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ChapterThree
Erin unlockedthe Cherry Creek Reserve clubhouse and scooted inside before Darlene Richardson and her flock of loyal party elves spotted her. With the neighborhood Christmas party only one week away and her co-host Mrs. Richardson down with a nasty cold, Erin had taken matters into her own hands and went to look inside the clubhouse storage closet. She had so many great ideas for this year’s bash—ideas her co-host Darlene had poo-pooed—and she wanted to see what they had on hand to spice up the boring potluck Darlene had insisted they throw yet again.
She still smarted when thinking back to their one and only design meeting before Darlene had crashed hard with a cough and a cold and put herself to bed. If Mrs. Richardson had any idea how many hours Erin had devoted to planning the party and the excitement she’d quashed with her bah-humbug attitude, she might have changed her mind about all the fun activities Erin had proposed.
Who wouldn’t want to participate in Christmas Carol karaoke? Or take some memorable pictures in a makeshift photo booth? Or mix things up with a lively secret Santa gift exchange? Mrs. Richardson, for one. And her gaggle of gray-haired girlfriends all stepped right in line, even though more than one of them had visibly brightened at Erin’s suggestions.
Darlene Richardson had been CCR’s social chairwoman for going on seven years straight. In Darlene’s mind, length of tenure outstripped sheer enthusiasm and creative vision every season of the year. Darlene’s my-way-or-the-highway approach to fun had intimidated the residents away from considering a better alternative.
Erin walked through the common area, envisioning the party she’d planned in her head. A microphone and stage in the corner. The neighborhood Christmas tree bursting with festive lights and sparkling ornaments and the Christmas pickle ornament hidden somewhere inside—another fun contest Darlene had mocked. A hot chocolate bar on one end of the kitchen counter and a signature mocktail station at the other. A table by the window for the gingerbread house decorating contest. She glanced longingly at the mantle above the fireplace where she’d planned to hang the baby photo collage she’d already started creating for all the residents to guess who was whom.
“Stupid Darlene and her stupid ugly Christmas sweater contest,” Erin muttered under her breath. With most of the residents in their seventies, half of their winter wardrobes would easily classify as ugly. And really, how many years could Mr. Granger walk away with the prize by wearing the sweater his wife had knitted with a stuffed reindeer attached to the front?
Erin stopped short when her conscience started stinging, a phenomenon that happened whenever her mean-spirited attitude reared its ugly head. She adored Mr. and Mrs. Granger—and his reindeer sweater deserved to win every year. Outside of her social committee pigheadedness, Darlene Richardson was one of the most accomplished women Erin had ever met. Even if the party was boring, at least Darlene had agreed to continue with Erin’s suggestion from last year that they collect toys for the needy children. That was something to feel grateful for.
Erin ducked into the closet when she heard the front door open, feeling foolish for hiding from a bunch of people more than twice her age. When she recognized the telltale sound of Liza Fletcher humming loudly and chewing gum, she flung the closet door open wide so it wouldn’t appear as if she was sneaking around.
“Whatcha doing?” Liza asked when Erin dragged a folded cardboard box out of the closet and into the main room.
“I’m going through the leftover Christmas decorations to see what we can use for the party.”
Liza sputtered and waved her hand in the air. “Why bother? Those parties are such a drag.”
“Not for my lack of trying,” Erin said, and then wished she’d kept her mouth shut. Liza and Darlene were friends from way back. Even though they sometimes fought like sisters, deep down they were tight as ticks.
“I know that, honey.” Liza patted Erin on the shoulder. “So does everybody else. But some things around here are harder to change than the weather.”
Erin didn’t trust herself to get drawn into a discussion about Mrs. Richardson, so she abruptly changed the subject. “What are you doing here?”
Liza spun her key fob around her finger and chomped her wad of gum, sprinkling the stale air with the scent of spearmint. Although eighty-two, Liza had energy and sass to rival Gram’s. “I can’t find my yoga mat. I thought maybe I’d left it here after class last week. I was in a hurry to get out of here before Harry Hafner got a hold of my ear.”
Erin choked back a laugh. “You didn’t want to talk to Mr. Hafner?”
“That man …” Liza shook her body as if she had a chill. “He’s got a way of looking at me like he’s seeing me naked—and I’m not a prude who doesn’t mind catching the eye of a nice gentleman. But Mr. Hafner isnota gentleman. Anyway, I thought maybe I’d hightailed it out of here and left my mat by mistake.”
“I haven’t seen it, but take a look around.”
“I bet that old clod took it with him so he could sniff it whenever he wanted,” Liza said as she wandered away.
Erin closed her eyes and tried to snuff out the visual of Mr. Hafner holding and smelling Liza’s yoga mat like a woman in his arms. Too late—the image had already formed. She cringed and brought her attention back to the box.
She rifled through bent and broken centerpieces, dented ornaments, and a pile of used candles. “Why do they keep this stuff?” she mumbled, shoving the box away and returning to the closet. She hefted another box into her arms and carried it to the kitchen, unfolded the flaps and stared inside. “What in the world is this?”
“What’s what?” Liza asked, coming around the corner empty handed.
“This book.” Erin carefully pulled the book from the box and stared at the forest green cover, running her fingertips over the mistletoe imprint under the title. “Once Upon a Christmas Kiss. It’s so beautiful.”
“I’ve never seen that before.”
The binding creaked as Erin peeled back the cover and exposed the pages to the light. “It looks like a diary.” She skimmed the inscription on the first page. “No, it’s a story. A love story written by Miss Chambers.”
Liza tilted her furrowed brow. “The old headmistress at Cherry Creek Academy?”
“Yes. I think I remember hearing about this when I was a student at the boarding school. I thought it was just a make-believe legend.”
“A make-believe legend about what?”
Erin read the dedication. “Miss Chambers wrote her parents’ love story down for a friend. See the inscription?”
