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

28. Grace

GRACE

I pressed a finger against my headset as though I needed help keeping it in place. The numbers on my computer screen began to blur. Soon, my mind drifted. I was back in Montana, daydreaming of a cowboy recluse and a snowy mountainside.

“Excuse me? Are you still there?” The other woman on the line sounded more concerned than anything else.

I clicked the top of the pen in my hand. Seconds at a time, my cubicle came back into view as did the words, the list of products, and the online order form on my screen.

This wasn’t my novel. Sad.

Which meant I was at work.

“Hello?”

I jerked to attention.

“Oh, yes. I’m sorry, I’m here. What did you say?”

The woman on the line repeated her complaint, mentioning how the company’s newest line of skin care made her eyes itch. She wanted a refund.

Of course. They all did.

“I’m sorry to hear that, ma’am,” I said, kicking my brain into gear and initiating the refund process.

I talked the woman through returning the product and emailed the print-read, prepaid shipping label.

Ordinary life was so dull without Christmas carols and the lights I’d strung around my cubicle. I wished every day could be like Christmas.

Wasn’t it ironic that the man I’d fallen for happened to hate the holiday I loved?

“Forget him,” I told myself as I hung up with the customer and filled out the necessary notes from each and every single call I received. “Focus on your book.”

That had been hard enough to do since I’d come home. I’d spent every second I could with Stephanie and her squishy, giggly baby. We’d talked long into the night on Christmas Day.

Stephanie’s husband had stopped asking when she was coming to bed. I’d even gotten up to help with the baby because we were still up talking. And though I’d confessed my short-lived romance with Boone to my sister, I’d omitted anything about hearing the radio play. Stephanie’s reactions were enough without adding that part to it.

Every time I opened my laptop to clack in a few more words, the email icon screamed at me to contact him. Even if I had the guts to reach out, Boone hadn’t given me any contact info. Emailing the inn felt too silly. Junie would be the one to receive it—not him.

I’d already left a note for him with Junie anyway. No need to make myself appear more desperate than I already did.

We were nearing the end of January. If Junie had given the note to him, he would have tried contacting me by now, wouldn’t he?

Maybe Junie decided not to give Boone my note, though why she wouldn’t was beyond me. I supposed I’d never know.

Boone hadn’t contacted me. He probably never would.

I needed to move on.

I’d been hesitant to answer in the affirmative to Mom’s invitation and accept another blind date tonight. On impulse, I reached for my phone and gave the delayed reply.

Me: Okay, I’ll do it.

Mom: You don’t seem all that excited.

Me: How do you know what I sound like? It’s a text.

That was the wrong thing to say. The minute I clocked out after work ended, while walking myself to my rusted red Ford in January’s almost seventy-degree evening, my phone rang.

I swiped to answer. “Hey, Mom.”

“Hi, sweetie. So good to hear your voice. Texting really has its merits, but you’re right. Conversations in person are much better.”

I wasn’t sure I’d ever said anything like that, but clearly, Mom had construed as much from our conversation.

“What’s up, Mom?”

“I have a better idea than a blind date,” Mom said.

I fumbled with my bag but managed to retrieve my keys and unlock the door. I chucked my bag into the empty passenger seat and slid inside.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“How about a mother-daughter date?” Mom said. “Just you and me. Like old times.”

Growing up, Mom had taken me out quite a bit—for back-to-school shopping or to get dinner on nights when Dad was gone for work and Mom didn’t want to cook. My heart swelled at the suggestion. I missed those days.

I stared at my reflection in the rear-view mirror. “You know, that would be great.”

“Perfect,” Mom said. “Have you had dinner yet?”

I trailed my fingers on the steering wheel. “Not yet. Just got off work.”

“What sounds good to you?”

We chatted for a few minutes about a location and then agreed to meet there. My heart felt like a flowerbed in spring, when the dead leaves and mulch had been cleared to make way for flowers to push through the dirt. Hope leaped inside of me, but I couldn’t account for it. I wasn’t exactly sure what it was I hoped for.

The change in monotony—having something else to do besides go home to my apartment—was enough for now.

I drove through town and pulled into the parking lot of Bread and Cheese Land, our favorite sandwich place. I lingered in my car, checking my email on my phone. Once Mom’s golden minivan appeared in my mirror, I stepped out into the evening air.

I’d given Mom a hard time for picking such a big vehicle when it was only ever me at home since my sister had married and moved away. But Mom always insisted she needed the space.

“Hey, my Gracie Goose,” Mom said, pulling me into a hug. She wore a full-length cotton dress with beige and white stripes and sandals, her graying hair pulled back away from her lined face.

I hadn’t been one-on-one with her since Christmas. Knowing I’d been absorbed in finishing my novel, my parents had passed by or popped in to say hi, but nothing more extensive than that.

“Hey, where’s Dad?” I asked.

“Working late.” Mom made it to Bread and Cheese Land’s door.

She opened it. I smiled and entered, inhaling the delectable scent of freshly baked bread smattered with spices. We ordered—turkey and cheese with avocado for me, and a meatball sub for Mom—and then took our usual spot by the back window where we once used to sit and people-watch when I’d been in high school.

That was a favorite pastime. I used to come with a notebook and just write people:

What they wore. How they smiled. How they interacted with one another.

I would imagine stories between them based on what they carried in their hands or whether they paid attention to others around them.

I’d always been one for details.

Once our sandwiches arrived, Mom took a bite of hers. From the lack of conversation, I could tell something was up.

I ate as well, mulling over the spicy mustard on my sandwich, but it was no use. No matter how often I glanced away—up to the dangling lights overhead, to the used road signs screwed to the walls, adding an eclectic feel to the place, or to the massive TVs blasting some sports game or another—every time I peered back, Mom was watching me.

I lowered my sandwich. “Okay, for real. What’s up?”

Using a napkin, Mom wiped her mouth. “It’s nothing really. We just haven’t talked since you got back.”

“We talked at the party,” I said.

“Yes, but not really talking . I mean about important stuff.”

My guard went up. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Gracie.”

“What?”

“You’re different,” Mom said, setting down her sandwich on its red basket and resting her wrist beside it. “What happened while you were in Montana? Did you meet someone?”

I couldn’t help rolling my eyes. “Is everything about men with you?”

“Of course not. I’m just trying to figure out what’s bothering you since you won’t tell me.”

I softened at this. I’d always been fairly open with my mom, but I had closed off. It was natural for her to suspect something was up.

I’d confessed everything but the radio part of things to Steph. I hadn’t felt the need to fill Mom in.

How could I begin to tell her about the magic surrounding Harper’s Inn? About the radio’s bizarre origin story or the way it had played without a power source? Or the things that took place, thrusting Boone and me together?

Just like that. I said it just like that.

“I know it sounds crazy,” I finished. “But I swear, music was in the air during our sleigh ride, Mom. And then the snow picked up out of nowhere. And then one thing led to another, and we kissed and just opened our hearts to each other.”

Like nothing I’d ever experienced. Like nothing I’d ever experience again.

Mom’s eyes glistened, and she gave me her gentle smile. “That sounds incredibly romantic. Like, movie-worthy.”

“It was.” Just talking about it made me realize how much of my heart had been left behind. With him.

“So what’s the problem? He doesn’t want a relationship?”

“No.” The word crackled out of my throat, not unlike the sound from the radio when it had first played.

I cleared it the best that I could.

“Because of something in his past?”

I swallowed, working down the lump. “That was his excuse at first, but then he came back to the inn. He told me he thought the radio was proving he could love again. And then I told him I believed the radio was helping us to be together—and he just backed away. Like it was nothing.”

Mom frowned as she chewed, staring at the cup of Dr. Pepper in front of her. I could practically see the cogs spinning in her mind.

“Sounds like he got scared,” she said.

“Scared? Of what?”

“Commitment?”

I pressed my fingers against the tines of my fork. “I just don’t get how he can be willing to give things a try with me one minute and then push me away the next. He has more emotional switchbacks than a mountain road.”

“I’m sorry, sweetie.”

Mom didn’t offer any helpful advice. But sometimes a listening ear was worth more than the greatest advice a person could give. That was all I needed.

I’d been carrying the weight of Boone’s whiplash emotions since Christmas. It felt so good to get everything off my chest again. Everything this time. Radio and all.

More than anything, Mom wasn’t calling me off or telling me to stop being ridiculous for believing a magical radio had taken issues into its own hands by pushing couples together.

Conversation shifted again and became easier between us. It felt like a boulder had been lifted from my chest. I had a much easier time engaging, listening as Mom talked about work, about missing Dad because he was gone so much.

I reached out a hand, taking hers in mine.

“I’m sorry I’ve been so selfish,” I said.

Mom had stayed away purposely to give me enough space to write. And even though she hadn’t said as much, I knew that had been hard for her, too.

“You’re not selfish,” Mom said. “I know your writing is important to you.”

It was, but I’d been so obsessed, so misguided. Wanting to hide from the pain of reality by focusing on the hardships of a fictional world. It made things that much worse because my character was literally based on Boone Harper, the very man I’d been trying to get over.

“My writing is important to me,” I said, lowering my hands to my lap beneath the table. “But it’s not more important than people. I forget that sometimes when I’m lost in one of my worlds. Sometimes, I emerge from a writing session, and I have to get a brand-new grasp on reality and remember other people exist.”

I chuckled, trying to lighten the confession.

Mom’s smile stretched. “Well, you come on over after work any time you want.”

That meant so much. More than I could say. It felt like I was a marshmallow being held over a fire, softening. I’d taken Mom for granted. I’d taken how much she cared about me for granted.

“You know, I never really told you how grateful I am for you and Dad.”

Mom waved a hand, but I hurried on.

“It’s true. When I was so crushed over Boone on Christmas Day, you have no idea how much it meant for me to know I had you. That I still had someone who loved me and would accept me no matter what.”

The corners near Mom’s eyes crinkled. “Of course. We love you, Grace.”

Emotion threatened not only my throat but my eyes this time. I zoned in on my sandwich’s empty foil in its plastic basket.

“And what about this man of yours? Boone. Where is his family?”

“He works at the inn with his aunt and cousin. He mentioned having a brother, but that’s all I know. I think his parents have both passed. His wife and baby died. He’s completely alone.”

Saying the words struck a lonesome chord inside of me.

Mom’s face mashed into a sincere, compassionate pout. “Oh, honey. The poor man.”

I read the sincerity in Mom’s eyes and nodded before speaking. “Yeah. He’s pretty reclusive as a result of it, I think.”

“I’m sure after being alone for so long, it can be hard to let people back in. Change is always hard,” Mom said.

“Yeah.” This conversation turned things in my mind all over again.

I hadn’t considered that aspect of it. Boone had Junie—but a cousin wasn’t quite the same as a mother and father. Or a spouse.

“It must have really rattled him to let me get even moderately close to him.”

“That doesn’t mean it was a mistake,” Mom said firmly and with gusto. She even pressed her finger to the table as if to emphasize her point. “Maybe he just needs more time to adjust to having someone close to him again.”

I sniffed. I appreciated Mom’s unapologetic insight, but I wasn’t sure I could completely agree. There had to be a reason Boone continued to pull away from me.

“Maybe we proved the point,” I said. “Maybe he’s better off being on his own, without anyone to love in his life.”

I didn’t want to accept it, but that was the only solution that hurt the least. While waiting for Mom’s reply, I took another bite.

“Would you want that for yourself?” Mom’s gaze was too direct.

I squirmed slightly under its focus.

“You know I wouldn’t.”

Much as I loved my introverted life as a writer, I missed the bustle of the inn, the feeling of coming to life I’d experienced the instant I’d set foot inside. And if I was still there, I wouldn’t want to hide away. I’d want to be with those I loved most.

The bite of bread turned to dust in my mouth. I lost my appetite and placed what was left of my sandwich on its foil.

Mom’s hand reached over and grasped mine across the table. “You don’t have to stay here, Grace. Go back to West Hills. Find a job there. Write your books. If Santa’s radio pushed you to him, there has to be a reason.”

I stared at our joined hands for several long seconds before I met Mom’s kind gaze.

“You mean, you believe me?”

Mom pulled her hand away and sat up with a knowing smile. “How else do you explain what you two both heard? Sounds to me like you were given a nudge. Now, the rest is up to you.”

There was a glaring flaw in her words.

“Mom. You could barely stand to have me gone over Christmas break. How can you handle having me so far away?”

“I was only saying that because it was Christmas. I’ll be okay. I’ve got your dad.”

That argument wasn’t entirely true. She’d just spent the first part of our meal telling me about how much she missed him.

“Mom…”

“This isn’t about me,” she said. “I know you loved it there. That’s the one thing I’ve been able to get to tell me.” She laughed at this. “I also know you hate your job.”

“Yeah, but it’s a job. I need it.”

Mom waved this off, too. “There are plenty of jobs to be found. Go. Find your life. Make sure it’s the life you dream of because something tells me that life isn’t here.”

My heart threatened to burst from my chest. I waited for other aspects to burble to the surface, other reasons I shouldn’t. But none came.

I finished my sandwich with more fervor this time, with excitement. And just before heading home, I pulled Mom into the biggest hug we’d shared in a while.

“Thank you for this,” I said, breathing in her scent of floral soap. “For everything.”

Mom beamed at me. Her gaze held the same adoring glint it had always had. A glint of pride. Or gratitude that I was her daughter.

“Of course,” Mom said. “Just make sure you keep me in the loop. I want to know how things go.”

“I will.”

Everything Mom said during dinner felt so right. I’d never believed in magic before, but that entire situation in Montana had made a believer out of me.

Could I do it? Quit my job, pack up, and move to the place where Boone was?

Would he leave if I did? Would he give me another chance?

The possibility of him rejecting me was far too fresh. It sank like a bowling ball in my stomach.

I thought it over during the drive home. I let the scene play out in my mind as I folded my clothes and changed the sheets on my bed. I thought about it when I tried watching a show on Netflix and ended up missing so much of it I shut it off.

Gently, I tossed the remote onto the empty couch beside me.

“Empty cushions,” I said, staring around.

Only my keys hung on the peg by the door. Only my purse dangled on the three available hooks beside the keys. My shoes sat solitary on the mat. I’d had dinner with Mom tonight, but if she hadn’t called, chances were I would have eaten here.

By myself.

I pictured Boone doing the same, day after day. Working with Hazelnut. Undoing her harness. Parking the sleigh and feeding the horse before setting out for his remote, lonely cottage.

Cooking some kind of meal by himself. Eating that meal alone at his table. Sitting by the fire with a book.

Empty couch cushions.

Flames filled my face as I remembered sharing that couch with him. I’d gone from being completely alone and near to freezing in the bedroom—by myself—to joining him, sharing the fire, the light, the blanket. And then my innermost thoughts—and his.

“He said he believed,” I muttered to the room.

I needed to help him believe in more than just magic.

With that thought, it was like a shaft had been opened in my mind. And every other thought dropped into my mind like newly fallen snow.

Goosebumps lifted the hairs on my arms. A feeling of certainty shook away the fear that lodged into my chest. If I chose to stay here in Scottsdale, nothing would ever change. I would come home to an empty apartment, eat all my meals alone, sleep alone, be alone.

And then I’d have constant reminders of my aloneness because Mom wouldn’t stop trying to set me up.

Or, I could act.

Make a believer of him, too. A believer in love and in second chances at it.

After Junie had admitted me into my actual room, she’d accompanied me to check my towels and ensure things were to my liking.

“We’re short-staffed,” she’d said.

Did that mean they were hiring? There was only one way to find out.

The next day, I waltzed into work, headed for my boss’s office, and gave my notice. Two weeks should give me time to settle everything, pack, find someone to buy the contract on my apartment, and contact Junie.

I also had just enough time to finish my book. With nervous anticipation, I sent the draft off to my beta readers for their feedback.

Before I knew it, I was saying goodbye to my parents and boarding one more plane, carrying a lot more luggage this time.

“O’er the fields we go,” I said, gripping a suitcase in each hand as I approached the onboarding line to check in my bags.

Maybe it was cheesy, but I couldn’t stop thinking about the lyrics to Jingle Bells with every step I took. It was the song that had pushed Boone and me together in the first place, after all.

I wasn’t quite laughing all the way, but I also couldn’t manage to wipe the smile from my face the entire way through security and while waiting at my boarding gate.

I was doing this. I was really doing this.

The cramped airline seats around me weren’t necessarily one-horse open sleighs, but they still made my spirits bright. The idea of a radio from Santa coming to life and spreading Christmas magic through song to bring people love was crazy.

So, so crazy.

Even so, no sense in letting a good amount of crazy go to waste. I just hoped that Boone would be open to seeing me again after all of this. But as he’d said, it was worth the risk.