Summary:
With a Kick #6
Nuri’s expecting a quiet Christmas, driving his cab, doing some studying, enjoying good food and drink – and devoting some serious loving to boyfriend Eduardo. Occasionally he misses his homeland of Turkey, but he’s content to share the London celebrations with Eddy.
But what with Eddy’s distress over his new role at the local comedy club, interference in their love life from Nuri’s irrepressible brothers, a disturbing number of costumed Santas on the street, the dangerous slush on the roads, and then the portly, bearded man dressed in red, in need of an urgent cab ride…
It doesn’t look like things will be that quiet after all!
Original Review January 2024:
I'll admit as I haven't read any of the With a Kick stories, I had a bit of a hard time getting into this story. I say "a bit" because it only took half a dozen pages or so but it wasn't instant from word one. I wasn't lost but it took a few pages to connect to the characters already established relationship, I look forward to going back and seeing their beginning in A Twist and Two Balls, hopefully in 2024.
Even with that few-page-to-connect start, I loved the chemistry between Nuri and Eddy, it's realistic and fun. When one has to don the Santa suit for work they find a passenger in Nuri's taxi that might give them a little different take on the red suit and the man inside.
Yep, another deliciously fun holiday novella from Clare London.
Summary:
Merry Everything #4
Thawed Out is an opposites attract, second chance romance featuring an established couple on the edge of divorce, a ferocious snow storm, precocious children and a healthy dose of holiday magic.
Kiren knows there is a storm coming when he goes to the cabin to deliver divorce papers to his husband Flynn, but he doesn’t plan to stay long. He hates that it’s come to this, but they just can’t seem to do anything without arguing anymore. When he finds Flynn looking so skinny and unhappy, he ends up staying to talk.
And maybe to try harder not to break up their family.
Flynn knows Kiren is just as tired as he is. They both work hard. They both take care of their two kids. He doesn’t want to give up, but between his long hours and going to school, he always seems to be in trouble when gets home.
Before they know it, they’re snowed in with nothing but time on their hands. The two of them decide that they don’t want to be frozen in the worst time of their married life. But can they work together to find the balance they need to start again?
Summary:
Foggy Basin
At Books Beans and Buns, you can buy a book, a signature coffee, and a sweet roll. And maybe find true love.
All decked out for the holidays, Brock and Eddy are celebrating at the store and inviting their Foggy Basin friends to join them.
A small-town holiday short story.
Summary:
Nesting Ever After: Christmas #1
I’m A wolf on the run. No money. No pack. No future.
I have no idea where I’m heading, but anywhere is better than being forced to mate the cruel Alpha of my pack. At least that is what I keep telling myself.
When a stranger offers me a “free” week-long stay at a secluded cabin in the woods, I accept. Were there red flags? Absolutely, but it was either that or give up. I’ll use the week to regain my energy and forge a plan.
They forget to mention the cabin is already occupied and not by just anyone— a grumpy Alpha who wants to be left alone. I’d leave and head back out to whatever fate has for me, but an unexpected snow storm leaves me with two choices: Stay with the smexy wolf who wants me gone or face certain death.
I’ve gone too far to give up now.
My Omega’s Miracle is the first book in the Nesting Ever After: Christmas, a shared world by Jena Wade, Toby Wise, and Lorelei M. Hart. My Omega’s Miracle features an omega wolf shifter willing to risk everything for a chance at a happy life, an alpha wolf about to take on the responsibility of his entire pack far sooner than planned, snow—so much snow, true love, fated mates, Christmas magic, cookies… lots and lots of cookies, the nosey neighbor who plays matchmaker, an adorable baby, and a guaranteed happy ever after under the Christmas tree.
Breakfast at Bennett's
All the Bennett’s want is the perfect Christmas.
But Jonah is stressing about his gift for Spencer. Colby and Milo are working too hard. Taylor is convinced he’s too high maintenance, and Ethan isn’t sure he can keep Mickey happy in the long run.
With everything going wrong, how is Christmas going to turn out right? It’s beginning to look like they’ll need a miracle if they’re going to pull off the Christmas of their dreams.
Nice and Snow by Clare London
Nuri’s boyfriend was causing him indigestion.
Well, it may have been partly due to the oversized portions of supper at his brothers’ Turkish restaurant, but there were emotional reasons too. Eduardo was a constant delight—Nuri wouldn’t want anyone to think he had any complaint, for goodness sake, he’d never been happier—but Eduardo was a man who needed Nuri’s attention and care.
Right now, Eddy—his real name—was staring at Nuri over the dining table with dark suspicion in his eyes. “There was a group of them in the club last night,” he said. Eddy was a compere at the local Soho comedy club, a job that Nuri thought he did extremely well. He loved to watch Eddy up on stage, with no sign of the nerves he’d suffered as a dramatic actor, but now playing to the crowd with his impressions and clever mimicry as he bridged the gap between the comedians’ sets.
“I think you may be overreacting.” Nuri smiled to himself, knowing what “them” Eddy was talking about. Not that he wouldn’t have stepped to Eddy’s defence if there were any real threat to him.
“But it was spooky, you know? There’ve been so many around recently. Remember the crowd we saw in the pub last night? And I’ve spotted some on the bus, and at lots of stations on the Tube. They don’t seem to care where or when they’re seen. Do you know, I bumped into one at the supermarket, too, when I went for more milk.”
“What was he buying?”
Eddy glanced swiftly at Nuri. “Are you teasing me?”
Nuri smiled openly. He was sure—wasn’t he?—that Eddy didn’t really mind, because he knew Nuri’s teasing was never cruel, only fond. Nuri just couldn’t resist sometimes. And humour was so often part of the bedroom foreplay between them, leading up to some pretty sweaty and impressive—
“Squid!” announced Nuri’s brother Adem, delivering a large plate onto their table with a flourish and a thud. “It go extra with the kofte I bring, you call… ballocks?”
“Balls. Meatballs,” Eddy said, his voice strained. “You also brought dolma, extra halloumi, and then skewers of souvlaki. There’s too much food here, Adem.”
“Never,” Nuri muttered, reaching eagerly for the new plate. He absently brushed a crumb of bread from his beard. Their early supper at the restaurant had become a familiar routine, especially on the days Eddy finished work after a matinee show. Of course, the trade-off was that they both had to suffer Nuri’s brothers’ attention, especially about their love life. Nuri’s family had welcomed Eddy very warmly and didn’t seem to have a problem with the two men all but living together. But just now and then…
Adem remained staring at Eddy, his brown eyes bright with mischief. “I like hear your words, Eduardo. Very amusing, the way you say my words.”
“For heaven’s sake.” Eddy rolled his eyes. “Your English seems to be getting worse, not better, ever since I offered to help you with your London pronunciation. I could almost believe you play up the hapless Turkish accent act when Nuri and I are here.”
Nuri caught Adem’s eye and frowned at him. Adem winked back, and ran his tongue along his lower lip in a bizarre leer. Then he swung on his heel, his waist apron fluttering against his smart black trousers, and darted over to another table that needed service. He may have been swishing his hips just a little too much to be natural.
“He’s teasing me too, right?” Eddy said glumly.
“Of course,” Nuri said. He covered Eddy’s hand with his own, their hands pale and darker-skinned together on the red tablecloth. “He likes to pretend he understands the gay way. But he likes winding you around as well.”
“Winding me up,” Eddy corrected automatically, then caught sight of Nuri’s grin. “Oh God, you’re doing it too! Why am I suddenly the sole source of entertainment around here?”
Nuri tightened his hand, a little alarmed by Eddy’s tone. “What’s really wrong?”
“Wrong?”
Nuri knew Eddy’s denial tactics of old. He didn’t press him, but poured a small measure of raki into Eddy’s glass, then topped it up with water from the nearby jug. Eddy watched with his usual fascination as the liquid clouded to milky white. He’d grown very accustomed to the taste over the last few months with Nuri. “Drink this,” Nuri said softly. “You need it.”
Eddy sighed, but took a sip. Nuri knew the exact moment the sharp aniseed flavour tickled Eddy’s taste buds, because his nose wrinkled with delight. Nuri resisted the urge to reach over and smooth out the wrinkles. To hell with it. He just liked to touch Eddy, wherever and whenever.
“I’m not angry at Adem,” Eddy said. “Or you. You’re my rock, you know that?”
“I know that. But you are disturbed, I think.”
“Okay. Yes. A bit.” Eddy examined the table cloth as closely as if it held a secret treasure map and only he could decipher the code.
“Tell me,” Nuri urged. “You’re not really frightened?”
Eddy flushed. “God, that’d be childish, wouldn’t it? But it does seem bizarre. I’m beginning to feel stalked by them.”
Nuri shook his head. “You must be sensible about this. They’re common enough here in London. Especially at this time of year. We all see them.”
With a startling thump, Adem dropped into the seat beside Eddy. “What is this stalking?” For the first time that night, he dropped his sardonic look and seemed genuinely concerned for Eddy.
“Stalkers?” Sadi, Nuri’s other brother and co-owner of the restaurant, paused behind Adem’s chair, his hands full of crockery cleared from another table. “Eddy, are you having trouble at the club?”
“This month of December is very full of danger,” Adem said sombrely. “The shoplifters and pocket pickers are everywhere. I will lend you my sister’s mace spray. If you blind some person, Nuri will defence you in court when he is qualified as lawyer.”
“Defend. And no, it’s all right, I’m not talking about thieves.”
“Sex slavers?” Adem looked even more appalled. “They like young boys as well as the girls. Though…” He gave Eddy the once-over with what looked alarmingly like professional appraisal. “I think you are not so young any more, and they will not want one who wriggles as you do when a man like Nuri clasps you close—”
“Enough,” Nuri said, rather sharply, though he doubted Adem would pay any heed. He never had before. “Eddy’s talking about the pretend Father Christmases. They seem to be very plentiful this year.”
Adem and Sadi stared at him as if he’d just beamed down off the Millenium Falcon.
Nuri sighed. “The people dressed as Father Christmas, you know? Big bellies, red jacket and trousers, thick white beard.”
“Sounds like our new chef,” Sadi muttered. He leaned over the table toward Eddy and put on a sympathetic expression. “I understand how you feel,” he said. “Some people are scared of clowns.”
“And beetles,” Adem added.
Sadi didn’t look away from Eddy, but managed to reach over and clip his brother around the ear with deadly accuracy. “Those are weevils,” he hissed. “From old flour. And it’s perfectly reasonable to hate them in a restaurant.”
“It’s not fear. I’m fine.” Eddy laughed at the banter. But the laugh was shaky.
Nuri was concerned. He had walked with Eddy from the club to the restaurant and had seen an example of this effect. When a young Santa crossed their path by the Chinese grocer’s, Eddy had shivered and shrunk back against Nuri’s side. As far as Nuri could see, it was just a skinny young man dressed up for fun, the tee shirts he’d used to pad himself peeking out from under his tunic, a soppy smile on his face, and a rather strong smell of beer on his breath. Nuri noticed the guy’s shopping bags clinking as he passed, but had nodded an easy good evening to him. Eddy hadn’t. Nuri suspected there was still more to this situation, but he couldn’t—wouldn’t—rush Eduardo.
A customer waved from the other side of the room, and Adem and Sadi moved away from the table.
“Tell me what is really worrying you,” Nuri said quietly to Eddy. He didn’t want his brothers zeroing back in on their problems, however amusing they found it. “I see it in your expression.”
“See what?”
“That it’s not just about the Father Christmases,” Nuri said patiently.
“Well, it is and it isn’t. Sometimes I think you’re psychic.” Eddy had on his 101-Dalmation-puppy look. “Patrick asked me to help host a Christmas Eve party at With A Kick. For the children, in the afternoon. It was such a great success last year, and they love the ice creams. All non-alcoholic for the kids, of course,” he hurried to add.
“Of course.”
“Apparently the guy who played Santa wants a break from it this year.”
Nuri nodded encouragingly. “You are an actor, Eduardo. I don’t see the problem.”
“Dressing up as Father Christmas? As Santa?”
Nuri’s eyes widened just a fraction. “As I say, I don’t see…”
Eddy groaned. “I don’t believe in Santa, Nuri. The whole thing is a bit creepy, men dressing in ill-fitting costumes with stupid cotton-wool beards. What sort of idiot am I going to look?”
Never to me, Nuri thought, and smiled encouragingly. “You’ll have a good time. You have a gift with entertaining children. And you love Christmas.” He and Eddy had never shared one before, but Eddy had been gazing at sparkly decorations in shop windows since October.
“I do. Yes, I do. It’s just the Santas I find weird. I don’t like them, and especially the fake ones.”
“How can there be fake ones without a real one to compare?”
“Smart arse,” Eddy muttered.
Nuri looked longingly at the plate of aromatic, steaming squid, but instead he concentrated on Eddy’s distress. “In Turkey, he is real.”
“He’s… sorry?”
“Baba Noel. Where all the Father Christmas stories began. He was a genuine Turkish man.” Eddy started to laugh, but Nuri frowned at him. “No, it’s true. The history is believed to begin with a bishop from Demre, in modern-day Turkey, who wanted to help poor people, but in secret. He helped girls without dowry, and also became the patron saint of children and sailors. Though I’m not sure of the connection between those groups. It’s said he climbed on roofs and dropped coins down the chimneys.”
Nuri loved the way Eddy’s face expressed everything he was thinking, even while Eddy himself thought he was being so discreet. At the moment, Eddy was obviously wondering how to challenge Nuri on such a ridiculously bizarre lie. And yet, Nuri knew it was the truth. Lucky he didn’t take offence that Eddy disbelieved the history of Nuri’s heritage. Poor Eddy was a victim of his British upbringing. Nuri loved him all the more for it.
Thawed Out by Jodi Payne & BA Tortuga
1
Kiren sat in his car at the bottom of the winding Cedar Road. He’d been idling for a bit, reading the road sign over and over and working up the nerve to keep going. He glanced at the envelope on the passenger seat again, then sighed and took the right-hand turn toward the cabin where he was meeting his husband.
His soon to be ex-husband.
It was hard to believe all their arguing and hurt feelings and drama had been reduced to just a few words on paper. The end of their marriage felt heavy as hell but didn’t look like much.
He needed this over with. He was worn out. Emotionally, physically, just done. They needed to put this behind them and move on.
The road was bumpy, tree-lined, and narrow in spots, but in others it was wide and cut through open pastures with amazing views. Usually. Today it was cloudy and really cold, and the visibility was very low. The bumpy road was covered in packed snow. It never got steep enough that he needed chains or anything, but he was glad for his all-wheel drive.
He finally made it to the cabin and parked in the guest space where his parents parked when they visited. Flynn’s truck, which they usually drove up here as a family, was parked out front.
He shut the engine off and took a breath, and then another. It wasn’t the papers that had him anxious; it was seeing Flynn. The wild, mixed emotions of the divorce had become so confusing that it actually made his stomach ache.
Get in, get the signatures, get out. You’ve got this. Easy.
He took one more breath, dragged the envelope off the passenger’s seat, then climbed out of the car.
The front door opened, Flynn’s face ashen under his tan. He’d gotten damn near gaunt in the last year, and his flannel shirt and jeans drowned him. “Is everything all right with the kids?”
He sighed. In Flynn’s defense—for all that Flynn didn’t need defending—cell service was spotty up here even in good weather. “They’re fine. I texted you.” He waved the envelope. “Papers.”
“Jesus.” Flynn stared at him a second then turned to head back in the house. “I guess it’s fitting.”
Fitting? What the fuck did that mean?
He was going to be sorry he did this, wasn’t he? He should have just waited for Flynn to come back from hibernating in the mountains or whatever the fuck he was doing up here alone and let the lawyers handle everything. Hell, he could have just sent a courier up here.
But no, the one thing Flynn was right about was that he could be a bit of control freak. He knew that much about himself. He needed this done, and the best way to make sure was to do it himself.
He snorted as he climbed the steps. Maybe that was what Flynn meant by fitting.
Touché.
Fuck.
He opened the screen door just after it slammed shut behind Flynn and went inside.
Flynn headed straight for the kitchen and the coffee pot, pulling out a second mug before filling them.
“Do you have a little cream?” Flynn hadn’t gone far. The kitchen was tiny and open to the living space. “I’m not staying long.”
“I do. No? You’re going to have to wait for me to read everything, so you can drink a cup of coffee.”
“Mhm.” And they didn’t have to talk while Flynn was reading. He took the mug from Flynn, trading it for the envelope and took a sip. Flynn made a good cup of coffee. “Take your time.”
He wandered around with his mug, noting the tequila on the kitchen counter and the blanket and pillow on the couch. He stopped to look at the pictures hanging on the wall. A couple of them were family pictures from Flynn’s grandfather, but most of them were of just two of them, or of Jasper and Cassidy when they were tiny.
Good memories.
God, he hated this.
Flynn’s grandfather had willed him this cottage, and Flynn adored it.
It wasn’t much—one bedroom, a huge front room, a kitchenette, and a bathroom with a tub filled from the cistern and a composting toilet. The electricity was solar, so it was a little touch and go, and the heat was a pellet stove, but it was remote, the deck was to die for, and it was the quietest place he’d ever been.
He’d always loved it here, but not today. Today it felt like hell on earth. There wasn’t enough air in the place.
“I should—you want me to take a little walk?”
Flynn’s eyebrow went up, lips tightening, and he could almost hear the snarling words that had to be zipping through the man’s head. “Whatever turns you on, babe.”
Well, fuck, He’d thought Flynn would appreciate the space, but now? Now, he needed it. “Uh-huh.” He zipped his coat back up, picked up his coffee, and stomped out the back door into the cold.
It was really cold. He pulled his hood up and zipped his coat even higher. It was pretty out here though; the woods were snowy and it was still and quiet. His coffee was going to get cold fast out here, so he took a big sip.
The wind was beginning to blow, and the sun didn’t want to filter down through the trees, not even a bit.
He thought about texting Mom or maybe Walt, just to get some sympathy, but he had no signal. Dammit.
He tried to check the weather too, but no luck there either; the wheel just spun and spun and nothing ever loaded. No matter, he’d be leaving shortly, and if he really needed to know, there was a radio in the cabin somewhere. He’d go back in soon. He wasn’t sure he trusted Flynn not to leave him standing out here just for the amusement factor.
He’d probably do the same.
He stepped off the wide deck and walked along the path Flynn had shoveled like always. It went out into the woods a bit to a firepit and some log benches. It also went all the way around the cabin, which was great when the kids needed somewhere to run.
By the time he got back his fingers were pretty well frozen, so he stomped the snow off his boots and stepped out of them as he came back inside.
“Mm. Warm in here.”
“Yeah. It’s chilly today. We have to talk about this. I’m not letting the kids go for half the summer.”
But he had summers off. This kept them out of daycare for five weeks. “Wait. What? Why not? We definitely talked about this. I’m off in the summer.”
“I’m not going without them for weeks at a time. I can’t, and I’m not going to give in on it.”
He understood; he wouldn’t want to either, but it was practical. “Flynn, it just makes sense. It’s not ideal, okay, I know, but I can be home. It will save us money, and we can plan vacations. It’s only half the summer.”
“Okay, then I want winter and spring break and all the school holidays.”
Flynn was just being spiteful now. “Spring break, fine. The rest—you’re out of your mind. We’re trading off.”
“So what? You get the babies for five weeks, and I get one in exchange?” Flynn shook his head. “How the fuck is that reasonable?”
“Because you do shift work, and you need to find childcare in the summer, and I don’t. If we split the cost of summer care, we’re saving money. Or doesn’t money matter to you anymore?” Was it fair? Maybe not. But it was practical.
“Oh fuck you! You think I’m busting my fucking ass to get my physician’s assistant’s license for fun? I started this so you could keep your fucking dream job with the students!” That was the most fire he’d seen from Flynn in a year.
He used to love it when Flynn was passionate about something. But he lowered his tone because he couldn’t take the yelling anymore and went back to the coffee maker without looking at Flynn. “Wow. Pardon me. I thought this license was something you wanted. My dream job happens to be the job I have; I didn’t know I needed to apologize for that.”
Flynn slapped one hand on the table, making the coffee cup jump and rattle. “Seriously? You’re going to be all… I left the circuit because we wanted kids. I worked nights at the ER because of the money. I started school so that I could keep the salary and work days. I’m fucking tired, man!”
He jumped, startled enough by the sound that his heart was pounding, then turned and stared at Flynn, not bothering lower his voice this time. “Right. How could I forget that you’re the only one who has sacrificed for our children? You’re always reminding me! Meanwhile, I obviously have plenty of time, plenty of money, and am totally well rested! Lucky fucking me.”
If he wasn’t driving he’d grab that bottle of tequila.
“I know we took a hit on the money. It was for two motherfucking years. You couldn’t have my back for two years?”
“I did have you back for two years, Flynn. Jesus Christ.” He sighed and turned back to the coffee maker. “Fine. We’ll share the summer. Just write in whatever you want, and I’ll have the lawyers fix it. I can’t… I just can’t do this. I can’t argue anymore.” He was exhausted too. Just completely out of spoons. “Whatever you want.”
“I want my fucking life back!” The coffee cup went flying, smashing on the floor as Flynn stormed out, the entire cabin shaking.
“Fuck.” Me too.
He watched the coffee run across the floor and sighed. It would be a shame if it made it over to the little rug Flynn’s grandmother made. He looked found a broom and a towel to clean up, then threw all the pieces in the garbage.
The divorce papers were still on the table, and he didn’t touch them.
He lit a lantern, hating how dark it was, but it was the longest night of the year, so…
The door opened up, Flynn’s arms filled with wood, his lips blue.
“Jesus. Are you okay? Put that down.” Kiren grabbed the blanket off the back of the couch, helped Flynn put the wood in the holder, then sat him in a chair near the stove and wrapped the blanket around his shoulders. “I’ll get you more coffee. Your fucking lips are blue.”
It was a testament to how cold Flynn was that he didn’t argue. He simply sat and shivered.
He brought a hot mug of coffee back and put it in Flynn’s hands, not letting go in case Flynn had trouble holding onto it. “Sip slowly.”
Flynn took a sip, and dammit, the tears that had frozen on Flynn’s eyelashes thawed, shimmering before they fell.
He pretended he didn’t notice, but he definitely had, and it made his chest ache. Through all of this bullshit he’d never figured out where they’d lost each other and become something unfixable. They used to finish each other’s sentences, read each other’s thoughts. Now he was lucky when Flynn threw a mug because at least that was something he could understand.
“Thanks for the drink.” Flynn’s voice was raw, rough as a cob. “Sorry for breaking the cup.”
Like he cared about a coffee mug. “I’m sorry I sprung this on you. I did text, but I should have known better.”
“I needed a break. I finished finals and needed somewhere the phone couldn’t find me.”
“I get it. I shouldn’t have come. I’ll take off as soon as you thaw out.” He stood and peered out the window. He’d thought the darkness was due to the weather, but no, it was plain old night out there now. “Shit. It’s really dark. Well, I’ll be careful.”
“What?” Flynn frowned and stood up. “No. No, you know those roads aren’t safe in the dark, especially not without a four-wheel drive.”
He did know that; he and Flynn had learned that the hard way about six months before Jasper was born. It was sweet that Flynn seemed so worried about him doing something stupid. He sighed. “Yeah. Crap.”
Flynn stared at him for a long minute, then breathed deep. “Are the kids expecting you home? Do I need to get the sat phone?”
“I guess we should tell Mom I’m stuck for the night, yeah.” That was going to open another can of worms, but she was going to have questions either way.
“No reason to worry everyone. Jasper worries.”
Yeah, their six-year-old was absolutely anxiety boy, worrying about everything.
“I know. Sorry about this. It’s obviously not the downtime you were looking for.”
Flynn waved his words away. “It’s fine. You need to be safe. Tomorrow you can run down the mountain and all.”
He nodded. “I can take the couch.” He’d head out in the morning and do what he should have done in the first place—let the lawyers handle this shit.
“I’ve been sleeping there, if you want the bed. I can’t—I haven’t been sleeping in the bedroom.”
That was how he felt about the house, especially when the kids weren’t there. “Sure. Okay.” He assumed the stuff he’d left in the closet and the dresser were still here. He probably even had a toothbrush.
“There’s soup if you want it. Bread.” Flynn stood up, wandering over to where their—the—satellite phone was plugged in. “Call your mom. I’m going to warm this place up.”
“Thanks.” He took the phone from Flynn, ignoring the tingle where their fingers touched, and made the call. He had enough juice in his phone to read a book for a while so, when he was done, he’d just tuck himself in and leave Flynn alone for the evening.
He dialed and waited for the call to connect.
Books, Beans, and Buns Holiday by Lynn Michaels
Chapter One
Eddy
Aaand…
Upload.
Finally. It was finished. The first bit of framework for my newest game, Medieval Zombies—a working title. I hoped it would do as well as the one that launched last year, but it still needed a better name. This iteration was done for now, though. Done. I didn’t have to do anything else until… “Oh. My. God. Brock! It’s Christmas time!” I ran out of the guest room that Brock had set up for my office and flew down the stairs. At the bottom, I grabbed the newel post and used it to sling myself around. “Brock!”
“What?” My hunky man came out of the kitchen and slid across the tile floor in his socks. “What, what, what?” His beard was growing out more. He said for the winter, but it didn’t matter to me. He was fucking sexy and all mine. We’d gotten engaged last year during the Insidious Rule launch party. It had started snowing then, but none of it stuck to the ground. We didn’t get a white Christmas, but I hoped for one this year. So far, it was only cold.
I slammed into Brock’s chest. “It’s Christmas. We have to get ready.”
“Ready?”
“Nothing is ready, and Mom is coming. So is Greg. They’re staying here.” My mother and brother were all I had. I kind of wanted to impress them. Mom hadn’t been here since the wedding in June. When Greg came for the launch, he stayed in the rooms above Pints and Pool in town. He’d stayed at Pints for our wedding, too. We went back home and saw them a few times, but mostly phone and video since our little honeymoon. This time, Greg would stay here in one of our guest rooms. And we only had two. One of which doubled as my office, which is probably where we would put Greg. And Mom would go in the nicer guestroom. But figuring out where they were going to stay was only part of what needed to happen. “We have to get groceries, clean their rooms, and what about the store?”
“Okay, yes.” He wrapped me up in his soothing arms. “But what about the store?”
“It’s not even decorated.” I looked around our kitchen and dining room. “Neither is our house. Where are we going to put the tree?”
“In the living room?”
“That sounds like you don’t know. Where did you have it the year before last?”
“I didn’t. There was no one to share it with before.”
I scoffed. “What about your BFF, Jackie? And I happen to know a certain cousin you have and her wife. They would not leave you alone at Christmas.”
“No, they wouldn’t. I went over to Paige and Sharon’s. But there was no reason to decorate here.” Last year, we went to Greg’s for Christmas and didn’t put it all out, so I understood. But…
“Do you even have decorations?” I hadn’t been up to his attic yet. I imagined it was full of things he didn’t want to deal with from his grandfather, and I didn’t want to step into that, but we needed some festive here—holiday joy and merriment.
“Mmm…maybe.” He kissed my forehead. “We could put mistletoe right there.” When Brock looked up, my eyes followed.
It wouldn’t be a bad idea. “We could get a huge red bow!”
Brock leaned in to kiss me for real as if that mistletoe was already there, and I let him. For a minute, I chased his tongue with mine, languishing in his warmth, savoring the taste of him. Then I remembered what I’d come downstairs for. I smacked his chest as I pulled away. “Your sexiness is distracting me.”
“Relax, babe. I have decorations, and whatever we don’t have, we can get. I’m pretty sure they have tons of stuff at Nuts and Bolts. Or we can run over to Miller’s Point. They have stores, you know.”
“Hmph.” I didn’t really want to make a trip out of it, so I hoped Brock had plenty. “Maybe Paige and Sharon have stuff we could borrow for the store, too?”
“Maybe. Come on. Let’s get started before you get your britches in a wad.”
“I’ll have you know, I’m going commando.” I really wasn’t, but I wanted to see if I could get Brock wound up. He was so laid back sometimes, and it drove me crazy.
“Are you now?” There was a twinkle in his eye, but otherwise, you would have thought I told him the sun was up.
I wiggled around, shaking my ass. “Want to find out?”
And that would probably lead us back to the bedroom. Brock opened his mouth to answer, but a banging in the kitchen interrupted and was promptly followed by, “Yoohoo…Brock! Eddy!”
“Come on in, Evelyn.” Brock’s exasperated expression had me stifling a giggle.
But a visit from Evelyn meant coffee in the kitchen, and I loved Brock’s coffee. He’d inherited the blend from his grandfather along with the bookstore, and it was a town favorite for good reason.
Brock led me by the hand into the kitchen. “Good morning, Evelyn.”
“Dear, it’s nearly noon. Morning indeed.” She wore a pair of faded jeans tucked into her rubber boots and a bright coat with a flowery print. She pushed the hood off her head.
“Does that mean you don’t want coffee?” Brock reached for the pot.
“Heavens no. Pour me one. Cream and sugar, please.” Then she turned her eyes on me. “Well, Eddy. How’s the gaming going?”
“Just uploaded my latest edits. So, pretty good.”
“Lovely. Lovely.” She looked like she had more to say, or maybe she wanted to dig for the latest gossip she could share with the rest of the town. I swear that was her favorite pastime. One of the interesting things I’d discovered since moving here was the thriving gossip network in Foggy Basin—often headed by Brock’s neighbor.
Brock slid a doctored mug to Evelyn, then started fixing one for me. “What else can I do for you today, Ms. Evelyn?”
“Oh, well…” She seemed a little flustered, but she might have been faking it. “Lots of businesses downtown are getting ready for the holiday, but I noticed Books Beans and Buns was not.” She glared at Brock as if he were a repeat offender, which he probably was. Not that he’d had the store long before I walked into his life. And then last year, our first together, he had closed the store to join me at Greg’s. But this year…
Inspiration struck like lighting. “Evelyn. Why don’t you come down later and help decorate? Maybe we can ask our family and friends to come too. Everyone can bring something to add. It’ll be fun.”
“Like a decorating party?” She sipped her coffee, staring at me over the rim.
“Yes!”
Brock rolled his eyes and handed me the mug. “Sounds chaotic.”
“Yes!” I cheered again before sipping my heavenly brew. “Mmm…so good.”
“Well, I’ll spread the word.” That’s what she did best anyway. “Let’s get that bookstore decorated. Brock, you better order extra buns and get that coffee brewing.”
“Uh…when are we doing this? The store is closed today.” It was Monday, and the only day of the week we ever closed, and sometimes not even on Monday.
I sat my mug on the counter and bounced on the balls of my feet. “We can get organized today and have everyone over tomorrow. Then we can have a big open house on Christmas Eve. My mom would love that.” Not that everything revolved around Mom, but any time I could show off, I wanted to. I wanted her to be proud of me, yes, but more importantly, I wanted to show her how happy and full my life had become.
My Omega's Miracle by Jena Wade
Chapter 1
Noel
I walked into the diner with two dollars in my pocket and nothing else, except for the small bag of clothes that I owned. I didn’t even have a real bag; it was just a square piece of fabric I’d tied together to make a bag. I wasn’t allowed to take anything else, though I didn’t want anything else from there, except maybe some food. Not for the first time, I wondered: had I really made the right choice?
The answer was a resounding yes.
Being starving and cold was better than the fate my family had in store for me. At least right now I was in charge of my future.
I sat down at the counter and smiled at the server behind the bar, hoping she would let me stay for a little while, even if all I could get was a cup of coffee. Maybe if I hung around long enough, they’d be tossing out old food they couldn’t sell. The pastries in the display case smelled delicious, and my stomach twisted in a way that felt like it was collapsing in on itself.
The positive thing about being a wolf shifter was that, worst-case scenario, I could simply shift to my wolf form and hunt for food. But being where we were right now, I’d have to be extremely careful. I would end up either on human lands, where wolves were uncommon, or on pack territory, where I would be punished for trespassing.
If you refuse to marry Alpha Iker, this pack will kick you out.
Words I had never expected to hear from my own mother. My father, standing next to her, arms crossed, a look of disappointment on his face—that was something I was used to. The two of them had three alpha sons. I was the last and only omega, something they had never wanted. They never ceased reminding me of it, either.
At least while I was there, I served a purpose to them. Now that I was gone, they’d have to get another person to do all the cooking, cleaning, and laundry. All they’d ever done was complain about my cooking, anyway. Which was bullshit. I was a fantastic cook. They were just cruel.
Oh, they accepted their alpha sons’ mates—all omegas—as part of the family. But an omega born into the family? No, absolutely not.
It didn’t help that I was scrawny. Other omegas at least looked better, but not me. Tall, lanky, floppy hair that didn’t behave no matter what I did, and—even more disgraceful—I wore glasses. What wolf could be of any use if they needed glasses to see? I didn’t need glasses in my wolf form, but no one cared about that little detail.
When my parents came to me and said that I had to marry old Alpha Iker—a 65-year-old man known for making inappropriate comments and doing other inappropriate things to young omegas—I knew it was time for me to go. I had been thinking about it for years. Surely there had to be a better place than here.
But where would I go? How would I get there?
Those were both problems I had to solve now, because I sat here with no money, no direction.
“What can I get you, sweetheart?” The server on the other side of the counter smiled kindly, a paper pad in her hand ready to write my order.
I bit my lip. “I’ve only got two dollars,” I said. “Can I buy a cup of coffee and stay here for a while?” My cheeks flushed red despite the cold. I hated that I needed help. “I won’t be able to afford a tip. I’m sorry, ma’am.”
Her smile turned sad, then brightened with kindness. “Stay as long as you like,” she said. “I’ll upgrade that coffee to a hot chocolate. Get a few calories in you.” She winked, and I wanted to weep with joy.
“Okay.” My voice cracked like I was going to collapse into tears right then. “Thank you, ma’am. I appreciate it.” Pride might take a hit, but I needed calories.
A moment later, she came back with a cup of hot chocolate. “We close in about an hour,” she said. “You can stay here till then. I might even give you a little goodie bag too,” she added.
This time, the crying happened, but I at least kept it silent. A lone tear slid down my cheek. “Thank you.”
I sat in silence for a while, without the energy to think about what I was going to do next. It was winter. I could buckle down in my wolf form, wander around until I found a place to ask for asylum. I didn’t know much about other packs, since my education had been sparse. I could blend into the human world, but again, I did not know how that would even work.
The couple in the booth behind me got up to leave. My gaze roved over their table. Would it be terrible to eat the remains of the pancake on their plate or the hashbrowns left on the other? Yeah. That would likely get me kicked out. A black coat sat in the booth, forgotten. I leapt up from my seat.
“Ma’am!” I called after the lady, catching her attention just as she reached the door. I grabbed the coat from the booth and held it for her to see. “Is this yours?”
“Oh, goodness!” She let out a laugh.
I walked it over to her.
“Thank you, I would have remembered it tomorrow and spent the day wondering where I left it!” She gave me a kind smile and turned to leave.
I returned to the chair where my hot chocolate was waiting.
“You look like you could use a vacation.”
A man sat next to me, seeming to appear out of nowhere. He had a long beard, rosy red cheeks, and a red leather coat. For a moment I thought I was looking at Father Snowcoat—the wolf shifter equivalent of Santa Claus. It was a myth we told our children about. The traveling white wolf who went around and left presents for kind packs in the night, especially during the winter months.
I snorted. “Yeah, I suppose a vacation wouldn’t be a terrible idea right now. I’m just wondering where I’m going to stay.”
“Down on your luck, are you?” He smiled kindly, his eyes beckoning me to lay out my entire story. I didn’t. I couldn’t bring myself to relive it.
I nodded. “Something like that.”
Could I really be so down on my luck? Was bad luck the only luck I had? I couldn’t remember a time when I’d been up on any luck.
“Well, let’s see if we can’t turn that around for you. That was a nice thing you did there. You could have kept that coat for yourself, kept yourself warm and maybe find a little cash in the pockets.”
I grimaced. I would never. The thought hadn’t even occurred to me. Helping myself to something that wasn’t mine? No, thank you.
He slid a piece of paper across the counter to me. “I have some cabin rentals.”
“Oh, I can’t afford anything, sir.” I slid the paper back.
“No, no. Free of charge. One of the cabins is open for this week. Gives you some shelter from the storm we might be getting. I never like to have those empty when there’s bad weather coming in.”
It was too good to be true. Had to be too good to be true. “I can’t possibly accept—”
“Oh, yes, you can. I don’t think you can say no to a warm place to sleep. There’s canned food in the pantry you can eat, plus woods all around for any hunting you might do.”
I scented the air. The man was a shifter of some sort, so he must know what I was. “Are you sure? I can’t pay. I have nothing.”
“I’m absolutely positive. Hell, I can even drive you there if you want me to. You’d be doing me a favor keeping an eye on the place during the cold like this.”
“I can do that,” I said. Judging from its location, it wasn’t that far of a walk, and I didn’t want to impose any further. “Thank you,” I said. “Thank you.”
Christmas at Bennett's by EM Denning
CHAPTER 1
JONAH
Jonah was bannedfrom Spencer’s workshop, which could mean only one thing. Spencer was working on a gift for him, and with mere weeks until Christmas, it also meant that he had precious little time to think of the perfect gift for Spencer.
His boyfriend was always making him things. It started with the pop tab flower garden and it had only continued from there. Every special occasion, birthday, anniversary, Bottomless Wing Wednesday at The Anchor, Spencer was pulling little handmade tokens of his affection out and giving them to Jonah. They were Jonah’s greatest treasures and why he needed to do something that was just as special.
The only problem was that Spencer was this amazingly talented, wonderful artist with vision and a skill set to back it up and the last artistic thing Jonah did was probably something involving cutting and pasting in elementary school. He taught math, for crying out loud. The last time he’d even set foot in the art room at school was to deliver a plant to the art teacher after he’d admired it in Jonah’s classroom.
Strong arms wrapped around him from behind and Jonah sank into Spencer’s embrace. He smelled of sawdust, a scent Jonah loved.
“It’s going to snow tonight.” Spencer kissed the side of Jonah’s neck, oblivious to the storm inside him.
“It’s about time. It’s already December.” There might have been a mild panic attack when Jonah woke that morning and realized that it was the first of December already. He had twenty-four days—twenty-three now—to make the perfect gift for Spencer. He’d already decided that anything involving drawing or painting was out. There was nothing romantic about getting a painting or a drawing of stickmen.
The local community center held art classes all the time and this holiday season they were ramping up with some drop-in classes. All the supplies had been donated and the money raised would go to a local kid’s charity.
“Hey, you okay?” Spencer always had been sensitive to Jonah’s moods and most of the time Jonah welcomed it, but right now it ground against the grain.
“I’m fine. Just worn out, I think.”
“Thankfully, winter break is around the corner.”
“Yeah.” Jonah tried not to think of the fact that Spencer had an art commission to finish for the city’s Christmas display and that he’d be locked away in his shop, working on that and Jonah’s gift. Anyone else in the world would be allowed to waltz in, but the area was strictly off-limits to Jonah. It shouldn’t bother him as much as it did.
Spencer was the literal best boyfriend a guy could ever want. He was caring and attentive. He looked out for Jonah, and looked after him too. Jonah felt like a cherished equal partner, something he thought he’d never find. And Spencer was sexy as hell.
“What are your plans tonight?” Jonah asked.
“I came in to steal a kiss from you, and then I was going to spend a couple more hours out in the shop.” Spencer sounded apologetic about it. Maybe he understood that it sucked to be banished from the shop. Jonah had taken a liking to sitting out there while Spencer worked. It was sometimes loud, but he didn’t mind the noise. Most of the time, they barely spoke. Jonah would sit and read a book, and Spencer would tinker away on his creations.
“I think I’ll go into town. I might do some shopping.”
“I’m sorry about the whole banishment thing, Jonah. If it helps to know, I hate it just as much as you do. I like glancing up and seeing you tucked away in your corner.”
Jonah had made himself at home with the recliner from his living room. When he moved in with Spencer, they’d had to decide which furniture pieces to use. They switched out Spencer’s old, squeaky bed frame for Jonah’s, a wood one with drawers in the base. The living room furniture that Spencer had was in great condition so Jonah donated his couch to a lady from the shelter who was starting over, but he kept his recliner and muscled it into Spencer’s workshop. He cleared a small area for it in the back corner out of the way, and that had been his spot ever since.
Spencer’s apology and admission that he was also suffering helped make Jonah feel better. Not entirely, but he’d survive.
“It’s okay. As much as I pout about it, I do understand.” Jonah turned to face Spencer. He loved that Spencer was a little taller than him, a lot stronger than him. It made him feel small and safe when he was in Spencer’s arms.
“Are you sure? Maybe I could rig up like a curtain or something.”
“Yes, because a giant fabric wall sounds safe around someone with a welder and torch fetish.”
Spencer narrowed his gaze. “I’m an artist, not some kind of welder fetishizer.”
Jonah waggled his eyebrows. “You’re not, but I am.”
That earned him a laugh and his chest warmed, the tightness eased. Knowing he was wanted helped more than he’d realized it would.
“A curtain is a bad idea, Sparky, and it defeats the purpose of me sitting there anyway. I happen to have a hot, talented boyfriend and the best part of sitting in the shop is watching you use your shirt for a face towel.”
“I feel objectified.” The humor and heat in Spencer’s gaze indicated that he didn’t mind that one little bit. Spencer brushed a kiss against Jonah’s mouth. It was soft and sweet, smelled of sawdust and tasted of apology. “I have to get out there.”
Jonah let out a sigh. “Fine.”
He let go of Spencer and made a shooing motion with his hand. “Get going. Do your secret art thing and I’ll go into town for a while.”
“I really am so—”
Jonah pressed his hand against Spencer’s mouth, muffling any additional apology. “No more of that. It’s not for forever, it’s only for now. It’s not your fault that I’m a spoiled rotten man who got used to having all of someone’s attention.”
“You still have all my attention.” Spencer cupped Jonah’s cheeks in his perfectly rough, calloused hands and slanted his mouth over Jonah’s, kissing him long and deep, until Jonah was almost boneless on his feet and dizzy from lack of oxygen.
When Spencer pulled away, Jonah could only blink at him. It was like his brain had gone entirely offline during the kiss.
“Did you want to pick something up for dinner on your way back and we can have a movie night when you get home? I only need a couple more hours and then I’m all yours.”
“I like the sound of that.”
Spencer kissed him again, a light brush of lips against his. “It’s going to snow soon, make sure you drive safe. That first snow of the year is always like snot on the road.”
Jonah was well aware of that fact, and he was a seasoned winter driver, a cautious one too, but he loved Spencer’s concern for him.
“I’ll be safe. I promise. But you have to be safe too. No artistic heroics. If something is too big or too high or too hard, you call Greta and get her down here to help you.”
“Yes, boss.” Spencer smiled at Jonah like he was the cutest thing he’d ever seen, trying to be all big and bossy. With a final kiss, Spencer went back outside. Not even bothering with a coat, he dashed between the house and the workshop, disappearing through the side door.
Jonah’s good mood deflated with Spencer out of sight, but he slipped his coat on and drove into town. The community center, in addition to having the art classes all December long, had an array of handmade gifts for sale. For a fleeting moment, Jonah entertained the idea of cheating. He could easily buy something and gift it to Spencer. But Jonah was a shitty liar, and as nice as an easy way out sounded, he knew he’d never be happy with himself if he pulled something like that.
The community center smelled of fresh gingerbread and it was decorated with sparkly garland strung across the ceiling. Glittery stars and snowflakes hung from thin wire anchored into the drop ceiling. Christmas music played softly in the background. “Carol of the Bells” was his favorite, and an instrumental version started when he walked in. Jonah took that as a good omen.
He followed the snowmen signs that led people to the art classes where he was greeted by a short, older woman wearing an antler headband and a blinking Christmas light necklace.
“Happy Holidays! Are you here for the classes?”
“Yeah, I thought I’d come down and check them out.” Jonah pulled some money out of his wallet and stuffed it into the donation jar.
“Tonight we have pottery in the Taggart room, or we have wood carving in the Forester room.”
The rooms in the community center were named after people who’d contributed to the facility in some meaningful way.
“There’s also still life lessons going on in the sunroom.”
There was no way in hell that Jonah was going to set foot in a still life class.
After a brief internal debate, Jonah wandered off in the direction of the Forester room. It smelled vaguely of wood, which made Jonah smile. He felt at home in this room. Large tables were set up in a U shape. There were a few chairs currently occupied and the instructor wandered around in the center of the U, going from student to student.
Jonah took a seat and the instructor came over with everything he needed to get started which consisted of a block of wood, a short pencil, a few carving tools, and a photocopied instruction book on how to carve a spoon.
“You’ll want to take your time sketching out the shape of your spoon. Don’t make the handle too thin to start. And remember, you can always take more off, but you can’t put wood back on. Take a little at a time.”
Jonah sketched a spoon onto the block of wood—that much was easy. Then he got to start carving. The instructor made the rounds for the next ninety minutes, giving advice and encouragement.
Jonah managed to get a lot done in ninety minutes. He wasn’t sure what the hell he wanted to give Spencer a spoon for. What would he do with a spoon? He’d love it because Jonah made it, but would he love it because it was good? And how could it be good? It was a spoon.
It wasn’t even that good. Of course, there was a lot to do before it would be finished, if it ever got finished. Which it might not. The tools had to stay behind, but Jonah got to take the unfinished spoon and the instruction book home with him.
After cramming them into the inside jacket pocket to keep them from view, he stopped for takeout on the way home. He felt flat, like all the hope had leaked out of him.
As predicted, the snow started while Jonah was driving home. Big, fat, wet flakes splattered against his windshield. By the time he pulled in a few minutes later, the snow was coming down harder, like it was on a mission to make up for lost time.
Jonah grabbed the bag of takeout and took it inside. He’d chosen some Italian from one of their favorite places and tucked it into the oven to keep it warm. Before he texted Spencer to tell him he was home, he hid the half-finished spoon in an empty shoe box in the closet. He’d either finish it or he’d find something else. Something better.
Spencer deserved better.
Clare LondonClare London took her pen name from the city where she lives, loves, and writes. A lone, brave female in a frenetic, testosterone-fuelled family home, she juggles her writing with her other day job as an accountant.
She’s written in many genres and across many settings, with award-winning novels and short stories published both online and in print. She says she likes variety in her writing while friends say she’s just fickle, but as long as both theories spawn good fiction, she’s happy. Most of her work features male/male romance and drama with a healthy serving of physical passion, as she enjoys both reading and writing about strong, sympathetic, and sexy characters.
Clare currently has several novels sulking at that tricky chapter-three stage and plenty of other projects in mind… she just has to find out where she left them in that frenetic, testosterone-fuelled family home.
Clare loves to hear from readers, and you can contact her on all her social media.
Jodi PayneJODI spent too many years in New York and San Francisco stage managing classical plays, edgy fringe work, and the occasional musical. She, therefore, is overdramatic, takes herself way too seriously, and has been known to randomly break out in song. Her men are imperfect but genuine, stubborn but likable, often kinky, and frequently their own worst enemies. They are characters you can’t help but fall in love with while they stumble along the path to their happily ever after.
For those looking to get on her good side, Jodi’s addictions include nonfat lattes, Malbec, and tequila any way you pour it. She’s also obsessed with Shakespeare and Broadway musicals. She can be found wearing sock monkey gloves while typing when it’s cold, and on the beach enjoying the sun and the ocean when it’s hot. When she’s not writing and/or vacuuming sand out of her laptop, Jodi mentors queer youth and will drop everything for live music. Jodi lives near New York City with her beautiful wife, and together they are mothers of dragons (cleverly disguised as children) and slaves to an enormous polydactyl cat.
For those looking to get on her good side, Jodi’s addictions include nonfat lattes, Malbec, and tequila any way you pour it. She’s also obsessed with Shakespeare and Broadway musicals. She can be found wearing sock monkey gloves while typing when it’s cold, and on the beach enjoying the sun and the ocean when it’s hot. When she’s not writing and/or vacuuming sand out of her laptop, Jodi mentors queer youth and will drop everything for live music. Jodi lives near New York City with her beautiful wife, and together they are mothers of dragons (cleverly disguised as children) and slaves to an enormous polydactyl cat.
Texan to the bone and an unrepentant Daddy's Girl, BA Tortuga spends her days with her basset hounds, getting tattooed, baking, and eating Mexican food. When she's not doing that, she's writing. She spends her days off watching rodeo, knitting, and surfing Pinterest in the name of research. BA's personal saviors include her wife, Julia Talbot and coffee. Lots of coffee. Really good coffee.
Having written everything from fist-fighting rednecks to hard-core cowboys to werewolves, BA does her damnedest to tell the stories of her heart, which was raised in Northeast Texas, but has heard the call of the high desert and lives in the Sandias. With books ranging from hard-hitting romance, to fiery menages, to the most traditional of love stories, BA refuses to be pigeon-holed by anyone but the voices in her head, and she's determined to give her cowboys their happily ever afters.
Lynn Michaels lives and writes in Tampa, Florida where the sun is hot and the Sangria is cold. When she’s not writing she’s kayaking, hanging with her husband, or reading by the pool. Lynn writes Male/Male romance because she believes everyone deserves a happy ending and the dynamics of male characters can be intriguing, vulnerable, and exciting. She has both contemporary and paranormal titles and has been writing since 2014. Her stories don’t follow any set guidelines or ideas, but come from her heart and contain love in many forms.
Jena began writing in January of 2013 as a New Year's Resolution--and so far she has stuck to it!
She lives in Michigan. By day she works as a web developer, and at night she writes. Born and raised on a farm, she spends most of her free time outdoors, playing in the garden, or riding her horses. She also helps run the family dairy farm.
She lives in Michigan. By day she works as a web developer, and at night she writes. Born and raised on a farm, she spends most of her free time outdoors, playing in the garden, or riding her horses. She also helps run the family dairy farm.
E. M. Denning is a writer from British Columbia. She loves her family and animals, and anything cute and fuzzy. She writes romance for the 18+ plus crowd because she's both a hopeless romantic and a dirty old woman.
You can find her on her website, Facebook or on her blog.
Clare London
EMAIL: clarelondon11@yahoo.co.uk
Books, Beans, and Buns Holiday by Lynn Michaels
My Omega's Miracle by Jena Wade
Christmas at Bennett's by EM Denning
