| |
“Eyes left,” Hope crooned. She pulled onto Poinsettia Drive and stopped the VW camper in front of a two-story colonial. The eaves and ionic columns twinkled with running Christmas lights. Against the starlit night sky, it was magical, as always. “Look at my childhood home, kids. Just look at it! Isn’t it a beauty?”
“Mo-om, we know,” Melody droned like a typically bored nine-year-old.
“You showed us when we moved here ten days ago,” Todd said, his young voice squeaky.
Had it only been ten days? It had felt like a lifetime. Selling the pie shop to pay off Zach’s debts. Purchasing the VW. Finding a job that could cover the bills.
“Yes, but it wasn’t dressed up for Christmas then.” Hope glanced over her shoulder at her children and her heart melted. How she adored them, whining and all.
She eyed the house again and felt a bittersweet tug on her heart. Her parents had always decorated it to the nines. When Hope had been forced to sell it in order to bail Zach out of one of his investments, she’d thrown in every stitch of décor, and the new owners had been ecstatic, even if not as gung-ho as her parents who’d put up the lights the day after Thanksgiving.
“It’s very pretty.” Melody toyed with her long blond braids. She’d insisted that Hope plait her hair today, claiming she was too old to wear a ponytail.
“It is, isn’t it?” Despite the past two week’s disappointments, Hope still wanted to enjoy Christmas. She loved the memories. And the aromas of peppermint, pine, and cinnamon. And the smiling faces. And the overwhelming feeling of goodwill to all. She wished these new memories would magically erase the horrible ones created by Zach. If Steve Waldren had punched him, how might that have changed the course of her and her children’s history? She pushed thoughts of Steve aside. Last week, she’d read that he’d gotten engaged, not that it mattered. Any fantasies of him and her crossing paths again now that she had moved out of Portland were slim and nil. “See the tree in the plate glass window?” Hope asked. “That’s where we put ours when we lived here.”
“Yes, Mom, we know,” Melody said, exasperated. “We visited Gran and Pop-Pop five years ago. Don’t you remember? Gran made me sugar-free sugar cookies and sugar-free pumpkin pie. We had turkey dinner with all the trimmings.”
“I ate cranberry sauce!” Todd cried.
That was all you ate, Hope mused. Fortunately, he didn’t have a problem with sugar like his sister.
“And Gran let us open one present on Christmas Eve.” Melody held up a single finger.
Hope could still hear her mother saying One, only one, and her eyes grew moist. It had been her mother’s litany throughout Hope’s life.
“Don’t you remember?” Todd’s voice cracked. He’d just gotten over a cold.
Hope recalled all too well. Every minute of that last Christmas together. Her parents’ loving faces. Their warm hugs. “Let’s sing Gran’s favorite song,” she chimed. “Okay, here we go. ‘Hark the Herald Angels Sing.’”
As she launched into the song, her last memory of her parents was so powerful she could barely breathe. She missed them so much and wished—
Stop, she chided, knowing what her father would say. We can’t turn back the hands of time.
“C’mon. Hark the herald angels sing, glory to—” Hope paused, waiting for her children to join in.
Begrudgingly, they complied. “The newborn king.”
Hope continued on, heading toward the center of town. Hope Valley had done it up right. Twinkling white lights lined all the buildings. Even the gazebo in the roundabout at the intersection of Pine Lane and Main was resplendent. The nativity scene in the gazebo brought a smile to Hope’s face as she recalled the first time she’d ever seen it. On that night, like tonight, there had been a fresh dusting of snow. Hope Valley was low enough in elevation that it didn’t snow heavily, and sometimes the town needed to enhance the holiday scenery with fake snow, but not this year.
“Mom,” Todd said. “I like the holiday flags on the lampposts.”
“Me, too,” she murmured.
“Hey, can we watch Steve Waldren on TV tonight?” he asked out the blue.
They were huge fans of his show. It was one of the reasons Hope had continued to think about him over the past few weeks. She saw him almost nightly. “We’ll see,” she said.
Melody said, “Mom, can we write Christmas cards to Daddy, too?”
Hope deflated. Daddy. The reason Todd had russet hair and Melody had adorable freckles. The reason both had an affinity for numbers. The reason Hope had been forced to sell her beloved bakery and was underwater, struggling to make ends meet.
“Yes,” she said finally, unsure of Zach’s address. He hadn’t touched base with her since he’d grabbed the keys to the Explorer and stormed out. She doubted one of Santa’s post office elves would be able to locate him.
––––––––
The next day after dropping the children at Hope Valley Elementary, Hope headed to Aroma Café, where she had been lucky enough to land a job the day she’d pulled into town. Her boss had known her parents, and even though Hope didn’t have a lick of experience as a waitress, he’d said he knew she was trustworthy and talented. Luckily, having owned and operated her pie shop, Hope wasn’t without skills. She could easily carry three plates on an arm and skirt oncoming traffic in the kitchen.
Driving along Main Street, Hope checked out the window displays. Hope Valley was known for its charming art galleries, but the quaint shops lured tourists, too. Each had adorned their windows for the holidays. The display at Good Sports featured a Santa shooting hoops. Dreamery Creamery had frosted its windows with fake snow. The Christmas tree in the Curious Reader, the bookstore once owned and operated by her parents, was aglow with white lights that reflected off the silver and gold ornaments. Fondly, she recalled drinking in the scent of new books as her mother pulled them from cardboard boxes and arranged them on shelves.
Hope noted the line forming outside Sweet Place and murmured, “What delicious samples are you offering today? Gingersnaps? Peppermint pinwheels?” There hadn’t been a position open at the bakery when she’d arrived in town; otherwise, she would have tried for a job there before landing the one at the café.
She slowed as she passed the Toy Palace so she could take in the adorable ballerina marionettes dancing in its display window. The banner over the front door boasted that the Palace was sponsoring a make-your-own-teddy bear session on Saturday. Yesterday, as she’d tootled around town with the children, Hope had diverted Todd’s attention from the store. His well-loved teddy bear would have to be his companion for another year. By then, maybe she would have a larger savings account. If she was ever going to own a pie shop again, she had to scrimp. All she could set aside with her current paycheck was ten dollars a week. At that rate it would take her years to build up a buy-in for another bakery, but she was determined to succeed, Zach be damned. He would not destroy her dream.
Minutes later, Hope pulled into the parking lot at the café and headed inside. Thanks to its green-and-red décor, the café seemed decorated for Christmas year-round. Even the uniforms of red slacks, white blouses, and green aprons were jolly. During the holidays, the addition of wreaths hanging in each window added to the cheery look.
“Hope, can you reboot the music?” Gabe asked after she clocked in.
“You bet.”
With cherub cheeks and white hair, Gabe Greeley had the soul of a saint and the full-bellied laughter of a happy man. The day she’d walked in, Gabe had put a hand on her arm and asked what had sent her back to Hope Valley. She couldn’t give voice to her pain. To what Zach had done to her. To what he’d done to their kids, leaving them without a father. She’d answered, Family.
She pushed thoughts of the past from her mind, tied on her apron, and tended to the music.
Hope enjoyed working at Aroma Café. The clientele were polite, and the cozy atmosphere was warm and inviting. The only thing she didn’t appreciate was Gabe’s preference for cheesy Christmas classics, the songs Hope used to sing at the top of her lungs. She particularly despised “Frosty the Snowman” and “You’re a Mean One, Mr. Grinch.” After three days on the job, she’d tried to talk Gabe into playing instrumental Christmas music, like the strains of Kenny G, Winton Marsalis, or Yoyo Ma, or classics like “O, Little Town of Bethlehem,” but he wouldn’t go for it. People wanted to hear the silly ones, he’d told her.
She cued up “Santa Claus is Coming to Town” and returned to her spot at the counter.
Gabe said, “Next, can you do something with those ornaments?”
“On it, boss.”
In a mad dash last Friday, Hope and Gabe had decorated the tree next to the entrance. Well, Hope had. Gabe had brought out the boxes of ornaments and lights and had put her in charge of them while he’d attended a daytime holiday party at the mayor’s house. Hope, who had been too busy for words—a busload of tourists had come to town for the holiday art festival—had hung the ornaments willy-nilly. She’d intended to do a better job when there was a lull, but there hadn’t been one. When Gabe returned that afternoon, he’d added the angel topper and had jokingly critiqued her ragtag assembly. Hope had promised to fix it when she found the time. Now, apparently, was it. Traffic at the café hadn’t picked up yet.
“When you’re done with that,” Gabe said, “help Zerena fill the sugar dispensers.”
“But first, girlfriend”—Zerena bounded into view, her raven hair bouncing in its snood— “you have to try my new concoction.”
Hope and Zerena Saunders, a beautiful Latina woman with the most gorgeous amber eyes and flawless skin, had played on the high school basketball team together. Hope was tall, but nothing like Zerena, who towered over her.
Zerena handed Hope a mug brimming with pink whipped cream. A candy cane jutted from the foamy splendor. “It’s my new specialty. Hot chocolate with peppermint whipped cream. Taste.”
Hope took a sip and hummed her approval. “Wow. Double-wow.”
“I’m trying to convince Gabe to let me spruce up some of our standards.”
“This rocks,” Hope chimed, thinking of Melody, who used the phrase a lot. She high-fived Zerena. “I vote yes!”
“Glad you approve.”
Hope and Zerena had lost touch after Zerena moved to New York to pursue her dream of becoming a supermodel. Over the years, she’d landed a few jobs, but her career never took off. Disheartened, she’d returned home to help her mother tend to her aging grandmother and scored the waitressing position at the café. To Hope’s delight, they’d instantly re-bonded.
“Drink more.” Zerena flicked a finger. “Be sure.”
Hope did as asked and deliberated. “Hmm. Maybe it needs a little more whipped cream?”
“I knew it. You hate it.” Zerena reached for the mug.
“Don’t. Touch.” Hope protected her drink as if it was her bear cub. “Mine! Mine, mine, mine.”
“You sound like Todd,” Zerena teased, and knuckled Hope. She hadn’t married and didn’t have children. She wanted to, but she wasn’t sure she’d have the patience for a husband, let alone kids. She often said she was fascinated by how Hope made it all work.
Except Hope didn’t, did she? Not with all the bills and no family support. She was hanging on by a thread. At least she had the VW camper.
“Hi, Hope,” a man called. “Hi, hi, hi!”
She turned and saw Lincoln Waldren waving to her from his favorite spot, table four. He was seated with his mother and father and . . . was that Steve?
Hope tucked an errant hair behind her ear, smoothed her apron, and approached the table. “Good morning, Waldrens,” she said.
“This is my brother Steve,” Lincoln said, enthusiastically.
“Hi,” Hope said, surprised to see Steve with his family.
According to his parents, his demanding schedule made it impossible for him to visit. Handsome in high school, he was even more good-looking now, with attentive warm eyes and an engaging smile. His father, Frank, who owned Good Sports, was an older version of Steve, with salt-and-pepper wavy hair. At thirty-three, Hope’s age, Lincoln was a younger, lankier version of his brother, though he didn’t and never would have Steve’s presence.
“He’s in town for a few days,” Lincoln said. “No, not a few,” he revised quickly. “That’s three. He’s here for two days.” He held up two fingers. “Just two. Two. Two. Two—”
“Okay, Son.” Ellery patted Lincoln’s arm. “Look at the menu.” Lincoln was on the spectrum. He had a tendency to talk at a fast clip. One of his parents always accompanied him to the café.
“Say hi, Steve.” Lincoln nudged his brother.
“Don’t I know you?” Steve asked, squinting as if drumming up a memory. “Holly, right?”
“Hope,” she replied. “We’ve actually met. I’m from here, but I lived in—”
“I want banana nutmeg pancakes,” Lincoln announced, cutting her off.
“Lincoln, dear,” his mother said. “Be patient.” Ellery, who owned the year-round Christmas Attic, reminded Hope of Mrs. Claus, without the costume. She was a charming woman with wide eyes and apple cheeks and so few wrinkles that Hope wasn’t sure she’d ever frowned. “I like how you’ve braided your hair, dear.” Ellery pointed at Hope. “It really shows off the blond highlights.”
“My daughter did it for me,” Hope said. Melody had insisted on making multiple skinny braids for her mother. The moment Hope had arrived at the café, like always, she had snared them into a ponytail and had tucked them into her snood, but a few hairs always escaped.
“Hope is our favorite new waitress, Steve,” Lincoln said.
“New?”
“She just moved here,” Ellery explained.
“Isn’t she pretty?” Lincoln asked.
“Very.” Steve’s eyes twinkled with amusement.
Ellery bit back a smile and redirected the conversation. “How are the sugar cookies coming, Hope?”
Gabe had put Hope in charge of Aroma’s annual cookie decorating contest. For the past three days, she’d been making oversized Christmas tree-shaped sugar cookies. The freezer in the rear of the café was almost full.
“Only a few dozen to go,” Hope said.
“How many have you made so far?” Steve asked, sounding as friendly as he did when he was on TV, a quality that had earned him the moniker, the Voice.
“Ten dozen.”
He whistled. “That had to be a daunting task.”
“Not really. I used to be a baker.”
“Used to be?”
Clearly, he didn’t remember having seen her at Pie in the Sky and didn’t recall coming to her rescue when her miserable cur of a husband had landed the final blow. Oh, sure, he’d asked Don’t I know you? a second ago, and the name Holly was pretty close to Hope, but that could’ve been a good guess. Maybe he’d thought that was her name in high school. Whatever.
“Long story,” she murmured.
“I’d love to hear it sometime.”
Hope felt her cheeks warm.
“She makes all the pies here, now,” Lincoln said. “Tell him the list. Tell him.”
Hope didn’t know where to begin. Cheesecake pie with a hint of nutmeg and cloves had been the first one she’d suggested to Gabe. Cranberry apple made with tart Granny Smiths was the current hit. “They’re listed on the specials.”
“I had cardamom pumpkin pie here last night,” Steve said. “Best crust I’ve ever eaten. I’m impressed.”
Because of the kids, Hope didn’t work night shifts so she hadn’t seen the Waldrens.
“Steve’s fiancée doesn’t bake,” Lincoln said. “Steve does.”
Hope glanced at Steve. “Really? You’re a man of many talents.”
His cheeks reddened, which made him look vulnerable and that much more attractive. “I love making snickerdoodles. It calms my mind.”
“His fiancée doesn’t even like to eat,” Lincoln went on. “She’s really, really skinny. Bro”—Lincoln punched Steve’s arm—"you should leave her and marry Hope.”
Steve chuckled. “Okay, buddy, TMI.”
“TMI,” Lincoln said. “Too much information. FYI, for your information. BTW, by the way.” He ticked the phrases off on his fingertips. “Steve says by the way all the time on TV.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Yes, you do.” Lincoln altered his voice to match Steve’s. “By the way, folks, did you know—” He chortled. “Steve is a sports announcer, Hope. He’s memorized all the statistics of all the players. Every one of them. Give her your business card, Steve. Go on.”
“Linc, c’mon, man,” Steve protested.
“On the way here, he showed me his new card.” Lincoln flapped a hand. “Give her one.”
Apparently unable to say no to his brother, Steve pulled a card from his pocket. “Here you go.”
Hope accepted it. “I know what Steve does, Lincoln. My children watch your brother every night.” Hope wouldn’t admit that she viewed the show along with them.
“He’s not on every night,” Lincoln said. “Only five nights a week. Five—”
Steve knuckled Lincoln. “I’m sure that’s what she meant.”
Hope tucked the card into her apron pocket and raised her order pad, pencil poised. “What would you like for breakfast, Steve?”
A cell phone lying faceup on the table buzzed. Steve glanced at the readout and apologized to his parents. “I have to answer this. Work.”
He scooted out of the booth, accidentally bumping into Hope. She sidled left; so did he. She moved back to the right, losing her pencil. She bent to retrieve it, as did Steve. When they knocked heads reaching for it, both of them laughed.
“What a klutz I am,” Steve said, picking up the pencil.
“No, I’m the klutz,” Hope replied.
He inhaled. “You smell nice. What’s the perfume you’re wearing?”
“Eau de café,” she joked.
Chuckling, he got to his feet. She rose, too, teetering a tad. He steadied her by the shoulder, and the warmth of his touch zinged through her. Hope shimmied away, refusing to let on how he’d affected her.
Steve handed her the pencil. “Here you go.”
“Um, your order before you go outside?” Once again, Hope held the pencil over her pad.
“Two scrambled eggs, crisp bacon, and coffee . . . hmm, how do I want it?”
“How about an Americano?”
“My favorite. And a piece of pie. You choose the flavor.” He winked. “I trust your judgment.”
As Hope was putting up the order at the counter, Zerena sashayed to her. “My, my, you and the Voice seemed to have hit it off.”
“Get out of here. He has a fiancée. In Portland.”
“The weather girl? That won’t last. Brr.” Zerena shivered and melodramatically clutched her arms. “I feel a cold freeze coming on.”
