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  Let your traditions remain strong,

  and may a bit of childhood innocence find its way

  into your holiday this year.

  Wishing you and your loved ones

  a very Merry Christmas.

  Acknowledgments

  Special thanks to senior editor Eileen Rothschild for helping bring this fun story to the page. To the whole St. Martin’s Press team … thank you for working so well together. You always come through at every stage of the process, from the beautiful cover and the amazing graphics to distribution, promotion, and marketing to make Dear Santa a success. I’m so excited about this book. It was such a fun one to write.

  To Kevan Lyon, my amazing agent, thank you for your support, and for believing in me and the stories I write. This journey is so much more with you at my side. I appreciate all you do to enable me to live this dream.

  Thank you to Lisa Coleman for her tireless support, and for extending her hand following my accident in the snow resulting in a ruptured Achilles tendon that required surgery, and helping me stay on track despite the crazy physical therapy schedule. Thank you for helping with the fun Dear Santa letters at the beginnings of the chapters. Your experience with children brought real life to those letters.

  And to those who helped me daily behind the scenes: Andrew, Mom aka Miss Bettie to my friends, Dr. Teasdall and my PT Mark, Marie, Dana Beth, Dad and Greta, and my furry boys, Dakota and Sarge–thanks for the brainstorming, beta reads, for getting me back on my feet before my book signings began, the snowy rescue, girl talk, cheerleading, being a sounding board, boosting me up when things went sideways, filling your little free library with my books, snuggles, giggles, and celebrations. Writing this novel would not have been nearly as satisfying without y’all’s help and fellowship.

  AND TO ALL OF YOU READING THIS ~ THANK YOU!

  Chapter One

  Dear Santa,

  It’s me, Chrissy, again. I’m still being good. I’m going to have a Christmas tree in my room. You can put my presents there so I don’t have to wait until Daddy wakes up Christmas morning. He sleeps way too late. Be careful on the stairs.

  Chrissy

  Angela Carson prided herself on keeping things simple, like coffee, for example. She made her own. No K-cups or fancy electronic gadgets. Just a good old-fashioned automatic drip pot. The same one that she’d had in her college dorm days. No exotic flavored coffee either—just the local grocer’s brand.

  She used the same simplicity when it came to her store, Heart of Christmas, located in the old lighthouse at the edge of town where the road curved hard to the right, hugging the coastline near the jetty. And not just any lighthouse, but the one where her great-great-grandfather had worked until the day he died.

  When her grandmother, affectionately called Momma Grace, died she’d left the family heirloom with all its charm to Angela, along with the beach house she’d grown up in, which was on the adjacent oceanfront property. And even though the lighthouse had been decommissioned long ago, it still sported its original daymark, a unique harlequin-like diamond pattern, adding a touch of whimsy among the sun-bleached pastel-colored beach houses in the surrounding area.

  Beachcombers came in droves year-round to Pleasant Sands, North Carolina, because the jetty pumped up the ocean waves, allowing for huge deposits of shells. Shell seekers spent hours rooting through the piles and piles of colorful treasures.

  Small prize shells, like the colorful coquinas, augers and tiny olive shells, could be found among larger shells such as clams, scallops, occasional whelks and Scotch bonnets, which were always a keeper.

  The bounty brought people back again and again. And with that came a steady flow of customers.

  Thankful was how Angela felt about all of those shell-seeking customers, and her dedicated staff. But today Heart of Christmas was closed so she and her staff could enjoy the holiday with their families, despite the fact that her competition had chosen to stay open on Thanksgiving Day.

  Angela gulped a cup of coffee to chase the bitter taste in her mouth. Christmas Galore? There wasn’t a single thing sincerely Christmassy about that store.

  She opened the large glass 27-by-40-inch frame that protected her message-of-the-day board on the street side of Heart of Christmas. Locals said they enjoyed the local facts she posted there, which was nice because she loved posting them, and changed them at least weekly … more when the mood struck her.

  With the canvas tool bucket next to her, she pulled out a few wet wipes and cleared yesterday’s message, leaving a shiny black surface with just the words DID YOU KNOW? in bright red along the top.

  She grabbed a wide chalk paint marker in royal blue and wrote out the message of the day, switching up colors to make it look festive.

  DID YOU KNOW?

  In 1710, Edward Teach, aka Blackbeard the Pirate, spent Thanksgiving in Pleasant Sands as a guest of the owners of the Topside Tavern, the Collins family, on Checker Street. Thirty years old, his table manners weren’t the best, but he gave a gold coin to each child there.

  HAPPY THANKSGIVING

  She stepped back to proofread for spelling, squinting against the bright sun. Last year she’d had to break out her winter coat on Thanksgiving but today the sun shone as brilliantly as if it were an end-of-season summer day.

  Angela’s phone began playing “Jailhouse Rock,” the ringtone for her lawyer sister, Marie. “Hey, Marie.”

  “Are you busy?”

  “Just finished switching out my message at the shop.”

  “I can’t believe I didn’t think of this,” Marie said, “but Brad is asking about Momma Grace’s oyster dressing. I forgot to ask you to make it. Do you have time? Apparently it’s more important to Brad than the turkey.”

  “I thought that was expected,” Angela said. “I made it this morning.”

  “You’re the best sister.”

  Angela heard the whoosh of relief. It wasn’t until just a couple years before Momma Grace died that she’d finally trusted Angela with that recipe—sort of the official hand-off of the legacy. Just like the store had been.

  “I have another favor to ask too. Can you zip over to the Crabby Coffee Pot and pick up an order for me? It’s already paid for. It’ll save a trip out for Brad.”

  “Sure. I can do that.” Not a fan of fancy brews, Angela hadn’t been to the new coffee shop, even though it was practically across the street from Heart of Christmas. From the front door she could see their sign: a bright red crab with its open claw waving to the patrons below as he balanced on a blue speckled coffeepot. “As soon as I get your coffee, I’ll get the stuff from the house and head your way.”

  “Have I told you lately that you’re my favorite sister?”

  “I’m your only sister.” Angela laughed. “But that does make me feel a little better about letting you do all the work on these big holiday meals.”

  “You know I love doing it,” Marie said.

 
Marie wouldn’t stop at just dinner for the family either. Right after they ate she’d start welcoming guests for her Holiday Warm-up, an annual event with an open invitation to all of Angela’s and Brad’s customers and vendors, along with neighbors and friends. People would come and go for hours, noshing on delectable desserts and getting ready for the holiday season. Angela was exhausted just thinking about it.

  “That I do. I’ll see you in a while.” Angela ended the call and tucked her phone into her back pocket.

  She crossed the beach road and cut through the parking lot toward the small row of colorful storefronts, each a different shade of blue, peach, yellow and green.

  To her surprise, the Crabby Coffee Pot was as busy today as any workday.

  The front door had been propped open to take advantage of the mild weather. As she got closer to the bright yellow front door the aroma of fresh-brewed coffee wafted out into the parking lot and mingled with the smell of bacon from the diner down the way, making her hungry.

  Bright blue nautical ropes herded the customers to the counter to place their orders in a line that wrapped around twice like a giant snake. She let herself be nudged along, thankful that at least the line was moving.

  People stepped up to the register, recited their order and then left with a lift in their step before even taking the first sip of the caffeinated concoction. Some of those drinks were quite pretty, with their whipped cream, sprinkles and all.

  She was tempted to treat herself to one.

  Other customers were picking up orders too, some of them quite large. Angela suddenly found herself hoping Marie hadn’t ordered so much that Angela wouldn’t be able to walk home with it. It wouldn’t surprise her one bit. Marie was her complete opposite, going whole hog on everything she did. No telling how many people would pass through her sister’s house this afternoon and evening. Angela would stay just long enough to slip out when the house got crowded.

  Across the way a dark-haired man reading The Wall Street Journal at a two-topper caught her attention. His watch glimmered beneath the edge of his perfectly tailored suit. Crisp ocean-blue cuffs peeked from beneath his sleeve a perfect half-inch. He looked the type to have money to spare. There were quite a few of his kind in Pleasant Sands since all those high-end condos had been built near the marina.

  She’d take her weathered beach house any day, but these transplants were bringing new things to the area. Like this shop, for instance. Most of them were partial-year residents who closed the doors of their condos at the end of the season and disappeared until spring.

  Her eyes followed the line of the man’s sharply creased dress pants to his leather loafers. Nice shoes said a lot about a man. So many of the beach guys around here opted for sneakers or flip-flops year-round. That drove her nuts. Didn’t they know grown-ups were supposed to wear real shoes?

  She lifted her gaze, to see him looking directly at her. Their eyes locked. Even from here she could tell his were blue. As blue as the starched button-down dress shirt he wore. And for a moment she felt unable to look away.

  Please tell me he didn’t notice that I was checking him out.

  But the slight lift at the corner of his mouth said he’d definitely noticed. She managed a smile, certain her cheeks were red.

  Her phone rang. Thankful for the distraction, she dug for her phone and answered. “Hi, Marie. I’m in line to pick up your order. It’s really busy.”

  “I appreciate you picking that up for me,” Marie said.

  Angela could tell she was on speaker. She could just picture Marie multitasking in her kitchen. “I don’t mind. What’s up?”

  “Can I borrow that gravy carafe I gave you for Christmas last year too?”

  “Sure, I’ll pick up the carafe when I go home to get the dressing. I’ll see you in a little while.”

  “Good. I’ve got all of our favorites. I love tradition.”

  “Me too. I wouldn’t miss it.” Heart of Christmas had been tradition too. Only, that might not be the case for long. Angela’s gut ached at the thought.

  “What would I do without you?” Marie said. “You’re an angel.”

  “Aren’t all sisters angels-in-waiting?” Angela remembered those words of comfort from their mom. It was the only thing about her mother she still remembered.

  “Oh great, like that’s not pressure,” Marie said with a heavy sigh.

  “I’ll talk to you in a little bit.” Angela ran her hand through her hair, trying not to give into the temptation to look back at that guy again. But by the time the next customer had walked away with their coffee and pastries, she found herself drawn back in his direction. Nothing nonchalant about that.

  Thankfully, his newspaper seemed to have his full attention. As she looked closer, she realized he didn’t really have that fancy-condo boat-guy look. Didn’t have the weathered skin, or remnants of the sun lightning his hair, the way those guys did. Maybe he wasn’t from around here at all.

  “Next!” a brisk shout came from across the counter.

  Angela felt a thump on her shoulder.

  “That’s you,” the teenage girl behind her said as she almost pushed Angela off balance.

  “Sorry.” Angela lunged toward the counter, glancing back at Blue-eyes one last time. He was smiling at her.

  She managed an awkward finger wave then turned before he saw the hot rush of embarrassment racing up her chest.

  “May I help you?” The barista’s words carried an edge that didn’t even require a finger snap to get her attention.

  Angela cleared her throat to place her order, then managed another quick glance, but he’d already moved on.

  “Um, yes. Sorry.” Somehow a plain coffee seemed way too ordinary after the long wait. “I’ll have what she just ordered.”

  In a flash there was a sparkly paper cup with a peppermint-striped sleeve in front of her. Steam rising from the top, which reminded her of the other reason she preferred to make her own coffee: so she could sip it without burning the first layer of skin off of her lips.

  “Whipped cream?” It was almost a threat the way the barista waved the shiny silver can.

  “Why not? Go wild.” Angela watched the sugary sweet confection stack into a swirly peak, followed by a toss of chocolate sprinkles and a cherry right in the middle. At least the whipped cream should cool down the coffee a little.

  “Pretty.” Angela handed over a ten-dollar bill.

  As the woman counted back her change, Angela remembered the reason she was even here in the first place. “I’m sorry. I’m here to pick up an order for Marie Watterman too.”

  “Of course you are.” The girl standing behind Angela propped a hand on her hip and cocked her head, checking her watch as if she were late for something.

  The barista shoved a fancy blue sack toward her. “Already paid for.”

  Angela wrangled the bag, trying to maneuver it and not spill her coffee. The bag was so large it wouldn’t even fit in the overhead compartment of an airplane. And it was heavy.

  The barista craned her neck past Angela. “Next.”

  Angela left with barely enough change to satisfy the bell ringer standing on the sidewalk, but she dropped the coins and dollars into the kettle anyway. “Merry Christmas.”

  “You too. Thank you.”

  Despite his snow-white beard, Santa’s hands looked strong, and even this late in November he had a tan. Probably a young surfer earning a few extra bucks to make it to the next big waves. Lots of locals, especially the fishermen and surfers, had tans late into the year. Angela’s brother-in-law, Brad, was like that too, from being out on construction sites. He was successful enough now that he could sit in the office and never swing a hammer again, but he loved the physical part of the job, and his crews loved him for that.

  The growth spurt in Pleasant Sands had been very good for his business.

  Not so much for hers. Quite the opposite, in fact.

  She stopped to get a better grip on the heavy bag, and then took anot
her sip of her coffee. She had to admit it was pretty good coffee. She could see how people got hooked on it.

  As she walked to the end of the strip mall heading home, she noticed the handsome stranger on his phone leaning against the open door of a shiny red sports car.

  She smiled and waved, her stomach whirling, but he didn’t seem to notice her. Too bad; she wouldn’t have minded a quick conversation with him.

  She crossed the street. Her old beach house could use a new coat of paint this spring. The once beachy, deep grayish-blue called Nantucket Fog had faded to more of a rainy-day gray, making the pewter shutters almost disappear. She knew she should’ve gone with the brick-red shutters even though Brad said it wasn’t a beachy combination; at least the house wouldn’t be fading into the backdrop right now.

  She wondered where the stranger would be eating dinner tonight. She wished she’d thought to look at his license plate. Was he one of the new condo residents who had moved into the area, or was he only passing through on his way somewhere else?

  Wouldn’t it be funny if he ended up being one of the guests at her sister’s Holiday Warm-up tonight? she thought. It could happen. This big old world had a way of seeming small most of the time, with everyone intersecting in one way or another.

  What was it people said about that small-world experiment? That whole six-degrees-of-separation theory? That we’re all connected in an average of just six hops among family, acquaintances or friends.

  When Angela got back to her beach house, she stopped and put the bag in the front seat of her car, and then ran up the stairs to her front door.

  She straightened its beachy wreath. A ring of artificial fern looked soft beneath the bevy of starfish, sand dollars and assorted shells she’d collected on the beach.

  As soon as she opened the door, parsley, sage and thyme from the dressing filled the air. She gathered the casserole dish and the carafe for Marie.

  She loved spending Thanksgiving with Marie’s family, and now that there was an itsy-bitsy chance she might run into the handsome stranger there, it was even more exciting.