A Christmas in Connecticut Read online

  A Christmas in Connecticut

  Emily French

  Copyright © 2021 by Emily French

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are all either the product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, locales, or events is completely coincidental.

  Created with Vellum

  For April,

  my dear friend and best supporter.

  Pictures of perfection make me sick and wicked.

  Jane Austen

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Also by Emily French

  Chapter 1

  Claire Bennett continued to stare at the website for several more minutes. She looked again at the pictures of the house: a 1930s white clapboard cottage with black shutters and a red front door. All the windows had small panes of glass, the chimney constructed of smooth river rocks, and the entire property enclosed by a white picket fence. There were pictures taken in each of the different seasons, but it was the ones taken during the winter that had caught her attention…and her heart. Mounds of white snow on each side of the neatly shoveled walkway, a large pine wreath hung on the front door, and dark green spruce trees flanked the house. It was, as her mom would have said, “cute as a button.” She decisively hit the “Book It Now” button and leaned back in her chair. She felt exhilaration and anxiety all wrapped in one emotion shoot through her body as she took a deep breath. Little did she know she had just changed the course of her life forever.

  “A little help, please.”

  Claire looked over her shoulder. She’d been so engrossed in thought that she hadn’t heard the front door.

  “Sure—sorry, I didn’t hear you.” She took some of the packages from her best friend’s arms.

  Emmy Parsons heaved the rest of the bags onto the kitchen island. “It feels like the friggin’ north pole in here. Why is the a/c set so high?”

  “Because I’m roasting in all of this,” Claire said, motioning to the wool turtleneck sweater and tall leather boots over jeans she was wearing.

  “It’s like 90 degrees out. Why are you wearing all of that?”

  “I was going to write the turkey post while you cooked it…I need to get into the spirit of the season, get my…creative juices flowing.” Claire waved her hands around her head as she said this. “So, give me just the thumbnail sketch of what you’ll be doing.”

  Claire and Emmy had met in college. They were matched up as roommates and had been best friends ever since. In her senior year, Claire had an assignment to create a blog in one of her marketing classes. Emmy had helped develop the idea of a lifestyle blog. She’d had tons of great ideas, which, when combined with Claire’s talent for creative writing and stunning visuals, made it a success. A big success. To their shock, the blog took off. After graduating, they made it their full-time profession. City Meets Country had been earning them a living ever since.

  Emmy had placed the large plastic bag containing the turkey in the sink and rinsed it. “First, I brined it for forty-eight hours, and then after rinsing and drying it thoroughly, I’m going to stuff it with aromatics, truss it, butter it and season it before putting it in the ov—”

  “Hold up, you’re going too fast,” Claire said as she wrote with one hand and held up the other. “Explain brining again.”

  “Really? We do this every year, Claire; I can’t believe that none of this ever sticks.”

  It was established early on that Emmy was the one with the talent to bake, cook, create, plant, knit and craft amazing things; Claire had a way with words and could write in a way that drew readers into their lifestyle-world as well as create eye-catching images for the blog. Their talents fit together like two puzzle pieces.

  Emmy was painfully shy and had made it crystal clear that she didn’t want her face anywhere near the website, she’d insisted that Claire be the face of the blog…arguing that Claire was the photogenic one with the outgoing personality and that no one would be interested once they knew that the person who created half the blog was someone who, in her words, “ate their feelings.” Claire had told Emmy more times than she could count that she was “curvy” and that the brand would benefit with her face behind it. But Emmy wouldn’t budge. It was a deal breaker. So, Claire was the sole face and name of their blog.

  “Well, I can’t…so remind me what exactly brining is…” Claire continued to write in the notebook next to her computer. “Oh, and by the way, I did it.” She looked up from what she was doing and met Emmy’s eye.

  “The whole cottage in Connecticut thing? Oh my god…you’re kidding. Are you sure? I mean, wow, kind of scary.” Emmy had her arm up to her elbow inside the turkey, stuffing the cavity with onions, carrots, and celery. Her brown eyes grew dark as she looked at her friend.

  “Not kidding. And yep…I’m sure. I really can’t stay in L.A. for Christmas…it’s tough enough all the other days.” Claire looked down at her lap, biting her bottom lip.

  “Will you be okay all alone? I’m afraid you’ll be lonely,” Emmy said. She’d washed her hands and had come over next to Claire, putting her arm around her. “You know you are more than welcome to spend Christmas with us.”

  Emmy still lived with her parents. Partially because Los Angeles was phenomenally expensive, but mostly because Emmy was very close to her family and was having a hard time leaving the nest. She lived in a granny cottage on their property. It had everything she needed—except for a full kitchen, which is why she did all the cooking for the blog at Claire’s.

  “Thank you—but I really need to do this. I can’t be in L.A. for the holidays.” Claire’s face brightened as she took Emmy’s hands into hers. “But—you could come with me. It’s got two bedrooms; it would be so much fun to do it together.”

  Emmy smiled back at her. “I’d love to, Claire…I know we’d have fun together and we would get a lot of content for the blog. But you know, I’m not sure how many more Christmases Nona will be with us.”

  Nona was Claire’s grandmother, who lived with Emmy and her family. She and Emmy were super close. In recent years, Nona’s health had declined. “I just hope that you’ll be okay three thousand miles away in Connecticut.” She hugged Claire tightly.

  “I’ll be okay. I promise.”

  Emmy returned to preparing the turkey as Claire turned back towards her computer. “I see myself bundled up in scarves and holiday sweaters, drinking hot chocolate and cranking out some amazing content.” She typed away, glancing up to see Emmy shoving the large bird into the oven.

  I will be okay. Right? She told herself she’d have to be, because staying wasn’t an option. Her parents were killed in a car crash earlier in the year. The sudden loss of them had been brutal on Claire. She was an only child and didn’t have siblings with whom she could grieve with. It had felt as if someone had cut her open and slowly crushed her hea
rt with their hands — the pain was that intense.

  As time went by, it had gotten easier. She’d moved out of her shoebox apartment in West Hollywood and into her parents’ townhome in Santa Monica. She’d hardly changed anything; getting rid of their things felt like erasing the memory of them. She had eventually come to grips with their deaths and got by okay on most days, but Christmas would be difficult. She let out a deep breath and continued to focus on writing. Soon she was finished writing City Meets Country’s latest post.

  Tackling That Thanksgiving Turkey

  I know how intimidated many of you city girls are by the idea of roasting an entire Thanksgiving turkey, and you’re probably wondering whether you can serve a Thanksgiving charcuterie board instead. I’m here to tell you not to worry; it can be done! Not only can you do it, but it can be fun as well. Yes! Fun! If possible, I highly recommend finding a turkey farm. You can even find them in urban areas without having to drive too far. Not only will you be getting the freshest possible turkey, but the time spent out at the farm will rejuvenate your soul and give you all the feels! The farm I visited was just as cute as it could be. Gentle rolling hills dotted with adorable happy turkeys strutting around, complete with a red barn and even an overall-clad farmer. It’s an experience not to be missed. So, take a deep breath. You’ve got this! Click on the link for the step-by-step recipe. Gobble, gobble!

  Claire leaned back in her chair while Emmy read over her shoulder.

  “A turkey farm? Have you ever been to a turkey farm?” Emmy gave her one of those looks…a dubious one.

  “Well, no…not in person…I did an Internet search on organic turkey farms for inspiration.”

  Emmy continued to give Claire that look.

  “What?” Claire asked.

  “Don’t you think that’s going a bit too far?”

  “Not at all. You know as well as I do all blogs embellish…we’re selling a lifestyle. It doesn’t mean that we live it all, exactly to a tee; a little creative license sparks people’s imagination.” With that, she closed her laptop, signaling that the conversation was over.

  “Okay. Well, I’m going to leave for a bit. The turkey will be okay for a couple of hours. I need to go stay with Nona; she’s home all alone. I’ll be back…just don’t touch it.” She raised her eyebrows at Claire as she grabbed her purse.

  “I won’t, don’t worry.”

  Claire went through the mail in her hand. There was lots of stuff addressed to her parents. She made two piles: one for mail that was to be kept and the other for the recycling bin. She came across a glossy over-sized flyer with a picture of a handsome man in a suit holding a “sold” sign in front of a house. Zachary.

  Her heart caught a bit at the sight of him. He looked handsome…and sexy, with a small confident smile on his face. He and Claire had been together for two years. It had been a good match, or so she’d thought at one time. Something changed after her parents died. And it wasn’t something that Claire could articulate clearly. All she knew was that despite having a boyfriend, she’d felt alone. Something had been missing when she was needing the most from him.

  Although she’d been the one to end things, the sight of him still gave her heart a tug. Since he plastered his face on every bus stop bench and billboard around town…and was now in her mailbox…Zachary was another reason she needed to leave for the holidays. She tossed the flyer into the recycling pile.

  She returned to her computer and pulled up the listing for the cottage in Connecticut. Just seeing it filled her with warmth, as well as something else, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Just the sight of the little house filled her heart with good feelings.

  When Claire’s mom heard about the lifestyle blog she and Emmy had created, she couldn’t wrap her head around it. Claire could barely boil water and had never shown an aptitude for crafty projects. After explaining each of their roles behind the enterprise, her mom had replied, “It’s exactly like Christmas in Connecticut,” and had promptly sat Claire down to watch the movie. The story was about a young woman living in Manhattan, a modern-day Sex In The City type, who writes a successful magazine column about homemaking, even though she can’t seem to boil water either or sew a button on a garment. It culminated in hilarity when a handsome young soldier was invited to spend Christmas with her at her non-existent Connecticut farmhouse.

  Claire had loved the movie, and she and her mom watched it at least twice every Christmas season. The memories of watching it with her mom, huddled under a cozy throw blanket and drinking hot chocolate, even if it was one of those hot Los Angeles December days, gave her heart a pang. Her current thought process was that a change of scenery would make the memories less painful. She smiled, tracing her finger along the image of the cottage on the screen. “I’m going to have a Christmas in Connecticut, Mom.” Her eyes welled up with tears ready to spill down her cheeks as she let out a shuddered sigh.

  Chapter 2

  Jack rubbed his neck and looked at the numbers in front of him. He’d been looking at them for hours and had made no progress. In college he’d studied business and had never come across any accounting method that resembled his dad’s bookkeeping. Jack leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling. It’s going to get easier, right Dad? He let out a deep sigh. It made him feel better to imagine that his dad was listening. He missed him. A lot.

  “Hey there Jack, why the face?” The older man removed his faded Red Sox cap and rubbed the top of his head while his crinkly eyes closed, before focusing themselves on Jack. “What’s troubling you?”

  Hank Olson was a childhood friend of Jack’s father, Harry. They’d gone to school together, played college baseball together, and served in Vietnam together. And when they both returned to River Falls after serving, Harry took over the family hardware store and Hank had tagged along. He’d been working there for over fifty years now.

  “Think it’s time for a new one?” Jack nodded his chin up at Hank.

  “A new what?” Hank asked, replacing the cap on his head.

  “A new cap. That one’s gotta be a thousand years old by now.” Jack chuckled.

  “Are you kidding me? Never. That’s when.” Hank shook his head. “Haven't I told you the story of how I got it?” the old veteran asked.

  Only about a hundred times, Jack thought.

  “Carlton Fisk handed me this cap right after batting practice before game six of the ‘75 World Series.” Hank was getting worked up from the memory. “Fisk had been hitting the ball so badly he pulled the cap right off his head and shoved it in my hands, saying he needed to change his luck. He changed his luck alright and hit the game winning home run that night in extra innings.” He headed out of the room. “When am I getting rid of it, pfft…gonna be buried in this thing,” he muttered under his breath as he left.

  Jack smiled and turned his attention back to the books in front of him. He had moved back to River Falls just before his father’s death six months earlier. He’d just finished his tour in Afghanistan and had been submitting applications to various businesses in the Hartford area, where he’d planned to move once someone hired him. His father’s death had meant that either he or his sister would need to take over the hardware store that’d been in the family for three generations. His sister Beth wasn’t an option, she was due in just a few weeks with her first child. So, it had fallen on Jack to take over. It wasn’t what he’d wanted for himself, but here he was.

  But now he was wracking his brain, trying to figure out where the business stood financially. From Jack’s view, the business was losing money and had been for a while. Amazon and the nearby Walmart hadn’t helped matters. His dad had been a people person more than a businessman. He was the type to allow customers to buy on credit, the only credit being that he knew them, often resulting in large unpaid tabs. That particular business model wouldn’t be sustainable going forward. He needed to figure out how to save the business…that is, if he could save it.

  Claire pulled the ren
tal car into the driveway and studied the house in front of her. It was the same house; it was just that she was expecting it to be surrounded by fluffy white snow. Instead, leaves covered the ground, lots of them. Which when mixed with the recent rain had turned into a soupy, leaf-sludge. At least as far as she could tell from the streetlamps above, the sun had set hours ago. It was dark. From what she could see of the house, it was adorable. She couldn’t wait to get inside.

  She grabbed two of the four suitcases from the car and slung her laptop bag over her shoulder, making her way to the door. Once inside, she fumbled around for a light switch, finally flooding the entry hall with light. She dropped all her bags and looked around. From the entryway she could see into the dining room, the kitchen, the living room and down the hall to the bedrooms.

  She flipped on the wall switch for the living room and let out a little squeal. The focal point of the room was an enormous fireplace with a white mantel flanked by two wall sconces. Throw pillows in different shades of blue, covered the cream-colored couch. Two cream colored slipper chairs stood on each side of the fireplace; soft blue blankets draped over their backs. Positioned in the middle, a painted blue coffee table sat. Built-in bookcases, stuffed with books and knickknacks, stood on each side of the fireplace. A beautiful area rug nearly covered the hardwood floor. It was downright cute and cozy. Claire was already picturing herself sitting in front of a roaring fire, writing incredible material for upcoming blog posts.