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.
Original Review January 2024:
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.
Summary:
Once Upon a Holiday Story
Growing up, Colt Grieves would’ve sooner died than let his friends step foot into his family’s home on Lullaby Lane. Everyone knew that his dad was a hoarder, but knowing it and seeing it are very different things. When he moves out on his own, Colt’s content to wedge distance between himself and the house—and his father. When he gets the call that his dad’s passed away, he feels like he shouldn’t be surprised, and yet the news hits him like a bag of bricks.
Colt arrives back home with a knot in his stomach and a sense of choking dread. He’s stunned to find another man living in a trailer on the property—someone who’s been helping Mr. Grieves out these last seven years. Sera Howell is tall and gorgeous and could charm a rabid badger, but Colt can’t help the gnawing insecurity and guilt that some stranger had more of a relationship with his old man than Colt ever did.
The house looks worse than ever, and Colt’s nerves are frayed from the moment he steps inside. There is no running anymore, though. Sera will be at his side whether he likes it or not—and he does start to like it—but Colt must dig up the ghosts of his family’s past to come to terms with it. Secrets won’t stay buried, not even under the weight of the house on Lullaby Lane.
Once Upon a Lullaby Lane is a part of the multi-author series Once Upon A Holiday Story. Each book can be read as a standalone and in any order. What links these books together is The Hook’s Book Nook Traveling Library, a library on wheels owned by two old ladies in love.
Summary:
Waiting Hearts World Story (Asilo Pride)
Sometimes Santa sends you the one thing you’ve always wanted and it’s all covered in fur.
Nicholas and I have been friends since the day he moved next door to my family when I was in kindergarten. We were inseparable, that is until the day before his sixteenth birthday, when everything has changed. I lost everything that day; my best friend, my joy, and the boy I was in love with.
It’s been ten years and I still haven’t discovered why he ghosted me. But one thing I have learned is that my love for him hadn’t been a silly crush. I still want him just as much as I did then and I hate it. Why can’t I move on and find a nice alpha to settle down with? Nicholas. That’s why.
And now I’m home for Christmas and it’s taking all of my energy to slap on a happy face and be merry for my parents. When my younger sister announces her engagement, I need air. I run out of the house and into the woods behind us only to find myself in the middle of a wolf fight, one that ends up with me both injured and happier than I’d ever been.
Our Accidental Christmas Mating is a stand alone sweet with naughty heat M/M Mpreg Christmas romance set in the same world as Waiting Hearts. It’s a friends to lovers, snowed in, fated mates, one who got away, forbidden love, holiday story of true love, fated mates, an omega human who sensed the mating pull years before he knew they existed, an alpha wolf shifter who missed his bestie, a misguided meddling family of rogues doing what they think is best for their family, Christmas magic, cookies galore, hot chocolate a plenty, the perfect gift, an adorable baby, and of course, a guaranteed happy ever after. If you love your shifters hot, your omegas strong, and your mpreg sweet enough to give you a cavity, download your copy of Our Accidental Christmas Mating today.
Summary:
Christmas Falls: Season 2 #3
Leo Fenner needs a Christmas miracle …
Charmed by the small town, and weary of the big city dating scene, Leo moved to Christmas Falls in hopes of finding love like his college friend, Hayden.
Nick Morgan had the love of his life and lost her, but is determined to help others find their happily ever after with his matchmaking service.
His website needs work though, and Leo is just the man for the job.
The web developer signs up for Nick’s matchmaking service to get a feel for what the process is like, all while secretly hoping it’ll bring him the love of his dreams.
But as Nick and Leo work together, the sparks between them are impossible to ignore.
Too bad there’s a few little problems.
For one, Nick’s never fallen for a man before. And, oh yeah—those dates he’s planning for Leo? They’re supposed to be with other guys …
Christmas Falls: Season 2 revisits a small town that thrives on enough holiday charm to rival any Hallmark movie. It's a multi-author M/M romance series.
Santa's Naughty Elf Mates #2
When is a gnome not a gnome? When he’s an elf.
Santa Claus’s helper, omega elf, Sparkle, is tossed out of Santa’s Workshop and the North Pole. He shrugs off his job termination, until he discovers he’s a figurine and has to sparkle in someone’s garden, looking pretty. Talk about boring.
A dog tries to pee on him and the neighbor’s son pitches baseballs at his head. But that’s not the worst of it. He’s mistaken for a gnome. A garden gnome! His gnome friends in Christmas Village would chuckle at the mistaken identity.
The garden’s owner, an alpha, wants to donate him to a thrift shop, until Sparkle scents the guy and… he’s no longer a figurine. But how do you tell a wolf shifter his fated mate is one of Santa’s elves who lost his job because of a teensy-weensy mistake? And the clock is ticking down to a Christmas mating deadline!
Naughty Elf: Sparkle is a sweet with knotty heat MM mpreg Christmas romance featuring an elf who made a huge mistake, a wolf shifter pining for love, a lovable dog, interfering neighbors, Christmas decorations and presents galore, including a very special Christmas tree, true love, fated mates, a happy ever after, and don’t forget a cute baby.
***Santa’s Naughty Elves brings you a new series of Christmas magic, fated mates, and adorable babies from some of your favorite mpreg authors. Be sure to grab them all and see what knotty fun Santa has brought good alphas and omegas this holiday season.
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.
Once Upon a Lullaby Lane by K York
Chapter 1
42 Lullaby Lane stood against a backdrop of redwoods and pines in all its dilapidated glory. The last time Colt had laid eyes on it, the main kitchen window had been boarded up, a front step caved in, and the fence more an idea of jagged posts than anything else. Surely somewhere in the far back of his memory there existed an image of this house looking…maybe not new, but normal. Like any other house along the Lost Coast that had a history and a family who loved it.
Had they loved this place? Maybe Dad had, at some point. Or maybe he’d loved the memory of it from when Mom was still around.
Five minutes.
He’d promised himself five minutes to sit in the car and collect himself, and those minutes were up.
Mechanically, he slid out of the car and nudged the door shut. He hadn’t brought his things with him. He’d sooner sleep in the back of the sedan than spend another night in this house.
Colt scuffed his boots across the muddy ground, exhaling a puff of breath visible in the early winter chill. There weren’t really summers in Gold Moon Bay; just winter and some conglomeration of fall-slash-spring that were only really differentiated by the amount of rainfall. A lot in the fall. A fuck-ton in the spring. Winter was a guessing game.
The key felt as heavy in his hand as the dread in his chest. The yard wasn’t nearly as overgrown as he expected it to be. Maybe Dad had finally caved and started paying someone to upkeep it. Colt noted the stacks of plastic tubs on the porch, no doubt stuffed full of junk. About fifty feet off the gravel driveway sat an old camper. He suspected that, too, served as little more than a storage unit. It was only a matter of time before the mess inside started spilling out.
He unlocked the front door and let it swing open. Something it didn’t used to be able to do; there was always too much shit blocking the way. You pushed it open and squeezed in and prayed nothing fell.
A mostly empty hall greeted him. Well, it might’ve cluttered by most peoples’ standards, but it was the emptiest Colt could remember seeing it since he was a kid.
No, wait…
The hall hadn’t been cleaned out so much as evacuated, things shoved aside into adjoining rooms to make space. People—paramedics—had needed in and out in a hurry. Needed more than a few treacherous, narrow paths to maneuver. Dad was—had been—a tall, sturdy man. Getting him onto a stretcher and out of the house couldn’t have been easy.
Every instinct in Colt’s animal brain told him to march right back to the car and leave. To tell Kate to just set the fucking place on fire for all he cared; he didn’t want it. Not the peeling paint, not the rusted porch swing. Not the ghosts and memories and heaps of boxes and collectibles and books because “Maybe they’ll come in handy” or “I couldn’t pass up a sale” or “It’s my own damn business what I spend my money on, Colt, so leave me alone.”
Now Dad was dead. He wasn’t there to protest anymore. But it meant Colt was left with the wreckage.
Colt pressed on down the hall. The first archway to the left led to the living room. Or, at least, there was a living room buried under there somewhere along with a few good Christmases and birthdays.
Onward still.
Kitchen: devoid of (most) of the rotten food, though the place still reeked of mold. Cupboards overflowed with dishes and rags and cute dish towels for every season that did nothing but collect dust. Stacked serving bowls and plates and trays as though they even had a free table to put them on. As though guests could ever fit in there to have a meal, let alone cook.
Bathroom: probably one of the cleaner rooms in the house. Not to say it was clean, but you could open the door, there were no stacks of magazines or crates or unopened mail and Amazon packages. Small blessings.
The den, though…
“The den” was a misnomer. It hadn’t been a den in decades. When Glenn Grieves filled his own upstairs bedroom to the brim, he’d relocated down to this space where he only ever maintained a small corner barely big enough for his bed.
Colt got as far as the doorway and had to stop. There, as in the hall, things had been recently disturbed. Towers of boxes were shoved as far back as possible against the far walls, heaps of clothes trampled on the floor… This was all Dad’s mess, but Dad’s mess was meticulous in its placement, everything Tetris’d together to form an impenetrable fortress. He wouldn’t have left it like that.
He stared at the bed crammed into the corner. The blankets looked clean, the bedding made. Pillows fluffed. That didn’t look like his dad’s doing, either.
Aside from EMTs and probably some kind of building inspector or law enforcement to make sure the place was structurally sound enough for people to get in and out, who else would’ve been in here? He couldn’t imagine they’d have stopped to straighten up. There was Kate—the social worker who’d spent the last few years working with Glenn—but he knew damned well she’d never stepped inside.
His hand flexed on the door knob. He backed out. For some reason, that lone little clean spot in the room made his stomach turn more than the hoard did.
He didn’t manage much further in his exploration. Couldn’t even look sidelong at the stairs or think about what lay at the top of them. He came to see what he was dealing with, and he had.
Now, he just needed to figure out what the fuck to do about any of it.
***
The motel reeked of musty, dirty laundry, but it still beat the house on Lullaby Lane. Paying for a week or two at the good ol’ Motel Honeybee, no matter the noise or the stench or the shady dealings in the parking lot, was preferable to even thinking about staying in his childhood home. Going back to it at all was bad enough.
The visit had left Colt’s stomach uneasy and racked with nerves; no dinner for him tonight. Kate called while he downed a subpar mug of coffee—compliments of the motel—and he answered only because she didn’t believe in leaving voicemails. She believed in persistently calling back until she got an answer.
“Just wanted to check in, make sure you got into town okay,” she said cheerfully.
Colt didn’t mind her, really. She was a nice lady, but her friendly demeanor sat in such stark contrast with his mood that it made him instantly tired. He’d spoken to her a grand total of four times on the phone—five now—but they hadn’t yet met in person.
He assured her he was fine, settled in, and she sounded surprised when he mentioned he’d already dropped by the house . A fair enough reaction; she’d asked to be there when he went.
He hadn’t wanted her to be. He didn’t wanted anyone to be.
“I just took a glance around,” he said, cramming down the inkling of guilt. “Didn’t get in-depth into anything.”
“No, yeah, sure, it’s fine!” Kate assured. “I mean, it’s your place now. Oh—did you get a chance to meet Sera?”
“Who?”
“Sera. I’m pretty sure I mentioned him; he’s the one who, um, found Glenn.”
He’d gotten the call at two a.m. one morning from a doctor at the hospital. Everything beyond I’m sorry to tell you that your father has passed was little more than a blurry mess. But if he though really hard, yeah, he guessed he vaguely recalled Kate mentioning that it was a friend of his dad’s who’d found him.
“Right. Uh, no. Was he supposed to be there?”
“Well, he lives there, so I thought—”
“Sorry, he lives there?”
“No, no—not in the house! God, no. Just on the property. He’s been there a few years helping Glenn out with the place. Brought him to all his appointments when he couldn’t drive anymore. Nice guy.”
Colt’s head spun. It was weird enough to think that his dad had maintained any kind of friendship with his lifestyle, but to think he had someone living there on the property… More than that, someone he’d never mentioned to Colt. Not once. Okay, so they didn’t talk often, maybe every couple of months on one of their birthdays, but if this guy had been around for years… Where the hell was he even staying if not in the house?
The camper.
Not just for junk storage after all.
“Right.” He swallowed back the lump of undefined emotion in the back of this throat. Something to cough up later and try to examine, but he couldn’t stand the taste of it just now.
“Anyway, I know he wants to meet you, and I’m sure he’ll be a big help in getting the place sorted.”
The visceral reaction to snap at Kate and tell her he didn’t need this guy’s help, that no one needed to be in that house, was real and raw, and he had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep it in check. She’s trying to help. That’s all.
Kate went on for a few minutes longer, something about paperwork and meeting up to make funeral arrangements. All things Colt listened and made note of despite barely speaking a word. As soon as they hung up, his phone buzzed with a text message.
Kate Leonardo
Here’s his number if you want to get in touch! xx
Attached was a contact for Sera Howell.
“There’s a thing I won’t be doing,” he mumbled. Even on a good day, he couldn’t message a stranger to strike up a conversation. One that knew his dad, knew about their way of life? He’d sooner have swallowed his phone.
He finished off his now-cold coffee, washed up, and collapsed into bed, still trying to shake the jumble of irritation and confusion clinging to his skin like moisture from the lukewarm shower. Only once his nerves settled some did he reach for his phone again, pulling up a number he hadn’t even officially added to his contacts.
It rang three times before a gruff voice answered, “Y’ello?”
“Hey, Uncle Rob.” A pause. “It's Colt.”
“Yeah, hey, hey. How’s it going? You get there okay?”
Traffic leaving the San Francisco airport had been a nightmare, coupled with the hassle of renting a car and making the four hour drive north. He could complain about that, or how the flight itself had been delayed so many times it arrived three hours after its original schedule. But he’d only spoken to Rob a handful of times since he was a little boy. Any attempt at small-talk between them has been stilted and awkward and forced.
“Trip was fine,” he offered instead.
“That’s good.” Another pause. “So, uh… You seen the house yet?”
“For a bit. I didn’t stay long.” Colt’s gaze rolled to the ceiling. His eyes traced the cracks in the off-white plaster like hairline fractures in bone.
“How bad is it?”
“Uhh… I’ve got my work cut out for me.”
“No shame in just having someone else clean the place out, Colt.” Uncle Rob’s tone was gentle, reassuring, and Colt could appreciate the sentiment behind it if nothing else. “Spare yourself a lot of headache and heartache, I’d bet.”
“I could also just have it condemned and bulldozed to the ground,” Colt said with the casual air of someone who’d put serious thought into doing just that. He ran a hand down his face. “Maybe I’ll reach a point where I’ll hire a company to come in and help, but starting out, I feel like it’s something family should handle.”
And then he let that sentence hang there, heavy. Let the meaning behind it sink in. He hadn’t outright asked Uncle Rob to come out to California to face all this mess, but he’d dropped enough hints. Colt didn’t want or need some weird guy living in a trailer or a social worker to help; he wanted his family. He wanted the only person who might’ve understood even a fraction of this convoluted grief.
Uncle Rob shifted uncomfortably on the other end of the line, cleared his throat, and skirted right around the unspoken plea.
“Just so long as you take care of yourself first and foremost. You know where I am if y’need me.”
Colt closed his eyes.
Rob and Glenn Stafford had been inseparable growing up, close enough in age that half the people who met them would’ve guessed they were twins. Uncle Rob was a staple in Colt’s earliest memories. Colt can’t place exactly when he stopped coming around, but he could make a few guesses that’d probably be spot-on. Dimly, he remembers Grandma Belle—before she’d passed some twelve years ago—often reaching out to Rob when she couldn’t seem to get through to her younger son. “Glenn doesn’t care what I have to say, but he always listens to his big brother.”
Yeah, well, that hadn’t been the case for a long time. No doubt the contention between them played a part in Uncle Rob moving to Utah while Dad stayed right there in the family home while letting it disintegrate around him.
If he asked Uncle Rob directly to come out to help, would he reluctantly agree? Or would he fumble around for an excuse to slip out of it?
“Yeah, thanks. I’ll keep you updated.”
He said his goodbyes and hung up. Pinched the bridge of his nose. Sighed.
He’d spoken to Rob no more than four times in the last week, and the first time had been to give him the news that his little brother Glenn was dead. They’d sat there awkwardly on the phone, both muffling the occasional sniffle, two near-strangers trying to process how they felt about losing someone they loved but had been, even at the best of times, complicated. Each time Colt had reached out to him since then, some small part of him hoped that, just maybe, they’d find some kind of connection so that he needn’t feel so damned alone in the complexity of his grief.
So far, no luck.
He was on his own.
Our Accidental Christmas Mating by Jena Wade & Lorelei M Hart
Chapter One
Christopher
When Uncle Tim cancelled the annual Christmas gathering held at his house, I planned to stay at my place far away from my hometown, drink eggnog in abundance, watch Christmas movies, and call it good.
The call from my mother letting me know she was taking over the hosting duties caught me off guard. We never hosted. It was how I was able to avoid returning to my hometown since leaving for college a number of years ago. Now, here I was traveling back to my hometown—the one I swore I would never go back to.
I tried not to be pissed at Uncle Tim. He had been hosting the major holidays for most of my life. He had a huge, centrally located house. It made sense to do all family celebrations there. But this year he wanted to go on a cruise, which threw a wrench in my plans and my ability to avoid the unpleasantness of being home. But I needed to respect his need for a vacation.
Even if it meant I had to reopen old wounds.
Nicholas.
Why couldn’t I just let him go? I wanted him out of my mind, out of my heart. But alas, that wasn’t the way it worked. The vision of him was burned in my mind, and no amount of time away seemed to dull it.
I took one last look around the hotel room to make sure I hadn’t forgotten anything and grabbed my bag. I was only fifteen minutes from my family home, but I wasn’t ready to go all the way there last night. Shit. I wasn’t ready now, but my parents were expecting me not only as company, but to help. They had invited the entire family to spend the week with them.
After sliding my key in the check-out box, I turned the car on and grabbed the scraper to clear off the windshield, which had been covered with ice and snow overnight. One nice thing about living in the city was my parking garage. I couldn’t remember the last time I even had to warm up the car.
“Hey, Mom,” I answered my buzzing phone.
“Don’t hey me, I’m not a horse.” She giggled over the phone. She had been telling that “joke” since I’d entered elementary school and it had never been funny to anyone but her. She thought it was hilarious.
“Hello, Mom. How are you?” I threw the scraper on the floor of the front seat and climbed inside.
“I’ll be better when you’re here. Your Aunt Kate forgot to mention she was bringing her new boyfriend and his three granddaughters. I have no presents for them, no toddler type foods, and none of that special laundry soap you use with kids’ clothes.”
The sound of a dog barking echoed over the phone. She was outside, hiding from the family. I’d put money on them not even knowing she was upset. It was her way.
“I’m only fifteen minutes from the superstore. I can stop and get things. How old are they?” It was easier than going home and seeing Nicholas’ old house and wondering where he was and why he never returned a single call or letter.
“Two and a half.”
“And the other two?”
“They’re all two and a half. Triplets.”
I was going to be in a house for a week where there were triplet toddlers? I loved kids as much as the next guy, but damn. It was going to be a long week.
“Do they need places to sleep?” I could see them running around while everyone slept. But did kids that age sleep in cribs? I didn’t even know.
“No, but maybe get one of those alarms you put on a door so when it is open it buzzes, so we don’t need to worry in the middle of the night?” She was on the same page I was, only with actual facts to make her page better.
I made the drive to the store, which was away from my mom’s. It was a fun distraction to think of different present ideas for a three year old, or in this case three of them. My aunt had always been one to jump in with both feet, and it sounded like this time she did a cannon ball in. But who was I to judge? She always followed her happy-ever-after.
Maybe if I had been more like her, I’d have followed mine ten years ago. Maybe if Nicholas knew that I loved him, that he was more than just my best friend, that I’d have done anything for him—maybe then he would’ve at least told me where he was going instead of going poof in the night.
His parents had rattled off a story about how going to boarding school when he’d turned sixteen had always been the plan. And maybe it had, but going on your exact birthday? That was peculiar at best. There was also the fact that my closest friend, the one I spent most of my waking hours with for years, never bothered to mention it to me.
His leaving crushed me, but boarding school wasn’t forever, right? He’d come home for vacations, breaks, or holidays. Only he didn’t. They went to see him. At one point I even thought they were keeping a secret from me and that he wasn’t at school, that something bad happened to him. That was when I got my one and only communication with him in the form of a handwritten letter:
Sorry I didn’t tell you. It was better this way. ~Nicholas
That was it, the entire letter. No return address. Every letter I sent back to him had to go through his parents. He replied to none of them. Not a single one. At first I dropped one off everyday. Then it was a few times a week. At college I still sent some back to them, in hopes that they would eventually get through whatever walls Nicholas had surrounded himself with.
But nothing ever came of it.
They were not sappy “come back to me” type letters. They were more a diary, letting him know how my day was, like I would’ve if he was still around. If I failed a test, I told him. If I burnt my first attempt at a meatloaf, it was on the page. It was pathetic. I was pathetic. Harboring a crush for my friend who I hadn’t seen in nearly seven years was insanity. Objectively I knew this.
But he was supposed to be my one and only. I felt it in my gut. Why didn’t he feel it back?
When I’d moved to college, I’d hoped and also feared that my feelings for him would dull. I thought I’d meet a guy or girl on campus that struck my fancy. That just maybe I could get over him and move on with my life. I both wanted, and dreaded it happening. Only it never did.
One time at a New Year’s Eve party, a man I’d never met before, but had seen around campus, had grabbed me by the shoulders and kissed me. He didn’t try anything more than that, but just having someone other than Nicholas near me made my skin crawl. I’d spent the rest of the night puking in the bushes. I hadn’t even drank anything. For days it felt like I hadn’t been able to get the taste of him off my tongue, and I longed for Nicholas’ scent near me to chase away the lingering touch of the stranger.
I still saw Nicholas in my dreams at night. Sometimes I swore I caught a glimpse of him from across the courtyard where the students played frisbee. I longed for him in a way that was not healthy, and there was nothing I could do about it. Nothing that I wanted to do about it now.
Perhaps I was only allowed one love in this life. Maybe I was crazy, but I didn’t hate that it was Nicholas.
12 Dates of Christmas by Brigham Vaughn
CHAPTER ONE
“I hate you a little bit.” Leo Fenner sighed and set a box on the coffee table.
Hayden Bradley smirked. “Nice thing to say to your best friend who’s helping you move into your new place.”
Leo grinned. “Okay, fine. I don’t hate you. But I am jealous. How did you manage to snag the perfect guy?”
“Slipped and fell on my ass in front of his bakery,” Hayden said with a laugh. “And then was rude to him.”
“Yeah, I dunno that I can recreate that one.” Laughing too, Leo dropped onto the couch in his new apartment.
The one right above that very same bakery, Ginger’s Breads.
Hayden had met his boyfriend, Joel MacArthur, last winter in a way that seemed like something out of a cute little holiday rom-com movie.
Hayden had moved from Chicago to the small town of Christmas Falls, Illinois to temporarily live with his mom and stepdad while he desperately tried to find a job as a web designer. His goal was to get the hell out of town as fast as possible. Instead, he’d been swept off his feet by the bakery owner, found a gig working as a website designer for the local college, and been hired to revamp the town’s festival website.
Which was where Leo had come in.
At the time, he’d been living in Chicago and working for a big company as a web developer. When people got the two jobs confused—and they always did—Leo had always liked to joke that Hayden made websites pretty, but he made them work.
Which wasn’t entirely true but it made Hayden get that grumpy look on his face that always made Leo laugh.
Hayden had texted him in a panic late last winter and said he needed help with a misbehaving section of the website, Leo had pitched in. What he’d expected to be a one-time-thing had turned into a semi-regular freelance gig.
While Leo could have done it all remotely, he’d used it as an excuse to visit his friend. Every time he was here, he fell a little more in love with the quirky little town that celebrated Christmas 24/7, 365 days a year.
“Hey, you okay?” Hayden asked with a frown. “You seem a little quiet. I thought you’d be more excited about moving here.”
“I am,” Leo protested. “Just … I don’t know. It suddenly feels a little crazy to realize I totally uprooted my life in Chicago to move to some Christmas-themed small town on the off chance of finding love.”
He laughed after he said that aloud because it was ridiculous sounding. But here he was.
“I get that,” Hayden said, perching on the arm of the sofa. “But you have to admit, there’s something about this place that seems to bring people together.”
“There is,” Leo agreed.
Because in the past ten months he’d spent driving from Chicago to Christmas Falls to hang out with Hayden and do the work on the Christmas Festival’s website together, he heard the stories about how people met. He saw all of the adorable couples strolling down Candy Cane Lane. He watched several first dates and even a proposal happen before his very eyes!
And Leo wanted that. He wanted it so bad but he was getting nowhere in Chicago. Not with the dating apps. Not going to queer spaces. Not at cheesy speed-dating events.
Chicago’s thriving neighborhood of Boystown should have been the easiest place in the world to find the guy of his dreams. But nope. Leo had been ghosted and lied to and even scammed. Yeah, that had been his breaking point.
That was the moment he’d said fuck it and started aggressively planning to move to Christmas Falls.
Leo glanced over at Hayden, who was staring with a worried frown. “I’ll be okay,” he said lightly. “It’ll all work out eventually.”
Because he had to believe that or he’d throw himself into a snowbank and refuse to ever come out.
“Okay.” Leo slapped his thighs, then rose to his feet. “Let’s get the rest of this stuff moved in, then you can take me out to lunch at Frosty’s.”
Hayden snorted. “Uhh, pretty sure you’re supposed to take me out since I was the one who helped you move.”
Leo shrugged, following him to the door. “Potato-potahto,” he said breezily.
As they walked down the steps, they ran into Joel.
Leo stifled an appreciative sigh. The man was a hunky ginger-haired bear of a baker with kind eyes and a sweet smile. Lucky Hayden.
“It’s slowed down a little at the bakery so I can help you guys unload, if you want,” Joel said, flashing that same sweet smile at them both before he bent to give Hayden a quick kiss, wrapping an arm around his waist.
Hayden shot him an adoring look and Leo had to look away. They were utterly, disgustingly in love.
Leo was so fucking envious.
“Thanks, Joel. Help would be amazing,” Leo said gratefully. He’d sold most of his furniture since the apartment over the bakery came with the pieces he needed, but he still had plenty of crap to haul upstairs.
Thankfully, with three people, the work was a whole lot lighter than it had been when Leo packed the car in Chicago by himself. Although, if Leo caught Hayden ogling Joel’s ass one more time, he was going to barf.
Or maybe that was the envy talking again. Because goddamn did Joel have a nice ass.
Joel should use that for the bakery’s tagline: home of the baker with the best buns.
Twenty minutes later, Leo’s car was empty, his thighs ached from the trips up and down the stairs, and a plate of warm ginger-molasses cookies from the bakery sat on the coffee table.
“You didn’t have to do that,” Leo protested, but he was already eagerly reaching for one of Joel’s incredible treats. “You gave me your apartment.”
Joel grinned. “I wouldn’t call having a rental agreement giving it to you, but of course I had to get you a housewarming gift! You’re officially a resident of Christmas Falls!”
Leo bit into the cookie and tried not to moan. No wonder Hayden had fallen in love with the baker. He wasn’t just hot. These cookies were legit. Chewy and sweet, with a bite of ginger that made his tongue tingle.
As if Hayden could tell what Leo was thinking, he slid an arm around Joel’s waist and eyed Leo. “Don’t go getting any ideas though. This guy is all mine.”
Leo laughed and nearly choked on his cookie. “I know that,” he mumbled around his food.
After he finished the last delicious bite, he glanced between Hayden and Joel. “Seriously, I’m happy for you guys. I love that you got a house together.”
Hayden beamed, which said everything because he had been a horrible grump last year. Though, who could blame him? He’d been through a lot. “Yeah, I’m excited we found a place.”
Joel had lived over the bakery for about a decade and Hayden had moved in with him last winter. A few months ago, they’d found a cute little house on the edge of downtown and had slowly been moving in there.
That was when Leo had, mostly jokingly, said something about moving to Christmas Falls and taking over the apartment. Joel had brightened, looking excited. He’d quoted a price so low Leo nearly fell over.
Once the idea had been planted in Leo’s head, it refused to budge. He’d paid three times more in Chicago and his job could be done remotely except for the occasional trip into the office every few months.
Christmas Falls seemed like a fairytale compared to Chicago so why not?
But he hadn’t been serious about it until a few weeks later when the guy he’d gone on a few dates with had given him a sob story about being kicked out of the house he was renting with friends.
There had been tears as he’d told about his former housemates throwing slurs at him as they tossed his belongings on the lawn. The guy had seemed so scared and traumatized that Leo knew he had to help.
While Leo wasn’t comfortable letting a virtual stranger move in with him, he’d given him enough money to rent a clean—if not fancy—hotel room for a week until he got housing straightened out.
Only a few days later, when the guy went silent and Leo mentioned it to a friend over brunch, the friend rolled his eyes. “Yeah, you haven’t heard about that old scam going around the area?” he said, pity dripping from his voice and written all over his face. “I can’t believe you fell for it. You’re so naïve.”
Leo had looked online and found proof it had happened to dozens of guys in the area.
So yeah, that was the last fucking straw. That same night, he’d video chatted with Hayden and Joel about the logistics for moving into their old place while he packed his belongings.
Fuck the Chicago dating scene.
Leo deserved real love. Not people who would use real, awful situations actually happening to queer people as some ploy to scam money out of them.
“Leo? You’re coming to Thanksgiving dinner next week, right?” Joel asked now. “We’re excited to host it for the first time.”
“Yep. I’ll be there!” Leo promised. “Want me to bring a side dish?”
“Please,” Joel answered with a smile. “We’ve got the turkey, stuffing, and obviously the pies are all taken care of.”
They all laughed.
The man could cook and bake. Seriously, Hayden had all the luck.
“One green bean casserole coming up!” Leo promised brightly, because he refused to be resentful of his friend’s happiness.
“Great,” Hayden said. “This’ll be fun!”
“It will. But I should head downstairs again. Sorry I can’t help you get settled in more, Leo.” Joel looked apologetic. “We’re ramping up to the holidays and …”
“Yeah, no worries, I get it,” Leo assured him. “Trust me. This won’t take too long to unpack. You were both a huge help already.”
Hayden glanced at his phone. “I think we’ll work for about an hour on getting Leo organized, then head to lunch.”
“Okay,” Joel said, dropping a kiss on Hayden’s lips. “See you at home in a few hours?”
“Yep, I’ll see you then.”
“Love you!”
“Love you too.”
But before Joel could go, Hayden reached out and grabbed his shirt. He kissed him a little more thoroughly, winding his arms around Joel’s neck.
A pang of envy appeared again.
Hayden glowed whenever he was around Joel or even talked about him. And Joel glowed right back.
It was everything Leo had ever wanted and—damn it—this was his year to find it!
He was ready for his own Christmas miracle.
Naughty Elf: Sparkle by Colbie Dunbar
ONE
SPARKLE
“Are you ready?” I whispered to my friend, Castien.
“You sure we should be doing this?” he replied as he hid behind a mound of snow and tugged his hat over his ears.
Damn. I should have told him to remove the bell. I put a finger to my lips. Shifters had super-sensitive hearing, even when they took their fur. If they were aware we elves were pulling pranks, they’d surround us and bow their heads, using their antlers as a barrier. And that was no fun—for the elves.
“Yes.”
The new year, when everyone returned from vacation and life was a little slower after Christmas mayhem, was a time for mischief-making at the North Pole and especially in Christmas Village. It was a tradition, one I was proud to uphold.
“But won’t they be annoyed?” Castien screwed up his face as the snow drifted over us. “An angry reindeer is a reindeer I don’t want to be around.”
So many questions! Castien was a new hire and not used to the ways of the elves. Not just the elves working for Santa #1 but all the Santas in the village.
The reindeer shifters had pranked me and my fellow elves in the past, and the ones we were playing tricks on were, like Castien, new to Christmas Village, having passed rigorous tests, both in the classroom and in the air.
They were with their trainer, Dasher, Santa #1’s head reindeer. But Dasher had been called away, and the other beasts were milling about in the training facility, the huge cavernous warehouse-like building where they practiced their landings.
“Take off your hat,” I mouthed to Castien. The jingling of that damned bell would alert the shifters we were nearby. “Leave it outside.”
“Won’t Dasher or the Santas punish us?” Castien was having doubts about our little stunt, but elves had a reputation for being tricksters. Everyone at the North Pole knew that.
And this was a competition. The best, most innovative prank won a prize; usually we got our name emblazoned on a billboard for a year. And I was determined to win.
“It’s fine.” Beckoning Castien to follow me, I crawled through the snow. Shuffling along on my belly, not wanting the shifters to scent me, I slithered toward the building. Luckily, the reindeers were inside, otherwise the wind would have alerted them to our presence, and the snowfall muffled our movements and coated us in white. Perfect camouflage.
The building had an earth floor, and we’d camouflaged our green-and-gold uniforms with brown coats and pants.
The reindeer were pawing the ground, hoping to find lichen or moss. Not wanting them to see me, I slithered behind hay bales while I studied their tiny tails, imagining their wild cousins in the summer when the air was infested with mosquitoes and they were unable to flick the buzzing, biting insects away. Ewww. I hated mosquitoes.
Castien inched over the ground beside me, huddling behind equipment and turning up his nose at the dirt on his hands.
“Ready?” I mouthed.
He nodded.
Imitating Santa #1’s voice—that was Castien’s special skill—Castien yelled, “All vacations are canceled for the rest of the year, and your performances are under review.”
The reindeer’s heads jerked up, their antlers covered in velvety fur catching the light.
“Shift immediately and wait for further instructions.”
One by one, they shifted and shivered, huddling together, while accusations flew around the group.
“This is your fault.”
“I told you to set an alarm each morning.”
“You let the group down.”
“Nothing to do with me.”
“Gotcha! I won!” I leaped up and pulled my cap out of my pocket, the bell jingling in triumph. But instead of the shifters heaving a sigh of relief and reluctantly clapping my success, they shouted that I’d messed up.
Castien whimpered, saying he was going to be kicked out of the North Pole.
“Guys, you’re supposed to tell me well done.” I whipped out my phone, to snap a pic of them. “Lighten up. This is a North Pole tradition.”
Castien was on his knees, his arms raised in surrender, saying it was all my idea. That was true, but if we won the competition, I’d suggest he not be on the billboard with me.
“What’s going on?” Dasher appeared. I liked the shifter and had worked on his sleigh the last two Christmases, having been promoted to Santa #1’s team.
“We snuck up and caught your newbies. They didn’t scent us or anything.” I jumped up and down, clapping. “We’re going to win.”
“Who’s ‘we’?”
I swiveled my head, but Castien had vanished. No billboard for him!
“Didn’t you get the memo, Sparkle?” Dasher told the new recruits to go inside and get dressed.
My first thought was, “People still send memos?”
“Ummm, I guess not.” My voice was higher than usual as my excitement waned, and I wondered if I should have skedaddled with Castien.
“Santa #1 warned everyone on our team that the usual Trickers’ Competition was a thing of the past because there were some injuries last year.”
“Oh.” Now my voice was hardly audible above the wind, and the adrenaline that had kept me warm dissipated. My head bobbled as I shivered and the bell tinkled, but rather than sounding celebratory, the ringing had an ominous undertone.
“Sorry, I missed that.” I grabbed my phone and scrolled through the mountain of unopened emails. Was that where the memo lurked? I’d never received one before.
Dasher jerked his head toward the main building, and I walked inside, my tummy flip-flopping. But Dasher was a good guy and so was Santa #1. The punishment wouldn’t be severe. I’d have to clear snow for the next few months at most. Maybe get a tongue lashing.
“I have to inform Santa #1. Check your phone in the morning for messages.” He glanced outside. “Who else was with you?”
“Just me,” I said meekly, my head bowed. I wasn’t going to dump Castien in it. He was a newbie, and I was the seasoned North Pole operative. I thought of myself that way. It made me feel more important.
“Hmmm. I commend you for taking responsibility. But you’re suspended until this is resolved.”
I couldn’t sleep and stayed awake all night worrying about my punishment. Elves in Santa #1’s team stayed in Christmas Village their entire working lives because once you got the gig, you were here until retirement. It was what all elves aspired to.
I watched as my friends and colleagues streamed past the window on their way to work. Castien gave me a half wave, and I returned it with a thumbs-up.
The message arrived mid-morning, Santa #1 not being an early riser, especially in January.
When I walked into Santa’s office, he had his hands steepled under his chin while Dasher stood at his side.
“Sparkle, how many misdemeanors do you have on your record?” He was studying a tablet, but Santa #1 was a technophobe, and he wasn’t wearing his glasses, so he might not be able to read the display.
“Ummm, not many, Santa.”
There was the time I set up a snowball machine that was supposed to pelt the gnomes but instead hit the Santas as they headed to a meeting. And I couldn’t turn it off. I got shouted at for that.
But there was another incident when two shifters were asleep in their fur and I lassoed their tiny tails. That was an oops.
There were other minor infractions, but they were so inconsequential as not to be worth mentioning.
Santa tweaked his beard. “Not according to this.”
Damn, Santa had upped his tech skills.
“Oh.”
“You have a habit of causing havoc, Sparkle.” He tapped the desk.
I shrugged. “I’m an elf, Santa. It’s in my blood.” I jiggled my hips. “A little trick here and a smidgen of mischief there.”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t make an exception for you. I’ve banished employees to the farthest corner of the universe for less than this.”
“Have you?” I looked at Dasher for confirmation who gave an almost imperceptible shake of the head. “I hadn’t noticed.”
There was that old tale about naughty elves being turned into figurines unless they found their mate by Christmas. And if they failed, the figurines were whisked to the following Christmas to try again. Or did they become an inanimate object forever and ever? My mind was racing.
Hoping instead of myth or legend, it wasn’t a curse, I gulped, my knees knocking.
“Because your mind is always on the next trick or joke.”
What would I do if he sent me away? I was no one and nowhere if I wasn’t Santa #1’s elf.
“I’m going to teach you a lesson.”
“I won’t do it again, Santa.” I ran around to his side of the desk and grabbed his hand. From the corner of my eye, I noted my elf friends at the window, frowns etched on their faces, a sign they were about to cast a spell. They had my back. I’d be fine.
“It’s with a heavy heart that I have to fire you, Sparkle. Maybe by next Christmas I’ll figure out…” He coughed and cleared his throat. “Figure out… figure…” He gulped a mouthful of water. “Figure—”
His voice appeared to come from a long tunnel, almost like an echo. The room spun around, and with one hand, I grabbed Santa’s hand. The wind increased, becoming a blizzard, snow crystals filled the air, and the room disappeared.
Around and around we went, the furniture vanishing along with Santa and Dasher. Gray walls were replaced by triangular-shaped trees with snow sprinkled on their branches, houses with Christmas wreaths on the doors, and kids making snowmen.
I landed on my feet with a thump in a snowdrift that reached my chest. However I’d gotten here, the journey had frozen my limbs, and everything appeared to be so big. I stood, unmoving under a bush that was ten times taller than me. I couldn’t move my face or my hands to scratch an itch.
A boy leaned over the fence, his face beaming.
“Dad, look. Dan’s got a garden gnome.”
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.
Kelley can be found hiding in the depths of the redwoods of the Northern California coast. With an Anthropology degree she technically doesn’t use, not enough caffeine to get her through the day, and entirely too many to-do lists, she savors the rainy weather and ocean views with her long-time friend, Executive Dysfunction.
When she’s not writing or running her book cover design business, Kelley can be found with her wife and pets, gaming, exploring nature, and reading.
Jena began writing in January of 2013 as a New Year's Resolution--and so far she has stuck to it!
She lives in Michigan. By day she works as a web developer, and at night she writes. Born and raised on a farm, she spends most of her free time outdoors, playing in the garden, or riding her horses. She also helps run the family dairy farm.
She lives in Michigan. By day she works as a web developer, and at night she writes. Born and raised on a farm, she spends most of her free time outdoors, playing in the garden, or riding her horses. She also helps run the family dairy farm.
Lorelei M. Hart is the cowriting team of USA Today Bestselling Authors Kate Richards and Ever Coming. Friends for years, the duo decided to come together and write one of their favorite guilty pleasures: Mpreg. There is something that just does it for them about smexy men who love each other enough to start a family together in a world where they can do it the old-fashioned way ;).
Brigham Vaughn
Brigham Vaughn is on the adventure of a lifetime as a full-time writer. She devours books at an alarming rate and hasn’t let her short arms and long torso stop her from doing yoga. She makes a killer key lime pie, hates green peppers, and loves wine tasting tours. A collector of vintage Nancy Drew books and green glassware, she enjoys poking around in antique shops and refinishing thrift store furniture. An avid photographer, she dreams of traveling the world and she can’t wait to discover everything else life has to offer her.
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?
Clare London
EMAIL: clarelondon11@yahoo.co.uk
K York
Lorelei M Hart
EMAIL: Lorelei@mpregwithhart.com
Our Accidental Christmas Mating by Jena Wade & Lorelei M Hart
12 Dates of Christmas by Brigham Vaughn
Naughty Elf: Sparkle by Colbie Dunbar
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