Summary:
Ty Hallahan was on a mission: make it home in time for Christmas—or suffer his Irish Catholic mother’s wrath. But thanks to a series of misadventures, his simple four-hour flight has turned into a two-day ordeal. And just as he has almost reached his destination, Ty is stuck once again—and on Christmas Eve, no less.
But maybe Santa has something up his sleeve for Ty? Wandering through the airport terminal, Ty runs into the man he has secretly loved for years. Once Ty’s professor, Dr. Ernesto Goncalves—Dr. G for short—is also stuck for the holidays, and Ty determines to make the most of their time together.
Connection to Christmas is fun, sweet, sexy, short, did I say fun? and full of heart. I'll admit when we first meet Ty Hallahan he's a bit full-on making me want to smack him one but then we learn what brought him to the airport and it's understandable where his frustration level is coming from. As for Dr. Ernesto Goncalves, well we all had a teacher at some point that got our heart's beating, so is this Ty's holiday wish come true? You'll have to read for yourself to learn that but trust me you'll enjoy finding out. This may be a three year old holiday story but I'm sure there are more like me who haven't discovered it yet so I won't give any particulars. Just know that this is a brilliant tale of holiday cheer with heat and heart that makes Drew Marvin Frayne's Connection to Christmas a delightful reading gem.
I've never read this author before, some might think a Christmas short isn't the best place to experience an author's talent with all the possibilities of sugary sweet. Personally, I've discovered some of my favorites during my holiday readings, yes they can be a bit over the top on the emotional front bordering on cliché but I find an author who can do just that and still entertain is one to go on my authors-to-watch list. And that is exactly where Drew Marvin Frayne has gone and I look forward to reading more in 2021.
RATING:
Summary:
A Snow Globe Christmas #6
A blizzard. A Christmas rescue. A man with the heart of an angel.
Hayden
Hayden knows it was stupid to think he could walk home from the office and beat the blizzard. So what if he worked out all the time until he was big and strong. So what if he hated to ever ask for help. Loners who think they can do everything themselves are just as vulnerable as anyone. His only consolation is if he dies there will be very few people who will miss him.
Matthew
The half-frozen man falling through the door to Matthew’s coffee shop is more than alarming, but it’s a good thing he’d forgotten to lock that front entrance or the beautiful guy covered in snow might have died in the cold.
The man is gorgeous, soft-spoken, helpful, maybe even a bit old-fashioned in his manners. Just the type Matthew always wished for but never met. Sharing a fire and a snowed-in night with him will be no hardship.
When the storm lasts more than a day, attraction blooms. But when it is over, will Hayden and Matthew’s feelings fade? Or will holiday charm and a heart-warming miracle draw them together again?
Rescue, forced proximity, overwhelming attraction, blizzards, and a heart-warming Christmas miracle.
Although this book is part of A Snow Globe Christmas series, it is a complete stand alone and it isn’t a requirement that you read the previous books to follow along. We wish everyone a happy holiday season.
Summary:
Portville Summer #4
One summer … one epic birth scene … and one very special Christmas.
On a drunken night of rebelling from his father, young omega Brent falls into a river. He survives just fine, although he emerges soaking wet and angry at the person who pushed him in.
Holden, a sexy young alpha who has been playing the field for a while is the man who gave Brent the push that sent him over the railing. It wasn’t intentional, though. Holden thought he was saving Brent’s life.
When it’s obvious that there’s an attraction between the two of them, Brent devises a plan to use Holden to get back at his father, who is the wealthy governor of Portville and has always expected Brent to follow in his footsteps. Brent is tired of being yelled at for being himself, and he aims to show his father just how irresponsible he can be.
Brent doesn’t expect that Holden will impregnate him that first night. He knows his father will be furious when he finds out, but the only place he can think to hide is on his father’s yacht. He also doesn’t expect that he will fall head over heals in love with an alpha who is struggling financially with his snack boat business and is too proud to take any money from him.
Can a wealthy omega and a poor alpha get over their hangups and come together for the sake of their baby?
Can the son of a wealthy governor let go of his pride and invite his father into his life?
Is there a house big enough to hold all of these omegas and alphas, as well as their babies and extended family, for a once-in-a-lifetime Christmas party?
There’s only one way to find out…
His Amazing Summer and Christmas is the fourth book in the Portville Summer Series. It is an opposites-attract romance with some drinking, sexy times, an epic race of 4 omegas and their partners to the birth clinic, and a Christmas epilogue that includes the couples from every book in the Portville Summer Series. It is intended for readers over the age of 18.
Summary:
A vacation mix up.
A job promotion on the line.
A fateful roll of the dice.
Welton Monroe is on his first vacation in a very long time. He’s not a winter sport enthusiast, but the cozy cabin at the Snowcapped resort, and Reece Donaghy, the hunky employee who checks him in, seem perfect to finally put his relationship with Dean in the past. That is, until Dean arrives. In an effort to make up for past wrongs, Dean offers to help Welton win Reece’s heart, an offer Welton grudgingly accepts.
Reece should be focusing on the Assistant Activities Director promotion he’s put in for, but he’s more than distracted by Welton. In a whirlwind week of activities, Welton and Reece discover the Christmas magic in snowman building, karaoke, and tobogganing. But when the secret Welton has been keeping comes to light, and a final, large-scale challenge is assigned to Reece for his chance to win the promotion, it seems a week’s worth of Christmas spirit may not be enough to keep them together once the holiday is over.
The Christmas Accomplice is a funny, sweet, and steamy opposites attract, almost-instalove standalone Christmas story, featuring funny friends, a “hot gay nerd”, toboggan fun, and a Christmas-themed role-playing game like no other.
Christmas Cracker Collection by Jay Northcote
Summary:Christmas Crackers: An MM Holiday Romance Collection
Three sweet and sexy MM Christmas stories in one great collection!
Cold Feet
Best friends snowed in together. When the heat rises, will they get cold feet?
What Happens at Christmas
When two friends pose as boyfriends, could what happens at Christmas turn into something more?
A Family for Christmas
Zac never had a family of his own, but Rudy has enough to share.
What Happens at Christmas
Original Review November 2015:
Talk about a great introduction to a new author! I've never read Jay Northcote before and I can honestly say it won't be the last time either. Sean and Justin are such great BFFs but watching them become something more is heartwarming. Course, had they spoke up and been honest with each other than this journey would have happened a while ago and caused a lot less inner questioning, but then where is the fun in that? A great addition to my holiday library.
RATING:
RATING:
Connection to Christmas by Drew Marvin Frayne
“I’m sorry, sir,” the counter attendant rotely states, staring at her screen while she busily clack-clack-clacks on the keyboard in front of her. “Your flight has been canceled.”
I confess that in my current state—lack of sleep, lack of food, lack of anything more stimulating than an in-flight magazine—I’m not really paying close attention to her. But that last word hits home like a bolt of fresh lightning.
“Canceled?” I ask, roused to attention. “Why—how—how can it be canceled?”
“The weather,” she replies, never looking up from her screen to meet my gaze.
“The weather?” I repeat incredulously. “But it’s perfectly clear outsi—” Yet even as I say these words, I move my gaze to the large window behind her and notice, for the first time, fat globs of white snow pelting against the glass. Shit. Well, that’s flying in December for you.
“There’s a large storm front coming in,” the woman explains, finally stopping her incessant typing, though she still won’t look me in the eyes. At least she has stopped calling me “sir.” I’m at least half her age, and I can tell the appellative annoys me as much as it does her. “Much of the entire Northeast corridor has been grounded. No more flights will be getting out tonight.”
“But it’s Christmas Eve,” I say, as if somehow that will make a difference. Now she looks up and meets my gaze, though only to arch an eyebrow at me as if to say, What do you expect me to do? Send Santa Claus for you?
I sigh and try a different tactic. “Isn’t there anything you can do?”
She goes back to clacking on her keyboard. I really hate that noise. “I’ll book you on the first available flight tomorrow. Let’s see, to your destination…Binghamton…that should get you in around seven.”
“Seven in the morning?” I ask.
Again, not meeting my eyes. “In the evening.”
Great. “Ma’am, I don’t think you quite understand. I have been hauling my tired ass on planes and through airports and on busses for—” I pretend to consult my watch. “—a day and a half now. I took a small cargo flight from Sable Island—do you even know where that is?—over to Nova Scotia. Threw up—twice! That’s how bumpy it was. Then I took a bus to Halifax. That was another four hours. And the bathroom was out of order, so I spent half the trip doing the seated version of the pee-pee dance. Then my flight to New York got rerouted to Portland, Maine. Maine. It took me forty-five minutes alone just to clear customs because the one customs agent there was in the bathroom. He’d had Mexican food the night before. It was delightful to learn that. Then from Portland, they sent me to Boston. And then here to Philadelphia. I started my trip just after noon on December 23. It is now—” This time I consult my watch for real. “—almost 8:00 p.m. on December 24. I’ve had no sleep. I’ve barely had anything to eat. And I have four dollars left to my name, which in this airport won’t get me a bottle of water. And now you’re telling me I need to stay here another entire day? Christmas Day?”
Snowfall and Romance by Wendy Rathbone
Chapter One
Eight Days Before Christmas
Hayden
Hayden stood on the second floor by the windows of his small district office in the fringe mountain town of Moon Falls in Washington State and watched the snow clouds move in, thick and white against a purpling sky.
The clouds were rolling fast, and he contemplated what to do.
Today he’d walked to work, which he never did in foul weather. But he had forgotten to check the weather that morning. What a fool. Now he wasn’t sure he’d make it home before that blizzard hit. He could have asked for a ride. He could have imposed on any one of his co-workers. Or called a taxi. Or left work earlier. His boss would have okayed it.
Instead, he’d waited like a good boy for five o’clock to come. Everyone else had left. Plus, as a system’s analyst he often got lost in his work. All afternoon he’d been on chat in the middle of a tech problem with another analyst in Seattle and forgot the time.
He only lived two miles away, down Twenty-First Street, past a few open fields, then through the touristy section of the town where antique and gift shops lined the road. There, he would turn left on Starkwood where he would be half-way home, the businesses giving way to residential lots.
Two short miles. He was sure he could make it.
He fingered the cuff of his coat. Though he wore a suit jacket underneath, the long black coat was nothing like the parka he had at home and wished he’d brought. He had gloves and a scarf, which would help. But his leather ankle boots beneath his suit trousers were thin, and he had on one thin pair of socks.
Out the window, he saw the wind whipping the Douglas firs that feathered the town’s north hillside. Sticks of trees along the darkening street were bent nearly in two. Nothing on wheels was running out there. It was too late for a taxi. But he decided he’d be fine. He would walk fast. Twenty-five minutes to home at most, maybe less if he sprinted partway. He was in great shape. He could do it.
He zipped up when he got into the elevator. Raised his thick collar.
In the foyer on the first floor, he noted the lights had all been turned out except the security lights by the front door. He had a key, so he let himself out.
Right into the ice henges of Antarctica.
Even with his coat, the wind seemed to blow straight through his heart.
Hunching his shoulders, the wind swirling about his pants legs and finding a way in to shiver up against his shins, Hayden began his trek toward home.
It was far more brutal than he thought it would be. The wind screeched past him, a full frontal attack, bringing ice-knives with it. It shoved and pushed at him, a wrestler made of freezing strength.
It was only a minute before he realized his muscles were so tight he could manage only shallow breaths.
His gloved hands shook as he brought his arms up to tighten his scarf about his mouth and throat, and he pulled the thin knit cap he wore further over his ears. His breath heated the thick material of the scarf but it wasn’t enough as it immediately formed ice crystals. He struggled to move one foot forward, then the other, going as fast as he could.
This was ridiculous. He was a moron to go out in weather like this. Snow whirled about his body in small, white tornadoes. The clouds had dipped low so fast that now the streetlights dimmed through rushing fog.
He should have stayed at the office. At least there was heat. In the break room, comfortable couches lined one wall. Blankets were stored in a top cupboard for emergencies. And there were snacks in the fridge, and a microwave. He would have been fine even if this lasted a couple of days.
Maybe he could go back.
Hayden turned on the sidewalk and looked to see how far he’d come.
A white wall made of rushing snowflakes like a million falling stars obscured his vision. They fought and clashed against whiter backdrop. He could see no light that way, no buildings. Nothing but the whiteness of the storm which had dipped low, swirling around him.
Ahead of him, he saw the streetlight up ahead at the corner of Starkwood. Dim yellow but fading fast in the thick flurries.
Judging he had come about a mile, then, that meant he’d been out here fighting the cold at least fifteen minutes, maybe more since the wind slowed him down.
Hayden forced his legs to move forward. He could barely feel his feet now.
He had lived in this area for five years and had never seen the temperature drop nor a blizzard hit so fast. It was like a giant hammer of ice hit the town all in one swing. And here he was, arrogantly deciding he could out-run it.
All he could think about was moving forward now. One step. Two steps. He counted in his head. To his right was open street, and across that road were shops with no lights. He could hardly make out the darkened windows. To his left he recognized two shops he passed every day. Both closed. Both sold antiques. If he had to, he might be able to break into one of them for shelter. But his own conscience would not allow it and forced him to keep pushing forward.
Beyond those shops, through the thick downfall, he saw an empty parking lot, its driveway swept with frost as the snow continued to rush sideways and down. He knew that lot. It meant he was two buildings away from Starkwood.
All he heard were the powerful howls of a mad-wind as if it were frantically searching for something it had lost. A timeless, hopeless sound. A dirge of pure fury.
The storm’s power took his breath. He could no longer feel his hands or feet. This was too much.
Lungs heaving, Hayden staggered against the onslaught until he reached the building on the corner. A coffee shop he passed every day.
Through one window, he saw a light on. Dim, but real. Something beyond this deep, soul-shrinking chill.
Snow was already piling up in drifts, and he stomped hard on the sidewalk trying to get the blood flowing again to his feet. He raised his shaking arm and slammed his hand against the handle of the entrance. He barely felt the impact.
The upper half of the door was paned glass but Hayden’s eyes were stinging so bad he could not see anything but the dim light inside. The structure shook but did not move. He scrambled to get his fingers around the knob, his gloves slipping on the cold metal, ice against ice.
Through the roars and cries of the wind, he heard a click. The door flew open with a loud crack.
Hayden nearly fell inside the store, some of the wind coming with him snarling, snapping at his heels. He forced himself to pivot against the assault, and put his whole weight against the center to push it shut.
A bell jingled up top but the wind was so strong it turned the tingling sound to a hiss. The poor bell bent against the onslaught.
Finally, the door clicked shut and the wind scurried off down the street searching for more prey, crashing and banging as it went. Hayden, scarf still wrapped tight over half his face, his body reeling from the shock of extreme cold, leaned back against the threshold and fought for breath.
“We’re closed!” said a cheery male voice.
Hayden blinked, the blur of the room coming into focus. This was the coffee shop he passed every day when he walked to work. He’d never been inside it. Nothing, not the hippest music nor the signs proclaiming daily discounts nor the friendly faces were any reason to stop.
Picturing himself sitting back in one of these establishments wearing something trendy, sipping a too sweet and too expensive elixir while his laptop flashed in front of him made him want to laugh. He wasn’t one of those people. He didn’t even like coffee.
And worse, at Christmas, the shop’s special was peppermint coffee. Hayden hated peppermint. His stomach curdled to think of it.
He glanced about, saw booths with blue cushions lining the walls, all empty, and tables in the center of the room with the chairs turned upside down on top of them. A shiny, white counter stretched beyond the tables, and little lights twinkled above, framing the area where the coffee was made.
To the left of that area a doorway with no door led to a back room, probably the kitchen. The golden light he’d seen emanated from there.
He heard footsteps. Saw a shadow cross the floor before someone appeared.
That someone stood in the doorway, and the way the light framed him made him glow as if he were a transparent, pale ghost. Unreal. Surreal. A golden-ness fluttered about him as he moved, giving him wings for just a second.
A second was all Hayden needed to wonder if he’d actually died out there and this was a way station to coffee shop hell with an angel coming to greet him.
The angel spoke again. “I said we’re closed--”
Hayden pulled his scarf from his mouth and coughed. “It’s freezing out there! Just give me a second to catch my breath.” He realized his voice came out strangled, barely a whisper.
“Holy shit!” The guy came running toward him. “You’re covered in ice. Is it that bad out there already? I was cleaning up, not paying attention. Come in. Come in!”
Hayden’s vision began to clear. The angel coalesced into a blond young man with sparkling, dark blue eyes. When he reached him, he grabbed Hayden’s arm and led him deeper into the shop, past the tables and the blue booths to the clean, white counter.
“My god, man. You’re lucky I was still here! I was just finishing up. I have an apartment in the back. When I close and lock the doors and hole up in there with my fireplace and books, that’s all she wrote! I would have locked the doors and never heard or seen you.”
“Thank you,” was all Hayden could think to say. “Thank you.”
The man steered Hayden past the counter through an open doorway and into the back where he could feel heated air sting his face. It had a slight peppermint scent to it. But it was warm. Like a gift. It was then all his muscles began to shake and he felt himself start to fall.
The beautiful blond angel caught him under the arms. “You gotta get those frozen things off. Geez, how long were you out there? Are you insane?”
“I live on Starkwood. I thought I could make it.” Hayden heard himself speak as if from a long distance away. His voice sounded rough, as if he had rocks in his throat.
“Yeah, well, this came on fast. I guess it’s really bad out there. Starkwood, eh?” The guy talked fast, all bustle and energy, touching Hayden everywhere, tugging at his coat and his scarf.
Hayden leaned hard against the counter, limp and unhelpful, still trying to get his bearings.
“Have I seen you around, then? Do I know you?” the man asked. “You look sorta familiar, but I can’t tell. You’re pretty much encased in ice.”
“I don’t know.” Voice still rocky, still faraway.
“We gotta get you out of these frozen things. My name’s Matthew. We’ll get you by the fire and get something hot into you. Hey, you’re not some maniac serial killer, are you? Because it’s my private place back there. I don’t let just anyone in. Okay?”
Hayden’s brain was sluggish and he concentrated hard to try to keep up with everything Matthew said. “Okay. ‘M not a killer.” It came out in a rush of air.
The long coat came off and fell with an icy thunk to the kitchen floor. Hayden’s body nearly convulsed in violent shivers.
“What’s your name?” Matthew unwound the scarf and pulled it free. He began to tug at Hayden’s gloves.
“Hayden. I work about a mile up the street at Isocorp.”
“Yeah, I know the place. Why are you out so late? Everyone left here hours ago to get home before the storm.”
“I thought—I thought--” Hayden stopped, taking a deep breath. Warm. Coffee scent everywhere. Peppermint. He never dreamed he’d be grateful for the awful scent of peppermint. “I don’t know what I thought.”
Matthew sighed. “Hayden. Nice name.”
Everything hurt. His muscles poked like knives underneath his skin. His ribs were sharp cleavers. His stomach twisted into barbed wire knots. Everything cramped as he began to thaw. Hayden saw the floor start to get closer and hands were on him again, one in front of him, one behind, steadying.
“Come on, you need to get warm now. Can you walk? Lean on me.”
Matthew’s hair brushed against Hayden’s cheek. He was still too cold to feel it, but he saw the angel shine of the locks curling at the ends just above his shoulders. And he could smell the shampoo, something like fresh mowed grass in summer.
He stumbled once, reaching for Matthew, but Matthew already had him.
“You’re fine,” Matthew said. “No worries. I’ve finished up for the night, so I’ll just turn off the light here.” He reached out.
Hayden heard a click. The room darkened but for little lights still blinking on various devices on the back kitchen counters.
Matthew led him to another door. He truly was like an angel guiding Hayden to the light now, bringing him to less frightful climes. Hayden was not a religious man, but right now for a little warmth and comfort he might become one. And Matthew -- he was beautiful enough, ethereal with that sparkling gaze, so welcoming and trusting that Hayden was instantly grateful if not downright charmed. For that alone, he just might say a teensy prayer.
He’d been a fool today, and he was usually so organized and put together, the king of planning ahead. What had made him think he could have made it home in a blizzard? A twenty-five minute walk was an eternity if one was freezing to death.
The door to Matthew’s apartment led to glorious heat and friendly light. Everything seemed to undulate in hues of bronze, lavender, and comforting blue. It was like being instantly encased in a transparent room surrounded by warmth and softness. Safe from cold. Safe from death.
Golden shadows extended from the fireplace dancing on the blue walls. At his feet, a springy, blue and black rug spread out. Behind a coffee table made of glass and purple-painted wood sat a blue couch piled high with colorful pillows. In one corner a Christmas tree glinted, showing off its outfit of tinsel and ornaments. Everything in the room flashed and swirled, Hayden’s gaze trying to take it all in.
In another corner sat a dining room table and beyond that a very small personal kitchen.
Matthew drew Hayden to the couch, then scampered quickly away, leaving Hayden momentarily bereft, confused. In an instant, he was back with a stack of three blankets. He tossed them beside Hayden but kept one in his hands, unfolding it and placing it around Hayden’s shoulders. It was fleece and Hayden reached up with cold fingers to touch the edges, pulling it close. He was still so numb he could barely feel the weight.
“What we really need to do is get you warm first. I think maybe you should be closer to the fire.” Matthew leaned down and pushed the purple coffee table to one side. “Stretch out your feet.”
Hayden said, “Don’t go to so much trouble, please!” But his warmth-craving body obeyed, and the soles of his shoes instantly warmed when he slid his feet closer to the fire.
Matthew placed another blanket across his lap. “A hot drink is called for. Also, later, a hot shower if you can manage. Looks like you’ll be here for a while.”
A while. Hayden didn’t think of that but of course he could not go back out in this storm. Not until it passed. That might be a day or as much as two. It made him anxious to think of it, taking advantage of such a kind stranger. But if there was no choice…
Matthew grinned when he asked, “Do you like coffee? Obviously, I have everything you could want.”
Hayden gulped. If there was anything he hated more than peppermint, it was coffee. But his head wasn’t spinning too much to make him forget his manners. “Thank you.” He swallowed again. “Anything but coffee, please, if it’s not too much trouble.”
Matthew laughed. “Not a coffee drinker, eh? So that’s why I haven’t seen you around here even though you’re local. I’m good with faces and you looked familiar but I couldn’t place it. But now I do remember I have seen you walking by most mornings. You never stopped in. Don’t worry; I’m not offended.”
Light on his feet, sweetly energetic, Matthew spun toward the entrance of the shop and said, “I have something I think you might like.”
Hayden thought probably not. He wanted to tell him not to go to the trouble. He could warm up by the fire, drink some water. He’d be fine in no time. But Matthew practically skipped out of the room and back to the big kitchen they’d just walked through.
Only an asshole said no to an angel.
While Matthew was gone, Hayden pulled his warming feet up under the blanket and crouched like a captive animal, staring at the cavorting fire as it pushed itself over and over into the tiny explosions that gave it life.
This room was so different from his own living room. Where his was bare and sterile with minimal furnishings and no tree, all black and white to his perfectionist tastes, this room and all its colors felt inviting, embracing. It was as if the room wanted to reach out and hug him. And the Christmas tree, he had to grudgingly admit, was quite pretty. All the glimmering baubles and silver gilt drew the eye. But more, his gaze was drawn to a big snow globe on the glass coffee table which swam with light as it reflected every hue surrounding it.
The snow globe was as big as Hayden’s fist. It held within a scene of a snowman with a scarf, a pipe and a black hat sitting next to an evergreen. Flecks of white and silver glitter made up the snow drifts surrounding the scene.
Hayden felt the irony of that little scene deep within. He’d almost become a snowman himself tonight in a world that had been shaken a bit too hard.
His body jerked uncontrollably in more violent shaking as he stared at the fire through the snowy glass of the globe. He pushed himself forward until he slid off the couch and onto his knees on the plush rug beside the coffee table, bringing his whole body closer to the fire. The flames crackled. He reached out to the roaring heat.
Behind him, he heard bumping and thumping noises in the store’s kitchen, followed by a delightful scent. Something sweet and deep. Not coffee.
Within minutes Matthew returned with two cups brimming in whipped cream.
He offered one of the cups to Hayden, who reached out with his shaking hand.
“Whoa.” Matthew backed off. “Hayden, you’ll spill that. Let me just put it here until you’re ready.” He knelt and placed the cup on the flagstone hearth in front of the fire.
“Thank you.” Hayden stared at the cup, inhaling the sweet scent.
“It’s cocoa. There isn’t anyone I know who doesn’t like cocoa. Tell me you like cocoa,” Matthew said.
“I like cocoa.” Hayden’s teeth rattled still as he tried to talk, but he forced a smile. “But no peppermint sticks for stirring.”
“Got it. No peppermint. Honestly, it’s not my favorite, either.” Matthew held his own cup of cocoa to his face and sipped a little of the cream on top of the drink. He had a lovely mouth. In fact, he was lovely all over, wearing tight jeans and a thin white sweater with narrow ribbing down the front. His cheeks dimpled with his smiles. His blue eyes were framed by thick, dark lashes and dark eyebrows.
Was his hair color not natural, then? Hayden wondered dreamily, realizing he was staring. He didn’t care. All he cared about right now was getting the shaking to stop.
“You’ll be fine in a bit,” Matthew soothed. “But you’re not going anywhere soon.”
“I don’t want to inconvenience you.” Hayden was starting to feel anxious again.
“You aren’t. Honest. And I wouldn’t hear of sending you out in that storm again. I don’t have a spare room but I’ve got an airbed. We can set it up right here in front of the fire for you.”
“I don’t want you to do anything special,” Hayden said. “The couch is fine.”
Matthew shook his head. “It’s not a problem. Besides, we’re practically neighbors, right? And neighbors help each other out.”
Matthew came close to drape a second blanket around Hayden, and Hayden smelled him again, all summery and serene, like a day in the sun.
Hayden wondered how such a friendly, upbeat guy lived alone in such a tiny place. How he hadn’t been snatched up by a girlfriend by now. Or anyone. He seemed so nice. And as Hayden watched him move about to poke the fire and turn on the lights of the Christmas tree, he noticed he was quite pretty for a man. He had been noticing it ever since his vision had cleared.
“Thank you for saving me from freezing to death. I owe you,” Hayden said.
“You don’t owe me a thing. Like I said, I had no idea the weather had gotten so bad so quickly. I’d been in the back for nearly an hour when I heard the bell. I thought maybe some last minute customer didn’t see my closed sign.”
“Do you own this place?” Hayden asked.
“I do. Well, half, that is. I run it. I have a partner but he lives in Crete.”
“Greece?”
“Yeah. He moved back there and left me to run things. A few years ago we each invested half in this place thinking we’d work it together. But that didn’t pan out. I can’t afford to buy him out and he keeps threatening that he’s going to force me to sell.”
“I’m sorry.” Hayden wondered if the partner had been more to Matthew than a business associate. If there had been some sort of dramatic split up.
“Yeah, me, too. I really do love this little shop. I’ve never had anything to call my own before.”
“It’s… uh… nice.”
Matthew grinned at him through blond bangs. “But you never dropped in.”
Slowly, Hayden shook his head.
“Because you don’t like coffee,” Matthew supplied.
The shivering was getting better. Hayden was able to feel his skin again though the tingles of pain remained. “Fair to say,” he replied, voice low.
“That’s all right.” Matthew hopped up. “Well, Hayden, I’m glad you finally dropped by.” Then he laughed.
Hayden could only watch him, his sprite-like charm, his upbeat demeanor. Matthew, he thought. I am very lucky I did finally drop by.
His Amazing Summer And Christmas by Xander Collins
Chapter One
Brent
“Babe, come out of there. This is ridiculous. They’re not going to bite you.”
“Don’t call me ridiculous, Holden! I told you, I don’t want anyone to see me. Especially not him!”
“What’s the big deal, Brent? So you know Professor Dylan. I’m sure he’s gonna be really happy for you.”
“You don’t get it. He knows my dad. They’re friends. If he sees me he’s gonna tell him.”
“Dude, in case you haven’t noticed, you’re in labor. You’re dad’s gonna find out you’re pregnant when the baby comes. I still can’t even believe you haven’t told him.”
“I said I’d do it in my own time, Holden. Please don’t push me.”
“Well, if you were planning on telling him before the birth, your time is just about up. I’m not trying to push you. I love you, Brent. I want what’s best for you, and for our baby. And the thing is, I really think what’s best is for to tell your dad. He loves you.”
I took a deep breath, which was almost impossible while I was crouched down in a cramped storage cupboard on Holden’s Treat Boat. “Okay, okay,” I grunted. “I’ll deal with it when we get to the clinic.”
“Thank you. Now will you please get out of there before our baby pops out in a cupboard full of empty snack boxes?”
Holden held out his hand and helped me crawl onto the deck of the boat. Shane was sitting calmly with a blanket wrapped around his body and his head, but he had a pained look on his face—which I could totally identify with. My contractions weren’t too close together yet, but when they came all I felt were sharp waves, like a bunch of knives poking into my belly.
Once I made it across the deck of the rocking boat Holden sat me down on the bench seat next to Shane and gave me a blanket. But he didn’t hand it to me. He wrapped it around my body and my head, just like how Shane had his. I looked up at Holden and was annoyed as hell when I saw that he was trying not to laugh.
“What?” I said under my breath.
“Nothing, babe. You look adorable.”
“Holden!” I said, trying to sound mad through a clenched jaw and in a whisper. I started to get up again, but he held me firmly in place on the bench.
“Look, just relax. You’re gonna be a lot more comfortable here.” He kissed my forehead and then my lips, which helped a little to calm the irritation I was feeling for every single thing on the planet.
“Besides,” he said. “This way I can keep my eye on you.”
I knew Holden had said that to make it sound like he cared about me, but all it really did was cause my irritation to intensify again. I wasn’t a child that needed watching over. But before I could say any that, Holden stood up and took the wheel of the boat over from Professor Dylan.
I was definitely not happy about that, because Professor Dylan immediately came over to check on Shane, and I was forced to talk to him. It was awkward and embarrassing, but I guess I managed to handle it okay. He even offered to call my dad once we made it to the clinic, which was fine with me because I was still dreading having to tell him what was going on.
I knew I was being a total wuss. I was having Professor Dylan do what I should have done a long time ago. But if you knew my dad, you’d totally understand. Even that first morning—after I’d spent the night with Holden—I couldn’t tell my dad the truth about us, and about the fact that, even then, I knew I was pregnant. He just wouldn’t have understood. I knew he probably would have forbidden me from seeing Holden … or something even worse.
But I’m probably just confusing you, because I totally skipped over that part of the story … so if you really want all the dramatic details of how I wound up pregnant … on a boat … cruising down the river … in December … here goes.
It was a beautiful summer night. My dad had his yacht moored on the Willamina river and he was throwing a party on board. Well, actually a fundraiser that was “guaranteed to win him another four years as governor of Portville,” to quote him word for word.
“No monkey business,” he said. “You’re representing me tonight, son. I don’t want to find you with your head in the toilet, or passed out in a pile of stuffed animals.” Another direct quote from my dad.
“That was when I was twelve!”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Brent. I would never have allowed my twelve-year-old son to consume alcohol.”
“I mean the stuffed animal thing. And that other night with the toilet was a couple years ago. I don’t understand why you keep bringing it up.”
“Because it wasn’t an isolated event. I’ve found you inebriated more times that I care to count. Also, because I expect more from you. I can’t have you getting drunk and ruining my events, son. If your brother were still with us he would already be following in my shoes. Hell, he might even be running against me next term. Bradly would be doing everything he could to make his father proud.”
“I’m sorry I’m not Bradly! And I’m sorry that doing what I want with my life doesn’t make you proud! Too bad I’m not a robot you could program. Then you’d be super happy with all my life decisions!”
“Brent! Enough! We won’t have this discussion again. I need you to shape up and greet the guests tonight. I don’t ask you for much. I know you have no intention of getting into politics and making a name for yourself in Portville, but the least you could do is help me out a little. Make sure the guests are happy and taken care of tonight. Smile and greet people. Maybe even take around a tray of hors d'oeuvres. Make yourself useful.”
“Great, now you want me to be your waiter.”
“Brent,” he said with a clenched jaw as he stared into the full length mirror in front of him. His face was turning beet red and I was pretty sure he had totally stopped breathing. He looked like he was about to have a coronary, as usual. “Just do as I ask. For once, don’t make me argue with you.”
“Make you? Yeah, right. Dad I’m twenty-three and you still treat me like a kid.”
My dad turned around abruptly and glared at me. “Well, then act your goddamned age! Stop screwing around, and make something of yourself! One of these days you’re going to have to move out of the governor’s mansion—a place you’ve been damned lucky enough to call home for the last four years, by the way—and you’re going to have to make your own way. You can’t live off of your father forever, you know. Or off one of those alphas you meet at the clubs you go to. So help me god, Brent, if you get pregnant on one of your nights of carousing—“
“I won’t get pregnant, Dad—“
“And wind up on the cover of The Oregonian—“
“That’s not gonna happen, Dad!”
“I’ll cut you off so fast it’ll make your head spin!”
“Dad! Jesus Christ! Fine, I’ll go hand out food to your special guests! I’ll be your waiter, or your indentured servant, or whatever! You’re the boss around here, I’m fully aware of that fact! Just stop yelling at me!”
“And will you put on a tie, for crissake!”
Those were the last words I heard as I stomped off and slammed the door. I was so tired of being treated like a second class citizen by my own father. I had always come second to my older brother Bradly. He was an alpha and he had graduated from Portville State with a law degree and was working his way up in politics when he had his ski accident.
That was four years ago.
I had just graduated from high school and I’d always looked up to him. I was devastated when my dad gave me the news. And of course my dad, being an alpha himself and never showing any emotions, gave me hell for crying. He said one day of mourning was plenty, that I was taking it too far crying for a week, and in front of people, no less. I mean, it was at the funeral. It’s not like I was making a scene wailing in the middle of the town square. So I basically had to suck it up and hide my feelings.
Now that Bradly was gone he had become my dad’s fallen hero, and I was the screw-up he was stuck with. My dad always made it clear that he was disappointed I had no interest in politics, and always criticized my ‘lack of direction,’ whenever I talked about taking classes. He knew how much I hated these fundraisers, but he still made me attend. It’s like he got off on torturing me or something.
I put on a tie and went out to greet the damned guests. I put on my most fake smile and spoke in my most disgustingly cheerful voice for at least an hour before I couldn’t take it anymore. When I saw that my dad was distracted and deep in a conversation—about something boring and stupid, I was sure—I grabbed a fifth of Johnnie Walker Blue and found a quiet spot at the back of the top deck.
I’d only planned on drinking, like, a quarter of the bottle, but things got a little out of hand, and before I knew it, half of it was gone. I knew I’d be totally screwed if my dad saw me like this, so I snuck off the boat and wandered down the pier a little ways. I brought the bottle with me, but I really wasn’t interested in getting alcohol poisoning and having to get my stomach pumped in the ER, which I was embarrassed to admit had happened a couple times in the last year. So I walked over to the railing and tossed the bottle into the river.
The reflection of the lights from the nearby boats on the water looked so amazing, so I got up on the first rung of the barrier so I could see better. I knew I was being kind of stupid standing on a narrow bar when I was this tipsy, but it was fun. I’d even slipped a little getting up, because the pier was wet and I had dress shoes on. But I managed to steady myself, so I was feeling pretty secure in my ability to stay balanced on the railing.
I teetered back and forth a little, then decided to get up on the top rung. I got both of my feet up onto the railing, which had a flat surface and felt pretty secure, then I slowly let go and stood up. When I was standing completely straight I spread my arms out wide and laughed. It felt amazing to be standing above the water with the stars and lights reflecting in the ripples and waves, and to feel the wind caressing my skin.
I kept my arms spread out and I closed my eyes like I was Kate Winslet on The Titanic. I knew I was being totally irresponsible, and that I could have easily fallen over, but I didn’t care. It felt good. I felt amazing, actually. Like I was free and that nothing, not even my dad, could bring me down.
In that moment, I imagined I was back on the yacht and that my dad could see me. I knew all his guests would be gasping and freaking out, and I was sure he would have a thing or two to say as well. But it wouldn’t matter, because nothing he did could affect me when I was flying and the sea air was spraying in my face.
I laughed at the thought of my dad and a bunch of hoity-toity rich people freaking out at their stupid party while I ignored them and did my solo Titanic reenactment. I was so into my fantasy that I lost my balance for a second, but I opened my eyes and caught myself just before I fell over. Then I felt someone grab my legs and I started to fall again, only this time I couldn’t stop myself.
“Wait … whoa … oh shit!” I yelled.
I had absolutely no idea what happened. All I knew was someone had grabbed me and I was falling forward, head first into the freezing water of the Willamina river.
The Christmas Accomplice by Hank Edwards
Chapter One
Everywhere Welton looked, he saw snow. Miles and miles and miles of snow. As the lodge shuttle growled along the winding mountain blacktop road—much too close to the drop-off for Welton’s peace of mind—he couldn’t help but be dazzled by the sparkling, shimmering muchness of snow. It had gathered in branch-bending heaps on the boughs of pine trees, and been plowed into dirty but somehow still beautiful mounds along the shoulder of the road. The seemingly endless white stood out against the brilliant blue of the cloudless sky, leaving him breathlessly impressed. Well, the view and the altitude, most likely. Whatever the reason, the view outside the shuttle’s window made a spot in the center of his chest ache with longing.
Just a week before Christmas, and he was about to arrive at the Snowcapped Mountain Lodge and Resort. On his own. He would be spending Christmas alone, but that was fine. He’d done that for years now, even when he was with Dean. This time, however, instead of holing up in his apartment like a hermit, he was going to spend the holidays at a mountain resort. For seven days, he’d rest and relax and enjoy all the activities the lodge had to offer.
Or, he was going to try his best to rest and relax and enjoy them. Okay, maybe just one or two of the activities.
Back in February when he and Dean made this reservation, everything between them had been fine and on track. At least Welton had convinced himself that everything was fine and on track. Now, with several months of quiet and solitary nights filled with too much thinking, lubricated by maybe a couple glasses of wine, Welton could see that there had been problems right from the start. What Welton had originally chalked up to an “opposites attract” relationship had actually proven to be their demise. It had taken three years for them to figure it out, but in early March they had both finally admitted what they had been holding on to in their relationship wasn’t enough to keep them together.
Welton had found a small one bedroom apartment across town, closer to his office for those rare times he had to go there in person, and packed up his things. Dean had helped him move into the new place, which Welton had originally thought had been kind of him to do. But in the weeks that followed, he’d started to wonder if Dean had just wanted to get him out that much faster. He especially reconsidered his thinking after seeing pictures Dean posted out in the bars with his arm around attractive men. Each picture was of a different man, but all of them looked the same: ridiculously good-looking, shirtless, with an open and laughing expression that seemed to be asking the question, What’s next?
Welton couldn’t help noticing none of them wore glasses or had brown hair that just laid across his head no matter how much he tried to style it. And none of them looked like they wished they were anywhere except the place they were at that exact moment.
None of them were at all like Welton.
After their time together, Dean had done what Welton had come to think of as a “brand relaunch” and reclaimed his status as an A-type extrovert to the gay population in and around Detroit. And that population had apparently grown in leaps and bounds since they had been together. And it seemed to have gotten a lot younger than Welton’s thirty-one, as well.
Sometimes Type A would only fit together with another Type A.
The shuttle driver slowed, and the shift in the transmission brought Welton back to the scenery and the moment at hand. It wouldn’t be long now until he finally stepped off the shuttle. This trip was going to be his turning point. He was going to work hard on making changes to himself during this time. He was going to participate in some of the lodge activities, and from the emails he’d received, there were many of them. He was going to talk to people he didn’t know and push himself so far out of his comfort zone it would become his norm. After this trip, he wasn’t going to be quiet and nerdy Welton who thought fun equaled reading science fiction and playing strategy board games. He would be outgoing and conversational Welton who liked to change up his activities and experiences.
Neither he nor Dean had remembered the Christmas trip they’d already paid for until they’d each received the first of many reminder emails at the end of September. Dean had texted Welton and asked him what he thought about the trip. There’d been some back and forth, with each of them telling the other to take it, and then saying they would take it, and finally Welton had said he would take the trip and send Dean his half of the payment after New Year’s when he’d receive his bonus at work, and that had been the end of it.
And Dean had posted more pictures of himself out and about enjoying the nightlife.
A quiet squeal of brakes and the loud ticking of a turn signal had Welton craning his head to see around the very tall woman in the seat before him. The shuttle driver was waiting for a traffic light to change so he could turn into a driveway. A sign topped by snow told all passers-by this was the entrance to the Snowcapped Mountain Lodge and Resort, and Welton’s heart beat a little faster. His palms felt a bit sweaty, and he wiped them on his khaki pants.
He didn’t need to be nervous. This was his chance to make positive changes in his life. He was in control of how he filled his days and the attitude he chose to face them. The time he spent here at the resort would be the starting point for a better, more outgoing lifestyle going forward. It was all up to him.
The light changed, and the driver eased the shuttle along the winding drive. The other passengers chatted excitedly about the beautiful grounds and the ski lifts lining the background. They sounded so happy and excited, Welton felt alone in a crowd again. It made him think about middle school gym class, when he was the odd kid out with the glasses and baggy shorts, sitting on the bleachers until some bigger and stronger kid was forced to pick him to be on his team.
Even though Welton was traveling on his own, he didn’t need to be lonely, he reminded himself. He had the opportunity to talk to people. He’d done such a thing in the past; it was how he and Dean had first met at a party thrown by a mutual friend. All he needed was to learn how to do it again.
Dean. Unsurprisingly, Welton had been thinking about him quite often the past week as he’d packed for and eventually embarked on the trip. While he and Dean hadn’t been perfect together, they’d always found something to talk about. Despite Welton’s somewhat reclusive tendencies, he’d enjoyed the connection he’d felt with Dean.
The young man sitting beside him suddenly leaned into Welton’s personal space to peer out the shuttle window, startling him out of his thoughts.
“Look at all that glorious powder,” the passenger whispered in awe.
He was part of a larger group with an uneven number, so he’d been forced to sit beside Welton. He’d been turned away the entire ride from the airport to talk to his friends across the aisle, so this was the first time he had spoken to Welton. Beer tainted the man’s breath, and a strong smell of evergreen body spray wafted off him every time he moved. Good Lord, was the guy trying to attract elves?
Determined to make a go of his change of attitude, however, Welton managed what he hoped looked like a genuine smile and said, “Yeah, it’s really something.”
The guy sat back, thankfully, but the evergreen smell lingered. “You ski, bro?”
“Oh, you know, a bit,” Welton said, then hurriedly added, “Bro.” He only held eye contact with his seat mate for a fleeting second before having to look away. The guy was way too handsome for Welton’s comfort.
“They’ve got great powder up here,” the guy said. “On top of a really solid base.”
“That’s what I’ve heard,” Welton said. “The base is, like, the best base all around. It’s like if this place were a jazz musician, it would be Count Basie, it’s got so much base.”
Silence greeted his attempt at humor, and Welton risked a glance at the guy to find him frowning.
“What’s that even mean?”
Welton was saved from having to respond as the shuttle eased to a stop under a porte cochere, and the doors at the front rattled open. All the other passengers stood up and surged into the aisle, Welton’s handsome neighbor included. Welton remained in his seat until the others had exited before he got up and stepped off.
After the warmth of the shuttle, the cold air stung when it touched his exposed skin. He rubbed his hands together and turned to where a couple of young men hauled bags out of the back of the shuttle. One of them smiled and pointed toward the entrance.
“Go on inside and check in. We’ll bring in the bags, and you can grab yours after.”
Welton thanked the man and approached the doors, which slid open as he neared. A second entrance contained a revolving door to help keep the cold from rushing into the lobby each time the outer doors opened. Welton pushed through it and stopped to look around the lobby.
It was different than he’d anticipated. He’d browsed some of the pictures on the website, but hadn’t paid much attention to the lobby, and he was happy to discover very little in the way of attempts at rustic charm. Some natural wood accents mixed in with tasteful stone and concrete gave the place a more modern feel. Comfortable chairs were arranged in groups around a large circular fire pit, but Welton was happy to see single chairs placed about the lobby as well. Perhaps not everyone who checked into the resort was an extrovert. Across the lobby from the registration desk was what looked to be a softly lit and cozy bar, and signs above hallways branching off in different directions indicated the way to dining areas as well as the fitness center, spa, and pool.
He queued up behind the other shuttle riders. All of them wore parkas or ski clothing, quite different than his khakis and cotton-blend pullover topped by an old winter coat he’d worn for over a decade. The majority of the other guests also looked more fit than he could ever hope to be, even under their winter clothing. Not that he was unfit. He just wasn’t their level of fit.
Early on in their relationship, Dean had asked about his workout routine. Welton had said he took brisk walks, then sat feeling foolish as he’d waited for Dean to stop laughing.
“Sir? Are you checking in?”
Welton looked up and discovered he’d shuffled along in line automatically and was now next up. Turning his thoughts away from Dean, he approached the young woman’s station.
“Yes, I am. I’m Welton Monroe, and I should have a cabin reservation.”
“The cabins are very popular this time of year. You must have made your reservation early.”
“We did, indeed. I mean, I did.”
“I see here you’re in the Spruce grouping, cabin five. That’s a very nice one, with a loft master bedroom and a very nice sitting area with a fireplace.” She tapped on her keyboard. “And you’ll be with us until the day after Christmas. We’re glad you chose to spend your holiday here at Snowcapped.”
“Yes, well, thank you.” Small talk always made him uncomfortable. Many times he responded with short statements because he didn’t want to risk boring people. And he never really knew what to say to common pleasantries, so he usually fell back on the response he’d learned attending church with his parents: And also with you. Which either made people laugh or give him a funny look and walk away.
“Here are your key cards.” She tucked two plastic entry cards into a small paper folder where she’d written his cabin group and number and handed it to him with a smile. “Our team has lots of fun events planned for the holidays. I hope you enjoy your stay with us, Mr. Welton.”
“Mr. Monroe.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry. Mr. Monroe. You’ll find your bags by the entrance. One of the bellhops is driving newly arrived guests to their cabins in an enclosed cart.” She looked past him and gestured for the next person in line.
Welton shifted position to catch her eye again, cutting off the next customer. “I’m sorry, drive me to my cabin?”
“Yes, it’s a short distance down the road.”
“A short distance? How far is it? Will I be able to walk here for meals or will I need to summon a ride?”
“It’s really not that far,” she said with a smile that looked as if she might have practiced it in a mirror. “It’s only a courtesy right now since you have luggage.”
She looked at the next customer, and Welton knew he’d been firmly dismissed. He turned toward the main entrance where a group of people were just leaving, following a young man he assumed was the cart driver. Welton approached the few remaining pieces of luggage and separated his two bags from the others. After several failed attempts to maneuver the bags through the revolving door, he stopped and let out an exasperated huff.
“Can I be of some help?”
Welton looked over his shoulder, a smart remark dying on the tip of his tongue at the sight of the man. He was tall with dark hair a bit wavy on top, and a trim beard that matched. Welton noticed the man had a slight overbite and wondered if he’d grown the beard to disguise it. It didn’t look bad on him, and actually it made him seem more approachable. A dark green blazer with Snowcapped Mountain Lodge and Resort embroidered on the left in yellow thread looked a little short in the sleeves for him but exposed the dark hair on his forearms.
“I suppose so,” Welton said. “I could take one bag through the revolving door, and perhaps you could bring the other?”
The man pressed a handicap access button and stepped back as a wing door Welton had failed to notice eased open. “Does that help?”
“Well, where’s the challenge in that?” Welton pulled both his bags through the door, saying over his shoulder, “Thank you.”
“Enjoy your stay,” the man called after him.
An enclosed golf cart was just pulling out from under the porte cochere, loaded with other passengers who’d been on the shuttle from the airport. Welton shivered in the biting wind as he stared after it, then he turned to go back inside. The man who had opened the door for him stood a short way behind him, blocking his path.
“Oh. Hello,” Welton said. “I didn’t hear you come outside.”
“I think the cart drivers have all left for the time being. Would you like me to drive you?”
“Are you licensed to do that?”
“Drive a modified golf cart?” He grinned, and Welton noticed how it made the corners of his deep set and warm brown eyes crinkle. “Pretty sure I can handle it. Unless you’d prefer to wait for one of them to return?”
“No, no. I would like to get to the cabin and unpack. I’d appreciate a ride. Thank you.”
He watched the man stride off to where a number of the carts were parked. Moments later, he pulled up in front of Welton and hopped out to load his bags in the back. Welton climbed inside and became instantly aware of the man’s scent. It was much better than his seat mate on the shuttle: musky and earthy with a wisp of woodsmoke. Welton’s heart pounded and his belly tightened. He was sensitive to smell, and this man smelled like sex and comfort.
“Where to?”
“I’d like to go to my cabin and get settled a bit, if that’s okay.”
He grinned, and it was sexy and kind of sweet and not at all condescending, and Welton thought this cart ride might simultaneously be the best and agonizingly longest few minutes of his entire life. “I don’t know which cabin you’re in.”
“Oh!” Welton’s face could have melted. He arched up off the seat to check his pants pockets for the folder with the key. When he realized what a sexual position he’d assumed, he blushed even more and dropped his butt back into the cushion. “I don’t recall the number. I have the folder and keys here somewhere.”
His entire head may as well have been the sun.
“If I may?” The man slowly, carefully extended a hand toward him as if Welton were a strange dog that might bite. He plucked the long, narrow paper folder the clerk had given him from an outer coat pocket and checked what had been written on the front. “Spruce group, cabin five.”
Welton looked at him for a moment as he accepted the folder back. “Yes, that sounds right.”
The man put the cart in motion, and Welton stared out his side of the soft plastic fastened around the seats to keep out the cold.
“First time visiting Snowcapped?”
“Yes. First time.”
“Do you like to ski?”
“Does it look like I ski?” Welton heard the sharp edge in his tone and made a face. “I’m sorry. It was an early morning and a long flight.”
“No worries,” the man said. “You’re in good shape. You’d do great at skiing. Where’d you come in from?”
“Detroit.”
“Motor City.”
“Yes, that’s it.”
“You work in automotive?”
“In a roundabout way. I perform data analysis on one of the manufacturer websites.”
“Tracking site visits and where people go on the site and what they click?”
Welton glanced at the man. “That’s right.”
“My sister does something similar.” He smiled, and Welton wondered if his overbite would make a difference in the way he kissed. “She said it’s like spying, but different.”
“I don’t know if I’d say it like that, but I understand her point. It’s an expanding and popular field these days.”
“That’s what I hear.” He was quiet for a short time, then asked, “Do you like being out in the snow very much at all, or are you more of a fireside type?”
“I’m sure people I know would say I’m a fireside type.”
“What about you?” He gave Welton a very direct and lingering look before turning back to the road. “What would you say you are?”
“Well, normally I would sit by the fire and read or maybe…” He caught himself before he could mention board and strategy games, and instead said, “Talk about current events and popular culture.”
Popular culture? What does that mean? You know absolutely nothing about popular culture.
“I like that, too. I tend to go back and forth. Some days I want to be out on the slopes or snowshoeing through the woods after a heavy snowfall, and other days I want to be inside by the fire, talking and playing cards or something.”
That perked Welton’s ears up. Then he chastised himself for it. He’d literally just arrived for his first vacation in years, and he would not allow himself to latch on to the first male employee to pay him some attention. Especially since he had no inclination if the man was gay. He was not that desperate.
Aren’t you?
“Oh, darn it, I passed the turn to your cabin. Sorry about that.”
“I’m sorry, I was talking too much and distracted you.”
“No, it’s not that at all, really. It’s nice to talk with someone about more than just skiing and how hot and available the women are around here.”
Ah, well, that puts a wooden stake through the heart of any possibility the guy might be gay.
“It won’t take long to get back to your cabin group,” the man said. “I’ll just loop around through the Fir group here.”
“Fur group?” Welton said. “As in animal fur?”
The man smirked. “No. Fir as in the pine tree. All the cabin groupings are named after trees.”
“I see. Of course.”
“But now I’m going to think of it as the group where they put all the guests who are bears.”
Welton couldn’t think of how to respond, so he kept quiet. The man knew what a bear was, did that mean he was gay? So many people knew that term these days, though, it wasn’t a true indicator. And what did it matter, anyway? Even if he was gay, someone like this guy would never want someone like him.
And how far was his cabin from the resort’s main building anyway? Was he going to need a dog sled at meal times? He desperately hoped the ride was over soon, but also never wanted it to end.
“Here we are, cabin five of the Spruce group.” He slowed the cart to a gentle stop, and they sat looking at the dark wood of the A-frame cottage. “That’s a nice cabin.”
“You’ve been inside?”
“Not this particular one, but I’ve been inside another one like it. Really spacious but still cozy.”
They stepped out, and the man removed Welton’s bags from the back of the cart. A small well-shoveled walkway led from the blacktop to the cabin door.
“Thank you for the ride. I don’t think I would have found my way here otherwise.”
“I’m sure you would have figured it out. You seem pretty capable to me.” He removed his glove and extended a hand. “I’m Reece Donaghy.”
Welton did the same, savoring the warm, slightly damp feel of Reece’s palm and the grip of his long fingers. “Welton Monroe. Thanks again for the ride.”
“You’re welcome, Welton.” Reece released his hand, and Welton curled his fingers in tight to try and hold a bit of warmth from his touch. “I hope to see you up at the main building for the activities.”
“I’m sure I’ll be up there at some point.”
Reece stood a moment longer, then ducked his head in a quick nod, gave a single wave, and got back in the cart. Welton wheeled his bags to the door and used one of the keycards to open it. Behind him he could hear the quiet hum of the cart’s engines and the crunch of ice melt under the tires as Reece drove away.
“And I arrive at my expensive and long-planned vacation cabin all alone. As usual.”
Welton stepped inside and let the door close behind him. The cabin was warm and quiet. Precisely arranged comfortable furniture faced a stone fireplace. Beyond that, Welton could see a small dining table and an open kitchen, with granite countertops and stainless steel appliances. A bathroom with a shower stall was set in a small alcove off the kitchen.
Steps ascended to the open loft master bedroom, nicely hidden from the main level behind a half wall. Welton carried his bags up the stairs and smiled sadly at the king-sized bed. He and Dean had made due with a queen mattress. He was going to feel lost in that bed. A peek into the en suite bathroom revealed a large tub and a walk-in shower behind glass blocks, plus a double sink vanity. Well, he could use a different sink every other day to shave and brush his teeth.
Welton removed his coat and kicked off his shoes, then got busy unpacking his clothes. When he traveled, he liked to put his things in the same drawers as back home. It was easier for him to find things and helped him feel more settled.
Downstairs, the lock clicked and the door swung open. Someone entered the cabin, pulling a bag behind, and stomped snow off their boots.
Thinking it might be a housekeeper, Welton peered over the railing, ready to tell the woman he was inside.
The words evaporated in his mouth.
Dean stood inside the door, pulling off what looked to be a brand new down coat and looking around with a smile and patches of red in his cheeks that made him even more handsome than the day they had met.
Dean looked up and locked eyes with Welton. His smile sagged into shock.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Dean said.
Christmas Cracker Collection by Jay Northcote
Cold Feet
Afterwards, Sam denied he’d started it.
He’d been aiming for the tree behind Ryan, not at Ryan himself, he insisted. But whatever its intended target, Sam’s snowball hit Ryan perfectly on the back of his neck, exploding on impact and sending powdery snow down the gap between beanie and jacket.
After that, mayhem ensued. Snowballs flying as they ran and ducked, laughing and trash-talking each other. They were in a small copse with a few trees and bushes for cover, but as soon as one of them ventured out in search of a new patch of snow to make missiles with, the other would take the opportunity to release a fresh barrage of snowballs.
Finally, frustrated by Sam’s surprisingly good aim, Ryan reverted to his rugby skills and tackled Sam, knocking him full length into the snow with an “Oomph!” Of course, Ryan went down too. But by then he was too wet and cold to care.
They were on a slope, and the impact caused them to roll together, over and over until Ryan wondered if they were going to turn into a giant snowball like characters in a cartoon. But they finally came to rest, panting and laughing as the slope levelled out.
Sam ended up pinned beneath Ryan, laughing out loud. He’d lost his hat at some point in their tumble, and his hair was in his eyes. Snow crystals had caught in it, glinting in the sunlight. His smile was wide and infectious, and Ryan laughed too, dazzled for a moment. Then Sam’s gaze drifted over Ryan’s shoulder and focused on something above them.
“Is that mistletoe?” he asked.
Ryan pushed himself up and offered a hand to Sam to help him back onto his feet. Then he tilted his head back to squint at the spherical tangle of leaves in the bare branches of the tree above them. “I think so.”
Ryan met Sam’s eyes again, then realised he was still holding his hand. They each had gloves on, and Ryan wished they didn’t. He wanted to feel Sam’s skin. They stared at each other for a moment, and Sam licked his lips. They were pink, a little chapped from the cold, and Ryan’s gaze locked onto them. His heart surged, and panicky heat flooded him.
Justin’s phone chimed with a text, interrupting Sean’s train of thought.
Justin picked up his phone to read the message. “Ugh.” He put the phone back down without typing a reply and ran his hands through his hair.
“What’s up?”
Justin sighed. “It’s our work Christmas party next weekend. I’ve already got a ticket, and nearly everyone in the office goes, but it’s for partners as well. One of my co-workers, Jess, is bugging me to come, but I can’t face it. I bet Andy’s going to bring his new boyfriend. I know he’s a shit and I shouldn’t let him get to me, but the thought of him parading around with my replacement, and me being there on my own, isn’t very appealing.”
“Is it too late to find someone to take?”
“No, they don’t need final numbers till Monday.”
“Well, then. Take someone else and flirt like crazy in front of him. Show him you can do better and that you’ve already moved on.”
“But I’m not ready to date. It’s only been two weeks, and I’m still at the feeling-sorry-for-myself stage.”
“I’ll go with you,” Sean offered. “I could be your date. We could pretend we’ve got together and are a couple now.”
“Yeah?” Justin looked thoughtful. “Are you sure?”
Duh. It would hardly be much of a sacrifice to flirt with Justin all night. It would actually be a relief not to have to hide the way he felt for a change.
“Sure,” Sean replied. “I think I can manage to fake that I’m arse-over-tit infatuated with you. As long as it’s only for a few hours.”
“Gee, thanks.” Justin rolled his eyes. “You really know how to make an already-wounded ego feel better. But if you’re up for it, we should totally do it. Andy was always jealous of you before you went away. He saw you as competition because we lived together and were so close. I’d love to see his face when I walk in with you on my arm. I think he’ll hate it even if he’s moved on.”
“Okay.” Sean rubbed his hands together, excited at the prospect of getting to piss off Andy. “Let’s do it! Text your friend Jess back and tell her you’re in—with a hot date.”
A Family for Christmas
The toast had popped, and when Rudy went to get the butter out of the fridge, he automatically straightened the photo of his family in its magnetic frame, a shot of them from last Christmas at the dinner table, all wearing paper hats and raising their glasses at the camera. He froze, staring at their smiling faces, as another memory from last night came back to him.
Oh my God. Had he really invited Zac home for Christmas, or was that a dream? Nope, Rudy was pretty sure it was real now the details were coming back to him. But the weirdest part was that Zac had said yes. Maybe he just said yes to shut Rudy up and was hoping he wouldn’t remember.
“You all right there?”
Zac’s voice made him jump guiltily. “Yeah, sorry. Miles away. I’m in a bit of a daze this morning.” He got the butter out and put it on the kitchen table. On autopilot, he gathered plates, knives, spreads and the coffee. Zac was still standing awkwardly in the doorway. “Have a seat.”
As they poured, spread, ate, and drank, the silence between them grew until Rudy wanted to hack through it with the butter knife. He had no idea where to begin, but they needed to leave for work in half an hour and he couldn’t leave things like this. Rudy had to know what was going on.
Was Zac seriously planning on coming home with him for Christmas? Rudy didn’t regret issuing the invitation, other than how hopelessly needy and overeager it made him look. He liked Zac—okay, he fancied him too, but that wasn’t the point—and he didn’t like the idea of Zac spending Christmas alone. Nobody should spend Christmas alone unless they really wanted to, and Rudy had got the feeling that Zac didn’t. Zac’s excuses about being antisocial hadn’t rung true after how he’d opened up last night, and his defensiveness had come off as protesting too much.
Rudy began tentatively. “So… um. About this Christmas plan….”
“Look, it’s okay. You were drunk. I’m sure you didn’t really mean to invite me home with you for Christmas. Don’t worry about it.”
“No! That’s not what I meant.” Rudy drew in a breath to give him the courage to be honest. “I did mean it. Okay, yes, I was drunk, and I wouldn’t have had the guts to ask you otherwise. But I’d really like it if you came.” He met Zac’s dark eyes and willed him to believe him. “It would be cool to get to know you better, and my family would be totally fine with it. I don’t like to think about you being on your own on Christmas Day—unless you really want to be.”
Zac shrugged, his shoulders tense and eyes wary. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”
A wave of pity swept over Rudy, but he instinctively knew that if he let that show, it would be a mistake. Instead, he shrugged. “Well the offer’s there. It’s your call.”
Zac took another bite of his toast and chewed slowly while Rudy waited. He could almost hear the gears turning in Zac’s head as he weighed his options. Finally he nodded. “I’ll come.”
Happiness flooded Rudy and he couldn’t stop a huge grin from spreading over his face. “Brilliant. I’ll phone Mum later.”
They stared at each other for a moment, and then Zac smiled too—a little uncertainly, but Rudy would take what he could get from Zac. His gaze dropped to Zac’s lips, and something twisted in his chest as he thought about kissing him last night. They really ought to talk about that too, but Rudy was afraid that if he brought it up, Zac would insist it was a drunken mistake. As long as the kiss went unmentioned, Rudy’s hope could live on.
Drew Marvin Frayne is the pen name of a long-time author (Lambda Literary Award finalist) who is finally taking the opportunity to indulge his more sentimental and romantic side. When not writing the author lives with his husband of 20+ years and their dog of 10+ years in a brick home in the Northeast.
Wendy Rathbone has had dozens of stories published in anthologies such as: Hot Blood, Writers of the Future (second place,) Bending the Landscape, Mutation Nation, A Darke Phantastique, and more. The book "Dreams of Decadence Presents: Wendy Rathbone and Tippi Blevins" contains a large collection of her vampire stories and poems. Over 500 of her poems have been published in various anthologies and magazines. She won first place in the Anamnesis Press poetry chapbook contest with her book "Scrying the River Styx." Her poems have been nominated for the Science Fiction Poetry Association's Rhysling award at least a dozen times.
Xander Collins write super sexy, romantic omegaverse stories with the warm fuzzies, hot dudes, and cuddly babies we all crave.
Hank Edwards has been writing gay fiction for more than twenty years. He has published over thirty novels and dozens of short stories. His writing crosses many sub-genres, including romance, rom-com, contemporary, paranormal, suspense, mystery, and wacky comedy. He has written a number of series such as the suspenseful Up to Trouble, funny and spooky Critter Catchers, Old West historical horror of Venom Valley, and erotic and funny Fluffers, Inc. No matter what genre he writes, Hank likes to keep things steamy and heartfelt. He was born and still lives in a northwest suburb of the Motor City, Detroit, Michigan, where he shares a home with his partner of over 20 years and their two cats.
Jay lives just outside Bristol in the West of England. He comes from a family of writers, but always used to believe that the gene for fiction writing had passed him by. He spent years only ever writing emails, articles, or website content.
One day, Jay decided to try and write a short story—just to see if he could—and found it rather addictive. He hasn’t stopped writing since.
Jay writes contemporary romance about men who fall in love with other men. He self-publishes under the imprint Jaybird Press.
Drew Marvin Frayne
EMAIL: drewmarvinfrayne@gmail.com
Wendy Rathbone
Xander Collins
EMAIL: xandercollinsauthor@gmail.com
Hank Edwards
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WEBSITE / NEWSLETTER / KOBO
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Jay Northcote
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EMAIL: jaynorthcote@gmail.com
Connection to Christmas by Drew Marvin Frayne
KOBO / iTUNES / SMASHWORDS
Snowfall and Romance by Wendy Rathbone
His Amazing Summer And Christmas by Xander Collins
The Christmas Accomplice by Hank Edwards
Christmas Cracker Collection by Jay Northcote
