April Carlston has seen too much tragedy in her young life, having to forego college to help care for her terminally ill mother, her father disappearing days after her mother's funeral, and being stuck with a mountain of bills to pay on a menial cashier's salary. While Ethan Smythe has a large, loving family, he's driven to climbing the ladder in the medical world as atonement for a tragic accident that nearly bankrupted his family. April splurges on a fancy cupcake to celebrate her 21st birthday alone a week for before Christmas, when a car crashes through her living room wall, a bullet in his chest, a note to her on the passenger seat, and a bloody snow globe on the passenger floor. As Assistant Medical Examiner, Ethan arrives to collect the body. Neither believes it's the right time for a romance, but they both feel an immediate attracted that reaches a spiritual level. Together they solve a heinous crime that puts both of their lives at risk.
This book takes place during the Christmas season but isn't a Christmas book. It is a poignant tale of two people with troubled pasts - one questioning God's love and the other fully committed - who must face there inner demons to solve a crime, save their own lives, accept the love neither believes they deserve.
The romance and spiritual battles keep the characters believable, the romance is clean, and the story is fast-paced and definitely not boring.
A shiver snaked through April, filling her with the familiar numb coldness she’d never understood—a sensation she equated with something disrupting the Force in a Star Wars movie. Seconds later, a crash jolted her. The phone and the three-dollar cupcake ended up on the floor.
A brown sedan burst into the living room—right through her mom’s maroon accent wall. Debris flew everywhere, sending April to seek shelter behind the island, her jean-clad knee squishing the cupcake. Her insides devolved into a hollow ache—akin to a rupture in the Star Wars Force.
Carol’s yells returned her attention to the phone. Bringing it to her ear, she peeked around the island to see that the airbag had deployed and deflated. The driver slumped over the steering wheel.
“Oh no. Oh no. Oh no.”
“What?”
“There’s …” The sentence got stuck in her throat at the sight of the guy’s ginger waves. On instinct, she smoothed her own mass of ginger curls.
Carol’s repeated demands to say what happened only half registered in her brain as she tiptoed toward the driver. At his window, she squeaked out, “Hello?” His unfocused blue eyes lacked the sparkle of life, causing her to cringe back a step.
“What happened?” Carol’s shout finally pierced through her stupor.
“Um. A car … crashed into my living room.” Her nose flared at the burned-rubber scent it emanated as its wheels spun. The vehicle filled up her room, resting on her broken couch, the shattered TV, and its smashed stand. “The driver looks …” She pulled in a stuttering breath. “I think he’s dead.” She warned herself to stay calm.
“I’ll be right over. Call the sheriff.”
Carol hung up, but April was still too stunned to drop the phone from her ear. She bent down farther to see through the driver’s window at the entire front cabin. A blood-spattered snow globe lay on the floor in front of the passenger seat. Above it on the seat, a red file folder held a confusing note scrawled on a yellow paper stuck to it. She craned her neck and squinted as if that would help her understand it better.
“Can’t be.” After crawling across the destroyed couch, she stared at the note through the shattered passenger window and confirmed that her eyes hadn’t played tricks on her. Right there on that yellow sticky note, someone had written "For April."
While reaching for the folder, a shard of glass nicked her, but a swish outside the hole in her wall scared the pain away. She turned in time to catch the blur of a person running across the dusting of snow on her front lawn toward the right side of the house. What if they came back?
Now in melt-down mode, she ran to the knife drawer in the kitchen, opened it, but stopped when she considered how someone could wrestle it away from her.
“No, call the sheriff.” That’s when she realized she still held the phone to her ear. She dropped the folder inside the drawer to free up both hands. With the folder and its confusing note forgotten, she frantically leaned against the counter, closing the drawer.