My Smalltown C.E.O. Scrooge: A Festive Romantic Comedy Read online

  My Smalltown C.E.O. Scrooge

  A Festive Romantic Comedy

  Harmony Knight

  Copyright © 2020 by Harmony Knight

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Also by Harmony Knight

  Chapter 1

  Allie

  “Lottie! Emma! Your uncle’s here, it’s time to go!”

  My two giggling nieces come running through from the kitchen with my boss, Bet, who is smiling broadly as she carries a tray of fresh-baked cookies in her hands. Bet’s owned this little diner for decades, and aside from Town Hall and the church, it’s probably the closest thing this town has to a landmark.

  “Uncle Eddie!” the girls squeal simultaneously, filling up the diner with their childish joy as they grab around my brother’s legs. Lottie is six, Emma three, and they’re the most adorable little girls you could imagine. They remind me of their mother, Libby, every day. And every day I miss her more.

  “Mommy!” says Lottie, turning her big, blue eyes up to me. “Bet said we can have cookies but only if you say yes.”

  “Cookie!” squeals Emma, making grabby hands up at Bet. Her blond curls bounce around her face and I look up to Bet, whose eyes are sparkling at me above her chubby, rosy cheeks.

  “Well, all right,” I say, to a chorus of squeals and cheers. “But only one. And you’d better tell Aunt Sadie you already had a treat today.”

  “We will,” says Lottie, drawing a little cross over her heart. Bet hands over the cookies—they’re huge, practically as big as the girls’ heads—and quiet descends on the diner, broken only by the sound of munching and the occasional theatrical “mmmmmmmmm!”

  “Thanks for taking them,” I say to Eddie, finally getting a chance to hug him good morning. He and his wife, Sadie, look after the girls at least a few times a week for me to work. They never say no, never ask anything in return, and I’m more grateful to them than I can say. It’s been a struggle since our sister passed.

  “Any time, sis. Sadie and the kids love the company anyway. You staying for dinner tonight?”

  “If it’s all right,” I say. By the time I’m done with a full day’s shift at the diner, the last thing I’ll want to do is cook.

  “Always,” says Eddie with a wink. He turns to Bet, who is beaming as she watches the girls devour her cookies. “The place is looking… pretty festive, Bet.”

  Bet adores holidays. Any holidays. It’s less than two weeks after Halloween and the place is already decked out for Christmas. Pumpkins and cobwebs have been swapped out, holly and twinkling lights have moved in, and there’s a huge evergreen in the corner covered in tinsel and Bet’s collection of mismatched baubles.

  “Well, we want to be sure that Santa knows where to go. Isn’t that right, girls?” She asks, winking to Lottie and Emma. The girls nod emphatically, munching on their cookies.

  “All right, squirts,” says Eddie to the girls, as he pushes open the door. “Let’s get going. See you later, Allie!”

  “Later!” I say, leaning down to give the girls a flurry of kisses. “Be good for your aunt and uncle.”

  No sooner has Eddie left, trailed by a gaggle of giggles and crumbs, than my coworker-slash-best-friend, Sam, blows in on a gust of wintry November air. He also happens to be Sadie’s brother, which makes him my brother-in-law. What can I say? It’s a small town.

  “WOW!” he says, looking around at the decorations. “Bet, it’s fabulous. It must have taken forever.”

  “Well, Allie helped, so it took half the time. Come through to the kitchen you two, I’ve got a surprise.”

  Sam loops his arm through mine and sashays me towards the kitchen behind Bet. “Morning treasure,” he whispers, yawning. “You’re on coffee duty.”

  “Late night?”

  “Mmmhmmm,” he says, giving me side-eye. “It’s Drew’s day off today so we stayed up drinking wine and watching old movies.”

  “Riiiiiight,” I say, raising my hands to make exaggerated air quotes, “Watching old movies.”

  He laughs. “Well… that too, but I didn’t want to make you jealous.”

  “Hah!” I snort. “As if! You can’t be jealous of things you can’t remember.”

  I’m only very slightly exaggerating. I haven’t so much as been kissed by a man since before Libby died, and now that I have full custody of my nieces, they’re my life. The idea of dating on top of working enough jobs to keep a roof over our heads is exhausting. And that’s before you factor in all the complications that would arise if I did hit it off with someone. How could I bring someone new—someone who might not be around forever—into the lives of two little girls who’ve already lost so much?

  “Maybe it’s about time you got back on the horse, so to speak,” Sam suggests, sticking his tongue out at me.

  “Pffft,” I blow, dismissively. “Not likely. I know every guy in Sunrise Valley, population seven hundred, and I’m not interested in any of them.”

  “I’m not saying you have to marry them, but surely there’s at least one who could help you… sweep away your cobwebs?” he replies, glancing down towards my crotch, his lips twitching with a restrained laugh. “Maybe you could take a hint from Bet and string up some twinkling lights down there instead.”

  I tilt my head back, laughing out loud, and pull him into a tight hug. “Love you, Sam.”

  He fixes me with a serious look, but I can tell he’s barely holding himself together. “Oh, Allie. I’d love to help you out, but… you’re really barking up the wrong tree here, honey.”

  We both dissolve into gales of laughter, just as Bet comes back into the room. She flashes us a puzzled smile.

  “What’d I miss?”

  “Nothing, Bet,” I say, wiping the tears from my eyes. “Just Sam being Sam. What’s this surprise you have for us?”

  She beams at me, thrusting a pile of clothes towards us.“Oh, no. Bet! Oh no,” I groan, as I realize what she’s holding.

  “Oh, yes!” she nods, eyes sparkling.

  “Oh yes!” says Sam, clapping his hands together. He rushes over to unload Bet’s arms, handing me a red plaid apron, a pair of reindeer antlers, and a red ball.

  “What the…” I say, squeezing the ball.

  “It’s a nose,” says Bet, grinning.

  “Oh my God.” I stand there staring down at the festive additions to my uniform, shaking my head. I like Christmas as much as the next girl—okay, maybe not as much as Bet, but as much as most girls. But antlers and a Rudolph nose? While serving customers? All of whom are people I meet around town every day?

>   “Call be Bister Christbas,” says Sam, his nose blocked by the squeeze of the red ball. I burst out laughing when I look at him, shaking my head with a smile on my face. The whole situation is too ridiculous to resist.

  “The things I do for you, woman!” I tell Bet ruefully. She just stands there, arms folded over her ample bosom, grinning in a way that leaves no doubt that she absolutely, positively expects me to wear this ridiculous get-up.

  I pull my apron, antlers, and nose on while Sam makes coffee and Bet fires up the fryers and grill. Within an hour the morning rush is upon us, and we’re serving takeout coffees and sit-down breakfasts to all the regulars. All people I know from a lifetime of living in Sunrise Valley.

  “There’s a new guy out there,” says Sam, bustling into the kitchen with a tray in each hand. He starts unloading as I go to peek out through the porthole in the kitchen door.

  “Oh, he’s handsome,” I comment, appreciatively.

  The new guy in question is a stranger, and obviously from out of town. He’s standing beside a table, taking off his black wool coat and chunky-knit mustard scarf. He’s tall—at least six feet—with a smattering of stubble and intensely dark eyes, and even from the other end of the diner, his face looks like it was chiseled from marble by Michelangelo himself. But his expression is hard, and it looks like his mind is a million miles away.

  “Doesn’t look very happy, though,” I comment.

  “Pfft, who needs happy when you look like that?” says Sam, appearing beside me to look out the porthole.

  “You’re leering,” I say to him.

  “No I’m not!” protests Sam, continuing to leer.

  “Is there a man?” asks Bet, squeezing in between us. “Oooh, very nice.”

  It’s at just this moment, with the three of our faces crammed into the little porthole window straining to catch a glimpse, as though the appearance of a good-looking stranger in Sunrise Valley is a rare cosmic event like an eclipse or Halley’s comet—and to be fair, it’s not far off—that he glances over towards us. We all give a high-pitched yelp and scramble away from the window in unison.

  I’m still trying to regain my composure and reassure myself that he definitely didn’t see us, when Sam taps me on the shoulder. His grin is even wider than when he saw the reindeer costume this morning.

  “It’s yoooooour tuuuuuuuuurn,” he practically sing-songs.

  I groan. Apart from the two years that I was away at art school, I’ve worked in this diner since I was seventeen. Sam has worked here that whole time, too. I don’t remember when it started, but any time a stranger comes in we take it in turns to serve them. With the stipulation that the other gets to make a dare.

  “Fine,” I say, squeezing my red nose on tighter. I already look ridiculous. How much worse could it get?

  “Hmm, let me think,” says Sam, looking out of the little round window again and tapping his chin thoughtfully.

  “Well, whatever it is you’d better hurry,” pipes up Bet. “You two are paid to serve, not think.”

  “Betty Boop,” says Sam. “I would never let you down.” He has her wrapped around his little finger and he knows it. As soon as he says it she rolls her eyes, but a smile lifts the corner of her mouth as she turns to take something out of the oven.

  “Okay.” Sam turns back to me. “Convince him you’re French.”

  “French,” I repeat, deadpan.

  “Yup!” he nods, looking delighted with himself. In fairness, it’s not as bad as the time he had to convince a stranger he was a neurosurgeon moonlighting as a server.

  “Fine. Oui, oui!” I say, and Sam grins, rubbing his hands together gleefully like some kind of supervillain. I grab my pen and head out through the door. Sam follows behind me, taking up a position at the far end of the diner from where he can watch my ritual humiliation.

  Up close, the stranger is even hotter. He still doesn’t smile, not even when he looks up at me in my ridiculous outfit and I give him the brightest smile I can muster. His eyes flick from my red nose to my antlers and back down, and he says nothing. I decide to brand him as “brooding”, since he’s probably just passing through town anyway, and it sounds better than “miserable.”

  “Bonjour!” I say, loud enough for Sam to hear.

  Brooding Stranger doesn’t flinch.

  “Breakfast roll, please,” he says, his accent unreadable. He looks pristine in dark jeans, brown brogues and a light blue sweater with the sleeves rolled up. “Eggs over easy.”

  “Oui, oui!” I say, nodding enthusiastically. “And ehhh, you would like ze tea, or ze coffee?”

  I hear Sam snort behind me. Brooding Stranger’s eyes flick over to where Sam stands, but I can’t turn around to look at him or I’ll lose it.

  “Coffee,” says Brooding Stranger, looking back at me.

  “I see, I see,” I say, writing his order down. “‘Ow about a littol créme?” I pronounce it the way it’s pronounced in créme brûlée, and I hear a gasp from behind me and the sound of Sam’s feet rushing back towards the kitchen.

  The door is still flapping open as he lets out a howl of laughter. Brooding Stranger looks to the kitchen, slowly lifts a brow, and looks up to me. I smile back at him blandly while I suck in on my own throat to stop myself laughing.

  “No cream,” he says.

  “Uno momento!”

  Shit, that’s Spanish! I rush back to the kitchen as quickly as my feet will carry me. In between deep gulps of air and hysterical laughter, Sam is telling Bet about my attempt to make Brooding Stranger think I’m French. She’s chuckling along with him, shaking her head, the way a mother does when she’s trying to hide her amusement at her children’s antics.

  “I just said ‘Uno momento!”

  They both stare at me. Sam gives a little shrug as if to ask “so?”

  “That’s Spanish!” I exclaim, pushing Brooding Stranger’s order onto the pass. They both break out in laughter again.

  The rest of Brooding Stranger’s stay is pretty uneventful. I take him his breakfast, he finishes his entire plate and takes a refill of coffee, and I manage not to say anything else Spanish to him. By the time he finishes up, I’m feeling pretty confident that my charade has managed to convince him.

  “Miss,” he calls, waving me over. “Check, please.”

  “Sure thing,” I say, distracted, forgetting I’m supposed to be French. “Uh.” I put the accent on again. “I will get ze check.” Shit, that might have given the game away.

  He pays up and leaves a generous tip. When I go back to collect his empty coffee cup, he’s on his feet, coat on, wrapping his scarf back around his neck.

  “Madame,” he begins, and I feel a strange tingling sensation crawling up every one of my limbs. It’s not just that he’s standing there, towering over me and looking sensationally, unethically delicious. It’s that I can somehow sense what’s coming.

  “Merci pour le repas, c'était délicieux. Il faudra que je revienne. Au revoir.” he says, and the very first hint of a smile passes across his lips as he turns to leave. A cold blast of wind from outside blows my hair around my face, and Sam is in fits of hysterics behind me.

  “Oh my God,” he says, as I watch Brooding Stranger get into a gorgeous, vintage-looking car across the street. “He speaks French!”

  Sam is weak with laughter, doubled over and leaning on a nearby table. So I take advantage of his weakness and land a towel snap right on his hiney.

  Chapter 2

  Greyson

  “Take the next left.”

  At the sound of the GPS system’s command, I slow down and lean forward over the steering wheel, looking around for an off-road. Sunrise Valley sure is a pretty town, but nestled in upstate New York it feels about ten degrees colder than Manhattan did when I left this morning.

  “What the…” I put the brakes on and come to a halt opposite an old iron gate that’s half buried in overgrown brush. The hedges on either side are almost as tall as the gate itself.

 
; “This can’t be it,” I mutter, opening my briefcase and riffling through it until I find the document I’m looking for. It’s the same gate all right, but in the photo that accompanied the deed it’s clear and gleaming with a new coat of paint, and the hedges are low enough that the grand old house can be seen beyond them. There’s no way that picture was taken any time in the last twenty years.

  “For the love of…” I clench my jaw. This was supposed to be easy. It had been a shock to learn that I had a great aunt I’d never heard of who’d left me her estate in Sunrise Valley, but it wasn’t life-changing news. I have enough money already. I’m here to flip it, take the cash and move on.

  I root around in the briefcase again and pull out the remote that came with the dossier from my aunt’s lawyer. I settle my gaze on the old iron gate and hit the button, fully expecting that nothing will happen.

  There’s some groaning and some creaking, but sure enough, the gates slowly begin to open. And they keep opening, despite the best efforts of the brambles to hold them back.

  “Huh,” I say to myself. “Guess they really don’t make things the way they used to.”

  I’m pretty sure my high-tech gate back home would collapse under a stiff breeze. It once flaked out because a bird shat on a sensor, and another time it wouldn’t close because a spider had taken up residence in the control box. It took the engineer two hours to figure that out.

  Once there’s enough room, I turn my car into the driveway and cruise along the winding, tree-lined road until the house comes into view. I’m surprised by how impressive it is. An old Queen Anne with several turrets and intricate spindlework. The paint has faded, but it’s clear that it was once a vibrant yellow. The color wouldn’t be my first choice, but it gives me a different impression of the late Great Aunt Julia than I’ve had up ’til now.