Introduction
For several years now I’ve toyed with the idea of putting together a collection of twenty–four short stories in order to create an advent calendar. Such books are extremely popular in Denmark. I grew up on them. Usually, an entire Christmas–themed story is split into twenty–four chapters, which is also common practice for TV shows where special Christmas–themed advent calendar series are created with the last episode falling on Christmas Eve.
This particular collection of mine consists of nine previously published short stories I’ve written over the years for blog visits, along with fifteen new ones written specifically for this book. Since it is an advent calendar, the intention is for you to read one story per day as you count down to Christmas, starting on December first.
I hope you’ll enjoy each one!
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Season’s greetings and all the best,
Sophie
December 1
A Drunken Christmas Escapade
Amanda set her oil lamp carefully on the side table next to the library door and adjusted the flame, brightening the space with a yellow glow. With the fire reduced to embers, the room was no longer as warm as it had been earlier in the evening, so she pulled her dressing gown tighter to ward off the chill. She glanced about, her gaze settling on the boughs of evergreen cut from a fir tree earlier in the day and tied with crimson ribbons as per her mother’s instructions.
Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes to savor the rich scent of the pine. She loved Christmas and the atmosphere that accompanied it when Rambly Hall was filled with people. She just hadn’t anticipated how difficult it would be seeing Peter again.
With a small sigh and an admonishing shake of her head, she padded across the floor to one of the bookcases and spotted the thick volume she sought almost instantly. Locating a stool, she pulled it toward her and stepped up on it. The added height wasn’t quite enough though, so she rose on her tiptoes, her right arm straining in order to reach the book she wanted. She almost had it – she was certain of it – if she could only…
The sound of the library door opening grabbed her attention. She instinctively turned, losing her balance in the process and falling onto the floor with a loud thud. “Umph!”
“Good God, Amanda. Are you all right?”
Amanda squeezed her eyes shut and nodded, praying the man of her dreams would leave it at that, walk away and forget he’d seen her in such a humiliating sprawl. Of course this was too much to hope for. Before she could manage a clever response, she felt Peter’s sturdy hands pulling her upright.
“What were you thinking?” He sounded as though he’d like to give her a good shake. “You could have been seriously injured.”
“I couldn’t sleep so I came to get a book, and I don’t believe I would have fallen if it hadn’t been for you.” She looked away from his familiar and much–too–handsome face. “You startled me.”
With a grunt of disapproval, he guided her to a chair, then went to the side table. “Would you care for a drink?” he asked, raising what looked like a bottle of sherry.
She steeled herself. Enjoying the company of the one man she was trying not to think about wasn’t exactly the best plan. A drink would indeed be welcome, however – especially after making such a complete cake of herself in his presence, but she wanted something stronger, and besides, she was tired of always being predictable.
“Thank you, but I’d rather have a brandy instead.” When Peter raised an eyebrow and parted his lips as if he meant to say something, she hastily added, “It is Christmas, after all.”
“Very well,” he agreed, abandoning the bottle of sherry in favor of a crystal carafe. He poured two fingers of the amber liquid into a pair of tumblers then handed her one. Amanda took it without hesitation, thanking him as he sat across from her. He frowned and asked, “Have you tried this before?”
Amanda shook her head. No, she had not, but the thought of having him in her house while her beautiful cousins showered him with attention – attention he’d happily returned – had upset her to the point where she would try anything to dull the longing in her heart.
“It may burn a little on the way down,” he warned with a crooked smile. “I advise you to take small sips until you grow accustomed to it.” Raising his glass, he added, “To friendship.”
To friendship.
Amanda gritted her teeth as she followed his lead, allowing her glass to clink against his. She nodded in acknowledgement of his toast, fearful any words she might speak would lack conviction. To friendship indeed. She wanted more than that, but would likely never have it. Irritation flared inside her and, forgetting his words of warning, she took a large gulp of her drink.
Oh dear Lord!
Her throat was aflame. She gasped, choked on her own breath, and finally coughed until tears sprang to her eyes and she thought her lungs might burst.
“Take another sip,” Peter said. He’d risen from his chair and was now slapping her back.
Where on earth was that gaping hole she wanted to swallow her up? Another sip of fire and brimstone. Was he mad?
“I assure you it will help.” He took the glass she’d somehow managed to place on a table and held it out to her. Tilting it slightly, she soon felt the strong drink biting at her lips, and she reluctantly opened her mouth, swallowing just a little.
To her astonishment, he was right. The drink that had disagreed with her only a moment earlier soothed her in its smaller quantity, allowing her to relax and enjoy the heat as it warmed her insides.
“Thank you,” she murmured, watching him carefully as he returned the glass to the table and sat.
He grinned. “In all the years I’ve known you, I don’t recall seeing you imbibe even once – not even with wine. That you would start now with brandy…” He moved to rise once more. “Perhaps I should fetch a glass of sherry for you after all.”
“No.” The word came out louder than she’d intended and was instantly met with a look of surprise. She swallowed hard to get herself under some measure of control. She’d last seen him at her coming out ball. He’d danced with her of course, but had not remained at the ball long enough to see her drink anything other than the glass of lemonade he’d offered her before making a hasty departure.
The fact that he still thought her a child struck her with such force she tossed back the last of the brandy, wincing only slightly this time.
Meeting Peter’s shocked gaze and taking a great deal of pleasure in having unsettled him, she smiled and said, “I do believe I’m learning to handle my liquor. Would you please be so kind as to give me a refill?”
Peter looked around, wary. “I don’t believe that’s a good idea, Amanda. I think you’ve had enough.”
“Nonsense,” she said, waving her hand to dismiss his concerns. She was starting to feel much better and idly wondered if it might have something to do with the brandy. Probably not. She’d heard of how silly people became when foxed. She didn’t feel like that in the least. Quite the opposite really – she felt confident and carefree.