Sneak Peek!

The first chapter of Ten Christmases Without You by Jenny Hale is now live!! ✨

Get a glimpse of this emotional, festive story that will warm your heart this holiday season.

Chapter One

The First Christmas

December 24, 2015

With a deep breath, Emmy Brewer dumped her Christmas exchange gift bag under the tree with the others, shrugged off her coat, and unwound her scarf.

“You made it.” Her sister Madison helped with her luggage and latched the front door.

Emmy dropped the rest of her things on top of her suitcase.

Catching her reflection in the window, she ran her fingers through her dull, tangled hair, wishing she’d done the chestnut wash-in treatment that brought out the green in her eyes.

Madison grabbed her arm and whisked them into the kitchen where the women in their extended family had gathered. Then, her sister abandoned her as she popped into the garage where Uncles Stephen and Brian, along with Madison’s husband Jack, could be heard hooting over football.

“So good to see you,” Aunt Charlotte said, as she arranged a platter of cold cuts and cheese. “You look like you’ve been through it.”

“You really do. Poor thing,” Aunt Elsie said from the other side of the finger-food-filled island, a slice of Emmy’s mother’s famous ham-and-sausage crescent ring now in her hand. Someone made it every year, so it felt as if her mother would walk through the door any minute.

Not sure what to make of her aunts’ assessment of her, Emmy busied herself with hanging her coat and scarf on the back of a kitchen chair. She’d been on a flight from New York to Tennessee, and travel did take it out of her, but she hadn’t really “been through it.” Did she look that bad?

If only she could’ve somehow delayed her trip. Now, she’d have to endure even more days of Aunt Elsie pinching her side, asking when she’d last had the opportunity to get a good meal, and inquiring, for the millionth time, about why she didn’t get a more suitable place to live that allowed her some extra spending money. Her aunt would undoubtedly eye Emmy’s beat-up sneakers and offer an appeasing smile.

She also wasn’t quite ready for Uncle Stephen demanding silence in the room in order to point out that Emmy needed a Christmas sweater because, apparently, she was the only one who’d forgotten to wear one. While they were well-meaning, they were nothing like her graceful, gentle mother, Anne Fairchild Brewer.

Madison returned from the garage with their father, James Brewer.

“There she is.” Her dad came over with his arms wide and gave Emmy a kiss on the cheek. “Merry Christmas.”

He wrapped Emmy in a tight squeeze, lifting her and jiggling her around as if she were still a little girl. She didn’t mind. The gesture took her back to her childhood and the happier days of her youth. Her dad had been her light after her mom died of cancer ten years ago. He’d always seen more potential in her than she could see herself. He let her go and smoothed down his Christmas sweater—a montage of embroidered holiday gifts in red and green.

“How was the trip?” he asked brightly.

“It was good, despite the weather,” she replied. “The storm’s making a mess of things. I’m glad my flight wasn’t canceled.”

Emmy hadn’t wanted to come back for Christmas at all. The holiday had never been the same without her mom.

She’d originally planned to !y in later to shorten the trip, claiming work demands, but with the ice storm affecting much of the southeastern U.S., she’d had to come now. Once the storm got going, she never would have made it into Nashville, let alone been able to travel the hilly, unsalted Tennessee roads to her parents’ house, over an hour from the airport. As it was, she’d barely made it before the temperatures plummeted and the roads began to ice over.

Aunt Charlotte glided over and kissed her cheek. “Well, now you can relax.” She scooped up Emmy’s coat and scarf, still in motion, and handed them to Emmy’s father, who hung them on the hook by the garage. “We’re all nibbling Christmas cookies. Have one.”

Aunt Elsie waggled a finger at the plate of assorted treats, her eyebrows dancing. “I bought them from an Amish market up north—so they’re super healthy!”

Cookies? Healthy?

Emmy nodded. “I’ll grab one in a second.”

Emmy’s dad was an only child. His side of the family was small, and his parents had already passed away. So every Christmas, her mom’s side descended upon Emmy’s childhood home in Cookeville, Tennessee in an effort to fill the gaping hole that had ripped through their family when Emmy’s mom had succumbed to her illness.

Ten years later and the holidays were still tough without her mother humming Christmas carols as she danced around the kitchen in her apron with a homemade dinner in the oven. Emmy missed the week of preparation that came after Thanksgiving, when the house smelled of pine from the fresh-cut tree and greenery her mom would get from the farmer at the edge of town. With cookies in the oven, her mom would pull out the boxes of blown-glass ornaments and sparkling baubles to trim the tree. Nothing ever went wrong at Christmas. Her mother had made sure of it.

“Let me help you with your things,” her father said. He opened the hallway door leading to the stairs, and Emmy slipped through it quickly, glad for an escape. Madison followed. Their dad rolled her suitcase over to the steps, picked up her duffel bag and slid it over his shoulder, then grabbed her toiletries bag.

They lingered in unified silence—a silence that had settled upon them after her mother had died, taking her chatter with her. At first, the hush had bothered Emmy, but it had been so long now that the lack of conversation had become part of them.

Madison still struggled with the silence at times.

“What’s this?” She picked up Emmy’s sketchbook.

Vivienne had asked Emmy to work on the contact list for Hawthorne & Co., a small designer client, and told her that she ought to do some of her drawings to show them. While Emmy was adamant that she wasn’t her mom, Vivienne continued to encourage her. So Emmy had treated herself to the cream-and-dusty-pink flowered pad on her way home from work a few weeks ago, although she hadn’t had time to do any drawings until now.

“I was drawing during the flight, for something to do,” she said.

Madison opened the notebook and then looked up at her sister. “You’re so good at these.” She tapped the drawing of the 1950s-inspired gown that Emmy had sketched. It had clean lines and elegant pleats in the skirt. Emmy had imagined it in a deep blue.

“Thanks.”

“It’s my dream that you’ll use your talents,” her father said. “I knew you had the chops from the minute you picked up a pencil.”

She’d drawn a lot when she was a girl, but the first to-scale clothing sketch Emmy had ever done was five days after her mom died. She’d been struggling without her, praying for some way to feel closer to her. As the two artists in the family, she and her mom used to doodle together. Her mom would draw outfits that wowed Emmy, and they’d giggle for hours as they planned out designs for Emmy’s prom and wedding gowns—dresses her mom never got to make for her.

Over the years, her father had attempted to convince Emmy to take art or design classes. At times, she wondered if he was trying to reach something missing within himself, bridging the loss of her mom with the birthright talent she’d left in Emmy.

“Have you ever thought about bringing one of the sketches to life—actually sewing it, like Mom did?” her sister asked.

Emmy shook her head. “No, I just draw them for fun.”

Dressmaking was her and her mom’s thing together. Emmy didn’t feel comfortable sewing by herself. Not wanting to exist in her mother’s large shadow, Emmy had worked hard to find her own path in life, using her artistic abilities by pursuing a marketing degree. But while she’d taken a job in public relations at a prominent firm in New York, she worked incredibly long hours and didn’t seem to be getting anywhere.

Madison closed the notebook and tucked it under her arm. “You should de!nitely look into selling them somewhere.”

Emmy shrugged.

Madison blew air through her lips. “Or just keep running your boss’s errands and wasting your talent.”

“Don’t start,” Emmy said. “She gets me to run her errands because I’m trustworthy. And I still get all my work done.”

Their father offered a stern look. “Okay, you two.” He turned to Madison. “Give her a break. It’s Christmas.”

Madison shook her head. “All right.”

Her sister was elegant, with deep-set blue eyes like their mother, and while she gave Emmy a hard time, she was nurturing beyond her years. She was the younger sister, but Madison often assumed the role of a first born. She’d soothed Emmy during those difficult nights alone when they were younger.

“Go enjoy yourselves,” their father said. “I’ll take all this up to the loft for you.”

Emmy put on a smile for his benefit. “I can help you.”

Then she thought better of it: her sister’s call earlier in the week floated back into her mind, but she quickly pushed it away.

“I’ve got it,” James said.

Her dad started up the stairs, and she and Madison went back into the kitchen. Aunt Charlotte beckoned her over to the table. Not only did Aunt Charlotte favor Emmy’s mother, she was sitting in the seat by the window that her mom used to sit in, making Emmy uncomfortable. If she squinted just right, with her aunt’s soft features and angled jawline, she could almost bet it was her mom.

Elsie pulled out two chairs and brought the plate of cookies over from the counter, setting them in the center of the table. Aunt Elsie had taken after Emmy’s grandfather. She was taller, with pointier features.

“We’ve heard all about Madison’s year,” Charlotte said. “What about you, Miss Emmy? Tell us all the wonderful things you’ve done since we saw you last.”

“I haven’t had a lot of time to do much more than work,” she replied. “I’ve been underwater, updating the databases for my job. It’s really a job for a whole team, but The Moreau Agency is small, so I do it all.”

Elsie’s eyebrows rose. “So... Data entry?”

Her family’s well-intentioned questions just reminded Emmy of how she was failing to find the successful career that her mom seemed to have managed so easily.

“I also take notes at meetings and get those into the system, draft the agendas and the recap memos that go out to everyone, I manage the RSVP lists for all the guest events, I send out press materials…” She trailed off at the sight of her aunts’ eyes glazing over.

Madison drummed her fingers on the sketchbook and gave Emmy the look she’d had in the hallway. The your-talent-is-wasted look.

What kind of fantasy world was her sister living in? Emmy worked herself to the bone. She didn’t have time to fluff around, drawing dresses and sewing them. What would that get her? She had to work for a living. And if she was going to get anywhere at the agency, she had to keep going full speed ahead.

Her uncles, Brian and Stephen, came in with Jack.

“Hey there, Emmy-Lou,” said Uncle Stephen, Charlotte’s husband, using his own made-up pet name for her.

Her full name was Émilie Claire. The first-born child, she’d been given a French name to pay homage to her mother’s time in Paris. Emmy had always felt out of place responding to a name from a country she’d never been to. At some point, she’d been nicknamed Emmy, and it stuck.

“Hi, Uncle Stephen.” She stood and gave him a side hug.

He eyed her sweatshirt, and his brows pulled together but he didn’t say anything.

Emmy bit back the urge to flee and greeted Uncle Brian, Elsie’s husband.

“So you all surfaced finally?” Madison said to Jack as he came up behind her and put his hands on her

shoulders.

“Just for food.”

Emmy’s dad came back into the room. “Did I hear food?”

“It’s halftime,” Jack said, browsing the spread of loaded party plates on the kitchen island.

Madison leaned over and said into Emmy’s ear, “Want to go into the living room?”

Relieved by the offer, Emmy nodded. Family Christmas took a lot of energy, and Madison had a keen sense of when Emmy needed a break, which was pretty much immediately.

Madison grabbed the sketchbook and stood up. “Emmy and I are going to go add more logs to the fire.”

“Good idea,” Charlotte agreed as she loaded the CD player. “We’ll want it nice and toasty when we do the gift exchange.”

Emmy got up and followed her sister into the living room. Her attention moved to the inky blackness outside. Madison threw a log on the fire, making the flames crackle in the oversized fireplace. A faint tinkle of Christmas music floated into the room above the merry chatter coming from the kitchen. Uncle Stephen had started talking about something ridiculously obscure, as usual. Was it car motors?

Madison set the sketchbook on the table.

Emmy folded her arms and leaned against the window, the cold a quiet shock to the system, mirroring her comfort level. “Why did you bring my notebook in here?”

“I wanted to look through your sketches. I’d like to see them.”

“Maybe I can sit in here by myself all night and do a few more for you,” she teased.

“At some point, we’ll have to go back in there.” Madison nodded toward the two swinging doors separating the rooms.

“I don’t know which is worse: having to carry on a conversation with Uncle Stephen while he drops crumbs on his sweater, or the perplexed faces Aunt Elsie gives me whenever I say anything.” She squinted through the window into the darkness, trying to find the break between the ground and the sky, but the starless night made everything look like velvet.

“I do have something to make the night a little more interesting.”

Emmy pulled away from the window. “What could possibly make this night interesting?”

“I invited Charlie Russell over.”

“Our backdoor neighbor?”

“Yeah. Remember I mentioned he works in the Chicago office? He’s always on our video calls. While we were waiting for a meeting to start, he mentioned he was going to be visiting his parents, so I told him to stop by.”

Emmy went over to Madison. “Why would he want to come over here?”

Madison leaned in and said softly, “If his family is as entertaining as ours, he might want to escape too.”

They pulled apart as Aunt Elsie came in with a tray of the nonalcoholic, homemade eggnog that she made every year and set it on the coffee table before disappearing back into the kitchen.

“It might be good to have Charlie over—get some new blood in here,” Madison said.

Emmy rolled her eyes. “Why would you want to subject someone to this?”

Madison laughed. “I subject poor Jack to it every year.”

“That’s different. He endures it for the woman he loves. I’d never bring a boyfriend here.”

“You never have a boyfriend,” Madison pointed out.

“I actually do have a boyfriend,” Emmy protested. “I just couldn’t bring him tonight. He’s on a ski trip with the guys.”

She grimaced empathetically. “Dad told me.”

Emmy’s shoulders dropped, her mouth hung open. “Told you what?”

Her father had promised not to divulge anything until after Christmas. Emmy had originally said to keep it to himself because she’d hate to put a damper on the holiday, but in reality, she didn’t want to experience the look on her sister’s face that she was witnessing right now.

Madison mouthed, “That you broke up.”

“I wouldn’t say that…”

Emmy had found lipstick in her boyfriend Zach’s apartment—an awful brownish-red color, a shade she’d never wear. She hadn’t actually confronted him yet, so they hadn’t broken up. Though she seriously doubted that there was as much testosterone on that ski trip as he’d suggested.

Not everyone could find a guy like Madison’s husband, Jack. They’d gotten married straight out of college, and he’d assumed the role of husband seamlessly. He played with children, moved heavy furniture on command, and seemed to enjoy the entire family. He even put up with Madison’s meticulous organizational strategies—she was one of those who kept her cereal in matching snap-lid containers. And he loved her. Unconditionally.

“Zach wouldn’t have blended with our family, anyway,” Emmy said. “He hates football.”

Madison made a face. “At least Charlie already knows what he’s walking into, since you two were friends as kids.” She nodded toward the kitchen doors.

“Yeah.”

“You two were inseparable until around seventh grade. Whatever happened?”

“No idea. The summer before eighth grade, we drifted apart. You know how kids do.”

There hadn’t been one single incident or falling-out. One moment, she was lying on her belly under a tree outside, doodling in her sketchpad while he lay on his back and chatted away, and the next, they were strangers.

“Our freshman year in high school, he threw paper at me in Spanish class,” she said, with a chuckle. “No idea why.”

“On our work video calls, he doesn’t look like a paper thrower now. He’s pretty conversational.”

“I just don’t know if I have the energy to entertain anyone.”

He was certain to ask what she was up to now. Emmy wasn’t at her best. While all her friends were moving along with their lives, three years after college, she was still in an entry-level position, and she’d been passed over twice for a job promotion. She couldn’t help wondering sometimes if she’d been given the position out of pity, because her boss, Vivienne Moreau, had been her mother’s best friend when they were students in Paris.

Emmy picked up a mug of eggnog. “I can’t believe you and Charlie Russell ended up at the same company.”

“I know,” Madison said. “He does cybersecurity.”

Both Charlie and Madison worked at Bachman Global Services, an IT and technology consulting firm. Madison was in IT strategy at a small branch in Richmond, Virginia, where she’d settled after college.

Charlie, the high school football star, had everything back when they were in school: the looks, good grades, a gaggle of friends following him everywhere, and always a pretty girl on his arm. But now, he was tucked away at a desk job, doing cybersecurity. She’d expected him to do something extraordinary like sports broadcasting or fly-fishing tours out in Montana. Perhaps cybersecurity was a front for his top-secret FBI job…

“His family’s okay with him popping over? It’s Christmas.”

“I guess so. He seemed like he’d come by.”

“If we’re entertaining, I should at least run a brush through my hair.”

Madison gave her a playful punch in the arm. “I think you secretly had a crush on him in high school—from afar. I saw you stop what you were doing whenever he’d drive by.”

“I was fifteen, and he was sixteen. He drove a car. That was the extent of my infatuation with him.” Emmy lifted her eggnog in the air. “By twenty-five, I’ve dated lots of men who drive cars, so it’s not quite as impressive now.”

“Good to be starting on equal footing with the others, then.” The male voice sailed toward her from the doorway.

He’s already here? Nooo.

Slowly, she braced herself to be sociable, putting on her most cordial smile.

How much of their conversation had he heard? There was only one way to find out