Billionaire in Candy Cane Forest

By Elsie James

She's looking to save Christmas Town from being sold off in pieces. He's a billionaire looking for a place he can belong.  Will they fall for each other while saving what they both love?

 

Belle
My roots run deep in Christmas Town and there isn't any place I'd rather be.
When you live here, you're family. Even a devastating heartbreak hasn't stopped me from hoping for a family of my own someday.
When a mysterious stranger inherits the keys to our kingdom, it threatens to take the jingle out of our bells.
Christian is mysterious, charming, and I want to show him the spirit our town has to offer.
But it will take a Christmas miracle to convince him that our town is worth saving. 

 

This book comes with a promise of a hopeful happily ever after, no cheating, no cliffhangers, and a whole lot of cheer. Start reading and fall in love today! 

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Elsie James
• Release date: Jan 10, 2023
• ISBN: 9798224809363

Book preview

Christian

We make our descent into Christmas Town and I peer out of the window of my private plane. Gavin, look, you can see the Not-so-North Pole from here.

Gavin, my father’s assistant, turns his head ever so slightly in my direction and lets out an exasperated sigh. Then he gives me a thumbs-up paired with a thinly veiled smile.

Cool, so uh, not interested, huh? I can see that. It must look different to you. But some of my favorite memories as a child took place in this little town.

Fascinating, Gavin deadpans.

My father isn’t an easy person to work for in any capacity. Working with him so closely, Gavin gets the brunt of my father’s emotionally charged rants. As an only child, that’s a position I know all too well. So I cut Gavin some slack and take in the sights solo.

As we come down to three-thousand feet, I have a perfect view of the town’s life-size, illuminated, gingerbread houses, and the huge tree that stands erect and fully decorated year-round.

Gavin buckles in as we prepare to land, but I can’t. Not until I catch a glimpse of the town's pride and joy, the Candy Cane Forest. So many of my favorite memories are of running through the Christmas tree farm in search of the larger-than-life candy canes. Grandma would let me roam for hours while she sat in the bakery and chatted with the locals.

It’s easy to see why my grandmother loved this place, it’s another world. I can hardly believe she’s gone.

When we touch down, the pilots open our cabin door and deplane. Gavin hops to his feet. Your father requested that you call him as soon as we land. I’m going to get our car.

Sounds good, thank you. My stomach tightens. The truth is, it doesn’t sound good at all. Not that it matters, Gavin is gone before I can get out the last part of my sentence.

Before I can dial, my phone vibrates in my pocket and I already know it’s my father.

Hey, Dad.

You’re late. I told Gavin to have you call me as soon as you landed and you’ve been on the ground for four minutes.

I roll my eyes, When we flew in, it was crystal clear I wanted to take it all in. I pause but there is nothing but silence on the line. What do you need?

I need to remind you that you aren’t there on some sort of trip down memory lane. Christmas Town has been a drain on our finances for years and it has to stop.

I know, I’m heading to Grandma’s house first thing, and I’ll take care of it.

Sell everything, the house, the Candy Cane Forest, and the—

I understand. I said it will be taken care of, I tell him sternly. My head throbs.

I take a sip of cool water to soothe my dry throat that threatens to choke me at the thought of liquidating the town that my grandmother loved so soon after her death.

You have one chance, my father’s icy words pierce me through the phone. I’ll be in touch.

I hang up, and with that, I know undoubtedly that executing this plan according to my parent’s wishes is my only chance to win their trust back. If I ever want a say in directing the billions of dollars they’ve amassed over the years, this is my opportunity to show them.

It isn’t that I care so much about the money. It’s more that I’ve never been like them, I think differently. They care only about how much they can earn. When I consider all the good I could do by inheriting a single share of the company, I know that sacrificing my Grandmother's legacy in this town is a price I have to pay. I just don’t know if she’d agree.

Gavin pops his head into the plane’s open door. Are you coming?

Yes, I tell him. I shake off the tightness in my chest and focus on the task at hand the way my father would, though I admit it feels a bit forced.

Twenty minutes later, Gavin is driving us through the outskirts of Christmas Town in a rented black SUV. I had a small, foreign sports car delivered to my grandmother's place to use while I’m in town but this will do for now.

Gavin reaches for his phone and I shake my head at him. You don’t need navigation, I know this town like the back of my hand and everything stays the same here. That’s one of the best parts about this place. Turn left on Holly Lane, then pass the bookshop, and take the first right toward Mistletoe Mountain, I tell him.

Are you joking? Gavin cuts his eyes at me then whips them back to the road.

Just drive, I tell him.

As we wind through the streets, I take in the sights and to my surprise, it seems much has changed. The buildings, once a vibrant red and green, look washed out in the bright summer sun.

When we pass through downtown, I notice that the once-popular flower shop, Polly’s Poinsettias, is vacant, as is the old bakery next to it. The town, which held so much magic for me as a child, looks broken. My empty stomach feels like a cavern but I suppose transitioning out of this town will be that much easier.

When we pull up in front of the majestic gates of my grandmother's old home, I have to stop myself from bouncing in my seat like an excited child. The tin soldier wrought iron gates that guard the once stately three-acre property are battered. They are no longer a smooth black but exhibit a rough, turquoise patina finish.

Is there a code? Gavin asks impatiently, but I ignore him.

I look past the gates to the house itself. The once neatly shaped topiaries in the front lawn are overgrown. The massive wrap-around porch looks decayed, and the once white peaked roof looks more like a dull gray.

The only part of the house that has maintained its brilliance in the face of cruel time are the panels on the front door. Two iconic snowmen, made of stained glass still stand every bit as cheery as I remember. Greeting all who enter.

Are we going in? I’m flying back tomorrow if you really don’t need me so I’d like to get some sleep. He taps his fingers across the steering wheel.

You know what, I’m not ready to do this. Turn around. We have a stop to make before we’re done, I tell Gavin.

He lets out the world's longest, loudest breath and I think I hear him mumble something though I can’t be sure what.

I give Gavin directions and he follows them begrudgingly. When we finally pull into the parking lot of the Candy Cane Forest, I can’t help but roll down my window like a child, much to Gavin’s dismay.

A strong mixture of pine, cinnamon, and nostalgia wafts into the car. I ask Gavin if he wants to join me but unsurprisingly he mumbles his refusal. So I leave him to his podcast and bag of unsalted cashews and start my walk up the dirt road.

It’s just like my parents to insist that Gavin come with me. That’s always been their modus operandi. They’ve always believed in paying someone to keep me company but never taking the time to do it themselves. It was a lonely way to grow up, but my grandmother, and this town, gave me a reprieve from all that.

I know this place so well. At the top of the hill, I’ll find a bakery where once upon a time, locals and tourists alike lined up to buy fresh Christmas cookies made from my grandmother’s recipes. To the right is a gift shop, and next to that, an amphitheater. Beyond the buildings is acre after winding acre of Christmas trees.

I remember the first time I veered off the path in a moment of impulsive wistfulness. I ran through the trees for hours and felt so alive. After that day, I made a point to get lost out here as often as I could.

My memories fill me with warmth and I decide to give it one final go before everything changes. Stepping off the path, I disappear into the Douglas firs and breathe it all in.

I walk between the trees until my feet pound themselves into a trot, then a full jog. I get lost, and I love it. I run for what feels like an hour until I have nothing left. It feels good to be away from the pressure and isolation of being Christian Prescott, trust fund billionaire.

Slowing my pace into a walk, I admit that I haven’t forgiven myself for not visiting this place more often. I’m not perfect, and I’ve never pretended to be. But the pressure of finding a perfect solution to a problem this big is overwhelming.

I keep walking and let myself feel sadness over losing Grandma. I acknowledge my frustration with my parents and for the first time in a long time, make room in my chest to inhale