Genre Fiction
![Debbie Macomber - [object Object] author](https://res.cloudinary.com/readsomnia/image/upload/authors/a_a_debbie_macomber.jpg)
The Christmas Spirit: A Novel
Two lifelong friends decide to trade places the week before Christmas and end up finding love along the way in this delightful novel from the queen of holiday stories, #1 New York Times bestselling author Debbie Macomber.
Peter Armstrong and Hank Colfax are best friends, but their lives couldn't be more different. Peter, the local pastor who is dedicated to his community, spending time visiting the flock, attending meetings, and, with the holiday season approaching, preparing for the Christmas service and live nativity. As a bartender, Hank serves a much different customer base at his family-owned tavern, including a handful of lonely regulars and the local biker gang.
When Peter scoffs that Hank has it easy compared to him, the two decide to switch jobs until Christmas Eve. To their surprise, the responsibilities of a bartender and a pastor are similar, but taking on the other's work is more difficult than either Peter or Hank expected. As the two begin to see each other in a new light-and each discovers a new love to cherish-their lives are forever changed.
In The Christmas Spirit, Debbie Macomber celebrates the true meaning of the holidays and the inclusive community spirit that binds us all.
Peter Armstrong and Hank Colfax are best friends, but their lives couldn't be more different. Peter, the local pastor who is dedicated to his community, spending time visiting the flock, attending meetings, and, with the holiday season approaching, preparing for the Christmas service and live nativity. As a bartender, Hank serves a much different customer base at his family-owned tavern, including a handful of lonely regulars and the local biker gang.
When Peter scoffs that Hank has it easy compared to him, the two decide to switch jobs until Christmas Eve. To their surprise, the responsibilities of a bartender and a pastor are similar, but taking on the other's work is more difficult than either Peter or Hank expected. As the two begin to see each other in a new light-and each discovers a new love to cherish-their lives are forever changed.
In The Christmas Spirit, Debbie Macomber celebrates the true meaning of the holidays and the inclusive community spirit that binds us all.
Editorial Reviews
"This light, sweet Christmas novel is perfect for someone looking for a chaste love story with a happy ending."-Booklist
Short Excerpt Teaser
Chapter One
1977
"Hey, man, sorry I'm late," Hank said, as he slid into the red upholstered booth at Mom's Place across from his best friend. He was running on less than five hours' sleep, and his day was only getting started. "Did I keep you waiting long?"
"No, I was late myself." Pete had always been the responsible, prompt one. It surprised Hank to learn his pastor friend could be late for anything.
The waitress came with a coffeepot, and both men turned over the beige mugs to be filled. Pete smiled at her as she handed them menus and then swiftly left. Hank noticed how Pete's gaze lingered over the waitress as she returned to the counter and refilled another customer's cup.
"I'm telling you, these long hours are killing me," Hank said, as he wiped a hand down his face. His eyes burned, and he couldn't remember the last time he'd had a decent meal. As different as they were, they had continued a friendship after Pete had graduated from seminary and returned to Bridgeport. Pete looked every bit the pastor with his clean-cut looks, while Hank was often mistaken for a hippie, with his long hair and the casual way he dressed. Scruffy jeans and a T-shirt were his standard uniform, whereas he suspected his friend hadn't worn blue jeans since his college days.
Hank was the owner, manager, bartender, and chief bottle washer for the tavern The Last Call. Mom's Place, where they routinely met for lunch every month or so, was halfway between their two towns, Pete in Bridgeport and Hank in Kettle Springs. "I didn't get away from the tavern until after two this morning. Some days I swear I get less than three or four hours' sleep a night. This job's a killer."
Pete glanced up from the menu. "I thought you loved the tavern."
"I do. I always knew I'd be taking Dad's place one day. I looked forward to it. The regulars are great and keep me in the black, but I have no life. I haven't been on a date in six months."
"I'd think you'd meet women left and right," Pete said, before taking a sip of his coffee.
"I do. Lots of great women. I thought I'd be married and have a couple kids by the time I hit thirty."
"Why aren't you?" Pete asked.
Clearly, Hank's lifelong friend had no understanding of what managing a tavern entailed. "There's a big difference between meeting lots of women and having time to actually date. I work fourteen hours a day and sometimes longer."
Pete frowned. "Hire someone."
Hank snorted. Pete made it sound easy. "Do you have any idea how hard it is to find good help these days? I tried taking on a part-time bartender, and he drank all my profits. It's a slim enough profit margin as it is. At the rate he was drinking, I was about to go out of business. The thing is, if I need to be there to keep an eye on the staff, I might as well do without."
After a brief hesitation, Pete acknowledged Hank's dilemma: "Gotcha."
"Having my own business takes every spare minute I have. If I'm not at the bar serving drinks, then I'm in the office doing paperwork. Keeping up on the orders or dealing with the taxes. I swear it's one headache after another. Do you have any idea how much effort goes into the accounting aspect of being a business owner?"
"Well, yes . . ."
"Oh, come on." Hank gave a short laugh. "You're a pastor. The church doesn't pay taxes or struggle with money hassles."
Pete nearly spewed the coffee out of his mouth. "You have no idea! Pastoring a church is no walk in the park."
"Are you joking?" Hank was about to say more when they were interrupted by the waitress. He swallowed his argument and turned his attention back to deciding what he wanted for lunch.
Pad in hand, the young woman asked, "What can I get you gentlemen?"
Without looking up from the plastic-coated menu, Hank said, "I'll take the soup-and-sandwich special. On wheat, hold the tomato."
The waitress wrote it down, and he handed her the menu. Next, she looked to Pete.
"I'd like the chef salad," he said, "with Thousand Island dressing."
"I'll get that order in right away," she said, as she turned toward the kitchen.
"She's cute," Pete said, watching the young woman in the pink uniform with the white apron.
Hank frowned, his thoughts still on all he was missing in life. He caught his friend's interest in the young waitress, though, and played along. "Who's cute?"
"The waitress. It isn't any wonder you don't date. You aren't paying attention. That woman is beautiful, and I noticed there wasn't a ring on her finger, either."
Pete was paying attention. Still, Hank let the comment pass. Pete should be the one married by now. He lived the good life and had none ...
1977
"Hey, man, sorry I'm late," Hank said, as he slid into the red upholstered booth at Mom's Place across from his best friend. He was running on less than five hours' sleep, and his day was only getting started. "Did I keep you waiting long?"
"No, I was late myself." Pete had always been the responsible, prompt one. It surprised Hank to learn his pastor friend could be late for anything.
The waitress came with a coffeepot, and both men turned over the beige mugs to be filled. Pete smiled at her as she handed them menus and then swiftly left. Hank noticed how Pete's gaze lingered over the waitress as she returned to the counter and refilled another customer's cup.
"I'm telling you, these long hours are killing me," Hank said, as he wiped a hand down his face. His eyes burned, and he couldn't remember the last time he'd had a decent meal. As different as they were, they had continued a friendship after Pete had graduated from seminary and returned to Bridgeport. Pete looked every bit the pastor with his clean-cut looks, while Hank was often mistaken for a hippie, with his long hair and the casual way he dressed. Scruffy jeans and a T-shirt were his standard uniform, whereas he suspected his friend hadn't worn blue jeans since his college days.
Hank was the owner, manager, bartender, and chief bottle washer for the tavern The Last Call. Mom's Place, where they routinely met for lunch every month or so, was halfway between their two towns, Pete in Bridgeport and Hank in Kettle Springs. "I didn't get away from the tavern until after two this morning. Some days I swear I get less than three or four hours' sleep a night. This job's a killer."
Pete glanced up from the menu. "I thought you loved the tavern."
"I do. I always knew I'd be taking Dad's place one day. I looked forward to it. The regulars are great and keep me in the black, but I have no life. I haven't been on a date in six months."
"I'd think you'd meet women left and right," Pete said, before taking a sip of his coffee.
"I do. Lots of great women. I thought I'd be married and have a couple kids by the time I hit thirty."
"Why aren't you?" Pete asked.
Clearly, Hank's lifelong friend had no understanding of what managing a tavern entailed. "There's a big difference between meeting lots of women and having time to actually date. I work fourteen hours a day and sometimes longer."
Pete frowned. "Hire someone."
Hank snorted. Pete made it sound easy. "Do you have any idea how hard it is to find good help these days? I tried taking on a part-time bartender, and he drank all my profits. It's a slim enough profit margin as it is. At the rate he was drinking, I was about to go out of business. The thing is, if I need to be there to keep an eye on the staff, I might as well do without."
After a brief hesitation, Pete acknowledged Hank's dilemma: "Gotcha."
"Having my own business takes every spare minute I have. If I'm not at the bar serving drinks, then I'm in the office doing paperwork. Keeping up on the orders or dealing with the taxes. I swear it's one headache after another. Do you have any idea how much effort goes into the accounting aspect of being a business owner?"
"Well, yes . . ."
"Oh, come on." Hank gave a short laugh. "You're a pastor. The church doesn't pay taxes or struggle with money hassles."
Pete nearly spewed the coffee out of his mouth. "You have no idea! Pastoring a church is no walk in the park."
"Are you joking?" Hank was about to say more when they were interrupted by the waitress. He swallowed his argument and turned his attention back to deciding what he wanted for lunch.
Pad in hand, the young woman asked, "What can I get you gentlemen?"
Without looking up from the plastic-coated menu, Hank said, "I'll take the soup-and-sandwich special. On wheat, hold the tomato."
The waitress wrote it down, and he handed her the menu. Next, she looked to Pete.
"I'd like the chef salad," he said, "with Thousand Island dressing."
"I'll get that order in right away," she said, as she turned toward the kitchen.
"She's cute," Pete said, watching the young woman in the pink uniform with the white apron.
Hank frowned, his thoughts still on all he was missing in life. He caught his friend's interest in the young waitress, though, and played along. "Who's cute?"
"The waitress. It isn't any wonder you don't date. You aren't paying attention. That woman is beautiful, and I noticed there wasn't a ring on her finger, either."
Pete was paying attention. Still, Hank let the comment pass. Pete should be the one married by now. He lived the good life and had none ...
