CHRISTMAS AT REEDY FALLS by Elizabeth Sumner Wafler: Excerpt
We are delighted to feature this excerpt from Christmas At Reedy Falls by Elizabeth Sumner Wafler!
CHRISTMAS AT REEDY FALLS
Perfect for fans of A Winter in New York by Josie Silver and Always in December by Emily Stone, Christmas at Reedy Falls is an opposites-attract, wholesome Christmas romance that will leave readers believing in the magic of the holiday—and how it brings people together.
When Mamie Morrow, a fledgling Charleston journalist, is offered an assignment covering the Grand Bohemian Lodge in Greenville, South Carolina, at Christmastime, she jumps at the chance. Her grandfather recently passed away and left her a mysterious box of objects from the time she spent with him in New Mexico when she was three. Mamie has zero recollection of her time with her grandfather, but she now knows that he was Navajo—and as the majestic Grand Bohemian is filled with Native American art, she hopes being there will help her regain those memories.
Robert Fitzpatrick is an upstart photographer from South Boston. Through equal parts inspiration and perspiration, he’s managed to compile a stunning portfolio, and he’s just relocated to slower-paced Charleston for its lush beauty and creative community. He’s also looking for the one—a girl to whom he can give his whole heart forever. But he harbors family secrets of his own.
Rob is smitten with Mamie’s energy and pluck, but to Mamie, career comes first. As Christmas Day approaches, the two grapple with the complications that arise when dreams confront reality—and witness the Christmas magic that can happen when you put your faith in love.
EXCERPT
Chapter Twenty Mamie
When Rob and I have made our way up again, I blink like a mole that’s just surfaced from a hundred-foot earthen tunnel. In the lobby, I realize how shallow my breathing must have been and breathe deeply, expanding my rib cage. My reward is the scent of newly freshened floral arrangements. They’re lush and creamy, sharp and quick, and as soft as a sweet memory. Rob and I smile at each other, and he takes my hand as we move toward the elevators through fewer people than usual. I wonder if he’s thinking about our time together tonight. I have to catch Abigay up on the day when I get to my room. But after that? I don’t want to think about anything but being with Rob and letting off steam. We could go out to eat. It’s not that late, though it feels that way, but I want my guy all to myself. In a manner of speaking.
Kwame’s at the front desk. He nods and smiles at us, and thankfully, not in a smarmy or knowing way. The news that we’ve finished the project sends up new bottle rockets inside me. I whisper to Rob, “Do you care if I tell him we met our deadline?”
“Are you still planning on jumping up on the bar in Between the Trees tonight?”
I shove him to the side with my hip. “Not sure yet.”
He throws his head back and laughs. “Go ahead and tell him. I’m proud we’re done too.”
“We finished the article,” I shout to Kwame.
He grins and claps once. “Hey, that’s fantastic news.”
“Thank you,” Rob and I say in tandem, and then laugh because the laughter feels so good.
“Are you coming back down to celebrate?”
“You bet,” Rob says.
“Let me buy you guys a drink. I insist.”
“You’re on,” Rob says.
I’m reminded that Kwame, who’s from Ghana, told me his name means Saturday in his native language of Ghanian.
Tomorrow’s Saturday, so I think I’ll pick up a little happy for him.
* * *
I stand in the shower, hot water sluicing my shoulders and back, and imagine the remnant of my muscle and mental fatigue circling the drain. When I made it to my room, burdened by my weighty computer bag, I tipped the little owl a wink, stepped across the threshold, and jettisoned the bag on the plush carpet like a teen with her backpack on a Friday afternoon, the promise of a no-telling-what-might-happen adventure and homework-free weekend stretching before her. A thrifting trip with her bestie? A great date with her boyfriend? I may have even let out a whoop loud enough to be heard in the lobby.
My phone rings. Abigay Fletcher, the queen of impeccable timing.
“Bee,” I said, “you got my text!”
“I did! I hoped to catch you before you got in the shower.”
“How is it going with you?”
“Oh, you know…your meh, Christmas Adam snuggling with the love of your dreams. One crackling and sifting birch fire. Two old-fashioned cocktails with cherries and orange slices. Three rich cheeses on a board. Bing Crosby crooning away. Watching the snow fall on aspens through floor-to-ceiling windows.”
I drop to the bed, cracking up. “Love, love, love it!”
“Back to you, my dearest, most brilliant Bee. I am so, so proud of you. What an accomplishment! You made your deadline while cuckoo banana pants in love. Most people can’t put one foot in front of the other or string a coherent sentence together in the throes of new love.”
“Ah, thanks, babe. You’re right. I need to take a minute and let the accomplishment sink in. I think Rob’s bringing out the best in me.”
“And you in him.”
“I hope so. He seems to think we should go into business together…like a package deal, journalist and photographer.”
“How do you feel about that?”
“Not sure yet. It has potential. I guess we would pool our resources. Now, Abs, don’t get salty with me, but I still haven’t breached the subject of the trust fund.”
She sighed loud and long. “I’m not…going to shame you. I’m just concerned. It’s not a pleasant subject, and I know you don’t want to get into it with him tonight, but soon, okay?”
“Okay,” I say. “You’re right, you’re right. I know you’re right. Hey, topic shift: is Rob my boyfriend now? I was thinking about the word a few minutes ago.”
“Well. Are you considering terms? What do you think? You’re the walking Webster’s Dictionary.”
“Don’t forget thesaurus.”
“Right.”
“I mean,” I say, thinking aloud, “we’ve defined the relationship, but not the nouns. I haven’t referred to him that way yet. It sounds…I don’t know…juvenile somehow Rob is so different, so manly.”
“So what is a boyfriend?” she asked.
“A constant male companion with whom one has a romantic relationship. Or a piece of clothing designed to be oversized and comfortable, i.e., a boyfriend cardigan.”
“Seems to me Rob is both those things. Romantic and comfy to be with. And definitely oversized.” We laugh together. “I can just picture you swallowed by one of his sweaters.”
“Ha! So I declare that he is my boyfriend and therefore I am free to address him as such.”
“Do it, Bee!”
“Oh, I miss you! Did you guys decide to stay in Vail for Christmas?”
“I’m thinking we will. But either way, I’ll see you Monday afternoon at home.”
Home. As much as I love our apartment and living with Abigay, suddenly Rob feels like home. “Yes, Monday, for sure. Can’t wait to see you. Chat a minute tomorrow?”
“Of course.”
We end the call, and I plug my phone into the built-in lamp charger before leaving a trail of clothes on my way to the shower.
In the bedroom again, I sit on the bed in my undies, making eyes at the pretty box waiting by my suitcase. Not only did I find a great vintage dress downtown for the ball tomorrow night, but I found two other items that should make Rob Fitzpatrick a very happy man. Tonight’s the night to wear the slinky red dress—that is so not me—but seems fun and fitting, pun intended, to wear for our celebration. I slip into the dress and then open the fresh paper and leather-scented box. I hold up the pair of peau de soie red heels, grin, and give them a smacking air mwah.
Love be a lady tonight.
Reprinted with permission from the publisher
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Find out more about Elizabeth on her website: https://elizabethsumnerwafler.com/
Category: On Writing
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