Since Last Christmas

By Jeffe Kennedy

This Christmas, Amy is getting what she wants. Her career in fashion design is taking off. Her boyfriend Brad is the dictionary definition of a catch. Soon he’ll buy the massive diamond that makes it official: she’s nobody’s hard luck case anymore.

Her old friend Jon ought to understand. A decade ago he was the other scholarship kid with a crap family. He got her quirks, her insecurities, her rules, her passions. Now he swears she’s not really happy, and she’s forgotten something that proves it.

When Amy throws away everything she’s worked for with one impulsive, impossible word, she’s horrified she’s proved Jon right...and strangely, secretly excited. That he knows more than the past she wants to forget — he knows what heats her up, what makes her heart race.

But remembering what she’s forgotten since last Christmas might mean breaking all the rules...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jeffe Kennedy
• Release date: Dec 21, 2017
• ISBN: 9781945367243

Jeffe Kennedy

Jeffe Kennedy is an award-winning, best-selling author who writes fantasy with romantic elements and fantasy romance. She is an RWA member and serves on the Board of Directors for SFWA as a Director at Large.She is a hybrid author, and also self-publishes a romantic fantasy series, Sorcerous Moons. Books in her popular, long-running series, The Twelve Kingdoms and The Uncharted Realms, have won the RT Reviewers’ Choice Best Fantasy Romance, been named Best Book of June 2014, and won RWA’s prestigious RITA® Award, while more have been finalists for those awards. She's the author of the romantic fantasy trilogy, The Forgotten Empires, which includes The Orchid Throne, The Fiery Crown, and The Promised Queen.Jeffe lives in Santa Fe, New Mexico, with two Maine coon cats, plentiful free-range lizards and a very handsome Doctor of Oriental Medicine.She can be found online at her website, every Sunday at the SFF Seven blog, on Facebook, on Goodreads and on Twitter. She is represented by Sarah Younger of Nancy Yost Literary Agency.

Book preview

Since Last Christmas

Missed Connections #3

by Jeffe Kennedy

This Christmas, Amy is getting what she wants. Her career in fashion design is taking off. Her boyfriend Brad is the dictionary definition of a catch. Soon he’ll buy the massive diamond that makes it official: she’s nobody’s hard luck case anymore.

Her old friend Jon ought to understand. A decade ago he was the other scholarship kid with a crap family. He got her quirks, her insecurities, her rules, her passions. Now he swears she’s not really happy, and she’s forgotten something that proves it.

When Amy throws away everything she’s worked for with one impulsive, impossible word, she’s horrified she’s proved Jon right…and strangely, secretly excited. That he knows more than the past she wants to forget—he knows what heats her up, what makes her heart race.

But remembering what she’s forgotten since last Christmas might mean breaking all the rules…

Copyright © 2017 by Jennifer M. Kennedy

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or business establishments, organizations or locales is completely coincidental.

Thank you for reading!

Credits

Production Editor: Rebecca Cremonese

Cover Design: Kellie Dennis, Book Cover by Design

Back Cover Copy: Erin Nelson Parekh

Dedication

This one is for Miranda Neville

Friend, wonderful writer, fantastic beta reader

She passed away as I was writing this and the world is poorer for her loss

We’ll always have that terrible house in New Orleans

October 26, 2017

Table of Contents

Title Page

About the Book

Copyright Page

Dedication

Acknowledgements

The Rules

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Epilogue

Sparkly Sugar Cookies

Hot Buttered Rum

Titles by Jeffe Kennedy

About Jeffe Kennedy

Acknowledgements

Many thanks to Nicola Aaron Onychuk of the wonderful AlphaHeroes.net romance review blog, for the geek level: extreme math joke.

Hugs to Laurie Potter, in honor of her dual dishwashers, and for being one of the first to tell me I could make a career of being a writer, even though it meant we wouldn’t work together anymore.

Thanks to the Tiffany store at La Encantada in Tucson, for patiently answering my questions and letting me try on a fifty-thousand dollar ring.

Julie Fine named the restaurant, with a lovely meaning behind it, and I’m grateful to her.

All the thanks to Sonali Dev for advice, gentle steering, and letting Ice borrow her favorite designer.

Thanks to Margaret, first and best reader, who ended up being in this one in unexpected ways.

Kelly Robson contributed a personal story and is in here in more than spirit. I owe her more than Christmas chocolate.

To David for the loving nagging, and to Carien for all the things. You two keep the balls in the air.

The Rules

As women holding ourselves to certain standards (if not necessarily high ones), we of the Fabulous Five agree to abide by the following Rules:

1.   It is permissible to dance or hang with any man once and once only in order to assess his fitness according to the following criteria: Looks, Rhythm, Taste, Touch, and Chemistry, with a maximum of one point per criterion.

Amendment 1a. Partial points are permissible, in multiples no smaller than a tenth.

Amendment 1b. A sixth criterion, that extra something, can be considered, but only after round four. It cannot be used to tilt scores in the original five criteria.

2.   A man must score at least a two out of five to advance to the second round—dating or dancing.

Amendment 2a. This must be a score of 2.0 or better. No rounding up from a score below 2.0 is permitted.

3.   Cell numbers will be given only upon request, never offered, and only to those who’ve advanced to round three.

4.   A score of four out of five is needed to advance to round three. No exceptions. This can include additional dances, dates, or making out, short of intercourse.

Amendment 3a. This must be a score of 4.0 or better. No rounding up from a score below 4.0 is permitted.

5.   No sex with any man who has not advanced to round four, which requires maintaining a score of 4.0 or better following round 3.

6.   Anyone who has agreed to abide by these rules and fails to do so will pay a penalty as determined by the group.

Amendment 6a. Rounding up from lower scores will elicit a more severe penalty.

Amendment 6b. (aka the Charley Amendment): Poor math skills are no excuse.

The Thanksgiving Prime Directive

No interference with the natural development of another of the Fab Five’s romantic relationships. This includes:

1.   No setting up blind dates without full knowledge of all involved.

2.   No manipulating to create accidental meetings.

3.   No breadcrumbing on another’s behalf.

4.   No creating Missed Connections ads for other people.

5.   No cyberstalking or creeping by proxy.

6.   No other forms of meddling or matchmaking, unless fully approved by the matchmakee upon presentation of all available information.

~ 1 ~

The endorphins kicked in around mile three. They usually do, give or take. Good thing, too, because the bitter wind coming off the lake in the predawn dark had been sapping my will to persevere. A lot to say, coming from the Queen of Perseverance. I really do believe that everything in life can be had if we simply stick to a goal long enough.

I might have started out with nothing, but I’d finish with having it all.

Heat flooded through me, even my frozen face warming, my muscles going long and languid, naturally induced joy hitting my bloodstream. I let out a whooping war cry of triumph, the sound bouncing back from the silent asphalt. My whole life was hitting a metaphorical mile three—all the slog of hard work finally paying off and reaching maximum happiness.

Just like the acceleration of the holiday season. With the solstice a few days away, the Chicago nights grew longer and colder, the sun coming and fading again in brief glimpses. But soon we’d round that corner and then—Christmas! New Year’s Eve! Valentine’s Day, followed by burgeoning spring and hot, lazy summer, with boating parties and barbeques.

Autumn pretty much sucks for romantic holidays, so I’d looked forward to the end of that slog. Who ever had a cozy Halloween? And don’t get me started on all that’s wrong with the glut-fest of toxic food and family that is Thanksgiving. The Christmas holidays, now, they herald the beginning of the romance season. Played correctly, the festivity of the parties starting now could coast right through Labor Day weekend.

And this year, I had plans for a romantic autumn.

I ran at a fast and easy pace. The recent downturn with Brad just before and over Thanksgiving had been like nearing the end of the first three miles of any run—clunky, sometimes stiff, occasionally chilly, and always a challenge to stick through—and, yeah, it made me think about giving up. But now we’d hit our stride, and just in time for fabulous holiday dating.

I had my outfits planned, and the right guy in position at last—the perfect date to bring to the Wildwood Academy reunion dance. Not just any date, but Brad Deffelman, who’d been shortlisted twice now for Chicago Magazine’s Most Eligible Bachelor list. Plus, Brad had invited me to his parents’ Christmas Day open house, which would be so much better than going home to my disaster of a family.

I’d spent a lot of time on Brad’s Christmas present, and it was perfect. Well, it would be, once I finished. My first couture tuxedo, custom-made for Brad’s male-model physique. For maybe the first time in my life, Christmas would be fun and romantic and, well, joyous. No weird charity gifts. No odd array of unwrapped things my dad picked up from the only open convenience store on his way home from the bar. This year, Brad would give me that perfect Tiffany diamond ring I’d had my eye on. Made me giddy just to contemplate it.

Brad had been making all the right noises—the invite to spend Christmas with his family, confirming which ring I liked, talking about our future plans—so I wasn’t jumping the gun.

This was it. I wasn’t going to tell anyone—no jinxing it!—but I’d be engaged by the new year.

I’d made reservations for a spectacularly glitzy New Year’s Eve, the Super Bowl of romance. Brad liked me to take care of that kind of thing, as he trusted my taste, and he did his part by footing the bill. The outfit I’d planned included fingerless gloves in case I’d get to show off that new ring. A bit of a fashion risk—I’d put a lot of effort into making sure they didn’t look too eighties—but the final look would be worth it. Especially as it would match the tuxedo I’d painstakingly crafted for Brad to wear.

If I worked my connections, and if his mother weighed in, we might even be able to pull off an autumn wedding. Then I’d have a romantic anniversary to mitigate the fall doldrums. I could picture the invitations. Not ostentatious, but subtly stylish, a floral theme but autumnal. Maybe an ivory vellum with rust-colored accents, a stylized chrysanthemum in burgundy, a slim ribbon in a deep chocolate brown. Depending on my eventual budget, I’d go for fantastic invitations and a simpler ceremony. Stylish and intimate. It’s amazing what you can pull off if you make the decorations yourself, which I had the skills to do.

I had to have four bridesmaids—no way I could leave out any of the Fab Five—but I could make their gowns and my own, no problem. And maybe Brad’s parents would host the whole thing. I wasn’t too proud for that. My parents certainly wouldn’t, even if they could find the money. A fall wedding would round out the year nicely. Late September or early October, I would marry Brad, and my life would finally begin.

My feet made a steady rhythm, softly tipping it out. Amy Deffelman. Mrs. Amanda Deffelman. Brad and Amanda Deffelman.

Brad had staying power. Steady, ambitious, successful and going to be more so. He wasn’t a full five-pointer, but no flesh and blood human being can live up to that kind of standard, not for extended periods of time. Some of the other gals in the Fab Five thought we should add scoring for long-term relationships to the Rules. No surprise that Charley and I, the only two in steady relationships—well, except Marcia, but hers was only weeks old—were strongly against it. The Rules worked just fine to score a guy for initial dating. I’d certainly embraced the system to teach myself to choose better men than my childhood examples had given me. But for after that… Well, it’s a different race.

Not a sprint, but a marathon. Brad would be my marathon. Scoring a guy on the five categories felt a little immature in selecting one’s husband, but I could do it if any of the others pressed me on it.

1.   Looks. Brad is naturally a full one point for looks. Every time, all the time. Not just for his handsomeness, though he does have that chiseled jaw and good bone structure that means he’d age well. He also understands how to dress well, something obviously important to me. If you work in the fashion design business, you have to look the part. Nobody takes a car to a mechanic whose car belches smoke, after all. I could hardly bring a guy to Exposition Way’s Holiday Event who wore an off-the-rack suit. And Brad takes my suggestions, even the more outré ones. He’d even worn the heather-lavender button-down with amethyst pinstripes and the dark orchid silk tie that I’d given him. And he’d paired it on his own with a dove-gray suit that rocked the look.

Finally, a sign of true love, he’d hashtagged my name when he posted the look to Instagram. Not that I’d use Amy Taylor when I got to design my own stuff. Good name, but sadly too much like Ann Taylor. Deffelman was too long to be memorable. But I might do Amanda D, maybe Mandy D for a juniors line. Had a nice ring to it. More important, it would look good on a label. I had the font all picked out.

2.   Rhythm. This is the points category that means different things to different people—music, dance, the cosmic rhythm of the planets. Whatever. This isn’t my thing so much. I like to dance as much as the next girl, but I don’t demand excellence in dancing like Charley does. Brad can do a decent waltz, which is great for formal events. As for dancing being an indicator for performance in bed, well, he’s perfectly fine there, too. I don’t think I obsess about sex as much as the other gals do. I like sex. Who doesn’t? But you spend a hell of a lot more time out of bed than in it, so let’s keep our priorities straight there.

3.   Taste. Brad has excellent taste. I give him a solid 0.7 there. I mean, he’s a guy after all, so he can be distressingly over fond of sports-themed décor. But he thinks I’m beautiful, which I’m not, so that garners him extra latitude. And, of course, despite his other choices, he dresses well. Once we got married I could take over the decorating. With access to his money, I could really do something fantastic.

4.   Touch. Just fine. He’s not repulsive or anything. I think this is another category that matters initially, but then is something you stop worrying about for the long term.

5.   Chemistry. For Marcia, who wants to be a perfume nose, this is all about scent. For me, a decent cologne takes care of that, and Brad wears a good, expensive one. Ice and Julie insist this is about the *pow* attraction. Again, I don’t agree this is something that’s important for the long term. First meeting: sure. Brad and I were immediately attracted and I gave him a full point then. Once you get to know someone, though, you don’t expect to be wowed by them on a daily basis.

There is a provision in the Rules for that sixth extra something. I gave Brad a full point there, too. Being shortlisted for Most Eligible Bachelor ought to score at least a point—someone other than me thought Brad was a great catch. Plus, we wanted the same things out of life.

I rounded into the sixth mile, feeling good, heading home with the wind at my back. The perfect metaphor for this time in my life: young, fit, in love, and about to be engaged. It made all that effort of running into the wind at first worthwhile, to hit the final stretch and know I’d done it.

Me. I’d made this happen. Poor little Amy Taylor, scruffy charity case. It would have been nice to go to the Wildwood reunion that night with a big diamond ring to show off, but having Brad as my date would prove my point almost as well. And they’d hear the news soon enough, even if I had to work to get it in the society columns myself.

I had it all planned out: Brad would propose on Christmas Eve. Romantic and intimate, just us. We planned to have dinner at his place so we could exchange gifts before going to his family house in North Shore the next morning. That was the classy way to do things.

I’d found Brad on my own and had made myself into the kind of woman a guy like him would be attracted to. We might not have some grand passion, but I could make any combination work. That is