The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

By Marie Landry

Christmas is the most wonderful time of the year, right? At least that’s what Ginny’s grandmother always told her, and Ginny believed it until Grama died. She managed to put on a brave face for the first few holiday seasons, carrying on their traditions, and decorating her house and café just like Grama did.

But it’s been three years and Ginny can’t pretend any longer. After a series of mishaps at work, finding out she’s going to be alone for Christmas, and discovering her dreams of expanding her café may remain nothing more than dreams, she’s ready to spend the holidays hiding under the covers...until she’s unexpectedly reunited with her first love. She spent one magical summer in her teens with Dean, and now he’s back, stirring up old memories and making Ginny realize her feelings weren’t so unrequited after all.

Could Dean be the one to help Ginny remember that Christmas really is the most wonderful time of the year?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Marie Landry
• Release date: Nov 5, 2013
• ISBN: 9780987939548

Marie Landry

Marie Landry’s life revolves around books; when she’s not writing them, she’s reading them, taking pictures of them for bookstagram, or blogging about them. An avid reader from a young age, she loves getting lost in characters’ worlds, whether they’re of her own making or someone else’s. She particularly loves stories with as much of an emphasis on self-discovery and friendship as on romance...but don’t leave out the romance!She lives in a cozy apartment in Ontario, Canada with the best roommate ever, and can be found working in a room surrounded by Funko Pops and—you guessed it—books. When not doing bookish things, you can often find her cooking, exploring areas both familiar and new, watching TV, or taking photos. Her fangirl heart perks up at the mention of Star Wars, Sherlock, and Doctor Who, and you’ll often find nerdy references woven into her books.For more on Marie and her books please visit http://www.ramblingsofadaydreamer.com. You can also find her on Instagram at @sweetmarie_83 and Twitter at @sweetmarie83.

Book preview

The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

by Marie Landry

Copyright 2013 Marie Landry

All rights reserved

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please go to the retailer of your choice and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Also by Marie Landry

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Letter to the Reader

Mistletoe Kiss Preview

Acknowledgments

About the Author

ALSO BY MARIE LANDRY

Blue Sky Days

Waiting for the Storm (Angel Island #1)

After the Storm (Angel Island #2)

Take Them by Storm (Angel Island #3)

Mistletoe Kiss

Only You

Maybe You

Hung Up on You (coming January 2020)

DEDICATION

For Mum, who never lets me down.

And for Grama, who after almost one hundred Christmases never lost her childlike joy and wonder.

CHAPTER ONE

The familiar opening notes of Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree start playing over the speakers in the café. I smile, humming along to the jazzy tune. It’s one of my favorites, but then again I have a lot of favorite holiday songs.

I add an extra shot of peppermint to the mocha latté I just made and finish it off with a dollop of whipped cream. Here you go, Mrs. Sanders, I say, sliding it across the counter.

Thank you, dear. Mrs. Sanders tucks a loose white curl under her crocheted hat. For a woman in her seventies, she has a sweet tooth like I’ve never seen. She volunteers at the used clothing store down the street, and on any given day will pop into the café two or three times for a sugary drink or a freshly baked treat.

Mrs. Sanders’ gaze sweeps over the café. The place is looking wonderful, Ginny, she says, a warm smile lighting her gray eyes. Looks just like it did when your grandmother owned it and decorated for the holidays.

I swallow the lump that always forms in my throat whenever someone mentions Grama. I’m really happy to hear you say that, I reply, managing a small smile. Christmas was always her favorite time of year.

Don’t I know it. Mrs. Sanders chuckles and shakes her head. She’d be up in that attic of yours fishing around for Christmas decorations as soon as Halloween was over. Her grin wavers, turning wistful. I’m glad she passed her love for the holidays on to you. It’s nice to have someone keep up those traditions and add in some new life.

I nod, swallowing compulsively around that stupid growing lump. It’s been three years since Grama passed away, but I still feel her loss as if it were yesterday. She was so much more than just my guardian—she was my best friend and confidant, the one person who loved me unconditionally and supported me no matter what. She was also a huge part of the community; she’d had a seat on the local council, and had owned what was once the only café in town until a Tim Horton’s moved in near the mall.

I do it for her. My voice comes out with a slight tremor. Because of her, I’ve believed in the magic of Christmas for as long as I can remember. Everything just seems different around Christmas. Like anything could happen, you know?

Mrs. Sanders still wears that soft, wistful smile. Now you sound just like her. She was always talking about the magic of Christmas. She’d be so proud of you, Ginny.

This time my smile is genuine. I know Mrs. Sanders misses Grama too. They had been friends since childhood, and Mrs. Sanders is one of the few people who still talks freely about Grama around me. Most of the other people in town seem to think I’ll shatter into a million pieces at the mere mention of her. Thank you.

The older woman nods and reaches for her wallet, but I wave her away. It’s on me today. Enjoy.

She pats my hand where it rests on the counter before pulling on her leather gloves and tugging the collar of her coat up around her neck. I’ll see you tomorrow, dear.

I watch Mrs. Sanders go, then glance around the café like she did a few moments ago. Most of the decorations belonged to Grama, with a few added touches from me over the last three years. Small artificial trees sit in every corner, decked out with tiny lights and the mismatched ornaments Grama and I collected or made; star-shaped lights hang in the big windows on either side of the door; and the fireplace is adorned with stockings that are almost full with donations for the yearly toy drive.

I make my way around the counter, smiling at the people scattered at tables and on couches around the café. It’s one of the quietest times of the day—the after-work rush has finished and most people are home having dinner. Things will pick up again around seven, when a lot of folks like to drop in for coffee or dessert, or grab a snack on their way to the movies.

Humming along to the carols playing on the stereo, I gather dirty mugs and plates, and wipe down tables. I’m pleasantly surprised to discover almost every empty table holds a tip. We keep a fancy jar near the cash register where most people drop a few coins after ordering, but I guess the festive atmosphere is making people generous today. Whatever the reason, I enjoy the musical jingling sound of the coins and bills accumulating in the pocket of my Christmassy apron.

I’ve just made it back to the counter when the front door flies open, sending the bells overhead into a tinkling frenzy. A gust of wintry air blows into the café along with my best friend Clara. She stamps her booted feet and shakes the hood of her coat, sending white powder dancing in the air around her.

"Is that snow?" I rush through the café to the window. My nose almost touches the glass as I peer out at the softly falling flakes. We’ve only had a few dustings of snow so far this month. I was beginning to worry we weren’t going to have any for the holidays. For me, Christmas isn’t Christmas without snow.

I’ll be right back, everyone, I call to no one in particular as I grab Clara’s hand and pull her back outside.

What are you doing? Clara asks. Where’s your coat? You’re going to freeze!

Ignoring her, I stop on the sidewalk and turn my face toward the sky. Fat snowflakes melt instantly as they touch my skin, which is overheated from being close to the fire while bussing tables. An uncontrollable smile spreads over my face as I close my eyes, letting the flakes cool my eyelids, cheeks, and forehead.

You’re a loon, you know that? Something warm settles over my shoulders. I open my eyes to see Clara has taken off her coat and draped it over both of us. She loops her arm through mine and presses against me, pulling her half of the coat around her as much as she can.

I know, I answer easily. But you know how much I love snow.

I do, which is why I stopped in. I figured you’d be busy and might not have seen it yet.

That’s why you came by? I ask, surprised and touched.

Well, yeah. Clara shrugs. I was leaving the library when it started, so I figured rather than call, I’d come up the street and see you. I know I haven’t been around much lately.

It’s true. Clara has been dating a guy named Bobby since the beginning of summer and they’re nearly inseparable. I’ve gone from seeing my best friend all the time to practically having to make an appointment just to have a conversation with her. That doesn’t matter now, though. She’s here, it’s snowing, and everything seems right with the world, even if only for a few minutes.

Thanks for coming. I angle my face back toward the sky.

Well, I knew… Her voice trails off and she shifts closer to me.

I peek at her to see she’s staring resolutely at the sky. Her jaw is tight, and tears glisten in her eyes. Don’t. Please don’t.

She jerks her head back and forth, sending a lone tear streaking down her cheek. I’m sorry, she says quickly. I swore I wouldn’t. I told myself all the way over here if I started crying I’d never forgive myself. I just can’t help it. She sniffles pathetically.

I let out a quiet groan as the familiar lump returns to my throat. Clara and I grew up together and are the kind of best friends who are more like sisters, so she feels Grama’s loss almost as acutely as I do. She’s the one who mourned with me both then and now, the one who holds my hand when I need comfort, cries with me, and shares stories of Grama from our childhood.

Clara takes a deep breath and slides her hand down my arm to grip my hand. She was like a little kid when it snowed, she says. I can hear the smile in her voice now, but I can’t look at her for fear I’ll start crying.

I remember you telling me how she’d drag you outside during the first snow, no matter where you were, what you were doing, or what time it was, she continues. Like that time when we were six and it started snowing in the middle of the night and she got you out of bed to see it. I don’t think I really believed you until the next year when I was sleeping over and she woke us up at three a.m., bundled us into our coats, and took us outside.

The memory draws a shaky laugh from me. I still remember us throwing on