In the quiet magic of Christmas, love becomes the one miracle you never see coming.
For twenty-five unforgettable days, Jacob Gold is a man on a mission, a mission born from a promise made at a hospital bedside. His best friend’s father is terminally ill and has one final Christmas wish: “Make her feel loved, truly seen, before it’s too late.”
As Christmas approaches, Jacob becomes Amariah’s quiet miracle. Thoughtful surprises, tender callbacks to their shared past, and moments filled with laughter and unspoken dreams begin to melt the walls around her heart. And she is falling, day by day and touch by touch. But the road to love is rarely simple.
Amariah finds herself torn between the safe future she planned and the unexpected, heart-stealing possibility growing between them. With the magic of the season swirling around them, both must decide how much they are willing to risk for a chance at real love.
A friends-to-lovers holiday romance filled with longing, heartbreak, and hope, Love Me Down to Christmas is a tender sleigh ride through the magic of being fully seen, deeply cherished, and brave enough to open your heart when it matters most.
Publisher:
Black Odyssey Media
Print pages:
288
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The air puffing out between my lips showed up in soft white clouds, winter’s way of proving Jack Frost had already come to town, biting at my nose and fingertips. I didn’t mind it, though. I never had. I’d always loved nights like this when everything felt quiet enough for your thoughts to create new dreams. Sitting on the front steps, staring up at the dark sky where a few stars blinked like they were a guiding light, I let myself release all the fear and worry I’d been carrying. I wasn’t alone. My best friend, Jacob, sat beside me, our shoulders brushing, our breath floating into the cold in little puffs. We’d been doing this since we were ten, back when our parents finally trusted him to cross the street by himself and hang out at my house without supervision. Back then, we were just kids whispering secrets under constellations that watched us grow from scraped knees to now, our senior year. This porch had seen it all—half-baked plans, pinkie-swear promises, big dreams that had only been shared between the two of us. It was ours. Our clubhouse. Our safe place. Our confession booth.
Aside from my parents, there wasn’t a single person in the world I felt safer with than Jacob Gold. True, I was my mama’s sweetheart and my daddy’s baby girl, but Jacob was my person. No matter how many friends came and went, no matter how life changed, it was always him for me, and the same was true for me with him.
When Jacob and his family moved from the South up here to Skye Ridge, it took him a while to adjust and fit in. In middle school, a few boys tried to tease him about being best friends with a girl, until Jacob shut it down with one punch and a broken tooth. That was the day everyone in Skye Ridge learned, yes, Jacob Gold had a female best friend, but he was still that dude.
We met when we were seven years old, when his family moved across the street. My parents invited them to our annual snowball fight, and I still remember getting smacked right in the face by one of Jacob’s throws. I pretended to cry just long enough for him to come rushing over, panicked and apologizing, then I nailed him back and knocked him face-first into a pile of snow. He came up soaked and laughing so hard he couldn’t breathe. That laugh. That was the sound I fell in love with long before I knew what love even was. Our parents eventually dragged us inside from the frigid weather, worried we’d lose fingers and toes to frostbite. Once inside, we warmed by the fireplace with cups of my mother’s famous extra-sweet hot cocoa and peppermint sticks and bonded over episodes of Hey Arnold! and plotting our next snowball attack. That’s where our friendship began. That was the start of us.
So sitting here now at eighteen years old, at the crossroads of our lives, it felt like we were standing at the edge of a cliff neither of us wanted to jump off.
“What if I decided to be a Bison?”
I blinked, caught completely off guard. “What?”
Jacob tilted his head, that familiar mischievous grin playing on his lips, which always made me roll my eyes. “Howard. What if I decided to go there with you?”
“Hmm.” I rested my chin on my knees. “I mean, yay for me, but I think your coaches and parents would probably freak out. Did you even get an offer from Howard?”
He shot me a look. The kind that said, You know better than that. And I did. Jacob didn’t care about straight A’s. He cared about touchdowns. He kept his grades just high enough to stay on the field, and every Friday night, he lit it up like a celebrity highlight reel. Every major Division I program in the country wanted him. Howard was Division I, sure, but it was not the kind of school that was a direct pipeline to the NFL. Jacob’s path was already drawn: big school, bright lights, fast track to the league.
Meanwhile, I was the academic overachiever. As the valedictorian, I received a full ride to Howard University, my dream school. That was never a question. Although I applied for other colleges, I knew that if Howard accepted me, scholarship or not, I would attend.
Those were our paths. While he chased the field, I chased the future.
But when he said that—What if I decided to be a Bison?—my heart betrayed my senses and skipped.
He looked at me with something soft in his eyes. “Just feels weird, ya know? After all these years together to…being apart.”
That hit me like a gust of cold air. I smiled, but inside, my chest ached. We both knew what was coming: college, life, distance. Words like forever were too fragile for what we were facing. Our lives would lead us in two different directions to two separate places. I’d never admit that out loud. Saying it aloud would make it real, and it would slowly take root, growing and twisting around my heart until it shattered my resolve and forced me to accept it. And that’s exactly what I wanted to avoid. As long as I could cling to the temporary comfort of our current situation, I could protect myself from the heartbreak of our eventual separation.
I shrugged, settling on a safe answer. “I mean, college is new for both of us,” I said lightly, nudging his shoulder. “You should be excited. You’re on your way to the NFL, Jacob Gold.”
He tried to smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah, man. I hope… Do you think I made the right choice?” His question came across as uncertain, which didn’t fit him.
I was the only person who knew that he was taking his talents to Virginia Tech. The world and his parents would find out tomorrow when he officially signed his letter of intent. Everything inside of me wanted to beg him to choose differently—to choose Howard and me. But that would have been selfish. His dream had always been this, and who was I to stand in the way of his destiny? He deserved this. As much as I would miss him and wanted to give him permission to change his mind, I knew that wasn’t fair, so I gave him what he needed— reassurance, not redirection.
I extended my hand, and he took mine in his, interlacing our fingers. Anxiety flickered in his eyes as he gazed up at me. “Yeah, you did. You are going to shine at VT and become the best player to come out of there since Mike Vick.”
The tension melted from his face, and his confidence snapped back into place. When he stood, that timid and unsure guy I didn’t recognize was gone, replaced by the confident swagger of the young man I knew almost better than myself. He stood, tugging me up with him, never letting go of my hand. That infectious, boyish grin he’d never outgrown shone at me, highlighting the small dimple in his left cheek that made all the girls swoon. He bit his lip as he stared down at me, almost a full foot separating us in height.
“You know you gotta come to my first homecoming game, right?” Jacob coaxed as we swayed together with the rustling of the light night breeze.
“I’m already knowing,” I teased. “It won’t be nothing like a good ole HBCU homecoming, but I guess once you’ve graduated and are out of the league, you can hit one up with me as an old head.”
“We’re the same age. If I’ma old head, you’ll be one, too, smart-ass.”
“Whatever. You’re six months older. Remember that,” I huffed, pretending to be annoyed.
A few still beats passed as Jacob eyed me as if he was trying to commit me to memory. Without breaking his gaze, he reached into his pocket and retrieved a box.
“Before I sign tomorrow, I wanted to give you this,” he said, placing it into my hands.
“What is it?”
“Only you would ask a question instead of seeing for yourself,” he teased. “Open it.”
Lifting the lid to the burgundy box, I gasped at the sight. “Jacob—”
“Before you tell me I didn’t have to do this for you, I know. I wanted to,” he interrupted me, lifting the sterling silver charm bracelet out of the box and clasping it around my wrist. It was a perfect fit.
“That’s because you already gave me this necklace,” I said, fingering the piece hanging at the base of my neck. “But this is beautiful, too.” I twisted my arm, admiring the jewelry. “It only has one charm, though. A lock?”
“It means no matter where we are in life, we’ll always be locked in.”
With that, he removed his keychain lanyard from his pocket, which held his house keys, his state championship ring, and an identical lock, showing it to me.
I brushed my fingertips across the lock on his lanyard, then a quirky catchphrase came to mind: “From VT to D.C., we stay locked.”
Jacob smirked and held up his pinky finger, and I placed mine around his. It was our symbol that we’d always keep that promise. Then the quiet settled in again, but it wasn’t comfortable. It was heavy and thick with all the things neither of us was saying. When he finally pulled me into his arms, I didn’t resist. His warmth melted the cold between us. His chin rested on my hair, his voice barely above a whisper.
“I’m really gonna miss you, Mari Mar.”
He was the only one who could call me Mari Mar. No one else.
Squeezing him tightly, I returned the sentiment. “I’ma miss you more, JuJu Bean.” The nickname I gave him slipped out through the strain of my emotions.
Our embrace lingered longer than usual. And just like that, I knew this wasn’t the start of college. It was the beginning of goodbye. I was determined to move past this feeling tonight because tomorrow was a celebration. No sadness. No tears. Just excited anticipation for the next chapter of his life.
When he pulled back, there was something in his eyes I couldn’t read. Hesitation. Fear. Maybe…love.
“What is it?”
Emotions seemed to flood through him as he furrowed his brows. “It’s just…” He paused. “It’s nothing. I’d better get home. It’s late.”
“Jacob, wait.”
He raised his hand. “It’s all good, Mari. See you tomorrow.”
Rather than protest, I let him walk away. He trotted down the steps of my front porch and made it halfway across the lawn before he stopped, taking a few shaky breaths.
“Jacob, are you all right?”
He didn’t answer, and then, in one horrifying heartbeat, he crumpled.
“Jacob!” Horror paralyzed me as I saw him tumble to the ground.
I sprinted down the steps, my screams ripping through the night as I fell beside him. His body was limp, his skin pale, his lips tinged blue. I cradled his head in my lap, tears careening down my face.
“Daddy, Mama! Help! Help!” I cried, voice raw with horror.
Apparently, my cries of anguish echoed down throughout the neighborhood. Everything that followed was chaos—our parents running, neighbors flooding the street, sirens blaring somewhere in the distance. His mother dropped to her knees, trying CPR as my father called for help. My mother held me back when the paramedics arrived, my body shaking with sobs I couldn’t contain.
“Amariah, what happened?” Jacob’s mother asked.
“I don’t know. He was leaving to go home, and he just…just fell.”
Sniffles and prayers filled the crowd, serving as the soundtrack to this nightmarish event. The paramedics worked on Jacob, stabilizing him enough to lift him on to a gurney and placing him in the back of the ambulance. Just minutes ago, he had been vibrant and full of life. Now, his ashen face and bluish lips made him seem fragile and barely existent. It was too much to bear, and I turned away from him, burying my face in my father’s shoulder.
His mother climbed into the ambulance. His father ran for their car to follow. And I stood there, stuck in time—my body numb, my emotions hollow, as my tears froze on my cheeks. The sirens wailed down the street until they were nothing but an echo.
When my parents finally coaxed me back inside, all I could whisper was, “He signs with Virginia Tech tomorrow.”
Chapter One
Amariah
Eighteen years later–present day
My heels clicked against the marble floor, mimicking the same rush coursing through my mind. “Good morning, Danica,” I hurriedly greeted and, without giving her a chance to respond, I started citing my to-do list. “Push my eleven o’clock screening back to noon. Schedule the meeting with R and D for the spring product launch on the eighteenth, sometime between nine and noon. Email Stan the preliminary data reports, and be sure to CC Teresa. God knows I don’t have time to read another one of her ‘for transparency purposes’ emails.” The morning task list spilled from my mouth to my assistant as I rushed into my office to drop off my belongings, remove my pea coat and gloves, and head to an impromptu client meeting with my manager.
She handed me my hot morning latte and my iPad loaded with the notes I requested as soon as I tucked away my coat and purse. “First, good morning to you. Second, I’ll get on those tasks right away. Two questions.”
I took a much-needed sip of my latte before turning on my iPad to scroll through the notes. “What’s up?”
“Your mother called and asked to speak to you—”
“Call her back and tell her I’ll call later when I get a break. Remind me when I go to lunch.” With my latte in hand, I tucked the iPad under my arm and began strutting toward the door.
“Got it. And my second question.”
Briefly, I paused my steps without looking back at her. “What’s that?”
“Should I contact Mr. Baker?”
Lowering my head, I exhaled before glancing back over my shoulder at her, then beyond her to the bouquet of flowers on my desk. “Send him a simple thank-you card.”
With that, I headed to my meeting. Gliding through the office, which was filled with lit garland, poinsettias at every corner, and a huge Christmas tree as the centerpiece, I greeted each of my colleagues with the same cheer as the holiday décor inspired. Although it was just mid-November, our interior decorator had already replaced the fall designs with Christmas decorations. Poor Thanksgiving didn’t get a chance to breathe, but I couldn’t deny that the spirit of Christmas brought an extra warm feeling that no other holiday could match or rival.
Even if it weren’t the holiday season, I loved my job and the people I worked with. To boost team spirit, I introduced office superlatives during employee appreciation week, and, to my credit, I’ve been named the Most Likeable Person for five years and counting. Not to brag, but that was also a perk of my role. If I couldn’t get the people who saw me every day to love and support me, then how could I expect the public to love and buy into our ideas? For me, the secret to my success was my attitude and personality. Yes, my degrees, intelligence, and expertise were crucial, but no one cares how smart you are if they can’t stand you.
My life as the assistant director of social and online brand marketing was one I was extremely proud of. It wasn’t just about charm. Growing up with parents who built everything with their hands, I’d promised myself I’d build my life with my mind. Every accolade, every late night was proof I’d made good on that promise. I’d climbed from intern to executive in under a decade through strategy, hard work, and sheer willpower. The next step, as the director, was right within reach when my boss, mentor, and friend, Scottie, retired.
Scottie Peters, named after her father, was coined “Scottie Pippen” in our department for her ability to land high-end, exclusive accounts. She was a leader in this industry and a force to be reckoned with. She was also a Black woman I was proud to learn from.
My eyes darted to the clock just before I strode into the meeting. I’d made it a minute before it was set to start. Letting out a deep breath, I relaxed because I hated to be late. Our team and the leads from research and development greeted me as my Jimmy Choo heels clacked effortlessly across the floor to my seat beside Scottie. I was the last person to enter, and once I settled in, Scottie directed her assistant to close the door.
“Good morning, everyone. Please excuse the short notice. I know many of you are working hard to wrap up the campaign for All Pro Sports, but I called this meeting because we received some big news this morning, and I need to share it with you.” Scottie paced the floor, brimming with excitement. “As of this morning, we have finally landed the Gideon account.”
The whole room erupted in applause and cheers. Gideon was a Black-owned entertainment company that burst onto the scene with a series of blockbuster movies led by some of the most elite and influential Black producers in Hollywood. Every company had been vying for their business, including mine. In fact, Scottie, a couple of our junior executives, and I played a key role in creating a pitch deck for their team after their initial marketing company suffered a major setback involving one of the lead actors, which led to a social media post that went viral for all the wrong reasons. Scottie and I had pitched to them about two months ago, and we’d been anxiously waiting to find out who was chosen. Pippen did it again. This was the multimillion-dollar slam dunk we needed to finish the year strong. Christmas just got a bit jollier and brighter.
“I want to give a special thank you to my team: Eli, Jarric, Cyn, and Amariah. Without your valuable input, hard work, and dedication, this wouldn’t be possible.” Everyone clapped for us as we bowed our heads in appreciation. “And my last announcement is that I have decided that, with my retirement coming in February next year, I should allow someone else to take the lead on this account. With my upcoming departure, the transition is inevitable, so there’s no need to wait; they can get started now.” Turning to me, a smile spread across her face as she placed her hands in a prayer pose and extended them toward me. “Congratulations, Amariah. You will head up the Gideon account.”
This time, thunderous applause erupted as I stood, covering my face. I felt like I’d be a shoo-in, but in the corporate world, nothing was a guarantee until it was official. My heart pounded at the thought of being entrusted with this coveted account. As the assistant director, I’d managed smaller accounts worth up to the lower single-digit millions, but not hundreds of millions. Sure, I’d assisted Scottie countless times on these projects, but leading—never. My dreams were unfolding right before my eyes.
“Oh my goodness, Scottie. Are you sure?”
Her head reared back as if I’d grown a third eye. “Are you kidding me? You were instrumental in helping to land this account. Truthfully, it was your idea that Gideon was sold on. Not to mention, you’re my right hand. No offense, Marva,” she said, glancing at her assistant.
Scottie playfully rolled her eyes at Marva before returning her attention to me. “You’re ready, Amariah. So, what do you say?”
“I say Gideon is about to hit numbers they’ve never even dreamed of. Thank you, Scottie.”
The rest of the meeting, Scottie caught up on our notes regarding the finalization of the All Pro Sports campaign, and we set a time to meet for our initial discussion with Gideon. Although I managed to hide my external excitement, internally, I was floating. All the goals I’d tirelessly strived for were within my reach. At thirty-six years old, I was poised to manage the largest account for my firm and on track to become the director. I’d be the youngest person, male or female, ever to achieve that in the firm’s history. The little Black girl in me, sitting on the porch steps of my house, sharing my future hopes and dreams with my best friend, was bursting with pride—news that I wished I could share with him and my family.
“Two dirty Shirleys on the rocks, please,” Scottie ordered when we sat at the bar.
After the meeting, Scottie invited me out for a quick celebratory drink. I couldn’t refuse, and since we had a little time to spare, I agreed. There was a local bar that most employees visited for lunch or after work, where they made the best cocktails with appetizers so tasty they could rival those of the finest five-star restaurants in the city. People often flocked to the big brands and well-known names, but it was bars, dives, and diners like Jimmy’s where you could find the most authentic and delicious meals.
“Here you ladies go,” the bartender said, placing the cocktails on napkins and sliding them to each of us.
Lifting our glasses, Scottie and I looked at each other. “To Black girl magic and boss bitch baddies.” We clinked glasses and took a sip, savoring our favorite drink.
As soon as we set our drinks do. . .
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