Sam and Ana: Home for Christmas: The Legrand Series

By Scarlet Rose Bonnet

Falling snow. Sledding in Central Park. Awkward family visits. And of course, plenty of scrumptious food.

Sam and Ana have found an oasis of happiness in their closet-sized room in Brooklyn. They’ve both been turned out into the world as teenagers, left to fend for themselves.

Together they manage to keep alive their youthful spirit despite having to grow up to soon, and through it all, form an inseparable bond.

This Christmas they discover new traditions while surviving the old ones.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Scarlet Rose Bonnet
• Release date: Nov 12, 2016
• ISBN: 9781540159441

Book preview

To my Great Aunt Joan   who loved Christmas more than anyone I know. I will always remember your Christmas rooms decorated to the ceiling, your vast assortment of Christmas cookies, your ability to rattle off how many days left until Christmas on any day of the year, and especially, your Christmas cheer. I love you and miss you.

Copyright © 2016 by Scarlet Rose Bonnet

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed Attention: Permissions Coordinator, at the address below.

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Read the first four chapters at the end of this book.

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December 24th, 1999

A hiss from the radiator woke me from a deep sleep. Cold air chilled my face, the only part of me exposed. I lay snuggled under Sam’s warm body on the twin bed we shared in our closet sized room. He was still sleeping.

The view out the window was obscured with white; snow fell from the sky and clung to the sill. A bubble of excitement burst in my chest as I flung the thick, warm blankets from my body and hit the floor with a thud. I crossed the room in one bound and pressed my hands to the glass. Sam grumbled and nestled back into the blankets behind me.

Sam! It’s snowing! When he didn’t move, I leapt onto him.

Dammit, Ana Marie!

I laughed as I tore the blankets from his squirming form. Get up! Get up! It’s snowing!

When he continued his protesting, swearing and thrashing, I gripped his head tightly and smashed my lips against his cheek for a noisy kiss. He then focused all his efforts on prying my hands from his head.

Would you... just... Dammit, Ana Marie!

He finally succeeded in wrestling my hands from him. We both paused, sizing each other up as we breathed heavily. Sam’s gaze was wild and for a second I thought he was going to try to tackle me. But then his eyes flicked to the window, and despite his previous grumbling, they warmed with a child-like excitement at the sight of the huge, swirling flakes of snow.

We’re going to have a white Christmas! I said in a quiet rush. I latched back onto his head and pulled his face close to mine. What are we gonna do today?

It was the first real snow of the season, and already looked to be especially substantial, just in time for Christmas tomorrow.

Sam’s lips turned up at the corners. We need take a trip to Macy’s to write our ridiculously honest letters to Santa.

I giggled at his suggestion while playfully pushing his face away, already looking forward to hearing the crazy things Sam would come up with. Excitement squeezed in my chest. He was just as thrilled as I was for a day of winter play on a rare day off. We’d both gotten off work on account of anticipating the snow, and Sam was off from school.

I jumped from the bed. I think there’s more than enough snow to go sledding in Central Park. We could go to Macy’s after.

Sam appeared right behind me, rubbing his hands briskly against his arms to ward off the chill. He shoved a fist in front of me. Mine joined his and then in unison we pumped our fists three times. I slapped my flat hand over his fist.

Paper beats rock; I shower first, I cheered. I grabbed a wad of clothes and dashed from the room.

It would’ve taken me five seconds to shower if it weren’t for the thick mass of dark curls on my head. I sang "Ave Maria" as I scrubbed the shampoo into my hair. Sam exploded into the bathroom, singing harmony over me. I shrieked and jumped, even though I’d expected it. Just as quickly as he’d come, he slammed the door shut, leaving me laughing through the rest of the song. When I’d finally worked through my hair, taming it under the hot water, I bounded from the shower. The smell of coffee warmed every inch of me as I wrapped my hair up in a towel.

Sam eased past me into the bathroom with a steaming mug in one hand and clothes in the other. Cinnamon bread?

Way ahead of you. I kissed him on the nose and practically pranced back into our room to retrieve the loaf of bread I’d made and hidden the night before to keep our housemates from eating it. We lived with eight other people, but having our own tiny room, despite it being just big enough for a twin bed and metal rack to hang our clothes, was worth it. We didn’t have to rely on our dysfunctional family members anymore, even if we did have to rent under the table.

I padded out to the sparse kitchen in the corner of the most open area of the warehouse-turned-apartment. I flicked on the oven and put the bread inside, then got myself a cup of coffee. I gulped it down, knowing Sam would be out of the shower in no time. The scent of warm cinnamon and fresh bread wafted up from the tiny oven. The smell brought me back to Christmas with my Grandma Ro when she used to make the bread—the happy memories now painful. Refusing to let myself feel an ounce of sadness on a day brimming with the promise of fun, I sang "Il Est Né, le Divin Enfant" just the way she used to as she baked her Christmas bread. The bright French carol filled the kitchen with cheer and I was glad that for once there was no chance of disturbing anyone. All our housemates had gone home for Christmas, the last of them leaving late the night before.  Sticking with French, I followed "Il Est Né, le Divin Enfant with Minuit, Chrétiens."

Sam appeared in the last seconds of the song, his hair scruffed up and smelling of his delightfully man-scented gel he used to keep it in place.

"Beau," he said when I’d finished, one of the few French words he knew.

I turned my cheek up for his kiss,