A Christmas Miracle (Excerpt Only) - BWWM Interracial Romance

A Christmas Miracle (Chapter 1)

AUTHOR NOTE: This is only a sample. The full book is available for sale on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Apple, Smashwords etc.! :)

CHAPTER ONE

THURSDAY

Brenda glared at her cell phone, almost wishing it could transmit her glare instead of a text response.
"Have dinner with them...who does she think she is?"
Brenda realized she was talking out loud when she saw a few heads turn toward her, several pairs of curious eyes of various colors staring.
She quickly looked down and sipped her vanilla latte, raising the newspaper she had grabbed from the coffee shop's stand a little higher, hiding herself from the prying eyes around her.
She also kept her eyes away from her cell phone and the offending text message she had just received:
So have you thought about it? Will you join us? it said in its stupid little bubble.
Sender's name: "Backstabbing Sister" where previously the sender had been labeled "Rachel."
But seriously, what was her half-sister thinking? To invite her over to have Christmas dinner with her and her fiancé—a man who was Brenda's own boyfriend before she introduced him to that buxom, hussy half-sister of hers—Rachel didn't really expect her to ever accept such a request, did she?
Sure, it had been about six months since Ralph broke up with her on account of meeting his "soul-mate" as he kept calling Rachel a month after they'd been introduced, but still; it felt too recent.
Ralph and Rachel didn't waste much time once they decided they were meant for each other. When all was said and done, Rachel approached Brenda soothingly, arresting her with those doe eyes and ridiculously long eyelashes, making Brenda almost forget how angry she was in the moment. It was no wonder men fell over themselves for her—Rachel was quite beautiful, and had a warm, gentle manner about her that eased even wary women. It never occurred to Brenda to worry about introducing Rachel to people in her life, including her boyfriend; in fact she had been proud of her beautiful sister, glad to show off the last living relative she had, and had only recently discovered at her dad's funeral.
"You do understand, don't you, sister dear?" Rachel had said to her. "This isn't just some fling—I've been waiting for him my entire life."
When she thought about it later, Brenda was amazed she hadn't slapped her sister right then, but shock and the spell Rachel cast when she spoke as she focused her lovely, open face on her listener, had held her still.
"I mean, you do realize this has nothing to do with you, right?" Rachel went on. "It's not your fault—this goes beyond all of us. Now, I know it might take some time for you to get used to, but remember, we're family—nothing's more important than that. So you can't really be mad at me. If you believe in God, that's who you should be mad at, blame Him. He's the one who brought the two of us together and used you to do it. Now do you really think you can be mad at God?" Rachel gave her a challenging look that clearly said she couldn't. "The circumstances aren't ideal, but he's clearing the way for you, sis—he's making space for someone more suited to you, maybe even the one. He just got rid of all your distractions so you can see when that guy shows up at your door or office or whatever, okay? You should be grateful."
Bitch.
Brenda had been too shocked to speak out loud then, but afterward, she couldn't stop thinking, how dare she? How could Rachel absolve herself just like that? And how was it that Rachel was able to approach her like she was being unreasonable, wanting to come between the new couple and their happiness by being petty? The audacity! At least Ralph had the decency to be quiet through most of the storm.
And now her half-sister was pregnant with her ex's child.
"Think of your niece or nephew," Rachel had said the first time she extended an offer to come over for dinner, as if it were the only consideration. But it had been the right thing to say—Brenda did want to be a part of her niece or nephew's life after all, especially since Rachel was her only family—or had been before the falling out.
Now, here Rachel was, acting like six months was enough time for everything to blow over and be done with, like Brenda only needed a few months to get over having lost all that mattered to her in a flash—beyond losing the man she had considered marrying to the woman she introduced to him as her only living relative.
Rachel had the nerve to invite her over for Thanksgiving, too. "Forget this pride of yours," she had said, "come eat with family."
Brenda had been especially tempted to go since one of the few things she had learned about her new sister in the short time they'd spent getting to know each other was that the girl could cook.
All the better to lay her man traps, Brenda thought miserably.
On Thanksgiving Day, Brenda had to make a conscious effort not to think about the juicy turkey, ham, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, green peas or whatever the couple would whip up for their feast.
She had a hard time not thinking about the inevitable leftovers, too—she had to distract herself the entire day, hoping turkey sandwiches and pumpkin lattes she ordered would kill her desire for the feast.
Thankfully, the seemingly oblivious Rachel didn't rub in what she had missed, and Brenda didn't hear from her until a few days ago when Rachel first invited her over for Christmas.
Her syrupy offers were back with a vengeance, and Brenda had the feeling Rachel wouldn't let up for a while, if ever.
Brenda figured she probably just needed to block her sister's number until she had her head on straight, and a solid hold on her life again.
*
Alex was trying hard to contain his thoughts and not grumble to himself aloud.
Miracles. Who really believed in miracles? Delusional fools, that's who.
Not that miracles didn't happen, but why did anyone think they were so special that it could actually happen to them? Why hope at all?
Alex gave his head a tiny shake as he walked toward the nearest coffee shop and realized immediately how odd it would look. Then he figured that if anyone saw him literally trying to shake off his bitter thoughts, they would probably attribute his actions to the growing cold.
Snow made a regular appearance every winter, and although Alex often dreamt of better moments on tropical islands, the bitter wind and draft and white flakes better reflected how he felt right now—how he'd been feeling since his brother finally succumbed to his rare lung cancer.
The chances of someone his brother's age being diagnosed with lung cancer were so low, that it pretty much should not have happened to him; his brother never even smoked. But chance did not seem to work in his family's favor.
Winter used to be Alex's favorite time of year—with the holiday season in tandem, the cold of the outside seeming to bring out the inner warmth of strangers, and he enjoyed the sight of hot chocolate in gloved hands and warm smiles, the cheerful reds and forest greens and deep blues among the white, wintry scene.
But Christmas this year would mean nothing; he had no one left to share it with. All he had remaining were the memories of the ten plus years of childhood Christmases with his parents and his older brother, Robert; his parents always made sure they had presents to open, good food, including rare treats, and spread general familial joy.
Once Alex eventually left home for college, he made sure to return to his parents at Christmas, but in his junior year, the tradition of spending Christmas with his family was over: his mother was among the many victims of a department store shooting, and his father never got over it, turning heavily to drinking. Then one evening, less than a year after his mother's death, his father had a drunken head-on collision with a tree.
His brother, Robert, having graduated and married his then-girlfriend, moved back into their childhood home with her, and invited Alex to join the two of them that Christmas and salvage what was left of their family and traditions, but Alex declined; instead, he joined his own then-girlfriend's family for their Christmas get-together.
It didn't take long for him to regret his decision as he observed his girlfriend's family and saw how close they all were, and he resented how lucky she was to still have them all.
Alex snuck off to call his brother to see how he was doing, and decided right then to take his brother up on the offer next time.
For the next several years the brothers made sure to see each other for the holidays—however briefly—even after his brother and sister-in-law brought babies into the world, two kids who no longer had a father as of two months ago.
Alex figured, if nothing else, he could buy the kids a gift as usual, then deliver them personally to the woman living in his old childhood home with his niece and nephew: his sister-in-law, Sheila. And then he remembered—the three of them wouldn't be living there anymore within the week.
"I can't live here without him," Sheila had told him. "It's been our home for the past six years, and I'm so grateful you're willing to let us stay here, but it feels so strongly of him, and of your own family now. Look, I was only here because of him—I'd prefer to move back home to Montana. With my family. We'll celebrate Christmas there."
"Oh," he had said, unable to think of anything else, and feeling tremendously like he was being robbed again. He would have to mail the presents to his niece and nephew instead.
At some point he'd figure out how he could see them somewhat regularly, but for now, he was on vacation with nothing to do, and no one to see since he wasn't even dating anyone at the moment.
He had made no particular vacation plans, thinking he'd just use the time off to perhaps catch up on some reading and work on a new business venture. He would also be able to sort out his family's affairs—including figuring out what to do with the house his sister-in-law was vacating, a house that technically belonged to him now, as a result of his dad's will. His parents had originally willed it to his brother, the eldest, but for some reason, his father changed the terms before he died, updating it in Alex's favor. The brothers found out only after Robert made plans to move in. At the time, Alex didn't care and just let him have it—his sibling was the one with the growing family anyway.
Alex considered moving back into his childhood home after Sheila and the kids left, but like Sheila, found the place too full of ghosts.
He tried not to think about how this would be the loneliest time of his entire life, and how, ironically, he now had two places to live in, and not a single home.
He was so distracted by his thoughts that he didn't see the woman in front of him until it was too late, and they had slammed into each other.
*
"Oh, sh...sugar honey ice tea." Brenda stopped herself just in time as her medium-sized coffee cup turned toward her and spilled some of its liquid on her chest. She instinctively pulled back from the spill and avoided direct contact with the hot liquid on her skin.
Be positive, project positive. Remember the law of attraction...
"Oh my god, I'm so sorry," the man in front of her began, but Brenda cut him off.
"No, it's okay—I've got it. Don't even worry about it."
She finally looked up, mustering up a smile for the apologetic offender, and registering the handsome face and green eyes as she fruitlessly dabbed at the growing brown stain on her top. She felt warmed beyond the spilled latte at the concerned expression on the attractive face, but continued her quick exit—she was already probably going to be late going back to work from lunch.
Of course that would happen, she thought. And in front of such a cute guy too! I should have expected it. The way things have been going this year, naturally I get close to second degree burns and get my favorite blouse stained...
She had to catch herself again.
Positive, she thought. Think positive. Keep your energy clean, attract clear, positive, good.
Perhaps that's what had caused the problem in the first place—she had let herself slip back into negative thoughts about her sister, so she had attracted negative energy to herself again, causing the accident. She needed to have better control over her thoughts, especially by now.
You see what happens? she scolded herself. You will find a new job, and you will find a love of your own someday, but this year, you will have a great Christmas all on your own...
Brenda found her vision suddenly blurred by tears and got mad at herself again for the moment of weakness.
Truth was, she was terrified about her future.
After receiving a pink slip from the teaching job she had held for years earlier that spring, and then temping over the summer and getting lucky enough to get a substitute teaching job for the fall, she hadn't yet found anything once the term ended later in December, when the gig was up.
What would she do? How would she keep her apartment?
There was no way she could bear the thought of having to ask her sister for temporary hospitality should worse come to worse. No way.
She'd just have to hope temping worked out again, and figure out something from there.
*
The woman's face struck Alex more than a few seconds late, and although the moment of collision had been jarring, yet ultimately minor, Alex felt like he had missed a major opportunity.
Following his instinct, he turned around and tried to look for the woman. But despite the woman's false smile hinting at a prettier, real one, and her open, yet pained eyes hinting at a hurt beyond hot coffee, Alex had not registered enough about her to identify her amongst the rushing bodies outside. He had only seen her from the front, and from the back, most people looked alike.
Her hair had been up, hadn't it? And her skin the color of the drink he'd been about to order. And was she in a pants suit or a skirt suit? Had to be a pants suit in this weather, right? But so many bodies rushed by in dark suits, gloves, mittens and scarves obscuring skin colors. He had no way of telling who the sad, but beautiful woman was from the back.
He hadn't even gotten a name.
Alex reentered the coffee shop feeling even more upset than when he had come in, his negative emotions pumping through him from the adrenalin of the past moments, instead of the dull pain he had gotten used to; everything now felt acute.
Who was she? And why did he care so much why her eyes looked so sad? He saw sad people every now and then, and got struck with mild curiosity every time, wondering what was going through their minds or life at the moment, but with this woman, he was hit with the desire to make it better—whatever it was.
He found himself shaking his head for the second time that day, trying to dump the image, the memory, the impression of that woman and her stained purple blouse, and her beautiful, sad, brown eyes.
*
When Alex got home, he immediately thought of calling his brother, unable to get the woman out of his head, and then felt a stab of pain when he realized he couldn't talk to him ever again.
He wondered what his brother would have said, had he mentioned the encounter to him.
Alex mentally replayed a conversation they'd had several months earlier:
"Try Missed Connections," his brother had said laughingly, and Alex had joined in, laughing off the suggestion once his brother explained what it was. He couldn't imagine Robert was serious about suggesting he go on Craigslist and post about having seen some cute blonde who had winked at him—he wasn't that desperate or interested in the woman he had briefly encountered that particular day.
But today, for some reason, although he found himself chuckling at the memory once more, the suggestion stuck in his mind, and he couldn't discard the thought of this particular coffee woman—he couldn't stop thinking about Sad Eyes and had no other clue how to find her.
He had no reason to think a miracle would happen, but what the heck—what did he have to lose?
Alex pulled up the website and found the section he was looking for.
I can't believe I'm about to do this, he thought as he clicked on the word 'post.'
*
Once Brenda got home, she soon tired of her usual evening activity: going through Craigslist job postings and applying to some that seemed promising.
In her boredom, she found herself wandering and exploring other parts of the website.
Before she could stop herself, she had started checking out apartment and housing possibilities in case she could no longer afford her current rent if she didn't get a new job in time.
Then she caught herself.
You won't lose your place, Brenda. You will find a job and be fine. Law of attraction, girl—stay positive!
She took a breath, and then clicked away from the housing section.
You need a good laugh, that's what, she told herself and her fingers found the Personals section. She clicked on Missed Connections.
She had laughed about it on bored college days, giggling with her old roommate over the posts—some of them outright pornographic, some silly, and a few of them, almost heartbreaking. Desperate, lonely people reaching out into the universe or at least their small part of it.
It was funny back then, but she identified too much with those people tonight to find humor in the section.
Still, she decided to keep looking.
She clicked on the section where women were looking for men.
Immediately she was distracted by a few of the post titles.
"White wife seeks large, black dick," one said.
"Horny virgin" said another, and Brenda started to feel disgusted.
She scanned the titles and saw quite a few saying some version of, "I still love you," while others described a particular guy and place.
"Red sweater and beard in Apple store," one said.
"Ripped bald guy in blue shorts at 24-hour gym," said another.
Brenda figured the section with men looking for women would provide more humor.
One title in particular stood out on the page, a post both disturbing and sad, for the person had posted the full name of the person he was looking for and a photo.
"Come home, Sabrina Hansen! You must stop this!"
Brenda wondered how Sabrina would feel about her personal photo—a selfie—being shared on a public page such as this. Then again, she figured people who took selfies and posted them on social networking accounts couldn't possibly be concerned with privacy and controlling how their photo is used.
Brenda again scanned the titles and saw that a few had specific locations and articles of clothing as well.
"QFC off University Ave," one said, and her curiosity compelled her to look further, so she clicked on the title and read the rest of the post:
"We smiled at each other while shopping at QFC. You had on jeans and a red hoodie, blond. I'm the black guy with the glasses. I said something to you when you were leaving, and you smiled—nice smile. This is a long shot, but if you see this, write me and tell me what I said. I'd love to talk to you."
Brenda rolled her eyes. Then she wondered—who was she to judge him? Who was she to judge anybody? Especially since she was suddenly being seized by an urge to do the same and make a plea to the universe through the website.
She didn't even know why she was seriously thinking about posting, because why would a guy like Green Eyes even look in a place like this?
Green Eyes had popped up in her mind a few times during the day, and she kept wondering what he was like; she wanted to get to know him for reasons beyond her comprehension.
What made him so special? He was just some good-looking guy with excellent dressy-casual winter fashion sense. And he looked single—whatever that meant.
Girl, you are making up all kinds of stuff. Are you that lonely that you must create all these scenarios in your mind?
But the voice of reason was easy to ignore with her interest in Green Eyes so strong.
She had to give it a shot—after all, the law of attraction.
She clicked back over to the w4m section.
"You spilled coffee on me," she began, and then didn't know where to go from there.
What should she say that wouldn't sound weird or desperate? The first part was only the title—what to put in the actual post?
Then she got an idea.
"And I know how you can make it up to me."
Not that he'd actually read it. But in the scenario playing out in her head she'd have time to explain once he responded.
She scoffed. If, in some looney tunes twist of fate, he responded. What were the chances?
Once she submitted her post she was seized by paranoia.
What if she got bombarded by a bunch of weirdos just waiting for access to another email address linked to some desperate woman? Sure, her actual address was cloaked by the site, which would send her message via proxy, but would she now start seeing a bunch of responses from guys shooting in the dark? And if Green Eyes responded, how would she know it was really him? Did she need to post more specifics?
Then she let out a breath, realizing how silly she was being once again. In the off chance he saw her post and responded, she would know.
She stared at the post for a few seconds as if a response from him would pop up there.
Then curiosity suddenly compelled her to look at the m4w section again, and one post immediately got her attention.
Coffee Queen—Stained Purple Blouse the title said.
Brenda's heart sped up, and her fingers clicked on the post before she even realized it.
"I know what a long shot this is, but I made a grave mistake not finding out more about you in the moment, and should you happen to come across this, I'd like to rectify that. You, still smiling even after I ruined your blouse, and with eyes that registered as sad as they were beautiful, but registering to me ten seconds too late. Me, the clumsy, distracted white guy. I didn't even get your name or offer to pay your dry-cleaning bill, and perhaps I deserve to be punished like this if we never meet again, but I'd really like the opportunity to make up for that collision."
It's him! everything in Brenda screamed. It had to be, right? Or else it was one heck of a coincidence—way too big. Too many specific details matched up.
She had to respond—especially since it had occurred to her that he could be the answer to one of her dilemmas.
*
Alex couldn't believe the email he saw sitting in his box.
Re: Coffee Queen—Stained Purple Blouse, the email subject said.
Alex's heart sped up unexpectedly, even more than when he had made the brief attempt to track Sad Eyes down outside of the coffee shop.
Could it really be her?
He was getting way too excited at the thought.
Then reality hit him.
Of course it was probably just some horny housewife taking a shot in the dark, or someone deciding to play a prank on him.
Why was he always so willing to believe in some kind of miracle when they never happened to him? Why did he keep hoping like this?
He clicked on the email, fully expecting to read some sort of scam attempt, but instead he read:
I'm almost sure this is really you, but a bit skeptical and a lot hopeful. It was my favorite blouse and it was lilac, not purple :). I'll take you up on your offer of dry-cleaning it, but as a ruse since I am interested in seeing you again too. Same place/time tomorrow?
He couldn't believe he had actually found her! And it had to be her, right? Just enough details, just enough left out...
Maybe he didn't need to write off the possibility of miracles after all.