Margaritas & Mistletoe, page 1
Margaritas & Mistletoe
'Tis The Season For Love Book 2
Nicole Taylor Eby
MARGARITAS & MISTLETOE
Copyright © 2021 by Nicole Taylor Eby
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher.
The book is a work of fiction. The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author. Any reference to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously.
ISBN: 978-1-990545-02-3
Published by Sail Away Press 2021
Cover art by Fresh Design
Editing by Kate Studer via Reedsy
Contents
Dedication
1. CHAPTER 1
2. CHAPTER 2
3. CHAPTER 3
4. CHAPTER 4
5. CHAPTER 5
6. CHAPTER 6
7. CHAPTER 7
8. CHAPTER 8
9. CHAPTER 9
10. CHAPTER 10
11. CHAPTER 11
12. CHAPTER 12
13. CHAPTER 13
14. CHAPTER 14
15. CHAPTER 15
16. CHAPTER 16
17. CHAPTER 17
18. CHAPTER 18
19. CHAPTER 19
20. CHAPTER 20
21. CHAPTER 21
22. CHAPTER 22
23. CHAPTER 23
24. A Note from Nicole
Acknowledgments
Also on Kobo by Nicole Taylor Eby
25. About the Author
26. Contact Nicole
For Nolan.
May you always find happiness and true love in your life.
Be true to you.
CHAPTER 1
“No. No. No,” I mutter under my breath, gripping the steering wheel hard as a heat wave rolls through my body, leaving me drenched in a cold sweat. I reflexively press down on the accelerator to nudge my speed a few more notches above the speed limit as the BC Ferry announcement board flashes overhead. It is a futile gesture. One that is more likely to get me a speeding ticket than get me on a ferry, but I need to do something.
After a few minutes of reckless speeding, I ease up on the accelerator. The sign might say there is a three-sailing wait to Victoria. But driving like a maniac won’t change the fact that it is going to take me four-and-a-half hours to get to Vancouver Island, and I need to be there in two.
I should have reserved a spot like Drew suggested, because anybody who has ever lived on Vancouver Island knows there is always a sailing wait on Friday. Especially so close to the Christmas holidays. In my defence, I didn’t exactly ignore his advice, I just didn’t get around to making the reservation. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
When Drew finds out, he is definitely going to give me his why-can’t-you-function-like-a-responsible-adult look. A look which he perfected shortly after we started dating and does absolutely nothing to get me to change my ways.
I shove down thoughts of Drew. Thinking about how he doesn’t quite get me won’t help me figure out a solution. If I wait to drive on the ferry, I will miss the interview for the Adventure Wind article. Which will put me in danger of being short for my rent this month. Usually when I have a freelance job fall through, I can scramble to pull enough articles together to cover the gap. But this close to Christmas is a tough time in the freelance world, and I can’t really afford to miss this interview.
There is only one thing to do. I shoulder check, flip on my signal light, and squeeze myself into the traffic going to the long-term parking. I have to go as a walk on passenger and leave my car at the terminal.
If I get in the vehicle line, I will never make my interview, and even worse, I will be late for Ruby’s forty-fifth birthday party. She is the first one of us to hit this gruesome milestone—mine happens just after the new year—and she needs us all there.
Of course, no one else will have done something as flaky as not reserving the ferry, so she will have support whether or not I make it. But I really want to be there for her.
I am already making the turn into the long-term lot when I see the LOT FULL sign. Another heat wave rolls over me, and I am not sure if I am experiencing my first hot flash or am verging on a full-blown panic attack.
Not that it matters. Neither one is going to help me.
I suck in my breath, then blow it out slowly. Getting frantic will fix nothing. I can leave my car in short-term parking. It will all work out. I have ninety minutes of ferry ride to figure out both a plan for my car not getting towed and how to navigate Victoria without a vehicle. City bus, here I come.
I pull a quick U-turn, coming dangerously close to dropping my car into the ditch, then force my way back into the traffic. It takes two loops of the crowded short-term lot to find a spot. I barely let the other car pull out before I swoop in to prevent an over-eager driver from grabbing it from the other side. There is no room for niceties when there is a ferry to catch.
Turning off the engine, I let my forehead drop to the steering wheel. I am getting too old for this kind of chaos. I have never been accused of approaching things with logic. It drives my friends crazy, has cost me more than one relationship, and has gotten me into more messes than I care to admit. I used to find this sort of challenge exciting, now it makes me tired.
I take a few more steadying breaths. Everything is fine. I will just have to text Drew and ask him to pick my car up. He will never let me live it down, but he will do it. At least, I am pretty sure he will. He got pretty angry that time I got a flat, and he needed to rescue me because my spare was still on my car from the last flat. But all a girl can do is ask, then deal with the fallout later.
My cell phone chimes, pulling my thoughts away from my relationship with Drew and back to the current crisis. My eye catches the clock on the dash, and I get my third blast of panic induced sweat. I am running out of time to catch this ferry even as a walk on.
Leaping out of the car, I grab my suitcase from the passenger seat, jerking on it hard when it catches on the steering wheel. When it releases, I stumble backwards into the man getting out of the car beside me. I mumble my apologies, then do an awkward suitcase dragging sprint to the parking machine while simultaneously texting Drew.
Twenty minutes later, sweat is beading on my forehead as I race up the pedestrian loading ramp. It is no small distance between the ticket booth and the berth for the Victoria bound ferry. I probably didn’t need to run. It will take them longer to load the cars than the walk on passengers, and they wouldn’t have sold me a ticket for this sailing if there was a possibility that I could miss it. But I am taking zero chances. I need to get on this boat.
Wrangling my phone with one hand, I drag my suitcase behind me across the bridge over to the ferry. The anti-slip metal spikes keep catching on the wheels, making me move with a lurching motion.
I should have checked my suitcase like a normal person. But after struggling with the parking meter—it was one of those complicated ones that basically requires you to have a master’s degree in parking meters to operate it—I was cutting it close. I didn’t have time to mess with finding the right tag for my bag. Or at least, I didn’t have the mental energy to spare for figuring it out. And with my luck, my suitcase would end up on one of the Gulf Islands instead of in Victoria.
Besides, I have more important things to organize than how to check my bag. I fumble with my phone, trying to dial my sister’s number as my suitcase snags again.
“Hey Emily, I need a favour.” I wedge my phone between my cheek and shoulder so I can wipe the sweat off my forehead. “I texted Drew a few times to ask him, but I haven’t heard back yet.”
“Calm down, Kelsey. I’m not following you.”
I swallow an irritated groan. I need Emily to listen and not do the thing she always does when she thinks I am being irresponsible. Cell service can be dodgy once the ferry hits Active Pass, and I need to make sure my car is sorted out before then.
“I’m heading over to Victoria for Ruby’s birthday and for an interview. But I forgot to make a reservation, and there’s a three-sailing wait. I left my car in short-term parking. Can you please pick it up for me?” When I finish puking out the information, there is a long pause. Sensing her eye roll, I brace myself for her response.
“You need to be more responsible, Kelsey. I have a busy schedule. And I can’t just drop everything because you’re having another crisis.”
“I know, Em,” I say calmly, but I am holding tight to my patience. There is nothing like a lecture from my younger sister to get my blood boiling. But I am desperate for her help, so swallowing my sarcastic retort, I force a bit of sunshine into my voice. “I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t in a jam. There was no long-term parking. And if I got into the line for the cars, then I would miss my interview.”
I don’t bother bringing up Ruby’s birthday party again. Emily is one of those practical people who will consider missing a work interview much more serious than being late for a friend’s birthday. Even if you have been friends since university, and she has been there for you every single time you ever needed her, and she is turning forty-five. And is much more important than any job interview.
“Please, Em. I can’t afford to have my car towed again. I texted Drew, but he hasn’t answered ba
I stumble down the last step onto the ferry, yanking my suitcase loose from the ramp. Then I stop dead. My body goes cold, then hot, then cold again. Emily is saying something to me, but a rushing sound drowns out her voice. The sound of the crowded ferry fades away as I fight to comprehend the words on the screen.
DREW: I’m done
DREW: I can’t deal with this crap anymore
DREW: What kind of adult doesn’t book the ferry?
“Kelsey? Are you there?” Emily’s voice jolts me back.
I shake my head, trying to clear it. “Yeah... Yes. I’m here.” I struggle to find the words for Emily as I process Drew’s declaration. What the hell is he even saying? What is he done with? Is he done work? Or is he done with me? I breathe in sharply. Did Drew just break up with me over text? Or am I overreacting, and he is just saying that he won’t pick up my car?
“I gotta go.” I force the words out around the lump forming in the back of my throat. “Can you please pick up my car?”
There is a silence on the other end of the phone, like Emily is pondering whether or not she will take pity on me and bail me out.
“Send me the location,” she sighs finally. “How long do you have on the meter?”
“You’re the best sister,” I gush, relief sweeping through me. “I’ll send you the information about where it’s parked. There are two hours before it needs more time.”
Ending the call, I manoeuvre my suitcase through a doorway into the jam-packed interior of the ferry, walking the aisles in a daze. Should I text Drew back and ask him for clarification? I am not sure that I want the answer. If I don’t confirm it, then there is space to believe that everything is okay, at least until I get home on Monday.
Standing my suitcase up, freeing both thumbs to speed up my texting, I send Emily the info she needs. Then I text Drew. I can’t wait three days to find out if I need to change my relationship status on Facebook.
ME: I’m not sure what’s happening here
This time I don’t have to wait for a response. It comes in so quickly that it feels like he already had it prepped to go.
DREW: It’s simple. We’re done
DREW: I want a girlfriend who can manage her life
I stare blankly at the screen. My brain is spinning like the webpage loading icon. Not able to stop, but unable to connect. At the same time, a numb sensation spreads through my chest. I am jostled back to reality when someone trying to access a seat bumps into me. I shake my head, trying to clear the fog. Getting dumped over text for not making a ferry reservation is a new low, even for a hot mess like me.
But I can’t just stand here like a fool. I need to find somewhere to sit on this stupid ferry, and I need to figure out how I am going to manage this trip without my car. It is a thirty-minute drive into the city from the ferry terminal. Dealing with my breakup will have to wait.
I glance at the rows of seats in front of me, assessing the situation. The sick feeling in my stomach erupts into full-blown nausea. All the easy to access seats are already occupied. I should have been ready, but I always forget about this part. The seating configuration is worse than on a plane where you only need to manoeuvre past one or two people to get to your seat. Here it can be five or six if you have to go right to the middle.
And there isn’t room between the rows for a bigger girl like me.
I know they say guys like curves. But I don’t think they mean curves like mine. Sure, I have a nicely shaped waist, but then I am all butt and hips, but no boobs. I get to not fit into regular seats, but I also don’t get to have the cleavage to make up for it.
Grabbing my suitcase, I turn away. This is too much. I need some ice cream, because I need a sugar hit, if I am going to survive this day.
The moment I have the ice cream in my hand, I realize it was a bad idea. It doesn’t matter that BC Ferries has the most delectable soft serve ice cream ever. I didn’t need to be juggling my suitcase and a dripping ice cream while navigating a moving boat in search of a seat that doesn’t require me to crawl across the laps of five or six people.
Today is definitely not my best day.
A functioning adult—one that doesn’t get dumped over text for being a little disorganized—would have realized that adding an ice cream cone was only going to make this messy situation worse. I could have at least gotten it in a bowl. But nope, that would have taken good decision-making skills. Something that I am clearly lacking despite being just shy of forty-five.
I lick the cone thoroughly, attempting to catch any impending drips, then survey the seats in the passenger lounge. The seating situation hasn’t gotten any better while I was waiting in line at the snack bar to get my ice cream. In fact, I am pretty sure it has gotten worse.
In going for ice cream, I made another rookie mistake. Always get your seat right away while everyone is still filtering up from the car decks, and the hungry people are in line at the cafeteria. At no point during the sailing will the seating situation be more ideal than at the very beginning, even when it sucks.
This entire trip might be the universe’s subtle way of telling me I need to get my life together.
The situation will not get any better just standing here. So, I pick a seat at random and start swimming my way along the row. Did I mention that the rows on these ferries are about fifteen seats across? It is a dicey situation at best.
After bashing about five people in the face with my butt while maneuvering down the row, I arrive at my destination, sweating a bit around the edges.
I prefer three empty seats side-by-side—so there is a little space for my hips to expand into without touching the person next to me—but today there isn’t even a hope of that.
The guy in the seat beside the one I am aiming for is looking away, so at least he hasn’t been subjected to the pleasure of having my butt smooshed into his face. The fact that this is what I am grateful for says something about my day. And maybe my life in general.
Just as I bend over to wedge my suitcase under the seat in front of me, the ferry hits a wave, lurching me forward. I swing my arms wide and flick my hips over to counteract the roll, landing with an oomph in the guy’s lap.
So much for not squishing him with my butt.
He is no longer looking away. He is gaping at me, and our faces are close enough to kiss. My brain scrambles to back away from my intimate thoughts. The fact that it was the first place my mind went probably says something about my relationship with Drew.
Then his face registers.
“Nolan?” I scramble unceremoniously out of his lap. I need space between me and his luscious lips if I am going to get my brain to kick back in.
CHAPTER 2
Even if I hadn’t just about squished him, and I hadn’t known him, I would still be speechless. Any woman would be. Nolan Ascot just might be the sexiest man I have ever met. From his almost white-blonde hair falling to his shoulders in wild layers to his brilliant smile—which can light a girl’s heart on fire right along with her core—he oozes sexy.
And don’t even get me started on his six-pack abs.
Also, don’t ask me how I know about his six-pack.
Avoiding his eyes, I wedge myself into the seat beside him, trying not to die at the fact that my hips and thighs are ballooning under the arm of the chair so that we are touching. I try to buy myself some time to get my thoughts in order by adjusting my suitcase under the seat while holding my ice cream cone precariously away from him.
“Kelsey! Nice of you to drop in,” Nolan says with the same edge of dry wit I remember so clearly.
Even as I force a smile up at him, I am melting inside. In some ways, this ferry ride just got a whole lot better. And in other ways, it just got a whole lot more awkward.
Nolan might be gorgeous, but he is also firmly off limits. The last time I saw him was about twenty years ago, when he was breaking my little sister’s heart. Uber sexy Nolan is Emily’s ex. And to be clear, it wasn’t a congenial breakup. If she found out I was drooling over him, then she would not be picking my car up. In fact, she just might call the tow truck company for BC Ferries.
