Read Home for Christmas (Willow Park #5) Online
Authors: Noelle Adams
Home for Christmas (Willow Park #5)
Home for Christmas
Willow Park, Book Five
Noelle Adams
This
book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the
product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance
to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright
© 2015 by Noelle Adams. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce,
distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means.
Content Editing: Kristin Anders, The Romantic Editor
Proofreading: PREMA Romance
Contents
Sophie Davenport, who had been using
her maiden name of Miller for the last two years, was shelving hundreds of used
paperbacks the bookstore had just gotten in, when she saw Flirty Guy walk into
the shop.
He’d been coming in for the last few weeks, ostensibly to
find more books to read. Most of the time, however, he spent trying to chat her
up.
She ducked her head and pushed the cart to the far corner of
the store, hoping he wouldn’t see her.
She was in the religious section now, so she leaned over to
the bottom shelf of her cart to reach the books she’d organized for this part
of the store.
Maybe, if the guy didn’t see her, he would just leave.
She was staring at a shelf of inspirational romances,
marveling that so many of them were about the Amish, when she heard the
unwanted voice behind her. “There you are! I was looking for you.”
Hiding a sigh, she pasted on a fake smile and turned around.
“Good afternoon. Can I help you?”
Sophie usually had a warm, friendly manner with patrons of
the bookstore. Running an independent bookstore in a small town like Willow
Park was an uphill battle, and she knew great customer service was absolutely
essential. But, with this particular guy, she’d gravitated toward extra-professional
and slightly cool, since she didn’t want to encourage him to keep hanging
around.
Her strategy didn’t appear to be working.
Flirty Guy was nice-looking, well dressed, and intelligent.
She was pretty sure he must be working somewhere nearby and was dropping by on
his lunch breaks, since he always wore good trousers and a dress shirt. If
she’d been single, she might even be interested in him.
Sophie wasn’t single. She just hadn’t seen her husband in
two and a half years.
“I was hoping you might help me find another good book to
read. I really liked the last one you suggested.” The guy was grinning, as he
always did, and he clearly wasn’t in any hurry to leave.
“Oh. I’m a little busy right now.” She gestured down at her
cart of books.
“I’m sure the books currently on that shelf can hold the
fort for a little while longer, before you get the other ones up there.”
She stared down at the neatly organized paperbacks in the
stack, trying to figure out what to do. She didn’t want to be rude, but she’d
flashed her engagement and wedding rings at him as often and as obviously as she
could.
Surely he could see that she was married. Surely he would understand
that meant she was unavailable. She occasionally had random guys come on to
her—she was small, slender, dark-haired, and pretty enough—but few had been as
committed as this guy.
“What kind of book were you looking for?” she asked at last.
“I don’t know. Something exciting.”
Great. That told her absolutely nothing. She was going to be
here forever, trying to find him a book that he didn’t really want.
“What about espionage? My husband really like those.” There.
He couldn’t possibly mistake that.
He didn’t mistake it, but he didn’t react the way she’d been
hoping. He leaned forward, bracing himself against her cart. “Are you really
married?”
“Yes.” She stiffened her shoulders. “What kind of question
is that?”
“I don’t know.” He still looked casual, laidback, definitely
flirtatious. “Someone told me that you live alone, so I figured maybe you were
separated.”
Sophie
was
separated from her husband, but not in the
way this guy meant. She felt rattled and slightly emotional, and she didn’t
like the feeling. She didn’t like this guy at all, for making her feel that
way. “I’m married for real,” she said coolly.
He sighed and straightened up. “So where is your husband?”
“I don’t mean to be rude, but that’s not really your
business.”
“So there’s no chance for me, then?” He looked disappointed,
which might have been flattering—instead, it was a huge relief, since it meant he
was finally getting the picture.
“No. I’m happily married.”
That was a lie, but there was no reason to explain it to a
stranger.
Sophie loved her husband, Mark, as much as she ever had, but
nothing about their marriage was happy right now. It was looking less and less
likely that he would ever come home.
Before Flirty Guy could respond, another voice came from the
aisle. “Sophie! There you are. How are you doing?”
Sophie blinked in surprise. She recognized the voice and the
pretty, pregnant blonde who was approaching, but Abigail Morgan wasn’t in the
habit of being so loud and in-your-face cheerful.
Flirty Guy used the distraction to make a quick escape.
Sophie sighed in relief as he slipped away, hoping she’d
seen him for the last time.
Abigail frowned. “Are you okay? Was he bothering you?”
“He was just coming on to me. Nothing too bad.” Sophie
smiled at her friend. She’d only known the other woman for six months, but Abigail
was one of the few women in Willow Park with whom Sophie had really gotten
close since moving here.
“You looked upset.” Abigail was still glowering toward the
front of the store, where the guy had disappeared.
“Not really about him,” Sophie explained, lowering her
voice. There was no one else in the shop right now except her grandfather, who
owned the store and was presently dozing behind the cashier’s desk. “He was
just asking about my husband, and it…it upset me for some reason.”
“Of course, it would upset you.”
“Yeah. Of course. I just mean, I’m used to it now, and it
doesn’t usually get me so emotional.”
Abigail had gone through her share of marital
troubles—having been separated from her husband, Thomas, for a long time until
earlier this year—and her face was sympathetic and understanding. “I guess
sometimes it just hits you randomly like that.”
“Yeah.” Sophie sniffed and fought back the swell of emotion.
“It does sometimes. But I don’t like to be weepy all the time. Mark always
hated it when I cried, so it feels like I’m failing him if I turn into a weepy
mess. He was kidnapped thirty months ago. I should be used to it by now.”
Mark had been working as a journalist for a cable news
channel, embedded in the Middle East, when he was taken hostage by Syrian
rebels two and a half years ago. He and Sophie had been living in D.C. at the
time, and they’d still been ensconced in newlywed bliss, having been married
for only six months.
Sophie had been working at a public relations firm, but it
was just too hard to stay in D.C. and continue her normal life. After all the
news coverage about the rebels capturing him and the two other members of his
crew, everyone knew who she was. No one thought of her in any way except as the
wife of the captured journalist. People were always trying to interview her,
hear her side of the story, hear what it felt like to be Mark Davenport’s wife,
ask if there were any new developments on negotiations for his return.
It felt like hell, and so she’d finally just given up on her
old life.
Her grandfather had been struggling with this Willow Park
bookstore, so she’d moved to the small town in the mountains of North Carolina
where her father had been raised. She’d gone back to using her maiden name, so
she wouldn’t be so easy to identify. She’d taken the little apartment above the
bookstore, and she’d tried to get involved in the church and community.
It sometimes felt like she was playing a role, but it was
better than it had been before.
“I don’t think that’s something you ever get used to,”
Abigail said softly, rubbing her rounded belly as if it gave her comfort.
Sophie wondered, if she and Mark had had children, whether
they would have been a comfort to her in his absence. They almost certainly would
have been, but she and Mark had never been given the chance.
She pushed the thought away, since it would just make her
feel sorry for herself, and she tried very hard not to do that.
She cleared her throat. “Anyway, let’s not talk about it.
How are things with you? Are you feeling okay?”
“Yes. I’m fine. I mean, my back hurts all the time and I pee
in my pants every time I sneeze, but otherwise, I’m wonderful.” Abigail
evidently understood that Sophie wanted to move on, and her mouth quirked in
dry humor.
Sophie laughed appreciatively. “Just two more months,
right?”
“Yes. He’s due December 20
th
. Maybe he’ll be a
Christmas baby. Thomas keeps coming up with ridiculous names for him. His
latest is Jack Frost Morgan.” Abigail’s face was warm with affection as she chuckled
at the thought of her husband.
Sophie laughed again and fought against the slight tingle of
jealousy.
When she’d first met Abigail, the other woman had been
struggling in her marriage, and so it felt like they’d had a common bond. But
Abigail and Thomas had reconciled at Easter—getting pregnant shortly
afterwards—and they’d gotten closer and closer, happier and happier, as the
year progressed. Sophie was delighted for them. She really was. But it was hard
to see such a fulfilling marriage when hers had been broken so cruelly.
She prayed silently, and it felt like God heard her, like
God was with her, so she felt a little better. She’d been raised a Christian,
but she’d never prayed as much or as intensely in her whole life as she had in
the last couple of years.
“Anyway,” Abigail said, “We’re having a few people over to
do pumpkin carving this Saturday, so I was hoping you would come to join us.”
“Sure.” Sophie smiled, as if she were pleased by the
invitation. “I’d love to. Thanks for inviting me.”
She didn’t actually like to go to social events, since
people always made a point of being kind and friendly toward her, which only
highlighted that she was a figure of sympathy to the community. But she made
herself participate, instead of staying at home alone.
She tried to stay busy as many hours in the day as she
possibly could, since she thought about Mark most when she was alone.
***
Since the bookstore had a couple of
part-time employees who handled the evening hours, Sophie usually left work
around six.
That evening, she walked down the block to the grocery
store, as she almost always did, and picked out a chicken breast and some
produce to make a salad for dinner.
When she walked back to her apartment, she turned on the
television to a station that played old sitcoms back-to-back. She left it on as
she fixed her dinner.
Then she called her parents. Her father had retired early
from his business as an accountant, and he and her mother had moved to Florida
last year.
Then she called her sister, who was married to an officer in
the Navy who was stationed in Alaska.
Then she turned the television back on and paid some bills.
Then she cleaned her kitchen, although she’d cleaned it last
night too so it didn’t really need cleaning.
Then she got on her treadmill and power walked for
forty-five minutes.
Then she drank a bottle of water and did the reading and
questions for the Bible study she attended on Wednesday evenings.
Then she looked the clock and saw it was almost ten—finally late
enough for her to go to bed.
So she got ready for her bath. She took one almost every
night. She was always too restless and anxious to sleep naturally, but she
didn’t want to regularly take the sleeping pills she’d had prescribed to her,
so she’d gotten in the habit of taking a bath before bed every night.
This apartment was owned by Micah Duncan, a local
contractor, a member of her church, and the brother of her pastor. He’d fixed
it up really nice, with original hardwood, one exposed brick wall, granite in
the kitchen, stainless steel appliances, and a beautifully tiled shower in the
bathroom.
It also had a lovely claw-foot tub.
Sophie filled it with hot water, dumped in some lavender-scented
bath salts that were supposed to help her relax, and then got in to soak.
She kept the television on loudly.
Everyone told her she’d sleep better without having the TV
on all the time, but she was used to always hearing it now. Whenever she turned
it off, the apartment was almost oppressively silent. Even music gave her too
much time to think, too much time to be sad and lonely, too much time to worry
about Mark. So she kept the television on all evening like a crutch.
She was only half-listening as she soaked in the tub and
tried to relax.
When she started wondering what Mark was doing right now—whether
he was being tortured, whether he was starving, whether he was even still
alive—she forced the terrifying questions out of her mind. She’d been told that
he wasn’t likely to be killed or tortured, since the small rebel group who had
captured him were trying to use him and the others in negotiations to establish
more of a standing in the region, but she didn’t know if people had just told
her that to make her feel better.
She wouldn’t let herself think about them. If she did, she
would never get through this.
Instead, she thought about Abigail and how happy her friend
was now with Thomas, their daughter Mia, and their new baby who would be born
in a couple of months.
It was good. Sophie was happy for them. She’d never seen a
couple who had worked so hard on their marriage as Abigail and Thomas. They
deserved to have some happiness now.
When they were together, Thomas could hardly keep his hands
off of Abigail.
Mark had always been like that with Sophie. She’d felt the
same way about him.
They’d met at a church function in D.C. and had immediately
known they belonged together. They’d dated for only three months before they’d
gotten engaged.
Their engagement had been planned for six months. A little
too long, as it happened. They’d been so into each other that they hadn’t been
able to wait for the wedding, even though both of them believed in waiting for
marriage before having sex. The first time they’d gotten carried away, they’d
vowed not to do it again.
