"Matt's Christmas Angel" excerpt

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In honor of December 1, I'd like to share an excerpt from A Stone Mountain Christmas. Let the Christmas posts begin!

                                         Matt's Christmas Angel

                                                         by

                                            Mary Marvella

“What am I going to do about Matt?” Guenivere Jones asked her mirror. “He’s the nicest person I’ve ever known.” Gwen brushed her long, auburn hair for the fiftieth stroke on her way to one hundred. Gwen had inherited G Granny’s hair color, a tad too red for her taste.

Of course the mirror made no suggestions. It never did.

“He’s thoughtful, he’s kind, and he’s not bad looking, either.” Gwen sighed and shook the brush at her reflection.

G Granny insists he’s my beau. She’s even ordered her wedding dress cleaned and pressed for me to wear. But Matt and I aren’t even dating. The white velvet gown had been altered for G. Granny, Grandma Mary, then for Felicia Guenivere, Gwen’s mother.

“Stroke ninety-nine. I quit.” Gwen stuck out her tongue at the mirror. “G. Granny, I’m not getting married this Christmas. Not to Matt, not to anybody, so you’re wastin’ your time getting the dress ready. When the time's right I'll wear it, if I get married in the winter, like all you other Gueniveres have. ”

Gwen loved G. Granny. Everyone loved the matriarch, the reason every first daughter in the family had been named Guenivere for four generations. Her premonitions were legendary. Sharp as a tack, she had lived nearly one hundred years, but she was so-o-o-o wrong this time. If Gwen even had a daughter, she would not name her Guenivere.

Matt was her best friend in the whole world. She adored him, but she wasn’t in love with him.

Gwen slid into bed, ready for a good night’s sleep. She and Matt had only twelve days to accomplish their twelve traditional Christmas missions. This Christmas would mark their twenty-fifth together as best friends. Gwen settled down into her nest of comforters and pillows. Ninety-nine strokes. No one does the one hundred brush stroke thing anymore. Hah!

***

Sleep captured Gwen in its gentle arms and eased her into her fondest memory. She was three years old and playing in her sandbox, the one mama said had been hers once upon a time. A child she’d never seen walked up to her sandbox and stood, staring at her.

“You Gwen?” The boy's face puckered up in a frown.

Gwen nodded slowly. “Uh huh. Who are you?”

The boy looked bigger than she was and real skinny. His glasses made him look like an owl. He carried a pail and a shovel. He had light, short hair.

“Matthew Henry Simmons,” he said. He must be serious about the long name, because he wasn’t smiling.

“This is my sandbox. Wanna play?”

“Sure.” He still didn’t smile.

 Gwen grinned when she thought about his red plastic bucket and shovel. She remembered the gentleness of five-year old Matt. He had been her playmate ever since. That Christmas he had told her about the "Twelve Days of Christmas" song he’d learned in kindergarten. He’d also taught her to count to one hundred.

Look for more excerpts from A Stone Mountain Christmas
 http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00PL5L4SQ/ref=tsm_1_fb_lk
 
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Christmas' Best Bet, Humble Pie

 http://www.amazon.com/Christmas-Best-Bet-Humble-novella-ebook/dp/B006LUJ8F6/
     

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