Summary:
Chestorford Coyotes #2
A young adult hockey romance filled with making amends, family, friends, and discovering the real person inside while juggling the crazy, upside-down world of high school.
Jonah Robinson has really messed up. He’s spent the last year hanging out with someone who wasn’t leading him in a good direction. Now that Felix has seen the light, perhaps it’s time for Jonah to do the same. Making amends is not going to be easy when he’s not exactly been the nicest guy at Chesterford. With the help of his family and a special friend at the school, Jonah is ready to try to make things right with those he wronged. The first person on that long redemption list is Tyler, the brightest player on the Coyotes, at least in Jonah’s eyes. He’s taken a thousand pictures of Tyler for the school paper, but he’s going to have to learn how to develop more than just negatives if he wants to grow close to Tyler.
Tyler Corrigan’s dad has left, his mom is terrified he’ll come back, and it’s Tyler who’s left to keep his little family in one piece. The only respite from real life is playing hockey, and he’s an important part of the Chesterford Coyotes. Despite not being the biggest person on the ice, speed is his superpower, and the team has his back during the worst of the bullying he’s had to endure. His friends make him feel safe when his real world is full of fear, but no one can protect his heart when an awkward and messed up Jonah—one of the worst of his bullies—is suddenly around every corner, wanting to make things right.
Sorry can be a difficult word to believe, but trusting your heart is everything.
Original Review October 2023:
I've been wracking my brain(and yes I know I could just look it up on my kindle but why go the easy route?😉) to recall if the authors let us know that book 2 would be Tyler and Jonah's journey but I remember being certain it would be when I read Off the Ice. I was not disappointed because the only thing keeping Tyler & Jonah from replacing Soren & Felix as my favorite pair is that S&F came first and in a multi-couple series, the first is always my favorite.
Unlike Felix, Jonah did not have a dysfunctional homelife that lead him down the path of bullying, for him it came down to peer pressure, following the pack, not quite having the courage to say "enough!". It may not make his behavior in book 1 acceptable but it does show that the ability to change is present. There were signs of his heart in his scenes in book one so watching just where his heart and thoughts are in book 2 is absolutely lovely. The scenes with his little sisters says it all, they may only be a few but for me how a brother treats his little siblings can go a long way to setting a characters' worth.
Tyler has not had it easy at home or at school thanks to the likes of Miles and one time followers, Felix and Jonah. But now that Felix has found the courage to walk away thanks to Soren and Jonah is trying to follow Felix's path, school should be easier but Miles is still around and seeing as Miles(and many in the school) believe it was Tyler who turned the bully in will it really be better? For that answer you have to read for yourself. As I stated, Tyler's homelife hasn't been the best either but breaking free of his dad's hold in their life gave both Tyler and his mom a chance at building a better future, but that doesn't mean they can just flip a switch and it's all hunky dory, it takes time but Tyler is definitely a determined youth.
Together the boys find a new way forward, though it's neither easy nor instant but perhaps that is what makes it worth fighting for all that much more sweeter. I just want to wrap them both in tight Mama Bear hugs until everything is perfect but life is about learning and growing, we readers can only do so much in the wanting to protect department. On Thin Ice is a very lovely and honest journey of growth and happiness which can make it sound and seem very adult at times. They do have to grow up sooner than most but they still are teenagers at heart, Scott & Locey do a brilliant job of balancing their youthful friendship and eventual romance with the angst that forces them to face that adulting a little sooner than many of their classmates.
As I started with not remembering if the authors' clued us into who would be at the heart of book 2 at the final page of book 1, I can say here in On the Ice we briefly met Shaun and Kenji who we know will have their story told Spring of 2024 and I can't wait. I may not read much in the young adult genre, with a few exceptions(Anne of Green Gables comes to mind) I probably have only read a handful since I myself was a young adult(as I turned to the likes of Sidney Sheldon, Danielle Steel, and Jackie Collins by the time I was 15) so I hate to make comparisons to other YA stories, especially in the LGBT area. Perhaps I'm a little biased for 2 of my favorite authors, RJ Scott & VL Locey, but I think they do an amazing job delving into the youthful storytelling in Chesterford Coyotes and of course it's definitely worthy of the Scott & Locey Hockey Universe moniker. A true delight from beginning to end.
Summary:
Vale Valley Season 5 #9
What happens when the life you envisioned is snatched away and something else takes its place?
Alpha Private Investigator Milton loves his job and his life. What’s not to love? Business is booming and each day is a new adventure—that is until the adventure turns deadly and a hit is put on his life leaving him with two choices: Stay and face certain death or leave and start a new life. He chooses the latter, only taking with him his stash of emergency cash, his fake passports, and the teddy bear he’s had since his childhood, the one he imagined so many crazy adventures with and he, for some reason, could never let go of. As it turns out, his adventures weren’t so imaginary, and Horace, his bear, is more of a friend than a toy.
Omega Tristan has accepted his former life is over and that Vale Valley is both his present and future. Sometimes, you just have to start from scratch, and his starting over came with a beautiful surprise, his childhood toy, Patch, was more than he ever knew. Only now, Patch has gone missing, and he goes to the only person who he thinks might understand, the new PI in town, the one rumored to have his own enchanted bear.
As Milton and Tristan begin a quest to unearth what was lost, they become entangled in something bigger than they expected, they discover a magic they didn’t know existed, including the magic of true love.
Beary Merry Christmas is Book 9 in Season Five of the popular Vale Valley Mpreg Romance Shared World Series. It features two men who are looking for something neither of them knew they were missing, two adorable teddy bears that are so much more than their owners originally thought thanks to the magic that is Vale Valley, fae magic that is filled with mischief, and an adorable baby, all against the backdrop of the most magical holiday of all: Christmas. If you enjoy reading about smexy men, true love, new beginnings, and a journey that is as old as time itself, a Beary Merry Christmas is the book for you.
Summary:
In 1805, Charles Denham’s comfortable life in Regency London with his long-term partner Avery Mallory is disrupted by the sudden death of his father. As the heir to a modest country estate in Gloucestershire, Charles returns home to care for his bereaved family and take up his new responsibilities.
Overwhelmed with grief, rather than leaning on Avery, Charles becomes fixed on the idea of taking a wife for reasons of family duty alone. With this plan in mind, he travels the short distance to Bath only to find that Avery and his family have already arrived at the resort.
Will Charles follow through with his ill-conceived plan for a hasty betrothal by Christmas? Or will he come to his senses and resume his relationship with the nicest man in England?
Summary:
Games We Play #3.5
Tis the season for Mistle-Joe kisses...
What happens when I step under the mistletoe with my co-worker at a holiday party? An idiotic, reckless mistake that could change everything.
Our sweet, chaste kiss quickly turns to fire. And when Joe offers himself up for the taking, I'm no longer strong enough to deny myself. At least, for one night.
It can't go any further. I've been down that road before--and mixing business and pleasure cost me everything. But the craving for him only gets stronger once I know how good we can be together.
Joe is sweet and considerate, and judging by the friendly overtures, he'd like more. But how can I trust my heart when it's led me astray before?
It's going to take a holiday festival, a drunk Santa, and a romantic carriage ride to make me see my grinchy heart has space to grow--a space just for Joe.
Christmas Falls #4
Of all the things Murphy Clark loves about Christmas Falls, there’s always been one he loves a little more than the rest:
His childhood best friend, Jem Knight.
Doesn’t matter that Jem’s barely been home in years, or that he’s busy conquering football fields instead of hanging out at Jolly Java or admiring Murphy’s carved wooden gnomes. Murphy’s always loved him anyway.
But now Jem’s finally returned to Christmas Falls to be the honorary figurehead of the biggest holiday festival in the Midwest.
Murphy’s hoping to rekindle their friendship but he didn’t count on Jem not recognizing him. Or flirting with him. Or re-igniting the hopeless crush he’s always had for his best friend.
He definitely didn’t expect for his crush to no longer be hopeless at all.
Or for both of them to realize that all they want for Christmas this year is each other.
Christmas Falls is a multi-author M/M romance series set in a small town that thrives on enough holiday charm to rival any Hallmark movie.
On Thin Ice by RJ Scott & VL Locey
Chapter One
Jonah
I was kind of doomed.
Actually, I was totally doomed. Like Dr. Doom was dropping all the doom he possessed—which was a lot—onto my head, and while it sucked, it was kind of expected. Still, I hated sitting at the kitchen table being chewed out by my folks as my siblings snickered in the living room.
“… cannot believe that you’ve been bullying people, Jonah. I know your mother and I raised you better. Look at me, Jonah. I want to make sure you’re soaking in what I’m saying to you.”
I raised my eyes from the bracelets on my wrist. My father’s gaze met mine across the kitchen table, and what I saw in those dark brown eyes made me feel even shittier. He was not proud of me at all, neither was Mom, who was chewing on her lower lip, her light blue eyes worried and damp. I’d made her cry. Talk about feeling like something scraped out of my baby sister’s diaper.
“I know it was wrong,” I mumbled as I fingered the slim rubber bracelet with the bi colors on it. I’d slid it on just this afternoon, after seeing Tyler and his friends from the Gay Student Alliance working on decorations for the Halloween dance. A dance I was supposed to cover for the Chesterford Chronicle, the student paper, but that I wasn’t allowed to go to because the principal had called my parents in for a conference. Seemed someone had dropped an anonymous note into the suggestion box outside the administration office saying that Jonah Robinson and Miles Brooks were using racial and homophobic slurs against other students. That had been the start of a really, awful, super-sized, monstrously bad day. And by the looks on my parents’ faces, this terrible day was going to stretch into a craptastic week or month. Hell, maybe a year. I’d probably not see the outside world apart from school until I was sixteen.
I deserved it all though.
“Jonah, if you knew it was wrong why did you do it?” Mom asked, pushing a strand of strawberry blonde hair behind her ear.
I wanted to explain that I’d overheard Mom and Dad talking about her job with Felix’s family’s company, about how losing her job would be a major hit to the family budget, how it worried them, how they wished they had something real they could hold onto.
I wanted to tell them the horrors of being bullied at my old school—that it didn’t matter what school I was at, I never fitted.
I wanted to explain that this was why I’d hung onto Felix, and by extension Miles, just to keep myself protected, to keep my mom’s job safe. Felix would go to bat for my mother if he and I were friends.
To try to fix everything wrong in my head.
All I could do was hang my head in shame.
“Peer pressure,” Dad snapped, pushing to his feet to get another cup of coffee. It was his third in the past hour. He’d given up smoking two years ago and had substituted coffee for the nicotine. Mom had been giving him decaf for the past six months, unbeknownst to him. “Why stay friends with Felix and Miles? You had to know that no good would come of it.”
I winced because it was all on me. I’d chosen to hang around them; it was me who’d put myself in that position.
Dad continued, this time with way more anger. “That damn Brooks family is a seething den of bigots. Remember the first time we went to the Chesterford Spring Carnival?”
“I remember,” Mom whispered, her jaw tightening.
“Greg Brooks walks up to me, big as you please, and asks me if I had permission to be on the school grounds.” Dad thunked his Carlisle Parks & Recreation mug on the counter next to the Keurig. “Does that man think that only White people are allowed to be on the Chesterford campus?” he asked the coffeemaker as he pawed in the big plastic container for the right pod. They were all the same, all green covers, but he dug around anyway, muttering to himself until he found the one that he wanted. The lone, red-covered pod amongst all the green. “Ha! Found one. Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing with the coffee, Emma.”
Mom gave me a wobbly smile as Dad went off about the Brooks clan. “I know that there aren’t many people of color on that campus, but to come right up to me and ask… why is this damn pot not making coffee?”
“Something probably plugged the needles. Let me fix it, just sit down, and talk to Jonah.” Mom gave my arm a pat, then rose to poke at the coffee pot needles with a paperclip. Dad sighed and flopped down across from me, then gave me one of those long, sad looks of his.
“I’m so disappointed in you, Jonah. I know it’s been hard to adjust to the new school. And I know we don’t have all the cash falling out of our—”
“Terrence, language,” Mom chided Dad. My younger siblings—three girls ranging from ten down to two—giggled out in the living room.
“Out of our pockets,” Dad hurried to amend while the opening strains of The Princess and the Frog flowed into the kitchen. “I know it’s been tough; I truly do. But you earned that scholarship in fine arts. You’re an amazing photographer. Someday, you’ll be out there snapping pictures for National Geographic or the New York Times.”
Yeah, that was the dream. If only I could fix the broken parts of me.
“I know it was wrong,” I said, again, and shame choked my words.
“Then why the hell did you do it? Why would you hang around people who are bigots? Make us understand, Jonah. Make me see why a biracial young man would pal around with two hateful people like Felix Sinclair and Miles Brooks.”
He sat back, arms folded over his wrinkled dress shirt. His tie was probably being worn by one of his daughters as a headband. Dad and Mom had been called into the principal’s office after lunch, pulling them away from his job as the director of Parks and Recreation for Carlisle Borough and her new job taking orders at the local fast food drive-thru window, which was what she has been doing since losing her job at Sinclair Industries’ main office. Both had been furious during that meeting. Furious, shocked, and ashamed.
“Felix has changed,” I blurted out. Dad rolled his eyes. Mom made a sound as she poked violently at some plastic bit from inside the coffeemaker. “He has, honestly.”
“Actions speak louder than words, Jonah. It’s easy to say you’ve changed,” Mom said, her jabbing of the plastic bit getting violent. Better the coffee basket than me. Mom was generally pretty chill, but when her only son acted like an asshole and she lost half a day’s pay, she got crabby.
“No, Felix really has changed. He’s dating Soren Rowe now, openly, and they seem really happy. Only, he kind of isn’t really talking to me and Miles anymore.” My sight went back to my wrist, the band of rubber in soft shades of pink, purple, and royal blue feeling right on my skin. I’d never actually thought of myself as bisexual, not really, until I started on the school paper at Chesterford and had an epiphany. As the lone photographer on the Chronicle staff, I covered… well, everything on campus, and lots of off-campus as well. Sports included. Which was cool because I liked sports a lot. I played tennis and basketball, not on a team, but with kids in the neighborhood or my dad. It wasn’t until I got to watch the Chesterford ice hockey team that I’d gotten into the sport. And then had the big bi wake-up call.
“That’s good to hear. Soren and his fathers are good people.” Mom finally got the coffeemaker flowing, the gurgles and hisses making Dad unclench. Soon they both had mugs in hand and were staring at me once more, waiting for me to say something brilliant. “I don’t think you should associate with Miles anymore,” Mom added, then took a sip of her coffee.
“Shouldn’t have been hanging around him to begin with,” Dad grumbled into his cup, sipping tentatively as Mom’s head bobbed. “We know you’re close to sixteen and feel the need to have your friends as you see fit, but—”
“No, no, I don’t want to hang out with Miles anymore. I was never friends with him, but after Felix went off with Soren, he expected me to… no… I won’t do it. He’s just wrong, and I won’t…” I couldn’t think of what else to say. There wasn’t any good in Miles, he wouldn’t have a redemption arc in my life story.
Mom glanced at Dad. “That’s good to hear. It’s easy to get sucked into toxic relationships when you’re new to a social group. But it’s been two years now, and you should be able to mix into a wide range of friendship groups. You’re smart, handsome, artistic, athletic, and funny.”
“Takes after his father,” Dad chimed in, his anger seeming to slowly be leaching away.
“That he does,” Mom said, leaning over to peck Dad on his neatly trimmed, bearded cheek. “I hope you can figure out where you fit in, honey.”
“Yeah, me too,” I murmured, plucking at the bracelet I’d thieved out of a box the GSA had stashed inside the front doors. They were planning on handing them out to students as they entered the dance. “So can I go to the dance on Friday?”
“You’re grounded.” Dad gave me a look over his coffee cup.
“But it’s for school,” I wheedled, then glanced at my mother, only she wasn’t backing down.
“Sorry, Jonah, but Mr. Wheeler will have to take the pictures for the dance. Being called into the principal’s office is not a minor offense, nor is bullying people. Now, go to your room and do your homework. Your father and I will decide on how long your punishment will be.”
I wanted to argue, but deep down I knew whatever they gave me would be justified. I’d been a fuck toad to some people who honestly didn’t deserve it. I got to my feet in silence and pushed in my chair, my eyes on the tips of my sneakers.
“And, son, we expect you to apologize to everyone you hurt,” Dad said, his words pulling my sight from my Converse. “I don’t care if Felix or Miles do it or not, your mother and I raised you to be kind to people, and if you hurt someone, you say you’re sorry. Isn’t that right, girls?”
“That’s right, Daddy!” Lana, Gemma, and Polly all yelled back in unison. Mom beamed, then frowned when the sound of shouting was followed by crying, then a feeble “Sorry” from Gemma. Mom pushed to her feet and exited the kitchen.
Dad gave me a firm look. “I mean it, Jonah. You make amends to the kids you hurt.”
“I will,” I whispered, rubbing my new bracelet.
I rushed my father, hugged him hard, then bolted out of the kitchen, through the living room to the stairs. Those I climbed two at a time, my vision blurry from unshed tears I did not want anyone to see. I burst through the door to my room, closed it, locked it, and then, stood in the center of my space as the tears ran down my cheeks. I dashed them away, unsure why I was even crying. The past couple of years had been hard.
So hard.
Being pulled from public school and dropped into a private school in my freshman year had been exciting. For about two days. Then, the differences between my middle-class family and most of the other families of the students at Chesterford had really started to show.
I could count on two hands the number of students at Chesterford who were BIPOC. There was one other Black guy on campus, Reggie Dunleavy, who played football and was the son of two plastic surgeons. A couple of Asian kids attended, and one Latina girl who was graduating this year, the daughter of Hector Manuel Rivera, the assistant mayor of Harrisburg and his wife, Elena, a corporate lawyer. Then there was me. Jonah Robinson, son of hard-working people with more love than ready cash, admitted to a scholarship program that opened the doors of private schools to the less fortunate. Of course, the wording on the application had been different, but that was the gist.
I toed off my shoes, fell across my bed, rolled to my back to stare at the poster of Johny Pitts, one of my idols. Johny was a biracial photographer and had made a name for himself in the UK doing a photo journey with poet Roger Robinson. They’d driven across the country asking What Is Black Britain? and the images and words from that trip were stunning. Someday, I hoped to be able to do something as meaningful as that for the world. Mom assured me I would, but it seemed so far away right now. I’d gotten off light at school, pulling three days detention for an admitted verbal battle Miles had gotten into while I’d hung back like a coward. I should have stood up for the kid Miles was calling a weak little sissy before giving the freshman a shoulder slam as he strolled away. I said nothing to Miles, but I did apologize to the kid before heading the opposite direction from Miles. I’d heard Miles shouting my name, but I had kept walking, and I planned to keep walking away from that kind of shit. Whether I found my crew or not. I just hoped I did find them soon. It was lonely being different…
I stared up at Johny as the sounds of my sister’s singing along to “Almost There” filtered up the stairs. When Dad’s voice joined the singalong, I had to tune out. Dad could not sing, like at all, but he sure thought he was the next coming of Snoop. Which he was not.
I found a playlist that I liked, pulling up something from one of my fave hip-hop/punk bands. While the family was jamming to Disney, I was listening to a trio of POC musicians singing about burning down the system, wondering if being biracial and bisexual was one too many bis for one dude to tote around.
I’d been drifting off when a soft knocking at my door pulled me from the hazy ether of in-between wakefulness and sleep.
“Jo-bah,” Polly whispered under the crack of my door. “Jo-bah, lemme in peas.”
There was nothing I could do, but let her in. There were times when my baby sisters got on my nerves, but overall, I loved them more than mostly anything on the planet. Aside from my parents, and our cat Linus. Oh, and my Kodak digital camera, purchased outright by me after working all summer at Betty Lo’s Creamery selling ice cream cones and milkshakes. Mom and Dad had been so proud of me for earning that money. Now, they thought I was a slug.
I am a slug. I’m lower than that. I’m just the same as the kids who’d picked on me at my old school.
I’m worse because I should have known better.
“Jo-bah, peas,” my baby sister called, and so, being a dopey, smitten big brother, I left my bed and unlocked the door for her.
She gazed up at me, a drawing in her chubby hand, big brown eyes set in her tan, round face, her hair a wild mass of light brown curls no comb or brush could ever tame. All the girls had tight curls, same as me, I just kept mine buzzed because who has the time? Besides, I got cool designs in the clipped sides like lightning bolts, half-moons, spiderwebs, and stars.
“Jo-bah sad?” she asked as she handed the drawing up to me. “You crying?”
“No, I’m not crying, but I am kind of sad,” I replied, examining the drawing. It was a brown circle with two black ovals that were maybe my eyes. Blue lines ran out of the black ovals, so possibly, those were tears? “Did you make this?”
“Uh-huh,” she answered, skirting around me to dash into my room, then climb onto my bed. She flopped to her back—Little Mermaid nightgown twisted around her middle, her chunky thighs and calves exposed—and grabbed her toes. “I see Johny.”
“Yeah, he’s still there.” I sat down beside her as she tried to stick her big toe into her nose. “Don’t do that,” I said, and she quit. For now. “Thanks for the drawing.”
“You well-comb. Why you sad?”
I fell back on the bed to lie beside her. She giggled and cuddled in close to my side. The girl was a major cuddle-bug. I’d lost count how many times she’d left her toddler bed to come into my room to sleep with me—at least twice a week, if not more. I didn’t mind. My bed was more than big enough for one teenager and one toddler.
“I did something bad,” I told her, figuring that was enough for her.
“Oh, Jo-bah, why did you do bad things?” she asked as she rooted under my arm. I lifted it, and she snuggled into my side.
“I don’t know. Why do you do bad things?” I asked, then glanced at her. She’d popped her thumb into her mouth, a sure sign she was tired. She shrugged. “Yeah, same here. But I won’t do those bad things anymore.”
Her tiny hand, the one with the free thumb, came up to pat my face. “Jo-bah good boy forever now,” she said—or I think that was what she said—around her thumb before her long lashes fell to rest on her pudgy cheeks. As she slept peacefully at my side, I pulled a notebook out of my backpack and opened it to a new page.
I had a list to make of the people I’d hurt.
And at the top of that list was Tyler Corrigan.
Yeah, I was doomed as doomed could be.
Beary Merry Christmas by Colbie Dunbar
One
Milton
“Halt! Who goes there?” I yelled.
A blood-curdling shriek rippled through the air as my associate, Horace, and I leapt out of the bushes near the lake, brandishing not swords, but a large magnifying glass and a notebook.
“What are you pair doing?”
We’d been trying to find a cat who’d wandered away from home, but instead, were gazing into the steely eyes of Calista Pond, head of the Vale Valley Hospital, and before we could answer, she laced her fingers together. That was a bad sign. “Duck, Horace,” I yelled.
He managed one, “Quack!” before Calista’s spell snapped our mouths shut and they stayed that way. Sometimes Horace took me literally.
“Mmmm.”
“Mmmm. Mmmm.”
As we stood, unable to speak, our feet glued to the pavement, Calista narrowed her eyes and circled us. “Milton!”
That was me.
“Horace!” My good friend and able assistant.
Here it comes. She's fed up with us and is turning us into cockroaches. I cringed waiting for the hissed words that would change my life.
“How many times have I told you to stop scaring the Vale Valley residents? You gave poor Leah at the library quite a turn when you jumped out from behind the bookshelves. She had to take the day off.”
We’d heard someone hadn’t returned a book to its proper place and had been searching for the culprit. Instead, we caused chaos, which was our MO these days. It followed us around, nipping at our heels, along with our shadows. We did apologize to poor Leah and brought her a bunch of wild flowers we’d picked from a meadow just outside town.
Calista paid no attention to my pleading gaze and continued talking. “There is little crime in Vale Valley.” My shoulders slumped at her words, knowing they were true but refusing to admit it. “I understand you’re a detective, but please find another occupation or pastime. You’ll give someone a heart attack.”
She leaned in close. “Do I have your word?”
I nodded.
“Horace?”
He crossed his arms and bobbed his head.
“Good.” One click of her fingers and we were our walking, talking selves once more.
Calista’s heels clacking over the pavement were the death knell on my career. But as she continued on her way, she shouted over her shoulder, “I’ve given a colleague your name. You might be able to assist him.”
I couldn’t imagine a warlock needing my help. “Come on,” I said to Horace dispiritedly as we trudged in the other direction toward home. Out of the corner of my eye, I noted a man—an omega would be my guess—dawdling on the other side of the road. He’s gorgeous!
As a detective, I prided myself on studying people’s expressions, and his puckered forehead and pinched lips, along with his white-knuckled hands gripping what appeared to be a photo, alerted me to his distress. I paused, hoping he was a new client, but after a moment’s hesitation, he stalked off in the other direction and disappeared around a corner.
When we reached home, I ran my fingers over the embossed sign on the gate that read, ‘Milton Radcliff. Private Detective. By Appointment Only.’ While I’d had enough money to secure a house in Vale Valley, my lack of income didn’t allow me to rent an office. Pushing open the squeaky gate, I wondered for the millionth time whether the Valley was where we were supposed to be.
Horace hopped on his chair and checked his phone. “No messages, boss.”
I sighed. For two reasons. That meant no business. And I’d told him not to call me boss. He only used it when we were working. We were lifelong friends, equals, but more than that, he was the connection to my past life.
Not that I relished some of the people I’d associated with, but I’d been successful in my career, solving cold cases the police had given up on, collecting huge rewards for finding missing valuables and hunting down career criminals who’d stayed out of jail by paying off people in positions of power.
Each day I’d woken up, adrenaline pumping through my veins wondering what the day would bring. Of course, it wasn’t all glamorous and rewarding. Some of my clients were lowlifes, real scumbags, often wanting dirt on their mates so they could get rid of them without paying alimony.
But I had a purpose, and people in my town respected me. Here in Vale Valley I was of no use to anyone and I was invisible except when I created turmoil.
I headed for the kitchen to make sandwiches. Though there were some great cafés and restaurants in the Valley, my finances were stretched, and we rarely ate out. So dire were my prospects that poor Horace had been forced to take on other work. He performed at children’s parties. It brought me huge shame that I wasn’t able to provide for him. For us.
And he’d gotten me some gigs too. As a magician. I’d taught myself a few tricks after watching videos online. The kids seemed to like it, or they were just very polite. Wouldn’t surprise me. The children in the Valley were, for the most part, incredibly well behaved.
Horace had been my constant companion since childhood when my mother presented him to me. Yes, he was originally a gift. Horace slept on my pillow as a child, sat on a shelf in my previous office, and since reaching Vale Valley had become something else. Because Horace wasn’t a man, he was a teddy, and until we’d arrived in this small town, that’s all he’d been. But now, he was a walking, talking, thinking, breathing teddy.
As I made coffee and sat at the computer reading the local online message board, I thought back to those few frightening hectic days when a former client, not liking that I had discovered he was laundering money, had put a hit out on me. An old acquaintance from the police, one I badgered constantly when I was on a case, had done me a huge favor and passed on the information. Told me I had to get out of town immediately.
I didn’t question him. After glancing around my office, I was sorry to say goodbye to the business I’d built up over the years, but there was nothing I could take except Horace, a gun, sleeping bag, toothbrush, and my fake passports. I wasn’t proud of those fakes but they’d gotten me out of some tight spots in the past.
I withdrew as much money as I could from the cash machine in a nearby strip mall, filled a backpack with food, and drove out of town after dark.
Not knowing where I was headed and worried my car would give me away, I pulled over on the outskirts of a wooded area, figuring I could sleep rough for a few days and make my way to a small town from where I could catch a bus to a place where no one knew me. That was the plan. To start again.
But the craziest thing happened—one I’m still not sure how to describe. Horace and I were tucked up tight in the sleeping bag under a huge tree. But as dawn broke and my bleary eyes peered out at the new day, my surroundings weren’t as I remembered them the night before. Instead of a densely forested area, there was a clearing which led down to a lake. A lake! And on the other side, there was a small town.
“I must be imagining things. I’m sure that wasn’t there last night.”
“You’re not dreaming, Milton.”
I was out of the sleeping bag so fast and scrambling for my gun. My shaking hands grabbed the Glock, but it was of little use. No way could I shoot anything, especially when I glanced toward the direction of that voice.
For a brief moment, I considered my nemesis had caught up with me and this was heaven because Horace was not where I’d left him. He was bobbing about trying to catch a butterfly, an impish grin on his face. “Horace?” I pinched myself because this had to be a dream. “Is that you?”
“I’ll take that.” A second voice. My head swiveled to the right, and I took aim. “There are no guns allowed in Vale Valley.” Expecting to see someone my former client paid to bump me off, I was gobsmacked when a middle-aged woman with a warm smile, wearing sensible shoes and a determined expression, grabbed the weapon from my hands.
With fear gripping my belly in its long thin fingers and my life flashing before me, it was weird I took the time to notice her footwear! But that was the detective in me.
She held the gun between two fingers and grimaced as though it smelled bad before tossing it in the water.
“Hey, that was my only protection. And it cost a lot. You’d better be prepared to replace it.”
“We don’t abide by guns here and you’ll have no need of it.” She glanced at my sleeping bag and commanded rather than said, “Gather your things and don’t leave any garbage.”
“But I want to play with the butterfly.” That was Horace.
Along with waking up in a completely different place from where I went to sleep and having a strange woman give me orders and throw my gun away, the most dramatic change, the most consequential, the most mind-blowing was Horace.
Talking. Moving. Acting like a real live teddy and not a cuddly stuffed one who was a little frayed around the edges. Horace was a new person. A new teddy.
“It’s okay, Milton. You’ve known me since you were a kid. We’re best buds,” he said as he got on his tummy and inspected the leaves, before picking up a handful of dirt and eating it.
My mind was exploding with questions and what ifs. “Is that really you?”
“Yup. Ask me something only Horace would know?” He made a face and spat out worms along with the moss and dry leaves.
“What happened on my tenth birthday?”
He harrumphed, and I sent a quick glance at the woman beside me. This had me thinking, if she’d disappeared, it was likely a dream and I’d pick up Horace and we’d be on our way. My teeth were chattering and in the hullabaloo I’d sort of forgotten it was winter, but my companion—the human, not Horace—had tossed off her shoes and was wading into the lake. “Tell me when you're done, dears. It always takes a while to get your head around it.”
“One of your friends left me too close to the fire and it singed my ear.”
My eyes swam with tears. I’d been overcome with guilt and wept all night after discovering his blackened ear. My parents had told me it was okay. No harm done, but I’d apologized to Horace over and over.
“It’s okay, Milton. I don’t blame you.”
“Horace.” I swept him up in my arms and hugged him tight, that familiar teddy scent of warm wool and childhood tickling my nose. “My best friend. All these years and I never realized…”
He patted my head and his voice became more serious. “But you did. You always knew.”
There was a swishing of water and stamping of feet as the woman waded out of the lake. “I’m Rosemary, by the way.”
“Milton.”
“Horace.”
“Welcome to Vale Valley.”
Those words had changed my life. Our lives. While I was gloomy and depressed at not having a proper job, Horace was in his element. All those years of keeping his thoughts to himself, the decades of having no voice, he was as joyful as a kid at Christmas. Which was coming soon. Our first holiday season in the Valley.
A Christmas Engagement by Ellie Thomas
Charles paused before saying clearly and deliberately. “With Papa’s passing, it seemed expedient to start to look out for a wife.”
He heard Avery’s sharp intake of breath as Aunt Clarissa looked at him shrewdly. Her bright, old eyes, darker and sharper than Avery’s, seemed to pierce his soul. “You have come to the right place,” she remarked. “Far better to make your selection at your convenience in Bath than to be bothered with the fancy folderols of the London Season. I might be biased as I have fond memories of the place. The town will never be the same as in the heyday of Beau Nash, but it still passes muster, although I say it myself. And you should find a wide array of suitable ladies now you are resolved on matrimony.”
Charles had the sneaking suspicion that Aunt Clarissa was laughing at him and was spared further embarrassment by the timely approach of Mr. King.
“Ladies,” Mr. King uttered, addressing the group. “Might I interest you in a game of Cribbage at the Card Room tonight? The tables are filling up quickly, and I’d be glad to put your names down. From experience, these events prove very popular and can be over-subscribed.”
That popularity was confirmed by eager fluttering from the group of ladies, mercifully distracting Aunt Clarissa’s attention away from Charles.
Charles’ dearest hope was for Avery to have melted away into the surrounding throng during the conversation. Having only begun to establish himself in the confines of Bath’s society, Charles could not afford to cause gossip or general disgust by delivering a cut direct. And in truth, he flinched from being unnecessarily and publicly cruel. None of this was Avery’s doing. He must simply accept that Charles’ priorities had altered with his father’s death.
But when Charles glanced around, Avery was still standing there. He looked a trifle pale at Charles’ announcement but managed a smile as he said conversationally, “You must wonder why we are here. I’m sure you remember all those letters from my aunts pressing Aunt Clarissa for suggestions for her seventieth birthday celebrations?”
Charles nodded as he remembered their shared London rooms in Rupert Street, Avery’s face alight with laughter as he passed Aunt Clarissa’s typically scathing letter over the breakfast table for Charles’ amusement, in a gesture of everyday intimacy.
“Well, Aunt Clarissa refused to be contained by any sedate or convenient notions and decided to drag us all to Bath for the occasion, complete with a hired house on The Circus. According to her, since she’s in her dotage, she won’t get another opportunity to relive her past successes or criticise the current fashions and assembled company at the top of her voice. As you can imagine, both my aunts are thrilled.” Avery’s mobile mouth quirked with humour, and Charles was almost tempted to smile with him until Avery asked, “What does your mother think of your resolution to marry?”
Avery was still smiling, but his eyes seemed almost as shrewd and watchful as Great Aunt Clarissa’s. Charles was only glad that the necessarily loud interchange between the Master of Ceremonies and a lady of the party who was hard of hearing masked the personal turn of the conversation.
“She is delighted I’m assuming my obligations in seeking to establish our family connections.”
“Is she?” Avery sounded mildly surprised. “I’d have thought she would be far more concerned about your happiness and state of mind.”
“I am happy,” Charles retorted.
“If you say so,” Avery smiled agreeably before asking casually, “and since when have you been attracted to women?”
Charles bristled, “What’s that got to do with anything?”
“Everything, I’d say if you seek marital accord.” Avery had the gall to look faintly amused as Charles cast around for a suitable retort, stumbling over half-remembered phrases he had recited to his mama. As Charles reeled off homilies on duty and family responsibility, Avery’s smile faded. But rather than displaying the outrage or bitterness of a repulsed lover, Avery’s expression was full of compassion, tinged with sadness.
Charles completed his speech, sounding pompous and prematurely middle-aged even to his own ears. Avery opened his mouth to impart an urgent observation before hesitating. Instead, he patted Charles on the arm, saying, “I’m sure you know best, Charles,” in a manner that implied no confidence whatsoever in his former lover’s judgement.
Mistle-Joe Kisses by DJ Jamison
Chapter 1
AUGUSTUS
I only noticedthe windows were dark when the office phone rang. The time on my computer monitor read 9 p.m. Damn. I’d gotten caught up in my spreadsheets again. I’d taken on bookkeeping along with office management, and today the shop had been so busy with phone calls, walk-ins, and certain distracting mechanics that I’d gotten far less actual work done than I’d planned.
“You’ve reached Carr Care & Repair—”
Darren Rafferty’s voice cut across mine. “If you don’t get your ass out of that office and come to my party, I’m going to personally make it my mission to play holiday music 24/7 for the rest of the year. Hell, maybe next year too. You don’t want to see me with a grudge.”
“Hi,” I said. Not the best rejoinder, but he’d caught me off-guard. “I was just finishing up.”
“Good. You work too many hours. You know I don’t like to take advantage. Whatever you’re doing can wait until your next workday.”
I sighed. This was an ongoing argument between my boss and me. Darren was a good guy, and he wanted to pay me my worth, but we both knew he couldn’t afford to pay for all the extra hours I put in. The thing was, I wanted to put them in. This place—this office with the perfectly organized files, the neat and tidy desk, and the color-coded spreadsheets—was my sanctuary.
I felt more myself here than anywhere else. While others found filing tedious or boring, I found it soothing. While Darren hated dealing with accounting, I took comfort in the order and meaning of it all. There was no confusion, no misunderstandings, no messy emotions.
Just something that made sense.
“You saw the shop today,” I said. “I had to play some catch-up.”
“Party tonight. Catch up tomorrow.”
“I’m not really in the mood…”
“Christmas carols 24/7,” he reminded me.
Shoot. I never should have told him how much holiday music annoyed me. Really, the holidays and I weren’t on the best terms in general, not that I’d told anyone that. Now, Darren had me over a barrel. I would threaten to retaliate by letting the invoices pile up, but we’d both know it was a bluff. I’d made it known that the office was my domain, that no one was to touch my filing system, and that I derived far too much pleasure from an organized workspace.
I was a bit of a dictator when it came to office management, something one of my co-workers refused to acknowledge when he blundered in and borrowed pens, moved papers around, and left grease smudges on my desk.
Joe Mitchell drove me up the wall. He was too friendly, with his big grins and invasions into my space. Too handsome, with his broad shoulders and scruff. Too tempting with a gaze that lingered on me for long minutes, a promise of something if I just let down my guard.
But I’d been down that road in my workplace before. I couldn’t risk my job—my sanctuary—for a little fun with a brawny mechanic.
Joe was sure to be at the party too, and out of dingy coveralls and in tight-fitting clothes, he’d be even more difficult to resist.
But Darren was a great boss, and conflicted feelings about Christmas and sexy mechanics aside, it wouldn’t be right to skip out on him now.
“I’ll be there in ten.”
“Good. You planned most of this party. You deserve to enjoy it.”
“Aw, Darren, you still don’t know me very well. I enjoy spreadsheets. But parties? Not really my thing.”
His voice shifted to something closer to concern. “If you really don’t want to come, you don’t have to. As your friend, I think you need to get out and have some fun. As your boss, I wouldn’t want to pressure you.”
He’d given me the perfect out, but now I couldn’t take it.
Darren was a friend, even if I hadn’t done much to deserve it. I kept people at a distance, especially at work. And it was silly to avoid Joe. I had to see him at work every day anyway. What harm could one party do?
“It’s okay. I could use a break,” I said. “I’ll be there soon.”
“Awesome! Don’t forget to wear that ugly Christmas sweater I got you!”
He hung up while I was still groaning with dismay.
* * *
JOE
I loadedmy plate with far too much holiday goodness—mostly peanut brittle and fudge—while I watched Auggie talk with Darren and his boyfriend, Linc. Augustus had a sweet smile, not that he ever turned it my way. Usually I got narrowed eyes, if not a full glare, for encroaching into his office space.
The man was prickly and guarded, but his ruthless efficiency kind of did it for me. I guess I had a competence kink. He was sexy as hell when he ordered me out of his office, his voice all strident. Augustus was so well put together, buttoned up in dress shirts and chinos, his hair carefully combed. He was the exact opposite of the last guy I’d had feelings for, but maybe that difference was part of the appeal. It made me wonder what was beneath that carefully managed exterior.
Not just the body beneath the clothes, but the mind behind all the rigid structure.
Kevin Rhodes came up beside me, looking pretty damn good in a crimson sweater dress, tights, and ankle boots. He wore a touch of makeup, but it was artfully done, just enough to enhance his natural beauty, which he had in spades.
“Oh, you found the good stuff,” he said, surveying my plate.
I flushed. “Probably shouldn’t eat so much of it.”
Since moving to Granville, I’d failed to keep up with my gym membership. I should really make more of an effort.
“Well, I intend to gorge on this peanut brittle,” Kevin said with a small smile. “What’s the point of the holidays otherwise, right?”
“Right,” I echoed. “I, uh, need to use the restroom.”
I put down my plate and escaped in the direction of the hallway. It was silly, but I still felt awkward around Kevin. He was always polite, but I couldn’t forget the uncomfortable first meeting where Darren had intended to set us up. Kevin had not been even the tiniest bit interested. And even though I knew now that it was because he was in love with Darren’s dad—a whole other level of awkward for them I was glad I had no part in—I still felt rejected.
It wasn’t just that Kevin wasn’t interested in meeting me. I’d been in Granville less than a year, and while people were friendly—sometimes ridiculously, over-the-top friendly—I hadn’t clicked with anyone enough to get close to them. And making more than friends? Well, it just wasn’t happening.
I could find app hookups and one-night stands. The problem was, I didn’t enjoy them. I took them when I needed the release, but it wasn’t what I craved.
No, that would be the man across the room, who was charming everyone who spoke to him without so much as cracking a smile.
I went into the bathroom and splashed some water on my face so that Kevin wouldn’t think I’d only made an excuse to escape, though I definitely had. On the way back down the hall, I saw Auggie retrieving his coat from the front closet.
When he glanced up, I smiled and got a narrowed, suspicious gaze for my trouble, which for some baffling reason, only made me smile wider.
I leaned one shoulder against the door frame between the living area and the front entryway. “Hey, you’re not leaving already, are you?” I said. “We haven’t had a chance to talk.”
Reluctantly, he crossed the space between us. “I’m not great at parties.”
He was tugging his coat closed, hiding the forest green sweater beneath. I grinned. “Are you sure you aren’t leaving just to hide the ugly Christmas sweater Darren gave to you?”
I hadn’t gotten a good look at it from across the room, and I was dying to see the dignified Augustus in something so silly. He’d be adorable.
He tugged his coat lapels together, a blush staining his cheeks. His gaze dropped to my chest. “You caught me. But I see you’re wearing one too.”
I glanced down at my navy-blue sweater with the image of Christmas ornaments stitched in white, along with the words, How do you like my Jingle Balls? “Yeah, none of us escaped his holiday spirit.” I nudged Auggie’s arm. “C’mon. Show me yours.”
“I don’t want to.”
“C’mon,” I coaxed. “You’ve seen mine. Show me yours.”
I was flirting again, but in my defense, he was too damn cute when he was flustered.
With a huff, Augustus pulled open his coat to reveal an imperious-looking cat drinking coffee and the words: “That’s what I do. I drink coffee, I hate people, and I know things.”
I snorted. “Well, that’s perfect.”
Augustus’s eyes narrowed. “I do more than drink coffee.”
“Well, yeah. You also know things and hate people,” I teased.
He opened his mouth, probably to give me a well-deserved tongue-lashing—though not the kind I really wanted—when a female voice called out behind us.
“Hey, look at that. You two are under the mistletoe.”
Auggie’s eyes widened. I tipped my head back. Sure enough, a bit of mistletoe had been affixed to the door frame above us.
“Finally,” someone else said. “I thought no one would blunder into that little trap.”
There was a smattering of laughs, then: “Kiss already! Don’t make it weird!”
Right. Because us not kissing on demand, in front of a crowd, is what would be weird.
“Fuck,” Auggie muttered.
I glanced down in concern. For once, he didn’t look prickly or guarded. He looked vulnerable, forehead creased with a frown, his teeth digging into his bottom lip.
My heart skipped a beat. He really was such a gorgeous man.
“Hey,” I said in a low voice. “It’s just a silly game. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”
His gaze latched onto mine, serious even as laughs and whistles sounded behind us, encouraging us to play along. “Are you saying you want to?”
“I think you already know the answer to that.”
Auggie was a tough nut to crack, and he gave me more friction than flirtation, but somehow, I sensed he wasn’t as uninterested as he tried to seem. There was a bit of heat alongside the censure in his eyes when he scolded me. There was a tension that gathered in the air between us, a sense of possibility.
One that I’d love to explore. One I was pretty sure Auggie was doing his best to never admit.
So he shocked the hell out of me when he shrugged and said, “Okay, then. Let’s give them what they want.”
Before I’d fully processed the words, he was wrapping slim fingers around the back of my neck and guiding me down. Toward his lips.
Heat rushed through me. For months, I’d wanted this. For months, I’d thought I’d never have it.
Now, thanks to a stupid holiday game, Auggie’s stern lips looked soft and inviting.
I kissed him, a thrill streaking through me and the noise of the party fading away beneath the pounding of my heart.
Talk about a Christmas miracle.
Silent Knight by Beth Bolden
Jeremiah Knight, better known to his friends and fellow teammates as Jem, wished he was anywhere but where he actually was—back in Christmas Falls, the small town he’d grown up in, and left as soon as he was able.
But here he was. Back in Christmas Falls, with its quaint streets festooned with strands of lights and Christmas trees on every single block and utterly pervasive sense of holiday cheer.
It was not only that he was back, Jem considered as he leaned back in his chair at Frosty’s, the local bar. It was that he was back and every eye was on him.
What had possessed him to say yes to the honorary grand marshal position after the festival council had come calling?
Don’t be stupid. You know exactly why.
Yes, he’d been feeling pretty goddamn sorry for himself right around then, recovering from a season-ending pectoral injury, not sure if he’d ever play again, and definitely not alongside his best friend.
Deacon, Jem thought, as he scratched at the wooden coaster with a thumbnail, believed he was so good at keeping secrets but he was utter shit at it. Jem had known, maybe even before Deacon did, that he’d be retiring at the end of the season.
Why else convince Jem to come back and play one more year for the Charleston Condors, the football team they’d both loved being a part of?
Now, that rosy future where they redeemed the Condors’ reputation and went to the playoffs and ended their careers on a high note, together, was done. Finished. Destroyed.
Jem wouldn’t be playing, and then Deacon was going to retire.
Was it any wonder that he’d not just hung right up on the festival committee when they’d called?
He’d been, as his mother liked to say, wallowing.
Well, he was never going to goddamn wallow again, if this was the end result.
He was stuck in Christmas Falls from Thanksgiving until New Year’s.
Normally, he’d pop in for a day or two, see his parents, then leave.
But not this year.
One day down, forty-five to go.
“Looking awfully glum there,” the guy behind the bar said. Jem knew him. Recognized him. Wasn’t that Mik, who’d been a few years behind him? Played hockey. He was pretty sure it was Mik.
Jem wanted to tell the guy that he felt kind of glum. But nobody wanted a bummed-out guy at the head of the parade, or at any of the events the email he’d gotten a week ago had outlined.
He was supposed to be the “guardian of Christmas cheer” or so the email had stated.
The problem was that he’d never felt less cheerful in his whole fucking life.
So he just shrugged and tapped his beer glass.
Thankfully, Mik got the message that he wasn’t particularly interested in talking and definitely not interested in talking about his sour mood and walked off to pull him another pint.
“What’s there to be so glum about?” a voice next to him asked.
He glanced over as a guy with a thick dark beard and equally dark eyes slid onto the barstool next to him.
The man was dressed in a plaid shirt, pulled tight across his broad shoulders, jeans and boots. And there was something undeniably familiar about him.
Or maybe it wasn’t familiarity but instead, attraction.
Because Jem felt it zing right up his spine as their eyes met.
“Nothing,” Jem said, forcing himself to smile in a friendly way.
It wasn’t as hard to fake cheer with this guy as it had been with Mik. Jem didn’t need a diagram to explain exactly why that was.
“No? It was someone else frowning into his beer then.” The guy grinned, and there it was again—that undeniable flutter at the base of his stomach. “My mistake.”
“I just…” Jem cleared his throat. He had been sitting here and sulking.
Not just tonight, a voice inside his head chimed in. But for way too many nights recently.
Maybe he could do something about that.
A little light flirtation could hardly help but boost his spirits. And this guy seemed like a prime candidate. Jem was hardly a small guy—after all, he’d been a linebacker in the NFL, was still a linebacker in the NFL he reminded himself—but the man next to him had at least a few inches on him and even wider shoulders under all that plaid.
Was he a lumberjack for a living?
Not a fantasy Jem had ever thought he’d have, but it turned out it was undeniably appealing.
“You just?” He raised an eyebrow.
“Didn’t ever expect that I’d be sitting here back at Frosty’s,” Jem said. Could hear Deacon poking him in the back of his brain, telling him to do better. And he could, surely. People were always telling him he was charming, even though it felt like he’d expended very little effort to earn that adjective.
“Back at Frosty’s? Seems to me that it’d be hard to miss you. If you’d showed up before, I sure would’ve noticed.”
“Yeah?”
The guy shot him a look. “Um, yeah.”
“Oh.”
He nudged Jem in the side. “You’re kind of…conspicuous.”
Said the mountain of a man clad in an ocean of plaid with the twinkly eyes and the bright smile.
But then, yes, Jem understood what the guy was saying. Jem was an NFL player and a hometown hero, as much as he’d wanted to avoid being painted with that particular brush. While he might not be easily recognizable in his day-to-day life, here in Christmas Falls, it was probably inevitable that he’d be spotted.
Jem told himself that he wasn’t disappointed at all that the guy had come over because he’d recognized him—not because he’d actually wanted to.
“Right,” Jem said flatly. “You want an autograph?”
The guy’s jaw dropped. “Is that why…” But instead of asking the question, he shook his head emphatically. “No,” he said. “No, that’s not why I wanted to talk to you.”
“Oh. Good.” Jem smiled. Relieved in a way that surprised him. He didn’t even know this guy’s name.
“I meant it, you know,” he said, “you can tell me about it if you want.”
“Tell you about it?”
“Why you were frowning into your beer.”
“Oh. Well.” Jem hesitated. He didn’t like talking about it. Not with anyone. Especially not a stranger, even a stranger with those shoulders and those eyes. Even when he wondered if his beard would feel soft against his skin or prickly. “I just thought I’d be back in Charleston right now. Playing in a game tomorrow. Not sitting here, nursing a beer, wondering what the fuck I’m going to do with my life.”
That was way more honesty than he’d intended to lay out, but once it was out of his mouth, Jem didn’t want to immediately snatch it back.
Maybe it was the empathy in the guy’s dark eyes. Empathy not sympathy. Sympathy made Jem want to clear off the bar with one massive swipe of his arm. But what he was seeing wasn’t that at all.
“Ah,” Sexy Lumberjack said. “Yeah, I saw you got hurt a few weeks back. That really fucking sucks.”
“Yeah.” An understatement of the year. Of the century.
“There’s no hope you can still play this year?”
Jem’s gaze must’ve narrowed because the guy threw his head back, laughing. “No, no, I’m not a scout for an opposing team, I promise. Just…we’ll say a concerned citizen.”
“Are you?”
“A citizen?”
Jem nodded.
“Yeah.” Sexy Lumberjack shot him an odd look. “Of course I am. I grew up here. Same as you.”
“We know each other, then.” Jem had wondered. There had been that split second of familiarity before it had faded into something else entirely.
“Of course we do.” Sexy Lumberjack paused. “You really don’t recognize me, do you?”
Jem scrambled, his brain whirling through his high school graduating class. But none of those guys had worn a beard like this or been built like a monster truck.
Of course, back when he’d been eighteen, he hadn’t looked like he did now, either.
He’d been pimply, too-tall, gangly, with not nearly enough weight on his bones.
But nobody he could remember matched this guy’s face.
“You don’t.” The guy answered before Jem could. But instead of sounding insulted, he sounded amused. “You really don’t.”
“Sorry,” Jem said, reluctantly shaking his head.
“No, it’s…it’s funny, is what it is.”
Jem would’ve said it was something else.
“So, no hope of playing this year?” the guy asked before Jem could give in and ask him what his name was.
“Uh, no. Not really.” The pectoral tear had been severe, and he’d needed surgery to repair it. Even with all the excellent medical care and rehab he was getting from the Condors, the best the doctors could promise was February or March.
Too late for him to rejoin the team for this season.
Too late for him to rejoin Deacon before his best friend hung his cleats up for good.
“That really sucks. I’m sorry.” The man’s touch on his arm was fleeting, but it lit up Jem’s nerves, all the way to his shoulder.
“Yeah, it’s not a great time.”
“So that’s why you came home.”
Was Christmas Falls home? Jem didn’t really think so, not anymore. Certainly, he’d never believed that was true when he’d been growing up, when he’d been wild to leave. But then Charleston didn’t feel like home, either, not anymore.
Not when he was no longer part of the Condors’ season.
“Yeah,” Jem said, because it was easier to agree, than to continue talking—or thinking—about how it felt like he no longer belonged any fucking where.
The guy nudged him again. “Well, we’re glad to have you back.”
Would they be so happy if they knew how reluctant Jem was about coming back?
You know how to do this, Deacon-in-his-brain reminded him. Change the subject. Flirt with the guy. You want to. And God knows you’re capable of it.
“We know all about me, apparently, but what about you?”
“What about me?” The guy’s eyebrows rose. They were the same gorgeous dark mink color as the beard, and just as soft looking.
Jesus, Jem wanted the guy to rub his face all over his naked body.
Hold up. Deacon chimed in. You’re just flirtin’ with him. That’s all. You don’t need any more reasons to be conflicted about this fucking place.
Amen to that.
“What do you do?” Jem asked, taking a sip of his beer. He motioned to Mik to bring the other guy a refill of his own.
“You really want to know?”
“Well, yeah,” Jem said. He grinned. “How else am I supposed to flirt with you?”
He’d said it, partly because one, it was true. And two, because he’d gotten the vibe this guy wouldn’t be averse to some flirtation, but it was impossible to say for sure. So he’d decided to make his interest blatantly obvious.
“Oh. Oh. Well. Um.” The guy stuttered a bit, losing the confidence he’d worn like his plaid shirt for their whole conversation. “I carve stuff. Gnomes. Actually. Specifically.”
“Gnomes? You carve gnomes?” That was not the answer Jem had expected him to give. But then, was anything normal in this town? Not really.
Gnome carving was such a fucking Christmas Falls profession it should’ve turned Jem off, but a delicious pink-ish flush crept up the guy’s cheeks, and Jem decided gnome carving was actually pretty damn adorable.
Or maybe it was just the man who carved them.
“Yes,” the guy said with dignity. “And other things too, but you know how it is here, Christmas is…”
“The biggest deal on the whole planet? Yeah. I know. So gnome carving it is.”
“Yep.”
“So, what you’re really saying…” Jem paused for dramatic effect. Deacon would be so proud. “Is that you’re very good with your hands.”
The man choked in his beer. “Uh, yeah. Yeah. Oh my god.”
“Oh my god?” That was not normally the reaction when Jem flirted with someone. Maybe he was worse at this than in-his-brain Deacon kept assuming he was.
“You’re just…” The guy stammered again. “You’re really, actually hitting on me.”
“Well, yeah,” Jem said. And this time Jem nudged him.
But when he continued to stare at Jem like he had sharpie all over his face, Jem had to add, “Is that not okay? I can stop if it makes you uncomfortable.”
“No, no, no,” the guy said. “I just…I didn’t expect…”
“Trust me, I eat and shit just as much as the next person.” Jem realized a second too late what he’d just said. Imaginary Deacon was now sitting on his shoulder, shaking his head.
“Goddamn it,” Jem said. “I didn’t mean it to come out like that.”
“No, actually, it helps that you’re not so great at this.” The guy grinned.
“That’s not usually what people say.”
“I know, but I’m not most people. Not even close. I’m just…” The guy trailed off. And Jem realized then that he didn’t want to tell Jem who he was. That he was avoiding doing it. But he had liked Jem hitting on him.
To say Jem was confused was an understatement.
“You’re just?” Jem asked.
“Flattered.”
That was not what he’d been about to say, Jem was sure of it.
“But you’re not going to tell me your name. You’ll tell me all about your gnomes and your hands, but not your name,” Jem guessed.
“I think it was you saying the stuff about my hands.” The guy flushed again.
It was so cute, Jem wanted to eat him alive, even if the guy looked like he could easily pin Jem to the wall and devour him instead.
“Fair,” Jem said. “Hey! You did it again.”
“Did what?” the guy asked innocently.
“Changed the subject.”
“I just…” He squirmed. “I’m not sure you’d keep at this if you knew who I was.”
None of that made any sense to Jem. While he’d been more than ready to leave this town, he’d liked everyone he’d gone to school with. He’d had no enemies at all. Nobody who might want to avoid him.
But then this guy didn’t exactly seem like the villain in Jem’s story. After all, he’d come over when he thought Jem was sad. He’d wanted to cheer him up and had offered to listen to his troubles. Someone who disliked him wouldn’t have even been tempted to do that.
“I’m sure I would,” Jem said softly. “Highlight of my week, so far, flirting with you.”
“Wow. Okay.” The guy grinned.
“I think all that’s worth your name, don’t you think?” Jem plastered on his most persuasive smile.
“Hmmm, maybe? You could always guess what it is…”
He could. Jem could go through every single guy he could remember from his graduating class. But that wasn’t what he wanted to do.
“What about…” Jem grinned. “Nesbit?”
The guy’s eyebrows skated halfway up his forehead. “Nesbit?”
“Or what about Rudyard?”
“Have you ever met anyone named Rudyard?”
Jem thought about this for a second. “Maybe you’re the first?”
“Nope.” He shook his head.
“Hercules?”
“Really?”
“Hey, you’re built like it,” Jem said, clearing his suddenly dry throat. Because damn, he was. And Jem had spent the last fifteen years of his life around guys who were paid to look this good.
“Thanks?” He blushed again. Like he could barely believe Jem was looking at him with that admiration in his eyes.
“Hey, your name could be Jeremiah. Is it any wonder I ended up using a nickname?”
“I think it’s cute,” the guy said softly. Like he actually believed that.
He might be the only person on earth besides his mother who liked that he was called Jeremiah.
“What about Ebenezer?” Jem suggested.
An eyebrow went up again. “Like Scrooge? I don’t think that’s me. Remember, I live here and I carve gnomes for a living.”
“Right. Right. That’s probably me. I’m probably Ebenezer.”
The guy didn’t say anything, just looked at Jem, and God, he probably was.
Why on earth had the committee and Griff asked him to be the “guardian of cheer” when he was so clearly the problem?
“Shit,” Jem said.
“You’re gonna be just fine,” the guy said, patting him on the arm, but then instead of leaning in, like Jem wanted him to do, he leaned back. Finished his beer. And then before Jem could hold up his hand to ask Mik for another round, he shook his head and then stood.
“I gotta go, actually. I get up real early.”
“It’s…” Jem glanced at his watch. “Just after nine PM? On a Saturday night?”
But right, this was Christmas Falls. The most PG-rated town in the world. There was no nightlife to speak of, at least none that didn’t involve trees and lights and candy canes and unlimited hot chocolate and, well…gnomes.
“I do have to get up early.” He at least sounded regretful.
But not as regretful as Jem felt.
“Before I even figure out who you are?” Jem asked.
“Suppose you’ll have to keep guessing,” he teased.
“I’ll get it right,” Jem promised.
“Sure you will.”
“I’ll see you around?” Jem said. Wanting to grab him back, but he didn’t.
Why the fuck not, Deacon-on-his-shoulder demanded.
“Oh, I’m sure you will,” the guy said, and before Jem could stop him, he melted away into the crowd and the door shut behind him.
“See you’ve rekindled your friendship with Murphy Clark,” Mik said as he gathered up the empty glass and the damp coaster.
Jem nearly fell off his barstool. “Murphy Clark?”
“Yep.” Mik shot him a look, like he was stupid.
And maybe Jem was, because that couldn’t have been Murphy.
Except…hadn’t he felt familiar when Jem had first sat down?
And Murphy, Murphy who he’d been best friends with all through elementary school and junior high, had definitely had hair that dark and eyes that twinkled, even though they were so deep brown Jem had always felt like he could get lost in them.
Could he have grown up that big and tall and handsome?
Jem couldn’t deny it was possible.
Or that he hadn’t secretly thought about him, more than a handful of times, even after their friendship had cooled and they’d grown to be distant barely-acquaintances.
“I…I guess I did rekindle my friendship with Murph,” Jem had to admit. Even though the truth was a lot pricklier than that, because they hadn’t been flirting like friends. He couldn’t deny he’d wanted something else from the guy in the plaid shirt as they’d sat talking.
But why hadn’t Murphy told him? Why hadn’t Murphy said who he was?
Did he think Jem wouldn’t have been totally thrilled to see him again?
Sure, they’d grown apart in high school, which, at first, had upset and baffled Jem, but then he’d been too busy playing three sports, including football seriously, with an eye to a scholarship and getting the hell out of Christmas Falls, to worry about a friendship that had faded.
But he’d never thought that Murphy might be angry with him. Or not want them to be friends anymore. Murphy had always been a quiet, somewhat introspective guy. He hadn’t been built like a lumberjack in high school, not like he was now, but even then he had no interest in playing sports. He’d loved art class and wood shop. He’d always been creating something, even back in elementary school when all he’d had was twigs and Elmer’s glue.
Kids, Jem had realized later, long after he’d graduated and left Christmas Falls, didn’t take too kindly to anyone who was different, and Murphy had always been different. He’d wished, so long after the fact it didn’t make a damn bit of difference, that he’d made more of an effort to make it clear to his friend that he liked Murphy’s kind of different.
But he hadn’t.
Maybe Murphy blamed him for that, even now. He’d made sure nobody had ever bullied Murphy, but certainly he hadn’t been the most popular kid in school.
You, Jem could imagine Murphy saying now, you were the most popular kid in school.
Yes, he probably had been. He’d been athletic and going places. He’d been laid-back and unconcerned about charming anyone, which it turned out meant he charmed everyone.
He certainly hadn’t looked for popularity, but it had found him anyway, and yes, he could acknowledge now, that had probably been the death knell for his early friendship with Murphy.
But he hadn’t meant any of it.
Of course, that didn’t mean Murphy didn’t hold it against him, even now, all these years later.
“How’s he been doing?” Jem asked Mik.
He didn’t even want to think how embarrassing it was that he’d recognized Mik, who he’d only known by his reputation on the ice, and hadn’t recognized Murphy, who’d been his best friend.
Mik raised a brow. “Murphy?”
“Yeah,” Jem said, a little bit ashamed that he had to ask him. That he hadn’t known himself.
They’d been inseparable for the first fifteen years of their lives.
He should know.
“He’s doing damn good for himself,” Mik said staunchly. Like he was defending Murphy, which Jem hadn’t intended at all. “We love him here.”
“Now that he…” God, Jem could barely say it with a straight face. “Carves gnomes for a living.”
Mik leaned over the bar top. “Yeah,” he said earnestly. “They’re damn good gnomes. People love them. Order them online and everything. He sells out every single year.”
“Really?”
Mik shot him a look. “You don’t like gnomes?”
This sounded like one of those trick questions where the answer got him into serious trouble.
“No, no,” Jem said quickly, “I freaking love gnomes. Gnomes are the best.”
“Damn straight,” Mik said before walking away toward the other end of the bar.
Writing love stories with a happy ever after – cowboys, heroes, family, hockey, single dads, bodyguards
USA Today bestselling author RJ Scott has written over one hundred romance books. Emotional stories of complicated characters, cowboys, single dads, hockey players, millionaires, princes, bodyguards, Navy SEALs, soldiers, doctors, paramedics, firefighters, cops, and the men who get mixed up in their lives, always with a happy ever after.
She lives just outside London and spends every waking minute she isn’t with family either reading or writing. The last time she had a week’s break from writing, she didn’t like it one little bit, and she has yet to meet a box of chocolates she couldn’t defeat.
V.L. Locey loves worn jeans, yoga, belly laughs, walking, reading and writing lusty tales, Greek mythology, the New York Rangers, comic books, and coffee.
(Not necessarily in that order.)
She shares her life with her husband, her daughter, one dog, two cats, a flock of assorted domestic fowl, and two Jersey steers.
When not writing spicy romances, she enjoys spending her day with her menagerie in the rolling hills of Pennsylvania with a cup of fresh java in hand.
My characters are sexy, hot, adorable—and often filthy—alphas and omegas. Feudal lords with dark secrets, lonely omegas running away from their past, and alphas who refuse to commit.
Lurking in the background are kings, mafia dons, undercover agents and highwaymen with a naughty gleam in their eye.
As for me? I dictate my steamy stories with a glass of champagne in one hand. Because why not?
Ellie Thomas lives by the sea. She comes from a teaching background and goes for long seaside walks where she daydreams about history. She is a voracious reader especially about anything historical. She mainly writes historical romance.
Ellie also writes historical erotic romance under the pen name L. E. Thomas.
DJ Jamison writes romances about everyday life and extraordinary love featuring a variety of queer characters, from gay to bisexual to asexual. DJ grew up in the Midwest in a working-class family, and those influences can be found in her writing through characters coping with real-life problems: money troubles, workplace drama, family conflicts and, of course, falling in love. DJ spent more than a decade in the newspaper industry before chasing her first dream to write fiction. She spent a lifetime reading before that and continues to avidly devour her fellow authors’ books each night. She lives in Kansas with her husband, two sons, one snake, and a sadistic cat named Birdie.
A lifelong Pacific Northwester, Beth Bolden has just recently moved to North Carolina with her supportive husband. Beth still believes in Keeping Portland Weird, and intends to be just as weird in Raleigh.
Beth has been writing practically since she learned the alphabet. Unfortunately, her first foray into novel writing, titled Big Bear with Sparkly Earrings, wasn’t a bestseller, but hope springs eternal. She’s published twenty-three novels and seven novellas.
RJ Scott
VL Locey
EMAIL: vicki@vllocey.com
Colbie Dunbar
On Thin Ice by RJ Scott & VL Locey
Beary Merry Christmas by Colbie Dunbar
A Christmas Engagement by Ellie Thomas
Mistle-Joe Kisses by DJ Jamison
Silent Knight by Beth Bolden
