Cartwright Christmas Novels & Stories

Charlene wanted to buy a new plant after work because she realized one of her plants at home was withering. She noticed what her coworker had mentioned: Santa Claus decorations and Christmas trees were all over the mall. There was a tangible sense of celebration. People were swarming the streets, either in groups or in pairs. Overwhelmed by the festive spirit, Charlene was temporarily immobile as she observed the vibrant surroundings surrounding her.

“Merry Christmas.” “Merry Christmas.” The rest of us did the same. Cato stared at his mother for a while but didn’t say anything. He seemed annoyed with her words rather than pleased. But maybe I was reading too much into it. After dinner, gifts were exchanged. Bates handed Cato the present he’d brought in earlier. “Open it.” He practically tossed it at him. Cato ripped open the box and found a blue watch inside he. He turned it over and saw the engraving in the metal on the back. “To my big brother. Merry Xmas.”

He was sure daddy dearest would be ecstatic. Cartwright had made his money in oil and shipping but everyone knew he’d made many bad business decisions over the years. The biggest was aligning himself with Bains; the whole reason he was there tonight inflicting himself to this torture. “Mr. Ashfield! I’m so glad you could join us,” Mr. Cartwright said as he came forward and shook his hand. His wife was beside him and she looked like she had probably used all of their money to keep herself looking as young as her daughter. They could have been sisters instead of mother and daughter.

Cartwright had been a woman of immense grace, a retired shadow operative who knew exactly how the minds of dangerous, unyielding men operated. One rainy afternoon in the safehouse kitchen, while watching a teenage Seraphina ruthlessly dump five spoonfuls of sugar into a mug, the older woman had gently stayed her hand. "Listen to me closely, Seraphina," Mrs. Cartwright had murmured, her voice smooth and wise. "When you are dealing with a man who possesses a cold, unyielding personality—a man who carries the weight of a kingdom or a dark empire on his shoulders—you never give them sweet, superficial comfort. Men with arctic souls crave an absolute awakening of the senses. You must brew a cup t

That was three years ago and Red has been cleaning up ever since. So instead of screaming, she said softly, “Yes, Mr. Alton.” She finally clocked out at 9:14 p.m. The night air outside was freezing, the city glowing with Christmas lights and careless laughter. She tugged her coat tighter, her breath forming little ghosts in the air as relief washed over her.

-00- Aciel really never expected that the festival in the town square would be so full and crowded like this. Even Christmas is still fifteen days away, but everyone seems to be impatient to welcome Christmas and ask Santa for gifts. Aciel, who was holding Ciara in his right hand and his left hand holding the handle of the stroller, felt quite confused with his own idea which did not go according to plan. He thought that people would not crowd this festival other than on weekends.

"Christmas, I never heard of anyone use an alias as Christmas, Duke. What does this 'Christmas' do to make us take the benefit in this case?" Duke lifted his hand and claps it once. "This is what I'm talking about. So, this Mr. Christmas is one of Klyde McMarrow's client who buys smuggled women from everywhere and then he'll auction it to them. He's this kettle looking guy, you know what I mean? Bald, short and fat, he has this annoying laugh and he's in love eating this bread wherever he goes, he has it in his pocket and much it like a 2 year old kid." Duke began with gestures he uses and is not that really necessary.

and offering her his hand, which she gladly took, and he led her through the golden door from which he had appeared moments ago. Inside was what could only be described as a cozy little cottage. There was a roaring fireplace, the mantel topped with large green garland adorned with pine cones and shiny Christmas bulbs in red and gold. The sides of the fireplace were flanked with penguin sentinels carved into the rich oak. Two over-stuffed chairs sat nearby, and a full Christmas tree, decorated with various ornaments of all shapes and sizes, mostly in red and gold, filled the back corner near a window covered with thick red drapes. “Please have a seat,” Santa Claus said, offering her the seat

"Something about the arrangement doesn't look quite right." "Fine, Dad." Noel was a graphic designer who headed up the company's art department. Making things look right was what he did best. He headed over to check out the antique Christmas village set up his father had just inherited from some long-lost relative in England. "Excuse me." Noel swerved just in time to avoid running into Shelby Carter, the cute little number cruncher in charge of receivables. Shelby was staring at the village display, her big green eyes wide. Clearly she'd just been drawing closer to one of the houses and hadn't seen Noel coming.

“I came to see Noah.” His frown deepened, like my just saying Noah’s name offended him. “The Carters are extremely busy right now. As you can see,” he gestured vaguely at the Christmas chaos behind him, “preparations are underway for the annual year's-end celebration. They don’t have time for drop-in guests.” “I still need to see him, not his parents.” My voice was steady even though my hands were clammy. The man didn’t budge at first, but something in my eyes must’ve convinced him I wasn’t going anywhere, because he stepped aside and waved me in with an insufferable sigh.