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I've wanted to do a Christmas in July series for a few years now but time just didn't seem to agree. I wanted to feature stories that I have recently re-read but once again, time had other plans so for my Christmas in July 2024 series, I'm featuring another 20 of my favorite Christmas set LGBT reads. I say "Christmas set" because some are not really holiday-centric but set, at least in part, during the holiday season and for me that is all it takes to be a Christmas read(and yes, I'm in the "Die Hard is a Christmas Movie" camp😉). Some I've had opportunity in the past to re-read or re-listen and I've included the most recent review. As always, the purchase links are current as of posting but if they no longer work for a dozen different reasons, be sure to check out the author's website/social media sites for the latest links. There are genres of all kinds here, whether you are a holiday lover or perhaps you just want to read something set in cooler weather on a long hot summer night, either way there is something for everyone here.
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Old Acquaintance by Annabelle Jacobs
Summary:
There are two sides to every story, even those buried in the past.
When Sam spots the hot guy moving in next door, he’s all for going round to introduce himself. That soon changes when it turns out his new neighbour is in fact an old school acquaintance, Charles Whitmore. Sam didn’t like him back then, and fifteen years haven’t altered that.
Splitting up from his long-term boyfriend means a move across the city for Charlie. As luck would have it, his immediate neighbour is a guy he went to school with, Sam Gellar. While Sam is less than welcoming, his best mate is more than happy to invite Charlie into their social circle. Whatever problem Sam has with Charlie, Charlie resolves to get to the bottom of it, because, frosty beginnings aside, Charlie likes him.
With Christmas just around the corner, fate thrusts them together, and they get on so much better than they ever did at school. Despite his efforts not to, Sam develops feelings for Charlie, and they appear to be reciprocated. If Sam wants to take things further he needs to either confront Charlie about their past--a past Charlie seems to have forgotten entirely--or let it go and move on. Sam knows deep down that he can’t let it go, but it never seems the right time to bring it up. Until it is.
There are two sides to every story, even those buried in the past.
When Sam spots the hot guy moving in next door, he’s all for going round to introduce himself. That soon changes when it turns out his new neighbour is in fact an old school acquaintance, Charles Whitmore. Sam didn’t like him back then, and fifteen years haven’t altered that.
Splitting up from his long-term boyfriend means a move across the city for Charlie. As luck would have it, his immediate neighbour is a guy he went to school with, Sam Gellar. While Sam is less than welcoming, his best mate is more than happy to invite Charlie into their social circle. Whatever problem Sam has with Charlie, Charlie resolves to get to the bottom of it, because, frosty beginnings aside, Charlie likes him.
With Christmas just around the corner, fate thrusts them together, and they get on so much better than they ever did at school. Despite his efforts not to, Sam develops feelings for Charlie, and they appear to be reciprocated. If Sam wants to take things further he needs to either confront Charlie about their past--a past Charlie seems to have forgotten entirely--or let it go and move on. Sam knows deep down that he can’t let it go, but it never seems the right time to bring it up. Until it is.
Annabelle Jacobs has a real winner with Old Acquaintance. Sam and Charlie are two people you just know will be perfect for each other and yet Sam obviously has bad memories of Charlie from school, unfortunately they are memories told to him by his one-time best friend. When you spend fifteen years hating on someone it can be hard to let that go and in Sam's case even the idea that his then best friend turned out to be not such a nice guy still makes it difficult to not believe what he's been hanging on to. Luckily for Sam he has a couple of good mates now that keep him thinking.
Now that's more than I normally would give away but I don't really see it as a spoiler, more of an incentive to read this one for yourself because you don't want to miss this holiday gem. Miss Jacobs may have set this one during the holiday season but it is so much more than Christmastime, Old Acquaintance is one that should maybe actually be read anytime but the holidays. Why you ask? We tend to be more open-hearted during the holidays and once the decorations are put away most of us tend to go back to our pessimistic ways so its nice to be reminded of what makes us optimistic and full of the holiday spirit the other 11 months of the year. But whenever you read it you will definitely find yourself entertained and who knows maybe you'll even reach out to someone who wasn't on the top of your list a week earlier.
RATING:
Summary:
Candy Man #1
Adam Macias has been thrown a few curve balls in his life, but losing his VA grant because his car broke down and he missed a class was the one that struck him out. One relative away from homelessness, he's taking the bus to Sacramento, where his cousin has offered a house-sitting job and a new start. He has one goal, and that's to get his life back on track. Friends, pets, lovers? Need not apply.
Finn Stewart takes one look at Adam as he's applying to Candy Heaven and decides he's much too fascinating to leave alone. Finn is bright and shiny—and has never been hurt. Adam is wary of his attention from the very beginning—Finn is dangerous to every sort of peace Adam is forging, and Adam may just be too damaged to let him in at all.
But Finn is tenacious, and Adam's new boss, Darrin, doesn't take bullshit for an answer. Adam is going to have to ask himself which is harder—letting Finn in or living without him? With the holidays approaching it seems like an easy question, but Adam knows from experience that life is seldom simple, and the world seldom cooperates with hope, faith, or the plans of cats and men.
Original Review August 2016:
This is such a fun story! At the heart of the story you have a man who has not had the happiest past, to put it mildly, but upon walking into a candy shop answering a help wanted sign, everything changes. Despite Adam's heartbreaking history, the owner of Candy Heaven and his employees, bring this story so much uplift and fun. Then of course you throw in the bright and peppy Finn, who has "fun" practically tattooed on his forehead, and you have a very interesting pair for a perfect holiday read.
The Omega's Krampus Christmas by Lorelei M Hart
Summary:Never take an elf’s cookie… even if it is for a good cause.
School teacher Alger loved his job, his town, and his volunteer work at the local children’s hospital. That is until he loses it all with one mistake: he gave away the wrong cookie. Now cursed to be a Krampus and scare children into behaving, he is miserable. Beyond miserable. At least there’s an out to his curse: Find unconditional love. If only it were as simple as that.
Widower single father Jordan is not a fan of Christmas, not since his alpha’s accident. Each year Jordan fakes it, slapping on his best Christmas Cheer persona in the hopes of making it special for his son. Each year it gets a little bit easier. Who knows… maybe one year the holidays will be merry and bright.
When an unexpected blizzard comes to town, Alger and Jordan end up trapped together and learn that there really is magic in Christmas snow.
The Omega’s Krampus Christmas is a super sweet with knotty heat MM Mpreg Holiday retelling of the fairy tale Beauty and the Beast featuring an alpha who accidentally pissed off the wrong elf, an omega who sees the heart within, more Christmas cookies than anyone should eat in a lifetime, a magical sleigh ride that leaves more than just Santa’s bag being filled, the cutest cat ever…as in ever, Christmas wish lists a mile long, a Christmas miracle or two, including an adorable baby on the way. If you enjoy true love, fated mates, a little bit of whimsy, and your mpreg with heart, download The Omega’s Krampus Christmas today.
I gotta start by just saying: WOW!!!
Christmas romance with a twist✔️
Fairytale with a twist✔️
It's that "with a twist" that gives The Omega's Krampus Christmas an extra special level of holiday yummyness. I've always been intrigued by holiday stories that go outside the box by having Krampus involved and Lorelei M Hart really brought the intrigue to the table here. I should add that not only did I find this story to be my favorite of this holiday season's reading but it is also my first mpreg, first omegaverse, and my first Lorelei M Hart read. That's a lot of firsts to venture into especially with a holiday story.
Alger, aka Krampus, and single dad Jordan have an instant connection but after decades of a lonely existence, Alger has built a wall around his heart. Will he let Jordan and his daughter Thea in? As you can probably guess my answer: you'll have to read this one for yourself to discover if Alger opens up. I will say that I couldn't help but love every character in the story, each one played a part, nobody was extra, nobody was page filler they all added to the story and to Alger and Jordan's journey.
There is really not much more I can add without being tempted to divulge too much of the story. I will say that if you aren't fond of mpreg, I still highly recommend this Christmas tale because The Omega's Krampus Christmas is so much more than mpreg. This is a story about seeing beyond the surface, letting someone in, and opening one's heart which is something we all need to do more of and not just during the holiday season. Definitely a delightful, heartwarming holiday gem.
Let it Sew by Anna Martin
Summary:Anna Martin's Christmas Short Stories #1
It’s the day before the last day of term and Year One teacher Harry Britton has a problem: all of the costumes for his nativity play have been destroyed by accident. The only person who can possibly help him is Edward Saunders, who runs a small tailor and alterations shop in the village.
Edward is more than a little shocked to be asked to make seventeen costumes for five year old children—he’s more comfortable making bespoke men’s suits. But there’s something beguiling and utterly charming about Harry Britton, so despite all his hesitations, he agrees to help.
Edward is more than a little shocked to be asked to make seventeen costumes for five year old children—he’s more comfortable making bespoke men’s suits. But there’s something beguiling and utterly charming about Harry Britton, so despite all his hesitations, he agrees to help.
In my reading experience tailors of higher end quality items, whether they are in a large or small shop, tend to be a bit on the snooty side, thinking they are a little above everyday/off the rack items. Edward Saunders is not and I think that was what made me love him from the very beginning. When Harry Britton comes into his shop and is in need of children's costumes for a school Christmas play Edward sounds hesitant for a few minutes then sees the desperation on Harry's face and jumps in with his whole heart. Of course the chemistry between Edward and Harry is also extremely lovely, sweet, cute, and completely believable all the way. Holiday tales tend to bank on the magic of the season and in a way Let it Sew does the same, Harry's desperate need for costumes quickly brings the two together and because of the time spent with each other they talk and learn things that might normally take several chapters and several dates. It's this very same need and timing that makes the chemistry and "insta-connection" so believable and enjoyable. Another gem for my holiday library.
RATING:
Unexpected Christmas by Nell Iris
Summary:Daniel Erickson stormed out of his family celebration after choking on turkey served with a side of bigotry. Utterly miserable, he reluctantly lets himself be charmed by the hulk of a man and gets into the stranger’s car ... hoping he won’t be axed before the night is through.
Axel Wilson -- Ax for short, unfortunately -- is a sweetheart. Really. He may be badass-looking but his heart melts into goo at the mere mention of his four-year-old niece. Surely he isn’t dangerous?
Thrown together by family drama, the two men spend the evening getting to know each other. Axel is nothing like Daniel expected. But it doesn’t matter that he loves poetry, is gentle and patient -- and hot! -- Daniel is absolutely not falling in love at first sight. There’s no such thing.
Right?
Unexpected Christmas is absolutely lovely. I just love the connection between Daniel and Ax, even with Daniel's first impression of Ax being a serial killer😉 We all need a little reminder not to judge by appearances and that is exactly what Daniel learns. I'm not sure what more I can say about this lovely holiday read other than it made me smile and I'm already looking forward to re-visiting Daniel and Ax's Unexpected Christmas journey for many holidays to come.
RATING:
Old Acquaintance by Annabelle Jacobs
Chapter One
Sam peered out the window and narrowed his eyes. “Who moves house on a Wednesday?”
“What?” Dave glanced up from his phone and followed Sam’s line of sight. “You never told me you were getting new neighbours.”
“I only found out last weekend. They didn’t have a sign up or anything. Said they were letting it to a friend of theirs or something like that. I wasn’t paying all that much attention.” Sam took his tea and walked into the living room to get a better view. His ground-floor flat faced the road, and his new neighbours were moving into the one right next door.
“God, you’re so bloody nosy.” Dave moved to stand beside him, and Sam gave him a pointed look, which he ignored.
“I’m interested in who’ll be living next door to me. That’s all.”
Dave rolled his eyes. “Then maybe you could go out and introduce yourself instead of spying on them from behind the curtains.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” Sam sipped his tea and continued to watch the back of the van for signs of movement. The doors were open, but no one had come or gone in the last few minutes. “Anyway, I want to suss out what sort of people they are before I go introducing myself.”
“And how are you going to do that skulking in here?” Dave shook his head and moved to sit on the sofa. “At least come and sit down.” When Sam didn’t budge, he added with a sigh, “You still have a pretty good view from here, and you’ll look less like a creep if they see you.”
He made a good point.
Assuming the people moving in were decent types, Sam didn’t want to start off on the wrong foot.
Dave grinned as Sam walked over and sat next to him.
“Oh, shut up.” Sam set his mug down on the coffee table as movement near the front of the building caught his eye. He nudged Dave, narrowly avoiding spilling his tea. “Look, here they come.”
Sam’s living room had French doors that opened out onto the grass surrounding the building. An iron railing atop a low brick wall separated the grass from the pavement. All in all, the road was about twelve feet from his living room window, and with the van parked just a little way down the road, they had a pretty good view.
Two guys walked towards the open rear doors, both dressed in jeans and T-shirts. “It’s bloody November, not June,” Sam muttered, his gaze catching on the way their muscles bunched as they lifted what looked to be a double bed base from the back of the van.
“I imagine moving all that stuff would make you hot.”
Sam grinned against his mug as he took another sip of tea. “Pretty sure they’d be hot no matter what they were doing.”
Dave gave them another look, and Sam caught the way his lips curved up into a smile. “True.”
For the next twenty minutes, they sat in companionable silence, watching the two guys unload the rest of the van.
“D’you think they’re together?” Sam asked, finally. His mind conjured up a few choice images.
“I don’t know. Could be brothers or best mates?”
“Yeah, maybe.”
They’d finished moving stuff by the looks of things, shutting the van doors and turning to face each other. One scuffed his shoes on the pavement while the other ran a hand through his hair. Even from where he and Dave sat, you could see the tension crackle between them, and Sam wondered if they were going to kiss out there on the street. In the end, they went in for a hug that lasted longer than Sam figured a friends-only hug would, and Dave seemed to agree.
“More than friends, I’d say. Or were at any rate.” Dave sat forward, eyebrows scrunching together. “Hey, does he look familiar to you?”
Sam sat up a little straighter and set his mug down. “Which one?” The guys were a similar height and built, but one was dark-haired, the other blond. Neither looked all that familiar. Although…
“The dark-haired one. I know him from somewhere.”
“Now that you mention it.” Sam sat forward as well to get a better look. He hadn’t seen it at first, but now Dave had pointed it out, he did look faintly familiar. “Can’t think where I’ve seen him though.”
“No. Me neither.”
Blond guy drove off in the van and dark-haired guy turned and went back inside his flat.
Dave slumped back against the sofa now they had nothing else to look at. “That’s going to bug the shit out of me now.” He sighed and glanced out the window again.
Sam patted his leg, then stood. “Come on, let’s go and get some lunch. I’ll go say hi later, give him time to get sorted. Maybe a name’ll jog your memory.”
Dave shot him a look, eyebrow raised. “Oh, so now you’ve sussed him out as acceptable, have you? After watching him unload a van?”
“He seems okay.”
“Yeah, right.” Dave gave him a light shove as he stood. “It’s got nothing to do with the fact that you think he’s hot.”
Sam shrugged but couldn’t keep a straight face. “Just being a good neighbour.”
“Of course you are.” He gestured for Sam to lead the way and followed him towards the door. “Let’s hope he didn’t catch you watching, or that’s going to be an awkward introduction.”
“Nah.” Sam waved him away. “He didn’t look this way once.”
As soon as they got outside, the cold hit them, and Sam pointed to the car park, all thoughts of his new neighbour forgotten. “Walk or drive?”
Dave shivered. “Drive. Then you can pop to Ikea afterwards and pick up that wardrobe you wanted.”
“Yeah, okay.”
They hurried round the side of the building and Sam quickly unlocked his van. He’d only got as far as pulling out onto the main road when Dave snapped his fingers and said, “School!”
Sam glanced at him, confused. “What?”
“That’s where we know him from.”
He felt Dave’s gaze on him, and when he glanced over again, Dave had an expectant look on his face.
Laughing, Sam shook his head. “I still have no idea who it is. You’ll have to give me more than just school.”
Dave grinned back at him. “You’re not going to like it.”
Sam frowned, casting back through his memories from school. He’d managed to go through secondary school relatively unscathed—hadn’t been in any serious trouble and got on with most people. “Nope, still can’t—” He cut himself off as the thought hit him. They stopped at the traffic lights, and he turned to Dave. “No. Can’t be.” But even as he said the words, he knew in the back of his mind that it bloody well was.
“Yep. The guy you were just drooling over is none other than Charles Whitmore.”
Sam groaned, and Dave laughed again.
Wanker Whitmore.
His new hot neighbour was the one person he’d hated at school. Well, maybe not hated, exactly, but the guy had been a colossal knob. “Fuck.”
“Still gonna go round later to say hi?” Dave prodded him in the ribs when Sam ignored him. “He’s aged well, you’ve got to give him that.”
“Still doesn’t change the fact that he beat up Nigel Watts. For no fucking reason. He ended up in A&E!” The age-old indignation flared easily back to the surface, and with it came the disgust Sam had felt at the time. “The only reason Nige didn’t press charges was because Whitmore threatened to do it again if he did. Nige was terrified of him, made me promise not to tell anyone.” He’d only told Dave a couple of years later when they were drunk one night.
Some of the amusement faded from Dave’s expression. “That was years ago, mate. And I always said you should take what Nige told you with a pinch of salt. Besides, I’m sure Charlie’s changed since school. God knows we have.”
Maybe, maybe not. Sam didn’t really give a shit. “I’m not bothered whether he has or hasn’t changed. I’m not interested in getting to know him, and I won’t be going round to say hi anytime soon.” Whether Nigel massaged the truth or not, he’d been a right mess. There was no making that up.
Thankfully they were almost at the pub and Dave let the subject drop.
SAM MANAGED TO avoid thinking about his new neighbour right up until he and Dave pulled back into the car park behind Sam’s flat. The look on his face must’ve given him away, because Dave nudged him with his shoulder.
“Chances are you’ll hardly see him.”
Sam rolled his eyes. “We literally live next door to each other. I’m going to bump into him at some point.”
“He might not recognise you. Might not remember who you are.”
“Mm.” Sam couldn’t decide if that made him happy or not. Which was ridiculous. Why should he care whether some twat from school remembered him or not? But a tiny piece of him wanted Whitmore to remember him. Just like he remembered Whitmore. Eventually anyway.
“Come on. If you want a hand putting that new wardrobe together, then we need to start now. I promised my mum I’d be there before six.”
Sam could manage on his own, but with two of them, they’d get it done so much quicker. He nodded. “Yeah, I’m coming.”
Between them, they carried all the boxes inside and into Sam’s flat. With his old wardrobe long gone and Sam’s bedroom tidy for once, they had a nice space to work in.
Dave looked down at the boxes stacked on the carpet. “You go put the kettle on and I’ll start unpacking this lot.”
Waving a hand towards the hall, Sam said, “Chuck all the rubbish out there; it’s bin day tomorrow. I’ll just stick the cardboard out for recycling.”
“Will do.”
He left Dave to it and headed to the kitchen. Despite his resolution not to, Sam couldn’t resist a glance out his window. Not that he could see any of next-door’s flat from there, but maybe hot van guy had come back.
I can still oglehim.
Unfortunately, the van was nowhere to be seen, but as Sam leaned against the counter, waiting for the kettle to boil, he noticed a dark blue Fiesta pull up outside. Interest piqued, he watched as a woman—probably around his mum’s age—got out and waved at someone Sam couldn’t see.
He figured it was probably Whitmore’s mum, and sure enough, the man himself appeared a few seconds later. They hugged, and then his mum went to open the back door of the car.
“You making a cuppa or what?” Dave appeared in the kitchen doorway, took one look at Sam, and sighed. “Really?”
“What? I was waiting for the kettle.” He flicked it on again, realising he’d totally missed it boiling before, and leaned back against the worktop. Dave just shook his head but reached up to get two mugs out of the cupboard. “His mum just arrived.”
“How do you know it’s his mum?”
Sam shrugged. “She looks like a mum.” He turned back to the window in time to see Whitmore duck into the back of the car and then come out holding… “A cat.”
“Hmm?”
“He’s got a fucking cat.” Because of course he did.
Dave laughed, the bastard. “Oh, come on, there’s nothing wrong with cats. I don’t know why you’re so against them.”
Sam vividly remembered being terrorised by next-door’s cat when he was about seven. The thing used to wait for him behind the wheelie bin and jump out when he walked past. “I’m more of a dog person.”
The raised eyebrow he got in response was as good as a “Bollocks are you,” but Sam ignored it. Instead, he watched Whitmore lift the basket to eye level and start talking to the cat inside it. Idiot.
“As long as he keeps it away from me, that’s all I care about.”
He poured up two teas and, with a last look at the now empty street, followed Dave into his bedroom to get started on that wardrobe.
Candy Man by Amy Lane
Pixy Stix
DARRIN CHECKED his manicure and tossed his shoulder-length shag-cut hair back, shaking his head so it came clear of the dangly earrings. Yeah, it was a little grayer when he forgot to do highlights, but he still managed to look glamorous. Feeling cocky, and damned good about the coming Christmas season, he leaned forward against the high wooden counter and watched as Joni unlocked the doors.
“Think it’s going to be busy, boss?” Joni had a buzz cut, dyed black, and a body as stocky as one of the barrels that held hard-candy sweets throughout the store.
“I hope so!” Small businesses in this climate weren’t always a sure thing, but Candy Heaven had been around for a few years, and Darrin was clinging to his little store with every bit of strength in his long, manicured fingers. The store resided in Old Town Sacramento—a four-by-two block cobblestoned, boardwalked tourist trap formed in the pocket created by Highway 275, the Golden State Highway, the I Street Bridge, and the Sacramento River. The stores ranged from burger joints to fine-dining restaurants to antiques to importers to art galleries. They made their money from tourists looking for a quick bit of history at the railroad museum, and locals looking for a reliable place to get something specialized and unique. The candy stores—his wasn’t the only one—were a sweet little perk and part of the area’s appeal. They should do a brisk Christmas business, and Darrin thought about his crew of twelve or so employees and reflected that they might be down one for the holidays.
“In fact,” he said thoughtfully, “I think we may need to hire some help.”
Joni grunted. “I’ll put out the sign, then. God, I hope we don’t get high school students and shit. I hate premetacognitive beings.”
Joni was twenty-four and working on her master’s in sociology. Darrin was waiting for her to get old enough to think “premetacognitive beings” were adorable and pat them on the head and send them on their way with a cookie. Right now she was sort of abrasive—although that could have had something to do with her recent breakup. Joni’s ex-girlfriend had been barely nineteen.
Darrin ripped the top off a Pixy Stix and dumped the contents on the counter, then drew a random picture in the sour sugar and imagined who would work for him. Six four, chest like a wall, heavy tattoos on his back and neck. Bold nose, rectangular jaw, brown eyes, flat and untrusting. A heart like… quicksilver—used to defending itself by pretending it wasn’t there.
“Hm…,” Darrin murmured. “Yes. Yes, his name is Adam. He’s not going to be… friendly.”
Joni groaned. “Aw, boss! Seriously—do you see anyone else in there? Five six, blonde, blue-eyed, big boobs, tiny waist—”
“No, dear,” Darrin said, too intent on the man he saw in the Pixy Stix to be tactful. He saw a child huddled under a bed in the dark, the whip and slap of unkind voices echoing above his sanctuary. He saw a shining lifeline. Oh dear. And the lifeline led here.
Darrin licked his finger and then drew a little more. Staring at the picture, he tasted the sweet-tart powder on the end of his finger and grimaced.
More bitter than it should be.
“This one needs us. Needs sweetening.”
Joni groaned. “Boss, can’t we have, you know, a wide-eyed kinda hamster girl, smart enough to not be premetacognitive, dumb enough to want me?”
Darrin pulled himself away from his visions of sugar-humans and scowled. “You need to find someone who doesn’t take your shit. You drove that sweet young thang away sure as I’m standing here. Forget cute with perky boobies. You need someone who will throw you against the counter, kiss you, and then tell you to stop being a bitch!”
Joni grunted and set the Help Wanted sign up in the window. “Can she have perky boobies too?”
“I am not doing a reading for you! Now start stocking—we need more of the magnets with my picture on them. There’s going to be a run.”
Joni rolled her eyes and went to do her job, and Darrin sighed and started to pick up his end. Sometimes it sucked being the boss.
For one thing, he wasn’t going to be the one helping sweeten this man’s sugar. But maybe that was okay. Maybe just seeing who would sweeten this man’s life would be enough.
The Omega's Krampus Christmas by Lorelei M Hart
Prologue
Alger
Once Upon a Time
Teaching school paid next to nothing, but I had cheap lodgings and some of the families made me meals from time to time, which helped keep body and soul together. Some did not consider teaching a man’s job, one that could support a family, but at least for the time being, my pleasure in helping to form young minds superseded any other factors.
Especially at the holiday season. On the last day of school before the Christmas vacation break, we suspended regular classes to bring all the classes together in the decorated auditorium for a holiday recital and festivities before sending the children to their frolics until the New Year.
This year, our class would be singing a selection of Christmas carols and I, dressed in the red suit of Saint Nick popularized by Clement Moore’s ’Twas the Night Before Christmas or A Visit from Saint Nicholas would appropriately read that story to close the event. As I prepared for my reading, a little sadness tugged at my heart. It was easy to pretend I had enough time with these children during class terms, but on holidays, when they were with their real families, the loneliness seeped in. Maybe I should have aspired to another career.
Sitting in the armchair placed at the front of the stage, with my students seated on the floor around me, my heart warmed. Sometimes the poverty many of them lived in daunted their spirits, but now smiles of pride at their performance lifted the corners of their lips. They’d indeed done well, and Santa Claus might have taken notice from his North Pole residence. I cleared my throat, bemused at my suspension of logic. Christmastime always made me sentimental, reminded me of my parents and brother, grandparents, all those who’d already departed this realm. They would celebrate the birth of the Christ Child with the angels in heaven, while I sat in my rented room eating whatever someone thought to bring me from their holiday table.
Even my landlady, who often included me in her holidays, would be away. I’d put her on the train myself, this morning, laden with presents and baked goods she’d prepared. I didn’t resent her good fortune this year. Her married daughter had remembered she had a mother for the first time since my arrival and invited her for the festive season. Mrs. Dougherty’s excitement had been contagious, buoying my spirits as I waved until the train disappeared down the tracks.
Such a good soul, she deserved happiness. A tug on my trousers reminded me of where I was, and I began the poem. I recited more than read the beloved verses, putting as much heart into them as possible. My gift to the children whose faces I gazed into every school day, who learned their letters and numbers at my tutelage.
I taught the youngest of them, tasked with giving them a love of learning as much as any specific knowledge. If they had that love, they would do well going forward.
Finishing the reading, I closed the large book on my lap and chuckled as I thought Saint Nicholas might have before going up the chimney after laying out the gifts for the children of the house in the story.
Silence for a moment had me worried I’d not done justice to the tale, but then appreciative applause reassured me. The book was one my mother read the same story to me from, precious in its faded covers and holding just as much magic now as then. After I finished, the headmaster stood from his seat at the back of the stage and made a short speech. The same speech, word for word, as last year and the year before. But it suited the occasion and sent everyone off with a smile and a wave.
A few other teachers and I supervised some of the older boys putting the auditorium to rights before closing the school for two weeks. When we were done, and all the handmade decorations removed, it looked so dull. But clean and ready for the events of a new term.
As we were leaving, I spotted a bit of litter near the stage, so I bid the others goodbye, said I would lock the doors as I went, and crossed the room to pick it up. Alone, I looked around again. Just an hour or so ago, it had been filled with singing and laughter and bright colors both in the decorations and the students’ and their families’ holiday best attire.
Now, there was just me, in my brown jacket and trousers, not one sprig of greenery or red ribbon in sight. And since we’d turned down the furnace, the warm air in the room was being replaced by a distinct chill.
Time to go home.
I was about to leave the building when I saw a small boy sitting on a chair by the door, kicking his feet and staring at the floor. Little Timothy from my class. All by himself. I approached him and took the seat beside his.
“Timothy, did your fathers leave without you?” All the families were invited to the holiday recital, filling the auditorium with their appreciation for their children’s performances.
“No, Mr. Bobell.” His legs slowed their kicking but did not stop. Nor did he look up from his focus on the black-and-white tiles.
Oh. “They were unable to attend today, then.” He looked so sad.
“They never come. Like they didn’t come on Meet the Teacher night. Or our spelling bee or...or anything. Sir.”
I didn’t always get to speak to every parent when they came. Some were shy or just never made it to the front of the room for one reason or another. But from the children’s reports, nearly all their parents or guardians attended when we invited them. Making the invitations was always a fun and popular activity for our art class the week before, and I had some very talented artists in my room this year. Timothy was one of the best. “Sometimes parents are very busy with their responsibilities and cannot take time to enjoy themselves. It’s a shame. But we must try to understand.”
He did lift his eyes to mine at that point, and they held all the pain and disappointment no child should have to experience.
“I have to lock up now, Timothy. Can you see yourself home?” Some did, and some others had a parent or older sibling to walk them.
“Yes, sir. I always go home alone.”
Alone. I had a feeling he often arrived into an empty house. His worn shoes and everyday clothes had stood in stark contrast to most of the other children’s holiday outfits, but poor didn’t mean abused or neglected, and not all had new clothes. But his sad loneliness said it all. How had I not realized just how bad things were? Maybe because we were not allowed to interfere with students’ outside of school, and parents had absolute authority there. Knowing they had it rough made it even harder to do my job and treat all the children equally.
Still.
Timothy stood and started for the door, but on a whim, I stopped him with a question. “Timothy, what is your wish this Christmas?” If it was within my power to grant it for him, I would, even if it meant I skipped a meal or two.
“A cookie,” he replied. “Like my grandma used to make before she died.”
My heart squeezed so hard, I gasped for a moment before recovering my breath. My mind worked furiously. Where had I seen cookies? A big cookie on a plate! “Timothy, do not leave. I will be right back.”
I dashed down the hall to Mr. Samberg’s class where, on his desk, sat a plate with a large, perfect, dark-brown molasses cookie. A single delight that might bring a smile to a young man’s face. Mr. Samberg was gone already, and by the time we returned from our holiday, it would be gone anyway, food for a stray mouse.
Timothy was still there when I returned, and I gave him the cookie, thrilled to see the sadness retreat from his expression while he studied the marvel in his hands. “This is all for me? This whole cookie?”
“Merry Christmas, Timothy.” I held the door open, turned off the lights, and followed him outside. “Be a good boy, and I’ll see you after New Year’s.” I locked the door and by the time I turned to leave, the little boy was nowhere in sight. I wished I had so much more to give to this child and to the others who might have less-than happy Christmases for different reasons this year.
Like me, many had lost relatives in the Spanish Flu epidemic a few years before, others had folks who were out of work or had debt that made it impossible to buy things for a festive meal or gifts.
Saddened by the thoughts that not all the children I taught would have what all children should have for Christmas, I trudged away from the school building.
“Hey, you. I have a bone to pick with you, Mr. Teacher.”
That couldn’t be...but it was. An elf.
Let it Sew by Anna Martin
On the last Thursday before Christmas, Edward’s shop was quiet. He hadn’t minded in the morning; Edward liked to take the mornings slowly, waking up with multiple cups of tea while he worked on anything that had been left over from the previous day. Business often picked up around lunchtime.
With the hammering rain outside creating a lovely background tune for his task, Edward finished the repairs on an old smoking jacket and carefully set it on a hanger ready for steam cleaning. The jacket had come from a man who’d found it in his granddad’s attic, and wanted to wear it for his wedding on New Year’s Eve. It was a marvellous thing—black velvet with satin lapels and a beautiful patterned lining. Edward hadn’t recognised the name on the label so he’d turned to the internet to research it. That had taken a few days, but he’d learned that it had likely come from a tailor in London, who had been very fashionable in the nineteen twenties. The jacket was probably a hundred years old.
Edward had opened his tailoring and alterations shop in the village of Little Wetherill, on the northern edge of Dartmoor, almost six years ago. Despite his relative youth in the community, he’d become a solid figure in it. People travelled from all over the south-west to bring him things—either repairs, which he enjoyed, or custom projects, which he’d built his reputation on.
His mother had been overtly derisive of his decision to open a real-life, bricks and mortar shop, convinced that he’d never be able to turn it into a profitable business. But Edward had been running a bespoke tailoring business out of his living room for years, and he had a small but loyal following of people who bought his custom designs online.
Sure, the shop was small, and cold, and in the first year he’d been forced to spend hundreds of pounds replacing the windows at the front so they were double-glazed. In the winter he only got the sun first thing in the morning because of the side of the high street he was located on. So he’d spent even more money installing good lights, so he could see what he was doing at his workstation at the back of the shop. It was worth it. Every penny.
Edward was startled from his cup of tea by the shop door crashing open, then a man rushed into the shop looking particularly red-faced and out of breath. Edward thought that when he calmed down, he might look attractive. Handsome, even. Probably looking for a gift for his wife, knowing Edward’s luck.
“Can I help?”
“I really hope so.” The man heaved his satchel, which was dripping with rainwater, onto Edward’s counter. “I don’t suppose you have a set of nativity costumes that would fit a group of five and six year old children?”
Edward stared at him. “I’m a tailor. A menswear tailor.”
“I know. It’s just that I’ve been everywhere, literally everywhere, and I don’t know who else to ask.”
Curiosity killed the cat.
“How many costumes do you need?”
He started to count them off on his fingers. “Mary and Joseph. Three wise men, three shepherds, three sheep, a cow and a donkey. The inn keeper and his wife, and the Angel Gabriel. And a star.”
Edward blinked. “Seventeen. Seventeen costumes.”
“Yes.” He nodded rapidly. “Ten boys and seven girls. That’s my class.”
“And when do you need these by?”
“Three o’ clock tomorrow afternoon.” “Can you sew?” Edward asked, feeling like asking had been a monumentally bad idea.
“Honestly? No.”
Edward stared at the handsome intruder. Did he want to make seventeen nativity costumes? Of course he didn’t. That sounded like absolute mayhem. He took a deep breath, then sighed.
“Well, for your sake, I hope you’re a fast learner.”
Edward pulled on his long wool coat and flipped the sign on the door to ‘Closed’. He grabbed an umbrella, too, it was still raining cats and dogs out there.
“My name’s Harry, by the way. Harry Britton.”
Harry. It suited him.
“Edward Saunders.”
With the hammering rain outside creating a lovely background tune for his task, Edward finished the repairs on an old smoking jacket and carefully set it on a hanger ready for steam cleaning. The jacket had come from a man who’d found it in his granddad’s attic, and wanted to wear it for his wedding on New Year’s Eve. It was a marvellous thing—black velvet with satin lapels and a beautiful patterned lining. Edward hadn’t recognised the name on the label so he’d turned to the internet to research it. That had taken a few days, but he’d learned that it had likely come from a tailor in London, who had been very fashionable in the nineteen twenties. The jacket was probably a hundred years old.
Edward had opened his tailoring and alterations shop in the village of Little Wetherill, on the northern edge of Dartmoor, almost six years ago. Despite his relative youth in the community, he’d become a solid figure in it. People travelled from all over the south-west to bring him things—either repairs, which he enjoyed, or custom projects, which he’d built his reputation on.
His mother had been overtly derisive of his decision to open a real-life, bricks and mortar shop, convinced that he’d never be able to turn it into a profitable business. But Edward had been running a bespoke tailoring business out of his living room for years, and he had a small but loyal following of people who bought his custom designs online.
Sure, the shop was small, and cold, and in the first year he’d been forced to spend hundreds of pounds replacing the windows at the front so they were double-glazed. In the winter he only got the sun first thing in the morning because of the side of the high street he was located on. So he’d spent even more money installing good lights, so he could see what he was doing at his workstation at the back of the shop. It was worth it. Every penny.
Edward was startled from his cup of tea by the shop door crashing open, then a man rushed into the shop looking particularly red-faced and out of breath. Edward thought that when he calmed down, he might look attractive. Handsome, even. Probably looking for a gift for his wife, knowing Edward’s luck.
“Can I help?”
“I really hope so.” The man heaved his satchel, which was dripping with rainwater, onto Edward’s counter. “I don’t suppose you have a set of nativity costumes that would fit a group of five and six year old children?”
Edward stared at him. “I’m a tailor. A menswear tailor.”
“I know. It’s just that I’ve been everywhere, literally everywhere, and I don’t know who else to ask.”
Curiosity killed the cat.
“How many costumes do you need?”
He started to count them off on his fingers. “Mary and Joseph. Three wise men, three shepherds, three sheep, a cow and a donkey. The inn keeper and his wife, and the Angel Gabriel. And a star.”
Edward blinked. “Seventeen. Seventeen costumes.”
“Yes.” He nodded rapidly. “Ten boys and seven girls. That’s my class.”
“And when do you need these by?”
“Three o’ clock tomorrow afternoon.” “Can you sew?” Edward asked, feeling like asking had been a monumentally bad idea.
“Honestly? No.”
Edward stared at the handsome intruder. Did he want to make seventeen nativity costumes? Of course he didn’t. That sounded like absolute mayhem. He took a deep breath, then sighed.
“Well, for your sake, I hope you’re a fast learner.”
Edward pulled on his long wool coat and flipped the sign on the door to ‘Closed’. He grabbed an umbrella, too, it was still raining cats and dogs out there.
“My name’s Harry, by the way. Harry Britton.”
Harry. It suited him.
“Edward Saunders.”
Unexpected Christmas by Nell Iris
A few minutes later, a vehicle approached from behind. Reacting instinctively, I turned around and waved my arms, hoping the big truck would stop and have mercy on my freezing ass.
I let out a giddy yelp as it slowed down, but it got stuck in my throat when the driver rolled down the window.
He was huge and couldn't hold his head upright without banging it on the ceiling. Big steel gauges adorned both his ears -- at least an inch and a half wide -- and his hair was black and so closely cropped it resembled a five o'clock shadow more than an actual haircut.
"You need a ride?" he asked and his voice was deeper than the Mariana Trench, perfectly matching his frightening appearance. Black tattoos crept up his neck and snaked down his hands below his sleeves. His shoulders were wide, his muscles strained the sleeves of his thick black jacket, and his cheeks were hollow. I was one second from shitting myself.
"I'm not riding with a serial killer!" The words slipped out of my mouth and I groaned. I couldn't have kept my mouth shut for five fucking seconds to avoid being chopped up and thrown to the wolves?
He threw his head back and let out a thunderous laugh.
"What's so goddamned funny?" I glared at him, but he didn't seem to care.
"I'm no serial killer."
"And I'm just supposed to take your fucking word for it?" I raised an eyebrow. I knew I was being combative and taking out my frustration on this stranger, but I couldn't stop myself.
"You could call my ma for references."
"Ha ha. Very funny." With a deep sigh, I resigned to my fate and started walking again. No way was I getting into a car with that mammoth of a man.
"Where you goin'?" he called after me. When I didn't bother to answer, he eased off the break and let his truck crawl after me.
I swirled around. "Stop following me, you creep," I hissed.
He let go of the steering wheel with one hand and held it up as if he surrendered. "Look, man. It's freezin'. You're wet and miserable. Get in the truck and lemme take you wherever you're goin'." His deep voice was surprisingly gentle. Non-threatening, as if he'd come to expect reactions like mine.
"I'm really not a bad guy." He stuck out his lower lip in a pout that would have made a five-year-old girl green with envy and I had to bite my lip to stop a smile from erupting.
"Really?" I tried to hang on to my mistrust, but he made it hard. His appearance screamed RUN AND HIDE, but there was something soft in his eyes that told a different story.
He shot me a crooked smile. "It was worth a try. It works on my niece every time."
The fucker knew all the right words to say to disarm me. "And how old is she?"
"Four."
I huffed out a reluctant chuckle. "Well, you know how it is. Everyone always says how they couldn't believe their neighbor was a serial killer because he seemed like such a nice guy."
His eyes grew big and round. "You're sayin' you don't trust my niece as a character witness?" He sounded as I'd just delivered the biggest insult of his life, but the amused glint in his eyes told me it was all for show.
"Can you blame me?"
"I guess not." He sighed and grew serious. "Please. I couldn't live with myself if I left you here to freeze to death."
My body screamed at me to take him up on his offer. The ice pellets were relentless and I was soaked and gloomy and was starting to feel like maybe being ax murdered wouldn't be the worst thing that could happen to me right now.
The openness in his posture and honesty in his eyes had me on the verge of caving. "You promise you won't kill me?" I sounded like a scared little kid even to my own ears.
I let out a giddy yelp as it slowed down, but it got stuck in my throat when the driver rolled down the window.
He was huge and couldn't hold his head upright without banging it on the ceiling. Big steel gauges adorned both his ears -- at least an inch and a half wide -- and his hair was black and so closely cropped it resembled a five o'clock shadow more than an actual haircut.
"I'm not riding with a serial killer!" The words slipped out of my mouth and I groaned. I couldn't have kept my mouth shut for five fucking seconds to avoid being chopped up and thrown to the wolves?
He threw his head back and let out a thunderous laugh.
"What's so goddamned funny?" I glared at him, but he didn't seem to care.
"I'm no serial killer."
"And I'm just supposed to take your fucking word for it?" I raised an eyebrow. I knew I was being combative and taking out my frustration on this stranger, but I couldn't stop myself.
"You could call my ma for references."
"Ha ha. Very funny." With a deep sigh, I resigned to my fate and started walking again. No way was I getting into a car with that mammoth of a man.
"Where you goin'?" he called after me. When I didn't bother to answer, he eased off the break and let his truck crawl after me.
I swirled around. "Stop following me, you creep," I hissed.
He let go of the steering wheel with one hand and held it up as if he surrendered. "Look, man. It's freezin'. You're wet and miserable. Get in the truck and lemme take you wherever you're goin'." His deep voice was surprisingly gentle. Non-threatening, as if he'd come to expect reactions like mine.
"I'm really not a bad guy." He stuck out his lower lip in a pout that would have made a five-year-old girl green with envy and I had to bite my lip to stop a smile from erupting.
"Really?" I tried to hang on to my mistrust, but he made it hard. His appearance screamed RUN AND HIDE, but there was something soft in his eyes that told a different story.
He shot me a crooked smile. "It was worth a try. It works on my niece every time."
The fucker knew all the right words to say to disarm me. "And how old is she?"
"Four."
I huffed out a reluctant chuckle. "Well, you know how it is. Everyone always says how they couldn't believe their neighbor was a serial killer because he seemed like such a nice guy."
His eyes grew big and round. "You're sayin' you don't trust my niece as a character witness?" He sounded as I'd just delivered the biggest insult of his life, but the amused glint in his eyes told me it was all for show.
"Can you blame me?"
"I guess not." He sighed and grew serious. "Please. I couldn't live with myself if I left you here to freeze to death."
My body screamed at me to take him up on his offer. The ice pellets were relentless and I was soaked and gloomy and was starting to feel like maybe being ax murdered wouldn't be the worst thing that could happen to me right now.
The openness in his posture and honesty in his eyes had me on the verge of caving. "You promise you won't kill me?" I sounded like a scared little kid even to my own ears.
Annabelle Jacobs lives in the South West of England with three rowdy children, and two cats. An avid reader of fantasy herself for many years, Annabelle now spends her days writing her own stories. They're usually either fantasy or paranormal fiction, because she loves building worlds filled with magical creatures, and creating stories full of action and adventure. Her characters may have a tough time of it—fighting enemies and adversity—but they always find love in the end.
Amy Lane has two kids who are mostly grown, two kids who aren't, three cats, and two Chi-who-whats at large. She lives in a crumbling crapmansion with half of the children and a bemused spouse. She also has too damned much yarn, a penchant for action adventure movies, and a need to know that somewhere in all the pain is a story of Wuv, Twu Wuv, which she continues to believe in to this day! She writes fantasy, urban fantasy, and gay romance--and if you accidentally make eye contact, she'll bore you to tears with why those three genres go together. She'll also tell you that sacrifices, large and small, are worth the urge to write.
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 ;).
Anna MartinAnna Martin is from a picturesque seaside village in the southwest of England and now lives in the Bristol, a city that embraces her love for the arts. After spending most of her childhood making up stories, she studied English literature at university before attempting to turn her hand as a professional writer.
Apart from being physically dependent on her laptop, Anna is enthusiastic about writing and producing local grassroots theater (especially at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival, where she can be found every summer), going to visit friends in other countries, and reading anything thatís put under her nose.
Anna claims her entire career is due to the love, support, prereading, and creative ass kicking provided by her best friend Jennifer. Jennifer refuses to accept responsibility for anything Anna has written.
Nell Iris is a romantic at heart who believes everyone deserves a happy ending. She’s a bona fide bookworm (learned to read long before she started school), wouldn’t dream of going anywhere without something to read (not even the ladies’ room), loves music (and singing along at the top of her voice but she’s no Celine Dion), and is a real Star Trek nerd (Make it so). She loves words, bullet journals, poetry, wine, coffee-flavored kisses, and fika (a Swedish cultural thing involving coffee and pastry!)
Nell believes passionately in equality for all regardless of race, gender or sexuality, and wants to make the world a better, less hateful, place.
Nell is a bisexual Swedish woman married to the love of her life, a proud mama of a grown daughter, and is approaching 50 faster than she’d like. She lives in the south of Sweden where she spends her days thinking up stories about people falling in love. After dreaming about being a writer for most of her life, she finally was in a place where she could pursue her dream and released her first book in 2017.
Nell Iris writes gay romance, prefers sweet over angsty, short over long, and quirky characters over alpha males.
Annabelle Jacobs
Amy Lane
Lorelei M Hart
EMAIL: Lorelei@mpregwithhart.com
The Omega's Krampus Christmas by Lorelei M Hart
Let it Sew by Anna Martin
Unexpected Christmas by Nell Iris
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