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Chapter 1
Bear
Heavy snow is blanketing my driveway tonight, and the wind is just beginning to pick up and whip all the white stuff into a frenzy.
Pretty soon, the drifts will swoop halfway up my front steps and the street will be invisible.
But it’s all child’s play to the monstrosity parked out front. The only tires bigger than those on my tow truck belong on a tractor. Not to mention the enormous snowplow I added on the front end. There’s nothing my sweet Snow Angel can’t plow through. Yeah, it’s a sissy nickname for a tow truck, but I dare you to say that to my face.
The small city I live in may appear like a winter wonderland on Christmas Eve. It certainly is that way for everyone who may be tucked snugly into the warm living rooms, next to their Christmas trees and lit fireplaces. But for anyone out there on the roads, it’s a nightmare.
I’m watching the news, and it doesn’t look good.
The local weather girl is telling me the overnight blizzard is going to create white-out conditions on all major roads tonight. Slick surfaces out on the country roads.
After a while, I’m barely registering what she’s saying. So why am I watching this?
The weather she’s describing may be ugly, but she is anything but. Sweet gingerbread, is she beautiful.
I’ve admired her on the television from the comfort of my living room for years.
Our local news station is relatively low key in this small city of about 50,000 people, so they aren’t really uptight about the dress code on Christmas Eve night. Tonight she’s wearing a fitted red sweater with elves all over it, and dangly wreath earrings. And I notice she’s wearing her snowflake scarf. She rotates between that one, a red one with candy canes and a white one with holly berries every winter season. I don’t know shit about fashion, but I take notice of everything when it comes to her.
She’s also wearing black jeans that are nice and tight. The whole ensemble shows off some sweet curves and she’s jutting one hip out as she talks. Her voice feels like my favorite Christmas carol.
“I’m standing outside the Weather Center right now, and as you can see,” the indomitable Mary Reed says as she gestures around, “the snow is already falling pretty heavily and the wind gusts are getting stronger by the minute. I advise everyone to stay off the roads if you can. If you’re not already at your Christmas Eve destinations, I strongly suggest you stay where you are. It’s better to stay safe than to get to that party tonight, folks.”
She ought to take her own advice and wear a coat and a hat outside. But I’m not going to complain about the way her sassy little hip owns its space and holds dominion over me while she’s smiling for the camera. Sometimes I think she should have been a model. But then she wouldn’t live in this city and I’d lose my weather girl. And that would not be acceptable.
Mary Reed’s sleek, shoulder-length brown hair, as always, has been hair-sprayed within an inch of its life. I’ve seen it wild and soft and sexy, falling across my pillow. At least, when I close my eyes at night, I have. When I close my eyes and dream of the perfect woman, it’s Mary Reed’s hair woven between my fingers. Her dark, silky locks are the only ones I imagine feathering across my abs while her soft, thick lips tease their way down…
But that’s a Christmas fantasy. Plenty of eligible bachelors in this city are probably lined up if she’s not already taken. Guys with way more money and more interesting jobs than me.
I turn off the TV and lace up my boots. Pull on my stocking cap and gloves and grab my keys.
As soon as Martha, light of my life, hears the jingle of keys, she comes running.
I open the door and she bounds outside. I have to hustle to open the tow truck door for her, and as soon as I do, she launches herself into the cab. Unlike most of my passengers, like my mom, Martha doesn't require the use of the extra-long running boards I had installed.
I drive the few blocks to my mom’s house, and even in that span of five minutes, the wind is really starting to blow. Snowbanks are creeping up the sides of houses and buildings. Sidewalks are already covered over with sleek white sheets.
And it’s just getting started. Tonight is gonna be a bitch.
Mom opens the door as soon I head up the walk. Martha runs to her. Mom gives Martha a hug even before she puts her arm around her own son’s neck. It’s OK though, that’s the effect Martha has on people.
“Have you eaten? I have soup.”
She’s always looking out for me. She makes too much food for herself and insists on sharing. Hopefully one day she’ll have a bunch of grandkids to focus on instead of trying to fatten me up.
“I’m not coming inside, Ma, I don’t wanna get snow everywhere. Besides Mary Reed says we’re gonna get pounded tonight, so I’m headed out.”
Mom knows me too well and smirks at me. “She’s a cute one, that Mary Reed. You should write her a letter!”
“Ma, come on. I’m not a creep.”
“It’s not creepy! She would love you.” Mom pops over to kiss me and I have to bend down so she can reach my forehead. Then she taps me on the cheek. “Who wouldn’t love this face?”
“Any woman in her right mind?”
“Don’t say such things about my son. You be careful tonight.”
“Always am, Ma. Thanks for taking Martha.”
I say goodbye to my mom, telling her I’ll be back tomorrow for Christmas lunch with her and Martha.
Tonight, I’ve got other things on my mind than women.
Chapter 2
Mary
“Merry Christmas, fellas,” I say as the last of the news crew files out the door. I’ve got a giant red sack full of presents and I’m wearing my favorite green sequined elf hat. I have twelve more hats like this at home, some with faux fur, some bedazzled. I may have an addiction to these things.
I’ve been the chief meteorologist for our middle-market TV station for the past several years, and this is my favorite night of the year to work.
Christmas Eve.
Nothing makes me happier than signing off the nightly news with the annual Santa’s sleigh radar update. I get a huge kick out of picturing thousands of parents trundling their little kids off to bed, citing my radar report.
What I love even more than adding to the Christmas spirit on TV is handing out gifts to the crew.
Because my face is on TV and social media, I receive more gifts from strangers than I care to admit. You would not believe the cards, letters, flowers and sweet messages that show up to the station every day for the anchors and for me, even at a relatively small station such as ours.
But no viewers ever has a care for the people behind the camera. Not to brag, but I’ve taken it upon myself to make that my job.
Every year, I go out and buy a few little things—coffee shop gift cards, woolen socks, hand warmers, coffee mugs—OK, fine, I go completely overboard—and pass them out to everyone working at the station on Christmas Eve.
I’m not telling you this to make you think I’m such a generous person. I’m telling you this so you understand why I don’t get an early enough start on the roads this evening. So you understand how I find myself driving in a snowstorm—against my own advice—trying to get to my friend Jenna’s Christmas Eve party.
Jenna is my boss, our news editor, and also happens to be my best friend. She’s about ten years older than me but has been like a mother to me ever since my mom and dad passed away in a car wreck when I was fresh out of school.
Jenna gave me my first job as a reporter and helped convince the corporate media bigwigs at our parent company to fund my meteorology and atmospheric sciences studies at night.
Jenna took today off from work to get ready for the holiday and even offered to have me over for Christmas Eve tonight. I told her I would think about it. I’m half tempted to hole up in my house with It’s a Wonderful Life and some Chinese takeout. It’s not that I’m antisocial. I love Jenna’s parties. But as I get older, the harder it is to go to holiday parties alone. I’m a bit of an old soul who believes in love at first sight. My parents and grandparents both told me stories about how they knew the moment they met their true loves. They were of a generation that wasted no time.
As yet, there simply has not been any man who’s flipped that switch in me.
So, watching George Bailey and Mary Hatch fall in love in black and white is my Christmas Eve jam in recent years.
