About Christmas Trinkets:
She
was looking for coffee and conversation. He was looking for a quiet place to
write. What they found was a connection
that would make this Christmas unforgettable.
Hayley
Wolfe shares a kinship with the lost and lonely. Growing up without a father
taught her that you can’t always count on people. Her strong faith in God
taught her that her Heavenly Father is unshakable. When she meets Kameron Kohl
at her antiques and coffee shop, she’s immediately drawn to his warmth and
charm.
After
being abandoned on the steps of a church as a baby, Kameron Kohl has spent his
life rejecting God and meaningful relationships. After all, his own mother
didn’t care for him, so why should anyone else. But Kameron never expected to
meet Hayley Wolfe. Her faith in Christ, her inner beauty and selfless openness
towards strangers, has Kameron falling for her hard.
When
Hayley notices a connection between Kameron's keychain and the locket passed
down to her from her mother, she wants to investigate further. Kameron refuses.
As friendship turns to love, Hayley will have to rely on God to soften
Kameron’s heart.
Will
the connection between their Christmas Trinkets lead them to love or
unanswerable questions?
Christmas
Trinkets Excerpt:
He heals the brokenhearted and binds up
their wounds. ~ Psalm 147:3
Hayley switched on interior lights and
the open sign to Auntie’s Antiquities, then glanced up at Victorian replica
ornaments decorating the garland that dangled at the edge of the window.
Ross Travis from the garage
across the road approached at the same time as another early bird, who held the
door.
“Welcome, gentlemen. Coffee
will be done in a minute.”
The stranger gave her a nod
and headed for the seating area.
Ross flipped steel-gray hair
from the corner of his eye and watched steam from the coffeemaker.
Hayley picked up parchment
paper and selected a piece of cut fudge. “Hope Bette Jean likes today’s
selection. It isn’t chocolate.”
“Peanut Butter’s my
favorite. Blasted diabetes.”
She turned her shoulder to
protect her homemade delight in case Ross reached for it. “I’m putting it in a
bag or Bette Jean will give me guff because you bit into it before you made it
across the road.”
“Your fudge is the best
kept secret around here or you’d have all of east Lincoln driving out this
way.”
“To keep Bette Jean off my
back and you out of the hospital, this fudge is for your wife alone.” She
closed the bag with a double fold and accepted payment. “Tell her to come over
and check out the latest brooch I found.”
“You’d make your mom proud
the way you carry on her love for junk.”
She switched her attention
from Ross to the man who slung his shoulder bag onto the marble-topped parlor
table. Men around her age, shy of thirty, rarely came in.
He ignored her as she
neared with the carafe of steaming coffee. He’d removed his coat and placed it
over the back of a mahogany chair with inlaid rose in needlepoint.
She suppressed a giggle at
sight of the laptop as he flipped it open. No such new-fangled invention had
ever touched the antique marble.
The man closed his eyes and
performed what looked like a ritual, based on the concentrated breathing and shrugged
shoulders, followed by immediate dropping of the hands.
“Coffee?”
He jerked up his head,
clearly startled. “I didn’t…OK. Sure. Thanks.”
Wow. Good looking, but
preoccupied. Brown eyes. An interesting crooked nose that no doubt told a
story. Square unshaven jaw. Not classically handsome, but attractive enough to
garner a second look.
“You’re the first to walk into
my shop with a computer. Advanced grad student?”
He frowned, which twitched
his full bottom lip downward. “No. Writer.”
Goodness. A man of few
words. Correction. Few spoken words. “I’m not used to people coming in to hang
out. I just offer customers coffee or a glass of water. My fudge is pricey
enough so I provide complimentary drinks. You’re welcome to a refill.”
He ignored her, ran his
bottom teeth over his top lip, and stared at his computer.
“Sorry for carrying on.
I’ll leave you be.”
His fingers clacked at a
fast pace by the time she reached the breakfront.
So much for conversation
with someone new. Quiet days at Auntie’s turned busy around late morning. Some
shoppers still gave old stuff as Christmas gifts.
She glanced at her guest
again. Hunched over, his fingers flew in a furious manner as though they
couldn’t keep up with his thoughts. A glance out the window showed no parked
car. If he was having work done at the garage, Ross would have talked to the
stranger. Returning clientele drove out from Lincoln, but more often than not,
locals breezed through while they waited for work to be done on their vehicles.
Someone must have told the
new guy about her shop. No way would he have toted a laptop while enjoying the
hiking trail and just happened to stop in.
Hers had been a rather
isolated existence with only her mom around. She’d always believed if a father
had been in the picture she’d know more about people and have a broader world
experience.
The clacking stopped. The
writer tapped his foot. Ran both hands through his straw…no, golden hair. He
peered out the window, but she doubted he even noticed the open overhead door
across the road.
The newcomer looked down
and glared at his coffee cup as though surprised to see it waiting there.
Picked it up, and caught her gaze over the rim. It took a second, but a foggy
curtain, or daze, seemed to clear. Then he noticed her.
She approached. “I’m Hayley
Wolfe. I apologize if you felt me staring. Are you always so totally absorbed
in the task of writing?”
He gulped. Set down the
empty mug, gave a slight nod. “Kameron Kohl. Yes, I shut out the world around
me as much as I can.”
“Kameron Kohl. Writer. As
in blogs, newspapers, journalist, books?”
He hesitated. “Books.
Dystopian for young readers.”
“I’ve never met a real
author before. May I ask what brings you to Edgewood, Nebraska?” She waited.
The dazed expression returned. Had he slipped back into his make-believe world?
“I get lost in other places
where my story guys struggle to survive through their heroic exploits.”
“What exactly is
dystopian?”
“Alternate, yet believable
world. Fantasy where disaster or a dictator have bands of people fearing for
their lives, trying to stay alive and survive.”
“Do they find love?”
She read a Huh? in his expression.
“I don’t write romance.”
“I’m sorry.” Ugh.
Uncomfortable. “I’ll get you a refill and leave you alone.”
He slid a glance to the
right, back to meet hers as she prepared to pivot. “I don’t mean to be rude.
I’m on deadline for getting a first draft to my agent. Still working out some
of this dangerous forest world I’ve created for lost boys.”
“I’ve loved to read since I
was a kid. What’s your story about?”
“It’s the first in a new
series. A future century to take kids away from the troubles of the real
world.”
“Got it. I’m more a sweet
mystery lover. With a little romance.”
“Women,” leaked out under
his breath.
She giggled, waved her free
hand. “Couldn’t help myself.”
Kameron tapped a knuckle
against his mouth, rolled his shoulders into a hunch, and typed away. Cute, but
did he ever smile?
Carafe returned to the
warmer, she picked up a feather duster and went to the front window where motes
magically appeared in the sunshine. Shiny speckles caught the light. Hundreds
of silver sparkles glistened on the shelf beneath a sparse pine branch she used
to display her impulse buy of bird nests. According to the online ad, every
true Victorian Christmas tree held a hidden nest for good luck.
She’d never believed in
luck, and purchased the replicas just for fun. Should she leave the miniature
antique tractors drowning in glitter of varied sizes?
Kameron appeared at her
side. “Don’t whisk away the sparkle. The shiny spots wouldn’t look nearly as
magical spread over the floor or in a dustpan.”
He reached around her and
dabbed a circle of silver caught on a tractor seat with a finger and resettled
it on a square of midnight blue velvet that showcased an elaborate filigreed
garnet brooch. Without permission he spread his hand to pick up sprinkles, and
then brushed them onto the velvet.
“They look like stars. Good
accent touch. Thank you.”
“Welcome.” He raised his
empty mug. “Your brew’s good. I can pour my own refill. I didn’t see a coffee
price on your blackboard, only homemade fudge and penny candy.”
“Coffee’s on the house.
Candy’s shelved in the vault.”
“Candy in a vault? Catchy.”
“We’re in an old bank.”
Facing him, sun glinted on his brown eyes and turned the rim around the iris to
gold. “Ross from the garage was in earlier. They have a machine but the coffee
tastes commercial rather than fresh brewed, so he comes here when he can.”
“And leaves with fudge.”
Kameron topped off his mug
and sipped as he studied curiosities in one of the white-washed cabinets. For a
writer, he had nice muscled shoulders.
What a thing to notice. She
turned back to the window. It took three minutes to dust over the doll and crib
that cradled it, repositioned a replica Montgomery Ward catalogue. She
unclipped a nest from the faux tree and sprinkled more silver on a red velvet
tray holding costume rings.
“I didn’t answer your
question.” Kameron’s voice at her side made her jerk. “The pastor is on
vacation so I’m taking care of his dogs.”
“How do you know Pastor
Gregg?”
“I’ve known him all my
life. What’s this piece of canvas with laces?”
Hayley stepped to his side.
“Few people know what they are. Odd looking, don’t you agree? I’ve tried to
imagine the potential buyer. They’re called spats. Men in the nineteen twenties
tied them over their shoes and laced them on top. They’re a perfect accent to
the silk stockings. I like to think a young handsome groom wore the spats and
the stockings belonged to his beautiful bride.”
A shadow creased Kameron’s
forehead.
His expression was dark
enough to make her swallow and slide her gaze away. What did he smell like? It
had been a long time since she missed her sense of smell.
She fingered a silver
garter, created a purposeful wrinkle in one silk stocking heel where it draped
over a hand-painted wooden box. “Maybe you could write a story about
star-crossed lovers who wore such items as these.”
“If I was into that time
period. Speaking of stories…” He gulped his coffee and handed her the empty
cup.
She ran an eye over his
retreating back, and sighed as he resumed his seat. While brushing the feather
duster over rims of ruby crystal, her glances strayed to Kameron at the corner
table. How long did he plan to stay in Edgewood? Would he return to
Antiquities?
About the Author:
Christian romance author
LoRee Peery writes to feel alive, as a way of contributing, and to pass forward
the hope of rescue from sin. She writes of redeeming grace with a sense of
place. LoRee clings to I John 5:4 and prays her family sees that faith. She has
authored the Frivolities Series and other e-books. Her desire
for readers, the same as for her characters, is to discover where they fit in
this life journey to best work out the Lord’s life plan. She is who
she is by the grace of God: Christian, country girl, wife, mother, grandmother,
sister, friend, and author. She’s been a reader since before kindergarten.
