Christmas By The Shore (A Winter To Remember #1)

Chapter 1

1

C atherine just barely caught sight of the egg before it hit the window.

Out of the corner of her eye, the smooth white surface of the projectile was illuminated for a moment by the nearest streetlight, and though logically, she knew she was safe behind the glass, she flinched.

The egg hit with a loud thud, then came the sound of mischievous laughter and teenagers running away to seek out their next target. Catherine sighed, watching the sticky yellow yoke run down the window of her first-floor office, and tried not to take it too personally. It was Halloween, after all, and those troublemakers were probably going around and throwing stuff at any building with the lights still on. It wasn’t as if they had a vendetta against SparkPlug Books, the independent publishing house where she worked. At least she couldn’t think of a reason why they would.

Still, even if the egg hadn’t been meant to cause any harm other than some inconvenience, Cat felt bad for the window cleaners who were scheduled to come sometime before Thanksgiving. Perhaps, if it wasn’t too late when she finished working through her pile of cold-call manuscripts, she could grab some Clorox wipes from her car and try to remove most of the mess.

Her phone alarm went off shortly after she returned to the experimental novel she was flipping through, and she sighed, letting her head fall back against her ergonomic chair. If she was following the rules she’d set for herself, this would be time to stop working.

After receiving one too many lectures from her co-workers, boss, and best friend McKenzie, Cat was trying her best not to over-exert herself at the office. Everyone feared she would soon burn out, and she didn’t want to hit a brick wall any more than they wanted her to. This is why she set an alarm to go off at 7:30 p.m. every evening, reminding her that it was well past the time she should’ve clocked out and gone home to eat some dinner.

But this book was just starting to get interesting, and she only had two days to get any new manuscripts on the head editor’s desk for them to be considered for publication the following year. Mrs. Kendall was a stickler for deadlines and had gotten angry with Catherine once for submitting a book at the last minute. That was two years ago, and it was the much-anticipated sequel to McKenzie’s debut thriller novel, so Mrs. Kendall let it slide. But she wasn’t going to do it again.

Cat picked up her phone and set a new alarm, giving herself one more hour to power through the last third of this book. She told herself she didn’t have to read it too closely. She just had to ensure that the ending delivered what the rest of the book promised and that none of the characters randomly became toxic in the remaining chapters. That might sound odd to someone who didn’t work in publishing, but it had happened to Cat before. She was fifty pages out from the end of what she’d then considered a pretty masterful work of fiction when, all of a sudden, the writer started injecting the narrative with some extremely offensive ideas about women, and she could hardly believe what she was reading.

Now, she was careful never to send anything up the chain of command without at least taking a few seconds to scan each page.

She put her phone aside and sank back into the story, losing herself in the climax of this surprisingly poignant sci-fi novel and not coming up for air, so to speak, for forty-five minutes. The last lines of the book were so poetic and spoken from the lips of a dying man who Cat had really connected with that she found herself tearing up.

She never teared up when reading.

Not unless the book was truly astounding.

This book was good, great even, but not astounding .

Perhaps, she thought, I’m just tearing up because my blood sugar is a little low.

Cat was reaching that point in the evening where she knew she would be going through a drive-thru on her way home, having no energy to make herself something nutritious. Luckily, living in the heart of Boston, there were plenty of food choices, and everything would be open until at least 11 p.m. Even on Halloween.

She was gathering up her things when she heard footsteps coming from the direction of the front desk. The sound echoed in the otherwise quiet building, and whoever was coming, Cat could tell they were wearing some seriously slender stilettos. The only person, besides her boss, who was out of town, who would be rocking such impractical footwear was someone who had a habit of dressing up as a famous pop star every Halloween. Cat knew it was McKenzie before her best friend and best writer popped her head through the open door of her office.

“I cannot believe you are still here.”

Cat laughed. “Clearly you knew I was going to be here, or else you wouldn’t have dropped by just to scold me.”

“No, you know what, you’re right. I’m not actually shocked to see you here. But I wish I was!”

Cat looked McKenzie up and down, trying to figure out which pop girlie she was dressed as this year. Her costume consisted of a lot of spandex, but the heels were boots, not stilettos, and her wig was cropped and spikey. “I’m confused—Joan Jett is a rock star, not a pop icon.”

“Joan Jett?” McKenzie scoffed. “Are you joking? First of all, Joan Jett has jet black hair. This wig is red. Besides, isn’t the eye makeup a dead giveaway?” She pointed to the orange and shiny lightning bolt striking across her face.

“Well, I didn’t know male pop stars were on the list of available costumes!” Cat said defensively. “But now I see Bowie, and I apologize to his memory for not making the connection earlier.”

“You should.” The two women shared a smile, and then McKenzie went right back into disapproval mode. “Okay, but really—what are you still doing at the office? There are so many Halloween parties going on in the city, three of which I was personally invited to and encouraged to bring a plus one. Can we please go and check them out?”

“I’m really not in the mood. I’m exhausted, and you know how crazy things get in the city on Halloween. I would really just like to go home, sorry.”

“You’re only exhausted because you’ve been here working all night!” She threw her arms in the air and let them fall heavy at her sides. “One drink isn’t going to push you over the edge anyway.”

“I’m not even dressed up.”

“Like that’s a problem. I could make a costume out of what you’re wearing.”

Despite the fact that Cat was in no way interested in going to a party, she was curious to know just what sort of costume McKenzie thought she could throw together out of an Ann Taylor Loft pencil skirt and an out-of-style blazer with a missing button.

“We could roll your skirt up a little, unbutton that blouse, and use cardboard to give you a tiny bit of a shoulder pad, and boom—Erin Brockovich.”

“What?” Cat shook her head. “You’re insane! I know it’s been a minute since I’ve seen the movie, but last I checked, I don’t look anything like Julia Roberts.” She tugged on her long, dark brown hair. “Unless there's a Bollywood version of the movie that somehow I missed growing up in a half-Indian household, but I highly doubt that. My dad would’ve been all over that if it existed.”

“Hmm. I suppose that’s true. The curly hair is sort of iconic, and it would take me half a day to curl all your hair.”

“Maybe longer.”

“You could just go as a slutty businesswoman.”

“I’m not going at all,” Cat corrected her. “But even if you could convince me to go out to a party, there’s no way I would dress up to be intentionally ogled by men. No judgment to people who like those costumes, but I just legitimately do not have the energy to deal with unwanted attention.”

“That’s why I was going to take you to one of the tamer parties. It’s at another writer’s apartment, and she’s cool, so I’m guessing most of her friends will be cool.” She shrugged. “They’re definitely not going to ogle you, and I can promise that much. And who knows? You might even meet someone there.”

“I’m not looking to meet anyone,” Catherine said. But as she said this, she couldn’t help but turn away from her friend and continue packing up her bag. McKenzie had a way of reading Cat’s face that made it hard for her to say anything even remotely untrue to her friend. It wasn’t that she was lying just then, but she also wasn’t telling the full truth. She had been feeling a little lonely lately, and the fact that her fortieth birthday was just around the corner was making her singlehood feel a little less like a choice and more like an unwanted status. When she was younger, Cat dated a lot and enjoyed the attention that her natural good looks brought her.

Now, when she looked in the mirror, all she noticed were the perpetual dark circles under her eyes and the wrinkles on her neck. The self-deprecating attitude, along with her workaholic tendencies, didn’t exactly lend themselves to a thriving love life.

“Even better!” McKenzie clapped her hands together. “You know what they always say—it’s when you’re not looking for someone that the perfect seems to walk right into your life. It’s the whole ‘watched pot’ theory.”

“Except a watched pot does boil eventually. That’s just science. And if I purposefully stop looking in hopes that the right person will come along, that’s just a more roundabout way of actually looking for someone. So they wouldn’t show up anyway, according to your logic.”

“What?” She rolled her eyes. “No, wait, don’t answer that. It doesn’t matter. I love you, Cat, but do you always have to suck the fun out of stuff?”

Cat opened her mouth to retort when her phone’s alarm went off again. She turned it off and slipped the device into her back pocket without explaining what the alarm had been for.

“Tonight just isn’t the night,” she said, turning her desk lamp off and plunging the room—and, therefore, the entire first floor—into darkness. “I promise, I will go out for drinks with you soon, okay? But I’m really looking forward to eating some dinner, drinking a glass of wine, and watching a scary movie in my apartment. If you would like to join me, you are welcome to do so.”

McKenzie folded her arms. “And miss my three parties? Not a chance.”

“Fair enough.” Catherine walked past her and out into the hallway. McKenzie followed. “I don’t want to ruin your fun. I’ll pick you up in the morning with some coffee, and you can tell me all about what happened. Deal?”

“I’ll be a hungover mess.”

“Then I’ll make yours a triple espresso.”

This got a slight smile out of her brooding friend. “Thanks.”

Outside, McKenzie noticed the egg yolk on the window of Cat’s office. “Were you here when that happened?”

“Yup. But I didn’t get a good look at whoever threw it. Not that I would rat them out anyway, but I still think they should be the ones who come back and clean it up.”

“It’s not nearly cold enough for it to freeze, and by tomorrow, it’s going to start to smell.”

“I’ll take care of it.” Catherine walked to her car, parked in one of the designated employee spots on the street in front of the building. “I’ve got some cleaning supplies in my car.”

“Why does that not surprise me?”

McKenzie stuck around long enough to help clean the window, then the two said their goodbyes, but not before one last-ditch attempt on McKenzie’s part to try and get Cat to come out with her. “It would be a million times more fun if you came with me, and that’s all I’m saying.”

“I appreciate you saying that, Kenz,” Catherine said, using the nickname she only busted out when she really needed her friend to hear her. “But we both know that’s not true. I would spend the whole time complaining and asking when we can leave, or stressing about being out too late and being too tired to get my work done tomorrow. No fun at all.”

“Fine,” McKenzie caved. “I’ll let you off the hook this time . But we’re going out for drinks this weekend, and you cannot say no, or I will start to question whether or not you are even my friend.”

“Saturday,” Cat said. “It’s a date.”

McKenzie pointed a finger gun as Cat got into her car. “Be there or be square.”

Back at Catherine’s apartment, she polished off the Mexican food she’d picked up on her way home and washed it down with a glass of expensive merlot. She then promptly poured herself a second glass and kicked her feet up on the coffee table. Other residents in her high rise were definitely celebrating the holiday. There was loud music thumping upstairs and shrieking laughter from the hallway, but it was too late for any trick-or-treaters to really be knocking on her door. She’d left a bowl out the morning before going to work, anticipating being there until after dark, and all the candy was gone when she got back, so she figured at least some of the kids in the building got something from her. Or one greedy kid poured the whole bowl into their pillowcase before anyone else could have some.

Either way, she did the bare minimum to keep from becoming known as the building curmudgeon, and that’s all she really cared about.

There were plenty of horror movies playing on television that night, but Cat went to one of her streaming services and put on her favorite—the same one she watched every year. The original Halloween. The flick had come out six years before Catherine was born, but it was her dad’s favorite, too. When she was twelve, her mom finally relented and allowed Catherine to sit on the couch and watch the movie with her dad, and it scared the living daylights out of her. But her dad had been there to warn her when the scariest parts were coming, and he assured her that night before she went to bed, that he would never let anything happen to her.

Now, even though the movie still freaked her out, she liked watching it.

As the opening credits rolled, she texted her father, who was notoriously bad at using his phone but who tried anyway.

CATHERINE: Hey, did you watch our fav tonight?

A few seconds went by, and then his reply came through. It was clear to her that he had used the voice-to-text function, which never quite picked up everything he said correctly, given his thick Indian accent.

DAD: I try a million times but could not fund it anywhere. Do you have it?

CATHERINE: Yeah, here’s my login. If it’s not too late, we can watch it together. I just started it.

Five minutes later, her dad responded, saying he was starting the movie as well but said he was likely to fall asleep on the couch before it was over. In the meantime, however, he sent her commentary via text, and though it was exactly the same as being together in person, Catherine was happy to be able to share the experience with her dad again after so many years of not being home for Halloween.