Page 1 of A Perfect Christmas Romance (Kringle, Texas #8)
Later, she’d cry or maybe scream.
But right now, Olivia Kearns was too busy having an out-of-body experience to indulge in something as mundane as tears.
She pressed her forehead against the ice-cold living room window of her adorably quaint bungalow in Kringle, Texas and stared outside.
Rare snow flurries accumulated like the list of things Liv needed to cancel, starting with her entire concept of happily ever after.
As she watched her parents drive away in separate cars—a visual metaphor so on-the-nose it made her want to laugh hysterically—Liv prayed to the god of icy roads to keep them safe. It was the least the universe could do after dropping this bombshell on her perfectly organized life.
Thirty years of marriage. Poof. Gone. Like magic, if magic specialized in destroying childhoods and ruining holiday parties.
Liv shook her head, her brain still buffering as it tried to process the news.
Her parents had sat her down—on a Saturday afternoon, no less, because apparently traumatic news is best served with a side of weekend plans—and calmly informed her that their seemingly picture-perfect marriage was, in fact, more like a stock photo. Fake and about to be discarded.
“It’s for the best,” her mother had said, while her father nodded along like one of those bobblehead dogs people put in their cars.
And just like that, the foundation of Liv’s world crumbled faster than a gingerbread house in a sauna.
She padded across her moss-green carpet in fuzzy socks, barely registering her meticulously curated living room.
The floral slipcovers and Queen Anne cherry tables seemed like props in a life that no longer made sense.
Everything was tidy and organized, just the way Liv liked her world—a world that had decided to go rogue and throw itself into chaos.
What she needed, Liv decided, was a list. Because if there was one thing that could solve the dissolution of a three-decade marriage, it was bullet points on a yellow legal pad.
She marched upstairs to her home office, grabbed said yellow pad (because even in crisis, color-coding is crucial), and wrote a bold number one.
First order of business. Cancel the New Year’s Eve thirtieth-anniversary party. Nothing says, “Happy New Year,” quite like “Sorry, the couple you’re here to celebrate would rather eat glass than stay married.”
Theoretically, she and her sister Amy were supposed to plan this party together. But Amy, bless her heart, had the organizational skills of a Pomeranian.
Plus, Amy was knee-deep in planning her February wedding because, apparently, she wanted her bridesmaids to double as popsicles.
Liv groaned. Fifty invitations. Fifty explanations. Fifty chances to say, “Surprise! The party’s canceled because love is dead, and happiness is a lie!”
She scribbled a large number two on her list. Amy’s Wedding. As if planning a wedding wasn’t stressful enough, now they had to figure out how to seat divorced parents without turning the reception into a WWE smackdown.
“I can get through this.” Liv sighed with all the conviction of a carnivore trying to convince themselves tofu was delicious.
At least she didn’t have to break the news to a boyfriend. Her last relationship had fizzled out months ago, ending with all the drama of a deflating balloon.
The timing couldn’t be worse. Work was a constant game of musical chairs, with everyone scrambling to impress the new CEO.
William Lawrence Associates, a Public Relations firm as old and venerable as the dinosaurs (but with better suits), was trying to hip itself up under the leadership of Billy Lawrence—a man who refused to let people call him William III, probably because it made him sound like a British monarch.
Liv loved her job in crisis management. The irony? She could solve everyone’s problems but her own.
Her coworkers were like family, especially her bestie Dana Gerard, who had the uncanny ability to make Liv smile even on days when she wanted to fake her own death and move to a remote island in the South Pacific.
But now, at the ripe old age of twenty-seven, Liv was being told to “update her image” and “change her attitude.” Apparently, being competent and professional was so last season.
Even though Billy Boy was pushing forty himself, he seemed determined to turn the office into a hip, happening place—or whatever the cool kids called it these days.
“Loosen up a little,” Billy had her immediate boss, Ray Boswell tell her. As if loosening up was as simple as untying a shoelace. “We’re taking the starch out of our stuffy legacy.”
Because nothing says “professional PR firm” quite like a bunch of grown adults acting like they were in a lost weekend at Coachella.
Liv wrote “loosen up” on her list and underlined it, feeling a sense of déjà vu. Her ex-boyfriend, Jerry, told her the same thing when he dumped her six months ago.
“You’re too uptight,” he said as if being organized and responsible were character flaws. In retrospect, breaking up with Jerry had been less heartbreak and more like taking off an itchy sweater.
She’d always believed in long-lasting relationships, modeling her expectations after her parents’ seemingly flourishing marriage. Now, she felt like she’d been living in a snow globe, only to have someone shake it violently.
Confused and hollow, Liv pushed her emotions into a mental box labeled “Deal With Later (Or Never).” She had things to do, a list to conquer, a life to reorganize.
Her cell phone rang, probably the universe calling to ask if she’d like a side of chaos with her order of upheaval. She let it go to voicemail and then checked the message.
“Olivia, call me back ASAP. I just talked to Mom.” It was Amy, sounding like she was auditioning for the role of “Distressed Damsel” in a Shakespearean tragedy.
Liv sighed. Amy was at the top of the list of people she wanted to avoid right now, right above “tax auditors” and “people who say ‘irregardless.’” If anyone could shatter her fragile self-control, it was her sister.
“Honey, I know you’re upset, but I’m going to keep calling until you talk to me,” Amy said. “A family needs to pull together at a time like this. We’re sisters. We should help each other.”
Could this day get any worse? How was Liv supposed to comfort Amy when she felt like a monster truck just hit her?
Reluctantly, she called her sister back, bracing herself as if she were about to bungee jump off the cliff of family drama.
“I was in the bathroom,” Liv lied because, apparently, this day hadn’t had enough falsehoods yet.
“I know it hurts, Liv, having Mom and Dad break up,” Amy said. “I cried for days when I learned?—”
“Wait, what?” Liv felt like she’d been throat-punched. “You cried for days? When did they tell you?”
“They didn’t exactly tell me. Well, they did, but only because I knew something was wrong.”
“How?” Liv couldn’t believe she’d missed something so obvious that even Amy, who once spent an entire day looking for her sunglasses while they were on top of her head, had figured it out.
“Mom wasn’t into planning my wedding the way she had been. She was distracted, and I asked what was wrong, and well, the dam just broke.”
“How long have you known? Why didn’t you tell me?” Hurt fizzed inside her like a shaken soda can.
“I haven’t known that long. Mom wanted to tell you herself and swore me to secrecy.” Amy’s voice took on a placating tone that made Liv grind her teeth. “Please, don’t get upset. It doesn’t matter who knew what when. I hate that it’s happened, but I’m sure everything will work out. Are you okay?”
Oh, this was rich. Amy, who considered a chipped nail a national emergency, was now playing the role of comforting big sister. Liv felt like she’d stepped into an alternate universe where up was down and calm was frantic.
“I’ll be fine when I get used to the idea of parents who don’t love each other anymore. Don’t worry about me,” Liv said.
“I know, I know, you’re the one who always has things under control, but remember, Mom and Dad are still young enough to build new lives.”
“I didn’t know they hated their old one,” Liv muttered, feeling like she was in a bad soap opera where everyone had a secret life she knew nothing about.
Amy rarely played the big sister card. In fact, Liv sometimes forgot her sibling was older, given that Amy’s life philosophy seemed to be “Why plan when you can panic?” But now, talking about their parents’ bombshell turned everything surreal.
“They don’t hate each other. They just changed and grew apart,” Amy said, sounding like she was quoting directly from “Divorce for Dummies.” “You’ve probably figured that out for yourself. We have to cancel their anniversary party.”
Liv felt numb all over, like someone dunked her in an ice bath.
She didn’t want to deal with this. It shouldn’t be happening to her family.
This was the kind of thing that happened in movies or to other people, not to the Kearns, who were supposed to be as solid and dependable as a rock.
A rock that had apparently decided to crumble into sand.
“Liv, I feel guilty, but I won’t be able to help you call the guests to cancel,” Amy said.
“It’s hectic at the flower shop. We can hardly keep up with all the orders for Christmas parties, and Sean says he never sees enough of me, so we’re going to visit his parents in Wisconsin next weekend to get away. ”
“Okay, I’ll do it.” Liv resigned herself to being the family workhorse once again.
“You’re the best! No one ever had a better little sister,” Amy gushed, laying on the praise thicker than frosting on a wedding cake. “There is one tiny little thing you should know.”
“What’s that?”
Do you have a pencil and paper handy? Of course you do. You’re always so well organized. Write down this number, 555-2996. Got it?”
Liv’s spidey senses started tingling. “Whose number is it?”