Snowball Unwrapped

Book 4: Snowball

by Kristen McKanagh

Genres: Holiday books; Women's Fiction

Synopsis

A fun and heartwarming addition to the series that’s “the perfect Christmas treat” (Booklist), set in a cozy Victorian inn and starring that adorable matchmaking cat, Snowball—for fans of Melinda Metz and Sandi Ward.

Jocelyn Becker would do anything for her twin sister. Unfortunately, “anything” this time means taking Ilse’s place as host of tv’s Home & Hearth and filming five Christmas-themed episodes at the Victorian inn and shops of Weber Haus. Somehow, Jocelyn will have to convince the world—and her co-host, Ben—that she is Ilse, who can craft, cook, bake, sing, and skate. Jocelyn, however, cannot.

Snowball, the inn’s official greeter, is also having double trouble. The show has its own feline star, a Snowball-lookalike named Angel who’s more of a devil in disguise. Meanwhile, Snowball has noticed enough sparks between Ben and Jocelyn to light up a Christmas tree. But thanks to Jocelyn’s deception and Angel’s antics, this is going to be Snowball’s most challenging match yet.
Still, the holidays are made for mistletoe kisses, crackling fires, cozy evenings, and of course, sweet Snowball shenanigans . . .
 
“Purrresistibly heartwarming.”
–Modern Cat on The Twelve Days of Snowball

Release date: September 26, 2023

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 304

Sample

Jocelyn Becker was so focused on the microfiche film she was staring at through an ancient machine, it took several rings of her phone before the sound even penetrated. She almost ignored it, too absorbed in her research on film and television legend Barbara Stanwyck to want to stop to chat.

Except the name on the screen read “Ilse” and she never ignored her twin sister.

“Joce?” Ilse said as soon as she answered the phone. “I need your help.”

Jocelyn straightened so hard she knocked the table, and her pen rolled off with a clatter. Ilse didn’t ask for her help. Ever. Her sister was the one who managed everything. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t want to tell you over the phone.”

Yup. Definitely bad.

“Can you come to me? I’m at the studio. We’re not quite done filming this episode but will be soon.”

Jocelyn made a face. She avoided the studio in general. The few times she’d gone, fans kept mistaking her for her sister, so she’d stopped going. “It’ll take me a little while. I’m at the archives.”

“Oh. Um . . . I could meet you at your apartment. I don’t mind waiting there.”

Jocelyn’s eyebrows tried to crawl right off her face. Ilse wasn’t exactly known for her patience.

As the host of Home & Hearth, a popular TV show that focused on home and garden and decorating and cooking and whatnot, patience wouldn’t have gotten her sister as far as she’d come. Tenacity had done that.

Tenacity and talent.

Two things Jocelyn had not a shred of. Despite being twins they couldn’t be more different. Ilse showed the world her best face and shared her homemaking tips, doing anything from baking to singing to crafting, and doing it to perfection. Jocelyn on the other hand couldn’t bake, or sing, or craft. Her passion was her job as a film historian.

“Okay. I’ll see you there as soon as I can.”

They hung up, and immediately, Jocelyn was on her feet, turning off the machine and gathering her things. Her highly independent twin never needed her. Given that she sounded like she’d been crying, this couldn’t be good.

She worried all the way home and parked.

“Hi, Bart!” She waved at the apartment manager as she hurried toward her building.

“Hey,” he called back. “Did you see what was on TV last night?”

Jocelyn, eager to get to Ilse, shook her head.

“It’s a Wonderful Life.” The way he beamed, she realized what was happening. Bart liked to test her movie knowledge, particularly movie quotes. Maybe she should focus on him for longer than two seconds. What had he just said?

Right. The movie. Black-and-white. Holiday feel-good story. Sort of. She found that one depressing more than uplifting. “ ‘Every time a bell rings, an angel gets his wings,’ ” she quoted.

He laughed. “You know them all.”

She should, given her job.

“I enjoyed it.”

Jocelyn gave him a thumbs-up. “I’m glad.”

She would have loved to stick around and discuss it more or give him another recommendation, but Ilse needed her. She was sure her sister had been crying. To do that on set . . . that just wasn’t Ilse.

Jocelyn hurried all the way up to the apartment she shared with her best friend, let herself in, then stumbled to a halt at the sight of Ilse’s face.

Her sister was sitting down on the couch in the small living area and her face was streaked with tears and runny makeup.

“Good grief!” Jocelyn shut the door behind her, dropped all her things on the floor, then hurried over to throw her arms around Ilse’s shoulders. “What happened?”

Ilse burrowed into her—also an unusual reaction. “Gregori. Left. Me.”

She burst into tears and all Jocelyn could do was hold on as her sister cried and cried. Her mind spun with a truth that seemed so far-fetched she might have laughed if Ilse wasn’t so upset. Ilse’s longtime boyfriend had left her? Impossible. Gregori Stadnicki-Borch was some kind of Polish count or baron or a descendant of one. Jocelyn wasn’t entirely clear. But the man loved Ilse the way puppies loved cuddles and treats.

As her sister kept crying in her arms, Jocelyn tried to make plans in her head. Plans for retribution. How dare he make Ilse miserable like this? He’d clearly shattered her tenacious, strong, but secretly delicate sister’s heart. But the worst Jocelyn could come up with was a strongly worded social media post. Given she only had a hundred followers, total, versus Gregori’s rabid and plentiful following, she was pretty sure that wouldn’t even make a dent.

Eventually, Ilse’s tears wound down to a soggy, hiccupping mess of her usually put-together twin. Able to let go, Jocelyn grabbed a box of tissues and plopped it in Ilse’s lap. “Talk to me. What is this all about?”

Ilse shook her head as she blew her nose, then looked up, blue eyes dulled. “I don’t know. Look at this.”

She fiddled with her phone, then handed it over. Jocelyn frowned at the text scrawling down the screen. “He . . .” She was going to post two strongly worded social media diatribes. “He broke up with you over text?”

Ilse’s chin wobbled but she managed to keep it together with a nod. “But he doesn’t say why.”

Jocelyn scanned through his words again with a growing frown. Ilse was right. He only vaguely said he couldn’t keep going the way they were.

“Did you have a fight?”

“No.” Ilse mopped at her eyes. “Gregori doesn’t fight.”

Clearly. He just hid behind the safety of technology. What a passive-aggressive wuss he turned out to be. Jocelyn hadn’t spent much time with her sister’s boyfriend. The man was a wealthy heir to a jewelry business and fortune and traveled all over the world, jet-setting. But she’d liked him.

Or thought she had.

Ilse straightened, chin jutting out. “I need to see him. In person.”

“Good idea. Get some answers.” Jocelyn nodded.

“I have to go to the Philippines. Tonight, if there’s a flight.” Ilse jerked forward to take Jocelyn’s hand in hers, her watery gaze imploring. “Which is why I need you.”

Jocelyn looked down at their clasped hands then back up into her sister’s pleading gaze. “Um . . . I’m still stuck on the Philippines. Is that where he is?”

“Yes. And he’s working and can’t leave for a week or two.”

“Okay. I’m not sure how that involves me though.” Jocelyn had never been to the Philippines. “Do you want me to go with you or something?”

Moral support maybe? That would be a first.

Her sister was the most stubbornly independent person Jocelyn knew. Ilse saw the need for emotional anything as weakness. Jocelyn had been sneaking moral support in when Ilse wasn’t looking for as long as she could remember.

Ilse’s lovely features—even looking like a half-drowned clown—pinched, and Jocelyn’s gut said she should run away fast. She knew that expression. Never mind the need for a hug or something. Clearly, Ilse had cooked up some cockamamie plan. Except she usually didn’t drag Jocelyn into them.

“The thing is . . . there’s a problem with my leaving just now,” Ilse said.

This close to the holidays was bread-and-butter season for the TV show Ilse hosted. “I would imagine so.”

Ilse gave her arm a little shake. “A bigger problem than usual. We’re taking the entire show to this adorable Victorian inn in the mountains. We’re going to do five live Christmas-themed episodes of Home & Hearth from there. Each episode will be all about decorating and cooking for the best holiday season ever.” Ilse’s sorrow cleared for a second. “Isn’t that adorable?”

Not really. It sounded like torture to Jocelyn. Also . . . didn’t every show do something similar?

Ilse’s face clouded back over. “But there won’t be time to fly halfway across the world between shows, let alone convince Gregori to take me back.”

“Maybe you can work it out with the showrunners—”

Ilse jumped to her feet. “I can’t. There are other things going on, but because it’s live, there’s no leeway here.”

What other things were going on?

“I still don’t see what that has to do with me—”

“I need you to stand in for me,” Ilse said in a rush.

Given how disastrous that went the last time they tried it, when they were about sixteen, Jocelyn burst out laughing.

Except Ilse wasn’t laughing with her. Her chin was wobbling again.

Jocelyn sobered on a horror-filled gasp. “You can’t think that’s a good idea. I’m terrible at all that stuff.”

“Everything is already set to go.” Ilse dropped back down beside her, taking her hands. “All the crafts are made, and the recipes prepared. I can go all diva and make someone else do the cooking. That way you don’t have to do or make anything. You just have to smile at the camera and read the script.” Ilse gripped her hands harder, expression pleading in a way that was so unlike her sister, Jocelyn’s heart cracked. “The crew sets everything up for you. I’ll send my assistant, Margot, to take care of your wardrobe, hair, and makeup. I can give the script to you now, so you have plenty of time to memorize—”

“It won’t work.” Jocelyn surged to her feet. This was a terrible idea on so many levels. Not only were she and Ilse night-and-day different, but Jocelyn was the opposite of crafty and bake-y. She burned toast and mangled decorations. A five-year-old child could do better.

Ilse grabbed her hand, pulling her up short. “It will. It has to. I have to—” The tears welled up in her blue eyes. “I have to,” she whispered brokenly.

Jocelyn closed her eyes to block out her sister’s distress but seeing her strong sister like this—Ilse was the one who took care of her, not the other way around.

Am I really considering doing this? “All I have to do is memorize lines and say them at the camera?”

That didn’t sound too hard. She had a vlog about her film research, so she was used to that, on a much smaller, indie scale of course. But still, she wasn’t camera shy.

“That’s all.” Ilse nodded, hope lighting her eyes.

A painfully desperate hope that Jocelyn found impossible to deny. “I don’t have to actually craft or bake anything?”

“I promise. I’ll make sure.”

Jocelyn shook her head. Then shook it again. “This is possibly the worst idea in the history of ideas. You realize that, don’t you?”

After all, it would be Ilse’s career—the most important thing to her in the world—on the line. Not that she’d let her sister down if she could help it. But they were talking about pretending to be someone she wasn’t for a long time. The odds were against them.

Ilse gasped. “You’ll do it?”

Heaven help them both. Jocelyn paused, then nodded, and Ilse threw her arms around her, squeezing tight. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. I’ll owe you forever.” Then, in true Ilse fashion, went straight into doing mode. “We don’t have much time to get you ready. Let’s start with this.”

She pulled a massive diamond ring off her finger and held it out, the gaudy jewelry glinting in the light. It was the first truly extravagant thing her sister had ever bought herself once she landed the show. She never took it off, so of course Jocelyn had to wear it, but something about being responsible for it made the reality of what they were doing strike a cold note inside her.

She swallowed, then reached out, slipping it on her finger. The weight of it threatened to topple her over. “You realize how serious this is, right?” She looked up from the ring.

Ilse winced. “Of course I do. But . . . I have to do this. I . . .” She shrugged, the most helpless Jocelyn had seen her in a while. Or maybe ever. “He’s supposed to be my everything.”

The thing was, growing up, after their parents had died, Ilse was the one who’d kept it all together, who’d taken care of Jocelyn and made sure they were fine. She never asked Jocelyn for anything. Definitely not for help.

Jocelyn sighed. “I can see that. Just don’t get mad when I screw up and get you fired.”

Ilse grinned through a new spate of tears. “That won’t happen.”

Jocelyn wasn’t as confident.

“Oh!” Ilse pulled back. “And don’t tell Theo.”

“Impossible,” Ben Meyer muttered to himself as he rode the glass and chrome elevator up to the executive suites of the studio.

The doors whooshed open with a subtle ding, and he made his way down the hall. He’d been summoned.

“How my agent talked me into doing this show will be a mystery never solved,” he muttered under his breath.

Possibly a murder mystery. He could practically hear the death knell for his career with every clack of his feet on the tiled hall. Mike, his agent, had convinced him to act as a temporary cohost of Home & Hearth after Ilse Becker’s longtime cohost had quit abruptly. Ben had yet to get the explanation for why.

“They’ll be appreciative,” Mike had said. “They’ll reward you for your hard work,” he’d said.

Ben had been in this business forever. Early in his career, they’d stuck him on a show with problems, with a directive to “fix it.” He was sure, even now, that the studio had expected one of two outcomes: He’d actually succeed, which worked out for everyone. Or he’d fail and they’d fire him and cancel the show. No skin off their backs either way.

He’d succeeded.

Then they’d stuck him on another show with problems, and he’d succeeded again.

And again.

Until he’d gotten the reputation for fixing anything he touched. It didn’t matter if he was in front of the camera as cohost or behind it as a producer and showrunner, he could look at a show and see what it needed to turn a corner and attract or re-attract audiences.

But that wasn’t happening with Home & Hearth. Because of Ilse Becker.

Reaching a set of glass double doors, he walked through into the swish offices of the executives, still chrome and glass with unimaginative black leather added in for good measure. Another door led him into the office of the executive assistant, where Heather, who had to be sixty if she was a day, ruled the roost of the show’s executive producer with a velvet-covered iron fist.

“Go on in, Ben,” she said with a wave at the closed door to her right, his left. “They’re waiting for you.”

They? He kept his thoughts hidden behind a polite smile that he pinned in place as he strode straight to the door and right inside.

The three men and two women waiting for him probably expected him to hesitate on the threshold at the sight of them—including his agent—and he silently thanked Heather for the subtle warning she’d given him to expect a crowd.

Instead of hesitating, he strode all the way in, then stopped in the middle of the circle of vultures, hands casually in his pockets, and allowed himself a small but visibly uninterested smile. “What’s all this about?”

He directed the question at Herbert Delores.

For such a big man in their industry with a reputation for being ruthless, Herbert’s physical person was incredibly deceptive. Average height, he sported a mild face with enough baby fat, even at the age of fifty-some-odd, to make him appear cherubic. Except, at the same time, the rest of him was skinny to the point of emaciation. Ben wasn’t entirely sure Herbert wasn’t an addict of some sort, except the man’s behavior was too consistent to support that theory. He was always sharply present.

“Home & Hearth,” Herbert answered. Straight to the point as ever.

“I’ve been on the show a few months,” Ben pointed out. “You could hardly expect me to have turned things around by now.”

Actually, they could. Usually he had by now.

But they’d landed him a worse predicament than usual, thanks to his cohost. The woman was impossible—haughty, picky, a perfectionist, and inclined not to listen. Actually, it was more than not listening . . . she actively rejected any idea he dared to suggest. No wonder her previous cohost had walked away.

He’d figure it out, but he needed more time.

“It’s not that.” Herbert waved a negligent hand.

Ben didn’t buy it. The man’s eyes were glittering with whatever he was about to propose and the only reason he’d have brought Mike in would be to ensure Ben played nice.

“Then what?”

Sure enough, Herbert’s dawning smile more closely resembled a weasel than a human. “We want to change the theme of the live shows.”

Ben tried not to let them see how he stilled at that. He’d argued for different themes himself on the second day on the job and had been vetoed by Ilse. But they’d been planning for this for a while. It was too late. “Oh?”

“Your proposal to feature a different kind of unique holiday party for each show is perfect.”

You’ve got to be kidding me.

“We leave for Weber Haus, where we’ll be filming, tomorrow,” Ben pointed out. They couldn’t possibly think he could rearrange all new content by then.

“You’ve done faster changes than that before,” Mike pointed out. “And you can repurpose a lot of what’s ready to go.”

He wasn’t wrong, but that didn’t make it easy. “Remind me to fire you after this discussion.”

His longtime friend just grinned. Probably because Ben threatened to fire him at least once a month and never had.

“The live shows combined with this format will be perfect,” Herbert said. “Just the fresh content Home & Hearth has been needing.”

Actually, Ben wasn’t convinced the content was the issue. “And Ilse? She already vetoed this idea.”

All five people in the room grimaced. Herbert had had to throw his metaphorical weight around and insist on doing the live shows at all when Ilse had resisted.

“We’re giving you full authority over the production. She’ll answer to you.”

Ben snorted. That was likely to go down about as smoothly as Santa switching to a jet-pack-powered sleigh and retiring his reindeer. “You’ve already talked to her about this?”

The exchange of glances gave him the answer to that.

“No,” Herbert admitted. “We wanted your buy-in first. But we’ll be talking to her next. Before you leave.”

Ben considered that. If they could get Ilse out of her own way, the show could definitely do better. She was a pro at what she did, but something was off. Maybe she’d gotten too complacent with the same content week-in, week-out, creating a stale feel? He still hadn’t pinned down the issue. There was something missing, and the ratings were evidence of that.

However, changing the format on her without her knowledge went against the grain, no matter what a pain in his rear end she could be.

“I mean it.” He gave Herbert an uncompromising stare. “You tell her and make sure she understands and agrees, or I don’t do this, and we stick to the original plan.”

Ben could tell that it visibly went against the exec’s ingrained sense of self-worth and position to cave in, or to have his word questioned in the first place. But after a gobbling second, Herbert nodded. “Consider it done.”

But Ben wasn’t done. He directed a pointed stare first at Mike and then at Herbert. “So . . . what’s in it for me?”

Which was when Mike finally allowed himself an open grin that told Ben everything he needed to know. His agent had negotiated something good.

“A new contract for Home & Hearth that says if the ratings come up by the beginning of next year, the studio will let you name your own show and put it together from top to bottom yourself.”

Yup. Mike had known exactly the carrot to dangle—a show of his own from concept to production. Ben narrowed his eyes. “No proposals. No test audiences. From concept to production entirely under my purview.”

Mike nodded.

Well, well, well . . . Merry Christmas to me.

Ben rocked back on his feet. “Let’s go through it.”

An hour later, new contract signed, Ben gave Heather, still behind her desk in the next room, a small salute of thanks, as he left the office heading back toward the bank of elevators. He could hardly contain the excitement pulsing through his blood. Heck, he might even do a jig if he wasn’t in a public place. Maybe when he got home.

Finally. Finally, he was going to be able to do what he wanted.

No more fixing broken things. No more having to run every idea by someone else for approval. Something from scratch. Something his own. Something that could succeed from the get-go. A thousand different ideas rolled around in his head, because he had been thinking about this for a very, very long time. Now it was time to narrow down his ideas to the one that would be the best to start with. Maybe he could even get some work done on his plans as they were completing the live shows for Home & Hearth.

Only one thing could go wrong. The fly in his ointment. The broken spoke in his wheel. The lump of coal in his Christmas stocking.

Ilse Becker.

But he’d been assured she would play nice.

The elevator doors opened, and Ben almost took a step back. Because the person getting off on his floor was the exact person he’d just been thinking about.

Decked out in her usual pristine designer clothes, sunglasses still on despite being indoors, purse held over her elbow with her well-manicured hand held like she was cupping something. Perfect from the top of her golden blond head to the tips of her pointed Jimmy Choos.

“Ilse,” he acknowledged.

He waited for her to do the same in the impatient tone of voice she seemed to reserve just for him. That was how they handled each other. Instead, she stared at him like she had no idea who he was, then abruptly smiled.

This time Ben did take a step back. Just a small one, but still a show of weakness that he did not like in himself. But Ilse had never smiled at him like that. Not once. Honestly, he wasn’t even sure she smiled like that for the camera. Like she meant it. Like it came from the heart. If she had, her ratings would probably be better than th. . .