Christmas in Cheshire Bay
Can a Christmas miracle happen even if you don’t believe in the magic?
Mona has never gotten over her last visit to the family's summer beach home thirteen years ago. That was the heartbreaking day her beloved mother passed away. Now, with her sister planning a beach wedding on Christmas Day, Mona must confront her past. All of it. No matter how much it hurts.
Upon arrival to her family's summer home, a twist of fate has her in desperate need of a plan B. In walks Jesse, the sweet--and handsome--next door neighbor, offering up a guest room in his house. Jesse's the type of guy that believes in all the Christmas magic, and wants to remind Mona what it's all about, even if she's not so sure she has any belief left.
But like Mona, Jesse hides beneath his own scars and secrets. Can these two help each other heal old wounds even when their past hurts resurface? Will Mona be able to drop her walls and embrace the magic of the season and finally heal the damage from Christmas' past?
# # # Chapter One# # #
Audio books were my favourite, and I could listen to them for hours, if the narrator was any good. However, the book playing over the speakers of my car was terrible, the voice grating yet monotone. It was supposed to be a fairy-tale retelling but instead of hoping the proverbial damsel in distress would be rescued by the supposed hero, I found myself wishing he’d run in the opposite direction as far away from her as possible.
Doing the same, I ejected the CD with a huff, tossingCassidy’s Cryptic Cauldrononto the passenger seat, but the disc missed and hit the floorboard instead.
“Oh, for crying out loud.” I groaned and gripped the wheel as I bent over the consul.
The highway was deserted, so I took my eyes off the road for a split second and stretched out my arm until the edge of my fingertips touched the CD. Slowly I inched it toward me and grabbed it firmly, putting it back on the seat.
Correcting myself as I had drifted just over the centre line, I yanked the wheel hard to the right. Suddenly, a boom came from the front passenger side and the car tipped on the forward edge.
“Shit!”
I gripped the wheel with all my strength and stabbed the hazard lights button on my dash, nearly chipping a manicured fingernail. The car was heavy and difficult to control all the while the strangest sound circled around me.
My best guess? I blew a tire.
Slowly, shoulders scrunched up against my neck trying to drown out the awful sound, I drove the car over to the side of the road and put it into park.
I took a sip of my still-warm cinnamon-scented latte and reached into the back seat for my hat and mitts before I killed the engine.
Thrusting my fake-fur lined gloves on, I stepped onto the vacant road and walked over to the passenger side, staring at what was left of the shredded tire with a heavy sigh.
“Well, that’s bloody fantastic.” I tossed my hands into the air and let out an ear-piercing scream into the void of snow-covered, coniferous trees.
I was still a good thirty minutes outside of Cheshire Bay, and that was the nearest town.
The universe continued to rain down its parade of nastiness. If it wasn’t one thing going wrong over this blessed holiday, it was nine other things. Why couldn’t it be January already? Nothing major in my life ever went wrong in January. It was often too cold.
I opened the trunk and lifted the lid where underneath sat the spare. Never in my whole life had I changed a tire – I had no idea how that even worked, but YouTube would have a video. However, each video was in excess of twenty minutes, and my rapidly draining phone in the sub-zero temperatures didn’t have that kind of battery.
I should’ve stayed home. Made up some wild excuse to convince my sister I wasn’t making the drive, sent a sizable cheque to excuse my absence, and called it a day. That would’ve been better than making the painful drive to a place I swore I’d never want to see again. Instead, I’m stranded on the side of the highway, in the middle of nowhere, a good half hour drive from her place.
From our family’s summer home.
The one Mom died in fourteen years ago.
As anger at being delayed with another unexpected issue boiled, I dialled Lily’s number after climbing back into my cooling down car.
My younger sister picked up on the first ring. “Hey, Mona.”
“Hey, Lil. I’m going to be late.”
Majorly late.
“You’re not coming, are you?” My little sister’s voice fell in a self-defeating way.
My breath was visible in the glow from my phone, and I swore the dampness was freezing into miniature crystals.