Chapter 2EMMA #2
“You had this all planned, didn’t you?” I laugh.
“When can I be a sexy lumberjack in Florida? I had to take advantage of the situation while I have the chance,” he grins.
“This sexy lumberjack is going to load the tree…that he cut down with his bare hands, I might add,” he winks at me, “and get you something warm to drink. I think I saw a hot chocolate stand when we first came in that has your name on it.”
“Hot chocolate and my very own sexy lumberjack? You spoil me, Mr. Noah Bennett.”
“Any chance I can get, Mrs. Bennett,” he kisses the tip of my cold nose before leading the way back to the truck.
With the Christmas tree secure in the back of the truck, we start walking around the tree farm.
It’s grown a lot since I was younger. They’ve added several more vendors and have created a small Christmas village inside their pine-covered forest. My hands wrap around the warm cup of hot chocolate as we wander around and look at all the tables.
“I love the smell of pine.” I trail my fingers over the homemade wreaths and garlands made from the trimmings of the trees.
“I do, too. There’s nothing better than a real tree to make your home smell like Christmas.” Noah picks up a wreath with a gold bow on it. “We should get this for our front door and some garland for the mantle,” he says, walking over to the strands of pine hanging in the corner.
“I agree,” I smile, picking out the garland that matches with the small gold bows and pinecones woven into it. “This will look beautiful above our fireplace,” I grin excitedly.
We pick out a few more items and make small talk with the young girl behind the counter as she rings up our things. Like everyone else who works here, she’s wearing a cute elf outfit, making it more magical for the kids.
“Do you mind if we leave our bags behind the counter? I have a few things lined up for my wife,” Noah asks the girl.
“Not at all,” she says, taking the bags and setting them down behind her. “They will be right here waiting for you when you are done. You guys have fun,” she smiles at us before helping the next person in line.
“What other things do you have lined up for your wife?” I ask, curious about what he has up his sleeve now.
“You’ll see,” he grins, taking my hand. He leads us past the vendor tables toward a small barn with Santa’s Workshop painted on a wooden sign.
We step inside, and more people dressed like elves are busy helping children make Christmas tree ornaments to take home.
The barn has been transformed with white lights and hanging snowflakes from the rafters.
Santa sits in a big red velvet chair along the back wall in front of a group of kids sitting on a fur rug. Mrs. Claus is sitting next to him on a matching chair with a book in her hand.
“I know how much you love storytime with kids, so I thought we could sit in on this one. They read to the children every day around this hour.”
An elf comes rushing over when she sees us, excitement clearly written across their face.
“I can’t tell you how excited I am to meet you, Mrs. Hunter.
My daughter has all your books and doesn’t want me to read anything else to her at bedtime,” she laughs.
“I’ve set up a spot over here for you both to sit while Mrs. Claus reads to the children. ”
Confused, I give a sideways look to my husband, who just grins and winks at me.
She used my pen name, Emma Hunter, which means she knows who I am.
I’ve always wanted to be a children’s author for as long as I can remember.
I set aside my dreams, though, letting my ex-boyfriend's thoughts and doubts mess with my head. After my parent’s death, I came across all the notes I had written down for books, so when I moved to Florida, I vowed to have a fresh start and give myself this chance at writing.
When I met Noah, he fully supported and believed in me.
He’s a best-selling romance author, so he knows what it takes.
Unlike me, he prefers to remain anonymous.
Besides close friends and family, no one in our small town knows that the local handyman and home renovator is Beck Hunter, the author.
So far, they haven’t connected the dots with our married pen names, even though Beck Hunter is a huge donor to our local library funding the children’s program I run there.
It’s our little secret, and to be honest, it’s been very fun keeping this to ourselves.
I thought about remaining anonymous, but I enjoy meeting the children and doing story hours with them too much not to be involved.
With my last book release, Emma Hunter has officially become a household name.
My third book in the series has done very well and has gotten my name out more than I ever thought possible.
“When your husband called us and said you would be in town, I couldn’t believe my ears. I never thought Emma Hunter would be attending our little book reading here.”
“Of course, I’m excited to be here,” I smile warmly at her, playing along like I know what she is talking about.
We sit down on the chairs off to the side of Santa, and he glances our way, giving me a smile.
I have to say they did a very good job picking this one.
He looks exactly like every Santa picture I’ve seen, with his full white beard and rosy cheeks.
His eyes even sparkle like he knows the world’s biggest secret, and the excitement is too big to contain it all.
I can’t help but feel the joy of Christmas as I look at him with a grin on my face.
“I’ve got all the books you donated on the table over there,” she says, pointing to the display, “and anything else you might need for the signing. We can’t thank you enough for your donation.
The kids are going to be so excited when they learn they get a signed copy to bring home today.
Mrs. Claus will help you pass them out. She has treats to go along with them. ”
“You’re welcome,” Noah says, smiling at her. “Emma loves meeting the children, so we are excited to be here. It’s not every day Mr. and Mrs. Claus get to read your book.” The elf beams at me one last time before walking back over to the art tables to clean up.
“You put this whole thing together? How did you even know they did this?” I glance at Mrs. Claus as she talks to all the kids now gathered around her. Parents are lined up along the back walls, sipping on coffee and hot chocolate as they quietly talk amongst themselves.
“It was on their website,” he grins. “I saw that they do story hour every day with Mrs. Claus, so I made a phone call. They were beyond excited to have you attend and even more thrilled when I sent them copies for you to sign. I know it’s one of your favorite parts about being an author.
Your face lights up when you attend these book readings and get to meet all the children who love your books. ”
“How did I get so lucky?” I ask quietly, looking at the man who never ceases to amaze me.
He brings our intertwined hands up to his lips and kisses my fingers.
“I ask myself that same question every day.” His blue eyes hold mine, and I get the familiar warmth in my belly.
“I think they are about to begin,” he whispers excitedly.
I lean my head against his chest and settle in.
Mrs. Claus begins to read my latest book in the series, and I smile when the kids’ eyes light up.
No matter how many times my books are read in these circles, I still can’t quite believe that it’s my words they are listening to.
I made this one a Christmas adventure because I knew it would be released in the fall, and I wanted a book that would be read under the tree at night.
I watch the children’s faces as they get lost in the magic.
It’s one of the main reasons why I write.
To this day, I still believe in magic and things we cannot see.
Noah and I are walking examples of mysteries we can’t explain but know deep in our hearts are real.
If I can prolong magic or believing in something just a little bit longer for these kids, then I’ve done my part in making the world just a little bit better for them.
My eyes go to Santa, and I meet his twinkling eyes. He winks at me, his eye crinkling at the corner as if he knows what I’m thinking. Something stirs in my body, and I’m flooded with love and excitement, all wrapped up in one. It’s a feeling of…Christmas magic.
I turn to Noah and whisper in his ear. “Do you still believe in magic? I think that Santa might be real, as crazy as that sounds.”
He chuckles softly and studies the guy in the red suit.
“I think,” he says quietly, “that magic can happen anytime you strongly believe in something. I believe in us, and we definitely can’t explain why we have our memories.
It’s got to be the magic and miracles of the universe.
So, if you believe this Santa to be real, then who am I to say he isn’t?
I did find myself wondering the same thing.
He has a way of making you feel things,” he peers at him again.
“Like a kid at Christmas time?”
“Yeah, like a kid at Christmas time. The children certainly seem to think he’s the real deal.
” I watch the kids gather around Mr. and Mrs. Claus after she puts the book down.
They hang on to his every word as he speaks to them.
They can’t help but reach out and skim the red velvet of his suit as they stand there.
They feel it, too. There’s no other way to describe it than magical.
“Right there,” I say quietly, blinking back the tears that are threatening to spill.
“It’s perfect.” Noah steps back from placing the star on top of the tree.
After we got back from the Christmas tree farm, we spent the past couple of hours going through my parents’ Christmas decorations that I had saved, and our spruce is now covered in memories of my childhood.
Each year, since the day I was born, my mom would give me a new ornament to put on our tree that represented my interests that year.
I step closer and finger the light blue Bronco that she gave my dad the year he finally finished his restore on it.
It’s my favorite thing of his that I own.
Noah and I have been taking drives up and down the coast on Sundays, just like the mountain drives my family would take together.
We plan on doing it with our children and keeping the tradition alive.
“I didn’t know you played hockey.” He touches the little girl figurine decked out in hockey gear with my name across the jersey.
“I didn’t,” I laugh. “My dad was a big fan of hockey, and we would watch the games together. We became obsessed the year our team made it to the playoffs and won the Stanley Cup. We lived and breathed hockey for that entire season, and my dad had a jersey made with my name on it. My mom had a hard time getting me to take it off so she could wash it.”
He flips it over and reads the date. “Age seven,” he grins before moving around the tree and looking at another one. “The tree is missing something.” He steps back and studies it.
“It looks perfect to me.” I look at it again, trying to see what he’s seeing that I’m not.
“I’ll be right back.” He walks toward the bedroom and returns with a small box.
“What’s this?” I take the box that he gives me.
“It’s what’s missing.”
Puzzled, I open the box, and my eyes immediately brim with tears. “Noah…I…” I glance back up at him, and his blue eyes sparkle with love.
“I thought it was time for our baby to get their first ornament to add to our tree. Do you like it?”
“I love it. It’s beautiful.” I run my hand over the carved wooden couple that looks like us. He’s holding her from behind, and both their hands are resting on her round pregnant belly. I trace the date engraved on the bottom.
“There’s a local store here that makes them. You can customize them to look just like you.” He wraps his arms around me and lays his chin on my shoulder.
“Thank you,” I whisper, emotion clogging my throat. “It’s something my mom would have done this year for us and put on her tree.”
“I know,” he softly says. “When the idea came to me, I had no doubt who put it there.” He kisses my cheek and takes the ornament, hanging it right in the center.
I step into his arms again and watch the way the white lights dance across the tree.
My parents and Noah’s love washes over me so profoundly in this moment that I close my eyes briefly to soak it all in.
I feel Noah’s thumb brush away a tear that has escaped.
“I feel it too, Em. I feel it every time I think of you…every time I’m near you. You will always feel love from me.”
“And you will always feel love from me.” I feel our baby girl kick and smile down at my belly, knowing she’s feeling it, too.