Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 67831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
My name is Caroline "Candy" Cane, I own a country inn, date a man who runs a Christmas tree farm, and my mom's peppermint fudge wins first place at the Reindeer Corners' festival every year. Basically, I'm living every romance-loving girlie's small town dream.
Until a last minute trip to New York City leads to catching my boyfriend banging a Rockette (in full elf costume).
So, when I'm offered a chance to star in a hospitality-themed reality show, I jump at the chance to serve hot cocoa in roller skates on national television.
The only problem? The smoking hot, broody, perfectly bossy producer, Leo...
He's everything I've ever wanted in a man, but he's also my new boss and completely off-limits.
And that's before we realize our lives--and our pasts--are more intimately intertwined than we could have imagined.
Do I dare make holiday magic with the one man I now know I should never kiss under the mistletoe?
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one
. . .
Candace “Candy” Caroline Cane
A woman living the small town
holiday lover’s dream in rural Vermont,
complete with hot cocoa, sleigh rides,
and…existential angst.
When you’re born and raised in a town named Reindeer Corners, several things are taken for granted…
One: You will LOVE holidays and await the annual Tinsel Time festival with a rabid fervor usually reserved for grandparents awaiting the birth of their first grandchild. (Or a transplant candidate awaiting an organ donor…)
Two: You will develop an addiction to the peppermint cocoa from the country store and crave it fortnightly. (But that’s fine. Everyone in town is addicted, and the store never runs out, not even in the endless twilight of midsummer.)
Three: You will keep the spirit of Christmas all year long and greet every stranger you meet with a cheery smile and a bright, “Welcome to Reindeer Corners, where it’s always the most magical time of the year!”
This is especially true if you work in the tourist industry, which most of us do. There aren’t a lot of job options in rural Vermont. You’re either a farmer, a remote worker, a lumberjack, or one of the many locals catering to the leaf peepers and powder seekers. Two of my three best friends from high school are ski instructors and Kayla, my bestie and I, are innkeepers. Between the two of us, we keep The Reindeer Corners Inn running like a well-oiled, relentlessly festive machine.
And I’m proud of that.
I truly am.
I’m thankful for a fast-paced job that pays well-above minimum wage, my sweet, Christmas-tree-farming boyfriend, my friends, and my loving family.
Everything would be perfect…if it weren’t for the existential dread and thoughts of impending doom.
Even as I’m showing Mr. and Mrs. Templeton a map of the county, circling various points of interest perfect for a crisp December day, inside, I’m spiraling.
My lips say, “Fat Horse Farm has an incredible maple latte and a museum where you can see how the syrup is made,” but my thoughts whisper, This is it. The rest of your life. Giving tourists directions to sugar shacks and snowshoeing trails. Is that okay with you? Does that feel like your purpose? Is it really enough?
I smile and add, “Then you can take the loop through Cavender’s Hollow on your way back to the inn for some amazing mountain views.”
Meanwhile my soul mutters, You could be dead in twenty years. Aunt Candace only made it to fifty-five. Uncle Carl was barely fifty. Heart disease runs in the family. Your one wild and precious life could be halfway over, and what do you have to show for it aside from two “employee of the year” plaques and an obscene number of Christmas sweaters?
I silently remind the voice about my friends, especially Kayla, who is more like my sister, and always has my back. I also have a kick-ass grandmother, who makes me turkey and stuffing sandwiches year-round, and amazing parents. Mom and Dad have never left our small town for more than a long weekend, but when I moved to New York City to get my degree in hotel management, they supported me wholeheartedly.
Even if they were too scared of muggers, subways, and big city rat infestations to come visit…
The inner Voice of Doom makes a smug harumphing noise. I notice Bobby Christmas Williams didn’t make that list. Add being stuck in a lukewarm relationship to the warning signs that your life is going nowhere.
I frown and counter, I was getting around to Chris. Chris is a sweet man with a huge heart. I’m lucky to have someone like him in my life.
The Doom Voice snorts. Are we still pretending you aren’t dying for a man to take you against a wall? Preferably with some hair pulling and dirty talk?
My jaw drops. Inappropriate. Very inappropriate. We’re at work!
Work shmerk. The voice sighs. But sure, any excuse to keep reality at bay. Keep the denial going, and maybe you’ll make it down the aisle before you jump off a cliff.
I clench my jaw. I’m not jumping off a cliff. And I’m not talking to you anymore. Go away, I’m busy.
“Dear? Candy?” Mrs. Templeton says, something in her voice making me suspect this isn’t the first time she’s said my name.
Realizing I’ve been caught wrestling with the void—again—I laugh and adjust the big red bow holding my ponytail in place. “Sorry. I was up late last night helping my mother make fudge for the festival. Still a little spacy this morning. Can I answer any more questions for you? Or fetch a hot cocoa and cookie basket from the kitchen for you to take with you on your adventure?”
Mrs. Templeton smiles, her fears for my sanity apparently allayed. “Oh no, that’s all right. We’ve already had pancakes and pie this morning!”
“Gotta watch the waistline,” Mr. Templeton adds with a laugh, patting the ample belly straining the front of his Santa sweater. “At least a little bit.”