All I Want For Christmas....Is You

By J. A Melville

Sabrina

My life changed forever the day that crazy man kicked my Penelope.

No one does that to my girl!

Did I mention she's a bright lime green Jeep Wrangler?

He dared to accuse me of trying to run him over.

And they say women are drama Queens!

I needed to forget all about him, I had the Christmas Parade to prepare for.

Some hotshot photographer was in town to photograph it. 

Just my luck the crazy man and hotshot photographer were one and the same person.

It was entirely his fault that I sprained my ankle.

The man unsettled me, flipping my normally quiet life on its head.

I'd never encountered anyone like Ethan Shaw.

And I was powerless to control the way he made me feel every time I was around him.

 

Ethan

Come to Sheffield they said. Photograph the Christmas Parade, they said.

Okay, there was no 'they,' it was my idea.

It was nearly over before it began when some crazy woman almost ran me over with some big lime green monstrosity.

She was the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen. Dangerous though.

I'm talking the kind of dangerous where shin guards were required.

For someone so petite, she packed quite a punch.

I told you she was crazy.

Then I discovered she was part of the Christmas Parade

The shock of us seeing one another again, sent her tumbling off her high heels and into my arms. 

Suddenly she was the damsel in distress, although a wise man would never say that to her face.

I had an opportunity to get closer to her. To see if this attraction between us, could become something more.

• Language: English
• Publisher: J. A Melville
• Release date: Nov 13, 2021
• ISBN: 9798223412168

Book preview

Acknowledgements

Iwant to thank my kids for putting up with me being somewhat vague and distant at times.

My special thanks are to you Karen. Thank you for all that you do. Thank you for being the one who gets my books in their raw form and helps me turn them into the best that they can be. 

Thank you for telling me when they’re good, but for not being afraid to tell me when they’re not.

Thank you for assisting me with everything from cover ideas to promotion, to just simply being my best friend and the sister I never had.  A sister with the matching wonky body. Bookends as I call us. You told me once that my books just keep getting better. That I kind of raise the bar on my own stories, but in reality, they wouldn’t be and that wouldn’t happen, if it weren’t for all the help you give me. Thank you. Xxxx

And of course, last, but certainly not least, a special thanks to May for giving me this opportunity to write for the 12 Days of Christmas. This was such a fun thing to do and be a part of with the other wonderful authors.

About the Author

From my teenage years , all I wanted to do was become a writer one day. Even now as an adult woman with three children who are not so little anymore, I've always lived with my head in the clouds, a dreamer, often amusing myself with my own imagination.

I live in a sleepy country town in Tasmania, Australia with my three children and two kitties I raised that were born to a feral cat.

I love reading romance and writing it too. I’m a sucker for a damaged male who just needs a good woman to fix him. Lately my passion has been romantic comedies, but I’ll give just about any kind of romance a go.

J. A Melville.

© Copyright J. A Melville. December 3, 2021.

Do the right thing, don’t download pirated books. Authors deserve to get paid for their hard work as much as anyone else.

No parts of this book can be copied unless permission is given by the author for quotes to be used for reviews etc.

This book is fiction. The characters are fiction. Any resemblance to persons living or dead are purely coincidental.

This book is part of the 12 Days of Christmas books and is the work of the writer's imagination.

Cover design by Megan from Designed with Grace.

Chapter One

November 25th

Sabrina

Do you really need more Christmas lights, Sabrina? My best friend’s voice sounded both exasperated and bored, all at the same time.

My head shot up from the array of colourful boxes before me, turning the full force of the stink eye on her. Wash your mouth out with soap. I glowered at her. No one can ever have too many Christmas lights. To suggest I have too many is...is sacrilegious

I swear when you turn yours on, the lights for everyone else in town, dim. I’m amazed the app for your smart meter doesn’t have an emergency alert siren that starts up when you turn them on. Hell, I’m surprised your phone hasn’t literally melted or caused the smart meter to burst into flames.

I gave Macey what I hoped was my most withering stare. Don’t give up your day job to become a stand-up comedian. I said, my tone dry.

You do know I have to live in that house with you too, and I’d prefer not to have to wear sunglasses at night. I’m too young to be blinded by Christmas lights. Plus, have you considered my epilepsy?

You’re not an epileptic. I pointed out.

Maybe not now, but the lights could cause it.

I rolled my eyes. I think the chances of that happening are pretty slim, you know, given most of the lights are outside.

So, another reason not to buy more. You won’t see them outside.

People driving past will though.

So, you’re telling me that you buy lights for complete strangers driving by and not for yourself.

They are for my benefit. I enjoy seeing cars pull up to have a look at the lights.

While they’re parked outside, why not ask them to cover your power bill then. She muttered.

I laughed. You do realise this argument is pointless. I will buy more lights. One must have new lights every Christmas. Plus, most of my outdoor lights are solar powered and battery powered, so stop stressing about my smart meter exploding or having some major meltdown.

Macey shook her head, a smile hovering on her lips. Your obsession with Christmas lights is something I’ve never seen before.

Dropping a couple of boxes into the trolley of solar powered candy cane lights that were designed to stick into the ground, I grinned at my friend.

You’d be surprised how many people love Christmas lights. We’ll drive around on Christmas Eve, and you can see that I’m not the only one. You know I like to enter my display each year. It’s a big deal to win an award for best decorated house for Christmas. People come from miles around to see the displays.

Macey’s amused expression morphed into horror. God, it’s already a big thing each year and you’re talking bigger, aren’t you? We’ll have all sorts of weirdos walking around on our front lawn, or spooking Bobby and Bruce.

"Bobby and Bruce are used to the whole Christmas thing. You know this, so that’s a poor argument. They’re part of the Christmas parade after all. If they can handle the crowds and yelling kids, then lights flashing and ‘weirdos’ walking around our front lawn will be nothing for them."

You don’t know that for sure. She muttered, and I smiled. We had this same argument each year. She huffed and she puffed, but she knew what this all meant to me, and why it meant so much to me.

Bobby and Bruce are fine. I literally decorate them for the parade. They don’t seem to mind at all, that I dress them up as reindeer.

Short, fat reindeer. They’d be better as Santa.

They might tolerate the fake antlers I hang on them and the tinsel, but I’m not sure how a fake white beard and red Santa suit would be received. It might get a bit hot.

Bobby might be alright. That pony is nuclear bomb proof. Nothing seems to upset him.

I think a nuclear bomb might do a bit more than upset him Macey. I kept my tone as droll as possible as I walked down the aisles, grabbing more boxes of lights along the way.

A full-sized Santa and Mrs Claus near sent me into raptures. I had to have them, despite the $400 price tag on the pair.

If you buy them, I will have you committed. My friend’s voice was stern.

Just make sure it’s a room with a view then. I laughed as I headed for the checkout with a full trolley and a skip in my step. Santa and Mrs Claus had to be ordered at the counter and someone would bring them out to the Jeep. They were too big to put in the trolley.

I think it’ll be a padded cell, so unlikely you’ll get a view.

I don’t care what you say, I’m getting them. They talk and they sing. I grabbed her slim shoulders as we waited in line. How can you be my best friend and be so bah humbug about Christmas and all the fun that comes with it?

I love Christmas. I love the food and the presents. I love Christmas pudding. I love the corny Christmas movies. I like decorating the house. I’m just not as insane about it as you. I don’t need to live in a house that looks like Christmas projectile vomited in it and around the yard.

I snorted. Projectile vomit.

I might have added more, but the check-out operator called us, and we moved forward so I could pay for my purchases.

I didn’t so much as blink an eye over the total, but the sound Macey made had me worried she was going to faint in the middle of the ‘All Things Christmas’ store.

Armed with my packages, we made our way out to my car. It was easy to spot in the large carpark. I drove a Jeep Wrangler in a gorgeous metallic lime green. Not everyone considered lime green to be gorgeous, but I did. Macey did too. She knew she had to love metallic lime green, if she wanted to be driven anywhere.

As if able to read my thoughts, Macey piped up. At least we’ll never lose your car in a multi-level carpark.

And to think you freaked out when you first saw it? I grinned.

When we’d made it to Penelope, (yes, I name my car), I loaded everything into her, before we drove to the loading dock at the back of the store so the precious cargo, aka my full-size Santa and Mrs Claus could be loaded in.

DECEMBER 20th

Alright, it’s official. You’ve been possessed by Clark. Macey declared after I’d finished turning on the Christmas lights and we stood on my front lawn watching hundreds, perhaps thousands of them flashing on and off, from white lights to coloured. Rope lights, lights that rose from the lawn due to the spiked ends on them. Reindeer turning their heads from side to side, or raising them and lowering them, as if eating the grass.

An inflatable Santa rose up, eight feet tall, to one side of the front steps while a huge inflatable snowman flanked the other side. Icicles dangled from the ornate timberwork on the front verandah. Rope lights spiralled up posts. The front fence flashed with an array of lights. Candy canes and arches lit up the driveway.

Not to mention colourful rope lights snaked their way over the roof. Following the edge of the guttering, and tracing each ridge and peak, as well as circling the chimney.

The hedges flashed. Bushes winked. No area of the front yard had been spared. It was a sea of lights everywhere. Frosted windows adorned the home. Flashing Santa lights, that made him look like he was scaling the roof by ladder, lit up the side of the house exposed to the road.

Sure, I’d put some lights around the back, but mostly it was all where it would be visible to anyone driving by. I wasn’t the only one who loved the lights after all. People would drive around the streets looking for homes that made an effort. Those who went all out, actually made the list, and making that list, meant everything.

I’d made that list every year for the last four years. No way was I losing my place on it. Macey could mock me all she liked.

Christmas lights were my addiction. Christmas festivities and raising money for those who were in desperate need, meant something to me. Not that my friend mocked that side of my Christmas obsession. It was just the lights. She didn’t get how much joy I got from not only seeing the beauty of the lights for myself, but knowing others enjoyed them too.

Clark? I asked, my tone vague as I stared in wonder at the beauty of the lights.

Clark Griswold. Macey sighed. You have to know him. You are him. He’s possessed you. You’re Clark Griswold, just in a younger body and a woman.

The absurdity of her words drew my attention from the lights to her. "How can I be possessed by a character from a movie? He’s not real. Not to mention I don’t have anywhere near the number of lights he hung on his house. Plus, they were mostly white, so b-o-r-i-n-g." I sang the last word.

You’re nuts. Macey fired back in response.

I smiled. Maybe, but you have to admit it looks good.

She winked. Of course, it does. It always does, but it wouldn’t be Christmas if I wasn’t giving you shit about the lights. Plus, I know you do this to honour Great Aunt Gladys too. She left you all this. She loved the lights as much as you. She leaned in to wrap an arm around me, squeezing me tightly for a few seconds. I know you miss her. I’m the booby prize in comparison.

It was my turn to hug her. You’re no booby prize. You’re my best friend and having you live with me is the bonus prize. The ultimate prize. It’s the best. I finished with a flourish.

Macey grinned. The cheque is in the mail.

Cheque? I questioned.

For that award winning performance.

I rolled my eyes. Idiot.

So, are we going to stand out here all night or can we go in and get into the festive mood with lots and lots of brandy egg nog?

We usually do that on the 22nd. I’d do it on the 23rd but I have a feeling a hung-over Santa’s little helper on Christmas Eve would be frowned upon by the parents of the kids who ride Bobby and Bruce. 

Macey laughed. You’re probably right, but just think, you would be the talk of the town.

I’d prefer not to be the talk of the town as in considered the town drunk, thanks. My tone was dry. Let me set up my new Santa and Mrs Claus first, then we’ll get that egg nog. At least I’ll have plenty of time to recover before the parade if I get a hangover. I’m not going to give the town grape vine anything to pass along.

Why not? Macey’s hazel eyes gleamed with amusement. Old Mary Stanhope’s probably near salivating for some juicy new gossip for the town.

I’m sure she is, but I’m not going to be the one to provide it for her. Come on. I slipped my arm through my friend’s, and we headed back towards the house.

Chapter Two

December 21st

Ethan

Pulling into the carpark of the sprawling Victorian building, which was Sheffield’s historical bed and breakfast, I questioned