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Well, the holidays are over and the new year is in full swing but there were still a few Christmas romances that were burning up my Kindle. So here are my reviews for those holiday tales and it's never too late to surround yourself with the magic of Christmas. If you find you're still in the holiday mood be sure to also check out all my Random Tales of Christmas 2021 and posts all things holiday.
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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?
I've featured a few of Barbara Elsborg's books on my blog but never had an opportunity to read them. After reading Where Forever Started, I will definitely be keeping my eye on future stories as well as checking out her backlist. Barney and Raf are just so darn loveable that one can't help but root for them to find their HEA. There are moments that will leave your heart hurting but you'll also feel immense joy. Everything a holiday novella should make you feel.
A sweet little gem that will make you smile and believe with just the right balance of drama, put together Where Forever Started will suck you in and when the last page is done, you are left longing for more. For me, that longing is a true sign of a great story.
RATING:
Summary:
Reasons why Hunter Holliday is on my Naughty List:
1. He dresses like it's Casual Friday every day of the week.
2. Everyone loves him, even though I'm pretty sure he doesn't actually get any work done. It's the smile, I think. Definitely the laugh.
3. He's so relaxed, sometimes I can't even tell if he's awake. Or conscious.
4. He doesn't respect my office space boundaries. Stay in your own office and stop messing with my stuff!
Okay, the list is actually really long, but none of it matters because it's time for the annual Secret Santa exchange, and guess whose name I draw.
Hunter freaking Holliday
And he knows this because, I repeat, he won't stay out of my office and leave my things alone.
Even though I didn't ask, he has no problem telling me exactly what he wants.
Me. For one night
The Holiday Hookup is an MM Christmas short story with high heat and low angst.
I'll admit this may not be for everyone but I enjoyed it. The Holiday Hookup may have a few faults for some that don't fit their idea of flirting, pursuing, and all around holiday attraction but I saw those fun elements between Hunter and Finn on every page. That doesn't mean there wasn't a few times that I wanted to give both men a good solid shake or whack upside the head but as it was both men that deserved the shake and whack, I found myself completely hooked on their workplace banter. Had it been one or the other that spurred those emotions in me I may have felt different about Baylin Crow's The Holiday Hookup but it was both Hunter and Finn so it's all good in my reading wants. This is my first Baylin Crow read but it won't be my last, I look forward to checking out the author's backlist and an eye out for future releases.
RATING:
Summary:
Very little is merry in a private dick’s world.
Private detective Nick Bozic works the mean streets of 1950s Portland, Oregon, shadowing unfaithful spouses and nabbing thieving employees. He may be lonely, but at least he’s not crooked. Despite the festive season, Christmas simply means less dough in his pocket.
With the holiday only a few days away, a regular client drops a new case on him: yet another being has come through the Rift and needs help finding his way home. Maybe Evindal the elf will help Nick find something too—a bit of cheer and magic amid the usual brew of corruption and betrayal.
I was so glad I stumbled across this little gem. This story ticks so many of my boxes: historical, mystery, paranormal, and Christmas. You've got a 1950s Sam Spade/Phillip Marlowe-style PI working to help paranormal cases find their way home. And what better case than a Christmas elf?
Nick the PI and Evindal the elf make for a very interesting pair, gruff and spirited, perhaps Nick has finally met his match with this case. I'm all for the typical, cookie-cutter holiday stories, after all just because they are typical doesn't mean they aren't entertaining and uplifting but sometimes one just wants something a little different, maybe not entirely outside the Santa-wrapped holiday box but holiday with a hint of mischief. Both Nick and Evendal are so much fun I certainly don't think I could say no to either of them if I met them on the street.
Because A Very Genre Christmas ticks so many of my reading boxes, I think it is a story that can be enjoyed all year long. Kim Fielding definitely takes the reader on a winning journey with these two adorably entertaining characters. If I had any complaints or downsides to this story it's that I wasn't ready to say goodbye when I reached the last page.
RATING:
Never take an elf’s cookie… even if it is for a good cause.
School teacher Alger loved his job, his town, and his volunteer work at the local children’s hospital. That is until he loses it all with one mistake: he gave away the wrong cookie. Now cursed to be a Krampus and scare children into behaving, he is miserable. Beyond miserable. At least there’s an out to his curse: Find unconditional love. If only it were as simple as that.
Widower single father Jordan is not a fan of Christmas, not since his alpha’s accident. Each year Jordan fakes it, slapping on his best Christmas Cheer persona in the hopes of making it special for his son. Each year it gets a little bit easier. Who knows… maybe one year the holidays will be merry and bright.
When an unexpected blizzard comes to town, Alger and Jordan end up trapped together and learn that there really is magic in Christmas snow.
The Omega’s Krampus Christmas is a super sweet with knotty heat MM Mpreg Holiday retelling of the fairy tale Beauty and the Beast featuring an alpha who accidentally pissed off the wrong elf, an omega who sees the heart within, more Christmas cookies than anyone should eat in a lifetime, a magical sleigh ride that leaves more than just Santa’s bag being filled, the cutest cat ever…as in ever, Christmas wish lists a mile long, a Christmas miracle or two, including an adorable baby on the way. If you enjoy true love, fated mates, a little bit of whimsy, and your mpreg with heart, download The Omega’s Krampus Christmas today.
I gotta start by just saying: WOW!!!
Christmas romance with a twist✔️
Fairytale with a twist✔️
It's that "with a twist" that gives The Omega's Krampus Christmas an extra special level of holiday yummyness. I've always been intrigued by holiday stories that go outside the box by having Krampus involved and Lorelei M Hart really brought the intrigue to the table here. I should add that not only did I find this story to be my favorite of this holiday season's reading but it is also my first mpreg, first omegaverse, and my first Lorelei M Hart read. That's a lot of firsts to venture into especially with a holiday story.
Alger, aka Krampus, and single dad Jordan have an instant connection but after decades of a lonely existence, Alger has built a wall around his heart. Will he let Jordan and his daughter Thea in? As you can probably guess my answer: you'll have to read this one for yourself to discover if Alger opens up. I will say that I couldn't help but love every character in the story, each one played a part, nobody was extra, nobody was page filler they all added to the story and to Alger and Jordan's journey.
There is really not much more I can add without being tempted to divulge too much of the story. I will say that if you aren't fond of mpreg, I still highly recommend this Christmas tale because The Omega's Krampus Christmas is so much more than mpreg. This is a story about seeing beyond the surface, letting someone in, and opening one's heart which is something we all need to do more of and not just during the holiday season. Definitely a delightful, heartwarming holiday gem.
RATING:
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.
As always, RJ Scott's talent for romance is spot on, she has never let me down yet and The Wishing Tree is another great holiday story that I've come to expect from her. Don't get me wrong, no matter how many stories an author has written that I loved I always go in with an open mind so my past story love doesn't cloud my judgement.
Bailey and Kai's journey is an amazing balance of love, friendship, drama, romance, and holiday festiveness. No one element overshadowed the others and I think that was one of the things that really spoke to me here. Having grown up in a small town I can honestly say the author captures the feel that comes with a smaller community, good and bad, it's spot on.
Another factor I really loved was how this story is a combination of on page and off page love. What do I mean by that? Well Bailey's kink is made known but not so much the exploration of it. Stories with kinks to any degree can be great fun, be incredibly passionate both in discovery and execution but sometimes I don't need to have said heat in graphic detail and when done right, off page heat will pull me into the story even deeper. You ask "how?" well the author is leaving it up to the readers' imagination and that can actually be immensely fun, by letting my mind write the scene I feel like I'm part of the story. So Kudos to RJ Scott for letting me be part of this holiday story.
The Wishing Tree is definitely a winning holiday gem and has me already missing Bailey and Kai but also has me wondering what creative holiday story Miss Scott will bring us when Christmas 2022 nears.
RATING:
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 Holiday Hook-Up by Baylin Crow
One
Finn
My fingers slide across the keyboard as I focus on the financials for the latest client we've acquired while trying to block out the strong scent of warm apple pie drifting from wax warmers scattered all throughout our company floor.
"Finn, may I come in?" My boss, Mr. Waggoner, taps on my office door, snapping my attention from the spreadsheet I'm color coding.
Leaning back in my cushioned office chair, I wave him inside. "Of course."
A wide smile stretches his rosy cheeks as he strolls inside and tosses a small red velvet pouch on top of a carefully organized stack of paperwork. I wince, but he doesn't appear to notice. "You haven't drawn from Santa's sack, yet."
My nose wrinkles as I try to understand my very eccentric boss. "Santa's sac—oh. Oh!"
To be fair, I might have come across a little Santa porn by accident last night. Although I didn't watch it, the preview was enough that I'd never look at the jolly man ever the same.
Secret Santa is my least favorite activity the office engages in for Christmas. Every single year for the five I've been working for Waggoner's Financial Resources I've ended up gifting someone with festive scented candles or a coffee mug with some generic phrase. How am I supposed to know what my coworkers want? It's not like I hang out with them outside of work. It would be nice if they'd add a wish list or something to each name and save me the headache.
I force a smile. "I must have forgotten to draw one on the way out of the meeting."
"You always work too hard." Mr. Waggoner chuckles. The man cuts a clean figure in his black suit, red tie, and slicked back salt-and-pepper hair. Despite his sharp appearance, my boss is a soft-hearted family man with a perky blond wife, five kids and another on the way. Work is simply work. Not life.
He eyes the pouch expectantly until I paste on a wider grin and tug the gold rope to open the bag, reaching inside. There's only one last folded piece of paper left. I pull my hand free and hold the bag out for him to take.
My boss grabs it while damn near bouncing on the soles on his shiny loafers as I unfold the paper. "Well, who is it?"
I read over the name again, hoping it'll magically change, begging for a Christmas miracle. No such luck. I hold back a groan. Of all the people who work on our floor, of course it would be him. I struggle to keep the smile in place. "Hunter Holliday."
If I wasn't a fan of the game before, I despised it now.
Mr. Waggoner's hazel eyes sparkle and he flashes pearly white teeth in a pleased grin. "Oh, that's wonderful. I'm sure you'll find the perfect thing, what with you two being so close."
Close? More like being harassed by the giant ex-professional quarterback on a daily basis. I suppress an eye roll and nod instead. "It's perfect."
He stuffs the now empty pouch in his pocket and turns to walk away, but pauses in the doorway. "Don't forget to bring the present to the party next Friday night. Will you be bringing anyone?"
"Not this year." I offer an apologetic shrug. I never bring anyone, and sometimes I'm sure my boss is itching to set me up with someone. Anyone. But I don't have time to date while I'm focusing on my career. I'd been hired right after graduating college and have goals that are much more important than finding my soulmate.
Mr. Waggoner appears disappointed but quickly hides it behind his usual cheerful smile. "Well, I'll let you get back to work."
When he strolls away, humming to the tune of “Jingle Bells”, I know it'll be stuck in my head all day. I close my eyes and groan in annoyance. What is it about Christmas that makes everyone slightly more insane than usual? I stare down at the slip of paper in my hand and grimace. Literally anyone other than Hunter would have been better.
Sighing, I slide the folded paper under my stapler to deal with later. Just as I turn back to my spreadsheet, a slow thump, thump hits my door frame. I know that knock. I loathe that knock. I don't even need to look up or bother to invite him in because it wouldn't matter if I told him to leave anyway, so I don't waste my breath.
"Can I come in?" Hunter asks as if I have a choice in the matter. Not waiting for a reply, he takes measured steps across the worn carpeted floor, dragging his giant body as if the heavy burden alone slows his movement. Then the chair in front of my desk is slowly dragged backward and his ass drops onto the poor thing as its wooden legs struggle to hold the weight of the six-seven athlete who still has a tanned, toned body ready for game day, although he'd chosen to leave the field. Probably because he couldn't get in enough naps each day.
He yawns. "So, who'd you get?"
Hunter's voice is thick with sleep, deep and husky, except I'm fairly certain he's been awake for hours. The slow drawl makes the hairs on my arms stand at attention, and I want to slap myself for thinking it's infuriatingly sexy. He's also clearly stalking me since he knows what I've just done.
"I don't know what you're talking about." I glance at him, a mistake I quickly realize I've made countless times. When I connect gazes with Hunter, he slowly blinks his deep-set brown bedroom eyes framed with thick black eyelashes and runs his fingers through his chestnut-colored hair that hangs in short loose waves that frame his face. Although he's only a few years older than me, his rugged features give him a look that makes him appear older than twenty-seven. Thanks to my baby face—rounded pale cheeks, small nose, dark brown hair that's kept neat, and light blue eyes—I'm often mistaken for a guy still in college.
Irritated, I jerk my attention to my computer, pushing my square framed glasses up the bridge of my nose, and trying to ignore the reaction my body betrays me with every damn time he's within a ten-yard radius. I hammer my fingers on the keyboard harder than necessary, pretending to do something productive and hopefully send the message that I'm busy. He doesn't need to know I'm unable to focus on the numbers across the screen. His ego is big enough without my help.
Hunter hums as if he doesn't believe me and leans forward with the speed of a sloth. When he starts moving things around on my polished desk where I have everything meticulously organized, I swat his hand and glare. "Paws off, Holliday. For the last time, leave my shit alone."
Hunter ignores me as usual, and before I can stop him, he snags the paper with his name written on it. A lazy grin slants across his stupidly handsome face, making a deep dimple pop beneath dark scruff that should have been shaved at least two days ago. "You got me."
Why does he look so happy about that? "I'm aware because I can read."
Hunter leans back in the chair, crossing his jean-clad ankles and resting his hands over his t-shirt covered stomach, a far cry from the smoke gray suit I've worn today. He cocks his head. "Aren't you going to ask what I want for Christmas, Finn?"
"Can't say it has crossed my mind." I straighten my tie while glaring, which only makes the overgrown oaf's grin broaden.
"I got Janie in marketing. Probably just get her a gift card," Hunter tells me as if anything he does might interest me in the slightest.
Buying a gift card would be easy enough, and I consider doing the same for Hunter. Although it's frowned upon by Mr. Waggoner, who thinks deep thought should go into gift giving, I decide if Hunter is allowed to break the rules then so can I. The less thinking I do about Hunter, the better. "That's probably what you'll get too."
He shakes his head. "I don't want a gift card."
Rolling my eyes, I lean back in my chair, folding my arms over my chest. Hunter won't leave until he drains the life from my soul anyway. "You don't get a say, Hunter. You shouldn't even know I got your name in the first place. Hence the Secret part of the game." He shrugs, and if possible, slouches further down in the chair, causing a squeak I'm sure will eventually turn into splintered cracks that will have his ass landing on the floor. While he gets more comfortable, I get more exasperated. "Don't you have work to do? Wait... Do you actually have a job here, or do you just hang around to drive me crazy?"
"You're cute." His lips kick up on one side, and I scowl. "I'm finished for the day."
I glance at the time on my computer. It's only two in the afternoon. "How did you manage that?"
Hunter yawns again. "I'm a fast worker."
I sputter a laugh, and even he chuckles. "You aren't a fast anything."
"Damn right," he gloats, and I feel like I've missed something, but he seems in no hurry to elaborate on the comment.
I sigh. "I need to get back to work. Some of us don't have whatever magical powers you possess that make work vanish without lifting a finger."
He doesn't reply so I glance at him and find his eyes closed while his chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm. Did he really just fall asleep? I snap my fingers. "Hunter, wake up you lazy jock."
"I am awake," he mumbles and I squint. Sure enough his eyes are open, barely noticeable. "But I do like it when you're bossy."
I suppress the urge to rub my temples to relieve the forming headache that always ebbs and flows when Hunter is around. "You have problems, you know that, right?"
Hunter struggles to his feet and stretches his back as if he's been in the chair for more than five minutes. "Fine, I'm going. Some of us are getting together tonight for a drink. You should come."
"I'll think about it," I lie. I'll probably end up working late before dragging myself home for a glass of wine while I catch up on whatever work I hope will get me ahead in life. Lame.
Hunter places his giant hands on my desk and leans down, whispering, "I'll be disappointed if you don't show."
Scoffing, I avoid his gaze. "Well, it is my mission in life to keep you satisfied."
Hunter hums in approval. "Cool. So, I'll see you..."
Seriously? I glare up at him. "No, Hunter. That was sarcasm."
"You say sarcasm. I say suppressed honesty with oneself." He blinks slowly and my frustration escalates.
It takes everything in me to keep my ass in the chair instead of hopping over my desk in an attempt to… Well, I'm not sure, but it wouldn't be pleasant. "Do the words that come out of your mouth actually make sense to you? I'm not suppressing anything."
He pushes away from the desk with a lazy grin. "Let's agree to disagree."
I shake my head vehemently. "Let's not do that. How about you just get it through that thick skull that not everyone drools at the first word you say to them?"
His lips tilt in a crooked grin. "I don't care what everyone does. Just you."
"Because you get off on torturing people?" I suggest, and he chuckles as if we are just two friends discussing whether he likes to inflict pain on someone for shits and giggles.
"Lucky for you, I'm not into the whole torture thing. Now ask me what I want for Christmas, Finn." He's still grinning, and I'm still annoyed.
I groan and tug my hair before pointing at the door. "Out."
With a rumbling laugh, he casually strolls to the door, pausing to glance back with his stupidly sexy smile in place and brown eyes, that fuck with my head, lowered half-mast. "you. Just one night in my bed. Think about it."
I freeze and stare at the empty spot where he stood only a second ago. There was no way he meant what it sounded like, even if it wasn't the first time Hunter had tossed a flirty comment or two my way. But that's just how he is, hitting on anything that moves.
That was, however, a pretty obvious invitation, which...doesn't sound terrible. I frown and rub my eyes beneath my glasses. There is no way I'm sleeping with Hunter, and besides, he definitely had to be joking. I hate him. He knows this, although it never seems to bother him.
Giving my head a solid shake, I look back at my computer screen and let loose a deep breath. At least I have numbers to distract me from thoughts of Hunter and me tangled in the sheets while he hovers above me, thrusting...
I huff. No. Definitely not. I will never sleep with Hunter fucking Holliday.
A Very Genre Christmas by Kim Fielding
1
Portland, Oregon — December 1954
“Hey, Nick. We’ve got another one.”
“I’ll be over right away, sweetheart.” I hung up the phone receiver but remained seated in my padded desk chair. Amelia Sansone had sounded annoyed instead of afraid, so I didn’t have to hurry. I finished my cigarette and whiskey, then took a minute to make sure my Colt was fully loaded. I shouldn’t need it on a call like this, but in my line of work, assumptions get you dead.
Out in the reception area of my office, Carmilla Karnstein paused her typing and watched as I buttoned on my overcoat. I’d met her during one of my previous jobs for Amelia, and she’d ended up as my secretary. She was an odd duck, but she arrived at work before dawn and never left before sunset, and she was a whiz at getting bloodstains out of my clothes—a favor I needed pretty often.
“Another one at the bookshop?” Her husky voice seemed a mismatch for her delicate frame. But she was older than she looked, and her pale beauty was only a façade for her sharp mind.
I set my fedora on my head. “Yeah. I doubt I’ll be back after, so lock up for me, please.”
“Of course. Good luck, Mr. Bozic.”
I tipped my hat and headed out.
It was a typical winter afternoon in Portland, gray and drippy, with mist obscuring details and blurring edges. I didn’t mind. In fact, I preferred this weather to bright sunshine, which brought false promises. And anyway, I was in a good mood as I walked down Burnside toward Sansone Booksellers. Although Amelia had some dough, I’m not sure I’d have charged her for these jobs. The city paid my bills for these particular calls, and the city paid well.
My office was in a third-floor walkup across the street from the Chevy dealership, but Sansone’s was in a more upscale location on 6th Avenue, near the Fred Meyers. Her retail space occupied the bottom two floors, her office was above that, and the top two floors contained apartments she rented out. She could’ve saved herself a lot of grief by moving somewhere else, away from the Rift, but business was good where she was, and she was too stubborn to budge. For a dame who’d been left with nothing after her husband bought it on Okinawa, she was doing well for herself.
Amelia met me as soon as I entered. She was a small woman whose gray suits always appeared to be swallowing her, and she kept her light brown hair in a pixie cut to avoid fuss. “You walked again instead of driving?” she said by way of greeting.
“Needed the exercise. Besides, takes less time to walk than to find a place to park near your joint.”
“Suit yourself.”
I took off my hat and followed her to the back stairway. “So, what’ve we got this time? It ain’t another kid, is it? That one was a pain in the ass.” He kept waving a stick around and saying words that Amelia told me were mostly bad Latin. I was glad when we sent him back home.
“No, and it’s nobody you’ll need to shoot, so you can keep that gun tucked away.”
I shrugged. You never can tell who’ll need shooting. Then I had a hopeful thought. “Is it another guy wearing nothing but that, uh….” I waved vaguely around the region of my groin.
Amelia gave me a knowing look and shook her head. “Loincloth? No. This one is fully dressed.”
Shame. Now that fellow had been something to look at, with long black hair and gray eyes, and he had a lot of interesting stories about apes and other animals. He was athletic too. I took him to Forest Park, partly because I wanted to watch him in action, and he’d swung from fir branch to fir branch as easy as you please. That had been a pretty sight.
The first flight of bookshop stairs was wide, with pale marble steps and a polished wooden railing, but the second—used only by employees—wasn’t for show. A little window on the landing had a view of the alley and the grayish building on the other side.
“You’re not gonna give me any hints about this one?” I coaxed Amelia as we ascended the final part of the staircase.
She got an odd expression, one I couldn’t read. “We have a big display of Christmas titles out now.”
Well, that wasn’t enlightening.
Whenever the Rift shifted, the results ended up in a dead-end hallway on the third floor, just around the corner from Amelia’s personal office. Nobody knew why, although the eggheads at that commie college across the river liked to throw around fancy words and call them theories. In any case, after the first couple of times, Amelia had arranged for iron bars to be installed across the hallway, forming a sort of jail, with a heavy lock holding the gate closed. That kept most of the results contained until they could be dealt with, although a few had managed to slither or ooze through the openings, and a muscular blond guy with a giant hammer had smashed his way right through the wall. Then he’d jumped, apparently under the impression that he could fall forty feet with no problem.
That one hadn’t ended well.
I didn’t draw my Colt, but I made sure my coat was unbuttoned, and I kept my hand hovering near the holster as we turned the corner.
“Oh jiminy, ma’am, I thought you were never coming back!”
I stopped walking so suddenly that I almost tripped over my own feet.
A man stood inside the makeshift cell, his hands wrapped around the bars. He was a good four inches shorter than my five-ten, slender, probably in his late twenties. His pale straight hair hung to his shoulders in back and swooped across his forehead in front, and he had a slightly pointed chin, pink cheeks, and enormous cornflower-blue eyes.
But it was his clothing that had thrown me for a loop: shiny red boots; red-and-white-striped stockings; an emerald-green tunic with red belt, cuffs, and collar; and a floppy, pointed green hat. With a giant bell at the end.
And did I mention that his ears were pointed too?
I turned to Amelia. “Is this what I think it is?”
“Detective, meet Evindal, the Christmas elf.”
The Omega's Krampus Christmas by Lorelei M Hart
Prologue
Alger
Once Upon a Time
Teaching school paid next to nothing, but I had cheap lodgings and some of the families made me meals from time to time, which helped keep body and soul together. Some did not consider teaching a man’s job, one that could support a family, but at least for the time being, my pleasure in helping to form young minds superseded any other factors.
Especially at the holiday season. On the last day of school before the Christmas vacation break, we suspended regular classes to bring all the classes together in the decorated auditorium for a holiday recital and festivities before sending the children to their frolics until the New Year.
This year, our class would be singing a selection of Christmas carols and I, dressed in the red suit of Saint Nick popularized by Clement Moore’s ’Twas the Night Before Christmas or A Visit from Saint Nicholas would appropriately read that story to close the event. As I prepared for my reading, a little sadness tugged at my heart. It was easy to pretend I had enough time with these children during class terms, but on holidays, when they were with their real families, the loneliness seeped in. Maybe I should have aspired to another career.
Sitting in the armchair placed at the front of the stage, with my students seated on the floor around me, my heart warmed. Sometimes the poverty many of them lived in daunted their spirits, but now smiles of pride at their performance lifted the corners of their lips. They’d indeed done well, and Santa Claus might have taken notice from his North Pole residence. I cleared my throat, bemused at my suspension of logic. Christmastime always made me sentimental, reminded me of my parents and brother, grandparents, all those who’d already departed this realm. They would celebrate the birth of the Christ Child with the angels in heaven, while I sat in my rented room eating whatever someone thought to bring me from their holiday table.
Even my landlady, who often included me in her holidays, would be away. I’d put her on the train myself, this morning, laden with presents and baked goods she’d prepared. I didn’t resent her good fortune this year. Her married daughter had remembered she had a mother for the first time since my arrival and invited her for the festive season. Mrs. Dougherty’s excitement had been contagious, buoying my spirits as I waved until the train disappeared down the tracks.
Such a good soul, she deserved happiness. A tug on my trousers reminded me of where I was, and I began the poem. I recited more than read the beloved verses, putting as much heart into them as possible. My gift to the children whose faces I gazed into every school day, who learned their letters and numbers at my tutelage.
I taught the youngest of them, tasked with giving them a love of learning as much as any specific knowledge. If they had that love, they would do well going forward.
Finishing the reading, I closed the large book on my lap and chuckled as I thought Saint Nicholas might have before going up the chimney after laying out the gifts for the children of the house in the story.
Silence for a moment had me worried I’d not done justice to the tale, but then appreciative applause reassured me. The book was one my mother read the same story to me from, precious in its faded covers and holding just as much magic now as then. After I finished, the headmaster stood from his seat at the back of the stage and made a short speech. The same speech, word for word, as last year and the year before. But it suited the occasion and sent everyone off with a smile and a wave.
A few other teachers and I supervised some of the older boys putting the auditorium to rights before closing the school for two weeks. When we were done, and all the handmade decorations removed, it looked so dull. But clean and ready for the events of a new term.
As we were leaving, I spotted a bit of litter near the stage, so I bid the others goodbye, said I would lock the doors as I went, and crossed the room to pick it up. Alone, I looked around again. Just an hour or so ago, it had been filled with singing and laughter and bright colors both in the decorations and the students’ and their families’ holiday best attire.
Now, there was just me, in my brown jacket and trousers, not one sprig of greenery or red ribbon in sight. And since we’d turned down the furnace, the warm air in the room was being replaced by a distinct chill.
Time to go home.
I was about to leave the building when I saw a small boy sitting on a chair by the door, kicking his feet and staring at the floor. Little Timothy from my class. All by himself. I approached him and took the seat beside his.
“Timothy, did your fathers leave without you?” All the families were invited to the holiday recital, filling the auditorium with their appreciation for their children’s performances.
“No, Mr. Bobell.” His legs slowed their kicking but did not stop. Nor did he look up from his focus on the black-and-white tiles.
Oh. “They were unable to attend today, then.” He looked so sad.
“They never come. Like they didn’t come on Meet the Teacher night. Or our spelling bee or...or anything. Sir.”
I didn’t always get to speak to every parent when they came. Some were shy or just never made it to the front of the room for one reason or another. But from the children’s reports, nearly all their parents or guardians attended when we invited them. Making the invitations was always a fun and popular activity for our art class the week before, and I had some very talented artists in my room this year. Timothy was one of the best. “Sometimes parents are very busy with their responsibilities and cannot take time to enjoy themselves. It’s a shame. But we must try to understand.”
He did lift his eyes to mine at that point, and they held all the pain and disappointment no child should have to experience.
“I have to lock up now, Timothy. Can you see yourself home?” Some did, and some others had a parent or older sibling to walk them.
“Yes, sir. I always go home alone.”
Alone. I had a feeling he often arrived into an empty house. His worn shoes and everyday clothes had stood in stark contrast to most of the other children’s holiday outfits, but poor didn’t mean abused or neglected, and not all had new clothes. But his sad loneliness said it all. How had I not realized just how bad things were? Maybe because we were not allowed to interfere with students’ outside of school, and parents had absolute authority there. Knowing they had it rough made it even harder to do my job and treat all the children equally.
Still.
Timothy stood and started for the door, but on a whim, I stopped him with a question. “Timothy, what is your wish this Christmas?” If it was within my power to grant it for him, I would, even if it meant I skipped a meal or two.
“A cookie,” he replied. “Like my grandma used to make before she died.”
My heart squeezed so hard, I gasped for a moment before recovering my breath. My mind worked furiously. Where had I seen cookies? A big cookie on a plate! “Timothy, do not leave. I will be right back.”
I dashed down the hall to Mr. Samberg’s class where, on his desk, sat a plate with a large, perfect, dark-brown molasses cookie. A single delight that might bring a smile to a young man’s face. Mr. Samberg was gone already, and by the time we returned from our holiday, it would be gone anyway, food for a stray mouse.
Timothy was still there when I returned, and I gave him the cookie, thrilled to see the sadness retreat from his expression while he studied the marvel in his hands. “This is all for me? This whole cookie?”
“Merry Christmas, Timothy.” I held the door open, turned off the lights, and followed him outside. “Be a good boy, and I’ll see you after New Year’s.” I locked the door and by the time I turned to leave, the little boy was nowhere in sight. I wished I had so much more to give to this child and to the others who might have less-than happy Christmases for different reasons this year.
Like me, many had lost relatives in the Spanish Flu epidemic a few years before, others had folks who were out of work or had debt that made it impossible to buy things for a festive meal or gifts.
Saddened by the thoughts that not all the children I taught would have what all children should have for Christmas, I trudged away from the school building.
“Hey, you. I have a bone to pick with you, Mr. Teacher.”
That couldn’t be...but it was. An elf.
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.
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.
Baylin writes gay romance stories full of sweetness and steam. She's best known for her Sugar Land Saints series that follows a college football team set in Texas, which she also calls home. Whether writing books or reading them, Baylin spends the majority of her time tucked into the pages of stories about men who love other men. She has two children, a spoiled cat, and a heavy addiction to caffeine.
Kim Fielding is the bestselling, award-winning author of over 60 novels and novellas. Like Kim herself, her work is eclectic, spanning genres such as contemporary, fantasy, paranormal, horror, and historical. Her stories are set in alternate worlds, in 15th century Bosnia, in modern-day Oregon. Her heroes are hipster architect werewolves, housekeepers, maimed giants, and conflicted graduate students. They’re usually flawed, they often encounter terrible obstacles, but they always find love.
Having migrated back and forth across the western two-thirds of the United States, Kim calls California home. She lives there with her family, her cat, and her day job as a university professor, but escapes as often as possible via car, train, plane, or boat. This may explain why her characters often seem to be in transit as well. She dreams of traveling and writing full-time.
Lorelei M. Hart is the cowriting team of USA Today Bestselling Authors Kate Richards and Ever Coming. Friends for years, the duo decided to come together and write one of their favorite guilty pleasures: Mpreg. There is something that just does it for them about smexy men who love each other enough to start a family together in a world where they can do it the old-fashioned way ;).
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.
Barbara Elsborg
EMAIL: bjelsborg@gmail.com
Baylin Crow
Kim Fielding
BLOG / B&N / SMASHWORDS
EMAIL: kim@kfieldingwrites.com
dephalqu@yahoo.com
Lorelei M Hart
EMAIL: Lorelei@mpregwithhart.com
RJ Scott
BOOKBUB / KOBO / SMASHWORDS
EMAIL: rj@rjscott.co.uk
The Holiday Hookup by Baylin Crow
The Omega's Krampus Christmas by Lorelei M Hart
