Christmas at Pine Ridge Inn

Chapter 1

One

The infinity pool at Oceanview Resort stretched toward the horizon, its mirrored surface reflecting the mid-December sun.

Lila McAllister stood on the terrace above it, tablet in hand, making final notes as she wrapped up her latest consulting gig.

Another five-star resort optimized for maximum revenue while also prioritizing guest satisfaction.

“The new check-in system will reduce wait times by thirty percent,” she told the manager, Patricia Wu, who nodded approvingly beside her. “And relocating the concierge desk to the lobby’s north corner creates better traffic flow and opens up more of those ocean views your guests love.”

Patricia smiled. “I don’t know why we didn’t think of that. We’ve been struggling with that bottleneck between the front desk and the concierge for months.”

Lila shrugged, sliding her tablet into her handbag. “Sometimes all you need is a fresh set of eyes. When you’re too close to it, you can’t see the obvious solutions.” The irony wasn’t lost on her that she could solve everyone’s problems but her own these days.

“Will you be heading home for the holidays?” Patricia asked as they walked back toward the main building.

“Something like that.” Lila forced a smile.

Home wasn’t her condo in Huntington Beach with the peekaboo ocean view where she’d return tonight. It was the house where she’d grown up in the suburbs of Atlanta and spent every Christmas of her entire life. Well, every Christmas except the one she was born on and this year.

She hadn’t sold the house in Atlanta yet, but she knew she’d have to soon. It wasn’t the same now that both of her parents were gone. It would feel just as empty and lonely as her condo, maybe even more so since she knew exactly what it should sound like at Christmastime.

Twenty minutes later, Lila was in her car, heading north on the Pacific Coast Highway through Laguna Beach. The coastline whizzed by, a blurred mix of towering palm trees, red tile roofs, and glimpses of blue ocean between buildings.

Her phone rang through the car speakers, her best friend Jenna’s name appearing on the car’s LCD screen.

“Hey,” Lila answered, already knowing what the call would be about.

“Please tell me you’ve finally booked your flights for Christmas,” Jenna said without bothering to waste time with pleasantries. “The kids have been asking about Aunt Lila all week.”

Lila’s chest tightened. Jenna had been trying to take care of her since her mother’s funeral, inviting her to join her family for Thanksgiving and now Christmas.

Lila had the excuse of the job at the Oceanview Resort over Thanksgiving, but she hadn’t managed to find one Jenna would accept for Christmas.

Jenna’s parents and her in-laws would be there for the holiday, and the last thing they needed was a melancholy houseguest ruining the magic.

Not to mention the last thing Lila could stomach this year was being around a happy family to remind her of everything she’d lost. Nope, she was skipping Christmas this year.

“Actually, I might need to take a rain check,” Lila said carefully. “Something’s come up.”

“Work?” Jenna’s voice carried a note of concern. “Lila, you’ve been taking on too many projects. There’s a difference between distracting yourself in a healthy way and avoiding dealing with your grief.”

“Not work. Personal stuff.” Lila paused, choosing her words.

“I think I’m finally ready to look into my birth family.

It’s the first break I’ve had in months, and I want to spend a little time digging into it and just getting my condo organized.

I still have all those boxes I brought home from my parents’ house. ”

The silence stretched for several heartbeats. Jenna knew Lila had been adopted and that Lila’s curiosity about her birth parents had grown stronger since she’d lost the parents who’d raised her. Lila’s mother had passed back in the spring, just a few short years after her father.

“Oh honey, are you sure? I mean, I think it’s wonderful if you’re ready to look for your birth mother, but during the holidays? That seems like a lot of emotional weight.”

“Maybe that’s exactly when I need to do it,” Lila said. “Christmas has always felt complicated for me, you know? Being born on Christmas Day and never knowing anything about the circumstances surrounding my birth. Maybe it’s finally time to figure that out.”

“Do you even know where to start?”

“I have a box of stuff my mom kept. There must be something in there that will give me a clue.” Lila stopped at a red light and looked out at the way the sun made the turquoise water of the Pacific sparkle on the surface like glittering diamonds had been strewn across it.

“And honestly, Jen, you don’t need me there.

You’ve got such a beautiful family Christmas planned.

I’d just be the sad single friend bringing down the mood. ”

“You would not—”

“I would, and we both know it.” Lila’s voice was gentle but firm. “This year I need to do something different. I promise you I’ll be okay. It’s what I feel like I need to do right now.”

Jenna sighed. “Okay. But keep me updated on what you find. And if you change your mind, just hop on a flight and we’ll have a spot ready for you at our table.”

“I promise. Give the kids extra hugs from me and tell them I’m mailing their presents.”

As she pulled into her parking spot a little over a half hour later, Lila sat in the car for a moment and stared up at the second-story windows of her unit.

The apartment had been perfect when she’d moved in three years ago.

It was walking distance to the beach and dozens of good restaurants and cute little shops.

It was everything she’d thought she wanted, but it still didn’t feel like home.

Not the way the house she’d grown up in had.

Lila climbed the exterior stairs to her door, keys jingling softly in her hand.

Once inside, late afternoon light slanted through the windows, illuminating dust motes that danced above hardwood floors her mother had helped her pick out when she’d bought the place.

Everything was exactly as she’d left it that morning—laptop closed on the dining table, coffee mug rinsed and waiting in the sink, throw pillows arranged just so on the sofa.

It somehow looked both lived in and not. Like how you’d set up a photo of a condo to make it look like someone lived there.

Lila dropped her purse by the door, then walked to her bedroom closet.

Shoved way in the back was a medium-sized cardboard box she’d taken from her parents’ house after her mother’s funeral.

She’d avoided looking at it for months. Her adoptive parents were her real parents, she felt that to her core.

She’d had a wonderful childhood, and they’d been her best friends as an adult.

No doubt, that’s why she’d never felt the need to know more about her birth parents.

After her mother passed, it felt like a betrayal to suddenly go looking for them.

But today felt different. Two weeks away from Christmas—from her birthday—it suddenly felt like the right time.

Maybe just as a distraction since she didn’t have a new work project to bury herself in, but she didn’t want to overanalyze it.

Lila carried the box to her bed and lifted the lid slowly, like something might jump out at her.

Inside were the few items that had come with her as a baby.

There was a small teddy bear, the pale pink onesie she’d been wearing when her parents picked her up from the agency, and a tiny quilt of red, green, and white squares interspersed with patterned squares in the same colors.

Her mother had saved everything for her in case she wanted them some day.

Lila had looked through these things countless times over the years, but today she found herself studying each item more carefully.

The teddy bear was well-loved but simple, the kind you could buy at any department store.

The onesie had faded from its original pink but showed no identifying marks.

The quilt was a little worn around the edges, but the colors were still vibrant and festive.

There had to be something here that could give her a starting point. Some clue that would help her figure out more about where—and who—she came from.

Lila set the items aside and dug deeper into the box.

Underneath was a manila folder she’d glanced at before but never thoroughly examined.

Inside were official documents from the adoption agency, including the amended birth certificate with her adopted name and adoptive parents’ names, and correspondence between the agency and her parents.

She spread the papers across her bed, reading each one carefully. Most of the information was clinical and impersonal, but one document caught her attention: a letter from the adoption counselor to her parents dated three weeks after her birth.

The birth mother has expressed her desire that the child know she was loved and wanted, but that circumstances made it impossible for her to provide the life she hoped her daughter would have.

She specifically requested that the quilt and bear accompany the child as reminders that she was cherished from her first moments.

Lila’s vision blurred as she read the words again. Her birth mother had wanted her to know she was loved. She’d read the letter once before, but it had been sometime during her teenage years. At the time, she didn’t remember that single line making her heart squeeze the way it was now.

But the letter raised more questions than it answered. What circumstances? Was her birth mother young, unmarried, facing family pressure? Or had there been something else—financial hardship, health issues, a relationship that couldn’t weather the reality of an unplanned pregnancy?

Lila picked up her phone and scrolled through her contacts until she found the number for Janet Morrison, the attorney who’d handled the estate planning for her parents. Janet specialized in family law and had been her mother’s college roommate. Maybe she knew something about navigating adoptions.

“Lila, how wonderful to hear from you,” Janet said as she answered.

“I hope I’m not catching you at a bad time.”

“Not at all. How are you holding up, honey?”

“I’m managing. Actually, I was hoping you might be able to help me with something. I’m thinking about trying to learn more about my birth family, and I wondered if you could tell me what my options are.”

There was a pause. “Of course. Are you thinking about attempting contact, or just trying to get access to information?”

“I’m not sure yet. I guess I’d like to start with information and go from there.” She wanted to do an internet search or two on this person before she decided whether it was someone she wanted to contact.

“If I remember correctly, you were born in Colorado, right?”

“Yes.” It was one of the few details Lila knew about her birth.

“I’m not well-versed in Colorado law, but I can look into it. Can you give me a couple of days?”

“Of course,” Lila said.

After hanging up, Lila carefully gathered the documents and placed them back in the folder.

Soon, maybe she’d find out what was actually possible.

Maybe the sealed adoption could be opened with the right legal approach.

Weren’t there databases or registries that could help adoptees connect with their birth families?

A quick internet search revealed that there were indeed registries in some states.

In others—like Colorado, apparently—you had to petition the court to get access to your original birth certificate, and then it was only granted if there was a valid reason, like a medical condition.

After another half hour of research, she still wasn’t clear on exactly what constituted a “valid reason.”

Frustrated, Lila tossed the folder on her nightstand and shut her laptop. There was no use in her spinning her wheels trying to research it online. Janet would understand it better than she would.

She’d waited thirty-four years, what was a couple more days?