Chapter 1

Sarah

I work at a school in Colorado, and during the school holidays, I have a lot of time to myself. I’m lucky in that regard, I have a job that has a lot of vacation. Where I’m not so lucky, is in how I spend my time. I’m single with few friends, and very often, I don’t know what to do with myself.

To keep myself busy, I spend time creating art, puttering around in the garden or rearranging my furniture. I like to think I’m a creative person, and if I had the choice, I would paint the wall every so often, too, just for a change of pace.

Unfortunately, this house isn’t mine. I’m only renting. I’d love to have a house to call my own, but living here isn’t a bad deal. My landlord doesn’t charge much at all for a house this size, he sends someone to fix things when they break, and even though I have never seen my landlord, we have a good business relationship. I pay on time, he maintains the place and we never bother each other.

One of the few things I enjoy when I’ve got downtime is taking care of my niece. My sister is married, and from time to time, I babysit her daughter Lindsay.

Lindsay’s seven, and I adore her. She’s a ray of sunshine and always up to something. Children put the life back into living, and if it weren’t for her, I’m sure my existence would be even more dull than it already is. I’m lucky that I get to see her as often as I do. As a single woman, my life would have been very boring without a child in it. Still, I’m only twenty-five, and I have time to find my Prince Charming.

I only wish I knew where to look.

I hear a car pull up my driveway, and I open the front door, already smiling. Lindsay gets out of Monica’s car and runs to me, her arms wide.

“Aunt Sarah!” she says, wrapping both arms around me.

“Hello, Lindsay,” I say, squeezing her to me. “I missed you.”

“Not as much as I missed you,” Lindsay says, and I smile again.

Monica walks up with Lindsay’s overnight bag, and she’s laughing. “Sometimes, I think she loves you more than she loves me.”

I shake my head. “That’s only because here we have fun and nothing else. At your place, there are rules, but you will always be mommy. You can never replace that.”

“You’re right,” Monica says, hugging me. My sister is three years older than me, and she got married quite young. Most of the time, I’m happy to tap into her family life, enjoy it for a while and go home again when I’m tired.

“So, how did your date go?” Monica asks as we walk into the house together.

“It was okay. I don’t think he’s the man for me.” I take Lindsay’s bag from my sister and put it down next to the couch.

Monica gives me “the look,” and I already know what she’s going to say.

“You can’t reject every man you meet,” she says. “Sometimes, you have to accept their flaws.”

“You’re right,” I say with a sigh. “But if I don’t feel I’m being treated right, I’m not going to settle, just for the sake of settling. After how Jacob treated me, I’ve learned my lesson.”

“When are you leaving, Mom?” Lindsay asks. She’s always eager to spend time with me alone.

“Almost, honey,” she says, patting Lindsay’s head. To me, she adds, “All I’m saying is that you could give them a chance. You need a man, Sarah.”

I don’t like talking about this in front of Lindsay. Once upon a time, she was a toddler and didn’t understand what we were talking about. Now, she’s old enough to know exactly what we’re saying.

“Why don’t you head out?” I say to Monica to get her out of the house. “Go on. Go spend some quality time with Larry. Lindsay and I have some catching up to do.”

As my sister, she lectures me often enough. I don’t need to be told who I should and shouldn’t date. She is the one who introduced me to Jacob back in college, and that ended in a disaster.

I pushed the memories out of my head and give Monica a bright smile. She nods, hugging me, ready to leave us alone now.

“Be good,” Monica says to Lindsay, hugging her. “I’ll see you tomorrow, and I don’t want to hear from Sarah that you did anything wrong. Christmas is coming, and you want to stay on the nice list.”

When Monica leaves, I turn to Lindsay.

“What do you want to do?” I ask. “We can draw. We can make cookies. Anything you like.”

“I want to write a letter to Santa,” Lindsay says.

I nod. “We can definitely do that,” I say. “Let’s go get pens and paper.”

Lindsay and I find the supplies in my desk, and I walk with her to the living room. I bought crayons, glitter and colored pencils for Lindsay the last time she visited, and we’re going to use all of them now.

We sit together on the carpet and create our letters to Santa. When we are done, we read them out to each other. Lindsay wants a new bike, pink princess shoes that she saw in the shop the other day and enough treats that her teeth will fall out. I laugh, taking mental notes so I can tell Monica. When I read Lindsay my wish list, she pulls a face.

“What do you want clothes and make-up for?” she asks.

I shrug. “When you’re older, you’ll understand.”

We decorate our letters until it’s time for me to start cooking dinner.

“Are you going to help me in the kitchen?” I ask

Lindsay shakes her head. “I think I’m going to draw some more,” she says.

I nod and walk to the kitchen. I start cooking dinner, throwing together chicken mayo sandwiches for us. After a while, I hear the front door close.

“Lindsay?” I call.

“Yes?” she answers. She comes into the kitchen, and she has glitter all over her face. I laugh and find the dishrag to wipe it off.

“Were you outside just now?” I ask.

Lindsay nods, her face moving under the cloth on her cheek.

“Sweetie, you shouldn’t leave the house without asking permission. I hope you put on a jacket. It’s freezing outside. I think it’s going to snow soon. Where did you go?”

“I did put on a jacket, and I delivered my letter to Santa.”

I frown, putting the cloth on the counter. “We are supposed to mail the letters to the North Pole. Santa doesn’t live close by.”

“Yes, he does,” Lindsay says. “He lives right next door.”

“What?” I ask. “You delivered the letter next door?”

I live at the end of a dead-end street, so I’ve only got one neighbor, but I don’t know him. We’ve nodded at each other once or twice from a distance. He’s about my age and keeps to himself, just like I do, but we’ve never spoken. I know what he looks like and what car he drives, but that’s about it.

Lindsay nods again, and my stomach flips a little. I’m embarrassed. I take a deep breath and remind myself that my neighbor won’t know where Lindsay’s letter came from. Still, I feel like I want to go next door and see if I can get that letter back.

“Did you put it in the mailbox?” I ask.

Lindsay shakes her head. “I didn’t see a mailbox. So, I put it through the slot in the door.”

Well, so much for that plan. Not that I would have gone around stealing his mail anyway. I take a deep breath and shrug off the embarrassment. What’s done is done, and I doubt it will matter. It’s just a child sending a letter to Santa. Hopefully, my neighbor will understand.