Summary:
Josh Turner is the proud owner of a small garden centre, OK Bloomer, that he inherited from his grandparents. It sits on the edge of a picturesque woodland area in Yorkshire, and despite his efforts to expand the business, Josh is struggling to compete with the evil conglomerate garden centre a few miles down the road.
Lucas Gordon moved to a tiny village in Yorkshire to escape a TikTok meme that has haunted him since the summer. The cottage he bought needs massive renovations which are sure to keep him out of trouble until at least the spring. But when Josh recognises him from the meme, Lucas feels like his world is crashing down all over again.
Josh needs help keeping the garden centre afloat during the winter, and Lucas needs a distraction—and a little festive romance wouldn’t hurt, either.
Summary:
Faking a relationship with his boss isn't exactly what Jay had in mind for the holidays. But when he gets busted making out with Harper at the office Christmas party—by the guy's mom, no less—well... it's his best chance at a Merry Christmas this year.
Not least of all because he's had a reindeer-sized crush on Harper since the day they met.
Faking it only lasts until the searing sexual tension that's been building for months between them boils over, and they come to an arrangement: the full boyfriend experience for the few days they have together, then back to being colleagues at the end.
Should be easy, right?
But baby, it's cold outside and it's warm in bed...
A (Fake) Boyfriend For Christmas is a steamy novella-length gay romance with a HEA and all the holiday feels. It contains: office party makeouts, tree lopping shenanigans, explicit scenes, a snowball fight, oodles of holiday spirit, and true love conquering all.
Summary:
What would you do if you saw someone getting beaten up?
Have-a-go hero Barney really should have used his patented superpower—his Very Loud Scream—and not chanced his wobbly, faux bravado. Now he’s dodging a posse of angry yobs, his head reeling from more than the missile that just hit him. Just who is this stranger sprinting at his side?
By the time it’s safe for him and Raf to emerge from their refuge, there’s a definite connection between them. And yet there’s something about Raf’s story that doesn’t quite add up. Will Barney's I-dared-to-believe dreams go up in smoke or is this New Year’s Eve the one Where Forever Started?
Summary:
It takes an impossible Christmas wish for Bailey to find forever love with his brother’s best friend.
Turning twenty-five and still a virgin, Bailey has barely dated, let alone acted on the private fantasies featuring his brother’s best friend, newly retired hockey star, Kai. All he wants is for Kai to love him, but after a summer when Kai’s anger drove them apart, love doesn’t seem possible at all.
When Kai goes home to Wishing Tree, he knows he owes everyone an apology, not least of all to the man he loves. He’s convinced he can be the man Bailey deserves, and he needs to show Bailey how much he’s changed.
The only problem? Bailey has secrets he’s scared will drive Kai away, and Kai is running out of time to convince Bailey that falling in love starts with a wish, and can end up in forever.
The Wishing Tree is a standalone small-town Christmas MM romance with perfect snow, twinkling lights, a first real kiss, a shy virgin with a silken kink, a retired hockey player, and all the Christmas feels.
Glasgow Lads #4.5
For two years at university, Brodie Campbell and Duncan Harris were inseparable. Then Brodie’s summer internship abroad turned into a six-month job on the other side of the continent.
Time and distance have tested Duncan and Brodie’s steadfast love. Now, with Brodie back in Glasgow, they’re in for a surprise reunion, thanks to a “match-mending” friend and a Christmas charity curling event. Will their on-ice rivalry lead to holiday heartache, or will they win each other back better than ever?
The long-awaited “happier ever after” story for the first (and youngest) Glasgow Lads couple is here!
All Through the House includes characters from the Glasgow Lads series (and features the heroes of Play On) as well as its spinoff series, Glasgow Lads on Ice. It can also be read as a stand-alone fun ’n’ sexy holiday treat. All Through the House takes place concurrently with Must Love Christmas—and makes a great companion story—but contains no spoilers for that novel.
Random Tales of Christmas 2021
Minter Wonderland by Anna Martin
Josh ached.
His shoulders ached and his thighs ached and his knees really ached. And his big toe—he’d stubbed it twice today already. Twice. That was how you broke a toe, he was sure of it. Two bad stubs and boom, broken toe.
He wasn’t complaining, he really wasn’t, because the Christmas tree business was in full bloom for only a few precious weeks every year, and he had to make that sweet pine tree money while he could. So a few aching muscles? That was fine. He wouldn’t even complain. Not out loud, anyway.
He finished hauling the last tree up to the front of the display area and set it in one of the stands so its branches could settle. This one was a real beauty, and Josh wanted to make sure he was showing her off in all her perfect glory.
For the past three years, Josh had owned fifteen acres of land on the edge of Yorkshire woodland that had been used as a garden centre since before he was born. About a third of the land was dedicated to sustainable forestry, a third was taken up by greenhouses, and the final third used for growing fruit and vegetables. He didn’t keep anything too regimented; some of his apple orchard spilled into the pine tree area, but that was fine. He grew mistletoe on the apple trees, and having them close together was no chore this time of year.
A bright, two-tone whistle caught his attention, and Josh twisted around to glare at Angie.
“What?” he demanded.
“Nothing. Just wondering what you’re daydreaming about.”
Josh bunched his hands on his hips. “He’s six foot two, blond, and has thighs like a rugby player.”
Angie made a face at him, then snorted with laughter.
“I wasn’t joking,” Josh insisted.
“I know. That’s why it’s funny.”
He slung an arm around her shoulders and gave her a noogie. Josh had known Angie since they were eleven, both scrawny kids starting secondary school, and their friendship had survived growing up and university and moving away… then moving home again. When Josh had taken over the business he’d immediately known who he wanted for his general manager.
“We’re selling out of trees, Josh,” she said, tucking her explosion of blonde curls back under her hat.
“I know,” Josh said as they walked up toward the main office. “I can’t do much about it. Trees don’t grow overnight.”
She elbowed him in the ribs. “I know. What about next year?”
“Next year is next year. We’ll deal with tomorrow first.”
“When did you turn into such a philosopher?”
He laughed. “Maybe I’ve always been one.”
“Alright, Plato. I’ll finish locking up.”
A (Fake) Boyfriend for Christmas by Sean Ashcroft
1
Jay
“Fuck, Harper,” I gasped as he pushed me up against the wall, a rush of lust going straight to the pit of my stomach. Christmas carols swirled around my head as he kissed me, the taste of mulled wine thick on his tongue.
Definitely, definitely shouldn’t have been making out with my boss, but it was Christmas, and we’d both been drinking, and I’d wanted to do this since the day he was transferred in.
“Shh,” Harper murmured against my lips, laughter in his voice. “You’ll get us caught.”
I didn’t want that. Not because it’d get me in trouble, but because it’d stop Harper kissing me.
“Wouldn’t want anyone to know you were taking advantage, would we?”
Harper paused a moment, unfocused eyes sharpening as he looked at me. “Am I taking advantage?” he asked, all seriousness.
This? This was why I wanted to make out with him in the first place. He was nothing if not impossibly sweet.
I shook my head. “You wouldn’t fire me for saying no.”
“Of course not,” Harper said. “Never, I’d never—”
I cut him off with another kiss, fingers tangled in his silky-soft hair, nipping at his lower lip as his body pressed against me, warm and solid and much too hidden under all these clothes for my taste.
“I want…” I gasped into his mouth, flailing for words to describe how much I wanted this, how hot I thought Harper was, how desperately I wanted to take him home and peel all his clothes off and do something about the sexual tension that’d been hanging between us for so long.
What happened at office Christmas parties stayed at office Christmas parties, right? Even if you woke up in a strange bed in the morning. Office Christmas parties were more of a frame of mind.
I could just picture Harper, sleep tousled and heavy-lidded, my bed sheets pooled around his waist as he looked up at me, blinking as I wrapped his hands around a cup of coffee and watched him recover from the best night of his life.
“Me too,” he murmured, tugging the tails of my shirt out of my pants eagerly. One thing I knew for sure about Harper was that he didn’t get laid enough, and I loved the desperation I could taste in his kisses, feel in his hands on me.
I gasped into his mouth as he ground against me, a surge of heat welling up in my gut. The room spun, a rush of lust going straight to my head like the bubbles in the champagne I’d been drinking earlier.
This was such a bad idea, and I didn’t care. How could I when Harper was sucking on my lip and working his hand under my shirt, splaying his fingers possessively over my back? A silent claim on me that he hardly needed to make—I hadn’t even looked at anyone else since we’d met.
Now, I was finally getting what I wanted. Tipsy and giggly and dizzy, I was getting what I wanted, and what I wanted was for Harper to keep kissing me and both of us to come embarrassingly in our pants and then sneak home together so I could ride him until his brains melted out of his ears.
“You feel so good,” I gasped between kisses, sliding my hand down to his ass to pull him closer, thighs parting so he could settle between them, so I could feel the heat of his half-hard cock pressing against my own.
“Feeling’s mutual,” Harper gasped, hissing as we ground against each other, the two of us moaning together as hot ripples of pleasure stoked the crackling fire in the pit of my stomach.
Another kiss, hot and open-mouthed, Harper’s teeth catching on my lip, a spike of pleasure-pain making my cock throb as he bit down, a sudden rush of anticipation as I realized he fucked dirty and this was going to be incredible.
Something was vibrating in my pocket.
Harper slid the hand on my back down again, fingertips brushing the elastic of my underwear. Shamelessly teasing me, and if he wasn’t careful I really would make him come in his pants.
My phone. The thing vibrating in my pocket was my phone.
Shit, my roommate. It was Klara’s Christmas party, too, and she worked with so many assholes. I’d told her to call if she needed help, she only worked a block away and I could be there quick.
Please be a telemarketer, please be a telemarketer.
I loved Klara, but Harper had moved to my jaw now, nipping and nuzzling his way along it, sharp bites that went straight to my cock and were definitely going to leave a mark. I wanted him, and this was my one chance.
But friends came before my dick. End of story.
I fumbled the phone out of my right pocket, cursing my left-handed self for putting it in there in the first place, and swiped to answer.
“Hello?” I asked in a haze of arousal, hoping like hell Klara wouldn’t hear that in my voice.
A whimper escaped me as Harper found a sensitive spot on my neck, sinking his teeth into it so a shiver ran all the way through me. I did not want to give this up.
“Harper, hold up,” I murmured, regret twisting my stomach as he stopped, but a little thrill of hope rolling around in it as he smiled against my skin.
“Sorry. Klara?” I asked. Should’ve checked the caller ID.
“You’re not Harper,” an older, feminine voice said.
A voice I recognized, with a sinking feeling. A voice that was chuckling.
“Mrs. Jones,” I said, heat rushing to my face. Harper’s mom. I’d heard her talking to him on speaker a few times.
Why the fuck was she…?
This wasn’t my phone.
It was Harper’s. That was why it was in the wrong pocket. I’d picked it up earlier after finding it on the floor outside his office when I’d been leaving him paperwork. That was why I’d approached him at the party in the first place.
Not that I wouldn’t have otherwise. Harper was one of my favorite people in the world.
He’d stopped now, looking at me with horror in his eyes.
“I, umm. I’ll just. Pass you onto him,” I said, holding the phone out like it was an unstable explosive.
Mrs. Jones’ laughter rang out while I passed the phone over and slipped out from under Harper, guts twisting.
This was a mistake. Of course it was. How could I be so stupid?
In three seconds Harper was going to come to his senses and then it’d be all awkward apologies and let’s never speak of this again, and I couldn’t handle that. If I left now, I could keep the warm glow in my chest, downgrade the whole experience to friendly festive kiss, and move on.
Even if friendly festive kisses probably weren’t supposed to leave you hard and needy.
“I have to go,” I murmured, patting Harper on the shoulder and escaping out of whoever’s office we’d just been in, heading for the elevator.
I should’ve been thanking Harper’s mom. She’d saved me doing something stupid tonight.
Even if it was something stupid I really wanted to do.
Where Forever Started by Barbara Elsborg
1
Barney fastened his coat, slung his backpack over his shoulder and took a final look in the mirror. He forced a smile onto his face, the smile that had to be maintained at all costs once he reached his father’s, no matter how difficult he found it. Leaving his room, he double locked the door and turned to see Simon leaning against the wall opposite, hands in his pockets, staring at him. Barney lost his smile.
“Can’t you leave your door open?” Simon asked. “Give someone a place to crash. You’ve nothing worth nicking, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
Fuck you! “No, sorry.” Barney headed for the stairs. Why the hell had he added sorry? He wasn’t sorry. He might not have much worth stealing, but no way did he want to come back to a trashed room or dirty sheets.
“You could share with me.” Simon called after him and laughed.
Been there, done it once, and never again. Simon’s version of fun was very different to his. It was both worrying and irritating that Simon wanted more. Barney hoped he’d just give up, but four months later, the guy was still lurking, still giving him looks he didn’t want, probably just trying to get him to move out so he could have Barney’s room, which was the best in the house.
The party had already started. The music was too loud, the scent of weed strong. As Barney reached the bottom of the stairs, Jamie emerged from the kitchen, holding two bottles of Corona.
“Can Mitch and Pixie sleep in your bed tonight?” Jamie asked.
“No. I’ll be sleeping in my bed tonight.” Probably. “Have a good party.” But not too good, not wreck-the-house good, not kick-my-bedroom-door-open good.
Barney stepped outside and his smile came back, his mood vastly improved by the sight of huge snowflakes floating as if by magic in the air. He loved snow. It hadn’t snowed over Christmas, just rained. His three housemates had gone home to their parents and he’d been on his own until they came back yesterday.
That sounded a bit sad, but he hadn’t minded spending Christmas alone. He’d watched what he liked on TV and been able to eat without being persuaded to cook for someone else. Most importantly, for a few days, everywhere had been tidy and spotlessly clean because after the last housemate had set off for the train station, Barney had spent hours spraying and polishing the communal rooms. He wasn’t a neat freak, but he didn’t like having to put up with other people’s dirt and mess.
Barney turned up his collar and pulled on his hat as he made his way to the bus stop a couple of streets away. He’d packed to stay overnight at his father’s, but he couldn’t count on being invited to sleep over. Since that had never happened, he doubted it would tonight, though he still hoped.
In an ideal world, he’d have a place of his own with no weirdos lurking outside his room and he’d be doing a job he loved that paid a decent wage. But Barney wasn’t currently living in an ideal world. He had two jobs, struggled to save as much money as he could for his project, and he lived in a house with one guy who freaked him out, and another two who smoked too much weed, and he could see no prospect of any of those things changing. Maybe his New Year’s resolution should be to make them change.
Yeah, right. Well, he could look for somewhere else to live, but he had his own bathroom, the room was large and reasonably priced, and the location convenient. It would be hard to find somewhere as good. Even so… Maybe he’d look in the new year.
It wasn’t a long wait before the bus pulled up. He stepped on board and pressed his card to the reader. His dad lived a few miles away in Rottingdean, in a big fuck-off house with his petite but domineering wife Debra. They had two sons and a daughter. All older than Barney. Barney’s mum had been Frank Garrett’s mistress, though Barney hadn’t understood just what that meant until he was a lot older.
Barney had seen a fair amount of his dad when he’d been small. He had his father’s name on his birth certificate and his father’s surname, but after his mother had died when Barney was twelve, he’d gone into care and that had been that. His dad only met up with him a few times a year, though he always sent him a birthday card with a cheque. Same at Christmas. Fifty quid this year, which Barney had used to buy new boots.
He understood why Debra hadn’t wanted another child in the house when she had three teenagers of her own. Though it wasn’t just that. Barney would have been a constant reminder of her husband cheating on her. Debra really wished Barney didn’t exist. But he did, and his dad invited him round every so often, or met him in town and bought him a meal. They’d last met up in October and that was when he’d invited Barney to their New Year’s Eve party. Barney hoped he hadn’t forgotten. He wouldn’t turn down any chance to be with his dad because he was the only relative who acknowledged him, and he remembered when he’d been little, how kind his dad had been to him and his mum.
It was still snowing when he got off the bus in Rottingdean and had started to settle. It was about a fifteen-minute uphill walk to his father’s house from the main road and he could see the lights display before he got there. He headed down the drive through an avenue of trees decorated with oversized baubles and smothered with fairy lights. His father had probably paid someone a lot of money to come and wrap the strings of lights around the trunk and branches. The house was illuminated too, twinkling icicles dangling from the eaves and lining every window, and there was a flickering display of snowflakes being projected onto the front of the building from a machine on the lawn. It looked lovely.
He registered the cars parked out front, the personalised number plates with the initials of his half-brothers and half-sister. No point being jealous. But I am. A bit. Though Barney’s car would be better than all these once he’d finished restoring it. He searched for the bell beneath the large Christmas wreath and pressed it.
Kaz yanked the door open with a smile on her face that fell away when she saw him. “Oh, it’s you. Mum!”
Behind her, Barney could see a huge Christmas tree festooned with colour co-ordinated decorations and big silver bows. Debra was obsessed with how things looked. She came to the door in a short, tight black dress, make-up immaculate, her hair an elaborate sculpture that could probably withstand a storm force gale. Botox had pulled all the expression out of her face.
She stared at him, rolled her eyes and yelled. “Frank!”
Uh oh. Barney didn’t have a good feeling about this. They weren’t expecting him. His dad appeared in a tux and came outside, pulling the door almost shut behind him. Barney knew that was as close as he’d get to going inside. Now he wished he’d not come.
“Hi, Barney. What’s up?”
He’s forgotten. Disappointment tugged at Barney’s heart. He didn’t want to make his dad feel bad that he hadn’t remembered inviting him, but…
“You asked me to come to your party tonight.” He plastered a smile on his face.
“Oh God. Did I? Sorry, Barney. Yeah, I did. I remember now. But there’s been a change of plan. Debra and I are off to an event at The Grand. Staying overnight. The kids are having their own party, with strict instructions not to let anyone throw up in the pool.” He chuckled. “But I’m sure they won’t mind you joining them.”
Oh God, do you know them at all? Though from the way his dad was blocking the door, Barney knew he didn’t expect to him to stay. “No, that’s fine. I’ve got another party I can go to. I just…”
Barney backed away. He was annoyed with himself for looking forward to this. He’d keep the chocolates he’d bought for Debra, and the mince pies he’d made himself and the wine he’d bought for his dad. The wine and the chocolates had cost him more than he should have spent, but he’d wanted to get something that would impress them. He tried to smile and couldn’t.
“Happy New Year, Dad.” Barney set off down the drive.
“Happy New Year,” his father said. “I’ll give you a call.”
Right.
“Did you get rid of that loser?” The loudness of Kaz’s voice showed she’d intended him to hear. “I don’t want him at our party.”
“Don’t talk about him like that. He’s leaving anyway.”
The door slammed and Barney jumped as if he’d been shot in the back. His heart felt like a lump of iron in his chest. He’d never asked his dad for help with anything. Partly out of pride, and partly because he knew Debra would veto any request, no matter how small. The annoying thing was that when his dad was around, she was sweetness and light. But if she saw Barney out in town, she ignored him and once, she’d come into the WHSmith’s where he worked, and cut him dead when he’d greeted her.
His dad owned car dealerships in Brighton and Sevenoaks that specialised in expensive cars like Ferraris and Lamborghinis. The faster the car, the more likely his dad was to stock it. Barney had talked to him about the car he was restoring, so his dad knew he wanted to be a mechanic, but Barney had never been offered a job and he was too proud to ask, too worried that he’d be turned down.
Back at the junction with the main road, he hesitated. Right took him to Brighton, but he didn’t want to go back to the house. Not this soon. It would be self-inflicted torture to listen to the others having a good time, even if it wasn’t the sort of good time he liked. Straight across the road led to the sea.
In the end, he crossed the road and started to walk back to Brighton. The snow was still fluttering down, but he wasn’t cold. He had his big chunky-knit scarf wrapped around his neck, and his blue gloves on his hands. If he got fed up of walking, he could catch the bus. Trouble was, walking gave him time to think, and thinking wasn’t good for his current state of mind.
I’m not happy. But he wasn’t sure how to make himself happy. A new job would help. One that paid enough that he didn’t have to work two jobs. A boyfriend would be nice too. One that didn’t cheat on him, or take him for granted, or knock him around. Barney seemed to have been a bit unlucky with boyfriends, and Simon definitely wasn’t going to get another chance, no matter how hard he lurked.
Thinking about jobs and boyfriends was not going to make him happy. There was no prospect of getting a job as a trainee mechanic because he had no qualifications, and there was no boyfriend because he’d lost faith in finding one who’d be as kind to him as he would be to them.
When a bus pulled up as he reached a stop, he took it as a sign he’d done enough thinking and climbed on. It was warm on board and he took off his gloves and snuggled down in the seat, rubbing the condensation off the window so he could look out at the falling snow. He wished this was a magical bus and he could just keep going, out of Brighton, out of England. Go on an adventure.
But all his adventures were inside his head. He didn’t even have a passport. Though it was more than that. Barney had always been a good boy. His mother had brought him up that way. To be kind and generous. To obey the rules and be careful. So Barney rarely took risks, rarely did the unexpected. Does that make me dull? He clenched his fists in his pockets. Do something brave tonight. He could go to a club and dance, hope that someone might dance with him, dream that someone might be a guy who’d want to see him again…
He stepped off the bus onto a busy promenade full of happy people, many of whom, judging by the meandering path they were taking, were already drunk. Considering it was snowing, he was surprised how little some were wearing, but pubs, clubs and restaurants all over Brighton would be heaving tonight with New Year events, many of which would be costume parties.
As Barney dodged revellers weaving their way along the pavement, he decided he’d treat himself to fish and chips. He was normally frugal with his money, but there was no point thinking he’d be able to use the kitchen back at the house. As he walked along the promenade, he spotted a noisy group ahead and a feeling in his gut told him to be careful.
Despite Brighton largely being a haven for gays, there was an element of the population that resented that, and Barney had good instincts for sensing trouble. But this could just as easily be drug related. He’d begun to detour when he realised two of the men were kicking someone lying curled up on the ground. Oh fuck.
Barney hesitated until he heard a cry of pain, then he ran at the group, hoping surprise might make them scatter. “Hey, stop it!” he shouted as he pushed his way through.
“Get fucking lost.” A guy elbowed Barney hard in the ribs and he yelped and reeled back only to be shoved forward by a protesting woman.
So much for being careful and not taking risks, but Barney wasn’t going to walk away and leave someone to get beaten. When the guy on the ground was kicked again, Barney pulled out his phone and pressed 9-9-9. “I’m calling the police.”
The guy who’d elbowed him snatched the phone from Barney’s hand, threw it on the ground and stamped on it. Pieces scattered everywhere. Shiiit. He heard someone laugh, then a menacing face with multiple piercings, topped by a crewcut, invaded Barney’s space. Barney stood his ground, but inside he was freaking out. I should have just phoned the police, not announced I was doing it. Idiot!
“Come on, Kenzo!” a woman shouted. “He might have got through to the cops. Leave it.”
“I know your face from somewhere,” the guy in front of him said. “Don’t let me see it again.”
Barney gulped. “I know your face too. Better run while you can.”
“Are you threatening me?” Kenzo laughed.
The faint sound of siren filled the air and the guy snorted, turned and walked away with the others.
Oh fuck. Barney’s courage dissolved. He dropped down by the man who lay curled up on the ground. Homeless, by the look of the rolled-up sleeping bag and collection of plastic carriers. He was breathing heavily and groaning. When he tried to get up, Barney took his arm and helped him. Blood was trickling down the guy’s cheek.
“No police,” he muttered. “Little fuckers.”
“You mean the guys who attacked you and not the police, right?”
The man huffed out a laugh, clutched his side and gasped.
Barney glanced at the remains of his phone and sighed. It was insured, but he’d be without one for a few days. “Are you okay?”
The man was taller than Barney, with a scraggy beard. It was hard to tell how old he was, but Barney guessed mid to late thirties. Probably ten or so years older than him. His hat was pulled low over his forehead and he looked as if he was wearing several layers of clothing.
“Your cheek’s bleeding.” Barney found a clean tissue in his pocket and dabbed at the guy’s face.
The man took the tissue from Barney’s fingers and held it there himself.
“Are you injured anywhere else?”
“I’m bruised. I’ll live. Unlike your phone. I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault.” Barney picked up the pieces and stuffed them in his pocket.
The police siren faded away.
“It is my fault. Thanks for coming to my aid. I appreciate it.”
“What did you do? Look at one of them? Mutter some innocuous comment that was taken the wrong way? Like only a mother could love a face like yours?”
The guy laughed, then grimaced in pain. “How did you guess?”
“I’ve been given a black eye twice for looking at someone. Not the same someone. I’m not that much of an idiot. But even a glance is too much when an arsehole is in that sort of mood.” He smiled at the guy and held out his hand. “My name’s Barney.”
The guy hesitated, then shook his hand. “Raf.”
“Are you sleeping rough?” Barney asked. “Or on your way to a costume party as a homeless person?”
“That’s an interesting thought and I wish I could say you’d guessed correctly, but no, I’m sleeping rough.”
“Are the hostels all full?”
“Yep.”
“Oh.” Barney felt sorry for the guy. “Can I buy you some fish and chips? I was just about to get some.”
The silence was so long, Barney wondered whether to repeat what he’d said.
“Do you have an ulterior motive?”
Barney frowned. “Such as? Wanting to nick your sleeping bag?”
Raf smiled. “I was thinking more in terms of you wanting to lead me onto the path of righteousness, and before I got to eat a chip, we’d pray together for Jesus to save me.”
“Er no. You can just eat the fish and chips. I might talk because I’m a bit of a gabbler, but not about Jesus.”
“I’d love fish and chips. Thanks.”
“The best fish and chip shop in Brighton is this way. You okay walking?”
“I’m fine. I think you saved me from serious injury. They were egging each other on. You were brave.”
A warm feeling surged through Barney’s gut. He probably been more stupid than brave, but he’d take brave. The two of them continued along the seafront, the snow falling a little more heavily. There was a thickening layer on the ground.
“You’re not out partying tonight?” Raf asked.
He had quite a posh voice. A nice voice. A voice that didn’t belong to a homeless person, but Barney knew better than to make snap judgements. There were all sorts of reasons why people were homeless and not all of them were to do with drugs and alcohol.
“No. Just doing my superhero thing. Looking for people in trouble, and I didn’t even have to activate my patented superpower.”
“Which is?”
“Screaming very loudly. I also have a pink belt in karate.”
“Is there a pink belt?”
Barney laughed. “I don’t think so. Why don’t you sit here in this shelter while I nip across the road to get the food? Fish and chips or something else? Pie? Battered sausage? Salt and vinegar, a drink? Little wooden fork?”
“Fish and chips would be great. Plenty of salt and vinegar. Yes, to the fork. Black coffee, no sugar. Thank you. I’ve got fifty pence…”
“My treat. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” Barney smiled and hurried across the road.
He wasn’t doing this guy a favour to make himself feel good, but he did feel good about helping him. Was that wrong? Okay, so his New Year’s Eve hadn’t turned out to be the party at his dad’s that he’d hoped for, but at least he had a bed to sleep in, a roof over his head and enough money to buy something hot to eat. He worried that cash given to homeless people might end up getting spent on drugs or alcohol, but he was fine about buying someone a drink or a sandwich. Or fish and chips.
Raf seemed a little…different to most of the homeless people Barney saw around town. Even with the offer of food, he did wonder if Raf would be sitting in the shelter when he got back, but he was on the bench, staring out to sea, and Barney dropped down beside him. Raf started when he saw him, but being homeless would keep you on edge and Raf had already had a bad scare that night.
“Only me.” Barney put the food and the coffees between them.
“Thank you.”
Barney unwrapped the paper from around his tray of food and opened it up on his lap. His mouth was watering and he sighed with pleasure when he bit into the first hot chip. The top ones were the best because they had the perfect amount of salt.
“I don’t know why they taste better eating them outside, but they do, don’t you think?” Barney glanced at Raf. “Even when it’s freezing cold and snowing, though at least it’s not snowing on us under here. Thank you to the Victorians who built this shelter and the wind for blowing offshore.”
Raf was eating quickly, almost shovelling the food in, but he nodded.
“How long have you been homeless?”
“Not long.”
“A bad time of year to have no roof over your head.”
“Yep.”
“What did you do before you became homeless?”
“Lived in a house.”
Barney laughed, then snapped it off. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have laughed. Am I asking too many questions? But I meant what did you do for a living?”
“I owned a company.”
“Oh wow.” Barney couldn’t help but wonder what he’d done to lose a house and a company. Maybe a wife too.
“What about you?” Raf asked.
“I don’t own a company. Or a house.”
Raf chuckled.
“My day job is on the till at WHSmith. Three evenings a week, I clean business premises, when I’m not roaming the streets of Brighton being a superhero, obviously.”
“Are you working tomorrow?”
“Not at WHSmith’s. I have the day off. Though I have to do the cleaning job because there’s only me on duty over the holiday. Instead of going in late after everyone’s left, I can go in early because no one’s working tomorrow.”
That gave him an idea. Definitely not a good one. One that was out of character. But… The snow started to fall more thickly, obscuring the view of the sea, and Barney winced. He couldn’t leave Raf out in this.
Raf finished eating before him and balled up the paper. “Thanks for that. I need to get somewhere under cover before all the good spots are taken.”
“Would you like my scarf?” Barney blurted. It was his favourite one, but he had another.
“Thank you for the offer, but I’m fine.”
“Would… Would you like to come home with me?” Oh God. Did I ask him that?
Raf just stared at him, probably able to tell that Barney had not meant to blurt that out. But he had and he’d stick by his offer.
“Are you sure?” Raf asked.
Barney took a deep breath. “I’ll have to sneak you in, put your stuff somewhere before we arrive so you don’t look homeless… Oh that sounded bad. I’m sorry. I’ll go down and get your things once you’re in my room. I have a shower. You can have the bed and I’ll sleep on the floor. But we have to be careful to get in without anyone noticing.”
One look at Raf, and the others, no matter how stoned and drunk they were, would object to a homeless guy coming into the house. Raf was either a big or wearing a lot of layers and his clothes were dirty. If Barney’s housemates saw him, Barney would be the butt of their jokes for eternity. Probably longer. Barney and the tramp. He could hear them say it.
“Really?” Raf stared straight at him.
“Yes, I really have a shower.” Barney smiled. I’m an idiot.
“Are you thinking you’re an idiot?”
“Oh my God! You have a superpower too. Reading minds is so much more useful than screaming loudly.”
Raf chuckled. “I’m not sure about that.”
Barney sighed. “I’m taking a risk but as long as you don’t trash the place or steal stuff or kill me and spray blood all over the walls, it should be fine. If you are intending to kill me, please don’t make a mess.”
“The mess wouldn’t matter if you were dead.”
“That’s true. So make a mess. It will be my parting gift to my irritating housemates.” This conversation had taken a weird turn.
“I’d be taking a risk too,” Raf said. “You might be luring me somewhere so the group that attacked me earlier can torture and kill me. You lulled me into a false sense of security by helping me, but you’re in league with them and they’re waiting for us to arrive at your house.”
A really weird turn. Barney gaped at him. I like him. “But then I wouldn’t have bought you fish and chips and coffee because torture would result in you vomiting, and think of the mess. Who’d clean it up?”
Raf gave a choked laugh.
“Do you think that lot have enough brain power to plan kidnap and torture?” Barney asked.
“No. You’re right.”
“I live with three other guys but tonight the house will be full of people because they’re having a party. It’ll go on and on and it’ll be noisy but at least you’ll be warm, and you can get clean.”
“Do I smell? Ack, don’t answer that.”
“I wasn’t suggesting you did, but I thought maybe you’d appreciate a shower.”
“I would. Thank you. I think… I think that sounds great. The kindest thing anyone has offered me for a long time. Maybe in forever.” Raf gave a short laugh. “I won’t let you down. I promise not to steal anything or trash the place.”
“Or spray blood everywhere?”
“I’m a very tidy killer.”
Barney gulped. “Don’t forget about my pink belt in karate and my superpower.”
“Oh yeah, I forgot. I won’t mess with you.”
Barney was only slightly reassured.
The Wishing Tree by RJ Scott
Chapter One
BAILEY
Back then
The Wishing Tree is beautiful, a dark shape towering over me against a pale dawn sky in the middle of the park. It was magic to me as a child, a place to leave Santa a wish for the gift I wanted the most, which then appeared magically on Christmas Day. It had stood here longer than this town, the streets built around it, with room for the small park where the fountain ran with spring water, and for the bandstand, which was lost in the snow in the far corner. No one really knew the history of the huge, spreading oak, only that at some point in the past the people who lived in Buchanan Springs had decided to start tying ribbons to the branches in winter and make wishes.
It became something more— a tourist mecca. So much so that the town changed its name in 1952, and the thriving existence of Wishing Tree, Vermont, owed everything to this silent witness of the changing years.
“I don’t know what to wish for,” I murmured, the words echoing in the hush of the blanket of snow that had fallen overnight. Dawn painted the sky with the first blush of sunrise, and I was early enough that I was the only one there, staring up at the branches and then down at the blank card in my hand, not knowing what to write.
This could be the most important wish I’d ever make.
More important than the make-your-own-jewelry set I’d asked for when I was ten, or the paints and sketch books I’d requested at eleven, or even the theatrical makeup set I’d wanted when I was twelve. I was fifteen, gay, searching for meaning in my small-town life, and desperately in love with my brother’s best friend.
And today was the day I told my family everything. Not about who I loved, but who I was. Gay. Different. Wrong.
“Just write the words, Bailey,” I admonished, but the words wouldn’t come.
I was terrified of what my family would say, how things might change, and worst of all if they would ever love me again.
I wish that my family won’t hate me. I wish I didn’t feel so wrong in this world.
The wish had to be perfect. What did I want more than anything else?
Kai Buchanan. That was who I wanted.
An image of Kai slipped into my head, and I just let it stay there, used to thinking about him because he consumed my waking thoughts and followed me onto heated dreams. It didn’t help that he was in town for a couple of days— a quick visit with his family before heading back to the Albany Harriers and his professional hockey career. I’d seen him three times— managed to avoid him on two of those occasions, never knowing what to say to him. I huddled further into my coat as a cold breeze collected fallen snow and flung it at my face.
The sound of approaching footsteps on the icy trail made me shuffle forward a few inches to hide, vainly hoping no one would notice my bright yellow coat, but I’d been spotted. In horror, I saw that it was one person I didn’t want to see who’d caught me there so early. Kai.
“Angel! Hi!” He bent at the waist, stretching, but turning his face as he did, so he could send me a smile. His eyes were such a beautiful shade of caramel, just this side of topaz, and his lips were lush and pink and pillow soft. He called me Angel because, according to him, my hair, all blond curls and long, made me look like an angel. I secretly loved him calling me that, and he was the only one who did.
“Hey.” I sketched an awkward wave, the card obvious in my hand and, embarrassed, I shoved it deep into my pocket, hoping he didn’t notice.
“Are you adding a wish?” he asked, then he jumped over a mound of snow and headed my way. I swear I was going to die on the spot. “I should do that before I go.” He lifted the lid to the sheltered card box, and picked up a pen, which he proceeded to tap on the surface. “I’ll have to owe the tree a dollar. I’ll bring it back later.” He glanced up at the tree as if he was apologizing to the skeleton of branches. “I don’t know what to wish for.” He side-eyed me. “What are you wishing for?”
Oh god, my tongue was a hundred times too big for my mouth. I couldn’t tell him all my secrets; I wouldn’t have known where to start. I let out what sounded like a squeak, and same as my brothers, he didn’t pause to let me answer because he knew as well as they did that I didn’t talk much, that I was shy.
He tapped the pen on his lip, leaned on the small table next to the honesty box, and crossed his legs at the ankles, staring up at the branches and frowning. “I guess I could wish for the Harriers to go all the way to the Cup, but I don’t want to tempt fate.” He glanced at me, and smiled, and my chest got so tight I forgot how to breathe, my greedy inhalation of air so dramatic.
He frowned at me. “Are you okay?”
I nodded. He was so beautiful, and I was so besotted that talking was hard. Talking was impossible. He smiled at me, and his smile was my undoing. I edged deeper into my shaded hiding place— just a small shuffle step— but everything was too loud, and the peace I’d found under the tree had gone. My safe space was more like a prison because I was frozen to the spot, and what had started out as a simple act of putting a wish on the tree was now me not being able to breathe.
Fuck. That happened fast.
Cold sweat trickled down my spine, and I shivered, clutching my arms to my chest, and not looking up at Kai in case I gave too much away. He’d been a witness to these short panic attacks since I was a toddler, and wouldn’t think anything of it, but I didn’t want to be this stupid thing. I wanted to be confident. I stared down at the snow and waited for him to comment, but he was focused on the wish, and I had space to try to settle the panic. I hadn’t slept at all last night, knowing what I was going to do today How I was going to tell my family I was gay and how I might lose everything if they didn’t understand.
Kai tapped his pen against the card, and I focused on the rhythmic tapping and the husky depth of his perfect voice. “Maybe I should wish that I get called up for the All-Star team?” The last comment, he phrased as a question. I made a humming noise to indicate I agreed, and all I could wish for at that moment was for the ground to open and swallow me.
“Nah, that’s not likely. I think I’ll just go for winning the next game,” he announced with added jazz hands, then scribbled on the card with his tongue poking out from the corner of his mouth, before threading a ribbon through a big hole and tying his wish to one of the higher branches. “There.” He patted the wish and held his hand out for my card. “You want me to tie yours up?” Not only was he six years older than me, but he was also a foot taller, sexy, and confident with cropped dark hair, and so handsome it made me want to cry. I’d known him my entire life— his sister Brooke, was dating my oldest brother, Callum; he was best friends with brother number two, Lucas; and he played pool with brother three, Duncan. He knew me better than most, and this was where it was going to go to shit because when I didn’t say anything, he rested a hand on my shoulder and squeezed.
“It’s okay, Angel, you do it on your own time.” He stretched away from me, touching his toes. “I’ll see you after Christmas.”
“You’re going already?” Did I sound desperate? I think I sound desperate.
“Yeah, later today.”
“Oh.” Words had long since fled. Shit. Shit. Shit!
“Bye.” He picked his way over the snowdrift, and I wish he’d jump it again because that was sexy. But then, I didn’t want him to go. I wanted him to stay here and tell me what to wish for. I didn’t know how to word it so that people would understand who I was and wouldn’t hate me for my secrets. I didn’t want to lose everything. I had to tell someone, I had to try to see if I could still be loved if my secrets were out in the world.
“I’m gay,” I blurted, and wished I hadn’t spoken at all when the words drifted toward him.
He turned to face me, as I blundered ahead with the list of things I wanted people to know. “I’m gay, there, I said it. Gay. And I like wearing… I mean, I have this silk that I like to have with me all the time, and I hold it tight, and it makes me feel…” sexy, special… “good. I want to have it next to my skin. I want to wear silk panties like I’ve read about, and I want to get a corset, so it’s real tight, but soft, and it’s the only way I can get off… fuck… I want to love all those parts of myself, and I’m terrified my family will hate me, and that the town won’t understand, and that I will never get anyone to get the real me.” I tipped my chin and stared at him. “And worst of all, I love you.”
Kai’s mouth dropped open— he didn’t look shocked at my outburst, or disgusted, or any of a million hateful, hurtful things I assumed I’d see. But as I watched him unpick all the words, he didn’t immediately pull me into his arms and kiss me senseless either. If anything, he seemed confused and wary.
“Oh, Angel,” he sounded resigned, overcome, and after a moment’s hesitation he picked his way back over the snow to me. He wasn’t exactly throwing himself at me and answering with vows of undying affection. Humiliation began to curl inside me. “It’s okay,” he added.
“It’s not okay,” I managed to force out in desperation, then pressed my hands over my chest. “I’m all wrong, it’s all wrong. You don’t love me, and why can’t I just be normal. I’m not right inside…”
To my shame, hot tears spilled over, and coursed down my cold face, and I couldn’t catch a breath.
“Come here, Angel.” Kai stepped into my space and held me tight, comforting me as if I’d had a nightmare and had just woken up. He rocked me and told me all kinds of things. “It’s okay to be who you are, and to love anyone you want to. Just don’t waste your time on me, okay?” My heart cracked then, and I tugged myself away. “As for your family? They’re good people, and you know that they’ll one-hundred-percent have your back.”
He patted my shoulder as if I was a dog who needed a reward. “Nothing has to change— but you know, you might want to keep some of your secrets for a while, like thinking you have feelings for me, and the silk, yeah? But the big stuff, being yourself, being gay, that’s just you, and they’ll know that.”
“I don’t think I have feelings for you, I know I do.”
I wish my heart wasn’t breaking. I wish Kai was mine. I wish I was more the kind of person that Kai might hold and love.
“I have a girlfriend,” he began carefully.
“But you’ve kissed a boy, too.” I know I sounded desperate.
“What?” he glanced around us, and he looked scared. “Who told you that? It’s not true.”
I lowered my voice. “Yes it is. A man in a nightclub; I heard you and Lucas talking about it.” My heart was pounding.
“Shit. You can’t tell anyone that,” he said with urgency, leaning close so he could whisper his fears. “No one but Lucas knows; it’s a secret, okay? No one on the team knows, okay? You can’t tell anyone. Swear to me.”
“I won’t, I wouldn’t…” He looked so accusing, as if I’d done something awful, and I hated the way it made me feel.
“Sorry, I know you wouldn’t. Fuck!” He clenched his hands into fists at his sides, clearly fighting something I couldn’t understand. “I have to keep my secret, but you don’t need to keep yours, okay. I know that’s double standards, but…” He ran out of words.
“We both have secrets,” I said softly, tears pricking my eyes.
“But mine could ruin my career, and I’m not going there.”
“I’ll be sixteen soon, and I could come to Albany with you and—”
“We’ll always be friends, Angel.” He made as if to touch me but then thought better of it and dropped his hand. “I can’t be anything else. I have to go.”
Kai shivered. He wasn’t wearing a coat like me, the only concession he’d made to the weather was the woolen hat that covered his hair and ears. He made as if he was going to ruffle my hair, and I ducked and would have toppled back into the snow if he hadn’t caught me. He was so close. All I needed to do was reach up and press my lips to his, and that would’ve been my first kiss, and then he’d see that he could love me the same way as I did him. But he set me away from him and patted my shoulders all the while looking around us as if he expected someone to notice us.
“Bye, Angel.” I usually loved that he called me Angel, but right then it felt like an insult as I watched him leave.
“Bailey. My name is freaking Bailey,” I murmured as he reached the path. He must have heard me, because he turned to face me, and I couldn’t read his expression at all.
“You’ll always be Angel to me,” he said clearly. “My Angel,” he tagged on those two words wonderingly, and with hesitation, and that made me furious.
“I’m not your anything!” I whispered brokenly.
For a moment, I thought he might come back to me, but I realized how wrong I was when he winced, and then ran off along the trail, disappearing around the corner in the blink of an eye.
I wished he loved me, I wished he’d wanted to kiss me. I loved him with all my heart and tears blurred my vision as I pulled out the wishing card. Somehow my poor bruised heart helped me to know exactly what I wanted to say. It was everything I wanted.
I wish my first kiss was with Kai Buchanan and that one day he’ll love me back.
All Through the House by Avery Cockburn
Chapter 1
“Wakey, wakey, eggs and bakey.”
“I’m awake.” Brodie Campbell tugged the duvet up over his shoulders, re-cocooning himself in warmth, then snuggled his face deeper into the soft pillow. “You can stop harassing me.”
“Mate.” John’s voice was right at Brodie’s ear. “Your eyes are closed.”
“The better to rest my weary head.” Also the better to cling to his last dream.
“I’ll weary your head if you don’t get your arse up and moving.” John whipped off the duvet, exposing the dream’s lingering effect beneath Brodie’s sleep trousers. “Well, good morning to both of you.”
“D’ye mind?” Brodie rolled onto his stomach, hiding his erection but also crushing it beneath him. “Ow.” He uttered a stream of slurred curses directed at John and the general universe.
“You telt me to wake you before I left for the rink.” John nudged his shoulder. “Time to bundle up for the big bonspiel. Your teammates need you. Especially me.”
So it was Saturday, the day of the Christmas charity curling event, which John had somehow roped him into despite Brodie’s complete absence of athletic ability.
John leaned over him. “I brought you a nice fresh cuppa. ’Mon, sit up and get yourself caffeinated.”
Brodie’s stomach growled. “You mentioned eggs and bacon?”
“Naw, it’s just a saying. There’s toast and porridge, as usual.” John sat next to him, creaking the futon’s springs. “Did you phone Duncan last night to tell him you’re back in Glasgow? Like you’ve been promising me you’d do the last three nights?”
Brodie reached under the pillow and crushed it against his ears. He couldn’t breathe like this, but surely John would give up before suffocation set in.
“Right.” John’s weight left the futon. “You’ll wish you had done.”
Brodie lifted his head. “What did you say?”
“Nothing. I need to go to the rink early to help set up. See you at ten o’clock on the dot!” He strutted out, leaving the guest room door open.
Brodie sat up to sip from the holly-patterned mug John had left behind. The tea was fair strong, just the way he needed it.
He rubbed his face hard to wake himself. Och, he still hadn’t shaved the beard he’d grown in St. Petersburg. Maybe there’d be time to at least trim it before going to the rink today.
He tugged on his comfy tan cardigan—the one Duncan always said made him look like “a hot Mister Rogers”—and dragged himself out of bed.
As he shuffled into the living room, his toes struck a Christmas bauble that had rolled off the tree—no doubt with the help of Hardie the tuxedo kitten, who was sitting in the crook of the L-shaped couch, washing his face like an innocent bystander.
Brodie picked up the bauble and returned it to one of the tree’s higher branches, theoretically out of Hardie’s reach. Then he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The scent of Fraser fir eased his morning grumpiness by at least ten percent.
Each time he examined this tree, a new piece stood out. John’s husband, Fergus, did salvage art as a hobby, recycling castoff items into marvelous works. Hanging a few inches from Brodie’s nose was a Santa made out of a small strip of weathered wood, with glittering costume jewelry forming his eyes and the buttons of his coat. Beside it hung a reindeer assembled from tiny springs like those inside a clicky pen.
Brodie went into the kitchen to find the artist himself at the table, hunched over his tablet.
“Excited for your big curling debut?” Fergus asked. “John tells me you looked a natural at Thursday night’s practice session.”
“Really?” Brodie let rip a yawn as he took a bowl from the cupboard beside the sink. “I’ve never been a natural at anything sporty.”
“Everyone’s got an athlete in them somewhere.”
Easy for star midfielder and football captain Fergus to say.
“It’s just for fun and charity, anyway.”
“John says New Shores could make more than fifteen thousand pounds out of it, depending how the raffle goes.”
“Good on him,” Brodie said. “He’s put loads of work into planning this event. Dunno where he finds the energy.”
“Me neither. I’m proud of him, though.” Fergus pushed a hand through his ginger hair and gave a big sigh. “I just wish he’d not nicked my best goalkeeper and striker. We could certainly use them in today’s match at Greenock.”
Brodie wrapped his hands round his mug of tea, focusing on its bone-warming heat rather than memories of all the Saturday afternoons he’d frozen his arse off at various football pitches. While he was overseas, he’d sorely missed cheering on the Woodstoun Warriors, Fergus’s all-LGBTQ amateur football team.
His heart ached now at the memories: the camaraderie of the Rainbow Regiment fan group, the tension of a close match, and the electric thrill that coursed through his body whenever Duncan Harris scored a goal.
Wait, wasn’t he the Warriors’ best striker? Surely Fergus hadn’t meant Duncan would be at the charity curling tournament. John would’ve mentioned it.
Right?
On the kitchen table across from Fergus lay a document bearing the letterhead of New Shores, the refugee-assistance charity where John worked part-time and Brodie had spent all of his internships, including last summer’s…which had then extended into autumn.
Brodie picked up the multi-page document, titled Jingle Bell Rocks Teams.
The first four-person curling team belonged to New Shores and called itself “Hard! The Herald Angels Sing.” It featured Brodie, John, and two of New Shores’ legal staff. The other teams came from local companies and organizations, each paying a fee to enter their own quartet of brand-new curlers, all of whom had received coaching courtesy of Shawlands Rink volunteers.
The second team, from a home-security firm who were one of the event’s “Elf-level” sponsors, was called “Guard Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen.”
He snorted at the curling puns, then flipped the page to read the other participants.
The flat’s front door burst open, and John hurried through. “Och, there’s the team sheet. I’d lose my own head if it wasnae attached to my neck.”
Brodie couldn’t answer, being struck speechless by the next team:
All Through the House, from Harris’s Fine Interiors (Santa-level sponsor)
Team members:
Ellie Christie
Alan Harris
Caroline Harris
Duncan Harris
As John reached for the document, Brodie held it out of reach. “Why didn’t you tell me Duncan was in this bonspell?”
“Bonspiel,” John said.
“Whatever!” He brandished the team sheet. ”Was this on purpose? Are you playing matchmaker again?”
“More like match-mender.” John waggled his forefinger. “Mind, you would never have got together with Duncan in the first place if not for me—”
“And me,” Fergus added.
“—and look what it’s brought you so far. Two years of blissful romance.”
“A blissful romance that’s none of your business.” Brodie slapped the team sheet onto the table. “If there’s any mending to be done, we’ll do it ourselves.”
“Considering you’ve not told him you’re home yet,” John said, “I’d say there’s plenty of mending needed. What’s going on?”
“Nothing!” Brodie said, then huffed out a sigh. He wasn’t convincing anyone, least of all himself. “It’s just been a bit weird between us these last three months. We’ve been arguing ever since I extended my internship.”
John’s dark eyes widened. “Oh no.” He looked at Fergus. “Did you know about this? Has Duncan mentioned them falling out?”
“We’ve not fallen out,” Brodie said. “Not exactly.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to fend off an oncoming stress headache. “I’d planned to surprise him tomorrow after work with dinner and a hotel—in other words, several hours alone to sort things between us. Being thrown together at a massive bonspiel will not help.”
“Sorry, I’d no idea,” John said, “though I wondered why you seemed so nervous about seeing him again.” He brightened. “Sometimes it’s better just to go with the flow rather than plan everything. Gives you less time to put pressure on yourself.”
“Talking of time.” Brodie checked the clock, then cursed. “I need to shower and shave if Duncan’s to be there. Why didn’t you wake me earlier?”
“You needed your rest for the curling,” John said. “Jet lag and all.”
“I’ve been home three days. The jet lag is gone.” Brodie crossed the kitchen, taking a last gulp of tea and spilling half of it down his shirt. “Mostly.” He poured the rest of the tea into the sink, then headed for the hallway.
“You’ll be late if you shave that beard off,” John called after him. “Besides, I bet Duncan will pure fancy it!”
Brodie hurried into the bathroom, shutting the door against John’s unsolicited advice.
So much for tomorrow’s perfect reunion. So much for time alone to discuss their feelings about Brodie’s unexpectedly long absence. Between John, the curling event, and Duncan’s sweet-but-overbearing parents, there’d be no peace or quiet in which to hash things out.
His reunion with Duncan, perfect or not, would come today.
*****
Legs aren’t meant to bend like this, Duncan Harris thought as he slid out of the hack to throw his first curling stone of the day.
The moment he let go of the rock’s red handle, it was clear he’d thrown too hard. Again.
At the other end of the long, fifteen-foot-wide sheet, Mum stood in the “house,” a bullseye-looking area where Duncan’s stones were meant to stop but always seemed to sail on through.
“No!” she called to their team’s sweepers—Duncan’s father, plus Ellie, the manager of Harris’s Fine Interiors. Since sweeping made the stones travel farther and straighter, their services weren’t needed at the moment.
With a whooshing sigh, Duncan removed the Teflon slidey thing from under his left foot before standing up. He scanned the rest of the rink, where the six sheets—A through F—were lined up lengthways side by side, separated by thick blue lines painted on the ice. Each sheet was occupied by two four-player teams, plus volunteer coaches, which all added up to a shitload of yelling, not to mention the incessant roar of granite over ice.
Fittingly, his team were playing on Sheet F, as in Fuck this Fucking Sport.
“It’s for a good cause,” he muttered to himself. “It’s meant to be fun.”
He checked the clock. Quarter past ten. If Mum and Dad hadn’t badgered him into doing this charity event with them, he’d be en route to Greenock for the Warriors’ away match.
Anna MartinAnna Martin is from a picturesque seaside village in the southwest of England and now lives in the Bristol, a city that embraces her love for the arts. After spending most of her childhood making up stories, she studied English literature at university before attempting to turn her hand as a professional writer.
Apart from being physically dependent on her laptop, Anna is enthusiastic about writing and producing local grassroots theater (especially at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival, where she can be found every summer), going to visit friends in other countries, and reading anything thatís put under her nose.
Anna claims her entire career is due to the love, support, prereading, and creative ass kicking provided by her best friend Jennifer. Jennifer refuses to accept responsibility for anything Anna has written.
Sean Ashcroft likes rainy days, white hot chocolates (don't knock it 'til you've tried it!) and boys kissing in books. He currently resides in Australia, all the way down at the bottom of the mainland in a sleepy little seaside town.
He writes sweet, hot books about sweet, hot boys who absolutely deserve each other.
Barbara Elsborg lives in Kent in the south of England. She always wanted to be a spy, but having confessed to everyone without them even resorting to torture, she decided it was not for her. Volcanology scorched her feet. A morbid fear of sharks put paid to marine biology. So instead, she spent several years successfully selling cyanide.
After dragging up two rotten, ungrateful children and frustrating her sexy, devoted, wonderful husband (who can now stop twisting her arm) she finally has time to conduct an affair with an electrifying plugged-in male, her laptop.
Her books feature quirky heroines and bad boys, and she hopes they are as much fun to read as they are to write.
Writing love stories with a happy ever after – cowboys, heroes, family, hockey, single dads, bodyguards
USA Today bestselling author RJ Scott has written over one hundred romance books. Emotional stories of complicated characters, cowboys, single dads, hockey players, millionaires, princes, bodyguards, Navy SEALs, soldiers, doctors, paramedics, firefighters, cops, and the men who get mixed up in their lives, always with a happy ever after.
She lives just outside London and spends every waking minute she isn’t with family either reading or writing. The last time she had a week’s break from writing, she didn’t like it one little bit, and she has yet to meet a box of chocolates she couldn’t defeat.
Hiya, I’m Avery Cockburn (rhymes with Savory Slow Churn). My days are filled with beautiful men who play beautiful games in the most beautiful place in the world. Being an author is pretty much the best job ever.
I live in the United States with one infinitely patient man and two infinitely impatient cats. Readers make my day, so email me at avery@averycockburn.com, or sign up for my readers group at newsletter to get a FREE book plus loads of exclusive Glasgow Lads bonus material. Cheers!
Anna Martin
Sean Ashcroft
Barbara Elsborg
EMAIL: bjelsborg@gmail.com
RJ Scott
BOOKBUB / KOBO / SMASHWORDS
EMAIL: rj@rjscott.co.uk
Avery Cockburn
EMAIL: avery@averycockburn.com
Minter Wonderland by Anna Martin
A (Fake) Boyfriend for Christmas by Sean Ashcroft
Where Forever Started by Barbara Elsborg
KOBO / iTUNES / GOODREADS TBR
The Wishing Tree by RJ Scott
All Through the House by Avery Cockburn
