Just Until Christmas Read online

  Carole Towriss

  Just Until Christmas

  Four Diamonds Publishing

  © 2015 Carole Towriss

  Cover photo by Michael Simons

  Cover font Monsieur Le Doulaise by Alejandro Paul and Charles P Bluemlein of Sudtipos

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book (except for excerpts for reviews) may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher.

  Thank you for downloading this ebook. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy from their favorite authorized retailer. Thank you for your support.

  Scripture quotations are taken from the HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION®. Copyright ©1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved. Any emphasis to scripture quotations is added by the author.

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

  Produced in the United States of America.

  Distributed by Smashwords.

  to Colleen, Susan, Lynn and all our children —

  Emma, Mira, Dara, and Johnny;

  Kendra and Camden;

  Ryan and Emily; & Braeden, Ethan and Miranda

  in celebration of all our summer weeks at “Brandon Beach”

  “We wait in hope for the LORD;

  He is our help and our shield.

  In Him our hearts rejoice,

  for we trust in His holy name.

  May Your unfailing love be with us,

  LORD, even as we put our hope in You.”

  Psalm 33:20-21

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter-Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Coming Soon

  Also by Carole Towriss

  Author’s Note

  CHAPTER ONE

  HOPE ARISTOV PARKED HER GREEN Chevy Cruze in front of the weathered blue house on Ocean View Parkway. Slipping the parking pass over her rearview mirror, she climbed out and stared at the cottage that would be her prison for the next three months.

  The screened-in porch looked inviting at least—a couple rocking chairs, a wicker couch and love seat, an array of potted plants. Wind chimes tinkled softly in the faint breeze.

  She lugged her suitcases onto the porch, then dug through her over-sized purse for the keys and opened the front door.

  It was nicer than she remembered. The rental agency must have bought some new furniture. Sunlight poured through the tall windows in the front room. A farmhouse table and long benches occupied the back right, and a door led from that into the kitchen to the left. The staircase ran along the left front of the house. Hope threw open all the windows to allow a cross breeze, setting blue-and-white-striped cotton curtains aflutter.

  It was only five o’clock, but she was exhausted. She’d packed all morning, argued one last time with her boss—which gave her a later start than she wanted—and then drove the three hours from the Maryland suburbs of DC to the eastern shore.

  She yanked off the sheet covering the couch and collapsed on it. She was here. Now what? Hunger gnawed at her stomach. When had she last eaten? Breakfast? She wandered into the kitchen. The refrigerator was empty, all but turned off. Readied for winter. She turned the refrigerator and freezer back to their normal temperatures and rummaged through the pantry. Bare.

  Her cell phone rang and she pulled the device from her back pocket. “Yes, Steve.” She barely managed to hide the bitterness in her voice.

  “Just called to see if you got there all right.”

  “Don’t you have meetings to go to?”

  “It’s a long drive for one person. I know. I wanted to make sure you were OK.”

  “Sure.”

  “I said I was sorry.” She could imagine him drawing circles on his yellow legal pad, as he did whenever he didn’t really know what to say.

  “I think it’s pretty clear you planned this from the beginning. Sorry doesn’t cut it.”

  “You’ll have another chance in a couple months.”

  “Whatever. I’m really tired. I’ll call in a couple days.”

  “Hope—”

  She punched the end button, harder than necessary. Some partner.

  Hadn’t she seen a small grocery store on her way in? It would be outrageously expensive this close to the beach, but she was in no mood to drive several miles back out of town to the nearest major chain grocery.

  After stepping into the powder room, she splashed water on her face and dried it, then redid her hair up into a high ponytail. She frowned at one more glance in the mirror. Not great, but who was she trying to impress?

  She locked the door and headed toward Main Street. The salt smell of the ocean filled the air, relaxing her in spite of herself. An older lady planting flower bulbs in her front yard smiled and waved at her. That never happened back in Bethesda.

  Ice machines lined up like sentries outside the store, a one-story building with a brick face. A yellow-striped awning stretched across the front. Hope strode to the refrigerator section and grabbed a half-gallon of milk, a block of Monterey Jack and a dozen eggs. Moving to the right she selected a head of lettuce and one tomato. She looked at a small turkey breast, but groaned at the price and replaced it. Her chef’s salad would be meatless tonight.

  A red-headed girl smacking gum and wearing large hoop earrings leaned against the counter near the cash register. “Welcome to Surf Foods.” She called out the prices in a New Jersey accent so thick she must have moved here last week.

  Hope grimaced as she paid—far too much, if you asked her.

  Back at the house she found a pan and set water to boil for a couple eggs, and tried not to think about the events that sent her to Brandon Beach, Delaware.

  She located the linen closet upstairs, and made up the master bedroom that took up most of the eastern half. Like the rest of the house, the furniture in this room sported a cheerful beach house theme, which did nothing to brighten her mood. Across the hall lay two smaller rooms, each with two twin beds. After opening the windows, Hope trudged back down to eat dinner. Alone.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “CAN’T YOU EVER BE PATIENT?” From the Surf Foods cash register, Ian MacKay looked over his shoulder at his old college roommate. Standing in the door of the tiny office, Rob nearly reached the top of the doorframe. He had four inches on Ian, but Ian figured he could still take him if he had to. Rob was tall but slender, and Ian was all muscle.

  At times like this, he was tempted to take him out. Or at least, send him back to California.

  Rob quirked a brow. “We were working, and you just left.”

  “To wait on a customer! If I don’t serve the customers, we won’t have any. And without them, we won’t have a business to argue about.�
��

  Rob laughed. “I didn’t realize we were arguing.”

  Ian narrowed his eyes. “With you it’s always arguing.”

  “Well, why isn’t anyone scheduled to be behind the counter at this time of day?”

  “Amy’s late, as usual.” Ian looked toward the door. “Here she comes. Can we talk about this elsewhere?” He shooed Rob to the back and into the alley, closing the door behind them.

  His roommate shrugged. “Dude, if she’s such a bad employee, fire her. I don’t understand the dilemma.”

  “She’s not that bad.” Ian dropped himself onto a stack of wooden crates.

  “You complain about her all the time.” Rob took the nerf ball from his pocket and bounced it at the wall, catching it on its return.

  “There’s a lot you don’t know.” Ian stood to pace. “Look, if we’re going to be partners, you have to trust me. You’re going to have to assume I know what I’m talking about, and that usually I know more than you about what goes on around here. I grew up here. In Brandon Beach and in this store.”

  Rob put up his hands in mock surrender. “All right, all right.”

  Ian faced Rob and folded his arms over his chest. “That said, I will say fresh eyes are a good thing. Now, what ideas do you have that will make it worth my putting up with you?”

  “What is this space out here, where we’re standing? Why is the alley behind your store wider than everywhere else? ”

  “Back when this was a bakery, the ovens were here. This wall has steel in it up to about five feet, so we can’t tear it down and expand, if that’s your thought. Besides, it would only give us about ten more feet. I don’t think it would be worth the expense.”

  “Not for selling space. But you do the books at home, right? Take the money home, count it, balance the books, then take the deposit to the bank?”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “So how much time do you spend on that each week? What if we built an office—a proper office—in this space? We put in tinted glass, raise the floor to get over the five-foot mark. You do all the paperwork here, and you can keep an eye on things at the same time. You aren’t lugging home documents or money, and everything stays locked up here where it belongs. Some of those times you had to schedule two people, now you can have one, because one of us would be here to step in if it got really busy.”

  Ian halted, ran his hand through his hair. “That’s actually a great idea. That alone might make it worth keeping you around.”

  “My initial investment would more than take care of construction. There would be plenty left over for all my other brilliant ideas.”

  Ian laughed, then stuck out his hand. “Welcome to Surf Foods.”

  Later that day, as Rob worked the phone lining up contractor bids, Ian watched the pretty blonde as her ponytail bounced to the back of the store, then juggled her items in her arms on the way back.

  The girl—make that young woman—placed her selections on the counter and drew the back of her hand across her brow, looking everywhere but at him. The emerald green t-shirt she wore matched her eyes. He knew all of the year-round residents of the one-mile-square town, but she was new.

  “Hot for September, huh?”

  “I guess.” She still didn’t make eye contact.

  He rang up her order and quoted the total.

  She frowned and pulled two bills from the back pocket of her jeans.

  “Everything OK?”

  “Your prices are ridiculous.”

  He shrugged. “Land and taxes are expensive out here. Gotta make a living.”

  “Yeah.” She picked up her bags and stalked out.

  Ian smiled and shook his head. Beautiful girl. Lousy attitude.

  CHAPTER THREE

  HOPE PULLED HER LAPTOP FROM its foam-lined contoured bag and placed it on the dining room table, followed by several comb-bound stacks of paper. She plugged in the computer and pushed the power button. Now where had she jotted down the wifi password? She reached for her smartphone and scanned through the emails until she found the one she’d sent to herself, then entered the code and connected to the internet.

  Her email showed nothing of interest. Why should it? Who would care that she left?

  She pulled the first manuscript toward her. Software Configuration Management Systems for Postsecondary Educational Institutions. Sighing, she turned the cover page, to the instructions on the next page. “Rewrite for non-technical decision makers at graduate levels.” She placed her fingers on the keys.

  Four hours later, she turned the last page, hit save once again and stood. She massaged her neck, trying to work out the kinks. If she intended to stay here for three months, she’d definitely need a better chair.

  She filled her water bottle from the sink and stepped onto the porch. The warm, late September breeze and the sound of crashing waves beckoned from the beach only two blocks east. One good thing about the cottage, anyway.

  She crossed the empty parking lot at the end of the road and stepped onto the worn wood walkway that crossed over the dune grass to the white sand. As the structure reached its highest point, she halted and pulled in a deep breath. She’d always loved that smell.

  The deserted beach stretched for miles on either side of her. Sandpipers skittered in and out of the waves, bobbing their long bills in the sand in search of food. Seagulls wandered aimlessly, the summer guests with french fries and bread long gone.

  Hope kicked off her flip-flops and left them at the end of the walkway. She strolled to the water’s edge and waded in. Tiny shells thrown onto the sand at her feet rolled back into the water, then were tossed out again. Watching the waves roll in, one after another, never-ending, perfectly consistent, somehow felt reassuring. Even the noise soothed her.

  She backed up a few feet and sat, digging her toes into the warm sand. The sun shone on her shoulders, and seagulls called overhead.

  If she hadn’t been forced to come here, she might have truly enjoyed it. A few days, even a week or two might prove to be quite relaxing.

  But knowing she was stuck here until late December sucked all the joy from it.

  She had to admit it had come at a good time. After what Steve had done to her, there was no way she could have worked alongside him in the office and remained calm. At least Teresa consented to her working from here, so she could keep her job.

  But she shouldn’t have to. Just because Steve stole that promotion out from under her. Lying, cheating Steve.

  And Teresa let him get away with it. It wasn’t fair.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  AT NINE AM ON THE last Monday of September, Ian, his father, and Rob sat at a large, round table in the conference room of Cooper, Koenig & Barton. Ice, glasses and soft drinks sat on a tray in the center.

  Stanley Barton, a rotund, balding man who wore too much aftershave, sat across from the trio with a stack of papers. He adjusted his glasses and reordered the papers for the fifth time.

  An assistant who couldn’t be more than twenty years old brought in a tray of colas and sandwich cookies and placed it in the middle of the table.

  “Thank you, darling. Now we can begin.” His thick southern accent had always seemed out of place in Delaware.

  “You’re welcome, Uncle Stan.” She pranced out of the room, dark hair flipping side to side.

  “Susie’s a sophomore this year. Her dad’s hoping she’ll go to law school when she graduates, continue the family tradition. She helps out around here when she’s not in class.”

  “Well, she’s lovely,” said Dad. “I’m sure she’ll do fine.”

  Stan looked over his shoulder at the closed door before he spoke. “Thank you, Sean, but truth be told, she’s not the brightest crayon in the box. I don’t think it will happen.”

  Ian choked on his Coke. “Stan!”

  The older man peered at him over his glasses. “What do you want me to do? Lie?”

  “Well, no ...”

  Rob laughed. “An honest lawyer. Imagine that.�
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  Stan fixed him with a glare and Rob stopped short, a blush creeping up his neck.

  Stan cleared his throat. “You’re one of them L.A. boys, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Stan stared a few moments more and then burst into laughter. “We’ll get along just fine, then, son. Welcome to Brandon Beach.”

  Rob let out a long breath and chuckled.

  Stan picked up the first stack. “Now, Sean, you’re selling Surf Foods to Ian and Rob? Isn’t this rather sudden?”

  “Well, yes and no. I’d always planned to hand it over, of course, in time. But Marie’s condition is worsening far quicker than anyone realized it would. She doesn’t trust anyone but me, and I want to be there for her. Ian has his MBA, as does Rob. He can run the store better than I can. But I don’t have enough saved up yet to retire; I was planning on working another ten years or so.” He cleared his throat. “Then Ian mentioned the possibility of an investor. Rob’s moved here and is going to invest enough to update the store some as well as allow me to retire and care for Marie.”

  Ian’s heart clenched as he listened to his dad. His mother had always been the strong one, the delight of his life. Seeing her fall deeper and deeper into Alzheimer’s nearly ripped him in two every time he came home. How could his father handle it so calmly and practically, watching his wife of forty years literally lose her mind? It had to be only by the grace of God.

  Rob’s hand on his back jerked him back to the proceedings. Papers were being shoved in front of him. Rob pointed to lines on the bottom of the page with colorful sticky arrows that ordered him to “sign here.” He affixed his signature to more pages than he thought could possibly be necessary, then slumped back in his chair as Rob handed over a check to Stan.