Santa's Surf School

By Leigh Macfarlane

Twin sisters Isla and Melissa Samms planned for years to start their own travel magazine. Now that Near and Far Magazine is a reality, they need articles for their winter edition. What better way to make that happen than to take separate Christmas vacations? So, laughing all the way, Mellie books herself a surf school holiday in Santa Cruz, California.

Sadly, nothing about her trip is going as planned. First, the airline loses her luggage. Next, the car dealership has no record of her reservation. By the time she reaches her hotel, she is hoping bad things don't actually happen in threes. Then the familiar-looking man at the check-in counter turns around, and Mellie finds herself face to face with Travis Rossi, the first man she ever loved, the only man to ever ask her to be his wife. Suddenly Mellie can't decide is she wants to turn around and head back home -- or climb right back into Travis' arms.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Leigh Macfarlane
• Release date: Dec 3, 2020
• ISBN: 9781999106270

Leigh Macfarlane

Leigh Macfarlane is a proud Canadian (eh!) author of both fiction and non-fiction books who is fortunate enough to live in California North -- the gorgeous Okanagan Valley of British Columbia. Since Leigh already lives in one of the most beautiful places in the world, many of her novels are set locally. In Leigh's books you will be transported to orchards, vineyards, ski hills, ranches, beaches, art galleries, athletic fields and waterfront cafes. Well, maybe not ski hills. Rumour has it Leigh is afraid to drive in the snow. Where heroes are concerned, I love me a cowboy, or a guy who can fix a car, a fearless protector type, or a studious professor with a sharp mind, the soft touch daddy, or a hard-body with a soft-heart. Sometimes I love me a bad boy, but I'm working on it. Just as long as he is good to his woman and cares about the world around him, I'm in. My heroines might be clutzy, or chubby, still figuring life out, or they might just have swollen bank accounts and be living the high life. Either way, my ladies are real women who appreciate life, laughter, beauty, family, puppies, chocolate, and especially the love of a strong man. When not writing, Leigh is mom to four wonderful, not so small, humans, one yap-monster dog, a gorgeous but aging cat and a fish whose quality of life appears to be declining. Once, Leigh fell off a horse, wrapped the back of her knee around a telephone pole, had horse liniment applied to her injury, and was proclaimed part horse by the race horse trainer who had fixed her up. To date, this claim has not been proven false.

Book preview

Santa’s Surf School

A Near and Far Magazine Christmas Novel

ALSO BY LEIGH MACFARLANE:

Novels:

Smoke

Honey on My Lips

Rock Bottom Ranch

Series:

Lakeland Things:

The Heart of Things (Book One)

The Way of Things (Book Two)

The Best of Things (Book Three)

The Merry Kind of Things (Book Four)

Near and Far Magazine:

Feathers in the Snow (Book One)

Santa’s Surf School (Book Two)

Coming Soon:

The Walking Walrus Café (Peachland Passions Book One)

Sunflowers and Sweet Peas (Peachland Passions Book Two)

Whiskey and Mistletoe (Book Three in the Near and Far Magazine Series)

Art Heist

Non-Fiction:

Tailgate Church

Quiet Me

Song Poetry

Copyright

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is strictly coincidental.

SANTA’S SURF SCHOOL

Copyright © 2020 Leigh Macfarlane

All Rights Reserved

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review.

First Edition November 2020

ISBN: 978-1-9991062-7-0

Published by LMCreative

British Columbia, Canada

www.leighmacfarlanecreates.com

Contents

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

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Excerpt

About the Author

Santa’s Surf School

A Near and Far Magazine Christmas Novel

By Leigh Macfarlane

LMCreative

Chapter One

"But why can’t you find my luggage?"

It happens, miss. Sometimes, I’m sorry to say, when you are taking a connecting flight -- as yours is -- the bags just don’t make the connection.

"I know it happens, I’m a bloody travel writer for Jimmy’s sake." 

Well, the bloke behind the counter said, There you go then. Don’t worry, it will probably turn up eventually. Until then, here’s a voucher on us. You can replace your basic necessities, and we will contact you the moment your bags arrive.

That, like, sucks, said the California-tanned teen who had been Melissa’s seat mate all the way from Vancouver, British Columbia. 

The girl, who’s name -- believe it or not -- was Barbie, had chattered non-stop for the entire four hours of their flight. Now, Mellie had a champion headache and no clean clothing. Hardly an auspicious beginning to the surfing school dream vacation she had hoarded for herself when she’d booked Christmas trips for herself and her twin sister. 

She’d sent Isla off on a snowy ranch holiday -- insert evil laughter here -- and slotted herself into the Santa Cruz, California, surfing vacation. She supposed losing her luggage might be karma. Except, of course, Isla actually liked all that horsey ranch stuff.

 And hey, Isla could just have easily done the bookings. It was her idea, after all, for the sisters to take separate vacations as writing fodder for their travel magazine, Near and Far Magazine. Her sister should have seen the writing on the wall the instant she’d delegated bookings to Melissa. 

If Isla could only see her now. Her sister would be laughing all the way to the -- well, barn, Mellie supposed. 

Now, Mellie let out a deep, dark sigh -- the very best kind of sigh, really -- and attempted to smile for the Barbie. She might find it hard to take her name seriously, but she was already envying the girl’s tan. Which was when she remembered that her favourite white polka dot micro bikini was in her suitcase. So, here she was in sunny California with a headache, no luggage, and no favourite bikini. Her half smile turned to a definite scowl.

It sucks, indeed, she said, but Barbie was no longer listening. Instead, the girl gave a little squeal -- so California -- and sprinted into the arms of the quintessential California surfer dude. He picked her up, swung her around, then planted a long, enthusiastic kiss on the girl that made Mellie go brows up. 

That, right there, was how you started a surf vacation.

It gave her some perspective. She had her lap top slung over her shoulder with her wallet and passport and camera all safely inside the laptop bag, so really, it wasn’t the end of the world. Apparently, she was going to get to go shopping. The only question was, should she go here in San Jose, or wait until she picked up her rental car and drove the thirty miles to Santa Cruz?

She brightened at the thought and let the buzzing excitement of the airport take her mind off her own predicament. Airports, after all, were one of Mellie’s favourite places.

This one was packed full with Christmas travellers. Barbie and her surfer-dude had disappeared, but they were far from the only embracing couple she walked past on her way to the Envoy Rental Cars stall adjacent to the airport’s exit. The whole place was filled with an air of expectancy as family, friends and lovers greeted each other.

It all made Mellie smile, and she was still smiling at the rental counter -- right up until the moment the young Hispanic woman behind the counter squinted down at her computer screen and shook her head.

I’m sorry, Miss Samms, but we simply have no record of your reservation.

Surely, you must be mistaken, Mellie said in exasperation, Or joking, she added hopefully.

No ma’am, the girl said. 

There was a hint of fatigue in the girl’s voice, but not even the slightest trace of sympathy. That alone stoked Mellie’s temper and knocked her resolve to retain perspective for a sideways loop. Grinding her molars slightly as she worked at keeping her mood from disintegrating completely, Mellie decided to move on from the mistake and simply take control of fixing the problem.

Well, then I’d like to rent one.

Surely, we can take care of that for you. Would you prefer a Mustang convertible, or a Ford crew cab?

Excuse me? Neither. I simply want a standard economy vehicle.

I’m sorry, miss, but we don’t have any left at this location. If you would like to wait we can get one driven over from our car lot.

When you say wait, how long, precisely?

Oh, shouldn’t be more than fourty-five minutes to an hour.

"Fourty-five…"

The girl shrugged. That’s why it’s a good plan to reserve a car in advance, ma’am.

"I did! Mellie glared at the girl, then slapped her credit card down on the counter with all the aggression she was feeling clear in that one motion. I’ll take the Mustang."

And she’d write a scathing review once she was settled into her hotel in Santa Cruz. Which, she thought with an internal grumble, better be as she expected. Bad things did tend to happen in threes, after all. 

Her mood took a distinct turn for the better when she laid eyes on the car she’d be driving for the next several days. It was black, and shiny, and sleek, and so beautiful.

The young man who led her to the car and gave her the rundown on all its special features was barely taller than her own 5’6", but he was all swagger as he showed her how to put the top down on the convertible. She slipped behind the wheel with a grin on her face -- and found her toes would barely touch the pedals.

Excuse me, she called, and the young man turned back towards the car, The car’s brilliant, for sure, but do be a dear and show me how to push this seat forward.

The kid grinned and sauntered over. Leaning into the car, his fingers grazed her calf. At that moment, he looked up into her eyes, and Mellie saw it -- the touch had been deliberate. Cheeky bugger, and not what she had in mind for company on her holiday.

There’s this bar here under the seat, ma’am, the kid drawled, You just pull up on it and scootch the seat on forward.

Right, Mellie said, made an adjustment. That’s hunky-dory, right there.

The kid snorted at the expression, but Mellissa just grinned and shrugged his opinion away as she slammed the heavy door shut and wiggled her fingers in a little wave.

Cheerio, then, she called, and squealed the tires slightly as she accelerated out of the parking garage. In her rear-view, she saw the attendant standing there shaking his head, but she was too busy grinning with delight at the way the Mustang handled to be remotely concerned. 

The sun was blinding, and hot on her exposed shoulders, but that only made Mellie grin more. California, baby. She’d made it. Now this was what a vacation was meant to be like. 

The smells of exhaust were strong in her nostrils as she idled at the stoplight. While she waited for the light to turn green, her fingers ran over the leather of the steering wheel in a kind of awe. This machine was ace, and she planned to enjoy every moment behind the wheel. Sure, she’d never generally splurge on a luxury vehicle like this when an economy model would more than do, but then again, it was Christmas. Certainly, she deserved a treat?

And in that spirit, Mellie thought as she accelerated out of the intersection, she would do her shopping in Santa Cruz. For right now, behind the wheel of this car was precisely where she wanted to be. 

She cruised past a stone mural of hands and powered down Airport Boulevard onto the offramp that would take her onto Highway 17 headed towards the ocean. The land around her was flat, and even this close to Christmas it looked as sunbaked as the cement barricades lining each side of the highway cutting through the residential districts of the city. The sky was cloudless blue, and as the wind whipped her hair and sent it flying, Mellie felt a giddy joy bubble inside. 

It had been too long since she had been on a trip. Starting Far and Away Travel Magazine with her sister, Isla, and their long-time friend, Augusta, had been a dream come true. It had also taken Mellie’s wild and carefree ways and forced her to learn way too much about adulting. Now, she was a true business woman, with profit margins and appropriate conduct to consider. That was more work than she’d expected, if she were being honest. But this, sun on her nose, wind whipping the skin of her cheeks, this was glorious. This was where she was meant to be.

Isla might be content at home choosing fonts and playing with graphics, and Auggie was happiest tinkering with her profits and losses columns, but the truth, Mellie had discovered over this past year, was that her restless spirit was born to explore. She was meant to roam, needed -- if she was going to remain interested -- to hop on a jet plane for destinations unknown where adventure was certain to follow. It was a conversation, she knew, that she and her sister needed to have.

Her sister was a wordsmith, a craftsman. Mellie, though, just wanted to feel. She wanted the sights and sounds and tastes and smells to melt over her and around and into her. She wanted to capture them with the lens of her camera, to tell a story inside a simple frame. If all life contained was her and her Nikon, she’d be happy as a clam.

She pressed her foot on the accelerator, felt the power surge from the engine in immediate response. It didn’t take long at all before the flat, urban streets faded away and were replaced with gently rolling hills covered in grass and low-lying trees and shrubs. She sped through the shadows of underpasses and whipped past the forested Glenwood area. By Scott’s Valley, she had to reduce her speed as the traffic picked up inside the city limits. 

Mellie figured she got her first whiff of ocean on Chestnut Street. She was well and truly in the centre of Santa Cruz by then, but still, the hint of salt in the air gave her a happy little buzz. The first glimpse she had of the ocean, while driving along W. Cliff Drive, gave her a positive hum throughout her entire central nervous system. It was glorious and so blue with the sun shining and adding to the water’s brilliance where waves met blue sky horizon.  

She was so enthralled with the glimpses of the ocean peeking out at her between buildings that Mellie came close to driving right on past the hotel. At the last moment, she recognized the tall, boxy, cement structure for what it was -- The Dream Inn. With only the smallest squeal of her tires, she cranked the wheel and turned left into the hotel driveway -- missing a pair of cyclists by far too few inches. Mellie waved an apologetic hand, but the bikers had already moved on. Perhaps it wasn’t possible to hold onto a grudge on the shores of the Pacific Ocean.  

The inside of the Inn was decorated in cool shades of blue and cream. Surfboards were hung decoratively along the walls and in places, on the ceiling. The vibe in the long, slim building was calm, and the focus was definitely on the stretch of ocean beach where the Inn was built. 

Surfer chic, Mellie thought with an internal smile. Who knew that was a thing?

With her Nikes making a soft squeaking sound as she crossed the wood floor, she headed directly to the recessed reception desk and the lone attendant standing behind the desk. Even as she was smiling at the man and introducing herself, Mellie was mentally cataloguing the photos she would shoot early tomorrow morning before there were any other guests in the lobby.

Oh, Miss Samms, I’m so sorry. We usually only do check-ins after four. 

The man looked stricken, and Mellie felt sympathy well inside her. It wasn’t the first time she’d had this effect on a hotel employee. You tell some people what you do for a living and that’s the last normal interaction you ever have. Well, especially if you happen to write reviews and articles for a travel magazine, and they are the concierge at a hotel.

I’m Shane, ma’am, and we are just so thrilled to have you staying here at Dream Inn with us. I’m sure you will enjoy your stay. I’ll phone up right now and see if your room is ready. If not, we will make it our first priority. Or, we can simply give you a different room if you prefer.

Mellie smiled. He was kind of cute, even if he was mildly panicked at the possibility of offending the hotel’s VIP guest.

Four o’clock will be perfectly fine, Shane. Don’t go to any special trouble on my account. I’m just chuffed to bits to be here this week. There is one thing, though. The airport lost my luggage. If you could just point me in the direction of some ace shopping, I’d be in your debt.

Oh, of course, ma’am. Mellie watched as he ducked down and rummaged under the counter a moment, then stood up holding a handful of pamphlets and a street map. Right now, Shane said, pointing to the inn on the map, We’re here. Now, there are some shops just at the end of the wharf, you see?

When Mellie nodded, he continued.

Truth is, their prices are ridiculous. You’ll do better if you head downtown and shop there. There are some special clothing stores if that’s your thing, or if you’re more a chain store type, there are some of those, too. You’ll even find goodwill if you are looking for a bargain. Not, he coloured, That you’d need to shop at goodwill or anything like that. I mean, clearly not. You just never know these days. Even my sister shops there sometimes. Says she can get the brand names for bargain prices, and…

Shane, Mellie interrupted as she snagged the brochures from his hand, I knew what you meant. She smiled at him easily. I’ll see you at four.

It was no hardship climbing back behind the wheel of the Mustang, and she found the downtown shopping district easily enough. Driving the slower city speeds did mean she felt the sun broiling down on her every time the car idled in traffic. The denim of her jeans started to stick to her legs, and she shrugged out of her jersey as she drove, enjoying the rush of wind over the skin her tank top left uncovered. 

She drove up and down the streets a few minutes until she found a parking spot just off Pacific Avenue. It took her a moment -- and one or two frazzled curse words -- but Mellie eventually managed to put the top up on the Mustang before slipping the strap