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In the mood for more Christmas romances? Read His Christmas Angel here!
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She has a plan for everything.
Melissa:I always have a plan. And a backup plan. But then my picture-perfect life shattered, leaving me all alone, scrambling to pick up the pieces while still taking care of my newborn baby.
I was done with the drama, heartache, and violence of my past. That’s why I made my sister move with me and my son, Carson, to Christmas, Michigan three years ago. We’ve settled in, and she went and married the sweetest man who loves her endlessly.
I’m doing great, too. Really, I am. I’m just fine. I don’t need a man to make me happy this Christmas, or any other time of year, for that matter. Even if he’s a firefighter. And an ex-military man. And has tattoos and a smile that makes me want to ride his sleigh all night long...
He’s about to turn her world upside down.
Drake:I knew the second she fell into my arms that Melissa was going to be my wife.
She thinks her life is complicated and her past is too big and scary for me to deal with, but she’s wrong. I’m going to need a Christmas miracle to get Melissa to open her heart up again, but I won’t give up.
Melissa and Carson are my family now, and no one is going to take them from me.
CHAPTER ONE
MELISSA
"Ms. Wright? This is Shelly Donaldson from Sugar Plum Daycare."
"Yes? What is it? What's wrong?" My heart is caught in my throat and my stomach drops to the floor. I'm already grabbing my purse and leaving the office in a rush to head over there. A dozen scenarios run through my head about what could have happened to my three and a half-year-old son, Carson.
"There was a tiny little fire—"
"Awhat?!" I shriek as I throw open the door of my car. My hands are trembling so badly I drop my keys twice while trying to get them into the ignition. "Oh my God, oh my God, oh my fucking God," I repeat under my breath.
"It was hardly a fire, really, just a piece of toast that got caught in the toaster oven in the break room, but the fire department had to be called, and—"
"The fire department?" I'm not even sure she heard me, seeing as I'm nearly hyperventilating. I finally get the car started and tear out of the parking lot of the accounting office where I work. With the phone pressed between my ear and my shoulder, my hands shaking and jerking the wheel, and tears blurring my vision, I know I shouldn't be on the road, but it's my son. My whole world. And he could be burning alive! In afire!
A sudden image of my sweet boy on a stretcher with an oxygen mask on while the daycare building erupts into a fireball in the background floods my mind. I step on the gas and swerve around Mable Thatcher's ancient station wagon. She just waves at me like nothing's wrong. Sweet old lady, but whacky to boot.
"Ms. Wright? Melissa? Hello? Did you hear me?" The woman's voice pulls me out of my thoughts, helping to focus my attention on what matters--getting to my son. I didn't hear whatever she was saying, but it doesn't matter.
"I'm almost there," I say in a rush. My heart thrashes in my chest when I see a fire truck and an ambulance parked outside of the daycare.
"Like I said, we had to call the fire department and shut down for the day, as per protocol, but no one was hurt. Well, except the toast!" she jokes. I don't laugh. I don't even give her the courtesy of saying goodbye before I toss my phone onto the passenger seat and rip my car door open.
My heels pound the pavement as I race toward the crowd of parents and children. The left heel breaks off and I hit the ground hard, scraping up my knees. There’s a tear in my pencil skirt that goes halfway up my thigh, but I hardly notice. I jump up, not even feeling the pain, as I continue my mad dash to get to Carson.
Tears stream down my face and it feels like I'm breathing through a straw. My tangled hair whips around my face in the cold December wind, which slices through the thin blouse I'm wearing. I didn't even grab my coat before I left. Again, it doesn't matter. Getting to my child is the only thing on my mind.
I scan the crowd until I see Carson's copper hair and hear his sweet little giggle.
Limping my way through the throng of people, I'm sure I look like a haggard mess, which is totally unlike me. I thrive on being in control and presenting the best version of myself to others. I always have a plan, a routine, a strategy.
But right now, I'm a fucking wreck.
My son is talking to a firefighter who has crouched down to meet him at eye level. I hardly have time to register that before I'm dropping to my knees once more and wrapping my arms around Carson, pulling him into my embrace.
I hug him to my chest, clinging to him as I cry into his hair. His hands wrap around my neck as he hugs me back. God, what if something happened to him? What if the fire was worse? What if I was in a meeting when the daycare called and I couldn't get to him? What if…?
"Mommy! I have friend!"
