The Christmas Getaway
Coming October 13, 2026
USA Today bestselling author Debbie Mason delights with this charming holiday romantic comedy about an American celebrating Christmas in Scotland with a dashing Highlander.
More info coming soon!
CHAPTER 1
Charlotte
The children’s book, Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day comes to mind as I lie on the cold, concrete floor in the library’s secret passageway, staring up at the fire-breathing dragon flying overhead.
I knew this would be a terrible, horrible, no-good day even before I rolled out of bed this morning. I’ve been dreading it since we learned our bid to keep the library from relocating had failed. For almost a century, it’s been housed in the beautiful old Victorian with its charming gingerbread trim, warm, wood-paneled walls, and sweeping grand staircase.
My friends and I had put up a strong fight. But in the end, all we accomplished was delaying the move by three weeks and putting a strain on my relationships with my boss and my new stepmother. Both of which hadn’t been great in the first place.
Little did I know that my day was about to go from bad to worse when I snuck into my dad’s house to borrow sugar for my coffee at six this morning.
I live above the garage of our family home, which makes it super convenient when I run out of things. . . Well, it had been super convenient until my dad decided to remarry after thirteen years of widowerhood, and his wife isn’t my biggest fan. Which brings me to who put the very bad into my terrible, horrible, no-good day.
In the middle of pouring sugar into a cup, my stepmother, Nicole, called my name, scaring the crap out of me. Both the cup and the bag of sugar went flying, earning me the look. A former bank manager, Nicole’s look makes me feel as if I’m seconds away from the bank foreclosing on my apartment, and I don’t even own it. But worse than my stepmother’s look was the news she shared.
Last week, they’d told me they were spending the month of December—and the holidays—in Arizona with Nicole’s daughter and grandchildren, but that they’d be spending Thanksgiving with me. Apparently, within the week, and a day before Thanksgiving, that had changed. They were heading to Arizona this morning, in time to spend both holidays with Nicole’s family.
My stepmother had seemed legitimately surprised that I had no idea about the change of plans. When she confronted my father as he came down the stairs with a suitcase in each hand, he sheepishly admitted he’d forgotten to tell me. Yeah, right. He hadn’t known how to break the news, especially on today of all days.
My dad doesn’t do well with conflict or tears. I’m a little embarrassed to admit, he got a megadose of both from me this morning. In my defense, we’ve never spent the holidays apart.
I’d also expected him to spend the day packing up the library with me. He knew how hard it would be for . . . I can’t believe I didn’t put it together before. It would be as hard on him as it is for me, maybe harder.
Overhead, the dragon blurs before my tear-filled eyes. As much as my dad loves and supports me, I should have known he’d look for any excuse not to be here on the day the Laura Webb Library closes for good.
The library was renamed in honor of his late wife, my mom—the woman we both adored—a year after she passed. She’d worked here from the age of sixteen, going on to complete her MLIS—a Master of Library Science and Information, with a concentration in Youth Services. I followed in her footsteps, continuing and expanding the programs she’d created for the children and teens in our community.
My mom was the one who discovered the hidden door in the room where the children’s section is housed. The door leads to the secret passageway where I’m currently lying on the floor. My mom added her special brand of magic to the space. She hung fairy lights and painted the walls with characters from children’s books. Over the years, I’ve added my own paintings, but the fire-breathing dragon flying above me is one of hers.
So is Charlotte, the spider from the famed children’s book and my namesake. With the tip of my finger, I trace Winnie the Pooh, who’s eating from a pot of honey. She’d painted him for me too. The same as she had Princess Elizabeth from the Paper Bag Princess and the Little Prince wishing upon a star.
I grew up here, discovered my love of reading here, made friends, and found my life’s calling here. It’s where I’ve always come when I’m happy or sad. It’s where I feel closest to my mom.
“Charlotte, where are you?” Sonja, the current director of the library and my boss, calls, her voice echoing in the empty room on the other side of the hidden door.
The books were all boxed up and loaded on the truck almost an hour ago. Nearly everything else was thrown into the big blue bins on the circular driveway. Unless they were deemed to have historical value. Those pieces were sent to an auction house in New York City, a four-hour drive from here. Our small town is located in Cortland County, the eastern gateway to the Finger Lakes.
I don’t answer my boss. I can’t bear to leave, not yet.
The door creaks open, and Sonja sticks her head into the passageway. “You’ve had months to say your goodbyes, Charlotte. And I have a dinner I don’t want to miss.”
Sonja is my ex’s aunt. She’s spent the past few days hinting that Andrew, my aforementioned ex, has some exciting news to share at their pre-Thanksgiving family dinner tonight. I’d refused to take the bait. He probably got another promotion. Sonja loves nothing more than to rub my nose in his success. She hasn’t forgiven me for not following him to the big city four years ago. Even if he was the one who dumped me, not the other way around.
Honestly, though, I’m pretty sure her resentment runs deeper when it comes to me. My mom was library director for a decade before she died. She did as much for the town as she did for the library and everyone loved her. She was a tough act to follow, and I think Sonja has spent her entire career trying to fill my mom’s shoes. But neither she nor Nicole could ever take her place.
Sonja’s eyes narrow, and I scramble to my feet, moving to my left in order to block her view to the back of the passageway. I paste a wide smile on my face. “I wouldn’t want you to miss your dinner and Andrew’s exciting news. You go ahead, and I’ll lock up.”
She moves to her left, and I move to the right. She fakes me out with a move to the right and gasps. “I don’t believe this. Are you actually trying to steal the chair?”
The chair in question isn’t some ordinary chair. It’s an overlarge, red velvet tufted wingback, comfy and cozy from decades of use. My mom used to sit in that chair for storytime, and so had I. First on her knee, and then when I’d taken her place reading to the children.
“No. Of course not. The movers were going to throw it out. On your orders, I might add. I’m saving it.”
Sonja crosses her arms, an eyebrow lifting above the frame of her pumpkin-orange glasses. “Really? And you’ve spoken to Nicole about this?”
I frown so hard that my entire face wrinkles. “Why would I speak to Nicole about it?”
“It won’t fit in your apartment, so obviously you’re planning on bringing it to her and your father’s home.”
I work to get the words past my clenched teeth. “Yes, I’m taking the reading chair home. To my family home. My mother would want me to keep it. My dad will too.”
“I can guarantee Nicole won’t. The velvet is threadbare and the stuffing is coming out at the armrest, and the seat cushion is as flat as a pancake. And whether you like it or not, Nicole does have a say, Charlotte. It’s her home too.”
My boss and my stepmother are BFF’s, another reason my relationship with her has been strained of late. “I wasn’t planning on putting it in the living room. I’m putting it in my old bedroom.”
“I suppose that’s where you’re going to hang the Laura Webb Library sign if the board votes to rename the library, which I’m positive it will. But I’m not positive that they’ll agree to you keeping the sign, especially if you plan on putting it up at your father and Nicole’s. The board could choose to refurbish it instead.”
The library is moving into a cold, futuristic-looking building that the mayor owns and couldn’t sell. According to Sonja, Nicole, and the mayor, this entitles him to the library being renamed in his honor.
I blink back tears, refusing to let Sonja see me cry. Then I turn and march down the passageway to the chair, half lifting and half dragging it back the way I’d come. “Maybe you, Nicole, and the mayor shouldn’t vote. It’s obviously a conflict of interest.”
The sign is part of my mom’s legacy, and as I haul the chair the rest of the way to the hidden door, I give serious consideration to stealing it.
“The board will vote at the end of December,” Sonja says, completely ignoring my conflict-of-interest remark. “I’ll let you know our decision then.” She pushes the door, holding it open for me.
“Thanks.” I walk a few feet into the room and put the chair down. Focusing on the honey-colored wood floors instead of the empty room, I pick up the backpack I’d left beside the bare bookshelves. There’s no way I’ll make it out of here without breaking down if I take one last look around.
Hefting the backpack over my right shoulder, I return to pick up the chair and then head out the door and down the hall. Sonja’s at my heels, as if she’s afraid I’ll find something else to steal. I wonder if she noticed that the large, framed photo of my mom from behind the check-out desk went missing two days ago.
CHAPTER 2
Charlotte
By the time we reach the library’s main doors, I’m out of breath but manage a “Happy Thanksgiving. Enjoy your dinner with Andrew and your family” when Sonja locks the heavy entrance doors for the very last time. The library doesn’t reopen at the new location until the first week of January. Six weeks of a long and boring enforced holiday stretches out before me.
“Thank you. Enjoy yours with . . .” My boss clears her throat, no doubt remembering that her BFF stole my dad for the holidays. “Enjoy your Friendsgiving at Table and Tap.”
I groan at the thought of pre-Thanksgiving dinner with my friends. I don’t know what possessed me to agree to go. Arm twisting and guilting, that’s what. Plus, Friendsgiving is a long-held tradition. We’re positive we invented the holiday, not the cast of Friends.
Despite the loading and unloading of the chair, hauling it up the stairs to my old bedroom, sitting in it, and having what I hope is my last cry of the day, I arrive at Table and Tap on Main Street with time to spare.
My best friends’ bar and restaurant is lit up like a Christmas tree, and all those happy, twinkling lights lift my spirits. Talk about an almost Thanksgiving miracle. Still, I hesitate before walking inside. The Table and Tap is a place where everyone knows your name . . . and your business.
Most of the time, I’m an excellent faker. But tonight, I’m not sure my acting abilities are up to snuff, and I don’t want to be that person. The one who puts a damper on everyone’s fun. I have a reputation to uphold. I’m Charlotte Webb, the resident cheerleader in my group of friends. The encourager of good times and bad decisions.
I’m about to walk away and text my regrets when warm air escapes through the door I’m holding half open. My nose twitches appreciatively at the smells of garlic and freshly baked bread. Then my stomach rumbles, reminding me that I haven’t eaten today. But in the end, it’s the festive sounds of friendly chatter, raucous laughter, and Bruce Springsteen’s “Santa Claus is Comin’ To Town” that reel me in. I need to be with my people today.
Or so I thought . . . The second the door closes behind me, I’m greeted with, “Yoohoo, Charlie! Over here, sweetheart!”
It’s my mom’s best friend. I’d recognize Bev’s voice anywhere. I turn, smile pasted on my face, only to have it falter when I realize my mom’s entire friends’ group is seated at the round table in the corner. I love these women, I really do. Every single one of them stepped up for my dad and me when my mom died, and they haven’t stopped. But I’m not sure I’m up to rehashing my day with them. They’ll want to reminisce about my mom and the library. Worse, they probably found out my dad abandoned me for Thanksgiving.
I’m considering dashing before dining when the handsome, bearded man standing behind the bar catches my eye. Mac, like his servers, is wearing a red buffalo plaid flannel shirt and black jeans. The casual uniform complements the rustic, cozy vibe of the restaurant and bar with its exposed brick walls and thick wooden beams.
“Give me a minute with our girl, Bev,” Mac calls, then mouths Christmas Elf help to stave off the protest she looks ready to make.
It works, which isn’t really a surprise. My friends are either married or in committed relationships, and everyone in town knows I help their significant others with their holiday shopping. Charlie the Christmas Elf, that’s me.
Most everyone in Winterbrook is holiday-obsessed, just one of the many reasons I love my hometown. It’s the reason Bev, who isn’t known for her patience, is willing to wait without putting up a fuss.
Mac looks from me to Bev’s table as I take off my jacket, draping it over the back of a barstool, and pulls his phone from his pocket. He texts someone as I take a seat at the bar.
“We’ve got three minutes before your ride or die arrives,” he says.
Obviously my I’m totally fine smile isn’t cutting it if he thinks I need reinforcements for my chat with my mom’s friends. Ugh. I end up face down on the mahogany bar. “I knew I shouldn’t come tonight.”
“Better lift your head. There’s movement at the backup moms’ table.”
I sniff and raise my hand. “Give me a damp cloth. Someone spilled peppermint schnapps.”
“Good nose,” he says, placing a cloth in my hand.
I mop up the spill and then trade the cloth for the gingerbread martini Mac’s holding in front of my face. I happy sigh when he pops an adorable gingerbread man into the caramel whipped topping. “You’re my hero.”
He’s giving me the once-over, and I know what he sees. A woman with her red hair in a messy bun, her green eyes bloodshot and swollen, and her turned-up nose looking like Rudolph’s while her Wicked sweatshirt and black leggings are coated in dust and possibly cobwebs from twelve hours on her hands and knees boxing up books and hanging out in the secret passageway.
“Remind me again why you married my best friend instead of me,” I say to distract not only Mac but myself.
He knows what I’m doing and plays along. “You hated my beard, I was always late returning my library books, and you were dating my best friend.”
Really? Did he have to bring that up now? He winces, and I take pity on him. “All true, but I loved your Irish accent. Still do.”
He sighs. “Scottish, not Irish.”
“So you say.” I point my gingerbread man cookie at him. “But you sound a lot like Gerard Butler in P.S. I Love You.”
“Yeah, because he’s Scottish.”
“But he plays an Irishman in the movie.” I smile at his frustrated grumble and pop the gingerbread man into my mouth. Once I’ve swallowed the delicious little cookie man, I say, “I know you don’t have brothers, but what about cousins?”
My best friend, Lainey, sashays up to the bar with her gorgeous box braids swinging across her back. “Stop flirting with my husband,” she says without heat. She knows it’s our thing. Mac is like a brother to me.
She leans across the bar, fisting her hands in his shirt, and pulls him in for a kiss . . . Oh, not a kiss, she’s whispering in his ear. Mac’s eyes go wide and dart my way.
I roll my own and point at my ear, indicating I can’t hear the suggestive promises his wife is no doubt making.
When it’s Lainey’s turn to suggest a title for book club, it’s guaranteed to be a romance and high on the chili-pepper scale—i.e. steamy. Like the kiss she’s now giving Mac. It’s of the toe-curling variety. At least it looks that way. I miss toe-curling kisses. Although it’s been so long that I can’t remember if Andrew’s kisses ever curled my toes.
I sigh at the knowledge that there are no toe-curling kisses in my near future, only to sigh louder when I spot a table of my friends’ significant others. “Apparently, there is no shortage of babysitters in Winterbrook tonight,” I say, mostly to myself because Lainey and Mac are whispering again.
A shortage of babysitters in town is my friends go-to excuse whenever one of them needs Auntie Charlie to babysit her honorary nieces and nephews. Most of the time, I’m more than happy to. I run the children’s program at the library for a reason. I love kids, and I love spending time with them. It’s just that it sometimes feels like my friends don’t think I have a life. I ignore the little voice in my head that says I don’t.
Lainey untangles herself from Mac and gives me her narrow-eyed attention. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fantastic.” I lift my glass and take a keep-the-tears-at-bay swallow.
She gives me a hug. “You’re not, but you will be.” Straightening, she scans the bar. “We need to find you a man.”
“Thanks, but I’d rather drink, “ I place a hand on my rumbling stomach, “ eat, and talk about the books I’ve picked for December.”
I don’t bother reminding her that I’ve tried finding a man and failed more times than I care to count. I’ve taken up knitting instead. My friends and backup moms haven’t given up, though. They’re always on the lookout for my Mr. Right.
Sometimes it feels like the entire town has a vested interest in my love life or lack thereof. It’s been lacking since Andrew decided Winterbrook and I weren’t enough for him.
In a way, he not only dumped me, he dumped all of us. Our friends’ group has been together since high school.
Mac’s phone pings, and so does Lainey’s. They glance at their screens and suck in audible breaths.
“What’s going on?” I ask, digging for my phone in my backpack. In the time that it takes me to find it beneath the books in my bag, phones are going off at the tables around me. I look at my screen. No new texts, emails, or breaking news.
“Son of a nutcracker,” Bev yelps, her gaze shooting to me. Then the entire table of backup moms look my way, and their chairs scrape across the wooden floors. The only thing I can think of that would cause that type of reaction is they found out my dad skipped out on Thanksgiving.
“No, you stay right where you are. All of you,” Lainey warns them, heading to their table before they head for me.
I slide off the barstool to follow her. This can’t be about my dad. Nearly everyone has gotten a text, and while my dad skipping Thanksgiving in Winterbrook is a big deal for me, it’s not for the rest of the town.
“It’s not the library, is it? Please tell me it didn’t burn down.” It’s the only thing I can come up with. They’d want to protect me from anything to do with the library, especially today of all days.
“What’s she talking about? The library didn’t burn down.” Mr. Green, sitting at the end of the bar, holds up his phone. “An—”
Mac lunges halfway across the bar and grabs the phone from the ninety-year-old’s hand. “Sorry about that. Drinks are on the house, Mr. Green.”
I’m distracted by movement at the significant others’ table. Rosie’s fiancé is doing some kind of weird celebratory chair dance. “It’s about time our man moved home!”
The only man he’d care about moving home is Andrew. I know I’m right when one of the guys at the table mutters “What are you thinking, bro?” and lifts his chin in my direction.
Positive all eyes are on me, waiting for a reaction, I pretend I didn’t hear him and hurry to Lainey’s side. “Andrew’s moving back home?” I whisper, thinking that must be the exciting news he’s sharing with his family.
“Hmm,” she says while having a conversation with Bev with her eyes. Bev nods, then stands and gives me a hug, moving aside so the rest of my mom’s friends can hug me too.
“You know, sweetheart, it has to get dark before we can see the stars,” Bev says, and the other women nod their agreement while someone at the back of the group adds, “There’s someone out there for you too, Charlie. You’ll get your happy ever after, or at least a—” A chorus of shushes cut her off.
“Go and enjoy your Friendsgiving, and I’ll see you tomorrow,” Bev says, nodding at my surprise. “We heard about your father abandoning you for Thanksgiving, and we drew straws. I won.”
“Thanks, Bev. I’d love to come. Let me know what I can bring. Happy Thanksgiving,” I say to the rest of the backup moms and get an “Aw, honey, your mom would be so proud of you.”
As hard as a try, I can’t hold back a sniff.
“Don’t you dare let them see you cry. They’ll think you’re upset about Andrew,” Lainey says out of the side of her mouth, looping her arm through mine.
“Everyone seems to think that I am, and I’m wondering why. I mean, I guess it’s a big deal he’s moving home, but we split up years ago. Is there something more going on? Because it feels like there is,” I say as we walk past the bar to the private room at the back of the restaurant.
“Andrew’s um. . .” Lainey trails off, looking uncomfortable.
“He’s what?” My eyes go wide at the thought that immediately pops into my head, and I stop Lainey’s forward motion by pulling on her arm. “Does he want to get back together with me?”
For a minute, I let myself imagine the holidays with Andrew instead of me on my own. It would be kind of nice. He loves Christmas as much as I do.
My latest holiday romance read comes to mind, and I find myself picturing Andrew and me as the romantic leads—snowed in together for Christmas with one bed. I ignore the voice in my head reminding me that my dad has three bedrooms. I only have one, so there. Forget about the couch. It’s short, and Andrew is tall. Very tall and handsome and—
“No, he doesn’t want to get back together with you,” Lainey says, putting a pin in my Christmas fantasy bubble. “And you don’t want to get back together with him.”
“Of course I don’t,” I agree, then waggle my eyebrows. “But what’s the harm in having a little holiday fun? Kissing under the mistletoe? Sexy times by the fire?” The more I think about it, the better I like the idea. I could use a distraction.
“Because he’s bringing his fiancée home with him. They’re getting married at Christmas. This Christmas.” She holds up her phone.
On the screen is a detailed itinerary of events Lainey and Mac are invited to leading up to my ex’s wedding, including a big bash to meet the bride-to-be next weekend.
It’s then that I notice my friends watching me from where they’re seated around a long table covered in kraft paper and decorated with vases of fall flowers and paper turkeys. Half of them look like they’re about to cry. My friends, not the turkeys.
“It’s fine. I’m fine,” I say, even while thinking I need to leave town.
From the number of phones pinging at Table and Tap, everyone I know will be taking part in the wedding festivities. Everyone except me. I’ll have to ensure that I look like I’m having a fabulous time alone on my forced six-week vacation or everyone will worry about me. Worse, they’ll feel sorry for me.
I grab a chair at the end of the table, sit, and put my backpack on my lap. Then I pull out our December holiday reads, placing the books in neat piles in front of me.
I look around at my friends with the biggest, brightest smile I can force onto my face. “I thought it would be fun if we read three different books in December. I’ve divided them by tropes so you can pick your favorite.”
I tap one on the first pile. “Rosie, I think you’ll love this one. It’s Christmas Elf meets the Grinch.” I smile at the next one. It’s set in Scotland. “Lainey, you and Mac should read this one together. It’s super cute.” When no one says anything, I look up to see them staring at me. I sigh. “I’m honestly good, okay? So can we—”
“Sorry to interrupt your party, ladies. I was hoping to talk to Charlie for a sec.”
Clearly, this is payback for my misspent youth. “Hey, Andrew,” I say, turning to look up at him, inwardly groaning at what appears to be pity in his pretty blue eyes.
He steps back to let the servers by. My mouth waters as they place our Friendsgiving dinner on the table: Jalapeno corn bread, Brussel sprout Caesar salad, and pumpkin mac and cheese. “Do you mind if we talk here? I’m really hungry, and our dinner smells amazing.”
“I’d prefer we talk in private, if you don’t mind.”
But I kind of just said I did mind, didn’t I? I’m beginning to remember why I wasn’t completely heartbroken when Andrew broke up with me. Lainey kicks me under the table, and Rosie—who could be a stand-in for Snow White with her black hair, violet eyes, and sweet disposition—nudges my elbow with hers.
I hold back a sigh and come to my feet. “You guys divvy up the books while I’m gone and mark which one you took on the spreadsheet I sent you,” I say to ensure I get all the books back. A few of my friends are notorious late returners. I’m also hoping it’ll distract them from eating so I can get back before everything’s gone.
Andrew has commandeered a small table out of view of my friends. I smile as I take a seat. “So, I hear congratulations are in order.”
He winces, reaching out to cover my hand with his. “I’m sorry, Charlie. I had no idea the itineraries and invitations were being sent out tonight. My fiancée’s virtual assistant sent them by mistake. I wanted to talk to you before she did.”
Reaching inside his leather jacket, Andrew pulls out a printed itinerary and wedding invitation, offering them to me with a gentle smile. “I hope you’ll come, but I’ll understand if it’s too difficult for you.”
I frown, taking the invite and itinerary from him. “Too difficult for me?”
“It’s okay. I get it, Charlie. Honestly, I do.”
“Umm, maybe you can enlighten me then because I honestly don’t.”
“It’s been four years, and you haven’t moved on. You’re still living above your dad’s garage and working at the same job you had at sixteen.”
I blink at him, stunned, and it takes me a second to respond. “I’m actually assistant director now.” Not to mention I have my masters in Youth Librarianship, which I know he knows.
“That’s uh, great,” he says with a condescending smile.
He’s lucky I don’t have a drink in my hand, or he’d be wearing it. And as I sit there staring at the patronizing smile that I want to wipe off his smugly handsome face, I imagine what it will be like attending the wedding festivities, not to mention the wedding itself. No way am I putting myself through that.
So I smile and say the first thing that pops into my head. “I’d love to attend your wedding, Andrew, but I’m leaving next week to spend the holidays with my boyfriend in Scotland.” Mic drop.
“You have a boyfriend?”
Wow, he actually looks and sounds stunned. “I do, a very hot highlander. I’ve been keeping our relationship under wraps, though.” I search my brain for a reason why I would be doing so and glom onto the plotline of my latest holiday read. “He’s a member of the aristocracy.”