Chapter Three
Alden
Being a writer seemed like such an easy solution when I’d decided to leave journalism. I had a degree that had involved a hell of a lot of writing and lit classes. I had life experience to spare. Besides, part of journalism was telling a story to the audience.
It should have been a no-brainer.
But, as a perpetually single, forty-something man who had never even watched a romcom, let alone studied the genre, I’d needed a lifeline.
Joy was not only a librarian, but I knew her undergrad was in English lit. Aside from that, she was so helpful that she could be a little pushy, making her the perfect person to ask for help.
The problem was that I actually had to read the books she’d given me to get any useful information. I chickened out for a few days, but by December 24th, I had run out of excuses not to start my romance research.
The sooner I started, the better, since I was entirely clueless on the topic.
If I had known anything about romance, I would have asked Joy out twenty-five years ago when we were teens. Any time I tried to work up the courage, I’d change my mind. What would a ray of sunshine like her want with a guy like me anyway?
It was nice to have her as part of my usual group of friends. To be in her orbit of wild ideas and bright colors. At some point, I had convinced myself that that was good enough. Seeing her at the library made me think I was wrong.
But I couldn’t focus on her right now. I had to get this writing career of mine off the ground so I could stay in Springwood long enough to ask her out.
Which led me back to problem number one: how do I write a romance?
I had tried brainstorming the word romance. I’d come up with candles, moonlight, fancy dinner, flowers, and love letters.
In other words, I had nothing.
I was lost.
Joy and the stack of books she’d sent me home with had answers. I psyched myself up by making a steak for dinner. I froze my ass off grilling on the deck, but it was worth it. Once I was full and now really out of excuses, I sank down onto the couch to read.
Let the research begin.
I picked up the first novel from the stack and studied its cover. It was an eye-catching shade of bright pink with a man smirking back at me.
He kind of looked like James Bond.
I was writing a thriller, so reading about a James Bond lookalike made sense to me.
I cracked the cover and started reading.
A half hour later, I was staring at the novel with my mouth hanging open.
When I thought of romance, I naively thought of Pride and Prejudice and other classics I had read decades ago in my English lit class.
This…this was not that.
This was panties lowered down thick thighs.
Panting and moaning and core-wracking orgasms. I finished the novel in one sitting, then went back to studying the cover.
Gambling with Destiny by Tilly Tait. I navigated to the library’s website and put a hold on all the other books by this author.
I liked curvy women. I had no idea how my own character would look, but I’d happily read more about curvy women being worshiped.
I certainly wasn’t doing any of that myself these days.
My brain flicked back to the smile on Joy’s face when she saw me at the library a few days earlier.
Did she have a boyfriend?
The idea put my teeth on edge. Then again, if no one had committed to her by now, then every man in this town was missing out.
Maybe that was what she was doing tonight, spending time with some guy. Perhaps he planned to propose tomorrow. Maybe they’d spend Christmas night having amazing sex over and over again.
Maybe I was too late.
Surely, if she wasn’t with a guy, she was with her friends or family tonight, enjoying eggnog and sugar cookies.
And here I was alone.
I wasn’t sad about being alone on Christmas Eve. After witnessing the struggles many people faced around the world, celebrating just because felt hollow.
How could I stuff a turkey and decorate a tree when so many people around the world needed help?
It felt like a waste of money done just for show.
I had seen the good work that charity groups did during disasters, so I’d done some quick and dirty math on what I’d have spent on everything that went into making Christmas and donated the money instead. At least I could feel good about that.
Besides, I didn’t have family in Springwood anymore.
I grew up here, but my sister had joined the Canadian Navy after high school and was stationed down by the coast. Since I was overseas working, my parents had relocated to Vancouver once they’d retired.
The climate was better, and they were closer to my sister.
I had been invited to join them, of course, but I had mumbled a few excuses and promised to visit once the snow melted.
I needed time.
Partly to get used to a more routine, less chaotic life again, and partly to get this goddamned book done.
With that in mind, I turned my attention to the pile of novels on my coffee table.
Romance was not what I thought it would be. It was more fun, for one thing, and it was hot as fuck.
I was debating on which book to read next when there was a knock on the door. I scowled at it for a moment before getting up to answer it. The holidays tended to encourage people to visit, but I really wasn’t in the mood for catching up with anyone who hadn’t bothered to stay in touch.
Cold air rushed over my skin as I opened the door.
When I saw who was standing there, I almost stumbled back. It was snowing heavily, with thick white flakes accumulating at least four inches over my truck, deck, and yard. In the middle of the falling snow, looking like a pink-cheeked angel, was Joy holding a stack of books.
My brain short-circuited.
Seeing Joy at her job was one thing. She was required to help me. Having her come all this way to see me felt different.
Seeing so many families ripped apart while I was reporting had put a wall up around my heart. Letting someone in, even my own family, had gotten harder. Sure, I had contemplated asking her out, but the difference between dreaming and doing was clear.
I knew Joy, more than any other person, would break me if I had her and then lost her.
But the world was a fucked-up place, so of course the one person who could make me feel something would show up on my doorstep on my first Christmas home.
Her curly red hair, which was always a little wild, stuck out from under a cream-colored toque. Her scarf was the same color, and her mittens had little tassels hanging from the wrist.
She was adorable.
She embodied happiness and temptation all in one. When her parents named her Joy, they were on to something.
The snow would be a good excuse to push her away.
I should tell her to get home safely before the roads get any worse.
The idea of having her leave made my heart squeeze uncomfortably in my chest. If she walked away and I went back to my quiet cabin alone, I knew I’d regret it.
I swallowed hard and prepared to step out of my comfort zone.