Summary:
Very little is merry in a private dick’s world.
Private detective Nick Bozic works the mean streets of 1950s Portland, Oregon, shadowing unfaithful spouses and nabbing thieving employees. He may be lonely, but at least he’s not crooked. Despite the festive season, Christmas simply means less dough in his pocket.
With the holiday only a few days away, a regular client drops a new case on him: yet another being has come through the Rift and needs help finding his way home. Maybe Evindal the elf will help Nick find something too—a bit of cheer and magic amid the usual brew of corruption and betrayal.
Summary:
Once upon a time, a hockey player and a baseball player walked into a bar...
It wasn’t coincidence that brought Red to New York. It wasn’t coincidence that got him stuck there overnight either.
After taking a unscheduled detour on the way to his grandmother’s house, hockey player Red O'Reilly finds himself snowed in at the airport. What could have been a bleak Christmas Eve suddenly turns magical when Owen “the Wolf” Lindsay, a wicked pitcher with an irresistible charm who Red's been crushing on for years sits down next to him in the last open seat in the bar.
If Owen had left New York when he was supposed to, he wouldn't be trapped in the worst airport in the world. He also wouldn't have met the sexy, irrepressible young Red and that would have been a tragedy. Could it just be coincidence that they are both in the same place at the same time?
No, this has to be something much stronger than coincidence; they just might have a bonafide Christmas miracle on their hands.
Summary:
Can the spirit of Christmas transform a modern-day Scrooge?
Jordan Fairchild’s been harbouring a secret crush on his boss for almost two years, but he’s starting to ask himself why. Conrad Ryder might be as hot as hell but as Christmas draws near, he’s less Santa Claus and more Scrooge.
When an angry phone call shatters Conrad’s well-laid plans to escape Christmas, he’s faced with nowhere to go and nobody to be with. Cut off from family and friends, Christmas is suddenly looking as cold and bleak as the snow-covered city streets.
Entranced by the spirit of the season, Jordan is determined to make the festivities magical — even if his only companion is a three-legged, Christmas jumper-wearing dachshund.
A chance meeting brings Jordan and Conrad together on Christmas morning. Will Jordan’s Conrad-coloured dreams come true? And will Conrad, with Jordan’s help, rediscover the joy of Christmas to make this his best Christmas Present ever?
***This novella contains an adorable dachshund, an outbreak of Christmas jumpers, reindeer antlers, and the healing spirit of Christmas. Sweetness overload guaranteed, along with low angst and a one hundred percent Happy Ever After***
Summary:
This single dad needs to find his joy.
When Jace is hired to watch the precocious Rebecca and her adorable little brother Max, this sunshine manny can’t help noticing the dark cloud hanging over their lonely dad.
Bringing love, happiness, and cheer, Jace sprinkles so much joy and glitter into their lives, that even the workaholic father gets caught up in his spell.
Will one holiday season be enough time for Jace to turn Mitch’s house into a home again? And with the magic of Christmas, will they fall in love along the way, making their family complete?
Never take an elf’s cookie… even if it is for a good cause.
School teacher Alger loved his job, his town, and his volunteer work at the local children’s hospital. That is until he loses it all with one mistake: he gave away the wrong cookie. Now cursed to be a Krampus and scare children into behaving, he is miserable. Beyond miserable. At least there’s an out to his curse: Find unconditional love. If only it were as simple as that.
Widower single father Jordan is not a fan of Christmas, not since his alpha’s accident. Each year Jordan fakes it, slapping on his best Christmas Cheer persona in the hopes of making it special for his son. Each year it gets a little bit easier. Who knows… maybe one year the holidays will be merry and bright.
When an unexpected blizzard comes to town, Alger and Jordan end up trapped together and learn that there really is magic in Christmas snow.
The Omega’s Krampus Christmas is a super sweet with knotty heat MM Mpreg Holiday retelling of the fairy tale Beauty and the Beast featuring an alpha who accidentally pissed off the wrong elf, an omega who sees the heart within, more Christmas cookies than anyone should eat in a lifetime, a magical sleigh ride that leaves more than just Santa’s bag being filled, the cutest cat ever…as in ever, Christmas wish lists a mile long, a Christmas miracle or two, including an adorable baby on the way. If you enjoy true love, fated mates, a little bit of whimsy, and your mpreg with heart, download The Omega’s Krampus Christmas today.
Random Tales of Christmas 2021
A Very Genre Christmas by Kim Fielding
1
Portland, Oregon — December 1954
“Hey, Nick. We’ve got another one.”
“I’ll be over right away, sweetheart.” I hung up the phone receiver but remained seated in my padded desk chair. Amelia Sansone had sounded annoyed instead of afraid, so I didn’t have to hurry. I finished my cigarette and whiskey, then took a minute to make sure my Colt was fully loaded. I shouldn’t need it on a call like this, but in my line of work, assumptions get you dead.
Out in the reception area of my office, Carmilla Karnstein paused her typing and watched as I buttoned on my overcoat. I’d met her during one of my previous jobs for Amelia, and she’d ended up as my secretary. She was an odd duck, but she arrived at work before dawn and never left before sunset, and she was a whiz at getting bloodstains out of my clothes—a favor I needed pretty often.
“Another one at the bookshop?” Her husky voice seemed a mismatch for her delicate frame. But she was older than she looked, and her pale beauty was only a façade for her sharp mind.
I set my fedora on my head. “Yeah. I doubt I’ll be back after, so lock up for me, please.”
“Of course. Good luck, Mr. Bozic.”
I tipped my hat and headed out.
It was a typical winter afternoon in Portland, gray and drippy, with mist obscuring details and blurring edges. I didn’t mind. In fact, I preferred this weather to bright sunshine, which brought false promises. And anyway, I was in a good mood as I walked down Burnside toward Sansone Booksellers. Although Amelia had some dough, I’m not sure I’d have charged her for these jobs. The city paid my bills for these particular calls, and the city paid well.
My office was in a third-floor walkup across the street from the Chevy dealership, but Sansone’s was in a more upscale location on 6th Avenue, near the Fred Meyers. Her retail space occupied the bottom two floors, her office was above that, and the top two floors contained apartments she rented out. She could’ve saved herself a lot of grief by moving somewhere else, away from the Rift, but business was good where she was, and she was too stubborn to budge. For a dame who’d been left with nothing after her husband bought it on Okinawa, she was doing well for herself.
Amelia met me as soon as I entered. She was a small woman whose gray suits always appeared to be swallowing her, and she kept her light brown hair in a pixie cut to avoid fuss. “You walked again instead of driving?” she said by way of greeting.
“Needed the exercise. Besides, takes less time to walk than to find a place to park near your joint.”
“Suit yourself.”
I took off my hat and followed her to the back stairway. “So, what’ve we got this time? It ain’t another kid, is it? That one was a pain in the ass.” He kept waving a stick around and saying words that Amelia told me were mostly bad Latin. I was glad when we sent him back home.
“No, and it’s nobody you’ll need to shoot, so you can keep that gun tucked away.”
I shrugged. You never can tell who’ll need shooting. Then I had a hopeful thought. “Is it another guy wearing nothing but that, uh….” I waved vaguely around the region of my groin.
Amelia gave me a knowing look and shook her head. “Loincloth? No. This one is fully dressed.”
Shame. Now that fellow had been something to look at, with long black hair and gray eyes, and he had a lot of interesting stories about apes and other animals. He was athletic too. I took him to Forest Park, partly because I wanted to watch him in action, and he’d swung from fir branch to fir branch as easy as you please. That had been a pretty sight.
The first flight of bookshop stairs was wide, with pale marble steps and a polished wooden railing, but the second—used only by employees—wasn’t for show. A little window on the landing had a view of the alley and the grayish building on the other side.
“You’re not gonna give me any hints about this one?” I coaxed Amelia as we ascended the final part of the staircase.
She got an odd expression, one I couldn’t read. “We have a big display of Christmas titles out now.”
Well, that wasn’t enlightening.
Whenever the Rift shifted, the results ended up in a dead-end hallway on the third floor, just around the corner from Amelia’s personal office. Nobody knew why, although the eggheads at that commie college across the river liked to throw around fancy words and call them theories. In any case, after the first couple of times, Amelia had arranged for iron bars to be installed across the hallway, forming a sort of jail, with a heavy lock holding the gate closed. That kept most of the results contained until they could be dealt with, although a few had managed to slither or ooze through the openings, and a muscular blond guy with a giant hammer had smashed his way right through the wall. Then he’d jumped, apparently under the impression that he could fall forty feet with no problem.
That one hadn’t ended well.
I didn’t draw my Colt, but I made sure my coat was unbuttoned, and I kept my hand hovering near the holster as we turned the corner.
“Oh jiminy, ma’am, I thought you were never coming back!”
I stopped walking so suddenly that I almost tripped over my own feet.
A man stood inside the makeshift cell, his hands wrapped around the bars. He was a good four inches shorter than my five-ten, slender, probably in his late twenties. His pale straight hair hung to his shoulders in back and swooped across his forehead in front, and he had a slightly pointed chin, pink cheeks, and enormous cornflower-blue eyes.
But it was his clothing that had thrown me for a loop: shiny red boots; red-and-white-striped stockings; an emerald-green tunic with red belt, cuffs, and collar; and a floppy, pointed green hat. With a giant bell at the end.
And did I mention that his ears were pointed too?
I turned to Amelia. “Is this what I think it is?”
“Detective, meet Evindal, the Christmas elf.”
Fairytale of LaGuardia by AE Wasp & Beth Bolden
“You shouldn’t lie on Christmas,” a clear voice said quietly as soon as the bartender left. It wasn’t his whiskey drinking neighbor, it was Blush Boy. “You’re going to get on Santa’s naughty list.”
The guy had finally stopped pretending not to notice him, so Owen could get a good look. He was young, maybe early twenties. A fine specimen of youth with bright red hair, a sweet smile, and the body of an athlete, he seemed as happy and as eager to please as a Golden Retriever.
And since Owen was becoming a garbage pit of a person, that sweet eagerness combined with that young hard body made him want to do bad, dirty things to the kid. If his flight hadn’t been leaving soon, Owen might have tried to pick him up. He might have to be ‘Owen Lindsay, the baseball player’ to do it, but for those soft, pillowy lips and blue eyes, he’d make a few sacrifices.
“Me?” he asked the guy with a grin. “Lie?”
The kid’s smile widened. “Yeah, you are Owen Lindsay,” he said confidently. “I would’ve recognized you anywhere. I totally had your poster on my wall growing up. I looked at it a lot.” His eyes drifted down over Owen’s chest. “Like, a lot.”
Well, what do you know? Owen’s gaydar was pinging big time and he had a hunch he knew exactly which of his posters pretty boy here had spent some quality time with. Years ago, he’d posed naked for one with only a strategically-placed glove standing between him and a public indecency charge. Christ, had that really been almost a decade ago?
“Is that so?” Owen asking, sipping the orange juice the bartender had set in front of him. “And how much of that time did you spend staring at my face?”
The boy blushed bright red, which made him look even more adorable, but he didn’t look away. “Some,” he answered with a half-smile. He shifted on his stool, angling his body more towards Owen.
Maybe there was a bit of the Wolf left in Owen after all. Something about this kid made him feel like a predator stalking a particularly tasty bit of prey. Since neither drinking, working out, nor playing the stock market had worked to distract Owen from his impending midlife crises, maybe he should give mindless casual sex a try. After all, according to a hundred and one employees at this airport, his flight was bound to be delayed. He had to kill the time somehow. He could think of worse ways.
Owen swiveled his bar stool until he was almost entirely facing the other man. “What did your parents have to say about that,” he asked.
The kid blushed again, the pink heat trailing down his neck and disappearing beneath the neckline of his t-shirt. “I hid it behind a Britney Spears poster,” he admitted.
“How heteronormative of you,” Owen said with a grin.
“Or crafty,” the kid said, holding up a finger and grinning back. “It all depends on your perspective.”
The Boss of Christmas Present by Ali Rycart
1
“Jordan, get this over to Kaplinskis’ now. And where’s the Fisher presentation? I need it on my desk in ten minutes. The video conference with the Watson Brothers group in New York, it’s been moved to 4:30pm this afternoon—”
Jordan Fairchild’s eyes widened. “That’s in the diary for Wednesday—”
“It’s been changed. Just sort it, will you? And get this sent to the dry cleaner.”
A blue nylon suit bag was dumped on Jordan’s desk, scattering the neat pile of papers and knocking over Jordan’s empty coffee mug. He scrambled to catch it before it smashed to the white marble floor.
“Bring me a coffee.”
The door to Conrad Ryder’s office slammed closed.
Jordan sighed as he shifted the bag from his desk, grabbed a note pad and listed Conrad’s rapid fire series of demands. No please, no thank you, just barked out orders. Nothing new there. After almost two years working as Conrad Ryder’s Executive PA, Jordan was used to his fiery, demanding, and often bad-tempered boss. He was used to all of it, just as he was used to being invisible.
“God alone knows why I stay,” Jordan muttered under his breath. It wasn’t as if he was paid a fortune. You could earn way more…You could walk into any Executive PA position… his friend Lena always said. And he could, in any number of the big City finance companies. But it’s close to home… The benefits are pretty good… Except they weren’t, not really. Lena’s withering stare always withered his words. She knew why he stayed, just as much as he did. He glanced over at the closed door to Conrad’s office, before he turned his attention back to the list he’d made.
Jordan marked the demands in priority order, only half his mind on the task. Maybe Lena was right, that he was underappreciated and overworked, and that was all he ever would be. Perhaps it really was time to move on.
The door in the glass wall that separated him from the busy open plan office beyond was propped open, and a burst of laughter from the far end caught Jordan’s attention. He looked up, and grinned.
Everybody was pulling on Santa hats, some of them studded with lights flashing on and off, or with reindeer antlers. And Christmas jumpers, everyone wore a Christmas jumper. Images of snowmen, elves, Christmas puddings, turkeys and mince pies, and wrapped-up gifts topped with bows adorned the misshapen woolly garments, all doubtless pulled from the backs of cupboards where they’d been stored all year.
Ah, of course. It was Wear Your Christmas Jumper to Work Day. How could he have forgotten? Maybe he could nip back home at lunchtime and pick up his own, new, Christmas jumper. If he got a lunch break, which he doubted. He turned back to the list.
The more straightforward things he’d have given to Lucy to sort out, if she hadn’t have run from the office the previous week, screeching that she couldn’t take it any longer. It being Conrad. The same thing had happened with Anisha before her, and Donny before her. A long line of Assistant PAs, more than he could remember, who’d quit — or been fired — taking their belongings away in a brown cardboard box amid rage or tears. Mostly tears.
He had the telephone number of the agency they used for recruiting admin staff branded on his brain. Even before he’d made the call in the wake of Lucy’s hysterical departure, he’d known how the conversation would go. We can’t provide a suitable, a sufficiently robust candidate with exceptional strength of character at such short notice, the recruitment consultant had told him. Recruiting for somebody to work with Conrad Ryder is — challenging. There was a need to find the right person, the consultant had said, somebody who was resilient…
Jordan had heard it all before. The language was coded: Conrad Ryder is a bastard to work for. Nobody with any sense would stick it for more than five minutes. Anybody who worked for the Ryder Corporation, if they had any sense, should demand danger money. Now, with just under a week before Christmas, there was no point in even thinking about getting anybody in. He’d wait until the New Year, when everybody was fired up to change their jobs. Until then he’d do it all, just like he had so many times before.
Jordan tapped his pen against his lips as he studied the list. It was going to be tight, but he’d get it all done. Just. He’d end up working late again, but what was new about that? He had nobody to rush home to. Jordan glanced at his coffee mug, which had barely survived Conrad’s assault on his desk, and smiled. Nobody wasn’t quite true.
He looked at the list again. He’d not noted the most important task, because that was self-evident. Pushing up from the desk, Jordan made his way to the small kitchenette, reserved exclusively for Conrad, and fired up the coffee machine.
*****
“For fuck’s sake, Tony, what the hell are you talking about? What do you mean, you’re leaving for Boston and not coming back…?”
Conrad’s hand, gripping his mobile, shot away from his ear as Tony screamed angry, non-stop invective at him. He caught a handful of words, sandwiched between Tony’s increasingly colourful and heavily accented English, before he clamped the phone back to his ear.
“What?” Conrad barked.
Tony’s answer was a mix of English and Italian. One language Conrad understood loud and clear, the other he could guess at.
Conrad rummaged in his desk for the painkillers. Finding them, he popped two from the blister and dry swallowed, but they caught in his throat and he started coughing.
Where the hell was Jordan with his coffee?
“You’re not coming back because of me? What the hell is that supposed to mean? I don’t—what? I don’t treat you right?”
Conrad jumped up from his desk and paced his office, shoving the fingers of his free hand through his hair, messing up the sharp, groomed style. Tony was walking out on him? On him? Then what was he supposed to do for Christmas? He’d arranged everything. Well, Jordan had. Verbier in Switzerland, the exclusive ski lodge high up in the mountains. Instead of a flight to Geneva, Tony was heading west in an hour’s time, and not coming back.
“After everything I’ve given you—what the fuck?”
Screamed out English-Italian invective was replaced by sudden silence. Conrad pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at it. It was hot, as though the heated rage Tony had spewed at him before he’d hung up had transferred itself to the mobile.
“You ungrateful little—”
Conrad slung it across his office, not caring if it shattered against the expensive modern artwork hanging from the wall. Instead, it hit the edge of the soft leather sofa and bounced onto the plump cushions. Conrad breathed in deep. In-out, in-out, each breath tamping down the rage, his mind already racing to what needed to be done. His pulled his hands over his hair, flattening it back down, flattening everything back into place.
The door opened after a discreet knock, and Conrad swung around.
Jordan edged in, carrying a tray laden with a pot of coffee, an oversized porcelain mug, and a brownie on a matching plate, which he placed on Conrad’s desk. Conrad scowled at the chocolate delight. He couldn’t eat that. Jordan knew he was following an ultra-low carb diet. Didn’t his PA know the contents of his food cupboard and fridge better than he did?
His stomach rumbled and his mouth watered as the rich and heady sweetness filled the office. Chocolate, sour cherry and caramel, from The Bakehouse, the local artisan bakery. He rubbed at his brow. Perhaps his blood sugar levels had dropped, so maybe a bite, or two.
Conrad turned away and looked out at the city spread out below, blanketed in a thick layer of snow. He screwed up his eyes and winced, swinging away from a sudden dazzling shaft of sunlight braking through the one, solitary cloud in the clear blue sky. He rubbed at his head again. Why weren’t the painkillers kicking in?
“Jordan,” he snapped, just as his PA turned to leave.
“Yes, Mr. Ryder?”
“The Verbier trip, cancel it.”
“Excuse me? Cancel it? But you’re flying out on Christmas Eve, that’s just four days—” Conrad answered with an exaggerated sigh. “Is my instruction so hard to understand? And cancel the order from Hogarth’s, too.”
“The Hogarth order? The watchmaker?”
“I don’t imagine you’ve been in touch with too many people by the name of Hogarth lately. So yes, the watchmaker.”
“No. I mean yes. Yes, Mr. Ryder. I’ll see to it straight away.”
“See that you do. I don’t want any disturbances for the next couple of hours. And get my suit to the dry cleaner.”
As soon as Jordan left, closing the door with a barely-there click, Conrad leaped on the sticky, sweet brownie and gave himself up to sugar overload.
The Christmas Manny by Sammi Cee
Chapter One
Jace
“Who are you? I’m not opposed to talk to strangers,” the little boy in dinosaur pajamas said, peering up at me with big green eyes filled with curiosity.
Tapping my chin, I stared down at him. “Are you supposed to answer the front door by yourself?”
He checked over his shoulder, found the coast clear, and shook his head from side to side. “Nope. Nana says I have to wait for her or Daddy to answer the door, but he’s in the shower because I assidentaly spilled my cereal, and he had to clean it up, so it made him late. But I didn’t do it on purpose. It was an axident.” His voice got thick with tears as he continued, “I only wanted to show him I could be a big helper like Sissy.”
Hunching down in front of him so that we were eye level, I grabbed his little hands, ignoring the fact he’d just swiped one of them under his nose. “Don’t worry. I bet your daddy knows that, and he’s not even upset.” I hoped. “But you know what he wouldn’t like?” The little guy shook his head back and forth again. Too cute. “He wouldn’t like that you ignored his and your nana’s rule to not answer the door by yourself. I’m a good guy, but what if I had been someone else?”
His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “How do I know you not bad?”
I shrugged, but before I could say, You don’t, a deep voice said sternly, “You don’t. Maximus, what have I told you?” Good gravy, I hoped they normally called him Max because he was just a peanut, and Maximus was a mouthful.
The little boy whirled around to face the hot-as-fuck, thoroughly pissed-off man who I assumed was his father. “I know I’m not opposed to, but you had to take a shower because I made a mess, and I wanted to show you I can be a big helper like Sissy.”
How the dad, Mr. Teake, according to the agency, answered this question would tell me a lot about the man. It was only a three-day assignment, so it shouldn’t really matter, but I seriously disliked working for people who didn’t treat their children well. My best friend said that made no sense because without families needing mannies, I’d be out of work. But I tended to attach to the children I watched pretty quickly, and when their parents were jerks, it broke my heart, and I worried like a crazy person.
Mr. Teake didn’t disappoint me, though. His eyes, the same pale green as his sons with a hint of sadness, softened, and he lay his big hand on his little blond head. “I know, Max. And I appreciate you wanting to help, but even Rebecca knows better than to answer the door.”
“That’s why I went and got Daddy, stupid,” a little girl said, probably a few years older than her little brother, in a sassy know-it-all voice from farther back in the hallway.
I bit my lip to keep from laughing at the man’s sigh. If I wasn’t mistaken, it took everything in him not to roll his eyes as he craned his neck to look at her. “We don’t call each other names in this house, Rebecca. You know better than that.”
“Sorry, Daddy,” she mumbled, with complete repentance and sincerity. Nice, she was actually a good kid, even if she’d wanted to stick it to her brother a little bit. I could work with that.
My laugh escaped when I glanced down to see Max sticking his tongue out at his sister. Mr. Teake caught it, too, but very pointedly ignored it and focused on me. “I’m assuming you’re Jace.”
Holding my right hand out, I said, “Yes, sir, Mr. Teake,” as we shook. His hand was large, his grip firm, but his skin felt velvety soft and smooth to the touch. Damn. I wondered if he’d be interested in a bargain that didn’t involve a cash transaction. I’ll watch your kids all day, and then you can take care of me all night.
His gaze turned questioning. Oops. Needed to keep a blank face if I wanted to have pervy thoughts. To cover my blunder, I pointed back and forth between the kids. “And these are my little charges for the weekend, I’m assuming?”
He nodded briskly. “Yes. This one”—he ruffled the boy’s hair, making him giggle—“is Max, and the cheeky one is Rebecca. If she had her way, I’d leave her to babysit, but eight isn’t really old enough.”
“Nine. I’m almost nine, Daddy.”
He sighed again. “Still not old enough to be alone all day with your brother, sweetheart. And the kids may call you Mr. Jace?” he asked me.
That was a little stuffy, and I preferred plain Jace, but I understood teaching the children respectful ways to interact with adults, so I nodded. He hummed his approval and checked the gold watch on his wrist, and my heart raced in my chest. Yum. Men who wore watches instead of using their cellphones to check the time ticked all of my boxes. “Okay, Jace. My mother left their schedule on a notepad in the kitchen. If you don’t know where something is, you can ask Rebecca. She’s very helpful.”
“Yes, I am.” She nodded, stepping up right behind her brother. Huh. Mr. Teake’s genes ran strong. Both his daughter and son had his pale green eyes, bronze coloring, and both blondes hair. Although, Rebecca had those fun chipmunk cheeks that were like a siren call to old ladies everywhere. Squeeze Me, they cried.
The man had become thoroughly distracted after checking his watch, so I wasn’t surprised when he nodded absently at her and asked me, “Is there anything else you need from me before I leave?”
Smiling politely, I asked, “May I come in?”
“Of course. Sorry.” He stepped back, swinging the door open wider, but with Max still hovering, I had to brush right past hottie-dad, and wow, did he smell good, like body wash and cedar. I sighed. I swear, I met all the good ones while watching their kids. If any of my dates ever looked or smelled this scrumptious, maybe I wouldn’t still be single.
After shutting the door, Mr. Teake strode past me and the kids, so I shrugged at Max and pointed at his retreating father. “You think we should follow him?” There was no question that it would be easier to win over the youngest of the Teake children.
Max shrugged back, but Rebecca narrowed her eyes at me suspiciously. Ha. Smart kid. Obviously, I planned to follow him. With that firm ass clad in those tight dress pants, he’d be able to lead me anywhere. Shaking my head to clear my wayward thoughts, I reached my hand down to Max. He stared at it cautiously for a second, then grabbed it and dragged me in the direction his dad had gone. Rebecca trailed behind us like she anticipated having to save her little brother from the five-feet-five-inch manny.
We found Mr. Teake in the kitchen with a black trench coat draped over his arm and his briefcase in hand. He pointed toward the counter. “Their schedule is there. I shouldn’t be too late. Maybe eight o’clock or so.”
He didn’t think that was late to be working on the Friday after Thanksgiving? “Okay, when do the children go down for the night?”
“Eight-thirty since it’s a non-school night. I’ll be home to tuck them in, but please make sure they take their baths and are dressed in their pajamas when I get here. That will allow me to spend some time with them before they go to sleep.” He smiled down at the kids.
Max let go of my hand and flung his little arms around his father’s legs. Rebecca, however, bit her trembling lip, then masked her sad expression and said bravely, “That’ll be great, Daddy.”
He ruffled his son’s curly blond hair, smiled gently at his daughter, and then focused on me. “If you have any questions, I wrote my cell number at the top of their schedule. Feel free to text me, and I’ll get back to you as quickly as I can.
” Text him? Whatever. “One last question. Was the agency correct? You need me all weekend?”
Mr. Teake sighed. “Unfortunately. My company is in the middle of negotiations for an important contract. With the holiday weekend, a lot of the staff is on vacation, so I have my work cut out for me.”
“That’s too bad. It would’ve been nice for you to be home, too.”
He waved me off. “I don’t mind. It needs to be done. I expected my mother to be here with the children like usual, of course, but she and a couple of her other friends left yesterday afternoon for a weekend shopping spree.” He looked bemused. “I’m sure she’ll have fun, but she surprised me since she generally decorates for Christmas this weekend.”
So he wasn’t working just because of the contract. This was normal. It made me sad for him and his kids. I wondered where their mother was, but all the agency had said was that he was a single father, and I didn’t want to be intrusive. Besides, without knowing their story, I didn’t want to upset Max and Rebecca.
Mr. Teake bent down and hugged both of the kids goodbye, and then he exited through the door on the side of the kitchen with one last glance over his shoulder. Since I didn’t see a vehicle in the driveway, I assumed he parked in the garage. Once the door shut behind him, I faced my companions for the weekend. Max gazed up at me with a hopeful expression, while Rebecca eyed me warily. “Let’s see what your grandmother had planned for the day.”
Crossing the room, I picked up the notebook, which had Friday clearly marked on the top line. At a glance, I saw times with the basics like lunch and dinner. Underneath, she’d written several suggestions for the day. Turning the page, I saw the same list for the normal routine, with another handful of ideas for Saturday. Everything she suggested were family activities, not the type of things you did with a manny you’d just met. With a sigh, I set it down and noticed that next to the notepad was the emergency contact number for the doctor’s office in her handwriting. It made me remember Mr. Teake had said he left his cell in case I needed to text him. Sure enough, there it was in barely decipherable chicken scratch.
“Well? What are we doing today?” Rebecca demanded.
Good question, kid. Hunching down next to Max, I asked, “No one told me how old you are. I know Rebecca is eight—”
“Almost nine.”
I held in a chuckle. “Yes, sorry. Nine. So what about you?”
He held up his hand. “I’m five, but I’ll be six soon. On my birthday.”
That explained his mispronunciations and his desire to be big like his sister. He was a petite little thing, which probably made it even harder for him to be taken seriously by his older sibling. Since I knew all about that, my heart went out to him. “Oh, well, if you and your sister are both about to have birthdays, then let’s just say you’re six and nine. We have a lot more options if you're both older, am I right?”
Max giggled, and out of my peripheral vision, I even saw a faint twitch of the lips from Rebecca. Yes, I knew exactly how to win her over today. “First, this is a very important question. Do you prefer to be called Maximus or Max?”
He regarded me seriously. “Super M.”
Rebecca snorted. “That’s not a real name.”
“But maybe it is.” I side-eyed Rebecca. “With a superhero name like that, I bet he can do all kinds of things with lightning speed.” She wrinkled her nose, so I continued, “Like, if we did something fun like make paper snowflakes, I bet someone with the name Super M could clean up all of the little pieces of extra paper with super-human speed. Faster than either of us could help.”
Max yelled, “Yay,” as Rebecca’s expression turned sly.
“So you mean if we made a mess, Super M would have to clean it?”
I blinked innocently. “Well, of course. He’d want to show off how quickly he can do things to help since he likes to be a big helper like you. Right, Super M?”
He beamed proudly. “That’s right.”
Rebecca giggled, then caught herself and regarded me with mild interest. “That may work, but we can’t make paper snowflakes. The only white paper we have is in my dad’s office for his printer, and we’re not allowed to go in there without permission.”
“But do you have colored construction paper?”
Max tilted his head. “Colored? Snowflakes are white.”
Gasping, I fell back on my butt in horror. “But when we make our own, they can be whatever color we want them to be. Just think about it. When it snows and the sun hits those big snowflakes, they twinkle all kinds of pretty colors. Haven’t you done that in school?”
He glanced at his sister, and she shook her head. “No, we use plain white paper.”
What the hell? Their school needed more creative teachers. “What fun is that? I’ll tell you what, since I didn’t ask your dad about going out, I’ll bring the stuff with me tomorrow, and we can make some really cool ones.”
Rebecca looked doubtful. “Don’t you think that’s kind of for babies like Super M? I mean, I can help him with the scissors, I guess.” I hid a grin. She’d jumped right into the spirit of the game, calling her brother his new and approved superhero name.
“Trust me. We’re going to have a blast.” Tapping my chin, I said, “That leaves us with nothing to do today, though.”
“Well, if Super M is going to clean up, I guess we can build things with his blocks this morning. I don’t really like doing that too much, but he does,” she hurried to add.
“What do you think, Super M? Does that sound good to you?”
Max started jumping up and down. “Yes. They’re in the playroom. Can we go in there now?”
Glancing at Rebecca, I opened my eyes wide. “You guys have a playroom?”
She smirked. “Yeah, it’s pretty cool.”
Jumping to my feet, I swept my arm through the air and toward the doorway. “Lead on, my friends. I can’t wait to see this playroom.”
Max took off running, and after scrutinizing my face for sincerity, Rebecca followed her brother more sedately. “Come on.”
As we walked through the house, I took it all in. Off of the eat-in kitchen on one side was a dining room with half-walls opening into the living room. The doorway we originally entered in the kitchen led back to the same hallway, and we passed the living room on our left, down a hallway that had several doors leading to a bathroom and bedrooms before turning to what looked like another hallway.
For being one level, the large house was decorated beautifully with natural wood tables and chairs, light blue walls, gray furniture, and steel blue and white accents on the curtains and throw pillows. Wall sconces in the living room, as well as a framed landscape, and a large simply framed mirror, gave off a homey vibe that continued throughout the rest of the house.
The playroom, which happened to be the first door we encountered on the right, ended up being exactly what I would’ve wanted growing up if my sisters and I had had an extra space to share. The whole room was sky blue, and on one side of the door leading in, a jungle theme with trees, monkeys, lions, and giraffes started and wrapped halfway around the room. At the window straight ahead, the jungle theme grew more conservative until it rolled naturally into a beautiful field with sunflowers and tulips. And in the sky, flitting around a rainbow that arched down over one big wall, were red and blue birds, butterflies, ladybugs, and a huge sun in one corner with a smiling face. It was the perfect space.
In the center of the room, the kids had a small white table with four chairs, but on the jungle-themed walls were bins of blocks, trucks, dinosaurs, cars, and what looked like pieces of a train set sticking out. The other walls held bookshelves, a mini-balance beam, and a ballet bar. In front of the window were two plush kid-sized chairs. One was red and blue with a cape hanging off of the back, and the other was purple with white stars. They were both adorable, and it gave me an idea. “Super M. We forgot your cape.”
Wide-eyed, he stopped rolling the bin of blocks into the center of the room and stared at me. “All my capes are on my pajamas. I don’t have a plain cape.”
“Oh, I know,” Rebecca exclaimed and ran out of the room. She came back with a hooded children’s bath towel in the design of a cape. “Just put this on, Super M.”
“Yes!” He fist-pumped the air and took it from her, sticking the hood right on his head.
“Tell your sister thank you. All good superheroes are polite.”
“Thank you, sissy.”
She shrugged one arm. “It was no big deal.” Then she walked over and fastened the two velcro pieces on either side at the bottom of the hood around his neck and pushed the hood off. “There. Now you won’t get hot.”
Max bobbed his head with a big grin and spread his arms out like he was flying and flew one lap around the room. Rebecca rolled her eyes and dropped down on the carpet and began sorting the blocks by shape and color. “What do you want to make?” she asked her brother. “We can make something bigger if we work together.”
Smiling to myself, I sat down to join in the fun. These were two good kids, and we were going to be just fine.
*****
Day one with the Teake children had been a success, and day two was off to a smashing start. Yesterday, we’d ended up making a huge castle out of the blocks. Rebecca had a real eye for organization and color, so we’d left it out for their father to see. I’d been a tad nervous he’d be mad that we hadn’t cleaned everything up, but he’d been thrilled with their efforts and encouraged them not to tear it down until their nana got a chance to see it on Monday.
In the afternoon, I taught the kids how to make homemade clay, with Rebecca doing a lot of the measuring and stirring under my guidance, and then they’d gotten creative. Max had made the most hilarious dinosaurs. But after hearing that we could harden them, Rebecca had decided to make flowers for her grandmother for Christmas. I assured her they would be ready to paint on Sunday, and I would help. In between our activities and meals, I let them have a little screen time with their tablets, and we’d curled up together to watch a movie after they’d had an early dinner and bathed.
Today would be just as fun. I knew that Rebecca thought our project of snowflakes would be a dumb, waste of time, but she’d never made them with me before. To my roommates' amusement, I’d gone to Walmart and bought several multi-packs of construction paper, glue, and different colors of sparkles.
Before I’d left yesterday, I’d checked for kids' scissors and paper plates. They’d had the first, so I’d picked up paper plates as well. Not even Super M would be able to clean up the mess we were about to make without some preemptive measures.
Rebecca eyed me warily as soon as her dad left. In my experience, kids were never sure for the first couple of days if what they got from me on day one was what they were really getting or if I was faking it. Max, on the other hand, ran right up to me with a big smile. “Are we still making paper snowflakes, Mr. Jace?”
“We sure are, buddy. Let me show you what I brought for today.” I went back to where I’d left my purchases by the front door. Not all parents appreciated me bringing in my own supplies. On longer contracts, we worked out the parents buying or reimbursing me for the extras I needed for projects, but I didn’t do that with short-term assignments like what I had with the Teakes this weekend.
As I started unpacking our supplies onto the kitchen table, Max asked, “Do we get to keep them when we’re done?”
“Of course we do, stupid.” Rebecca rolled her eyes. “Like he would want our crummy snowflakes, anyway.”
Max’s eyes welled with tears, so I ignored his sister and hunched down next to him. Children liked it when adults got down on their level, but I’d noticed yesterday that he seemed to especially appreciate it. “Anything we make will be yours to keep, but I wouldn’t say no if you wanted to make a snowflake just for me. I’d hang it up on my bedroom door.”
“Really?”
“Absolutely. It’ll make my roommate so jealous if he sees that I have a special one made by Super M.”
Max giggled, so I held my closed fist up for a bump before standing back up. As I kept lining things out on the table, I said conversationally, “I’d say I hate the word stupid, but I don’t like the word hate, either. Both of them are icky, mean words.”
Rebecca snorted. “Well, I hate brussel sprouts, and that’s not bad to say.”
Shrugging one shoulder, I said, “Maybe. Maybe not. Like it’s a strong opinion on the delicious little vegetable, which you may like someday when your tastebuds change. But even if you never do, what if someone invited you over for dinner, and you didn’t know what they were serving? If you said you hated brussel sprouts when they made them special for you because it’s the vegetable they think they make best in the world, they might get upset. But if you said, I’m going to try your brussel sprouts even though they’re usually not my favorite. They’d appreciate you being willing to try theirs, right?”
Rebecca started organizing the paper I pulled out of the plastic by color, but she’d proven to be an intelligent and thoughtful girl, so I knew she was weighing my words. Max, on the other hand, scrunched his nose at me. “Do you actually like brussel sprouts, Mr. Jace?”
“Mhmm. They’re one of my favorites.”
The kids leaned around my back, and I chuckled, picturing the faces they were making at each other. Once they stood back up at the table, I hip-checked Rebecca. “Anyway, as I was saying, I don’t really like the word stupid. It’s one of those words that make people feel bad and don’t really say anything.”
The Omega's Krampus Christmas by Lorelei M. Hart
Prologue
Alger
Once Upon a Time
Teaching school paid next to nothing, but I had cheap lodgings and some of the families made me meals from time to time, which helped keep body and soul together. Some did not consider teaching a man’s job, one that could support a family, but at least for the time being, my pleasure in helping to form young minds superseded any other factors.
Especially at the holiday season. On the last day of school before the Christmas vacation break, we suspended regular classes to bring all the classes together in the decorated auditorium for a holiday recital and festivities before sending the children to their frolics until the New Year.
This year, our class would be singing a selection of Christmas carols and I, dressed in the red suit of Saint Nick popularized by Clement Moore’s ’Twas the Night Before Christmas or A Visit from Saint Nicholas would appropriately read that story to close the event. As I prepared for my reading, a little sadness tugged at my heart. It was easy to pretend I had enough time with these children during class terms, but on holidays, when they were with their real families, the loneliness seeped in. Maybe I should have aspired to another career.
Sitting in the armchair placed at the front of the stage, with my students seated on the floor around me, my heart warmed. Sometimes the poverty many of them lived in daunted their spirits, but now smiles of pride at their performance lifted the corners of their lips. They’d indeed done well, and Santa Claus might have taken notice from his North Pole residence. I cleared my throat, bemused at my suspension of logic. Christmastime always made me sentimental, reminded me of my parents and brother, grandparents, all those who’d already departed this realm. They would celebrate the birth of the Christ Child with the angels in heaven, while I sat in my rented room eating whatever someone thought to bring me from their holiday table.
Even my landlady, who often included me in her holidays, would be away. I’d put her on the train myself, this morning, laden with presents and baked goods she’d prepared. I didn’t resent her good fortune this year. Her married daughter had remembered she had a mother for the first time since my arrival and invited her for the festive season. Mrs. Dougherty’s excitement had been contagious, buoying my spirits as I waved until the train disappeared down the tracks.
Such a good soul, she deserved happiness. A tug on my trousers reminded me of where I was, and I began the poem. I recited more than read the beloved verses, putting as much heart into them as possible. My gift to the children whose faces I gazed into every school day, who learned their letters and numbers at my tutelage.
I taught the youngest of them, tasked with giving them a love of learning as much as any specific knowledge. If they had that love, they would do well going forward.
Finishing the reading, I closed the large book on my lap and chuckled as I thought Saint Nicholas might have before going up the chimney after laying out the gifts for the children of the house in the story.
Silence for a moment had me worried I’d not done justice to the tale, but then appreciative applause reassured me. The book was one my mother read the same story to me from, precious in its faded covers and holding just as much magic now as then. After I finished, the headmaster stood from his seat at the back of the stage and made a short speech. The same speech, word for word, as last year and the year before. But it suited the occasion and sent everyone off with a smile and a wave.
A few other teachers and I supervised some of the older boys putting the auditorium to rights before closing the school for two weeks. When we were done, and all the handmade decorations removed, it looked so dull. But clean and ready for the events of a new term.
As we were leaving, I spotted a bit of litter near the stage, so I bid the others goodbye, said I would lock the doors as I went, and crossed the room to pick it up. Alone, I looked around again. Just an hour or so ago, it had been filled with singing and laughter and bright colors both in the decorations and the students’ and their families’ holiday best attire.
Now, there was just me, in my brown jacket and trousers, not one sprig of greenery or red ribbon in sight. And since we’d turned down the furnace, the warm air in the room was being replaced by a distinct chill.
Time to go home.
I was about to leave the building when I saw a small boy sitting on a chair by the door, kicking his feet and staring at the floor. Little Timothy from my class. All by himself. I approached him and took the seat beside his.
“Timothy, did your fathers leave without you?” All the families were invited to the holiday recital, filling the auditorium with their appreciation for their children’s performances.
“No, Mr. Bobell.” His legs slowed their kicking but did not stop. Nor did he look up from his focus on the black-and-white tiles.
Oh. “They were unable to attend today, then.” He looked so sad.
“They never come. Like they didn’t come on Meet the Teacher night. Or our spelling bee or...or anything. Sir.”
I didn’t always get to speak to every parent when they came. Some were shy or just never made it to the front of the room for one reason or another. But from the children’s reports, nearly all their parents or guardians attended when we invited them. Making the invitations was always a fun and popular activity for our art class the week before, and I had some very talented artists in my room this year. Timothy was one of the best. “Sometimes parents are very busy with their responsibilities and cannot take time to enjoy themselves. It’s a shame. But we must try to understand.”
He did lift his eyes to mine at that point, and they held all the pain and disappointment no child should have to experience.
“I have to lock up now, Timothy. Can you see yourself home?” Some did, and some others had a parent or older sibling to walk them.
“Yes, sir. I always go home alone.”
Alone. I had a feeling he often arrived into an empty house. His worn shoes and everyday clothes had stood in stark contrast to most of the other children’s holiday outfits, but poor didn’t mean abused or neglected, and not all had new clothes. But his sad loneliness said it all. How had I not realized just how bad things were? Maybe because we were not allowed to interfere with students’ outside of school, and parents had absolute authority there. Knowing they had it rough made it even harder to do my job and treat all the children equally.
Still.
Timothy stood and started for the door, but on a whim, I stopped him with a question. “Timothy, what is your wish this Christmas?” If it was within my power to grant it for him, I would, even if it meant I skipped a meal or two.
“A cookie,” he replied. “Like my grandma used to make before she died.”
My heart squeezed so hard, I gasped for a moment before recovering my breath. My mind worked furiously. Where had I seen cookies? A big cookie on a plate! “Timothy, do not leave. I will be right back.”
I dashed down the hall to Mr. Samberg’s class where, on his desk, sat a plate with a large, perfect, dark-brown molasses cookie. A single delight that might bring a smile to a young man’s face. Mr. Samberg was gone already, and by the time we returned from our holiday, it would be gone anyway, food for a stray mouse.
Timothy was still there when I returned, and I gave him the cookie, thrilled to see the sadness retreat from his expression while he studied the marvel in his hands. “This is all for me? This whole cookie?”
“Merry Christmas, Timothy.” I held the door open, turned off the lights, and followed him outside. “Be a good boy, and I’ll see you after New Year’s.” I locked the door and by the time I turned to leave, the little boy was nowhere in sight. I wished I had so much more to give to this child and to the others who might have less-than happy Christmases for different reasons this year.
Like me, many had lost relatives in the Spanish Flu epidemic a few years before, others had folks who were out of work or had debt that made it impossible to buy things for a festive meal or gifts.
Saddened by the thoughts that not all the children I taught would have what all children should have for Christmas, I trudged away from the school building.
“Hey, you. I have a bone to pick with you, Mr. Teacher.”
That couldn’t be...but it was. An elf.
Kim Fielding is the bestselling, award-winning author of over 60 novels and novellas. Like Kim herself, her work is eclectic, spanning genres such as contemporary, fantasy, paranormal, horror, and historical. Her stories are set in alternate worlds, in 15th century Bosnia, in modern-day Oregon. Her heroes are hipster architect werewolves, housekeepers, maimed giants, and conflicted graduate students. They’re usually flawed, they often encounter terrible obstacles, but they always find love.
Having migrated back and forth across the western two-thirds of the United States, Kim calls California home. She lives there with her family, her cat, and her day job as a university professor, but escapes as often as possible via car, train, plane, or boat. This may explain why her characters often seem to be in transit as well. She dreams of traveling and writing full-time.
A dreamer and an idealist, Amy writes about people finding connection in a world that can seem lonely and magic in a world that can seem all too mundane. She invites readers into her characters’ lives and worlds when they are their most vulnerable, their most human, living with the same hopes and fears we all have. An avid traveler who has lived in big cities and small towns in four different continents, Amy has found that time and distance are no barriers to love. She invites her readers to reach out and share how her characters have touched their lives or how the found families they have gathered around them have shaped their worlds.
A lifelong Oregonian, Beth Bolden has just recently moved to North Carolina with her supportive husband and their sweet kitten, Earl Grey. Beth still believes in Keeping Portland Weird, and intends to be just as weird in Raleigh.
Beth has been writing practically since she learned the alphabet. Unfortunately, her first foray into novel writing, titled Big Bear with Sparkly Earrings, wasn’t a bestseller, but hope springs eternal. She’s published twenty novels and six novellas.
I love all kinds of MM romance and gay fiction, but I especially like contemporary stories. Born and raised in London, the city is part of my DNA so I like to set many of my stories in and around present-day London, providing the perfect, metropolitan backdrop to the main action. I write at home, in the gym, in cafés —in fact I write any place I can find a good coffee!
Sammi Cee was raised in a family of readers. Summer vacations consisted of a good book while sitting lakeside from as far back as she could remember. After growing up and having her own children, her appreciation of how the written word could transport you on an adventure, bring you to tears, or give you hope, took on a whole new meaning.
These days Sammi is watching her children develop into fine young ladies while doing the things she enjoys most: drinking coffee, eating chocolate, and writing her own stories.
These days Sammi is watching her children develop into fine young ladies while doing the things she enjoys most: drinking coffee, eating chocolate, and writing her own stories.
Lorelei M. Hart is the cowriting team of USA Today Bestselling Authors Kate Richards and Ever Coming. Friends for years, the duo decided to come together and write one of their favorite guilty pleasures: Mpreg. There is something that just does it for them about smexy men who love each other enough to start a family together in a world where they can do it the old-fashioned way ;).
Kim Fielding
BLOG / B&N / SMASHWORDS
EMAIL: kim@kfieldingwrites.com
dephalqu@yahoo.com
AE Wasp
EMAIL: amy@aewasp.com
Beth Bolden
Ali Ryecart
Sammi Cee
Lorelei M Hart
EMAIL: Lorelei@mpregwithhart.com
A Very Genre Christmas by Kim Fielding
Fairytale of LaGuardia by AE Wasp & Beth Bolden
The Boss of Christmas Present by Ali Rycart
The Christmas Manny by Sammi Cee
The Omega's Krampus Christmas by Lorelei M Hart
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