A Heartwarming Christmas: A Boxed Set of Twelve Sweet Holiday Romances Read online

  The town’s small businesses thrived on the tourist trade, but the residents truly loved Christmas and had for generations. Who could remember when the founding fathers had named – or renamed – street names and businesses to be Christmas-themed – Jack Frost Avenue, Mistletoe Lane, Tiny Tim’s Toys, Reindeer River. Ted sometimes thought embracing the holiday made all that snow they got from Thanksgiving to New Year’s more bearable.

  From Black Friday to New Year's Eve, the Lincolns rented a small booth in the Tudor building in downtown Christmas Town that served as the local mercantile. In years past, they’d sold apples, apple pies, apple tarts, and his mother’s handcrafts – embroidered tea towels, hot pads, placemats, pillowcases. Since Ted’s dad had fallen last winter and broken his back, his mother hadn’t had the energy to do much more than care for him. This year, Ted was only selling apples.

  His younger sister Abigail should have been here, but she’d texted Ted this morning after he’d left and told him working the booth was lame. For once, Ted agreed with her. It was a holiday tradition in Christmas Town to buy a bag of Lincoln Farms apples to make apple pie. Just not the day after Thanksgiving. Business was non-existent. But they’d signed an agreement to work the booth every day. If they didn’t show, they’d lose their lease money and their location. They had to hold out. In a few weeks, people would be making lots of pies and buying a lot of apples.

  “Apples,” Ted mumbled, leaning on the counter his grandfather had fashioned from two oak apple barrels and cedar planks.

  The crowd ebbed and flowed noisily through the mercantile – a mix of tourists and locals armed with shopping lists and the camaraderie of the first official shopping day of the season. The apple booth attracted passing glances, but no one stopped.

  Red hair flashed through the crowd. Chloe approached, head held high as if she didn’t see him, which meant she did see him and planned to ignore him. It was high school all over again. Chloe and her pride, determined to scorn him. Ted debated whether to greet her or let her pass as if he was invisible.

  Before he could decide, a family of five came around the corner - two adults and three kids of elementary school age. They wore matching reindeer sweaters, and were singing “Deck the Halls.” They held hands, and slowed to a halt in front of Ted’s booth, stopping traffic, which quickly backed up behind Chloe. She was trapped near the end of Ted’s counter.

  Red Rover, Red Rover. Send Chloe right over.

  Chloe stuck her nose in the air as if she’d like to play the grade school game and run through a pair of linked hands, instead of acknowledging Ted, now a mere three feet from her. She couldn’t break the caroling family’s chain without looking like Scrooge before any of the ghosts came for a visit.

  The shoppers behind Chloe pressed forward. She was forced back, bumping into one of the apple barrels. The counter wobbled. She windmilled. Ted caught the counter with one hand and her in the crook of his arm.

  Red hair tumbled over his blue flannel shirt sleeve. She smelled of coconut and rebellion, more like spring break than Christmas.

  “This did not happen,” Chloe said staunchly as she righted herself.

  “Should I have let you fall?”

  Her gaze swept the floor, the wall of carolers, anywhere but Ted. “Is it stupid to say yes?”

  The family finished singing to a round of brief applause and moved on. Unfortunately for Chloe, the waiting crowd was bunched behind her, and lunged forward, forcing Chloe into the apple stall.

  Ted gave her his friendliest, sell-the-mill-to-me smile. “Miss Wright, can I interest you in some apples? Each purchase comes with our old family recipe for pie.”

  “I’m having a flashback to fifteen years ago.” A smile might have teased the corner of her mouth. “Why are you working the apple booth, Teddy?”

  “It’s Ted and – ”

  “Because I thought only the kids in your family worked the booth.” She crossed her arms and looked down her nose at him.

  Ted straightened the recipe cards on the counter, refusing the put-down. “Technically, Abigail and I are still the kids in the family. My niece Lizzie, Abigail’s daughter, is only two.”

  That thawed her. Her hands fell to her sides and her tone turned compassionate. “But isn’t Abigail still in school?”

  “She’s a high school senior. I worry about what she’s going to do with her life, especially since Lizzie’s father refused to marry her so he could pursue a college degree.” And hadn’t that stung. Frank Farasi chose the dishonorable path, when Abigail had expected him to marry her, since that’s what Ted did with Gwen.

  Chloe took his measure with a frown, and then turned to study the other booths and passersby, possibly noting that to them the apple booth was invisible. “There didn’t used to be so many vendors here."

  “Sadly, no.”

  She did a quick inventory of the barrels against the wall filled with red McIntosh apples, and the stacks of brown paper bags and rolls of red ribbon. The Lincoln Farms plastic banner hung on the wall behind him, sagging a bit in the middle. “You used to have twice the space.”

  “Sadly, yes.” The increasing number of businesses vying for a spot in the mercantile meant that booth footprints were smaller to all but those willing to pay more.

  Her slender copper brows drew down. “Your mom sold candied apples and apple pie by the slice.”

  This was becoming a case study in Lincoln Farms’ downfall. “She’s mostly retired.” Drained from caring for Dad. Truthfully, lately the entire family was drained.

  “And tea towels with apples she embroidered on them.”

  “Mostly retired,” he repeated, noting Chloe still had three small freckles on the bridge of her nose.

  Chloe’s gaze bounced from booths to crowd to apples to Ted. There was a spark of something in her blue eyes, something he hadn’t seen there since that one night they’d shared – interest. “You need a sales hook.”

  He should have known that spark in her eyes didn't have much to do with him. “Forget about a hook. I just need more sales.”

  She studied his apples. “I can help you.” She said it with such certainty, he almost believed her.

  “I want to buy your property, not hire you.” He couldn’t afford both. At her prices, he couldn’t afford either.

  “I don’t want to sell.” Her cheeks pinkened as she added in a guarded voice, “To you.” And then she sighed heavily. “But I need a job and everyone in town seems to be fully staffed, but you.”

  She picked up an apple from a barrel and tossed it into the air, catching it easily. “I’m not looking for an hourly wage. For every three apples I sell, you give me a dollar.” She thrust out her hand to shake. “Deal?”

  Shoppers continued streaming past without acknowledging them.

  Ted hesitated. Not because he didn’t want to sell apples, although he was convinced she wouldn’t sell any. But because he didn’t want to touch her. The last time had been disastrous. He’d discovered he couldn’t keep his hands off her.

  But there she stood, offering a truce of sorts. And here he stood, in desperate need of a truce that might lead to her agreeing to sell the mill.

  “Deal.” Their hands met and almost instantly exploded apart. The electricity of Chloe’s touch shot through him from fingers to toes. He remembered the heat of her kiss, the softness of her skin, and the warmth of her breath mingled with his. He remembered whispered promises, heartfelt laughter, and the way she felt so alive in his arms. Memories like that should be erasable.

  Chloe backed into a barrel (again), nearly falling (again), and looked panic-stricken (again). “Stand in the corner and don’t talk to me.” Her words echoed the demeaning tone of his grade school rejections of her.

  For sanity’s sake, Ted backed away.

  A part of him wanted her to disappear into the crowd. A part of him wanted her to sell every last apple he’d brought. But the most foolhardy part of him wanted to hold her again and never let go.


  ~*~

  “Get your holiday juggling kit,” Chloe sing-songed above the cacophony of shuffling shoppers, whose eyes were starting to take on an early-afternoon glaze. “Five dollars and it includes a lesson and three apples.” She sent three red apples on a circuit through the air, ignoring Teddy behind her, the same way she’d ignored the magnetism of his touch moments earlier. Why did he have to be her kryptonite?

  A few families stopped to watch her juggle. The children were mesmerized.

  “Mommy.” The word had a hand-tugging quality to it, not that Chloe could afford to look. “I want apples.”

  “Five dollars?” A man’s shopping-weary voice. “It’s just apples.”

  “On sale. Today only,” Chloe improvised, never missing a beat. “Four dollars.” She sent the apples higher in the air. “These are magical, organic apples grown in Santa’s Orchard in Christmas Town. When you’re done juggling, you make a wish and take a bite.”

  “Mommy. Magic apples.” Such wistful innocence.

  It tugged at her heart. Chloe could remember being that age, breathless with wanting as she stood in front of a window display full of toys. Her biological parents had had no money and therefore no time for dreams.

  “Who wants to try? No purchase necessary.” Chloe hoped she wouldn’t have to drop the price to three dollars to make a sale. It was time to up the salesmanship. She caught all three apples easily and smiled at a gap-toothed boy of about seven. “How about you?” She held out a hand.

  The boy stepped forward and took her hand, staring at the red apples she held.

  “We’ll practice with my apples and then you can take your own home,” Chloe said, leading him closer to the counter.

  “I thought she said no purchase necessary,” grumbled the tall man behind the boy.

  Chloe rolled her shoulders and broadened her smile. Selling was all about an easy-going pitch.

  A crowd had formed. Chloe hoped the boy wasn’t as klutzy as she’d been as a child. She showed him how to toss one apple from palm to palm. Then she moved on to tossing two apples – one low, one high.

  The boy was a circus-performing savant. He took to juggling like a duck to water. Teddy should pay him to come by every day.

  “Are you ready to try three?” At the boy’s nod, Chloe glanced over to Teddy and mouthed, “Catch.” As in: No apples will touch the ground during this performance.

  Nothing like bruised and broken merchandise to ruin a sale.

  Chloe stood on one side of the boy. Teddy on the other.

  No apples were harmed in the boy’s juggling performance.

  A line began to form.

  In a few hours, they’d sold all Teddy’s apples.

  ~*~

  “Where did you learn to juggle?” Ted asked as Chloe helped him load empty barrels into his truck in the deepening darkness of the dinner hour. He handed her a wad of cash.

  She’d worked four hours with a broad smile, a cheerful voice, and a kind word for everyone but Ted. He should have felt grateful. Instead, he felt like he was missing something.

  “My dad.” She smiled wistfully, her face illuminated by parking lot lights. “I had trouble sitting still as a kid.”

  “I remember.” His smile might have matched hers, if not for the memories her being a wiggle-worm brought back.

  Chloe had fidgeted so much in school she’d always had to anchor a row in choir. She’d been kicked out of the school library more times than he could count. And playground freeze tag? Forget about it.

  Her smile dropped between them with silent, atomic intensity. Perhaps sensing the fall-out, the bundled, shopping-bag laden customers of the mercantile gave them a wide berth.

  “I’m sorry.” Ted slammed the tailgate of the old Ford shut.

  Another mistake. Her gaze landed on the dent by the “D” in Ford. It was the same truck he’d driven in high school. She stepped back and shoved her hands in her jacket pockets, as if he and that truck were radioactive and deadly to the touch. “I don’t need your apologies.”

  He doubted that, but pressed on anyway, telling himself it wasn’t because he missed her or needed to cleanse his soul, but because of the mill. “So we have a clean slate? Past mistakes erased?”

  “What? You’d forget I was a total dweeb? And I’d forget you romanced your way into my pants one night?” From her pocket, she produced an apple with a bruise on top and sunk her teeth into the side.

  Her cavalier attitude bit him deeper than the bite she’d taken of the apple. It gnawed on nerves and nibbled at his patience. “I never lied to you.” He’d loved her. He’d told the truth. The fact that she thought less of him for his choice undercut his manhood. “And yes, we’d start over.” He paused to swallow back his pride. “I’ll hire you to work the booth during the holiday season, and you be open to my negotiations to buy the mill.”

  She stood as if frozen in place; not so much as a strand of red hair stirred. The last time he’d seen Chloe that still his lips had been about to land gently on hers. “Why would you hire me?”

  “Because you create magic out of nothing,” he said without thinking.

  “I do.” She nodded.

  “Because people are drawn to you.” She was as magnetic as a big-eyed, playful puppy.

  “Well,” she said, loosening up enough to meet his gaze. “You do have that scowl. It scares the customers.”

  He didn’t scowl.

  Chloe arched her brow, daring him to deny it. “If you want to maximize sales, you could use additional inventory. Maybe rotate through different apple products so the locals would check back in from time to time.”

  His inventory was limited to raw apples, but Chloe had skills as a marketer that he lacked. “Bottom line, I need you, Chloe.” Wrong words. Wrong time for déjà vu. Backpedal, dude. “Economically,” he added quickly. “I need you economically.” She’d sold eight-hundred dollars worth of magic apples. Parents bought two, three, or four bags at a time.

  Chloe took another bite of apple, chewing slowly, making him wait. “You still have a way with words, Teddy.” She tossed the apple into a nearby trash can and turned away. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Chloe Wright was working for him. Ted didn’t know whether to be happy or sad.

  How many more shopping days until Christmas?

  Chapter 4

  “What’s this I hear about you selling juggling lessons, Ted?” Uncle Ben entered the barn at Lincoln Farms wearing worn overalls and a snow-dusted jacket that hung from his wiry frame.

  One thing about living in Christmas Town – news traveled fast.

  Ted was almost done unloading empty apple barrels and stacking them in front of the industrial-size, controlled-atmosphere storage unit. Cold storage limited the rate of fruit ripening or over-ripening. The built-in took up nearly three-quarters of the space in the barn and allowed them to sell apples for months after harvest. By tomorrow morning, Ted had to fill at least six barrels with apples, plus fifty boxes that were being picked up first thing tomorrow by a distributor for local grocery stores. December stretched out ahead of Ted with back-aching intensity.

  Ten years older than Ted’s father, Uncle Ben was bent from years of farming and had officially retired last January, about the time Dad had his accident. Ben didn’t offer to help Ted unload, and Ted didn’t ask. Ben’s back was in bad shape. Dad’s back was still healing from his surgery. Was this Ted’s future? A body broken before its time? A life spent worrying about making ends meet? He hoped buying the mill from Chloe would change that.

  “Close the big doors, will you, Ben?” Ted blew out a frost-cloud breath. Thinking did him no good. He had to keep his head down and keep working. Running the farm had seemed easy a decade ago with three healthy Lincoln men, but now it was a constant struggle with just Ted’s shoulders carrying the load.

  Ben scratched at his thinning gray hair. “Are you avoiding my question? What’s this I hear about juggling?”

  “Chloe Wright had an idea. Tu
rns out it sold a lot of apples.” Now that Chloe wasn’t standing in front of him full of life and stubbornness and what-ifs, Ted was feeling better about hiring her.

  “That’s our first sellout Black Friday in years.” Uncle Ben slid the big barn doors back in place, shutting out the snow and the wind.

  Ted’s mother entered through the small barn door to the side. She wore Dad’s red Mackinaw coat, more wrinkles than she should have at her age, and a curious expression. “Chloe Wright sold apples with you today?” Her mom radar was on. She couldn’t wait until Ted came inside the house to confirm the rumors.

  “Yep.” The lines of communication in Christmas Town were clearly up and working.

  “Ted sold all the apples.” Uncle Ben may have been slight, but he had a loud voice. “Can you believe it?”

  “No.” Mom gave Ted a doubting look. “How did that happen?”

  “Hey.” Ted rolled an empty barrel in front of the storage unit. “You make it sound like I can’t sell apples.”

  “You don’t usually sell any when you’re by yourself,” Ben pointed out.

  “It’s because he always frowns.” Abigail appeared in the doorway in jeans and a cream-colored cable-knit sweater. She had Lizzie bundled in a pink snowsuit and propped on her hip. “I heard you and some lady put on a show today and sold lots of magic apples.” Her eye-roll was from a high school senior playbook – perky, spunky, cute. “You don’t expect me to tap dance when I work the booth tomorrow, do you?”

  “He doesn’t need you,” Uncle Ben insisted. “He hired Chloe Wright. She sells apples like Johnny Appleseed.”

  “Sweet,” Abigail chirped. “I have things to do.”

  “Like what?” Ted asked. If she said homework, he’d give her a pass. He wanted his sister to go to college. If she said she was going to hang out with her baby daddy, Frank, he’d insist Abigail work her shift.

  Lizzie extended her puffy, pink arms to Ted. She was the spitting image of Abigail at two – engaging smile, milk chocolate eyes, chubby pink cheeks. Only the black curly hair was different. Ted ignored the ache in his back and plucked her from Abigail's embrace.