Padme's Library: January 2020

Friday, January 31, 2020

January Book of the Month: I Buried a Witch by Josh Lanyon

Summary:
Something old, something new, something borrowed…something blacker than the darkest night.

Cosmo Saville adores his new husband but his little white lies—and some very black magic—are about to bring their fairytale romance to an end. Someone is killing San Francisco's spellcasters—and the only person Cosmo can turn to—the man who so recently swore to love and cherish him—isn't taking his phone calls..

The only magic Police Commissioner John Joseph Galbraith believes in is true love. Discovering he’s married to a witch—a witch with something alarmingly like magical powers—is nearly as bad as discovering the man he loved tricked and deceived him. John shoulders the pain of betrayal and packs his bags. But when he learns Cosmo is in the crosshairs of a mysterious and murderous plot, he knows he must do everything in in his mortal power to protect him.

Till Death do them Part. With their relationship on the rocks, Cosmo and Commissioner Galbraith join forces to uncover the shadowy figure behind the deadly conspiracy…

Can the star-crossed couple bring down a killer before the dark threat extinguishes love’s flame?

I Buried a Witch is the second book in the smart and sexy Bedknobs and Broomsticks romantic gay mystery trilogy. If you like endearing characters, spell-binding conflict, and spooky, good fun, then you’ll love Josh Lanyon’s tale of a modern white knight and his slightly wicked witch.

I Buried a Witch picks up practically right where book 1(Mainly by Moonlight) ended so if you're looking for a beginning and an ending with all the resolutions tied up in nice pretty bow you're in the wrong place. If you love romance mixed with mystery and magic then you have found a series not to be missed.

I can certainly understand how some might not like John, he's definitely got plenty of qualities that aren't all smiles but he just found out that his new husband is a witch and that many aspects of the paranormal he's only found in books and movies are quite real, that's going to throw anyone for a loop. Don't get me wrong, I wanted to smack him upside the head with a cast iron skillet more times than I wanted to cuddle him but I get where his reality has been forever changed so it was easy for me to cut him some slack.

As for Cosmo, I still want to smother him in Mama Bear Hugs but I also wish I could get him to take a breath or two before he blurts out stuff. There are times I want Cosmo to be more assertive but there are also times when I'm screaming "SHUT UP!!" They are both complex characters that continue to find their place in the world, professionally, personally, and magically. It's no wonder they're as screwed up as they are.

The mystery just keeps unfolding and getting better and better. I can't help but think the Witch Killer isn't completely solved yet or only part of a bigger picture or perhaps it is all said and done and the next one is a whole new who done it(after all magical mysteries play on a whole different level in my mind), either scenario has me on pins and needles waiting to see where Josh Lanyon takes this in book 3: Bell, Book, and Scandal.

In my review of book 1 I wrote "I loved how it made me nostalgic for the endearing comedy of Bewitched, the magical drama of Charmed, and the spell-driven romance of I Married a Witch. Magic, romance, murder, spells, mystery, these are all there.", well there may not be quite as much humor but honestly I don't think I can sum up I Buried a Witch any better.

RATING:

Chapter One
SCENE I. A CAVERN. IN THE MIDDLE, A BOILING CAULDRON.

Thunder. Enter the three Witches

First Witch

Thrice the brinded cat hath mew’d.

Second Wit—

Yeah, totally kidding about that. There was no second witch. It was one witch, me, and John, my husband, SFPD’s new Police Commissioner. Oh, and the scene was the breakfast table at our house on Greenwich Street in San Francisco. I was fixing French toast, which, for the record, is not French, and the coffee was just about ready.

“… new report, you need to make just over $343,000 in order to afford a median-priced home in San Francisco,” the bespectacled and solemn news reporter on the TV across the kitchen informed us. “The report was compiled by…”

John and I had arrived home the night before from Scotland, where we had been on our honeymoon for the past two weeks. As a side note, I am very much in favor of honeymoons. I mean, yes, they’re artificial in that getting to spend two weeks doing whatever pleasurable thing you feel like doing is not real life. And, yeah, it’s also true that a luxury vacation in a romantic foreign country is probably not the best way to get to know someone you’ve only known a short time—although it certainly works that way in Hallmark movies. But it is a good way to figure out if you want to spend more time together, and needless to say, I had figured out I wanted to spend as much time as possible with John. Ideally, the rest of my life.

John poured coffee into two mugs. “You’re still okay with hosting this cocktail party on Wednesday?”

“Of course.” His expression was doubtful. “What?” I asked.

He nodded at the wall of cardboard boxes filling half the kitchen. It was pretty much the same situation in every room of the house. Combining our separate households meant John and I had bestowed a lot of worldly goods on each other. And then we’d bought a few new pieces too–like the Victorian black and bronze bed in the master bedroom.

“I’ve got a lot of catching up to do this week. I’m not going to be able to be much help. Presumably it’s going to be the same for you.”

“I can manage. Don’t worry. I’ll have Bridget to help.”

John looked unconvinced, but he poured a generous helping of cream and sugar into my coffee, brought it to me with a kiss.

“I’m going to miss you today,” he murmured.

“Same here.” I kissed him back.

That led to another longer kiss, and before I knew it, I was sitting on the quartz counter with my jeans unzipped, the French toast was burning, and the doorbell was ringing.

“Hell,” John exclaimed, hastily tucking his shirt in and zipping up his trousers. “That’s Aloha.”

“Yes, it is,” I sighed. “In more ways than one.”

Aloha Newman was John’s driver. Though she worked for SFPD, she was not actually a police officer and did not carry a gun. That was fine by me. I’d had more than enough of guns on our wedding day.

What Aloha did possess was a ruthless sense of punctuality.

“I’ll see you around six.” John was already heading for the arched doorway leading into dining room.

“We’re having dinner at your mother’s,” I called after him.

He muttered something uncomplimentary to the universe, returned, “Right. See you at five-thirty.” The front door slammed behind him.

I sighed, glanced at the stove and twitched my nose. The dial turned to off, the flame beneath the pan guttered and died. “Down the sink, before you stink,” I muttered.

Two burned slices of egg-coated bread rose from the pan, floated past my face, and dropped down the sink drain.

Across the room, another reporter, also bespectacled and solemn but female, was reciting, “Though friends of the victim say Ms. Starshine was a practicing Wiccan, investigators speculate these “satanic” elements might be intended to divert suspicion from the killer or killers.”

“What the what?” I hopped off the counter and went to turn up the sound on the television—the remote was still MIA—which promptly zapped me. “Ouch!”

The volume blasted up then died away again.

By the time I managed to dial in the sound, the cameras had returned to the studio and the news anchors (recognizable for the lack of spectacles or solemnity) were exchanging cheery banter about the weather forecast. Sunny with a chance of homicide?

I made a mental note to ask John about the Starshine case, turned off the TV and sprinted upstairs to get changed for work.

“How was Scotland?” Andi asked when I stopped by her apartment in Alamo Square to pick up Pyewacket.

Andi—Andromeda Merriweather—has been my best friend since I can remember. Her mother and my mother were chums back in the day and apparently it was a dream come true to be able to share morning sickness and swollen feet with their nearest and dearest. I’m not entirely kidding about the nearest and dearest. By the time I came along, my parents were experiencing a certain lack of enthusiasm, and Andi’s father had crossed over, so Maman and Belinda did rely heavily on each other. Girl Power being a magic that transcends realms.

Anyway, Andi is three months older than me. She’s tall and slim with short, inevitably spiky red hair, freckles, and hazel eyes. She owns and operates the Mad Batter bakery, which has The Best cupcakes in all of San Francisco. And I don’t say that merely because I concoct the recipes for her exclusive line of cocktail cupcakes.

“Bonnie,” I answered, cuddling Pye. Pyewacket is my three-hundred-year-old Russian Familiar. I mean, I haven’t had him for three hundred years–I only turned twenty-nine in May. Pye inhabits the body of a cat. A Russian Blue cat.

I kissed Pye’s nose, which he bore stoically. “Was he any trouble?” I asked Andi.

She shook her head, smiling as she watched us. “He’s good company for Minerva.” Minerva is Andi’s Familiar, a Dwarf Hotot rabbit with a disposition as benign as the carrots she loves to snack on.

“Did you have fun?” I asked Pye.

His meow was loud and scented with liver-flavored Friskies Paté.

“I bet,” I said.

“So everything is…good?” Andi asked–maybe a little tentatively.

“Everything is great.” I guess I was beaming because Andi looked relieved.

“You look happy.”

“I am. I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy before.” To be honest, it was a little unsettling. Obviously, the honeymoon phase couldn’t last forever, and I wasn’t sure how much of John’s and my contentment with each other was the result of a couple of weeks of nothing to do but sight-see and make love.

“I’m glad.”

I didn’t doubt it. If anyone had a vested interest in my relationship with John working out, it was Andi, who was, when you thought about it, inadvertently responsible for the whole thing. “How’s it going with Trace?” I asked.

“Great.”

I hadn’t expected that. Andi’s…well, picky.

“Really? That’s wonderful.” At least I hoped so.

“Is it? I mean, I really, really do like him.” She sounded troubled.

“But that’s good, right?”

“No. Not right. I’m not like you. I can’t—he’s mortal. Being together would mean, well, I’m not even sure what it would mean. A lifetime of living a lie? Or breaking my oath and telling him the truth?”

I considered. “As far as oaths go, don’t you think the not-telling-any-mortals-anything-ever rule is really more of a guideline?”

“No. I don’t.”

I did not want it to end. It was one of the sweetest, saddest (in a lighthearted way, not big, ugly tears-and-snot way), most romantic-without-feeling-faux original tales I’ve read.

“Because some mortals do know.” I was thinking of Ralph Grindelwood. Not that Ralph was a great example given that I now believed he was the sworn enemy of the Craft.

“That can’t be helped. It doesn’t change anything. We cannot contribute to their knowledge.”

In our silence lies our safety.

The final—and some would say the most important—of the Ten Precepts.

Still I persisted, “I understand, but times are changing. Mortals are more accepting now. Of a lot of things.”

She shook her head. “Not really. Fashions change. That’s about it. And even fashion cycles around again.”

Kind of a bleak outlook from a girl who made cupcakes for a living, but Andi’s feelings mirrored those of a lot of our friends—and both of our families.

“Yeah, but even two steps forward and one step back means progress. Incremental maybe, but progress.”

She shook her head. “You’re an idealist, Cos.”

I let it go and changed the subject. “Well, on the topic of fashion, I brought you something frae Bonnie Scotland.” I shifted Pye onto my shoulder, and handed over a small box.

“You didn’t have to.”

“I know.”

Andi unwrapped the box, lifted the lid, and her face changed. “Oh, Cos.” She picked up the necklace inside. A tiny cinnabar carved sacred heart crowned with a flame of raw garnet stone dangled from a vintage rosary made of bogwood.

“It’s lovely.”

“I found it in an antiques shop in Dumbarton. It’s Wiccan, I think.”

“I love it. Thank you.”

“And I’ve been thinking of a Drambuie-based cocktail that might work for cupcakes.”

Her eyes lit. “Perfect timing. We need to shake up our menu for autumn.”

“Autumn? It’s only July.”

“Exactly. Time to start planning.”

We chatted another minute or two and made plans to meet for lunch on Wednesday. I coaxed Pyewacket into his carrier, and headed for the door.

As I was leaving, I asked, “Have you heard anything about Rex?”

Rex was a friend of ours who had been injured in a hit and run accident. When John and I had left for Scotland they had still been in a coma.

Andi shook her head. “Sorry. Nothing. But then I’m not sure I’d hear anything. They’re really more your friend than mine.”

“What about Oliver?”

“Oliver?”

“Oliver Sandhurst.”

Andi only looked more confused. “What about him?”

“I thought I told you this. He disappeared after I tried to—after my visit to the Creaky Attic.”

“Oh. Right. That feels like a million years ago. I haven’t heard anything.” She looked apologetic. Not that Oliver was her responsibility. Technically, he wasn’t my responsibility either.

But I did fear for him. And I did feel responsible.

Confused yet?

Let’s recap. A month ago, I met John Joseph Galbraith, San Francisco’s new police commissioner and my husband-to-be, at Bonhams’ warehouse where we were both interested in bidding on a black and bronze Victorian antique four-poster with crystal bed knobs. I was attracted to John from the minute I laid eyes on him. I don’t know why exactly, because he wasn’t really my type. Not that I think of myself as having a type, but if I did, it wouldn’t be a big, brusque Kennedyesque guy with a military background and political ambitions.

Except, somehow, when I gazed into his amber—yes, brown-gold—eyes, something funny happened to me. I’m not saying it was love at first sight, but I did feel some instant, odd connection. Which is why it sort of smarted that John didn’t feel the same. In fact, he was kind of…well, let’s say pointedly not interested.

Which, come to think of it, maybe is a sign of interest?

Or maybe I’d just like to believe that John caustically brushing me off was the equivalent of Gideon Terwilliker pushing Andi into the swimming pool back when we were in the third grade.

Anyway, Andi did not appreciate that slight to my ego and she, er…cast a spell on John so that the next time he saw me, he, well, fell in love.

Or thought he did.

Which is sometimes the same thing.

And sometimes not.

That explains John’s part of all this. It doesn’t explain why I went ahead and married a man I’d only known two weeks. But you know, you either believe in love at first sight or you don’t. And if you don’t, you’re quite right not to because it will never happen to you.

I don’t say that to be mean. It’s a fact. If you can’t conceive of a thing, how will you recognize it when it happens? Unless we’re talking about an earthquake. Anyway, it’s right there in the Bible. Jesus said unto him, If thou canst believe, all things are possible to him that believeth.

It does happen to some of us. It happened to me.

Granted, part of what—who—I fell so head-over-heels for was the John under the influence of the love spell. The John not under a love spell was a different bloke. Not nearly as romantic—or malleable. Yet it didn’t seem to matter to my heart.

Regardless of the bait, once a fish is hooked, it’s hooked.

I forgot to mention the part where, a couple of days before our wedding, I was suspected of murdering Seamus Reitherman, a fellow witch in the Abracadantès tradition. I was—patently, since I’d just returned from my honeymoon—exonerated, but unfortunately the police had arrested the wrong person.

Or at least, that was my theory before I went to Scotland for two weeks.

After two weeks of Scottish history, Scottish weather, Scottish booze, and an encounter with a Scottish ghost, I was not quite as sure. Scottish women are that rare mix of ruthless pragmatism and blazing idealism. So, yeah, it was possible that Ciara Reitherman had killed her husband. She had tried to kill me.

Then again, Ciara’s attempts to kill me had almost certainly been driven by her belief that I’d killed Seamus.

Or maybe not.

Occam’s razor, as John had pointed out when I’d tried to make a case for Ciara being wrongly arrested. The simplest explanation is the most likely. At least when it comes to police work—according to the police commissioner in the family. It was far more likely Ciara had killed her unfaithful (and generally exasperating) husband than that some shadowy global conspiracy tried to frame me for murder.

Not that I had told John about the shadowy global conspiracy that might or might not really exist.

Just one of the things I hadn’t told John about.

* * * * *

“Welcome home. We missed you.” Blanche greeted me, when I finally arrived at Blue Moon Antiques, cat carrier and peevish occupant, in tow.

“Thank you. It’s good to be home.” I gazed with satisfaction around the spacious and airy downstairs showroom. Light through the protectively tinted windows glanced off gilt curlicues, and silvered glass, warmed the velvets and brocades of aged upholstery, glinted off ivory scrimshaw and ebony trinket boxes.

Blanche asked, “How’s married life?”

“I highly recommend it.”

Blanche Baker has been working for me since I opened Blue Moon Antiques four years ago.

The customers love her. I love her. In fact, everyone loves Blanche. She’s about fifty. Tall and voluptuous with black, curly hair–currently streaked with indigo–one blue eye, one green eye behind a seemingly infinite wardrobe of rhinestone glasses (I’m partial to the ones with butterfly-shaped frames). Her makeup is on the sexy witch side, but she’s not a witch. She’s Wicca. Like most mortals, she’s not aware there’s a difference.

Blanche said cheerfully, “No thank you. I’ve been inoculated against that disease. Twice.”

“So you’re a carrier?”

“Ha.” She took the cat crate from me, set it on the counter, and lifted Pyewacket out. “Oh, you beautiful baby, what has he done to you?”

Pyewacket proceeded to detail his list of grievances into her sympathetic ear.

“Don’t listen to him,” I said. “He’s been living it up on catnip and dried shrimp at Andi’s.” I glanced around the still empty shop. “Where’s Ambrose?”

Blanche sighed. “Another problem with his grandma.”

“Another what problem?”

“I don’t know. He’s being very closed-mouth about it.”

“Uh oh. How long has this been going on?”

“Not long. The Tuesday after you left, he had to leave suddenly, but he was back the next day and he’s been here every day since. Until this morning. There’s a message on the machine. The poor kid is clearly stressed out of his mind.”

“Okay. I’ll deal with it.”

I had hired Ambrose right before the wedding. He’d been recommended by the previously mentioned Ralph Grindlewood. Ralph was a good customer and, once I’d have said, a friend. What exactly Ralph was now, I wasn’t sure. But I had hired Ambrose and agreed to make him my apprentice, so he was most definitely my concern.

“Anything else I should know before I start going through my mail?”

Blanche, still coddling Pyewacket, shook her head. “It’s actually been very quiet since you left.”

“Well, we’ll see what I can do to change that.”

She chuckled. “I don’t doubt it.”

All the same, she looked pretty surprised when she poked her head into my office a few minutes later to whisper, “Pierre Sjoberg is here to see you.”

I put down the catalog for Alexanders Auctioneers. “Who?” The name was vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t quite place it.

“The defense attorney.” Blanche was still whispering. She threw a quick, uneasy glance over her shoulder as though she feared Sjoberg was lurking behind her. “I think he’s her attorney.”

“Her who?”

Blanche hissed, “Ciara. Ciara Reitherman. The woman who tried to kill you!”

Author Bio:
Bestselling author of over sixty titles of classic Male/Male fiction featuring twisty mystery, kickass adventure and unapologetic man-on-man romance, JOSH LANYON has been called "the Agatha Christie of gay mystery."

Her work has been translated into eleven languages. The FBI thriller Fair Game was the first male/male title to be published by Harlequin Mondadori, the largest romance publisher in Italy. Stranger on the Shore (Harper Collins Italia) was the first M/M title to be published in print. In 2016 Fatal Shadows placed #5 in Japan's annual Boy Love novel list (the first and only title by a foreign author to place on the list).

The Adrien English Series was awarded All Time Favorite Male Male Couple in the 2nd Annual contest held by the Goodreads M/M Group (which has over 22,000 members). Josh is an Eppie Award winner, a four-time Lambda Literary Award finalist for Gay Mystery, and the first ever recipient of the Goodreads Favorite M/M Author Lifetime Achievement award.

Josh is married and they live in Southern California.

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EMAIL: josh.lanyon@sbcglobal.net

I Buried a Witch #2

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Series

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Thursday, January 30, 2020

After Christmas Holiday Reads 2019

⛄🎄🎅💗🎅🎄⛄

Well, the holidays are over and the new year is in full swing but there were still a few Christmas romances that were burning up my Kindle. So here are my reviews for those holiday tales and it's never too late to surround yourself with the magic of Christmas. If you find you're still in the holiday mood be sure to also check out all my Random Tales of Christmas 2019 and posts all things holiday.

⛄🎄🎅💗🎅🎄⛄Holiday Season Hi-Jinx 2019 at a Glance⛄🎄🎅💗🎅🎄⛄

⛄🎄🎅💗🎅🎄⛄

A Villain for Christmas by Alice Winters
Summary:
A Snow Globe Christmas #4
Despite growing up in a family of villains, I’d rather curl up and read than commit crimes. When I get coerced by my brother into helping him rob a bank, I run into August, my childhood crush—also known as Chrono, the city’s greatest superhero. He’s sexy, sweet, and suddenly he’s asking me to Thanksgiving with his parents. It’s probably because he doesn’t realize that I’m Leviathan, a villain with the power of telekinesis. And I can’t tell him because he’d never forgive me and would stop doing things like cooking for me—wait, maybe that would be a good thing, since he’s a terrible cook. It doesn’t help that my parents think they’re the ultimate villains and won’t stop getting in my way, although they can’t even steal toilet paper without getting caught.

But when real supervillains (not the wannabe kind that I grew up with) start targeting August, I might be forced to show everyone who I truly am: a slightly warped and snarky man who’d really rather read a book than save anything… besides August. I’ll tear this world apart just to get another glimpse of him in those glasses and spandex suit. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep him safe, even though it means exposing my true identity. Luckily, August still cares about me, proving that even a villain and a hero can fall in love. Hopefully, we’ll be able to save the world in time for Christmas.

This ridiculous and snarky holiday novel is 92,000 words and contains a villain turned unlikely hero (even if he’s a manager's worst nightmare), a superhero with a fondness for suckers who absolutely does NOT use his powers to cheat on board games, a hairless cat with an unfortunate name, bumbling family members that try to be evil but are mostly just embarrassing, a snow globe with mysterious powers, betrayal, true love, a risqué Santa suit, and the saltiest chicken ever.

Although this book is part of A Snow Globe Christmas series, it is a complete standalone, and it isn’t a requirement that you read the previous books to follow along. We wish everyone a happy holiday season.

There is just not enough superhero/supervillain(or in the case of Landon's family not-so-super-supervillians) stories in the LGBT genres. A Villain for Christmas was the first book of 2020 for me and what a way to kick off the year!

This is another one of those stories that I'm not going to say too much about because you really do need to experience Landon and August's journey to fully appreciate the magnificence that is Alice Walker's storytelling. There is so much goodness in this story and the genuine-ness of the characters, whether they fall on the good or bad side of the scale, is what makes them stand out. You'll have moments of shaking your head and saying "WTF is wrong with that person?" and you'll have equal moments of "OMG how can one person be so understanding?" It's these emotions that make this story so hard to put down.

This is only the second Alice Winters book I've read and it definitely cemented my desire to read more of her backlist this year. She has a way with what I like to call "snark and cuddle" that make her characters not only fun(even if you want to shake them or smack them upside the head with a kitchen appliance) but that much more real, which isn't easy to do in the fantasy world of superheros and villains. Being a holiday setting only makes the magic of the story that much sweeter. Definitely a win win for both my holiday and superhero shelf.

RATING:

The Christmas Oaks by VL Locey
Summary:
Laurel Holidays #1
Can the magic of Christmas, and the soft voice of a man who has seen too much, show Bryan a future where anything is possible?

Bryan Graham is shocked to find he’s inherited a hunting cabin in north-central Pennsylvania. From his grandfather of all people; a stubborn man who went out of his way to make Bryan’s childhood miserable. He’d vowed never to go back to the small, rural community of Kutter’s Summit, not that he didn’t have fond memories of the place. It’s just that he’d rather be celebrating a quiet Christmas back in Nashville with his cat and his contracts.

A couple of weeks of hunting, cleaning, and handyman work, and he can hopefully put the place up for sale and move on with his life. He never expected to find his childhood friend Parson Greer living in the cabin. Parson is no longer a boy, but a handsome, wary man consumed by the demons of a faraway desert war. When a rekindled friendship shifts into something deeper, Bryan finds himself lost in emotions that a workaholic like him has never made time to experience before.

Original Review December 2019:
Sometimes going back can be the scariest and yet strangely rewarding experience. Sometimes sticking it to someone who has hurt you can also be incredibly rewarding and that is what Bryan's plans are: to sell the beloved cabin his grandfather left him and give the money to LGBT charity since his grandfather painfully rejected him after coming out. Fate may have other plans for Bryan though when his old friend(and the only one who supported him, besides his sister after coming out) who is battling his own demons is living in said cabin. Fate can be cruel at times but it can be equally understanding when it comes to what we need and perhaps it knows exactly what it is doing when it brings Bryan home and reconnects him with Parson.

VL Locey tells an amazing story full of aches and warmth. Your heart will run the gauntlet of emotions in this holiday romance. So often holiday tales are full of sunshine, roses, rainbows, and unicorns - basically everything happy, happy and there is nothing wrong with that because I love a good holiday happy, happy but every so often you find a Christmas setting that is definitely romance but so much more than just the holiday magic and that is what The Christmas Oaks is. Amazing characters with goods and bads, setting that isn't always easy but still peaceful, internal struggles that make you want to whack them with a frying pan one minute and wrap them in the tightest Mama Bear Hug the next. A feel good story that has it's struggles and being Christmas just gives it an extra layer of warmth, that warm sweater on a cold winter night.

RATING:

The Rest of Our Lives by Helena Stone

Summary:

Mitch & Cian #5
A year after their first kiss, Mitch and Cian have settled into their relationship and life in Dublin. There’ve been ups and downs and one or two unexpected turns in the road, but through it all they’ve gone from strength to strength.

Going home to Castleforest for Christmas means having to stay with their own families. Neither Mitch nor Cian enjoys being apart, but the sting of separation fades in the wake of a surprise from Mitch’s mother, and reconnecting with old and very dear friends lifts their spirits further.

Back in the city for New Year’s Eve, they throw a party for their friends and at last acknowledge the depth of their feelings for each other and the ties that will bind them for the rest of their lives.

This last instalment in the Mitch & Cian series comes with delightful surprises, fabulous parties, and declarations that will make your heart sing.

Original Review December 2019:

What better day than New Year's Eve to read the concluding entry in the Mitch and Cian series? It's sad to see the story end but riding along on the journey of their first year together has been romantic, humorous, realistic, and simply put: entertaining and a pure delight.

I don't really think there is much I can say about The Rest of our Lives that I haven't said in the previous entries other than don't miss out and don't let the novella size fool you because Mitch and Cian's love story is perfect just as it is and jam packed to the rafters with high quality storytelling.

There's just something magical about this one(the whole series really) not just because it's the holidays or because it's their one year anniversary but because of . . . well you'll have to read to decide for yourself, trust me you wont' regret it😉. Another holiday romance gem to enjoy for years to come.

BTW: Mitch's mom being a Star Wars fan is such a lovely treat. As a lifelong devoted SW nerd it always adds a special flare when a character(be it main, secondary, or cameo doesn't really matter) is too and when that character is a woman, that's an even bigger dessert special because too often it's the male character that is the fan so for that element, Thank You, Helena Stone💙

RATING:

Needing a Little Christmas by Silvia Violet
Summary:
Discovering his boyfriend's affair with a co-worker wrecks Eli's holiday plans. With his parents on a cruise and his brother and sister out of town, he's on his own. His mother insists he escape to her friend's mountain cabin. Eli reluctantly agrees, but he takes off unprepared and ends up driving into the worst snowstorm the area has seen in years.

He survives the trip, but he's stuck with no logs for the wood stove and little food. Fortunately, he gets the number for Mac"s Wood Delivery. Mac doesn't mind riding to the rescue, and his deep, sultry voice has Eli eagerly anticipating the delivery. Is Mac the little bit of Christmas cheer Eli has been needing?

Audiobook Review December 2019:
I can't believe it's been 4 years since I originally read this lovely novella and it is still just as brilliant as I remember. Eli and Mac are a perfect fit and though they may not be looking, Needing a Little Christmas is a right place, right time sort of tale that leaves you smiling for hours. As for Sean Crisden's narration, well his voice is absolutely perfect for Eli and Mac's journey and makes the whole thing come alive.

Original ebook Review November 2015(4-1/2 Stars):
I discovered Silvia Violet last Christmas so when I found more holiday tales I knew I had to read them. I was not disappointed with Needing a Little Christmas. Sometimes when we are at what feels like our lowest, fate intervenes in the most unexpected and unlikely ways. That pretty much sums up where Eli finds himself when he meets Mac. Such a delicious and fun addition to my holiday library and to be honest, I wouldn't mind if the author decides to revisit this couple *wink, wink, hint, hint*.

RATING:

A Distant Drum by Amy Rae Durreson
Summary:
Christmas is coming… but Alex is running away.

Panicked by the prospect of spending Christmas with his boyfriend’s disapproving parents, Alex flees to the old houseboat in the Norfolk Broads his uncle left him. But when a freak snowstorm traps him there, Alex soon realises he’s not the only heartbroken lover haunting the shores of Halsham Broad.

Two hundred years ago, drummer boy Jack Sadler drowned skating over thin ice to meet his lover. Now, whenever the Broad freezes over, he returns and brings a curse with him.

And every night Alex spends trapped in the icebound boat, he hears the beat of a distant drum draw closer…

Original Review December 2019:
OMG!!!! Nothing says Christmas like a good old fashioned ghost story and Amy Rae Durreson definitely has a doozy of a one with A Distant Drum. I stumbled onto it by accident and I am so glad I did!

I won't say too much because I don't want to give anything away, this is definitely one story you have to experience yourself to fully appreciate the creepified factor. Snow and ice storms can be spooky enough(believe me I know I'm a lifelong resident of Wisconsin) but throw in a little history, doomed lovers, and you have a recipe for a very scary Merry Christmas😉 The details the author adds to the distant drums from the title, well let me just say I swear I could hear every beat, every scrape, every chill in the air.

So if you love holiday romance but are looking for something different, a little grit to your Christmas cookies than Amy Rae Durreson's A Distant Drum is right up your alley.

RATING:

An Unexpected Christmas Present by VM Sanford
Summary:
Logan wasn’t supposed to visit Rome on his own. The trip was a surprise Christmas gift for his boyfriend, but when Paolo dumps him three weeks before Christmas, Logan decides to go anyway.

Terry visits his father and his stepfamily in Rome every year for the holidays. Meeting a man during that period of the year never crossed his mind.

When Terry and Logan meet on the plane, neither of them expects anything to come out of it. Terry is attracted to Logan, though, and he offers himself as a tourist guide for the duration of Logan’s stay.

Neither one of them expect to fall in love for Christmas, but it’s a welcome present anyway.

Original Review December 2019:
Short, sweet(but not too sweet), and definitely a winning gem for Christmastime. One of those that will make you smile no matter when you read it but the magic of the season makes it that much better. Sometimes life throws us a curve and think it's the worst possible timing, the worst possible twist, and then again sometimes fate knows exactly what it's doing and that's how I see An Unexpected Christmas Present. Honestly, I think the title best describes this story, VM Sanford has given us an unexpected Christmas present with this little gem.

RATING:

A Villain for Christmas by Alice Winters
“Landon, I want you to help me rob a bank.”

I try to ignore my brother, since I clearly didn’t hear him right.

“Won’t you do me a favor?” he asks after letting himself into my house without bothering to knock. Not that knocking would have done him any good since I wasn’t planning on letting him into my house at all anyway.

“No,” I say without bothering to look up from the book I’m reading.

“Just hear me out!” he exclaims.

I lower the book and look up at my older brother Brandon. Thankfully, I don’t take much after him. Not that he’s ugly or anything like that, he’s not, but just because he’s an idiot. And the one thing I don’t want to be is an idiot. “What, Brandon?”

“I want you to help me rob a bank.”

“No! You asked me last week, and I already told you I have better things to do. Like…” I look around as I try to think of something. It’s hard when my life consists of trying to avoid my family and reading every book I can get my hands on. Oh, and did I mention avoiding my family? Honestly, that’s a full-time career when they all have powers that allow them to better annoy the shit out of me. “Work.”

“Mom told me you got fired,” Brandon says as he sits down on the couch next to me.

“I got fired because Mom came in and told the boss that she needed me. When he said I was working and couldn’t just leave, she told him he looks like an overripe nut sac.”

Brandon starts laughing. “That’s so cool.”

“I hate all of you,” I decide as I lift my book back up.

“About the bank. Come on, you borrowed money from me last week.”

I stare at my brother in disbelief. “Five dollars. You honestly think the equivalent of you lending me five dollars is me helping you rob a bank? I’m not going to help you rob a bank again!”

The Rest of Our Lives by Helena Stone
Chapter One
“This is going to be weird.” Mitch looked out of the bus window. It was after five in the afternoon, and night had fallen. The bus’s headlights lit up a road sign, and Mitch knew they were less than half an hour from Castleforest.

“Not being together for a week, you mean?” Cian sounded about as enthusiastic about the idea as Mitch felt.

“Yeah,” Mitch concurred. “Do you think our families will ever get so comfortable with us being a couple that they’ll allow us to share a room while visiting?”

The reflection of Cian’s gaze caught Mitch’s in the dark glass, and for a moment, they kept each other captive there.

“I don’t think it’s us being a couple they’re having an issue with,” Cian eventually said. “The idea of us actually sleeping together, never mind having sex, is probably easier to deal with on a ‘what I can’t see doesn’t exist’ sorta level.”

“Do you reckon it would be the same if one of us was a girl?”

“Probably not.” Cian frowned. “Having said that, we’re together less than a year, and they probably still see us as children rather than adults, so who knows?”

It wasn’t the end of the world of course. It wouldn’t be the first time they’d spend time apart since they’d moved in together, four months earlier. On more than one occasion, Mitch had gone back to Castleforest on his own for a weekend when Cian had had a match, just as Cian sometimes went home without Mitch to make up for the times he couldn’t make it. This felt different, though. Being alone because they were in different parts of the country was unavoidable. A separation due to parental overprotectiveness or prejudice—Mitch wasn’t sure what to call it—stung.

“Oh, well,” Mitch said, deciding to keep things in perspective and not ruin their week home before it even started. “It’s only for a week, and it’s not as if we won’t see each other during the day. It could be worse. Imagine if your family lived in Cork. We’d be half the country away from each other.”

Cian’s fingers brushed across Mitch’s hand, which rested on his thigh. Mitch relished the intimacy of the gesture, no matter how fleeting. At the same time, he resented that they couldn’t just hold hands for the duration of the journey. Surely one day they would be able to be as affectionate in public as heterosexual couples without the fear of offending people? He had to believe that; anything else would be too frustrating.

“Have you any idea what plans your mother has made?” Cian asked. “Because my parents have been rather vague, apart from telling me that we’ll be celebrating Christmas day as we’ve always done in the past.”

Mitch thought back to his last conversation with his mother. He hadn’t given it much thought at the time, but now that Cian mentioned it, he remembered she’d been rather circumspect when it came to details.

“She asked me what I wanted to eat for Christmas and made some vague references to surprises.” He chuckled. “Maybe I should remind her I’m legally an adult. She hasn’t teased me with secrecy since I stopped believing in Santa.” He turned to Cian, fully expecting him to laugh along or at least smile. Instead, he encountered a thoughtful expression.

“I wonder what they’re up to?” Cian mused.

“Up to?”

“It’s too much of a coincidence otherwise.” Cian focused on Mitch, his eyes gleaming. “My mother used almost the exact same words with me, last time we spoke.”

For a moment Mitch turned into the boy he’d been when he was seven and still firmly believed in the magic of Christmas, reindeer, and Santa Claus. Excitement rushed through him as he tried to figure out what their parents might be planning.

Something bright illuminated the darkness as they drove into town.

“Are those new?” Cian nodded in the direction of the lights that stretched in rows running across the main street at regular intervals, creating an illusion of ice and snow.

“I think so.” Mitch hadn’t paid much attention to Castleforest’s Christmas decorations in the past. They were there for a few weeks before disappearing again for a year, in the same way leaves came and went on trees.

Two minutes later, as the bus drove on without them, Mitch stared down the street and reconsidered. “It does look better. More festive, I guess.” He focused on Cian, reluctant to take the next step on his journey home.

“What are we like?” Cian grinned ruefully. “Our families aren’t so bad that we have to worry about going to different homes.”

Mitch smiled, unable to deny that they were being silly. “Where do you want to meet tomorrow?”

“At the library?” Cian suggested. “For old times’ sake?”

“Works for me,” Mitch said calmly while pushing down a burst of excitement because Cian had picked the place where they’d first met, almost exactly a year earlier.

He looked up and down the street, finding it mostly deserted. Given that it was dinner time on a Sunday in December, that was hardly surprising, but it served his purpose perfectly. He leaned forward, angled his head, and pressed his lips against Cian’s. If anybody did see the kiss, tough. In a town as small as Castleforest, their relationship had to be common knowledge. He wasn’t inclined to force public displays of intimacy on unsuspecting passers-by, but he refused to hide who he was or, more importantly, who he was with any longer.

Cian returned the far too short kiss, smirking when he pulled back. “What a difference a year makes.” He fixed the strap of his backpack on his shoulder and took a step. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Ten-ish?"

“See you then.”

Watching Cian walk away toward the estate where he lived, Mitch wondered if he’d ever get tired of looking at his boyfriend. He’d been attracted to Cian long before they’d exchanged their first words, and far from lessening, the feeling had only strengthened over time. Cian’s training regime since he’d taken up rugby again helped to make an always tantalizing physique even more irresistible too.

Only after Cian turned a corner and disappeared from sight did Mitch set off in the opposite direction. He resisted the temptation to walk by the old community center on his way home. He’d meet Cian there tomorrow, and it would be the long way around. He had no doubt his mother was eagerly awaiting his arrival, and if he were honest, he looked forward to seeing her too.

The front door to the house he’d grown up in opened before Mitch had a chance to put his key in the lock. His mother’s beaming face welcomed him home, and his answering smile was almost certainly just as delighted. Yes, Mitch would miss Cian, especially at night, when he’d have to settle for sleeping on his own, without a warm body to wrap himself around. However, he couldn’t deny that his mother’s joy whenever he visited made him feel warm and loved.

“There you are.” His mother pulled him into a tight hug before scrutinizing his face. “You look well.” She released him and walked into the house. “Do you want to eat now or later?”

“I have a choice?” Mitch snickered. This was new. His whole life his mother had told him what time dinner would be ready, and it had been up to him to make sure he was present at the appointed hour.

“Sure.” She grinned at him as if she knew exactly what he was thinking. She probably does.

“I’m having takeaway delivered. I was thinking fish and chips?”

Mitch’s mouth watered, but he was surprised. “Delivered? I’m impressed. Castleforest is moving up in the world.”

“Oh, stop it. We’re not that much of a backwater.” But his mother smiled at him, taking the sting out of her words.

“I’ll just put my stuff away,” Mitch said. “Then I’m good with whatever you want to do.”

An hour later Mitch settled on the couch in the living room with a full belly. “That was great.”

“Good. Does it make up for having to share a living space with your old ma for a few days?”

Mitch didn’t need mind-reading powers to recognize the question wasn’t only meant as a joke. He sighed.

“Living with you has never been hard,” he said honestly. “It isn’t difficult now either. It’s just…” Mitch didn’t want to upset his mother so soon after arriving, but he didn’t want to lie to her either.

“What?”

He shrugged. “It’s a bit frustrating that nobody minds that Cian and I live together in Dublin, but at the same time won’t allow us to sleep in the same house when we’re here.”

His mother gave him a look he knew all too well. This stare indicated that, in her opinion, he hadn’t thought hard enough before opening his mouth. Unfortunately, recognizing her expression didn’t mean he knew the reason behind it.

“Has it ever occurred to you that maybe Cian’s parents would like to have him to themselves for a few days to catch up? Or that I might like spending some time with my son without having to share his attention?” Mitch gaped at his mother, disinclined to tell her that the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind.

She sighed. “We’re not stupid. We know you two are all grown up and living your own life together. But it feels like only yesterday you came running to me because you’d fallen off your bike and hurt yourself. Give an old woman a chance to adjust to the fact that you’re no longer a child.”

Mitch got up and crossed the room. When he reached his ma in her comfortable chair, he leaned forward and hugged her. “You’re not an old woman,” he whispered while relaxing into her embrace. He allowed himself to revisit the younger version of himself she’d described, surprised to find he welcomed the security her arms offered as much now as he always had.

“I’m sorry.” Mitch murmured the words against her shoulder. He hadn’t meant to upset his mother. “It’s just that I’m so used to being together with Cian it feels a bit weird when we’re not. Especially since for once we’re home at the same time.” He straightened and sat on the armrest of his mother’s chair.

“It’s okay.” She patted his leg. “I do understand, you know. I used to be young once, a long, long time ago.” She looked up at him with a cheeky glint in her eye. “Did I mention I have a surprise for you?”

“You did.” The sudden change in subject caught Mitch off guard. “I thought you’d keep me in suspense until Christmas.”

“That would defeat the purpose.”

The plot thickened, and Mitch was still none the wiser. “Well then, don’t keep me hanging.”

“We had a raffle in work,” his mother said, at first glance apropos of nothing. “I won the first prize.”

“Congratulations?” Mitch had no idea why his mother made such a big deal about having won a box of chocolates or something similar, but he was willing to wait her out.

“I’ve now got two tickets to see the Symphony Orchestra perform the music from Star Wars. Tomorrow night, actually.”

“Nice one.” Mitch was delighted for her. His mother was a huge Star Wars fan. In fact, she’d watched the movies so often over the years Mitch knew large chunks of them off by heart. “But what has that got to do with me?” Surely, she hadn’t made him come all the way home today, only to travel back to Dublin tomorrow?

“I was wondering if you’d let us use your apartment for the night.” Her gaze bored into him as if she was expecting a certain reaction. “Marian is coming with me, and neither of us fancies driving all the way home at midnight. Since your place will be empty...”

Mitch chuckled. “We have two bedrooms, remember? There’s no reason you can’t stay with us, even when we’re there.” He sobered as he tried to remember what state they’d left the place in before leaving, suppressing a sigh of relief when he recalled they’d done a rather thorough cleanup because they didn’t want to return to chaos. “Of course, you can stay there.” But how is that a surprise for me? He kept that thought to himself.

“And now you’re wondering how me winning concert tickets constitutes a surprise for you.”

Mitch blinked at his mother, shocked to discover that four months after he’d moved out, she could still read his mind with ease.

“I’m disappointed.” The sparkle in his mother’s eyes belied her words. “I thought you would have recognized your opportunity by now.”

The beginnings of an idea formed in Mitch’s mind. Surely, she doesn’t mean...?

“How did I manage to raise such an eejit?” The sigh she expelled was obviously exaggerated. “Why don’t you get on your phone and see if Cian wants to spend tomorrow evening and night here?”

“Really?”

His mother gave him a blank stare. “Really.” She reached for the remote. “Now, either settle or go and do your own thing. I’m watching The Empire Strikes Back tonight.

Mitch reached for his mother, hugging her again and placing a kiss on her cheek. “Thanks. That’s the best surprise ever.” He got up. “Enjoy your movie. I’m going up to my room.”

He was texting Cian before he was halfway up the stairs.

Needing a Little Christmas by Silvia Violet
“What do mean you’re not going to be with Dave’s family for Christmas? Why?”

I pulled the phone away from my ear. I’d known my mother would be upset, but her reaction was even more vehement than I expected.

“Apparently one of the junior partners at his firm isn’t nearly as boring as I am. They’ve been having an affair for months.”

My mother made a sound of disgust. “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry, and you are not boring.”

“I know, but Dave thinks I am.” And honestly, I thought he was probably right. I preferred to stay at home rather than go out. I spent most days in sweats and T-shirts. When Dave did drag me to a party with his socialite friends, I inevitably embarrassed him with my lack of knowledge of current affairs. I’d taken to hiding out in the bathroom writing notes for my next book on my phone. He’d even attempted to coach me in the art of party conversation. I’d used his lessons in a book but ignored them as they applied to me. The book had done well; readers found his suggestions hilarious.

When Dave told me I was not only an uninteresting social companion but boring in bed as well, I’d taken that seriously. I might prefer a quiet lifestyle, but I knew how to please a partner sexually. After pondering what I could do to shock him, I’d gotten my nipples pierced, something I’d secretly wanted to do for years.

He laughed.

I should have broken up with him that night. We’d only had sex a few times after that, and each time, Dave raced to completion, showered off the scent of me, and promptly fell asleep.

I heard my mother’s heels click against the floor, the sound reminding me to concentrate on the conversation. She must be pacing, something she always did when strategizing. “I’m so sorry, honey. Do you want us to cancel our cruise?”

That was the last thing I wanted. “Of course not. You’ve been looking forward to it for months. I’m fine. Really.”

“Are you sure?”

I held the phone between my shoulder and ear as I poured myself a generous measure of whiskey. “Yeah, things hadn’t been great between me and Dave for a long time.”

She huffed. “That doesn’t give him any excuse to—”

I held up my hand even though she couldn’t see me. “No it doesn’t. He acted like an ass, and I think he knows it. He moved out of his beloved apartment and told me I could keep it.” Not that I could afford it for long unless my next book was a runaway hit.

Mom sighed. “I don’t want you spending Christmas alone.”

After draining my drink, I’d wandered into my bedroom and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My eyes were red from lack of sleep, and they looked more hazel than their usual bright green. My curly dark hair stood out at odd angles. The stress of trying to meet the deadline for my book and trying to hold on to a relationship that had died long before I caught Dave fucking his colleague in his office hadn’t been good for my appetite. I’d lost weight, and the bones in my face showed prominently. I was definitely not looking my best, but

I wanted a few more days to wallow in self-pity.

“I really don’t want to be around anyone right now.”

My mom sighed. “But it’s Christmas.”

I ran my hand through my hair, making it stick out even more. “I’m not in the mood for holiday cheer.”

“Your dad and I can go on a cruise another year.”

“No, arranging this once was difficult enough. Rick and Cindy will want to spend next year with you since they’re with Cindy’s family this year. And Ally’s trip to California is a special one-time deal. This is our gift to you, and I won’t be responsible for screwing it up.”

“You wouldn’t be responsible, Dave would be.”

“I wasn’t exactly looking forward to listening to his family brag about how wonderful they all are. I’ll have a better time alone.” My mom’s pacing stopped, and I realized I’d said the wrong thing.

“Eli, why didn’t you tell us you didn’t want to go home with Dave? We would never have agreed to the cruise if we thought you’d be miserable at Christmas.”

I tried to backpedal. “It would have been fine. I enjoy visiting Boston, even if the company leaves something to be desired.”

“Hmm.” My mom didn’t sound convinced. “Maybe we could get you a ticket for the cruise. It might not be full.”

The cruise was supposed to give my parents some uninterrupted time together. And the last thing I wanted was be trapped on a ship with lots of happy, smiling people encouraging me to socialize while my mom fussed over me. “No, thanks. I really, truly would rather be on my own.”

“But what will you do?”

“Stay home and drown my sorrows in Christmas cookies and eggnog.”

A Distant Drum by Amy Rae Durreson
1. Thursday Night
The houseboat door was stiff, the wood a little swollen with the damp and the lock hard to see in the grey winter twilight. I eventually managed to shove it open and step inside, navigating the steps down from the deck more from memory than anything else. It was cold inside, and dark, and I dropped my backpack hastily and fumbled across the well—three steps forward and a shuffle left before my knees bumped the wall, and I realised that I’d been shorter last time I came here.

It still smelt the same—petrol, wood polish, and under it all the cool, faintly salty bite of the water below. Did it smell like this in summer, when the tourists came to rent it out, or was it only in winter that the old scent of the place came rising out of the woodwork? I half-expected to catch a hint of over-brewed tea, or Gabe’s roll ups.

My eyes were adjusting to the light now, and I hadn’t been far off—the mains switch was right in front of me. I reached up and flicked it on. The fridge began to hum in the galley, something groaned and stuttered in the hull, and a red light came on somewhere high on the wall of the saloon which opened from the well. I leaned back and hit the light switch by the door on the second attempt.

The saloon didn’t look the same. It was a hell of a lot cleaner than it had been when Gabe lived here, for a start. It was probably weird to feel nostalgic for overflowing ashtrays, dog-eared paperbacks, and tea-stained mugs, but I did.

Ah, fuck it, I might as well come out and admit it was Gabe I missed, the old git, and now I could spend the whole of Christmas weeping into the lining of my coat.

Partly because I wasn’t going to take said coat off until I’d got the heating going. Back when Gabe had lived here, there had been a single crappy plug-in heater which ate electricity like Gabe went through a bag of Tetley’s, but I’d signed off on the installation of a proper furnace last year, on the advice of the rental company. It would extend the season at either end, they had told me, and I’d been both too busy with work and aching from the loss of the last family member who liked me. I hadn’t wanted to deal with anything about the boat myself.

She’s got a name, numpty, Gabe grumbled in my memory. She’s a lady, and even a lad with no taste for the lasses can show her some respect.

The rental company had given her some twee name in line with their company policy—Halsham Dancer, I thought, or maybe, Halsham Dreamer. I’d never been able to keep it fixed in my head. To me she was, and would always be, Lovely Lily.

I said now, slipping back into childhood habits, “Hey, Lily, milady, help me out. Where’s your heating switch?”

The wind sighed through the reeds along the side of the creek. An owl called, long and eerie. Somewhere out in the darkness, on another boat or, more likely, in a passing car, someone had their music on loud enough that I could just hear the beat, even out here in the darkness.

I sighed and went back to get my bag. If I could get a phone signal, I could check the emails about the installation and find out where—

There was a leather folder sitting on the low bench beside my bag. Embossed letters on the front read Guest Information.

It had probably been there before. It had been dark when I’d come in, and I hadn’t been looking for it. All the same, I remembered all the stories Gabe had told me when I was a kid, and ducked my head, muttering, “Thanks, Lil.”

The switch was in the kitchen. While the boat slowly heated, I stashed the groceries I’d brought with me in the fridge—nothing but beer and service station sandwiches, in proper Gabe style—and wandered through the rest of the not-quite-familiar rooms. It was all very clean and charming, but it felt a little too sanitised to be the Lily. There was even a plaque on the wall outlining her history in an antique font—from her wherrying days on the Thames in the 1930s to her presence at Dunkirk to a mastless retirement here on the edges of Halsham Broad. Most of it was new to me, and I patted her wall fondly, feeling an odd swell of pride in the old girl. “Gabe always said you were an old trouper. Guess he was right.”

As the air warmed, I began to feel more at home. I’d never been here in the winter—even Gabe had been reluctantly dragged away to endure a family Christmas, but I’d been released to Gabe’s care every Easter and for a week every summer. I could still remember the relief of that train ride, each rattle of the tracks drawing me farther away from the boy my parents wanted me to be, until I exploded off the train at Norwich to hurl myself at Gabe and his dog—first Frodo, then Galadriel, and last of all Elrond, all of them smelly, shaggy, and of thoroughly mixed lineage, none of them allowed to visit the London-dwelling parts of the family.

It was only now that I wondered what favours Gabe had traded to get those weeks.

The darkness was different at this time of year. There was none of that lingering light that clung to a summer’s night even when the sun was down, or even the fresh vastness of a starry April night. In December, the darkness felt heavy, clustering close around her windows. I filled the kettle, put it on to boil, and then went back outside, drawn by that absolute darkness.

The air tasted so crisp and cold it stung my mouth. Looking out where I knew there was water, I could see nothing but the black depth of night. To the north, where the village of Halsham clustered around the marina, a couple of lights showed, but it was hard to tell how far away they were. Farther to the south-east, I could just see faint glimmers from the coastal village of Gorsey. The moon was the barest thin crescent, offering no light. Under my feet, the deck was already slick with frost and I couldn’t hear or feel the usual sway of the water beneath the Lily. Had the broad frozen?

The owl cried out again and I could hear that faint beat of music stripped of all its grace by distance.

I wasn’t expecting the sudden shrill of my phone, and jumped enough that I almost went skidding across the deck. I’d left it inside and rushed to get it despite the sudden clench of guilt in my gut. I should have known a hasty text message wouldn’t have been enough, and I’d been relying on the fact that I’d never known a signal at Halsham Broad before to put off what was going to be a monumental reckoning.

“Hey,” I said, closing my eyes.

“So you are alive then?” Nik snapped. “I’ve been trying to contact you for the last two hours.”

“Didn’t you get my text?”

Nik took a long breath and then let it out in one furious huff. “Yes, I got your fucking text. But for your information, needed some time—back in the New Year does not actually tell me anything useful. Like, for example, where the hell you are!”

“I’m fine.”

“Fine is not a place in England.”

“I’m sure it’s a place somewhere, though. I mean, there’s Finland and Finchley, which are both close.” I could usually get a laugh out of Nik if I babbled enough, and I didn’t want to fight. Nik wasn’t stupid. He knew why I wasn’t there.

He didn’t laugh. “Are you in Finland or Finchley?”

“No.”

He grated out, “So, where the fuck are you?”

“I’m—”

“Because you should be here, packing your bags to go to my parents for Christmas.”

“Your parents hate me.”

“Oh, for fuck’s—” He stopped himself and said, “My parents do not hate you.”

“They absolutely hate me. They think I seduced you away from being their good little heterosexual Catholic son.”

“Hate to break it to you, darling, but you were hardly my first.”

“Yeah, but I was the first one they met, right? And it was a disaster.”

“Not that much of a—”

“Disaster,” I emphasised.

Alice Winters
Alice Winters started writing stories as soon as she was old enough to turn her ideas into written words. She loves writing a variety of things from romance and comedy to action. She also enjoys reading, horseback riding, and spending time with her pets.

VL Locey
USA Today Bestselling Author V.L. Locey – Penning LGBT hockey romance that skates into sinful pleasures.

V.L. Locey loves worn jeans, yoga, belly laughs, reading and writing lusty tales, Greek mythology, the New York Rangers, comic books, and coffee. (Not necessarily in that order.) She shares her life with her husband, her daughter, two dogs, two cats, a flock of assorted domestic fowl, and three Jersey steers.

When not writing spicy romances, she enjoys spending her day with her menagerie in the rolling hills of Pennsylvania with a cup of fresh java in hand. She can also be found online on Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, and GoodReads.

Helena Stone
Helena Stone can’t remember a life before words and reading. After growing up in a household where no holiday or festivity was complete without at least one new book, it’s hardly surprising she now owns more books than shelf space while her Kindle is about to explode.

The urge to write came as a surprise. The realisation that people might enjoy her words was a shock to say the least. Now that the writing bug has well and truly taken hold, Helena can no longer imagine not sharing the characters in her head and heart with the rest of the world.

Having left the hustle and bustle of Amsterdam for the peace and quiet of the Irish Country side she divides her time between reading, writing, long and often wet walks with the dog, her part-time job in a library, a grown-up daughter and her ever loving and patient husband.

Silvia Violet
Silvia Violet writes fun, sexy stories that will leave you smiling and satisfied. She has a thing for characters who are in need of comfort and enjoys helping them surrender to love even when they doubt it exists. Silvia's stories include sizzling contemporaries, paranormals, and historicals. When she needs a break from listening to the voices in her head, she spends time baking, taking long walks, and curling up with her favorite books. Keep up with her latest ventures by signing up for her newsletter.

Amy Rae Durreson
Amy Rae Durreson is a writer and romantic, who writes m/m romances. She likes to go wandering across the local hills with a camera, hunting for settings for her stories. She's got a degree in early English literature, which she blames for her somewhat medieval approach to spelling, and at various times has been fluent in Latin, Old English, Ancient Greek, and Old Icelandic, though please don't ask her to speak any of them now.

Amy started her first novel nineteen years ago (it featured a warrior princess, magic swords, elves and an evil maths teacher) and has been scribbling away ever since. Despite these long years of experience, she has yet to master the arcane art of the semi-colon.

VM Sanford
V.M Sanford has been writing about the paranormal since he was a child but decided to give publishing a try only in his thirties.

He found out he likes writing about more than wolf shifters and already has several plot bunnies lined up, waiting for him to write their books.

He’s lived all over Europe and enjoys cats, ice hockey and reading biographies of kings and queens. He’s still confused about what and who he is even though he’s in his mid-thirties, but he finally decided to come out as a transgender man, at least to his readers.