The trouble with christm.., p.1
The Trouble With Christmas: A holiday novella.,
p.1
“THE TROUBLE WITH CHRISTMAS”
A FIRESIDE NOVELLA
TIA LOUISE
CONTENTS
“The Trouble with Christmas”
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Trouble
Prologue
Fearless
Prologue
Books by Tia Louise
About the Author
“THE TROUBLE WITH CHRISTMAS”
BY TIA LOUISE
A cozy mystery has broken out in Oceanside.
Joselyn’s Nativity scene is being vandalized, and Daisy, Scout, and the gang team up to catch a thief.
In the meantime, Spencer still struggles with his dark past, and the kids just want to play football.
Don’t worry, there’s a nice dash of spice to heat up your reader, and everyone has a very Merry Christmas.
Enjoy!
CHAPTER 1
“TWAS THE NIGHT BEFORE THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS…”
SPENCER
“Go far, Ironman!” The little girl’s high-pitched voice is the split-second warning to guard my nuts as she throws a short but near-perfect spiral right at my crotch.
“Shit,” I hiss, bending down to catch the football before it hits me.
“Ironman said a swear.” The preschooler crosses her arms, arching an eyebrow.
“You have to be sure he’s looking, Melody.” Daisy, her mother and my former mentee, reaches for the pink football I’m holding. “Sorry about that.”
“He caught it!” Melody argues, marching closer to where we stand, her blonde ringlets bouncing around her four-year-old shoulders. “You’re getting better.”
Daisy fights a grin, and I relent. She’s a funny kid, decked out in a pink tutu and red and green leggings, a crown on her head, and light-up tennis shoes on her feet. The “quarterback princess” inherited her football addiction from her NFL-star father, and she firmly believes everyone should be ready to “go far” at all times—her version of “go long.”
“It’s okay, I’ve got it.” Instead of giving the ball to her mother, I toss it underhanded to the princess.
She catches it with both arms and a little grunt, grasping it to her chest. It looks like it bounced off her small nose, and I flinch, actually feeling worried.
“You okay?” I ask, but she shakes it off as she runs out the door.
“Ollie, Go far!” she calls to the boys riding up on their bikes.
“Your football skills are improving.” Daisy teases me as she rounds the counter in her antiques shop to where I’m unboxing a selection of Fenton art glass. She’s so petite, her pregnant stomach seems bigger than she is. “Don’t tell me you’ve been practicing.”
“I have not been practicing.” I have no interest in football, but I do care about my well-being. “It’s self-defense.”
Daisy loses her battle against the giggles and snorts a laugh. “Sorry! My sinuses have been all messed up since my third trimester began.”
“Shouldn’t you be resting?”
“Shouldn’t you be more relaxed now that you’ve married my cousin?”
“My disinterest in organized sports is not an indication of rigidity. It’s simply a matter of preference, and I would prefer it if you kept that tiny tornado on a leash.”
“Now, Spence, don’t be grumpy.” Daisy slides a hand in the crook of my arm and wrinkles her pixie nose up at me. “Nobody’s calling you a square because you prefer antiques to football.”
“I didn’t say they were, and you know I despise that nickname. How much harder is it to add the R?”
“I can’t believe it!” The door slams open and in a whirl of fiery red hair and flashing blue eyes, the love of my life appears, causing my stomach to tighten. “Now Casper is missing!”
“The friendly ghost?” Daisy turns as her cousin, a.k.a., my wife, closes the space between us.
“The King of India.” Joselyn stops at my side, rising on her toes to plant a brief kiss on my lips. I slide my hand along her lower back managing to kiss the side of her head as she returns to her cousin. “From the nativity scene.”
We’ve been married less than a year, and I’m still getting used to having her with me always, being able to touch her this way any time I want. It’s a far cry from when I was her employer, and she didn’t sleep with clients.
“Yesterday one of the lambs disappeared,” Joselyn continues. “The day before that, Tobias was gone…”
“Which one is Tobias?” Daisy looks up from the art glass she’s unwrapping.
“The donkey.” Joselyn shakes her head. “Honestly, Daisy, it’s like this is your first Christmas in Oceanside.”
“How do you know so much about it? You didn’t grow up here either.”
“But I designed the nativity scene every Christmas starting sophomore year of high school. Remember?”
“No, because I lived with my dad in Columbia until I was a senior.”
“But you visited every year. How did you not know I did all the Christmas arrangements for both towns? I made a lot of money doing that. It’s how I paid for college.”
My wife’s first passion, before massage therapy, was designing floral topiaries.
“Who do you think it is?” Daisy carries a wooden tray of the vintage glass to a hutch in the corner of her store.
“We don’t have any idea,” Joselyn sighs. “Could be teenagers playing a prank. And if it is, they should be ashamed. Nativity is a tradition, and the old people really get into it. They’ll be heartbroken if we don’t have the full cast for the Christmas celebration. Not only that, those figures are ancient. I’d think a couple of antiques dealers would be more upset about it.”
“Give me five minutes, Sly, I only just heard about it when you walked in the door.” Her pregnant cousin returns to where we’re standing.
“What can I do?” I put my hands on my wife’s waist. “I’ll offer a reward, have security cameras installed, you name it.”
Her dark brows furrow. “I guess we could offer a reward. I don’t think there’s time for security cameras.” She exhales heavily. “It makes me not want to put out the holy family. This is pretty.” She lifts a deep purple vase from the box, glancing up at me. “Is this for Daisy?”
“Ah, no.” I start to respond, when Daisy interrupts me.
“What is this, Spencer?” She takes the vase from her cousin, before turning wide eyes to me.
The elation in her tone makes my collar tight. I’m not accustomed to being caught in a selfless act unless it’s for my wife, and then I’m usually rewarded in the bedroom.
“It’s not for the store.”
“I know what it’s for, and I think it’s very sweet.”
“What’s very sweet?” Joselyn looks from her to the vase to me, but we’re interrupted by the door opening and Daisy’s husband striding into her shop with their daughter on his hip.
“I’ve got an idea for a trap. We’re going to catch those thieves in the act.” His brow is lowered, and he’s channeling all his football-hero-turned-Hollywood-star magnetism. “You with us, Spencer?”
“We’re going to save Baby Jesus!” Melody cries, pumping her child-sized pink football over her head. “You with us, Ironman?”
I exhale a groan, all set to protest when I notice two boys following behind them. Oliver is the son of Joselyn’s best friend Courtney, and when they briefly lived with me a year ago, he and I became friends.
He walks straight to where I’m standing and puts his hand in mine. The unexpected gesture softens my irritation, as I happen to know he started the “Ironman” moniker. My wife says it’s because I’m rich and arrogant (her words), and I saved Ollie and his mother (and my wife) from the bad man.
That’s not exactly how it happened, but I’ll leave the details to Ollie’s mom. This little boy has been through so much, I can live with being called Ironman in his presence.
“Mr. Scout said somebody’s stealing the nativity characters.” He looks up at me like I have all the answers. “If anybody can stop them, you can.”
“I’m not so sure about that, pal.” I pat his shoulder. “From what I’ve heard, we have no suspects.”
“I went to the store and bought one of those nanny-cams.” Scout goes to where Daisy is still beaming at me over the purple vase. “I’ll install it in Mary and point it at the manger, then we’ll set out Baby Jesus and wait.”
“It’s a great plan, but Spencer can’t help you right now.” Daisy puts her arm around her husband’s waist. “He has to take this vase over to Ms. Nelly’s before supper.”
“Is that so?” I arch an eyebrow at her. “What if Ms. Nelly has guests? It is a holiday weekend, after all.”
“I happen to know her daughter is in Charleston until tomorrow, so she’s all alone at the house.”
“How do you know that?”
“I have my ways.”
I have no doubt. Daisy has always been protective of her older customers.
“And Ms. Nelly’s not getting any younger,” she adds.
“Ms. Nelly Rushmore?” Joselyn takes the smoky-purple vase and turns it in her hands. “What’s her interest in this?”
“She’s been collecting that pattern since she got married sixty years ago, and her collection is almost complete—except for a few pieces Spencer found at an estate sale in Newport.” Daisy takes the vase an
“Your cousin’s pregnancy hormones are surging,” I quip.
“Well, aren’t you something?” My wife tilts her head, wrinkling her cute nose up at me. “Is it valuable?”
“Only sentimentally.” I take the bag from Daisy. “And your cousin assured me I’d be getting the entire collection once the old woman dies. I have a vested interest.”
Daisy waves her hand at me. “Don’t listen to a word he says. This purple Fenton art glass is very valuable. You could probably get upper hundreds for it, maybe even a thousand, since it’s rare, don’t you think?”
“A thousand dollars?” Joselyn’s eyes go wide.
I shake my head. “Only a serious collector would pay that much.”
“Wow, that’s really cool, Spence.” Scout smiles at me, and I’m growing uncomfortable with all this attention. “I always knew you were soft in the middle.”
“I am nothing of the sort.” I growl, but Joselyn rises onto her tiptoes to kiss my cheek.
“I love it when you’re sweet.” Her tone is sultry, and she gives me a naughty wink that makes me ready to postpone everything and take her back to our rented house.
“I’m not sweet.” My voice is low.
“I’ll be the judge of that,” she whispers. “You do your good deed, I’ll help Scout and the kids set the trap for our nativity bandit, and we can discuss your reward tonight.”
“Don’t expect much discussion.” I lean closer to her ear and whisper. “Unless it concerns which position I take you in first.”
“I think such a sweet man should come first tonight.”
My dick stiffens at the image of her on her knees in front of me, but Ollie throws cold water on our dirty discussion.
“It could be more than one bandit, Aunt Sly!” He grabs my hand again. “Then what do we do?”
Clearing my throat, I step back, holding the white bag at my waist. “We’ll contact the sheriff either way. Don’t do anything dangerous.”
“Mr. Tom is in Fireside with Mom. We should call him!” Ollie’s voice is loud, and I can tell he’s excited.
Even though I’m sure Tom would prefer the weekend off from his security-guard duties, I nod. “Good idea. Text your mom and see if he’d like to join the expedition.”
Ollie and Jesse, Scout’s brother’s son, take off for the front of the store, and I pause for one last glance at my gorgeous wife. “Be careful.”
She skips to me and kisses my lips one more time, surrounding me in her warm ginger scent. “We will.”
I’m not so sure. Joselyn has a knack for getting into scrapes. At least I’m somewhat reassured with Scout and possibly Tom on hand, she should be fine until I return.
“Why, Spencer! What a nice surprise. I’ve got my famous eggnog on the stove. Would you like it straight or Irish?” Ms. Nelly gives me a wink as she holds the door open for me.
Her gray hair is gathered in a loose bun at the back of her neck, and her skin is nearly translucent. She’s wrapped in a cranberry-colored crocheted shawl, and her head barely makes it to the center of my chest. Still, her brown eyes are bright, and she moves confidently, if a little slowly.
I don’t have the heart to tell her I detest eggnog as I follow her through her small house that’s stuffed to the gills with antiques. “Would it be possible to have the Irish, hold the nog?”
She shakes her head and waves a hand at me. “Everyone thinks they hate eggnog. I’ll pour you a whiskey and include a sidecar of the nog for you to try. I bet you’ll like it!”
“It’s a deal.” I follow her around a stack of old newspapers as tall as a dresser.
A magazine on top reads Life and has an image of John F. Kennedy on the cover. I don’t deal in vintage publications, but I’m sure it’s worth something. I continue past an ivory pedal organ with a book of Christmas standards on the music desk.
Christmas falls on a Sunday this year, and I know from Joselyn the church is planning an elaborate program. Ms. Nelly’s the organist, which makes her a big part of the show.
She calls me from the kitchen. “What’s that you’re carrying?”
I continue into the small space almost entirely decorated in yellow. “When I was in Newport last week, I stopped by an estate sale on Bailey's Beach—”
“Ahh, I would love to visit that area.” The old woman’s eyes sparkle as she hands me a crystal tumbler of smoky amber liquid. “The Vanderbilts owned property there, didn’t they?”
“Just about all the big names did in the Gilded Age.” I place the bag on her kitchen table so I can take the shot glass of creamy beige eggnog she’s offering me.
“You must’ve loved growing up there. They have the America's Cup every year. Did you ever sail in it?”
“I did not.” My childhood in that posh zip code is not a highlight of my life. “Drake Carrollton didn’t believe in mixing with the neighbors.”
My adopted father suspected everyone was trying to steal from him, and he clutched his riches like the old dragon he was until the day he died, cold and alone. I almost turned out just like him… until Joselyn.
“Well, that’s too bad.” The old woman nods at the shot glass I’m holding. “See what you think.”
I lift the small vial, tilting it side to side. My eyes move to her expectant ones, and I almost don’t recognize myself at this moment. Visiting a spinster organist? Giving her an expensive piece of art glass I could sell for three times what I paid for it? Now I’m sampling her eggnog?
Perhaps my wife is right.
Perhaps I am growing sweet.
Either way, I lift the small cup and let a drop of the thick concoction touch my tongue. The warm essence of creamy nutmeg and vanilla fills my mouth. It’s not entirely unpleasant, so I finish the sample, which makes the small woman beam with pride.
“You like it!” She clasps her hands together, and I shrug.
“It reminds me of warm ice cream.”
She leans forward and whispers, “I use more vanilla than nutmeg. Makes it a little sweeter. I go light on the cloves, and add a touch of ginger for heat. Would you like some more?”
“I’m good.” I hold up my tumbler. “I’m afraid I can’t stay long.”
“Then I should see what you brought me here.” She shuffles around, lifting the white bag and giving it a little shake. “Can I open it now, or do you want me to wait until Christmas?”
Her playfulness makes me smile. “Your call. We’ll be in town through Sunday if you’d like to wait.”
“Perhaps I will. At my age, I don’t get a lot of presents on the big day. All my attention is focused on the youngsters.” She squints an eye at me. “Speaking of which, when can we expect a little red-headed bundle of joy from you two?”
My brow tightens, and I clear my throat. Joselyn warned me all the old ladies would be pestering us to have kids as soon as we were married, but I assumed they would focus their pestering on her.
“I hadn’t really thought about it.” My tone is clipped, and I expect her to drop it.
She doesn’t. Her wrinkled lips twist, and I feel like I’ve been put on the witness stand. “You haven’t thought about it? Surely you’re fulfilling your husbandly duties.”
“Of course I am.” Quite well, I mentally add, not that it’s any of her business. The last thing I expected was to be ambushed about my sex life by a tiny old lady.
“Then you should always be ready. If you’re having sex, you could get pregnant at any time.”
“I’m well aware of that. Joselyn and I are enjoying our time together.” My tone has an “end of discussion” implication.
I should have known it wouldn’t work on this old lady.
“I know, you’re afraid you don’t have what it takes to be a dad.” She presses her lips together and nods like she’s been here before. “Funny thing about men, the young ones never think about it. The old ones think about it too much. Women don’t get that luxury.”
