven.”
“Remember
how we try out different recipes for our gingerbread houses?” Emma giggled.
“And how they always collapse?”
“We’ll
experiment with another recipe this year, an easier one.” Chiara bit into a
cookie before realizing it was burning her tongue. Gingerly, she chewed,
swallowed, then groped for a glass of water. “Royal icing will stick the pieces
together like cement.”
“When?
If you’re not here, we won’t be able to build a gingerbread house.”
“I’ll
be home by New Year’s Eve. This nursing gig is only for December.”
If she
lasted that long. The last wealthy family she’d worked for had treated her
poorly. She remembered them well—five people residing in the same home, each
settled into their separate spaces and hardly conversing with one another, disregarding
her as nothing better than invisible hired help. Defensive, she’d managed her
job professionally and kept to herself.
What
gave some people the right to be so dismissive to others just because they had
money?
She
pushed away the memory and finished the cookie. It had hardened already and
tasted delicious even without icing and sprinkles.
“Promise?”
Emma was asking.
“Absolutely.”
“And
if you see Santa at the horse ranch—”
“I’ll
mention your pony request.” Chiara glanced at the clock. “I should get ready
for my agency’s Christmas party, so we’ll talk soon. I love you.”
“I
love you too and I’m giving you a cyber cuddle.”
This
was Christmas, Chiara wanted to say. She needed more than a cuddle. She needed
to be with people she cherished.
“Be
good and tell Mom and Dad I send my love.” She returned Emma’s blown kisses and
then ended the call.
That
squeeze in her chest again, an ache of loneliness. Lips pressed tight, she
moved to the counter where her laptop sat and switched her computer on.
Quickly, she scrolled through the job listings on the nursing agency’s website.
There
it was. Her one-month gig.
Home Nurse. Temporary live-in position assisting a
woman with self-care, companionship and everyday tasks. Immediate opening.
The
agency’s report stated the patient was recovering from a concussion and broken
ankle after missing a vault in a high-stakes horse competition.
Just
like Kevin.
Despite
her efforts to never think about him, her mind brought up an image of her
ex-boyfriend. Of course, his concussion and broken wrist hadn’t been the result
of a horse show. It had been the result of a bar fight.
Why,
why, why were his violent tendencies so clear in hindsight? Fortunately, he’d
never hit her. But if only she’d had that knowledge beforehand, had understood
that a man’s online dating profile didn’t necessarily reveal who the man really
was. Despite her parents’ reservations, she had left home and relocated to
Virginia to be near him. A few months after their relationship began, she
realized he wasn’t the guy for her and broke it off.
Although
she longed for all things Kansas, by that point she’d enrolled in a nursing
degree program and had secured a full-time job.
So
here she was, three years later. Overdrawn on her bank account, in a town she
didn’t consider home, not so much as a hint of a boyfriend, and celebrating
Christmas by herself.
Focus
on the future, not the past, her favorite pastor had once preached, and bring
your views on life into context. A home was more than a building, more than a
place. A home was where she was a participant, not a consumer who followed from
the sidelines.
As
she contemplated this, a message popped into her inbox:
“Miss
Johnson, a change in plans. My sister has a late morning doctor’s appointment.
Please report for your position on Monday afternoon after lunch.”
“Is
four o’clock okay?” she quickly typed. “It would be better for me and give me
more time to pack my things.”
She
pressed send, then felt her body freeze in place.
Since when did a person who’d just gotten a job tell
her employer what hour was best to meet?
An
immediate reply appeared.
“Make
it five. The front gate will open when you drive up. Thanks. Vance Thatcher.”
Sometimes the best gifts are hiding right under your heart.
Josie
Riviera is a USA TODAY bestselling author of contemporary, inspirational, and
historical sweet romances that read like Hallmark movies. She lives in the
Charlotte, NC, area with her wonderfully supportive husband. They share their
home with an adorable shih tzu, who constantly needs grooming, and live in an
old house forever needing renovations.
