Page 2 of Once Upon a Winter
And an obvious one.“I’m sure Allison or Jason could help you.”
“Yeah, but I hate to ask them. They always seem so put out.”
“Don’t let them intimidate you. It’s their job,” Laura replied, tight-lipped.
A heavy sigh came over the line before Fran spoke again. “Yes, I know that.” Another deep sigh followed by silence reminded Laura why she’d quit her job. It was the same reason she’d chosen to move away before the holidays. She would be able to enjoy a stress-free holiday season surrounded by family without having to worry about being deluged by stress from the office. And come the new year, she would start her new job and work remotely from home.
Laura took the few moments of silence as her cue. “Have a merry Christmas!”
Fran sounded hesitant but returned happy holiday wishes and ended the call.
With a shudder, Laura went to the mantel, where she’d proudly placed her new snow globe the evening before. As she turned it over to make it snow, she let out a pleasant gasp. “It plays music!” She lifted the hinged handle and turned it a few times. Then she set it down and watched the snow swirl as it played “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.”
“That’s funny. I don’t remember that house looking that much like mine, except my house doesn’t have an impressively muscular guy at the door. No surprise there.”
Upon further examination, she decided he looked like Michelangelo’s David in L.L. Bean clothes. “If you showed up at my door, I wouldn’t turn you away.”
It had been a long time since she’d had a man in her life—so long that she had to think back and count. Three years. She had reached a point where it was easier to give up than to suffer through any more dates and relationships that didn’t work out. Her sister was right about two things: she had terrible taste in men, and she was undatable. Once she’d accepted those two items as facts, it relieved all the pressure.
With a rueful smile, Laura set down the snow globe and peered at her little lumberjack. “Why can’t Santa drop a hot guy like you down my chimney?” As if in reply, the snow globe shimmered in the morning sunlight. Laura laughed and headed for the kitchen to refill her coffee.
Two
By midafternoon,Laura was carrying one of the last boxes out of the moving pod when thunder rumbled from the east. A cold gust of wind swept strands of hair over her face, sending a shiver down her spine. As the brilliant sunshine gave way to a deluge, she closed the pod doors and scurried inside. With a frustrated sigh, she shook the water out of her hair and peered out the window. The once sparkling harbor was now tempest-tossed, with silver lightning illuminating the churning waves with each clap of thunder.
Suddenly, another sound pricked her ears—dripping water. Pivoting, Laura discovered a slow drip from the ceiling. Scanning the stacks of identically sized and symmetrically arranged boxes yet to be unpacked, she located the pots, pans, and large mixing bowls. Her sister had always laughed at her painstaking organization, but thanks to thorough labeling, she quickly retrieved a large pot. As she hurried to place it under the leak before it became a stream, she grumbled, “How do you like your charming Christmas cottage with its quaint leaking roof?” That wasn’t part of the plan.
With the leak getting worse, she had to do something. When things went wrong in her apartment, she’d always called the super, but there was no super there. What she needed was a handyman, so she pulled out her phone and searched online.There’s only one handyman listed?Her brow furrowed at the results.Well, you wanted small-town living.
After dialing the number, she was surprised when, instead of voicemail, she got a brusque “Hello?”
“Hello! Is this Farley Cooper?”
“Who’s calling?”
“Laura. Laura Everly.”
“Everly… Not familiar with the name. Where are you?”
“At 45 Chestnut Lane. I just moved here.”
“Oh, right. The little red house?”
Placing another pot under a fresh leak, Laura said, “Sorry, but can we talk later? Right now, I’ve got a waterfall forming in my living room.”
A pause followed before the husky, masculine voice replied confidently, “I’m on my way.”
“Really?”
“That’s what I said.”
“Great!”
Laura hastily added a large mixing bowl as another leak spouted, only to have a sudden downpour of water drench her completely. Soon, drywall fragments fell on her with the force of a storm surge, leaving her hair sopping. She cried out then tamped down her emotions. She had to think clearly. A puddle was forming and working its way to her neatly stacked boxes. Frantic, she threw down a kitchen towel and hurried to move the boxes across the room. Laura prided herself on maintaining control through assiduous planning and organization, but her entire world was falling apart.
A brisk knock snapped her out of her daze. As she opened the door, a gust of wind blew an icy mist at her face, blinding her for a moment. When she was able to focus again, instead of finding the older man she’d pictured—one with a worn face and worn work clothes—Laura found herself face-to-face with a man in his early thirties with sandy-blond hair and piercing blue eyes.
His chiseled features and broad shoulders projected a sense of quiet authority as he assumed an expectant stance on her doorstep. He was ruggedly handsome, with a day’s worth of stubble gracing his jaw. His flannel shirt clung to his muscular arms. Laura guessed he was over six feet tall by the way he towered over her.
