Warming My Winter Heart
Michelle Cornish
Publication date: November 22nd 2020
Genres: Adult, Comedy, Contemporary, Romance
You can’t run from love forever . . .
When Lexi Blair comes home to Little City from LA for Christmas, she gets the surprise of her life—the ex-fiancé she thought was dead is very much alive and wants her back!
It’s Christmas Eve and Lexi’s seen a ghost. Or . . . she thought he was a ghost until her mom admits to faking his death so Lexi would come home for Christmas.
After a humiliating run-in with her ex—which results in Lexi disowning her mother—she hides out at her best friend’s tree farm, babysitting a nameless puppy while her friend and hubby tend to a family emergency.
But farm life comes with a few perks Lexi isn’t expecting—mainly a hunky farmhand who’s helping Lexi run the place until her friends return.
While Lexi ran from Little City, John ran to it, and she quickly learns he’s healing from past hurts of his own.
Can Lexi and John stop running before it’s too late?
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EXCERPT:
Before long, Mom has dinner on the table, and when we’re seated, she says grace. Mom’s always loved going to church on Christmas Eve, but after her big fight with Aunt Flora, she started going every Sunday and doing things like saying grace.
Dad gives me a fully loaded, sideways look that says, “Yeah, your mother still hasn’t talked to your aunt and we still do these things to make it okay in her eyes.” I give him a nod. Does he know what they fought about that Christmas? He took a misdirected punch while he and Ian pulled Mom and her sister apart. That was before Ian became the biggest boob on the planet. Ugh.
“Oh, Lexi, I almost forgot.” Mom draws my attention back to the present. She grabs a box from the kitchen. “I got Christmas crackers.” Ooh. Seems hardly worth it for the three of us, but I do love Christmas crackers. Their gold and silver foil shines as Mom hands one to Dad and me then places one next to her own plate.
I look inside the cracker for the pull tab and grip it firmly then cross my arms, offering the Christmas cracker to Mom on my right and reaching for Dad’s cracker with my right hand.
“Ready?” Mom says. I’m transported back in time as I nod then Mom issues her standard Christmas cracker instructions. “On three. One . . . two . . . three!”
We all pull hard on our crackers against each other and our three little crackers pop and snap while bits of ripped paper scatter across the table. If Mom and Dad had a cat, it would have run for cover.
“Ooh, look,” Mom says. “I got a magnifying glass.” An urge to make a snarky comment about Mom’s eyesight and “how did the Christmas elves know?” pops into my head, but I let it go. I just got here, no need to start a fight just yet.
I check the table for my prize while Dad holds up a giant sparkly paperclip. “Not sure what this is about,” he says.
“It’s a bookmark, dear.” Mom touches Dad’s hand as she says it. She must have splurged on the premium crackers that encourage you to spend more money by showing you on the back of the package what you’ll get.
Something shiny catches my eye on the floor. “Ooh,” I say, leaning over in my chair to pick up my prize. “I got a pen.” I hold it up like it’s some kind of trophy. At least it’s something useful. I place it on the table right next to the fuschia paper crown that also spewed forth from the Christmas cracker.
“Put on your crown.” Mom flutters her hand in my direction. She’s already wearing hers. Dad somehow “accidentally” ripped his, so it won’t stay on his head. Lucky guy. I put on the crown. My cheeks burn a bit, and I feel like I’m ten again—the last year I remember actually liking these silly crowns. I scan the table hoping a bottle of wine has materialized in the last few minutes. Nope.
Author Bio:
Michelle Cornish is a recovering CPA with a passion for stories. Writing mostly romance and women's fiction with strong female heroines, Michelle's books often include nods to her former life as a CPA. When Michelle’s not writing, she’s hanging out with her two boys and husband in the beautiful Okanagan Valley, BC, Canada.
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