Summary:
Will friends become lovers this Christmas?
Sam
People joke that Etienne and I are boyfriends, but whatever.
Sure, I think about him all the time—he's my best friend. If I've missed him way more than I expected when he left to train with a new skating coach, that’s because he’s so easy to hang with. And yeah, he’s gay, but he’s not into me. Why would he be? I’m straight.
We're not boyfriends.
But now Etienne needs me, so I’m rushing to the mountain village where he's skating in a holiday show. That’s what best friends do.
Etienne
I know Sam will never like me the way I like him.
Never love me the way I love him.
But now that my competitive skating career might be suddenly ending, I need my best friend by my side. Thank god Sam’s spending the holidays with me.
It's okay that he'll never love me back.
It’s okay that there's only one bed in this cozy little cabin.
We’re best friends. Nothing’s going to happen.
Only One Bed is a gay Christmas story from Keira Andrews featuring friends to lovers, bisexual awakening, first times, snowy holiday vibes, and of course a happy ending.
Summary:
Zeke is a hermit in his late forties who lives a quiet life in a small cabin in the Western Montana mountains, a few miles outside of Thompson Falls. He’s gotten used to being alone since the end of the world, and has everything he needs. Everything but someone to talk to.
Nathan is a younger man on a cross-country trek, searching the country for someone... anyone still alive. Saddled with a ghost from his old life and a case of OCD, he stumbles upon Thompson Falls and a pack of rabid dogs.
Rescued by Zeke, he has to figure out how to be human again. And with Christmas just a week away, both men have to figure out if there’s something left to be hopeful for, and if they might have a future together.
Summary:
Hobson Hills Omegas #7
Story takes place in the Omegaverse. Hobson Hills Omegas: Book Seven
Juan Vega lives in a town full of loving families and happy couples. As he watches his best friends fall in love, he can't help but wish for his own omega. He's been in love with Jackson since he met him, but it doesn't look like there will ever be a future for them. When Bennett Wilson urges Juan to make a Christmas wish, everything changes.
Jackson Potts may be young, but he has plenty of experience with overbearing, abusive alphas. After watching the way his own biological alpha grandfather and father treated their omegas, Jackson swears he will never date an alpha. He knows there are good alphas out there, but he can't bring himself to trust his own heart to any, even his own friend. The problem is, a certain alpha is very hard to resist.
With a little holiday luck, these two men may just find happiness.
Author's Note: Around 40,000 words. This is a m/m, non-shifter, mpreg love story with no angst and no cheating, just a HEA. There are a few potty mouths, so beware. 18+ readers only, please. It is the seventh book in the series and should be read after the book 6.5., "Grey's Gift."
Summary:
Royal Powers #9
A yuletide wedding brings tidings of comfort, joy… and peril.
Eighteen months ago, Tarik Jaso, Duke of Arles, would have been thrilled if Sander Fiala, Duke of Roses, sank beneath the waves along with his stupid boat.
That was then.
Now, Tarik can’t wait to head out on a private sail with Sander—a sail that will culminate in a highly public, politically significant wedding. Their union will be the first one between North and South Abarran royalty in centuries. If all goes to plan, it will usher in a new era of peace and cooperation between their countries.
But as the big day approaches, their meticulous arrangements begin to fall apart. Can Sander and Tarik weather the storm of political opposition, familial objection, and outright betrayal to reach the altar at last?
Duke the Hall is a 41,000-word M/M superhero rom-com featuring two dukes determined to tie the knot, relatives both helpful and annoying, spiteful thunderstorms, superhero sabotage, and hints that things are not all they seem.
Note: Duke the Hall is not a stand-alone story. It’s the sequel to Duking It Out and as such contains spoilers for the earlier book.
Summary:
Ten-year-old Chris’s request to see Santa again takes Dave by surprise. He’s a little old for that, surely? But Dave will do anything to put a smile on his son’s face. Except when they get there, Santa is the one to make Dave smile. He’s pretty sure there’s a gorgeous man hiding beneath that white beard. And those eyes… Not that Dave gets a chance to even say hello. Chris tells Dave to stay back. Well, Christmas is a time for secrets, right?
Jeff loves playing Santa. That cute kid with the huge eyes – and the hot-looking dad - just surprised the hell out of him. Jeff hears all kinds of strange requests during the holiday season. But this one beats them all – even if it takes a little coaxing to get it out of the kid.
“There must be something you want for Christmas.”
The boy snuck a glance over to where his dad stood with one of Santa’s elves. “Well… there is one thing."
“And what’s that?”
He bit his lip. “It’s not for me.”
Jeff smiled. Sweet kid. “Tell me.”
“You’re Santa. You can do anything, right?”
Jeff smiled. “You bet.”
“My dad… he’s a great guy, but… I think he’s lonely.”
Jeff gazed at the kid’s dad. “Oh. Okay.” How can someone so beautiful be lonely?
“So… what I really want for Christmas… is for him to find a new… boyfriend.”
Jeff slowly arched his eyebrows. “I see.”
The boy nodded. “Ever since Papa died, I know Dad has been unhappy. He tries to hide it, but I can see. And it’s been three years since Papa went. Do you think it’s too soon for him to fall in love again?”
Jeff stared at the man. “No, I don't think it’s too soon.” He gave the kid a smile. “Leave it with me. I’ll see what I can do.”
Only One Bed by Keira Andrews
Chapter One
Sam
If my grandma wasn’t so cute, I’d tell her to bite me.
She beamed up at me with her crinkly grin, white hair peeking out from her red Team Canada toque. She wore her usual prim and proper outfit of slacks, blouse, and cardigan, her face fully made up—Yuko Tanaka did not leave the house without her rose-colored lipstick.
But every time we went to a skating competition, she proudly topped her outfit with the red woolen hat. I’m not especially tall, but she barely reached my shoulder, the hat’s pom-pom giving her a few extra inches.
Her elbow struck just below my ribs as she asked again, “Where’s your boyfriend?”
I rolled my eyes at her old joke as I stepped back to let a woman pass through the concessions line. This was a brand-new arena in the Calgary burbs built for the Olympics in fourteen months, but there still wasn’t enough room on the concourse. Never was. “You know Etienne’s not my boyfriend. He’s my best friend.”
“Eh?”
I leaned down and repeated firmly, “You know Etienne’s not my boyfriend.”
“Why not?” Her brown eyes sparkled.
“Because I have a girlfriend. Obaachan, stop trolling.”
Fine, I used to have a girlfriend. Though Mandy had nothing to do with why Etienne wasn’t my boyfriend. I was straight. It was my older brother, Henry, who was gay. The end.
She hmphed. She loved this game of being unconvinced that Etienne and I weren’t secretly on the down low. “Why isn’t he here?” My grandma didn’t follow skating results unless Henry was involved.
“Etienne and Brianna didn’t make the Grand Prix Final. They’re not at that level, remember?” I quickly added, “They’re still having a great season! But only the top six teams from the Grand Prix events make it. They didn’t medal at either of their competitions this fall.”
They’d been fifteenth in ice dance at the last World Championships, which was amazing when you thought about it, but they weren’t medal contenders internationally. They never got the scores they deserved, but the judging was so political and fucked-up.
“Mmm.” Now her gaze turned critical. “What did you do to your beautiful hair?”
“Cut it.” It was shaved close at the back and sides and longer on top. I’d spiked up the front with gel.
“Don’t be a wise man.”
“I’m not. No frankincense or myrrh on hand. Definitely no gold.” I elbowed her arm gently. “Get it?”
She snorted. “Very good, Samu.” She’d called me that for as long as I could remember.
“It’ll wash out.” I ran a hand over the tips of my hair that I’d highlighted a metallic silver-green in contrast to my natural near-black. “Eventually.”
The pom-pom danced as she shook her head. “Your cousin Keiji in Osaka just got a big promotion. No green hair.”
“Keiji’s a banker. I’m in third year sociology at UBC. No one cares about my hair.”
“No ripped pants either. You look like you’re poor.”
“There’s nothing wrong with being poor. It’s a social construct.” Although my jeans had not been cheap. “I know, I know, no baggy hoodies for Keiji either. Or Henry.” Between my perfect cousin and my uptight, extremely tidy brother, my grandma had a ton of comparison material. My mom said she’d done the same thing to her when she was growing up and to ignore it.
Hand snaking under my hoodie, she pinched my waist. She was still lightning fast. “You’re a good boy anyway.”
I lightly batted her pom-pom. “I love you too.”
We reached the front of the line and ordered hot dogs, fries, and pretzels. The menu here had a Wild West theme, but aside from the chuckwagon chili, it was all the usual crap. I was an expert in arena food, and while the content of hot dogs was questionable at best, the pizza was never fresh and suffered more from sitting under warmers.
Obaachan insisted on carrying the tray of pop, already sucking on her Orange Crush. “It’s Henry who really needs a boyfriend,” she said.
“Shh!” Juggling the tray of food, I squirted ketchup into little white paper cups at the condiment stand.
I glanced at the people milling around. Between fans, families, friends, coaches, and media, skating was a small world and gossip was a main food group. Henry was a former world champion fighting for gold in singles against his arch nemesis from the States, Theo Sullivan. Everyone here knew who Henry was, and he would not appreciate Obaachan discussing his love life—or lack of it—so loudly.
I mean, she wasn’t wrong—Henry needed a boyfriend. Or at least to get laid. Not that I knew for sure he wasn’t getting any. My big brother would discuss his real or nonexistent sex life with me right about never in a million years. I worried sometimes that he was lonely, but he was too obsessed with skating and beating Theo to date.
Etienne said he was too busy these days for a boyfriend too. I wasn’t a world class athlete, and while I had enough to do between classes and my job re-shelving books at the library, I wasn’t sure what my excuse was for not seeing anyone again since Mandy. It had only been a few months, though. I’d been happier playing League online with Etienne on weekends.
It was fine—I didn’t have to party all the time to meet another girl. My buddies at school kept telling me about all the hot chicks they picked up with the latest app. I said I’d download it when I was back home in Vancouver in January. I’d be busy enough playing with Etienne anyway. We were really close to reaching the next level and couldn’t stop now.
Obaachan and I shuffled to our section through a short concrete corridor and then down the steps. We were in the third row in the corner near the Kiss and Cry, and a family had to stand up to let us squeeze by to our seats. A dance mix of “Last Christmas,” which I hated yet knew all the words to, echoed through the arena as the Zamboni steadily cleaned the ice, leaving it shiny and smooth.
After handing off food to my parents, I tried to get comfortable. Seriously, who fit in arena seats? I was on the skinny side and only five-six, but my knees hit the chair in front of me. Obaachan and the kids under ten beside me were the only people who didn’t look uncomfortable.
On my grandma’s other side, Mom asked, “Sam, you’re sure you only want money for Christmas?” She tapped her phone, frowning.
“Uh-huh. There’s no point in having to carry stuff home.”
It was mid-December, and we’d be heading to Toronto soon to spend Christmas there with Henry since there was no way he’d stop training for the holidays. He’d be forced to on the days the rink closed, but he was too obsessed to take an actual week off or something.
I missed the old days when Henry and Etienne both trained in Vancouver and I saw them anytime I wanted. I opened my texts, itching to send Etienne a message. But I shouldn’t distract him when I didn’t have anything specific to say. “I miss you” would just be weird.
After the judges and officials were introduced, which always took a stupidly long time, the overhead lights temporarily dimmed and thumping music played in time with strobes as the six women competing in singles skated to center ice for their introductions.
We applauded the lone American, two Japanese skaters, and three Russians. We didn’t always attend all four disciplines when we went to Henry’s competitions, but at the Grand Prix Final it was only the best and we had an all-event pass.
Just before the American girl began—but after the noise of applause had faded—Obaachan declared, “That dress makes her look like a stewardess.”
Mom and I shushed her in unison. As a kid at one of Henry’s competitions, I’d mercilessly roasted another skater who fell on half his jumps, even though my parents told me to lay off. Turned out that the skater’s mom was sitting right behind us, which I only realized when he joined her later, his face all red and puffy from crying. His mom gave me the biggest stink eye, and I’d wanted to sink through the floor.
I’d hated being dragged to Henry’s competitions back then, but the shame of being so mean had stuck with me. I’d grown to like skating way more over the years, especially after I became friends with Etienne in grade nine. I knew how much criticism skaters had to deal with from every direction.
Admittedly, Obaachan wasn’t wrong about the dress—all that was missing was a scarf around her neck and a tray of drinks.
After the women’s short program ended, there was another break before the men began. The Zamboni rumbled out again, and I chewed the ice from the bottom of my pop. The arena announcer told us there were surprise guests.
In the Kiss and Cry, the TV reporter who did the post-skate interviews got on the mic. A familiar couple stood beside her, their image flashing up on the scoreboard screen to thunderous applause.
Huh. What were Chloe Desjardins and Phillipe Vincent doing here? They’d reigned as the top Canadian ice dancers for years and had won three or four world championships. Maybe five? They had been pegged to win Olympic gold, but they fell on their twizzles in the rhythm dance—those quick spins on one foot in perfect unison were like the quads of ice dance. The Russians beat them.
They retired after that, so why were they in Calgary for the Grand Prix Final? Probably doing some charity thing or maybe fluff pieces for the network. Their outfits were too stylish to simply be attending the event. Chloe’s lips shone her trademark pink, her golden curls perfect.
“You’ve got a big announcement today, don’t you?” the reporter asked with a coy smile. Chloe and Phillipe looked equally coy. Even smug, which was weird. Maybe they had a new endorsement deal? They’d already gotten engaged, though they weren’t married yet.
My stomach clenched. Oh fuck. No. Don’t say it. Do not say it. Don’t—
“That’s right, Karen! We’re coming out of retirement and competing next season!” Chloe exclaimed with a beaming smile.
Fuuuuuuck.
The audience lost its shit, cheering and clapping and probably tweeting the news already. Even my mom was clapping as Obaachan asked us to repeat what they’d said.
Mom answered, “Chloe and Phillipe are coming back!”
“Mom!” I hissed.
“What?” She blinked at my outrage in confusion. “That’ll be nice for them. They really should have won gold in France.”
“Not so nice for Etienne and Brianna!”
It took her a second before understanding dawned. “Ah. How many spots are there for us in ice dance?”
“Two for Worlds this year. I can’t see them placing high enough to earn three for the Olympics.”
My heart raced as I did the math. If Etienne and Brianna made it to Worlds this season, they and the other team—which would surely be the reigning champions, Anita Patel and Christopher Ferguson—would have to rank high enough that their placements added up to thirteen.
Anita and Chris had been sixth in the world last year. If they matched it, then Etienne and Brianna would have to be seventh. There was no way they’d jump up that high even if they skated their very best. Canada would only have two ice dance spots for the Olympics, and Etienne and Bree were screwed.
Fuuuuuuck.
I apologized to the family beside me as I leapt up and practically crawled over them to reach the aisle. The ice resurfacing would take a bit longer. They still had to introduce the men’s judges since it was a different panel for each discipline, then the skaters would have their warmup. Henry was skating fifth, so with judging and replays, there was time.
I had to talk to Etienne.
After taking the stairs two at a time, I ducked outside through the first open glass door I could find since there were too many people around for privacy. In the fading light, a blast of frigid air slapped me, my fingers instantly numb as I pulled out my phone and tapped. Snowflakes swirled around me, the Rockies barely visible in the distance.
Etienne picked up the video call almost immediately, grinning into the camera. “Hey!” He looked like he was in the gym. Buds dangled from his ears, and a row of elliptical machines extended behind him, only one in use. He held up a bottle of disinfectant. “Just finishing the machines.”
His brown hair was damp, and sweat glistened in the hollow of his throat, so he’d probably worked out recently. He and Bree were allowed to exercise for free at the private arena gym in exchange for cleaning.
It looked like he hadn’t shaved in a few days, a shadow of stubble over his pale skin. His chest hair peeked out over the V-neck of his workout shirt.
“Um, hello?”
I realized I was staring and jerked back to attention. “Yes! Hi! How’s it going?”
His mouth went tight, and he shrugged. “Okay. I mean, it’s good. I’m good!”
Honestly, I thought Etienne was miserable in Hackensack. Yeah, he and Bree were training with the hottest coach in ice dance, but neither of them seemed happy. It bugged me that Etienne wouldn’t admit it, but I didn’t want to piss him off by pushing. It was like when my grandma still smoked. She had to get to that point herself where she wanted to make the change.
Etienne squinted. “Where are you?”
“Outside the arena.” Shivering, I side-stepped until I was under one of the big lights coming on. Snow was drifting, and I regretted only wearing Jordans. Not to mention only being in my hoodie.
“Your hair!”
“Oh, yeah.” I swiped at the highlights. Maybe it had been a bad idea.
“I love it.” Etienne flashed his perfect grin. He’d had his teeth fixed last year after a skating official mentioned it. I kind of missed his crooked canine. Not that I spent time thinking about my best friend’s smile.
“Yeah?” I was weirdly relieved. “Cool. Thanks.”
“Looks like it’s snowing.”
I brushed flakes from my head. “Yeah, a bit. Anyway, I just wanted to…” Shit. He clearly hadn’t heard the news yet. How was I going to break it?
His thick eyebrows met. “What’s up? Did Henry fall in the short?”
“No, he hasn’t skated yet. I need to get back inside soon. The thing is…”
Etienne’s frown deepened, his eyes flicking up and finger moving toward the screen. “Sorry, bunch of texts coming in.”
There was the figure skating gossip machine exploding into action. I blurted, “Chloe and Phillipe are coming back!”
Etienne had lowered the phone to wipe a cloth over a weight bench, and he bolted upright, the phone jerking with him. He looked down into the camera, practically a nostril view.
“What?”
“They announced that they’re returning to competition next season. They’re here in Calgary, which is a big flex considering their top rivals are all in the building.”
Etienne wiped his forehead. He breathed harder now. “They’re coming back?”
I nodded. “I’m sorry. I know this is… I’m sorry.”
“Tabarnak!” Though he spoke fluent English and only had a slight French accent, when he was upset, this classic Quebecois swear word was his go-to.
He closed his eyes, and yep, I could see right up his flaring nostrils from this angle. Then he was moving, and the camera showed the ceiling and walls, bouncing around. Etienne’s heavy breathing was the only sound.
I hugged my free arm around myself, fidgeting and pulling up my hood as the dry wind gusted, hard snow peppering my cheeks. Etienne’s face reappeared, creased and grim. It looked like he was in a gray bathroom stall now.
“I’m sorry,” I repeated.
He nodded. “We thought maybe, but…”
“Is Bree there?”
His mouth tightened as he shook his head. “It was a bad day for her.”
Crap. She’d suffered a concussion months ago, and the effects were lingering way longer than anyone expected. “Do you think her phone is on?”
“Yeah, even though it shouldn’t be. I need to get home.”
Etienne and Brianna shared an apartment near their training rink in New Jersey. They got sick of each other sometimes, but skating was expensive AF.
“Okay. I should get inside. Henry’s coming up.”
Etienne nodded. “Hope he does great.” He swallowed hard, Adam’s apple bobbing. “Thanks for telling me. I guess we’ll—I don’t know.” After a silence, he nodded again. “Thanks for telling me.”
“Yeah, of course.” I wanted to say something reassuring, but all that came out was, “Later.” He gave me a tight smile and disconnected.
Teeth chattering, I ran to the closest entrance and joined the line. There were lots of exits and only a few doors letting people in. Because this day was trash, I realized I didn’t have my ticket since my mom had them all on her phone.
Fuuuuuuck.
Wonderland by J Scott Coatsworth
Zeke returned to the kitchen and pulled a couple dirty plates from the sink.
Nathan had flinched when Zeke had hugged him. He had started to shake.
Did that mean Nathan liked him? Was afraid of him, disgusted by him? He didn’t know how to read the signs. He’d always been crap with all that touchy feely stuff.
He glared at the stacks of dirty dishes. He hadn’t quite finished cleaning the place, but maybe he could keep Nathan out of there until he had a chance to get things organized.
His visitor seemed like a nice guy. Zeke wished his gaydar was better.
He washed the plates with some dish soap, giving them a good scrub, and dried them with some of his precious paper towels. He pulled out the last of his smoked salmon and put it on the plates, along with the fruit salad. “I have a few Snapples left,” he called. “Lemon or peach?”
“Peach is fine.”
Zeke hauled the plates and a couple forks out into the living room and presented one of them to Nathan with a flourish. “Compliments of the chef.”
Nathan laughed. “What I wouldn’t give to go to a nice restaurant again.” He took the plate and set it on his lap.
“I would love to have cheese again. Especially mozzarella.”
“I would die for a Hershey’s Special Dark chocolate bar.”
“I loved dark chocolate.” Zeke returned with the drinks and a couple more paper towels and took a seat on the floor against the wall by the fireplace where he could see Nathan properly. “Where did you start out on your journey?”
“Vermont. Seems like I’ve been walking forever.” Nathan took a bite of the salmon. “What about you? Ooh, this is delicious.”
Zeke looked around the old cabin. So many memories. “I grew up here. This was my Dad’s place. He passed away a few years ago.”
“It’s… nice.” Nathan took a drag on the bottle of Peach Snapple.
“It’s a pack-rat’s heaven,” Zeke corrected him.
“Yeah.” Nathan smiled wanly. “Sorry. My OCD is getting the better of me. I thought I had it under control, but the dog attack, and being in a place like this… Stress is a big trigger for me.”
“Oh man. I’m sorry.” A light went on in Zeke’s head. “That’s why you wanted the Xanax.” He glanced outside. It was getting dark. “I can run to town right now—”
“It’s all right. I can cope until tomorrow. The Xanax just helps take the edge off for a few hours; gives me time to cope. I’ve learned other ways to manage it.”
“So… OCD. Like that TV detective, Monk?”
Nathan winced. “Yeah. Kinda. It’s more complicated than that.”
“How long have you had it?” Zeke’s gaze lingered on Nathan’s naked chest. He was feeling warmer than he ought to.
“Since I was ten.” Nathan looked at the piles of stuff around the room.
Poor guy looked nervous as hell. “You think hoarding is a kind of OCD?” Zeke joked to lighten the mood.
Nathan snorted. “This isn’t hoarding. It’s survival.”
“Yeah, I suppose you’re right.” Nathan was handsome, even dirty as he was. Zeke decided that he wanted to kiss him rather badly.
He shifted his trousers. He wasn’t usually so out of control like this.
Of course, Nathan had the whole only other living human being on the face of the Earth thing going for him too.
The Alpha's Christmas Wish by CW Gray
Chapter 1
Juan
Juan Vega balanced on the bottom of the extension ladder and pulled the hose of his nail gun around to his other side. “It’s fucking freezing out here. Why the hell are we working outside today?”
His friend Tomás laughed. “Because it’s for Ernie.”
Juan cursed under his breath. Tomás was right. It may be fucking winter in Maine, but Reuben wanted Ernie to have his own knitting room. They had finished the inside a few days ago. All that was left was nailing the wood siding onto the new addition. Fortunately, they were almost finished.
Something tugged on the bottom of his jacket, and he looked down. Peppermint, Reuben’s alpaca, watched him while he munched on the cloth. The silly thing wore a bright red, knitted Christmas hat and scarf.
“Why is the alpaca in the backyard?” Tomás asked, laughing.
“Ernie told me Reuben worried the other alpacas were picking on Peppermint, so Peppermint gets to stay in the backyard for part of the day,” Juan said, shaking his head. The man was full of shit. He just wanted his damn alpaca closer to him.
Tomás chuckled. “Hurry up, and let’s get this shit done. Ernie has coffee inside.”
Juan shook his hips, but Peppermint held on to his coat. He sighed and ignored the alpaca while they finished the siding.
He stepped off the ladder, and the backdoor opened. Pudge, Ernie’s puppy, barked and ran outside, hopping through the snow to reach them.
“It looks good, guys,” Ernie said, waving at them as he yawned. “I have coffee and some of Reuben’s gingerbread cookies inside.”
Juan and Tomás cleaned up their tools and extracted Juan’s coat from Peppermint. Juan kicked the snow from his boots before going inside. “Damn, it’s cold.”
“You’ve been here three years, Juan,” Ernie said, snorting. “You only get to complain about the cold the first year.”
Juan mock scowled at his friend as he took off his heavy coat and gloves. “Just give me some damn cookies and one of those babies.”
Ernie chuckled and picked up Tony from the infant rocker. Juan took the baby and swayed. Damn, I want one of these. Green eyes and a freckled face with Korean features filled his mind. Damn, I want one of these with Jackson.
Ernie handed Tomás Clover, Tony’s twin sister, then waved them to the table. “Sit down, and I’ll get you some cookies and coffee. Juan, when’s the next excursion? Mateo and Artie are in, so Carter and Noah can have a break for the night.”
Juan frowned. “How much experience does Mateo have? Artie can carry the bags, but we need someone to work the equipment.”
Ernie set a plate of gingerbread men between Juan and Tomás. “He’s good for it. We’ll find Bigfoot this time. I know it.”
Juan ate his cookies and cuddled Tony while they talked. Ernie was a good guy, even if he was a little strange. When Juan moved to Hobson Hills about three years ago, the omega had become one of his closest friends.
“Okay, before you two go, I made you guys something.” Ernie stood and grabbed a box off the counter. “Reuben and I really appreciate you two jumping into this project so quickly. Having a knitting room lets me keep all my stuff. I was going to have to either pile it in the bedroom or give it away.”
Juan couldn’t imagine Ernie not knitting. “We don’t mind, Red.”
Ernie smiled and pulled out a dark green, knitted cable sweater. “This one is for you, Tomás. It makes your eyes pop. Here’s a matching scarf to go with it.”
Tomás smiled and took his gifts. “Thanks, Ernie.”
Ernie bent and hugged him. “That’s what cousins are for.”
Juan hid his smile at Tomás’s blush. After a childhood spent having no one, Tomás adored having a large extended family.
“For you, Juan, we have a cream sweater.” Ernie pulled out a thick, cream, cable-knit sweater. “I made it to match your green fauxhawk, then you went and colored your damn hair.”
Juan ran a hand through his black hair. “It’s time I become a mature adult, Red.”
Ernie pouted and stomped his foot. “I miss the green.”
Juan took his sweater and set it aside. “I kinda do too. Maybe it’ll be green again after Christmas.”
A little while later, Juan said goodbye to Ernie and Tomás. He had an emergency patching job to do at Bennett and Marco’s house. As soon as he pulled out of Ernie’s driveway, his phone rang. He saw the number and smiled. “Hey, Papa.”
“Juan, I hate to interrupt you while you’re working,” said Juan’s omega dad, Eduardo.
“You know you can call anytime, Papa,” Juan said. He loved his papa, but he knew he didn’t call unless there was a good reason.
Juan had been close to his papa when he was a child, but Jorge Vega didn’t want his alpha son to spend too much time with his omega father. Juan’s alpha dad was a dick, but that didn’t stop Juan from following the man’s wishes anyway.
“Lucía is getting married,” Eduardo said. Juan could hear the happiness in his voice. “Manuel is a fine young man.”
“I refuse to believe it,” Juan said, grinning. “I’m still having trouble remembering she’s not a skinny ten-year-old anymore.”
“She’s twenty-two,” Eduardo said dryly. “Your dad has been on her for years to find a nice man and settle down.”
Juan laughed. Lucía had refused to fit into the little lady box their alpha dad had built for her. She had refused to marry the first boy who proposed and had graduated top of her college class. Now, she worked for a marketing firm and made more than their dad.
“I’m happy for her. When’s the wedding?”
“This summer,” Eduardo answered. “I’ll get you the exact dates as soon as she pays for the venue. Now, tell me how your day has been?”
“I finished Ernie’s addition,” he said. “Now I’m on the way to a friend’s house to patch a wall.”
“Ernie? Oh, he’s that omega friend of yours,” Eduardo said. “Oh, your dad wants the phone.”
Jorge’s strong voice came across the line. “Did you finally man up and get that omega in bed?”
Juan wrinkled his nose. “Dad, I told you Ernie and I are just friends.”
“Alphas and omegas can’t be friends, son,” Jorge said, scoffing. “An alpha has needs, and omegas need to be taken care of. That’s what we’re made for. It’s not right for you to be thirty-four and still single. You need to settle down.”
Juan almost disconnected his Bluetooth, but he knew his dad would just call back.
“If you go on treating omegas like they’re your buddy, you’re never going to get married,” Jorge continued. “You’ll be cooking your own dinner for the rest of your life.”
“Okay, Dad,” Juan said and pulled into Bennett’s driveway. He didn’t agree with his alpha dad, but it was easier to just go along with him sometimes. “I need to get back to work.”
“Remember what I said,” Jorge said and hung up the phone.
Juan parked and leaned his head back. His dad thought alphas needed to be dominant, loud, and demanding. Juan had to admit he was kind of loud, but he preferred nice and easy most of the time. He’d had more than enough of dominant and aggressive idiots in the army. Fuck, he’d lost some good friends because of one particularly aggressive alpha colonel.
A knock on his window made him open his eyes. Bennett stood outside, all bundled up. His youngest son, Nate, was perched on his hip. “You okay in there?”
Juan grinned and pushed his depressing thoughts away. He’d save those for later when he was trying to sleep. “Yeah, just taking a short nap.”
He got out of the car and grabbed his tools before following Bennett inside.
“You need to get more sleep,” Bennett said, eyeing him. “I see those bags under your eyes, young man.”
Juan shrugged and kept grinning. “No rest for the wicked, right?”
Bennett set Nate down and pulled his son’s thick coat and boats off. “Is it Jackson? I see the way you watch him.”
Juan swallowed. His pining was becoming noticeable. He had a feeling too many Wilsons knew how he felt about the younger omega. “Don’t worry about it, Bennett. Now, where’s this hole in your wall, and how exactly did it get there?”
Bennett gave him a long look. “I see you, Juan Vega.” He turned. “It’s upstairs. Terry and Hannah were rollerblade sledding with Oggy and Choco, and things got out of control.”
“Rollerblade sledding?” Juan asked, chuckling.
“I didn’t even know rollerblades were a thing anymore,” Bennett said, rolling his eyes. “They put on rollerblades, then harnessed Oggy and Choco. The dogs didn’t like it, so they started running. The kids were like ‘yay, this is so fun,’ then they crashed into the wall.”
“I show,” Nate yelled and ran ahead of them. He pointed to a big hole in the wall at the end of the hall. “See?”
“Thanks, Nate,” Juan said and patted the kid on the head. “Let’s see what we have here.”
Bennett watched over his shoulder as he worked. “In all the time you’ve lived in Hobson Hills, I’ve only seen you date two people and that was during that first year.”
Juan cut around the hole and pulled the loose sheetrock out. “Uh-huh.”
“You dated that server in the diner. What was her name?”
“Tracy.” That had been fun, but Tracy had been hung up on her ex. When he’d come back into the picture, Juan was booted out.
“Yes, Tracy. She was nice,” Bennett said, rubbing his chin. “Then there was the blond that works at the bank.”
“Shaina,” Juan said, nailing the new piece of sheetrock into place. Shaina and he had gotten along really well until the first nightmare. He’d woken up shaking and crying, and she’d never been back.
Bennett wrinkled his nose. “I don’t know why you dated her in the first place.”
Juan rolled his shoulders and worked on spreading the mud around the edges of the new piece of sheetrock. “It was something to do.”
“That first year, you flirted with a few omegas too,” Bennett said, huffing as he sat on the floor. “Hell, you flirted with just about everyone.”
“An alpha has needs,” he said, mocking his dad.
Bennett snorted. “Ever since you and Jackson started spending time together, you stopped flirting and dating.” He pointed at Juan. “You, my darling alpha, have some shit going on in your head.”
Juan scowled. Shortly after Jackson moved to Hobson Hills, Juan and he started hanging out. First, it was at their Dolly’s Diamonds meetings. Then, it was a movie or dinner or lunch, and before he knew it, Juan didn’t see anyone but Jackson. He didn’t want to hear anyone else laugh at a romantic comedy or talk about coffee addictions over lunch.
“We’re just friends, Bennett,” Juan said, keeping his words short. He would do anything to keep Jackson in his life, even shut down his own feelings. “Jackson doesn’t date alphas.”
Plus, Jackson doesn’t need my shitty baggage, he thought.
“Hmm,” Bennett said, watching him closely. “You know, Nate already made his Christmas wish this year.”
Nate danced in place. “Wish for pony.”
Juan chuckled. “You asked Santa for a pony, kiddo?”
Nate nodded. “Yeppy. Pony and Nari.”
Juan smiled. Nari was the little boy’s best friend.
“You can’t have Nari, but maybe you’ll get a pony,” Bennett said, laughing. “Maybe Santa will bring Juan what he wants too if he wishes for it.”
Nate gasped. “Yes, yes!” Juan barely caught the little boy before he knocked over the bucket of mud as he jumped into Juan’s arms. “Make wish!”
Juan laughed. “Okay. I made a wish, Nate.”
The little boy frowned. “Close eyes, be quiet, make wish.”
“Better listen to him,” Bennett said, grinning. “Don’t want to piss off Santa.”
Juan chuckled, then closed his eyes. He could see it now. Jackson would be his omega, and the whole world would know it. They would live in the house Jackson rented in town. Juan could fix up the attic to make a kickass master bedroom and bath. Jackson’s dog, Miss Mona, and his cat, Onyx, would become Juan’s pets too.
A few years from now, they’d have a kid or two. He’d make a nice, sturdy swing set for the backyard and play with the kids every day after work. They’d decorate for the holidays, and Christmas day would be full of the laughter, love, and magic of his own family.
Fuck, please let this happen, he thought, longing shooting through him. I wish Jackson Potts loved me like I love him. I wish he was mine.
“Make wish?” Nate asked, patting his cheeks.
Juan opened his eyes. Bennett looked entirely too smug. “Yeah, kiddo. I made my wish.”
Duke the Hall by EJ Russell
Chapter One
“Being a monster was easier,” Sander murmured, gazing out the Roses Manor library window at the bare vines that marched over the rolling hills of the estate vineyards. In those days, the disappointment of an empty driveway was easier to bear. At least during his exile, he’d never expected any visitors.
“I beg pardon, Your Grace. Did you say something?”
Sander turned from the window to face his valet, who was adjusting the yule log centerpiece on the long table in front of the fireplace. “I’m sorry, Luken. I didn’t mean to speak aloud.” Definitely not when anybody else could overhear.
Having apparently tweaked the holly and ivy to his satisfaction, Luken turned his attention to the tea service and arranged two cups, handles situated at precisely four o’clock with respect to the festive red and gold place mats. “Her Highness wished me to let you know she will be joining you momentarily. She had an unexpected call from the Conservancy.”
Sander smiled despite his ridiculous melancholy. He really needed to work on his holiday spirit. “I hope it’s not about elephants, or she’ll likely disappear into the bush and miss the wedding entirely.”
Luken chuckled comfortably. “Your sister would never miss your nuptials. Particularly as she’s your—”
“Wedding godmother?”
“As you say. She takes her responsibilities very seriously.”
“I’m aware.” Katalin had refused to allow Sander to interfere in the preparations for the ceremony or receptions, not even permitting him to assist her in collating the invitation responses. “But elephants are her weakness.” Katalin, whose power moniker was Anime, could communicate with animals, and as such was in high demand from the Conservancy. “Or perhaps her strength.”
“I believe, Your Grace, that her affection for you is her greatest strength.” Luken studied the table. His hand hovered over a third cup on the tea tray. “Will His Grace of Arles be joining you this afternoon?”
Sander swallowed convulsively. Luken had set a place for Tarik every afternoon for the last two weeks, but Tarik still hadn’t returned from his latest assignment on behalf of his cousin, King Bastien of North Abarra. During Tarik’s absence, Sander hadn’t heard anything from him directly—not that it was easy for him to communicate with Sander even now. Tarik’s powers, under his power moniker, Wavelength, allowed him to send or intercept messages on any frequency. While Sander had made enormous progress in utilizing his powers as Radioflash, cell phone technology—or any small electronics, really—continued to stymie him. He still fried their delicate circuitry, and Tarik’s powers didn’t extend to landline telephones.
To be fair, Sander wasn’t comfortable with telephones, anyway. Somehow, using one still felt…perilous. As if another disaster as devastating as the Disaster, the one that led to Sander’s government-mandated seclusion here at the estate, could strike at any moment. Apparently seventeen years of telephone avoidance couldn’t be overcome in the eighteen months since he and Tarik had been marooned on an island together, learned the truth about Sander’s powers…and fallen in love.
Just because I haven’t heard from him doesn’t mean he’s fallen out of love. He probably can’t call or write because of the nature of his investigation. Tarik’s assistant at the Royal Crest vineyard had contacted the Manor at least once a day, although Nico’s message was usually, “No news yet, Your Grace.”
“I’m not sure.”
Luken laid a third place at the table. “Then we’ll assume the best.”
“Thank you, Luken.” A distant hammering caught Sander’s attention. “How are the renovations progressing?”
“Mr. Hugo reports that the enhanced shielding in the east wing is finished and that the upgrades to the master suite will be completed before the wedding. The special bathtub for His Grace arrived yesterday.” Luken chuckled again. “Mr. Hugo’s crew was quite impressed by the size of the fixture. I believe they likened it to an Olympic-sized pool.”
Sander laughed. “It’s not that big.” Although it was definitely big enough for two. “You know how baths soothe Tarik.” Being surrounded by water was one of only two things that could block the airwave-borne messages from constantly bombarding Tarik and contributing to monumental headaches.
The second thing was being in Sander’s arms with one of Sander’s magnetic fields surrounding them both.
“Mr. Hugo assures me that when you return from your honeymoon cruise, you and His Grace will be able to move in immediately.”
Will Tarik still want to move in? They’d decided to live primarily here at Roses Manor after they were married. Tarik had claimed it made sense because it was convenient to his offices at the Royal Crest vineyard just across the border in North Abarra, but was that really the reason? Was he making yet another sacrifice because Sander couldn’t safely live in Tarik’s villa without the danger of destroying the technology infrastructure?
Or maybe because being married to a South Abarran, who was still referred to as the Monster of Roses in the more lurid press, made security too difficult. At Roses Manor, at least they were isolated. And although Tarik, as Wavelength, had his detractors in South Abarra, most of them were in the political echelons, disgraced because of Tarik’s testimony about their machinations.
He said he wanted to live here. But was that only to soothe Sander’s conscience about everything he was giving up?
Sander sighed and ran his right index finger over the clumsy containment glove encasing his left hand. Bulky, almost painfully tight, and reinforced with grounding technology that Sander didn’t fully understand, it felt almost as if he were wearing chain mail at times. But the glove prevented him from creating inadvertent magnetic fields, and until Hugo and his crew were able to install the special shielding throughout the Manor to protect both the Manor’s people and its moderate technology upgrades, Sander preferred to err on the side of caution, no matter how uncomfortable.
He glanced up. Luken was standing next to the table, perfectly composed, his hands laced behind him, waiting for Sander to get his head out of the clouds. Or out of my ass. Sander cleared his throat. “Have the guest rooms been completed?”
“Yes. Last week. Mrs. Aldana and her staff have readied them for occupation and are prepared for the wedding guests as soon as they begin arriving.”
Sander smiled wryly. “They’ve already begun arriving, I believe.”
Something flickered across Luken’s usually imperturbable face. “Only Her Highness, Princess Bianca.”
“Is she giving you trouble, Luken?” Sander took a step forward. “If she’s annoying you or the other staff, I can ask her to remove to a hotel in Roses proper until everyone else arrives on Wednesday.”
Because the wedding was being held at Isola Alesi, the private island owned by a friend of Sander’s cousin, Crown Prince Zorion, they’d arranged for all the guests to be transported there via several luxurious yachts. The guests most closely related to Sander would spend the night at the Manor before setting sail the following day for a leisurely two-day cruise to the lovely resort.
However, Princess Bianca, Sander’s first cousin once removed, chose to misinterpret the invitation, arriving a full month early and refusing to leave, insinuating that the fault lay with the invitation’s wording. Yet she was the only one who’d had any difficulty. She’d spent the entire time complaining about the construction noise and criticizing Sander’s staff.
Luken smiled. “Think nothing of it, Your Grace. The staff is enjoying it in a way. It gives them stories to regale their friends with at the pub.”
“Yes. I imagine it was a bit boring here for the last couple of decades. I’m surprised any of you stayed. Or that you were able to recruit so many new people.” Another disadvantage to Sander’s return to relative favor: The estate couldn’t operate efficiently with only the few faithful retainers who’d been with him since he’d turned recluse at the age of fifteen.
“On the contrary, Your Grace. It has always been our pleasure to serve you.”
Heat prickled behind Sander’s eyes. I don’t deserve their loyalty. He opened his mouth to reply, but before he could get a word out, his sister rushed in, her quilted canvas jacket billowing behind her like a sail and her huge, ever-present wedding binder tucked under one arm.
“I’m so sorry I’m late.” She batted her eyelashes at Luken. “Please tell me that’s your fabulous tea.”
“Of course, Your Highness. Shall I pour?”
She waved him off. “I’ll do it. You don’t need to hang about and get bored over wedding details.” She grimaced. “I think Cousin Bianca has installed herself in the state dining room, and Emilio is looking decidedly white around the eyes with her constant demands.”
Sander groaned. “For God’s sake, Luken, go rescue the poor footman. We don’t want him to quit already.”
Luken bowed briefly. “Leave it to me, Your Grace.”
Sander smiled crookedly. “I always do, don’t I?”
When Luken had glided out of the room with his usual unobtrusive grace, Katalin punched Sander on the arm.
“Ow!” He rubbed his biceps. “What was that for?”
“For being so abject. Luken is proud of his position and how he takes care of you. You don’t have to feel guilty about it.”
“He may be proud, but he doesn’t need to be tortured. Cousin Bianca could try the patience of a whole pantheon of saints.”
“Can’t argue with that.” She plopped down in her chair and poured tea into both their cups, hesitating over the third. “Will Tarik be joining us?”
“I don’t know.” Sander tried to keep his tone bland, but Katalin cast a suspicious glance at him.
“If he hasn’t contacted you, it’s because he can’t. Just like when I’m in out in the bush on an Anime job.”
“I know that. Intellectually. But almost twenty years of expecting the worst is a hard habit to break.”
Her gaze softened, and she patted his chair. “He loves you, Sander. Anyone can see that. Now come and sit.”
He complied, because going along with Katalin was easier than arguing with her. He took a sip of the excellent tea. “I judge by the vast quantities of paper you’ve brought that you’re here to discuss the wedding.”
She rolled her eyes. “What else is there to talk about? It’s in a week and we’ve got a ton of stuff to finalize. I’ve been in contact with Bas, and he says—”
“You call the King of North Abarra Bas?” Beneath his astonishment, Sander was ashamed to realize, lurked a kernel of hurt. If King Bastien talks to Katalin, and King Bastien talks to Tarik, why doesn’t King Bastien talk to me? If only to assure me that Tarik is all right.
“He asked me to. He’s not nearly as stuffy as he looks. Do you know I don’t think I’ve ever seen a single wrinkle in his clothing? I’m nothing but wrinkles.”
“To be fair, you don’t exactly try to maintain an unwrinkled appearance.”
“I know. But still.” She waved one hand. “Anyway, he says the North Abarran bigwigs’ll set sail from Port-Argèles the same time that our folks embark from the Roses marina.” She smirked. “But safely after you and Tarik set sail on Askatasun.”
Sander’s chest warmed, and a thrill skittered down his spine. He’d repaired the damage on his beloved boat, even making a few upgrades to accommodate sailing with a permanent partner. The trip to Isola Alesi with Tarik would be the restored Askatasun’s inaugural voyage.
“Good. Because I’d just as soon not be anywhere close to a boat with Cousin Bianca on board. She’d probably stir up a typhoon if the hors d’oeuvres weren’t to her liking or if the captain wasn’t obsequious enough.”
Instead of laughing, Katalin bit her lip. She pulled the binder onto her lap and laid her hands on top. “I’ve, um, finalized the guest list.”
“Okay.” Sander drew out the word, his earlier excitement doused by her uncertain expression. “Is there a problem?”
She sighed, flipped open the binder, and set it on the table between them. He nudged its corner so he could read it more easily. “Could you have made the font any smaller? I…” The wood crackling cheerily in the fire was drowned by a roaring in Sander’s ears. “Is this final? There aren’t any stragglers still sending in their RSVPs?”
“The deadline was two weeks ago, Sander. We haven’t gotten any new responses since three days before that.”
Sander swallowed and ran his finger down the short—very short—list of South Abarran Royals and political notables who had accepted their invitations. “Only this many?”
She nodded. “Yeah.”
His eye caught on one name in the refusal list. “The Earl and Countess of Figueres aren’t attending?”
“None of the Gonzagas are coming. The Earl declined on behalf of his entire family.”
Sander frowned. “I can understand that he might be embarrassed by Otho’s arrest—”
Katalin glared at him over the rim of her teacup. “You mean his son’s participation in a treasonous conspiracy and attempt to murder you and Tarik?”
Sander’s frown deepened. “We only have Otho’s word that there was a conspiracy at all, particularly since he still refuses to name any alleged accomplices.”
She snorted. “Please, as if Otho could have arranged anything that reasonably well-executed, let alone had the money to dupe those two supos into assisting. He was a stooge.” She tapped her bottom lip with one finger. “Although he’s proving to be a loyal stooge, which would be a point in his favor if it weren’t so stupid.”
Sander returned his attention to the Earl of Figueres’ name in the Regrets column. “The Earl and Countess I can understand, and Cassian is no loss. But Felix— I’m surprised that he refused too. He’s not exactly cut from the same cloth as the rest of his family.”
“Batshit crazy sociopaths, you mean?”
“I might put it a little more politely, but yes.” Sander ripped a clean sheet of paper from the binder and pulled his grandfather’s fountain pen out of the inner pocket of his blazer. He uncapped the pen and jotted down a note. “I’ll call him myself, to make sure his father is actually speaking for him with his consent.”
Her eyebrows rose. “You’re making a phone call voluntarily?”
“Shut up,” he muttered. “I’m trying, okay?” He recapped the pen, his hand trembling enough to make him miss the first attempt. “And you have to admit this will be an awkward conversation, regardless of Felix’s wishes. If he truly doesn’t want to be there—”
“Sander.” She laid a hand atop his. “You’re giving him the choice. And an opportunity to say his piece to you, even if it’s an angry one. That’s a very brave thing to do.”
He shrugged. “Not so brave. My voice’ll probably shake the whole time.” He took a deep breath and studied the list again. “Too bad the Earl couldn’t convince Cousin Bianca to refuse.”
“Nobody can convince Cousin Bianca to do anything. That would be admitting that somebody else in the universe had authority over her, and she barely acknowledges Aunt Maialen.” She snorted. “I think she secretly hopes somebody will discover there was a mistake in the royal birth order back when Grandfather was still on the throne and that she’s the true queen.”
Sander shuddered. “There’s enough political unrest in the country with a good queen. Can you imagine what it would be like if Cousin Bianca were in charge?”
“Don’t even hint at such a thing.”
Sander tapped the paper. “Do you suppose holding the wedding on the winter solstice was a bad idea? Maybe the reason so many people have sent regrets is because they’re busy with preparations for other winter holidays.” He looked at the longer list of North Abarran acceptances. “Although… If that were the case, I’d expect both lists to be short.”
Katalin chuckled. “Bas says he made certain that everyone on his side of the border knows how important this wedding is to him personally.”
“You mean he forced them to come?”
“Let’s just say he encouraged it strongly.”
“That means he forced them.” She punched him again, and he glared at her. “If you don’t stop that, I won’t be able to hoist Askatasun’s sails for all the bruising.”
“Then chill out. You didn’t used to be so freaking pessimistic. Look at our list again.” She hefted the binder between them, practically shoving it in Sander’s face. “All the people who are our friends have accepted. It’s only some of the Royals, ministers, and political muckety-mucks who aren’t showing up. And most of them have been vocal about their opposition to the marriage from the beginning.”
Sander sighed. “I hadn’t realized how easy I had it when I was still a virtual exile. When nobody came near me, and when I couldn’t leave the estate, at least I didn’t have to meet anybody’s hostility face to face. Do you and Mother run into this often?”
Katalin frowned. “I don’t. But I don’t spend much time at the Castle or mess about with Parliament. The Conservancy is an international charity. They’re not dependent on Abarran funding, so they don’t care much about our internal discord. And the animals I work with have completely different social structures.” Her brow cleared, and she chuckled. “Which make way more sense than convoluted human laws and politics. Mother has a totally different experience, since she has to negotiate with those jokers every day.”
“Poor Mother.”
Katalin grinned. “I think she likes it. They never manage to rile her up, no matter how hard they try—which only riles them up more. But Mother and Aunt Maialen are different from you and me. They were raised to run the country, one way or another. We weren’t.”
His gaze drifted to the fire. “I guess I was naïve to think I could step back into the public eye with no repercussions from the past. Father wasn’t the only victim of the Disaster.”
“No.” Her tone was fierce. “There were others. Including you. It was an accident, Sander. And now we know what caused it and that you were just as much of a victim as Father and the others.”
He sighed. “I know. At least I’m trying to know. But it’s much easier for people to lay blame on somebody they can see than on an invisible electromagnetic pulse generated by the sun.”
She snorted. “We live in a country where people have superpowers. They should be used to the force of things they can’t see.”
“Nobody ever said people were logical. And just because they understand it doesn’t mean it’s any easier to accept. From their perspective, I enjoy an unreasonable amount of privilege, Kat, including a royally sanctioned wedding, and most of them don’t think I deserve it.”
Including me.
Dear Santa by KC Wells
Chapter One
November 24
Within ten minutes of arriving at Winter Wonderland, Dave Hayland knew why Chris had pleaded to come. The place was awash with memories, and all of them centred on Matt.
“Dad, there’s the Wild Mouse. Papa loved that ride.”
“Ooh, Dad, can we go on the Waltzers? Papa promised I could when I was bigger.”
“Can we have bratwurst later? That was Papa’s favourite.”
Considering how quiet Chris had been of late, Dave could cope with an enthusiastic trip down Memory Lane. It amazed him how much Chris could recall. He’d been seven the last time they’d visited Winter Wonderland, not long before Matt had— No. I said I wouldn’t do this.
Christmas was always the most difficult time of year. Of the two of them, Matt had always been the one who welcomed the season with open arms, throwing himself into the festivities. Even at university, Matt had been a big kid when it came to Christmas, and Dave had looked on with amusement—and so much love.
Chris tugged his sleeve. “Can I go in there, Dad?”
Dave sloughed off his memories and concentrated on the present. “In where?” Then he saw the sign pointing to Santa Land, next to which was another huge board in red, screaming in capital letters for visitors to Come See Santa.
Dave chuckled. “When I was your age, he was referred to as Father Christmas.”
Chris frowned. “That was what Papa called him too. Did he change his name?”
Matt’s voice was in his head. “Another English tradition falling foul of American culture.” Dave smiled. “Father Christmas, Santa, Saint Nick, Kris Kringle… I guess he goes by a lot of aliases. Not surprising when you consider how many different continents he has to visit.” Then Chris’s request sank in. “You really want to see him?”
That frown was still evident. “Why wouldn’t I?”
It was on the tip of Dave’s tongue to point out that there had been no carrots left out on Christmas Eve for the reindeer, no mince pies the last two years… Then he reconsidered. Ten was a little old to be sitting on Santa’s knee—which was probably a tradition relegated to the past in the current climate—but Dave was in no hurry for Chris to stop being a child.
Let him, if he wants to.
Dave’s inner voice sounded more and more like Matt these days.
“I saw him once.”
Dave blinked. “Who?”
Chris rolled his eyes. “Santa. It was Christmas Eve, and I couldn’t sleep. I was looking out the window to see if I could see… you know… a sleigh… and Santa was in our garden, carrying a sack on his back.”
Oh wow. That had been Dave in a suit, collecting Chris’s presents from the shed where they’d hidden them: Chris wasn’t allowed in there. The costume had been Matt’s idea, of course.
That was the last Christmas we spent together.
Christ, his head was full of Matt today.
“You never said you’d seen him.”
Chris bit his lip. “I thought it would be breaking the rules. If I said I’d seen him, I’d end up on his naughty list, so… I kept quiet.”
That decided him. “Okay, let’s go see the big guy in the red suit.”
Chris’s eyebrows shot up, and it was uncanny how much he resembled Matt. “Wait. I want to talk to him on my own.”
“Kids have to be accompanied by an adult at all times. And I know you don’t feel like you’re a kid, but you’re under twelve, and them’s the rules.”
“Please? Come on, Dad. It’s Christmas.” Chris’s lower lip trembled. “Papa would have let me.”
Dave was about to admonish his son for such a cheap shot, when he realized what the deal was. Christmas was a time for secrets.
He stroked Chris’s strawberry blond hair, so like Matt’s. “Okay. We’ll go there together.” He held up his hands. “And I’ll keep my distance, all right?”
Chris beamed. “Thanks, Dad.” They walked through the gate, following the arrows, and on either side of the path, moving figures waved and turned to the strains of ‘Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer’, and other such melodies. There were snowmen, reindeer, elves…
All it needs is snow. Dave couldn’t remember the last time there had been a white Christmas. Not since he was a child, that was for sure.
They reached the hut where Dave fished out his wallet and paid for Chris’s entry. An ‘elf’ showed them the way, and soon they reached what appeared to be a small Swiss chalet, closed on three sides. A guy stood a few feet in front of the scene with a camera on a tripod, presumably to capture the moment. Dave couldn’t see the big guy: a group of three children and their mother blocked his view.
Then they were ushered toward the exit on the opposite side, and a beaming elf beckoned for Dave and Chris to step forward.
“And what’s your name?”
Dave came to a halt. Father Christmas had never sounded like that. It was a rich, warm, deep voice. Chris approached the figure seated in a huge chair surrounded by presents wrapped in shiny paper. His suit was a sumptuous red, lined with white fur, and unlike the Santas Dave remembered, he wasn’t fat. Not that he was skinny either: the suit couldn’t disguise thick, muscular arms and a broad chest. His beard was a tumbling mass of white curls, and—
Blue-grey eyes regarded him, and Dave swallowed. Wow.
Whoever was hiding under that suit was one good-looking man.
Santa’s eyes twinkled. “Well, hello.”
Before Dave could return the greeting, Chris spun around and gave Dave a hard stare. “Dad. Please…”
Dave nodded. “I’ll be over there. Out of earshot. Will that do?”
Chris smiled. “Thank you.”
Dave gave a nod to Santa, then retreated to stand behind the photographer. Then he shifted even farther back. This was obviously important to Chris. Then he smiled. Lucky Chris. I wouldn’t have minded sitting on that Santa’s knee.
He stood still, overcome by the momentousness of the observation. How long had it been since another man had grabbed his attention? Dave couldn’t get past the feeling that somewhere, Matt was grinning, and saying ‘About bloody time.’
Jeff Nicholson was doing his best to pay attention to the boy standing beside his chair, and not his hot dad several feet away. Which was harder than he anticipated, because Dad was just his type. Tall, short black hair, five o’clock shadow, blue eyes, a lean frame…
Then he remembered he had a job to do, even if this kid was his last customer of the day before his shift ended. Five hours of smiling had made his face ache, but he pasted one on for every child who stopped by.
“Hello. I’m Chris.” The boy held out his hand. “Do you prefer Santa, or Father Christmas?”
Jeff had to smile at that. Cute kid. “Whichever you want. Let’s stick with Santa.” They shook hands. He was a beautiful boy, with large blue eyes and a mop of shaggy strawberry blond hair covering his forehead and reaching past his ears.
His dad is just as gorgeous. Different colouring, but damn…
“Okay, Chris, what would you like for Christmas?” Jeff awaited the usual requests: tech, phones, games… Gone were the days of Action Man and teddy bears.
“Nothing, really.”
Jeff blinked. “Okay….” he enunciated. “But there must be something, or else why would you come to see me?”
Chris stared at the white felt beneath his shuffling feet.
Jeff lowered his voice. “You can tell me. I’m Santa, remember?”
Chris snuck a glance over to where his dad stood. “Well… there is one thing.”
At last. “And what’s that?”
The kid bit his lip, and it was adorable. “It’s not for me, though.”
Adorable and sweet. His parents were lucky. Jeff had seen some vile, greedy kids during the past week. “You can still tell me.”
Chris sucked in a breath and met Jeff’s gaze. “You can do anything, right? I mean, you’re Santa.”
He gave Chris a warm, reassuring smile. “Of course.”
Another moment of hesitation, and Jeff wondered what on earth was coming. Chris huffed out a breath, as though he’d come to a decision. “My dad… he’s a great guy.”
“I’m sure he is.”
“But… I think he’s lonely.”
That stopped Jeff dead. This was nothing like his usual encounters. “Oh. Okay.” How can someone so beautiful be lonely?
“So… what I really want for Christmas…is for him to find a new… boyfriend.”
Okay, that really was a new one. “I see.”
Chris nodded. “Ever since Papa died, I know Dad has been unhappy. He tries to hide it, but I can see. And it’s been three years since Papa went.” He paused, his little face so grave. “Do you think it’s too soon for him to fall in love again?”
Oh Jesus, this kid… It wasn’t often that Jeff wanted to hug one of his little guests, but the urge to wrap his arms around Chris was overwhelming. His heart went out to Chris’s dad. I’d hug him too if I could.
Then he remembered he’d been asked a question. He gave Chris another smile. “No, I don’t think it’s too soon. Leave it with me. I’ll see what I can do.”
Chris shuddered out a breath. “Thank you.”
“I’m not making any promises, okay?” Jeff reiterated. He didn’t want Chris coming back after Christmas and demanding to know why there hadn’t been a man wearing a big red bow under their tree.
Because Jeff would have been there in a heartbeat.
Back to the real world.
He pointed to the camera. “Do you want a photo?”
Chris smiled. “Not really.” He held out his hand again, and Jeff shook it. Someone had brought him up right. “Thank you.”
Jeff waved as Chris rejoined his dad, and they headed for the exit.
Look back at me. Go on, look back.
At the last second before they rounded the corner, Chris’s dad glanced back in Jeff’s direction. Jeff raised his hand again, and he returned the gesture. Then they were gone. Jodie came over to him. “Paul’s here. See you tomorrow?”
Jeff nodded. He greeted Paul, an older guy who’d been a tax inspector before he’d retired, and who donned the red suit every year. Out of sight of the next customers, Jeff removed his costume and put on his jacket and scarf. He needed to eat something, and maybe look at the Christmas Fair.
And not think about the lonely, gorgeous man.
Right then, Jeff wished he really was Santa. Because then he’d have had the power to offer more than words to Chris.
“What would you like to do next?” Dave asked as they strolled away from Santa Land.
“Are you going to let me go on any of the big rides?” Chris demanded. “There’s this roller coaster that goes in loops. And there’s the Wild Mouse. And the Waltzers.”
“Please remember, if you go on those rides, I have to as well, and…” Matt had been the one for roller coasters: Dave got sick going on the Ferris wheel. “I’m not a fan of going around and around.”
“What about that one?” Chris pointed to the tall needle that pushed up into the sky. “That one goes up and down.”
Dave gulped. “The world’s largest travelling drop tower?” Dear God, the thing stood eighty-five meters tall.
“Chris?” The shout came from close by, and Dave turned to see some familiar faces. Ethan charged toward them, grinning. “You came.”
Ethan’s mother Beth walked at a slower pace, shaking her head. “Now I know why he wanted to come here today.” She smiled at Dave as she came to a stop beside him. “I think our children have been plotting together.”
He laughed, an unseen weight rolling from his shoulders. Maybe Chris’s request had had nothing to do with reliving past visits, and everything to do with his best friend. Ethan was in the same class at Harris Primary Academy, and they’d been inseparable since they were five years old. “Chris wants me to go on Hangover.”
Beth raised her eyes skyward, grinning. “Ooh. Yes please.” When he gazed at her in astonishment, she laughed. “Sorry. I know you don’t expect the Chair of Governors to be an adrenaline junky, but I love these rides.”
“Unfortunately, I don’t. Never have.” He glanced at the two boys who were chatting animatedly. “But he wanted to come, and I couldn’t say no.”
“And you’d do anything to make him smile, right?” Beth’s eyes lit up. “I’ve an idea. Why doesn’t Chris come on the rides with me and Ethan?” She paused. “That’s if he’d like to.”
Chris gaped. “Can I, Dad?”
Beth laughed. “Well, there’s my answer. Give us an hour to exhaust all the rides. In the meantime, you go grab a coffee or a bite. We’ll meet up at the Bratwurst hut.”
“Are you sure you don’t mind?”
She smiled. “I’m going on the rides anyway. I certainly don’t mind Chris coming with us.” Her eyes grew warm. “And I know this was more Matt’s area of expertise than yours.”
He had some great friends. “Thank you.”
Beth waved her hand, then addressed the two excited boys. “Okay. Which ride do we hit first?”
Dave burst out laughing when two voices yelled, “Wild Mouse!”
He waved as Beth led them toward the roller coaster. Her mention of the Bratwurst hut gave him an idea. He ambled over to the stand on the corner, where picnic tables had been set up to one side, and ordered himself a large coffee. He grabbed the last empty table, and sat to watch the scene before him.
The lights were so pretty against the darkening sky, and from everywhere came yells, whoops and screams of delicious fear and excitement.
“Is this seat taken?” A tall man stood beside him in a black leather jacket, a soft-looking red scarf tucked under his chin.
In his hands were a foam cup and a paper tray containing a hot dog, which smelled wonderful.
Dave shrugged. “Be my guest.”
The man sat facing him, and placed his food and drink on the wooden table. He nodded toward the rides. “Getting busy.”
Dave made a noncommittal noise and sipped his coffee.
“By the way… Your kid is really something.”
He blinked. “Excuse me?”
The man covered his mouth. “Okay, I didn’t mean for that to sound as creepy as it did.”
That voice… Dave stared at him, taking in the dark, neat beard and moustache, and—
A pair of blue-grey eyes.
He bit back a smile. “Father Christmas, I presume?”
After writing for years yet never really finding the right inspiration, Keira discovered her voice in gay romance, which has become a passion. She writes contemporary, historical, fantasy, and paranormal fiction and — although she loves delicious angst along the way — Keira firmly believes in happy endings. For as Oscar Wilde once said:
“The good ended happily, and the bad unhappily. That is what fiction means.”
Scott lives with his husband Mark in a little yellow bungalow with two pink flamingoes in Sacramento. He inhabits the space between the here and now and the what could be. Indoctrinated into fantasy and sci fi by his mother at the tender age of nine, he devoured her library. But as he grew up, he wondered where the people like him were.
He decided it was time to create the kinds of stories he couldn’t find at Waldenbooks. If there weren’t queer characters in his favorite genres, he would remake them to his own ends.
His friends say Scott’s brain works a little differently – he sees relationships between things that others miss, and gets more done in a day than most folks manage in a week. He seeks to transform traditional sci fi, fantasy, and contemporary worlds into something unexpected.
A Rainbow Award winning author, he runs Queer Sci Fi, QueeRomance Ink, and Other Worlds Ink with Mark, sites that bring queer people together to promote and celebrate fiction reflecting their own reality. Scott is a full member of the Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America (SFWA).
I have been self-publishing since October 2018. My books are extremely light and fluffy m/m romance with mpreg, and while they span a few subgenres of romance, they have similar themes of found family and love at first sight. Besides writing, I enjoy reading everything I can get my hands on, especially m/m romance. My personal favorites are mpreg, sci-fi, fantasy, and paranormal.
Multi-Rainbow Award winner E.J. Russell—grace, mother of three, recovering actor—holds a BA and an MFA in theater, so naturally she’s spent the last three decades as a financial manager, database designer, and business intelligence consultant (as one does). She’s recently abandoned data wrangling, however, and spends her days wrestling words.
E.J. is married to Curmudgeonly Husband, a man who cares even less about sports than she does. Luckily, CH loves to cook, or all three of their children (Lovely Daughter and Darling Sons A and B) would have survived on nothing but Cheerios, beef jerky, and satsuma mandarins (the extent of E.J.’s culinary skill set).
E.J. lives in rural Oregon, enjoys visits from her wonderful adult children, and indulges in good books, red wine, and the occasional hyperbole.
KC Wells
K.C. Wells lives on an island off the south coast of the UK, surrounded by natural beauty. She writes about men who love men, and can’t even contemplate a life that doesn’t include writing.The rainbow rose tattoo on her back with the words 'Love is Love' and 'Love Wins' is her way of hoisting a flag. She plans to be writing about men in love - be it sweet and slow, hot or kinky - for a long while to come.
K.C. started writing gay romance in 2012, and at the time of writing this, (July 2020) she has sixty books published. Judging by the outlines in her Plot Bunnies folder, there's a lot more to come...
Keira Andrews
EMAIL: keira.andrews@gmail.com
J Scott Coatsworth
EMAIL: jscottc@me.com
CW Gray
EMAIL: cwgrayauthor@gmail.com
EJ Russell
KC Wells
WEBSITE / NEWSLETTER / KOBO
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EMAIL: k.c.wells@btinternet.com
Only One Bed by Keira Andrews
Wonderland by J Scott Coatsworth
The Alpha's Christmas Wish by CS Gray
Duke the Hall by EJ Russell
Dear Santa by KC Wells
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