Anna Martin's Christmas Short Stories #2
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.
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.
“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.
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.
No comments:
Post a Comment