FROM THE DESK OF AUTHOR CHRISTY PASTORE
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CHAPTER ONE
Amy
Today is not off to a good start.
My mom’s voice rises up like the Ghost of Christmas Right Now in the back of my mind. “You should’ve left when I told you.”
Christmas Eve, Eve and I’m stuck in a New Jersey airport.
Alone.
Tired.
Hungry.
Yeah, I should have left the day before yesterday like she suggested. And maybe I should’ve listened to my brother, Alex, when he suggested I fly out yesterday morning with him, my sister-in-law, Ella, and their kids.
Nope, work was more important.
I blame the weather people. They kept changing the snowfall totals. Not only that, it was supposed to be a light dusting. Born and raised in Michigan, lake effect snow is nothing. I’ve driven in worse conditions than this.
Pfft. Meteorologists.
As long as I’m blaming people. I’m going to add my psychic to that list. She neglected to tell me that this would be the storm of the entire winter.
Why didn’t she see this coming?
Truth be told, I should’ve stopped seeking her advice years ago. Sure, she’s been right about a few things—job and health stuff. But Michele missed the mark on the tall, dark, and handsome man that I was destined to meet and fall head over heels in love with.
Oh, sure there have been a few men. None of them were exactly tall. Not a one of them had dark hair...light brown maybe chestnut. Not jet black.
Blowing out a deep breath, I tear open the wrapper on the Almond Joy and bite into it. I swipe my phone and then tap the screen, wavering between getting a hotel room or just staying here.
The Marriott is right next door. Will the bar be open? Because I’m thinking getting blitzed is a good idea. Or is it lit?
Cranberry martinis and me…after three…hammered is what I’ll be.
The gate agent’s voice crackles over the speaker. “Flight 1212 from Dallas has been rerouted and is now arriving at terminal A, gate 18.”
Guess I won’t be totally alone tonight. Maybe there’s a tall, dark, and handsome cowboy I can chat up. I take another bite of my candy bar and watch the gate agents open the door for the passengers. These people will either spend the night here or try to maneuver through the snowy streets.
Stretching my arms over my head, I stand and walk to the trash can. I toss the candy wrapper into the bin and amble back to my chair.
The bag of nacho cheese Doritos is my main course for tonight’s Christmas Eve, Eve dinner.
Ugh.
All I can think about are my mom’s homemade mashed potatoes and that yummy ham that was waiting for me. Let’s not forget the rolls that no doubt my adorable niece and nephew helped Nana make.
Should have left earlier.
My head falls back, and I keep the tears at bay. I focus on the lines that decorate the ceiling.
The faint sounds of chatter and shuffling directs my attention to the people spilling into the seating area.
The opening notes of “Santa Baby” play over the speakers.
I start to hum along and that’s when I lock eyes with Mister tall, dark, and handsome.
Holy...silent night.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand straight up.
Dark, sexy waves that touch just below his scruffy jawline. Buttoned up white shirt underneath a leather jacket and untucked from dark denim jeans that stretch tight across his thick thighs.
Casual, yet commanding.
Same as he was back then. My first crush just walked off a plane and back into my life.
Fate? Karma—she’s having a good laugh right now.
He blinks at me. Oh, he recognizes me all right.
“Amy. Amy Robertsen.” His gravelly voice washes over me, and my heart skitters in my chest. Despite the fact that my cheeks feel like they are on fire, I manage to smile.
“Hi, Spencer.”
He takes a seat next to me. My cheeks are outright smoldering.
Those blue eyes, deep and knowing, travel across my face and down my body before returning to my eyes. Slow, so achingly slow I can feel every inch of me through his gaze.
Spencer Ward, my high school crush. We have history.
You had one kiss. One brief moment. Hardly history.
“What are you doing here?”
“My flight was delayed then canceled,” I tell him. “So, I’m spending the night here.”
“No way,” he shakes his head. “I can’t let you stay here. Come on.” He nods over his thick shoulder.
I managed to fly under the radar in high school. While Spencer, he soared above and beyond. Star of the football team. The quarterback. The guy who won two state championships.
“Oh, my god, are you Spencer Ward?” a young woman’s voice squeaks out.
He smiles that slow heart stopping smile and I want to roll my eyes. It’s the same smile that got me pinned behind Santa’s Workshop at the mall.
The afternoon where he kissed me.
If only I could forget him. Forget the kiss.
But when your first crush is famous—it kind of stays in your orbit. Permanently.
Spencer turns to face the young woman. “I am. How are you doing?”
She smiles and brings up her phone. “Really good. Do you mind if we take a photo?”
“Not at all, after all it’s Christmas.”
All I can think is that it is Christmas, so the man should have one night off where he’s not smiling for the cameras.
He poses for a picture with her, which leads to another and another. I’m nearly finished with my bag of Doritos by the time he’s done signing autographs.
“So, how about it?” he asks. “My place is about thirty minutes from here.”
My brows scrunch. “Your place? Don’t you live in Manhattan?”
“I’ve got a hotel suite during the season near the stadium, but I bought a place in Hollybend. Less expensive and quieter.”
Spencer Ward lives in Hollybend? Hollybend is one of those hidden gems, near enough to the city but with a far-removed feeling. It has a quaint town square that's like a throwback to another era.
“The view is pretty spectacular.”
My view is pretty spectacular. If I thought Spencer was hot in his tight pants and glistening with the slightest bit of sweat on TV...the live in person version is so much better.
I chew the final chip and swallow. “I’ll bet.”
Spencer blows out a deep breath and wraps his hand around the handle of my luggage. “Let’s go, Amy. I’m not letting you eat food from a vending machine especially when it’s Christmas Eve, Eve. Let me make you something that doesn’t have artificial Red 40 as a main ingredient.”
“Artificial Red 40 sounds like a play call. Besides everyone knows the first three ingredients listed on the package are the main ingredients. Red 40 is like a secondary ingredient.”
He smirks. “Listen I love Doritos as much as the next person, but it’s not a meal. Let’s get you something with a little more substance.”