The Christmas Curse

By Erika Marks

After being dumped by her last three boyfriends over the holidays, Emily Parker is determined to break her Christmas Curse–and what better way than to spend this Christmas at a remote cabin in the Carolina mountains, where her recently cold-footed boyfriend can’t reach her to break things off…

For small-town veterinarian Griff Boone, the holidays are only a painful reminder of loss–which is why he has a long-standing tradition of leaving town for Christmas. One last house call to Cozy Cabins’ aging golden retriever and he’s on his way out of Dodge until the New Year…

But when an ice storm strands Griff and Emily together for the holiday weekend, their careful plans to fly solo are tossed like last year’s tree.

Will unexpected attraction confirm Griff and Emily’s worst fears–or could this year’s Christmas Curse be a blessing in disguise?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tule Publishing
• Release date: Nov 3, 2015
• ISBN: 9781943963744

Erika Marks

Erika Marks is a women’s fiction writer and the author of Little Gale Gumbo, The Mermaid Collector, The Guest House and It Comes In Waves (July, 2014). On the long and winding road to becoming published, she worked many different jobs, including carpenter, cake decorator, art director, and illustrator. But if pressed, she might say it was her brief tenure with a match-making service in Los Angeles after college that set her on the path to writing love stories (not that there isn’t romance in frosting or power tools!) A native New Englander, she now makes her home in Charlotte, NC, with her husband, a native New Orleanian who has taught her to make a wicked gumbo, and their two little mermaids.

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Dedication

To my sister, Abby, who listened so patiently to my first attempt at writing a romance when she was in middle school, and has been reading my stories ever since. Love you, Bitty!

Dear Reader

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Dear reader,

I can hardly believe it’s holiday time again—but boy, do I love a great Christmas romance, and Griff and Emily are both due some serious spirit this holiday. It was so much fun watching their love bloom—I hope you enjoy reading their story as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Mother Nature gets in on this love story when our hero and heroine find themselves as unexpected roommates after an ice storm traps them at a mountain hideaway. Many years ago, I lived in Maine during an ice storm and I will never forget the experience. For Griff and Emily, their hearts will need thawing as much as the landscape—fortunately, the heat between them is strong enough to melt this holiday’s deep freeze!

As any good love story should have, THE CHRISTMAS CURSE contains a few secrets and a few dreams—one of which is our heroine’s wish to open a cupcake shop. So as an early gift from us here in Magnolia Bay to you, I’ve included a recipe for gingerbread cupcakes. How you frost them is up to you, but trust me when I say they are good enough to eat all on their own!

So without further ado, may I introduce you to Emily and Griff (and a fifteen year-old golden retriever named Sassy with plenty of her own spirit!), and from all of us here in Magnolia Bay, to all of you dearest readers, may the holiday bring your hearts peace and joy and, of course, love.

Erika

Chapter 1

Magnolia Bay, South Carolina

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Looking to hide from the holiday rush?

Come find your comfort and joy in one of our private cabins in Green Springs, deep in the beautiful North Carolina mountains where not even Santa’s best elves can find you.

Reserve yours today!

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"Em, please tell me this is a joke."

Emily looked over the potted poinsettia in the middle of the café table she was sharing with her best friend, Janet, and shook her head. Since I can’t cancel Christmas, I’m going somewhere I can pretend it doesn’t exist.

"I’m sorry, and why do we want to cancel Christmas again?"

Emily sighed. Because I’m cursed.

"Riiight. Janet leaned in and leveled a concerned look across the table. Em, you’re my best friend and I love you. Which is why I feel compelled to tell you this is crazy. I mean, truly certifiable. There are no such things as curses. Especially not at Christmas."

Oh really? Emily tilted her head. Then what do you call it when your last three boyfriends break up with you during the holidays?

Janet wrinkled her nose and shrugged weakly. Lousy luck?

A curse, Emily said firmly, snatching the pamphlet from Janet’s hand and giving it an authoritative snap. It says it right here: Total peace and quiet—not even phones! It’s perfect!

Perfect if you want to be the first victim in a slasher movie, Janet said.

Very funny.

"I was kind of hoping you were kidding."

Jan, Phillip said we had to talk when he got back from Phoenix—what am I supposed to think?

Oh, I don’t know—maybe that he wants to talk about you guys moving in together?

Emily shook her head. It wasn’t that kind of ‘we have to talk’ tone. It was more the ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ tone. And believe me—I’ve heard the latter enough now to know the difference.

"And you think avoiding his calls and checking in to the Bates Motel for the holiday is the way to avoid having this talk?"

It’s hardly the Bates Motel. And yes—if I don’t answer my phone until after Christmas, I’m in the clear.

Janet sighed. If you want to avoid Christmas, why not go spend it with Helen and your brother-in-law? That man makes Scrooge look like Frosty the Snowman.

I considered it, Emily said sheepishly.

Janet blinked at her. Wow, you really have lost your mind.

Told you. Emily picked up her toasted gingerbread cappuccino, Bay Beans’ most popular holiday flavor, and sighed into the drink’s silky foam head, the nutty smell of almond filling her nose as she sipped. She knew how ridiculous this sounded. Here she was, a smart, successful, thirty-year-old economist, renting a bare bones cabin in the middle of the mountains, to spend Christmas in a place where she could pretend it wasn’t Christmas—simply because she believed the universe had forever decided to deliver her heart coal instead of holiday gold, and this year she was determined to foil its plan.

But was it so wrong of her to want to be married? Just because the institution hadn’t worked for her parents, it didn’t mean Emily didn’t long for a chance to try her hand at it. For as long as she could remember, she’d wanted to the whole package—a loving husband, a tidy house, and, of course, kids. Lots and lots of kids. And she’d come close—painfully close—so many times now. Surely this time had to be hers?

Janet picked up her peppermint cupcake and bit into the edge.

How is that one? Emily asked.

Not bad, but I still say your cupcakes are better.

Emily appreciated her best friend’s kindness but she knew her cupcakes were no match for the real deal. Compared to a professionally-trained baker, what did Emily know about cupcakes other than what she liked to bake at two in the morning when she couldn’t get to sleep after a stressful day?

Ever consider putting some kind of marry me potion in a cupcake and getting Phillip to eat it? Janet asked, wiping frosting off her thumb. You know, like that creepy queen who gave Cinderella the poisoned peach?

That was Snow White—and it was an apple, Emily said, stealing a dollop of cinnamon buttercream off her friend’s cupcake and licking her finger clean.

I never could keep those dang princesses straight, Janet said, waving her hand. Speaking of cupcakes... Janet gave Emily a mischievous grin. Did you see the old deli is up for rent again? It would make a great storefront for a cupcake shop. Just saying.

Emily wouldn’t deny she hadn’t fostered the same fantasy once or twice herself when she’d driven by the empty store on Main Street, especially after a tough day with her clients, but the only thing crazier than trying to hide out from Christmas to keep her boyfriend from breaking up with her, was leaving a lucrative career in the financial industry to bake cupcakes.

You’d make a killing, Em. Think of it as your duty. Magnolia Bay needs your cupcakes.

Phillip would love that, Emily said, rolling her eyes. I actually joked about giving it all up to open a bakery a few weeks ago and he looked at me like I’d lost my mind.

You mean the way I’ve been looking at you for the past ten minutes since you told me about ‘Operation Creepy Cabin’?

Emily gave in to a helpless smile. Something very similar, yes.

Speaking of Phillip, Janet said, what happens if your boyfriend wants to—God forbid—call to wish you a Merry Christmas from the road?

I’ll let it go to voicemail and not check the messages until the day after Christmas. See? She held up her phone. I’ve already started. Four new messages and I have absolutely no idea who they’re from.

That’s insane. What if your mom’s trying to call?

From Clark’s yacht in the Caribbean?

Good point. But what if it’s a real emergency?

It’s a risk I’m willing to take, Emily said. "Besides, you’re my best friend and I know you’re okay, so if it’s not you calling, and it’s not my mom, then I think I’m safe ignoring my phone for two days. Emily shot her friend a teasing smile. It is Christmas, after all."

So someone keeps reminding me, Janet said dryly. And you’ve already secured a reservation for this cabin?

"Yup. Just last week. Bag’s in the car. Got the GPS set, tank full—Honey’s and mine," Emily added, raising her mug.

Janet nearly choked on her bite of cupcake. You’re taking Honey Bee to the mountains?

Of course. What did you think I’d be driving?

I don’t know, maybe a rental. Something Jeep-like. Not all those roads are paved, you know.

It’s the mountains, Jan—not the Arctic. Besides, Emily said. Honey Bee’s never failed me.

Em, you hate the mountains. Janet reminded her.

Hate is a strong word.

Janet gave Emily’s outfit a disparaging once-over. Is that what you plan to wear up there?

What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?

You do realize flip-flops might not be the best choice in footwear?

I’m going from my car to the cabin—and not planning on doing a whole lot of moving around in between.

Except for when you’re running for your life from the knife-wielding escapee from the local insane asylum.

Will you stop?

You first. Janet’s eyes remained narrowed with suspicion. Crazy escapee possibility notwithstanding, I assume you’ve actually checked the weather forecast? The mountains do get snow and ice, you know.

The only forecast I care about is the one here when I get back—and I don’t need a weatherman to tell me that.

Nat King Cole’s smooth voice faded away and the chimes of