Summary:
Snowed Inn
What’s worse than being stranded at a mountain resort by an avalanche three days before Christmas? Being trapped with your teenage crush—who kissed you and ran away.
Reno Pierce spends all his time creating music in his studio, quite happily alone, but at the insistence of his rom-com-loving dad, he finds himself at a Colorado mountain resort speed dating event. His dad wants Reno to bring his ‘Mr. Right’ home for Christmas, but what he finds instead is his teenage crush. Twelve years ago, he’d been head-over-heels in love with his older brother’s best friend, Tate. His "straight" best friend. But everything changed one magical night, when Tate kissed him like his life depended on it—and then ran away.
Six months after a bad breakup, Tate Boylan is still feeling the damage done to his confidence. Thanks to his hopeless romantic sister, who booked him a quaint mountain cabin and insisted he ‘boost his morale’ with a night of speed dating at The Retreat, he’s feeling much better. Until he sits at a table across from his best friend’s younger brother. The one he’d fallen for as a teen, kissed at a party, and never saw again.
Now that an avalanche has cut the hotel off from the rest of the world, Tate might have a chance to prove to Reno that this time he won’t kiss and run.
Forced proximity and at Christmas to boot, what can I say? When done right it can bring a sense of realistic warmth to make your cold winter nights cozy. When done wrong it can be riddled with cliches that are a checklist of what not to do. LC Chase has gotten it right, and not just right, but brilliantly heart-stirringly right.
Brother's best friend, best friend's brother . . . however way you see it Reno and Tate shared a kiss that ended in one fleeing and leaving the other heartbroken and probably a bit jaded. I think one thing I loved was the brother knew but off page with Reno only learning of it now rather than then so we know there wasn't the big bro shakedown even though Tate said Riley(the brother) never thought he was good enough for Reno. Some don't like "off page" scenes but I enjoy them because it shows us that there is so much more to characters than what they decide to fill the author in on. And of course that also leaves room for more in the future if the characters decide to tell more😉. Breakfast Included is all about Reno and Tate.
Through some internal monologue we discover the past but the main story is the here and now. The chemistry that lead to that heartbreaking kiss is obviously still there but is it enough? I think we all know this will end in a HEA but to find the journey the men take you will have to read Breakfast Included yourself but trust me, you won't be sorry. There is humor, drama, romance, friendship, and of course heat, 5 elements that make Breakfast Included memorable and a joy to experience.
One One last series note: Snowed Inn is a multi-author series of standalones with the only real follow thru being the avalanche that traps the main characters at The Retreat. The entries can be read in any order although if I'm completely honest I'm glad I read RJ Scott's Stop the Wedding first simply because there are the occasional wedding(or non-wedding) comments, none of which really effect or play a role in any of the other entries but I was glad I knew what they meant having read Wedding first. But that's more a personal preference of mine than an actually need to know scenario. I still have a couple of entries to read but so far they are all topnotch.
Summary:
For the last fourteen years, former celebrated Boy Detective Merle Madison has been trying to build a grown-up career for himself as a private investigator. There are just two problems: there’s not a lot of serious crime in the small town of Hayvenhurst—and Police Chief Isaac Ramsay keeps denying Merle’s application for a PI license.
Merle and Isaac have history, some good and some bad, so when someone seems determined to put Merle out of business—permanently—he naturally turns to his former sidekick for help.
But Isaac’s days of playing second fiddle to a Junior Sherlock Holmes are long past. In fact, Merle will be lucky if Isaac doesn’t kill him himself.
For the last fourteen years, former celebrated Boy Detective Merle Madison has been trying to build a grown-up career for himself as a private investigator. There are just two problems: there’s not a lot of serious crime in the small town of Hayvenhurst—and Police Chief Isaac Ramsay keeps denying Merle’s application for a PI license.
Merle and Isaac have history, some good and some bad, so when someone seems determined to put Merle out of business—permanently—he naturally turns to his former sidekick for help.
But Isaac’s days of playing second fiddle to a Junior Sherlock Holmes are long past. In fact, Merle will be lucky if Isaac doesn’t kill him himself.
It's been over 2-1/2 years since I read The Boy Next Door and it's just as brilliant now as it was then. I love Merle and Isaac's interactions both good and bad, history and now, friendship and romance, work and play, and everything in between. Beyond that there really isn't anything I can add to my original review that still won't spoil the story. As for the narration? Kale Williams brings life to Merle and Isaac beautifully. The chemistry is real, the anger, frustration, and heart is all there. The Boy Next Door may be short but it's an amazing package of mystery, romance, and just the right amount of humor to make it an entertaining gem to be re-read/listened for years to come.
Original ebook Review January 2018:
Merle Madison found early fame as celebrated Boy Detective and he's been trying to find the same fame as an adult private detective, too bad his former friend, sidekick, and more Isaac Ramsey has denied his application for a license. That hasn't stopped Merle though and now it seems someone has taken exception to his skills. Will Isaac help Merle out before its too late or has the Boy Detective pushed the police chief too far?
First off, The Boy Next Door is a short story and its brilliant. There was a time when I would never give a short story top marks, it was just instinctual to knock off at least 1/2 a mark if not a whole one just for its shortness. I had nothing against short stories/novellas but in truth I am a full-length novel kinda gal at heart. Somewhere along the line I began to realize that I was missing out on many brilliant stories and authors and was shortchanging the ones I was reading. A tale's brilliance is not in it's length, entertainment is a question of quality not quantity. Having said all that I reiterate: The Boy Next Door by Josh Lanyon is brilliant and that has nothing to do with my love of everything written by Josh Lanyon. Add in that this completely slipped my radar when it first came out so you can imagine what an after holiday treat this was to jump start the new year.
I never really read any Hardy Boys or Nancy Drew when I was younger, I watched them but never read them. Merle and Isaac may not be the Hardy Boys but I couldn't help but remember some of my childhood memories of watching them as I read Boy. I really won't touch on the plot because as it is a short story even the little things can be too much but I will say this:
- Thank you, Josh Lanyon for bringing back those Saturday afternoon Hardy Boys memories.
- I'm already looking forward to a Christmas Coda or two starring Merle and Isaac.
- I know Miss Lanyon probably doesn't have plans for anything beyond a Coda for these boys but if down the road they have another case to tell her about, I'd be first in line to read their next adventure.
Merle and Isaac have this second chance(third or fourth perhaps😉) edge to the story which left me wanting to knock their heads together more than once but it also endeared them to me. If you have never read Josh Lanyon before than this will make a wonderful introduction and if you are like me and already a huge fan, than you will certainly enjoy this little ditty. The Boy Next Door may be short on pages but its packed to overflowing with friendship, arguments, romance, nostalgia, and of course a little mystery tied all together with just the right amount of humor to brighten any day. When a book can make you scream "OMG!" out of frustration, laughter, and warmth when you are so NOT an OMG-kinda gal, you know you found a winner.
Summary:
Nick & Carter Holiday #23
Monday, December 26, 1994
It's Boxing Day and Nick and Carter are flying on their customized 767, The Lumberjack 3, from Sydney to Pago Pago.
And, actually, when they get to their destination, it will be Sunday, the 25th of December—Christmas Day—again.
It's that whole International Date Line thing, doncha know.
Anyway, on this second Christmas Day of 1994, they're going to finally fulfill the dying wish of an old friend who once got them out of a big jam.
And, along the way, they'll make some new friends, uncover a hidden secret or two, and finally solve a thorny problem they've had for the last few years.
Join them, won't you, for all the fun of not just one Christmas Day, but two!
Welcome to a year of holidays with Nick Williams and Carter Jones!
This is the twenty-third in a series of short stories and novellas all centered around specific holidays.
Each story is a vignette that stands on its own and takes place from the 1920s to 2008.
Another holiday in the lives of Nick and Carter. Seeing the pair on Christmas, or rather two Christmases, is a pure delight. Emotionally charged due to personal nostalgia on the men's part as they prepare to say a final goodbye to an old acquaintance of yesteryear. Yet another snippet in the couples' journey making me want to get to know their entire journey even more. There is familiar names and new ones, through each we get to explore Nick and Carter's relationship even deeper. There is no doubt the pair love each other and have done so for decades. I love seeing them as mature adults reminding us that life, love, and learning never ends. One of these days I will go back and read about Nick and Carter's full journey but until then I continue to enjoy these beautiful holiday snippets.
Snowed Inn
An avalanche, a quaint Christmas inn, and an assignment to sit on an international thief until the cops can arrive. What could go wrong?
Felix can’t believe his luck when a perfect stranger offers him the use of a pre-paid cabin at a mountain inn. He’d planned to ignore Christmas this year, working through the holidays in his job as a nurse in a Denver maternity ward. After all, Christmas won’t be the same without his beloved mother, who recently passed. But the inn, decked out like a Hallmark movie set, is the perfect place to soothe his heart, rekindle his Christmas cheer, and maybe even find romance? When a gorgeous ex-Marine befriends him and sticks by his side through a whole day of Christmas activities, Felix thinks he’s found true love.
Riggs’s plans for a ski vacation are buried when an avalanche blocks off the mountain inn where he’s staying from the rest of the world. A midnight phone call enlists Rigg’s help watching a guy on the FBI’s Most Wanted list who is supposed to be staying at the inn. The FBI and the police can’t get through until the avalanche is cleared. Riggs steps up to do his duty one more time. But the man who is supposed to be The Falcon, an international thief, has one hell of a Clark Kent type alter ego, because he seems like the sweetest man Riggs has ever met. The more time they spend together, the more attracted Riggs becomes to him, and the more determined he is to make The Falcon reveal his true colors.
Will love prevail? Or will the law?
A Changeling Christmas is a mistaken identity, snowed in together, rom-com romance with all the Christmas feels.
Sometimes things are just too good to be true and that might just be what Felix is facing when a stranger offers him the use of his cabin. What makes it too good to be true is something you have to find out on your own but it's the perfect setup for Felix and Riggs, another stranger Felix meets who is determined to stay by Felix' side.
Secrets of different levels are embedded in layers throughout the story and when the men are faced to confront said secrets is it too late to find happiness? Perhaps. Are they too much for the pair to overcome or is it just a perfectly setup holiday tale by the Queen of Christmas? You know my answer to that one: you have to read for yourself to discover that part of of this holiday tale.
There is probably a little more mystery element in A Changeling Christmas compared to the other entries in the Snowed Inn series, although there are a couple I haven't read yet. Is mystery an overwhelming factor? No. Does it make the romance more drama-centric? Perhaps. Does the holiday spirit get lost in said drama and mystery? Not at all! Some might think it unplausible that Felix would blindly follow the stranger's wishes but there comes a time when we all just need a break from life and this is Felix's chance for a short break. Course, if he only knew what following the stranger's wishes would lead to he may have taken another option but then he may never have met Riggs. So once again fate seems to know exactly what it's doing😉
A Changeling Christmas is not a story to be missed. Eli Easton has once again brought the holiday magic to life that entertains from beginning to end.
One last series note: Snowed Inn is a multi-author series of standalones with the only real follow thru being the avalanche that traps the main characters at The Retreat. The entries can be read in any order although if I'm completely honest I'm glad I read RJ Scott's Stop the Wedding first simply because there are the occasional wedding(or non-wedding) comments, none of which really effect or play a role in any of the other entries but I was glad I knew what they meant having read Wedding first. But that's more a personal preference of mine than an actually need to know scenario. I still have a couple of entries to read but so far they are all topnotch.
Summary:
Harrisburg Railers #12
Family comes first in all things. Whatever the cost.
Ten had always heard the saying, “Out of the mouths of babes,” but he hadn’t expected it to hit home as it had. After a comment from their daughter, Ten and Jared ponder an addition to the family. Moving into the adoption process is nerve-wracking and riddled with anxiety—kind of the way the Railers have been playing as of late. Bringing two young men into their homes and hearts won’t be a smooth ride. But with patience, humor, and love, the bumpy road might just be a little easier to travel.
Expanding their small family was always in the cards, but no one could have foreseen the process clashing with the worst ever start to a Railers season. A string of losses, a vital player missing from the defense, a captain in the emergency room—and winning a single game seems impossible, let alone getting the team to the playoffs. Faced with hard decisions, Jared refuses to take his work home, but it’s difficult when your husband is at the leading edge of the losing streak. His focus fractures when one sibling they’re matched with is frustrated, angry, and has a healthy dose of mistrust.
Jared and Ten’s parenting skills are tested, but they’ll do anything to make a place in their home the perfect gift for two children lost in the system.
Gotta start by saying: YAHOO!!!! Another Railers holiday tale!!!!
The authors may have tagged this a Christmas Railers novella but it actually encompasses multiple holidays including Turkey Day and that is a holiday that is rarely touched on, or at least not nearly enough. That right there is worthy of 1 bookmark alone. Being Harrisburg is worthy of another. What gave it the other 3? Read on.
I've said it before and I'll say it again: love, love, LOVE men who care for kids! Seeing Ten and Jared's family grow is so heartwarming, watching them tackle fostering and adoption of older kids turned me into a big puddle of sappy goo. Now that's not to say this leg of the crowned Princes of Scott & Locey's hockey universe is cliche by using the term "sappy" oh no, no, no, no. Sure some moments may seem cliche but that doesn't make it bad. With so many health issues in our family, status quo or cliche, is often a welcomed treat so when I say "sappy" all I'm really saying is "can we bundle those boys in layers and layers of bubblewrap so harm never comes to them?"
Soren and Milo are amazing! Milo is the quintessentially adorably loveable little boy. Soren is the epitome of "give me your best shot and I'll tell you what for" chip on his shoulder older brother. Some might say Soren is a little brat but not me, what I see is a scared boy having to be older than his years to protect his little brother. He's thrown for a loop when he meets Ten and Jared and it raises his guard up even higher. Now I'm not going to say more because despite this being a holiday novella and Scott & Locey are always about the HEA, I don't want to spoil any of the journey the Madsen-Rowe household embarks on, just know that your heart will thank you for the experience. Seeing little, itty bitty Lottie walking and talking and being all kinds cute is plus.
How can I write a review for a Railers tale without mentioning one of the funniest scenes I've read in ANY story in a long time? Adler and Stan loudly discussing naughty Valentine gifts as Ten tries to shut them up as a reporter is only 10' away. How can that not leave you ROTFLYAO? Trust me, I'm glad I read this when I was at home and not in the waiting room at Mayo Clinic, they may just have had to call security because I would literally have been on the floor laughing hysterically. Thank you, ladies for including a convo that could only work with Adler and Stan.
The hockey universe consisting of Harrisburg, Owatonna, Arizona, & Boston Scott & Locey has created should be read in order, especially those involving Ten and Jared. Will you be lost if you read Perfect Gifts without having read any of the other universe? Probably not but there are other characters mentioned and seen who make a lasting impression if you know their individual stories as well. None of the stories will leave you sorry you picked them up. Just so much yumminess all over the place and I don't mean just the sexy times, but overall heartwarminess(yeah I know that's not a word but I think it sums it up pretty spot on).
Random Tales of Christmas 2022
Breakfast Included by LC Chase
Chapter One
Thursday, December 22
“Ugh, kill me now.”
Reno dropped his head into his hands when his tenth date of the night got up and moved to the next table. He drew in a deep breath, held it, and exhaled slowly on the off chance he could “Zen away” his frustration. Who knew four-minute speed dates could be so painfully long? Only halfway through the event, and he didn’t know if he could make it to the end.
“Go to The Rainbow Inn,” his dad had said. “Get out of your music studio and meet some men,” he’d said. “It’ll be good for you.”
Reno snorted. Right.
He really hadn’t had the time to spend driving all the way up to The Rainbow Inn—as it was known to the locals but was officially named The Retreat—for their gay speed-dating event, but his dad was set on him finding someone to share his life with. Before Christmas, which was all of three days away. He thought Reno spent too much time alone with his music and was constantly trying to set him up on blind dates.
Reno loved his dad. He couldn’t have asked for a better role model growing up, and his dad hadn’t batted an eyelash when Reno had come out. He’d just ruffled his hair, kissed the top of his head, and said, “I love you. Now, go set the table for dinner.”
So, for his dad’s sake, Reno said yes to a night of festive speed-dating. At least this way he didn’t have to spend half the night trying to come up with the politest way to cut a date short. A couple dozen four-minute dates with built-in endings he could handle much better.
And thank his gay stars for that.
His first date’s opening line was “I just want someone to have sex with while I look for my soul mate”. Insulting much? Reno had never used it before, but he was pretty sure that was what Grindr was for.
Things hadn’t improved a great deal from there.
Next up was a gorgeous young man—emphasis on young. He must have had some incredible fake ID because there was no way the kid was even old enough to drive, let alone attend a speed-dating event where the minimum age was midtwenties. He’d only been interested in finding a Sugar Daddy, it seemed. The moment Reno had said that wasn’t his scene, his “date” spent the remaining few minutes scanning the crowd for better prospects. Interesting thing Reno noticed: when the young man wasn’t all bright eyes and big smiles, he did look old enough to be there.
Following him was a very attractive man in a stylish suit that probably cost as much as Reno’s baby grand piano but whose personality was drier than the first Christmas turkey his dad had cooked after his parents divorced. All Reno could glean from the guy was that he worked at some legal firm in downtown Denver and was, of course, rich. Maybe this man was whom Reno’s last date was looking for.
There had been one interesting man. He was shorter than Reno by a good half foot, with curly dark hair, a closely trimmed beard, and kind brown eyes, who worked as an oceanographic cartographer. He’d been wearing an ugly green Christmas sweater depicting a naked muscular man with a Santa hat. A gift box hid his junk, and the saying read, “I have a big package for you.” Reno had laughed out loud. The ice breaker had been perfect, and he’d enjoyed their short conversation. Unfortunately, there had been zero spark. A romantic relationship wasn’t on the horizon for them, but Reno could see them becoming good friends.
Then there was the guy who looked down his nose at Reno with disdain after learning Reno was a musician. Funny how so many people assumed the “sex, drugs, and rock ’n’ roll” stereotype when he told them what his career was. Of course, his age and appearance leaned a little more toward rock ’n’ roll than classical composer. He didn’t have long hair or wear dark eyeliner; he didn’t have a ton of piercings and wasn’t covered in tattoos, though his fashion sense did tend toward denim, leather, and Doc Martens.
But the date that took the cake was the one that had just ended. The man hadn’t fully sat down before he started talking a mile a minute. His hair was dyed as black as night, and his complexion was so pale he could have passed for a vampire. His eyes were an unnatural shade of gold that could only be attained with colored contacts, and his veneers were so blindingly perfect Reno found he couldn’t look at them directly for more than a couple of seconds. Reno hadn’t said a single word as his vampire date barely took a breath—maybe he was a vampire!—as he regaled Reno with stories of his lavish jet-set lifestyle and all the countries he’d visited. The man had been trying way too hard to impress. Under all that costume and big talk and name-dropping, he was probably a great guy, if terribly insecure in himself to be putting on such a show.
Reno sighed and took a long draft of his microbrew. One thing about The Rainbow Inn, they always had the best local beer in Colorado. He rolled his shoulders back and mentally sang along with a jazzy Christmas song playing in the background while he psyched himself up to sit through another painful four minutes.
His next date, a tall, lean-muscled redhead, sat down, and the world tipped on its side. Or maybe it was just the ground shaking. Like when a semitruck and trailer rumbled past his house and the whole place shook.
Tate . . .
Reno’s breath caught in his throat.
It was Tate-fucking-Boylan. His eyes—a gold-specked green hazel that Reno had never forgotten—widened in surprise, and his mouth formed a soundless O. It had been over a decade since Reno had last seen Tate. Twelve years to be exact. Tate was his older brother Ricky’s best friend—the “straight” best friend who’d kissed Reno and then run away—but Reno would have recognized him anywhere. His heart raced and lurched to punch at his ribs as though it knew the heart beating just a few feet away was its other half.
“What are you even doing here?” Reno blurted.
Shit. Even he heard how breathy his voice sounded. Heat burned his cheeks, and he took a desperate gulp of his not-nearly-cold-enough-to-cool-him-down beer. How could he still react like he did as a teenager after all these years?
This was so not how Reno had pictured seeing Tate again. Not once in the thousands of reunions he’d imagined in his mind, year after year. He should be angry. Thought he would be. Wanted to be. He was due some righteous indignation for the way Tate had bolted on him. But at that moment, he felt like he’d finally reached an oasis after walking too many miles across a sweltering desert.
“Reno Pierce,” Tate replied with a note of awe in his voice, a voice that was deeper and huskier than Reno remembered. A shiver of excitement cascaded over his skin. “As I live and breathe.”
Dumbstruck and lovestruck. That’s what he was, and it was just as frustrating as it had been when he was a kid. When he’d followed Ricky and Tate around like a lost duckling that had imprinted on the wrong species and was never more than a foot off Tate’s heel. When he’d worshipped the ground Tate walked on, hung on his every word, and doodled their initials inside hearts in his schoolbooks. When he’d dreamed that Tate loved him as much as he loved Tate, and Tate would sweep him off his feet, and they’d live happily ever after. Just like in the movies.
But then Tate had broken his heart after one blissfully exquisite moment in time when their lips had touched and every single nerve in Reno’s body had lit on fire. Reno closed his eyes for a second, needing to push away old memories and regroup. He’d outgrown his Godzilla-sized Tate crush years ago. Or so he’d thought.
A round of gasps spread throughout the room like a wave.
“Well, this is different,” Tate said in a hushed amusement-infused voice. He sounded the same, but there was a lower resonance to his voice that came with age and experience.
Reno briefly wondered what Tate’s life had been like during their years apart before he opened his eyes to . . . total darkness? He blinked a few times, attempting to adjust to the lack of light, but there wasn’t anything to adjust to. Not even a sliver of light filtered below the doors to the main hallway.
Light from a cell phone flashlight punched a hole in the black, waved back and forth, and a few seconds later, Clark, their event host, shouted to be heard above the confused crowd. “Can everyone look this way, please?”
He clapped his hands, and once he had everyone’s attention, he set his phone down so the flashlight created a spotlight on him.
“Okay, I know that was a bit of a surprise, but I need you all to keep calm.”
Nothing in Clark’s voice gave Reno any cause for concern. Power outages in the mountains were a thing. Heck, he lived on a mountain, and it happened more often than he could count. “Honestly, this isn’t anything strange for an old hotel all the way out here in the mountains.”
“It isn’t?” someone a couple of tables over from Reno’s asked. Reno could just make out the speaker’s features—it was dry-personality guy in the expensive suit.
“Last year, we had the same thing one night. Turned out it was a blown fuse. And I believe up here, power lines go down all the time. Before you know it, the generator will kick in and—”
Reno shielded his eyes and blinked a few times. It took a few seconds to readjust to the sudden brightness. The overhead lights had been low to begin with, so the Christmas lights that ringed the room could take center stage and set the mood for the daters, but after the few minutes of complete darkness they may as well have been high-powered floodlights.
“See, just like that,” Clark said with a note of pride in his voice.
Reno’s vision cleared, and Tate was right there. In full living, breathing, technicolor-vision focus before him. He was even more gorgeous than Reno remembered, and Reno’s heart did that excited little fluttering thing it had done every time his teenage self had seen Tate. As though his heart didn’t understand the passage of time and he was still that clumsy kid tripping over feet he hadn’t yet grown into.
“This is wild, seeing you here,” Tate said once everyone settled back down.
His grin was conspiratorial, like he had a secret to share. Tantalizing lines bracketed his mouth. They didn’t quite form a dimple, but close enough that Reno wanted to slide his tongue along them. The kiss they’d shared once upon a time replayed in his mind again.
The best and worst moment of his life.
His greatest desire and biggest embarrassment.
He’d crushed so hard on Tate back then, but Ricky had taken his big brother role seriously and was protective of him—overly so. He’d noticed how Reno looked at Tate with hearts bulging out of his eyes like a cartoon character. He’d sat Reno down and explained that Tate was straight and to let it go. But Reno hadn’t believed him. He’d seen the way Tate looked at him when he didn’t think anyone was looking.
It had all come to a head the summer Ricky had thrown an “adios, high school” party before he left to play for an American Hockey League team out of state, and Tate left for university in California. Every time Reno scanned the crowd for Tate, he found Tate looking at him. Tate would only hold his gaze for a second and then turn away as though suddenly realizing he’d been caught staring. At some point during the party, Reno wandered off to the bathroom. When he’d opened the door to leave, Tate had been standing there, looking nervous but determined. He’d looked over both shoulders and then walked Reno back inside, closed the door, and after a long stare, leaned down and kissed him. Though it was Reno’s very first kiss, he’d thrown everything he had into it. He hadn’t done too bad either, he remembered proudly, if the hardness of Tate’s erection pressed against his thigh had been anything to go by. That single kiss had been the most amazing of his life. Even after all these years, no kiss had ever truly compared. There was always something missing.
The day after that life-altering kiss, Tate had ignored Reno. At first, Reno had chalked it up to Tate being majorly hungover. But then he’d taken off early for university, without saying goodbye, and Reno hadn’t heard a single word from him since. Ricky had told him to stop mooning and not to lose his heart to straight guys, but Ricky had never known about that kiss. He didn’t know his best friend wasn’t quite as straight as he’d thought.
“You left,” Reno said flatly. He winced internally at the pout in his voice. He wasn’t a heartbroken kid anymore, dammit. Apparently, all it took was five seconds in Tate’s presence to regress twelve years.
The spark in Tate’s gaze dimmed, but Reno refused to feel any guilt. He wasn’t responsible for Tate’s actions. Tate was the one who kissed and ran, after all.
Tate opened his mouth, but his reply was cut off by Clark, who’d called for a ten-minute break. Their four-minute date was over.
“I’ll be right back,” Tate said as he rose from the table. He raised the empty bottle in his hand to indicate he was going for a refill. “Can I get you anything?”
Reno shook his head and narrowed his eyes. Sure, he would be right back. Tate was running again.
Reno cursed himself for noticing how nicely Tate’s ass looked in his well-fit pants as he walked away, and retrieved his phone from his back jeans pocket to check the time. There was a text on the lock screen from his dad. He opened it with a smile that slipped as he sighed.
Dad: Hope you found your Mr. Right.
Dad: Call me in the morning with all the details.
All the details. Reno snorted. His dad was a hopeless romantic—especially around the holidays. Even after a messy divorce, he still believed in true love. Reno did too, but he wasn’t going to find it tonight.
Tate’s grin flashed in his mind.
Reno shook his head and tapped out a quick reply to his dad. He hit Send, but a “message failed” error popped up. Huh, no bars. He shrugged and pocketed his phone.
He should just head home now and be done with all of this. Except he didn’t want to leave just yet, not now that he’d reconnected with Tate. Even though he still harbored resentment at having been left behind, remnants of how he’d once felt for Tate—always felt for him—refused to fade.
Before Reno decided to stay or go, Tate reappeared. He stood by the table and fidgeted with the label on his beer bottle. Reno’s gaze dropped to his long, slender fingers, and the first note of desire played low in his belly.
“I went to university,” Tate said as if that answered why he’d taken off on Reno.
He stared at the table for a second as though he was gearing up for a spiel. But once again, Clark interrupted to announce the official end of the break and start of the second half of the evening’s dates.
“Wait for me after?”
The vulnerable note in Tate’s voice shifted something inside Reno’s chest, and he nodded. He didn’t want to give in so easy, but of course he would wait for Tate. Who was he fooling? If he really thought about it, he’d been waiting for Tate ever since he’d run off to university without so much as a “see ya”.
After Reno’s “date” with Tate, he couldn’t stop thinking about him and couldn’t for the life of him remember a single guy who’d sat across from him for the rest of the night. If he’d thought the four-minute dates before Tate had dragged on, after the break, they were excruciating. Every minute until he could talk to Tate again felt like an eternity.
When the last date finally ended, Clark called for everyone’s attention again. He quickly reminded them about filling out their match cards and how he would be contacting everyone who’d made mutual matches so they could connect on their own later. Then, oddly, he asked everyone to remain in the event room until further notice. A frisson of confusion ran through the crowd. Reno glanced at his watch. Whatever it was, he hoped it didn’t take too long. He’d have to get back on the road for home soon. It was already a late night, as it was.
He flipped his match card over on the table and checked only one box—the one beside Tate’s name. He handed his card off to the bartender since Clark had left the room again and sat on a barstool. He ordered a virgin tequila sunrise since he didn’t want to be buzzed while driving the winding mountain roads home from the hotel. There was always the option of booking a room for the night—which was another reason The Retreat’s speed-dating events were such a big draw—but he’d rather sleep in his own bed.
A waft of spice and bergamot teased Reno’s senses and announced Tate’s arrival as he sat on the stool next to him. From this point on, he knew he’d always associate those scents with Tate. His childhood crush ordered another beer before turning to face Reno.
“I thought you stayed in California.” Reno picked up their conversation as if there hadn’t been an hour break in between. “After university.”
Tate shook his head. “Only for the summer after graduation. I live in Boulder now. I, uh, work at NCAR.”
“You what?” Reno rocked back on his stool. He’d known Tate was into climate science, but figured he’d end up working at a research center in California. “For how long?”
“Six years.”
Reno snapped his mouth shut while his mind tripped over itself in search of words that made sense. Reno lived in Boulder. Well . . . he lived up the mountain in Nederland, but he was down in Boulder often. Tate had been living so close all these years, and Reno had had no idea.
Not once had Ricky mentioned that to him, and they talked on the phone as often as Ricky’s hockey schedule allowed after he’d been drafted to play for Vancouver’s NHL team. Had Ricky kept that from him deliberately? Reno was a grown-ass adult and didn’t need his big brother to look out for him anymore. He could make his own mistakes quite nicely, thank you very much. Not to mention, Tate was obviously not straight.
No, Ricky wouldn’t do that. More than likely, Ricky had just forgotten about Reno’s crush and Tate just never came up in conversation anymore. That and Reno never asked either, so he couldn’t lay it all on his brother.
“Does Ricky know?” Reno asked. He avoided eye contact by swirling the straw in his glass, blending the grenadine into the orange juice until the whole concoction was a deep orange-maroon color.
“That I moved back home? Yes.”
“No, I mean, that you’re gay.”
“What makes you think I’m gay?” Tate challenged, but there was a teasing note in his voice.
Reno turned a glare on him. His tone was sarcastic when he said, “Oh, I don’t know. Kissing other men? Attending gay speed-dating events?” He shrugged. “Just a guess.”
Tate’s grin morphed into a brilliant smile that sent another flurry of flutters in Reno’s chest. “I’m bisexual if you need a label. And yes, Ricky knows.”
Ricky knew? Reno looked away again, fighting down a flare of unexpected hurt. “He never told me.”
“Ricky and I don’t travel the same circles anymore, and with him in the NHL and always on the road, we don’t get to catch up very often,” Tate said with a touch of regret in his voice. “And even though I was his best friend, he didn’t think I was good enough for you.”
Reno swung his head around. “Are you kidding me?”
Tate’s shoulders lifted and dropped. “I’m out now, but I was in the closet for a long time. It wouldn’t have been fair to you, and we both knew it.”
“Neither of you had the right to decide what was or wasn’t right for me.”
Tate studied him for a long minute and then said softly, “No, you’re right.”
Reno fell silent. As revelations went Tate’s weren’t all that earth-shattering, but to know he’d been living so close all these years and their paths had never crossed . . . What did he say to that? Were they not ever meant to be? He sighed and looked away, but Tate kicked at the leg of his chair to get his attention. When he met Tate’s gaze, his big easy smile lit up his eyes.
“We’re here now,” Tate said. “Tell me about you. I haven’t seen you gracing the cover of the Rolling Stone yet.”
Reno laughed and fidgeted with his straw again. “I was never going to be a rock star. Fame wasn’t what I was after.”
“No? What was it, then?”
“A compulsion to create emotion through sound.” Reno snapped his mouth shut. He had not meant to say that out loud. Now Tate would know that he hadn’t been just a geeky band kid; he was an adult band geek. Sure, his whole life revolved around music, but he was highly successful at it, and he did it without being on the paparazzi’s radar. Which was exactly how he wanted it. “I mean, I compose.”
“Compose? Like for orchestras?” Tate sounded genuinely interested.
Reno nodded as he warmed up to his favorite subject. “I’ve composed some symphonies for the Denver Symphony Orchestra and a few others, but these days I mostly compose film scores.”
“No way!” Tate leaned forward on his stool, obliviously sending another wave of his distracting spicy scent Reno’s way. “Which movies?”
Reno took a sip of his drink. “You know the new action flick with Chris Hemsworth?”
“No!”
“Yes.” Reno couldn’t help grinning back at Tate, who looked like a kid that had just been set loose in a candy store.
“He’s hot,” Tate said with a dreamy note to his voice as a smile tugged his mouth sideways.
Reno laughed and clinked his glass to Tate’s bottle. “Cheers to that.”
Surprisingly, the conversation flowed easier than Reno would have thought after all their time apart, and he was glad his dad had talked him into coming up here tonight. Even the anger he’d harbored for so long after Tate ditched him faded into the ether. Perhaps this was the closure he’d needed to finally move on.
He sucked up the last drops of his mocktail and glanced at the clock behind the bar. It was getting late. He pushed his empty glass away.
“Another?” Tate asked as he flagged the bartender down.
“No, thanks.” Reno shook his head and, with a reluctance that surprised him, said, “I need to get on the road before it gets much later.”
“I’m afraid you might be out of luck there,” the bartender said. His name tag read Grady, and he wore a revealing black tank top that showed off the amazing tattoos on his forearms and biceps. “Rumor has it there was an avalanche earlier, and the road is blocked.”
“What?” Reno burst out at the same time as Tate, and for a split second, his thoughts wandered to how well their voices harmonized. They could make music together.
Reno snorted at his stupid thoughts. He and Tate would not be making music together. Of any kind.
Grady paused a second and then nodded as he grabbed Reno’s empty glass. He dropped it in a soap-water-filled bucket behind the bar. “That’s why we have to wait here for Bryan, the manager, to let us know what’s going on.”
Reno slumped back in his seat, dismayed. “But I can’t stay here tonight.”
“Uhm . . .” Tate shifted around to face Reno head-on. His expression was hopeful. “I have a cabin. You’re welcome to stay with me if you can’t get out.”
Reno’s brain screeched to a halt.
Spend the night with Tate? All alone in a snowed-in cabin up on a mountain? Sounded like the stuff of romance novels, and as much as the teenage Reno would have jumped for joy at the idea, the adult Reno knew that would be the worst of all the worst ideas. But also . . .
“You have a cabin?” Reno said instead. “That’s . . . a bit presumptuous, no?”
Chuckling, Tate held his hands up in surrender. “It’s a rental. Kaylie booked it for me.”
Reno opened his mouth and closed it. Twice. Reno had never spent much time with Tate’s older sister. She’d always seemed like a cool girl who had it all together and didn’t take any crap from anyone, and Reno had admired her for that from afar.
“I’m not sure what to say to that,” he finally replied.
He flagged Grady with the tattooed arms over and ordered another tequila sunrise. This time with the tequila since it didn’t seem like he’d be driving anywhere soon.
A point proven when Clark called for everyone’s attention a little after midnight. He introduced Bryan, The Retreat’s manager, and turned the floor over to the slim, dark-haired man in a rumpled suit who looked just as frazzled. In his white-knuckled grip was a clipboard.
“Thank you for waiting here,” Bryan began.
After a few murmurs from the crowd, he continued. “So, here’s the long and short of it. An avalanche has blocked the road about half a mile from the hotel—”
The crowd erupted into a frenzy of questions and complaints and ridiculous solutions like skiing or snowshoeing out—five miles, in the dark—or using sled dogs, of which there weren’t any. Even melting the snow to what . . . swim out? Reno shook his head. The only thing they could do was be patient and wait for the road to be cleared. Surely by morning, the road crews would have traffic moving again.
Bryan clapped his hands and brought the crowd’s attention back around.
“We think the best idea is for everyone to get at least some sleep, and we’ll regroup in the morning. We can double up in rooms with some careful organization, use rollaways, and luckily, we do have some empty rooms and some of the cabins.” He gestured to a tall, lean man with dark hair standing beside him. “Chet has some room assignments, so if you could come up one at a time.”
“So,” Tate said beside Reno. “Looks like you’re going to need somewhere to spend the night after all.”
Reno regarded him for a few seconds while his heart warred with his mind. He so badly wanted to say yes, but also, he had a feeling it would be a very bad idea.
“Or I could get my own room,” he countered.
“You heard the man.” Tate grinned that sexy grin of his again. “They’re pairing people up. Why not pair up with someone you know?”
Because I won’t be desperately fighting to keep my hands off anyone else.
But with his luck, he’d probably end up paired in a room with his overcompensating vampire date and be stuck listening to endless tales of his incredible life all night.
“Breakfast is included,” Tate sweetened his offer in a sing-song voice when Reno hadn’t replied.
Reno studied him. He didn’t look like a scientist, but then, Reno didn’t look like a classical composer either. Not that either of them had to adhere to any specific appearance for their chosen fields. The warm-toned white Christmas lights hanging over the bar spun gold threads through Tate’s full head of fiery-red hair. It was riding that fine line of needing to be cut or left alone to grow out, and the perfect length to twine his fingers through. Would Tate’s hair feel as soft against his skin as it looked? His gaze dropped to Tate’s full lips and smirking mouth, bracketed by those damn enticing grooves in his cheeks.
This was trouble, and he knew it. He didn’t do one-nighters. Not even with Tate Boylan, who had planned to hook up tonight, or he wouldn’t have booked a cabin. Reno had no intention of having his world rocked by Tate, which he knew it would, only to be left behind once again. But it would only be one night, right? Surely, he could be an adult and keep his wits about him. He could sleep on a couch or even the floor, and in the morning, the roads would be cleared, and he could hightail it home before he made a fool of himself.
Reno huffed. “Fine, you win.”
If Reno had thought Tate’s smile was blinding before, the one he graced Reno with this time might as well have been the sun.
Tate stood and gestured for Reno to follow him.
Such a bad idea . . .
The Boy Next Door by Josh Lanyon
Prologue
Warm lips moving on mine, passionately, insistently.
I knew those lips. I knew that kiss.
Isaac…
Moist breath pushing into my mouth, filling my lungs.
Inhale.
Exhale.
We breathed in unison. Quiet. Intimate. Yes.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Isaac, I love you. I really do. I miss you so much…
From down a long tunnel a voice said, “He’s breathing on his own, Chief.”
And I’m really, truly sorry…
Inhale.
Exhale.
And from now on—
Waaaait a minute.
Chief?
That wasn’t right. I wanted Isaac, not Chief.
“Chief?” Once more the word hollowly echoed down long, empty corridors. “Chief?”
I murmured protest. The mouth fervently pressing mine withdrew.
I unstuck my eyelids, stared dazedly up. Bits of black floated in the evening air. Red embers drifted down like glowing snowflakes. In front of a kaleidoscope of ragged black-edged treetops was a ring of grim faces gazing down at me—and the grimmest face of all was that of Police Chief Ramsay. I thought I could see tiny twin flames dancing in his eyes.
I unstuck my lips. I’m not sure what I wanted to say. I can explain everything?
I probably owed him an explanation or two.
In the distance came an alarming tearing-away sort of sound. The cops all turned to watch in silence as my neighbor Dick Chekhov’s plastic Santa—still sitting in its red plastic sleigh—plummeted in flames from his rooftop.
As Santa’s sleigh crunched nose-first in the frosty grass, Isaac swung back to me.
“Goddamn it, Merle,” he roared. “What did I say? What did I tell you? I’m done warning you. This time I’m throwing your ass in jail.”
I tried to sit up. “On what charges?”
“Malfeasance. Obstruction of justice. How about that? Interfering with a police investigation. That’s a good one. Conducting business without a license. Disturbing the peace. Public nuisance. How about menace to society? That fits. Don’t worry about it. I’ll find something. There won’t be any shortage of charges when I get done with you…”
Warm lips moving on mine, passionately, insistently.
I knew those lips. I knew that kiss.
Isaac…
Moist breath pushing into my mouth, filling my lungs.
Inhale.
Exhale.
We breathed in unison. Quiet. Intimate. Yes.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Isaac, I love you. I really do. I miss you so much…
From down a long tunnel a voice said, “He’s breathing on his own, Chief.”
And I’m really, truly sorry…
Inhale.
Exhale.
And from now on—
Waaaait a minute.
Chief?
That wasn’t right. I wanted Isaac, not Chief.
“Chief?” Once more the word hollowly echoed down long, empty corridors. “Chief?”
I murmured protest. The mouth fervently pressing mine withdrew.
I unstuck my eyelids, stared dazedly up. Bits of black floated in the evening air. Red embers drifted down like glowing snowflakes. In front of a kaleidoscope of ragged black-edged treetops was a ring of grim faces gazing down at me—and the grimmest face of all was that of Police Chief Ramsay. I thought I could see tiny twin flames dancing in his eyes.
I unstuck my lips. I’m not sure what I wanted to say. I can explain everything?
I probably owed him an explanation or two.
In the distance came an alarming tearing-away sort of sound. The cops all turned to watch in silence as my neighbor Dick Chekhov’s plastic Santa—still sitting in its red plastic sleigh—plummeted in flames from his rooftop.
As Santa’s sleigh crunched nose-first in the frosty grass, Isaac swung back to me.
“Goddamn it, Merle,” he roared. “What did I say? What did I tell you? I’m done warning you. This time I’m throwing your ass in jail.”
I tried to sit up. “On what charges?”
“Malfeasance. Obstruction of justice. How about that? Interfering with a police investigation. That’s a good one. Conducting business without a license. Disturbing the peace. Public nuisance. How about menace to society? That fits. Don’t worry about it. I’ll find something. There won’t be any shortage of charges when I get done with you…”
Christmas Day, 1994 by Frank W Butterfield
Prologue
Good Morning Australia
Channel 10 Sydney
Monday, December 26, 1994
Kerri-Anne Kennerley (seated and leaning forward): Good morning, Australia! I'm Kerri-Anne Kennerley, sitting in this morning for our Bert Newton who's on holiday, enjoying the spectacular Gold Coast on this Boxing Day.
We begin today's show with a special interview. Nicholas Williams, the San Francisco-based owner of the Hopkins Hotel in Sydney, has spent the last ten days touring the country. This is his first time back to Australia since 1955 and our very own Charlene Thomas met with Mr. Williams at the Hopkins Bar to speak with him and get to know more about the very unusual owner of one of Sydney's most unusual hotels.
(cut from studio to a restaurant interior)
Charlene Thomas (holding a glass of red wine while seated at a bar): And what is this?
Nicholas Williams (seated next to her holding a matching glass): This is a 1990 Grant Burge Shiraz, a wine we both really enjoy. This is a grape that some of our winemakers in California are just now starting to cultivate. There, like in France, we call it Syrah. (he takes a sip).
Charlene Thomas: Yes, I've heard that. Are you a California wine connoisseur?
Nicholas Williams (chuckling): Not at all. I'm more of a beer drinker, myself. But, here at the Hopkins, we like to feature Australian food and wine. We try to do that in all our hotels.
Charlene Thomas: How many Hopkins hotels are there, now?
Nicholas Williams: This hotel was our fortieth when it opened in 1990. We're now up to forty-five. Our newest just opened in Singapore, which is where we were before we came here.
Charlene Thomas: And how do you like being back in Australia?
Nicholas Williams (smiling): We're glad to be back. It's been almost forty-six years since we skipped the country on an old Pan Am clipper that a friend of ours owned.
Charlene Thomas (nodding seriously): Now, from what I've been told, you were fleeing arrest.
Nicholas Williams: Yes. But the laws have changed—happily—and now we're back and happy to be here. Everyone has been very welcoming.
Charlene Thomas: Is it true that you spend your Christmas and New Year in the southern hemisphere every year?
Nicholas Williams: Yes. The first time we did that was in 1953 in Rio de Janeiro, in Brazil. Growing up in chilly San Francisco, it was nice to spend Christmas somewhere nice and warm. We've been to Brazil, Chile, New Zealand, and now we're here, in Sydney. (lifts his glass as if to toast).
Charlene Thomas: I'll drink to that. Cheers. (the two clink glasses)
Nicholas Williams: Cheers.
(cut from bar to a balcony)
Charlene Thomas: Now, this is a view that's worth waking up for. From here, I can see the harbor, along with the Harbour Bridge and the Opera House. I'm standing just outside the luxurious Royal Australian Suite, on the 29th floor of the Hopkins. Let's have a quick look at the rest of what this sumptuous accommodation offers.
(montage tour of rooms)
Nicholas Williams (standing next to a second man who's seated on a couch): What do you think?
Charlene Thomas: I think I'd enjoy calling this home for a couple of weeks.
Nicholas Williams: We really like what our décor team did here. The Hopkins idea is modern style with relaxing comfort. And I think this suite, along with every room in the hotel, reflects that.
Charlene Thomas: I agree.
(brief slideshow of other guest rooms, cutting to table by window)
Charlene Thomas: You've been quite busy in during the ten days you've been here.
Nicholas Williams: We've enjoyed every day of it.
Charlene Thomas: Let's see. (looks at notes). You've met with the Lord Mayor of the City of Sydney, Frank Sartor. You invited Prime Minister Paul Keating for dinner, here, at this very table. And I hear he was just as late for dinner as he is for cabinet meetings.
Nicholas Williams (chuckling): Yes, but his wife, Anitta, kept us entertained.
Charlene Thomas: You've seen an opera while in town.
Carter Jones: We were lucky enough to be invited to sit in on rehearsals for Tresno, which opens early next month.
Charlene Thomas: I understand you visited Alice Springs and climbed Ayers Rock, is that right?
Carter Jones (smiling): Yes.
Nicholas Williams: He did. Not me.
Charlene Thomas: I also heard you were the guests of honor at the Imperial Hotel on Erskineville Road last night.
Nicholas Williams: Yes.
Carter Jones: They treated us like royalty there. We had a great time.
Charlene Thomas: Now that we're almost there, what are your holiday plans?
Nicholas Williams: We'll be spending Christmas Day with some old friends, just north of Bondi Beach.
Charlene Thomas: That's where you stayed when you were last here, correct?
Nicholas Williams: Yes. That was during a big storm that nearly washed me right over the cliff and into the ocean.
Charlene Thomas: Goodness!
Nicholas Williams: Then, on the 26th—
Carter Jones: Boxing Day.
Nicholas Williams (nodding): We're leaving for Fiji and then on to Hawaii before heading home to San Francisco.
Charlene Thomas: Sounds like a wonderful way to spend the start of the new year.
(cut back to studio)
Kerri-Anne Kennerley (seated and leaning forward): Thank you, Charlene. Sounds like you had quite the interesting time at the Hopkins Sydney. In a moment, Sally Browne stops by to talk about her take on this summer's must-wear fashions for the beach as well as around town. You won't want to miss what she's got to say. But first—
(video ends)
A Changeling Christmas by Eli Easton
CHAPTER 1
Felix
Epic disaster: thy name is Felix Bordeaux.
My cheeks burned with humiliation, and disappointment churned in my gut. In fact, there was a whole host of miserable emotions littered around my feet like invisible crumpled-up Post-it notes. Maybe in a discount-bin shade of puke green.
I picked at the moist label on my beer bottle. The colored Christmas lights strung up over the bar danced along the brown glass and my hands. "I know what you'd say, Mom," I whispered. "It will happen when it's supposed to. But how can it ever happen when I'm a veritable black hole in any social setting? Horizon of Doom. That's me."
"Did you say something?"
I looked up to see a good-looking man standing near me at the bar. He was probably waiting to order a drink. I cringed. "Huh? No. I wasn't talking to you. Sorry."
I looked back at my beer bottle, turning it around and around. I'd had enough rejection for one night. I wasn't going to engage with anyone. Maybe ever! Yes, that was the only acceptable solution. I was never going to engage with anyone ever again. Except for my patients. But definitely not men. Or, at least, not men like that. No spank you. That was my Christmas promise to myself. Even if it only made me feel more miserable.
I waited for the guy standing at the bar to leave. But he didn't. I could still see him in my peripheral vision. Heck, I could feel him. He had an intense aura. I snuck another look. He was staring at me. Crap.
"I'd like to buy you a drink. Come sit at my table with me," he said.
"Me?" I looked around to make sure he was, in fact, talking to me.
"You." His voice was firm, and he didn't crack a smile. He had an air of authority like he was used to being obeyed. He turned and stalked away.
I hesitated. What did he want? He hadn't been eyeballing me that way. At least, I didn't think so. If this was a pickup, he needed to work on his game. Then again, tonight I'd sent the first two guys at Speed Dating fleeing for their lives before I'd slunk away in shame myself, so who was I to judge?
It was curiosity more than anything that made me pick up my beer bottle and follow him.
He took a seat at a small table for two. Awkwardly—because that's how I roll—I sat in the other chair. He proceeded to study me some more. I held my beer bottle and looked around to avoid his gaze.
The Retreat’s tavern was a warm space with rustic beams, dark wood tables and chairs, a pool table, and a big TV currently displaying a fireplace with holiday music. Christmas lights were strung everywhere, and there was a Christmas tree in the corner, all decked out with red bulbs and paper beer coaster ornaments. The place was nearly empty, but then, the speed-dating event was still going on. The one where I'd crashed and burned.
I snuck a look at the guy. Tallish, probably my height of six foot. Fit body. Dark hair worn to his shoulders and layered in an immaculate haircut. Piercing dark eyes. Huh. We looked sort of alike. Or, rather, he looked like me if I were a thousand times cooler and had my shit together so tightly it could have been Shapeweared.
I swallowed. "What?"
"I'm Alastor. And you are?" He finally cracked a smile. Maybe it was my imagination, but it was a little like seeing a shark smile.
"Um. Felix. Felix Bordeaux."
"Are you staying at the hotel, Felix?"
I shook my head. "I wish. No, I just drove up for the speed-dating thing, you know?"
"Isn't that going on right now?"
I felt heat on my cheeks again. "I, uh, left early."
He stared at me.
"It wasn't for me. I'm not good at meeting people." Understatement of the year. "I should have known better? I guess?" I huffed a bitter laugh. "In fact, the second guy I sat down with told me I needed a class in conversational skills." God, I could still see the sneer on his face. "The saddest thing is, he wasn't wrong. Only my friend, Dawn, she insisted I do it? She made me, actually. I had to drive up for the speed dating or she wouldn't let me take her shift on Christmas. So."
Alastor gave a slow blink. "She wouldn't let you take her shift on Christmas?"
I nodded. "I'm a nurse. I decided to work this year on Christmas Day so others could have it off. Like Dawn. This is my first Christmas since my mom died, see. And it couldn't really be Christmas without her. I figured I might as well work. Make up for all the years someone worked so I could have the holiday off. Not that there's been that many. I only graduated from nursing school a couple of years ago. But, hey, pay it forward. Right?"
I chuckled, but his face was utterly expressionless. I mentally kicked myself. I'd done it again. Mentioned my mom in the first sixty seconds. I was pretty sure that's where I'd lost the two guys I'd sat with in speed dating tonight. When would I learn?
I sighed. "Never mind. Thanks for the, um…." Oh, right. He hadn't actually bought me a drink. I stood up.
"Wait." Alastor grabbed my wrist. He managed to tug me back down into my seat while signaling for a waiter.
The waiter appeared out of thin air. "An Elijah Craig for my friend, Felix, here. Neat." He turned to me. "It's the best bourbon money can buy in Colorado."
"Oh. Uh. Thanks, but I have to drive home tonight. And I'm kind of a lightweight."
The waiter ignored me. "Right away, sir," he said to Alastor with the sort of deference I'd never received in my life. He scurried away.
"About that…." Alastor gave me another of those shark-y smiles. "I have a cabin here for three more nights, and it turns out I need to leave. Immediately." A flash of anger crossed his face. He downed his own glass in one long swig. He muttered something under his breath that sounded like "Lennox will pay for this."
"I'm sorry to hear that?" I said sympathetically, though I wondered where this was going.
Those dark eyes focused back on me. "The cabin's prepaid and nonrefundable. It's yours if you want it. Otherwise, it'll be wasted. Say yes, Felix. A wise man once told me—when opportunity crosses your path, grab it with both hands and hang on for the ride."
"I… really?"
"Yea, really," he said dryly.
I was about to say Oh, I couldn't, but I stopped myself. I'd driven up in time to have dinner here tonight, so I'd taken a little tour of the hotel and grounds. I'd been envious of the guests. How wonderful it would be to stay in a place like this for the holiday season. The Retreat was a gorgeous mountain lodge, and it was chock full of Christmas cheer with lush decorations and evergreen boughs against a backdrop of rustic buildings, stunning mountain views, and the snow…. It was like a movie set. How I'd wished I had the money, and the heart, to stay.
This was the first time I'd felt a hint of Christmas spirit all year. I'd ignored the approaching holiday because Mom was gone, and the thought of having it without her was too painful to bear. But being at the Retreat for a few days? That would be a dream. I counted in my head. It was the 22nd. I could stay three nights and drive back to Denver early to work the Christmas shift on the 25th. I wasn't scheduled until then.
It was as if it was fate—or a Christmas gift. I felt a swamping wave of gratitude. Is this your doing, Mom? Gosh, you're the best.
"I don't have the money to stay here," I said carefully. "So if you'd want to be reimbursed—"
"Free, Felix," Alastor said firmly. The waiter arrived with a dark drink in a short tumbler, just like the one Alastor had downed.
"Drink." Alastor pushed the glass toward me.
I hesitated. "I shouldn't."
"You won't need to drive tonight. Come on. Down the hatch, and then we'll go look at the cabin."
"I didn't bring anything with me."
Alastor gave me a judge-y look. "Opportunity is knocking, Felix. You drove here for a speed-dating event, so you took one chance tonight. Take this one. Drink."
He was so persuasive. I picked up the glass and sipped it. Gosh, it was strong. But there was a smooth heat to it that was nice. I started to put the glass down, but Alastor touched my hand and guided the glass back to my lips.
I drank, eyes on him. Was he coming on to me after all? Did he expect a quickie before he left? In exchange for the room? I'd come up here to meet a man, but this one looked too much like me to spark any desire. It was a little squicky, in fact. I didn't want to have sex with myself. I mean, I do have sex with myself. A lot. But I don't stare at myself in the mirror while doing it.
I finished the drink, and when I had control of my burning throat again, I blurted, "I'm not a narcissist!"
Alastor stood up and raised one eyebrow. "Good to know. I suppose one of us shouldn't be. Come on, Felix. Let's go."
My head spun as we left the hotel. I wasn't kidding when I'd said I was a lightweight. One beer, and I was super mellow. Two, and I'd be asleep within the hour. The bourbon, on top of the half beer I'd drunk, left me feeling like I was submerged in a warm pool of honey, and I couldn't stop smiling. If this cabin didn't work out, I'd be spending the night in my car.
The cold night air revived me a little as we walked out of the back of the hotel and crossed a service road. The cabins were clustered together among tall pine trees and oozed glamping charm. Their lights shone as if fairies danced with lanterns in the snow. Daw!
"They're so pretty," I said, my voice slurring a little.
Alastor grunted. "Mine is called Towering Redwood."
I snorted. "Is that a cabin or a medical condition? If it lasts for more than four hours, there's a number you could call." Gosh, I cracked myself up.
Alastor sighed. "This one."
He walked up to one of the cabins. And, yes, Towering Redwood was the name listed on a plaque at the door. Alastor unlocked it and switched on the light inside.
Dang, it was so cozy and charming and wonderful. Mom would love this so much. It looked like one of those Sundance catalogs. The main room had raw log walls and wooden beams. A comfy-looking sofa in gray with red plaid pillows and a sheepskin throw sat in the middle of the space. There was a bear rug in front of a fireplace—hopefully not made from real bear—and a horned chandelier. A narrow Christmas tree decorated with tiny white lights, white balls, and buffalo plaid ribbons added the perfect holiday touch. The kitchenette had pine cabinets and black appliances including —ohh!—a fancy coffee maker.
"The bedroom's this way." Alastor walked down a hallway.
I followed and peeked into a good-sized bedroom with a queen bed, red plaid flannel comforter and sheets, two rustic wood lamps, and a flat-screen TV on the log wall. White lights were strung around the log bedposts and made the whole room so romantic and homey.
"There's a full bath with shower and tub. Wine and snacks are in the kitchen. Oh, and there's a complimentary breakfast buffet at the lodge. Just show the room key." Alastor grabbed a black backpack from the closet and tossed it on the bed.
"Uh… Are you sure about this? I can really stay here for three nights?"
Alastor spun to me and grabbed my face with both hands. I gave an undignified little cry. His intelligent dark brown eyes stared into mine. Wow. We were exactly the same height. He looked annoyed. "Listen to me, Felix. Are you listening?"
"Mm? Your breath smells like cinnamon rolls. Is that the bourbon? Does my breath smell like cinnamon rolls?"
"Felix. I'm in a hurry. Got it?"
His tone was stern, so I nodded mutely.
"This cabin is yours, all expenses paid, for three nights. I only ask one thing in return. Are you listening?"
"Sure." I tried to smile, but he was smooshing my face.
"If anyone asks, you're me, Alastor Jeddard. Repeat it."
I frowned. "I don't lie. Mom always said lying was way more trouble in the long run."
Alastor's jaw ticked like he was grinding his teeth. "It's not lying. It's just… the place where I reserved it, it was a, uh, a special price and nontransferable. So if the hotel staff, or security, or anyone else asks, just say my name."
I still didn't like the sound of it. "But if they find out I'm not you, will I get in trouble? Will I have to pay? I can't afford this."
His jaw clenched again. "No, they don't actually care, Felix. They're just ticking a box. It's purely procedural. Say my name, and you'll be fine." He smiled and his tone softened. "It would be a favor to me. After all, the value of this cabin is over eight hundred dollars. You'd like to do me a favor just like I'm doing you one. Wouldn't you?"
"You should do nice things for other people whenever you have the chance. Put goodness out there, and it'll return to you. That was my mom's philosophy." Dang. Now I was serial quoting Mom. It had to be the bourbon.
Alastor blinked and nodded, his smile tightening ever so slightly. "Yes. That's right. Smart lady."
"She was."
"And you look like the sort of man who could use a vacation from being himself."
I frowned. "What do you mean by that?"
"I mean, grab life, Felix. Escape from the same-old-same-old. Live a fantasy for a few days. Be me. What's the harm in that?"
What was the harm in that? Wasn't I just thinking what a disaster I was? Maybe I did need a break from myself. And being Alastor… it wasn't possible I could ever be that sure of myself, but it might be fun to pretend.
"So we have a deal, don't we, Felix?"
I thought about how nice this cabin was. And all the activities I'd get to participate in. And how it would actually make this year feel like Christmas after all. And maybe I'd meet a guy, if I was here for three nights. And what if Mom, now an angel in heaven, had nudged this opportunity my way. Who was I to refuse?
"Deal," I said.
Alastor let go of my face and gave a little sigh of relief. "Good. Now I have to go. Enjoy the cabin and don't forget our agreement."
Alastor grabbed his backpack from the bed. I watched him stuff things into it—mobile phone, a wallet, a small laptop, a few things from the bathroom. He bypassed the open closet, which was full of nice clothes. I followed him out to the main room where he put on a sleek black ski jacket that probably cost more than I made in a month. He attached a fancy pair of black leather dress boots to the bungee cords on his backpack and put on a different black pair of shiny ski boots.
He straightened up. "Well, that's it."
"What about your clothes?"
"I'm only taking the necessities. Do what you like with the rest."
Wow. That didn't sound right. "I can ship your things to you if you give me an address."
His eyes flashed something dangerous. "No! No address. That is, I'm not sure where I'm going next. Keep the stuff, toss it, or leave it here. I don't care."
He opened the door, letting in a cold blast of air. I followed him onto the porch where he grabbed the skis next to the door, carried them to a patch of snow in front of the cabin, and dropped them.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
"What does it look like?"
"You're skiing? Now? At night?"
"There's a full moon. It's perfect skiing conditions."
He was right. The moon was full in the sky and the night was clear and cold. "Yeah, but… I thought you were leaving."
"So I am. Goodbye, Felix. And good luck."
He did some fancy maneuver where he planted one ski and one pole, turned, and he was off like a shot, looking like he'd been born on skis. Like he was the Aquaman of snow.
Was there a superhero who was, like, the master of snow? Snowman? No, that didn't sound right. There was no snow superhero. Missed opportunity there.
I watched as Alastor jumped a snowless patch of trail, swooshed between two cabins, and was gone.
"Thank you! And… make good choices!" I called after him, waving even though he couldn't see me.
Dang, he was skiing out? Guess that's why he couldn't take his luggage. What a weird thing to do. Why hadn't he just called an Uber if he didn't have a car?
Maybe he was a skiing fiend. Maybe there was a beautiful course between here and Chester Lake, the nearest town, and he just wanted to get in one more ski before going back to work. People could be passionate about that sort of thing.
I sighed. Why couldn't I be all cool and sporty like that? Devil-may-care? Sophisticated?
I laughed. "In my dreams. Huh, Mom?"
Still smiling, I went back into the cabin.
Perfect Gifts by RJ Scott & VL Locey
“So, where do we think she got on the brother kick?” Jared asked as he stirred some of the honey that Adler’d brought us into his mug. Ad had taken up beekeeping. Why? Not a clue, but we all suspected that it was so he could brag about having a big stinger in the locker room. They’d found out Layton was allergic, so he watched the bees from a distance.
“Probably at the indoor playground over in Camp Hill earlier,” I said while dunking a Stella D’oro cookie into my tea. I’d have a few. Cookies were not recommended by the Railers nutritionist as healthy afternoon snacks. “She was playing with Michelle Khan.”
“Oh, yes, Mrs. Khan just had a baby,” Jared replied, then added one more dollop of honey to his mug. “A little boy.”
“Yep. She was cooing and cuddling the baby until we left. She even skipped the jungle gym and slide to tickle tiny Joey’s chin.”
Jared’s eyes flared. Lottie never passed the jungle gym and slide. Ever. I’d had to climb in a time or two to extract her when it was time to go. Jared—the old D-man that he was—was too burly to fit. The parents who had gotten to witness a hockey player trying to wedge his shoulders into a skinny tube with monkeys painted on the sides had found it pretty amusing. As had the local press the following day. Nothing says professionalism after just signing a new multi-million dollar contract like being photographed wriggling through the monkey tumble tube.
“That explains it,” he commented as he began thumbing languidly through his daily read of The Patriot News online. The man looked sexy AF in those reading glasses.
“Yeah, I guess.” I nibbled on my cookie, my phone showing a half-read article in The Athletic waiting for me to return to it. “You know we could consider it.” That brought his gaze up from the local news. He studied me over the top of his DILF glasses. “What? It’s not as if we haven’t discussed having another baby. It was kind of always our plan.”
“Well… yes, I know we’ve discussed it.” He removed his glasses, folded them, and laid them by the cookie box. He assessed me intently. “Do you think it’s something we should look at more closely?”
“Maybe?” I reached for another cookie, my sight darting from the cookie to Jared to the window where the glass was coated with a touch of frost around the edges. Fall was here, and it was glorious. We had pumpkins to carve, cider to drink, and Halloween costumes to decide on before the end of the month rolled around. “I mean she is here alone all the time.”
“She’s not alone. She has us, a nanny, and now, a dog.”
“Well yeah, I don’t mean like we Kevin McAllister her or anything, it’s just…” I plucked the cookie from its wrap, then dunked it quickly into my tea, hurrying to get the shortbread treat to my mouth. I chewed, then swallowed. Jared sat across from me waiting patiently for me to make my point. “Okay, so, and never tell them—especially Brady—but having siblings to grow up with was pretty nice. Most of the time.”
Cover artist by day, author by night, L.C. Chase is a hopeless romantic, free spirit, and adventure seeker who loves hitting the open road just to see where it takes her. When not writing sensual tales of men falling in love, she can be found designing romance novel covers, taking photos, drawing, horseback riding, or hiking the trails with her goofy four-legged roommate.
L.C. is a two-time Lambda Literary Award finalist for Pickup Men and Pulling Leather; an EPIC eBook Awards winner for Pickup Men; runner-up for Best Gay Contemporary Romance and Best Gay Book in the 2016 Rainbow Awards for A Fortunate Blizzard; honorable mention for Best Gay Contemporary Romance in the 2015 Rainbow Awards for Pulling Leather; and Best Gay Mystery/Thriller in the 2012 Rainbow Awards for Riding with Heaven. She is also a nine-time Ariana eBook Cover Art Awards winner.
You can find L.C. on her website, lcchase.com, and subscribe to her totally sporadic, no spam newsletter works in progress, new releases, newsletter exclusives, and more.
Bestselling author of over sixty titles of classic Male/Male fiction featuring twisty mystery, kickass adventure and unapologetic man-on-man romance, JOSH LANYON has been called "the Agatha Christie of gay mystery."
Her work has been translated into eleven languages. The FBI thriller Fair Game was the first male/male title to be published by Harlequin Mondadori, the largest romance publisher in Italy. Stranger on the Shore (Harper Collins Italia) was the first M/M title to be published in print. In 2016 Fatal Shadows placed #5 in Japan's annual Boy Love novel list (the first and only title by a foreign author to place on the list).
The Adrien English Series was awarded All Time Favorite Male Male Couple in the 2nd Annual contest held by the Goodreads M/M Group (which has over 22,000 members). Josh is an Eppie Award winner, a four-time Lambda Literary Award finalist for Gay Mystery, and the first ever recipient of the Goodreads Favorite M/M Author Lifetime Achievement award.
Josh is married and they live in Southern California.Her work has been translated into eleven languages. The FBI thriller Fair Game was the first male/male title to be published by Harlequin Mondadori, the largest romance publisher in Italy. Stranger on the Shore (Harper Collins Italia) was the first M/M title to be published in print. In 2016 Fatal Shadows placed #5 in Japan's annual Boy Love novel list (the first and only title by a foreign author to place on the list).
The Adrien English Series was awarded All Time Favorite Male Male Couple in the 2nd Annual contest held by the Goodreads M/M Group (which has over 22,000 members). Josh is an Eppie Award winner, a four-time Lambda Literary Award finalist for Gay Mystery, and the first ever recipient of the Goodreads Favorite M/M Author Lifetime Achievement award.
Frank W Butterfield
Frank W. Butterfield is the Amazon best-selling author of 89 (and counting) self-published novels, novellas, and short stories. Born and raised in Lubbock, Texas, he has traveled all over the US and Canada and now makes his home in Daytona Beach, Florida. His first attempt at writing at the age of nine with a ball-point pen and a notepad was a failure. Forty years later, he tried again and hasn't stopped since.
Having been, at various times and under different names, a minister’s daughter, a computer programmer, a game designer, the author of paranormal mysteries, a fan fiction writer, and organic farmer, Eli has been a m/m romance author since 2013. She has over 30 books published.
Eli has loved romance since her teens and she particular admires writers who can combine literary merit, genuine humor, melting hotness, and eye-dabbing sweetness into one story. She promises to strive to achieve most of that most of the time. She currently lives on a farm in Pennsylvania with her husband, bulldogs, cows, a cat, and lots of groundhogs.
In romance, Eli is best known for her Christmas stories because she’s a total Christmas sap. These include “Blame it on the Mistletoe”, “Unwrapping Hank” and “Merry Christmas, Mr. Miggles”. Her “Howl at the Moon” series of paranormal romances featuring the town of Mad Creek and its dog shifters has been popular with readers. And her series of Amish-themed romances, Men of Lancaster County, has won genre awards.
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.
V.L. Locey loves worn jeans, yoga, belly laughs, walking, reading and writing lusty tales, Greek mythology, the New York Rangers, comic books, and coffee. (Not necessarily in that order.)
She shares her life with her husband, her daughter, one dog, two cats, a flock of assorted domestic fowl, and two Jersey steers.
When not writing spicy romances, she enjoys spending her day with her menagerie in the rolling hills of Pennsylvania with a cup of fresh java in hand.
LC Chase
iTUNES / AUDIBLE / GOOGLE PLAY
INSTAGRAM / SMASHWORDS / B&N
EMAIL: authorlcchase@gmail.com
lcchasedesign@gmail.com(cover design)
Josh Lanyon
Eli Easton
EMAIL: eli@elieaston.com
Breakfast Included by LC Chase
The Boy Next Door by Josh Lanyon
Christmas Day, 1994 by Frank W Butterfield
A Changeling Christmas by Eli Easton
