Rewriting December

By Nicole Crystal

Rewriting December

by Nicole Crystal

A romance novel about two broken souls who find healing and redemption in each

other's arms. Cora Cooper and Jake Rhoades first cross paths when a tragic car

accident brings them together one snowy December night. Years later, a chance

meeting at a coffee shop rekindles their con

• Language: English
• Publisher: Nicole Crystal
• Release date: Apr 30, 2024
• ISBN: 9798990286610

Nicole Crystal

Nicole Crystal is a multi-passionate author who recently rediscovered her love for storytelling amidst a successful career in corporate America. With fifteen years of experience in sales management and a keen eye for marketing, Nicole brings a unique perspective to her writing. Her debut novel, "I Choose Us," was published in April 2023 and showcases her talent for crafting heartfelt, relatable stories.When she's not writing or working, Nicole can be found exploring the suburbs of Chicago with her husband and children, seeking new adventures and inspiration for her next novel. With a passion for personal growth and a commitment to her craft, Nicole is excited to embark on this new chapter in her life as a published author.

Book preview

Prologue

Jake

December, 6 Years Ago

Snowflakes whip against the cracked windshield, obscuring the devastation outside. Blood drips into my mouth, the bitter copper tang mixing with smoke and gasoline fumes. I clutch desperately at the airbag-deformed steering wheel, waves of agony lancing through my shoulder at the slight movement. Glancing down, bright crimson tints the beige leather beneath my clumsy grip.

How long have I been unconscious?

Long enough for the frigid December air to seep inside the car, drops of snow and ice mocking my perilous state. I blink against the encroaching darkness, the temptation to surrender back into oblivion increasingly difficult to resist.

Flickers of memory pierce through the fog—Rolled semi, break lights, black ice. Questions hit me all at once. Did I see signs of black ice on that last curve? If I hadn't taken my time saying goodbye to Tessa at the airport, could I have been ahead of this? Would I have lost control if I wasn't in such a hurry to get to the show tonight? Am I going to die here?

Panic constricts my chest, already squeezed breathless by the crushed frame and deployed safety devices. I suck frantically at the freezing air leaking through shattered glass.

As I view the concrete barrier stretching higher than the car to my left, I hear the vague sirens wailing in the distance. I force my head right through the pain. My heart stutters at the vehicle crushed to my passenger side. Smoke and sparks erupt nearby, greedy flames hungry to consume the wreckage scattered across the highway.

In the crumpled driver’s seat sits a wide-eyed girl, blood trailing from her hairline. She can’t be more than eighteen. Too innocent for this horror scene.

Shock and disbelief flash across her pale face as she peers at me.

Her mouth opens soundlessly, relief shifting to renewed panic. She slaps a blood-slicked palm desperately against the fractured glass between us.

I want to cry out, to offer any comfort, but my body refuses to cooperate. Darkness tunnels my vision once more as I sag against blood-soaked leather.

So this is how my song ends…

My eyes flutter as an abrupt crash jolts me awake. Blinking fuzzily through a haze of crimson, I make out the blurry form of the distressed girl now half inside my demolished car. Tiny cubes of safety glass glint from her hair and clothes as she rips at the seatbelt still pinning me in.

Hey! Stay with me, okay? Panic raises the pitch of her voice even as she cups my face with unexpected tenderness. I lean into her touch, reality slipping further away by the second.

The girl's fingers wrap around mine as she kicks viciously at the car's spiderwebbed windshield. Each connection resonates through my fading consciousness like the downbeat of a funeral march. She's losing precious minutes on a lost cause.

Don’t...bother... My lips shape the words I can't force out. I try to shake my head, to tell her to save herself, but I only manage to slump heavily towards her.

NO. She reaches for me, righting my lolling skull between her bloodied palms. NO, dang it! Stay with me. We need to get out of here! Desperation roughens her ragged tone.

Look at me! You HAVE to stay awake!

I focus on her, memorizing her amber and orange eyes flecked with stardust—a worthy distraction from the pain threatening to consume me.

The seconds of our staring contest stretch infinitely before she squeezes my fingers and whispers, Promise you’ll stay with me.

With a quick blink, she shifts, feet pressing hard into the hole she's carved in the windshield. The fractures split further until the glass finally gives way, shattering around us.

She yells out through the open windshield, screaming for help. For someone to come.

I know it, then. There will be no blissful fading into the approaching darkness. Not if this fierce, fallen angel has any say.

Deafened by blaring sirens and this girl's delirious tenacity, I barely register new voices until unfamiliar hands grab at my limbs. Searing pain wrenches through my shoulder, yielding a ragged scream from my clenched teeth.

Be careful of his shoulder, the starry-eyed girl directs, releasing her vise-like hold of my hand long enough for me to be dragged across the mangled steel into the biting winter snow. I blink helplessly, but her vivid amber eyes hold me captive, my only anchor amidst pain-filled chaos. Exhaustion floods me, eager to escape into numbness, but I fight it. Because if I plummet now, I might lose sight of my angel forever.

I mouth a silent thank you as she crawls out after me, reaching for my fingertips.

She smiles radiantly, understanding passing between us in the endless moment before she releases my hand and fades from view. The falling snowflakes kiss my foggy senses as I stare longingly at where she stood. With her dreamlike presence warming mine, I finally believe I can survive this. This girl, my starry-eyed angel, was heaven-sent to guide me from darkness back into the light.

Muffled voices echo around me, but I strain to find her. Finally, I spot her across the road, flanked by emergency personnel. My cracked lips shape silent pleas...Don't leave without giving me some way to find you again...Can anyone hear me? Wait! Come back! But only feeble hisses escape.

Her eyes alight on mine, regret and empathy shining. As a paramedic guides her to an ambulance, she strains to call out, You're going to be okay! Her staunch faith blankets me in a calm assurance as I'm rolled away. My angel is gone from sight, but her words are engraved on my heart. I’ll be okay.

The girl… I rasp to anyone who will listen.

She's being taken to the hospital for treatment. You can find her there, a voice replies.

But I don’t.

1

Cora

I stare at the final page on my screen, cringing as the protagonists ride off into the sunset for their happily ever after. If only editing romance novels aligned with reality—an epic love story that explodes like an overstuffed pillow.

No. The stories I’m assigned don’t conclude with their sister, husband in tow, picking them up outside their apartment with only two suitcases and a box of tear-soaked tissues after discovering their fiancé had been cheating on them for months.

Bing!

I tap the notification without thinking. Logan's name mocks me from the tiny screen. My muscles seize as venomous pain spears through my core. I squeeze my eyes shut, but tears fall anyway. Each one burns against my still-tender cheeks after this morning's sob-fest as that familiar cocktail of humiliation, grief, and exhaustion hits again.

Three damn weeks of this. Three weeks since I stormed out, leaving Logan silhouetted in the doorway, his tattered excuses echoing down the hall. Yet, like a terminal disease, the agony still flares when I least expect it. When will heartbreak stop ambushing me?

My sister's voice interrupts the circling darkness. Rough day?

Right… I'm still staying in Arden's guest room. As if it was evident enough by the folding table desk and four bare walls surrounding me.

If, by rough, you mean I'm fresh out of wine and dignity? Then absolutely, I respond, bitterness seeping into my voice as I toss the phone out of view.

Arden winces, but her steady voice emanates calm. It's only been twenty days, hon. Go easy on yourself. You'll be back on your feet in no time.

I snort derisively. Back on my feet? When my entire future just collapsed? When I've lost touch with most of my friends—thanks to Logan's subtle maneuvers to isolate me further? When I skipped Thanksgiving with the family last week just to hide under the covers instead...

Please let this grief run its course swiftly. I can't bear feeling this hopeless forever.

Aren’t you supposed to meet Alyssa for happy hour? Arden asks softly. Might be good for you to get out of this room for a bit, huh?

Crap. What day is it? I totally spaced on the plans I made with my only work friend. Alyssa realized something was up when I didn’t show up to our once-a-week office day two weeks in a row, so I vaguely mentioned what happened. Drinks while sharing my sob story seemed like a great idea at the time, but now the thought of leaving my sister’s apartment fortress for something called 'happy hour' feels like a swift kick to the heart.

Drinks sounded nice then, but now that I might have to leave the safety of this apartment, something called happy hour feels like another blow to the chest.

I peer down at my leggings and oversized hoodie—yet another thing for Alyssa to roast me over. With a dramatic groan, I shut the laptop screen. Maybe I should cancel. Wallowing alone with a pint of ice cream and a bottle of wine sounds way more appealing.

I let you bail on Thanksgiving last week to marinate in self-pity. Now it’s time to rejoin society, Co.

Leave it to my responsible, newly pregnant sister to be the harsh voice of reason.

Ugh. I scrape a hand down my face, reluctantly leaving my makeshift workspace. But don't be surprised if I come home blubbering and drunk.

I grudgingly shimmy into a passable pair of jeans while grumbling about bossy older sisters. Arden just smirks, completely unbothered. We've walked this road before. As usual, big sis knows best. I should’ve listened when she warned me about Logan. She never did think he was the one for me.

But I did. And unfortunately, a small part of me still does.

I head down to the lobby, firing off a quick text to warn Alyssa of my imminent arrival. As I look up, the doorman waves a hand, pointing to where the staff is roping off sections of the floor for some cleaning.

Sorry, miss. You'll have to exit through the coffee shop. He points a finger at the nondescript doorway with a small sign calling out Daily Grind Café tucked into the far corner.

Hold up, there's a coffee shop in this building? How have I managed to overlook this little gem? Oh, right, probably because I've been holed up in Arden's apartment for a solid three weeks, living my best hermit life.

With a dramatic sigh of resignation, I pivot towards the café, pushing down the temptation to use this as a flimsy excuse to cancel. Somehow, Sorry, I can't make it because the exit doors are being guarded by a herd of wild llamas doesn't seem like it'll fly. Alright, happy hour, ready or not, here I come!

Stepping through the doorway of the charming coffee shop feels like entering some secret realm. It's cozy, home-like. Mismatching armchairs in soothing jewel tones cluster around heavy oak tables. People queue at the gleaming counter to collect steaming mugs and baked goods as others type away on laptops in the alcoves. My gaze travels longingly to the large bookshelf tucked under the facade of a stone fireplace along the far wall.

Hmm, Arden did say I needed to get out of the apartment more. I might’ve just found my new sanctuary. It's worth a try, at least.

A sudden, loud throat clearing from behind the counter nearly makes me jump out of my skin. Geez, can't a girl appreciate this picture-perfect, fairy tale-esque spot without being put on trial? I spin around, only to find an unfairly attractive, bad-boy-esque barista eyeing me with unabashed curiosity. As he runs his fingers through his dark, tousled locks, I can't help but feel like I'm under a microscope. With his intense gaze making my cheeks flush hotter than a sunburned tomato, I suddenly feel like I'm back in high school.

In a flash of self-consciousness, I bolt out the door faster than you can say, awkward encounter, refusing to look back. That kind of torture is the last thing I need today.

I blow out a heavy breath and brace myself as the crisp, wintry Chicago air surrounds me. I’ve got this.

After making the three-block walk, I slide onto the bar stool next to Alyssa. She hesitantly slides a giant glass filled with dark liquid toward me. Do you want to talk about it? She pauses, studying me. Or we could talk about the weather? I hear it’s supposed to snow later this week.

Snow. December. Two words I'd avoid hearing together ever again if I could. I flashback to six years ago, the accident, the December that kicked off my annual curse. Instinctively, I rub at the scar along my right wrist.

Why did I think Logan saved me from that kind of misery, from my December disaster and the life-altering catastrophe that came with it? Him telling me he loved me on New Year’s Eve three years ago should’ve raised a red flag. Instead, I assumed he was my absolution, my holiday magic.

I was oblivious.

I swirl the icy liquid, wrapping up the end of a three-year relationship in four words. He cheated on me.

Damn it, I knew he was an asshole. Alyssa slams her glass down, eyes narrowing. That idiot’s ego was too big not to stray eventually. At my crestfallen look, she softens slightly. Don't go blaming yourself though, Co. There’s no excuse for what that douche canoe did. You’re better off.

If only I could believe it…

The Logan I fell in love with made me better. Most of the time, I thought we were okay, like the night he asked me to marry him two months ago. But maybe I only saw what I wanted to see. Perhaps I tried too hard to hold on to who we were until his lies became too obvious to ignore.

I give a brittle laugh, admitting, I just feel so stupid, you know? I gave him everything—changed my goals, my friends... I swipe angrily at the tears gathering. I was so clueless.

Hey. No. The only stupid thing here was letting Captain Career manipulate away your self-worth. She jabs her cocktail stick for emphasis. Moping doesn't suit you. Let's get drunk, trash your ex, and find you a rebound hottie to remind you how fine you are!

I roll my eyes, the familiar bossy affection steadying me. Can't we stop at drunk trash my ex?

Alyssa clucks. Excuse you, when have I ever steered you wrong? At my raised brows, she amends, Okay, almost never! But you need a little fun. I promise handpicked goodness!

I shake my head wryly, even as the first inkling of hope flickers.

Alyssa waves a manicured hand flippantly. That sparkly ring can fund our bar tab while we plot a dating strategy. Her eyes soften as she assesses my poorly masked disappointment. Assuming he wasn't a total dick and made you give it back?

I rub at the naked space on my fourth finger. I hadn't even fully gotten used to it yet. No. He told me to keep it. The jagged words catch in my throat as I glance up, forcing a casualness I don't feel. But you really think I should date already? I’m not sure I’ve fully processed the demise of my three-year relationship yet.

Alyssa snorts into her drink. Oh honey, the best revenge is to immediately get back on the market looking hotter than ever! Her smile turns razor-sharp. Make that cheating dick regret he couldn't keep it in his pants.

As Alyssa goes on about potential rebound guys, my thoughts drift to the early days with Logan—romantic gestures and late-night talks imagining our future. When did that version of him start to fade? Were there warning signs I ignored?

I shift nervously as she pauses, waiting for me to respond. I don't know, Lys. Casual hookups really aren't my style.

Who said anything about hookups? I'm talking about finding your next epic romance! Alyssa's expression softens slightly, seeing my doubt. Okay, maybe just an insta-lust fling first. Get a little action and boost that confidence. THEN we find Mr. Right.

I hesitate, the wounds from Logan's betrayal still fresh. But the thought of feeling desired after so much rejection has appeal. If nothing else, it might help me avoid reading Logan's apologetic texts, given my ever-growing need to feel wanted and appreciated.

Just promise me nice and slightly boring? I hedge.

Alyssa cackles. Nice I can do. Boring? Let's start slow with spicy! She winks conspiratorially.

I sigh, accepting this first baby step down an unfamiliar road. With Alyssa steering, what could go wrong?

2

Cora

I swirl the empty coffee mug, scanning the same typo-riddled page for the dozenth time. Even the romantic meet-cute gracing my screen elicits more bitterness than joy lately, its cheery ending mocking my current trainwreck of a love life. With a huff, I shove the offensive manuscript away. It might be time to request a new genre. Non-fiction tragedy would better suit my mood.

I drop my head into my hands, elbows sliding across the stack of annotated pages with a discordant scrape. This was supposed to provide distraction, not make me feel worse. But how can I escape the constant specter of love's disappointment when even my job revolves around crafting pretty tales of happily-ever-after?

I close my laptop shut with a dramatic sigh, dragging myself to the living room and plopping down on the couch like a deflated balloon. Arden peeks at me from behind her screen, her eyebrows raised in a silent question.

Getting a bit stir-crazy? she inquires, gently setting her computer aside. I was thinking about making a coffee run if you want to tag along. Her eyes twinkle with sisterly affection as she rises to her feet. They've got some pretty sweet spots to work from, too, if you're in need of a scenery change.

The memory of the charming little café from yesterday's detour pops into my head, and the idea of nursing a steaming mug of coffee while getting lost in a good book sounds amazing right now.

But I can't pass up the opportunity to give Arden a hard time. You're just trying to get me out of the apartment before I go all 'Extreme Makeover: Home Edition' on your place and start knocking down walls in a fit of restlessness.

Arden chuckles, snatching her purse and shaking her head. You can stay here as long as you need, but hands off my minimalist vibe, she counters, jerking her head towards the door. Now, let's go. Grab your stuff.

I scoop up my laptop and a few of my favorite novels, just in case inspirational editing doesn't work out.

Arden makes an exaggerated smile as I trail her to the elevator. Look at you being all motivated.

I make a face, a brittle laugh escaping at her over-the-top enthusiasm. I know she's attempting to restore normalcy and pull me from my moping, even if it's only small steps for now.

I follow Arden toward the unassuming café doorway, desperately clinging to the hope that the enchanting charm I encountered yesterday can cast a spell and banish my dismal state of mind.

As soon as we cross the threshold, the rich fragrance of freshly roasted coffee beans hits me like a comforting tidal wave, and I feel the first inkling of peace in what feels like forever. I let out a wobbly sigh, the vice-like tension that's been holding me hostage finally starting to loosen its grip. Arden gives my hand a comforting squeeze, a touch of pre-Logan sisterly affection, as we shuffle toward the counter.

It's eleven in the morning on a Tuesday, and the bite-sized coffee shop is about as bustling as a deserted island, apart from the solitary barista standing sentry behind the counter. And lo and behold—it's the same unfairly dreamy one from yesterday. Initiate internal meltdown sequence.

As we inch closer, I feel something sizzling and restless awakening under his intense gaze, his electric blue eyes trailing my every move like a heat-seeking missile. His untamed waves and scruffy beard somehow perfectly complement the chiseled angles of his jawline and the fullness of his lips. If I hadn't already put bad-boy player types on my no-fly list after some college train wrecks, I might let myself salivate over this sinfully attractive stranger a bit longer.

Thankfully, he shifts his attention to Arden first, giving me a moment to collect myself and pick my jaw up off the floor. Hey, Arden. Fancy seeing you here again. His voice pours out like warm caramel, and I can't help but roll my eyes. Of course, even his sexy, gravelly tone sounds like it was ripped straight from the pages of a steamy romance novel. Thanks for the cosmic joke, universe!

The unfairly attractive, definitely not my type, coffee shop guy shifts his gaze to me, crossing his arms with a lopsided grin that could melt glaciers. And you brought a friend.

Despite my best efforts, my fiction editor brain is already involuntarily cataloging this supremely hot stranger for future manuscript inspiration. With hints of a tattoo peeking out from beneath his sleeve, tousled waves, and magnetism that could power a small city, he's practically screaming wounded bad-boy character.

Stay far away, Cora, I warn myself. My overactive imagination has conjured up countless scenarios, all of which end with a guy like this stomping on the remnants of my already broken heart. What I need is the dependable, honesty-is-the-best-policy trope. Someone gentle and uncomplicated after the emotional hellscape of the past few months. So unless this espresso-slinging Casanova secretly volunteers at an animal shelter and moonlights as a romance novel cover model, it's probably best to avoid him altogether.

Not like he'd actually be interested. I'm pretty sure I currently resemble a zombie apocalypse survivor. Is that a coffee stain on my sweatshirt, or have I just given up on life?

Hot coffee shop guy clears his throat, yanking me out of my disappointing daydream. So are you around here for a bit, or just passing through? he inquires, his tone deceptively casual.

Crap. Did he catch me ogling just now? I tuck some loose fly-aways behind my ear self-consciously. Oh, just…indefinitely, I suppose.

Nailed it! That's the kind of smooth, articulate response you'd expect from a romance editor, right? Apparently, my degree and my can't-even-call-this-flirting skills are neck-and-neck in the race to hit rock bottom.

His blue eyes track my fidgeting movements with a hint of amusement as his unfairly appealing grin inches wider. I know Arden's order. What can I get you... He trails off, looking at me expectantly, and my tongue suddenly feels like it's been superglued to the roof of my mouth.

When a few seconds pass by silently, Arden bumps my shoulder, her smile brimming with mischief. Jake, this is my baby sister, Coco. She's staying with me for a bit. She scans her card, practically rolling with amusement. You know, why don't you make it two of my usual, please? Seems my sister suddenly forgot how to speak.

I gasp in horror, even as my mind catalogs his name. I'm disowning her.

Jake’s grin practically splits his face. Coco, huh?

I hiss in her direction, Coco’s a family nickname. My name is Cora. Cora Cooper.

Arden just smirks while Jake appears far too delighted by my embarrassment.

Cora, Cora Cooper, it is then. Welcome, Jake replies with a sweet smile.

I mutter a thank you, tearing my beat red face from Jake's gorgeous baby blues and move them to safer territory. But even the overcrowded bookshelf's tempting fantasy covers can't entirely erase the sensory imprint of warm caramel and coffee beans now burnt into my brain. Nor the strange sense of familiarity suddenly stirring.

But forgetting the trail of tingles those ocean blues leave in their wake seems impossible. I scan my memory for the name Jake, coming up empty.

Arden nudges me with unconcealed glee the second Jake walks away. "Well now, what was that little exchange, hmm?"

I shrug exaggeratedly, cheeks still flaming. No idea what you’re talking about.

She raises her brows perceptively. "I'll bet, Miss Suddenly Not Mopey. But seriously—he’s cute and single."

I nearly choke on nothing. Suddenly not mopey? I mean, not like I noticed Jake was attractive. Or keep reminding myself that he’d only break my heart into a thousand more pieces.

Wait? Are you trying to set me up with the coffee shop guy? I ask casually, scowling playfully. You’re as bad as Alyssa setting me up on some blind date. Really, I can figure this out on my own.

Clearly, Arden replies, glancing away to conceal her growing smile.

Setting the mugs down, Jake peers up, voice dropping intimately. I hope you like it, Cora. If not, I'm happy to make something else. My pulse leaps even as intuition warns it's simply customer courtesy feigning interest, not flirtation. He probably aims that velvet voice and heart-stopping smile at every female like a weapon.

I offer a feeble smile, hoping my face isn't as scarlet as it feels. Bad enough, I'm standing here in yesterday's atrocious leggings with my hair in a bun that could have its own zip code.

His gaze dips, and I'm positive he notices my dragging attire as well. The slightest smirk teases his mouth, making me want to crawl behind the nearest potted fern. I barely restrain the instinct, fingers white-knuckled around the warm mug instead.

Come on, my favorite spot’s this way, Arden says, gesturing toward a curved table tucked into a cozy corner nook. The table sits between weather-washed brick and a clever fireplace mantel, complete with aged leather books lining the shelves.

Best table by far, she claims, nudging me into the booth. I need to make a few calls, but if you’re here past two, I’ll try and come back down. After a quick squeeze of my shoulder, she heads back upstairs.

I sink back with a contented sigh, clutching my fresh coffee as the real world recedes. Heaven would be hard-pressed to construct a more soothing sanctuary. Beyond the faux-hearth window, bundled pedestrians dart past in pursuit of work obligations or holiday treasures. Soft strains of acoustic guitar underscore the hiss and gurgle from the appliances behind the wooden counter. The comforting background noise cocoons me in peace—as close to home as this converted coffee shop can manage.

I could get used to this scene.

Therapy in the form of coffee and awkward flirting. Maybe Alyssa’s right. Dating might be good. If this afternoon can make me aware the opposite still exists, feeling wanted and appreciated can only help me get over this heartbreak sooner, right?

I set up my computer and the rom-com manuscript from earlier.

Slowly, the outside world starts to fade away. I'm lost in the story, barely surfacing for periodic sips of lukewarm coffee and the occasional bio break. At some point, I meander up in pursuit of caffeinated replenishment. I'm mildly confused when a different barista trades my drained mug for a fresh fill.

Must have missed saying goodbye to hot coffee shop