Christmas is in the air, and best-selling author Sydney Logan is gifting
readers with a short story collection, just in time for the holidays. Once Upon a December features Sydney’s
latest story, “What Child Is This,” along with her previously published holiday
stories in one complete collection. Available for the first time in both
paperback and ebook, these heartwarming and romantic tales are sure to bring
you joy
this holiday season.
***
Excerpt #1 from
“What Child Is This?”
Please come
home for Christmas this year?
I don’t bother replying to my sister’s text. She
knows I’m not coming home. I just power off my phone and stuff it back into my
jacket. With a tired sigh, I lean back, close my eyes, and find myself doing
the one thing I try never to do.
I think about the mess I’ve made of my life.
Ten years ago, I’d been an eighteen-year-old
living in Paisley Springs, Tennessee—a tiny, rural town about two hours north
of Nashville. Ten years ago, I’d been a popular athlete with dreams of becoming
a professional basketball player. Ten years ago, I’d been the golden child of
Dr. Benjamin and Olivia Fisher.
Ten years ago, I’d been a boy in love.
I still am.
Life is full of highways, and some are just too
long when you’re trying to find your way home. In my case, some forgotten roads
completely disappear. Time erases them, to the point that you begin to wonder
if they ever really existed in the first place.
But they did. I know they did.
I close my eyes and try to ignore the image that
flickers behind my eyelids. In my mind, Emma Hayes is still eighteen years old.
With her long red hair and deep green eyes, she’d always looked at me as if I
was her dream come true.
And I was, until I ripped those dreams away.
We were together for more than a year, and it
had been the happiest time of my life. But being crazy in love makes you do
stupid things. Careless things.
And then things happen that you never imagined
would happen to you.
***
Excerpt from “Mistletoe Magic”
“Doing some last-minute shopping?” Ethan asked.
Melanie blinked rapidly before nodding.
“I am,” she replied stiffly. “You?”
He lifted the gold bag, giving it a little shake.
She nodded. “For someone special?”
“For my wife. You?”
“My husb—”
Her reply was cut short when the lights dimmed, and the
elevator lurched to a stop.
“Fantastic,” Melanie mumbled.
The emergency lights flickered on, and Ethan pushed the
alarm button before grabbing the elevator’s phone. Melanie listened intently as
he barked orders to someone before slamming down the receiver.
“The entire block is in the dark,” Ethan grumbled. He
removed his jacket before settling himself on the floor.
“What are you doing?”
“Getting comfortable,” Ethan said. “The guy said it might be
a while.”
Melanie glanced down at her silk dress.
“I’m not sitting on this dirty floor.”
Ethan shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
Melanie eyed his jacket.
“Speaking of suits,
isn’t that Armani?”
“I have no idea which expensive name is stitched on the
label.”
She smirked. “But you know it’s expensive.”
“There isn’t a suit in my closet that didn’t cost a fortune.
My wife insists upon it.”
“Maybe that’s because your wife has good taste.”
“Maybe that’s because my wife is too hung-up on labels.”
Ethan loosened his tie and sighed tiredly. “Just sit down. I hate enclosed
spaces, and you’re making me nervous.”
A stubborn Melanie remained on her feet, but the four-inch
heels of her favorite boots weren’t the most comfortable, and after a few
minutes, she finally relented and removed her coat. It was far less expensive
than the dress, after all. She placed it on the floor before slowly sitting
down.
“See? Isn’t that better?”
Melanie sighed loudly.
“One of us should probably conserve our cell battery,” Ethan
suggested, pulling his phone out of his pocket. “My Blackberry has a full
charge, so I don’t mind keeping mine on if you’d like to save yours.”
With a nod, Melanie reached into her bag and turned off her
iPhone.
“You don’t want to text someone first?” Ethan asked. “Your
husband might worry if you come home late.”
Melanie somehow resisted the urge to laugh.
“No one worries about me,” she said.
A brief look passed between them before they both quickly
looked away.
***
Excerpt from “The Little Drummer Boy”
Rum pum pum pum.
It’s
faint, but it’s there. A quiet,
rhythmic beat that blends into the night. How this old man heard the sound is
beyond me.
“You
hear it, don’t you?”
With a
nod, I look around, hoping to find the source of the sound. The man points
toward the coffee shop’s covered alleyway.
“Back
there,” he says.
The
carolers begin their rendition of “O Holy Night,” and once again, I hear the
“rum pum pum pum” coming from the darkness.
Intrigued,
I step away from the old man and walk slowly toward the alley. Each step brings
me closer to the beat, until finally, I see a little boy, nestled in the
corner. His only light comes from a lantern, and a snare drum rests in his lap.
The drum is scarred and the strap is frayed, but it’s obviously his most prized
possession.
Probably
his only possession.
Does he
live here? In this filthy alley? And where are his parents?
“Shall
I play for you?”
His
voice is just a whisper. His clothes are dirty and ragged, and the faded blue
jacket he wears is about three sizes too big.
“I
heard you playing,” I tell him, keeping my voice soft and light. The last thing
I want to do is scare the kid. “You’re very good. Are you alone?”
He
nods.
“Where
are your parents?”
His
face contorts in pain, and my stomach lurches. He can’t be more than five years
old. Maybe six.
“Shall
I play for you?” he asks again. A little stronger this time. A little more
determined.
Because
I don’t know what else to do, I nod. The covered alleyway has thankfully kept
most of the snow away, so I find a flattened section of shredded cardboard and
sit down. I don’t think about the fact that I’m probably ruining my
thousand-dollar suit. I just sit and listen.
The
boy’s sticks pound the head of the drum.
Rum pum pum pum.
Rum pum pum pum.
Each
rhythmic thump pierces my soul, and when he comes to the end of his song, I
reach inside my jacket for my wallet.
“No,
sir,” he says softly. “I don't need your money.”
It’s
hard not to laugh. The kid is surrounded by dumpsters and living in a cardboard
box. If anyone needs my money, it’s this child.
“What do
you need?”
“Just
food.”
“I can
pay you with food?”
The boy
nods vigorously, and I notice his eyes are suddenly a little brighter. The poor
guy is probably starving and could definitely use a bath. Dirt cakes his face,
but he has the biggest, bluest eyes I’ve ever seen.
“Why
don't you come home with me?” I hear myself say. “My wife loves to cook.”
He
shakes his head. “I can't leave. My mom told me to stay here. I have to stay
here.”
“How
old are you?”
“I'm
six, sir.”
“Do you
have a name?”
“My
name’s Luke.”
“Well,
Luke, my name is Justin Banks, and it's cold out here. It's going to keep
snowing.”
“Yes,
sir,” he whispers, his voice trembling.
“I
could take you home with me for a little while. You could take a bath and eat
some dinner with us.”
At the
mention of a bath, he smiles.
“And
then we can try to find your mom and dad.”
The
little boy bows his head, and when he looks up at me again, the light in his
eyes is long gone.
“My mom
told me to stay here.”
I close
my eyes in frustration. I can talk a judge and jury into almost anything. Have
I really met my match in a six-year-old living in a cardboard box?
Maybe
so.
But I
have a secret weapon.
About Sydney Logan
Amazon best selling author Sydney Logan holds a Master's degree in Elementary Education. She is the author of three novels - Lessons Learned, Mountain Charm, and Soldier On. Sydney has also penned several short stories and is a contributor to Chicken Soup for the Soul. A native of East Tennessee, Sydney enjoys playing piano and relaxing on her porch with her wonderful husband and their very spoiled cat.
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Amazon best selling author Sydney Logan holds a Master's degree in Elementary Education.
She is the author of three novels - Lessons Learned, Mountain Charm, and Soldier On. Sydney
has also penned several short stories and is a contributor to Chicken Soup for the Soul.
A native of East Tennessee, Sydney enjoys playing piano and relaxing on her porch with her
wonderful husband and their very spoiled cat.
Website: http://www.sydneylogan.com
Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/@SydneyALogan
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/SydneyLoganAuthor
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5787300.Sydney_Logan
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