New York Times bestselling author Carla Neggers celebrates the joy and romance of Christmas in New England
Clare Morgan is ready for a fresh start when she moves to the small Massachusetts town of Knights Bridge with her young son, Owen. Widowed for six years, Clare settles into her job as the townâs new librarian. She appreciates the warm welcome she and Owen receive and truly enjoys getting the library ready for its role in the annual holiday open house.
Clare expects to take it slow with her new life. Then she meets Logan Farrell, a Boston ER doctor in town to help his elderly grandmother settle into assisted living. Slow isnât a word Logan seems to understand. Accustomed to his fast-paced city life, he doesnât plan to stay in Knights Bridge for long. But Daisy Farrell has other ideas and enlists her grandson to decorate her house on the village green one last time. Logan looks to Clare for help. She can go through Daisyâs book collection and help him decorate while sheâs at it.
As Clare and Logan get his grandmotherâs house ready for the holidays, what neither of them expects to find is an attraction to each other. Better than most, they know all the crazy things that can happen in life, but everything about Knights Bridge and this magical season invites them to open themselves to new possibilitiesâ¦and new love.
Prologue
âI cannot change! I cannot! Itâs not that Iâm impenitent, itâs just... Wouldnât it be better if I just went home to bed?â
âCharles Dickens, A Christmas Carol
December 1945
FIFTEEN-YEAR-OLD DAISY BLANCHARD paused on South Main Street and sighed at the once-stately house across from the Knights Bridge common, just past the town library. Built in 1892, the house had a curving front porch, tall windows and Victorian details that must have looked grand in their day. Now, a week before Christmas, the house looked shabby and forlorn against the gray winter sky. It wasnât decorated. There wasnât so much as a wreath on the front door.
It was, by far, the worst-looking house in the village.
My house, Daisy thought with dismay.
Even through the war, she and her mother had managed to decorate for Christmas. They would scour the house for bits of ribbon and yarn and they would cut evergreen boughs and gather pinecones in the yard. Theyâd learned to be resourceful. Everyone in their small town west of Boston had done the sameâusing, reusing, mending, sharing what they had. Other homes, businesses, churches, the library and town offices were decorated for the season. The First Congregational Church had a crèche, and a family of carrot-nosed, top-hatted snowmen greeted shoppers at the country store.
The only reason her house wasnât decorated, Daisy knew, was because her father believed decorating was a waste of time and effort.
He was another Ebenezer Scrooge.
She felt bad for such thinking. Give him time, her mother had told her. Daisy was trying but it wasnât easy when she so desperately wanted to have fun this Christmas. For more than three years, her father had been away at war, serving in the navy in the Atlantic. Sheâd missed him so much. When heâd come home in September, sheâd been so excited. But heâd changed during the war, and so had she. Sheâd grown up. She wasnât a child anymore. She couldnât explain the changes in him, except that fighting the war and being away had taken a toll. He didnât talk about his experience, but she knew he must have seen terrible things.
With the end of the war, the people of Knights Bridge were in the mood to throw off their worries and sadness and celebrate, if with a deep sense of appreciation for the sacrifices especially of those who had given their lives. When her father frustrated herâwhich was often these daysâDaisy tried to remember how grateful she was heâd come home safe and sound. That wasnât the case for so many.
She heard someone behind her and turned, surprised to see Tom Farrell running down the library steps. He would never consider the steps might be icy. He had a stack of books in one arm. He was a senior, and he would be the first in his family to graduate from high school. He wanted to be a firefighter. He was already a volunteer firefighter. Given the books in his arms, Daisy knew he would have at least one report due for school, and he would be late. It was always the same. Somehow, though, he would turn in his work in the nick of time.
He grinned as he caught up with her. âHi, Daisy.â He spoke in that easygoing, confident way that was uniquely Tom Farrell. âI saw you in the library but I was too far away to say hello. I didnât want to shout and risk getting thrown out.â