Summary:
If baker Gray Carroll has to make one more Yule log cake this holiday season, he might just lose it. So when nine year old Olivia shows up at his store wanting to learn how to make one for her dad, Gray tries to turn her down flat. Olivia is determined, cute, and won't take no for an answer, so Gray agrees to coach her through the process. Doesn't hurt that her dad is kind, handsome, and currently unattached.
Ben Nightingale can't believe Olivia has blackmailed Gray someone into teaching her to bake. He's been too busy with his late husband's real estate business, but he's determined to celebrate Yule with his girl, and to get to know Gray. There's something about Gray that makes Ben believe in the magic of the season, but can he find a way to balance work and family in time for the solstice, or will Olivia and Gray's Yule Log go uneaten?
Original Review January 2023:
I've said it before and I'll say it again: I LOVE LOVE LOVE stories about men caring for kids. There's just something so lovely and sexy about single dads(including dad figures) that warms the heart.
Ben Nightingale is just such a man. Having lost his other half leaving him a single parent his whole world is his little girl, Olivia. When Olivia wants to do something wonderful for her dad and gets Gray to teach her to make a Yule long you can't help but love her too. It can be hard to write kids in stories, having them be their own little person with their individual personalities and attitudes and yet not be spoiled brats doesn't always work. Julia Talbot has made it work in little Olivia. She is so sweet, so independent, so adorable you just know that her dad has to be a pretty darn good egg and Ben is that.
Gray isn't exactly a bad egg either. He knows he doesn't have time for another one on one baking lesson but how can he resist this little girl? He can't.
Put all these factors together and One More Yule Log is a fun, sweet, short, uplifting holiday romance that is very Hallmark-y and yet 10X better than most of the formulaic Christmas movies Hallmark produces. A definite winning gem to make your holiday heart smile.
Summary:
Maybe it was the bourbon. Maybe it was Christmas. Maybe it was them.
David has always spent Christmas alone. For most of his career as a Navy officer, being with another man could have cost him everything. Now that regs have changed and he’s fully out, all that stands in the way of love is his fear of getting it wrong.
Paul has never spent Christmas alone. Yet that’s exactly what he’s chosen to do this year, driving halfway across the country to forget the man who broke his heart. If a change in scenery can’t cure his Christmas blues, at least it might banish his writer’s block.
In a sad little piano bar on a soggy Christmas Eve, all David and Paul want is to drown their sorrows in fine bourbon and godawful mulled wine. But when they meet, the connection they forge could lead to a night of honest passion with serious possibilities.
Chase away the holiday blues with this short standalone novella featuring a suggestive drawbridge, a jolly misfit singalong, and a romantic rendezvous aboard a Christmas boat!
Summary:
Seven Corners Shifters #7
I’m pregnant, alone, and dangerously sick. Will the alpha I never could forget become my Christmas miracle?
Omega bunny shifter Rowan Endsley is in trouble. With Christmas right around the corner, he’s back in his hometown after leaving his alpha, destitute, and heavily pregnant with twins. He’s quickly diagnosed with Bond Sickness and is in need of the loving care of an alpha to stabilize his health and that of his unborn babies. Luckily for him, the powerful Ramirez pack is happy to take him in. The trouble is, his former high school crush, Tyce Ramirez, will be the main alpha caring for him. What will Rowan do when he’s still in love with Tyce after all these years, but thinks he stands no chance in Tyce’s heart?
Alpha wolf shifter Tyce Ramirez has always been laid back and easy-going, but there was one omega who made his heart race; Rowan Endsley. When Rowan shows back up in town, sick, pregnant and in need of support from an alpha, Tyce immediately steps in to help. The trouble is, the feelings he had for Rowan back in high school never faded. Instead, they only grow stronger every day they spend together. How can Tyce help Rowan and his kits grow stronger without crossing the line with his secret feelings?
Will Tyce be Rowan’s alpha in shining armor? Is it finally their time, after two decades apart? With Christmas so near, will Tyce, Rowan, and the babies get the miracle they deserve?
This is the seventh book in the Seven Corner Shifters series. This book has a HEA and contains occasional strong language, MPREG, and hot, spicy grownup stuff! The omegas are heating up and the alphas are very knotty boys. Get a FREE short story when you join the newsletter family!
Summary:
Tinsel & Tentacles #1
Seasons greetings and alien abductions! Can two misfits find love together? It might just take a Christmas miracle! Let's hope Santa doesn't mind that tentacles can be both naughty and nice...
Khephren
There’s no way in Helgar's Nebula I’m marrying the candidate my parents have chosen for me. I don’t want to be the house-husband of some stoic warrior who only cares about training all day. Boring! Thankfully, I’ve learned a thing or two from all those rom-com human movies I’ve illegally downloaded off the intergalactic web. No one will see it coming when I pull a runaway groom maneuver on them!
Once I make my escape, I can go on the solo honeymoon of my dreams—to planet Earth. It’s almost that wondrous time of year when they celebrate their holiday known as “Christmas.” Human Hallmark movies make it seem so magical. I want to experience it for myself! Now, I just need to find a human who can make my wish come true and help me have an authentic holly jolly time…
Sasha
Scrooge was right when he said “bah humbug” to Christmas. This time of year sucks balls, and not the fun kind. I’ve just lost my crappy part-time job and I’m slowly sinking under a sea of student loan debt and crushed dreams.
Just when I think my life couldn’t possibly get any worse, my cat and I are abducted by an alien who wants me to help him experience a "real human Christmas" on his ship. WTF? Clearly he’s chosen the worst possible candidate for the job.
But there’s something about Khephren’s enthusiasm and eternal optimism that starts to melt even my grumpy, cynical heart. Heck, I even agree to be his fake fiancé to get his parents off his back! I don’t know what’s happening to me, but Khephren’s charm is making me feel things I never have before. And those bright pink tentacles of his are strangely fascinating. I can’t help but wonder what all they can do…
As we spend more time together, I start to realize I might not want to go home and that maybe, just maybe, I’ve found what I’ve always been looking for. Could Khephren feel the same? If so, it would be a Christmas miracle and I don’t believe in those…right?
All I Want for Christmas is Tentacles is a standalone novel (74k words) in the Tinsel and Tentacles multi-author winter holiday MM tentacle romance series. It features a runaway tentacled-alien groom obsessed with Hallmark movies and Christmas, a grumpy human who’s down on his luck and says “bah, humbug” to the holidays, an alien abduction, fake fiancé fun, a cat named Jonesey, a droid named Rambo, a ship called the Sleigh Belle, found family, sweet and cozy vibes for the season, and a guaranteed HEA!
A Gay Warlock Holiday #2
Raph and Isiah have always had a complicated relationship. Can bringing a human into the mix help them all come together, or will having Laz in their lives end in disaster?
Isiah
I’ve been in love with Raph for well over a century, but my heart’s been broken one too many times to give him a chance. Still, I want him to be happy, he’s my soul-pledged, after all. So when the holidays come and I see how much he likes Laz, I push the two of them together. But now that I’m on the outside, my jealousy flares, only I can’t figure out if I’m jealous of Laz or of Raph.
Raph
Having a soul-pledged for all these years has been a dream, but I’ve always craved a romantic connection. So when Izzy pushes me toward Laz, I jump at the chance because I’ve never met anyone like him. My feelings keep growing for my little human, but that doesn’t change what I’ve always felt for Izzy.
Laz
When warlocks walked into my life a year ago, everything changed for me. Magic is real, soulmates are a thing, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t quell my attraction to Raph. Or to Izzy. But now that I’m dating Raphael, not Isiah, I need to push the crazy thoughts out of my head. Too bad my heart isn’t receiving the message.
Will Izzy, Laz, and Raph be able to rifle through their complicated emotions and come together? Or will the danger Raph senses lurking by catch up to them before they truly get the chance?
Building on a Hope is the second book in the A Gay Warlock Holiday duology and is a standalone MMM paranormal romance featuring lots of sweetness, confusing emotions, holiday fun, and of course, magic.
One More Yule Log by Julia Talbot
1
“I swear to God, Alice, if I see one more Yule log, I’m gonna puke.” Gray Carrol put the finishing touches on a nontraditional Yule log that looked like a sparkly pink tree branch with teal mushrooms. The interior held rainbow swirl cake. He was proud of it, but man, he was ready for the holiday season to be over, and he still had a good bit of time to go. Okay, it had just started, hadn’t it?
Alice put her forefingers against the outside corners of her lips. “Smile, boss.”
He wanted to snap at her, but he didn’t because she was a dear friend, a nice person, and she’d been pulling double shifts since Rafe had quit last week. Who quit their job just over a month before Christmas?
At a bakery.
Baring his teeth, Gray growled as much like a rabid dog as he could.
“It looks amazing, huh? I’ll put it in the cooler.” Alice grabbed the tray, and he knew she’d treat that silly cake like a glass baby.
“Thanks.” He pulled out the clipboard where he kept his orders. With Rafe’s departure, he’d lost the one person who knew how to work the computer ordering system, so he was back to analog recordkeeping. He scribbled a note to call the customer, then marked the job as completed.
“So, what’s next?” Alice asked when she came out of the walk-in.
“Cupcakes for the tree lighting.” The city wanted two hundred Christmas-tree cupcakes. Vanilla cake with a spiral of green frosting and multicolored piped lights. His wrist ached already.
“Don’t sound so down. It’s good to have more business than you can handle.” She patted his back like she would one of her kids’.
“Sorry.” She was right. He was busier than a one-legged buttkicker, and he was truly proud. Somehow this year he was just also really tired. Maybe he was too old for this shit.
“Okay. So. Cupcakes. Anything I need to do for the case first?”
Gray had a different clipboard for that. “Um, how about chocolate chip and hot chocolate cookies? There’s a dance at the VFW tonight, so we’ll stay open until eight.”
“Gotcha.” She hustled to the back, where he heard the mixer begin its thud and flap dance. Alice was so efficient, and he was lucky to have her. Truly.
The bell over the door jangled, so he did what Alice had suggested and put a smile on his face. “Welcome to Piece of Cake. How can I help you?”
When he saw the customers, he immediately thought cupcakes. The adult was a lady who was probably twenty years older than his thirty-five, with long graying hair pulled back into a bun. She wore a rainbow caftan and a stack of jangly bracelets. The little girl with her had chin-length brown hair, dark brown eyes, and a serious expression.
“Go ahead, Liv,” the lady said, giving the girl a nudge.
The girl named Liv nodded. “Okay. Hello. I need help.”
Well, that was unexpected. They didn’t have a public restroom, but if she was desperate…
“What are you looking for, hon?”
“A Yule Log.”
Oh, God. Gray fought not to roll his eyes. “Well, we do those, for sure.”
“Yes, sir. I did my research. I want to learn to make one for my daddy. You give cake classes.”
Blinking, he opened his mouth, then closed it. Gray didn’t want to snarl at what? A ten-year-old? So he took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, sweetie. I’m not giving classes right now. The holiday season is super busy for us.”
She scowled at him. “But I can pay for it. I broke my piggy bank!” She held up a Ziploc bag full of coins and bills.
Oh, God, that was cute.
The older lady smiled at him wryly over Liv’s head. “This is Olivia. What’s your name?”
“Gray Carrol. I’m the owner.”
“I see. Well, my name is Fran. Olivia really wants to make her own Yule log cake, you see. She and I have tried it a couple of times in the last few weeks, and it’s been nothing but a disaster.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I mean, I’m happy to take an order, but I really can’t—”
“But you have to!” Olivia’s lower lip began to quiver. “My daddy used to make one every year for my dad, but then Dad died and…” She trailed off, sniffling.
No fair. She had, or she’d had, two dads. God knew, he supported queer folks because he was one. His heart melted a little, but the sound of the mixer straining because Alice had tossed chocolate chips in made him stop before he opened his mouth.
“I’m so sorry, Olivia. I am. I just don’t have time. Would you like a cupcake? It’s on me.”
She stared at him, her dark eyes liquid with tears. “No, thank you. Are you sure you can’t help me?”
“I don’t—” When a tear broke free and ran down her cheek, he sighed. “Let me look at my calendar, okay? What kind of cupcake would you like while you wait?”
“I like strawberry.”
“And Fran?”
Fran gave him a gentle, knowing smile. “Salted caramel, please.” She pulled out her wallet to hand him a ten.
“You got it.” Cupcakes got passed out, change made, and Gray found his feet taking him to the office in order to look at his schedule. Looked like he was going to teach Olivia how to make a Yule log cake.
God, he was a sucker.
“Hey, Mr. Nightingale, can I get you to sign these forms before you go?”
Ben stopped at the door to his office, trying not to roll his eyes at his assistant, Lila. “Of course. What am I looking at?”
“There’s a new contract that Ian worked out that just needs you to countersign, and a price reduction on that house and studio combo in Silt.”
“Okay, sure.” He took the papers from her, reading through the contract terms super fast. He was lucky he was a speed reader, because he was leaving early so he could take Olivia on some errand she wanted to run that was “very, very important.”
He was already running late for that.
Ben scrawled his signature, his head throbbing a bit. He hated all of this admin crap. Heck, he hated having to go into an office every day. He was no mover and shaker.
“Have a good afternoon, Lila.”
“You too.” She whisked the paper away, her heels clicking. No one in the Roaring Fork valley wore such formal stuff to work, even in banks and law offices. Lila liked to be just so.
He ducked out of his office, trying to get out quickly. Which, of course, meant his business partner, Craig Dobson, caught him as he slipped down the hall.
“Ben! There you are. I was calling your office. Hey, we need to talk about the holiday party we’re throwing for the clients. We’ve done well this year.”
He counted to eight. He was trying for ten, but he knew better than to leave Craig that much time. “Sure. Of course. Get with Lila. We can meet about it on Monday, okay? I have to do a thing at school with Liv.”
“Oh, man, good luck. I’ll see you bright and early Monday?”
“You know it.” There. He practically ran out the door. Ever since Dale passed he’d been a not-so-silent partner at the real estate office. God, he wished he was still the house husband who did the household finances and occasionally typed up contracts.
He missed having time with Olivia. Family time.
Today he would try to fix some of that.
The drive home took longer than he wanted, thanks to the usual Friday pileup of traffic through Glenwood, but he thought they would have plenty of time to do whatever it was Olivia had planned.
“Liv, honey? I’m home!” he called out.
The house echoed with him, but that was it. No one answered.
“Fran?” His aunt took care of Olivia most days, and she should have been there helping Liv with her homework. Ben headed to the kitchen, looking for a note. He also checked his phone, just in case he’d missed a call.
Nothing. Okay, weird. He pushed down the panic that tried to rise. He called up Fran’s name on his favorites list and dialed.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Frannie. Is, uh, is everything okay?”
“Hmm? Oh, of course! We’re doing great. Liv just wanted to do some, um, shopping.”
He blinked. Fran was lying to him. She was a terrible liar.
“You’re not at the hospital, right? Promise me you’re not at the ER.”
“Don’t be an idiot, Ben.” Now that sounded like her normal voice. “Liv wants to surprise you with something.”
“With what? I was supposed to take her somewhere.”
“You were late.” She sighed. “Why don’t you come meet us for an early supper? We’re just down the way from White House, huh? We can meet you there in about an hour.”
Disappointment hit him hard. He was sure this was how Liv felt because he was late, and why they’d decided to go without him. “Sure. Okay. It will take me about that long to get back in.”
“No rush. Just text when you’re parking.”
“Okay. Bye.”
“Bye.” She hung up, and he shook his head, looking around the super quiet house. Maybe they should downsize. The big A-frame with all the glass seemed ridiculously huge and ostentatious now. Dale had loved to throw weekend house parties or have a dozen of Olivia’s friends over. They just didn’t do that kind of stuff anymore.
He changed into jeans and a sweater, then pulled on comfy boots. God, he loathed dress shoes. He grabbed his wallet, then headed to the kitchen to get the keys he’d left there. On the counter, Ben saw a printed sheet of paper with an information page from a local business. Piece of Cake Bakery. Grand Avenue in Carbondale.
Huh.
He would peer inside when he went by, maybe. What the heck could Olivia want at a professional bakery? Well, besides a cupcake. She did love those.
Tucking the paper away in the cubby by the front door, he headed out, and it only took him about forty-five minutes to find his way to a parking space on a side street. He texted Fran after he locked up the big SUV, hoping she and Liv were ready to eat because somehow it was almost six.
They met him at the door to the pizza place, Liv running up to him to demand a hug. “Hi, Daddy! You look nice.”
“Thanks, honey. Did you have a good afternoon?” She had a smear of flour on her nose. Curiouser and curiouser.
“I did! How was your day?”
Ben blinked. Usually she would go on and on about what she’d done if he wasn’t there when she did it.
“It was busy, kiddo.” He stroked her hair, kind of surprised at how tall she was. She had to have grown an inch since he’d last really noticed.
“You’re always busy.” She patted his arm. “I want a gyro.”
“Okay. Hey, Aunt Fran. What was the errand?”
Fran made a zipping motion on her lips. “Been sworn to secrecy.”
“Huh.” Ben was pretty sure he didn’t approve of being left out of the secret.
“Silly daddy. It’s a surprise, is all.”
“Well, I guess surprises are good this time of year.” Kind of. A little. Oh, who was he kidding? Ben hated surprises.
“That’s the spirit,” Fran told him, winking broadly.
He would have to interrogate her later. For now, he had a falafel burger to procure, and time to spend with the most important person in his life.
That superseded everything else.
A Christmas Harbor by Avery Cockburn
Chapter One
All around the harbor, candy-colored Christmas lights shimmered over the masts of sleeping sailboats, on the branches of leafless trees, and in the windows of dark and dormant shops.
The drawn-up hood of Paul’s coat blocked all these lights, revealing only their zigzag reflection in the road before him, a road rippling with a downpour so cold it verged on sleet, so harsh it couldn’t dream of being snow.
A sudden gust blew back his hood and loosened his scarf in one fell swoop. He stopped beneath a shop awning to rewrap himself out of the rain.
The store in front of him called itself “an olive oil and vinegar taproom,” which totally fit the upscale profile of this waterfront area. A display of agrodolce bottles sat beneath a sign that read For the #Foodie in your life!
His heart gave a reflexive lurch, his mind bouncing from Ooh, perfect gift for him to He’s gone, you idiot.
Paul turned away, zipping and snapping his coat all the way up this time. Then he did one last scan of the harbor’s main square. Surely there’d be a single sign of life.
But despite the festive lights, not another soul was wandering these soggy streets. Every shop owner and restaurateur, being of sound mind, had gone home to snuggle their sweetheart, or tuck their tiny tots into bed so the final toys could be assembled.
Paul sighed. Annapolis was beautiful all decked out for the holidays, but he would’ve traded every inch of prettiness for one open bar.
He headed uphill, away from the waterfront. Just because the touristy places were closed didn’t mean there wouldn’t be a hole-in-the-wall joint catering to random strays and lost sheep.
A trilling flute noise came from his pocket, his sister’s signature ringtone.
He answered, maxing out the call volume to hear her over the downpour. “Hey, Care, what’s up?”
“Just the family falling apart on Christmas Eve,” she said with typical Carolyn overstatement. “No biggie.”
“What’s wrong?” Besides the obvious.
“Mom’s mad you left, and Dad’s mad that Mom’s mad, but he’s also mad at you for making Mom mad, and I’m trying to manage them.”
“You can’t manage—”
“Other people’s feelings, I know,” she said. “But I thought maybe, if you were not having a great time there, you’d consider coming home?”
“Care, it’s a fourteen-hour drive between here and Iowa, a fact with which I am painfully familiar, because I just did it yesterday.” The car version of jet lag still haunted his head, giving him that fuzzy, half-squeezed feeling around the eyes.
“I’ll pay for a flight,” she said, “a round-trip one so you can get back to Maryland next week to look for an apartment.”
He made a noncommittal grunt and kept walking uphill past cheerily painted turn-of-the-century row houses.
“How’s Annapolis?” Carolyn prompted.
“The weather sucks. But he’s not here, so overall a huge improvement over Cedar Rapids.”
“I get it,” she said. “I really do get why you left, but will you at least think about coming home? We’re all worried about you, Paul.”
“I promise to think about it.” He would probably overthink about it. “I’ll let you know by midnight.”
“Okay, buttface. Don’t get too drunk before then.”
“Hey, that’s a slanderous writer stereotype. I’m no Hemingway, as critics are constantly reminding me.”
She laughed. “I’m calling you at midnight if I haven’t heard from you.”
“I’m sure you will.” He stopped at the corner so he could focus on what to say. “Thanks for checking in, Care. It means a lot, even if it is annoying.”
“What are little sisters for? Bye!”
Paul stuffed his phone back in his pocket, smirking at their silly joke. At forty-four, she was seven years older; but at five-four, she was an entire foot shorter—which, she argued, made her the little sister forever.
He looked to his left, where a few blocks away the white dome of the Maryland State House gleamed against the dark sky, the rain making its silhouette shimmy like an old movie reel. If he walked in that direction, he’d be back at his bed and breakfast in no time. Maybe by tomorrow afternoon he’d be home with his family, who would greet him with hugs and pies and understanding.
Paul turned right and continued his search. Before going back, he had to make one last attempt at forward. He had no idea what forward looked like, only that it needed to be interesting enough to overwrite year-old memories.
The sidewalk changed from brick to concrete, potentially a good sign. Any neighborhood with a dive bar probably wouldn’t have fancy brick sidewalks.
As he trudged, the rain fell harder, pelting his hood so he heard nothing but its relentless rattle, like he was inside the world’s least soothing white-noise machine.
Finally he stopped beside an unassuming wooden church, where the figures of a life-sized nativity scene huddled beneath the eaves of their stable. It was tempting to evict a shepherd so he could squeeze in to escape the storm, but that would probably be a sin against Christmas or something.
He looked up and down the street again, stamping his feet to bring feeling back to his toes.
And there it was.
On the next corner sat a tavern with a blinking green sign that read Live Music. People-shaped figures moved about in the dim space within.
Halle-freaking-lujah.
Giving a tiny fist-pump, Paul stepped off the curb—straight into an ankle-deep puddle.
He drew back, yelping from the cold. “Jesus Motherfu—” He bit off the word and glanced at the nativity scene. “Sorry.” The Holy Family remained serene, though the donkey seemed to be giving him the stinkeye.
He hopped over the puddle and hurried across the street. The “live music” would probably feature Christmas carols, but right now he’d take a kazoo band playing a Cats medley just to see a fellow human in the wild.
Paul pulled open the tavern door. Toasty air swept over him, bearing the scents of clove and cinnamon. A bluesy piano riff came from his right, along with a wistful male voice singing The Eagles’ “Please Come Home for Christmas”—a song to remind Paul of what he needed to forget, for one last moment before he eradicated every brain cell housing those memories.
In other words, an excellent song to get drunk to.
He pushed back his hood and headed for the nearest corner of the square-shaped bar. A young bartender stood there drying a beer mug while watching the piano player. His face wore a crooked frown that matched the music’s mood.
At the sight of Paul, the bartender flashed a broad grin, his Hollywood-white teeth contrasting with his dark skin. A set of raggedy reindeer antlers waved limply atop a crown of shoulder-length dreadlocks.
“Welcome! What can I get you? And before you answer, can I interest you in our drink special? One night only.” The barman jazz-handed toward a chalkboard that read Mulled Wine - $5 in pale-green chalk. Beneath the 5 lay a poorly erased 10.
Paul could never resist a clearance sale. “I’ll take a large.”
“Fantastic.” The bartender pointed both index fingers at him. “I knew it the second I saw you. I said to myself, ‘Jackie, my man, that is an adventurous drinker.’” He pulled an Irish-coffee glass from under the bar. “Back in a blink.”
As Jackie disappeared through a swinging door, Paul took off his gloves and used them to wipe rivulets of rain from the front of his coat. He needed to hit the men’s room to wring out his soaking sock, but first he’d stake out the best people-watching spot.
To Paul’s left, at one corner of the bar, a man around his age with close-cropped sandy hair sat alone, holding an empty lowball tumbler by the rim and slowly rotating it on its bottom edge. His jaw, square as a window pane, shifted from side to side.
To his right, a man and a woman sat near the bar’s other corner, each holding but not drinking a half-full glass of red wine. They perched close enough to be a couple, but their bodies angled away from each other as they stared at their phones. With screen lights paling their impassive faces, they sat motionless, disconnected, as if trapped in an Edward Hopper painting.
A recessed ceiling light shone upon the piano man, picking out silver hairs among the black. At a two-top beside the piano, an old man sipped what might have been a gin and tonic through a fat green straw. He swallowed, then smacked his lips and nodded at his drink like it was the best one—or maybe the last one—of his life.
The song ended on a familiar trickle of melancholy notes. Paul clapped, along with the gin-drinking guy. Without acknowledging the applause, the piano player took a sip of amber beer from the pint glass beside him on his bench. Then he readied himself, fingers poised over the keys like the claws of a swooping falcon.
Semi-sweet chords drifted from the instrument, but Paul couldn’t place the song from this intro. Then the melody began—no vocals this time, just subdued piano tones.
He blinked away the wave of heat threatening his eyes. Of course it would be Wham!’s “Last Christmas.” The absolute last song he needed to hear tonight.
A deep groan came from his left. The guy with the sandy hair was shaking his head hard, palms clamped over his face like a basketball player who’d just blown an easy dunk. Then he lightly pounded his fists against the sides of his head, eyes squeezed shut.
What was going on there? Did the song also remind Sandy Hair of a lost love? Did it loop endlessly in the soundtrack of his memories, the way it did Paul’s?
His brain shifted into writer mode, as it always did when too much pain pressed upon it. Maybe if Paul observed him long enough, this guy could unknowingly star in his next book—whatever the hell that was. Paul could construct any narrative he wanted, fuel his imagination with a few details and a quart of mulled wine.
Or…he could walk over there and discover the real story. It was Christmas Eve, after all. If ever there was a time to help someone, to ease the ache of a quietly desperate life, tonight was the night.
Paul approached slowly, surfing his palm over the red vinyl–upholstered barstools as he passed, noting a few holes from ancient cigarette burns. “Hey, are you okay?”
Sandy Hair opened his eyes. Wow, they were blue. Like, blow-your-mind blue. “What?”
“You looked distraught, so I figured—”
“Who are you?” the man snapped.
“Nobody. I was standing over there and saw you angsting out.” Paul took a single squishy step back, slipping his hands into his coat pockets to look more at ease than he felt. “Never mind. It’s cool.”
“Wait.” The guy glared into his empty glass. “What happened to the bartender?”
“Jackie? He went to get my mulled—”
“How do you know his name?”
“He told me.”
“You’ve been in this bar less than two minutes and you’re already on a first-name basis?”
Maybe this was a bad idea. Or maybe it was a good idea that just needed a skosh more time to reach its potential.
Paul shrugged. “I guess I have that kind of face.”
Sandy Hair tilted his head to examine him. Then his expression softened a fraction, like butter over low heat. “Yeah. You do have that kind of face.” He nodded to the empty barstool beside him.
Paul sat quickly, whipping off his coat and scarf and tossing them over the next stool to dry. “I’m Paul, by the way.”
The guy hesitated, a wisp of uncertainty shadowing his face. “David.”
“Hi, David. So what just happened that got you so vexed?”
He made a dismissive wave. “Never mind. It’s stupid.”
“I don’t care if it’s stupid. And you don’t know me, so why would you care if I know something stupid about you?”
David opened his mouth, clearly taken aback by Paul’s forwardness but maybe just tipsy enough not to care. “I’ve lost Whamageddon.” He looked at his watch. “With two hours and eleven minutes to go.”
“Sorry, what-ageddon?”
“Whamageddon. It’s an internet thing. Starts December first, and the goal is to make it to Christmas without hearing this goddamn song.” David made a chopping gesture toward the piano. “Supposedly cover versions don’t count, but I think that’s a copout. Go big or go fuck yourself, as my grandma used to say.”
That last sentence sounded like a story all its own. “What happens if you hear the song before Christmas?”
David lifted his empty glass in a mock toast. “You join your fellow fallen warriors in Wham-halla.”
“You’re right, that is stupid. But in a good way.”
“Told you.”
The fact they were both sitting on the corner of the bar—rather than side by side—meant Paul could check him out without looking overly intense. Now that they were closer, it became clear that David’s eyes weren’t pure blue but rather had a green undertone, like the ocean far from shore. The same blue and green colored his flannel shirt, which, despite its coziness, looked as though it had been carefully ironed.
“So is Whamageddon like fantasy football?” Paul asked. “Did you have money riding on it?”
“God, no. I would never sully Whamageddon with a bet. It’s a matter of pride between me and my friends in the neighborhood. You can’t put a price on bragging rights.”
“Well...” Paul leaned closer and spoke behind his hand. “I won’t tell your pals if you won’t.”
David gave a theatrical gasp of mock shock. “Do I look like a man without honor?”
“I don’t know.” He threw a glance down David’s frame, then back up to meet his eyes. “What does an honorable man look like?”
There. Signal sent. If David was strictly straight, his body language would blare No thanks or maybe even Fuck off. These days, a little low-key flirtation usually wouldn’t bring on a punch, but Paul readied himself to dodge one, just in case.
David’s eyes narrowed but stayed locked with his.
“Aaaand here’s your mulled wine, my friend.” Jackie placed Paul’s drink on a green bar napkin. “Sorry it took so long. I had to strain it, then…” he twirled his finger above the glass mug “…add all the magic.” He turned to David. “Another for you, or did you still want to close out your tab?”
“Another, please, Jackie.” David pushed his empty glass toward the bartender, then offered Paul an inscrutable look. “I’m sticking around.”
* * *
Eight years after the end of Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell, David still found it hard not to greet a come-on with alarm. For half his career, a single chance encounter on a lonely night of liberty could cost him everything.
These days, it was safe to be out. Safe to find short- or even long-term companionship. Yet here he was, drinking himself numb on another Christmas Eve, as carefully, cautiously alone as ever.
Thank God Jackie had interrupted them just now, since David had no good comeback to Paul’s line. His flirting skills had gone rusty—not that they’d ever been well-oiled in the first place.
Paul peered down into his mulled wine, a sardonic smile visible through dark facial hair that lingered halfway between stubble and beard. “There’s a lot going on in this glass.” He stirred the ruby-red liquid using its cinnamon stick garnish, pushing around an orange slice, a lemon wedge, and a piece of star anise. The citrus-y scent stung David’s nostrils.
Paul set down the cinnamon stick. “Here goes.”
“Godspeed.” David kept a straight face. This guy was about to find out why no one ordered seconds of Jackie’s liquid concoctions.
Paul blew on the wine, sending forth a cloud of steam, then took a big swill. His eyes widened as he touched his throat. “I think I just scorched a hole in my esophagus.” He coughed hard, clasping the front of his gray V-neck sweater. “I’ve always wondered how it felt to drink battery acid.”
“Trust me, Jackie’s eggnog is even sketchier.” He saw the man in question approaching with his drink. “Can you make that a double?”
“Absolutely.” The bartender looked at Paul. “How’s the mulled wine?”
“It’s…” Paul nodded vigorously. “Yeah.”
“Great, let me know when you’re ready for another.”
“Sure thing!” Paul raised his mug to his lips, then set it down without drinking as Jackie walked away. “Is there someplace I can dump this?” he whispered, peering around at the near-empty tavern. “Where’s a potted plant when you need it?”
“All the bar’s flora already gave their lives to save ours.” Not top-notch banter, but it got a smile out of Paul. “You know,” David added, “you’re not legally obliged to drink the whole thing.”
Paul’s shoulders sagged. “But he was so happy when I ordered it. When I walked in, his face was as long as...” He seemed to search for words, then gestured to the bar around them. “Everyone else’s here. Including yours.”
“Nah, I was chock-full of comfort and joy until I got Wham’d.”
“Of course you were.” Paul smirked, but the benevolence in his hazel-brown eyes softened the sarcasm.
Jackie arrived with the double bourbon and placed the napkin over the usual knot in the bar’s wooden surface. “Watch out, Davy. The McSaltys’ Cold War is heating up.”
David looked at the couple at the other end of the bar. The Kendricks weren’t always here when he stopped in after work, but when they did appear, they made a show of ignoring each other. Now they were actively bickering. “What is it this time?” he asked Jackie.
“Typical Christmas kerfuffle stuff—whose parents’ house they’re having dinner at tomorrow, who was supposed to buy a gift for the nephew, who’s having the more objectionable affair…”
Paul sat up straighter. “Wait, really?” He peered at the Kendricks, as if he wished he were sitting close to them instead of David. Maybe he was merely seeking entertainment.
“Don’t worry, they’ll never break up,” Jackie said with a flip of his hand. “They enjoy each other’s misery too much. Hey, whatever floats their boat, right?” he added over his shoulder as he breezed away.
David slid his tumbler toward Paul. “Not passing judgment on your masochism, but if you’d like an alternative…”
Paul did a double-take. “You ordered that for me?”
“For us to share.”
“Well, cheers, then.” Paul took a tentative sip. His eyes widened again as he swallowed. “That is crazy good. Probably even better if I hadn’t just burned off half my taste buds.”
“It’s ocean-aged.” Explaining Whamageddon had no doubt made David look absurd, but this topic could help him save face. “The barrels were put aboard a ship as an experiment, to see how the bourbon would react to being at sea—the salt air, the temperature fluctuations, the rocking of the vessel. And this was the result.” He shut up before he could add how the bourbon took on a briny taste from breathing the sea air, or how the sugars in the barrel caramelized to make it taste a bit like rum. No need to veer into pompous-ass territory.
“Hooray for science.” Paul held up the tumbler and studied the dark-sepia liquid. “How long does this stuff stay on the boat?”
“Long enough to visit five continents and cross the equator four times.”
“Hm. If it didn’t taste like heaven, I would say that’s a marketing gimmick.” He offered the glass, its bottom nestled in his palm. “Your turn.”
David took the drink, letting his littlest finger brush Paul’s thumb in the exchange. Their eyes met again, barely a glance, but enough to confirm the previous spark wasn’t a fluke.
His next sip was small, since he was already 1.75 sheets to the wind. There was a fine line between being charmingly relaxed and stupidly sloshed. “So what brought you here tonight?” Christ, that was barely a half-step above Do you come here often?
Paul gestured to the shelves of gleaming bottles behind the bar. “What else would bring me here?”
Right. Stupid question. Might as well bravado it out. “You tell me. Why aren’t you at home in front of a fireplace reading ‘A Visit from St. Nicholas’ to a crowd of adoring children?”
“I don’t have kids.”
“No wife, either?”
Paul rolled his eyes as he took back the tumbler. “Oddly enough, I never found time to marry the girl next door.” He rubbed his ear, which stuck out slightly from beneath his wind-mussed, rain-splattered brown curls. Those protruding ears, along with his freckled nose, gave him an aura of impishness that his wry smile only enhanced. Though not conventionally handsome, Paul was hard to look away from.
“I’m here in Annapolis tonight,” Paul continued, “because I need to find an apartment ASAP. I’m a visiting professor at St. John’s College next semester.” He held up crossed fingers. “Hoping it’ll turn into a permanent position.”
That didn’t explain why Paul was in a bar on Christmas Eve, but David was in no position to judge. “St. John’s, huh? I hear they’re good at croquet and, uh...” He squinted up at the wood-beam ceiling in pretend thought.
“Reading the classics.”
David snapped his fingers. “Yes, that’s it. Two skills that today’s employers are clamoring for.”
Paul laughed. “St. John’s is a bit of a throwback, but that’s part of what drew me there. It’ll be an adventure for sure.” He sipped the bourbon and mmm’d again. “The dean told me they have this intense cross-town croquet rivalry with the Naval Academy. I mean, how bonkers is that sentence I just uttered?”
“Croquet gives the Johnnies one thing to feel superior about. But I’ll tell you a secret.” David leaned closer as he reached for the glass. “We let them win.”
“We?” Paul drew back a few inches, hopefully in surprise rather than dismay. “Okay, that explains the high-and-tight cut.”
“It’s shorter than Navy regs require.” David ruffled his own hair. “But I like it.”
“No, it looks great on you. For my own head I prefer hair that keeps me warm on nights like this.” Paul picked up the cinnamon stick and twirled it through his mulled wine. “A sailor, huh? How long are you on dry land? So to speak, I mean, because the land is, um, pretty wet tonight and…yeah, never mind.” He gave a sheepish grimace.
Maybe David wasn’t the only nervous one.
“Officially I’m ashore forever. I’m what the Academy calls a Permanent Military Professor. I’ll keep teaching until I leave active duty.”
“And when will that be?”
“About a millisecond after I die.” Yikes. “Sorry, that sounded less melodramatic in my head.”
“It’s Christmas Eve. You’re allowed.” Paul took a smaller sip of the mulled wine. He winced again. “Ugh, why am I doing this to myself?”
Because you’re a nice guy. Was it too soon to say that out loud? It might not even be true.
Paul lifted his hands and applauded in the direction of Martin, the bar’s most talented performer, who had just finished his extended remix of “Last Christmas.” It had been months since David had seen the woman who used to accompany Martin on stand-up bass. Perhaps their breakup was the cause of the piano man’s recent run of sorrowful tunes.
As usual, sweet old gin-loving Eduardo clapped and hooted extra loudly. He’d probably forgotten his hearing aid again, which would explain why he was sitting only a few feet from the piano.
A new song began, its melody equally familiar but ten times as haunting.
Coldplay had released “Christmas Lights” in December 2010, the same month Congress had finally pried open Uncle Sam’s padlocked closet so gays and lesbians could serve openly in the military. It should have been the happiest holiday of David’s life.
But after fifteen Christmases of pushing away anything and anyone that threatened his career, after fifteen Christmases of Sorry, I told my family we’re just friends…there had been no one left to celebrate with. After so many sacrifices on the twin altars of fear and ambition, sacrifice itself had become a hard habit to break.
Even here and now he was blowing it, drifting into memory and regret instead of connecting with the real person beside him, this bedraggled puppy of a man who would risk an ulcer just to make a bartender happy.
David turned back to Paul.
“So what do you teach?” they asked each other in unison. Then they laughed and said, “You first”—also in unison, which made them laugh harder. God, this was awkward.
“In my family,” David said, “house rules state the youngest goes first, which is probably you.”
“Maybe not. I just turned thirty-seven.”
“Forty-two.”
“You’re older than you look. Must be the hair.” Paul jutted his thumb at himself. “I teach literature. You?”
“Nuclear engineering.”
Paul coughed. “Wow, I was expecting something jarhead-y like Artillery 101 or Advanced War-Crime Rationalization.”
David would have bristled if not for the twinkle in Paul’s eye and the warmth of booze in his own veins. “I’m more of an egghead than a jarhead. Jarheads are Marines, by the way. That’s my dad and big brother.” Was his dad and big brother. “I’ve spent most of my career on submarines.”
“No way! What kind? Assuming there’s more than one kind of submarine. I have no idea.”
“There are three types, basically: attack subs, guided-missile subs, and ballistic missile subs. I was on the last kind.”
“Ballistic like…” Paul used his hands to form the head of an expanding mushroom cloud.
David nodded. “That’s why we call those subs ‘boomers.’”
“So you were just scooting around under the ocean, ready to end the world at a moment’s notice?”
“Pretty much.”
“Holy shit, that is so goth.”
David laughed out loud. That was a new one. “Yeah, back in the nineties we used to dress as Grim Reapers, but our scythes kept getting caught on the bulkheads.”
Paul grinned. “I can see how that might ruin the whole vibe. Still…my God, I’ve never met anyone with a job like that before. What kind of life was it?”
David took a moment to find the right word. “Busy.”
Paul pointed his cinnamon stick at him. “Not the answer I was expecting. Busy doing what? Besides driving the sub and getting ready to unleash holy hell on the planet.”
“Running drills. Studying for the next qualifications. Watching out for other subs. Cleaning.”
“Cleaning?”
“Constantly. Even us officers. Even the captain. With a hundred and fifty crew members in a confined space, it starts to stink pretty fast if you let it go. Not to mention the potential damage to equipment.”
“That makes sense.” Paul did an actual eyelash-flutter. “So did you wear one of those cute sailor outfits with the smooshy hat and the carefree blue tie?”
This man had a unique way of describing things. “You mean the crackerjacks? Those are for enlisted members, and not for everyday work.”
“So what do officers wear underwater? I’m picturing the Beatles’ outfits in Yellow Submarine.”
“Nothing so flashy. Tan shirts, khakis, sometimes coveralls if we’re getting our hands dirty. Between the drab clothes and fluorescent lights, a sub is a pretty unsexy place.”
“I bet you wore it well, though.”
David tugged at his shirt collar and shifted on the wobbly barstool. Was it getting hot in here? Was he letting down his guard too much? Christmas Eve wasn’t meant to be spent alone, according to all the songs. But solitude was safe, right? Solitude was sound. And with a top-secret security clearance, solitude meant never having to say you’re sorry.
But every detail David had offered was available via Wikipedia or SubmarineSailor.com. If Paul started poking deeper, inquiring about exact specs or schedules, this conversation would end.
“Sorry.” Paul held up a hand. “I can be too much sometimes.”
“You’re fine.” It was true as soon as he said it. Sometimes—tonight, at least—too much was just right.
Jackie arrived then, with two glasses of the ocean-aged bourbon and a basket of homemade spicy holiday Chex Mix. He set a tumbler in front of each of them and gave Paul a knowing smile as he picked up their empty shared glass. Then he walked off, this time without a word.
“Dude was paying attention,” Paul said.
“Jackie’s uncanny.” David lifted his napkin. “See this little knot in the wood? For some odd reason, I always put my drink there to cover it. Eventually Jackie noticed, and now he leaves it right on this spot.”
Paul raised his new glass, making the bar’s little white Christmas lights dance on the surface of the dark liquid. “Shall we drink to observant bartenders or to your secret disdain for wood knots?”
“Both.” David touched his tumbler to Paul’s, took a sip, then pulled the Chex Mix basket between them. “Have some. Jackie’s snacks are as good as his mulled wine is bad.”
Paul scooped out a handful onto his bar napkin. “I’m gonna need something to soak up this very special bourbon.”
David reached for the mix himself, his stomach growling. With the Academy on winter break and his normal schedule disrupted, he sometimes forgot to eat three meals a day. But being around Paul made him hungry. “So, have you always been a teacher?”
Paul shook his head as he crunched a red tortilla chip. “It took a while to figure out it’s the only job with benefits that I’m halfway decent at. Wow, cayenne pepper.” He gaped at the rest of the tortilla chip before popping it in his mouth. “Plus, a university position allows space for my real work, the only thing I have talent for.”
“Chatting up strangers in bars?”
Paul pointed at David. “Close. I am a professional bullshitter, i.e., novelist.”
“Well, now we’re even, because I’ve never met one of those. Have you written anything—”
“That you’ve heard of? Doubtful. I make a half-decent living, but I’m not famous.”
“I’ve read a lot of books by non-famous people.”
Paul looked down at the brass bar railing, sliding his fingers back and forth over it as he spoke. “See, this is how it goes: I tell you my novel titles, then you make a pity face and say you don’t know them. Then I feel bad, even though I know ahead of time that you don’t know them. And then you feel bad for making me feel bad, and soon we’re looking at our watches and finding an excuse to exit via different doorways.”
David took off his watch and slipped it into his jacket pocket. “Does that help?”
Paul swiped a hand over his face, which might have been blushing, then rested his cheek on his fist and regarded David. “Seriously, though.”
“Seriously, though, what?”
“That’s the name of my first novel: Seriously, Though. It’s about a comedian who falls in love with someone who, as a result of a traumatic brain injury, has zero sense of humor.”
David laughed, then covered his mouth. “Sorry, that’s hilarious. But also tragic.”
“As is the book. Then there was Marriage of Inconvenience. The In has parentheses around it, just so people are aware of the irony. I argued with my publisher for weeks about those fucking parentheses.”
“Were you arguing for or against?”
“I’ll never tell. Then I took a more solemn turn, hoping to be taken seriously. But Songs of Innocent Experience was a sales flop. It’s still my favorite, though.”
“A William Blake riff. I like it.” When Paul made an impressed face, David added, “Just because I’m an engineer doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy literature.”
“Sorry, I shouldn’t assume you only read tech manuals and magazines like Nuclear Fuckery Weekly.” Paul tapped his ring finger, still counting off. “My last novel fell smack dab in the middle of the comedy-tragedy scale, which turned out to be the sweet spot, commercially speaking.”
“And it was called…”
“Taxi Dancer. I wanted to call it Hold Me Closer, Taxi Dancer, but that would’ve been anachronistic.”
“What’s a taxi dancer?”
“About a hundred years ago there were these women who would dance with guys for a dime—in dance halls, not on the street. Anyway, I wrote the gay version of that, a little historical romantic fiction.”
“And people bought this?”
“Hey, don’t be shocked,” Paul said. “Some readers are tired of the same old boy-meets-girl routine. And why should straight people hog all the happy endings?”
If only David had asked himself that question twenty-five years ago—or five years ago, for that matter. He pulled out his phone. “I can order this online?”
“Anywhere good books are sold, as they say.”
David brought up a browser with his favorite indie bookstore’s website already open in one of the half-dozen tabs. A quick search on Paul’s latest title brought up the novel. The cover was bright red, but David couldn’t make out details without his reading glasses, which he never bothered bringing to a bar.
He tapped on Paul McCafferty, revealing all the books he’d mentioned, complete with a big-name publisher and starred reviews from Kirkus and Library Journal. “Wow, you weren’t kidding.”
“Why would I make that up? Other than to impress you.”
“Writers are naturally curious.” He added Taxi Dancer and Songs of Innocent Experience to his cart. “That’s why being a novelist makes good cover for asking lots of questions about my job.”
“Cover?” Paul furrowed his brow, then his eyes popped wide. “You thought I might be a spy?”
“It’s happened before.”
Paul gasped. “You spilled state secrets to a fake author?” he asked, his voice dipping to a whisper.
“No.” David pressed the order button. “But she tried.”
“Ah—she. That’s why you weren’t taken in.”
“It didn’t help.” David scanned the room, unable to simultaneously look at Paul and talk about his own sexuality.
The Kendricks—or the McSaltys, as Jackie called them—were speaking over their shoulders to each other in hisses, their faces pinched and their words drowned by the music. Near the piano, Eduardo cradled a fresh drink in both hands.
Jackie stood beside the cash register, frowning at his antlers. He tried to straighten them by pinching the cloth to even out the filling. Still they flopped over like beagle ears.
In this grim scene, on this loneliest of nights, had Paul gravitated toward David out of desperation? If they spent the night together, would it be only that—one night, or even just a few hours’ escape from the crushing void of yet another solitary Christmas?
Paul’s knee pressed against his. David looked down.
“Oh God, was that you?” Paul shifted on his seat, moving his leg away. “Sorry, my knees are everywhere. I thought I was nudging part of the bar.”
Sure he did. “No worries,” David said. “In fact…you can leave it there if it’s more comfortable.”
“You know, I think it might be.” The side of his knee brushed David’s, then came to rest, unobtrusively, against it. “Yep. I definitely feel more relaxed.”
“Good.” David smiled down into his glass as the outside of his knee became the warmest part of his entire body, maybe the warmest any part of his body had been for a long time.
So what if this turned into a casual Christmas hookup? Such things could no longer destroy his life. It would be a relief to spend one night—especially this night—in the arms of someone as cute and kind as Paul.
Maybe that would be enough.
The Omega Bunny's Second-Chance Christmas by Ava Beringer
1
ROWAN
“Are you sure you want me to drop you off…here?” The kindly middle-aged beta woman asked me, her expression pained. It was dark on Main because of the hour of night, and I didn’t quite recognize all the buildings, but I knew where I was. Back home after a really long time.
I smiled sweetly. “I’m fine from here.”
“Are you sure?” She looked down at my middle. Even though I had on a big coat to ward off the cold, it was still obvious I was very pregnant.
I was not sure, but I wasn’t about to tell her that. “I don’t have far to go. Thank you so much, I appreciate it.”
She wasn’t convinced, but she nodded anyway. “Take care of yourself.” I stepped out onto the sidewalk, she pulled off, and I was alone.
Hitchhiking had been stupid, but I had exactly zero dollars to my name, so I had to take the chance. I took it as a good sign that someone so kind had brought me the rest of the way from Vegas. Maybe an early Christmas miracle?
I stumbled as I trudged through the light dusting of snow. I blinked at it, glittering under the streetlight, vaguely aware that we almost never got snow in Seven Corners. Have things changed so much since I’ve been gone? In the time it took me to have that thought, I lost my balance and weaved to my right, falling up against the brick facade of one of Main Street’s buildings. Had this always been here? I wasn’t sure. I cupped my belly, now so huge even using my arm barely helped me hold it up.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered to the babies inside me. “I’m doing my best. I’m gonna figure this out. Somehow.” For only the millionth time, I regretted my decision to bond with he-who-shall-not-be-named. I knew he was bad news, but I let my insecurities and lack of self-esteem keep me from seeing I deserved better. Well, my self-esteem certainly hadn’t improved very much, considering my situation. I was away from him, though, and that was an improvement. I just needed to find my way again, that was all.
There was almost no one on the street at this hour. I was afraid to ask a stranger for help this time of night, and almost even more afraid of running into somebody I knew, lest their judgement and scorn finish me off.
Tyce. He popped into my head out of nowhere. I was back in town, so would I run into him? It had been years, almost a couple of decades. He wouldn’t even recognize me and if he did, what would it matter? No way an alpha like him didn’t have some gorgeous omega who’d popped him out a half-dozen puppies by now. I wish it had been me, but it wasn’t. Time to put away childhood fantasies and face reality. I had babies to care for. Twins, for sure. I could do this.
I took another step. Then another, then another. I rested my hand on the wall when I came to a door with light glowing through it. I was cold and needed to be indoors, just for a minute to think, to figure out my next move. My belly moved, my children active within me. Not very active, though, and it scared the daylights out of me. I let my head fall against the wall, overwhelmed. I’d go inside, just for a moment to think and warm my fingers and toes. I leaned my head back to look up at the sign. It read “Carlos’ General.”
I pushed the door open and walked in, the ornaments on the little wreath jingling, the warm air brushing my face with a whoosh. I let out a sigh of relief, flexing and extending my fingers, letting them warm up.
The inside of the store was overflowing with everything you could imagine, in no discernible order. Looking to my left, there was a socket wrench set. To my right, there was a package of Christmas ornaments. Looking straight ahead, there were snacks. A whole sleeve of Oreos probably wasn’t the best idea right now, but it sure as heck sounded good. My stomach rumbled.
A few moments later, an older gentleman poked his head into the aisle. He smiled when he saw me, coming closer.
My inner bunny caught a whiff of him and wanted to run. Wolf. I steeled myself, patting my belly. This was an older alpha man with a very gentle aura, it was obvious from his smile. Besides, there was something familiar about his scent, something soothing and comforting. I needed all the comfort I could get right about then.
“How can I help you?”
“Oh, I’m just…I don’t have any money to buy anything. I just needed to get out of the cold for a minute, then I’ll move on and get out of your hair.” I tried for a smile.
The alpha man looked down at my belly. “That’s just fine. No need to rush. Why don’t you sit for a minute, get off your feet?”
Right now sitting sounded like the best thing in the world, even better than food, which was really saying something.
“Could I? Just for a second. I don’t want to be a bother.”
“You’re not, trust me. It’s been a quiet night, I could use the company.”
I followed him to the back of the store. The radio played softly, Los Reyes Del Norte. How did I know that?
Behind the back counter, the gentleman pulled out a chair for me. I had just gotten out of a car, but it still felt so good to be sitting I had to blink back tears. I was sicker and weaker than I originally thought, but I didn’t have money to seek any medical care. Moving slowly would have to do for now. Food and shelter, those were my main two goals at the moment.
“What brings you in this time of night?” Oh, no. He was asking me questions I didn’t want to answer. I wanted to, though. Wanted somebody to listen to me, to care about what I was going through.
“Just got back in town.” I tried to keep it short.
“From?”
“Vegas.”
He nodded sagely. “I see. There must have been trouble for you in Vegas.”
I tightened up. Was it that obvious? “What makes you say that?”
“If you don’t mind me saying so, I can tell you have a baby or two on board.” He nodded toward my belly. “It’s late at night, you’re alone, with no alpha or even a friend. You’re cold, tired, and you were eyeing those Oreos like a shark eyes a wounded seal.”
I dropped my eyes, ashamed. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.”
“Please don’t be sorry, young man. All of us fall on hard times in our lives. Plus, it’s the holiday season.” He produced a pack of Oreos from his pocket. “Here. A little early Christmas present.”
I looked between him and the Oreos, already salivating. “Are you sure?”
“Of course. What’s one pack of Oreos when they’ll mean so much to you?” I ripped the package open and stuffed one in my mouth, embarrassed but ravenous. I nibbled, my bunny nose twitching as the rush of sugar and chocolate lit up my brain.
“Thank you so much, Mr…?”
“Ramirez. Carlos Ramirez.” I stopped chewing. That’s why he smelled so familiar. It was Tyce’s dad. What were the chances?
“Shit,” I spat under my breath. If there was anyone I didn’t want to see me, it was Mr. Ramirez. Well, technically, I didn’t want Mr. Ramirez to see me because I didn’t want his son to see me. A little smile came to my face when I thought about Tyce. It dropped off just as quick. He’d probably give me a look of disgust if he saw me. Or even worse, a look of pity, like I was a pathetic little thing. Not little, because I was much taller than him, but I would feel small. Tyce isn’t like that, my brain corrected. He never was. I got aroused just thinking about him. Did he still look the same? It didn’t really matter, he’d still be sexy to me no matter what.
“And your name is?”
“Rowan,” I answered.
“That’s a pretty name for a pretty omega. Very unique.” He tapped his chin. “It sounds familiar. You went to Seven Corners High, didn’t you? You know my son, Tyce.”
I looked left and right for someplace to hide. You’re being silly, Rowan.
“Yes, I knew him,” I admitted, sticking my fingers in my mouth to bite my nails. “It was a long time ago.”
“Time doesn’t erase happy memories.”
A little smile crossed my face, thinking of our interactions back in the day, and how special he made me feel. “No, they don’t.”
Luckily, Mr. Ramirez got distracted by the crinkling of my empty Oreo wrapper. “Dios mio. I think we ought to get you somewhere where you can get some proper food and rest.”
I looked at him with big, wide eyes. “Where’s that? Is there an omega shelter nearby?”
Mr. Ramirez shook his head. “You won’t be going there tonight.”
That raised my spirits. “Then where, Mr. Ramirez?”
“Call me Carlos.” He slapped his thighs and stood up. “Come on. I’ll show you.”
I stood up, too. I was slow and careful, because I had no choice with my bulging belly, but I still got light-headed. I swayed a bit before dropping back down on the chair.
“Rowan, are you alright?”
“I’m fine,” I lied. “Just food and a bed, like you mentioned, and I’ll be as good as new.” I wasn’t sure if that was the case, the way my health had been declining since I left Vegas, but I didn’t want to be any more of a burden than I already was.
Mr. Ramirez- Carlos- went to flip his sign to “closed” and turn off the shop’s lights, then he came and offered me his arm. I took it and I followed him out to his car, wondering where he was taking me.
We ended up just inside what I remembered to be Bolder territory. I tried hard not to stare at Carlos as I wondered if what I’d heard about what happened to both the Bolder and Ramirez families was true. If so, it broke my heart. I wasn’t gonna ask, because even after all this time, it probably hurt like hell to talk about it.
All the lights were out when we got there, but a bit of insistent knocking brought a lady to the door, dark-skinned and regal with a crown of microlocs piled on top of her head.
The scowl on her face when she opened the door was quickly replaced by a smile when she saw who it was. “Oh, Carlos. How are you? Is everything alright?”
“Got somebody I’d like you to meet.” He ushered me forward and I stepped into the light of the doorway, my head bowed and my hands folded in front of me, under my belly.
The lady looked me up and down. “Oh, my. Y’all better get in here.”
After quick introductions, Carlos held out a hand, indicating I should go in before him. I took a slow step into the cozy house. The heat was inviting. Even more so was the smell of food. My nose shifted to its soft, pink bunny form and wiggled like mad.
Miss Sadie caught my nose wiggle. “Hungry?” I dropped my chin and nodded, embarrassed that I couldn’t hide it. She showed me to the couch. “I’ll heat you up a plate.”
I sat down on the couch and let out an involuntary moan. I felt good to be off my feet, in a place that was warm and welcoming, on a comfy, cushy sofa.
A scent caught my nose, and as I looked at the sofa I noticed a few stray cat hairs. Miss Sadie was a cat shifter. Looking at the back of the couch, I noticed the slight indentation, right under the window, that must be the spot where she liked to loaf. As I took a few more sniffs, my inner bunny grew more alarmed.
The scent of an animal that could hunt a bunny, even a small one like a cat, made me extra wary in the late stages of my pregnancy. There were also slight traces of puma scent, multiple pumas, and they were alphas, too. Her sons, maybe? They were probably good, upstanding guys, if my first impression of Miss Sadie was anything to go by, but it still made the bunny in me want to hide. My stomach soured with nausea, and the room swam a little. My instincts were to get to my alpha so he could protect me, but I didn’t have one anymore. A picture of Tyce jumped into my mind. I smoothed a hand over my belly. I wish I had made them with him.
Miss Sadie picked up on my discomfort immediately. “Scent a little too much for you?”
I nodded, my eyes wide with nervousness, my bunny nose wiggling. She patted my shoulder. “I’ll light a few neutralizing candles to calm it down a bit. Plus, they’ll look nice for dinner.”
“Thank you.”
“Of course. You deserve to be comfortable, this time of year, in your condition.” She peered at me for a moment, clearly, having an inner debate. “I’m guessing I already have the answer to this question, but I’ll check anyway. Is there somebody I can call for you?”
“Please don’t tell anybody I’m here.” I was ready to beg.
“But, Baby, I’m sure you have family or somebody who’d want to know that you’re safe. I think…” She let her words trail off when she saw the look in my eyes, the desperation, fear, and sadness. “Let’s just get you warmed up and fed, how about that?”
“Yes, Ma’am, please and thank you.” She lit the candles, which helped calm the nausea, and disappeared into the kitchen, humming as she fixed me a plate of leftovers. A few minutes later she put a steaming plate down in front of me.
“Great timing. I just made a pot roast, and you could use something that’ll stick to your bones.” My eyes went as big as the dinner plate, looking at the mountain of beef, potatoes, and carrots. Not a moment too soon. I swear, I would have died from hunger if I had to wait another minute to eat. At least, that what my kits seemed to believe. I tucked in while Miss Sadie grinned, satisfied.
“Good?”
I could barely manage to say, “Mm hmm,” before I stuffed more into my mouth.
“Good. You enjoy, I’m gonna have a lil’ chat with Carlos.”
Miss Sadie and Carlos had a private conversation while I ate. I pumped my heel up and down, nervous about what they might be discussing. I just hoped they weren’t going to tell anybody I used to know, and for heaven’s sake, that they weren’t going to involve Tyce. Why would they, though? He had less than nothing to do with my situation. If they could give me some time to rest and eat, then point me in the direction of a shelter for omegas and children, I’d be on my way. I wasn’t looking forward to it, and even more of my health was draining from me just thinking about it, but I’d do what I had to do and figure the rest out later.
I ate until I couldn’t fit another bite in my stomach, which was smashed by the weight of my babies, then I ate some more.
“Not quite full yet?” Miss Sadie teased, walking back into the room.
I snickered. “There has to be some more room in here somewhere.”
Miss Sadie took my plate into the kitchen and dished more food onto it. “Those babies are gonna get it all for themselves anyway. Don’t worry, there’s plenty more where that came from.”
“Thank you a million times.” Well, whaddya know, there was more room. I ate until my stomach hurt. My head started nodding immediately after. I was more than exhausted, I was fatigued. Each of my limbs suddenly weighed a hundred pounds.
“Up to bed, then.”
“Huh?” I was confused.
“You’re staying here tonight. With me. I have a guest room all ready to go, no bookings tonight.”
“Oh. So you run a bed and breakfast sort of deal?”
“Just for fun. All of my needs are taken care of, and if they weren’t I have my sons.” Ah. That was her way of telling me not to worry about imposing on her financially tonight. That was kind of her to say, and alleviated a bit of my guilt and shame at taking up her resources. Thank goodness there were good people out there who helped where they could.
Miss Sadie helped me upstairs to the bedroom, after a stop at the bathroom first, of course. She pushed the door open for me and let me go in first. “It’s pretty cozy in here, but hopefully it’ll do until we find an alternative.” I hugged my belly. The full-sized bed looked like everything in the world right about now.
“I don’t know how I can ever repay you, Miss Sadie.”
“You can repay me by getting better, and taking care of those babies. Go’on lay down, now. Get.” She shooed me into the room. She didn’t have to tell me twice.
I peeled off my clothes, climbed under the covers, and was out the moment my head hit the pillow. In the moment, I didn’t even have time to worry about what was next for me. That would come soon enough.
All I Want for Christmas is Tentacles by Chloe Archer
Chapter One
Privately Relayed Intergalactic Communication and Knowledge System (PRICKS)
Stardate: 47634.44
DataMaster: Help! My parents want me to marry someone I don’t love. What should I do?
EatMyCometDust: LOL. Just tell them NO. *shrugging emoji*
DataMaster: You don’t understand! They’re being quite forceful about this.
NebulaNerd: Is this marriage candidate hot? Do they have a solid retirement portfolio? A large tentacle to pleasure you with? Might be worth it.
DataMaster: He’s good-looking, I suppose, but he’s just not my type.
NebulaNerd: Sounds to me like you’re waaaay too picky. Maybe your parents know best.
EatMyCometDust: Screw that! You should get to make your own choices, especially when it comes to marriage!
DrWhoDaFuck: What if you took a cue from Earthlings? They’re so delightfully creative.
DataMaster: Ooh! Humans! I love their movies. *grinning tentacle emoji* I’ve been secretly downloading them off the intergalactic web for years.
DrWhoDaFuck: Then you’ve surely seen a romantic comedy or two, right?
DataMaster: Of course. They’re some of my favorites! *heart eyes tentacle emoji*
EatMyCometDust: Heh. I think I know where this is going. Right on! DataMaster: Uh, I’m still confused…
DrWhoDaFuck: Come on! Isn’t it obvious? You totally need to embrace the runaway bride trope! Well, except that you’d be a runaway groom.
EatMyCometDust: Called it! Oh yeah, baby!
DrWhoDaFuck: *devil with horns emoji* Plan your escape and ditch that dude at the altar. If the movies are correct, you’re sure to find your true love after that. Maybe Earthlings are on to something…?
NebulaNerd: Becoming a runaway groom sounds risky to me. What happens if you get hurt or caught? *frowny face emoji*
EatMyCometDust: @NebulaNerd if you’re not gonna help @DataMaster escape his unwanted fate and find true love, SHUT IT!
DataMaster: Ohmyfreakinggalacticgods! You all are BRILLIANT. Human movies always know best. I’m totally going to be a runaway groom! *victory tentacle emoji*
Khephren
Hiding inside my enormous hollowed out multitiered wedding cake is surprisingly both more exciting and more claustrophobic than I expected. My tentacles are wrapped around my body so tight I can barely breathe.
“Pssst! Is the coast clear?” I whisper. My left knee itches but I can’t really move enough to scratch it.
Najar Mezdel stops pushing the cart carrying the enormous cake—and me. “What part of covert didn’t you understand about this plan? Shut. The. Hell. Up.”
My best friend is using his no-nonsense voice, which means he’s one frosted rosette away from wanting to strangle me with his tentacles. I’ve learned to recognize the subtle nuance all too well over the years, so I wisely decide to follow his orders.
For now.
It’s positively maddening not being able to see anything from my hiding spot though. But needs must when one is trying to mastermind escaping from one’s own impending nuptials.
Which I am—and quite brilliantly if I do say so myself.
Indeed, I took plenty of inspiration from human movies, including for this decoy cake, which is really a large cylinder hiding space concealed with a layer of frosting around its exterior—just like in my favorite musical, Singin’ in the Rain.
When I hear a familiar determined tread of footsteps coming our way, I hold my breath and pray to whatever galactic gods might exist. Please don’t let anything stop me now, not when I’m so close to achieving my freedom!
“Najar, have you seen my son? He stepped out to use the restroom and seems to have gotten himself lost.” My father’s voice is full of exasperated humor and I cringe. He is not going to be happy when he discovers I’ve bailed on this wedding he and Mom arranged.
To be fair, I did tell them dozens of times that I didn’t want to get married—especially to the guy they picked out—so it kind of serves them right.
“No, I haven’t seen him since earlier this morning. I can help you search once I get things taken care of with the cake. The baker forgot a last-minute embellishment, so I’m taking it to the kitchens for them to put on the finishing touches.”
There’s a short pause and my hearts stutter.
“How odd,” my father murmurs.
Najar gives a hearty chuckle. “You know how temperamental artists can be.”
Good thinking, Najar! My best friend is always cool under pressure.
My father guffaws. “Too true. Hurry up about it and then please come help me. The ceremony starts in twenty minutes.”
“Of course, Lord Thrase.”
Father’s footsteps stride off purposefully and Najar speeds up his wheeling of the cart. I grip the slim pole in the center of my hiding nook and cling on for dear life, praying to the universe that I don’t go careening through the flimsy false side of the cake.
“I never should have let you talk me into this disastrous plan,” Najar mutters under his breath.
Deep down, I do feel a smidge guilty about begging for his help, but my runaway-groom plan doesn’t work without Najar. I didn’t have a lot of other options either because there is no way in Helgar’s Nebula I am going through with this wedding!
Colonel Borlan Kuretti is not a man I want to marry. I’m sure he’s perfectly nice for someone else, but not for me. And I’m most certainly not for him! He wants a good little househusband who will keep his home in order and look nice on his arm at formal events.
That has never been, nor will it ever be, me.
My parents know my dream has always been to leave this planet and travel the universe. But as an unmarried Dravethian born without a warrior’s mark, I am not allowed to travel off-planet alone. If I had a warrior spouse to protect me, it would be fine in the eyes of my people, but there aren’t many men in that class who wish to travel the universe. They’re trained to defend our world, and most feel a strong compulsion to stay and protect it.
After nearly ten years of searching for a compatible mate on my own without any luck, my parents decided to step in.
They mean well. I know that. In the eyes of Dravethian society, I’m deemed valuable for my computer programming skills but without a warrior’s mark I’m not considered able to protect myself since I wasn’t born and trained to fight. It’s all foolish archaic nonsense if you ask me, but Dravethian culture has long revered our warrior class and treated the rest of us like we’re helpless! In my experience, brains are far more effective than brawn. But apparently, my opinions don’t matter.
Many of my peers have already given in to the inevitability of marrying a warrior to gain more freedom in our society, and some seem perfectly happy with their choice, which is great for them. However, I’ve decided I’m not going down without a fight!
I refuse to let go of my dreams.
Besides, I’ve watched enough of the human Hallmark Christmas movies to know that true love is real! And I’m determined to find it in a small town somewhere in the vastness of the universe with a handsome guy who wears flannel, knits hats for the underprivileged, and runs his own alpaca farm, because it’s quite clear to me I’m not meant to find it on Draveth.
A sudden jolt knocks me out of my musings.
“Time to get out,” Najar whispers urgently as the cart comes to a sudden stop.
He presses a hidden button, and a secret panel opens just wide enough for me to squeeze out of the cake, with far less flair to my entrance than Debbie Reynolds’ in Singin’ in the Rain, and step onto the floor of the teleporter bay. Sweet, beautiful freedom and fresh air! I immediately use my lowest left tentacle to scratch my knee. Ahh, so much better.
Part One of My Brilliant Plan to Escape Matrimonial Tyranny is complete!
“We only have a few minutes. The teleporter technician is on a break, and I managed to bribe the security guard to go to the bathroom, but this has to be fast. Work your magic, Kheph.”
Najar doesn’t need to tell me twice! I race over to the teleporter station.
The setup is simple. Child’s play, really. My tentacles whip forward, glad to be free of the cramped space inside the cake, and begin typing as I break into the system with quick efficiency. I may not be a warrior but I’m a master computer programmer and one hell of a hacker.
Believe me, I’m not about to announce that little secret far and wide!
Najar stands at the door, peering out the small window while I work. All too soon, his back stiffens. “Blackholes and bollocks! They’re on to us. It’s now or never, Kheph.”
I set the timer to initiate. “Now!”
We race over to the platform and take our positions in the necessary spots.
Just as the teleporter fires up, the beams of light surrounding us both, I spy my enraged fiancé in his full military regalia burst through the door. His face twists with rage and I give him a cheerful grin and a saucy tentacle salute. Then I feel the familiar sucking sensation as Najar and I are teleported to the secret location where I’ve been hiding my ship. I covertly bought it a few years ago and have been refurbishing it during every free moment I have. She’s been ready for a few months, but now my baby gets to take her rightful place among the stars!
We land on the ground with wobbly legs, and have to use our tentacles to steady ourselves. Teleporting isn’t easy on the body, but I’m willing to endure some discomfort to achieve my freedom. Racing for my ship, I tap in the external keypad code to let down the ramp. Once inside, we head to the helm.
My vessel is of moderate size, and can comfortably house about ten crew members. For now, however, it’s just me and Naj—
“You didn’t think you were going to ditch this two-bit planet without me, did ya?”
Whirling around, I find my other bestie, Luna Bazran, hand cocked on her hip, and her pint-sized assistant droid, Rambo, at her side as usual.
I still lament the day I downloaded that one Earth film without knowing anything about it. For the most part, I don’t like scary or violent films. But when it comes to injustice, Luna has a blood-thirsty streak that’s larger than the Rebulon Nebula, so of course she became obsessed with Rambo—and Mr. Sylvester Stallone.
Hopping into my command seat, I begin to set our navigation route and activate the cloaking shield. “Luna, I don’t want you making any rash decisions. We likely won’t be coming back. Or at least not for a long time.”
Although I do hope my parents will mellow eventually, I don’t intend to return. I can’t be who I want to be here. My future is somewhere out among the stars. I feel it in every one of my tentacles!
Luna gives a loud huff. “You may be a brilliant programmer, Kheph, but you need an actual engineer on this ship to keep her engine purring and her systems running.”
Neptune’s nads!
Luna’s not wrong but I really don’t want to drag any more friends into my mess.
I look up from the control panel, my tentacles writhing with agitation. “You know how much I appreciate all the work you’ve helped me do on this ship, but I don’t want you to get sucked into my drama. The cost is too high.”
Najar’s different. His parents died in battle when he was quite young and he has no living family that he knows of. My parents paid for his warrior training and then hired him to be my bodyguard when we came of age until I married. If I had stayed on Draveth and wed Colonel Kuretti, he would have lost his position, and he has no interest in joining the military and becoming phaser fodder. To say we both don’t fit into Dravethian society is an understatement.
Luna scoffs and crosses her arms. “Come on, Kheph. When haven’t I been sucked into your drama?”
Okay, that’s fair. She’s my runner-up BFF. Najar will always have first place because we’ve known each other since we were in diapers. Luna didn’t come along until primary school, but the three of us have been practically inseparable ever since.
“Besides, I’m in the same boat as you,” Luna continues. “It’s only a matter of time before my folks want to set me up with some warrior who expects me to be their lame wifey-poo. Fuck that noise. I’d much rather go on adventures in outer space with you and Naj.”
Rambo raises his tiny titanium robotic arms in the air and beeps. “To infinity and beyond!”
“Exactly,” Luna agrees.
Najar groans. “Galactic gods, I told you to stop sharing human movies with her. Now she’s programmed her damn droid to talk in nothing but movie lines!”
Luna scowls at him and pets Rambo on his shiny chrome head. “Don’t listen to that grumpy asshat. You’re brilliant.”
Rambo emits a series of happy beeping noises before saying, “I like to use both sides of my brain.”
“You don’t have a brain,” Najar mutters as he completes his systems check.
“Check yourself before you wreck yourself,” Rambo offers.
I sigh and study Luna. “Are you really willing to leave everything behind to explore the unknown with Naj and me?”
Luna grins and tosses one of her pigtails—the same green as her undulating tentacles—behind her before pointing her foot at an enormous bag stowed in the corner. It’s packed so full it looks about ready to burst open at the seams. “All packed and ready, captain.”
Damn. I am one lucky Dravethian to have such steadfast, amazing friends.
My answering grin is huge. “How long have you been planning this?”
“Long enough. Why do you think I spent so much time designing the chamber on the ship that I’m claiming dibs on?” She rolls her eyes at me like I’m a dumbass. “I knew we’d get off this rock and away from the marriage-minded meddlers in our lives one day. You’re not the only one with grand ambitions, Kheph.”
Najar clears his throat and gives a grumpy grunt. “I hate to interrupt this touching moment, but we need to get a move on. Our window of opportunity is limited, and we want to be far away before Kheph’s parents and his pissed-off fiancé send a squadron after us.”
That dose of reality gets us moving. We take our positions and have the ship’s engine fired up and our navigation set in no time at all. In moments we’re hurtling through the atmosphere and beyond.
“No sign of pursuit,” Najar states matter-of-factly, his tentacles flying over the control panel at his station and his eyes surveying the screens with laser focus.
He’s the sarcastic but more serious one in our trio and we love him to pieces. He knows how to rein in Luna and me when we get too carried away. Najar is the most loyal being I know, and he’s the kind of guy you want in your corner ‘when the shit hits the fan’ as the humans say.
I beam at him. “That’s because Luna and I designed a foolproof cloaking shield for this ship.”
“You bet your ass we did,” she singsongs.
Rambo lets out a series of beeps and says, “Hail to the king, baby.”
Luna chortles. “You know it!”
Najar flicks a suspicious glance at me. “I thought for sure your fiancé and his men would have figured out the coordinates of the location you beamed us to.”
I avert my gaze, but a few of my traitorous tentacles coil in guilt and give me away.
Najar’s eyebrows snap together sternly. “Kheph? What did you do?”
I pretend to be focused on my own screen even though the navigation route is already on autopilot and there’s little more for me to do at the moment.
Luna snickers. “That’s his guilty tentacle pose.”
I scowl at her. “Is not.”
“Is too.”
“It is so not!”
Najar’s mouth quirks and then he throws his head back and laughs, the sound filling me with familiar warmth. “It totally is. Don’t forget we’ve known you since childhood.”
I cross my arms and my tentacles wrap around my shoulders. “Fine. I may have ensured the system scrambled our coordinates after we teleported.” I pause. “And might have sent them to the Vamorox Desert.”
There is a long pause as my friends stare at me in open-mouthed shock. Then, Luna starts to cackle with glee and gives me a high tentacle, slapping mine hard enough to sting. “Nice work, Kheph! That stupid buttmunch had it coming. He didn’t care about you. He was only interested in your family’s money. He deserves to wander around that awful place until he gets eaten by a jabbergack.”
While I wouldn’t go quite that far, sadly, I know she’s right about the money. Worse yet, even my parents knew it. But they were just thrilled to find a warrior willing to marry a weirdo like me that they were happy to ignore his far from romantic motivations.
“I’m sure they’ll be fine. Their communicator signals will work out there. It means they’ll just have to wait a while for rescue. By the time anyone figures out what we’ve actually done, we’ll be light years away.”
Luna eyes me thoughtfully. “Are you going to contact your parents? Once we’re out of range, I mean.”
I wince. “Probably? Just not right away.” I shake my head. “I do love them. They’re good people. They’re just mired in tradition and have trouble broadening their worldview, let alone their galaxyview.”
Luna’s eyes grow sad. “My folks are much the same.”
I sigh. “My parents don’t get my yearning to travel the universe to see other worlds and meet other species. For them, a vacation to another world every now and again is enough. But I’ve always wanted so much more.” I flush. “And my passion project is one I know they’d think was frivolous.”
Luna nods, her eyes knowing and sympathetic. “Same. I left a message for my parents that will be delivered to them in a few hours. They’re not going to be happy about what I’ve done, but they’ve got my obedient older brother and sister who followed the traditional path. They can’t be too upset if their youngest child decides to fully embrace being the family’s social misfit.” She shrugs. “If you’d decided to marry that fool, I probably would have stolen the ship right out from under you and headed off on my own.”
I snort. “Now that I can believe.”
In all honesty, I should have known that Luna would have caught wind of my plan and want in on it. Not just because she loves and supports me in all things, but because we’re kindred spirits on many levels. She’s like the sister Najar and I never had. She and I are on the same energetic wavelength most of the time, and Najar keeps us from careening out of control. It’s kind of a shame that none of us have ever had any romantic feelings for each other. Things might have been a lot easier if Najar had wanted to marry me or Luna. But few things are simple in this life.
I’m secretly glad that Luna decided I was being an idiot and invited herself along on this adventure. Najar and I would have been lost without her if I’m honest. Plus, she probably would have hunted us down and cheerfully cut off a tentacle each for leaving her behind.
It would grow back. But it would hurt like a sonofabitch.
The moment we break through the final layer of atmosphere I stare around me with awe. I’ve been on several ships for short missions before, even a couple of longer vacations with my family, but the lure of the universe has never lost its magical appeal. To finally be the captain of my own ship, and ergo, my own destiny, is a heady rush. For the first time in my life, I’m totally free. I can go wherever I want in this universe. Just thinking of the possibilities makes me giddy.
I wave my excited tentacles at my friends. “We’re entering light speed momentarily, so get ready.”
Luna cocks her head, a grin spreading across her face. “Where are we going?”
Even Najar arches an eyebrow and one tentacle at me, no doubt wondering the same thing.
I try not to bounce in my command seat. “We’re taking the honeymoon trip I’ve always dreamed of. Trust me, this adventure is all about bucket lists—for all of us! As captain, I am claiming the privilege of pursuing one of my items first.”
Luna’s eyes widen. “Your really big one? The one we’ve talked about for years?”
I nod in time with my eager tentacles. “Indeed. We’re on a direct course for Earth!”
Najar frowns. “We don’t have clearance to land on Earth. There’s no way the Alliance will let us do so.”
I can’t hold back a pout. “I know. It’s quite unfortunate that our physical appearance would be too upsetting to the majority of Earth’s population, at least according to the Alliance. However, based on my calculations, it is nearing that time of year when the humans celebrate the most magical of all Earth holidays.”
Najar groans long and loud. “I should have known better. Kheph, you can’t be serious about this.”
Luna does a little dance in her seat. “Right on! This is going to be awesome.”
My tentacles are vibrating. “Yes, my bestest of besties. It’s almost that special season in which humans celebrate the holiday known as Christmas.”
Rambo beeps a few times and says, “The Dude abides.”
“Kill me now,” Najar mutters. “Your mutual love of this foolish human holiday is ridiculous.”
Luna ignores him and sighs dreamily. “It’s so romantic. The Hallmark movies always make it seem so festive and special. And true love is always in the air.”
My tentacles wriggle enthusiastically. “Exactly! I have become so enamored of this holiday that I wish to experience it for myself. The real deal, as Earthlings say.”
Najar crosses his arms and a couple of his tentacles and scowls at me. “There is no way we’re going to be able to celebrate this holiday incognito on Earth. The Alliance will have us deported in a heartbeat.”
I waggle a tentacle at him in admonishment. “No, no, no, my dear friend. We’re going to celebrate Christmas on our ship.”
He looks confused. “Why do we need to go to Earth for that?”
“Because I want to create an authentic Christmas experience, and to do that I need the guidance and knowledge of a human.”
Najar frowns. “I already told you—”
“So we’re going to invite one on an intergalactic Christmas adventure aboard our ship!”
He freezes. For the first time in a long time, I’ve rendered Najar speechless.
I’m rather proud of that.
Luna’s eyes sparkle. “Who is this awesome fucking rebel and what did he do with my formerly rule-abiding friend?”
I beam at her. “I’m just embracing my true self at last.”
Najar finally recovers. “Adventure isn’t the word I’d use for what you’re planning. It’s another ‘A’ word entirely.”
“But it will be an adventure,” I protest.
Rambo does a little pirouette of sorts. “You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means.”
“This is a very bad idea,” Najar moans, his tentacles coiling and uncoiling with obvious displeasure.
“Not at all,” I tell him confidently. “We give one lucky Earthling the experience of a lifetime on an actual alien ship and, in return, they teach us the true ways of Christmas. Besides, we’ll give the Earthling some very nice gifts to take home at the end of their stay with us. It is a requirement of the holiday after all.”
Luna gives me a high tentacle again. “This plan sounds epic and I’m totally on board—pun intended. Let’s do it.”
I smack my tentacle against hers and fire up the light speed ignition. “Heck yeah.”
“Ah, buckle this! Ludicrous speed! Go!” Rambo says as we jolt forward on a direct course for planet Earth.
Christmas, here I come!
Building on a Hope by Michele Notaro
Prologue
Raphael
ONE HUNDRED FIFTY YEARS AGO
Icouldn’t be more grateful to have a week off. Working for the Conclave had been a great change, but it was exhausting. Being in a quiet, small town seemed like a good idea until I realized there was only one tavern. Hopefully, they had a good selection.
Walking inside, I took my hat off and walked straight over to the bar, sitting on the stool in the corner so I could keep an eye on the other customers. The bartender was at the other end helping another patron, so I tapped my fingers while I waited. With a quick glance around, I made sure no one was paying attention to the newcomer, but everyone was minding their own business. Good. I took the opportunity to run my eyes down the length of the bartender. He was slim, but I could tell he was fit. Not too skinny, and his rear was firm. Very firm from the looks of it.
When the man finally turned around, my breath caught. He was gorgeous with those bright blue eyes and light hair. His eyes shone even from across the long bar, but as soon as they met mine, I froze. I could feel his power from here. He wasn’t a human; he was a warlock. But… there weren’t any known warlocks living in this town. That was why I’d picked it as my home base. Close to work, but far from anything in the magical community.
The bartender’s face morphed from friendly to terrified in a millisecond, obviously picking up on the fact that I was a warlock as well. I wasn’t sure why that terrified him so much, unless he was on the run from the Conclave. For reasons I couldn’t explain, I didn’t want him to run. I didn’t want him scared. His blue eyes had snared me from the moment I saw them, so I sent him a soft, friendly smile in the hopes of mollifying him.
The terror on his face didn’t ease, but he did make his way over to me, albeit slowly.
When he stopped in front of me, he said in a soft voice, “What can I get you?” His shaky voice betrayed his fear.
“I’ll take your best whiskey.”
He nodded and went to turn around, but I wasn’t done with him yet, so I grabbed his sleeve for a second to stop him. When he looked me in the eyes, I let go and said, “I’m Raphael Leif Crane Bloodgood. Who are you?”
He swallowed thickly. “Isiah.” He didn’t give me a last name, and that was alright. At least he hadn’t run yet.
“It’s nice to meet you, Isiah.” I glanced around to be sure no one was listening, then lowered my voice. “I’d like to talk to you in private, if that’s alright with you?”
His eyes drew down, and I could feel his fear underneath his skin. His magic was rippling, and even though he was scared, his power had a calming feel to it, earthy and wonderful.
To put him at ease, I added, “I only want to talk, Isiah. I could… use a friend in this town.”
He searched my face for a few seconds before he nodded. “If you’d like to stay until closing time, we can talk then.”
I nodded and smiled. “That would be wonderful.”
“I’ll retrieve your drink.”
I stayed the rest of the night, expecting him to make a break for it, but other than shooting me glances and long looks, he’d stuck to doing his job.
At the end of the night, he closed and locked the door after the last patron left, then turned to me, and immediately, threw a shield up in front of himself. His earthy magic took on a vine appearance that was mesmerizing. If he wasn’t so scared of me right now, I would ask if I could examine and admire it.
“What is it that you want, Mr. Bloodgood? I have no obligation to the Conclave. I’ve broken none of your laws. I’ve minded my own business. Why have you come for me?” His words were strong, but I heard the small quiver at the end.
“Isiah, I’m not here on Conclave business. I came in for a drink because I’m renting a room in town and was looking for a place to relax.”
“If you’re not here on Conclave business, why did you want a word in private?”
I sent him a smile. “Because I thought it would be nice to make a friend here, and… you’re beautiful.” I couldn’t have said that in front of humans, not to another man, but warlocks didn’t have the same disposition on men lying with other men or women with other women. We never had. Our culture was of the mind that love was a celebration, no matter who it was that you loved.
“Excuse me?” Isiah dropped his hand, but didn’t release his shield.
“Even your magic is beautiful, Isiah… what did you say your surname was?”
“I didn’t.”
When he didn’t offer it, I figured maybe that was why he was scared, so I left it alone. For the time being. “Would you feel better if I took an oath and promised you no harm?”
His shield faltered. “You would do that?”
“Of course.” I pulled my magic around myself and willed it to do my bidding. My magic was fire-based. Not surprising since there was always a bit of a risk that I’d explode at any moment. “I vow to do no harm to Isiah… as long as he does no harm to me.” My fire magic swirled around me, burning the oath into my very skin. My fire never burned me, but this was different. This was a promise spell, one I had every intention of keeping. It was well worth it to spend even one minute with the beautiful man in front of me. If I broke it, the burning would intensify by one hundred or more, burning me from the inside.
Isiah dropped his shield. “I cannot believe you did that. You don’t know me.”
“No, I don’t. But I’d like to.”
He licked his pink lips and scanned the bar before nodding. “What would you like to know?”
My magic hummed underneath my skin as if it wanted to reach out and touch Isiah’s. I grinned and took a step closer to him. He held his ground, watching me warily, and I whispered, “Do you feel that?”
He nodded.
“I think… it’s as if my magic recognizes yours,” I whispered. “It wants to know you as badly as I do.”
His eyes were searching for a long moment before he admitted, “Mine feels the same.”
I smiled at him, then held my hand out, palm up. An invitation.
He hesitated before gently placing his hand in mine. The moment our skin touched, I felt both our magics come to life, like two cats rubbing against each other in soft caresses. His bright blue eyes met mine, and I knew without a shadow of a doubt that he felt it as well. It felt like we were meant to meet, meant to know each other.
I whispered, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Isiah. Would you like to go somewhere to talk?”
He swallowed thickly and nodded. “Up on the roof. My familiar likes to explore at night, and I like to keep an eye on her.”
I smiled. “Mine will meet us there as well.”
He gingerly released his hand from my grip, then walked toward the back door. When he glanced over his shoulder and gestured for me to follow, I took a step toward him, and somewhere deep inside, I knew my life would never be the same.
* * *
Lazarus
SIXTEEN MONTHS AGO
Traveling for work could be fun, especially when I came away from an estate sale with some great pieces for my antiques shop. I didn’t travel too often anymore, but I was glad I didn’t pass up this opportunity. And tonight, I was celebrating.
The hotel’s bar had been nearly empty and kinda sad, so I walked down the street to another bar that had a rainbow sticker in the window. I wasn’t particularly looking for a guy or a gal tonight, but at least I knew I wouldn’t get my ass kicked if I was caught ogling a man’s ass.
As I started on my second beer, a man sat beside me to order his own, and when he turned a sexy smirk on me, I was blown away. His eyes were dark, his face covered in a trim beard, his dark brown hair was styled messily, and he was big—tall and muscular, probably big enough to manhandle me, if I let him.
After I ran my eyes over the length of him, his smirk grew, and my stomach fluttered. I was in trouble with this one.
He held out his hand to shake. “I’m Leif. Nice to meet you.”
“Lazarus.” I shook his hand, and as soon as our skin touched, I gasped. It was like an electric shock ran from him to me. The buzzing sent a thrill through me, and I suddenly never wanted to let go. Actually, I wanted to get closer to him. Maybe climb on those massive thighs of his.
His eyes widened for a moment—did he feel it, too?—but he slowly pulled his hand back. “Can I get you a drink?”
I nodded even though I didn’t need another drink. He could’ve asked me anything in that moment, and I would’ve agreed. It was as if some weird power drew me in like a moth to a flame. And I was pretty sure I was going to get burned if I didn’t pull away. Only, I didn’t want to stop. I wanted to scoot closer to him and press my body to his side. I wanted to touch him.
The smile on his lips lit up his brown eyes, and I was sure he could sense how much I wanted him.
I didn’t do a lot of one-night stands, but holy hotness Batman, I’d take whatever this man was willing to give me.
“So do you live around here, or are you just visiting?” he asked me after he got me another beer. I suppose we need to do the whole small-talk thing before I can ask him to get naked, huh?
“Visiting. I’m on a business trip, actually.”
“Oh really? So am I. What is it that you do?”
I took a sip of my drink. “I own an antiques shop. What about you? What brought you here?”
“I was following a lead.”
“A lead? Are you a detective or something?”
He smirked. “Something like that.” He took a sip, and I watched his throat work before he asked, “What’s an antiques dealer doing here?”
It took me a moment to process his questions because I was still staring at his throat—who knew a throat could be so sexy? “There was a huge estate sale that I couldn’t pass up.”
He nodded. “Did you find anything to make the trip worthwhile?”
“A few pieces.” I ran my eyes up and down his body. “I’m pretty sure this trip was well worth my while.”
He grinned, set his drink down, and slid off his stool so his chest was against my arm. “Is that right?”
His breath on my skin sent shivers through my entire body and straight to my dick. It was already perking up and ready to say hello to this gorgeous stranger. I nodded and whispered, “Yes, definitely.”
“You wanna get out of here?” he breathed into my ear.
Another shiver ran down my spine, and my cock twitched a hell yes in my pants. “Yes.”
Immediately, he grabbed my hand and pulled me off my stool. The motion brought us chest to chest, and I tilted my head back to look up at him. He leaned down close to my ear, then pulled the lobe between his teeth as he asked, “Your hotel close?”
I nodded as I panted; my body was already aching for more from that small tease.
That sexy smirk played on his face as he laced his fingers through mine and pulled me out the door.
Should I be bringing a stranger strong enough to break me in half into my hotel room?Uh, probably not.
Do I care?
One look at that rugged face, those deep brown eyes, and those lips I wanted to devour, and I had my answer. Nope, I don’t care at all.
Outside the bar, I gestured toward the hotel since I hadn’t found my voice yet, and he suddenly stopped, turned quickly, and crashed our chests together. Then he roughly grabbed my hair, leaned down, and captured my lips in a bruising kiss that lit me up like nothing ever had.
A moan came out of my throat as he muttered, “Needed a taste first,” and he released me to walk toward the hotel.
With my lips tingling, I followed after him.
* * *
Isiah
ELEVEN MONTHS AGO
When I heard the door creak open, I stifled a sigh. I’d come out here to be alone. Should’ve known he’d follow me.
“Hey,” he said quietly. “Couldn’t sleep?”
I shook my head as I stared up at the stars. “No. You?”
He walked over and sat beside me on the top porch step. Since it was a small space, his broad shoulders barely fit, making him knock into me with every little movement. And each time, a small shiver ran down my arm.
But I was blaming that on the cold weather.
He answered, “Not really. Haven’t been sleeping much lately.”
“You know Raph and I will keep you safe, right?”
He grunted, so I finally pulled my gaze away from the night sky to examine the man beside me. Laz was only a little taller than me, but wider in the chest and shoulders, and if I was being completely honest with myself, I could admit that he was handsome—more than handsome; he was hot as hell—and I could see why Raph was attracted to him.
He caught my eye and whispered, “I’m sorry.”
My brow furrowed. “For what? Raph definitely deserved that punch.”
Laz barked out a laugh. “He did. I’m not sure what else he expected when he called Grady and me cunty whores that were only seeking a fat warlock cock to fill our mouths because we’re filthy little humans… or however the hell he said it.”
The corner of my mouth lifted. “He has a mouth on him. He always has. Especially if he’s caught off guard or upset.”
“Yeah, I’m beginning to see that. But that’s not what I’m apologizing for.”
“What are you apologizing for then?”
Laz ran his hand through his hair. “I’m sorry about what happened between Raph and me… you know, um… over the summer.” He angled his body to face me. “I swear I didn’t know about you. I never would’ve… If I had known he had someone, I never would’ve—”
“Lazarus,” I cut him off.
He swallowed. “Yeah?”
“You did nothing wrong.”
“But Raph…”
“He did nothing wrong either.”
A confused expression passed over his face. “But I thought you two were soul-pledged. Like Alaric and Grady. I… I don’t understand.”
“We are soul-pledged, but he’s free to seek out another’s comfort anytime he wants.”
He seemed to think that over for a moment before whispering in a soft voice, “So you’re not mad at me?”
I took him in again, and this time I saw the worry and hurt in his appearance. For the past week that Raph and I had been acting as his guards, I’d thought he was simply shy. But now that I was looking closer, I could see that he was worried and sad. And hurt. I wasn’t sure how much of that was from me, but if I could make some of that sadness fade from his eyes, I’d do it in a heartbeat.
I whispered, “Of course not, Lazarus.”
The tension seeped out of him, and he closed his eyes in relief. “I thought you hated me.”
Gently, I placed my hand on his knee. “I’ve never hated you.”
“You don’t like me, though.”
“That’s not… that’s not it.”
“Then why have you been…” he trailed off, but he didn’t need to finish that sentence.
I’d been keeping my distance from him, and for the most part, keeping to myself since Raph and I agreed to stand guard over the human. Some of that was because I was focusing on the job at hand and waiting for that evil witch, Claudette Rathmore, to make her move. But a lot of it had been because Raph had seemed so infatuated with Laz. I knew they’d been together last summer for one night, but the sexual tension between them made it hard to breathe. Raph’s one-night stands, I could handle. This wanting another round thing was making me uncomfortable. But I’d given up my claim to Raphael long ago, so I had no right to it. And I certainly shouldn’t be making Lazarus pay for the many mistakes Raph and I had made in the past.
So I went for honesty with him. He deserved that much. “You won’t say anything to Raph, right?” When he shook his head, I continued, “Raph and I aren’t together in that sense, but sometimes it’s hard to watch him with…” I waved my hand around, then gestured to Laz.
He hesitated, then said, “If it makes you feel any better, he lied and told me his name was Leif.”
I snorted and rolled my eyes. “That’s his middle name.”
“Oh.”
“He uses it when we’re on missions, at least that’s what he uses when interacting with humans. It’s better not to give our full names to non-magic users in case they come looking for us later on. It’s a Conclave rule.” I shrugged.
“Oh. You didn’t do that with me.”
“You’re different. You have special permission to be involved because of your best friend.”
He nodded and fell quiet for a few seconds, then, “I’m sorry.”
A chuckle fell unbidden from my lips. “I thought we established you have nothing to be sorry for.”
He shook his head. “I mean that I’m sorry it upsets you.”
“Not your fault.”
“It’s not yours either.”
I lifted a shoulder in assent. “True.”
He hesitated, then whispered, “I know what it’s like to feel lonely, and I’m sorry if I’ve added to that feeling.”
I almost didn’t respond to that, but then I sighed and said, “Thanks, I…” I cleared my throat. “Having you out here with me is nice.”
He sent me a sweet smile. “Yeah, it is.”
That smile was filled with such kindness and compassion, it nearly broke me. Gods, Lazarus was entirely too sweet for me, for Raph, for our world.
We both gazed at the stars for a long time in companionable silence before Laz asked, “Do you think we can be friends or is this… thing going to get in the way of that?”
I bumped his shoulder. “I think we can work something out.”
“I think I’d like that.”
We shared a smile before looking up yet again. Being in Laz’s presence—when I wasn’t thinking about him and Raph together—was calming. Peaceful, even. I hadn’t slept well since we arrived in this town and had been trying to protect Raph’s younger brother, his partner, and now, Laz. I’d been too stressed about what was coming. But sitting here with Lazarus had me relaxing more than I had in at least a week, and I found myself leaning into him.
When my cheek pressed to his shoulder, I jerked my head up and off of him and muttered, “Sorry.”
He shot me a grin. “I don’t mind.”
“Maybe I should go to bed,” I said, feeling awkward, but not awkward enough to get up and move.
When neither of us moved after several minutes, Laz lifted his arm in invitation. “I’m not going to sleep anytime soon, but if you want to sleep out here, I don’t mind. At least one of us would get some rest.” The and you won’t be lonely wasn’t said, but was clearly implied.
I scanned his face for dishonesty and found none. Staring at his arm, all I could think about was how much I really needed the comfort of a warm body. Not sexually, just the touch of another, a hug, or something like that. And that was exactly what Lazarus was offering, so I slowly scooted back over and rested my head on his shoulder. Laz wrapped his arm around me and pulled me closer. I was tense and stiff, but I started to relax with every passing second. Being pressed to his side and inhaling his peppermint scent immediately put me at ease.
Laz rested his cheek on the top of my head and mumbled, “Go to sleep, Isiah. I’ll wake you if anything weird happens.”
“We’re well within the wards here. We’re safe.” My eyes were barely open and my words were jumbled, so I wasn’t sure if he could understand me.
“I know.”
I let my eyes drift completely closed, and found myself wrapped in my new friend’s arms as I fell into a peaceful sleep for the first time in several days, perhaps several weeks.
Julia Talbot lives in the Southwest of the United States with her partner, BA Tortuga, her three basset hounds, and lots of cactus. She loves big hats, romance novels, and rubbing two people together, regardless of gender. Julia writes mostly MM and ménage, but loves all the colors of the rainbow. She is an indie hybrid author.
Hiya, I’m Avery Cockburn (rhymes with Savory Slow Churn). My days are filled with beautiful men who play beautiful games in the most beautiful place in the world. Being an author is pretty much the best job ever.
I live in the United States with one infinitely patient man and two infinitely impatient cats. Readers make my day, so email me at avery@averycockburn.com, or sign up for my readers group at newsletter to get a FREE book plus loads of exclusive Glasgow Lads bonus material. Cheers!
Ava Beringer is a major-league nerd who started off writing fanfiction and fell in love with mpreg and omegaverse. She loves to heat up a slick omega and a knotty alpha. By day she’s a good thirty-something midwestern girl, but she has a dark side. Okay, not really. She’s as bubbly as champagne but she can be pretty darn cheeky when you get her going.
She’s a digital nomad who’s traveled to thirty-five countries and counting. If she’s lucky, a cat will adopt her along the way.
Pick up your FREE SHORT STORIES, hear about her new releases and misadventures here, and tell her about yours! ❤
Chloe Archer currently calls the arctic wilds of Minnesota home but has spent much of her life abroad in places like Montreal, Edinburgh, and Tokyo. One day she hopes to live somewhere sunny and warm. She loves to travel, eat spicy food, and geek out about her fandoms. In her spare time (Ha! What’s that?) she’s an avid reader with far too many books and not enough bookcases, a wannabe tea and coffee connoisseur, and a karaoke fanatic. When she’s not making herself laugh out loud while writing adorkable gay rom-coms, she can be found walking her two Yorkies (Teddy and Jasper,) trying to finish that blanket she’s been knitting for five years or spending time with friends and family.
Michele is married to an awesome guy that puts up with her and all the burnt dinners she makes—hey, sometimes characters are a bit distracting, and who doesn’t plot when they’re supposed to be cooking? They live together in Baltimore, Maryland with two little monsters, a three-legged fiend, and a little old man (aka their two sons, their cat, and their senior dog). She hopes to rescue another cat soon, and if her hubby wouldn’t kill her, she’d get more than one… and maybe a few more dogs as well.
She loves creating worlds filled with lots of love, chosen family, and of course, magic, but she also likes making the characters fight for that happy ending. She hopes to one day write all the stories in her head—even if there are too many to count!
Avery Cockburn
EMAIL: avery@averycockburn.com
Ava Beringer
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