One Kiss for Christmas (The Happy Holidays Series Book 4) Read online

  One Kiss for Christmas

  Michele Brouder

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Epilogue

  Also by Michele Brouder

  Website

  About the Author

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Editing by Jessica Peirce

  Book Cover Design by Michelle Arzu, www.mnarzuauthor.com

  Formatting by www.madcatdesigns.net

  One Kiss For Christmas

  Copyright © 2019 Michele Brouder

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.

  ISBN-10: 9781709896309

  To God be the Glory.

  In memory of my grandmother,

  Ruth Zimmer

  Prologue

  October

  Donna St. James drove away from the airport Sunday morning, looking forward to getting home. Tanned and relaxed, she was pleased with her decision to tack a week of vacation onto the five-day conference in Florida she’d been required to attend for her job as a financial advisor at the bank. The sunshine and heat had been hard to beat, and her joints thanked her, although she had to admit to looking forward to autumn in her hometown of Orchard Falls in upstate New York. She blasted the heater in her car to ward off the chillier weather that had greeted her as soon as she stepped off the plane.

  Before going back to the house, she thought she’d make one quick stop at the grocery store to pick up the newspaper and her favorite Danish. She was able to snag a parking spot on Main Street right in front of the shop. Fallen leaves crunched beneath her feet on the sidewalk as she headed into the store. From a distance, she saw some friends from her knitting group and waved to them.

  The intoxicating smell of baked goods hit her as soon as she stepped through the automatic doors of Gunderman’s grocery store. Donna curled a newspaper under one arm and made her way through the usual Sunday customers and over to the bakery, where she used the stainless-steel tongs to stuff one cheese Danish into a waxy, brown paper bag.

  With her items in hand, Donna headed toward the cash registers. Waiting for her at the only open checkout was Sarge, a lifelong employee. Sarge had worked at Gunderman’s for as long as Donna could remember. And she had not changed much in over three decades. There were two notable features about Sarge: her short, tight set of curls and her miserable personality. Donna had never once seen her smile. Her real name was Marge, but she’d been dubbed “Sarge” early on and it had stuck.

  “Good morning, Sarge,” Donna said, laying her items on the belt.

  Sarge paused with Donna’s newspaper in her hand. “Is it? I mean, it’s kind of chilly outside, and nobody is raking up their leaves and they’re turning to muck and starting to smell.”

  “I know,” Donna said. She’d learned a long time ago that there was no sense in protesting or voicing a different opinion to Sarge’s. It would just set her off and hold up the line. The last thing Donna wanted to do was get on Sarge’s bad side but unfortunately, Donna had yet to see a good side. She was hopeful though.

  Sarge lifted the bakery bag and stared at Donna as if she were a TSA employee and this were the airport. “What’s in the bag?” she demanded, like she did every Sunday morning.

  “One cheese Danish,” Donna replied, giving her standard weekly answer. She stopped short of saluting.

  Sarge regarded her for a moment and then opened up the bag. “Store policy. I have to look in the bag.” Donna rolled her eyes. Why does she always ask what’s inside when she’s going to look anyway?

  Checking out was always like a test you knew you were going to fail, or an answer you didn’t have for the teacher no matter how much you’d prepared, Donna thought.

  Once cashed out, she headed back home, taking her time, driving slowly. Her plans for a lazy Sunday were to make a big pot of chili and watch the football game with her son, Brent. He’d said he’d pick up some apple cider from Walmott’s Farm just outside of town. The suitcase and the laundry could wait. By Donna’s calendar, she was still on vacation.

  Donna had lived in Orchard Falls her whole life and there wasn’t any place she’d rather be. On Main Street she passed the town’s only movie house with its marquee of red and gold lights. Across the street from that was the old five-and-dime with its green and white striped awning. But her favorite landmark was the old, red milk machine at the corner of Main and Monroe. It no longer dispensed quarts of milk but it stood there as a testament to the past. There was the three-story dark-red brick Benjamin Franklin High School she had attended like her parents and grandparents before her, and then the commercial part of Main Street transitioned to private homes: grand old Victorians and farmhouses with gingerbread trim, big front lawns, and wide sidewalks.

  Donna’s house was situated three blocks from the grocery store, on Cherry Street, which ran parallel to Main Street. There was a nice variety of old Victorian, brick, mission-style, and farmhouse-style homes. It as was an eclectic mix but it worked. It gave the area character.

  When she pulled into her driveway, she put her car in park and frowned. Her favorite tree, a Norway maple that towered over her backyard, looked oddly different. Leaving her groceries in the car, she headed up the driveway to get a better look. Once the entire tree came into view, Donna gasped. Some of the branches that had previously hung over the neighboring fence were gone. On one side, the tree had been stripped bare, disfiguring it.

  Her temper rising, she glanced at the house next door and saw an SUV in the driveway. Her former neighbor, Mrs. Patton, had died back in the spring. The house had been sold at the end of the summer and the rumor circulating was that it had been purchased by a retiree. The new owner must have moved in while she was gone. And sawed off the branches of her favorite tree!

  “Oh!” she said. Furious, she marched across the thin strip of lawn that separated her driveway from the neighboring one.

  She banged on the side door. It was when she was on the second round of banging against the storm door that a figure appeared behind the glass.

  A tall, solid man opened the door. Donna, still irate, launched into her tirade. “What happened to my tree? Who cut off the branches? Did you do this?”

  Donna stopped, her eyes widening and her mouth falling open as she looked at her new neighbor. She’d know those blazing blue eyes anywhere. Even after all this time. Her breath caught in her throat.

  The man spoke first, seemingly impervious to her outburst. “Donna? Donna Van Dyke?” he asked, incredulous, using her maiden name, a surname she hadn’t used in almost three decades.

  Jim “Big Jim” O’Hara looked almost the same as he had when he and Donna dated during high school and college. A
ll those years in the military had left him chiseled, but his dark hair had now gone silver. His eyes were still a brilliant shade of blue. Donna’s mother used to say he had Paul Newman eyes.

  Donna swallowed hard as the past came calling. “What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice shaking.

  “I live here,” he replied.

  “You bought Mrs. Patton’s house?” she asked, wondering about the cruel cosmic joke that was being played on her.

  “I did. Retired from the Army after thirty years and my plan had always been to come back to Orchard Falls.”

  Donna didn’t say anything. She didn’t know what to say or where to begin. Her former high-school sweetheart was now her next-door neighbor? How could that be?

  “You look great, Donna,” he said softly.

  She felt her cheeks flush in a way that had nothing to do with the change of life. She looked at her tree. “Too bad you can’t say the same thing about my tree,” she said, unable to keep the edge out of her voice. She folded her arms across her chest to ward off the chill. The sunshine was warm but weak.

  “The leaves are all over my backyard. I didn’t retire to spend my days raking up leaves from somebody else’s tree,” he explained.

  “So, you just start sawing off branches without letting me know?” she asked, her voice rising. “Without asking permission?”

  “I left several notes in your mailbox,” he said.

  “I’ve been gone for two weeks!” she said.

  Jim appeared uneasy. He scratched the back of his head. “I am sorry, Donna,” he said. “Why don’t you come in and have a cup of coffee.”

  Donna shook her head. “Uh, no thanks. I’ve got a butchered tree to tend to.” Bitterness crept into her voice.

  “It’s just a little trim,” he said.

  “Just a little trim?” Donna repeated in disbelief. She shook her head and eyed her misshapen tree. “That’s enough cutting. No more.”

  “As long as you rake any leaves that fall on my property,” he said, putting his hands on his hips. He used to do that a lot, back in the day. When he was feeling confident. Sure of himself. Three decades ago, she’d found it attractive. Today that stance irritated her. Funny how she’d remembered, though.

  “Sure, no problem,” she said, and she turned on her heel and headed back home with him behind her, watching.

  Donna shook inside. The last time she’d seen Jim was Christmas 1990, when he’d dumped her and broken her heart.

  Chapter 1

  November

  The last Saturday before Thanksgiving, everyone in town had the same idea: get a carton of the limited-edition candy cane ice cream that the Orchard Falls Dairy only put out at Christmastime. Donna ignored her shopping list, heading straight to the freezer section to get her carton. She waited all year for this. It was like the first snowfall. As she turned down the aisle, she saw Jim O’Hara wheeling his cart down the neighboring aisle. Wearing reading glasses, he scrutinized his list, not seeing her. Thank God for small favors, she thought. Since their confrontation last month, she’d caught glimpses of him coming and going from next door. And a few times, she’d ducked down from her kitchen window after catching him glancing at her house.

  Arriving at the ice cream section, she scanned the selection and her shoulders sagged. She scrunched up her nose. No sign of candy cane ice cream. The entire shelf was empty.

  Sarge walked by, pushing a cart of boxed ice cream cakes.

  “Hey, Sarge, any chance there’s more candy cane ice cream in the back?” Donna inquired. The expression on Sarge’s face made Donna regret asking.

  “Yeah, Donna, because it’s so popular we keep it all in the back,” Sarge answered, scowling. “The store has no interest in making a profit.”

  Donna waited, knowing Sarge was by no means finished. She was just warming up. “I can tell you exactly what’s in the back, from the twelve pallets of Pepsi to the twenty-five crates of two percent milk to the all the leftover pumpkin-spice cupcakes that are going on markdown tomorrow.”

  Donna didn’t doubt Sarge knew the complete contents of the back room.

  “Okay, thanks anyway,” Donna muttered, pushing her cart away. She sighed and decided she’d try again the next day. But her eye was caught by the small, portable freezer case at the end of the aisle. There was a sign that read “Candy Cane Ice Cream.” She pushed her cart at breakneck speed, glad for all the walking and yoga she did. As she arrived at the case, her cart banged into another cart, but she ignored it as she looked into the freezer case. In the corner, at the bottom, was the last carton of ice cream, all bedecked with its trademark red and white stripes. Just looking for a new home.

  As Donna reached for it, so did another, bigger arm. Her hand closed around the carton at the same time another, bigger hand did. She recognized the familiar college class ring and she didn’t look up to see who the arm belonged to. She didn’t have to.

  Jim O’Hara.

  Despite this, she didn’t let go. But neither did he.

  They both held onto the carton and stood up, drawing it out of the freezer case and staring at each other.

  “I believe this is mine,” she said sweetly.

  He shook his head, his silver hair still cut short, military style. “I don’t think so, Donna.”

  “So much for gallantry and ladies first,” she huffed.

  He laughed. “Are you kidding? I’d knock down old ladies and steal kids’ lunch money for a pint of this stuff,” he said. “I haven’t had it in over three decades.”

  “Whose fault is that?” she asked, wishing she hadn’t sounded so sharp. It made her seem bitter about how things turned out between them, which she wasn’t.

  “It’s one of the things I’ve been looking forward to since I returned to Orchard Falls.”

  This statement only served to irritate her more, and she held on tighter.

  “Now, children, don’t fight,” said a voice from behind them. Donna recognized it as belonging to her best friend, Christine Horst. They’d been friends since the third grade.

  “Fine, have it.” Jim sighed, letting go of the ice cream. “But you owe me.”

  Donna shot him a warning look and turned to Christine. “Hi, Christine,” Donna said.

  “Is that Christine Amalfi?” Jim asked.

  “It’s Christine Horst now,” Donna said, nodding. “Chris, you remember Jim O’Hara?” Donna didn’t relay the fact that after she’d discovered he was her new neighbor, she’d called her best friend immediately.

  Christine wore her brown hair short with highlights of cinnamon and honey, and flicking in all directions. Christine leaned in and gave Jim a hug. “No way! Wow, how long has it been?”

  “Almost thirty years?” Jim ventured. “How are you, Christine?”

  “I’m well,” Christine answered. “I married Eugene right out of college and we’re still together.”

  “That’s terrific. Kids?”

  “Oh yeah. A slew of them. Six kids,” Christine replied. With a laugh, she added, “I haven’t had any peace and quiet since 1993.”

  Jim laughed along with her.

  Christine turned back to Donna. “Don’t forget the committee meeting for the Snowball Festival on Tuesday night.”

  “Is that still going on?” Jim asked with a grin.

  “It is,” Christine replied. She looked slyly from Donna to Jim. “You should join a committee.”

  Donna widened her eyes at Christine as if to say, “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “I might just do that,” Jim said. “I’m looking for things to do since I retired.”

  “Any of the committees would love the help,” Christine said. “Look, I’ve got to go. It was good seeing you, Jim.” They hugged again and as she walked away, she looked at Donna with an exaggerated expression and told her she’d call her.

  Donna nodded. Christine had gotten full-body contact, and all she’d gotten was a few sawn-off tree limbs. Sighing, she looked at the lone carto
n of ice cream in the corner of her cart.

  Jim laughed. “It was good seeing you again, Donna.” He nodded toward the ice cream. “Don’t forget you owe me for that.” He smiled at her. The straight white teeth, the strong jawline, those hypnotic blue eyes—Donna’s heart rate entered into a territory that was dangerous for people her age. She wanted to crawl into the freezer case to cool off.

  Quickly, she pulled the carton of ice cream out of her cart and handed it to him. The last thing she wanted was to be indebted to Jim O’Hara. “Here, take this, then.”

  He laughed and put up his hand, refusing it. “You keep it.”

  “What do you want?” she said, sounding brusque. They were no longer back in high school, and she wasn’t going to be coy. And there would be no flirting!

  He took hold of his cart and winked at her. “I’ll need to think about this. I’ll get back to you and let you know.” He pushed his cart off, whistling along with the Christmas music coming from the store’s overhead intercom.

  Donna just stood there, staring after him, her candy cane ice cream melting in her cart.

  Chapter 2

  Jim stood in his kitchen, talking on the phone to his daughter, Leah.

  “I’d love for you to come and spend Christmas here with me, honey,” Jim said, walking over to the sink to look out the window. His kitchen window overlooked his driveway and Donna’s house on the other side of it.

  The phone just about reached the window. It was a wall phone left by the previous owner, and its long spiral cord coiled to the floor. The color: harvest gold. It was such a throwback to his childhood that he had no plans to replace it.