Sugarplum Christmas: Santa's Workshop

By Natalie-Nicole Bates

Plum Watkins, the proprietress of the Sugarplum Café, is well known for her kindness and generosity to others, especially around Christmas. But how far can her kindness stretch?

David Hunter is a man on an adventure. He's left a lucrative job and a comfortable life to seek out new meaning, and a story to tell the world. But after a few months on the road, he is more disillusioned than ever.
When Plum brings David into her home and her café, she sees beyond the dishevelled, flu-stricken man she assumes is homeless. 
Little does she know, David is not what he seems.

As they grow closer, Plum feels she's finally found true love. When David finally reveals all, will they enjoy a magical first Christmas together, or will Plum be left to never trust again?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Perfectly Poisoned Press
• Release date: Sep 10, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223420682

Natalie-Nicole Bates

Natalie-Nicole Bates is a book reviewer and author. Her passions in life include books and hockey along with Victorian and Edwardian era photography and antique poison bottles. Natalie contributes her uncharacteristic love of hockey to being born in Russia. She currently resides in the UK where she is working on her next book and adding to her collection of 19th century post-mortem photos.    

Book preview

Natalie-Nicole Bates

Sugarplum Christmas

Santa’s Workshop Series

First published by Perfectly Poisoned Press 2021

Copyright © 2021 by Natalie-Nicole Bates

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

Natalie-Nicole Bates asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

Natalie-Nicole Bates has no responsibility for the persistence or accuracy of URLs for external or third-party Internet Websites referred to in this publication and does not guarantee that any content on such Websites is, or will remain, accurate or appropriate.

Designations used by companies to distinguish their products are often claimed as trademarks. All brand names and product names used in this book and on its cover are trade names, service marks, trademarks and registered trademarks of their respective owners. The publishers and the book are not associated with any product or vendor mentioned in this book. None of the companies referenced within the book have endorsed the book.

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Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

About the Author

Also by Natalie-Nicole Bates

Chapter 1

Chapter Separator

David Hunter was tired.

Tired beyond belief, as well as cold and achy, as he stood in the doorway of the Sugarplum Café, and debated whether to go inside. This little adventure was not working out as heʼd hoped. He checked the cheap watch strapped to his wrist, the case nearly fogged over with condensation. From what he could tell, it was nearly 6:00 p.m., and the café would close shortly. Even as he knew he was coming down with a bad cold or the flu, he was still desperately hungry, but after being on the road for months with only a backpack and little money, his appearance was haggard now, and he’d been turned away from more than one establishment.

This experience taught him a few things about the common citizens—they were rude, intolerant, and downright mean and nasty. They judged you by how you looked, and what you had—or rather, what they assumed you didn’t have. Never in his life had he felt so repulsed by the human race.

This time on the streets had changed him forever and not in a good way, either.

Perhaps it was time to go home.

Maybe everyone was right when they told him he would fail, that he should stick with what he knew, what he was trained to do. Not some wild whim, as his mother called it. If he went home now, he’d never live it down. His parents would remind him of this experience every chance they got for the remainder of their lives, or his life, whoever died first. With what he had experienced over the last few months, he wasn’t so certain he would outlive them or even survive long enough to make the journey home.

Well, maybe that was being a little melodramatic, but in all honesty, he had never felt so worn down and unwell in his entire life. Every flu he had growing up was nothing like this. Of course, back then, he would be propped up in bed watching television and sipping ice-cold soda while his mother doted on his every want and need.

Being on your own was harrowing.

A little bell above the door tinkled as he entered the café. An immediate warmth entered his bones, and the heavenly smell of coffee and cinnamon filtered the air. The place was a charming Christmas wonderland. Cozy tables for two, with red and green tablecloths and placemats, dotted the hardwood floor. Fairy lights twinkled merrily from the walls, windows, around support beams, and adorned the counter. A fire roared in a stone fireplace near the back of the café, and a decorated tree stood in full view.

The most fascinating thing was an assortment of gingerbread houses, of all different sizes and shapes, each wrapped in cellophane and tied with a festive bow. The gingerbread houses lined the counter, as well as a long shelf above it, and several were placed in various spots throughout the café. Everything looked like a Christmas movie and he wasn’t sure if he was now hallucinating.

Please come in and close the door. We don’t want to let all the heat out.

The voice was distinctly female, so lovely and lilting. When he spotted her as she came out from behind the counter, she was a vision in purple.

And she was real.

Not a mirage or a hallucination.

She was really real.

She actually seemed to glide along rather than walk, dressed in a deep purple skirt that touched the