⛄🎄🎅💗🎅🎄⛄
⛄🎄🎅💗🎅🎄⛄
Summary:
Joe knows where he is going in life. But one crazy road trip just might change everything.
Joe Blankenship knows where he’s going. He’s on track to marry the boss’s daughter and become heir apparent to a multi-million dollar medical supply business. The financial security he never had growing up is within his grasp along with a glitzy Manhattan lifestyle. All he has to do is get to New York by Christmas Eve for his engagement party.
Joe didn’t count on getting grounded in Florida thanks to a hurricane. He couldn’t have anticipated having to rent a broken-down car for the long drive north. And he certainly never foresaw being stuck with a passenger like Remy Guidry, a sweet-natured Cajun boy, social worker at a children’s home, and free spirit. Remy is the opposite of everything Joe has worked for. But he just might teach Joe, not only the spirit of Christmas, but what’s truly of value in life.
Planes, Trains, and Hurricanes is a Christmas road trip, forced proximity, opposites attract romance.
I look forward to Eli Easton's Christmas story every year, she just has a way of bringing all the holiday fun blended with just the right amount of drama to make for a very enjoyable reading experience. Planes, Trains, & Hurricanes is yet another delicious Easton holiday yummy.
Planes has a definite Hallmark Holiday Movie feel and as someone who has seen more Hallmark holiday movies than I care to admit due to my mom's love of them, I can honestly say it is 10X better. I love it when an author creates characters that you not only love to cheer for but also want to know. I couldn't help but want to wrap Joe in a huge Mama Bear Hug and tell him to follow his heart's wants and not the journey he thinks he needs. As for Remy, well I want to also squeeze the life out of him in a tight motherly hug because he's just so darn adorable. How could I not want to know both of these amazing characters?
I love the whole hurricane obstacle too. Born, raised, and still living in the upper Midwest I have never lived through a hurricane but I certainly understand Mother Nature being in control and not being able to get to where you need to be. Can't say I would push myself to try and get ahead of the storm but then again I have never quite been in either man's position. Gotta love Remy's optimistic approach to everything though, also something I'm not sure I could have shared.
The author says Planes is an opposites attract, forced proximity, road trip journey. Road trip? Definitely. Forced proximity? Certainly. Opposites attract? On the surface. I say "on the surface" because to look at them then obviously opposites but I think the more we learn about Joe, or more precise the more he learns about himself, then maybe they aren't quite as opposite as originally thought. Whatever label you choose, Planes, Trains, and Hurricanes is a holiday reading must proving once again that Eli Easton is definitely the Queen of Christmas. If you're looking for man against Mother Nature stories than I highly recommend this story for that as well.
Summary:
On the advice of his best friend, recent graduate Paul bets there'll be snow in London on Christmas Day. He knows it was a daft thing to do, as he's having no luck finding work after his studies. Four months later, he takes a job as an au pair for Ben and his young son, Jamie. It's been a difficult year for them, and Paul does his best to look after Jamie and give Ben the break he needs. Paul also tries to curb his attraction to Ben, but being sensible isn’t so easy when the festive season begins.
A short, lovely tale to brighten your day. Not a lot of pages and I don't want to spoil anything so I'll just leave it at this: Paul, Ben, and little Jamie manage to bring joy to the mix that some might find rushed but sometimes happiness has no set timeline and hits when least expected. This is the second story by H Lewis-Foster I've read and I look forward to discovering even more.
Summary:
Adrien English Christmas Short
Amidst the twinkling lights and snow-kissed streets of a quaint, picture-perfect town in the High Sierra, a bookstore owner and former homicide detective are reminded that the greatest mysteries are the ones that lead us to love.
Join Adrien English and Jake Riordan one last time in a short, sweet tale that will warm your heart and remind you that love knows no bounds, especially during the most magical time of the year.
Adrien English Christmas? YAY!!!
Adrien & Jake holiday short? YAY!!!
Adrien with no mystery? Unusual but still YAY!!!
Let's face it, I love these two that I'd be all grabby hands to read a short about them eating breakfast. Hard to imagine Adrien and Jake without the threat of mayhem and destruction but seeing them enjoying a quiet holiday getaway before all the family gathering is wonderfully fun. The fact that Jake is behind the getaway just puts me in all kinds of feels that only their relationship and journey getting there can fill me with.
Who knows if the pair will ever let the author in on any of their future escapades but as I said above I love Adrien and Jake so deeply that I'd read all kinds of day to day life😉.
Summary:
Last Christmas, Francis had a promising acting career and a budding romance with Duncan. This Christmas, it seems he's lost it all.
When his mum persuades him to help her with the annual village production, he's drawn back into the wacky world of amateur pantomime. This year's production has all kind of new twists, the village players are eccentric although enthusiastic, and Francis isn't sure he ever saw himself as a director. And what his mother also didn't tell him was, he'd be working with Duncan by his side.
But if he can cope with charity shop costumes, squabbling characters, cross-dressing, and all the corny jokes, can he also believe in the show's magical triumph of Good over Bad, and win a second chance with Duncan? After all, in pantomime, everyone gets their wish granted in the end.
Clare London has done it again! Okay I say "again" because I just discovered He's Behind You! but it's actually from 2019(I think that's the year) but even being an "old" story, I reiterate "She's done it again!". There is just something deliciously fun about a London holiday short that brings my day up a notch. I always enjoy a well written second chance romance because sometimes it's not a case of two people not connecting or not having chemistry but wrong time/wrong place but when the time is right everything falls just as it should. This short is just one of those cases and watching Francis and Duncan having that opportunity again(with a little help from fate and mom of course) is lovely, fun, and smile-inducing.
The gift that lights up the night sky
Working a Christmas Eve shift in a local café, Seven overhears a young boy’s wish that melts his heart.
The only thing Ben wants for Christmas is a spacesuit, so he can visit his mother who now lives amongst the stars in heaven. With Christmas Day only hours away, Seven’s determined that Ben’s wish comes true as he sets about making the spacesuit himself.
When Cooper, Ben’s uncle, finds the gift-wrapped box outside his house, he’s determined to track down the person who left it, and repay the wonderful, selfless act of generosity which has made Ben so happy on Christmas Day.
A Spaceman Came Travelling is a story that captures the true spirit of Christmas — giving selflessly, sharing joy, and wishing upon a star — and a heartwarming reminder that during the holiday season, a simple act of kindness can light up even the darkest of nights.
This story originally appeared in a charity anthology that is longer available. The story has been revised and expanded.
Such a delightfully fun and heartfelt story that is perfect for the holidays. I want to bundle little Ben up with his desire for a spacesuit so he can reach the stars to see his mom again, I swear my heart wept at that sentiment. Seven, a complete stranger wanting to help earned himself a giant Mama Bear Hug too.
I don't think I'll say too much more because I'm afraid once I start I won't be able to stop and this is a spoiler-free zone. What I will say is if I was the Grinch(which I'm not as Christmas is my favorite time of year😉), my heart would have grown 3 sizes after reading A Spaceman Came Traveling. A truly uplifting experience that will definitely fill you with the holiday spirit.
BTW: the little twist/reveal near the end? LOVED IT!!!!
RATING:
Plane, Trains, and Hurricanes by Eli Easton
CHAPTER 1
December 22
The day I met Remy Guidry, there was an apocalypse. Not the apocalypse with a capital A but the lowercase kind that hits Florida on a regular basis.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Blankenship." The woman at the Delta counter didn't sound sorry. Nor did she look cheery despite the green wreath that was pinned to her chest. "All flights are grounded due to Hurricane Jack. No plane is leaving Miami today. Or tomorrow. Possibly the next day either."
This dire information matched the board of CANCELED flight designations that was visible just to my right. But I was deep in denial. "Seriously? We're just seeing the outer bands of the storm. And there's an evacuation notice. Surely, you'd want to fly out as many people as possible before it gets bad."
She arched an eyebrow and her gaze shifted to look over my shoulder. I turned my head and saw the lights of a few dogged taxis outside in the passenger arrivals area. They were blurry through the sheets of rain pelting down the glass windows. One of the taxi drivers held his hat as he fought the wind to get to the driver's door.
"Sorry," the woman said flatly. "As you can imagine, everyone wants to get home for Christmas. But we can't control the weather, sir."
"What about other airports? Can you get me a flight out of Orlando?"
She shook her head. "Orlando is down too. So is Tampa. I suggest you grab a hotel room while there's a taxi left to take you there. Oh, and I'd recommend one on higher ground."
She put up a plaque that said CLOSED. Her wreath pin blinked sadly as she walked away.
I dragged my roller bag through the airport, which was growing less populated by the minute. By the time I reached the rental car counters, it was as if humanity had never existed. Or, at least, that it had never wanted to travel anywhere. All of the counters were closed except for Budget where cheerful fairy lights threw disco vibes onto the lone employee at the counter. She was a middle-aged woman with a shellacked blonde beehive. I ran over and stopped in front of her, panting.
She smiled. "You look like a man who needs to get somewhere."
"God, yes…" I checked her name tag. "…Bridget. Bridget from Budget, that's cute."
She winked. "That's me."
I gave her my most dazzling smile and ran a hand through my blond hair—short on the sides, long on top, with cut-edge layers thanks to lots of product. If my looks could help me get out of Miami, I wasn't above using them. "Well, Bridget, I need to get to New York for an engagement party. My fiancée will have my, er—" I was going to say balls for breakfast, but no, "—guts for garters if I don't make it."
"Oh my." Bridget's eyes widened.
"So I'll take anything you've got." I put my credit card on the counter.
Bridget grimaced. "I'm afraid I don't have anything. We've been sold out for hours. I've been calling around to other agencies for our customers, but I've pretty much tapped out that well, too. I'm sorry."
My heart did a nosedive—straight down, tail spinning, like a plummeting bi-plane. "Please. There has to be something."
"Well…. There are one or two rental places I haven't tried yet. But they're way, way down market and not close to the airport."
"I'd appreciate if you'd check. I'll take anything!"
"All right. I'll try." She gave me a sympathetic smile and got on the phone.
I waited, fists clenched.
This was all my boss's fault. The news had been talking about Jack for a week now. It was supposed to make a direct hit on Southern Florida and then move up the eastern seaboard. I'd wanted to fly home days ago. But, no. Simon Schubert, founder of Schubert Supplies as well as my future father-in-law, was an old-school salesman who believed that if you walked out the door without a signed contract in hand, the deal would never happen. He insisted I stay until Mason, the biggest hospital conglomerate in Miami, had signed on the dotted line on a deal for nearly a hundred-k worth of medical supplies. The red tape had been endless, and I'd had to be a lot pushier than I was comfortable being. The Florida people wanted to postpone sign-offs until the hurricane was over. Hell, the contract review had finally been accomplished by Mason's lawyer while he was on a flight to Los Angeles. Because, evacuation.
But not me. Oh, no. I was still here.
Bridget put a hand over the phone's receiver. "I found a car, Sir, but it's with Rent-a-Heap in Miramar. A Ford Fiesta."
"I'll take it," I said immediately, nudging my credit card closer to her.
Rent-a-Heap. A Ford Fiesta! Oh how the mighty have fallen. I thought of my Porsche in New York with longing. But, at this point, I'd ride an e-scooter if it came with an umbrella.
"You've been a gem, Bridget, really," I said to the woman when she completed the call. "Great customer service. I'll leave a review."
"It's Christmas," Bridget said with a smile and a shrug. "Safe driving, sir. And Merry Christmas."
"Merry Christmas to you!"
The words felt strange as I said them. Christmas. It was, in fact, that time of year, as the many bedecked and bedazzled decorations at the airport, and at Mason HQ, where I'd spent the past two weeks, assured me. But I'd been so wrapped up in work, in the stress of trying to close the deal, I'd had no head space for the holidays. And with all the stuff Allison had planned, it wasn't going to be any more relaxing once I got to New York either.
The only taxi I could find was about to knock off for the day. I had to give the wizened taxi driver a hundred-dollars in cash to take me to Miramar, on top of the fare.
"You leaving town?" he asked me as he pulled out of the airport.
"As fast as possible."
"Where you goin'?"
"New York."
He shook his head. "A word of advice? Don't try to take 95 north from here. It's a parking lot. Our dispatcher told us to avoid it."
My heart did another nosedive. This time the plane's tail was smoking. I hadn't thought of that. Yet another reason not to wait until the last damn second to evacuate.
"This is a nightmare." I covered my face with my hands.
"What you want to do," the driver went on calmly, "is cut over to 27 from Miramar and then take 441 up nearly to Orlando. You can cut back over to 95 from there and avoid the worst of the bottleneck out of Miami. Hopefully. Anyway, it can't be any worse."
"Oh yeah?" I took out my phone and brought up a map. 27 was west of Miramar, so a bit out of my way since I was headed north. But he was right. It was probably faster than the I-95 bottleneck.
"I'll do that. Thanks for the tip."
"De nada. Hope you make it out of the area okay, man. This hurricane—it's supposed to be a walloping SOB."
I sighed and rubbed my temple. No shit. Every cell in my body was urging me to get away. Though how much that had to do with the storm, and how much with what I knew would be Allison's wrath—far scarier than Jack's—was debatable. At least I had a plan now. I gave in to the inevitable and called her on my cell.
"What do you mean, you won't be home tonight?" Allison gasped. "Tomorrow morning is brunch at the club. You need to be there!"
I stared out at the pouring rain. The wet swip-swipe of the windshield wiper blades was audible over the wind. "Babe, every flight out of Miami is canceled. I managed to get a car, but it's a twenty-hour drive. I should be home by tomorrow night."
"But you'll miss the brunch! Can't you get a flight out of a different airport? What about a red eye?"
I grit my teeth. "Orlando's shut down too. And any flights from Florida that are still leaving are likely to be full given the evacuation notice. I'm driving home."
"But the club's putting on a special menu! And we were going to tease the engagement ahead of the party. You know this."
The party on Christmas Eve, at her parents’ mansion, was the gala where our engagement would officially be announced. Somehow, that one event had accumulated other mini-events around it like children huddled around Mother Goose. Or maybe like the tormented spirits when the Ghost of Christmas Future opens its cloak. These festivities extended through the entire Christmas and New Year's season.
"Allison, I'm doing the best I can. There's a hurricane. I'll be there tomorrow night, in plenty of time for the party on Christmas Eve. I'm sorry to miss the brunch. All right?"
"As if you leave me any choice," she grumbled. "Just don't be any later. Do not fuck this up, Joe. I've spent a lot of time planning this. You know how important it is to me."
"Swear. Love you. Gotta go. I'll text you when I've made some progress." I punched the END button on my phone before she could argue.
My gut ached and I popped a few of the antacid tablets I always carried in my pocket. I was too young for this shit, but my stomach had been acting up for the past few months. Probably the stress of the job. Simon was the type of boss who was never satisfied for more than five minutes, and I'd been traveling constantly. Plus the conversation with Allison left me feeling sour, upset, and weirdly off-kilter, like things were spiraling out of control. And if there was one thing I hated, it was losing control. I reminded myself that engagements, weddings, all of that jazz, were a huge deal to most women. Bridezillas really were a thing. Of course, Allison had big plans, and of course, she wanted me there. Once we were married, everything would calm down.
My phone buzzed. I plucked it back out of the breast pocket of my suit jacket assuming it would be Allison, maybe with an apology, maybe with, I dunno, some concern for my actual safety and wellbeing. But the screen said BORIS EVANS. He was the CEO of Mason. Oh God. Don't let there be a problem with the contract.
"Hi, Mr. Evans! What can I do for you?" I answered with my upbeat salesman voice.
"Joe? Did I catch you before you left town?"
"You did, sir. Though I'm doing my best."
"Flight grounded?"
"Unfortunately, yes. But I'm on my way to pick up a rental car. So…"
"Oh, good! When I saw on the news about all flights being canceled, I hoped you might be driving."
"That's the plan. I think I got the last rental car in Miami." I chuckled in a self-effacing way.
"Then you're just the man I need." An alarm bell dinged in my head, but it didn't have time to build steam before he came right out with it. "I need a favor, Joe. It's a big one, but I wouldn't ask if it weren't important."
"Uh… okay. If there's anything I can… sure."
"There's a young man who works at a home where my wife volunteers. He just found out his mother has cancer and this is probably her last Christmas. She's in Manhattan, and he needs to get there. As you know, he's not gonna get a flight."
Oh. Oh shit. "Uh-huh."
"I thought, if you were driving, maybe he could go with you. It would mean a lot to me, Joe. He's a stand-up young man and, well, obviously this is urgent."
I saw my plans for a speedy getaway melting—much like the dime-sized hail that was currently hitting the taxi's windshield was destined to do. Fuck a duck.
There was no way I could say no to Boris. Not after I'd twisted his arm to get this deal closed. And he'd remain an important client. This deal was only the first of many. I hoped.
"Of course," I said with a hiccup of hesitation. "Where, um—"
"Perfect! Thank you so much, Joe. His name is Remy Guidry. I'll text you the address of where to pick him up. It's in Homestead."
After Boris hung up, I banged my head on the window. Homestead was south of Miami, and the car rental place was north. So it would be at least a two-hour trip out of my way to go to pick up this complete stranger. And then I'd be stuck in the car with the guy all the way up the continental US. In a freaking hurricane.
"It's the happiest time of the year!" the radio opined.
I caught the cab driver eying me in the rearview mirror. "You got a passenger, huh?"
"Yeah. Lucky me."
"Look at it this way, man. At least you'll have someone to share the driving with."
That was true. But with the way my luck was going, the guy wouldn't even be able to drive.
Betting on Snow by H Lewis-Foster
“YOU sure about this, love?” The woman behind the counter gave Paul a concerned, maternal look that made him feel about twelve years old. “You a student, are you?”
“Not anymore.” Paul glanced down at his Green Day T-shirt and the jeans he’d been wearing for at least a week. He’d really have to smarten up if he was going to get a decent job.
“Well, if you’re sure.” Crimson-lacquered fingertips picked the crumpled notes from Paul’s hand. “So that’s twenty pounds at 30-1 that it’ll snow on Christmas Day. You know it has to snow in London, don’t you? They can have ten foot of the stuff in Scotland, it won’t count.”
“I know.” Paul took his receipt and put it into his wallet. As he made his way out of the betting shop, past the old men who seemed to spend their whole lives there, Paul wondered what the hell he’d just done. Twenty pounds was almost all the cash he had, and he couldn’t remember the last white Christmas in London. For the hundredth time in the last three years, he asked himself why on earth he’d listened to Steve Roedean.
Paul had met Steve on his first day at uni, where they’d lived on the same corridor in halls. While their chosen subjects of English and maths were at opposite ends of the academic spectrum, they’d found they had plenty of things in common. Among these were shared passions for American rock music and late-night discussions on the meaning of life and their favourite real ales, which made them the best of friends, if not always popular with their neighbours. No one could make Paul laugh like Steve, and they’d got into more scrapes than was good for their grades and quite possibly their future careers, but Paul couldn’t imagine going through his student days without Steve.
Looking back, Paul was amazed he hadn’t fallen for Steve, whose soft Irish accent and striking green eyes seemed to charm almost everyone he met. Paul was also relieved he hadn’t succumbed to his friend’s undeniable allure, as Steve was totally and irretrievably straight. He always had a girlfriend on the go, and his attractiveness to the opposite sex wasn’t harmed by the fact he was never short of money. Steve supplemented his modest monthly allowance from his parents with the occasional flutter, as he liked to call it. He’d bet on everything from political appointments and obscure sports events to the names of celebrities’ soon-to-be-born babies.
Luckily for Steve, his gambling wasn’t compulsive but more of a mathematical challenge, in which he used his skills in the field of probability—as well as a hefty dose of luck—to his financial advantage. Steve often let him in on his wagers, but Paul had never dared risk more than a pound or two. So why had he bet his last twenty quid on such a ridiculously long shot as this?
Steve had looked so sincere as they’d staggered home from their final night at the union bar. “Paul, mate, it’s the safest bet ever. I’ve studied the long-range forecasts and historical records, and I am absolutely certain it’s going to snow on Christmas day. You could put your last penny on it.”
And so Paul had, for old times’ sake and for friendship’s sake. But as he walked out into the July sunshine, Paul truly wished that he hadn’t.
A Funny Thing Happened by Josh Lanyon
“Whoa,” Jake said. “I could feel that frown from the front door.”
I glanced up from the pages of the glossy fashion magazine Natalie had left on the front desk, and stopped scowling. “Hey. I didn’t hear you come in.”
As Jake reached me, I pulled my mask down, and we kissed hello. He smelled like the night, cold and sharp, with a hint of faded aftershave; a peculiarly seductive blend of Mandarin orange and leather. You’d think by now I’d be used to…well, all of it. But the pressure of his mouth was warm against mine, and our lips lingered…lingered… Turns out, love is sticky stuff.
We reluctantly parted—and Jake promptly, gently pulled my mask back up. He pulled his mask up.
I sighed. “You know, it’s after-hours. We’re alone now.”
He touched the tip of my masked nose. “Yep. It’s just you, me, and fifty billion germs.”
Clearly, he was forgetting about trigger-happy Natalie and her trusty can of linen-scented Lysol disinfectant.
The agreement we made was I’d continue to work at Cloak and Dagger through the pandemic, but pledged to be extra-diligent and super-vigilant about following all virus protocols. Which I complied with because A – I’m not an idiot, and B – making Jake happy is a priority for me.
I mean, it’s a mask. Try being on a fucking ventilator. Been there, done that, and will do everything in my power to avoid repeating the experience.
“Speaking of catching germs. How’d your day go?” I asked.
In September, Jake had landed a job with Brannigan Investigations. Brannigan’s is one of LA’s oldest PI firms. It’s where old money Angelenos go for help when no one can know the trouble they’ve gotten themselves into. A coup for Jake, sure, but it hadn’t been an easy transition. For one thing, it closed the door, once and for all, on his career in law enforcement. Which…that door was already closed, but this was like installing a deadbolt. But also, Jake liked the freedom of being his own boss. What he hadn’t liked was the unpredictability of the kinds of cases that came his way—when they came his way—or the precariousness of his finances. So he’d taken the job at Brannigan Investigations.
Fortunately, they seemed to really like him there, and he liked the owner, Mary Brannigan, the great-granddaughter of the original Brannigan. Jake liked having resources, and respect, and a steady paycheck.
“Good,” he said. “Even better, I’ve got the next four days off.”
“Four days?”
“Yep.”
“Wow. They gave you Christmas Eve, Christmas, Boxing Day, and whatever Monday is?” That was more than cool because I too had Christmas Eve, Christmas, Boxing Day, and whatever Monday was. They really did like him at work if they were giving him four days of primo holiday real estate.
I couldn’t quite read the look he was giving me. Jake said, “I’m thinking Monday is a travel day.”
My brows shot up. “A travel day? Where are you going?”
“We can talk about it on the drive home. You ready to head out?”
Mysterious. But okay. It’s well established that I like mysteries.
I said briskly, “Just waiting for you. Let me grab my coat and cat.”
He made a sound of amusement, waiting as I rounded up Tompkins, hustled him into his carrier, and struggled into my coat.
Jake took the carrier from me. On our way out, he glanced at the stairs leading to my former flat. “Is Natalie out?”
What he really meant was, Is Larkin out? Larkin, my three-month-old nephew, was Natalie’s son. Jake adored Larkin, and the feeling seemed to be mutual. Granted, Larkin seemed to adore everyone. I’ve never been much of a fan of babies, but that kid was pretty cute and not entirely objectionable.
Not objectionable at all, really.
I said, “They’re spending the holiday weekend with Lisa and Bill.” Three and a half years ago, my mother married Councilman Bill Dauten, thus supplying me with three ready-made sisters, all accessories included. The latest accessory being the aforementioned Larkin.
Jake frowned. “Then who’s running the bookstore?” Jumping to the conclusion that I was backing out of our agreement, meaning my commitment to a new and healthier lifestyle. Last year’s Christmas present to him. And to myself, I guess.
I said patiently, “Which means, Angus and Bliss are covering tomorrow, and then we’re closed until next Wednesday.”
Bliss was my latest hire. She was…interesting, as girls—young women—with mermaid-colored hair so often are. I felt she was a woman of possibilities. One possibility being (though I denied it when Jake suggested such a thing) that I thought Bliss might provide a good distraction for Angus, who continued to be worryingly smitten with Natalie.
Jake relaxed. I held the door for him, patting his back as he carried Tompkins out.
At this time of year, the night held a spicy festive fragrance—or maybe that was the pine and peppermint scented oil plug-ins stashed around Cloak and Dagger’s sales floor. Because…Natalie.
I turned back to drag the security gate shut. Behind the bars the forest of bookshelves stood motionless and silent, fake evergreen garland glistening and tiny lanterns glittering in the cozy gloom. Natalie had placed a Santa hat on the grinning skull on the fireplace mantle.
He's Behind You! by Clare London
"Thank you, Errol," Mum called from our seats, smiling at the elderly harmonica player on the stage. "We'll be in touch!"
Errol hacked a cough and grinned, showing alternate teeth missing in the front. "I'll get me people to talk to y'r people, shall I, Rose?"
Mum giggled like a teenager.
"Why's he wearing a full Santa suit?" I hissed to her as Errol shuffled off stage.
"He likes it," she said blithely. "Keeps him warm."
Errol always played the music in the handover between scenes. I mean, always. Every year. No need for a casting session at all. But I'd learned over the years that the villagers enjoyed the auditions as much as the production. It was a treasured part of the show.
"Next!" Mum called.
"What show is this, actually?" I peered at the odd collection of roles listed on my script. "It looks like the basic cast from Cinderella, but you've got all sorts of other characters added in. I can see a horse here, a pirate, and is that an elf --?"
She waved a hand in front of my face, temporarily obscuring my view of the names. "Heavens, I hope you haven't brought more of those bourgeois ideas back with you from London! We're not working on one particular tale this year."
"We're not?"
"We thought things were getting a bit stale. I'm using characters from a couple of other shows. And, of course, it depends what costumes I can lay my hands on."
I blinked. The Christmas panto was always on the bizarre if well-loved side, but this was taking it to a new level. I wondered who the elusive "we" was she kept referring to.
"Hi Rose," called a slim teenaged girl from the stage.
"Hi Frank!" called her spitting image.
"Francis," I said automatically. No one called me Frank except for ... well, anyway, no one called me that. I peered between the girls. Yes, a genuine spitting image. And no, I still couldn't tell the difference between the Cartwright twins.
"What parts are you reading for?" I asked.
"The pirate!"
I glanced at Mum and mouthed "pirate, single?"
"They won't act apart from each other," she said happily. "So I said they could share. And then there's no problem with needing an understudy."
"He's behind you!" came a sudden growl.
I whirled around in my chair and nearly burned my nose on the tea urn Errol had wheeled dangerously close on a battered old hostess trolley.
"More tea, vicar?" Errol chuckled. "A cup for you, Rose? And Rose's assistant producer?" He chuckled again.
Yes, Errol had done the refreshments every year, too. I shifted my chair another foot away from the urn -- which was rumbling ominously like a Vesuvius wondering whether to erupt or settle back with passing indigestion to watch a boxset -- and accepted an "I love spreadsheets" mug of surprisingly good tea. Mum got "I love Rottweilers" though I wasn't aware anyone in the village had ever had one.
"Let's get on, shall we?" I said.
The casting continued in the same, wacky vein. Not just the usual, traditional cross-gender casting I'd grown to know and love in pantomime. But this year, it seemed everything was up for grabs. Marco, the cute young man who'd recently taken over the charity shop, lithe and graceful and with a selection of neck shawls in eye-watering-neon wools, was so desperate to play the Evil Stepmother he'd come dressed in a Margaret Thatcher-type skirt suit. Well, maybe he wore similar every day and I hadn't noticed. He certainly rocked it.
The Ugly Sisters were auditioned for by Arnold from the Post Office and his cousin Reg, who worked on a local stud farm. Both were in their mid-fifties, both strong, stocky, working men, both half-bald. They read a page of the script in booming voices, with four of Reg's children clapping wildly from the back of the hall. I couldn't help noticing that Marco now stood with them, sidled up beside the eldest boy, who was probably in his late twenties and built like a prop forward. The heated glances they were exchanging implied entertainment of a rather different kind.
On the stage, the Sisters were ad-libbing banter that would have to be strongly censored before appearing in a family show, and grinning like school kids every time there was mention of bosoms.
"They love RuPaul's show," Mum murmured as she added their names to the cast list. "But we'll have to manage their costume expectations downwards."
I smiled. I was enjoying this more than I'd thought. I turned around to fetch another cuppa, and found Miranda sitting behind us, knitting as always. The almost eighty-year-old grandmother to the twins, she still cycled everywhere around the village, ran a weekly spin class, and always had a packet of biscuits in her knitting bag. A widow, there was even a rumour she and Errol were having an affair. No reason to keep it quiet -- they were both single -- but I think they liked the illusion of illicitness. The wool she was using was a lurid orange. I wondered if she knitted Marco's shawls for him.
"Francis." She nodded at me, winked, then rummaged in her bag and found me a half-open pack of custard creams. I returned the wink in gratitude and settled back to my new job.
A Spaceman Came Traveling by Barbara Elsborg
Stop looking at the clock.
Easy to say. Not easy to do. Seven was tired and he wanted to go home but he couldn’t.
“Seven! You’ve not cleaned that table properly!” Denise snapped.
Seven had cleaned the table properly. He’d sprayed the festive plastic covering, wiped cake off Santa’s beard and orange juice off his reindeer, then dried it so that it looked as good as new, but he picked up his equipment to do it again because it just wasn’t worth arguing with Denise or her sister Fiona.
Working at the café attached to the large garden centre wasn’t the job of Seven’s dreams, but that job was no longer attainable. He had to rethink his future and one thing he was certain about, was that working here didn’t make him happy. The thought of happiness made his chest ache.
“Do that one as well,” Fiona called.
Seven heard the two of them sniggering, but he did as he was told. Denise wanted him to protest so she could complain about him. He knew that because she’d done it twice with no good reason. Politely pointing out that she was mistaken had never worked. He already did far more work than her or Fiona. Seven had done nothing to make her not like him. She just didn’t. Nor did Fiona. It hurt not being liked, especially when he’d done nothing to deserve it.
He didn’t think it was because he was…not quite right, but it might have been. He wasn’t sure what other people really thought of him. Maybe it was because he was gay, though he didn’t think it was that either. If they wanted him to like them, they weren’t going the right way about it. There was no way they could know about the other thing and even if they did, complaining about him wouldn’t have been their response. Screaming might have been. That made him smile. Though if he was being honest, if he’d told them, they’d probably have rolled their eyes and laughed.
Seven’s heart jumped when two familiar figures walked into the café from the adjoining garden centre. This was the fifth time he’d seen them, but usually, they came in on Saturdays. Today was Friday. The boy was wrapped up well against the cold weather and Seven watched as his dad helped him out of his scarf, hat, gloves and coat. The man took off his own coat, hung it over the back of the chair and stuffed his hat in his pocket.
It wasn’t Seven’s imagination, was it, that the man had just shot him a little smile? Seven quickly looked the other way. The guy was gorgeous and every time he came in, Seven’s heart did something acrobatic which largely involved bouncing on his stomach until he felt slightly sick. The man had shiny dark hair, thick black eyelashes, bright blue eyes and the kindest smile. Seven had never had the chance to serve them because Fiona or Denise always managed to jump in first, but they were busy chattering behind the counter, probably plotting extra work for him, and hadn’t noticed the pair arrive. Seven grabbed two menus on the way to their table, only to be elbowed aside by a stampeding Fiona.
Ouch. He put the menus back. They always had the same thing anyway. Hot chocolates and a meringue snowman for the boy. As Seven returned the cleaning equipment to the cupboard, Denise tapped him on the shoulder.
“Hey, you haven’t finished! Clean the legs of all the tables and chairs.”
Seven smiled purely because he sensed it annoyed her. A bit of a feeble thing to do, but better than revealing he was pissed off.
Fiona was flirting like mad with the man, but without any effect. The guy was polite, but even Seven could see he wanted her to go away. Once she’d taken the order there was no reason for her to hang around, whereas Seven had a good excuse to linger and began working on the chairs near the man’s table.
“You had a letter today,” the guy said to his son.
“Is it from Mummy?” “
No, sweetheart. It’s from Santa. Look, that’s your name on the envelope.”
“The stamp’s pretty.”
“It is. A snowy mountain. The Christmas stamps are lovely this year. I’ll find the others and show you.”
The boy ripped open the envelope, then handed over what was inside. “Read it for me, please.”
“Dear Ben. Thank you for your letter. I will do my best to bring the presents you asked for. I’m sorry I can’t bring your Mummy back. I would if I could, but Heaven is a long way away. Love Santa. And there are four kisses. See?”
A splinter pierced Seven’s heart. He rubbed half-heartedly at a paint mark on the table leg. A wife dead. A mother dead!
“If Mummy’s a long way away up in the stars, I could go and see her if I had a spacesuit.”
“Well…”
“Santa! Can you hear me?” Ben shouted.
“Shush,” his daddy whispered.
“No, I can’t shush. Santa has to hear me. Please bring me a spacesuit. I don’t care about the other things on my list. Just a spaceman’s outfit. Please, Santa!”
Seven’s throat closed up. He heard the guy quietly groan.
“Ben, it’s too late now. It’s Christmas Eve. Santa will have loaded everything on his sleigh. There won’t be room for anything else. That’s why you have to send your letter in early, and you didn’t ask for a spacesuit.”
That was good logic, but Seven had a feeling…
“It’s not too late,” the boy said. “Santa can do it. He can do anything. Then I can go and see Mummy. Pops and Nana said she was in the stars.”
Seven glanced up and happened to catch the guy’s eye. His wince said everything. There would be no spacesuit waiting under the tree tomorrow, and no time left now to drive anywhere to try and find one.
“Santa will do it,” Ben said. “I’d like a spacesuit with my name on it and… what’s the name of the place that sends rockets up?”
“NASA. The National Aeronautics and Space Administration.”
“And I need oxygen tanks and a helmet. And—”
“How about we go and see if we can find an ornament to put on the tree once we’ve finished our hot chocolate? If we happen to spot a spacesuit, I’ll buy it.”
Ben shook his head. “No need. Santa will bring one.”
Seven remembered the blind faith he’d had when he was a boy. Not for Santa, but it had been instilled into him that lying was wrong, so he’d believed everything he was told. Not always a good thing when he had brothers who liked to tease him. He stood up and made sure he walked past their table on his way back to the counter so he could peep at the address on the envelope because he had a plan. Ben c/o Cooper…Something or Other. So now he knew both their first names at least and had the address memorised.
Eli EastonHaving been, at various times and under different names, a minister’s daughter, a computer programmer, a game designer, the author of paranormal mysteries, a fan fiction writer, and organic farmer, Eli has been a m/m romance author since 2013. She has over 30 books published.
Eli has loved romance since her teens and she particular admires writers who can combine literary merit, genuine humor, melting hotness, and eye-dabbing sweetness into one story. She promises to strive to achieve most of that most of the time. She currently lives on a farm in Pennsylvania with her husband, bulldogs, cows, a cat, and lots of groundhogs.
In romance, Eli is best known for her Christmas stories because she’s a total Christmas sap. These include “Blame it on the Mistletoe”, “Unwrapping Hank” and “Merry Christmas, Mr. Miggles”. Her “Howl at the Moon” series of paranormal romances featuring the town of Mad Creek and its dog shifters has been popular with readers. And her series of Amish-themed romances, Men of Lancaster County, has won genre awards.
H. Lewis-Foster lives in the north of England and has always worked with books, in one form or another. A keen reader and writer of gay fiction, she is now the proud author of several short stories and a debut novel 'Burning Ashes'.
H. likes to create characters that are talented, funny and quite often gorgeous, but who all have their faults and vulnerable sides, and she hopes that you'll enjoy reading their stories as much as she loves writing them.
Josh LanyonBestselling author of over sixty titles of classic Male/Male fiction featuring twisty mystery, kickass adventure and unapologetic man-on-man romance, JOSH LANYON has been called "the Agatha Christie of gay mystery."
Her work has been translated into eleven languages. The FBI thriller Fair Game was the first male/male title to be published by Harlequin Mondadori, the largest romance publisher in Italy. Stranger on the Shore (Harper Collins Italia) was the first M/M title to be published in print. In 2016 Fatal Shadows placed #5 in Japan's annual Boy Love novel list (the first and only title by a foreign author to place on the list).
The Adrien English Series was awarded All Time Favorite Male Male Couple in the 2nd Annual contest held by the Goodreads M/M Group (which has over 22,000 members). Josh is an Eppie Award winner, a four-time Lambda Literary Award finalist for Gay Mystery, and the first ever recipient of the Goodreads Favorite M/M Author Lifetime Achievement award.
Josh is married and they live in Southern California.Her work has been translated into eleven languages. The FBI thriller Fair Game was the first male/male title to be published by Harlequin Mondadori, the largest romance publisher in Italy. Stranger on the Shore (Harper Collins Italia) was the first M/M title to be published in print. In 2016 Fatal Shadows placed #5 in Japan's annual Boy Love novel list (the first and only title by a foreign author to place on the list).
The Adrien English Series was awarded All Time Favorite Male Male Couple in the 2nd Annual contest held by the Goodreads M/M Group (which has over 22,000 members). Josh is an Eppie Award winner, a four-time Lambda Literary Award finalist for Gay Mystery, and the first ever recipient of the Goodreads Favorite M/M Author Lifetime Achievement award.
Clare London took her pen name from the city where she lives, loves, and writes. A lone, brave female in a frenetic, testosterone-fuelled family home, she juggles her writing with her other day job as an accountant.
She’s written in many genres and across many settings, with award-winning novels and short stories published both online and in print. She says she likes variety in her writing while friends say she’s just fickle, but as long as both theories spawn good fiction, she’s happy. Most of her work features male/male romance and drama with a healthy serving of physical passion, as she enjoys both reading and writing about strong, sympathetic, and sexy characters.
Clare currently has several novels sulking at that tricky chapter-three stage and plenty of other projects in mind… she just has to find out where she left them in that frenetic, testosterone-fuelled family home.
Clare loves to hear from readers, and you can contact her on all her social media.
Barbara Elsborg lives in Kent in the south of England. She always wanted to be a spy, but having confessed to everyone without them even resorting to torture, she decided it was not for her. Volcanology scorched her feet. A morbid fear of sharks put paid to marine biology. So instead, she spent several years successfully selling cyanide.
After dragging up two rotten, ungrateful children and frustrating her sexy, devoted, wonderful husband (who can now stop twisting her arm) she finally has time to conduct an affair with an electrifying plugged-in male, her laptop.
Her earlier books feature quirky heroines and bad boys, now she concentrates on the bad boys, and hopes her books are as much fun to read as they are to write.
Eli Easton
H Lewis-Foster
Josh Lanyon
Clare London
EMAIL: clarelondon11@yahoo.co.uk
Plane, Trains, and Hurricanes by Eli Easton
Betting on Snow by H Lewis-Foster
A Funny Thing Happened . . . by Josh Lanyon
He's Behind You! by Clare London
A Spaceman Came Traveling by Barbara Elsborg
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