Excerpt: 'Dust of Snow' by Indra Vaughn

Indra Vaughn, author of Dust of Snow, shares her love for Christmas (and pie) and an excerpt from her new release.

Indra: You know those long (long, long) winters in Michigan? The one good thing about them is that they pretty much guarantee a white Christmas. I love the holidays. There's just something about a blinking tree in the living room with a pile of presents beside it near a crackling open fire that makes my itty bitty heart beat faster. And food! Cookies, marshmallows, hot chocolate! Pie! Marshmallows IN hot chocolate. Pie! It's the time of year when I believe I can actually bake and there is lopsided cake, muffin-topped cupcakes with melted frosting because I have no patience, and, you got it. Pie! Hmm …

Only a matter of time before I wrote a Christmas story, really …

In Dust of Snow, Greg's a bit Bah! Humbug! about Christmas. His boyfriend broke up with him a year ago (boo!) and now he's just trying to make it through the holidays without being reminded of how alone he really is. In this excerpt he tries so hard to pretend he's not a sad potato (mmm, mashed potatoes …), but the truth is, his best friend is his mother and his only companion is an overweight cat. So yeah … If only there was someone who'd want to get to know him, then they'd see what a great guy he is! Someone like, oh I don't know … the rogue secret Santa leaving presents all over his office desk?

Here's an excerpt …

The next morning brought more snow, and this time not even a hot shower could shake the cold after I'd shoveled my way through it. I barely managed to mumble hello to anyone I bumped into in my rush to see if there was more delicious, heartwarming, soul-strengthening, life-affirming coffee waiting for me.

There was not.

Instead, a large, slightly awkward-looking package in plain brown paper with a tasteful little blue bow lay across my keyboard. I'd have immediately suspected human error if it weren't for the G.P. curled in neat handwriting on an otherwise empty white card.

"Ohhhh," someone cooed behind me. Patricia set a cup of disappointingly normal coffee on my desk. "Who's that from?"

"I didn't see you there." I cleared my throat and reluctantly admitted, "I don't know." The less attention the better: that was my motto in life.

"Go on, open it then." Patricia blew her brown bangs out of her eyes and slurped her coffee as she watched me.

"You won't tell anyone, will you? Whatever it is?"

A strange look passed over her face; it softened her features and made her look five years younger. "Not if you don't want me to, no." Her voice was lower than I'd ever heard it. "Sorry if I'm bothering you. I can leave if you want."

"No," I quickly said, afraid I'd offended her. "No, not at all." I worked the tape loose from the paper and carefully slid the package open. Inside sat a huge glove—something that looked like an oven mitt but with a scraper on the end of it.

"That's… really disappointing." Patricia looked like the dog who'd lost out on the bone. I, on the other hand, felt like the third one who'd gotten away with it. My heart skipped. Someone had seen me fighting with the ice on my windows yesterday and had done this for me. But why the secrecy?

I was still grinning when Carl strode past. Even the fact that he was already rolling up his sleeves before entering his office couldn't ruin my good mood.

Just after eleven, Mr. Montgomery appeared at my desk. I had the phone wedged between my ear and shoulder while typing away at that morning's weekly meeting minutes, readying them to send out department wide.

"I'm on hold," I clarified when he said nothing.

"You'll get a crick in your neck."

I set the receiver down and pressed the speaker button. "What can I do for you? Carl—Mr. Bourdon is in a meeting right now. It could go on a bit."

"Oh, that's all right." Mr. Montgomery gazed down at me and his brown hair tumbled disarmingly over his forehead. I felt caught in his dark eyes. He looked larger than life in that moment. He was wearing a light-gray suit, not at all a color appropriate for winter if anyone were to ask me. Not that they would. He'd left the jacket open, and with his hands stuffed in the pockets of his pants his blue shirt stretched taut over his muscular chest. I swallowed thickly.

We weren't required to wear ties in the office, but I always did, and I'd noticed Mr. Montgomery did too. Today he wore a dark-blue one that offset his eyes, which shone like black jewels. I wasn't sure how old he was, but I guessed late thirties. There were little lines around his eyes and mouth when he smiled, like now. The silence stretched past awkward, and I began to wonder if I'd been staring too hard when he spoke.

"Do you know if there's a date set for the office party yet?"

"That was next on my list of things to do today. It'll be the first week in December."

"Great." Mr. Montgomery smiled. He had very white teeth. I almost asked him who his dentist was but managed to keep my mouth shut on that one. His eyes fell on the snow scraper and flickered back to me. "Is everything all right?" At my non-comprehending stare, he added, "You seemed in such a rush this m—"

We both startled as the phone on my desk crackled and a voice began, "Good morning, Blue Cr—" I flicked off the speaker and gave him an apologetic smile. He offered a good-natured shrug in return and wandered away as I checked in with our insurance. I watched him leave, and realized the person on the other end was waiting for me to speak.

At five o'clock I began to plan my escape for the day. My Thursday evenings were reserved for a dinner date with Mother. Sometimes we went out. Sometimes I bought groceries on the way there, and we cooked something nice. I doubted she'd want to go out in this kind of weather, so I quickly browsed roast chicken recipes while I waited for a final contract renewal to come through. My e-mail pinged just when Carl waved me into his office.

"Holiday party," he said as soon as I stepped inside.

His sleeves were still rolled up, reading glasses pushed to the top of his head, and his neat hair had been manhandled out of its usual shape. He'd been rubbing his forefinger and thumb in his eyes, but he'd straightened when I walked in.

"Can we try to avoid the stripper this year?" he asked.

"Ah." I went bright red and studied the watercolor painting of a lonely boat on a big lake hanging behind him. "That was, um, a practical joke. The co-op responsible has been taken care of."

"Taken care of?" Carl asked, wearily amused.

"You know…" I made a strangled noise and a throat-slitting motion with one finger.

Carl laughed, low and hoarse. "I was thinking we could try to do… What do you call it? Hidden Santa Clause?"

For a second I stared at him, blinking dumbly, imagining dressing up in a Santa suit and hiding while the entire office searched for me. Maybe Carl would track me down in the broom closet and finally abuse a few positions with me. "Oh," I said, understanding dawning. "Secret Santa! Yes, that's a good idea. I'll get right on it."

Find out more about Indra and her books at www.indravaughn.com.