A Christmas Conspiracy by @AuthorReet is an April 99c Sale Event pick #99cents #romcom #sweetromance
Title: A Christmas Conspiracy
Author: Reet Singh
Genre: Sweet Holiday Romantic Comedy
Christmas has never been more complicated! Goldie Gill works in a recruiting firm in Toronto and has had it with his mother's single-minded desire to see him married off to a nice girl. Goldie has no wish to find himself a nice girl - he is perfectly happy living the life and hanging out with his cat, Billy. It takes a chance encounter with a dusky, doe-eyed, scatter-brained beauty, just before Christmas, for Goldie to seriously reconsider his plans. But then, he learns that his meeting with the girl isn't a happy coincidence - somebody has been meddling. What is the conspiracy and how is Goldie going to get to the bottom of it considering that the girl has disappeared?
'Where are you off to, Goldie? You're supposed to have lunch with us.' My mom pouted at me, but I had already begun to wrap up for the outdoors.
Toronto was picture-book white from a recent flurry of snowstorms, and it was expected to get colder come afternoon, so I wanted to be adequately layered from head to toe. I was pulling on my gloves when my mother sniffed, 'We barely see enough of you as it is. What'll I tell your father when he wakes from his forty winks? Besides, I made biryani for lunch.'
She was pulling out all her weapons one by one - the pout, the sniffles, my father, and her famed biryani - but I needed to get out of there so I could clear my head.
'I need some exercise after that gargantuan breakfast. Tell Papa anything you like, preferably the truth. And I'll eat the biryani for dinner.'
'Huh!' she said. 'You're just mad at me because I care for your future so much. Who'll make biryani for you after I'm gone? I shudder at the thought that you'll have no one...'
'Ma?' I stopped her lengthy lament with a callous wave of the hand. 'I can cook. Plus, I'm perfectly capable of finding myself a partner if I need one.'
'Partner,' she scoffed. 'You can't even say the word - wife, wife - there, how hard is it to say that? You're thirty-two years old and you're still talking about partner as though it’s a business deal we’re discussing.'
I didn't bother to respond. My mum and I would never see eye to eye on the subject. I flung open the door and stepped gladly into the icy morning.
'At least tell me where you're going,' Ma demanded.
'To the Quick Kick.'
'But you hate their coffee!'
'I don't go there for the coffee. It's solitude I'm after - they have only a handful of clients precisely because their coffee tastes like bilge.'
I shut the door resolutely in the face of her visible disappointment and, plunging my gloved hands into the pockets of my thick jacket, I ploughed my way through the inches of snow that had settled on the driveway since we'd last shovelled it.
I steeled my heart against feeling any remorse for walking out of the house on a festive holiday. My mother really needed to learn to keep her sharp, pointy nose out of my affairs. Tenacious meddler, that's what she was.
Despite telling myself not to feel bad about coming on so strongly to a usually lovable parent, I could feel self-reproach creeping in. I loved her for the fifty wonderful qualities that she had - none of which I could remember just then, so annoyed was I - but this one habit of hers eclipsed all her goodness.
I wouldn't have been so despondent had I been witness to my mother's antics mere minutes after I left the house. Rubbing her hands gleefully, she'd darted upstairs and had shaken my father awake. 'He's gone,' she'd chortled. 'He's gone straight to that Quick Fix place.'
My father, ever the quintessential man-of-few-words, had corrected her with a grunted ‘Quick Kick’ and had gone back to his mid-morning siesta. I, of course, since I was not physically present at the scene, had not been privy to this strange excitement surrounding my unscheduled visit to a coffee house that served loathsome coffee.
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My love affair with books began when I was a tot. A fabulous mother, who recognized the power of the written word, read to me and my sisters every night, introducing us to the wonderful world of the imagination.
Once I could read on my own, I graduated from fairy tales to adventure stories to romance, spending all my pocket money on books. My father served in the army and took the family along mostly wherever he went, resulting in experiences that beg to find a place in my books.
I am an eye surgeon, but I also make time for my other passions – reading and writing stories, watching romantic comedies, and doing creative things with wool and a crochet hook. I also love solving the cryptic crossword, and – when my muse is elusive – I enjoy pitting my wits against my husband’s at Scrabble®. When I have no other choice, I can be found in the kitchen putting together my ‘world-famous’ one-pot meals.
Writing about love and happy endings feeds my romantic soul; hearing from my readers thrills me. Do write to me at firstname.lastname@example.org
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