This year marks our third Sweet Christmas Kisses anthology. For the first one in 2014, I wrote A Scottish Christmas, for the second one in 2015 my novella was An Irish Christmas Blessing, and for our 2016 collection I wrote A London Christmas. Each was an opportunity to enjoy those countries all over again, and I hope you will enjoy the stories! Here is the first chapter of A London Christmas.
CHAPTER 1
Cait Walker stepped
out of the cab in front of the pub and stared at the gold lettered sign over
the door. Smythe & Killigan's.
Established 1743.
This had to be the
place, though she could hardly believe she was actually here.
Just a few blocks
from Buckingham Palace, the building was built of large, rough stones, the
glass in the mullioned windows deeply rippled with age. An Irish tune wafted out
into the snowy night, sending a little shiver down her back. After waiting
three long months for this, she was finally in London--excited and nervous and
even a little scared. What if she didn't measure up to Derek's expectations?
What if he took one look at her and backed out?
She knew she was
hardly the stuff of anyone's dreams. She'd lost her job a few months ago,
after the company folded, but would soon start working in a lab at
the University of Minnesota by day, and by night she would
continue writing poetry and short stories that no one else would ever see.
She was just an
ordinary woman leading an ordinary, quiet life in Minnesota with her cat Murphy, who was now
vacationing at her mom's retirement village in Minnetonka.
What made this
evening even more spectacular was that she'd been totally honest when creating her profile on
the dating website. No sugar coating, no wishful thinking about any details
that might make her seem special, and her photo showed the same
person she saw in the mirror every day, without any extra photographer's retouching. It was still hard to believe that
someone like Derek Worthington III had actually fallen for her. Her.
At the age of
thirty-four she had no longer dreamed of white knights and fairytales, or the
possibility of finding true love. And yet...there he
was, in that first glorious e-mail.
Charming and dashing and handsome, he'd
been emailing her for months now, and they'd even talked on the phone twice.
And oh, that lovely accent and deep voice...Downton Abbey and Jane Austen's
heroes, all wrapped in one delicious package and tied with a perfect bow. For her.
Tonight, after
they'd had some time to talk--for the first time ever, without thousands of
miles between them--he was taking her to meet his family for Christmas Eve. And
after Christmas Day, they would have three incredibly romantic weeks, traveling
to his favorite--favourite --places in England while they planned
what the future would bring.
She tingled
with anticipation, knowing that her life was about to change in ways she'd never
even dreamed of.
Dusting the snow
from her shoulders, she smoothed a loose tendril of hair into the knot on the
top of her head, took a deep breath, and dragged her carry-on luggage into the
pub, her heart hammering. This was it. This was really, truly going to be the
most memorable day of her life.
The heavy door was
beautifully carved and felt ancient beneath her fingertips. Was it rosewood? An
image of the generations of people who had touched this same door over the
centuries flashed through her thoughts, the rich sense of history filling her
with delight.
The long mirror
behind the bar was framed in the same dark, rich, ornately carved wood as the
door. It glowed under the dim amber light of the tall lamps sitting at either
end of the bar and the stained glass lamps that hung from the ceiling.
Most of the small
tables inside were occupied by couples sitting intimately close, talking over
glasses of wine or those tall, trademark Guinness beer glasses with the
engraved harp on the back.
She glanced at her
watch and felt a flicker of alarm.
The only men sitting
alone were a hefty older man who was fidgeting with his keys and scowling
as he talked on his cell phone, and a scruffy guy--possibly in his
mid-thirties.
This second fellow gave Cait a cursory glance, then turned his attention back to his fish and chips. The young woman sitting across from him abruptly stood, slammed her hands on the table, and flounced out the door. He didn’t spare her another look.
This second fellow gave Cait a cursory glance, then turned his attention back to his fish and chips. The young woman sitting across from him abruptly stood, slammed her hands on the table, and flounced out the door. He didn’t spare her another look.
Though Cait couldn't
make out his features beneath the bill of his blue and red Chicago Cubs ball
cap, his hair was much too dark and shaggy. Definitely not Derek.
Derek certainly
wouldn't have been with another woman. And he wouldn't have been so dismissive
at seeing Cait arrive, because of course he had seen her photograph and even
kept it on his bedside table. He was all that was thoughtful, charming and
kind, and his emails had proved it.
She took another
glance around the room. Was she late? Early? Had she misunderstood? Oh, Lord--was
she in the wrong place?
Of course, he could
have been delayed at his research facility. The roads were snow-covered and
slick, and the snow falling outside was growing heavier. Could he have been in
an accident? Worry nipped at her as she settled down at a table near the door
so she could watch for any newcomers.
The minutes ticked
by, each lasting an hour.
Couples came and
went. A few business-types.
She glanced at her
watch again. Finally, her stomach growling, she flagged down the lone waitress and ordered fish and chips plus an ice water.
The door creaked,
letting in a blast of cold air. Someone hesitated in the door and then cast a
shadow over her table. Her heart tripped, her hands grew clammy.
"You're
Catriona Walker?"
A deep voice, a
wonderful British accent. The only person in England who could possibly
know her name, even if this voice sounded a little different than the one she'd heard over the phone. Derek.
Her heart took a
tiny leap of anticipation as she slowly turned. But when she looked up, a sense
of disorientation swept through her.
Her Derek was tall
and broad-shouldered, with sharply cut, patrician features and thick blond hair
swept straight back, revealing a high forehead, sweeping eyebrows and piercing
blue eyes. One of his photos on the dating website showed him in a beautifully
cut suit, leaning against a sports car, with a sexy half-smile on his lean
face.
This man was decades
older--probably as old as her dad--with a heavy belly, thick jowls and thinning
dishwater blonde hair coiffed into an ornate comb-over that did nothing to
camouflage his shiny scalp. He was eyeing her with a calculating look that made
her skin crawl.
He had to be a
messenger, sent to explain Derek's delay. Her rising tension eased.
"Y-yes, yes I am. And you are...?"
He had the audacity to
look affronted. "Derek."
----------------------------------------------------
Best wishes to you all! I hope you enjoy this year's anthology!
Roxanne Rustand
USA Today Bestselling Author
Falling for the Rancher, Love Inspired 6/2017
An Aspen Creek Christmas, Love Inspired 12/2016
The Single Dad's Redemption, Love Inspired 7/2016
www.roxannerustand.com
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Love the ending to this scene!
ReplyDeleteThank you, Melinda!!
ReplyDeleteMakes you want to read more.
ReplyDelete