Summary:
Steve Reynolds prefers to avoid people, and working as a tech guy at one of the big box electronic stores has guaranteed that. He does the repairs and lets the person at the counter deal with the rest, it’s perfect. Until this year, when the store is downsizing and he’s laid off just before Thanksgiving.
Garrett Juhl loves Christmas more than anyone has loved Christmas before him. Or at least he likes to tell himself that, and while he’s making deliveries for his job, he also pretends he’s Santa. But he’d rather not admit that to anyone.
Desperate for a job Steve takes the first one he’s offered even if he’s not sure he’ll survive it. Being one of Santa’s elves at the local mall has never been something he’d consider, but he’s desperate. When Garrett goes to the mall to see this year's decorations he immediately notices the grouchy elf who even with a frown looks cute in his elf uniform. Maybe this year he could be the one who turns that frown upside down.
Summary:
An Annabeth Albert Christmas
Nolan Bell has a very Merry problem this holiday season…
As a native New Yorker, I’ve always dreamed of my name in lights on Broadway. But when my Army officer brother calls in a favor, I wind up in Hawaii to help his family while he’s deployed.
A winter in paradise doesn’t sound too bad until I become the substitute choir teacher at a middle school near the base. Wrangling a bunch of tweens while planning the annual school holiday lights festival is a far cry from playing Peter Pan.
Enter Merrick “Merry” Winters, the school’s grumpy but hot shop teacher. I can win over any audience, but Merry’s a tough sell. And I need his help to make the festival successful.
The more time I spend with Merry, the less grumpy he seems, and the more I like the guy. He’s the third generation of a legendary North Shore surfing family. He’s committed to raising his twin boys on the island as a single dad. And like me, he doesn’t have time for an inconvenient but undeniable attraction.
As disasters pile up, the only holiday magic Merry and I seem to be making is with each other. What starts as a harmless fling becomes the only present I want under my tree.
If I want this romance to last past New Year’s, I have to decide which dreams are truly worth chasing.
Can Merry and I catch a wave for a future together before the sun sets on this holiday season?
A brand-new holiday romance from the author of the beloved The Geek Who Saved Christmas starring two middle school teachers in over their heads in an opposites-attract, fish-out-of-water romance. Deck the Palms features a slightly grumpy single dad and a sunny city slicker navigating family dynamics amid holiday small-town romance vibes with a side of Hawaiian sunshine. Guaranteed low-angst, feel-good, happy ending with a heaping helping of holiday spice!
Rattling Bone by Jordan L Hawk
Summary:Outfoxing the Paranormal #2
Some secrets won’t stay buried.
Oscar Fox grew up suppressing his psychic gifts. Now he and his ghost-hunting team, including his boyfriend parapsychologist Nigel Taylor, travel to Oscar’s hometown in hopes of learning more about his legacy.
A trail of family secrets lures them to an abandoned distillery, still haunted by the ghosts of Oscar’s ancestors. A curse lies upon his bloodline, and if the team can’t figure out how to stop it, he might be the next to die.
Original Review Book of the Month May 2024:
Our little band of ghost hunters is once again on the trail but this time the trail leads to Oscar's family. Okay, so even though the phrase is used in the blurb, "ghost hunters" is a bit lax, a bit neat, a bit simple in explanation. The group, Oscar, Nigel, Tina, and Chris, are doing so much more than just hunting them, they are attempting to set them free to move along. This time there is a curse, killing a member of the family every 25 years and guess what? Yeppers, it's been 25 years since the last death.
It's been over a year since Rattling Bone was released and 6 months or so since I read book 1, The Forgotten Dead, Rattling was just as deliciously danger-filled mayhem as Forgotten. I would say Rattling is probably marginally less horror labelling and more paranormal than book 1 but only by the slimmest of slims. On one hand the victims are less evil than the curser but they too have had generations to relive their ghostly fate and in letting it fester all that time they are definitely creepy and perfect for this horror-ladened paranormal gem.
As for Oscar's dad, well you want to hate him, think badly of him for trying to supress his son's gifts but at the same time you understand it stems from a place of fear after what his mother went through all those years earlier. Does it make me want to forgive him instantly? No but I do understand where it comes from and for that I'm willing to give him the benefit of the doubt that he'll accept the truth. Whether he does or not, well you have to read that for yourself to discover.
As to the original ghost who has cursed the family line? She's just pure evil, not saying there wasn't reason for her initial anger but to go after so many lines that had nothing to do with her fate is what makes her the big bad. There is just so many levels to this story and the characters, good and bad, you can't help but be intrigued, conflicted, but above all else entertained to the nth degree.
Summary:
Once Upon a Holiday Story
When Cesar fell...
I was a boy in love with my best friend. I’m a man now, but I’m still afraid to tell him and risk our friendship. As a UFC fighter, I know how to feel invincible but don’t know how to protect my heart from rejection.
When Kieran awakened...
Helping my best friend get a date should be easy. My older brother is a good guy, and it’s the holiday season, full of giving and joy. So, why am I finding it impossible? It’s a romantic Christmas con, only I’m the one falling for Cesar.
Maybe it’s those romance books I’ve been given or the unexpected jealousy, but I can’t let Cesar date my brother. Not when I’m just discovering my sexuality and how to deal with my embarrassing health condition. I don’t know what it all means, but one thing I do know? Cesar is mine.
Tropes: childhood friends, holiday romance, friends to lovers, pining, role reversal, bi-awakening, hurt/comfort, and slow burn.
Once Upon a Christmas Con 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.
Luke loves his seasonal job as Jolly Elf at the mall’s Santa display. It suits his sweet and joyful nature and compliments his summer landscaping job perfectly. This year there’s a new man playing Santa and Luke thinks he’s great, even if he isn’t the traditional old guy under the beard.
Life hasn’t been easy for Chris, but he’s doing the best he can and the job as Santa at the mall is a godsend. He likes the job well enough, even if Jolly Elf Luke is unnaturally happy all the time. When Luke invites him over to watch movies one evening, Chris figures why not and the two co-workers slowly become friends.
Chris has a secret, though, and when Luke finds out, he sets about doing something to help whether Chris wants him to or not.
Can a little Christmas magic bring this unlikely pair together for more than just the holiday season?
Wrapped Up in Tinsel by BL Maxwell
One
Steve
Well, today started like every other fucking day. I had my coffee—because a day without coffee is just wrong on too many levels to even begin to list—and drove to work at the electronics store I’d worked at since graduating college. “Fat lot of good that tech degree has done me,” I grumbled to myself as I avoided as much snow as I could while driving up Highway 50 headed to El Dorado Hills. It was that time of year when we occasionally had to contend with the slippery stuff that so many seemed to enjoy. Not me. I found it dirty, and a pain in the ass. But that was just me. I lived in Sacramento so luckily, I never had to deal with it at home.
Driving around behind the building, I pulled into a parking space and turned the engine off before I took a deep breath and tried to find a shred of patience to get me through the day. I was the person responsible for any repair that happened at Tech Warehouse, which was funny since it wasn’t a warehouse, and it barely had tech beyond a few gaming systems, laptops, and flat screens, but a lot of people needed repairs, and this is where they came. It was located just off the highway in one of the small strip malls that were common in this area. I wasn’t sure why that was. “Time to get this shitshow on the road.” I yanked open the back door, because that fucker always stuck, and this time of year it was even worse.
“Morning, Stevie,” Frank said as I walked in. “I need to speak to you.”
“Fuck,” I mumbled under my breath. Frank Lowry was the owner of Tech Warehouse and had zero understanding of electronics or tech. Which is why the tech sucked and why I was here to fix what we had or what customers brought in. He was in his late fifties and mostly sat at the counter greeting customers as they walked past him to tell me what they needed or to ask any questions they thought he couldn’t answer.
“What was that?” he asked as I walked to where he stood at the counter.
“Just complaining about the snow,” I lied.
“So . . . I’m sorry, there’s no easy way to say this, but I’m afraid I need to lay you off. It’s been a very slow few months and—well I just can’t afford to keep you,” he said and for a moment I didn’t react. Mostly because I needed to make sure I’d heard him correctly.
“Are you firing me?” I asked.
“Laying you off. I may have work for you after the holidays,” he said but he didn’t meet my eyes. Making me think there was more to this than him wanting to trim his budget.
“Who is going to do the repairs?” I asked. To be clear, I hated this job. But it was better than no job, and the fact it wasn’t in Sacramento or even near a big city was a huge bonus to me. While I liked living close to everything, I didn’t really want to work anywhere that was overwhelmingly busy. Especially during the holidays. Which is why I had taken this job, even though it was an hour’s commute from my house.
“Eh, I’m not going to worry about it. If they need something fixed, they can drive to Sacramento,” he said and crossed his arms.
I wanted to say more. To tell him how much I hated this fucking job, and how I’d stayed here more out of habit and a lack of motivation to find something else. But I didn’t. I nodded my head and kept my mouth shut until I could form a response that wouldn’t ruin any chance of getting my job back. Because even though I hated the job, I did like the slower pace of this community far away from the hustle and bustle of Sacramento. “When’s my last day?” I finally managed to say.
“Today, sorry, Stevie,” he said and turned his back to me and the counter he rarely left while I stood there stunned.
“So, did you want me to work today?”
“Nope, go ahead and take it off. I’ve got your last check right here,” he said and handed it to me.
“Okay then. Guess I’ll check back after the holidays,” I said, not sure what else to say, and after walking back out in the cold I stood there for a moment, still trying to make sense of it. It was mid-November and Christmas shit was everywhere despite the fact we hadn’t even had Thanksgiving yet. Thank god I was anti-social enough to have put some money away otherwise I’d be fucked.
I walked to my car avoiding the little clumps of ice and snow that littered the parking lot and thought about what options I had. There were lots of jobs in Sacramento, and if I was honest with myself, better pay. But there were also a lot more people. I could try to get a job at one of the restaurants in El Dorado Hills, or maybe look into virtual tech support, but when I thought about that I practically broke out in hives.
“Time to check out something closer to home I guess,” I mumbled, got into my car, and made my way back the way I’d just driven. I had just passed Folsom and decided against trying to get a job there. The past few years it had grown so much it was nearly as busy as Sacramento, and if I was going to deal with crowds, I’d deal with it closer to home. Taking the exit for Hazel Avenue I decided to drive toward Citrus Heights. Hazel Avenue ran all the way from Highway 50 to Interstate 80 and skirted along many businesses and a few neighborhoods along the way. At one time it had been a more rural drive, but now the city had engulfed it and even though traffic moved along at the speed limit, it was still very busy.
I was lucky and lived in a small house in Oak Park that I rented from my parents and hoped to buy for myself. It was in a great location with a big yard and a tall fence that kept the neighbors away from my front door. Everyone in the neighborhood kept to themselves unless there was a problem, then they all stuck together. It was a perfect place for me to live and I didn’t want to change that. But right now, I needed to find work, and I must have lost my damn mind as a thought hit me and I turned left on Greenback toward the old Sunrise Mall.
I parked, having zero problems finding an empty space because the parking lot was nearly deserted, and entered the side of the building that led directly to the center of the mall. The noise level was louder than I expected and the amount of people walking around with kids either in a stroller or holding their hands shocked me. They were all headed to the long line that was wrapped around the area where a huge, padded chair sat on a small stage. I knew, without having visited the mall at Christmas for years, that this was where Santa and his elves were located.
Giant candy canes lined the way, as adults and children waited for their turn with Santa. A photographer dressed as an elf took pictures before each person was rushed off to the side once they’d had their time with Santa. “Please let me never be so desperate that I have to work as a fucking elf at the mall,” I said to myself and hurried to the first business past Christmas land.
Deck the Palms by Annabeth Albert
One
Welcome to November, ohana! It was lovely to see so many of our middle school family members at our Autumn Festival. Now, the countdown begins for our annual Lights Festival. Mrs. Crenshaw is on a medical leave of absence, but never fear! Our holiday extravaganza is in excellent hands…
NOLAN
I stared down at the colorful newsletter distributed to students during last period and sent to parents via email. As someone who’d enjoyed a rocky relationship with reviewers, I tried to believe any press was good press. However, Principal Alana was testing that belief by way overselling my talents for a job I’d only learned about twenty minutes prior.
“Are you sure you want a substitute in charge of something so important?” I asked Principal Alana. She had arrived at the choir room shortly after the final bell sounded, undoubtedly to prevent my escape with the students and ensure my attendance at the holiday festival planning meeting.
“First, you’re not just a sub. You’re a Broadway star.” The principal was barely over five feet with long dark hair piled on her head. Many of the middle schoolers were bigger, and indeed, she didn’t look much older than the eighth graders. However, the principal had a voice worthy of commanding a fleet. “You’re exactly the shakeup this festival needs after years of the same script.”
“Star might be pushing it,” I said demurely. Sure, my resume was full of production credits, and if we counted Off-Off-Broadway, a few leading roles, but no one in New York would ever mistake me for a star. Perhaps things were different in Hawaii.
“Second, I’ll be honest, we don’t have a ton of other options.” Principal Alana continued her forthright attack on my resistance. Unlike the cushy New York private high schools where I encountered stiff competition for my substitute teaching and voice-lesson gigs, I’d apparently been the only applicant for the role of substitute choir director and drama teacher at this public fine arts magnet middle school. It was a sobering thought.
Impervious to my glum thoughts, Principal Alana plowed ahead. “Merry Winters will help, of course, but Merry lacks your flare. However, you can count on the industrial arts students to deliver whatever decorating vision the two of you arrive at.”
Merry Winters. I immediately visualized the industrial arts teacher as a kind, gray-haired British hippy lady. Probably ever so slightly butch, what with the woodworking classes, but churning out domestic projects like cutting boards and candlestick holders. Good at set construction, but seeking the guidance of a plucky Broadway star for this holiday festival.
And yes, I was exactly vain enough to love that vision.
“Lucky for you, I’m a praise wh—junkie, and all that ego stroking worked.” I winked at Principal Alana, narrowly avoiding calling myself a praise whore in front of my boss for the next two months. “Lead the way to this meeting.”
“How was the first day of classes?” she asked as we navigated the wide hallway lined with lockers, artwork, rules and reminders, and varied club and activity announcements.
“Fine. Loving it here.”
I delivered my lines crisply, with no hint of deceit. In reality, though, public middle school was way different from Upper Eastside high schools. No celebrity kids, no bodyguards lurking at the back of classrooms, no designer bags or gourmet lunch options, and definitely no ten-to-one student-to-teacher ratio to brag to the alums about. Instead, I’d had six periods of thirty to forty loud, rowdy tweens in barely controlled pandemonium. In fact, I’d narrowly avoided being locked out of my classroom by a pair of twin pranksters during first period. “Such spirited students.”
“Wonderful. Did Dory leave you good notes?”
“Oh yes.” More lies. Dory Crenshaw’s notes for a substitute included video recommendations out of the 1950s, suggestions for classes no longer offered, information pertinent to the school’s prior building, and very few real resources for the next two months. Naturally, the woman couldn’t have predicted emergency hip surgery following a fall doing the Halloween Hula at the school event, but Dory sure could have left more help.
“Feel free to put your own spin on the classes,” Principal Alana chirped. “I’m excited for some new material.”
From what I understood, Dory Crenshaw had been around since the fine arts-focused middle school achieved charter status in the nineties. Principal Alana was an alumnus of one of those early classes who’d shot up the teaching ranks to become principal of her old school. I liked her fresh ideas and enthusiasm because Dory’s musical selections desperately needed to leave the stand-still-and-sing generation behind.
However, not everyone shared Principal Alana’s desire to bring in new ideas.
“What do you mean we’re not doing Holly Holliday’s Holiday Surprise?” Belinda Masters had likely taught math longer than I’d been alive, and from her stony expression, she also hadn’t smiled in nearly that long. “Parents look forward to that every year.”
“Emphasis on every year, Belinda.” Principal Alana released a long-suffering sigh. “Dory created that script thirty years ago, and it’s barely been updated.”
“That’s the charm.” Belinda gave a haughty sniff. With her long gray braid and pressed khaki shorts, she looked ready to lead an excursion for an Oahu bird-watching club, not unruly middle schoolers needing long-division help. “And what’s this I hear about food trucks?”
“The festival needs to grow.” The principal spread her palms wide. “We need the festival to be a big fundraiser for us this year. With budget cuts, we need the Lights Festival to fund spring field trips and cultural speakers. A fresh production, new sets, and, yes, new food options mean more tickets sold. The kids are counting on us.”
“Trying something new isn’t a terrible idea.” Ken Kekoa was a round, affable fellow around fifty who gave off lounge singer vibes but was actually a well-regarded art teacher my nieces adored.
“Thank you, Ken. I appreciate the open mind.” Principal Alana graced him with a wide smile, revealing her perfectly straight teeth. “I know Nolan and Merry—”
“Sorry, I’m late.” A dude who had possibly wandered in from the nearest beach rushed into the room to take the open chair next to Principal Alana. Sandy-blond hair a good year past a trim, scruffy stubble, faded surfer board shorts, and a paint-stained T-shirt added to his haphazard vibe. “Did I hear my name?”
“You did.” Principal Alana beamed while I inwardly groaned. Like any good actor, though, I schooled my expression as she made introductions. “Merrick Winters, meet Nolan Bell. He’ll be in charge of this year’s holiday production for the Lights Festival. You’ll still handle all the lights and sets, of course.”
“Of course.” Merrick “Merry” Winters was neither British nor elderly nor a lady. And with a voice drier than week-old sand in a bucket, he clearly wasn’t thrilled about working with me.
“Like I was telling Ken, we’ll all need to work together.” Principal Alana either hadn’t picked up on Merry’s hostile glare or had decided to plunge ahead in her usual fearless style. She smiled encouragingly at Merry. “I know you and Nolan will appreciate the help from the students, and you’ll be the perfect right-hand man for Nolan in coordinating everything.”
“Uh-huh.” Merry sounded far from convinced as he leaned back in his ancient plastic chair, which let out an ominous creak.
“Just tell me what you need painted.” Ken motioned at Merry and me. “But I’m going to leave the festival details to you two. I’ve got to run to my second job.”
“Ken works evenings as a host at a popular resort restaurant,” Principal Alana explained. “Budget cuts state-wide and rising housing prices mean more and more of us working second and third jobs. They’ve got two in college and one in high school. It’s hard to make it as a two-teacher family these days.”
“Or as a struggling actor.” My voice was bright, but Merry remained anything but as he glowered at me.
“I’m sure. You’re the Bell sisters’ uncle from New York?” His brown eyes peered sharply into mine. “The famous Broadway dude?”
“You’ve heard about me?” I couldn’t help preening. Maybe I’d oversold the whole star thing to more than Principal Alana.
“Yep.” Merry’s tight nod deflated what was left of my ego. “You’re the fun uncle. What did they call you? The Funcle?”
Merry made it sound like a rash in a personal area rather than a cute inside joke between me and my favorite sister-in-law.
“I am the fun uncle. And the Guncle.” I adopted a proudly defiant tone. Might as well toss the gay uncle part out there right now. “And the little brother who can’t say no when his big, bad lieutenant colonel bro asks for a favor.”
As much as I liked being an uncle and adored my two nieces and new nephew, I was only in Hawaii because Craig had summoned me. And for all we were total opposites as adults, my heart still remembered him as the big brother who’d scared away all the monsters under my bed and defended me from school bullies.
“Bet you can’t wait to get back to Manhattan.” There was a challenge in Merry’s tone that I had to work to not take personally.
“I sublet my studio through the end of the year. I’m kind of stuck, but I’m not complaining.” More lies. I’d done nothing but complain in texts to my theater friends about the humidity, the sand in strange places, the lack of a social life, the unreliability of the public transit options, and more. But for Merry, I smiled serenely. “I’m happy to help with Craig and Cara’s new baby and the girls.”
“How is the baby?” Principal Alana jumped in before Merry could continue whatever this cross-examination was. “I heard Cara delivered him early.”
“Yes, that’s a big part of why Craig sent for me.” For all my excellent imagination, I didn’t harbor many illusions. Craig was deployed, leading some army mission, and if he’d had any chance of making it home before his wife had their surprise third baby, he wouldn’t have called on his flighty younger brother for help. “The baby came at thirty-four weeks in a dramatic fashion. Takes after his uncle.” Principal Alana laughed. Merry didn’t. Undeterred, I continued, “Noah Craig is out of the NICU now and home. He’s still teeny, but he’s doing great.”
“Wonderful. Love the name,” the principal enthused. It wasn’t exactly the same as having a namesake, and everyone kept calling Noah Craig “the baby,” but I was awfully proud of the little guy nonetheless. “And I know you will make the whole family proud of you with this task for the school as well.”
Way to lay the pressure on a little more. I grimaced, trying to figure out how to tell her to lower her expectations. Luckily, the ill-tempered Belinda saved me from a reply, shuffling her papers and various tote bags on her way out the door.
“I have to head out as well. At least try to have some of the elements our Anuenue community has come to expect.” Belinda’s glare was almost as poisonous as Merry’s. The school was named after the Hawaiian word for rainbow, but there was little sunny about my reception thus far.
“Sorry. Belinda’s…passionate about our history. I’m sure whatever you come up with will be perfect.” Principal Alana managed to never waver from her chipper tone as she stood up from the table. “And with that, I’m going to leave you and Merry to get to know each other and devise a plan while I make some phone calls.”
More disciplinary issues?” Merry groaned. He stretched, long, lean swimmer’s build on full display. He had the sort of broad shoulders and narrow waist combo that made watching the Olympics such a pleasure. However, it didn’t matter how hot the guy was if he didn’t want to cooperate and work together. “Please tell me I’m not on the naughty list.”
“Not this time.” She laughed lightly.
“Legend and Ryder managed to survive the entire day.” “Legend and Ryder are yours?” I blinked. Those were the identical twin pranksters from first period. I knew I should have sent them to the office, but I hadn’t wanted to make a fuss fifteen minutes into my new job. “You’re a dad?”
Merry seemed way too young and carefree to be a dad, but he nodded. “Yep. I trust they weren’t too much trouble.”
“Perfect angels,” I lied through my best smile. Never let the audience see you sweat. And precisely how I would put together an entire holiday festival performance performance in six weeks with Merry, who seemed to hate me on sight, remained to be seen.
Rattling Bone by Jordan L Hawk
CHAPTER ONE
Nigel stared out the van window as they rounded yet another hairpin curve, his knuckles white on the armrest. His ears popped from the altitude change as the road kept climbing toward the ridge above, hidden in a shroud of trees. The branches were winter-bare, the forest floor beneath covered with only a dusting of snow even though it was deep December, the day after Christmas.
Thank heavens he didn’t get carsick. His stomach was already unsettled enough at the prospect of meeting his boyfriend’s parents.
He glanced at Oscar, who sat in the driver’s seat, attention thankfully on the narrow road. A big guy, in both height and girth, Oscar’s hair and dark eyes contrasted against his pale skin. Right now, his cute face was scrunched in a look of concentration as he steered the lumbering van around yet another blind, hairpin curve, the wheels only inches away from a drop down the mountainside.
According to Oscar, he hadn’t brought any of his other boyfriends all the way out to Marrow, West Virginia, to meet the family. Which was amazing—they’d only been together since early October, not even three months. Nigel hadn’t wanted to come off as clingy, had told himself to take things slow, but maybe this was a sign that Oscar also felt their relationship was serious.
It also made him nervous as hell. What if Oscar’s parents didn’t like him? Things were so new between them; parental disapproval might make Oscar think twice about taking it any further.
Chris leaned forward from the backseat, where they sat beside Tina. Their hair was currently dyed a vivid shade of neon blue. “Your folks really live out in the boonies, huh?”
They’d been driving for over five hours, up from Durham, North Carolina, across into Virginia. As they headed northwest, the interstate failed them, and they’d spent the last few hours on narrow state roads, climbing over the ancient spine of the Appalachians to get into West Virginia.
“You can say that again.” Oscar didn’t glance into the rearview mirror, eyes remaining firmly on the road. “Once we get over this last ridge, we’ll almost be there.”
“Thank God, because I have to pee,” Tina said. “I thought there would at least be a gas station or somewhere to stop out here.”
Chris sat back. “Too bad we didn’t pack the camping toilet.”
The back of the van was stuffed with almost all of their ghost-hunting equipment, but none of the camping things they’d used during the investigation of the Matthews house back in October.
“Do you have any ideas about the ghost in your parents’ house?” Nigel asked, grateful for something to distract him from his nerves. “Who it might be, that is?”
That was the reason they were all going to meet Oscar’s parents, instead of just Nigel. Oscar had been working on his mediumship, at least as much as he could, but with the holidays, jobs, and family commitments, OutFoxing the Paranormal hadn’t had time to do another investigation since the Matthews house.
The intermittent haunting Oscar had grown up with—and over the years trained himself to ignore—seemed like the perfect opportunity for him to get his feet wet as a medium. The spirit, whoever it was, wasn’t violent, and had seemed content merely to show itself now and again. Neither of his parents had ever even noticed it was there, so presumably it wasn’t very strong.
Still, from Nigel’s point of view, data was data. And it would be good for the OutFoxing the Paranormal show to put out something new after their Halloween spectacular. According to Oscar, they had some good sponsors lined up already.
“I don’t have any idea who she was, and it wasn’t like I could ask my parents.” Oscar grimaced, and Nigel reached out to touch his shoulder,.
“I’m sorry.”
Oscar sighed. “It’s okay.”
The road finally crested the ridge and began to angle steeply down. A gap in the trees revealed a river valley running roughly north-south below them, a small town nestled in the widest part of the flats, before the view was swallowed up again by the trees.
“Was that Marrow?” Tina asked.
“Yeah, and my folks live on this side of town, so you’ll have somewhere to pee in a few minutes.” Oscar hesitated. “Look…Mom and Dad don’t know about the whole ghost-hunting thing.”
Nigel dropped his hand and half-turned in his seat. “What?” Chris asked from the back, at the same time Tina said, “You haven’t told them about OtP?”
“How could I? You know how my dad is. Was,” he corrected hurriedly. “They know I’m bringing friends, but not that we explore abandoned buildings together looking for ghosts. But once they see some of our videos, they’ll be really proud of what we’ve accomplished.”
“What do they think I teach?” Nigel asked.
Oscar winced. “Psychology. Which is close!”
“It really isn’t.” Nigel pushed his glasses up and rubbed his eyes. “So you’re introducing your friends the ghost hunters, and your new boyfriend the parapsychologist, to your father who historically hasn’t reacted well to the concept of seeing ghosts.”
“It’ll be fine,” Oscar insisted.
Chris flopped back in their seat. “Or a complete disaster. One of the two.”
* * *
As he pulled into the familiar driveway, Oscar told himself yet again that there was no reason to be nervous.
Everything was going to be fine. He’d lay everything out, Nigel would say something smart, Tina something technical, and Dad would realize they were professionals. This was science.
Oscar wasn’t crazy.
This was going to be a new start for them, a chance to work on their relationship without any lies or tension between them. Maybe he could even get Dad to talk about his own mother, Oscar’s mamaw, who might have been a medium too.
The house, built around the turn of the previous century, nestled on the uphill side of the road. A convex mirror, mounted on a tree on the opposite side of the driveway, offered as much view around the curve as possible for anyone pulling out. The driveway itself was fairly short and quite steep, leading up to a two-story house set partly into the hillside. The siding was white wood, set atop a foundation of local rock mortared in place.
The front door swung open before the engine was even off. Mom and Dad both came out, Mom bundled against the cold as if she was going on an expedition to Antarctica, and Dad wearing a Christmas sweater depicting kittens in Santa hats.
“You get out first,” Nigel said with a glance.
Oscar winced. Okay, yes, he probably should have told his parents about the whole ghost-hunting thing before they got here. And he should have warned everyone else that he hadn’t, especially Nigel. But he’d been…
Scared. That was all. Worried about Dad’s reaction if he heard the news over the phone.
It was going to be different now, though. He climbed out of the van and walked to his parents, who immediately engulfed him in a hug. He took after his father in coloring, and his mother, who was the taller of the pair, in build.
“It’s so good to see you!” Mom said. “We missed you at Thanksgiving.”
They’d spent the holiday with Nigel’s mother, a cheerful woman who lived in Myrtle Beach. Before Oscar could apologize, Dad slapped him on the arm. “I guess we’ll have to get used to sharing, now that you’ve got someone special,” he said with a wink.
Oscar grinned and turned to the van. Everyone else had climbed out, Nigel hovering warily and Tina shooting desperate looks at the house. “Tina, the bathroom is through the front door, first door on the left.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t want to be rude,” she called as she power-walked to the front door.
Mom laughed. “Don’t worry about it, I’ve made that long drive myself plenty of times.”
“And this is my friend Chris Saito,” Oscar went on. “They/them.”
“It’s lovely to meet you,” Mom said warmly, and went straight in for a hug, followed by Dad who did the same.
“Thanks for having us, Mrs. Fox, Mr. Fox,” Chris said.
“Oh goodness, call us Lisa and Scott, we’re too young for that nonsense.” Mom laughed again and turned expectantly to Nigel.
Nigel looked slightly alarmed. “I’m, uh, Nigel. He/him.”
“DoctorNigel Taylor,” Oscar added, as Mom went in for a hug.
“It’s so good to finally meet you,” Dad said, shaking Nigel’s hand, then pulling him in for a hug. “Oscar can’t stop talking about you!”
A light blush spread across Nigel’s face. “Oh?”
“I love your name,” Mom went on. “Nigel; it’s so old-fashioned!”
Nigel blinked, nonplussed. “Thanks? I picked it myself.”
“We should get in out of the cold,” Oscar put in quickly.
“Of course, of course; I’ll help with the bags.” Dad took a step toward the van.
The van packed with their equipment. It was now or never.
“Um, so, something I haven’t mentioned.” He could hear himself speaking too fast but couldn’t seem to slow down. “Tina, Chris, and I have a hobby—well, it might be more than a hobby, we do get money from the videos and selling Chris’s pictures.”
Both Mom and Dad looked at him expectantly. Oscar took a deep breath to steel himself. “We’re ghost hunters.”
There was a seemingly endless moment of shocked stillness. Then Dad turned and walked back to the house without saying a word.
* * *
An hour or so later, Nigel found himself sitting at the dinner table, Oscar on one side and Mr. Fox—Scott—on the other, at the table’s end. Lisa sat beside her husband, and Chris and Tina filled out the rest of the table.
“I hope we made enough,” Lisa fretted, though the food on the table could have fed an army. “How are the potatoes?”
“Delicious,” Nigel said truthfully.
Oscar didn’t say anything, and neither did his father. Their tension toward one another radiated through Nigel’s space.
“Oh good, it’s my mamaw’s recipe,” Lisa went on, apparently determined to fill the uncomfortable silence. “The secret is to use buttermilk.”
“It’s all wonderful.” Chris reached for second helpings of turkey. “Two Christmas dinners in one year—score!”
“Well, it didn’t make sense to have it just for ourselves, since y’all were coming the next day.”
The Fox household didn’t go all-out on holiday decorations, but there was a tree in what would have been called the parlor when the house had originally been built, and now was referred to as the den. The sight of the wrapped presents underneath sent a current of panic through Nigel—was he supposed to have brought something?
He and Oscar had already exchanged presents; a book on the history of ghost hunting from him, and an incredibly warm woolen sweater, hat, and socks from Oscar. He hadn’t really thought about what meeting Oscar’s parents the day after Christmas might entail.
“Sorry we kept Oscar away for the actual day,” Tina said, “but if I’d missed the family dinner, my abuela would’ve turned me into a ghost.”
As soon as the last word was out of her mouth, she realized her mistake. She held up one hand, as if to catch it, but of course it was already gone. The tension around the table went up a notch.
Whatever Nigel had thought meeting Oscar’s parents would be like, this wasn’t it. Coming here had clearly been a mistake. Certainly they weren’t going to be able to try and contact any spirit lingering in the house.
Lisa glanced at her husband, then fixed on Nigel. “So, Nigel, Oscar tells us you teach at Duke University!”
With the sinking feeling things were about to get worse, Nigel nodded. “That’s right.”
“You’re a psychologist, is that right?” she prompted, when it became clear he wasn’t going to elaborate.
Scott murmured something under his breath. His mother had died in an overcrowded state hospital; probably he had just as bad an opinion of psychology as he would of Nigel’s actual job.
“I work in the Institute of Parapsychology,” Nigel clarified. “We study phenomena outside of known biological mechanisms. My specialty is the survival of personality beyond death.”
There was a long moment of silence, before Scott spoke up. “Ghosts?”
He was going to be thrown out of the house and forbidden to ever speak to their son again. “The technical term is incorporeal personal agencies, but yes. Ghosts.”
“Excuse me,” Scott said, and pushed away from the table. He stalked out of the room.
Oscar shoved his chair back, shot an “excuse me” at his mother, and followed.
The rest of them sat in excruciatingly awkward silence for a moment. Then Lisa picked up a serving spoon. “So…who wants more potatoes?”
Once Upon a Christmas Con by Skylar M Cates
Chapter One
CESAR
I’ve been in love with him for half my life, since middle school. Whenever he called, I usually jumped. Today, though, when Kieran texted, I almost missed it because I was beating the crap out of some guy.
It was a morning sparring, not a paid fight, and I’d normally ignore my phone and keep swinging. But in my rush to the gym, I’d forgotten to click to silent mode.
“Your phone, dude,” my sparring partner said through his mouth guard.
“Yeah,” I grumbled, ready to glance at it and ignore whoever it was. Except… it was Kieran. Only Kieran or my mother could make me stop sparring.
“One second.” I wagged a glove at my partner before removing it. I read the message, a goofy smile spreading on my face.
Draining a bottle of water, I quickly texted him back.
Early lunch with u at our park? Yep.
Once my phone was in my bag, I looked at my sparring partner, who was nursing his side where I’d jabbed it.
“Sorry, I gotta go.” I mopped my face.
“What? We just started?”
“We can have a rematch.”
He gave me the stink-eye, still holding his side. I guess we wouldn’t be making friends. In the ring, I worked my size and strength to my full advantage. If he knew me, though, he would understand why I had to go. Outside of the ring, I was a secret wobble of Jell-O in love with my best friend and too terrified to tell him.
I showered, quickly changed into warm clothes, and left the gym. My other gym was closer to the park we’d meet at, so I could always find somebody else to brutalize later. Hopefully the sparring partner there would be more of a challenge.
About a month or two ago, I’d realized I couldn’t keep pining for Kieran. Yes, I’d tried to break his hold on me before, but this time, I’d really do it. This was the perfect chance to put my Christmas plan into action. I had kept postponing it, but the holidays were quickly approaching.
Before reaching the park, I drove through Plaza-Boy Bagels, a hole-in-the wall place that somehow was beloved in our town, maybe because it always had decent coffee and cheap eats for those on the go. I ordered a large cup for the extra-caffeine and egg whites on a plain bagel. I wasn’t sure that I could eat it despite the fact that Kieran expected me to bring my lunch. My stomach was dipping too much with nerves and by the time I parked, I needed a moment before getting out.
I took a deep breath. This will be for my own good. It must be. I have to believe in this one truth. Otherwise, I’ll be stuck—unable to move on. I keep rehearsing the plan my head. The families will be involved, and that was always messy and a risk. But I have to do something. Crushing on my straight best friend was too exhausting.
From the first time I saw him, I knew everything would be all right.
Mami and I had just moved to the seaside town of Pleasant Harbor, New Jersey, from Lima, Peru. My city school in Peru had been bigger, but this one was intimidating because it wasn’t big. As I met with staff and took a tour of the school, it felt as if everybody looked and sounded similar, except me.
Kieran was the closest to the door, his skinny arms resting on his desk, a frayed Band-Aid on his thumb. He looked at me with curiosity as I took the seat next to him. Heat crept up my neck as the teacher introduced me to the class.
“Don’t worry,” he’d told me in a soft voice. He had big blue eyes, flawless skin, and metal braces. A smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose gave him a slightly dorky look. There was something comforting about him, like I’d just slid into well-worn sweatpants on a lazy Sunday afternoon and had the whole day to relax stretched out in front of me. Immediately, my anxiety lessened at his wide smile.
We quickly bonded over our unusual names. Kieran Mario Coburn was half Irish, half Italian, and his mother searched for “unique” names for all of her children. My mother named me Cesar, a common enough name in Peru, unaware of all the teasing I’d get in America. Despite the different spelling, kids loved calling me “the emperor.”
Years had passed and my friendship with Kieran grew stronger day-by-day. We were constantly together. People knew to ask me if they were looking for Kieran. They teased us about being GPS attached. And it was true, we always knew where the other was.
I’d talk about crazy schemes to make money, he’d talk plants, or whatever popped into his brain. I’d have a dumb smile on my face the entire lunch break. I even wrote him notes between classes, shoving them in his locker. I’d count the hours until school ended. Despite liking school, I couldn’t wait until we’d be together. Some days, I didn’t exhale until I saw him, my heart burning, my secret buried.
“Hey!” he greeted me now, already at our spot in Swandale Park. There were trumpeter swans here every spring, hence the name. Big white swans, usually swimming in pairs, could be spotted when the flowers bloomed. None were visible today, making me wonder where all the swans migrated during other seasons. Were they still with their mates? Did the occasional lone swan long for his more popular best friend?
“How’s it going?” Kieran’s voice was warm as always, combined with his lopsided smile and eyes that sparkled. Kieran was the friend everybody wanted: sweet, supportive, and optimistic.
“Hey, good,” I answered, much more subdued, not sparkly at all. Maybe I wasn’t as openly warm as Kieran, but inside my pulse raced wildly.
He pulled me into a sloppy hug. “Glad you could make it at such short notice.”
I shrugged. “Got to the gym early. Might go to my other one after we eat.”
He chuckled. “That’s way too much exercise for me. I was proud of myself for walking from my car to this bench.”
I rolled my eyes, acting annoyed that he mocked exercising, yet still savoring his hug.
We sat down at the bench and unwrapped our food.
“I got the best burrito in the world from one of the food trucks,” Kieran declared. “But forgot my iced tea and I’m too lazy to walk all the way back to where the trucks are.”
“It’s too cold for iced tea, anyhow,” I grumbled. He rarely thought about himself. “Drink this.”
Good thing I bought a large coffee to share, adding cream and two sugars the way Kieran preferred. I liked it black, but I know he won’t drink coffee that wasn’t a little sweet.
“Thanks, it is cold.” He took a gulp and leaned close to me as he returned the coffee. Kieran was a person who had zero sense of personal space. But I liked it.
I let out my breath finally, drumming my fingers against the Styrofoam cup as Kieran took a big bite of his burrito. Normally, I’d comment on the sauce stains hitting his parka. He was a messy eater, always had been. Yet I greedily drank in the sight of him. Messy or not, he tugged at all my senses. I wanted to gaze at his full lips. Trace the shape of his earlobes with my fingers. Kieran always said his ears stuck out too much, but I thought they were adorable. I wanted to touch them right now. And smell the scent of his hair. Listen to his joyful laugh.
I clamped my lips tightly together, too worried about my scheme to tease him about the burrito. This was awkward for me. My plan depended on the upcoming Christmas holidays, yet my heart rebelled. I had put it off for weeks. So, I sat next to him on our bench, not mocking the sauce stains or saying anything at all.
“Have a bite.” He extended his burrito. “That bagel looks so boring.”
I leaned close, my eyes meeting his, and I took a bite. Despite my knotted stomach, the burrito was flavorful and good.
“Thanks, you’re too generous.”
“Don’t forget too handsome.” Kieran gave an unabashed grin.
He had no clue how much I agreed. I sat in silence, sharing the burrito and coffee, as Kieran chattered on about his week.
I pulled my knit hat lower on my head and sighed. The park had no snow on the ground yet, but the trees were stripped bare, the water dark and murky. Kieran and I loved “our” bench, which faced the lake. Our sleepy town of Pleasant Harbor didn’t have too many exciting places to go, other than to the beach, downtown, or to the parks. If you wanted excitement, you jumped on a train to New York City. Still, this park was full of good memories. Mostly in the summer when we’d chase Frisbees for hours, then trade licks of ice cream before it melted on the cones. I loved those summer days.
Later Swandale Park became a nighttime hangout for bored high schoolers. Couples came here to make out like it was a competition in the Olympics. Or party by the secluded trees, clinking bottles and giggling. I avoided being around Kieran at those times. I could still imagine all those make out sessions Kieran had with girls in this park. Reminding myself with a sharp bitterness why I had to go through with this scheme.
Kieran nudged me with his foot. “If you don’t stop looking broody, I will literally hurl your ass into this icy lake. C’mon. Shake off whatever gloom and doom scenario is on your mind.”
I merely grunted.
“You’re way too quiet today.” He scratched at his chin. “I got it. Tell me this. What if we weren’t raised here? Where would you live?”
“Really? We’re playing the question game?”
Kieran lifted a brow at me. “Are you objecting?”
“Okay, okay…” I wasn’t carefree like Kieran, but he somehow reached that playful side of me. I felt at ease with him in a way I rarely did with others. Maybe because our friendship was always full of affection and support. Being with him had always been the antidote of light to my darkness.
“What’s your answer?”
“Someplace with fewer strip malls,” I replied. “More mountains. You?”
“Jersey’s in my blood.”
“Ugh, predictable. By the way, these are my favorite sweatpants, so no lake tossing.”
“Gray and dingy,” Kieran said cheerfully. “Figures. And I’m still waiting on a question from you.”
We’d played the “what if” question game since we were kids. Kieran didn’t like other games that interested me, ones with sitting or math involved. He had boundless imagination and energy, but his ADHD made him struggle with focusing on academics.
I tried to think of a question instead of zeroing in on Kieran’s face. “Okay, I got one. One dessert for the rest of our life?”
“Apple pie with ice cream.”
I shook my head. “Oh my God. America isn’t listening to you. It’s safe to give answers beyond the Jersey shore and apple pie.”
“I like what I like.” He shrugged.
We smiled at each other. Kieran’s answers never changed. His favorite music, movie, food—always predictable. But I only joked about finding it annoying. In truth, it was comforting to me. Like finding cozy socks and a favorite blanket on a rainy day. I knew Kieran. I could count on him. Sometimes I could even predict his thoughts, and we’d finish each other’s sentences. I couldn’t imagine him ever surprising me.
The first time I knew I loved him, was when he fell out of a treehouse. The treehouse was high off the ground, and Mr. Coburn had built it years ago for Kieran’s older siblings. It was in questionable shape by the time Kieran inherited it. One board was missing, there was sap on the sides, and the floor creaked under my feet.
As someone who loved plants and trees, he spent nearly every day in the treehouse which he’d filled with greenery. I liked watching him water the pots, talking cheerfully to each plant, tending to their leaves with his usual easy humor, his eyes sparkling.
On a particularly windy spring day, we were being goofy—and I took a misstep. Wobbling on the edge, Kieran grabbed me and pushed me away, but lost his own footing, falling instead of me. I shouted when he landed with a thud, racing down the ladder to be at his side. We found out later he’d been lucky and only had a busted rib and a few bad scratches. At the time, I shook with terror as I held him to me, yelling hoarsely for his parents or siblings to help. Looking into his cornflower blue eyes, my heart became his. I knew I loved him and always would.
But it was time to see if my heart could ever want someone else, someone who could maybe want me too. I took a deep breath, and forced my plan into action. “I might need your help on something. It involves your older brother.”
“My brother? Elias?”
“Yeah, since Reid is across the country in California, not to mention engaged to Rebecca. And Samson is only ten. Of course I mean Elias.” I raised my eyebrows. “You’re going to be in charge of the Secret Santa bowl at your folks’ upcoming Sunday dinner, right? Can you help ensure I get Elias as my pick? I’ve got the perfect gift for him planned.”
“Why? What’s the angle?”
I’d often dragged Kieran into my money-making cons as kids. When you were raised by a single parent with money problems, you find ways to make some dough. We did some crazy schemes like selling “Mermaid Juice” to tourists (ocean water with pink food coloring), or making daring bets with other kids like holding our breath under water for too long. My current job fighting was also due to money and could lead to trouble. So, I suppose I’m still doing daring shit with my body at risk. Mami urged me to use my head more, to stay in college, but that didn’t happen.
“No angle,” I said.
“Huh?” Kieran scrunched his nose highlighting the few freckles still there despite the winter.
“Look, it’s not a con, exactly. More like a wooing,” I explained. “I hope Elias wants to actually date me once we get past the first surprise Santa date. That’s my hook to get him to agree, but I’m not joking about it.”
Kieran appeared dumbstruck.
“What?” I asked. “Is this so surprising? Elias is handsome. He’s a fucking model. Why not make a date with your gay, gorgeous, older brother?”
“Wait a second. Lemme think. So, you actually like Elias?” At my nod, Kieran frowned. “But… what would you even talk to him about? He’s a super reading fiend, who’s into clothes and books. Whereas you dress like a frat boy and watch Impractical Jokers.”
“Hey, so do you!”
“Valid,” Kieran admitted. “I do love Murr and Sal.”
“I’d marry Sal. I’ve got no shame in admitting it.” I leaned closer. “Listen, Kier, I get this might be weird for you. And all I want is a chance to be with Elias alone… see if there’re any sparks.”
“But Elias isn’t somebody you’ve ever been into. And he’s… fucking old. He’s pushing thirty-four. You and me, we’re like half that age.”
“Ten years difference isn’t half.”
“Meh, math. Who cares? The point is you could find plenty of dudes to bang after your UFC matches.”
“Those guys only want that so if I only want sex it’s an option, but I do miss having a boyfriend. Not that Joey was so great.”
Kieran clasped his lips together. “Joey was a disaster.”
Joey had been my first and only real boyfriend. My first and only attempt to get over Kieran. I’d tried to be perfect for Joey, which might have been my mistake. I hid all kinds of pieces of myself. But I couldn’t hide my family problems. He’d walked away just when Mami got sick. He said Mami was too needy, that our lives had become all about her. A disaster summed Joey up perfectly. When we were younger, I didn’t date. Mami was religious, and frankly, I never thought much about girls. I was comfortable within the church or with my friend group and that seemed enough. I was protective with Kieran, possessive, but I’d just thought it was friendship for a long time… When Joey asked me out, I was flattered because he was built and sexy. And Joey wasn’t nice like Kieran. My scarred and wary heart had a better chance with him. Or so I’d thought at the time. Coming out to Mami, that was hard, but she accepted me. Told me I was and would be her son, forever and always. I wanted her to like Joey.
Joey, however, picked me up outside our place, honking his horn. He would check his phone the few times Mami did try to engage him in conversation. I would bite my lip around him, hoping the whole situation would improve with time. I’d discovered I liked sex, liked having somebody in my life. I’d tried to hold onto it, through all the red flags. The biggest: his lack of respect for my mother. In return, Mami didn’t care for him. Not that she ever thought anybody was good enough for me. Her standards were ridiculously high. Thanks to Joey, I began fighting full time to pay our bills when Mami got sick. He did help me in the ring, I’ll give him that much. I’d always done martial arts and boxing for fun, but my size and flexibility made me a natural at competition. Joey was there at the start of my career. But he was never my person.
Kieran was.
When I’d first told him about Mami’s cancer, Kieran held me a long time, before releasing me. “I’m so fucking sorry this is happening,” he’d said, still holding onto my hand, his fingers laced in mine. His gaze steady and calming. He was there for me, then and now. If only I didn’t have to do something drastic to stop being in love with my straight best friend.
“Seriously, Cesar, you deserve somebody more suitable.”
The sweetness on his face made me all twisted inside. A needy part of me even imagined Kieran might be saying this as more than a friend. That he’d been pining for me all this time—like I’d been for him. It was stupid, foolish thinking on my part. And yet. I held my breath a moment as Kieran continued to give me an earnest, kind look. A totally platonic one. Oh, God, help me. I loved him so much I ached.
“Thanks.” My stomach flipped. Being with him was torture. But not being with him was also torture. I sucked in a sharp breath. “Maybe if Elias doesn’t work out I’ll try an app.”
“You can do better than that. Those aren’t for real relationships.”
I went quiet, trying to figure out how to tell him I’d take what I could get. Especially when the only person I wanted a real relationship with was in front of me.
The first time I admitted my feelings were romantic? It must have been at our sophomore dance. Kieran was a terrible dancer, all robotic sudden turns and awkward head bobbing. He had zero rhythm and just didn’t care. As Kieran laughed, spinning around in off-beat circles, I watched him for a long time from my spot on the gymnasium bleachers, wanting, a sharp ache in my chest. And I finally admitted how much more alive I was with Kieran. How I’d become helplessly in love with my best friend.
The ache for him was unbearable. I hadn’t planned to go from loving him to being in love with him. And keeping silent made me an imposter. I didn’t fear Kieran would get angry. He totally wouldn’t. More likely he’d laugh and think it was a joke. Or he’d try and be kind as he let me down. His kindness was a constant, unlike my own rougher moods. Kieran had a smile for everybody and didn’t stew in his feelings.
But my ego couldn’t handle any of those options, so I’d been stuck pretending for all these years. Life has taught me that some pain was necessary, but seeing Kieran and not telling him of my feelings was a crushing weight. I didn’t realize being in love with him would hurt so badly. Of course, I dreamt of telling him the truth. Every last bit of it. Then Kieran would go out on a date with a girl, or he’d tell me I “reminded him of a brother,” or some tiny detail that made me freeze inside. I wasn’t popular. I wasn’t good at smiling; wasn’t good with people. Kieran was it for me. So, yeah my latest scheme was a risk, and might fail spectacularly. Yet it might be just what I needed to finally get over Kieran.
Kieran clenched his teeth as a sharp wind came from nowhere.
“Still cold?”
“Maybe asking you to meet at the park wasn’t smart.” He nodded. “Too bad I skipped the long underwear today.”
I blinked, trying not to imagine him in underwear. So, of course, my treacherous brain flashed on an image of him in tight briefs, ones that showed off his legs and the roundness of his ass. I had to look away or else Kieran might see the longing in my eyes. How I wished I could snuggle him to me and offer my warmth. I could keep him warmer than any long johns.
Instead, I handed him my cup of coffee. “Drink some more of this.”
We sat in silence again, with Kieran drinking, and me lost in thought.
The wind lifted some strands of Kieran’s hair, and his cheeks were rosy from the cold. I tried not to look or think about kissing his cheeks to warm them, so I took my coffee cup back from Kieran and took a swig. Placing my lips at the exact spot Kieran had, right where his mouth had been. I have to stop this. My leg shook up and down; my heart equally shaky.
“Hey.” Kieran placed a gentle hand on my knee. “Relax. If you really want Elias, we can try the plan.”
What Kieran didn’t understand was this Secret Santa con wasn’t about Elias at all. I gazed at him through hooded eyes. I’d become an expert at masking how I felt, but sometimes, my feelings burned close to the surface.
“I just don’t want you to expect much,” he told me, his hand still resting on my knee, killing me. “Elias likes to play the field, you know?” He gazed at me with such concern in his big blue eyes. He wasn’t acting; Kieran really was that fucking nice. He cared deeply about people, had infinite patience for everybody.
I wasn’t nice. Not when I’d like to bend over this bench and order him to fuck me. His sweetness combined with his unconscious sex appeal was kryptonite to me.
“I hear you.” I cleared my throat. “But I might as well try with him. I need some more dating experience. So… If you’re cool with it? We could even double-date. Me and Elias, you and whatever girl.” I tried to joke, my mouth quivering. “Anyhow, I might as well give it a shot with him, right? Since Joey… nobody right has come along.”
“The right one is out there,” Kieran replied, his gaze softening. He leaned in and gave me a squeeze. I rested my head near his for a second, before moving away. Before I gave into his touch completely. He might know I was gay, but Kieran had no idea how stupidly in love with him I was. Everything I was—every part of me—was tangled up with him. But I had to try and stop these feelings. Or bury them, and find somebody else. A way to stop making Kieran my world. “Even if you do date Elias, this whole Secret Santa plan seems unnecessary and complex. Just call him up and ask him out.”
“I’m not good at all that. Not when I gotta talk to people. Remember me in our ninth grade speech class?”
“I had to mop the floor after your speech was done, or I’d have slipped on the sweat. My speech, of course, slayed,” Kieran bragged.
I ignored that, until Kieran shot me his megawatt grin. That I could never ignore. An answering smile curved my lips.
“The thing is—Elias is so polished and smart—it would take a Christmas miracle to get a shot with him.”
“He’s not so polished. I shared a bedroom with the guy, and his side of our room was a disaster. But yeah, you are a sweaty talker.” He nudged me playfully. “But Elias? Really? I see problems with this con or wooing, or whatever the hell you call it… He might live forty-five minutes from us, but New York City is like another planet. Especially the circles he moves in. Are you sure you want a date with him? He drinks nothing but kale smoothies.”
“I like smoothies.”
“His are super gross. The smoothies smell like old feet.”
“I’ll handle it. I just hope Elias wants to handle dating me, with all my flaws.” My voice dipped lower. “He has a lot more experience with guys.”
“You’re amazing, Cesar. The way you singlehandedly helped your mom, financially and as her caretaker at home until she went into remission. Not to mention, you got this whole career out of it. That’s dope.” He rested a hand on my shoulder. “And Elias would be a dope not to realize it.”
I felt heat crawling over my neck. I knew deep in my heart why I had to get this over with.
“Just put a dot on the paper with his name, something that is not obvious and looks like an accidental pen mark. I’ll know it’s his name and pick it.”
Releasing me from his touch, Kieran licked at his upper lip.
My throat constricted as if his tongue had licked my lip. My face felt tight with nerves. This was exactly why I had to pursue Elias, because this was hell. Kieran met my gaze with his big-innocent eyes and kind smile. So clueless. I could never tell him. I’d rather keep the secret inside of me like a treasured pearl.
“Promise you won’t let Elias break your heart.”
“I won’t.”
“And you won’t break his body. He is a lot skinnier than you.”
“He’s safe in my hands. I’m gentle as hell.” I crushed my empty cup in one hand as proof.
“Funny.” Kieran laughed.
I doubted I would hold any power over Elias. It wasn’t about him. He’d just have a fun date and offer for more. It was about me. I needed to start living an authentic life. To stop lying in my bed alone, fantasizing about a certain touch, one I couldn’t have. No matter how much I might want it. Elias would be real, if nothing else. But I couldn’t say all that to Kieran. He knew me too well. He’d start peeling away at the truth. The only reason he remained ignorant of my feelings was because I never shared them.
“So, you’ll help me?”
“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I?”
“Thanks,” I said gruffly.
“But you might wanna work on your rizz.”
“My present will do the rizzing for me. That’s the whole point of the Secret Santa fix.” I rolled my eyes in exasperation. “It’s why I need a scheme. And Elias to agree.”
“To dating you?”
“To whatever. I just need to get his dick in me.”
“Dude, too much detail.” Kieran groaned, covering his ears. “That’s an image I don’t need.”
“Don’t picture it then.”
“I wasn’t picturing it until you said the words. And now you, Elias, and dicks are like a jumbo screen inside my brain.”
“You should be so lucky.” I smirked, but inside it was all bravado. A heavy feeling settled in my chest.
“I—hold on.” Kieran eyed my body with an odd expression on his face. “Did you say his dick in you? Not the other way round?”
I shrugged. “Surprise? I’m big, built, and a total bottom.”
“A bottom.”
“Yeah, I’m a bossy power-bottom, bitch.” I wagged a finger at him. “And as a longtime ally of the queer community, you should know better than to assume things based on appearances. Not cool.”
Kieran hung his head. “I’m feeling extremely uncool right this minute.”
For many years, we didn’t discuss my sexuality. He would mention this girl or that one in high school, and I’d stay quiet. Then one time he caught me looking at his sister’s new boy band poster with too much interest. He hadn’t commented as my face went beet red, but he knew. He just didn’t know how I felt about him.
“So, Joey was always—”
“Yep. A total top.”
“And you… want to be fucked,” he said slowly.
Daily, I wanted to joke. But staring at Kieran, the words stuck in my throat.
Department Store Santa by Sean Michael
CHAPTER ONE
Luke changed into his elf outfit, jingling as soon as he got the shirt on. There were bells on the collar, bells on his shoes, and bells on his hat. It got a little annoying after a while, but he’d learned to be still in the moments he wasn’t helping kids or Santa. The only thing he wasn’t too keen on were the ears. They were hot to wear, he couldn’t hear all that great in them, and by the time his shift was over, his actual ears were sore from wearing them. But it was a small price to pay for the job.
He loved being one of Santa’s elves, and this was his fourth year in the position. Sure, some of the kids were cranky and sometimes parents were pushy, but he put out as much Christmas joy as he could while doing the job, and more often than not, that’s what he got back. Of all the seasonal jobs he did, this one was his favorite.
He closed his locker and put on his hat, before heading out of the changing room.
“Oh, Luke, there you are.” Mrs. Pelletier waved at him, and he went toward her instead of the big Christmas display with Santa’s chair smack in the middle. “I need you to do something for me.”
“Of course, how can I help?” He tilted his head just a little, making the bells jingle merrily to punctuate the question.
She looked vaguely annoyed for a moment, but then blinked and nodded to the good-looking guy standing next to her. “This is Chris. He’s the new Santa. I need you to show him where he can change into his costume, and then take him out and show him the ropes.”
Wow, Chris was gorgeous, all muscles and pretty lips and wavy dark hair and the iciest blue eyes he’d ever seen. There was only one problem…
“He’s not old enough to be Santa, ma’am.”
Mrs. Pelletier looked annoyed again, and Luke winced internally. He didn’t mean to piss her off; there was just something about him that always seemed to rub her the wrong way. If he hadn’t been so good at his job, he was pretty sure she wouldn’t have hired him back after the first year. Too bad for her he was.
“The white beard and hair will be convincing enough. He’s not fat either, but the suit will take care of that, too. Now get him changed and get him out there pronto, there’s already a huge line and it’s almost two.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He bobbed his head, going for subservient, then dodged around her and grabbed Chris’s hand, hightailing it back to the change room. “It’s this way. Did she give you the number for Santa’s locker?”
It was okay if she hadn’t—unless they’d changed it since last year, Luke knew it. Last year’s Santa had been old, and he’d forgotten the combination once and Mrs. Pelletier had reamed him for it. So when he was told it again, he’d asked Luke to be his backup and given him the combo. Good thing, too. Donald had needed his help getting the locker open more than once. He’d been an amazing Santa, though, really got into the part. He hadn’t come back this year, though, and rumor was it that he’d died. Luke hoped it wasn’t true; he’d been a sweet old man and he’d like to think that Donald was relaxing in some old-age home and living his best life.
“Yeah. I’ve got the combination. The costume is in the locker?”
“Yep. All the bits and bobs. There’s three of everything, and at the end of the day, you put your costume in the laundry basket and it’ll get taken away to be cleaned, then brought back.” Luke knew it might seem like a lot, but often kids had sticky fingers or they snotted all over you or, his least favorite, they barfed on you. Plus, most days it was warm enough that you sweated your ass off in the costume.
“I hope it fits. Nobody asked me for measurements.”
“Oh, don’t worry. You can put more or less stuffing in the jacket, as needed, and the pants are one size fits all—drawstrings.”
“That sounds so authentic,” Chris drawled, tone dry as dust.
“Dude, you’re not older than thirty-five, tops! If you want authentic, we should hire your grandpa.”
Chris snorted at that, looking surprised at the humor. Luke just gave him a grin and showed him to the Santa locker. “It’s easy to tell which is yours ’cause it’s the biggest. If you need any help with the costume, gimme a shout.”
He went over to the vending machine, less to see what was on offer today and more to give Chris his privacy. He didn’t seem like the kind of guy who wanted the local elf ogling him as he changed.
It wasn’t long before he heard a long-suffering sigh. And a moment later. “Uh… elf?”
Luke spun around. “You talking to me?”
“I don’t know your name,” Chris said, words clipped short.
“It’s Luke. But when we’re in the display, you have to call me Top Banana Elf or Sir Elf or Jolly Elf.”
“Yeah, right.”
“Yes, very much right. I know they’re stupid, but they’re the approved names. And even if it’s not me, all the elves can be addressed as one of those three. Except for Tasia—she does the camera work and she is Camera Elf or Picture Elf.” Luke shrugged. “I didn’t choose the names. If I had, they’d be waaaaay more fun. Oh, you’re having trouble with the stuffing, eh?”
He went over and helped get the stuffing arranged where it was supposed to be, so Chris looked like he had a jolly santa belly instead of some weird lumpy disease. Then he helped Chris with the hat, making sure all the hair was coming down from beneath it like it should and making sure it wasn’t going to fall off. The beard fit pretty tightly, and once it was in place, Chris totally looked like the big guy himself.
Luke examined him for a minute, then nodded. “Perfect.”
“I doubt that.”
“No, really, take a look.” He led Chris over to the mirror so he could see Santa reflected back at him. “Ta-da! It’s Santa!”
“Huh. That’s not half bad.”
“It might even be half good!” He gave Chris a wink and headed out. “Try not to let the kids yank at your beard. Most won’t, but you have to keep an eagle eye out for the ones that do and just keep their hands away from it. Okay, a quick rundown of the rules.”
“There’s rules?”
“Yep. Only a few. No swearing while Santa. No rude comments, no ogling the moms or the teenagers. Especially the teenagers. Don’t dillydally too long—get the kid on your lap, ask what they want for Christmas, smile at the camera, hand them a candy cane, and get them on their way. It can sometimes feel like a production line, but that’s the only way to get through it and see all the kids. Now if the kid doesn’t want to sit on your knee, that’s totally okay, and there’s a little bench seat next to your chair they can sit on. Some parents are going to insist their kid sits on your knee even if the kid doesn’t want to. I try to help with situations like that so you don’t have to negotiate between them, but sometimes, I don’t see or hear—the pointy ears muffle a lot of sound. So if you need help and I don’t notice, just say something like, ‘Jolly Elf will come and help us,’ fairly loudly, and I’ll come and do exactly that. I think that’s all the pertinent details.” He hoped he hadn’t forgotten anything, but they were already a few minutes late and had to get to their posts right now. And there was no better way to learn what you needed than by learning it on the job, right? He sure hoped so.
Chris looked the tiniest bit shell-shocked as Luke led him past all the kids to his seat, but he got with the program soon enough, putting his hands on his belly and going, “ho, ho, ho” every few steps.
Thank goodness because Luke had been worried that Chris wasn’t going to be able to manage the jolly part of the job. But it looked like maybe they were going to be fine. He sure hoped so because breaking in new Santas sucked, and he really didn’t want to have to do it more than once this year.
Luke got Santa settled in his chair, gave him a thumbs-up and moved over to his position by the rope keeping a fairly substantial line of kids at bay.
“New Santa?” Tasia asked as Luke went by. Luke nodded. “Let’s hope nobody barfs on him today then.”
Luke nodded vigorously, bells jingling madly as he settled in and focused on the first clients of the day. Nothing could make them lose a Santa faster than a kid vomiting all over him on day one.
He took the forms for the pictures from the first Mom, there with a little girl about four years old, dressed in what had to be her Sunday best. He glanced through the paperwork to make sure all the boxes had been ticked and the bottom had been signed, then asked Mom to hand it to Tasia. She would show the parents where they could wait and collect their children once they were done with Santa.
Luke crouched in front of the little girl. “So what’s your name?”
“Sylvana,” she said quietly, watching her mom moving away from her.
“Well, Silvana, I am so happy to meet you! And you know who else can’t wait to meet you? Santa!” He stood and took her hand, walking her the few feet over to Santa. “Do you know what you want for Christmas?”
She nodded.
“That’s great. Make sure you tell Santa so he knows, too. Do you need help getting up onto Santa’s knee?”
She nodded, and he lifted her up and put her on Chris’s knee. Chris put a hand on her back, steadying her and Luke nodded approvingly. Good instincts.
“Santa, this is Sylvana.”
“Well, hi there, Sylvana. Have you been naughty or nice this year? Ho, ho, ho.”
Grinning, Luke moved back to his spot at the entrance and let Chris and Tasia do their thing. He had kids to entertain.
“Hi there! Are you ready to see Santa?”
BL MaxwellBL Maxwell grew up in a small town listening to her grandfather spin tales about his childhood. Later she became an avid reader and after a certain vampire series she became obsessed with fanfiction. She soon discovered Slash fanfiction and later discovered the MM genre and was hooked.
Many years later, she decided to take the plunge and write down some of the stories that seem to run through her head late at night when she’s trying to sleep.
Many years later, she decided to take the plunge and write down some of the stories that seem to run through her head late at night when she’s trying to sleep.
Annabeth Albert grew up sneaking romance novels under the bed covers. Now, she devours all subgenres of romance out in the open--no flashlights required! When she's not adding to her keeper shelf, she's a multi-published Pacific Northwest romance writer.
Emotionally complex, sexy, and funny stories are her favorites both to read and to write. Annabeth loves finding happy endings for a variety of pairings and is a passionate gay rights supporter. In between searching out dark heroes to redeem, she works a rewarding day job and wrangles two children.
Emotionally complex, sexy, and funny stories are her favorites both to read and to write. Annabeth loves finding happy endings for a variety of pairings and is a passionate gay rights supporter. In between searching out dark heroes to redeem, she works a rewarding day job and wrangles two children.
Jordan L. Hawk is a trans author from North Carolina. Childhood tales of mountain ghosts and mysterious creatures gave him a life-long love of things that go bump in the night. When he isn’t writing, he brews his own beer and tries to keep the cats from destroying the house. His best-selling Whyborne & Griffin series (beginning with Widdershins) can be found in print, ebook, and audiobook.
If you want to contact Jordan, just click on the links below or send an email.
Emotional, Roller-Coaster Romance
Skylar M. Cates loves a good, heartfelt romance, especially ones that are both steamy and emotionally satisfying. She is quite happy to drink some coffee, curl up with a good book, and not move all day. Her novels feature strong, passionate characters who care about their friends and family. Skylar loves to craft stories where people are challenged by vulnerable situations. Although lately the laundry room is the farthest place she has visited, Skylar still loves to chat with people from all around the globe. Contact her on Twitter, Facebook, or through her newsletter.
Best-selling author Sean Michael is a maple leaf–loving Canadian who spends hours hiding out in used book stores. With far more ideas than time, Sean keeps several documents open at all times. From romance to fantasy, paranormal and sci-fi, Sean is limited only by the need for sleep—and the periodic Beaver Tail.
Sean fantasizes about one day retiring on a secluded island populated entirely by horseshoe crabs after inventing a brain-to-computer dictation system. Until then, Sean will continue to write the old-fashioned way.
Sean’s available for interviews, by the way. He can always be talked into, well, talking about himself. Just drop him an email.
BL Maxwell
NEWSLETTER / AUDIOBOOKS / B&N
Annabeth Albert
KOBO / GOOGLE PLAY / AUDIBLE / PATREON
EMAIL: Annabeth@annabethalbert.com
Jordan L Hawk
Wrapped Up in Tinsel by BL Maxwell
Deck the Palms by Annabeth Albert
Rattling Bone by Jordan L Hawk
Once Upon a Christmas Con by Skylar M Cates
Department Store Santa by Sean Micheal
KOBO / iTUNES / SMASHWORDS
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