Cross Check Christmas New Chapters

These new chapters of Cross Check Christmas were added in January of 2025 after deciding the book needed a little more at the end. The current edition is updated on Amazon.

*If your copy already has a Chapter 24 and an Epilogue, you don’t need to read this below.
**If your copy does not have these chapters, please enjoy.

***If you have not read this book yet, stop, drop, and roll on down to GET YOUR COPY HERE

Chapter 24
Hendrix

The scent of cinnamon and nutmeg wafts through Grannie’s kitchen as I plate the last of my signature German pancakes—a recipe Dad taught me years ago. The table’s already set with Gran’s best Christmas china, steam rising from the coffee pot in lazy swirls.
The doorbell chimes and my heart skips. I know that sound means Colette’s here, right on time as always.
“Coming!” Aunt Goldie’s voice rings out from the living room, followed by the click of the front door opening. “Oh, sweetie, you don’t need to ring the bell! Just come right in—you’re family now.”
My hands freeze over the plate I’m arranging. Family. The word echoes in my chest, spreading warmth better than any cup of coffee could. Last night after the pageant, when Colette and I finally talked everything out, it felt like a new beginning. But hearing Aunt Goldie say that word—family—makes it real in a way I wasn’t prepared for. 
“I brought cinnamon rolls,” Colette’s voice carries from the entryway. “They’re probably still warm. And some of that tea Grannie likes.”
“Perfect timing! Hendrix is just finishing up breakfast – he insisted on cooking this year..” Goldie’s voice drops to a stage whisper. “Can you believe it? Our boy, all grown up and domestic. He’s been up since dawn cooking.”
I roll my eyes but can’t help grinning. The sound of Colette’s laugh, soft and genuine, fills the house. It’s different from her polite teacher laugh or her sarcastic one. This one’s real—the one I’ve been working so hard to earn.
“Something smells amazing in here.” Colette appears in the doorway, holding her baking dish. Her eyes meet mine and that spark between us ignites all over again.
“Had to maintain the Ellis Christmas breakfast tradition.” I take the dish from her hands, letting my fingers brush against hers. “Though I think your cinnamon rolls might steal the show.”
“We’ll see about that.” She bumps her hip against mine as she moves past to help with the table setting. The casual intimacy of it, the way she fits so naturally into this space, into my family’s traditions – it feels right. More than right. It feels like home.
My throat tightens at how right she looks standing there in my family’s home. I can picture Colette at countless more Christmas mornings, her blonde hair catching the winter light streaming through Grannie’s kitchen windows. Maybe one day she’ll be wearing my ring, maybe we’ll have kids running around this very table. But for now, I’m just happy she forgave me for the bet fiasco and agreed to give us a real shot.
“Something’s burning!” Grannie shouts from the living room.
I snap back to reality and rescue the last batch of bacon from the skillet and force myself to focus on the breakfast spread. We’ve got time. All the time in the world to figure out what we could be. For now, I’m content knowing Colette will be sitting across from me at this table, stealing bits of bacon and arguing with me about whether maple syrup belongs on eggs. It does.
I wave frantically at the smoke with a dish towel while Colette glides past me to the living room. “Grannie! Merry Christmas!” Her voice carries that warmth that makes my chest tight.
“There’s my girl!” Grannie’s enthusiasm echoes through the house. “Come give me a proper hug.”
The smoke finally clears and I dump the charred bacon in the trash, mourning the waste of perfectly good meat. When I peek into the living room, Colette’s bent down, giving Grannie a kiss on the cheek.
“You know,” Grannie says with a mischievous glint in her eye, “I made quite a bundle on you two.”
“Bundle?” Colette straightens up, confusion crossing her face.
“Oh yes.” Grannie pats her pocket. “The town side bet paid five-to-one odds. I knew my grandson wouldn’t mess this up twice.”
“Mother!” Aunt Goldie tries to look scandalized but fails miserably. “Though I did clean up nicely myself.”
My jaw drops. “You were betting on us too?”
“Oh, would you look at the time!” Grannie suddenly announces. “Goldie, didn’t we need to check on that thing?”
“What thing?” Goldie blinks, then catches on. “Oh! That thing. Yes, that very important thing! Must be done right now. In the garage. Far away from here.”
They shuffle out so fast I half expect to see cartoon smoke trails behind them. Subtle as a freight train, those two. But with Colette standing there in my family’s living room, wearing that soft green sweater that brings out her eyes, I can’t bring myself to care about their less-than-smooth exit. The morning sun streams through Grannie’s lace curtains, casting delicate patterns across her face, making her look almost ethereal. 
I cross the room in two strides and pull her into my arms, unable to resist any longer. My heart pounds against my chest as she melts into my embrace and I kiss her like I’ve wanted to since she walked in the door.
Her lips are soft against mine, tasting faintly of peppermint tea – her signature drink that she swears by instead of coffee – and I can feel her initial surprise melt away as she leans into me. My hands find their way to her waist, and the cashmere of her sweater is impossibly soft under my fingers. 
The scent of her perfume wraps around me, delicate and familiar, making my head spin in the best possible way. It’s crazy how just being near her makes everything else fade away – hockey stats, upcoming games, even my family’s not-so-subtle matchmaking schemes.
Kissing Colette—even though this is new—feels essential. Like she’s always been here in some form. As if it’s always been this way between us. Like the familiar sounds of Grannie’s house creating the perfect backdrop—the ticking of that ancient clock, the creaky floorboards, the distant sound of voices pretending not to eavesdrop. 
The promise of Christmas morning stretches ahead of us, and for once in my life, hockey isn’t the only thing on my mind.
When we break apart, she’s smiling that real smile again—the one that reaches her eyes. The Christmas tree lights cast a warm glow over her face, and everything about this moment feels perfect. This is exactly where we’re meant to be.
After breakfast, we lounge in Grannie’s living room, watching Christmas movies and sharing stories. Colette curls into my side on the couch while Grannie knits and Aunt Goldie bakes more cookies than any of us could possibly eat. The whole scene feels domestic in a way that makes my chest tight with happiness. The morning stretches lazy and perfect, with Grannie and Aunt Goldie taking turns telling embarrassing stories about my childhood.
Around mid-afternoon, Colette suggests we head to her place. I try not to look too eager as I grab my coat, but Grannie’s knowing wink tells me I’m failing miserably.
At Colette’s house, we settle on her couch with mugs of hot chocolate. She reaches for her phone, frowning slightly.
“I should tell Daisy about us,” she says, scrolling through her contacts. “She’s probably worried after everything that happened at the faculty party.”
I pull out my own phone. “Yeah, I should check on Tucker too. He’s probably beating himself up about the whole bet thing.”
We both try calling our respective friends, but neither picks up. Colette tries texting Daisy next, while I leave Tucker what has to be my third voicemail today.
“Straight to voicemail,” Colette frowns at her phone.
“Same here.” I toss my phone aside. “Tucker never turns his phone off.”
“Daisy either.” Colette’s brow furrows. “You don’t think…”
We look at each other and burst out laughing.
“No way,” I say, pulling her closer.
“Maybe they’re just busy celebrating Christmas with family?” But Colette doesn’t sound convinced.
“We’ll try again later. For now, I just want to enjoy being here with you.”
She smiles and snuggles into my chest, and I’ve never felt more content. “You’re right. Whatever they’re up to, they’re probably fine.”
The Christmas tree lights twinkle in the corner, casting everything in a soft glow. Outside, snow falls in fat, lazy flakes, but in here it’s warm and perfect.
“What are you thinking about?” she asks, tilting her face up to mine.
“How much I want to kiss you right now.”
A blush creeps across her cheeks, but she doesn’t look away. “What’s stopping you?”
I brush a strand of blonde hair from her face, letting my fingers linger against her skin. Her eyes flutter closed at the touch as I cup her face in my hands. I close the distance between us, capturing her lips with mine. She tastes like every Christmas wish. 
Her hands slide up my chest to link behind my neck, and I pull her closer, deepening the kiss. This isn’t like our first kiss in the snow, tentative and new. Or like the desperate one at the pageant when I thought I might lose her. This kiss feels like coming home, like finding something I didn’t even know I was missing.
She sighs into the kiss, her fingers curling into my sweater, and I swear I could stay in this moment forever. I pour everything I can’t say yet into it—how she makes me better, how seeing her with my family fills me with joy, how I want to spend every Christmas exactly like this. 
“I can’t believe we wasted so much time,” she whispers against my lips.
“We’re here now.” I back away an inch so I can look into her eyes. “That’s what matters.”

Epilogue
Colette

The morning after Christmas sparkles with fresh snow, and my boots crunch satisfyingly as Hendrix and I make our way down Main Street toward Daisy’s bakery. I steal glances at him while we walk, still not quite believing yesterday’s perfect Christmas morning at Grannie’s house was real.
“So…” I twist my scarf between my fingers. “About Toronto…”
“What about it?” Hendrix’s hand finds mine, his warmth seeping through my mittens.
“It’s just… three hours is a long way.”
“Three hours and twelve minutes,” he says. “I checked.”
“That’s specific.”
“I also mapped out every Tim Hortons between here and there.” His eyes crinkle at the corners. “And calculated the exact midpoint where we could meet for coffee dates… or tea dates.”
“You did not.”
“Did too. There’s this place called The Rusty Kettle. Terrible reviews, but perfect location.”
I try to laugh, but it comes out shaky. “Hendrix, I’m serious. What if… I mean, you’ll be traveling for games, and I have the school schedule to consider, and—”
Hendrix stops walking right there in the middle of the sidewalk. He turns to face me, gathering me into his arms with such tenderness my heart skips. His eyes lock onto mine, intense and certain.
“Colette McAllister, are you trying to talk yourself out of this?” His breath forms little clouds in the cold air. “Because I’m not letting you go this time. We’ll figure it out. I can drive down after home games. You can grade papers in my condo on weekends. We’ll make it work.”
“But—”
“No buts.” He pulls me closer. “Unless it’s your butt getting frozen to my truck again. That we can discuss.”
I smack his chest, but I’m laughing. “You promised never to bring that up!”
“I crossed my fingers.” His grin is pure mischief. “Now stop worrying. I spent years pretending I didn’t have feelings for you. Years watching you from across classrooms and hallways, making dumb jokes just to see you roll your eyes at me. I’m not letting three hours and twelve minutes get in our way.”
He cups my face in his hands, and suddenly I forget what I was worried about. His touch is warm despite the winter chill.
We walk the short distance to the bakery, and the bell chimes as Hendrix pushes open the door, his hand warm against my lower back. The aroma of fresh bread and cinnamon hits me, but the front counter stands empty.
“Daisy?” I call out. “You in here?”
Hendrix peers around. “Maybe she’s not open yet? Though the sign says—”
A crash echoes from the kitchen, followed by muffled giggles and shushing sounds.
“I should check on Tucker too,” Hendrix says, heading for the door. “He wasn’t answering his phone yesterday either.”
The kitchen door swings open, and out stumbles Tucker and Daisy, both looking like they’ve been rolling in a flour bin. 
Daisy’s usually perfect hair is dusted white, and there’s a suspicious handprint on Tucker’s shirt that matches perfectly with the flour coating Daisy’s fingers.
My jaw drops. Daisy’s face flames red as she tries to smooth down her hair, only succeeding in adding more flour to it.
Tucker, on the other hand, just winks at Hendrix and comes around the counter with a casual salute—his signature smirk plastered across his flour-dusted face as he heads for the exit. As he passes us, I notice distinct flour handprints on the back of his jeans that definitely weren’t from baking.
As Tucker leaves, strutting across the street to his coffee shop, Daisy’s cheeks flush crimson beneath the flour coating. She straightens her apron, trying and failing to look professional. “I was just… teaching Tucker how to make croissants.”
I catch Hendrix’s eye, and we both struggle to keep straight faces. My lips twitch as I peek through the open kitchen window, noticing a suspiciously Tucker-sized clear spot on the flour-covered counter.
“Is that what the kids are calling it these days?” Hendrix mutters under his breath.
I elbow him in the ribs, but can’t help the laugh that bubbles up. “We just came by for some bread,” I manage to say.
“And to check why you two weren’t answering your phone,” Hendrix adds innocently.
“I was… busy,” Daisy mumbles, avoiding eye contact. “With… croissants.”
I hold out my hand palm up to Hendrix, unable to keep the smug grin off my face. “Pay up, Mortimer. I’ve won the bet.”
Hendrix lets out a dramatic sigh and reaches for his wallet. He pulls out a pristine five-dollar bill, making a show of examining it in the light.
“Here.” He snaps it between his fingers with a flourish. “Five dollars.”
The look on Daisy’s face is priceless—her mouth drops open, and for once, she’s completely speechless. Steam practically shoots from her ears as she glares at us. Then her eyes narrow dangerously.
“OUT!” She waves her flour-covered hands at us. “Just… take whatever you want from the racks and go. Both of you!”
Without another word, she spins on her heel and storms back into the kitchen, the door swinging wildly behind her.
I tuck the five dollars into my pocket and grin triumphantly.
“Sourdough or rustic wheat?” I say, wandering over to the racks full of freshly baked bread.
Hendrix picks up a paper bag and a pair of tongs. “Both. And a cinnamon raisin loaf while we’re here.”
I grab a few bear claws and toss them into our paper bag. “These too. It’s the least Daisy could do after that stunt she pulled with Tucker.”
“The bet or the…” Hendrix waggles his eyebrows, “croissant-making?”
“Both.” I tuck the pastries in beside the bread loaves. “She owes us.”
“Us?” Hendrix raises an eyebrow.
“Well, me specifically. But I’m willing to share.” I peek into the bag. “Though maybe not the bear claws.”
“Ice Queen indeed,” he teases, pulling me close.
“Don’t make me withhold pastries, Ellis.”
We step out into the crisp morning air, our hands finding each other naturally as the bakery door chimes behind us. The world feels magical—like anything’s possible. Fresh snow blankets Main Street and Christmas lights still twinkle in shop windows.
A few steps down the sidewalk, an older gentleman approaches a vintage Coke-label red pickup truck parked near the curb—the kind you’d expect to find hauling a Christmas tree in the back.
The man is wearing a red plaid coat and wire-rimmed glasses, his white beard neatly trimmed. My breath catches. It’s the same man from the toy drive.
As he climbs into the driver’s seat, he turns and looks directly at us, and I swear his eyes actually twinkle with such warmth and knowing, that I feel a flutter in my chest. The truck rumbles to life, and as he pulls away, a deep, jolly laugh floats back to us. 
The sound echoes down Main Street, mixing with the jingling of the truck’s old engine.
Hendrix and I lock eyes, both wearing matching expressions of wonder.
“Was that—?”
But then we say,” Nah!” in unison and burst out laughing.
Hendrix pulls me close, his hand warm against my cheek. When his lips meet mine, the world melts away—the snow, the cold, even Tucker and Daisy’s silly bet. There’s just Hendrix… and the way my heart soars when he kisses me, like every Christmas wish I’ve ever made coming true at once. Then, just like something straight out of one of those movies they’re filming at the Ellis house, snow falls gently around us.
And as Hendrix kisses me, I realize that sometimes the best Christmas doesn’t come wrapped in paper and bows or a perfectly executed pageant. Sometimes, the best Christmas comes with a generous dose of unexpected chaos. And a little bit of meddling small-town magic.