Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 50080 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 250(@200wpm)___ 200(@250wpm)___ 167(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 50080 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 250(@200wpm)___ 200(@250wpm)___ 167(@300wpm)
As the holidays kick off in Deer Ridge, Evangeline Holcomb is doing what she loves most: helping her family’s Christmas tree farm and embracing all the small-town festivities she adores.
But everything changes when Zane Whittaker, her high school sweetheart, returns to town with his socialite fiancée on his arm.
While Evangeline does her best to keep her heart guarded, she and Zane are drawn back into each other’s lives in unexpected ways. As they share old memories, winter strolls, and stolen glances, Zane wonders if his heart belongs in Deer Ridge.
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
ONE
EVANGELINE
The early afternoon sun rays bounce off the wet pavement, making it glisten. To an untrained eye, this is beautiful, even magical. But someone with experience knows it’s a potential hazard. The last thing I want is to hit a patch of black ice and go careening off the road into the miles-long culvert alongside it.
My red truck, with its wooden side rails, rumbles as I drive toward my first stop. Every few feet, I steer to the right or left to avoid the potholes the town has yet to fill. The back of my truck is filled with wreaths and ornament balls made by my mom, Clara, from the leftover boughs my dad, Robert who is known around town as Benny, cut from our stock of Christmas trees. Each crate has the name of someone in town written on it, whether a friend or another business, who has supported my parents’ tree farm for as long as I can remember, sometimes longer than I’ve been alive. The only places where I’m not stopping are the chain stores, which never support or buy local. This really irks me because we have amazing bakers, restaurants, bookstores, jewelers, and people who sew in Deer Ridge. There are many more places my family works hard to keep in business. Without the mom-and-pop establishments, none of us would survive.
Green garland wraps around each black iron streetlight with a red bow perfectly situated nearby the lanterns along Main Street. We had our annual trimming party on Monday, and most of us joined in the festivities, decorating storefronts, streetlights, and drinking hot chocolate while planning a shopping trip or two to Colonie, New York, where the nearest mall is.
A light snow begins to fall as I turn onto the road. I slow down, looking right and left for people crossing the street, and hope the spot I see across from Whitaker’s is still there in a minute.
People wave as they cross in front of me. I roll my window down to say hi and take in the carolers on the corner. I sigh happily and drive forward, easily parallel parking. I crack open my door a smidge and wait for the traffic to pass before stepping my boot-covered foot in a puddle of slush. It’s a good thing my boots are waterproof. They’re a must-have here during the winter.
At the back of my truck, I pull the handle and drop the tailgate. It squeaks, a combination of old age, rust, and the cold. The first crate full of loose boughs and ornament balls is for Alma’s Bakery. Behind me, a horn sounds. I wave, even though I might not know who they are. Later today, they will undoubtedly stop by the farm and say, “I saw you earlier at such and such,” or mention it to my parents.
“Morning, Alma,” I say, stepping inside and inhaling deeply, letting the aroma of cinnamon, vanilla, and the unmistakable scent of Christmas pine wash over me, and a smile forms as I am reminded of how much I love this time of year. It encompasses everything from the trees and snowmen to the carolers who go door-to-door, handing out candy canes and singing songs. It’s a time when the whole town comes together, spreading Christmas cheer to everyone, regardless of where they’re from. It includes community productions of It’s a Wonderful Life—even though we’ve all seen it countless times—and the lighting of the Christmas tree in the town square. But mostly, it’s the sound of Burl Ives, whose voice fills the air with cheer.
The day after Thanksgiving at the bakery is oddly quiet. Normally, there’s a line out the door for Alma’s cinnamon rolls and apple pie. I can’t remember the last time I went shopping with the masses on this day, not since I started working at the farm in November and December.
My parents never wanted me to work on the farm, especially after I graduated from law school. They were more focused on my career than me chopping down and hauling fir trees. But everything changed when my brother passed away while he was in high school. My dad needed help, and although the farm brings in enough money to support my parents, it doesn’t allow them to hire full-time employees. On weekends, we get some high school kids to come up, but they usually just work to collect volunteer credits, and we rarely see them again once they’ve fulfilled their requirements.
“Morning, Evangeline.”
“Alma, please call me Eve.”
“Especially around this time,” Alma says, with a cheerful smile. I suppose with a name like Evangeline or Eve, you should always be in the Christmas spirit. Thankfully, I am. I love the holidays and everything they stand for.
“I have the wreaths from my mom. Where do you want them?”
“Right here, sweetie.” She points to the empty table nearest the counter. “And that box is for your mom.”