Merry Mended Hearts (Santa’s Radio Christmas Romance #1)

11. Grace

GRACE

I was in the zone. Sitting on the armchair in the inn’s living room, with the fire crackling and the inn’s designated “Social Hour” going, I essentially had the room to myself.

My feet were propped on the footstool. Lights beamed on the elaborate Christmas tree beside me. And inspiration flowed like loose shingles off a roof in a windstorm.

Demon Boone had dark hair, a pointed nose, and a sinister laugh, which he directed at anyone foolish enough to not understand his impressive wit and sly, evil schemes. After he rescued the damsel from the fae clan who’d abducted her, in an epic plot twist, he revealed himself to be the wicked one.

Cue wicked laughter.

He’d bargained with the enemy fae clan, convincing them he’d have their backs once they abducted the princess. But—and this part made me want to twist my mustache and tap my fingers together at the sheer genius of it—he only used them as scapegoats to make himself look heroic in order to win the princess’s favor.

And now that he had her in his clutches, his inner darkness was revealing itself. He stormed his snowy castle, spewing expletives and evil curses at servants and condemning the heroic fae hero with pointed ears and an affinity for trouble but who would turn out to be the princess’s true hero.

It was fantastic. The surge of inspiration made me feel like I was glowing on the inside with ideas. This was going to be good. So good. So much better than my first manuscript, which I often referred to as The One That Got Away.

I didn’t have a name for this villain. In the earlier pages, I called him Shiv. But now, I’d resorted to calling him Demon Boone.

No rejections would come on this one, no sirree. I could feel it with every word that clacked out from my fingertips and filled the white space on my screen. My word count climbed higher and higher, ticking up like a victory banner on its way to fifty thousand words.

“Hey, there, Grace,” Junie said, peeking in.

I concentrated, not wanting to let go of the last threads of delicious banter my characters were engaging in. Finally at a stopping point, I peered up.

Junie smirked from the entryway. Instead of the sweater and jeans she’d worn earlier, she was in gray pajamas with pink snowflakes on them, and her curly brown hair hung past her shoulders instead of in their braids. The combination made her look much older than she usually did.

It made me wonder how old she really was. Twenty-five?

“Hi, Junie. How did the rest of your day go?”

She padded farther into the room on stocking feet and nestled into the chair across from me.

“Oh, great. So great. Just trying to keep things together the best that I can, you know? What about you? I assume things went okay taking the box out.”

“Not exactly,” I said, placing my hands on either side of my laptop. “I mean, I got it out to him all right, but?—”

“Let me guess. He was less than friendly.”

“Something like that.” I smiled to lessen my irritation.

Writing Demon Boone was also more therapeutic than I realized. I had a wretched ending for him in mind once the heroine got to the climax.

No spoiler alerts or anything, but she was going to take him down.

“Don’t take it personally,” Junie said, her knees bouncing as if she had excess energy. “We’re working on his PR. It’s just that Boone’s had things a little rough. Not saying there’s an excuse for his behavior, and if he were anyone else, I would have fired him by now. But he’s family.”

“I get that,” I said, not wanting to let my desire to know more about him take over.

I’d suspected as much. In fact, I was aching—okay, dying—to ask what kind of rough things Boone Harper was dealing with to make him so snappish. It wasn’t like I was always a ray of sunshine, especially not when things were going wrong. Maybe I’d just caught him at a bad time.

Three times in a row?

Hm. I started to rethink that.

I wasn’t going to go easy on him. He was a villain—and he was going to stay that way.

“I can’t tell you how awesome it was for you to offer to help me.”

I was happy for the different topic. “It was no problem at all. You helped me, too, though you don’t realize it.”

Junie’s eyes lit up. “Really? I’m so glad! Is that what you’re working on?”

“It’s a book. I’m?—”

My phone buzzed from where it was tucked beside my leg. Though silent mode was on, the screen with its picture of a go-getter statement saying, “I’m On My Way!”, lit the room.

Junie rose hastily from her seat. “I’ll let you get that. It was good talking to you, Grace. Have a good night.”

“Thanks, Junie. You, too.”

Mom’s goofy grin filled my phone’s screen. With a smile, I swiped to answer, eager to give her an update on my book.

Because that was why I was here.

Not men.

Books.

“Hey, Mom.”

“Hey, Gracie Girl,” Mom said. “I’m not calling too late, am I? I know you’re an hour off from us.”

Tiredness prickled my eyes as if my fatigue sensed its cue to make an appearance. I closed my laptop and readjusted my feet so I could cocoon myself on the comfortable armchair.

“Not too late. I’m in the most amazing room here. It’s like a fairytale. You’d love this place.”

“That’s so great, honey. And how’s the writing?”

Exuberance filled my tone. “Amazing. This book is practically writing itself.”

“Excellent! So you’re almost done with it?”

I heard an edge to Mom’s voice that wasn’t there moments before. Gripping my laptop with my free hand, I rested my feet on the floor.

“Why do you say it like that?”

“Oh, nothing, sweetie. Nothing at all. It’s just that…”

Dad’s voice was in the background. Mom shushed him. “She needs to know this, Robert. We have to at least tell her.”

My attention pricked. I sat up a little straighter. “You have to at least tell me what?”

Did something happen to my sister? Was everyone okay?

Mom made a stifling noise between clicking her tongue and coughing. “I wasn’t sure whether I should say anything or not, Gracie. It’s just that—well, I mean, if your book is practically done and writing itself, there’s nothing saying you can’t finish it say, tomorrow, right? Or on the plane, even.”

“Mom.” I said with a warning tone. What was she getting at? “Don’t do this to me. I’m having a great time here.”

At least, as long as I avoided the grumpy, grouchy-pants cowboy.

“I know, and I’m so glad. That’s what we wanted for you. It’s just that?—”

“What, Mom?”

I hoped this wasn’t about the guy Uncle Mike was bringing home.

“We just heard from Stephanie. Sounds like Miles is surprising her with a trip home for Christmas as his gift to her this year.”

I bolted upright in my chair, nearly knocking my laptop off my lap. “What?”

“Yes! Honey, they’re driving home, and they’ll be bringing that sweet baby so you can finally meet your niece!”

Excitement fought with disappointment inside of me. My sister was coming to Arizona for Christmas?

I hadn’t seen Stephanie for almost two years. Though we chatted online every few days, that still wasn’t the same thing as heading out for custard at our favorite parlor or window shopping at the mall while we talked and caught one another up on all the little things we’d missed in each other’s lives. Stephanie was a few years older than my twenty-two years, and I’d always looked up to my sister.

Up until she’d gotten married, she’d been one of my best friends.

Better still, I’d finally get to squish baby Molly’s cheeks and cuddle her like I’d wanted to every time I saw pictures of their adorable, chubby, bright-eyed baby. I’d wanted to hold her since the first pictures started rolling in.

Stephanie’s husband had gotten a job in Florida just after they’d gotten married. When Molly was born six months ago, Mom had flown out to help and had stayed for two weeks. I’d wanted to go, but I hadn’t been able to manage it.

“How long are they staying?” I asked.

“Until the day after Christmas. Gracie, I know the idea was for you to stay during your time off work, but you can get your money refunded, right? It’s the least they can do after not having a room ready for you in the first place. I haven’t had the two of you home together in so long.”

I rubbed my forehead, fighting the conflict inside of me.

Mom went on. “Not to mention Uncle Mike bringing that guy home to mee you. I just?—”

Dad said something in the background, but Mom ignored him. I wished I could hear whatever he was saying. I loved Mom, but I’d told her before to stop setting me up on awkward, unwanted dates.

Uncle Mike wasn’t one to intrude in my love life, but Mom sure was.

“Mom,” I began, trying to derail this thought train. “What is it you’re wanting me to do?”

I was already here. Yeah, there’d been a mix-up when I’d arrived, but we’d gotten that sorted out, and I had a room of my own now.

This trip was my parents’ gift to me; they’d already spent money on the flight and on my room, and even though I was making progress, I hadn’t yet finished my book.

I didn’t know what to do. Surely, as we grew older, getting together as a family would become harder and harder. Was this the start of that phase of life?

“I know the plan was for you to stay during your time off work,” Mom said. “But honey, is there any way you can come home a few days early? You can work on your book here! It would mean so much to me.”

Dad muttered something again, and I wished I could hear what he’d said. Did he think Mom was being unreasonable?

“It’s our Stephie!” Mom went on, continuing her verbal crusade. “Plus, I think Uncle Mike might really be bugged if he’s gone through all the trouble of inviting this guy along to meet you and you’re not even here.”

“Mom,” I said, feeling frustrated. “Coming here was your Christmas present to me. It’s like you’re taking it away.”

“Don’t you want to see Stephanie?”

“Of course, I do!” But I refused to let Mom make this about some random guy I had no interest in meeting.

“Mike showed me pictures. Terry really is handsome, and you never know what can happen. But you’ll certainly never know if you’re not here. I know how you and your sister used to like to check out the guys. You never know what might happen with Stephanie here for you to talk to!”

I bristled. The guilt-trip where Stephanie was concerned was probably justified, but adding the blind date into the argument wasn’t Mom’s greatest tactic. Boone’s coldness toward me outside the barn earlier replayed in solemn, grisly fashion.

My girlish hopes for something with him were obviously misplaced, as would be any hopes Mom had of something sparking between me and this blind date guy.

Another rejection. That was all it would be if I went home. I’d had plenty of those, from agents and men alike. Boone’s actions earlier stung that much harder at the thought.

I didn’t need Mom’s matchmaking attempts. How could she do this now?

Mom knew the ways stories thrived inside of me, begging to be put to paper. What good was writing a story if no one ever read them?

I wanted to hit it big. I loved getting immersed in a story and talking to my friends about their latest reads. I wanted my books to be talked about. To be raved over.

Sure, I was making progress, but that didn’t mean the manuscript was ready. And it certainly didn’t mean I was ready to leave.

“I understand if you want to stay,” Mom said. “But Stephanie will be so disappointed to come all this way and not see you. If that wasn’t the case, of course, I’d want you to stay so you could work on your book.”

I exhaled.

“The choice is up to you, sweetie,” Mom finally said, employing that cutting line she applied for instances such as this.

Guilt answered the call and began to build up inside of me. I hated this. How could I stay here now? If it was just Mom alone, I wasn’t sure I’d give in. But Stephanie and her sweet baby would be home— home! —and I wasn’t there?

There was still so much to do here. So much to explore. I hadn’t tried the Chef’s Tasting Menu. I also craved the restorative massage I’d read about.

Not to mention the sleigh rides and the surrounding forest that I’d meant to include as part of my fantasy world.

Blockades settled in my brain, ramming against the inspiration and creativity that had flowed so freely minutes before. I grasped for them, wanting to reawaken the muse, but it burrowed as if nestling in for some serious hibernation.

That alone was enough to make me want to cry.

How could I call it back now? Conscience had settled in, taking the muse’s place.

I wanted to stick to my resolve, to continue with the plans I already had concocted before even coming here.

But my determination to stay through Christmas and a few days beyond to get in all my words melted, shriveling like a snowman too close to the fire.

I rolled my eyes. Every one of my arguments skittered.

I wanted to hang up. To tell Mom I was a grown woman and could make my own decisions. But the words wouldn’t come.

And really, what did writing a book matter when seeing my sister was so much more important?

“Okay,” I heard myself say.

“Really?” Mom’s reply was nearly a shriek.

Dad muttered something again, and Mom answered him. “She said she’s coming home, Robert. No—this was her idea, not mine!”

I could picture my parents in their usual argument. Any other time, it would have made me smile, but the gloom that sometimes came with doing the right thing instead of sticking with what you personally wanted was settling in fast.

I forced a smile. This was the right thing to do.

There would still be time to finish my book, but I’d be devastated if I had the chance to see my sister and niece and hadn’t taken it.

“Excellent, sweetie,” Mom said. “You won’t regret this, and I promise, Dad and I will make it up to you. We’ll take a drive up to Jackson Hole or to the Redwoods this summer or something. This will be so great! Both my girls home for Christmas! I’ll see you soon, right? No later than Christmas Eve!”

“Sure,” I said heartlessly, staring around at the inn.

What was the point of coming here? It seemed like I met one obstacle after another ever since I’d arrived.

With forlorn steps, I trudged up the stairs to my room. I didn’t want to go back home. Breathing so much open air, having the freedom to rove without roasting in the blazing heat, interacting with people in person instead of angry and frustrated customers on the other end of the line who seemed to think that because I worked for the company I was responsible for their dissatisfaction.

I hadn’t even realized it until now, but the longer I was here, the less I wanted to leave. I wanted a different life. One where I could slow down, where I could write and breathe.

But my life was in Arizona. My apartment, my job, my family—they were all in Arizona.

Mom was right. Stephanie was coming. I needed to get home.

Why didn’t the thought make me feel any better about it?

After a long shower—and a good long cry in the hot water where no one else would hear—I decided on my next steps.

I’d reschedule my flight and go home early. I’d see my sister and her cute baby, appease my mom, and finish my book before Christmas break ended.

But if I was leaving, I intended on getting at least one sleigh ride. I needed some one-on-one time with the snowy woods around here. Even if I didn’t get the actual writing done, I’d be gathering data that could be used later.

And yes, I fully realized this meant also having some alone time with the inn’s sexy, surly sleigh driver, too.