Chapter 1 Saturday, December 1 Bright stars twinkled in the cloudless sky above, making me instinctively tuck my chin deep into the soft woolen folds of my scarf. I eased my Ford Fiesta into the parking spot behind the three-story red-brick Victorian where I lived with my sister and cut the engine, looking forward to getting back upstairs. I'd only left my snuggly cocoon an hour ago to pick up takeout and groceries, and although it was a quick drive from the store to our place off Bloomfield Avenue in the center of Fallbrook, my fingers had gone numb from the cold. Having arrived in town at the end of March this year, I wasn't quite accustomed to the freeze-your-buns-off winter temperatures in upstate New York. If this Saturday-the first day of December-was anything to go by, it would soon feel like I'd chosen to relocate my life to a freezer. Earlier today, my sister had reminded me she was going out for dinner this evening. I'd already decided that once she'd left, I'd head to my cozy bedroom with its teal feature wall and floating shelf filled with my trio of vibrant green succulents and leafy, two-toned pothos. I'd get comfy, listen to my latest chill-out playlist, and continue working on my 3D jigsaw puzzle of the RMS Titanic, a Valentine's Day gift from my now ex-boyfriend, Oliver, which I hadn't been able to bring myself to touch for months. More recent hindsight had made me wonder if the replica of the ill-fated ship had been a subliminal message on his behalf, considering how our relationship had hit its own proverbial iceberg not long after. We'd been a couple for a decade-ever since I was in eleventh grade and Oliver in twelfth. Both of us had grown up in Pineville, Virginia-a quaint little sleeper town an eight-hour drive away-and we'd moved to Fallbrook together following his promotion and transfer to the city. Fallbrook was a pretty place, with a population of around fifty thousand, and a cool vibe coming from the vast number of students at the local college. I'd loved my new home, had arrived full of excitement and high hopes, with big dreams for our future, ready to continue building our life together. Getting a job at the same company where Oliver worked had seemed like a fantastic idea, too, but four weeks later my world had imploded when I was gently but unequivocally dumped. Oliver had sat me down in our newly rented apartment one evening and calmly confessed he'd slowly but surely fallen out of love with me over the past year. "Why did you want me to come to Fallbrook with you?" I'd sobbed, as he'd whipped out a strategically placed box of tissues from underneath the sofa. "I quit my job. I moved my life for us. For the future we'd always talked about since we were kids." "I thought the change would help," he said. "I'm sorry, Callie. Really, I am. I was hoping I'd feel differently here . . . but I don't. Please believe me when I say I never meant to hurt you." I thought he'd change his mind, hoped this was a blip and nothing more, but the next blow was him saying he had feelings for someone else. He'd assured me nothing had happened between them, yet, and the implication of that last word had felt like a hundred shards of glass ripping through my heart. Thankfully, my sister had already lived in town for a few years, having attended university here and snagging a great local job a week after graduation. When I'd called Anita, she'd not only offered me her spare bedroom, but also both shoulders to cry on. I didn't need to rely on her as often these days-the seven months since the breakup had given me distance and time to acknowledge my post-Oliver life-but this year had left me emotionally raw and bruised. No surprise then, that my typically unshakable festive spirit had all but disappeared. As far as I was concerned, I wanted nothing to do with Christmas this time around. In fact, I was actively willing the season to pass. I heaved a sigh, trying to push away the heaviness in my heart, but before I had time to step out of the car, my cell rang with P!nk's "Trouble," my personalized ringtone for Mom. It was something my sister had recently added, and it made me grin every time. Our mother could be a bit of a meddler on occasion, especially given my current situation. "Hi, Mom." I sank into my seat and tapped the speaker icon, aiming to inject the right amount of liveliness in my voice. Too much, and she'd ask what was wrong. Too little, and she'd be equally suspicious. "Callie, darling," Mom said, and I suppressed a sudden pang of homesickness as I imagined her standing in the kitchen of our family home in Pineville. She probably had the faded blue plastic receiver of her old '90s landline phone cradled in the crook of her neck, the long cord stretched out behind her. "How are you?" "Peachy keen, jelly bean." Whoops. Definitely too much sprightliness. My family knew I loved puns and funny expressions, but I'd never used that one in my life. "Mm-hmm." She filled the drawn-out sound with motherly skepticism. "Are you with your sister?" "No, in the car. I just got home. Anita asked me to get groceries. She was at the office this afternoon." "On a Saturday? She works far too much." Mom tutted, and I couldn't disagree. "Are you at least having fun? Seeing any friends tonight?" "Oh, yeah. Definitely," I said, omitting the fact that I didn't have many here or that I suspected Anita had sent me on the food run-despite it being her turn-because she wanted me to interact with at least one other human before the weekend was over. "I see," Mom said, and when she clicked her tongue, it felt as if I'd walked into an expertly laid trap. "In that case, you aren't planning on plopping yourself on the sofa in your pajamas and reading until Monday morning, right?" Those were the exact words I'd muttered to Anita yesterday when she'd unsuccessfully tried to convince me to go out with her tonight. Traitor. She knew I wasn't in the mood, and it hadn't escaped me how Mom had bestowed her running interference gene on her eldest daughter, a fact my sister consistently denied. As I contemplated the best response to give my mother, the rich, meaty aroma from the box of spaghetti Bolognese I'd picked up made my stomach rumble. There was no way I'd mention my takeout and jigsaw puzzle plans, or that I wouldn't need to change into my pajamas because they were already underneath my sweatpants. "Callie?" Mom asked. "Are you still there?" "Yeah, sorry." I refocused on our conversation and decided to fib. "I'm not sure what I'm doing tonight." "All right, dear. Then let's talk about Christmas. Have you given any more thought to coming home for the holidays with Anita?" "Mom, we've already discussed this. I can't." "You've never missed our Meyer Christmas Eve bash." She paused, seemingly choosing her next words with utmost care. "It won't be the same without you, and while I understand it wouldn't be easy with Oliver and his . . . friend next door, you can't let them ruin your favorite holiday." "Oliver and his new girlfriend being there isn't the problem." "Mm-hmm," she said for a second time. "It isn't," I insisted, wishing it were true. Fact was, when I'd learned a few weeks ago that Oliver and his new squeeze-a bona fide goddess in the form of local TV reporter Sarah Barratt-would be in Pineville over Christmas, it had been the final nail in the going home for the holidays coffin. While the all-consuming, thick, and stifling breakup fog had mostly subsided, it didn't mean I'd fully recovered. What happened still hurt deeply, and at times I found myself not only wondering why our relationship had ended the way it did, but also how I'd been oblivious to the change in Oliver's feelings for me. Despite almost having accepted that he'd found someone else, I wasn't ready for any kind of celebrating, and going to Pineville for Christmas could only be a holiday disaster. First problem: Oliver's parents, Ursula and Quentin Hill, lived right next door to mine. I may have been within reach of getting over my ex, but I had no intention of subjecting myself to catching glimpses of his newfound bliss with Sarah, particularly when our families had always celebrated the holidays together. I couldn't remember a Christmas without the Hills being at our house-me completely smitten with Oliver since I was five-or us at theirs, cooking turkey and yams, pulling crackers, and exchanging gifts galore. Fond memories full of love and laughter; ghosts of a happier past I didn't need reminders of. Second issue: Mom and Ursula had been best friends even before they became neighbors. They had, much to Oliver's and my dismay, whooped and cheered when we began dating in high school, and again when we decided to stay home and commute to Richmond University-me for finance, and Oliver for computer science-meaning we wouldn't be apart for four years. Thrilled was an accurate description of how our families felt when the two of us found our own place in Pineville after graduating, but it was nothing compared to the delight and tears in Mom's and Ursula's eyes when we announced our move to Fallbrook. Sad tears because we'd be out of state. Then happy ones because they saw it as a sign of what would come soon after. I swear Mom hummed the "Wedding March" for over a week, and I'd shared her certainty of the stable and happily ever after she'd plotted for Oliver and me. All this history and all their expectations meant I felt acute and utter embarrassment over my failed love life and a deep sense of guilt because I'd let my-and Oliver's-family down. As if that wasn't enough, Pineville was a small place of four thousand souls who loved to talk. Mom always had access to the latest gossip, and I had no intention of being the main subject this time around, with people tilting their heads and giving me pitying looks when they saw me. My New Year's resolutions were simple: stay in Fallbrook, a town I'd come to love and wanted to explore; keep building my career as an accountant at Whitlock & Blake Recruitment, despite Oliver working there; and definitely, categorically not have anything to do with any guy. The last one was a given because who wanted to date the Grinch? Fine by me. I couldn't see myself trusting someone with my heart in the next gazillion years, anyway. Of course, if I mentioned an iota of this to Mom, she'd tell me how she and Ursula were still convinced I'd win Oliver back, that things between him and Sarah couldn't be that serious. I'd get drawn into a discussion long enough to turn my fast-cooling spaghetti into an ice block. "I've got too much work," I said. "You know I'm in charge of making sure the corporate accounts are ready to be audited in January. I can't come home for the holidays. I'm sorry." I crossed my fingers and hoped she wouldn't see this as an opportunity to bring up how Oliver and me still working for the same company-albeit him in the IT department and on the upper floor-could bring us back together somehow. It was true that my staying on at the firm after our split was initially because I hoped seeing him might make him reconsider but over time that, too, had changed. Mom still didn't believe me when I insisted I hadn't left because I enjoyed my job, had great colleagues, and had a boss who cared about her team's personal development-all prospects I wanted to build on. After my initial "I'm going back to Virginia, stat" knee-jerk reaction to the breakup, I'd decided I wouldn't let Oliver's decision mess with my career, or the opportunity to spend more time in Fallbrook with my sister. As a result, seeing my ex at the office during the past seven months had slowly transformed into an awkward, stilted politeness reserved only for those who used to date. It was another reason I was happy staying in Fallbrook for Christmas. I planned to enjoy a week of not bumping into Oliver as I waited for the elevator, shuffling my feet while trying to think of something to say to the only person I'd ever been in a serious relationship with. Mom let out a heavy sigh. "We're sorry you won't be coming, sweetheart," she said. "It would be lovely for the four of us to be together for the holidays. Maybe something will happen to change your mind." "We'll see," I offered, hoping the lie would make her back off. "Anyway, I'm freezing and my takeout's getting cold. I'd better go." "Promise you'll at least think about it?" "Will do. Love to you and Dad. Talk soon." After hanging up, I grabbed the food and dashed inside, hurrying to our apartment. I slid my key into the lock and pushed open the green front door, calling out what had become Anita's and my customary greeting: "Honey, I'm home." The hallway smelled of the frosted gingerbread candle Anita bought a week ago-typically my favorite scent this time of year-to subtly ease me into the holiday spirit. No luck so far. In fact, it seemed to have the opposite effect, making me want to rush out and buy one labeled "Summer Breeze" instead. Pushing the bah-humbug thought away, I put the bags down, shimmied out of my jacket, and stashed it in the closet before kicking off my boots. As I popped them on Anita's new festive floor mat, which was covered in red-and-white-print plaid mittens, I heard the distinctive metal tinkling of a bell, followed by the thud-thudding of paws. "Hello, gorgeous," I said to the huge fluffy tortoiseshell cat padding toward me, her hooklike tail swishing in the air. When she blinked at me with her hypnotic light green eyes, I wondered if she'd finally let me pet her. Feeling hopeful, I reached for Dazey Rocket's head. As anticipated, and before my fingers were three inches from her body, she let out a meow and walked off, confirming my belief that she was quite possibly the most temperamental feline on the planet. "Was it something I said?" I asked sweetly, but she didn't turn around. Dazey and I had established our bizarre meet-and-don't-greet routine as soon as I'd fled here on breakup day. We'd been doing this dance for a while now, and I had to admit, Dazey's continual rebuffs still stung a little even though she shunned everyone but my sister. Excerpted from The Christmas Countdown by Holly Cassidy All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
