The Christmas Camel Read online

  THE CHRISTMAS CAMEL

  A TeaTime RomCom Story

  VERED EHSANI

  Copyright © 2022 by Sterling & Stone

  All rights reserved.

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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

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  A Note from the Author

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  “I’m not flying home just to bail you out of jail, Duchess. Not again.” I tried to sound like I meant it this time. Like I was mature. Determined. Calm. Or at least, not hysterical.

  Last thing I needed was to let my emotions get the better of me. I was not going to make a fuss, throw a thirty-something’s version of a tantrum, and get kicked out of Hill of Beans for disturbing the peace.

  Not this month, I silently vowed.

  Oh, yes, this was a new me. A less impulsive, more in control Mollie Stanton. A version of me who was determined not to let Duchess Delilah — a.k.a. my grandmother — wind me up.

  The old lady was good at doing that. She was always doing something to push me off of the rails of responsible adulthood and into a train crash of oh my word, I can’t believe we just did that, usually ending in a situation that was borderline illegal or traumatic. Sometimes both.

  And my therapist wondered why I had issues.

  “Tell her how you feel,” my therapist advised me. “Just say no.”

  Sure.

  If anyone bothered to actually listen to my stories, they’d understand that No wasn’t part of Duchess’ vocabulary. Neither was being called Granny, Gran, Grandmother or any other cozy title.

  My childhood and adolescence were littered with situations that required a firm commitment to boundaries. Or safety. Or whatever normal parental figures applied to the miniature humans living with them. But not Duchess Delilah.

  Take the time I launched a homemade rocket from my bedroom window. I was aiming for the moon, but it landed on the barn roof and burst into flames.

  “Duchess,” I’d asked. “Is it okay if I climb onto the roof?”

  “Of course, dear,” she’d replied.

  “But isn’t it dangerous?”

  “Now, Mollie. What’s life without a little danger?”

  Oh, I don’t know. Maybe safe?

  Duchess was too busy applying her makeup in preparation for another attempt at revitalizing her TV career. Too busy to allow herself to be distracted by parenting a child climbing rooftops.

  I was never able to get Duchess to understand why this was a problem for a young, impressionable child. Or a less impressionable teenager who still needed a few boundaries. Whenever I tried, she’d derail the conversation. She was always interrupting me. Even my—

  “But Mollie!” Duchess’ voice pierced through the speaker.

  —thoughts.

  “Why don’t you want to come home?” she argued. “You love Teaville. Especially the farm.”

  She interrupted everything. My entire life was a series of interruptions, and it was all her fault.

  “It’s not my fault this time,” she insisted into the silence. “I swear on the life of my grandchildren’s children.”

  Thanks a lot, Duchess. I’m sure my future children appreciate that.

  “You know, Duchess,” I mused, “I had a premonition this morning that something was amiss.”

  “Extraordinary.”

  “Yup. To be honest, I knew the moment my phone rang.”

  “You don’t say?”

  “Okay, maybe not when it rang, rang. But the minute I answered and heard your voice, I had a gut instinct someone was in trouble.”

  “You’re truly a protégé.”

  Not really. My gut had been trained since mid-childhood to recognize when trouble was afoot. Which was pretty much all the time when my grandmother was involved. She was in trouble with the law as often as I was in the midst of a breakup. Almost as if her inability to commit to staying on the right side of the law mirrored my inability to commit to staying in a romantic relationship.

  So despite her current situation — safely behind bars — I was really the one in trouble. Because of course I was going to have to use my gift budget to post her bail. Twelve days before Christmas. After a nasty breakup, to boot. And weren’t all breakups nasty? All of this within eight days. Because the universe hated me.

  I stared at the box of tissues on the table. There was a pile of crumpled ones next to them. Maybe being out in public in my current condition wasn’t a good idea.

  Duchess huffed in my ear. “Mollie? Hello?”

  My therapist had continually reminded me to count backward as a useful tool to calm down. It seldom worked, but I was determined to make it work.

  Ten… Nine…

  “When can I expect you here?” Duchess interrupted my thoughts, as usual.

  “Don’t you have any friends you can harass… I mean call?”

  Eight… Seven…

  “Of course I do, my darling. Esther and Mahvash. They’re practically family.”

  “Then…”

  “They’re here with me right now.”

  “That’s great. So why not ask them to—”

  “So make sure you bring enough to bail them out as well.”

  Six… Five…

  “Are you still there, Mollie?”

  Unfortunately, yes. Four…

  “Did you hear me? Maybe it’s the phone line. A bad connection? You’re far too young to be deaf.”

  “I hear you just fine, Duchess. This really isn’t a good time.”

  “Tell me about it. The jail cell stinks like a urinal.”

  Three…

  “The judge said she won’t let me out unless I have a guardian this time. Or a guard. Something like that. I wasn’t really paying attention.”

  “You mean a guarantor.”

  “Precisely. Those lawyers speak a lot of legal mumbo jumbo, don’t they?”

  “Right. I’m kind of going through a midlife crisis at the moment, truth be told.”

  “And I’m going through a late-life crisis. So which do you think is more urgent?”

  Two… One…

  Nope, it didn’t work. The therapist was wrong. Counting backward didn’t help at all. I quie
tly began to have a meltdown, praying no one in the cafe noticed.

  “I shall take your silence to mean you understand the issue at hand,” Duchess continued. “I could drop dead at any minute, before I’ve had a chance to sort out my crisis. You’ve got at least half your life ahead of you to screw it up some more, then solve it.”

  “I’m nowhere near the halfway mark.”

  “Even better. After all, you’re only what… thirty—”

  “Thirty-three.”

  “How’s thirty-three anywhere near midlife?”

  “I feel so much older.”

  “It’s decided, then. You’re too young for a crisis. If you want a decent crisis, come home right now.”

  “Great motivational speech.”

  “Why’re you having a crisis, anyway?”

  I groaned and closed my eyes. “Luke broke up with me last week.”

  “Why?”

  “I proposed to him.”

  “Good for you. And?”

  “He told me I was rushing things.”

  “Weren’t you dating for… what, three years?”

  “Three years and four months.” I pulled out the last tissue from the box and cleared my nose loudly.

  “You poor dear.”

  “I was kind of upset.”

  “I don’t blame you.”

  “I said three years and four months wasn’t rushing things.”

  “Exactly correct.”

  “I told him I’d waited long enough. Supported him in pursuing his dreams. He’s always putting his career first, all the time. Never us. And I’m not getting any younger.”

  “Isn’t that the sad truth.”

  “So I wanted an answer right there and then.”

  “Bravo! How daring of you.”

  “He said I was being pushy. And slightly crazy.”

  “Oh, my.”

  “So I threw a mug at his head.”

  “I hope you didn’t miss.”

  “Of course not! But now the mug has a chip in it. It was my favorite mug.”

  “He broke up with you over such a trifle?”

  “Yes… No. Not exactly.”

  “And they call me crazy.”

  “They’re right, whoever they are.”

  “How fortunate for me.”

  I inhaled deeply, trying to calm the quiver in my voice and my hands. “He’s starting a new job as CEO. He said he’ll be too busy to have a wife. Or a girlfriend, apparently. Basically, he only has time for himself and his new job.”

  “Too busy?” Duchess repeated. “That sounds like code for him wanting someone who’s more eye candy than brains.”

  “Shockingly, that doesn’t make me feel better.”

  “As you said, Luke never put your relationship first, dear.”

  “An accurate observation.”

  “To be honest, he was always too ambitious for my taste.”

  “Your taste has nothing—”

  “In fact, this situation reminds me of a scene in episode seven, season four of Duchess of Danger.”

  Here we go, I thought, bracing myself for another life lesson from a soap opera.

  “My character had to choose between saving her career-obsessed husband or her secret lover—”

  “Duchess, this is nothing like that.”

  “It has the same emotional resonance, dear. Such a pity you don’t have a lover.”

  “I don’t want a secret lover or a career-obsessed husband.”

  “A wise decision.”

  “Twelve days before Christmas,” I moaned, “and he dumps me. Who does that during the holidays?”

  “Honestly, honey, it’s about time.”

  “Seriously?”

  “That man wasn’t good enough for you. He didn’t balance you.”

  “You say that about every guy I bring home.”

  “Precisely. You have terrible taste in men, Mollie.”

  “Wow. Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “That’s not the point.” I pounded a fist on the empty tissue box, crumpling it against the table. “I’m in my thirties. I’m supposed to be adulting over here. Taking responsibility. Putting down a mortgage. Ready to commit to a long-term relationship. Or at least a long-term job. The sort of things grownups do.”

  “Gracious,” Duchess huffed. “What nonsense is that therapist stuffing into your head? Growing up is so terribly overrated, not to mention terrible.”

  “You’re not helping.”

  “It’s not my job to help you, Mollie. That’s your job.”

  “I’m terrible at my job.” I rubbed my forehead like I was trying to exfoliate it with my fingertips. “Why are we having this conversation?”

  “Because you clearly still need me to guide and inspire you.”

  “Inspire? I’m still mad at you.”

  A sigh whistled through the phone’s speaker. “Still? Really, Mollie. Holding a grudge is an undesirable trait.”

  “So is sneaking behind your granddaughter’s back and…” I pinched the bridge of my nose hard enough to bring me to my senses. Probably hard enough to leave fingernail imprints in my skin as well. “You know what? It doesn’t matter. I’m not going there. Not again. We’re not having this conversation. Why are you calling me?”

  “We’ve gone through this already. I’m in jail. I need you to bail me out. I do hope you’re not suffering from early onset of dementia.”

  “Time’s up!” a muted voice shouted in the background.

  “Time’s up when I say it’s up,” Duchess shouted back. “I have to go, darling. Forget about Luke, and come rescue me. See you tomorrow.”

  I stared at my phone, tempted to throw it against the wall so she couldn’t call me back when I didn’t show up. But that phone was worth more than the momentary satisfaction of breaking it was worth. Which meant I had no choice. I had to give into the inevitable.

  I was going home to Teaville for Christmas.

  Chapter Two

  “You purchased this place sight unseen?” Incredulity coated Johnny’s voice like syrup on pancakes, except not as sweet.

  “The Great & Small Clinic,” Darren said, almost smiling. The name itself felt like a sign, a nod of approval from the forces that be.

  “What?”

  “The name of the veterinary practice.”

  “Whatever,” Johnny scoffed. “So did you?”

  Darren clenched a pair of socks, wondering if he’d already packed his hand gripper. The exercise tool was great for building up hand strength, but also for stress relief. And judging from the way this conversation was going, he was definitely going to need it.

  He eyed his suitcases, momentarily considered rummaging through them, then decided against it. At least, not in front of his brothers. Socks weren’t a decent replacement, but they would have to do.

  His hand convulsed around the balled-up socks. “Not unseen. The current owner gave me a video tour—”

  “Oh! He gave you a video tour. Hear that, Matthew? He gave our brother here a video tour.”

  Matthew nodded along, focusing on his large bag of M&Ms.

  Johnny gave up on Matthew. “Listen, this old guy—”

  “Dr. Blanchard.”

  “This Dr. B guy. He could’ve been anywhere when he gave you that video tour. A hospital lobby. The Hilton… Well, not likely. I doubt there’s a hotel worthy of the name in a small town. But you get my point.”

  Darren did, and a worm of anxiety twisted in his gut. He popped a piece of cinnamon gum into his mouth. “It’ll work out,” he said for at least the third time in the past ten minutes.

  Johnny snorted. “You keep telling yourself that, doc. Say it enough times, maybe you’ll actually believe it.” He tugged the socks out of Darren’s grip and tossed them into a suitcase. “Can you believe it, Matthew?”

  Matthew shook his head and reached into the bag holding his rapidly diminishing supply of candy.

  “What he said,” Johnny said. “You sure
you can’t back out of this? Did you put money down already?”

  “I don’t want to, and yes.”

  “Bad move, bro. Bad. Move.”

  Darren glanced around the room, then bent down and checked under his bed. Of course, there was nothing there. He never understood why anyone stored anything under their bed. That’s what cupboards were for, and drawers. The floor was no place to toss your clothes and other items.

  “This is it,” Darren murmured. “It’s what I want. Some country living will do me good. All of that calm, peace and quiet.”

  “They got roosters in the rural areas,” Johnny said and gave an exaggerated shudder. “Those aren’t quiet. And all that manure.”

  Darren stood, straightening his shirt and adjusting his belt. “The occasional rooster won’t bother me.”

  “Have you even been to this place?” Johnny asked.

  “Your concern for me is touching.”

  “More like confusion. Teaville. The name alone tells you that place is trouble.”

  “It’s the most innocent name ever.”

  “My point. It’s too innocent. Probably the setting for a future Stephen King movie. Out in the middle of nowhere. Where no one can hear you scream. Except all those crowing roosters. Sounds like a nightmare waiting to happen.” Johnny turned to Matthew. “I mean, have you heard of the place?”

  Matthew shrugged and emptied the bag of M&Ms into his open mouth.

  “See?” Johnny asked. “We haven’t heard of this place. Had you ever heard about it before you bought into the old vet’s practice?”

  “No, but I haven’t heard of a lot of places. That doesn’t mean anything.”

  “It means it’s too small to be heard of, which means too small for anything newsworthy.”