Chapter 22
CHAPTER 22
JULIET
D rawing near the end of a two-day writing binge, Juliet gazed at her laptop screen, her tired, bleary eyes straining to read the final words of her novel, A Soldier’s Christmas Promise.
After her conversation with Frank yesterday, she’d given herself permission to write from the heart without confining herself to other people’s expectations. As a result, the words had poured out of her like a creative wellspring formerly untapped. She’d never known writing could be so collaborative, as if she’d written in tandem with her characters. But once she knew and understood them—their wounds, hopes, and fears—they’d steered the story, from Chapter One to The End.
Still in disbelief that she’d written an entire novel in a matter of days—albeit an extremely rough draft of one—she read back over her final words, blinking against a sudden surge of tears.
As Nick stared at the towering pine, draped in ribbons and sparkling lights, a startling truth solidified in his heart. Christmas wasn’t a coping mechanism. Or a to-do list. It was a celebration. A celebration of the life-changing love bestowed in a lowly manger—God’s gift of hope to the world.
He’d come to the small town of Thistle River in search of a light bright enough to dim the darkness inside him. He thought he’d find it among the festive trappings and trimmings, but he’d looked in all the wrong places. In the end, Nick found God’s love reflected in the kindness of others, like the brightest star in the sky guiding him to where he belonged—to the family of his heart.
He reached for Callie’s hand, entwining their fingers. She leaned her head against his shoulder, so instant and innate, as if she’d done it all her life.
“Almost ready to go home?” she asked, snuggling against him in the chilly night air.
He nestled his cheek against her hair, savoring the sweet scent of the silky-soft strands. “I’m already there,” he whispered. “I’m already there.”
Juliet sat perfectly still, immobilized by an unfamiliar emotion. Was it satisfaction in her own work? Self-respect? Although she knew the manuscript would require some serious editing, she loved the world and characters she’d created. Dare she admit, she felt almost proud?
But as soon as the euphoric feeling settled in her heart, another more powerful emotion took over— fear . Fear of what her editor would say when she submitted a romance novel, not the literary masterpiece she’d promised. And worse—what would her parents say? Would they be embarrassed? Ashamed? Disappointed? What if they didn’t want anything to do with her and her silly, derivative book?
The agonizing, unanswered questions assaulted her at an alarming speed, almost stealing every ounce of joy she’d earned by finally writing The End. Luckily, she had two more days before her new deadline. She’d planned to use the time to rewrite Nick’s character and make him less identical to Nate, even though the prospect made her sadder than it should. Nick was a fictional character, after all, so she knew it was the right thing to do.
Plus, the two extra days would help her gather her courage. And hopefully, she’d devise the perfect way to tell her parents. At the mere thought of the impending conversation, anxiety fluttered erratically in her chest like a frantic bird with a wounded wing. She tried to push the topic from her mind. She deserved a break, and that night, she’d get to share her favorite Poppy Creek tradition with Nate—Pajama Christmas. The quirky tree-lighting ceremony—where everyone in town wore festive PJs—had even inspired the final scene of her novel. And now, she’d get to live out the romantic moment herself.
Don’t let fear of the future steal your present joy , she reminded herself.
She mentally repeated the mantra as she walked into the living room moments later, clad in the plaid flannel pajamas Aunt Beverly had picked out. When she reached the threshold, she paused, rendered speechless by the sight before her. Nate stood by the fireplace, wearing a matching pair of PJs. With one arm propped against the mantel, he leaned forward, gazing into the flickering flames. The golden glow highlighted his chiseled features. With his strong, muscular frame filling out the festive ensemble, he looked both ruggedly handsome and adorably snuggable.
He must have sensed her presence because he straightened and met her gaze. In an instant, a glimpse of their future flashed before her eyes. It was Christmas morning, and they were cuddled on the couch in front of the fire while their posse of children—both biological and foster—tore open their presents. The image was so visceral and intense, her throat went dry.
Get a grip, Jules. It’s fiction. And way too soon for thoughts like that.
She blamed her recent writing sessions for putting romance on the brain.
Don’t overthink it. Just enjoy a sweet, sexy man decked out in the softest fabric ever invented. You don’t need to skip to happily ever after just yet.
She tried to focus on breathing normally while begging her cheeks not to turn bright pink. But the way Nate looked at her—like a starving man presented with an extravagant Christmas feast—wasn’t helping.
“Well, don’t you two look cute as a button,” Aunt Beverly cooed, coming in from the kitchen. She wore the same plaid flannel, only sewn into a long nightgown with lace ruffles at the cuffs and collar.
Frank trudged behind her wearing a matching nightshirt and floppy Scrooge-style nightcap. “We look ridiculous.”
“We’re festive, darling. It’s part of the fun.”
“Is freezing to death the other part?”
“You may wear your coat over your pajamas,” she said patiently. “Just don’t button it up all the way.”
Juliet shared an amused smile with Nate as he helped her into her coat. Frank tried to be a good sport most of the time, but the man had his limits. Apparently, wearing a long flannel nightshirt in public crossed the line. Luckily, by the time they arrived at the town square and joined the flurry of festivities, his spirits had lifted.
Between the live band performing holiday favorites, the magical glow of twinkle lights glittering across the square, and a plethora of booths offering mouthwatering treats like chocolate-covered sugar plums, deep-fried fruitcake, and sticky toffee pudding on a stick, it was impossible to be anything but merry and bright.
Nibbling on a shared bag of peanut brittle popcorn, Juliet and Nate stood side by side, staring at the small stage in eager anticipation of the official tree-lighting ceremony. Every time their elbows bumped or their fingers grazed, a shiver of delight skittered up her arm. Would this heavenly feeling ever fade? She hoped not.
“That’s an impressive tree.” Nate gazed at the towering pine draped in hundreds of bulbs, waiting to be lit.
“Each ornament was handmade by schoolchildren.” She fondly recalled being able to participate when she was younger.
“That reminds me.” Nate cleared his throat, and the energy between them suddenly shifted. Why did he look so nervous? “I made you something.” He reached into his coat pocket and retrieved a small object wrapped in gold paper.
“When did you have time to make me something?”
“It’s no big deal.”
She handed him the bag of popcorn so she could unwrap his gift. Her pulse thrummed as she carefully peeled back the paper. Nestled inside the wrapping sat a wooden ornament shaped like a book. In the center, Nate had carved the outline of a heart.
Tears welled in her eyes.
“It’s an ornament to commemorate this year, like your aunt’s tradition.” Nate shuffled his feet. “I know you’re nervous about your debut living up to everyone’s expectations, but I don’t think you should worry. You have the biggest heart, and as long as you pour even an ounce of it into your book, I’m confident the story will be exactly what it needs to be.”
His sweet words of encouragement spoke to her lingering fears and doubts, echoing Frank’s advice. She’d come to Poppy Creek looking for isolation, but it was community—people to speak truth into her life—that she’d needed all along.
She thought of the manuscript sitting on her laptop back at the house. If only Nate knew how instrumental he’d been in helping her overcome her writer’s block. One day, when the story was ready, she’d tell him.
She lifted the ornament by its silky red ribbon, finally finding her voice. “Thank you, Nate. It’s the most beautiful ornament I’ve ever seen.” Peering closer, she admired the intricate details—the way he’d carved grooves for each of the pages and decorated the spine. “You have a real gift for this. You could sell these.”
“Funny you should say that.” He dug his fingers through his hair. “Luke offered me a job yesterday.”
The world shifted in and out of focus as Juliet tried to wrap her brain around the news. Nate might stay in Poppy Creek? What would that mean for their relationship? “Wow. That—that’s amazing. Did you accept his offer?” She tried to keep her tone steady.
“I told him I need to think about it. It’s tempting. Job-wise, it’s everything I could want. But there are downsides.”
“There are?” She forced herself to meet his gaze, holding her breath.
“There are a dozen reasons to stay in San Francisco. One in particular.” The meaning behind his words, and the depth of his gaze, made her stomach spin.
He would turn down the job to be with her? For a moment, she wanted to shout for joy. But her elation quickly gave way to uncertainty. How would she feel if he gave up a dream for her? “You should take it,” she blurted before her brain could catch up with her heart.
“What?”
“You should take the job,” she repeated, surprising herself.
“You really think so?” He frowned, looking almost as if she’d hurt his feelings.
She hastened to explain. “Obviously, I don’t love the idea of being apart. But Luke’s offer is an amazing opportunity. And it’s perfect for you.” She gathered a breath, fighting the selfish urge to change her mind. “I know the shelter is important to you, but you can still find a way to help out. And as far as we’re concerned—” Was she really saying this? “We can make it work. San Francisco is only a few hours away.”
He titled his head, seriously contemplating her suggestion. “Are you sure?”
“Positive,” she lied, plastering on a smile.
“Okay,” he said slowly, “then I guess I’ll consider it.”
“Great.” Still smiling like a maniac, she turned her gaze toward the makeshift stage. Whatever you do, don’t cry. It will all work out just fine.
She barely heard a word of Cassie’s speech or noticed the way the illuminated tree transformed the town square into a kaleidoscope of colors, mirroring the idyllic scene she’d written earlier that evening.
Her mind reeled with worst-case scenarios.
She’d meant what she said about Nate pursuing his dream job.
But what if happily ever after existed only in romance novels and didn’t extend to real life?