A Seaside Christmas

“And he didn’t choke on the words?” Jenny asked incredulously.

“No. Mick’s mellowed now that he’s back with Megan and mostly retired. You’ll see.”

Jenny found it hard to imagine that the hard-driving man she’d known had eased into retirement that readily. “I’ll bet he’s still in his office poking around whenever he can.”

Connie laughed. “Matthew can attest to that. He says his uncle drives them all crazy. He still wants status reports on every development project they have going around the country.”

“His name is on the company,” Jenny said, understanding that sort of pride of ownership. She often found it painful to relinquish control of her songs once she’d sold the rights. One of the great things about collaborating with Caleb had been his willingness to let her hang around through the recording sessions. He’d claimed to appreciate the occasional insights she’d dared to offer about phrasing or holding a note for emphasis.

“Your uncle’s the same way about this place,” Connie acknowledged. “Jake put me in charge of operations and I know he trusts me to get the job done, but he does have his moments when he tries to micromanage every detail.”

“Will you ask him and Bree to come to dinner tonight, too?” she said, needing the reassurance of familiar faces. “I’ll want to thank him for what he’s done to the house.”

“Anything you want,” Connie agreed readily. “If that will make you more comfortable, I’ll see to it they’re there. With Sean and Emily Rose around, the adults may not get a word in edgewise. Maybe that’s for the best for now.”

“Thanks.” She knew it wouldn’t completely quiet her nerves, but it would be comforting.

Connie gave her a knowing look. “It’s going to be okay, sweetie. I promise. We’re family. You’ve known Thomas most of your life.”

But he’d only been her stepfather for a few years, most of them in her absence. That was a huge adjustment to make when she thought about him and one she had yet to fully accept. Clearly, though, the time had come to make a real effort.

* * *

Bree tucked her cell phone back into her pocket and regarded Jenny curiously. “Dinner at your mom’s tonight?”

Jenny nodded. “I couldn’t say no. It would have been like kicking a puppy or something, especially after she told me about renovating our old house and keeping it for me.”

Bree’s eyes lit up. “She finally told you about that? Keeping quiet when you and I have talked these past few weeks has been killing me. Have you seen it?”

“We walked through on the way over here. The renovations are amazing. It’s a lot more than a fresh coat of paint, which was what I’d been expecting. They even put in a whole new kitchen with granite countertops and stainless-steel appliances. And the bathrooms are straight out of a design magazine.”

“Isn’t the whole place amazing?” Bree said. “Dad thought of every detail. There are advantages to having a famous architectural genius in the family.”

“I’ll say. He even managed to expand the master bath and put in a huge walk-in shower, plus a Jacuzzi. When I look at it, it’s hard to remember how tiny the old one used to be. I can hardly wait to climb into that tub with a glass of wine and soak till I shrivel up like a prune.”

“It’s big enough for two,” Bree commented. “Jake and I tested it.”

Jenny laughed. “Of course you did.”

“Well, I needed him to see how essential it was to have one put into our house.”

“The experiment paid off?”

“Oh, yeah,” Bree said, her cheeks turning pink. “Just so you know, we raced home to our own bed. That fancy king-size bed in your place hasn’t been slept in.”

“Good to know,” Jenny replied, amused by their sense of decorum. “Now, can we focus on these lyrics? What do you think of what I’ve written so far?”

“They’re amazing,” Bree said enthusiastically. “They capture the tone of the play and the whole holiday spirit in exactly the right way. I can’t wait for the cast to hear them. The professionals will be here next week. I’ve already been doing readings with the locals since it takes them a little longer to nail down their lines. Think you can have these songs polished up by Monday? That’ll give us three full weeks of rehearsals. We open three days before Christmas and run through New Year’s Eve. No shows on Christmas Eve or Christmas day, though.”

“Even so, that’s a lot of performances,” Jenny said, surprised. “You can fill the theater that many nights?”

“And two Saturday matinees,” Bree confirmed. “We’re virtually sold out. We have a lot more season ticket holders than I ever imagined and the Christmas play always draws from the entire region. People are anxious for a holiday event the whole family can enjoy at a reasonable price.”

“Bree, that’s fantastic! Congratulations!” she said, genuinely thrilled for her.

Bree grinned. “I have to say when Jake and I first talked about my opening a theater here, I wasn’t a believer. I wasn’t convinced it would last a year. Yet here we are in year five. We’ve even gotten some great reviews from critics in Washington and Baltimore, too.”

“Okay, I know you’re not one to rest on your laurels. What’s next?”

“I want to write an original play with Broadway or at least off-Broadway potential,” Bree said at once, then grinned. “When I dream, I dream big.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” Jenny said. “And that’s not exactly a new dream. You’ve been working toward it your entire career. You deserve whatever success comes your way.”

“Thanks.” Bree glanced at her watch. “I need to get onstage and start running lines with the cast. You’re okay here in the rehearsal hall?”

“I have my guitar and some paper. That’s all I need,” Jenny confirmed. “Go create magic.”

Bree laughed. “You do the same.”

Jenny thought of all the times when she’d struggled to find the perfect word or the perfect note. And it still thrilled her when she heard one of her songs on the radio. Now that, she thought with a smile on her lips, truly was magic.

Chapter Four

“I always knew you were going to be a big-time son writer,” Dillon Johnson said, stepping into the rehearsal hall just as Jenny set aside her guitar. “That was incredible.”

A smile spread across Jenny’s face at the sight of her first real boyfriend. He was taller now and had filled out his lanky frame. The boy she’d last seen years ago was now a man, and a good-looking one at that.

“Dillon! Where’d you come from?” she said, jumping up to give him a hug. “And look at you, wearing a suit and tie and all grown up. How’d that happen?”

He laughed. “Time passes, at least for most of us mortals. You, however, look exactly the same. Still beautiful.”

Jenny doubted that. It had been hours since she’d run a comb through her hair, and her lipstick no doubt was history. She’d chosen her most comfortable pair of jeans and her warmest sweater this morning, but neither was exactly fashionable.

She had a real superstitious streak about that sweater, though. She’d worn it when she’d written her first big hit, scribbling lyrics onto scraps of paper late into a cold, snowy night in Nashville. For every song thereafter, she’d made it a point to pull on the same sweater when she’d first started writing down ideas and words. This morning she’d wanted to bring that same luck to everything she wrote for Bree’s holiday production.

“Liar,” she teased. “But thank you for the compliment just the same. What brings you by?”

“Ethel mentioned that you were in town—”

“Of course she did,” Jenny said, surprised there hadn’t been a banner announcing her arrival on Main Street.

“She does like to be the bearer of good tidings,” Dillon said. “Anyway, I had a few minutes between appointments. You probably heard I’m working with my dad now in his insurance business.”

“I did hear that,” Jenny confirmed. “I have to say I was surprised.”

His expression turned sheepish. “You mean because I always swore I’d rather die than sell insurance?”

“You were pretty emphatic about it,” she recalled.