Read Online Christmas in Wine Country by Addison Westlake - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Addison Westlake
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a gigantic silver bow, a symbolic Christmas present to the town for all the gifts bought for boys and girls. Marion had explained that each year the bookstore asked local kids whose families didn’t have much for the holiday what kind of book they’d most want. Marion then made ornaments for a big Christmas tree they kept in the window, each one with a child’s first name, age, and book request. Every year they managed to give hundreds of books away for Christmas.
Under the sink of her new apartment, Lila found a small, shiny red fire extinguisher. Picking up the phone again with Gram, she reassured her.
“Good. Keep it there, perfect if you end up with a kitchen fire,” Gram advised. Lila didn’t have the heart to tell her she had barely cooked once in the past year. But, then again, maybe in her new life she’d start cooking, too.
“Gram, I can see the ocean out of the window in my kitchen!” Lila felt like a little kid, telling her about a star she’d gotten on her spelling test.
“Oh, this is so nice! And you’ll be so close to Annie!”
“Just a couple of miles—not even a ten-minute drive.” Annie’s husband, Pete, had been a godsend with the move, bringing over a couple of guys he worked with to help carry boxes up the four flights of stairs and assemble her bed. Her belongings had fit into a 17-foot UHaul. A couple of things for the bedroom and a coffee table, very little furniture to speak of. The bulk had been clothes and shoes, boxes which she wished she’d labeled less conspicuously. On the third trip up the stairs with boxes labeled “sweaters” the guys had started teasing her about her priorities.
Sitting down between two boxes, both labeled “sweaters”, Lila listened as Gram filled her in on local news. A neighbor had had her gall bladder removed. The daughter of a woman from church had had a baby boy, 9 pounds 5 ounces, named Liam. Then she moved to weather disasters; Gram always seemed to know them all, especially if they were in California. Lila had given up trying to explain that California was a huge state and a mudslide or an earthquake in San Diego or Eureka had as much to do with her in the SF Bay Area as something going on in Maryland did to Massachusetts. Besides, there was something a little comforting in knowing her Gram was watching out for her, even if it made no sense.
Both needing to take care of things, they got off the phone. Gram had to tidy up, though Lila would have bet her life’s savings (not much since she was actually in debt) that her tiny salt box was neat as a pin. Lila needed to unpack. Nothing but boxes in her living room. Opening one up to her right, she took out the silvery grey cashmere sweater wrap on top, perfect for foggy mornings.
The phone rang again. The caller ID read: mother. Stabbed with a shot of guilt and anxiety, Lila wondered if she could let it go through to voicemail.
“Hi, mom,” she answered, bracing herself. They typically corresponded through email; Lila knew her mom must really be upset to pick up the phone.
“How are you going to live on a bookstore clerk’s salary?” her mother began. Lila could almost see her pacing in her apartment outside Boston.
“Well, I think—”
“Aren’t all independent bookstores going out of business?”
“Um…”
“And, really, Lila. A small tourist town on the coast? Didn’t you learn anything from my mistakes?”
“It’s not a—” Lila began protesting while realizing that that description fit Redwood Cove perfectly.
“It’s exactly like Hyannis. Nothing but a tourist trap.”
“Listen, Mom.” Lila sat up straighter and found herself insisting that this was actually a well-thought-out move and career change for which she was prepared and planned.
“You’re prepared for this
Under the sink of her new apartment, Lila found a small, shiny red fire extinguisher. Picking up the phone again with Gram, she reassured her.
“Good. Keep it there, perfect if you end up with a kitchen fire,” Gram advised. Lila didn’t have the heart to tell her she had barely cooked once in the past year. But, then again, maybe in her new life she’d start cooking, too.
“Gram, I can see the ocean out of the window in my kitchen!” Lila felt like a little kid, telling her about a star she’d gotten on her spelling test.
“Oh, this is so nice! And you’ll be so close to Annie!”
“Just a couple of miles—not even a ten-minute drive.” Annie’s husband, Pete, had been a godsend with the move, bringing over a couple of guys he worked with to help carry boxes up the four flights of stairs and assemble her bed. Her belongings had fit into a 17-foot UHaul. A couple of things for the bedroom and a coffee table, very little furniture to speak of. The bulk had been clothes and shoes, boxes which she wished she’d labeled less conspicuously. On the third trip up the stairs with boxes labeled “sweaters” the guys had started teasing her about her priorities.
Sitting down between two boxes, both labeled “sweaters”, Lila listened as Gram filled her in on local news. A neighbor had had her gall bladder removed. The daughter of a woman from church had had a baby boy, 9 pounds 5 ounces, named Liam. Then she moved to weather disasters; Gram always seemed to know them all, especially if they were in California. Lila had given up trying to explain that California was a huge state and a mudslide or an earthquake in San Diego or Eureka had as much to do with her in the SF Bay Area as something going on in Maryland did to Massachusetts. Besides, there was something a little comforting in knowing her Gram was watching out for her, even if it made no sense.
Both needing to take care of things, they got off the phone. Gram had to tidy up, though Lila would have bet her life’s savings (not much since she was actually in debt) that her tiny salt box was neat as a pin. Lila needed to unpack. Nothing but boxes in her living room. Opening one up to her right, she took out the silvery grey cashmere sweater wrap on top, perfect for foggy mornings.
The phone rang again. The caller ID read: mother. Stabbed with a shot of guilt and anxiety, Lila wondered if she could let it go through to voicemail.
“Hi, mom,” she answered, bracing herself. They typically corresponded through email; Lila knew her mom must really be upset to pick up the phone.
“How are you going to live on a bookstore clerk’s salary?” her mother began. Lila could almost see her pacing in her apartment outside Boston.
“Well, I think—”
“Aren’t all independent bookstores going out of business?”
“Um…”
“And, really, Lila. A small tourist town on the coast? Didn’t you learn anything from my mistakes?”
“It’s not a—” Lila began protesting while realizing that that description fit Redwood Cove perfectly.
“It’s exactly like Hyannis. Nothing but a tourist trap.”
“Listen, Mom.” Lila sat up straighter and found herself insisting that this was actually a well-thought-out move and career change for which she was prepared and planned.
“You’re prepared for this
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