Bonus Scene #2: The Day Gabby Came In
Gabby Garland’s line, “Joy lives in the mess, not in the masterpiece,” is the thematic heart of Crashing All the Way. This deleted scene shows you exactly where Viv first heard it, and why it took a plane crash for her to really understand it.
22 Days Before Christmas
The dilapidated box on my office chair told the story before I even opened it. Clearly, someone had dropped it. Or run it over with a truck. Or shoved it out of Santa’s sleigh at 30,000 feet. Pulling back a corner, I braced myself. The sticky pool under the box left little mystery as to what I’d see. There were the tops of twelve glass bottles, each with an adorable label with names like Frosty’s Minty Bliss, Cocoa Claus, and Nutcracker Delight.
“Are they all broken?” Mandy asked.
“I’m not sure.” Carefully, I took hold of the glass bottle marked Spiced Snowfall, a pumpkin-spiced eggnog, and pulled it out. “Actually, I think this one’s okay.” The glass seemed intact.
“It’s dripping,” Mandy said.
“It’s just wet from one of the other bottles.” A tiny spark of hope. “Maybe it’s not a total disaster.” I gave the bottle a little shake, trying my damnedest to cultivate moments of love, laughter, and connection. That’s when a chunk of glass dislodged from the bottom and the eggnog shot out with the torrent of an avalanche, soaking my shirt, pants, and shoes.
“Oh my God,” Harmony said.
“That’s a total disaster,” said Jill.
I smelled like a pumpkin-spiced latte at Christmastime, out of season and about as welcome as last year’s fruitcake. “I’ve been on a pre-order list for these since November 1. Every year they sell out, but this year I finally remembered to put the release date on my calendar.” An organic local dairy made special batches of its popular eggnog each December. I followed their Instagram account and had long coveted this variety box.
One by one, we inspected the remaining bottles. Between the jagged cracks and the questionable bits floating inside, the verdict was clear.
“Well,” Mandy sighed, holding up the lone survivor, labeled ‘Classic.’ “I guess we should just be grateful for small miracles.”
“Seriously?” I said. “Of all the flavors, the original flavor was the only one that didn’t leak all over the floor?”
“Once you add enough rum, it won’t matter what the flavor is,” Harmony reasoned.
Mandy cheered with the Classic bottle. “I like the way you think.”
It required a group effort and two rolls of paper towels to clean up the mess. Seeing my coworkers slaving over my disaster made me sick to my stomach.
“Your chair is soaked,” Jill said apologetically. “I don’t think you’ll be able to sit there until it dries out.”
“Yeah, I’d hate to get my clothes wet.” I gestured at my stained outfit.
That’s when Harmony looked toward the elevator. “Gabby’s here.”
Gabby Garland, bestselling Christmas romance author and my favorite client, had chosen today of all days to come in and sign copies of her latest book.
Jill pulled off her cardigan. “Here. This won’t cover your pants, but it can’t hurt.”
I yanked the sweater over my head. I brushed lint off my pants, but since they were soaked in handcrafted eggnog made from grass-fed milk, lint was the least of my problems.
“Viv,” Gabby said, grabbing my hand. “You smell like the inside of a Yankee Candle store.”
Gabby’s voice carried the sounds of western North Carolina, all bubbles and twang. I couldn’t help but smile, even after the morning I’d had. “I hope you like Yankee Candles.”
“I was born in the 1970s. Of course I like Yankee Candles. My girlfriends and I sniffed enough of those babies to get higher than a hoot owl on moonshine.”
“Wait,” Jill said, interested. “You can get high by sniffing Yankee Candles?”
“Believe me, if you sniff enough of them you’ll get lightheaded, whether from oxygen deprivation or chemical exposure, it’s anybody’s guess.”
Gabby’s laugh was as vivacious as her holly berry-red curls. It was impossible not to laugh in Gabby’s presence.
“Well, thank you so much for coming in,” I said. “We are so excited about Snowed In and Swept Away.”
“I think everyone is excited, except for my husband, Tony.”
“Oh no. He doesn’t like romance novels?” Mandy asked.
“He likes them just fine, but he’s convinced the love interest is based off my high school boyfriend.”
Harmony offered a reassuring smile. “I’m sure you’ll convince him otherwise.”
“Unlikely,” Gabby said, “on account that he is based on my high school boyfriend. Haven’t seen him in almost thirty years but he still appears in my dreams. Not saying I mind, if you want the God’s honest truth, but it’s nothing for Tony to get worked up over.”
“He’ll change his mind when he sees your royalty checks,” I said. “Speaking of which, should we get started signing those books?”
“I’ve been practicing my signature all week.”
Leading Gabby to the conference room, I tried to ignore the eggnog squelching between my toes. I loved my job. It brought me such joy to watch these authors achieve their publishing dreams. I loved my job. It brought me such joy to help authors achieve their publishing dreams.
Which was exactly why I suddenly remembered the state of the conference room.
I stopped so quickly Gabby nearly plowed into me.
“Goodness,” she said, catching herself. “Is everything okay?”
The door to the conference room seemed as thin as wrapping paper. Once opened, there’d be no hiding the disaster inside. “I need to apologize for what you are about to see in here.”
“They didn’t put a mustache on my male main character, did they?”
I laughed despite myself. “God, no.”
“You had me worried there for a minute.”
“The conference room is a bit of a disaster. I’m afraid I turned the table into a construction zone for a failed housing build and didn’t have a chance to get it cleaned up before you got here.”
“Construction zone? Hmm. Now you’ve got me thinking about hard hats. Has Evergreen Press published any Christmas romance books involving construction workers?”
“Not in the last year, anyway.”
“Well, this idea has got my ink flowing. I can’t wait to get home and get out my tool set.” She reached for the door handle. “No mess is gonna scare me off, and now you’ve just got me curious.”
I cringed to see our professional conference room scattered with cans of open frosting, cookie crumbs, and dried filaments of hot glue. The smile fell away from Gabby’s face. “This is a problem,” she said.
“I know. I am so sorry. If you can just give me a few minutes I can—”
“No.” Gabby moved forward and picked up the remains of a cracked wall. “I’m not worried about the mess. I’m worried about the foundation of these poor houses. No wonder they cracked. Your foundation wasn’t set before you started adding all the weight to the roof. And what’s all this stringy stuff?”
“Hot glue filaments,” I offered weakly.
“Hot glue? On a gingerbread house? That’s just sinful.”
“Sorry.”
Gabby must have heard the crack in my voice. Her smile, outlined with poinsettia-tinted lipstick, soothed me. “Listen here, we’re gonna fix this mess, and then I’m going to sign some books.”
This certainly hadn’t been in my day planner — sitting across from Gabby Garland, using my hands as a vice grip to reattach broken gingerbread walls, laughing over stories from Gabby’s childhood.
“It’s the God’s honest truth,” Gabby said, holding the roof in place while the frosting dried, “my mama never made a cookie that didn’t come out of a tube.”
“Sounds like you have some pretty great Christmas memories regardless.”
“We sure did. Mama always said, ‘Joy lives in the mess, not in the masterpiece.’”
“In that case, this conference room should be filled with joy.”
Gabby laughed. “Too true. And you know what? It is. Look,” she pulled her hands away, “the roof is on.”