A Christmas Blessing: A Best Friend's Widow Romance

By Suzanne D. Williams

To ease the burden of her husband's passing, Diane Mobley moved in with her in-laws. It's good for everyone involved. She can take over their gourmet food shop, and they will give her daughter, Nicole, the love she needs to grow and flourish.

 

When Nicole's new drama teacher, Carver Whiting, turns out to be her husband's high school best friend, their instant attraction is fraught with doubt and guilt. Her husband casts a huge shadow between them.

 

Adding pressure is a secret from her past, which might just be more than their fragile relationship can stand. It could be that forgiveness, peace, and joy, the meanings of Christmas, aren't meant for her. It could be that finding love the second time around is simply out of reach.

 

A SUZANNE D. WILLIAMS, 2nd Generation Book.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Suzanne D. Williams
• Release date: Nov 4, 2020
• ISBN: 9781386732853

Suzanne D. Williams

Best-selling author, Suzanne D. Williams, is a native Floridian, wife, mother, and photographer. She is the author of both nonfiction and fiction books. She writes a monthly column for Steves-Digicams.com on the subject of digital photography, as well as devotionals and instructional articles for various blogs. She also does graphic design for self-publishing authors. She is co-founder of THE EDGE. To learn more about what she’s doing and check out her extensive catalogue of stories, visit http://suzanne-williams-photography.blogspot.com/ or link with her on Facebook at http://www.facebook.com/suzannedwilliamsauthor.

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SUZANNE D. WILLIAMS

© 2020 A Christmas Blessing: A Best Friend’s Widow Romance

by Suzanne D. Williams

www.feelgoodromance.com

www.suzannedwilliams.com

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission from the publisher.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.

*Quote adapted from the book A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens. Available in public domain. http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/46

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What is 2nd Generation?

Lighter, softer books, less romance and more chick-lit, with Christian morals and G-rated content.

For this my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found. (Luke 15:24)

Chapter 1

The jangle of the telephone interrupted her daughter’s whining, and she seized the moment, snatching the receiver and pacing half-a-room away. The last strains of a rousing rendition of Angels We Have Heart On High pealed through the overhead speakers.

Mobley’s Gourmet Foods, she said, her voice bright. This is Diane Mobley.

Until the regulars became used to her, she would give her full name. Explaining who she was had already become tiresome. One could only repeat the same condensed story so many times.

Yes, we have a fresh batch of Alaskan salmon. It just came in this morning. I will set that aside for you, Mr. Fischer. She muted a laugh. We’re open until seven. Yes, sir. That will be fine. We’ll see you then.

The call ended, she said the first thing in her mind. Any conversation was better than restarting Nicole’s complaints. Mr. Fischer wants fish. We could make a Dr. Seuss of it. When Nicole was younger, they used to play that game a lot. They’d try to rhyme when they talked, like the children’s books, and sometimes would go all day.

Mo-om. Nicole stretched the word into two syllables. I want to be in journalism!

Diane winced and pulled in a breath. Arriving mid-school year prevented it, she suspected. Probably, the classes were full, particularly any specialty ones. A fifteen-year-old girl wouldn’t give much thought to that.

She spun on one heel. A motion-sensor Santa caught her movement and broke into song, his hips swaying. When your grandmother gets here, she said, walking away from it. I guess we can go talk to someone in the school office. She’d let them be the bad guy. They could explain it to her daughter. No need to heap more misery on herself.

The decision to move had come upon them after her husband, Lester’s, sudden death. For three years, she’d tried to go it alone, but being honest, he’d left them in a difficult place financially. She’d gotten a secretarial job at first. And been fired within a year. She simply wasn’t organized enough for office work. She’d tried housecleaning. She wasn’t qualified for much else. But all the chemicals had caused occupational asthma. She’d had no choice but to quit. When her in-laws suggested moving in with them, she’d balked. She didn’t want to be a burden. However, soon, the greater burden became paying the bills.

Her daughter exhaled, crossing slender arms across her chest. Her upward breath blew light brown strands away from her face.

Diane’s heart squeezed. She and Nicole looked a lot alike. She couldn’t escape it, and yet she saw so much of Lester in Nicole as well. More in her daughter’s mannerisms than her physical appearance. How she turned her head with impatience. The outward strike of her leg, once annoyed. Her smile in happier times. Those had been few and fleeting since her dad’s death.

We’ll talk, she repeated, but don’t get your hopes up.

Diane retraced her steps to the counter. She made note of Mr. Fischer’s order, and the pen clenched in one hand, glanced across at her daughter. What’s wrong with drama anyway? It seemed she was good at it, all this posturing. If she stuck her lip out much further, she would trip over it.

It’s just awful! Nicole tossed her hands outward. "I don’t want to act."

Diane returned her gaze to the notepad. At least, not for a worthwhile reason, she mumbled.

An hour later, she waved Nicole toward the front doors of the shop, her mother-in-law’s reflection shining back at them in the window glass. Reaching the door, she mashed her palm flat to the chilled glass and held it open for Nicole to flounce out.

A mishmash of Christmas décor lined the downtown street. The city had hung flags emblazoned with golden bells on each lamppost. The various shops had added their own flash to the scene with Christmas lights and greenery in their displays. Her in-laws’ shop window had an old-timey feel with the store’s name done in crimson vintage text, a painted image of a Victorian couple carrying a basket of various meats and cheeses down a snowy street, propped behind it.

Ironic, since it rarely snowed this far South.

She inhaled the crisp air, her gaze traveling across from them. An older man paced south down the aged sidewalk, crossing in front of a small hardware store. He limped slightly, in a rolling gait that rose in her mind, familiar. Time rewound with the distant memory, and the street faded to a concrete driveway, leading up to a one-story house. Gold garland trailed down the center front porch posts, tattered where their cat, Fritz, had batted it.

Mom?

Nicole’s voice shook Diane back into the present, but she didn’t respond. Couldn’t respond, her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. Broad shoulders, now more stooped with age. Blond hair shaded entirely gray. But the same proud nose and strong set of his lips.

It couldn’t be. Her gut twisted, and her pulse doubled its pace.

Mom? Can we go?

Diane blinked and aimed for the car. Her red compact added another Christmassy dot to the festive scene. She unlocked the doors and climbed behind the wheel, curling her fingers tight around it.

Mom, the key?

Diane leapt in place. She poked the key in the ignition and cranked.

Who was that man? Nicole asked.

Diane fastened her seatbelt and gripped the wheel again. Her foot on the gas, she glanced in the rearview mirror, double-checking for an opening in traffic. What man?

The one you were staring at.

I ... I wasn’t staring at anyone. Just a memory.

Her daughter’s unblinking gaze warmed her cheeks. She pretended otherwise.

A vivid memory she would rather forget. It wasn’t possible that man could be her dad.

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Livingston High School sat in the center of five acres of land that included a practice football field and a gymnasium. The school was almost too big for the town now, being built in the mid-1980s, during a rush for life in the suburbs. The building’s red brick walls blended with the school’s red-and-gold color scheme in what looked like a modern version of a retro design. But wasn’t.

The name of the school shown on the lighted entrance sign, alongside the school logo, an angry black bear, and again on brass letters hung above the front doors. Plastic letters spelling out a holiday wish had been appliqued to the faded metal.

Diane parked in a visitor’s slot and exited the car. She strolled across the lot, Nicole bobbing at her side. Thinking of the upcoming visit, her grip on her purse strap tightened.

She hadn’t had trouble handling everyday things before Lester passed. Whatever needed a phone call, or an in-person visit, had been hers to do. Lester had been the nod-and-agree type. With him gone, though, the ordinary had become a mental strain. She shouldered everything, and one misstep, their lives would come crashing down. Having her in-laws support helped, though a vestige of fear remained like tendrils of ivy, that’d escaped a gardener’s hands.

The man’s face flashed in front of her, meshed with an aged image of her dad. She pushed them aside and concentrated on their path to the office. A horizontal sign above the office door caught her eye. 3D paper stars dangled in the office window.

She grasped the knob and glanced at her daughter. We will be polite. If they can’t fix it, they can’t.

Nicole’s lips turned downward in a pout. Hopefully, she would accept that and not explode.

Diane sighed. She followed Nicole inside and met eyes with a middle-aged woman seated behind a tall counter. The woman’s tweed coat stretched tight around her round figure, a pair of gold hoop earrings quivering in her ear lobes. She’d erected a green accordion-style paper tree on the corner of her desk.

Diane stepped up to the counter. Good afternoon. My name is Diane Mobley. This is my daughter, Nicole.

Nicole popped up at her side.

We have some questions about her schedule. It came in the mail today and wasn’t what she expected.

The woman smiled wide. Of course, come have a seat, and we’ll take a look.

She nodded toward the end of the counter, and Diane rounded