Hello, wonderful reader,

I have a little Christmas Mountain treat just for you! ❤️ I’m so excited to share an early sneak peek of Christmas with the Nanny Next Door before it releases.

This is Amanda’s story, and I’ve loved spending more time with her, Harry, Max, and everyone in Christmas Mountain while writing it. Since you’ve been following along with this series, I wanted you to be among the first to read Chapter One.

So grab your favorite drink, get cozy, settle in, and slip back into Christmas Mountain for a little while, where familiar faces are waiting, including your friends from The Mistletoe Book Club at Rudolph’s Reads. 💕 I hope it feels like coming back to a favorite place.

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Christmas with the Nanny Next Door

Copyright © 2026 by Susan Hatler

Chapter One

The fact that news spread fast in my small mountain town was finally about to pay off because, at this point, I was sort of famous in Christmas Mountain. Okay, not me exactly. But my voice was famous, for sure. The most soothing voice in all of Montana, in fact, and known to be more relaxing than the gentle babbling of the water in Christmas River.

Amanda Scott, massage therapist with the angelic voice, that was me.

In fact, all up and down Main Street you might hear that my voice could calm an avalanche, soothe a blizzard, and keep the North Pole itself stress free on Christmas Eve. Routinely, I talk quietly to my clients only to find out halfway through their massage that they have fallen dead asleep. Sugar plum fairies dancing in their heads and all that jazz.

But, for all the magical powers that my voice was whispered around town to possess, at the present moment it wasn’t working all that well for me. Turned out there wasn’t a relaxing way to say that my old car had died a sputtering death on the first day of December when the snow had piled up so high that children had trouble accessing their mailboxes to send letters off to Santa. Yeah, not exactly walk-to-work kind of weather.

Talking about my car’s demise was stressful to hear no matter how gently I said it due to the simple fact that I didn’t have enough money to resuscitate my deceased vehicle, which, you know, would be kind of helpful for travel around town in freezing temperatures.

But, not to worry! My financial predicament would soon be solved because I had an interview lined up for the position of “reader of evening stories” at our local radio station, and there was no way I wouldn’t land this much needed part-time job with all of the townspeople as references. I would read stories on the radio with my silky, smooth voice and I would massage my clients until I had the money for a new car.

It didn’t mean anything that the interviewer was supposed to meet me at the Sleigh Café fifteen minutes ago, hadn’t shown yet, and I’d heard nothing from him, right?

Taking a deep breath, I smoothed the résumé on the table in front of me, which had ‘Amanda Scott’ printed boldly at the top. Lifting my head, I glanced at my reflection in the garland-lined window of the Sleigh Café, thinking I didn’t feel all that bold.

But, as far as interviews went, I looked professional enough for this one. I had traded my usual loose-fitting scrubs for a pants suit and instead of my typical ponytail, I’d left my brown hair down, styled straight to my shoulders. My green eyes were accented with eye makeup, which I usually didn’t wear, and I couldn’t make out my freckles since I’d put on foundation. I wished I looked a bit more like myself, but the saying was to dress for the job you want and not the job you have, which in my case was one job short of what I needed income-wise.

“You look like you could use a second cup of hot cocoa, Amanda. Extra whipped cream.”

I turned away from the window to find my friend, Giselle, smiling down at me and holding out a cherry red mug topped with a mountain of whipped cream and bits of peppermint stick. Her antler headband jingled as she leaned over my table and replaced my empty mug.

“On the house,” she said, winking.

“Are you sure, Giselle?” I asked even as the sweet aroma made my mouth water. “I don’t want to get you in trouble on your first day.”

“Second day,” she corrected, pushing her horn-rimmed glasses back up her nose. “I trained yesterday. Learned all the important things. Like how not to drop a whole stack of antique tea cups. And how not to splatter whipped cream all over myself and half the kitchen.”

We both laughed. Giselle was a writer who was used to carrying her warm beverages only as far as her kitchen to her couch, the only hazards being the stacks of dog-eared books she owned. Being a server at the Sleigh Café was quite the obstacle course in comparison.

“You’re not missing article writing yet, are you?” I asked, scooping a big spoonful of whipped cream into my mouth as I checked the clock on the wall behind her shoulder: seventeen minutes late and counting. Ugh.

“My non-fiction muse and my novel-writing muse are not on speaking terms right now,” she said, stuffing a hand into the front pocket of her apron and shaking her head. “Some muses just can’t be inspired at the same time.”

I raised my eyebrows. “And serving tables works out well with your fiction muse?”

“Of course, because there’s a lot of fictional inspiration downtown,” she said, gesturing around the café, toward the icy windows overlooking Main Street, and then across the way to the Town Square where the Christmas tree would soon be lit, standing proud and bright. “Characters walk in fully formed, from their red button noses all the way down to their double knotted boots. I hear fascinating dialogue coming from every table I walk by. And, of course, the gossip that goes on in Christmas Mountain has enough drama for my next three Great American Novels.”

“Don’t I know it,” I said, since news went around lightning fast in our small town. Blame it on loose lips or strong winds. I couldn’t be too mad about it, though, since word traveling fast had helped build my reputation, which was the reason I hoped I’d land this radio job.

Well, if the interviewer ever showed up.

Giselle reached over and squeezed my shoulder when she saw me eyeing the front door of the café for the gazillionth time. My friend was an introvert through and through, feeling more comfortable writing about human interactions than actually experiencing them, so I appreciated the warm gesture and patted her hand as a thank you.

“You’re walking out of here with that job,” she said, with a firm nod. “I just know it.”

I smiled up at her. “Thanks for the support, sweet friend. And for the ride this morning.”

“And the celebratory cinnamon roll later,” she said, before leaving to welcome an elderly couple who unwound their wool scarves from their necks and hung them on the coat rack behind the front door before she showed them to a table.

I wanted to feel confident like Giselle that this job would come through for me. But when I whispered to myself, “You’ve got this, Amanda,” the last thing I felt was relaxed. Maybe the soothing charm of my voice was wearing off after all these years. Or, maybe it was because the interviewer was nineteen minutes late now. . .

A sudden bustle at the entrance of the café drew my attention. The glass front door had slipped from a little boy’s fingers in an icy burst of wind and had banged loudly into the coat rack, sending it tumbling over on top of him. A man hurried in behind the little boy, wearing a suit and carrying a stack of papers wedged against his briefcase. I was halfway out of the booth to help when he slipped in his expensive looking dress shoes and nearly fell before righting himself, the papers he’d been carrying scattering to the floor. Disaster was written all over this pair and I performed great in a disaster. Well, at least the ones that weren’t mine. 

“It’s all right, Max,” the man said, reassuring the little boy as they fumbled together to straighten the coat rack. “We’re just making a grand entrance, aren’t we?”

The little boy laughed from his spot on the floor, half-buried under winter coats and scarves, as I hurried to collect some of the man’s fallen papers. They all looked very official.

“Here you go,” I said, but the man was apparently too distracted with parting a sea of puffy sleeves and thick scarves to notice me standing behind him.

The little boy’s face finally emerged from the pile, looking triumphant at being freed from the outerwear, which made me smile. The boy was perhaps the cutest thing I’d ever seen: wide blue eyes, sweet blond curls dusted with a few flakes of snow, and a button nose as red as Rudolph’s. He looked about six years old, and blushed when he saw me. Then he lifted his hand to his face and pointed shyly at me with a marker-stained finger.

The man whirled around and faced me, his eyes brightening when he saw me, and I took a step back to catch my breath. The guy was extremely handsome with dark green eyes and wind-kissed skin. Two charming dimples bookended a boyish smile, over his straight white teeth. His suit seemed like a high-end designer, but it was slightly disheveled over his tall, slender frame, which I found endearing.

“Well, hi there,” he said, taking a step toward me and extending his hand. “You must be the person I’m here to interview. Very sorry to keep you waiting.”

I stared at him, momentarily too stunned to shake his hand. This might be my new boss? I pictured reading an assigned story into the microphone and watching him out of the corner of my eye. Maybe we’d exchange a smile, which would definitely not be a hardship. In fact, my heart rate kicked up a little just thinking about it. I’d never seen him before, making me wonder how long he’d lived here since I surely would’ve noticed if he’d passed by me on the street.

He raised his dark eyebrows, making me realize I was staring. Oops.

I shook my head and stuck out my hand. “No worries about being late.”

“Thanks, I’m Harry Gabble,” he said, wrapping his hand around mine, causing little goosebumps to skitter up my arm. I’d expected his hand to be ice cold given how underdressed he was, but it was magically warm, smooth, and firm. “This is my son, Max. I’d like to get his opinion, too, if you don’t mind him sitting in on the interview.”

“I’d love to have Max sit in,” I said, finding the man’s name a little peculiar. Harry Gabble sounded more like the talent on the radio rather than someone in management. Although, I was relieved that he’d introduced himself since I’d been sure his name was Gary and it wouldn’t be a great start to get your interviewer’s name wrong.

I guessed that the stories I’d be reading would be targeted to families and that was why he’d brought his son with him. “Not a problem at all, Mr. Gabble.”

“Please call me Harry,” he said.

“No problem at all, Harry,” I said and then lowered myself down on my knee. “Hi, Max, my name is Amanda Scott.”

“Hello,” Max said, giggling and then hiding back behind the coat rack.

“Amanda Scott,” Harry said, ruffling Max’s curls. “Yes, that sounds familiar. You’ll have to excuse me if I seem a bit flustered. I’m working on a multitude of things at the moment, but I’m definitely supposed to be meeting with an Amanda Scott.”

I stood back up, smiling. “Good, because that’s me.”

He grinned, looking so adorable I swooned a little. “Shall we?”

“Yes, of course,” I said, clearing my throat and reminding myself to be professional.

Harry fished Max out from behind the coats and led him to my booth as Max’s giggles competed with the Christmas music for the happiest sound in the cafe. I still had some of Harry’s papers in my grip, so I tidied them in front of me as even more slipped out from Harry’s briefcase, which nearly knocked over my hot cocoa as he sat down.

I grabbed my mug and pulled it across the table, close to me. “I’ve been looking forward to this interview,” I said, hoping to secure this job as quickly as possible.

“Alrighty then,” Harry said, rubbing Max’s little hands as if to warm them as he studied me. “Your references were certainly impeccable, Amanda. I see this interview as more of a formality.”

My heart swelled with hope. I should have listened to Giselle after all: everything was going to be fine.

“That’s so great to hear,” I said, letting out a long breath and leaning across the table a little. “You know, I’ve been a loyal listener for years.”

Harry’s eyebrows came together, while Max giggled beside him.

“You’ve been listening?” he asked, his head tilting a little. “What do you mean? To us?”

“Of course!” I said, hoping I didn’t sound overenthusiastic.

His eyebrows lifted. “But . . . how?”

I let out a nervous laugh, feeling a little worried that this wasn’t going well anymore. “On the radio?” I said, though it came out sounding like a question.

 Max giggled again, as Harry’s eyes widened. “Amanda, I—”

He was interrupted by the ting-ting-ting coming from his phone.

“Excuse me a moment,” he said, beginning to rifle chaotically through his briefcase.

I would have been left to excruciate over what I could have possibly said wrong to dash my chances of landing the radio job, but it just so happened that my phone started to ring at that very moment.

“Do you mind?” I asked softly.

Shaking his head with his phone to his ear, Harry whispered, “Please, go ahead.”

I pressed the ANSWER button. “This is Amanda.”

“Hey, Amanda, this is Gary over at The North Wind. I feel badly about not calling you sooner since I was supposed to be meeting you this morning.”

My forehead wrinkled and my gaze darted to Harry. I found him staring at me with a bewildered look as he spoke into his cell phone, “Did you say you’re not going to make it to the interview?”

Sitting directly across from each other in the booth and holding our cell phones to our ear, we looked each other up and down as alarms went off in my head. My gaze dropped to Max who was drawing smiley faces in the condensation on the icy window.

A line formed between Harry’s eyebrows. “You broke your leg skiing in Tahoe and won’t be back in Christmas Mountain until after the new year?”

“Amanda? Amanda, are you still there?” a male voice bellowed into my ear, sounding impatient.

I sat straight up. My phone call. I’d forgotten all about it.

“Yes, I’m here,” I said as a knot formed in my stomach. “What were you saying, Harry?”

“Gary,” Gary said, sounding more than a little annoyed. “I’m calling to say we’ve filled the position internally so I won’t be coming out to meet you after all. My apologies for any inconvenience this may have caused you.”

I stared across the booth at Harry, who stared across the booth back at me.

“Um, okay,” I said, as my body went numb. “Thanks for considering me.”

“Thanks for letting me know,” Harry said into his phone, while keeping his gaze on mine.

We both hung up at the same time.

Christmas music played throughout the café. Across the room, I heard Giselle recommending the cinnamon hot cakes to customers. The coffee machine hissed as it poured a fresh pot. Max turned away from the window and glanced over his shoulder, looking from his dad to me and then back to his dad again.

“Oopsies,” he said, breaking the silence.

From the person who was supposed to have the best voice in town, I couldn’t have said it better myself. Harry was not from the radio station, and he was supposed to be interviewing some skier instead of me. Also, the position I needed badly at the radio station was no longer available.

What was I going to do now?

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I hope you enjoyed this sneak peek from Christmas with the Nanny Next Door! ❤️🎄

Ready for more Amanda, Harry, Max, and all the Christmas Mountain magic? You can pre-order the book now on Amazon and Nook, so the full story is waiting for you on release day!

And before you go, I have a little extra Christmas Mountain fun for you… 🎁✨

ENTER MY GIVEAWAY for a chance to WIN a Christmas Mountain ebook of your choice!

🎁 GIVEAWAY QUESTION:
What was your favorite part of Amanda and Harry’s mistaken interview?

Just leave your answer in the comments below to enter. I can’t wait to see your answers! 💕

Thanks so much for spending time with me and my fresh, flirty & fabulous books. Happy reading!!

🙂 Susan

 

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