Page 24 of Take Me Home for Christmas

“This place is remarkable. I almost feel as if I’m inside a giant holiday snow globe,” Everett remarked.

Kitty laughed. “It’s pretty special.”

“Have you always lived here?”

“Oh gosh, no. Claire and I grew up in Virginia. When Claire’s husband got out of the military, he wanted to start his dental practice in a small town. Coincidentally, a neighbor of his parents wanted someone to take over his dental office here in Chances Inlet and voilà. Tim and Claire ended up back in the town where he grew up. After all, it is the home of second chances.” She gestured to the mural painted on the side of a building proclaiming as much. “She’s been here thirty-five years. I visited often. Especially for holidays.” She gestured. “I mean, come on?”

He nodded. “The only thing missing is snow.”

She shivered. “I got plenty of that in Maine. My husband and I ran an art studio in Kennebunkport. He was a gifted painter.”

“Was?” The journalist in him couldn’t leave well enough alone. Thankfully, Kitty didn’t seem to mind his gentle probing.

“Mm-hmm.” Her smile was wistful but sad. “Yes. I lost him three years ago. Parkinson’s. It was a long goodbye.”

Jealousy clawed at his chest. What he would have given for a chance to say goodbye.

Kitty seemed to sense his sudden mood change and shifted a bit closer. “I confess to having googled you last night. You lost someone dear to you, too.”

He swallowed the boulder in his throat. “I did. Two years ago. At Christmas, in fact.”

She slipped her arm through his. “They keep telling me it’s going to get easier.”

“Didn’t you know? Everybody lies.”

The TideMe Over Inn’s kitchen was bumping again that evening. Elle’s mother hosted breakfast with Santa every year on the Saturday after Thanksgiving. The money from the tickets went to a local youth center sponsored by one of the town’s favorite sons who was a professional football player. The event had become a huge draw since being featured in a national magazine a few years earlier.

Elle tried to stay out of the way as she fixed herself a turkey sandwich for dinner.

“I hope you don’t need an extra Santa tomorrow,” Ryan McAlister said to his mother. “Jane and I have a few things we need to get done while Henry is occupied here.”

Their brother Gavin snorted as he poured half a bag of chips onto his plate. “Uh-huh. I think we all know what things will begettingdone.”

Tatum snickered from across the room where she prepared the dough for her cinnamon rolls. Lois joined in from the coffee bar, where she was putting together the urns for the peppermint hot cocoa the kids would enjoy at the breakfast.

“Boys, please.” Their mother held up a hand as she navigated her mouse over her computer screen with her other one. “I have enough on my plate without having to hear all the details about your sex lives. None of these ads are serving. Dammit.”

The three siblings looked at one another. Their mother rarely swore.

“What ads, Mom?” Elle set her plate down next to the desk where her mom sat.

“These stupid social media ads. I have no idea what I’m doing. No one is clicking on them.”

“What’s with everyone in this town and social media ads?” Elle asked. “Bernice and Paige both mentioned the same issue the other day.”

“It’s because we don’t have a local paper anymore. Or a local magazine,” her mom complained. “We have no place to advertise except social media. And every time I figure something out, they change it up. It’s so frustrating that it’s the only way to promote a business nowadays.”

“Tell me about it,” Tatum added. “I used to always include a coupon in my print ads. It brought a lot of visitors from the beach houses on the island during the summer. Now, I’m lucky if they find me when they come into town on a rainy day.”

“Those dadgum computers are too complicated for me,” Lois grumbled. “Give me a good old-fashioned cash register and a newspaper. Now it’s all about those crazy tablets you have to touch all the time.” She shook her head. “Is that even sanitary?”

Elle waved her mother away from the computer. “Here’s your problem. You need a better image. And a stronger call to action.”

“A what?” Lois asked.

“Never mind. Can I play with this? This is right in my wheelhouse. I have some ideas.”

“Knock yourself out. I’m sure you’ll do a better job.” She leaned down and kissed her daughter on the head. “I have to make ten dozen cookies tonight anyway.”

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