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I've wanted to do a Christmas in July series for a few years now but time just didn't seem to agree. I wanted to feature stories that I have recently re-read but once again, time had other plans so for my Christmas in July 2023 series, I'm featuring another 20 of my favorite Christmas set LGBT reads. I say "Christmas set" because some are not really holiday-centric but set, at least in part, during the holiday season and for me that is all it takes to be a Christmas read(and yes, I'm in the "Die Hard is a Christmas Movie" camp😉). Some I've had opportunity in the past to re-read or re-listen and I've included the most recent review. As always, the purchase links are current as of posting but if they no longer work for a dozen different reasons, be sure to check out the author's website/social media sites for the latest links. There are genres of all kinds here, whether you are a holiday lover or perhaps you just want to read something set in cooler weather on a long hot summer night, either way there is something for everyone here.
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Checking it Twice by VL Locey
Summary:Snowed Inn
Will confessing his deepest secret to his best friend ruin their friendship?
Sutter Thompson has spent a goodly part of his life living a lie.
That lie led him to marry a woman he didn’t love as he should while he struggled to be all that his family wanted him to be. Finally, after the birth of his son Zachary, Sutter came to see that he needed to live a life of truth. Not just for himself, but for Zach as well. The truth included coming out at forty, getting divorced while his son was an infant, and trying to readjust to being who he was born to be.
Throughout all the turmoil, Sutter’s best friend, Watley McCutcheon, stood by his side. Watley understood how difficult breaking free could be. He had done it many years ago when they were still on the same college hockey team. Sutter always admired Wat’s bravery. He also admired his best friend for many other things…his smile, his laugh, his adoration of his son, Adam, and his caring heart. Now that Watley is single again, Sutter is hoping he can unlock the final secret he’s been carrying in his heart…he has and always will love Watley.
He’d not planned to do so at the youth hockey awards, but then again, he hadn’t expected an avalanche to strand him, Watley, their sons, and several of the boys’ teammates in a cozy Colorado inn either. Maybe it’s the romantic atmosphere or the sudden realization that life is too short to harbor such strong feelings forever, but he’s ready to declare his feelings to Watley. Can they step out of the friend zone and into a romance, or will Sutter’s heartfelt admission destroy years of brotherly affection?
Checking it Twice (A Snowed Inn Novella) is a friends-to-lovers gay romance with plenty of snow, a heaping helping of romance, snowball fights, terrible dad jokes, pop culture references out the wazoo, and a joyous happy ending.
Original Review December 2022:
I know forced proximity tropes aren't for everyone, especially since Covid but I've always enjoyed a well written one or what I like to call "tale of necessity" or "fate at work". There is always a cloud of "will it last once the necessity is gone" hanging over the heads of those involved but lets face it, there are "what ifs" hovering over everyone's head at some point or another. I enjoy this trope because it can make some who might never get a chance to say two words to each other really get to know the other. Be honest, communication and seeing one deal with the unexpected, can be key to lasting love.
Now that I've said that, Checking it Twice, though forced proximity gives Sutter and Watley the opportunity to face what is in the room, is actually more of a friends to lovers trope as they've been best buds since college. Just because they probably know all the nitty gritty of each other's psyche doesn't mean they've been completely open about everything and the avalanche near The Retreat forces them to face a few truths. Kids and fellow-trapped hockey parents play a hand in it as well.
I don't want to spoil anything but we know VL Locey and the whole holiday tale genre is all about the HEA so it's no secret where the men will end up but the how they get there is where all the fun lies. I refuse to spoil your fun. I will say that one thing I loved the most is how the kids act and react. I have found too many kids in entertainment(book, tv shows, movies) fall into one of two categories: super sickly sweet or spoiled obnoxious brats so when I come across kids in my readings(or viewings) that are simply "normal"(I hate that word because what is "normal" but I can't think of a better one right now) with some sweetness and a hint of bratty potential but mostly "I just want to see you happy, dad. When can we eat?", I not only remember them but need to shine a spotlight on them. So kudos to VL Locey for the "normal" little boy behavior😉.
So to reiterate in much more brevity: Checking it Twice is brilliant holiday fun that will make you smile and leave said smile on your face for hours afterwards. Oh and, men caring for kids? Yummy to the Nth degree!
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:
Christmas is around the corner and Matthew Blick is not looking forward to spending another holiday alone. His five-year-old niece, Hannah, loves her uncle so much, she asks the department store Santa to bring her uncle someone to love.
When Santa shows up at Matthew’s house, he doesn’t recognize him. As memories of his first kiss rush back, he’s shocked to find the man he hasn’t been able to get out of his mind since high school. Can a kiss change the way Matthew feels about Christmas?
A short but lovely and fun Hallmark-ish holiday romance. Could this have been better had it been longer? No doubt, especially considering the author is Sarah Hadley Brook but on the flipside, Matthew's Present is just the right amount of pages to convey the holiday spirit. From the minute little Hannah whispers to Santa asking to bring a guy to make her uncle happy you just know where this story is headed but that doesn't make this any less entertaining. Sometimes we need that little extra push to remember what our hearts need and Hannah is just that push for Matthew and Tyler, even if she didn't realize who her wish would be. A true holiday gem not to be missed.
RATING:
Sleigh Duty by LM Brown
Summary:Being called upon to pull Santa’s sleigh is an honour for any reindeer shifter, but for Dashiel the timing couldn’t be worse.
Stuart was looking forward to his Christmas Eve date with Dashiel, only to have him cancel at the last minute. He puts his disappointment aside and instead focuses on making his younger brother’s Christmas as wonderful as it can be, despite the loss of their parents the previous winter.
While flying over his home town, Dashiel spots a young boy on the streets, and he knows he has to help. When the young runaway turns out to be his date’s little brother, he brings him on board the sleigh, determined to see him safely home to Stuart.
Can a reindeer shifter pull Santa’s sleigh, reunite two brothers, and find love this Christmas?
This is just an amazingly cute sweet holiday tale. I always love it when authors play around with known legends and give it their own little fresh spin. In Sleigh Duty, we find Dashiel having finally asked out his workplace crush on a date only to find out he's been called to the North Pole for sleigh duty. Throw in a badly timed background statement from a fellow reindeer shifter and his crush, Stuart, suddenly thinks he's off having some fun-fun time instead of going on that date. Stuart thought this one was different but then he heard otherwise, or at least he jumped to the conclusion without inquiring(something his grandparents call him on later). I can't forget Stuart's little brother, Sammy because he absolutely adorable. Sammy's probably well on his way to being like his brother and jumping to conclusions one day but his late night adventure changes everyone.
Sleigh Duty is a short novella about faith in others, believing in what you don't see, and family that will open your heart to all the joys of the season. That makes it sound incredibly deep, well maybe parts are a bit but in a good way, but mostly this is just fun and it certainly ticked all my #ChristmasReads boxes. Definitely one not to be missed this holiday season and if your list is already too long then be sure you mark it for later when you need to be reminded of the magic that is all around at Christmastime.
RATING: 
Summary:
Captivating Captains
For a lonely Cornish lifeboatman and an author who’s more used to crime scenes than love scenes, this Christmas is going to be very merry indeed!
When Jago Treherne agrees to man the Polneath lifeboats one snowy Christmas, he knows he can forget turkey and all the trimmings.
Yet when he boards a seemingly empty yacht and stumbles upon sexy Sam Coryton enjoying an energetic afternoon below decks, Jago soon realizes that he might be unwrapping a very different sort of Christmas gift this year!
Publisher's Note: This book is related to the Captivating Captains series.
When Jago Treherne agrees to man the Polneath lifeboats one snowy Christmas, he knows he can forget turkey and all the trimmings.
Yet when he boards a seemingly empty yacht and stumbles upon sexy Sam Coryton enjoying an energetic afternoon below decks, Jago soon realizes that he might be unwrapping a very different sort of Christmas gift this year!
Publisher's Note: This book is related to the Captivating Captains series.
You can not ask for a more cute, sexy, and completely awkward re-acquainting for childhood friends Jago and Sam. This short novella is an absolute treat from the minute Jago walks in on Sam having a "cozy" lie-in scaring the beejeesus out of him leaving him with his backside up in the air bare and a black eye to boot till you swipe the last page. Now for some who are not fans of insta-love may find the boys connection off-putting but truthfully since they are childhood friends it isn't really an insta-connection and really does it matter? Whether we all like reading it in a book or not(BTW: I do love it when done right and Sam and Jago are definitely done right😉) we have to admit it does happen in life so I say just go with it and as this is a holiday story I like to think that there is a little holiday magic at play to help the boys along😉.
This is only the second story in the Captivating Captains series that I have actually read but they are all on my Kindle and look forward to catching up and for further entries as well. These are standalone entries and can be read in any order, so if The Captain's Cornish Christmas is your first you won't be disappointed and know that even though it may be short on pages it is jam packed with sweet-spicy goodness that is perfect for the holiday season and really quite yummy for anytime of year.
Casper Gets his Wish by R Cooper
Summary:Casper Silverbell is a grumpity elf, and with good reason. As an accountant at the North Pole, he gets no respect from most of the creative elves who don't see his job as important. The only joys in his life are his pet polar bears, his love of fine tailoring, and his monthly spats with the head of Gift Development.
Did he say joy? He meant to say annoyance. Dmitri Hollyberry is everything Casper resents about creative elves, wrapped up in one green-haired, tattooed package. Dmitri never gets his expense reports in on time, and seems to delight in making Casper lose his temper. He's also smart, talented, and just different enough from the other elves that Casper had once wished Dmitri would be the one to ease his loneliness. But obviously, that's impossible. No matter how good Casper is, that is one Christmas wish he doesn't expect to come true.
Another lovely holiday short story that was a pleasure to read. Not really an enemies-to-lovers tale but Casper sees them as "near-enough enemies", he just has so much anger inside that he doesn't see what is right in front of him, or more accurately he refuses to let himself see what's there. On Dmitri's end it is definitely not enemies but lets face it, there is only so much an elf can put up with before the door closes. As to whether Casper actually gets his wish(and just what is that wish?) you'll have to read this little ditty for yourself but you won't be sorry.
I added Casper Gets His Wish to my kindle last year but somehow it slipped through the cracks and went unread but this year it was one of the first on my list and loved every minute of it. I've said this often but it doesn't make it any less true, this one may be short on quantity but its long on quality. A true holiday gem to add to my growing Christmas Reads shelf.
RATING:
Checking it Twice by VL Locey
Chapter One
“Are we there yet?”
I felt my left eye twitch. My co-pilot and best friend sniggered softly from the passenger seat. I gave Watley a look that could wither a forest. He snickered even harder while fiddling with the Bluetooth hookup in our rented van.
“No, Zachary, we are not there yet. We just left home an hour ago.”
My son huffed. Zach was not the most patient of children. He obviously got that trait from his mother since I was someone who could sit on something for so long it would petrify under my ass. Like one of those fossilized dinosaur eggs we’d seen at the American Museum of Natural History two summers ago when Zach and I had visited New York City. Yep, no chicken or dino could sit on something longer than Sutter Thompson.
“How long does it take to get to Colorado?” Adam, Watley’s son, asked.
I waved a hand at my buddy and associate coach of the Red Pines Pumas, a squirt summer league ice hockey team from scenic Red Pines, New Mexico, a mere thirty minutes from Albuquerque. The same small town that housed Red Pines University, where Watley and I worked. Me as the athletic director and Wat as the conditioning coach for all the teams plus cheerleaders on our tiny campus. The five players nominated for awards were with us. Zach a winger, Adam a D-man, Tigh Williams a forward with startingly red hair, Seth Mankowski who played right wing, and Matt Vigliano a center. We would have had six with us, but Millicent Davies, our goalie, had to fly south to spend the holidays with her grandparents in Florida. It crushed her she was going to miss the trip with her friends, but knowing she was going to Universal Theme Park kind of weighed things out. We have her short acceptance speech should she win Outstanding Goalie.
“About six hours give or take,” Wat replied just as The Eurythmics “Sweet Dreams” blared to life, effectively silencing the top 40 pop station that we’d been forced to endure for the past sixty minutes. My head instantly started bopping. “Sweet dreams are made of cheese, who am I to dis a brie,” Wat began crooning. All five boys in the back groaned. Whether at Wat’s silly pun or the song itself, who knew? Probably the song. I snorted at the moans from all the ten year olds.
“Finally, some good music,” I shouted, then tapped the volume button on the steering wheel.
“Ear buds stat!” Zach bellowed to his teammates. Within seconds, the bored whining disappeared as the boys jammed to their own tunes or queued up a movie to watch on their tablets and/or phones.
“Works every time,” Watley whispered with a wink. That wink always did something to me. As did his smile, his laugh, his walk, his way of standing, his curly brown hair that was now shot through with silver, his ass, his eyes, and about a million other things. I’d loved this man for over thirty years and had never uttered a word about the attraction. Yep. There sat Sutter on the lone fossilized egg from his sad, closeted past. I doubted it would ever hatch. “Remember when we were young?”
“Vaguely,” I remarked, lifting my takeout cup of coffee from the console as the song slid from Annie Lennox to A-Ha. God I loved this song. It brought back such memories.
Wat chortled. “I recall that time we were making the trip to Southern California to play in the Western semifinals. We were so bored we played punch buggy to pass the time.”
“Oh yeah, I used to play that with Donna all the time when we’d go to Boston to visit our grandparents. She still hits like Muhammad Ali.” My older sister had the boniest knuckles. “We’d also play ‘I Spy’ and ‘I’m going on a picnic’ a lot. That was before kids had their faces in phones twenty-four-seven.” I glanced in the back at my son, who had his face in his phone. No shocker there.
“Yeah, they don’t have to use their imaginations like we did back in the day.” Watley sighed then straightened out his left leg. His trick knee popped like a starter’s gun. “Ouch. Mother fudger.”
“Only five more hours to go, Gramps,” I teased and got a secretive middle finger.
That made me smile. Not that I had much to tease my friend about. My back would be a knotted mess by the time we arrived in Chester Lake, Colorado later today. Thankfully, we’d miss a lot of the holiday traffic by leaving on the twentieth, so we should make good time. We’d get to spend a few days at the lovely Retreat Inn, hopefully win some awards, play with the boys in the snow, then head home for Christmas. Fifty-two and road trips didn’t play well most of the time. My sciatica liked to flare up at the worst times and being in a vehicle for hours was killer. I did the cheek-to-cheek wobble every few miles. A rest stop would be needed at the next hour marker for back kink alleviation and old man bladder relief. And to let the boys run off some of that glorious energy I wished someone would bottle up for the old guys like me and Watley.
Although, to be honest, I felt Wat had aged much better than I had. Perhaps that was just me being a nitpick. I tended to niggle at my faults endlessly, nipping at my imperfections like one does a hangnail. But Watley really had moved into his fifties with incredible grace and good looks. His divorce from Paul, his long-time husband, five years ago, hit him hard. I could relate to the devastation of a marriage falling apart at the seams brought. I’d gone through it myself when Zach was a baby, only I’d added coming out to the maelstrom of chaos. Talk about a one-two punch to the testes. If I would have had the guts, I would have come out in college as Wat had and lived my life proudly as a gay man. But my Catholic upbringing kept me in the closet for years, afraid to be who I was born to be, fearful of losing the love of my family and colleagues.
It was only after I gazed into the deep blue eyes of my baby son that I knew I had to stop living the lie. This long sought after child would rely on me to be honest with him. About everything. How could I lead a boy through life if I was being dishonest with the child as well as the whole world? I couldn’t. And so I’d told Kimberly I was gay two months after Zach was born. Looking back in retrospect, it probably was not the best time to do so, but if not then when? When Zach graduated from high school? College? At his wedding? At the birth of his children? When I was on my deathbed?
“You need me to take over?” Wat’s warm, deep voice broke through the fog of days long gone. I stared at him blankly for a second, then got my sight back on the road. “Toto’s “Africa” is playing and you’re not singing aloud.”
“Didn’t realize you missed my golden vocals.”
“No one can sing about wild dogs and Kilimanjaro like you, Sutter.”
“Wiseass.”
I broke loose, singing at the top of my lungs, my gaze flicking to Watley as I belted out the lines. We’d been close for more than half our lives. He’d moved after his divorce to take the job that I’d begged the dean to interview him for. Now his son and mine were close friends and teammates, and I had my best friend in my life on the daily. Wat laughed aloud as the boys begged us to quiet down. I sang even louder just to get another smile from the man on my right. I’d do just about anything to make Watley and my son happy. Shame I couldn’t say that about myself.
Matthew's Present by Sarah Hadley Brook
He put on some music, pulled the cookie dough from the refrigerator, and got to work. Soon the whole house smelled like fresh-baked cookies, and he was on his second glass of milk and his fifth cookie -- okay, his sixth cookie -- when the doorbell rang.
Too early for Kevin, he thought. Probably his sister checking on him. God, would his family just leave him alone?
He shoved the entire cookie in his mouth and yanked the door open, ready to give his sister hell. He was nearly thirty years old, for God's sake! Nobody needed to keep watch over him. Instead he found himself staring at a guy wearing a fluffy white beard, a red Santa hat, and a large red bow placed in the center of his chest, on top of his gray winter coat. What the hell?
"Merry Christmas!"
Matthew started to speak, but his mouth was full of cookie. Chewing quickly, he stepped onto the porch and looked around. No cameras. Nobody hiding in the bushes, watching. This wasn't some sort of prank? What the hell was going on?
He turned back to the guy on his stoop, and his breath caught in his throat. Those blue eyes. They had to be the same ones he had fallen into earlier today. God, maybe he did have some sort of fever ... Surely department-store Santas didn't make house calls, right? But something about him stirred another memory trapped deep inside.
He leaned down toward the shorter man a little. "Who the hell are you?" Damn, his voice came out a little rougher than he meant it to.
The guy flinched a little but stood his ground. "I'm your present ... from Santa."
Okay, now he knew someone was messing around with him. Santa was sending him a man?
"Want to repeat that?"
The guy sighed. "Santa sent me in response to a Christmas wish." He glanced around, clearly more than a little nervous now.
"A Christmas wish ... from who?" His eyes narrowed. "Did my sister put you up to this?"
His ice-blue eyes widened, and he shook his head. "No! Look, it was ... oh, God, maybe this is not ... I don't know ..."
The wind picked up and some of the snow swirled into the air.
"Look, it's freezing out here. Come inside," Matthew insisted, "and we'll get to the bottom of things."
The man in the bow nodded but still looked a little unsure.
"I won't bite. I promise. I can't let you stay out here and freeze." Matthew gestured for him to go in ahead of him and when he did, he caught a whiff of peppermint and had to smile. Whoever he was, the guy really went all out for this.
Sleigh Duty by LM Brown
“Dashiel, you’re up next,” the elf in charge of fittings called. “Get your hooves moving, you’re holding everyone up.”
Dashiel wondered who had first depicted Santa’s elves as cheerful little toy makers. He had yet to see one smile. They seemed even more miserable than he was right now. Of course, he hadn’t met many, and it was the most stressful time of year for them. Not to mention they hadn’t seen daylight in three months. That would make him grumpy too. Still, there was no need for them to prod him in the rear quite so hard to get him moving.
The next few hours were spent being trained in how to respond to the reins. Dashiel didn’t mind learning how to pull the sleigh, he just wished they could leave off the bells until they were in the air. The constant jingling was driving him up the wall.
Then came the flying lessons. Yuri must have seen Dumbo recently, because he was giving them a loud rendition of the song about elephants flying, but substituting reindeer instead. Apparently teasing the first timers like Dashiel was the highlight of his night. There were three shifters who had never been summoned before, Dashiel being the youngest of the trio.
The first time Dashiel’s hooves left the ground he almost panicked. Thoughts of flying off into space nearly had him hyperventilating, even though the others assured him that no matter how hard he tried, he would never even reach the height of a plane.
Finally, they were as prepared as they could be. Dashiel took his place beside Fred. Yuri and wife were in front of them, the couple taking the lead.
Everyone went quiet when Santa arrived. He was just as Dashiel had pictured him, though he had never seen him in person. Unlike the couple in front of him, Dashiel’s parents had never been summoned on the same night, so he had never been brought to the North Pole with them.
As they took off into the sky, Dashiel glanced below and saw how large the toy factory truly was. It was so much more than a single building. There was an entire village, with every house decorated for Christmas.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” he said to Fred.
“I’ll take your word for it,” Fred replied.
“You’re not scared of heights are you?”
“I’ll be fine as long as I don’t look down.”
Dashiel snorted. “I’d rather look down at the ground, than at Yuri’s arse all night.”
“I heard that,” Yuri replied. “I’ll have you know, my arse is the envy of reindeer the world over.”
Dashiel couldn’t laugh properly in his reindeer form, but he was starting to feel the Christmas spirit now. Chances were, he would be required to do sleigh duty again in the coming years, but there were those who were only summoned once in their life, and since he didn’t know if he would be called again, he intended to make the most of tonight.
Dashiel wondered who had first depicted Santa’s elves as cheerful little toy makers. He had yet to see one smile. They seemed even more miserable than he was right now. Of course, he hadn’t met many, and it was the most stressful time of year for them. Not to mention they hadn’t seen daylight in three months. That would make him grumpy too. Still, there was no need for them to prod him in the rear quite so hard to get him moving.
The next few hours were spent being trained in how to respond to the reins. Dashiel didn’t mind learning how to pull the sleigh, he just wished they could leave off the bells until they were in the air. The constant jingling was driving him up the wall.
Then came the flying lessons. Yuri must have seen Dumbo recently, because he was giving them a loud rendition of the song about elephants flying, but substituting reindeer instead. Apparently teasing the first timers like Dashiel was the highlight of his night. There were three shifters who had never been summoned before, Dashiel being the youngest of the trio.
The first time Dashiel’s hooves left the ground he almost panicked. Thoughts of flying off into space nearly had him hyperventilating, even though the others assured him that no matter how hard he tried, he would never even reach the height of a plane.
Finally, they were as prepared as they could be. Dashiel took his place beside Fred. Yuri and wife were in front of them, the couple taking the lead.
Everyone went quiet when Santa arrived. He was just as Dashiel had pictured him, though he had never seen him in person. Unlike the couple in front of him, Dashiel’s parents had never been summoned on the same night, so he had never been brought to the North Pole with them.
As they took off into the sky, Dashiel glanced below and saw how large the toy factory truly was. It was so much more than a single building. There was an entire village, with every house decorated for Christmas.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” he said to Fred.
“I’ll take your word for it,” Fred replied.
“You’re not scared of heights are you?”
“I’ll be fine as long as I don’t look down.”
Dashiel snorted. “I’d rather look down at the ground, than at Yuri’s arse all night.”
“I heard that,” Yuri replied. “I’ll have you know, my arse is the envy of reindeer the world over.”
Dashiel couldn’t laugh properly in his reindeer form, but he was starting to feel the Christmas spirit now. Chances were, he would be required to do sleigh duty again in the coming years, but there were those who were only summoned once in their life, and since he didn’t know if he would be called again, he intended to make the most of tonight.
The Captain's Cornish Christmas by Catherine Curzon & Eleanor Harkstead
Jago frowned as he heard the weather warning come in over the radio. It was the last thing he needed on Christmas Eve.
He barely noticed the cold sting of the sea spray striking his face as he powered the rescue boat over the waves. There hadn’t been an SOS, but he had left Polneath harbor anyway. Sam Coryton and his yacht, Morveren, hadn’t returned to the marina, and with bad weather moving in and little daylight left, Jago knew he would have to go out to find him.
No response on the radio. No distress flares sighted.
Jago kept his grip firm on the wheel, his jaw set with determination.
He rounded the rocky headland, so beautiful and yet, he knew only too well, so dangerous—and he saw it. The white hull and sails of the Morveren. And it appeared to be in distress. The yacht rocked from side to side in the water, the depths already boiling in anticipation of the oncoming storm. In the windows of the vessel bright Christmas lights twinkled merrily, but there was no other sign of life, no indication that Polneath’s favorite son was anywhere on board.
A chill ran through Jago’s blood as he steered closer to the yacht, and it wasn’t just at the thought of what this oceangoing Maserati must have cost. No man with an ounce of sense in his head would be so stupid as to still be out here now in the dying hours of the Christmas Eve daylight, with the maelstrom somewhere on the horizon. He remembered from summer Sam’s bad habit of swimming alone from the deck of his yacht, but surely he wouldn’t be so stupid as to do it in the depths of winter?
Even Sam Coryton wouldn’t be so idiotic as that.
Jago pulled up alongside the yacht and let the engine idle. He called over the sound of the waves and the seabirds, “Sam! Sam Coryton—it’s Captain Treherne. Are you there, Sam? Can you hear me?”
He paused, but heard no reply. There was no sign of anyone in the water, and Jago wondered if Sam had been taken ill, alone in a cabin on the yacht. “I’m coming aboard!”
Jago lashed the rescue boat to the Morveren, then heaved himself onto the deck. His boots squeaked as he crept along the deserted craft.
“Where the bloody hell is he?” Jago muttered to himself as he lifted the hatch on the companionway and stared down into the vessel. The Christmas lights were the only illumination in the stairwell, but from beneath he could hear the gentle strains of light classical music and smell fresh coffee, suggesting that someone was or, in the worst-case scenario had been, aboard until recently.
Jago called Sam’s name again, carefully descending the stairs into the yacht’s living quarters. He had seen some impressive vessels in his day and this was certainly high among them, a sleek craft from the outside and a comfortable home within. The hallway that stretched ahead of him was brightly lit, the walls decorated with enormous canvases showing cheery riots of color, but that made the scene feel somehow even more uneasy. There was something in the air, an indefinable tension that fired Jago’s instincts as he looked in on the rooms and found nothing out of the ordinary, but no sign of the man who had sailed this vessel from the safety of the harbor.
Where was Sam Coryton, successful crime author? Surely this wasn’t one of Sam’s thrillers come to life? Would Jago pull open a door and find—no, he couldn’t bear to think of that. Not on his watch, not Polneath’s famous boy.
“Sam? Can you hear me?”
He shouldn’t have thought of Sam’s thrillers. Now Jago was thinking of the bright Cornish villages with their casts of colorful locals and the violence just beneath the surface, of murder and—this was just the sort of plot Sam Coryton would come up with—Christmas lights on a floating yacht with a gory surprise lurking somewhere within.
Only one set of double doors remained in the living quarters now and they stood, as they would in a murder mystery, right at the end of the hallway ahead of Jago. He hadn’t seen a master bedroom so this must be it. Despite himself the lifeboat captain, sturdy, brave, fearless, paused with his hands on the door handles. He drew in a deep breath, told himself he had seen worse than a dead author and pushed the doors open.
Jago had only time to see a brief impression—a figure, sprawled across a bed. A naked body. Was this the work of some depraved psychopath? “Bloody hell, no—Sam!”
He barely noticed the cold sting of the sea spray striking his face as he powered the rescue boat over the waves. There hadn’t been an SOS, but he had left Polneath harbor anyway. Sam Coryton and his yacht, Morveren, hadn’t returned to the marina, and with bad weather moving in and little daylight left, Jago knew he would have to go out to find him.
No response on the radio. No distress flares sighted.
Jago kept his grip firm on the wheel, his jaw set with determination.
He rounded the rocky headland, so beautiful and yet, he knew only too well, so dangerous—and he saw it. The white hull and sails of the Morveren. And it appeared to be in distress. The yacht rocked from side to side in the water, the depths already boiling in anticipation of the oncoming storm. In the windows of the vessel bright Christmas lights twinkled merrily, but there was no other sign of life, no indication that Polneath’s favorite son was anywhere on board.
A chill ran through Jago’s blood as he steered closer to the yacht, and it wasn’t just at the thought of what this oceangoing Maserati must have cost. No man with an ounce of sense in his head would be so stupid as to still be out here now in the dying hours of the Christmas Eve daylight, with the maelstrom somewhere on the horizon. He remembered from summer Sam’s bad habit of swimming alone from the deck of his yacht, but surely he wouldn’t be so stupid as to do it in the depths of winter?
Even Sam Coryton wouldn’t be so idiotic as that.
Jago pulled up alongside the yacht and let the engine idle. He called over the sound of the waves and the seabirds, “Sam! Sam Coryton—it’s Captain Treherne. Are you there, Sam? Can you hear me?”
He paused, but heard no reply. There was no sign of anyone in the water, and Jago wondered if Sam had been taken ill, alone in a cabin on the yacht. “I’m coming aboard!”
Jago lashed the rescue boat to the Morveren, then heaved himself onto the deck. His boots squeaked as he crept along the deserted craft.
“Where the bloody hell is he?” Jago muttered to himself as he lifted the hatch on the companionway and stared down into the vessel. The Christmas lights were the only illumination in the stairwell, but from beneath he could hear the gentle strains of light classical music and smell fresh coffee, suggesting that someone was or, in the worst-case scenario had been, aboard until recently.
Jago called Sam’s name again, carefully descending the stairs into the yacht’s living quarters. He had seen some impressive vessels in his day and this was certainly high among them, a sleek craft from the outside and a comfortable home within. The hallway that stretched ahead of him was brightly lit, the walls decorated with enormous canvases showing cheery riots of color, but that made the scene feel somehow even more uneasy. There was something in the air, an indefinable tension that fired Jago’s instincts as he looked in on the rooms and found nothing out of the ordinary, but no sign of the man who had sailed this vessel from the safety of the harbor.
Where was Sam Coryton, successful crime author? Surely this wasn’t one of Sam’s thrillers come to life? Would Jago pull open a door and find—no, he couldn’t bear to think of that. Not on his watch, not Polneath’s famous boy.
“Sam? Can you hear me?”
He shouldn’t have thought of Sam’s thrillers. Now Jago was thinking of the bright Cornish villages with their casts of colorful locals and the violence just beneath the surface, of murder and—this was just the sort of plot Sam Coryton would come up with—Christmas lights on a floating yacht with a gory surprise lurking somewhere within.
Only one set of double doors remained in the living quarters now and they stood, as they would in a murder mystery, right at the end of the hallway ahead of Jago. He hadn’t seen a master bedroom so this must be it. Despite himself the lifeboat captain, sturdy, brave, fearless, paused with his hands on the door handles. He drew in a deep breath, told himself he had seen worse than a dead author and pushed the doors open.
Jago had only time to see a brief impression—a figure, sprawled across a bed. A naked body. Was this the work of some depraved psychopath? “Bloody hell, no—Sam!”
Casper Gets his Wish by R Cooper
Most saw him coming.
One by one heads popped up over the tops of the gingerbread and licorice walls of the cubicles to watch Casper storm through their midst. The ones unfortunate enough to be in his way froze when his gaze met theirs, an uncomfortable mix of fear and amusement on their features for the second before they recovered and stepped to the side or pretended to go back to their work.
Casper nearly snorted.
“Work” in this particular department meant countless elves seated in front of gaming systems or on the floor playing with bits of brightly painted wood and plastic. Until he’d stepped off the elevator, the sounds of jingly jangly chiming bells and laughter had filled the air, all of it in time to the beeps and clashes from the computer screens as games were tested and new equipment designed.
Sticky notes and sketches were stuck to the walls, filing cabinets were left open, and the files in them were labeled so haphazardly, Casper could see at least six that were out of place as he walked by. He frowned, and another elf who had gone silent as he passed quickly slammed one of the cabinet drawers closed, too late for Casper not to see the sad state of their recently overhauled and reorganized filing system.
He bit back a curse. The mess now surrounding each cubicle would have been described as organized only by an elf who feeling very generous.
Casper was not that elf.
Gift Development had been a scene of pampered and cozy chaos since Casper’s first day of work at the Pole, but ever since they’d gotten their new department head a decade ago, their disorganized antics had gone from a mild irritation to something absolutely infuriating.
If their output hadn’t actually increased in the last ten years and their new creations hadn’t been so stunning, it wouldn’t have been tolerated, not even by the Big Man. But as it was—because Casper’s life sucked and he never got what he wanted—Gift Development and its department head would go on being the amazing, talented, unfailingly worshipped darlings of the Pole for years and years and years, and Casper would spend the rest of his career cleaning up after them and watching them be utterly unaccountable to every other department.
Every other department but one, he reminded himself. But that thought did not bring him the tidings of comfort and joy it should have.
Casper clenched his hands at his sides but otherwise didn’t react to the gathering of interest around him, or the whispers and giggles that followed him. He knew to them he was ridiculous, that his business would never compare in the eyes of other elves to the work done on the creative floors, but it was his business and he did it well.
He observed the emerald greens of their sloppy t-shirts, the fuzzy warmth of a thousand bejeweled sweaters, the glitter and the knitted scarves, then he smoothed a touch over the gray silk of his suit. The suit was well-made, tailored to fit him, as no-frills as the short black length of his hair, parted evenly and slicked down around the points of his ears. His only concession to where he was and what he did was his carefully chosen fine red tie, the design an elegant crisscross of a hundred tiny candy canes.
He thought he looked good, but of course some elves had no appreciation for quality tailoring or a tasteful pocket square. Their thoughts on waistcoats were not even worth mentioning.
He steamed past areas that were meant to be wide open but which were filled with disassembled controllers and hammers and a million other safety hazards and code violations, and then to the other end of the floor, where the offices were. Offices, he sneered internally. Creative elves didn’t know the meaning of an office. All their offices had been designed with walls of melted sugar glass in order to “better share inspiration.” Curtains were available, if privacy was desired, but the only office that had bothered to close them was the one he was headed toward.
Those in the break room between the offices didn’t bother to hide their peals of laughter at Casper’s approach. The room itself smelled like burnt cinnamon sticks and nog despite it being the middle of the day.
At that extremely irksome realization, with his cheeks hot at once again being a joke, Casper shoved open the office door without bothering to knock and marched inside.
He interrupted a no doubt brilliant discussion about some arcane and obscure creative elf topic that could never be of any interest to someone like him, but he didn’t care. Dolls and trains and sparkly plastic hoops occupied all the chairs in the room. There wasn’t a window with a view of the grounds in this office, something that calmed him, just a little, and let him feel the faintest bit smug. But that happiness didn’t last. It never did.
In the middle of the room sat a large, heavy desk of oak, shining with polish and care. It was the only thing in the entire office that Casper could approve of. But it was littered with broken toys, drawings, and candy, of course it was, because no one in this taste-forsaken department had the sense to treat things as they deserved to be treated. Seeing it only inflamed him more.
He stopped in front of the desk, in front of its owner, and began without preamble, asking the question that had been burning in his mind for so long that he felt like he was on fire.
“Why is it that with all of your department’s productivity, you are the only section that never turns in their paperwork on time?” His voice was as icy as the sparkling snow outside the thick, spicy-scented walls, but he had to swallow to hide his slight shortness of breath.
He was aware, though dimly, that there were others in the room. A game tester who slipped out the door with a squeak, as well as Miss Pinebough, Hollyberry’s executive assistant, but Casper kept his eyes on the ever-slouching figure of Dmitri Hollyberry, the head of this department and the thorn in Casper’s side for the last ten years.
Hollyberry was standing—leaning—against the side of his desk, his head still angled toward his assistant although his gaze had locked onto Casper the moment Casper had walked in. The man had likely learned his terrible posture from humans when he’d lived among them earning fame and success before choosing to bring the skills he’d acquired over the centuries to the Pole.
Unlike Casper and most of the other elves that chose to work at the Pole, Dmitri Hollyberry hadn’t been raised here, although his parents had worked in Gift Development in their youth before moving south. He’d been born somewhere without snow and had lived among the humans and the other elves far too long, judging from his manners and clear lack of dress sense. Perhaps those were the reasons he didn’t understand the way things were, or why he didn’t care. But rules and protocol existed for a reason. Everyone had their roles.
Casper was an accountant, and damn good one, and the very least the man could have done was acknowledge that by handing in his expense reports and budgets on time. But no, Hollyberry had strolled into work every day for ten years wearing the stupid human clothes that he favored, his shirts always obscene and ripped and too thin, his eyes smeared with dark liner, his hair a series of green spikes, and had never once bothered to hand in his monthly reports in a timely manner.
Casper tore his attention from the leather dog collar tight at the other elf’s throat and narrowed his eyes. He didn’t consider the baggy jeans, the loose chains dangling from his belt, or, worse, that skateboard propped against the wall. He didn’t dare. He might explode. But the purpose of a belt was to hold pants up, not to let them hang at the hips and offer hints of skin covered in tantalizing swirls of dark ink. The man was gifted. He could have at least dressed like it. Or admitted skateboards didn’t work well on snow and ice.
Casper regrouped and focused on Hollyberry’s face. Realizing he was being observed in return, he resisted the need to pat his suit. It was admittedly human-created, but he’d bought it in the early part of the previous century and had always loved its neat lines, the precise, controlled pinstripes, the stiff, starched white collar it demanded.
Hollyberry finally moved, his mouth curving up toward his twinkly eyes.
“Maybe our problems with the paperwork are because of our productivity?” Hollyberry offered. The very idea that he was smiling, when nothing about this was funny, made Casper’s blood positively boil.
But he clenched his fists at his sides and kept his words crisp and clear. “Nonsense. Every month it’s the same routine, and when you are late, I am late. Do you think I want to get my chestnuts roasted for your incompetence?”
If possible, which it shouldn’t have been, Hollyberry only looked more slouchy and amused and then, when Casper bit back a gasp, even more twinkly-eyed.
“Look, Casper—”
“Silverbell.” Casper instantly jerked his chin up. “Mister Silverbell to you, Mr. Hollyberry.” He would be taken seriously even if he wasn’t creative or a genius. He’d been dealing with this kind of reindeershit all his life and being direct was the only solution that had ever offered any sort of result.
“Okay.” The loose shrug and ready agreement took him by surprise. Casper stopped, feeling the slight frown between his eyes. Nothing in his experience with this elf had ever been easy. He almost glanced at Pinebough, hoping the assistant might offer some insight, but then Hollyberry went on. “Mr. Silverbell. I’m sorry, what can I say? I didn’t mean to endanger your chestnuts. Believe me, that’s the last thing I’d want.”
Casper registered the quirk to his full lips, too late, and felt his frown go from slight to monumental. To think he’d almost been taken in by such an obviously fake flirtation. Of course it had been a joke. Hollyberry thought this situation, thought Casper was hilarious. He always had, smiling like this at Casper from day one as though he was the funniest thing he’d ever seen.
It wasn’t a great shock, though Hollyberry bothering to flirt with him for even a moment was surprising. After all, Casper was a non-creative elf, and nobody wanted to date a non-creative elf, at least not long term. Every busy, buzzing, artistic elf knew they’d have nothing to talk about with an elf who didn’t make anything. Making things was the be-all and end-all of Pole elf existence, and an elf who instead monitored what other elves created, well, he was barely an elf at all.
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.
Sarah Hadley Brook lives smack-dab in the middle of the Heartland and is the mother of two wonderful young men, as well as two cats. During the day, she works in the nonprofit world, but reserves evenings for her hobby-turned-passion of writing, letting the characters she conjures in her mind take the lead and show her where the story will go. When not working or writing, she can be found reading, working on dollhouses, trying her hand at new recipes, or watching old movies and musicals. In her ideal world, Christmas would come at least twice a year, Rock Hudson and Doris Day would have costarred in more than three movies, and chocolate would be a daily necessity. She dreams of traveling to Scotland some day and visiting the places her ancestors lived. Sarah believes in “Happily Ever After” and strives to ensure her characters find their own happiness in love and life.
L.M. Brown is an English writer of gay romances. She believes mermen live in the undiscovered areas of the ocean. She believes life exists on other planets. She believes in fairy tales, magic, and dreams. Most of all, she believes in love.
When L.M. Brown isn’t bribing her fur babies for control of the laptop, she can usually be found with her nose in a book.
When L.M. Brown isn’t bribing her fur babies for control of the laptop, she can usually be found with her nose in a book.
Catherine Curzon is a historian of the eighteenth century. She writes for Orion and Bookouture as Ellie Curzon, with Eleanor Harkstead.
Catherine has appeared on Radio 4's PM programme and has been heard on radio stations across Europe and the UK, as well as a number of highly-rated podcasts. Her work has been featured online by BBC News, BBC History Extra and The Daily Express, and in publications including All About History, Who Do You Think You Are?, and Jane Austen’s Regency World. Further afield, Catherine’s expertise has been featured by Smithsonian Magazine, Vanity Fair, The Washington Post, Town & Country, Elle Australia, Der Bund, La Vanguardia and Metrópoles, among others.
She has spoken at venues including Kenwood House, Wellington College, the Royal Pavilion, the National Maritime Museum and Dr Johnson’s House. Her first play, Being Mr Wickham, premiered to sell-out audiences in 2019. Co-written with Adrian Lukis, the play was streamed live and undertook a national tour in 2021, receiving rave reviews from the likes of Broadway World, The Sunday Times, The Telegraph, and The Daily Mail.
Catherine holds a Master’s degree in Film and when not dodging the furies of the guillotine, can be found by following the distant strains of Dean Martin. She lives in Yorkshire atop a ludicrously steep hill with a rakish gent and a very woolly dog.
Eleanor Harkstead likes to dash about in nineteenth-century costume, in bonnet or cravat as the mood takes her. She knows rather a lot about poisons, and can occasionally be found wandering old graveyards. Eleanor is very fond of chocolate, wine, tweed waistcoats and nice pens, and has a huge collection of vintage hats. She is the winner of the Best Dressed Sixth Former award and came third in the under-11s race at the Colchester Fire Swim.
Originally from the south-east of England, Eleanor now lives somewhere in the Midlands with a large ginger cat who resembles a Viking.
R Cooper
R. Cooper is a somewhat absentminded, often distracted, writer of queer romance, probably most known for the Being(s) in Love series and the occasional story about witches or firefighters in love. Also known as, "Ah, yes, the one who writes the dragons."
R. thought about gender for a while and settled on she/her/they, but don’t call her a woman because it feels oogie. She likes Moonstruck maybe too much, hates fascists, does her best not to be a jerk, hides from most humans, and lives with her screamy cat in her semi-haunted rented house somewhere between the Northern California Redwoods and wine country.
For more info, writing updates, and the occasional free story, visit website.
VL Locey
EMAIL: vicki@vllocey.com
Sarah Hadley Brook
KOBO / GOOGLE PLAY / INSTAGRAM
PINTEREST / SMASHWORDS / B&N
LM Brown
EMAIL: lmbrownauthor@gmail.com
Catherine Curzon
Eleanor Harkstead
EMAIL: contact@eleanorharkstead.co.uk
Checking it Twice by VL Locey
Matthew's Present by Sarah Hadley Brook
Sleigh Duty by LM Brown
The Captain's Cornish Christmas by Catherine Curzon & Eleanor Harkstead
B&N / KOBO / GOOGLE PLAY
Casper Gets his Wish by R Cooper
B&N / KOBO / SMASHWORDS
