Music of My Heart: An Inspirational Christmas Romance Read online

  Music of My Heart

  An Inspirational Christmas Romance

  Sophia Isaac

  CUT TO THE CHASE PRESS

  Copyright © 2018 by Sophia Isaac

  All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading and/or electronic sharing of any part of this book without written permission of the publisher constitutes piracy (theft) of the author’s intellectual property. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations in critical articles or reviews.

  Sophia Isaac/Cut to the Chase Press

  San Antonio, Texas U.S.A.

  www.cuttothechasepress.com

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. The characters, places, and events are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Cover art by Melody Simmons

  Music of My Heart/ Sophia Isaac. -- 1st ed.

  Ebook Edition ISBN 978-1-949730-00-5

  Paperback Edition ISBN 978-1-949730-01-2

  Dedication

  To my mother, who spent most of her adult life focused on raising her children alone, and who never remarried in part because she didn’t understand what Jesus meant about divorce until too late for it to make a difference in her life.

  We appreciated every sacrifice she made for us—but I wish she had allowed herself the joy of marrying again.

  I love and miss you, Mom.

  Miss you every day.

  And to my adorable husband: I didn’t know how good life could be until I met you. Thank you for transforming my world and for loving me just as I am.

  Acknowledgments

  No writer creates in isolation. Many thanks to all my friends at San Antonio Romance Authors and Women’s Fiction Writers Association who have helped and supported me along the way.

  Special thanks to Willa Blair and Suanne Schafer, fellow authors who read an early version of this book, and Deborah, good friend and smart cookie who helped me fine tune it.

  Your support means the world to me.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter One

  Sleigh bells ri-i-i-ing, are you listenin’?

  “No, I’m not listening!” Alyson plugged her ears and grimaced. “If I hear this song one more time, I’m going to scream!”

  “At least it’s a classic.” Barbara shut the receipt tape cover on the cash register. “It’s better than that hip-hop version of ‘Silent Night’ that plays every hour.”

  “No kidding. Mall workers should unite for a torture-free workplace during the holidays.” Alyson marked the time on her clipboard and noted that all was shipshape for the opening hour. She smiled fondly at the older woman who’d been called from another store to cover Alyson’s department. “I sure wish all my staff were as good as you, Barb. At least I know housewares isn’t falling to pieces while I’m out playing Mrs. Claus.”

  Alyson flipped on the cash-wrap light. The only thing now was to open the chain gate to let in the customers already lined up for doorbuster deals.

  “Don’t you worry, hon, I’ve got this covered. You make sure that delinquent Santa doesn’t have booze on his breath this morning. You see the news?”

  “Are you kidding? We broke the Internet with our drunk Santa. I’m surprised I didn’t lose my job. If Mr. Giles himself hadn’t hired him, I bet I would’ve been fired. What a disaster.” Alyson sighed and resisted sharing more. Barbara was a temporary, so it wasn’t practical to get too attached.

  Alyson was too busy to chat anyway. She had a show to run and employees to manage and only—she checked her watch—thirty seconds before the store opened. “Doors opening, Barb.” Then louder, to her trusted Linens manager down the hall, “Hector, doors!”

  Alyson jogged to the security box, plugged in her code, and the chain gate whirred into life with a jingle, rising slowly.

  Impatient customers crouched low to get under the gate before it rose even halfway. Once one person did it, everybody rushed in, bending under the gate, jostling each other, trying to make sure they were in position to get the best deals before anyone else.

  Every Christmas, decent folk turned into complete jerks, competing to buy the hottest or most expensive gifts. She hated Christmas.

  Especially now. First year as a divorcée. First year providing Christmas for her boys by herself. First year she was not only working overtime but almost double-time since she’d been put in charge of Santa’s Wonderland.

  The original event planner had quit after only a week when their first Santa broke his leg and canceled on them. Then the boss hired his out-of-work brother-in-law to be Santa, even though he had no prior experience, and had delegated the whole thing to Alyson. The new Santa had gotten rip-roaring drunk on the job, his water bottle filled with cheap bourbon. Disaster.

  Those poor kids! Alyson had shut down the line as soon as she’d understood the problem, but it was too late, and parents were royally peeved. She would be, too, if it had happened to her boys. No child should have to recoil from Santa’s alcohol breath and be told “Ya get whatcha get, and ya don’t throw a fit!”

  She had wanted to shut down the whole operation, but Mr. Giles had said, “Never end on misery. That is all people will remember you for. We push forward.”

  Great advice and very inspirational to hear—unless you are suddenly the one planning everything. She’d spent the rest of the day on the phone securing a new Santa from an actors’ agency and dealing with angry parents. Her floor manager duties pushed to after hours.

  She’d come home too late to tuck her sons into bed, something she’d promised herself would never happen—they would always come first. And then she’d cried in the bathroom, hiding from her mother’s blaming tone.

  But today would be better. It had to be better. Put on a smile, Alyson. A smile is your most important accessory. She couldn’t get Mr. Giles’s voice out of her head.

  She straightened the floor signage the rushing people had knocked askew, helped an elderly couple shuffling in find the department they wanted, and then quick-stepped it down the long hall to meet with the new Santa before Santa’s Wonderland opened.

  The way was clear, so she closed her eyes and took a deep breath as she walked, attempting the One-Minute Mindfulness Meditation from the video Mr. Giles forced all the managers to watch. She focused on the smart and efficient tock-tock sound of her shiny Mary Jane heels filling the hallway, all other sounds distant as most stores were yet to open.

  What an empowering sound her heels made. Smart. Tough. Capable. She wished she felt as confident as they sounded.

  “Nice shoes, Ms. Stefanelli.”

  Startled, she almost slipped as she turned to the deep voice behind her.
Marcus, the Ginormous Elf. He was so handsome, his amber eyes a warm surprise against his dark brown skin. Even casual, in a t-shirt and jeans, he looked amazing. At least when he was wearing his ridiculous elf costume, it was easier to ignore her attraction. She dropped her gaze, hoping he didn’t see her interest. There was no time for such foolishness. She was done with men, and he was just another temporary employee for the holidays.

  He caught up to her, and she kept going, waving for him to walk with her. She barely came to his shoulder, three of her strides to one of his. She didn’t slow down.

  “Hey, about the schedule. I can’t work Sunday.”

  “Good morning to you, too, Marcus. I’m in a bit of a hurry. I’m meeting with the new Santa.”

  “Okay, so two issues. I can’t work this Sunday. If you don’t change it, I’ll be a no-show.”

  “Duly noted. I haven’t changed the schedule because I haven’t had time. Next issue.”

  “You’ve got us all in the wrong positions. I should not be directing traffic, that’s not what I signed on for. I was supposed to have the middle position, the entertainer. Or do I not have the right ‘look’ to talk to people?”

  Gut punch. Ouch. Alyson stopped and gave him her full attention. “I’m sorry I said that. And I never for a second meant that elves couldn’t be African-American, I just meant that you’re a big guy and elves aren’t built like you.”

  She glanced at his broad muscular shoulders and chest, then back up to his eyes.

  He grinned at whatever he saw on her face.

  She cleared her throat. “Anyway, thank you for covering your tattoos and . . . scar.”

  He cocked his head. “It’s an omega. All my frat brothers have it. You thought it was a gang symbol or something? Come on.”

  “I never said that. It’s just . . . creepy.”

  “How did you even see it? It’s over my heart. It’s always covered.” He tapped the area with his hand, drawing her eye.

  Heat crawled up her neck. She picked up the pace again and tried not to look at him, keeping her gaze straight ahead at the escalators still too far away to save her.

  “Hey, when did you check me out?”

  By the tone of his voice, she could tell he was smiling.

  She couldn’t walk any faster but avoided his eyes all the same, not willing to explain she had seen Marcus change shirts the first day when the guys opted to finish dressing in the breakroom so the lone girl elf could have privacy.

  It had struck her then that not one of them saw her as a woman who might be bothered by this. Clearly, they saw her only as a boss. She knew she wasn’t here to make friends, but it still hurt.

  And there was the problem that since that day she couldn’t get the sight of his bare chest out of her mind. But that sort of happiness was not for her—not now she was divorced. The only reason that she was attracted to Marcus was he resembled her ex. That’s it. She was lonely, but she could deal with lonely. Providing for her boys was her number one priority. No distractions.

  As she neared the escalators, she peered to the floor below and saw that families were already lining up, and her elves—her crowd control—were nowhere in sight. “Oh, no! Didn’t these people see all the bad press?” Taking the stairs rather than the escalator, she went as fast as her heels and pencil skirt would allow.

  She stormed into Santa’s Workshop behind the stage, the small cabin that acted as their HQ and breakroom.

  As soon as Alyson entered, a few of the elves got to their feet and shuffled nervously, waiting for an order. She had that effect on people.

  Alyson thumbed behind her. “People are lining up already. I know they’re early, but I need two elves to go set up the ropes to keep these people in line and—”

  “Why are the ropes down?” the girl elf said. And even though she was the only girl, Alyson still couldn’t remember her name. It was a boy’s name, like Evan or Devon or something.

  “Oh, you weren’t here yesterday. The cleaning crew had to replace certain areas where the . . . um . . . vomit . . .” She felt sick just remembering it. Drunk Santa had puked as they led him away, and the kids and parents waiting in line who’d been eating too much candy and drinking too much coffee had reacted in kind. Nastiness. Oh, the smell. “Thank you all for coming back, by the way.”

  “Hazard pay?” Bertie, the college boy, held out his hand with a comical smile.

  “Afraid not. And thanks for volunteering. Explain yesterday to Devon.” She glanced at the girl to see if she’d gotten the name right. Yes! “Then go fix those velvet ropes and candy canes. Please.”

  Scanning the room, she realized something wasn’t right. She counted. Six elves, there should be eight. “Wait a minute. Other than Marcus, who isn’t here yet? And have any of you seen an older gentleman with white hair—”

  “And a white beard, in a jolly red suit?” Bertie joked, donning his elf hat and smock.

  “Ha ha. We have a new Santa, from an agency this time, but he was supposed to be here waiting for me”—she glanced at her watch—“eight minutes ago.”

  Bertie and Devon walked out the door, and Alyson followed slowly, scrolling through her contacts on her phone for the agency’s number. Boom! She ran right into a brick wall. A warm brick wall that smelled divine. Stunned, she staggered back. “I’m so sorry, Marcus, I—” She cut short her apology when she met his gaze and saw the slow smile climbing.

  She knew her hot ears were pink but hoped her makeup kept her embarrassment from showing on her cheeks.

  He stepped aside, holding the door, and with a flourish of the hand and a bow he said, “Ladies first.”

  With a deep breath to cleanse her psyche, she passed into the mall and focused on the task at hand. The crowd was growing. Her stomach clenched on the twenty-ounce dark roast she’d consumed for breakfast.

  Searching the massive marble hallways to the north, south, east, and west, she grew more worried at the number of shoppers arriving early now that school was out for the holidays. No guys who looked like Santa.

  She swallowed the acid in her throat and glanced at her watch again. Fifteen minutes to showtime. Santa was supposed to be here to review the schedule with her. Santa was the star. You can’t have Santa’s Wonderland with no Santa!

  She found the agency in her contacts and placed the call as she hurried back into the workshop. Waiting for the agency to pick up, she surveyed the room to make sure the elves were ready. A few were still putting on their gear.

  Marcus, now in green tights and a red-belted green tunic, sat back, reading a book, his legs stretched out before him. Or rather, pretending to read his book—she had seen his eyes flick down to the page. Then he watched her over the top of the paperback again. A well-worn Tolkien. In her mind, he went from potential gang member with all those tats to Lord of the Rings nerd in an instant.

  He cocked his head at her, questioning. Her belly fluttered, and she looked away. He shouldn’t affect her like this now he was dressed as an elf and looked silly. It was like seeing Hercules dressed as a court jester—it was just wrong. But the tights were nice.

  She closed her eyes. Don’t do this to yourself, Alyson. Just ignore him.

  The phone connected. “Agency hours are” —great, a stupid recording— “Monday through Friday, eight a.m. to five p.m. and Saturday, noon to four p.m.”

  “Noon? You’ve got to be kidding me!” She hung up and resisted the urge to throw her phone at the wall.

  Focus, Alyson. She took a deep breath and bit her lip to stop herself from crying out of frustration. Another deep breath, then she checked her watch. “Everyone to your places. Stay on script. Santa may be a little late. Stall as best you can.”

  She left the room to scan the crowd and the hallway for Santa again. No such luck, but she saw her mother and two sons waving wildly at her from the line, all three with big smiles. Alyson waved back and blew a kiss. Her poor boys were going to witness a disaster. No Daddy and no Santa. This Christmas was the worst
.

  “Ms. Stefanelli, about my position . . .” Marcus appeared beside her.

  “No changes. There isn’t time.” She looked once again into the crowd, the line now stretching beyond the ropes into the hallway. All these families were so desperate for a Christmas experience. An experience she would fail to deliver.

  “I’m supposed to be the center elf. I’m good with people, with kids.”

  She turned her attention to him again. “But we need your strength for lifting kids on and off Santa’s lap.” She avoided touching him, instead merely glancing at his strong arms. “No one can do that for as long as you can. And two elves didn’t show.” She looked him in the eye. “I’d give you the center if I could. I’m sorry, Marcus.”

  She could see the acceptance in his eyes. Thank goodness. “Now, please excuse me, I have to go become old before my time.”

  She ducked back into the workshop and pulled the shapeless red velveteen dress over her own fitted skirt and top, donned the Mrs. Claus white wig and bonnet, and the wire-rimmed glasses.

  Swooping out of the workshop and up the steps to the stage, she waved like royalty to the crowd, making an effort to smile at each and every little one who waved back. A glance at her watch as she waved—two minutes behind schedule.

  “Welcome! Welcome to Santa’s Wonderland! Children and moms, dads, grandparents and everyone! I am Mrs. Claus, and I’m here to let you know Santa is all better today, but he is still busy in the workshop—”

  “Drinking!” A man in the crowd hollered. Some people laughed but not many. Most people looked nervous.

  “He’s making his list and checking it twice before he gets busy adding all of you boys and girls to that list.” Her voice sounded fake and saccharine sweet even to her own ears. “It will just be a few minutes before we get started. In the meantime, the elves will help you take as many pictures as you like in the Winter Wonderland, but please stay within the candy cane markers.