Christmas in Cambria Read online

  Christmas in Cambria

  An Otter Bluff Romance

  Linda Seed

  This is a work of fiction. Any characters, organizations, places, or events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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  CHRISTMAS IN CAMBRIA

  Copyright © 2020 by Linda Seed

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  This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite e-book retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the author, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

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  The author is available for book signings, book club discussions, conferences, and other appearances.

  Linda Seed may be contacted via e-mail at [email protected] or on Facebook at www.facebook.com/LindaSeedAuthor. Learn more about Linda Seed’s novels at www.lindaseed.com.

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  Cover design by Kari March.

  Created with Vellum

  By Linda Seed

  The Main Street Merchants

  Moonstone Beach

  Cambria Sky

  Nearly Wild

  Fire and Glass

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  The Delaneys of Cambria

  A Long, Cool Rain

  The Promise of Lightning

  Loving the Storm

  Searching for Sunshine

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  The Russo Sisters

  Saving Sofia

  First Crush

  Fixer-Upper

  Loving Benny

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  Otter Bluff

  The Icing on the Cake

  Christmas in Cambria

  Love and Joy

  Then, Now, and Always

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  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Read more by Linda Seed

  Chapter 1

  The very thought of Christmas—up to and including Santa, elves, reindeer, the colors red and green, and poinsettias—made Delilah’s bowels clench and her stomach roil as though she were suffering from food poisoning.

  Still, she was determined to create a happy and festive holiday for her kids or die trying.

  That was what she told herself as she drove up Main Street in Cambria and turned left on Burton Drive, headed toward the ocean. The kids were strapped into their booster seats in the back of the rental car, cranky from the long drive north from LAX.

  “Are we almost there?” Jesse, her six-year-old, had been asking the same question for more than an hour, and Delilah was happy to finally answer in the affirmative.

  “Just another couple of minutes, I think.”

  “I’m hungry.” Gavin, her four-year-old, was always hungry. They’d eaten on the way, but that hadn’t gone far toward filling the bottomless void that was his appetite.

  “I know, sweetie. When we get there, I’ll make you a snack.”

  She had two bags of groceries in the trunk that she’d picked up in Morro Bay. The way her kids ate, it wouldn’t last long, but it would be enough to get them settled. She made her way down Burton, turned on Ardath Drive, and headed toward the Marine Terrace neighborhood. She’d already stopped at the rental office and picked up the key.

  Minutes later, she was pulling into the driveway of Otter Bluff, a single-story oceanfront house with blue siding and white trim. Three bedrooms and 1,400 square feet, most of it in need of renovation but all of it hers for two months. The pictures she’d seen online had called to her.

  This was a place where she could stay for a while to plan her next move. This was a place where she and her boys could have Thanksgiving and Christmas without the memories of what Mitch had done to them.

  This was a place she had chosen, not him.

  “Okay, guys. We’re here. Let’s go in and see what we’ve got.”

  Delilah’s hatred of Christmas was a fairly new development. She’d loved it until her husband abandoned her for another woman the year before on December 24, leaving her and their two children alone, devastated, and broke, despite the fact that Delilah’s ex earned an annual income in the high six figures.

  He’d continued paying the mortgage, so at least they weren’t put out on the street. But the bank accounts had been in his name, and that money had magically vanished when he’d announced he was leaving her.

  She’d gotten a job, of course, but it hadn’t paid nearly enough, especially given the high cost of child care.

  Delilah had been an idiot—she could see that now. She’d married young, before she’d earned any real job experience, and she’d agreed when Mitch had insisted she stay home.

  He’d wanted her to be a stay-at-home mother to their children, a stay-at-home wife to him, and she’d agreed, because why not? It had seemed like a luxury at the time.

  As soon as he passed the bar exam, Mitch had landed a job at a high-paying firm, and they hadn’t needed whatever income she might have brought in. He worked long hours—twelve, sometimes sixteen in a day—and who could blame him for wanting someone at home to take care of things? He’d needed hot meals, clean suits, a home that was in order and running smoothly during those brief times when he was in it.

  They’d gone that way through the birth of two sons and through two moves, each into a house larger than the last. Cocktail parties with the partners, interviews to get the kids into a top preschool and kindergarten, Delilah dressed in clothes Mitch’s secretary picked out for her because he couldn’t have her wearing anything that made him look like less of a success.

  She’d never been able to keep up with his standard of who she should be, but God, she’d tried. It bothered him when she’d put on weight during the pregnancies. She’d worked to take it off, but she’d never gotten her old body back.

  She hadn’t thought he’d leave her, though, not really.

  And then he had, on Christmas Eve, while the gifts were still wrapped under the tree, the kids asleep upstairs waiting for Santa.

  So, yes, she hated Christmas. Her love of the holiday was yet another thing he’d taken away from her.<
br />
  This year, though, she was determined to get it back.

  Quinn stood atop a bluff overlooking the Pacific Ocean—the vast blue expanse stretching out to the horizon, the surf crashing far below his feet, gulls cawing overhead, a gentle breeze rustling his hair—and thought, I am sick to death of this crap.

  He’d told his clients what to bring and what to wear. He’d told them verbally, then he’d e-mailed them a written list. He’d told them again on the phone when he’d called to confirm their booking.

  They hadn’t paid attention to a goddamned thing he’d said. All four of them would be sunburned to a crisp if Quinn hadn’t brought extra sunscreen. All of them would be bitten to hell if he hadn’t brought extra bug repellent. And all of them were suffering from blisters because they’d worn flip-flops instead of the hiking boots he’d recommended.

  Flip-flops, for fuck’s sake.

  The blisters weren’t his problem, of course, but in a way, they were, because they’d been bitching about the pain for the last two miles.

  Was it his fault they couldn’t follow instructions? Was it his fault not a damned one of them had been smart enough to wear comfortable, supportive shoes on an all-day hike?

  “Oh, God.” The mother, a woman in her forties, sat on a rock, rubbing her feet with her hands. “I’m bleeding. My feet are bleeding.”

  “We’re looking at the Point Sur State Marine Reserve, which protects all of the marine life within its boundaries,” Quinn recited as though she hadn’t said anything. “Sea otters, sea lions, and harbor seals are common in this area.”

  “I’m going to die.” The father, a pudgy guy in his fifties, sat on the rock next to his wife and put his head between his knees as though trying not to faint.

  “Take my picture.” The teenage girl handed her brother her phone. She climbed on top of a boulder with the ocean in the background and struck a pose.

  “Suck my ass.” The brother set the phone on the ground and walked away.

  The girl, pouting, climbed down, retrieved the phone, and offered it to Quinn. “Will you do it?”

  He took the phone. “Yeah, but only if you stay off that boulder. The last thing I need is for you to plummet to your death so you can look good on Instagram.”

  She rolled her eyes extravagantly.

  God help him.

  Ten minutes later he unloaded the tourists at their rental car, collected a tip that should have been more, and stashed his gear in the passenger seat of his van. He thought about making the drive back to his place in Cambria, then decided against it.

  No matter how often he did it, a six-hour hike was still a lot, and a two-hour drive afterward didn’t have much appeal. Instead, he drove into Big Sur, went to a diner, and ordered a cheeseburger, fries, and a beer from a waitress in jeans and a T-shirt, a white apron around her waist.

  While he was waiting, the owner spotted him from behind the counter and gave him a wave. “Hey, Quinn. You just back from a hike?”

  “Yeah. Mom, Dad, and two teenage kids, all of whom were a pain in the ass. How you been?”

  “Good. Good.” Otto bobbed his head. He grabbed Quinn’s food from the pass, brought it to the table, and slid into the booth across from him. Otto was a big guy, about six foot four and 250 pounds, and sliding into the booth wasn’t as easy for him as it had been for Quinn.

  They chatted a little about Otto’s wife and kids, Quinn’s business, the tourism situation in Big Sur, the weather, and how the 49ers were doing. As they talked, Otto stole the occasional fry from Quinn’s plate.

  “Listen, I better get back to work. You staying tonight?” Otto maneuvered himself out of the booth and brushed fry salt off his hands.

  “I thought I’d go back in the morning. You mind if I park in the lot?”

  “Hey. My place is your place.”

  “Appreciate it.”

  Quinn finished his food and his beer and went out to his van just as the sun was dipping below the trees.

  The van was outfitted with a bed, a space heater, a mini refrigerator, a tiny sink with a pump faucet, and a single-burner stove with an electric cooktop. Quinn had converted it himself in his spare time, and it had become his second home when his job kept him from getting to the first one.

  It didn’t have a bathroom, but that usually worked out okay—Otto left a key under the backdoor mat when Quinn was there so he could use the employee restroom at the diner. And then there were campgrounds, gas stations, or, hell, even the woods. He could always find somewhere to take care of business.

  He climbed into the back of the van and stretched out on the bed with a book—the pages illuminated by a battery-operated lamp—just as the rain began to fall. Lying there in the dry warmth of the van with the book and his comfortable mattress as the rain drummed on the roof made him feel cozy and serene.

  He’d have been tempted to live in the van full-time if it weren’t for things like showers and storage space. Plus, he liked to eat, and van cooking usually amounted to heating up a can of chili. Also, when he wanted to bring a woman home, they usually reacted better to his house than they did to the van. So, there was that.

  Quinn drifted off to sleep with the book open on his chest and the soothing wet patter singing to him.

  “I don’t like this bed.”

  Delilah had just gotten Gavin tucked in with his stuffed bear, Waffles. She sat on the edge of the bed and brushed the hair from his forehead with her hand. “Why not? Isn’t it comfortable?”

  “It’s just weird.”

  She interpreted that to mean the bed was different—that it wasn’t his. She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek.

  “I know you like your bed at home,” she told him. “But this is vacation. It’s an adventure. You like adventures.”

  “I guess.” He pulled Waffles closer.

  “Tomorrow we’ll go to the beach. That’ll be fun, right?”

  “It’s too cold for the beach.”

  The weather had been cold in Cambria lately, according to the online forecasts. But Delilah was determined to pursue fun for her children as though all of their lives depended on it.

  “It’s too cold to swim, maybe, but it’s not too cold to build sandcastles,” she said.

  “I guess.”

  She kissed him again, then kissed Waffles. She got up, went to the door, and turned out the light. “Sweet dreams, Boo.” She hadn’t called him by that nickname in more than a year, but she hoped it would comfort him to hear it.

  Hell, she hoped it would comfort her to say it.

  She checked on Jesse, who insisted he was too old to be tucked in and had taken care of his own bedtime routine, then she went into the kitchen, poured herself a glass of white wine, and sat down on the sofa in the living room.

  God, she felt like hell.

  The whole time she’d been unpacking, making dinner, cleaning up, then supervising bath time, she’d kept an upbeat patter with her boys about how much fun they were going to have here, how many things they were going to do in Cambria, and how they were going to make exciting Christmas memories here.

  Privately, though, she wanted to sit down somewhere alone and cry.

  Instead, she called her sister.

  “How’s the house?” Roxanne asked her when she picked up.

  “It’s good. The house is good. I mean, everything except the kitchen is outdated, but you should see the view. The ocean is just outside the sliding glass door. You can hear seals barking.”

  “Wow. That’s great.”

  “Yeah. Great.”

  “So why do you sound like you want to strangle someone?”

  Delilah considered that. “Not someone. Mitch. That’s who I want to strangle.”

  “Oh, Delilah.”

  “We’re supposed to be home right now. Together. As a family.”

  But she no longer had a home. Her house—the one she’d raised her kids in for the last five years—had been sold in the divorce settlement. Her half of the proceeds,
a substantial amount, had allowed her to come here to take some time to sort out what she wanted before she built a new life for herself and her boys.

  “I told Jesse and Gavin we’d have fun,” she said.

  “And you will.”

  “They will, anyway, if it’s the last thing I do.”

  “You could come stay with us,” Roxanne said. “Joey wouldn’t mind. We’ve got the spare bedroom, and the boys could stay in Kyle’s room. It would be fun. It would be like a sleepover.”

  But Delilah didn’t want to do that—didn’t want to bring her sorrow and her relentless, hopeless gloom into someone else’s home. “That’s sweet, Roxanne. Really. But I can’t.”

  “Of course you can.”

  “We’re okay. You don’t have to worry.”

  She wasn’t okay—not yet—but she knew she would be.

  How long that would take, she didn’t know.

  Chapter 2

  On Delilah’s second day at Otter Bluff, she was in the kitchen making a snack for the boys when someone knocked on the door. She opened it to find a grandmotherly woman holding a cloth-covered basket and smiling at her.