The 12 Stories of Snowflake:
12 FREE Holiday Tales from the Town of Snowflake
By Rusty Fischer, author of A Town Called Snowflake
Copyright © 2011 by Rusty Fischer
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. All of the names, characters, places and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or, if real, are used fictitiously.
Cover credit: ©Suprijono Suharjoto – Fotolia
Author’s Note:
The following is a “sneak preview” of a work in progress; any editing errors, typos or grammatical mistakes are all the fault of the author and will be cleaned-up prior to publication.
Enjoy!
Table of Contents
Introduction: Welcome to Snowflake!
Chapter 1: Suddenly in Snowflake
Chapter 2: Stranded in Snowflake
Chapter 3: A Silent Night in Snowflake
Chapter 4: Simply Snowflake
Chapter 5: Santas & Snowflakes
Chapter 6: Now Showing in Snowflake
Chapter 7: Snooping Around in Snowflake
Chapter 8: Something Borrowed, Something Snowflake
Chapter 9: A Simple Snowflake Christmas
Chapter 10: A Snowflake Christmas Story
Chapter 11: First Snowfall in Snowflake
Chapter 12: Special Delivery in Snowflake
About the Author: Rusty Fischer
Introduction:
Welcome to Snowflake!
Merry Christmas!
And welcome to Snowflake.
Snowflake, South Carolina, that is.
No matter what time of year it is in your neck of the woods, it’s always Christmas in Snowflake!
That’s because Snowflake is the fictional town I created for my first contemporary holiday romance, A Town Called Snowflake (Musa Publishing, 2011).
It’s a kind of Hallmark town, with gingerbread inspired cottages and a Norman Rockwell Main Street where stores like Snowflake Sweets and Treats, the Books ‘N Beans and Simply Snowflake feature prominently.
For the first time ever, this single volume contains all 12 of the “snowflake stories” in one place. They’re all very different, but they all have one thing in common: they all take place in Snowflake.
In Suddenly in Snowflake, two strangers meet in a deserted Laundromat and fall in love on a most sudden, and surprising, Christmas Eve.
In Stranded in Snowflake, a lonely innkeeper welcomes a stranded “kind-of” cowboy for a Christmas Eve neither will ever forget.
In A Silent Night in Snowflake, two sworn enemies find comfort – and love – by the cozy fire of an empty bookstore on Christmas Eve.
In Simply Snowflake, a surprise Christmas Eve homecoming produces unexpected results for two former lovers.
Next up is Santas & Snowflakes, in which a woman with a real “Santa-Phobia” gets over her fears on behalf of some very deserving kids.
In Now Showing in Snowflake, a Christmas Eve shift at the Snowflake Cinemas turns into a real blockbuster for one lonely movie theater usher.
In Snooping Around in Snowflake, a nosy private eye gets more than she bargained for when a suspicious wife suspects her husband of foul play.
Something Borrowed, Something Snowflake tells of a surprise Christmas Eve wedding turns the Snowflake Senior Center into Romance Central.
In A Simple Snowflake Christmas, a young couple must rediscover what the spirit of the season really means when they leave behind their fancy oceanfront condo for much humbler digs on Christmas Eve.
In A Snowflake Christmas Story, what starts out as a boring home-for-Christmas job at the local Books ‘N Beans Café becomes anything but when a mysterious – and adorable – bookworm starts making nightly appearances.
In First Snowfall in Snowflake, what starts out as a routine catering job turns into a magical night as two lost souls try to keep warm during the year’s first big snowfall.
Finally, in Special Delivery in Snowflake, a grieving husband finds solace when he orders up a special holiday dinner – only to have it delivered by a truly kindred spirit.
I hope you enjoy these stories, and not just because they’re all FREE!
Merry Christmas wherever you live, and whatever time of year it is.
And remember, it’s always Christmas in Snowflake!
Chapter 1:
Suddenly in Snowflake
Dana Devlin saw the neon “Laundromat” sign flickering in the lonely strip mall to her right and yanked the rental car over without even signaling.
She wasn’t worried about being pulled over; heck, she could have done donuts in the middle of the street – naked, practically – and no one would care.
(Seriously, did this town even have a police force?)
Snowflake, South Carolina on Christmas Eve wasn’t exactly a metropolitan hotspot, and at this time of the night she was the only car on the street.
The tiny strip mall had a Laundromat, a sub shop and a convenience store; all decked out in holiday trim and all, amazingly, still open.
Dana smirked; not exactly a carriage ride through Central Park, but for the chance to get away from her boyfriend’s family for an hour or two, she’d take it.
She parked the rental in front of the Laundromat and stood, reaching for the laundry basket in the backseat; then she remembered – no laundry.
All she had was the fresh red wine stain on her new white blouse and the memory of the brief tantrum she’d had after spilling it.
“Use Mom’s laundry room,” pleaded Chad, her boyfriend of two months.
“No thanks,” she’d spat, grabbing her purse and heading for the door. “I thought I saw a Laundromat on our way into town; I’ll go there.”
“The Snowflake
Suds and Duds?” Chad asked rhetorically, his family chortling in
the background as if they were sharing yet another of their many
inside jokes. “Why would you want to go to that
dump when we have a perfectly good machine here? Mom can get that
stain out in 10-minutes, no problem.”
What she’d wanted to
say, of course, was, “If I spend another 10 minutes with you and
your family I’ll use your mother’s matching snowmen cheese
spreaders to slit my wrists!”
Her freedom had come at a price; now she had nothing to wear while she washed her shirt.
“Yes I do!” she said aloud to the cool night breeze, stiff black heels scraping on the pitted drive.
Dana marched to the back of the rental and popped the trunk; inside was the bag of matching Christmas shirts she’d painstakingly picked out for Chad’s family; all 12 of them!
Surely, one of them must fit.
None too eager to stand around in the bitter cold at midnight and make a guesstimate, she yanked the whole bag inside with her.
There were carols playing inside the dimly-lit Laundromat, adding to her blood pressure.
(Chad’s mother was a big fan of the singing cats version of “12 Days of Christmas,” so she’d been over the caroling after about five minutes in the house.)
Inside the Snowflake Suds & Duds, the scent of peppermint and spice from several flickering candles mingled with detergent and soap, and she noticed little snowflake stickers on all six of the silent washing machines.
She wondered if they stayed up all year, given the town’s name, or just for Christmas?
Not that she cared; if Dana had her way, this would be her one – and only – trip to scenic Snowflake, South Carolina.
The Laundromat seemed deserted, and why not?
Every sane person in Snowflake was home snuggling by the fire with someone special.
Here she was, in the last Laundromat in town, red wine splashed across the front of her blouse and on the verge of tears – again.
“Hello?” she asked, rooting through her purse for enough quarters to start her load.
She found them in one of her side pockets, but just barely.
“Anybody home?” she asked playfully, sliding the four quarters in their appointed slots and turning to face the silent row of dryers across from her, as if one of their round, giant faces might reply in the affirmative.
Her voice would have echoed through the empty, cavernous space if it weren’t for a soulful sax solo soothing overhead.
“Hello?” she asked again, peering around the corner at an empty service desk, where a stack of books and CDs waited for their owner to return, perhaps from the convenience store or sub shop?
The machines were silent, even hers; the only sound in the place a smooth jazz rendition of “White Christmas” which she hated to admit was kind of… nice.
She looked out the huge plate glass window, peering through painted on snowflakes and seeing only her car.
She looked at the open washing machine in front of her, the four quarters all ready to go, and smiled wickedly to herself.
Somewhere, on her bucket list, there must have been an item reading “Take off your favorite stained blouse in the middle of a deserted Laundromat on Christmas Eve in a tiny town called Snowflake while you consider how best to tell your boyfriend you’re breaking up with him.”
She quickly peeled out of her shirt, closed the top of her machine with a shuddering thud, slid in the quarters and, just as soon as the machine started gurgling realized: she had no detergent!
Not an ounce.
She looked frantically through her purse to find lotion, hand soap, anything; nothing.
She spotted an old vending machine in the back, sporting rows of brightly colored detergent boxes; she scrambled for more quarters, finally finding two – her last two – and sliding them into the machine.
The little box slid out yellow and orange and she raced to pour it into the machine, spilling half of it on her naked belly as she yanked off the top in record time.
At last, her load was rumbling and sudsing away.
Dana leaned back against the washer, listening to another smooth jazz Christmas carol and thinking how much more peaceful a rumbling 1972 washing machine could be than a house full of nosy, know-it-all future in-laws (this according to Chad, who gave new meaning to the term “rushing things”).
Only when she heard a male voice clear his throat did she suddenly remember; her blouse was INSIDE that relaxing, sudsy, rumbling 1972 washing machine!
“Oh! My! God!” she gurgled, scrambling through the bag of cheesy holiday T-shirts at her feet to find something – anything – to cover up with. “Oh! My! God!”
In a blur of activity she heard good-natured chuckling, saw a flash of rough fisherman’s sweater, a chiseled face full of three-day stubble and dug even deeper into the bottom of the bulging outlet mall sack.
Just before giving up and going au natural for the rest of the evening, Dana finally grabbed a powder blue baby doll T-shirt with the words “It’s All About Me!” printed in gold foil on a burgundy Santa bag; it barely fit, clinging in all the wrong places and riding up every time she moved more than inch.
“I thought this place was empty!” she gasped, still clutching her arms over her chest as she stood protectively over her washing machine, as if the chuckling intruder was there for her stained shirt. “Where did you come from?”
The chuckling was coming from a youngish guy, leaning lazily against the sales counter and clutching a brown paper bag in his hand.
“I’m-I’m-s-s-sorry!” he stammered, face blushing as he stood his ground. “I went next door for a second and when I came back, there you were… just… standing there and, well, I guess I was too shocked to say anything. I mean, you hear about this kind of thing happening but in all my years it’s never quite happened to me before…”
He let his voice trail off and, at last, removed his deep, green eyes from chest level to meet her own.
“What?”
she asked as he slid a ring of keys onto the counter. “You work
here or something?”
“Kind of,” he said, looking out the
huge plate glass window at her rental car.
His voice was vaguely sad, like maybe he had the Christmas blues or something.
(That, or he was afraid Dana was going to call the cops on his Peeping Tom butt!)
She felt a little bad for the guy.
He looked about her age, like he should be in college with she and Chad, and yet here he was stuck running the Laundromat, on Christmas Eve no less.
Then she felt the strict confines of her size XS T-shirt cutting off her circulation and flared, “Well, still, that doesn’t give you the right to… to… spy on your patrons!”
He chuckled again; then she did, too.
She was being overdramatic, and they both knew it.
The black bra she’d been wearing underneath her new favorite white blouse was far less revealing than the bikinis most girls her age wore to spring break these days.
And she still had on her slick gray slacks.
“Well,” she said, inching away from the washing machine, which had now reached its “let’s vibrate Dana’s B-cups” cycle.
While inching away she knocked over her giant bag of shirts, and it spilled all over the floor, green and red and gold and powder blue shirts intended for Chad’s family cascading across the surprisingly clean white tile floors.
She’d been meaning to hand them out for days, but every time she got close to traipsing out to the trunk and hauling them under the Christmas tree, Chad or one of his insensitive relatives did something so blatantly rude, crude or socially unacceptable that she shook her head and refused.
Good thing, or she’d still have Laundromat boy staring chest-high all night.
“Here,” he said, leaping forward and bending down to her level. “Let me help.”
Together they shoved the shirts back in the holiday-themed mall sack, she more quickly than he.
He kept looking at them, that’s why he was so darn slow.
“This is… cute,” he said sarcastically, holding up a white turtleneck with a snowman made of bay leaves on front that said, “Tis the Seasoning” on it.
“Chad’s mom is a caterer,” she explained.
“I
see,” he said, slipping it in the bag. “And Chad is your…
husband?”
She snorted, standing back up now that the bag was
mostly full again.
“Hardly,” she snapped, sounding more resentful than she’d intended.
He nodded again, leaning against the dryer across from her while she fiddled restlessly with the hem of her pants pocket.
She hadn’t smoked in three days, ever since they showed up in Snowflake fresh from the University of South Carolina campus.
And the red wine she’d spilled all over her dress was her first drink all day.
“Is that... store... still open next door?” she asked.
He shrugged and said, “24-hours a day, every day; just like the good, old Snowflake Suds and Duds.”
“Can you… watch this stuff?” she asked before bolting through the door without waiting for a reply.
There was a typical midnight slacker behind the counter, a tall kid with stringy red dreadlocks hanging from under a skip cap who barely looked up from his Cannabis Quarterly when the little cowbell over the door rang.
She found a dusty bottle of cheap red wine stashed behind a stack of pork and bean cans and headed up to the cash register.
There was a bowl of miniature candy canes next to the “have a penny, take a penny” jar and she put a handful, plus a 99-cent plastic corkscrew on the counter next to her wine.
The clerk finally looked up, a spray of straw-like orange hair on his sharp, pointy chin and said, “Merry Christmas!”
She’d forgotten, with all the hubbub at Chad’s house, why they’d come to Snowflake in the first place.
He had a kind voice and watery blue eyes; he looked like the kind of guy who sat in the back of class and read comics all through high school, who never bothered anyone or could hurt a fly.
Something tugged in her heart and she said, voice cracking, “Thank you!”
He looked uncomfortable at her wispy reply, standing transfixed until she said, “Can I have a pack of Wilshire Menthols, short?”
He seemed relieved to have something to do other than stand awkwardly in front of her, and quickly turned around with the familiar pack of light green on aqua smokes.
She wasn’t a big smoker, but in times of stress – you know, like spending your first Christmas alone in a strange town, in a strange Laundromat, in a stupid shirt – a few quick puffs put her right back at ease.
He looked at the array of items, started to say something, then thought twice about it.
As
he rang up her purchases he admired her T-shirt and said, “Let me
guess; you’re doing laundry next door, huh? Spilled something on
your ‘real’ shirt, escaped a house full of crazy relatives to
wash it at the Suds & Duds and won’t mind a cocktail or two
while your shirt’s in the spin cycle?”
She smiled and said,
“You’re in the wrong profession; you should set up shop as a
psychic.”
He smiled, growing on her. “I keep telling Cliff the only thing missing from this shopping center is a psychic, but… he’s not as sympathetic to the supernatural as you or I.”
She nodded and said, “Cliff? Is he the guy working in the Laundromat?”
“Working in the Laundromat?” the kid snorted. “Dude owns it, and this store, and the sub shop; this whole shopping center. His Dad left it to him after he passed on a few years ago…”
His voice trailed off as he began bagging the candy canes and wine in an old-fashioned brown paper bag.
“That’s a lot of responsibility for a young guy,” she said, wishing she’d treated Cliff with a little more respect before just disappearing on him like that.
“Yeah, well, he’s used to it by now I suppose. Had to drop out of high school when his Dad got sick, been here ever since. Kind of sucks, too. Dude had a full ride to Duke, but… what are you gonna do? Family’s family, right?”
Dana blushed; she hadn’t even thought of going home to see her parents for Christmas this year, and had made some lame excuse about staying on campus the year before as well.
“Here,” he added, sliding across two plastic cups with a wink. “In case Cliff decides it’s not too early for a shift drink!”
She thanked him, turning and, just before leaving, calling over her shoulder, “Merry Christmas!”
She walked back to the Laundromat slowly, thinking just how wrong first impressions could be.
There was a new CD on now, and as she walked through the door to the Suds & Duds Dana realized that her DJ for the evening was none other than Cliff.
He looked up from reading the back of a CD case and smiled.
She asked, “IS there anything you can’t do?”
When he looked adorably puzzled she asked, “Well, I mean, you’re a landlord, Laundromat attendant, I assume interior decorator and DJ as well?”
He chuckled as she put the bag down, smiling as she brought out the contents.
“I have to warn you,” he said, mock-sternly, “this is a non-drinking, non-smoking establishment.”
When she gave him her best pouty-face, he smiled and said, “Unless it’s Christmas, that is, then pretty much anything goes. May I?”
She offered the cheap opener and watched as his longer fingers deftly opened the wine.
“2010,” he admired, dramatically blowing dust off the cheesy cabernet label. “A fabulous year.”
“The
kid in the convenience store gave me two of these,” she said
uncertainly, sliding one plastic cup out from the other and laying
them both on the counter. “Would you… care to join me?”
“Don’t
mind if I do,” he said, already pouring them generous amounts
before she’d finished asking the question.
He handed her hers, then pierced her with a sympathetic eye and touched her cup with his own.
It made a soft, wet “clicking” noise.
He said, “Merry Christmas.”
She realized he still didn’t know her name.
“Merry Christmas,” she said back with a wry smile, “Cliff.”
“Hey,” he said, pouting. “No fair. You know my name, but I don’t know yours.”
“It’s Dana,” she said quickly, looking away if only to avoid getting caught up in his deep, green eyes.
There was a bench just outside the front door and she inched toward it, waving the pack of smokes as a signal.
“Do you mind?” she asked. “I know it’s a terrible habit, but… desperate times call for desperate measures!”
“That bad?” he asked, creeping around from behind the sales counter.
She gave him a “don’t get me started” look and nodded.
He crept toward her, flicking a lighter from one of his side pockets and said, “Actually, I was going to ask you to bum one?”
“Don’t you own the convenience store?” she snorted, tapping out a cigarette and sliding it in his direction.
He nodded but said, “I don’t like to be… tempted… if you know what I mean?”
He waited until hers was in her mouth to light it, then lit his own once he was sure hers had started.
She nodded her thanks, inhaling deeply and sinking down onto the bench with a satisfied grunt as she stretched her long, athletic legs in front of her.
She followed the tart taste of the smoke with the dry, somewhat bitter taste of the $8.99 cabernet and smiled.
“That,” she said, finally meaning it, “is the best I’ve felt all day. Scratch that; all weekend.”
“Family?” he asked knowingly, exhaling a thick cloud of smoke in the opposite direction.
He sipped at his wine, winced only slightly, then smiled appreciatively.
“Not mine,” she said. “My… boyfriend’s.”
She felt funny saying the word, wondered why, then looked quickly to see if he’d been hurt; then wondered why about that, as well.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” she thought. “A dude that fine, he must be fighting off the ladies in Snowflake!”
He sipped his wine without comment; so did she.
Then she said, “I told Chad it was moving too fast, but he wouldn’t listen. I said ‘two months isn’t enough time for me to meet your family.’ He insisted on it, wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer.”
“Really?” he asked, long, lean body clinging to the open doorway as if it had been designed just for him. “You don’t strike me as the ‘shrinking violet’ type, Dana.”
“I’m not,” she insisted after a quick slug of wine. “Usually, but what was I going to do? Sit around campus all week?”
“You could have gone home to see your family,” he said pointedly.
She arched one eyebrow and said, “Yeah, I could have, but… that’s a whole other kettle of fish. Instead I caved, said ‘yes’ to Chad and now… and now…”
He waited her out, patiently sipping his wine with a bemused look on his face until she spit it out.
“And now I hate his family,” she finally confessed, “and him kind of a little, and I don’t know how to tell him it’s over.”
“Hate?” Cliff said, arching one thick eyebrow while running those long fingers through his dirty blond curls. “That’s a little strong, isn’t it? I mean, considering the season?”
She thought about it, noticing the smooth jazz Christmas carols had somehow followed them outside.
“Not really,” she finally decided. “For three whole days we’ve done nothing but play charades and pick boysenberries and bake cookies and piece together puzzles and watch sickeningly sweet ‘family’ movies and listen to cats screeching ‘The 12 Days of Christmas’ and decorate the tree and… and…”
Her voice trailed off again; she wondered where she was going with this.
What she wasn’t telling Cliff, what she hadn’t told Chad, and what she was suddenly was just realizing was that the reason she hadn’t wanted to meet Chad’s family for Christmas was that because she’d pretty much decided to break it off after Thanksgiving.
She just hadn’t gotten around to it.
And then suddenly it was December, and then came finals week, and Chad had been so insistent, so persistent and… here she was, alone in some Laundromat finally realizing the relationship was over.
Dead; kaput.
“Sounds kind of… nice,” he said suddenly, voice warm and deep in the dark, staring over her head into the inky night beyond. “The whole family gathered around the tree, lots of kids and activity, cookies baking and whatnot.”
“I hear you,” she said, nodding and wondering if he’d think her a lush if she raced inside for two more quick fingers of wine. “But… it’s nonstop. And he never gets a hint. Even when I say, ‘Chad, let’s go for a hike’ and everyone else is more than willing to leave us alone for 10 minutes, he asks his brother along, or his sister, or his niece, or his 12-year old cousin.
“The two of them talked about that Alien Battle Station 3 for 2-hours nonstop? I can understand a 12-year-old geeking out like that but… do you know what it’s like to hear your 23-year-old boyfriend speak alien for 120 straight minutes?”
Cliff chuckled loudly, lazily, eyes closing to half-slits as if imagining the scene for himself and finding it highly amusing.
She felt a slight tingle, suddenly wondering what that chuckle might sound like tomorrow morning as they cuddled in his single bed.
(Wow, Dana, where did that come from?!?)
“I’ve been setting my alarm clock earlier and earlier every morning,” she confessed, “but someone is always up. This morning I got up at 4 a.m., figuring for sure I’d get at least half an hour of down time ALONE. But oh no, his sister was up, making coffee, and trapped me on the front porch for an hour asking me if two years old was too old to breast feed! I don’t know the answer to that, and even if I did, I’m pretty sure I couldn’t find it at 4 in the morning!”
In between chuckling, Cliff reached inside the Laundromat and grabbed the bottle of wine, pouring them both healthy glugs that found the bottle mostly empty.
“Family’s hard,” he said after a long pause, almost making her forget what she’d said to prompt his statement.
There was a wistfulness to his voice that made her suddenly remember what the dreadlock dude in the convenience store had said.
Here she was, running off at the mouth about college and exams and boyfriends and family, and he was working the graveyard shift at the family Laundromat on Christmas Eve!
“What about you?” she asked quickly, earnestly, feeling suddenly stupid for gushing non-stop about her non-problems. “Your wife can’t be too happy about you running this place on Christmas Eve?”
“Wife?” he asked over the lip of his red plastic cup. “Not likely. Everyone in Snowflake is either 16 or 66. Not a lot of dating potential around these parts.”
“So why do you stay?” she asked, knowing a hunk like Cliff would get eaten alive the minute he set one darling foot on her small college campus.
He shrugged and looked over her head again, as if asking himself that very question.
“Family,” he said at last. “Mom’s never been the same since Dad passed, and my brother took off right after high school; same with my sister, so… someone’s got to stick around and man the fort.”
She looked up at him, leaning casually against the doorframe of the Snowflake Suds & Duds, looking dashing in his snug fisherman’s sweater and wheat-colored chords, no socks and weathered deck shoes.
Dana didn’t have much to say to that; she who had cut out of her own small South Carolina town the minute she graduated high school, entered SCU the first semester she could and had never looked back.
They were so different, she and Cliff, and yet she felt almost… intimately… close to him.
He was one of those guys you just felt like you’d known forever, and wished you could know a lot better – a lot sooner.
Still, when she was with someone, she was with someone.
Random encounters with hot business owners on Christmas Eve or no, she was with Chad and, until she broke it off, with Chad she’d stay.
And what then?
She still had three days left with Chad and his family, and then there was New Year’s… would there ever be a good time to let Chad down easy?
And what if she did?
Was she going to come running to Snowflake every weekend to seduce Cliff on top of some random washing machine?
And even if she did, what of it?
Where could she use her marketing degree in tiny Snowflake?
Would she give it all up to run the Laundromat?
Or sell cigarettes at the convenience store?
Or slice onions at the sub shop?
She lit another cigarette to smoke away the regret, the fantasy, the frustration of Cliff standing so close and she not being able to do a single thing about it; she handed him one without being asked.
He lit theirs both and said, “That’s it for me; two’s my limit.”
She snorted white smoke, and he did two.
Three cigarettes and the last of the red wine later, he was sitting next to her on the bench outside of the Suds & Duds, a space between them as the city of Snowflake settled around them.
Behind them oozed the smooth jazz, in front of them Christmas approached amidst a tiny city of twinkling lights.
Dana suddenly thought that there must be something special about who you spend Christmas with; not the morning of and all the presents, or even the dinner and the tree, but the minute Christmas dawns, that priceless, precious moment.
Special because it only happens once a year, and you’re only aware of it so often.
Maybe she’d been wrong to tear off out of the house and flee Chad’s family that way, but whatever it had cost her, whatever the future might hold (or not hold) for she and Chad, she knew that she was spending Christmas with the right person this year.
Even if they had only just met.
Dana reached over tentatively, but quickly, before she could chicken out.
She found his hand lying chastely in the space between them; it was hot and flushed and gripped hers – tightly, almost urgently – the moment their fingers touched.
Neither of them moved beyond that simple gesture, but it was enough; for now, at least, it was enough.
The moment passed and he turned to her with a bashful smile and said, simply, “Thank you.”
In his eyes she saw gratitude his words couldn’t convey; she only hoped he saw the same in hers.
Just then bright lights illuminated the bench and they both flinched, hands peeling apart to cover their eyes as a clatter of sneakers launched from the side door and jangled into the sub shop, the cowbell over the door announcing their presence.
The lights went off, the driver’s door opened and Dana heard a familiar voice call her name.
“Chad?” she said, rising out of the seat to distance herself from Cliff, who wisely stayed put.
In her peripheral vision she caught him slide the empty wine bottle out of view behind the bench with a single heel, even as he slid the pack of cigarettes toward his own lap.
“What’s going on Cliff?” Chad asked brusquely, dark hair gleaming in the harsh light under the Laundromat awning.
For the first time all evening it occurred to Dana that Cliff might actually know Chad from growing up in Snowflake together, not to mention his family.
Suddenly she felt raw and exposed.
“Still hanging around Snowflake?” Chad asked in a way that indicated he was glad that he wasn’t.
Dana cut Chad a
look, but relaxed as Cliff said merely, “Sure, why not?”
Like
Dana, Cliff knew it was no sense explaining to a hot shot MBA
overachiever like Chad – he of the ascots and riding gloves and
expensive watch collection – what it meant to give up your own
dreams to run the family business, humble as it might have been.
“Still smoking, too, I see?” Chad scoffed.
Dana knew he hated the habit, which is why she’d gone three whole days without a single puff.
Cliff willingly took one for the team, chuckling, “You know us townies, Chad; always sitting around on park benches and smoking the day away—”
“What got into you?” Chad asked Dana, cutting Cliff off and turning with his back to the Suds and Duds owner.
Cliff took the hint and stood, inching inside the Laundromat and sliding behind the counter to switch CDs yet again.
Dana was confused, surprised to see Chad hunting her down, yet startled by the lack of understanding in his cold, blue eyes.
“I needed a break,
Chad,” she hissed, trying to keep her voice down as Kenny G oozed
from Cliff’s boom box. “Don’t you understand?”
“I
understand my family is extremely upset,” he huffed, clearly
missing her point. “I understand you left me in a very awkward
position back there just now, having to explain why you’d want to
come use some townie Laundromat when Mom has a perfectly good washing
machine back–”
“That reminds me,” she said, turning on a heel to see Cliff smiling back at her. “My blouse!”
All that time with Cliff, the wine, the music, the conversation – the hand-holding – she’d forgotten why she’d left Chad’s house in the first place.
“You wrap that up,” said Chad, either ignoring or simply not caring about the smoldering glances sparking between she and Cliff, “and I’ll go grab the kids.”
Dana breathed a sigh of relief, glad Chad wouldn’t be insisting on following her into the Laundromat at least.
“I’m so sorry,” she told Cliff breathlessly, who was already drifting toward her washing machine.
“Why?” said Cliff, rattling some change in his palm and sliding some of it into a nearby dryer.
“Just, it’s so dramatic,” she sighed.
She looked at him, reached out and touched his sleeve, “And because I was having a really nice time.”
“Me too,” he said, looking slightly down at her.
They were hip to hip now, standing over her washing machine, so close she could smell his cologne and feel the warmth from his skin.
How she longed to touch him again, even if it was just to hold his hand; to sit quietly and hold his hand and wile the holiday away, doing nothing more than listening to long sax solos and staring into those dreamy green eyes.
“Thank you,” she said, and he shrugged, thinking it was about the coins in the dryer. “No, I mean, for tonight.”
“I know what you meant,” he lied, fixing her with those eyes.
They both jumped when the van horn honked again, inching away as the headlights flickered on and flooded the Suds & Duds with white, impatient light.
“I’ll tell you what,” he said quietly, opening the lid to her now silent washing machine as a way to keep her by his side, if only for just another moment longer. “I’ll finish this up and, if you feel like setting your alarm clock early again, well, I’ll still be working when you get up and you can come by and pick it up then.”
Warmth rushed through her stomach as her senses flooded with sweet anticipation.
Quickly she mouthed a silent, “Thank you” before squeezing his forearm tenderly and slipping out the door.
“I can’t believe you’d run out on the family like that,” Chad scolded, nostrils flared, as he backed out savagely into the empty street before peeling forward.
He hadn’t even waited for her to click her seatbelt in tight.
(She half-wondered if the five gangly kids in the back were belted in as well.)
“I can’t believe you’d chase me down like some… some… prized heifer that’s strayed from the pasture,” she said, keeping her voice down. “And I can’t believe you’d bring all your nieces and nephews along for the ride.”
“They wanted ice cream,” he blurted, nodding toward their dripping cones as he drove. “Snowflake Subs is the only place in town open this late.”
Her jaw dropped.
“So, you mean, this was just a… a… fluke? The kids wanted ice cream so you just happened to pull up to the only sub shop open this late, which just so happens to be next to the only Laundromat open this late?”
Chad nodded, then stopped himself just in time and said, “Of course not.”
But even so, she caught the quick look he sent to the rearview mirror, warning his gaggle of nieces and nephews in the backseat not to spill the beans.
She sat back in her chair, suddenly feeling… at peace.
It was over with Chad, that much was clear.
Whatever goodwill she’d had in her heart for him had bolted the minute she realized he hadn’t thought twice about where she’d gone – or felt the slightest indication to come looking for her.
“What are you doing?” he asked as he heard the telltale beep from her cell phone.
“Just setting my alarm,” she said. “I want to get a quick run in before the Christmas festivities start.”
“Good idea,” he said, patting his non-existent belly. “I’ll get up with you. What time so I can set my own cell?”
“5:30,” she lied sweetly, as he began beeping and blurping his way through setting his own alarm.
Only when she locked her alarm onto 4:45 a.m. did she finally relax.
The town of Snowflake blurred past the passenger window, all quaint cottages and sweet chalets, all decked out in twinkling white holiday trim.
For the first time, the town looked picturesque and quaint, and she couldn’t wait to see it in a few hours; alone, for the first time all trip.
Well, alone that is until she walked back through the door of Suds & Duds, and into Cliff’s arms…
Chapter 2:
Stranded in Snowflake
Sara Winters had never had much use for Christmas.
The only one of her siblings with kids was her sister Rita, who had two darling little daughters, but they lived way over in Arizona and good luck trying to get them to come to tiny Snowflake, South Carolina for the holidays.
Of course, Rita asked Sara to come every year, but slow as the season was, Sara couldn’t afford to close down the Snowflake Stay Awhile Motor Court for a day or two, let alone an entire week.
As for the rest of the family, well, her two brothers ran a hunting lodge in Alaska and she hadn’t seen them in years; though the postcards they sent of the Alaskan wilderness were the pride of her bulletin board!
Her father had passed on some years earlier, and her mother had chosen to live close to Rita; no surprises there!
Arizona meant sunshine, swimming pools and, of course, her darling granddaughters.
Most years the Stay Awhile was dead deserted for the holiday, and this year was no exception.
Still, there was a tiny plastic tree on the registration desk, and she did her due diligence by tuning into that annoying all-December long, nonstop, 24/7 Christmas carol station – though she kept it turned real, real low.
This year the 24th of December dawned clear and bright, and as Sara set about her morning chore of opening up the front door to each (empty) room, if only to air it out, she felt downright overdressed in her simple white Capri pants, red tank top and matching sandals.
There were 12 rooms at the Stay Awhile, all on the same floor, all in that patented L-shaped layout that every builder of 1972 roadside hotels seemed unable – or unwilling – to depart from.
After the room had been opened up and aired out, she checked on the ice machine, put in a call to the vending company to stock more of those ungodly orange peanut butter crackers and pecan logs and… that was that.
Her official work day was complete!
Well, other than standing behind the front desk for the next 12-hours straight, that is.
Outside the picture window Pecan Street ran straight by the motel’s front entrance, with downtown Snowflake just a few blocks past.
The Stay Awhile was the first motel in town, but looked depressing enough that most folks steered on past and, ultimately, settled into one of the cozy Bed & Breakfasts on Main Street.
Not that Sara could blame folks.
She’d tried her best to spruce the old place up, but there wasn’t much in the redecoration budget when she was struggling to pay her bills as it was.
Every layer of pine green paint on the walls, every inch of lime green trim, every curtain that hung in the windows or throw pillow that graced the beds was made by hands; Sara’s hands, to be exact.
The Stay Awhile was the one thing her father had left her in his will, and now she knew why; the old man had obviously never cared for her much!
Why else would he leave her the deed to a 12-room hotel that had never had more than half of the rooms occupied at any one time?
Still, the solitude suited Sara; not that it hadn’t taken some getting used to.
When her father had passed halfway through her sophomore year in college, Sara had been reluctant to take over the Stay Awhile.
Then she’d spent a weekend in Snowflake, walking the quaint little streets, shopping in the gingerbread-style stores, even having a full turkey dinner, with all the trimmings – in the middle of October! – at the year-round Christmas restaurant in town, the Kringle Café.
She’d been slowly and inevitably charmed, and had agreed to take over the hotel; hook, line and sinker.
Not much had changed for Sara or, for that matter, the Stay Awhile since then.
Christmases came, and Christmases went.
The same old station played the same old songs, the same old plastic tree blinked the same old lights, until it was New Year’s Day and she could take it down and cram it in the attic for another year.
Then the Cowboy came, and changed everything; forever.
He didn’t look like any cowboy she’d ever met; at least, not at first.
He drove up around noon that fateful Christmas Eve, talking animatedly in the back of a Snowflake Shuttle van.
Sara didn’t think much of it as she watched through the big plate glass window festooned with little, half-hearted bursts of fake snow from a can.
Amy Grant was finally on the Christmas station, so she’d turned it up a smidge and was actually smiling.
She figured April Channing, who ran Snowflake’s one – and only – taxi service was just being dutiful about pulling into the Stay Awhile parking lot.
The poor gal tried to throw Sara business as often as she could but, with half-a-dozen gingerbread cottages to choose from right up the street, she rarely got any takers.
Then the Cowboy got out of the backseat, long and lean with an overnight bag slung across his shoulder, and Sara’s heart skipped a beat.
Not because he was drop-dead gorgeous, but because he shut the van door behind him.
“Ka-ching!” she thought, turning the radio back down again now that “The 12 Days of Christmas” – barking dog version – was back on.
“I’m sure old Gus will have your car working by tomorrow at the latest,” April was telling the Cowboy, who received the news with an anxious look on his young, unlined face.
April stood about 5’4” and weighed – well, best not to say.
Still, she had a round, plump face and was decked out for the holidays – as she had been since just after Halloween – in green tights, a red pullover sweater covered in her beloved cats and a Santa cap complete with jingling bell.
“Thanks
Ms. Channing,” said the Cowboy, voice dripping honey and pricking
up Sara’s ears. “Are you sure he’ll be open on
Christmas?”
April waved a hand as if to say “Peshaw,” then
added an actual, “Peshaw! Gus? Cowboy, he’s got no family and
even if he had, he would have driven them away years ago. His idea of
a fine Christmas morning is grease under his nails and a transmission
to replace. Sara? I brought you a customer, dear!”
Sara inched over, then leaned in and gave April a hug.
“Merry Christmas!” the two women said almost simultaneously, laughing.
“This
here’s Sara Winters,” said April, nudging Sara’s side with her
considerable girth. “Anything you need, Cowboy, she’ll be happy
to oblige. Won’t you, Sara?”
April gave Sara a knowing glance
and Sara tried to ignore her.
“Glad to meet you…” Sara suggested, offering a hand and leaving plenty of room for “Cowboy” to insert his name.
“Are you sure you’ll have room?” he asked, so sincerely that both Sara and April burst into spontaneous laughter!
“Honey,” said April, waddling around to the driver’s side of her van and easing herself in. “If I know the Stay Awhile this time of year, you’ll have your run of the place!”
Cowboy frowned, Sara blushed and April honked, easing away; then she braked abruptly, rolled down her passenger side window and yelled, “Merry Christmas, you two! Now, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”
With that she peeled off, no doubt to make her hourly stop at the Snowflake Sweet Shop on Chestnut and Grove.
“Well,” Sara said, turning abruptly and motioning Cowboy to follow, “if you’ll just step this way, I can get you checked in and you can have some peace and quiet.”
Cowboy followed, stiff shoes scraping against the parking lot.
Something instrumental was playing on the Christmas station, saving Sara the shame of having to check Cowboy in while the Chipmunks sang their song.
There was a hat rack by the door, and Cowboy hung his slim overnight bag from the closest rung.
“I really appreciate this,” said Cowboy eagerly as Sara noticed his long fingers trembling slightly as he reached for his wallet. “My car broke down just past the exit and they towed me to Gus’s filling station. I’ve got about six more sales calls to make today, and I need them if I’m going to hit my quota.”
Sara’s hand poised as she filled out the various lines on her outdated registration form.
“I thought… but April kept calling you…”
“Cowboy?” he said, smiling crookedly and blushing energetically. “Yeah, well, when she found out I worked for Cowpoke’s Jerky Treats, she wouldn’t let up!”
“I eat those!” she said, sliding the card over for his signature. “They’re a great source of protein.”
He chuckled, signed and handed back the card and said, “Heck, maybe you should work for them. There’ll probably be an opening once my boss gets wind of my car troubles.”
“What about a rental?” she asked, running his credit card through for approval and noting the name on the card: Dawson P. Wild.
He shrugged and said, “The only place in town was all out. And won’t have any in until New Year’s.”
Sara handed back his card and reached for a key.
All 12 hung there, but she chose # 4 because it was a.) closest to the ice machine, b.) just around the corner from the vending machines, c.) a few steps from the pool and d.) within eyeshot of her office door.
“I’m sorry to hear that, Dawson,” she said sincerely, noting the brown flecks in his deep green eyes. “But… it’s Christmas and your transmission’s out. Won’t your boss understand?”
Dawson smirked, the motion of his face highlighting the dimple in his clean-shaven chin. “You’ve been working for yourself too long, Sara. Bosses never understand.”
The noonday sun bathed his face in a caramel glow as he loosened his thin, black tie and unbuttoned the top collar of his stiff, white shirt.
His hair was short to the bristles and he ran his left hand across it often; she couldn’t tell if it was a nervous habit or just a habit.
He paused there in the sunlight, as if he was none too eager to shuffle down to his room and barricade himself inside.
She opened her mouth to wish him a “Merry Chrsitmas,” then thought it might sound kind of sarcastic considering the pained expression on his face and the situation he was in.
“Listen,” he blurted. “I hit the road early this morning and never stopped. Is there any place in town good for lunch?”
“Oh sure,” she said, reeling off half-a-dozen names.
“Thanks,” he said, smiling at last. “Are you… hungry?”
She snorted; not to be rude but… please!
It had been so long since anyone had hit on her – not that he was, of course not, but... still.
“I’m always hungry,” she said too quickly, then stammered, “No, I m-mean, not like that. I just… I can’t desert my post, you know?”
He ignored the untimely innuendo and looked around the barren office, then over his shoulder at the empty parking lot; not even his car was there.
“Yeah,” he said, “finally reaching for his bag. I wouldn’t want you to lose any business.”
He slipped from the door without another word.
She watched him go, ambling toward Room # 4 on long, thin legs and a slight, barely noticeable limp.
“And you wonder why you’re single,” she murmured to herself, hearing the fifth rendition of “Santa Claus is Coming to Town” that afternoon and ruefully snapping off the radio station.
* * * * *
She was taping another of her brothers’ postcards that had just arrived in that day’s mail on the bulletin board behind her metal desk when the cowbell rang over the door.
Dawson strolled in, jacket slung over his shoulder and weighed down by no less than six shopping bags.
“Santa?” she cracked, eager to make up for fumbling their last human contact.
“I sure feel like him,” he said, all big grin and brown-green eyes and short, stubbly hair.
He plopped a to-go box on the registration desk and beamed, “Straight from the coolest little place. The Café Kringle? Have you ever been there? They’ve got live jazz, all Christmas songs, all year, and the owner’s walking around dressed like Santa Claus, giving all the kiddies chocolate covered candy canes? It’s the greatest! You ever been?”
She chuckled as she opened the candy-cane striped Styrofoam container.
“Only about 4,000 times.”
“Oh,”
he blushed, setting his bags down. “I forget. You grew up around
here?”
“Born and bred,” she said, smiling at the treats
carefully arranged in each of the container’s four pockets. “I’m
impressed; you got all my favorites.”
“I can’t take all the credit,” he said, rakishingly leaning against the door jamb. “I told the hostess who it was for when I was ordering and she winked and ordered for me. You like?”
Sara couldn’t answer right away, her mouth savoring a quick bite of homemade gingerbread pudding.
“Do I like?” she gushed, perhaps too effusive in the midst of a sugar high. “You’ve made my day!”
Dawson nodded, picking up his bags.
“Listen,” he said, foot shoving the door open as she eagerly anticipated a bite of cornbread stuffing. “I’m having a pool party later. I mean, if a convoy full of broken down salesmen aren’t running your butt off later, maybe you’ll… stop by?”
She blushed, imagining him in swim trunks, and then nodded, quickly filling her mouth before she could refuse him a second time.
She heard the familiar strains of Feliz Navidad 20-minutes later, followed by the first splash she’d heard in the Stay Awhile’s pool since the pool man had fallen in four months ago.
She grabbed her cell phone, propped open the door and ambled outside, the South Carolina blue and cloudless, the sun high and warm, the air breezy and cool.
Christmas?
It could have been spring break anywhere else!
Dawson was treading water, shirtless and beaming, water beading on his smooth, bare shoulders and trickling from his close-cropped hair.
“Come on in,” he insisted. “The water’s fine!”
“I can see that,” she said, noting the clock radio from Room # 4 perched atop one of the two patio tables.
She smiled as the song fizzled from “Feliz Navidad” to “White Christmas.”
Standing where she could still see the front office, she slipped out of her sandals and dipped both feet into the shallow end, resting them on the smooth white surface of the highest step.
“Your mood’s certainly improved,” she said.
He nodded, swimming over until he could walk, then strolling up to lean against the edge of the pool.
His skin was pale and hairless, dripping in water and drizzling down to his lean, narrow waist.
“I guess your boss understood after all,” she surmised, enjoying the feel of the sun on her bare shoulders.
“I wouldn’t know,” he chuckled. “I called all of my clients myself, explained the situation and rescheduled for the New Year!”
She made a soft golf clap and nodded in his direction.
“Now that does make for a Merry Christmas,” she oozed, caught up in the moment.
“I owe it all to you,” he said, inching closer.
She could feel the ripples made by his movement as they caressed the back side of her calves and splashed against the side of the pool.
“Me?”
“Sure,” he insisted, making little wave motions with his hand in the pool. “You told me I wasn’t allowed to be blue on Christmas, so I did something about it. Now I’m not blue anymore!”
She hung her head; it had been awhile since anyone had listened to her, let alone paid her a compliment.
She felt the water kiss the back of her calves again, and looked up to see him standing dangerously close.
“That’s why I wanted to throw you a party,” he said, quietly, standing so close she could smell the peppermint on his breath.
“A party?” she asked, looking over his shoulder at the second table, which she hadn’t noticed when she’d walked to the pool. “For me?”
“Sure,” he said, nodding his head in her direction. “Go check it out!”
She stood, wet feet padding against the warm pavement as she approached the second patio table eagerly.
There was a small plastic reindeer for a centerpiece, and two Santa candles on either side; unlit.
There were paper plates and plastic cups and red and green plastic silverware and chips and salsa and a stack of gingerbread cookies in a box fresh from the Snowflake Sweet Shop!
At her feet was a cooler full of ice and soda and beer and little individual bottles of pre-made margaritas.
“But
h-h-how?” she stammered, turning around to find him standing,
dripping, less than two feet away. “when?”
“After lunch,”
he said, shrugging as if surprising her like that was no big deal.
“The good thing about small towns is, you can get everything you
need within walking distance of wherever you are.”
“I can’t,” she stammered, “I don’t…”
“You turned my Christmas around, Sara,” he said, voice lower than before, eyes slightly darker. “Now it’s my turn to do the same for you. Close up early, Sara; take a swim. It’s a beautiful day, it’s Christmas Eve. You deserve it.”
She nodded, and bit her lip, and walked away, hoping he wouldn’t notice the way her shoulder’s shook as she slipped into the office and locked it from the inside.
* * * * *
It had been months since Sara had stepped into a swimsuit, let alone to wear in front of some 20-something hunk. She tried several on, some chaste, others daring, and then… like Goldilocks… settled on something in between.
She slipped into wedge sandals and a black cover-up that came to mid-thigh, then slipped into black sunglasses and a straw hat. She felt like Bette Davis in some old 50s movie as she sauntered back onto the pool deck half-an-hour later.
Dawson was just coming out of the deep end as she shut the pool gate behind her, his eyes closed as he shook his head to rid it of excess water.
He blinked twice as she inched toward the pool, his eyes never leaving her.
“Wow,” he said, nodding his head as he pushed through the shallow end to reach the steps leading out of the pool. “Not very Christmas-y but, you sure do clean up nice!”
She slapped him playfully on the bare shoulder as he emerged from the pool, dripping at her feet as her eyes traveled from his broad shoulders to his narrow waist and – gasped.
“Well, I should say YOU’VE dressed Christmas-y enough for the both of us! Where did you get that, Dawson?”
She was referring, of course, to the snowman swim trunks Dawson was currently wearing the hell out of.
They were blue, down to his knee and literally covered with dozens of adorable little snowflakes.
“Well,” he smirked, easing himself into a deck chair at their “party table” for two. “I didn’t exactly come prepared for a pool party so… I had to improvise. Did you know that the Café Kringle now has a gift shop?”
“I do now,” she said, trying not to stare as he dabbed at his bare chest with a clean towel from his room.
When he was dry he reached into another bag at his feet and pulled out something white and red and put it on; it was, indeed, another winner straight from the Café Kringle gift shop: a T-shirt made to look, not like the front of a tuxedo or a caveman or others Sara had seen before, but this one was made to look like the front of Santa’s suit.
“Well, now that Santa’s here,” she said when she’d caught her breath after another laugh attack, “we can begin I suppose.”
He poured her a margarita, heavy on the ice, while she nibbled on a tortilla chip.
“I’ve never had margaritas on Christmas Eve before,” she confessed after licking her lips at the sweet, salty taste sensation.
“Me either,” he confessed, raising his own plastic Santa cup.
She did, too.
“Merry Christmas,” she said, clinking his with hers.
He pouted, hair still damp, and said, “That’s not a very cheery toast now, is it Sara?”
“Sorry,” she said. “Here’s to… new friends.”
He smiled, adding a quick PS: “And new traditions.”
They were quiet for a little while, the water still lapping lazily at the sides of the pool where Dawson in all his glory had stepped from it moments earlier.
They sat back, and sipped just as lazily, ice clattering away at the sides of the plastic cups each time they did.
The Christmas music came in and out of focus, and Sara was painfully aware that her toes were inches away from his.
At some point she slid her hat off, then her glasses, then unzipped her cover up until she could feel the sun on her throat, her shoulders, her bare stomach.
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