Summary:
The Australian bush. A Christmas with friends. A chance to mend a broken heart.
Steve Hayes is spending Christmas break away with a group of friends. He's determined to put his two-timing ex-boyfriend in the past and enjoy his week away. When he finds that Corey Oh, the guy he's always admired, is invited too, he's equally thrilled and terrified.
But Steve knows there's no way someone as wonderful as Corey, who could have any man he wanted, would be interested in him.
However, when fate throws them together in a misadventure with a Christmas pudding, it looks as if Steve's dreams can come true.
The Proof is in the Pudding is a feel-good Australian gay holiday romance featuring friends-to-lovers and second chances, with cooking mishaps and Christmas sweetness.
I have a few Nic Starr stories on my kindle but I've yet to read them. After this, I'll be bumping them up on my TBR list. Sometimes friends really do know what's best for us and sometimes they don't have a clue. A great little holiday read.
RATING:
Nic Starr
Nic Starr lives in Australia where she tries to squeeze as much into her busy life as possible. Balancing the demands of a corporate career with raising a family and writing can be challenging but she wouldn't give it up for the world.
Always a reader, the lure of m/m romance was strong and she devoured hundreds of wonderful m/m romance books before eventually realising she had some stories of her own that needed to be told!
When not writing or reading, she loves to spend time with her family-an understanding husband and two beautiful daughters-and is often found indulging in her love of cooking and planning her dream home in the country.
You can find Nic on Facebook, Twitter and her blog. She'd love it if you stopped by to say hi.
RATING:
Chapter One
Whose stupid idea was it to make a Christmas pudding? Oh right, mine. For God's sake, it was over thirty degrees Celsius in the shade and the kitchen was like a bloody sauna. Steve could feel the perspiration beading on his forehead, the slow circling of the ceiling fan overhead hardly stirring the warm air. He tore a piece of paper towel from the roll in the dispenser and used it to dab his brow before chucking the crumpled wad in the bin and stalking over to the switch on the wall. He twisted the dial, smiling in satisfaction as the fan sped up and a gentle breeze wafted against his heated skin.
Steve had no doubt he looked terrible. Hot and sweaty, with his face flushed and his brown hair plastered to the back of his neck. He really should have gotten a haircut before coming on this trip, but he'd had hardly had time to pack due to his work obligations, let alone the luxury of much preparation. That's what you got when your caring, don't-take-no-for-an-answer friends dragged you out into the real world while your boss was breathing down your neck.
He washed his hands under the cool water from the sink then dried them on his cargo shorts. The beige shorts were covered in...What is that gross brown slimy stuff? He peered closer. Mushed sultanas by the looks of things. On further observation, his T-shirt hadn't fared much better. Maybe he should have worn an apron, or at least made an attempt to wipe his hands on the tea towel and not his clothes. He shook his head as he spun on his heel and returned to the kitchen bench. It didn't fucking matter, he had no one to impress anyway.
With a disgusted sigh, he went back to the task of mixing the dried fruit he'd been chopping and dicing, for what felt like hours. Sultanas, currants, raisins--no wonder his shorts were so sticky--and green apples. He'd even chucked in a grated carrot as he followed his mum's recipe. It was taken straight from the Australian Women's Weekly so how could it go wrong? At least, he hoped that would be the case. It'd piss him off to no end if he went to all this effort and the pudding turned out like crap.
"What did whatever's in that bowl do to you, Steve?" Malcolm asked from the doorway.
"What?" Steve gave his best friend a brief glance before turning his attention back to his ingredients. "I don't know what you're talking about." The metal spoon dinged on the edge of the stainless steel bowl with each agitated rotation. Steve grunted as he put more elbow grease into the motion, ensuring each piece of fruit was liberally coated in brandy.
Malcolm walked closer and peered into the bowl of brown mush. "Are you mixing or pureeing?" he chuckled.
Steve stopped stirring and glared at Malcolm, suddenly aware of the ache in his muscles. Malcolm grinned back, his smile wide. Steve couldn't help but mirror that open smile. Malcolm was a good guy and maybe, just maybe, he was being a tad aggressive with the mixture. Steve let go of the spoon, allowing it to clang against the bowl.
"Fuck. I need a drink." He eyed the brandy bottle sitting on the kitchen bench but in truth he wasn't really tempted to swig that cheap stuff.
"C'mon, take a break. Come outside and have a beer."
"Yeah. Just give me a sec." Steve used some plastic film to cover his bowl and put it in the fridge to marinate overnight. He'd use the brandy-infused fruit the next day to make the Christmas pudding.
While the fridge was open, Malcolm used the opportunity to snag a couple of bottles from the door and headed to the deck. Steve followed, holding a bottle in each hand.
Douglas and Matt, the only couple amongst them, were seated around the timber outdoor setting, empty bottles on the table in front of them. Malcolm passed out the fresh beers and grunted as he dropped into a chair. Ken was sprawled on the Balinese-style daybed, balancing a jar of salsa on his ample chest. The corn chips were in a bowl on the coffee table, well within reaching distance, and Ken was making a continuous circuit from bowl to dip to mouth. He stopped briefly to grab the beer Steve thrust his way.
Steve had expected it to be cooler in the mountains but it seemed they were having a hotter summer than usual. It was still warm, even this late in the afternoon, although there was a faint breeze that had started to cool things down. The temperature had dropped slightly from the heat of the middle of the day. Steve welcomed taking a break from cooking and leaned his arse up against the railing as he raised the bottle to his lips. The beer was cold and wet, and went down like a treat. At the first welcome sip, some of his earlier tension started to melt away. Just being here, so far from the city and his usual routine, was already working its magic.
"Holy shit!" They all turned at the exclamation, to stare at the slim figure framed in the wide doorway. "This place is freaking amazing, and the view is spectacular. It's no wonder we're paying a small fortune to stay here." The owner of the voice laughed. "Just...wow."
"Corey!" The name echoed as the guys greeted their late arrival. Corey glanced around the group, a broad smile lighting up his face. Warmth snuck up Steve's neck and touched his face as his gaze met Corey's dark eyes. Steve nodded, suddenly tongue-tied as Corey moved closer.
"Holy shit," Corey murmured again, and stepped up to the balustrade.
Steve found his heart in his mouth as he gazed at Corey's outline framed by the spectacular mountain backdrop. Fuck, fuck, shit! He hadn't known Corey was joining the group on this trip, and had initially been relieved when he'd noticed Corey's absence. Bloody Mal. He looked away from Corey's cute arse to where his friend was sitting at the table. From the shit-eating grin on Malcolm's face, Steve knew this was his doing. Fuck! Now, Steve didn't know if he was annoyed or excited, as his racing heartbeat could have been attributed to either.
Steve had known Corey for over a year, and had thought he was gorgeous for just as long--something that had pissed Steve's boyfriend, now ex-boyfriend, off. Steve's stomach plummeted as he thought of Richard. He gave himself a mental kick. For God's sake, it's been months. This week is all about getting on with my life. Stop thinking about that arsehole. But forgetting was easier said than done. He thought back to Richard and his reaction to Corey. In reality, Richard should have had no reason to be worried about Steve and his feelings towards anyone else. However, Steve had never been able to make Richard understand that, just because he found another man attractive, didn't make Richard any less appealing and there was no fucking way in hell Steve would have initiated anything with another man anyway. Look but don't touch was fine, but that was it. Steve had seen enough infidelity to know he could never put anyone in that position. Shame Richard hadn't felt the same way. Arsehole.
Thoughts of Richard fled as Corey's gaze met his again. He shot Steve a smile that went straight to Steve's heart--okay, if he was honest, straight to his dick. Steve attempted an answering grin then focused on lowering himself into a nearby chair to hide his unexpected arousal. A sideways glance showed him that Mal was still smirking.
Corey bounced on the balls of his feet and peered over the railing then glanced back at the house, all the while talking. "What time did you guys arrive? It was a shit drive due to traffic, but not so bad once I got off the expressway. Worth it, though, from the looks of this place." Corey was cheery for someone who'd just driven a two-hundred and fifty kilometre road trip from Sydney to the Barrington Tops in holiday traffic.
"Coupla hours," Douglas said. "Matt and I drove up with Ken."
"And Steve and I arrived first thing this morning," added Mal. "Steve was keen to get started on his world famous Christmas pudding." He winked at Steve.
"Fuck off," Steve responded.
"Did you, or did you not, say you needed time to cook the damn thing? Your exact words, if I recall correctly, were ‘the fruit needs time to marinate so the flavours can develop.'" The guys laughed at Mal's falsetto.
"Fuck off. I'm just doing what Mum told me."
"I think it's great you're making the pudding," Matt said. "I'm sure you'll do a fabulous job. We may make a chef out of you yet."
"Thank you," Steve said, his expression serious. He tipped his bottle toward Matt in salute.
"You'll give Gordon Ramsay a run for his money with that potty-mouth of yours," Ken called from his spot on the daybed.
"Oh, for fuck's sake--" Steve started.
"See what I mean?" Ken chuckled.
Steve rolled his eyes as all the guys, his supposed friends, laughed. "You're the ones who voted me to take charge of the pudding."
"Yeah, but I didn't think you'd make one. You could've just bought one you know," Matt said.
When the group had been making arrangements for the Christmas week away, they'd discussed plans for Christmas Day. Over a couple of rounds of beer, they'd divvied up cooking chores. A couple of years ago they'd done the same thing--a week away with the boys for Christmas, that time to the beach--and his ex, Richard, had taken charge of the pudding. Richard had purchased one of those gourmet puddings, the cost of which could probably have fed a family for a week, and he had provided store-bought, but top of the line, egg custard. There was no way in hell that Steve was going to buy a pudding. He was going to do his damned best to outdo Richard's ostentatious offering. Even if it kills me, he thought ruefully.
Whose stupid idea was it to make a Christmas pudding? Oh right, mine. For God's sake, it was over thirty degrees Celsius in the shade and the kitchen was like a bloody sauna. Steve could feel the perspiration beading on his forehead, the slow circling of the ceiling fan overhead hardly stirring the warm air. He tore a piece of paper towel from the roll in the dispenser and used it to dab his brow before chucking the crumpled wad in the bin and stalking over to the switch on the wall. He twisted the dial, smiling in satisfaction as the fan sped up and a gentle breeze wafted against his heated skin.
Steve had no doubt he looked terrible. Hot and sweaty, with his face flushed and his brown hair plastered to the back of his neck. He really should have gotten a haircut before coming on this trip, but he'd had hardly had time to pack due to his work obligations, let alone the luxury of much preparation. That's what you got when your caring, don't-take-no-for-an-answer friends dragged you out into the real world while your boss was breathing down your neck.
He washed his hands under the cool water from the sink then dried them on his cargo shorts. The beige shorts were covered in...What is that gross brown slimy stuff? He peered closer. Mushed sultanas by the looks of things. On further observation, his T-shirt hadn't fared much better. Maybe he should have worn an apron, or at least made an attempt to wipe his hands on the tea towel and not his clothes. He shook his head as he spun on his heel and returned to the kitchen bench. It didn't fucking matter, he had no one to impress anyway.
With a disgusted sigh, he went back to the task of mixing the dried fruit he'd been chopping and dicing, for what felt like hours. Sultanas, currants, raisins--no wonder his shorts were so sticky--and green apples. He'd even chucked in a grated carrot as he followed his mum's recipe. It was taken straight from the Australian Women's Weekly so how could it go wrong? At least, he hoped that would be the case. It'd piss him off to no end if he went to all this effort and the pudding turned out like crap.
"What did whatever's in that bowl do to you, Steve?" Malcolm asked from the doorway.
"What?" Steve gave his best friend a brief glance before turning his attention back to his ingredients. "I don't know what you're talking about." The metal spoon dinged on the edge of the stainless steel bowl with each agitated rotation. Steve grunted as he put more elbow grease into the motion, ensuring each piece of fruit was liberally coated in brandy.
Malcolm walked closer and peered into the bowl of brown mush. "Are you mixing or pureeing?" he chuckled.
Steve stopped stirring and glared at Malcolm, suddenly aware of the ache in his muscles. Malcolm grinned back, his smile wide. Steve couldn't help but mirror that open smile. Malcolm was a good guy and maybe, just maybe, he was being a tad aggressive with the mixture. Steve let go of the spoon, allowing it to clang against the bowl.
"Fuck. I need a drink." He eyed the brandy bottle sitting on the kitchen bench but in truth he wasn't really tempted to swig that cheap stuff.
"C'mon, take a break. Come outside and have a beer."
"Yeah. Just give me a sec." Steve used some plastic film to cover his bowl and put it in the fridge to marinate overnight. He'd use the brandy-infused fruit the next day to make the Christmas pudding.
While the fridge was open, Malcolm used the opportunity to snag a couple of bottles from the door and headed to the deck. Steve followed, holding a bottle in each hand.
* * * * *
Malcolm led the way with Steve hot on his heels. Steve let out another sigh, this time of relief, as he exited the oppressive heat of the house and stepped onto the deck where the rest of the guys were already making themselves comfortable, and had been doing so for hours.Douglas and Matt, the only couple amongst them, were seated around the timber outdoor setting, empty bottles on the table in front of them. Malcolm passed out the fresh beers and grunted as he dropped into a chair. Ken was sprawled on the Balinese-style daybed, balancing a jar of salsa on his ample chest. The corn chips were in a bowl on the coffee table, well within reaching distance, and Ken was making a continuous circuit from bowl to dip to mouth. He stopped briefly to grab the beer Steve thrust his way.
Steve had expected it to be cooler in the mountains but it seemed they were having a hotter summer than usual. It was still warm, even this late in the afternoon, although there was a faint breeze that had started to cool things down. The temperature had dropped slightly from the heat of the middle of the day. Steve welcomed taking a break from cooking and leaned his arse up against the railing as he raised the bottle to his lips. The beer was cold and wet, and went down like a treat. At the first welcome sip, some of his earlier tension started to melt away. Just being here, so far from the city and his usual routine, was already working its magic.
"Holy shit!" They all turned at the exclamation, to stare at the slim figure framed in the wide doorway. "This place is freaking amazing, and the view is spectacular. It's no wonder we're paying a small fortune to stay here." The owner of the voice laughed. "Just...wow."
"Corey!" The name echoed as the guys greeted their late arrival. Corey glanced around the group, a broad smile lighting up his face. Warmth snuck up Steve's neck and touched his face as his gaze met Corey's dark eyes. Steve nodded, suddenly tongue-tied as Corey moved closer.
"Holy shit," Corey murmured again, and stepped up to the balustrade.
Steve found his heart in his mouth as he gazed at Corey's outline framed by the spectacular mountain backdrop. Fuck, fuck, shit! He hadn't known Corey was joining the group on this trip, and had initially been relieved when he'd noticed Corey's absence. Bloody Mal. He looked away from Corey's cute arse to where his friend was sitting at the table. From the shit-eating grin on Malcolm's face, Steve knew this was his doing. Fuck! Now, Steve didn't know if he was annoyed or excited, as his racing heartbeat could have been attributed to either.
Steve had known Corey for over a year, and had thought he was gorgeous for just as long--something that had pissed Steve's boyfriend, now ex-boyfriend, off. Steve's stomach plummeted as he thought of Richard. He gave himself a mental kick. For God's sake, it's been months. This week is all about getting on with my life. Stop thinking about that arsehole. But forgetting was easier said than done. He thought back to Richard and his reaction to Corey. In reality, Richard should have had no reason to be worried about Steve and his feelings towards anyone else. However, Steve had never been able to make Richard understand that, just because he found another man attractive, didn't make Richard any less appealing and there was no fucking way in hell Steve would have initiated anything with another man anyway. Look but don't touch was fine, but that was it. Steve had seen enough infidelity to know he could never put anyone in that position. Shame Richard hadn't felt the same way. Arsehole.
Thoughts of Richard fled as Corey's gaze met his again. He shot Steve a smile that went straight to Steve's heart--okay, if he was honest, straight to his dick. Steve attempted an answering grin then focused on lowering himself into a nearby chair to hide his unexpected arousal. A sideways glance showed him that Mal was still smirking.
Corey bounced on the balls of his feet and peered over the railing then glanced back at the house, all the while talking. "What time did you guys arrive? It was a shit drive due to traffic, but not so bad once I got off the expressway. Worth it, though, from the looks of this place." Corey was cheery for someone who'd just driven a two-hundred and fifty kilometre road trip from Sydney to the Barrington Tops in holiday traffic.
"Coupla hours," Douglas said. "Matt and I drove up with Ken."
"And Steve and I arrived first thing this morning," added Mal. "Steve was keen to get started on his world famous Christmas pudding." He winked at Steve.
"Fuck off," Steve responded.
"Did you, or did you not, say you needed time to cook the damn thing? Your exact words, if I recall correctly, were ‘the fruit needs time to marinate so the flavours can develop.'" The guys laughed at Mal's falsetto.
"Fuck off. I'm just doing what Mum told me."
"I think it's great you're making the pudding," Matt said. "I'm sure you'll do a fabulous job. We may make a chef out of you yet."
"Thank you," Steve said, his expression serious. He tipped his bottle toward Matt in salute.
"You'll give Gordon Ramsay a run for his money with that potty-mouth of yours," Ken called from his spot on the daybed.
"Oh, for fuck's sake--" Steve started.
"See what I mean?" Ken chuckled.
Steve rolled his eyes as all the guys, his supposed friends, laughed. "You're the ones who voted me to take charge of the pudding."
"Yeah, but I didn't think you'd make one. You could've just bought one you know," Matt said.
When the group had been making arrangements for the Christmas week away, they'd discussed plans for Christmas Day. Over a couple of rounds of beer, they'd divvied up cooking chores. A couple of years ago they'd done the same thing--a week away with the boys for Christmas, that time to the beach--and his ex, Richard, had taken charge of the pudding. Richard had purchased one of those gourmet puddings, the cost of which could probably have fed a family for a week, and he had provided store-bought, but top of the line, egg custard. There was no way in hell that Steve was going to buy a pudding. He was going to do his damned best to outdo Richard's ostentatious offering. Even if it kills me, he thought ruefully.
Nic Starr lives in Australia where she tries to squeeze as much into her busy life as possible. Balancing the demands of a corporate career with raising a family and writing can be challenging but she wouldn't give it up for the world.
Always a reader, the lure of m/m romance was strong and she devoured hundreds of wonderful m/m romance books before eventually realising she had some stories of her own that needed to be told!
When not writing or reading, she loves to spend time with her family-an understanding husband and two beautiful daughters-and is often found indulging in her love of cooking and planning her dream home in the country.
You can find Nic on Facebook, Twitter and her blog. She'd love it if you stopped by to say hi.
