Read Online Once Upon A Christmas Eve: A Novella by Katie Klein - Free Book Online Page A

silhouette of the Christmas tree glowing through the living room curtains.
    The house isn’t on the water, but in the winter—after the leaves fade and fall and branches are bare—parts of the river can be seen from my second-floor bedroom.
    Jonathan follows me up the driveway, down the front walk. “This is me,” I say, climbing porch steps, bending beneath a low, leafless branch. “Looks like everyone made it.” Dad’s car is parked at the curb, and Mom and Sam’s cars are beneath the carport. The lights are on but the door is closed. I remove keys from my coat pocket, fingers numb with cold, exhale an anxious breath.
    “You okay?” Jonathan asks.
    “Yeah . . . I just. . . . I don’t know why I’m so nervous.”
    “It’s okay to be nervous. It’s a big deal, everyone being here.”
    “Yeah.”
    And yet I can’t make myself open the storm door, turn that lock, step inside the warm house where another dinner is waiting for us. “You don’t have to do this,” I remind him, words tumbling, tripping over themselves. “I mean, I understand completely if you have something better to do. Or if you want to go back to your family. Or if you want to call the whole deal off. . . .”
    “Olivia,” he interrupts.
    My eyes gravitate to his at the word. In all the days of my life, I have never heard my name spoken quite this way—so calmly and gently. I never knew my name could sound so reassuring, could sound this way coming from anyone’s lips.
    “Do you want me to be here?” he asks.
    “If you want to be here.”
    “That’s not enough.”
    It’s not enough that he wants to be here. He wants to know I want him here. That I want him at my family dinner as much as he wanted me at his. Because this can’t work any other way.
    “Yes,” I answer, because it’s true. Even though I barely know him, I don’t know how I would have done this without him.
    “Then I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. Okay?”
    “Okay.”
    At this, I find the courage to open the door, to step inside.
    “Olivia Jane Hall is that you?” A voice calls from another room. I flinch at the sound. My mother—trapped in the middle of an anxious frenzy—enters the foyer, spoon in hand.  “Where have you been? I thought you were getting off after five! I called the store and there was no answer. I tried your cell phone. . . .”
    Even with cancer, my mom is beautiful. Bright blue eyes that match my own. Dark eyebrows just beginning to regrow. A silky red scarf—to complement her sweater—tied around her head like she is a gypsy wanderer, its fringe falling in cascades around her neck and shoulder.  
    “I’m so sorry. I was actually at the Andrews’ house. This is Jonathan. Mrs. Stacey’s nephew. I invited him to hang out with us. I hope that’s okay?” I force a smile as she splits a look between the two of us, entirely unsure of what to say.
    Jonathan clears his throat, steps forward. “It’s nice to meet you. Aunt Stacey sent cheesecake.” He shows her the box.
    “And her love,” I add.
    My mom exhales a sigh of relief, nods, scratches her head at the edge of the scarf where her hairline might be. “Okay. Jonathan, you said?” She takes the box from him.
    “Yes, ma’am.”
    “It’s good to meet you. Yes, you can absolutely join us. We would love to have you.” Then, turning to me: “Where is your cell phone?”
    My shoulders lift, shrugging. “My car?”
    “Do not scare me like that again. Another hour and we would’ve called Kenny.”
    “Kenny is our police chief,” I explain to Jonathan, as Mom closes and locks the door behind us.
    “Let me take your coat, Jonathan,” she says.
    “I’ll get it,” I insist, shrugging my arms out of my own. “Is everyone here?” I ask, voice low.
    “Yes. We were just about to start eating, so your timing is perfect. I’m serious, though. Don’t do that to me again. Call me next time you plan to be late.”
    With this, I have been forgiven. “Sorry, Mama. What