I’ll admit it–I’m a theater geek, through and through. Not just that, but while I was growing up, my BFF and I DELIGHTED in writing short stories, scripts, or the beginnings of novels we’d never finish, and laughing our heads off while we read them out loud. That’s why Chapter 18 of My Winter Song to You was my favorite chapter to write. The joy Max takes in his “script” was something I could totally connect with.

So, without further ado, here’s the preview chapter of My Winter Song to You.

(At the bottom, you’ll find pre-order info, including the amazing promo package of book goodies you can score, but only through November 13th!)

It’s Thanksgiving morning. Right before meeting Max for coffee, I decide that my outfit is all wrong. So, I swap my designer leggings for a pair of low-rise boot-cut Levis I left behind when I went off to NYU. They fit like they’ve been waiting for me. Of course, I also throw on my snowflake scarf.

I find Max outside Howl Coffee’s entrance, scuffing his feet on the sidewalk, breathing in the scent of roasting coffee and baked goods. I sneak up behind him, my steps silent. “Boo!” I shout, poking his ribs.

He jumps, then clutches his heart and groans. “You trying to kill me, Mork?”

“No,” I answer, “just surprise you.”

“Mission accomplished.”

“Sorry,” I reply. “What’s that heavenly smell?”

“Scones.” He leans in and takes my hand, his fingers entwined with mine. “Howl Coffee’s latest specialty. They were even written up in Southwest magazine.”

We’ve talked about this. Not the scones, but the public displays of affection. We decided that, starting today, we’ll act like a couple in public.

“Cool.” I meet his gaze—those dark brown eyes are too knowing and too unreadable all at once. A dimple appears when he smirks, and his face is half in shadows in the late-November light.

“Let’s go in. I need caffeine, and you need practice,” he says, pulling the door open.

“Practice at what?” I ask.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Max rolls his eyes. “At being a good girlfriend—one who doesn’t mow down her boyfriend before he sees her coming.”

“Oh, that.”

Max holds open the door for me, and together we walk into Howl Coffee.

Inside, Howl is the opposite of New York’s frenzied cafés. It smells like a Christmas tree farm, probably because every available inch is adorned with pine garlands strung with fairy lights. A wistful violin version of “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” swells through the speakers. Locals discuss town gossip while the baristas move at geological speeds. Max orders us two Americanos and two scones.

We pick a table by the window, where we can look out at downtown Sugar Pine. Already, the streetlamps are decorated with ribbons and wreaths. Max takes out some papers, flipping through pages until he finds a section marked with a yellow sticky note.

“What is all that?” I ask.

Max peers at me over the paper’s edge and arches an eyebrow. “I wrote you a monologue.”

“For Bohemian Winter?”

He shakes his head. “No, Mork. This script is you and me, confessing our love over Thanksgiving dinner. Of course, I had to guess how our families would react. While I’m sure there will be a few wild cards, I think I know everyone pretty well.” He grins, self-satisfaction oozing out. “But the important part is that you get the starring role. The most lines!”

Ripping a brown paper sugar packet open, I pour and stir it into my coffee. “Wow. Thanks, I guess. But I thought we were joking about rehearsing our lines. I mean, sure, let’s have a rough plan for what we’ll say, but you actually scripted it out?”

Max chuckles. “You forget what a genius playwright I am. Here.” He hands me some papers stapled together while holding on to another stack of his own. “I printed us both a copy. Let’s do a read-through.”

There’s a devilish gleam in Max’s eye and a twitch to his smile. I don’t know why, but he’s challenging me.

Okay, fine.

“Sure,” I say. “From the top?”

He nods. “That’s the best place to start. Now, I’ll read all the male roles—your dad, my dad, Nate, and of course, myself. You read all the females. Got it?”

“No. This is way too confusing. Explain it to me again?”

He waves his hand like he’s swatting away my sarcasm. Then, after clearing his throat, Max begins, spouting a line he’s assigned to himself. “Happy Thanksgiving, everyone. Mork and I are so glad we could all be together today.”

The next line belongs to Max’s mother. So, I read, “Ah, sweetie. We’re all glad to be together too.” Then I lower my voice a bit to sound like Eleanor. “I agree! Plus, this turkey is delicious, and I must get your recipe for the sweet potato casserole.” I look at Max and break from the script. “My grandmother hates sweet potato casserole.”

Max screws up his face in shock. “How is that even possible? With the tiny marshmallows? It’s like dessert for dinner!”

“Exactly. She doesn’t like mixing sweet with savory. After all the time you’ve spent with Eleanor, how can you not know that?”

He sighs. “Whatever. Just skip to the bottom of page two.”

I roll my eyes but do as he directed, flipping the page over.

“We’ll start with my line,” Max says. Then he launches in. “This seems like the perfect time to share some exciting news. I know you all have wondered over the years why Mork and I never hooked up and became a couple—”

According to Max’s script, I’m supposed to break him off in an “excited and breathless” tone of voice. When I don’t, his eyes grow large and impatient. “Whenever you’re ready,” he whispers, as if we’re actually onstage.

“Is this the part where I break into song?” I whisper back.

“Ha-ha. If you don’t follow the script, Mork, I just might put your lines to music.”

“Fine.” The fake-dating thing was my idea and Max is complying to make me happy. I take a deep breath. “Max!” My forced excitement snags the attention of other coffee shop patrons. “Since this is a day to be thankful, why don’t we share our news?”

Max slaps his hand over his mouth, trying to restrain a grin. But it’s so wide that it takes over his entire face.

I glare at him, but keep at it. “Everyone will find out sooner or later, and I just can’t hold it in. I’ve been in love with Max forever! I kept hoping he’d feel the same way. That he might overlook my annoying habits and weird personality quirks, like how I insist that Barry Manilow’s music should be made into a Broadway musical like ABBA’s Mamma Mia! And how I collect sample-sized shampoo bottles and keep them on my shelf like they’re trophies. Let’s face it, that is odd!”

Max holds his papers up to his face, hiding. But I can tell he’s shaking with silent laughter. So, I go off script.

“Nevertheless,” I continue, “We all know Max has quirks of his own. I mean, he pronounces ‘specifically’ as ‘pacifically’ and gets mad when you correct him, and he keeps packets of hot sauce in his wallet the same way other guys have packets of condoms.”

Max slaps the table. “When was the last time you saw the inside of my wallet, Mork?”

I mimic his table slap. “When was the last time you saw my shampoo shelf, Max?”

“Point taken,” he huffs. “Keep reading and no more improvising.”

“You’re bossy,” I mumble. To get back into character, I imagine Eleanor and my mom hanging on the edges of their seats during Thanksgiving dinner. “Anyway,” I recite, “here’s the fantastic news. I have convinced Max to date me! This hunky guy has been mine ever since I got back into town. All those times when we were ‘working on the script,’ we were actually having sex! Safe to say, it’s getting serious.”

I stare at Max, torn between mortification and surprise that he’s taken this so far. His chin trembles as he fights his obvious glee. How am I supposed to recognize his genius as a songwriter/playwright when I’m so busy recognizing him as a total jerk?

I take a sip of coffee. “No way am I telling your mom that we’ve been having sex.”

Laughter bursts out of him. “Come on, Mork. We have to make it seem real.” Max flips through the pages. “Besides, where’s your sense of adventure?”

My clever retort doesn’t materialize, and Max starts thinking out loud. “What if I say, ‘We were going to wait to go public, but we couldn’t stand keeping this secret any longer.’”

I open my mouth to interrupt, but he’s on a roll. “Then Nate will look at my mom and say, ‘You owe me twenty bucks. Didn’t I tell you they’d get together?’ And Eleanor will be like, ‘Well, well, well…’” Max draws out Eleanor’s line like she’s Maggie Smith in Downton Abbey.

“Perhaps we’re overthinking it?”

Max scowls and pops a bite of scone into his mouth. “Go on,” he says, pointing at the script while chewing.

“If we come in sounding too rehearsed, they’ll know something is up. I say we ditch your script and just plan some talking points.”

“Fine.” Max lets out a huge, mock-dramatic sigh, like I’m asking for the world. He reaches into his bag for a pen and turns the pages of his script over so the one facing up is blank. “I’ll take notes.”

I reach forward and swipe his pen away.

“Hey!” he yells. “I was using that!”

“No more notes, no more written-out lines. Just you and me, talking. Like how a boyfriend and a girlfriend would.”

Max’s shoulders tense. For the first time today, his indignation seems real, not performative. I soften my voice. “Please, Max? I know this is awkward, and I don’t blame you for using humor as a defense. That’s what you do when things get uncomfortable, and what could be more uncomfortable than pretending you’re in love with me? Especially since we’ll be lying to everyone we care about most? Just—do this for me, and I promise, I’ll make it up to you.”

His shoulders relax. So does his face. “Sure, Mork,” he whispers.

“Okay, then,” I say. “How about we begin with me saying that we have news…”

Max and I go back and forth, forming a plan. Our ideas aren’t terrible. I just hope everything works out the way that we want it to. The way that it should.

My Winter Song to You will be released on November 13th. If you pre-order the eBook, or if you order the paperback on the release day, I will send you a bunch of wonderful book goodies. But make sure you fill out this form so I’ll know who to send them to.

The post My Winter Song to You (Sneak Peek) first appeared on LaurelLit.com.

The post My Winter Song to You (Sneak Peek) appeared first on LaurelLit.com.