My Girl, Sunday: Christmas at the Crofton Inn: Coming Home for Christmas Series, #1

By A.J. Nighthawke

     If you love those Hallmark romances, along with mountains, lakes, and small communities filled with good friends and family, you'll find them all here in this novella. Enjoy the hope, adventure, love, and laughter in your visit to Green Mountain.
This is book 1 in the Coming Home for Christmas Series and can be read as a stand-alone.
    Ridge left six years ago in search of the Berkley degree that would allow him to be an architect in the bustling city of Boston. That was his dream, but the other part he looked forward to was coming back home to the family-run Crofton Inn. With his Dad and Mom retiring, he and his brother Roan are taking over the family business. He knew that Sunday would be there, but what he doesn't count on is that she is not right where he left her.
    Sunday has been at the Crofton Inn since she was an infant, meaning that she grew up with Ridge and Roan. The three amigos were the best of friends. Ridge and Sunday had a bond like no other, both finding love early, so how could he leave her behind without a second thought? He wanted more... That open-ended statement has been filled in a million times. When Ridge comes back home to run the Crofton Inn, he's definitely interested, but there is no way he could love her. Who leaves the girl he loves for six years without so much as a phone call shared during that time?
     The ideal love story should have made Ridge turn around and come back. He's back now, determined to show Sunday how much he cares, but will he be six years too late? It's pure agony to have her near and not be able to be with her. Ridge was an immature fool once blinded by selfish dreams and unable to see what a mess he left behind. Has he learned his lesson?

• Language: English
• Publisher: A.J. Nighthawke
• Release date: Nov 29, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201886691

A.J. Nighthawke

There is nothing like a good story that leaves you feeling warm and cozy inside. Here is my promise to you - Within the pages of my books, you will never find anything vulgar or inappropriate. My goal is to leave you encouraged and happy. Who doesn't like a happy ending? You may find a little drama, maybe a touch of suspense. Some of the characters might even face hard challenge's but a sweet kiss, and a happily ever after is a must.

Book preview

My Girl, Sunday

A Christian Romance

Coming Home for Christmas Series

© 2020 A.J. Nighthawke No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means – electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise – without written permission from the author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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Cover: Pixabay

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Published by: A.J. Nighthawke

Printed in the United States of America

My Girl, Sunday

Christmas at Crofton Inn

Coming Home for Christmas Series

By

A.J. Nighthawke

Table of Contents

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

Epilogue

Chapter 1

Ridge

    Packing up my life for the last two years was bittersweet. The box at the door held the items that I cleaned out of my high-rise office yesterday, reminding me that my dreams of the big city had been accomplished.

    As an architect, there are several sets of plans in protective plastic tubes that sit in the corner. Those are my masterpieces that many of my hours and talent were poured into, and I have the intention of framing them for my office back home.

    Home. The Crofton Inn was built in the Great Smokey Mountains by my grandparents. As a family-run business, there was a change at the helm. Well, there would be as soon as I arrived. Roan and I were the new owners since Dad and Mom decided to retire and move to Florida. My brother was pressuring me to hurry since the Christmas Season was approaching quickly.

    The Inn was already booked through Christmas, as well as business bookings in our Grand Hall venue and the newly built Barn and Loft for parties and larger gatherings. Roan had recently started up a catering venture on a trial basis.

    Since this was the week before Thanksgiving, orders had been steady. Yesterday, Roan called to share that the catering business had exploded. Plain and simple, Roan needed help.

    Architecture will always be my art, and I’ll probably continue to take side jobs because I can’t imagine giving it up completely, but the Crofton Inn has always been part of my plan as well. My time in Boston was a dream, but Roan and I have always planned to run the Inn together since we were children.

    Two boxes to go, and I spin to find Ivy standing in the open doorway. She lingers at the threshold like a toddler seeking attention instead of entering.

    Ridge, she calls somberly, sounding a lot like a pout. I guess this means that you are really leaving.

    We’ve already talked about this, I remind, and repeating myself for the fiftieth time just has me irritated.

    Why, Ridge? Ivy’s voice turns into a screech. Why leave the perfect job, the perfect house, and the perfect woman?

    Because home is home, I reason, and it’s a fact.

    Before I can say anymore, she stomps like a spoiled child into the foyer. Ridge! This is what success looks like! Ivy spins, pointing around my now empty house. A little no-name town at a hillbilly inn will never satisfy you like your office in the high-rise. Besides, we are a power couple and are perfectly matched.

    Ivy stalks closer, reminding me of a stealthy plains cat. No one, her tone drops into a purr. I repeat, no one will be your equal back on that mountain.

    My irritation flares further at her display of arrogance and pettiness. Ivy, I know we talked about trying to make a long-distance dating thing work, but I don’t think this is a good idea.

    What? she shrieks, bringing her manicured hand to her chest. You can’t break up with me! No one has ever…!

    Now they have, I clip, wondering why I ever went along with this dating thing or what I ever saw in this woman. Ivy stomps away, and as she disappears from my view, a refreshingly light feeling comes over me.

    Picking up the last two boxes, I’m eager to see home. The sleek lines and modernity here in Boston were nice, but I’m ready for the warmth and coziness that only home can bring, and maybe even some home-cooking will be nice.

    Once inside the U-haul, excitement finally settles over me. Hopefully, that will be enough to keep me awake because pulling my car on the dolly has me a little nervous. Pulling my cell, I dial Roan.

    He picks up. You left yet?

    Just pulled out, I inform, glancing at the house I sold last week. I’m planning on driving straight through, so don’t eat all of Mom’s cooking. I’m hoping to make it in by nine tonight.

    Mom says to be careful and to call when you get close. Roan lowers his voice to a whisper, Those two are packed and ready. Don’t make out like I told you, but they had the bulk of their stuff shipped to their condo in Florida three days ago. Thanksgiving evening, Dad is planning to drive all night.

    Didn’t hear a word, I agree. In a way, Dad and Mom leaving had me a little worried that home wouldn’t be home without those two there.

☼

    The sprawling log cabin is lit with a warm luminescent glow. Pulling the U-haul next to the delivery bays at the back of the Crofton Inn would keep the large vehicle out of the main driveway. Grabbing my main suitcase, I climb out, and my nose inhales the familiar scent of wood fire from the fireplace. My polished shoes walk the freshly scraped drive reminding me of how differently I am now from when I left. I’d left here wearing worn waterproof boots.

  Trudging up the stone steps, the large welcoming front porch displays rocking chairs that sit in pairs. In between every four is a checkerboard table already set up and waiting for potential players. That is new!

    The large log cabin had forty rooms for guests. The Crofton Inn staff is made up of three long-term housekeepers, a main chef, along with his food team, a full-time maintenance man, and a concierge that handled all event and hotel scheduling.

    Roan was the activities manager, overseeing everything that takes place outside the main cabin, mainly staying on the ski slopes higher up the mountain. With me coming home, Roan and I would split managing the Crofton Inn together.

    The cinnamon apple crisp smell is precisely what anyone walking in this Inn has come to expect. For me, the scent was of home. It meant that I had finally arrived.

    Dad and Mom meet me at the door. Dad’s hair is a little grayer, and Mom looks a little wearier. Florida would be good for the two of them.

    Saved you some supper, Mom says, pulling out of my arms. She motions me to follow as Dad slings an arm over my shoulder.

    Moving from the foyer into the open living area is a little bit of a shock. The room is still warm and cozy, but the entire place is different. The décor and colors give the feeling of cabin-cozy meets vintage industrial. A roaring fire is the focal point of the room in the big stone fireplace.

    The furniture is new, as well as the library on the far wall. The sliding industrial-looking ladder and mezzanine that lead to the second level of books capture my attention. There may be twelve guests of the Crofton Inn in this room. Some read alone in private nooks, others converse quietly on dark leather loveseats. A couple snuggles on one of the couches in front of the fire, both sipping hot chocolate. Comfortable armchairs are strategically placed throughout to add welcoming colors.

    The accents and décor are not the ones I remember from the last time I was here. In fact, we used to have a couple people hanging out in the living area, but I never remember there being this many. Mom, this place has never looked better. It’s beautiful! This place looks like it should be featured in a magazine!

    My compliment makes her smile. You just wait until the Christmas decorations go up, she says with a wink. I haven’t thought about that. Hopefully, Roan took pictures last year, and we can manage to reconstruct it.

    I’ve saved you some chicken and dumplings, she tempts.

    Mmmm, I hum at the mention of my favorite dish. Where is Roan?

    The Barn and Loft were booked tonight by Darvan Industries, so he is waiting to lock up. Dad glances at his watch. Only fifteen more minutes. He will be here soon. We are so happy to have you home, son.

    It’s good to be home, I answer, meaning it with all of my heart. It just took coming back to realize how much.

Chapter 2

Sunday

    The main centerpiece for the Darvan event turned out to be elegant. The ochers and umbers compliment the autumn foliage perfectly. As the catering crew cleans up, I grab the antiqued brass urn that held the centerpiece.

    Where are you going with that? Roan chuckles at my plight because the floral arrangement is so large, I can’t see over it.

    To the table in the foyer, I snip, peeking at him through the flowers and leaves. Now, get the door!