Not many people can say they own a reindeer, but Nick McLeish is a vet, and happens to have a whole herd. At Christmastime they’re the star attraction at fetes and events all around Edinburgh, so when a handful escape from their home pasture, Nick tries to recruit as many people as possible to help get them back.
After his drunk and rather inelegant first meeting with his new neighbour, Joel Brodie doesn’t expect to see much of Nick. But the start of Christmas break from his job at a matchmaking company coincides with the reindeer getting lost, and it’s not exactly a chore to spend more time with Nick searching for them. Maybe a little Christmas spirit is what they both need to turn their single situations around.
Jack Daly owns a toy shop nestled away down one of Bath’s cobbled streets, and he has big plans: in the new year, he’s going to expand to include a book shop. So when a seasonal pop-up shop selling children’s books opens on the other side of the street, he’s livid — is he about to lose everything he’s worked so hard for?
Oliver Rowe would much prefer to be writing books than selling them, but since writer’s block hit he doesn’t have much choice. With his agent breathing down his neck and inspiration at an all time low, all he can do is daydream about the grumpy toy shop owner who won’t stop scowling at him.
Couldn't think of a better way to start the new year. I didn't intend to actually finish this on New Year's Eve/Day(I started it about 12:30am so technically 1/1😉). I only planned to read a few pages as I was waiting for my laptop to do a restart but once I started I couldn't stop. These stories in Anna Martin's Christmas Shorts are, as the series label states, short but they are also very sweet, not too sweet, as Goldilocks says "just right". Its that not too sweet element that makes them very Hallmarky but better.
In Single Bells, we see Nick the new vet trying to find his footing in the community and wrangle in his reindeer. Yes, I said reindeer. You can't help but think these reindeer had an inkling their walkabout would bring Nick and his new neighbor, Joel together. Maybe that's just my take but I stand by it.
This whole series is great, short, sweet, and oh so entertainingly fun. Perfect Xmas reading that will make you smile, warm your heart, and frankly just brighten your day all around. Single Bells is a perfect example of all of that.
Mistletoe & Whine #5
I started the year with Single Bells before bed and when I woke up a few hours later, Mistletoe & Whine seemed the perfect way to jumpstart the day. This may be the shortest entry in pages but so chock full of quality that you don't notice the shortness. This entry was from 2023 but it's my last one, I have now read all of them and I am anxiously awaiting 2026's holiday entry all ready. 11 months to go . . . Xmas never seemed so far away.
This has a nod to You've Got Mail feel a bit with the competing book sellers and yet nothing more than that is the same. I don't know if the author had any inspiration from the film or not but I couldn't help but feel a bit of a homage element to it. Frankly, this is so much better but still it brought memories back.
Jack and Oliver have what I like to call a snark and cuddle initial meet but unlike a lot of the characters I put the label to, the snark is brief but definitely makes for a cute meet. Again, this is a perfect entry in the author's Christmas Shorts series that will make you chuckle, smile, and leave you warm-hearted when you reach the last page. Perfect holiday reading that will entertain any time of year.
Single Bells #4
“Single bells, single bells,” Joel sang, off key, as he put one foot in front of the other and tried very, very hard not to fall over. “Single all the way.”
The snow storm had swept in furiously since he’d left the house earlier that morning; now the fat flakes were being dumped on the ground with increasing ferocity. And all he was wearing was jeans and a dumb Christmas jumper. No coat.
Stupid office Christmas parties.
Stupid snow.
Stupid Milly who suggested tequila shots to warm them up while they were huddled outside, fingertips going numb while sharing a cigarette outside on Grassmarket. Joel liked Milly, a lot, but she had terrible ideas when it came to alcohol.
Especially when they both had to go to work in the morning.
“Oh what fun, it is to ride on a….” He giggled to himself, thinking about all the things he’d actually like to take a ride on. “On a—oh fuck.”
Joel wasn’t entirely sure what happened. One minute he was edging very slowly down the very steep hill; the next he was on his arse, skidding to an inelegant stop.
Stupid shiny dress shoes that had no grip on the soles.
“Are you okay?”
Oh great. Even better. Someone had actually witnessed that.
Joel got to his feet—slowly, keeping both hands and both feet planted until he was sure of his balance—and brushed his palms on his knees. He’d scraped his hands badly enough to make them bleed. Fortunately, all the alcohol in his system was stopping it from hurting too much.
He looked around for the person who’d called out. And almost goggled at the sight.
The man was standing in the doorway of one of the cottages, wearing joggers, slippers, and a dressing gown that was open enough to show off a toned chest with a smattering of dark hair. Joel forced his eyes upwards. He was wearing glasses, too.
“Single bells,” he croaked again, mostly to himself.
“Hey.” Mr. Tall Dark and Handsome stepped off the front step and into his garden. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
Joel put both thumbs up and thrust them at his handsome stranger. “I’m great. Thanks.”
“Where are you going?”
He pointed down the hill. Way, way down the hill. “Church Street.”
“No. Absolutely not. You’ll never make it in one piece. Come in.”
“Oh, I couldn’t impose.”
“It’s freezing. Come in, please.”
“If you insist,” Joel murmured under his breath. He took very careful steps over to the charming front gate, not wanting to fall over again.
It really was cold outside, but the cottage was cosy and warm, with the embers of a wood fire dying in the grate. A sleek grey cat was curled on a rug in front of it, her face tucked under one paw.
“Here, sit down.”
“I don’t want to get your sofa all wet.”
“It’s fine.”
Joel blinked the snow out of his eyes and tried to focus again. Focus, Joel.
“Why are you awake, anyway? Isn’t it the middle of the night?”
“I’m on call tonight. I usually try and stay semi-awake, just in case someone needs me.” He flashed Joel a brilliant smile. “Looks like someone needed me, even if you aren’t my usual patient.”
“You’re the new vet,” Joel said as his brain woke up.
“That’s me. Nicholas McLeish.”
“Jolly old Saint—”
“Shhh,” he said with a laugh. “Please don’t. Though I do usually go by Nick with friends. I’m only Nicholas when I’m in trouble.”
“I’m Joel. Brodie. Joel Brodie.” That was definitely his name.
“Hello, Joel. Want me to take a look at your hands?”
Joel turned them over and stared for a moment at the red dots that were slowly blooming. He presented them for Nick to look at.
“Sit down,” Nick said. “I’ll be right back.”
Joel perched on the edge of the sofa, his hands palms-up on his knees. While he watched, the cat rolled over in an elegant stretch, spreading her claws and yawning widely, then curled back up again.
“That’s Bastet,” Nick said from the doorway, making Joel jump.
“Like the goddess?”
“Mhmm.” He seemed pleased with Joel’s answer. “This might sting a little.”
He cradled Joel’s hand in his own and quickly swiped an antiseptic wipe over the scrapes, cleaning away the dirt and grit. Joel stared at him, unable to come up with anything sensible to say. Nick had a long nose, strong eyebrows, and cheeks that were flushed pink from the cold. Joel thought that even if he wasn’t drunk, he’d find Nick exceptionally nice to look at.
Nick picked up a tube of cream that smelled faintly medicinal and gently massaged it into Joel’s hands with his fingertips. Joel’s hands had turned very warm, very quickly.
“There,” Nick said as he finished up. “All done.”
“Thank you.”
“Are you cold?”
Joel considered that. “Not really. I have had a lot to drink.”
Nick smiled, and the corners of his eyes crinkled. “I got that impression, yeah. Do you want a cup of tea?”
Joel thought what he would really like was a large glass of Australian red, or a long slurp on whatever Nick was serving.
“Tea would be great. Thank you.”
But he still had his manners.
Mistletoe & Whine #5
The rain floated down outside—a fine, gentle, misty rain that clung to eyelashes and soaked through socks in moments—and inside in his shop, Jack Daly scowled fiercely at the activity across the street.
Festive Children’s Book Shop! the banner screamed in garish red.
Closing Christmas Eve!
Jack’s scowl deepened.
People rushed down the cobbled alley, obscuring Jack’s view in flashes of jewel-coloured coats, black umbrellas, armfuls of shopping bags. The terrible weather clearly hadn’t put anyone off coming out to get some Christmas shopping done.
The bell above the door jingled and Jack forced himself to paste on his professionalsmile as a woman clattered in with three children in tow.
“We’re just looking,” she said, warning them and flashing Jack an apologetic grin.
The kids were already running away from her and if they had heard, they were pretending they hadn’t.
The Magic Toy Shop had been open for a little over four years now, and Jack had a solid business plan of slow and steady growth. The shop was nestled down one of Bath’s twisting cobbled streets, which gave the whole area a quietly magical feel, and at this time of year, when the Christmas lights were strung between the buildings, the magic was dialled up a little higher.
The kids seemed initially less interested in the toys as they were in the slide and the treehouse—something that was vitally important when Jack had been drawing up the designs for the shop. The treehouse, and the slide, and the crawl-spaces between the shelves that kids loved to hide in. The antique wardrobe with the false back, where it was practically required to push aside the faux-fur coats to get to the next room and look at the rows and rows of fairy dolls and ugly gnomes for sale.
It was as much an experience as it was a shop, and Jack had plans, damn it, for a second-floor bookshop next year.
And now this… this… amateur across the street was going to throw a spanner in his plans and Jack thought he was entirely justified in being annoyed by that.
“We’ll just be five minutes,” the woman said, and Jack forced himself to pay attention to his customers. “They’ve been begging to come here since we got into town.”
“It’s fine,” Jack said with a smile, waving away her apologies. “I didn’t put a slide in just to turn away kids who want to play on it.”
“I’ll be back on Wednesday,” she said in a low voice. “To get the last of the shopping done when they’re in school.”
“If you need me to put anything aside for you just let me know,” he replied. “You can send me a message on Instagram if that helps. I can arrange for home delivery, too.”
“Why would anyone want home delivery?” she said, shaking the water from her cropped brown hair. “I want to go down the slide.”
Jack laughed. “You’re welcome to.”
“Kids!” she yelled, turning away from Jack and towards the squabbling which had broken out around whose turn it was. “Time go!”
The kids made the appropriate protests but trudged obligingly towards the door. The woman turned back and grinned at Jack over her shoulder.
See you Wednesday, she mouthed at him. Then, to the kids, “Come on, we’ll have a look in the book shop before we go home.”
Jack’s returning smile turned into a scowl.
It was practically theft, was what it was. He’d established this shop and built his presence here. He’d done the outreach and worked with the children’s hospital in Bristol and painstakingly built his social media presence until The Magic Toy Shop had been listed as one of the top five toy shops in the UK by the Guardian.
Instead of moping, Jack forced himself to get up from behind the counter (polished oak—his granddad had come out of retirement to make it for him bespoke) and tidy up the display of stuffed animals and their adorably quaint matching clothes that he imported from a small business in Romania.
That had been part of the plan he’d refused to budge on, even when everyone was telling him he needed to move with the trends. The shop wasn’t filled with ‘plastic tat’, as his friends with kids had called it, or whatever was the latest must-have toy of the season. He worked with suppliers from around the world to offer unique or bespoke or limited edition toys that you couldn’t just order online for half the price. The shop was a lifestyle brand, and deliberately so.
The sun set early these days, but the steady stream of customers lasted right up until he closed the doors at six—later than usual for December, so people could stop in after work for some last minute shopping. Some came in with the intention of dropping a few hundred pounds on Christmas gifts, some others just wanted to play in the treehouse, and both types of customer was fine by him. As far as Jack was concerned, footfall was footfall. He’d lost count of how many times someone had warned a child that they weren’t buying anything today, and the kid had left with one of Jack’s distinctive black card bags with the black ribbon drawstrings. He’d joked plenty of times that the magic of the shop was the ability to change parents’ minds.
Once the displays were tidy and everything was ready for the next morning, Jack started to close down. His evening routine was quiet and familiar, flicking off the lights, transferring the receipts to the safe, pulling down the shutters and locking them.
The drizzle had stopped, thank God, but the cobbles were still slippery and Jack grabbed the gold door handle as he stepped outside to make sure he didn’t end up on his arse.
“Hey, are you okay?”
Jack forced himself to look up.
It was the bastard thief from across the street.
Jack hadn’t managed to get a good look at him until now, and of course he was ridiculously handsome, because that was what bastard thieves looked like in all of the Hollywood movies. He was tall and broad-shouldered with golden stubble over his jaw and pretty pink lips.
“I’m fine,” Jack said tightly.
“Ooo-kay,” he said, pushing his stupid floppy hair back from his stupid beautiful face. “I’ll see you around.”
“Hopefully not,” Jack muttered and stormed away—in the wrong direction—down the street before the book shop guy could follow him.
Anna 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.
Single Bells #4
Mistletoe & Whine #5
No comments:
Post a Comment