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A Nutcracker Christmas

Suddenly let go from her news anchor position, Aria Roberts heads north to stay at her late Great-Aunt Clara’s house. She has many good memories there and wishes to give Clara’s Christmas Shoppe, which is located on the first floor of the Victorian mansion, one final holiday season. When Aria arrives, she finds the special gift Clara left for her—an antique nutcracker with a poem hidden under the back lever. Aria reads the poem out loud. At sundown that night, those words magically bring the nutcracker to life.

About the Author

Multi-award winning author Laurie Winter is a true warrior of the heart. Inspired by her dreams, she creates authentic characters who overcome the odds and find true love. She keeps her life balanced with regular yoga practice and running with her dog, Shadow. When not pounding the pavement or the keyboard, she’s likely fueling up on wine, cheese curds, and Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups.

Excerpt

She’d metaphorically offered a hand, and he’d pushed it away. He’d hurt her. Aria deserves better. He drifted toward her, then set his large hands on her shoulders, one on each side, and turned her around to face him. “Many…many years ago, I lived with an elderly earl who owed a large country estate outside of London. He had a massive library, and I’d spend most of my waking hours reading.” He focused his gaze on her face, drinking in her beautiful warm eyes and smooth skin.

“I like where this story is going.” The edges of her mouth lifted.

He worked to calm his nerves. Being vulnerable hadn’t come naturally at any point in his life. “Some of my favorites were collections of poems by John Keats. Touch has a memory, he wrote in one of his works.”

Kort brushed back the hair from her face then ran the pad of his thumb across her forehead. How much longer do we have together? If he fell in love with her, would she become a memory as well, haunting him like all the rest?

“Keats was correct. I still remember the texture of my wife’s hair when I ran my fingers through it, although I can’t recall her face. I can feel the weight of my children as they sat on my lap, but I can no longer hear the sound of their voices in my head.” He took a deep breath, needing to control the threatening tears. “They’ve faded away. Now all I have left is the memory of their touch. I’m trapped, with no hope of escape.”

Tears ran down her cheeks. Her gaze darted away before returning to him. “There’s always hope.”

Excerpted from A Nutcracker Christmas by Laurie Winter, Copyright © 2021 by Laurie Winter. Published by Champagne Book Group.

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