Showing posts with label former athlete. Show all posts
Showing posts with label former athlete. Show all posts
Sunday, April 12, 2026
Monday, April 6, 2026
⚾️Monday's Musical Melody⚾️: Fake Out by Eden Finley
Summary:
Fake Boyfriend #1
Maddox
The reason I rarely go home is three simple words: I’m a liar.
When the pressure to marry my childhood sweetheart became too much, I told her I was gay and then fled to New York like my ass was on fire.
Now, five years later and after a drunken encounter, I find myself invited to her wedding. And I have to bring my boyfriend—the boyfriend who doesn’t exist because I’m straight.
At least, I think I am. Meeting the guy I’m bribing to be my boyfriend for the weekend makes me question everything about myself.
Damon
When my sister asks me to pretend to be some straight guy’s boyfriend, my automatic response is to say no. It’s because of guys like him people don’t believe me when I tell them I’m gay.
But Maddox has something I need.
After an injury that cost me my baseball career, I’m trying to leave my playing days behind and focus on being the best sports agent I can be. Forty-eight hours with my sister’s best friend in exchange for a meeting with a possible client. I can do this.
I just wish he wasn’t so hot. Or that he didn’t kiss like he means it.
Wait … why is the straight guy kissing me?
*Fake Out is a full-length MM novel with no cliffhanger.*
CHAPTER ONE
MADDOX
Fuck my life.
Staring at a ghost from my past is a slap in the face from reality.
What are the chances of my one and only ex-girlfriend walking into the very same bar as me? And in New York. Chastity-freaking-Wells.
Like any self-respecting twenty-three-year-old guy in this situation would do, I scan the room for an emergency exit.
I need to leave. Right now. I slip off my barstool and throw down cash on the bar, but Chastity and her three friends head straight for me.
Sweat drips down my neck as my gaze darts around the small space in search of an alternative route to freedom. Slasher movie music plays through my head when I realize I’m trapped. Not being melodramatic or anything.
Turning on my heel and walking toward the bathrooms as fast as I can, I get cut off by some drunk guy stumbling into me. He drops his glass and it smashes on the ground, the sound of breaking glass dashing any hope I had of going unnoticed.
When I glance over my shoulder, I lock eyes with the woman I almost married. Ironically, she’s wearing a tiara and veil. Along with a flashing badge and sash that read Bride to be.
Her eyes widen as she recognizes her past staring back at her.
I have to go say hi now, but I can’t get my feet to move. If I make a run for it, she’ll tell her mother, and then I’ll never hear the end of it from my Mom. Gotta love the suffocating gossip mill of small towns.
Chastity and New York do not mix. That’s what she told me when I said I was going to Olmstead University. Right before she begged me to stay.
Every step I take toward my ex-girlfriend, the more memories flash through my head.
Wear this, Maddy. Don’t go out with your friends, Maddy. Go to college in Pennsylvania so we can stay together, Maddy. Everyone expects us to get married when we graduate, Maddy.
Maddy, Maddy, Maddy.
With a deep breath, I plaster on a fake smile as my heart tries to hammer a hole in my chest. “Hey, pretty girl.”
Tears well in Chastity’s eyes. “Maddy? Oh my God, Maddy.” Her arms wrap around my neck, and I get a face full of veil.
She still smells like cherry blossom, and something familiar rips through my gut. Affection. Young love. Idiotic behavior on my part.
The truth is, Chastity didn’t do anything wrong back then. Granted, she might’ve turned a deaf ear to my concerns about our future and my attempts to break up with her nicely, but what I did to her when I left for college was unacceptable. I lied to her and ran away, and I’ve been running ever since.
I didn’t have it in me to be the guy she wanted. I was never the settling down type. I’m still not that guy. Probably never will be.
“Has Halloween come early or is a congratulations in order?” I tug on her veil. I’m proud of myself for sounding like a normal human when I’m freaking out on the inside.
She pulls back, but her hands stay on my shoulders. “It should’ve been us,” she whispers.
The tightness in my chest twists. “You know why that wouldn’t work.”
She wipes her nose with the back of her hand. “I know.”
God, I’m still a shithead. And still lying to her after all this time. I should tell her the truth; I owe her that much. I’ve managed to avoid her every trip home for the last five years, but then I run into her at her bachelorette party?
“We need tequila!” her friend screams.
That’s an understatement. I think I need a silo full.
Chastity’s face lights up. “Stay and drink with us?”
“Umm …” No, I should go. Tell her the truth, turn around, and leave.
But she pulls that face—the one I used to give into so well. Her bottom lip droops, and she stares at me with shiny, puppy-dog eyes.
“I can stay for a drink.” One drink, I tell myself. But I obviously haven’t learned from old mistakes and I’m lying again, because twenty minutes and five tequilas later, Chastity falls into my arms and sways to an imaginary beat that doesn’t match the house music.
“I miss you, Maddy. Maybe this is, like, a sign. Some higher power. Of all the people to run into—”
The walls start to close in. Suddenly I’m transported back to my eighteen-year-old self, and I need to run away. The pressure to marry the girl in front of me—not only from her but our whole hometown—was, and still is, too much.
More lies fly out of me without thought. “I have a boyfriend.”
Chastity’s smile is warm. “Figures. I’d love to meet him.” She gasps suddenly. “You should come. Bring him to the wedding next week.”
Uh … what?
“I’ll text my mom right now.”
“No, no. Don’t need to do that. We … umm …” Of all the times to draw a blank …
“Done. It’s no problem at all. We had two people who RSVP’d yes only to turn around this week and tell us they can no longer make it. You and …”
She waits for me to tell her my imaginary boyfriend’s name, but I remain still with my mouth agape.
“You and your boyfriend can take their places. We’d love to have you. Everyone at home misses you. You never visit anymore.”
Yeah, there’s a reason for that. “Umm, okay.”
Wait, not okay…
Did I really just agree to go home next week for my ex-girlfriend’s wedding? With my boyfriend?
I reiterate what I thought the second I laid eyes on Chastity tonight: Fuck my life.
***
The staccato rhythm pounding in my brain has but one name. Tequila. That cold-hearted bitch.
My head rests on the table in front of me while my usual coffee shop bustles with my worst enemy: people. There are too many people for this time of morning and this type of hangover.
“Shhh,” I say into the table. No one listens.
“Wow,” Stacy says, startling me, and I lift my head. I didn’t hear her come in or sit in front of me, but there she is. With two cups of coffee. I officially love her. “How hungover are you?”
I rub my temples. “On a scale of one to ten? One hundred and twelve.”
She laughs, and her green eyes shimmer in amusement.
“Thanks for the sympathy.”
“It’s self-inflicted. Suck it up.”
“Why am I friends with you again?” I’m officially not loving her so much anymore.
“Because I refuse to sleep with you. Had I fallen victim to your charms when we met, you never would’ve seen me again.”
She has a point. I met Stacy at a frat party freshman year, and she shot me down for six months straight before I gave up trying. Probably a good thing she stood her ground. Stacy is the one constant person in my life. We got each other through college, and then we interned together at the same marketing firm where we work now.
“I found myself at a bachelorette party last night,” I say.
“If you tell me you slept with the bride, was hired as the stripper, or had a three-way with two of the depressed single girls freaking out over their friend getting married, I’m out of here.”
I take a large sip of my scalding hot coffee and swallow hard with a wince. “I have slept with the bride. But not since high school.”
“Oooh, shit. Your ex-girlfriend is getting married?”
I tell Stacy the events of last night and how I’m in yet another situation I don’t know how to get out of.
“Wait, wait, wait. Back this up. Your whole hometown thinks you’re gay? How did that happen?”
“I … I may’ve told Chastity I was gay to break up with her …”
She’s trying to hide her smile. I know she is. “I’m so glad I made the effort to come this morning.” Her glee is my misery. “Even your parents? How does that work, and how did I not know about this already?”
“I haven’t introduced you to my parents for a reason. And you know me—I never get serious with anyone. I keep telling my parents I’m single and haven’t met the right person yet, and I make sure to stay gender neutral in all conversations.”
Her smile finally fades. “You’ve been lying to everyone for five years. I thought you were sad before, but this … this is—”
“You don’t need to say it. I’m a shithead. Tell me something I don’t know. But last night, I’m at this bar and in walks my small-town girl in the big city, drunk off her ass. So, I make my way over to her, and she’s throwing her arms over me, saying it should’ve been us. I have a boyfriend fell out of my mouth. And then …” I blow out a loud breath.
“Then what?”
I lower my voice. “I said I’d go to her wedding next weekend. With my boyfriend.” My head hits the table again and bangs against it repeatedly. Why the fuck did I agree to that? Not that she gave me much choice. That’s exactly how I ended up staying in a relationship with her for three years.
“You what?” Stacy shrieks.
“I was expecting a ‘I was so drunk. Maybe you shouldn’t come’ text this morning. Instead, I’m woken up by a phone call from my mother. Chastity had texted her mom, who called mine, and now everything’s screwed. Mom’s asking why I didn’t tell her I was seeing someone and how disappointed she was to find out from the Wellses. She demanded I come home and bring my boyfriend with me to stay the weekend while I attend the wedding.”
Stacy sniggers.
“Real helpful, Stace. Have you ever had to endure a guilt trip from a small-town mom? I’m surprised by the time we hung up this morning I hadn’t agreed to move home with the boyfriend I don’t actually have.”
She bites her lip. “What are you going to do?”
“Well, I was kinda hoping …”
“I’m not dressing up as a dude and pretending to be your boyfriend.”
I laugh. “I was actually hoping you could convince your brother to do it.” I’ve never met him, but she does talk about him a lot.
Stacy purses her lips. “Damon’s always working or studying. It’s pretty sad. I don’t know if he’ll be able to take the weekend off.”
“He’s a sports agent, right?”
“Soon-to-be, yeah.”
I don’t want to play this card, but it’s all I’ve got. “What if I could get him a meeting with a high-profile hockey player in the NHL?”
Stacy’s brow furrows. “Who?”
There’s a reason I don’t tell anyone I’m related to Tommy Novak. I barely know the guy. He’s married to my sister, who I’ve never been close to, and family gatherings are few and far between. It feels wrong asking him for favors, but I’ll do it if it means Stacy’s brother will help me. “All I can say is he plays for Boston.”
“And you’re really going to go through with this charade if I get Damon to agree? Why can’t you tell the truth? Come out of the closet. But in reverse.”
“It’d be a big scandal if the town found out the truth, and that’s definitely not what Chastity needs right before her wedding.”
“So, you’re doing this for her? She’s your ex. Why do you care?”
I rub my neck. “She’s the only relationship I’ve ever had. I was a dick for lying to her, and I don’t want that to come out during her wedding to some other guy. I figured if I ever found a girl I got serious with—which I’ve always doubted I’d do anyway—that I’d tell everyone then. I’ll tell them eventually, but this weekend is not the time to do it.”
“Why don’t you just say you can’t make it?”
“Do I need to give you the guilt-tripping mom story again? And if I go home and say we broke up, she’ll force comfort food into me and make me stay a week to wallow. That’s the type of mom she is.”
Stacy searches in her bag and pulls out her phone. “I’m on it.”
“Really?”
“I’d love to say I’m doing this because I’m your friend, but honestly? The thought of you having to pretend to be gay for forty-eight hours entertains me immensely.”
Of course, it does.
Eden Finley
Eden Finley is an Amazon bestselling author who writes steamy contemporary romances that are full of snark and light-hearted fluff.
She doesn't take anything too seriously and lives to create an escape from real life for her readers. The ideas always begin with a wackadoodle premise, and she does her best to turn them into romances with heart.
She's also an Australian girl and apologises for her Australianisms that sometimes don't make sense to anyone else.
RB MEDIA / AUDIOBOOKS / CHIRP
EMAIL: edenfinley@gmail.com
Sunday, February 8, 2026
🏈Sunday's Sport Stats🏈: The Player by Felice Stevens
Friday night lights hide more than they reveal…
When retired NFL superstar Keller Williams returns to his small town to coach his old high school football team, he’s surprised how much he enjoys being out of the limelight and on the field with the kids. Even more surprising is his immediate attraction to the father of one of his players—single dad Niall Harper.
Problem number one: Niall Harper isn’t gay.
Problem number two: Keller isn’t out to the world.
Problem number three: Niall hates his guts. And Keller has no idea why.
High school librarian Niall Harper has always done the right thing. Except be true to himself. Divorced and raising his teenaged son, Niall is dismayed to discover the new football coach is none other than his long-ago Friday night fantasy and nemesis. Not that it matters—Keller doesn’t remember him. It’s nothing new; Niall has always been easy to forget. Now Keller wants to be friends. And more. Niall can’t deny the annoying man makes him laugh and feel things he’d only dreamed possible. But would a player like Keller be satisfied with a regular guy like him?
Being together is more than complicated, but they are willing to take the risk. Niall reveals he’s dating his son’s coach, and Keller comes out to the team, his fans, the press, and small-town gossips. Neither is prepared for the fallout, but that doesn’t stop them. It’s time to throw the Hail Mary pass of a lifetime and win the game of forever. And they’re ready.
Chapter One
They say you can’t go home again.
But here he stood, on the field of his former glory years, thinking of those Friday night lights and cheers so loud, if he stopped to listen, memories of them still whispered in the sluggish, late August air.
The crowd rose to their feet. The quarterback launched a perfect spiral to him, and he raced into the end zone with four seconds left on the clock and caught the winning touchdown.
“Keller! Keller!”
The ground shook, and the state championship was theirs. His teammates piled on top of him, then carried him on their shoulders.
At seventeen, he’d thought the world was his.
“Keller? That you?”
He spun around to see his old teammate, Bobby Contard, standing by the fence. God, he looked…old. Thinning blond hair and a paunch most likely from sitting in a recliner, downing too many beers in too short a time. The same wide, goofy smile.
“Hey, Bobby. Yeah, it’s me.”
“Son of a bitch. Keller Williams. It’s really you.”
They stood face-to-face, former teammates who hadn’t seen each other since they’d left for college. Keller had been drafted to the NFL while Bobby had flunked out, returned home to their small Upstate New York town, and gone to work at Home Depot.
“How’re you doing, Bobby? Been a minute.”
“Longer than that, but yeah.” A quick duck of his head. “Sorry about your arm. Sucks, man.”
Devastation came in all forms. For Keller, it was a bad hit that had upended him as he’d been about to make a catch. It knocked the wind out of him and sent him crashing to the ground, his arm bent at a frightening, unnatural angle. He’d heard the snap, and before passing out from the pain, had known with overwhelming clarity that it was the last time he’d ever play football.
“Yeah. It’s healed okay now, but man, I can tell the weather better than those people on TV.” He forced a grin.
“Whatcha doing back here? Just passing through and come to see your old haunts?”
“I’ve been back other times. For my mom.”
Just saying it brought the inevitable, knife-twisting pain in his gut.
Bobby scratched his head. “Oh, yeah. Sorry about that.”
“At least they got the bastard who hit her.” A drunk driver had taken the Main Street curve too fast and hit an icy patch, sending his car spinning out of control. It had smashed into a group of people in the parking lot of the Overlook Diner. Three wounded, one dead. His mother, Patricia Williams. She’d been out celebrating her sixtieth birthday early with her girlfriends. The next morning, she was to have gotten on a plane to come visit him for a fabulous weekend together in Vegas. Keller had made all the plans for them—spas, shows, and a spectacular dinner. Instead, he’d found himself making arrangements for her funeral.
“And to answer your question, no, I’m not passing through. I’m coming home.”
“Home? To Overlook?” Bobby scrunched up his nose. “Why? Nothing’s changed from when you left. It’s still the same quiet little town. Nothing like Vegas, I’m sure.”
Overlook was hardly the hot spot of Upstate New York. Situated midway between Cortland and Syracuse, there wasn’t much going on, but it was for that precise reason that Keller was happy to return. Fourteen years in the NFL, he’d seen it all—and had enough.
“I was ready for a change. And I got a call from Coach Weaver.”
Bobby’s eyes grew wide with sudden understanding. “You’re the new high school football coach they hired? We heard they’d gotten someone, but Coach Weaver wouldn’t say who. Damn, Keller. That’s awesome.” He hesitated. “My son’s on the team—quarterback. Holds the record for completions in a single season. We’re hoping to get a scholarship to college.” Pride shone from his round face.
“Guess it runs in the family, huh? You had some good moves back in the day.” He grinned, and Bobby cackled. “I’m thinking you don’t play much anymore?”
“You got that right.” He rubbed his stomach. “Mary’s too good a cook, and I’m too tired after standing on my feet all day. But I’m a great armchair quarterback. And my boy—Shane—he’s good, Keller. Real good. I think he’s got what it takes, and I ain’t just saying that because he’s my kid. Fact is, the whole team is solid. You’ve got some damn good prospects to work with.”
“Is that what he wants? To go pro?” Keller could tell him it wasn’t all about the cheering and the bright lights or the money. All of it was great, but the blood, sweat, and absolute domination the sport exerted over your life wasn’t something to be taken lightly.
“He’s thinking about it.”
In his professional days, he’d worked with a lot of summer programs for kids and could always tell whether it was the parents’ dream or the child’s. He’d make sure it was Shane who wanted to be a professional football player and not Bobby reliving his failed dreams of stardom.
“Guess we’ll see when school starts. I figured I’d swing past and see how the place looks nowadays, get an idea what I’m working with before I meet with the kids.”
Bobby nodded, then checked his watch. “I’d better get going. Knowing Mary, she’ll send out a search party.” He bit his lip. “Would you like to come for dinner? She always makes plenty.”
Touched by the invitation, Keller still declined. “Appreciate it, but I think springing a guest on your wife would forever put me in the doghouse.” Seeing Bobby’s face fall, he rushed on. “But how about we meet up next week? Is The Flame still around? They always had the best steaks in town. I’d love to take you all out for dinner.”
“Yeah, it’s still there, but we don’t go. Kinda pricey.”
“So let’s do it. I’ll make a reservation.”
“Gee, Keller. You don’t gotta do that.”
“I know. Give me your number, and I’ll let you know when.”
Bobby nodded. “Okay. I’ll tell Mary. Thanks. Thanks a lot.” They shook hands. “Glad you’re home, Keller. It’ll be good having you back.”
He hoped so.
Bobby drove away, and Keller walked the field a bit before returning to his car. His shoulder and arm throbbed from carrying things from his mother’s house to Goodwill, and if he wanted to be able to turn the wheel, he needed to take something to ease the ache. Three years after the last surgery, the pain had lessened, but it would never completely vanish. He’d suffered a compound fracture of the humerus, torn muscles in his shoulder, and damage to ligaments and tendons, yet he was lucky. It had taken him sixteen months to recover from the various surgeries, but no amount of physical therapy would ever make him whole again. Now, at thirty-eight, he had to pivot and begin a new life.
He clutched the bottle of extra-strength ibuprofen and stared at it for a moment. Right after his surgeries, he’d taken the hard stuff, but when he’d begun to crave higher and higher doses, he cut himself off. Under no circumstances would he fall into that black pit. He’d seen it happen to way too many players. It was a promise he’d made to his mother when he’d been drafted: stay away from the drugs and the drinking; don’t become a statistic.
He popped the pills. Well, Mom, at least you never had to worry about me getting a girl pregnant. His marriage—and quickie divorce—was so long ago, he’d almost forgotten it had ever existed. He’d thought he could maintain the facade, but an inability to get it up for Tiffany on a regular basis had proved his undoing. He’d found her sleeping with other men, giving him the out he needed, and he’d been happy to let her go.
He drove through the streets, remembering the sights of his former hometown—the hidden areas by the tracks where he’d had his first kiss from a guy. The woods where he’d lost his virginity to a girl, pretending she was a man. He passed the waterfalls where the team had celebrated their state championship by getting drunk on smuggled beer. He grinned, recalling how he’d thought he was so cool, sneaking into his house at three in the morning, only to find his mother wide-awake and waiting for him with a list of chores that would keep him grounded for the rest of the school year.
God, he wished he could hear her voice again. That night she’d sat him down and explained how she wouldn’t let him run wild. How people told her he’d end up a no-goodnik because she was a single mother and didn’t have the time to watch over him properly. He hadn’t realized until then that his behavior had reflected on her as a person, and he’d vowed to never bring her shame.
I’m sorry, Mom. I’m going to make sure I do right by these kids, like you taught me.
He wiped the wetness from his face and continued to drive.
Before he realized it, he was twenty miles out of town and approaching the next one, and figured he could use a break and something to eat. He didn’t have much at the house and wasn’t in the mood to be home and alone.
Spying a main street, he drove past a shop selling homemade candy, a women’s boutique clothing store, and various storefronts. All closed, as it was late, but a bistro caught his eye. A sign pointed him to the parking lot around the corner, and he drove in, his tires crunching on the gravel, and found a spot not far from the dumpsters. Not valet parking on the Vegas Strip like he’d been used to while on the roster for the Vegas Players, but this was his life now, and he knew it could be worse.
When he walked inside, it was crowded enough that he didn’t think he’d find a seat at the bar, where he always liked to park himself, but luck was with him. A tall woman with long red hair and a full sleeve of tattoos was rising to her feet.
“Kept it warm for ya.” She slung her purse over her shoulder as luminous dark eyes slid a lazy path up Keller’s body. “Unless you’d rather I stay and see what else I can warm up.”
Amused but not interested, Keller gave her a half smile. “Not tonight. But thanks for the very generous offer.”
“Too bad.” She shrugged and walked away.
Keller waited to catch the bartender’s eye and ordered a bottle of Heineken, then faced the crowd. The music wasn’t obnoxiously loud, and there were many people at the tables on dates. To his surprise, he spotted a gay couple in the corner, and surreptitiously watched their interactions. For some reason, his eyes smarted and burned. Damn, he was getting sentimental in his old age. Did he want that? He wasn’t sure, but he knew he wanted the option to have someone in his life for more than a bump in the night.
Since his injury, he’d put his recovery first and had worked to get into shape again—or as close to where he could use his arm without pain. Sex had been the last thing on his mind. But now? So many years out of the spotlight, he had to wonder if it was finally his time. If he couldn’t be healthy in body, at least he could try for his soul and heart. Because hiding all these years had taken a mental toll, and he was damn tired.
Beer bottle to his lips, he scanned the crowd. A man sat in the corner, looking out of place. He was dressed in a suit and tie, and from the way he kept checking both his watch and phone, Keller assumed he’d been waiting for a while—for his date? Keller drank his beer and ordered a burger, and as he ate, he kept an eye on the man.
He was sexy as hell, with messy black hair falling over his brow and full lips he kept nibbling at. Long legs stretched out from beneath the table, and Keller focused on the man’s fingers playing along the stem of his wineglass, imagining them on his body.
Twenty minutes passed, and Keller finished his beer and food while the man grew more agitated. It was obvious the guy had been stood up. “Whoever let you down is a damn fool,” he muttered.
The man stood, leaving half his glass untouched, and huffed out a sigh. He didn’t leave, though, instead weaving his way through the crowd to the rear of the bar, where the restrooms were. Without thinking, Keller rose to his feet.
“Be right back.”
The bartender shrugged. “Sure.”
Inside the restroom, he found the man staring at the slightly askew mirror. His eyes widened when Keller stood next to him to wash his hands.
“Get stood up?”
The man wet his lips, and his brow furrowed. “Excuse me?”
Close up, he was even more arresting than from Keller’s initial vantage point at the bar. Mistrustful, green-flecked blue eyes gazed at him. The harsh fluorescent light reflected off pale skin, as if he spent most of his time indoors, and prominent cheekbones stood out on his thin face, with the shadow of stubble darkening his jaw. Keller had never liked the jock type, preferring instead a long, lean body.
Rein it in. The dude is likely straight.
“I noticed you looking at your phone and your watch for a while. A sure sign that you’re waiting for a date who didn’t show.”
A flush stained his cheeks, but the man remained silent and splashed some water on his face, then turned to go.
“I’m sorry if I offended you.” Keller had no clue why it mattered, but he didn’t want this man to be upset with him. Probably a throwback to his playing days. His coaches had taught him to keep all the fans happy, even if they booed him on the field.
The man shrugged. “Not sure why a stranger is talking to me in the bathroom about my failed date, that’s all.”
“I’m Keller Williams. Now that you know my name, we’re not strangers,” he said, hoping no discussion would ensue about his past career and what he was doing now.
Instead, the man froze, his face paling even more. “Unreal,” he muttered, shaking his head.
“Aren’t you going to tell me your name?”
Those beautiful eyes dripped with scorn as the man pulled a paper towel from the holder and wiped his face. “I have to go.” And without another word, he walked out, leaving Keller slack-jawed and alone in the ugly little bathroom.
“Damn. What the hell did I say?”
He returned to the bar and his beer. The man, he saw, sat at his small table, texting.
“Want another one?” the bartender asked.
“No. Just the check.”
He handed over his credit card, and the bartender’s jaw dropped. “Shit. You’re Keller Williams?”
“Last time I checked, yeah.”
“Damn, can I get your autograph? I have your jersey. I can’t believe I didn’t recognize you!”
More than happy to oblige, Keller was soon surrounded by a group of fans for whom he signed napkins, T-shirts, and anything else they thrust in his face. All the while, though, he kept an eye on the despondent man he’d spoken to in the bathroom, who was still sitting in the corner, his mouth drooping in a frown. Why he’d become so involved in a stranger’s date, Keller hadn’t a clue, but when the man rose to his feet and left the bistro, Keller did the same and tossed out a hundred to the bartender.
“Gotta go, folks. I’ll be back again. I’m living in Overlook now.”
Keller exited the restaurant, but there was no sign of the guy, so he headed to his car. The sultry air hit him like a wet slap, and mosquitos buzzed past his cheeks. Unseen crickets chirped incessantly from the thick hedges surrounding the parking lot. Not his glory days for sure, yet maybe there was the scent of possibility as well. He wondered what would’ve happened if he’d come to the bistro with a male date. Would there have been an outcry? People taking pictures on their phones to show everyone they’d seen Keller Williams with a man? Oh my God, did you know he’s gay?
The two men eating there on a date had seemed to be feeling safe enough. It was an experience he’d never been able to enjoy.
A lingering stare, a subtle brush-up in a club. A hookup between two men so desperate for human contact and to be themselves, they’d take that risk for a moment of pleasure. Keller had lived that clandestine life so he could keep an unforgiving career that in the end had betrayed him, forcing him to walk away.
As he approached his parking spot, he spied a man sitting in a car, windows open, head down on the steering wheel. Fearing something was wrong, Keller stopped several feet away, unsure if he was intruding or if the man was ill. Just in case it was the latter, he called out, “Everything okay? Do you need me to call someone?”
Blue-green eyes met his, and with a start, Keller recognized the man he’d spoken to in the bar.
“Are you sick? Do you need me to get you some help?”
The engine roared to life and the wheels spit up gravel as the car took off, leaving Keller standing like a fool, wondering what the hell he’d done to deserve such a reaction from a complete stranger.
Felice Stevens
Felice Stevens writes romance because what is better than people falling in love? Her favorite part of a romance novel is that first kiss…sigh. She loves creating stories of hopes and dreams and happily ever afters. Her stories are character-driven, rich with the sights, sounds and flavors of New York City and filled with men who are sometimes deeply flawed but always real.
Felice writes M/M romance because she believes that everyone deserves a happily ever after. Having traveled all over the world, she can safely say that the universal language that unites people is love. Felice has written in a variety of sub-genres, including contemporary, paranormal and has a mystery series as well.
Felice is a two-time Lambda Literary award nominee, and Lambda award winner for Best Gay Romance for her book, The Ghost and Charlie Muir.
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Saturday, December 20, 2025
🎅🎄Saturday's Series Spotlight🎄🎅: Christmas Falls Season One Part 1
Summary:
Christmas Falls #1
I'm the grinch who saves Christmas …
Yep, you read that right. Every year I save Christmas--and Christmas Falls--by organizing a massive festival that sustains tourism for our little town.
But it turns out when Christmas is your life 24/7, the shine wears off the twinkly lights after a while. The holidays are a heck of a lot of work, and when I go home, I want peace and quiet, not fa-la-la'ing on my porch.
That all changes when my sister brings me an early Christmas gift. One I didn't ask for. One that's tall, broad, and handsome...
Suddenly this season got a whole lot brighter.
Christmas Falls is a multi-author M/M romance series set in a small town that thrives on enough holiday charm to rival any Hallmark movie.
Summary:
Christmas Falls #2
They say there’s no place like home for the holidays... But that isn’t true when snowbody loves you.
When I get ditched at the airport right before a holiday trip to the Bahamas, spending Christmas at home alone isn’t all that appealing so impulsively hopping on a plane to the most Christmasy place on earth seems like a good idea. At least until I realize I’ve got no plan, no place to stay, and nothing but beach clothes.
Luckily, Arlo, the handsome B&B owner, comes to my rescue.
Christmas Falls is supposed to be a quick holiday escape, but the town is just so dang cute. And so is Arlo.
There’s just something about the older man that draws me in and makes me want to stay a bit longer, and then a bit longer. Through sleigh rides, ornament-making, and handling a winter storm that strands guests, the Gingerbread Cottage B&B, Christmas Falls, and more importantly Arlo begin to feel like home.
The holidays never end in Christmas Falls–but can I say the same for me and Arlo?
Christmas Falls is a multi-author M/M romance series set in a small town that thrives on enough holiday charm to rival any Hallmark movie.
Christmas Falls #3
For years, Mik has wanted nothing more than to put coal in Rudy Snow's stocking.
As former pro hockey players, they’ve been rivals for years. It started in Mik’s rookie season, when a reporter pitted him against his older brother's best friend. Rudy pushes Mik’s buttons like no one else, going out of his way to one-up him at every turn.
Now they’re both pub owners in a small town that takes Christmas to a level best seen in Hallmark movies, but not much else has changed. They’re still rivals, this time pitting gingerbread martinis against pomegranate sangria.
But when they’re forced to work together to plan a special holiday party, sparks ignite. Maybe it's a bad idea to put coal in Rudy's stocking after all. They both might just catch fire.
Then again, what better way is there to stay warm on a cold winter's night?
Christmas Falls is a multi-author M/M romance series set in a small town that thrives on enough holiday charm to rival any Hallmark movie.
Grinch Kisses by DJ Jamison
CHAPTER 1
GRIFF
I held my breath as the mayor flicked the switch on the long winding strings of lights that wrapped around the town’s official Christmas tree. Beside her, NFL star Jem Knight waved to the crowd, a home-grown celebrity to add a dash of excitement to the tree-lighting.
A wash of red, green, blue, and white flickered to life, and a cheer went up from the crowd that had assembled in Sugar Plum Park.
Thank fuck something had gone right today. I’d been running nonstop putting out last-minute fires as we prepared for the kickoff of our five-week holiday festival that kept our businesses afloat by drawing tourists from near and far.
Even now, before Thanksgiving weekend when we’d really see our numbers swell, people crammed into our little park, standing shoulder to shoulder. They clutched hot chocolate or cider and snickerdoodles from Ginger’s Breads bakery in their mittened hands, eyes bright as they delighted in the sight of the twenty-foot evergreen.
I envied them a little. They’d come out for a bit of holiday cheer, not because their job required it. They got to enjoy those lights without knowing how many it took to illuminate that tree. Eleven hundred bulbs to be exact—and only because we used a larger size than the standard indoor Christmas tree. When we’d used smaller ones, it had taken closer to three thousand to get the job done.
The crowd here also hadn’t needed to scramble to problem-solve when one of the twenty strings of lights didn’t come on during our final test this afternoon, nor call Joel from Ginger’s Breads for a last-minute favor when Joelle and Holly of Jolly Java came down with the flu and couldn’t deliver the treats we’d promised.
There were a million little parts to an event this large, and there was one man responsible for everything running smoothly.
And that man was me.
So while townspeople and tourists rubbed elbows, smiling and chatting about the start to the season, I simply breathed a sigh of relief that everything had gone as planned and I could check off one more item on my to-do list.
“You’d think they’d never seen a Christmas tree before,” Bruce Brooks grumbled beside me.
I snorted with amusement. “Don’t pretend you don’t like everyone oohing and ahhing.”
Bruce was the owner of the Milton Falls Tree Farm, which had donated the tree. He hummed. “Well, everyone likes to be appreciated.”
“Although, I’ve been considering switching it out for a fake one. Maybe a fifty-foot-tall symbol of Christmas kitsch.”
He gave me a disapproving look. “But mine are real, Griff. No one wants some cheap silicone knockoff when I can satisfy just fine.”
I chuckled. “I think those fake trees are plastic, not silicone.”
“Oh, are we still talking about trees?” He attempted to maintain a straight face, but he failed, lips twitching. “My mistake.”
I laughed. “Get your mind out of the gutter. There are happy families here!”
Bruce gave a mock shudder. “Scary. I think I’ll head out for a beer. Gonna need one to make it through the madness ahead of us in the next few weeks.”
“Good idea. I could use a drink too. Let’s head over to Rudolph’s.”
Frosty’s was closer—and looked a little less like a bunch of Christmas elves threw up all over the place—but I suspected it’d be even busier than usual with the spillover of tourists from the tree-lighting.
The ceremony had gone off without a hitch. Mayor Grayson had made her speech, the crowd had pretended to be interested until the highlight of the evening, and now they were happily drinking their hot chocolate, the locals in little clusters where they could indulge in a bit of small-town gossip.
No doubt they were speculating about how long Jem Knight would remain in town, or perhaps another rumor had started up that the rivalry between pub managers Mik Gilmore and Rudy Snow was born of more than dislike. Either way, my job was done.
I’d nearly escaped before my mother waved at me. “Griffy! Wait. Where are you going?”
I groaned under my breath, and Bruce shot me a look of pity right before abandoning my ass like a prisoner fleeing Alcatraz. “See you over there.”
“Disloyal bastard,” I muttered, but without heat. I’d have done the same damn thing.
My mother tugged me close enough to kiss my cheek above my beard. “Griff, the tree looks amazing!”
I smiled gamely. “Thanks, but you know it looks the same every year.”
“Oh, hush. It’s been better every year since you came home.” She looked to my father for backup. “Hasn’t it, Arthur?”
“Sure has.”
He’d learned a long time ago not to argue with my mother.
“Well, we transitioned to LEDs around that time,” I said. “Makes for brighter lights.”
My mother beamed. “There, you see! You’re doing great work for the town. I don’t know where we’d all be without you.”
I certainly hoped LEDs weren’t the only great work I’d done in seven years on the job—seven years that I’d been divorced, seven years without my children—but I wasn’t about to sink into a debate over everything my job entailed. One thing I’d learned was that people wanted to enjoy the holiday magic, not see the man performing tedious tasks behind the curtain.
Holiday magic I’d once thought might help bring me and my children closer together, but I’d been wrong.
“Thank you,” I said. “I’m actually headed out, though, so…”
“Griff,” she said, a world of disappointment in her tone. “You did all this for us.” She swept her arm toward the rest of the park, encompassing the Christmas tree, the bakery stand, and the milling residents. “You should take time to enjoy it. I noticed Katie Foster looking a little lonely in the line for hot chocolate. Maybe—”
“I did enjoy it,” I cut in before Mom could continue that line of thought. “I enjoy that all those lightbulbs work, but tomorrow I’ll be onto another event, and I could really use a beer with a friend right now.”
She perked up. “A friend, you say?”
“Easy there. It’s just Bruce.”
She deflated with a frown. “He’s about as cheerful as those grumpy-faced gnomes that Murphy carves.”
“Eleanor,” my dad gently chastised.
She sighed. “Sorry. You go. So long as you promise to enjoy your night.”
“You have my word,” I said as I hurried to escape before someone else spotted me and insisted I have a cup of hot chocolate for my hard work, or perhaps wanted to pitch a brilliant idea for a new event that I should most definitely work into the schedule despite it being set months ahead.
Rudolph’s was a short walk down the street, and it was glowing with warm light as I approached. A Christmas tree stood in the window, advertising holiday cheer, but that was Christmas Falls. Every business had to play to the tourists they wanted to lure inside. As a result, it was damn hard to find a quiet spot to enjoy a beer.
“What can I get ya?” Rudy, the manager, asked when I stepped up to the bar. He was a good-looking man with the strong body of a one-time professional athlete, but the scruff on his jaw made him look a little more at home here. He’d come to town only a couple of years ago after retiring from a hockey career.
“Whatever’s on tap, as long as it’s not seasonal.”
He chuckled as he grabbed a chilled mug to pull my beer. “Just wait until the festival cocktail hours start. We’re taking seasonal to a whole new level.”
I sighed, resigned to the fate of my hometown during this season, but as the man pulling the strings, I could hardly complain. The festival kept this town going, and my job did the same for me.
“Just promise you’ll keep my wheat beer on tap,” I said.
“You got it.”
I carried my beer over to the dark-wood booth where Bruce was already seated.
“You look tired,” he said.
“Christ, don’t say that,” I said as I slid into the seat. “It’s only the first day of festival season.”
He grinned. “Sorry. I meant to say, you look peppy.”
“Never been accused of that before,” I said with a rueful smile.
“Don’t worry, Grinch. You’re in no danger of losing your nickname.”
I flipped him my middle finger and took a big gulp of beer. I’d picked up the nickname partly because I wasn’t the cheeriest festival planner and partly because I had the bad fortune of a name that started with G. The folks of Christmas Falls couldn’t resist a little good-natured ribbing.
It was done with love, so I smiled through my annoyance. Besides, it wasn’t like I didn’t bring it on myself. I was a mopey asshole at the best times, and the years since my divorce? Not my best times.
My phone rang in my pocket. I set down my beer to fish it out. “There better not be something wrong already.”
“They couldn’t pay me enough to do your job.”
“Who says they pay me enough?” I muttered as I checked the screen, relieved to see it was my sister, Jessica.
She rarely called, so I clicked Accept. “Hey, Jess. Everything okay?”
“Yeah, it’s fine. Can’t a sister call her brother?”
“I don’t know. It hasn’t happened in so long…”
“Ha-ha. As if you ever pick up the phone yourself.”
Fair point.
“What’s up?” I asked. “I’m out with a friend, and you know the holiday season is madness around here.”
“I know. Actually, I’m coming up for Thanksgiving.”
“Well, I figured.” Our parents hosted a big family gathering every Thanksgiving, and every branch of the family tree was invited to visit during the festival. Some of them left after a few days, and others stayed all the way until Christmas.
“So, I’m bringing a date with me this time,” she said.
“A date? Jess, you know Mom and Dad will never let you share a room with a boyfriend. They’re old-fashioned that way.”
“I know, which is why I was hoping he could stay with you.”
I scowled, making Bruce raise his eyebrows.
“Jess, the last thing I need right now is a houseguest. Besides,” I teased, “I don’t want to be on Mom and Dad’s shitlist for letting you sin under my roof instead of theirs.”
“I said, I was hoping he could stay with you. Not both of us. I’ll be with Mom to keep the natives happy.”
“I don’t know…”
“Please, Griff? It hasn’t been that long since Rob and I broke up. If I come alone, I’ll spend the whole visit with Mom and Dad worried about my last relationship when they could just be happy for me instead. And you know how Mom gets when she’s worried.”
Did I ever. I was the target of Mom’s worry more often than not.
“Yeah.” I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Work is crazy—”
“And you’ll barely know he’s there,” she promised. “He’ll sleep there, but he’s my date, not yours.”
I smiled wryly. It had been so long since I had a date there was no danger anyone would make that mistake. Still, my house was my only escape from the holiday cheer everyone insisted I should share. I wasn’t exactly eager to offer it up to a virtual stranger.
“Please,” Jess said when I took too long to answer. “Pretty please with a cherry on top, my favorite brother in the—”
“All right,” I blurted in exasperation. “He can stay with me.”
“Really? Thank you, Griff. You’re a lifesaver!”
Before I could second-guess my decision, she disconnected the call. I set my phone on the table and took a big gulp of my beer.
Bruce gave me a curious look, and I shook my head in resignation.
“My sister better get me a damn good present for Christmas this year.”
Snowbody Loves Me by Jacki James
Chapter 1
Emerson
“So how’s the new book coming?” Claire asked.
“It’s going well. I managed to make it through the first murder and an absolutely adorable meet-cute that’s setting my two main characters up for a totally awesome enemies-to-lovers romance.”
“I think it’s going to be fabulous, and I’m really excited for you,” my friend Denny said.
He said that like this was my first ever book, but it was far from it. It would actually be my twenty-sixth. However, I was spinning off of a very popular series, and I had no idea if my readers would love my new world as much as they’d loved Cutler’s Cove.
“Thanks, guys. Fingers crossed it works out, but if it doesn’t, I can always revisit Cutler’s Cove for an eleventh book. How about you? How are your books coming along?”
“Fantastic for me.” Claire grinned. “I’m almost to the end, so it’s time to reveal the murderer. The only problem is—”
“You don’t know who it is yet,” I said with a laugh.
“You know me too well, Emerson,” she said.
I’d actually only known her for about a year. We’d shared a table at a book signing and hit it off. Imagine our delight when we discovered we lived a short distance apart. She’d been a lifesaver for me not only because she’d become one of my best friends, but also because she’d invited me to join her writing group that day. I’d been meeting with them at least once a week for coffee and to talk books ever since. It wasn’t a large group. The one thing no one ever tells you about becoming an author is how lonely it can feel to spend all day with no one but your characters, so I didn’t know how I would’ve made it through the last year without them.
“So what are everyone’s plans for the holidays?” Angie asked.
“I’m headed home to Kentucky,” Denny said. “Tomas is super excited about meeting my family.”
Angie gasped in surprise, her eyes twinkling with delight. She’d been the one to set the two of them up, so naturally she was pleased. “Oh wow. You’re taking him home for the holidays. I didn’t realize it had gotten that serious. I knew he was perfect for you. How about you, Emerson?”
“Probably the same thing I did for Thanksgiving. Eat take-out and watch a lot of movies, probably work on my book.” And yep, it had been just as pathetic and depressing as it sounded.
“You know, I told you that you could’ve joined me and Marissa.” Claire shook her head like she was disappointed in me.
“I know I could’ve, but it was your first year since Abby was born, and I knew your families would all be there. I didn’t want to intrude. Besides, you two are so stupid in love, I would’ve had a sugar high before I even had dessert.”
“Ha-ha-ha. But seriously, Emerson, you shouldn’t be spending Christmas alone. You should come to our house. You know Abby loves you.”
“And you know I adore her. But it’s her first holiday season, so I’ll pass. I probably should have just gone ahead and gone to the Bahamas with Pamela…”
“What do you mean to the Bahamas with Pamela?” Denny asked.
“Well, on our one-month anniversary last week, she surprised me with two tickets to the Bahamas, but I told her I couldn’t go because I had to work on this book.”
“You told her no? You can work from anywhere.” Angie looked at me like I’d lost my mind.
“I know, but I just didn’t feel like we were meant to be. She’s nice enough, and we have a good time, but something about it just wasn’t right.”
I had no intention of spending the rest of my morning discussing my personal life or lack thereof with my friends, so I took a stab at changing the subject. “Are you going to run any sales on your Christmas books this year?”
“Oh no, no, you’re not changing the subject,” Claire insisted. “I haven’t known you but a year, Emerson, and yet I’ve seen you do this time and again. You don’t give relationships a chance. You go out with somebody a few times, and then you immediately decide that it’s not gonna work. You have to give people a chance.”
“I guess I just feel like if it was right, I would know it.”
“A month is barely enough time to get to know someone, much less enough time to know if you love them. You absolutely should have gone.” Denny said, and I glared at him.
“Says the guy who’s taking his boyfriend home for Christmas when you haven’t even been dating for a month. How long did it take you to know Tomas was it for you.”
“That’s not the point, Emerson. Claire’s right. You have to give people a chance, so I stand by what I said. You should have gone, am I right, guys?” He looked around at our little group, and they all nodded in agreement.
“Well, it’s a little late for that now. Her plane leaves this afternoon.”
“But it hasn’t left, right? You could still go,” Angie said.
“Or I could stay here and finish my book.”
“Again, you can work on your book from anywhere,” Claire said. “You know I’m not buying that book as an excuse to not go to the Bahamas.”
“But if I don’t think it’s going to work, it feels wrong to accept such an expensive gift.”
“Then offer to pay your part. Lord knows you have the money. Live a little, Emerson.”
“So what am I supposed to do? Show up at the airport and tell her I changed my mind.”
“Sure, why not? It could be one of those grand romantic gestures like in my books.” Angie practically swooned just thinking about it. “You know, the kind you tell your grandchildren about.”
“I don’t know. I’m not sure it’s a good idea.”
“I think it’s a great idea,” Claire said.
“Me, too,” Angie said enthusiastically. “As a matter of fact, I think it’s such a great idea, I’m gonna put it in my next book. Now, go home, pack a bag, and get to the airport before the plane leaves.”
I’d probably lost my mind, but the more they’d talked, the more I got to thinking maybe they were right. Who was I to turn down a trip to the Bahamas? And even if it didn’t work out long-term with Pamela, it would still be fun. I went home and hurriedly packed a bag. TSA suggests you get to the airport hours before your flight, and there was no way I would make it in the time they recommended, but if I packed lightly enough that I didn’t need to check a bag, I just might make it before they boarded. I tossed in a couple of t-shirts, a couple Hawaiian shirts because…the Bahamas, shorts, and a swimsuit, then called a rideshare to take me to the airport.
At that point, I hadn’t had time to really think about what I was doing, but once I climbed into the backseat of the rideshare, I had nothing but time to think. This was probably the stupidest thing I’d ever done, and I blamed my friends. Together, they’d painted such a magnificent picture of me making this grand gesture and how marvelous things would go that I let myself get swept up in the idea of it all.
I almost told the driver to turn around a hundred times before he pulled up to the door where you could drop off passengers.
“You have a fantastic holiday,” he said over his shoulder as I got out of the car.
“Well, hot sand, cool beaches, and a cold drink sounds better than the Chicago weather this time of year anyway,” I said, trying to sound positive.
Now I just had to figure out what to do next. I tried calling Pamela to see if I could get her to bring me my ticket, but the phone just went to voicemail. I checked the time, and it was getting close, so I decided my best bet would be to try to sweet-talk my way past the ticket agent at the counter. Surely they had a security guy who could escort me to get my ticket or who could go find Pamela or something like that. I stood in line, anxiously watching the clock tick closer and closer to the time she would be boarding the plane.
“Hello,” the young woman behind the counter said with a weary fake smile. “I’ll need either your paper ticket or your electronic one, please.”
“That’s the problem. My plane is about to board, and my traveling companion has already gone through security. She has my ticket, and I’m not sure what to do.”
“Sir, I can’t let you in there without your ticket. Have you tried to call your companion?”
“I have. It went to voicemail.”
“I’m sorry, no one’s allowed past that point”—she motioned over to the security check line—“without a ticket.”
“Is there anything you can do to help? Is there a security person or someone who can walk me back or who can go get it from her?”
“What flight are you supposed to be on?”
I told her the time and the destination, and she typed away on the computer and then shook her head.
“Normally that might work, but with the holiday travel, I don’t think I can get anyone up here with enough time for you to make the flight. They’ll be boarding any minute now.”
“So what can I do?” I knew I was sounding panicked and that I should probably take this as a sign from the universe that this was a bad idea, but I was committed at this point, dammit. I would be spending this holiday on a beach drinking Mai Tais instead of sitting alone feeling sorry for myself.
“You could buy another ticket.” Her nails clicked on the keyboard again, and again, she shook her head. “Except that flight is booked.”
“Okay, anything else? I’m desperate here.” I should have brought Angie with me. She could have spun her a tale about true love, grand gestures, and holiday magic and probably got me through because I was coming up blank. Which was an embarrassing thing to admit since I used words to make a living, even if I wrote more about murder than love.
I might not have the words today, but apparently, I looked dejected enough for her to try to help. She glanced around to see if anyone was listening, and when she was sure they weren’t, she said, “You could buy a ticket to somewhere else. All you need is a ticket to get through security.”
I glanced at her name tag and saw that her name was Sharon. “Sharon, thank you, you’re brilliant. I could kiss you. What’s the cheapest flight you have?” I planned to do exactly what Claire had suggested and offer to pay Pamela for half the trip, so I didn’t want to spend too much just to get through the gates.
She went back to work on the keyboard and then smiled. “I got it right here. There’s a commuter flight that’s running a holiday special right now. It goes to a place called Christmas Falls. I can get you a one-way ticket for…wow, fifty-nine dollars. Maybe I should go,” she said with a laugh.
“I’ll take it!”
She took my credit card, ran it, and then handed me my ticket. “Have fun in the Bahamas.”
“Thank you, Sharon. You have a happy holiday!”
I rushed over to the line for security, which thankfully was moving pretty fast. Then I was running through the airport dodging people left and right, trying not to flatten people and trying not to laugh at just how Angie would write this in her next book if I ran over some poor, weary traveler.
I finally made it to the correct gate and was thrilled to see a huge group of people still standing around waiting to board. I looked around for Pamela and finally saw her talking to some guy who looked like a Jason Momoa knock-off. That was just like her. I swear she made friends everywhere she went. Hell, I met her standing in line to get coffee one morning when she struck up a conversation while we waited and ended up joining me at a table.
I called out her name, and she looked around trying to figure out who it was, but when she saw it was me, I didn’t get an earth-shattering smile because she was glad to see me. All I saw was confusion. She said something to the big guy standing next to her and then reached up and patted his chest before coming in my direction.
“Emerson, what are you doing here?” she asked.
Okay, so much for the grand gesture.
“I changed my mind. I figured I would go ahead and join you.”
Her face changed from confusion to something else, embarrassment, maybe.
“I’m sorry, Emerson. When you said you didn’t want to come, I asked my fitness trainer, Chad.”
“Chad?”
“Yeah.” She nodded her head towards the mountain of a man who was standing right where she’d left him watching us.
“You only asked me a few days ago.”
“Yeah, and you said no. The trip was nonrefundable, and I wasn’t about to waste the ticket.”
“So you just replaced me with Chad?”
“Emerson,” she said, her tone firm. “You said no. Besides, you knew this thing between us wasn’t going anywhere. I just figured since we would both be spending the holidays alone, we might as well go somewhere together and have some fun.”
“Right. Gotcha. Well, you and Chad just have a good time, then.”
I turned around and walked off. I was going to tell Claire exactly where she could stick her grand gesture and holiday magic bullshit. I stuck my hand in the pocket of my hoodie and pulled out the stupid paper ticket to Christmas Falls, marched over to the trash, and threw it in.
Then it hit me. It would just be me, my imaginary friends, also known as my book characters, and my empty apartment alone for another holiday. Hell, I didn’t even have a cat to spend the holidays with. I looked down at the ticket laying there. You know what, fuck it. I had nowhere else to be. Might as well go to Christmas Falls.
Get Frosted by Amy Aislin
Mik Gilmore’s outdoor Christmas decorations were majestic.
Okay, maybe majestic was the wrong word, but they were certainly fun. He’d be the talk of the neighborhood, especially considering his neighbors hadn’t done much to decorate their own houses yet.
His looked like a winter wonderland.
Well, a wonderland, anyway, seeing as there wasn’t any snow on the ground. Mid-November in Christmas Falls, Illinois, could bring all sorts of weather, and any snow that had fallen recently had already melted.
Standing on the sidewalk, Mik snapped a photo to send to his older brother, Josh, whose own house was decorated in what Mik called pretty, but boring. Mik captioned the photo Mik’s Toy Shop, a reference to the inflatable on his walkway, and hit Send. The inflatable was made up of two ten-foot-tall towers, the peaked roof of which was striped red and white. The columns were green with mock windows near the roof. And at the base of the columns were five-foot-tall nutcrackers in red-and-gold outfits. The two columns were held together by a banner proclaiming Santa’s Toy Shop, complete with a rocking horse atop the banner.
With the lights Mik had strung along his roof, around every window, across the porch railing, and over the bushes, it would look hella festive when the sun went down.
“Looking good, Mik,” called his neighbor as she descended her porch steps, her greyhound on a leash.
“Thanks, Hanna.”
Mik’s phone pinged. Josh had sent a gif of the house from National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation.
Rolling his eyes, Mik shoved his phone back in his pocket. His house wasn’t that bad. Just that it was his first Christmas in his new place in his hometown after retiring from a decade in the NHL at the end of last season. He had to do Christmas right.
Another ping. Another text from Josh.
Josh
Seriously, though, it looks great! Very festive. Very you.
Yeah, that was Josh. Always there with a kind word or encouraging pep talk, even if he teased Mik at the same time. Then there was Mik—the younger brother, the mini Josh in every way except personality, always hovering in his big brother’s shadow.
Mik had been content to live in that shadow until he’d made it to the NHL a year after Josh, and sportscasters and bloggers began referring to him as Josh Gilmore’s little brother.
Gilmore’s Baby Bro, Following in His Footsteps.
Gilmore Junior Signs Multi-Year Deal with His Big Brother’s Team’s Rivals.
A Gordie Howe Hat Trick Tonight for Josh Gilmore’s Little Bro.
Like, he had a name, fuck you very much. Why didn’t anybody ever use it? Mik wasn’t the same person as his brother and had never tried to be, no matter how much he’d always looked up to him. At almost exactly twelve months apart, they’d come as a package deal for most of their lives, a fact that hadn’t bothered him until he was old enough to want to be seen as his own person. Mik had retired from hockey six months ago, and upon the announcement of his retirement, one headline had read Baby Gilmore Set to Retire at End of Season, Plans to Follow Josh to Illinois.
Mik hadn’t followed anyone anywhere. Christmas Falls, Illinois, was his hometown. His parents were here. His gran was here. The people he’d grown up with were here. The family pub he and Josh had been expected to one day take over was here. Where else did people expect him to go?
Couldn’t the headline have read Mik Gilmore Set to Retire at End of Season and Join His Brother in Running their Family Pub?
“You certainly know how to make a splash,” said a dry voice at his elbow, shaking him out of his irritation.
And setting into motion a new kind of annoyance that fizzled in his blood. “No one asked you,” he said to Josh’s best friend.
Rudy Snow raised one dark eyebrow, because of course he could do that. When Mik tried, he ended up with both eyebrows at his hairline.
“It’s certainly . . .” Rudy cast his gaze around, taking everything in. “Unique.”
“It’s majestic.”
“It looks like the Island of Misfit Toys. All you’re missing is a Charlie-in-the-Box.”
Crossing his arms over his chest, Mik clenched his teeth. “You’re not allowed to judge. You don’t even have a wreath on your front door.”
Rudy made a sound in the back of his throat, a rumbly laugh that made the back of Mik’s neck itch. “Do you often happen to find yourself outside my house, Miki?”
Mik’s stupid feelings went all gooey at the nickname. Or maybe that was just hunger. “It’s on my way to work.”
“Sure. If you take the long way.”
God. Why did he have to be so annoying?
And hot.
And annoyingly hot. All dark-haired and dark-eyed and scruffy-jawed, with a natural tan to his skin that perpetually made him look like he’d just come from the beach. He stood a couple of inches taller than Mik’s five feet eleven. At a year older than Mik’s thirty-one, Rudy was as fit now as he’d been when he’d played in the NHL, even two and a half years post-retirement.
Josh and Rudy had met way back in youth hockey, at a hockey clinic Mik hadn’t met the age requirement for, so Mik hadn’t met Rudy until his rookie NHL season.
Mik had considered himself lucky to be drafted to Josh’s team’s rival. With Mik playing for Washington and Josh playing for Pittsburgh, it had given Mik the chance to step out of his brother’s shadow and assert himself as his own person. And playing up the rivalry between their teams had been all sorts of fun at family get-togethers.
The problem Mik hadn’t anticipated had been twofold.
First, because Josh’s rookie year had been the gold fucking star of rookie years, Mik had been instantly compared to him when he’d been drafted a year later, forevermore casting him in the role of Josh Gilmore’s little brother.
Second, there was Pittsburgh defenseman Rudy Snow. And Pittsburgh defenseman Rudy Snow wasn’t shy about checking his teammate’s little brother into the boards during Mik’s first Washington versus Pittsburgh game.
“It’s no secret in the league that your brother and his teammate Rudy Snow are good friends,” a reporter had said to Mik during the post-game interview after that game. “What do you have to say to your brother’s best friend after that check in the second period?”
Um, nothing?
He’d barely known Rudy. Plus, checking was what hockey players did.
While both those things were true, that hadn’t been what the reporter wanted to hear. So Mik had smirked and said, “That he better watch out. He won’t get the jump on me again. In fact, next time, I’m going to swipe the puck out from under him and score. Just wait and see.”
Mik had later learned that Rudy had responded to that with a pithy, “He can try.”
And that was it. Instant rivalry.
Rudy posted a photo of himself working out on social media? Mik told him his dumbbells looked a little light. Mik went on a rant about Swiffer dusters doing nothing more than moving the dust around? Rudy filmed a commercial for Swiffer.
To be fair, Mik hadn’t had to listen to his agent when Tom encouraged him to play up that rivalry on social media. It would keep him in the spotlight and ensure he was talked about. Which, considering the Josh-Gilmore’s-little-brother thing, hadn’t necessarily been a good thing.
That rivalry between them had turned into a game of one-upmanship, even after Rudy had been traded from Pittsburgh. And here they were, a decade after that first game, still trying to outdo the other.
The fact that they now managed rival pubs was purely coincidental.
Now, as Rudy slowly made his way between the lawn ornaments—a trio of presents, an elf, a reindeer family, a couple of Minions on a sled, a Charlie Brown’s Christmas tree, and a sign proclaiming Welcome to Whoville—Mik pulled his gaze from his long legs and looked behind him. Rudy’s car was at the curb.
“What are you doing here anyway?” he asked. “You on your way somewhere?”
“Just getting back, actually.”
Mik pulled the sleeve of his coat back and checked his watch. Just after nine a.m. “Walk of shame?” He didn’t know why the thought stiffened his back.
“Not that there’d be anything wrong with that,” Rudy said with a pointed look.
Mik raised both hands. “I didn’t say there was.”
“But I went for a morning hike at one of the nearby state parks.”
Now that he looked closer, Rudy’s boots were caked in mud. That didn’t explain what he was doing here, though. Mik rocked from his toes to his heels. “Do you often happen to find yourself outside my house, Rudy?”
Rudy’s smile lit up his eyes. “It’s on my way home from the highway.”
“Sure. If you take the long way.”
Smile widening as he rounded a gnome, Rudy opened his mouth, no doubt to chirp back, but jumped back with a yelp.
Because there, cleverly half-hidden behind the hickory tree to up the creep-factor, was a seven-foot-tall plastic Bigfoot wearing a Santa hat.
“What the actual fuck is that?” Rudy demanded.
Mik grinned. “Isn’t he great?”
“Are you trying to scare the children? It’s Christmas, not Halloween.”
Mik’s scowl was instant. “What? No. He’s cute.”
“There’s nothing cute about it, Miki. The thing’s seven feet tall. Cute isn’t even a consideration.”
“But he’s wearing a Santa hat. And look.” Mik walked over and gestured at Bigfoot’s shoulder. “It’s holding a string of lights.”
Rudy took a step back.
“You can come closer. It’s not as creepy from close-up.”
“Fuck no. I don’t want to be around when that thing comes to life.”
Mik couldn’t help it. He laughed until his stomach hurt. “Guess that means you don’t want to come in for a cup of coffee then.”
“Not with Bigfoot around to give me nightmares.”
“Aw.” Mik batted his lashes. “Keep saying nice things like that and I’ll think you’re flirting with me.”
“At least then we’d be on the same page,” Rudy muttered, carefully maneuvering around the other lawn ornaments to the sidewalk.
Mik snorted at the obvious joke.
“Your toy shop inflatable is lopsided, by the way.”
“What? No, it’s not.” Mik walked past the sidewalk to the very end of the driveway, turned, and . . . “Damn it.”
“I’d stay and help you fix it, but I’ve got my own decorations to put up,” Rudy said, popping his car door open.
“Like what? A wreath and a welcome mat that says Merry Christmas?” According to Josh, that was what Rudy had done last year. Mik hadn’t been able to come home for the holidays, so he hadn’t seen it.
“Ye of little faith.” Shaking his head, Rudy got into his car, started the engine, and lowered the window. “If you happen to find yourself in front of my house when you take the long way home from work later, you can see for yourself.”
And with that, he drove away, taking his teasing grin and the last word with him.
* * *
Rudy drove awayfrom Mik with a last lingering glance in his rearview and couldn’t help but chuckle. Wait until Mik got a load of Rudy’s Christmas decorations. He’d either be wickedly impressed and bow at Rudy’s feet or he’d gnash his teeth and think up ways to murder Rudy in his sleep.
Rudy would be okay with either result. The first meant that perhaps Mik would see him as something other than his hockey rival. The second meant that at least Mik was thinking about him.
It was fun as hell to mess with Mik. He turned into a little angry hornet when he was annoyed, buzzing around to make himself look tough, all adorably red-cheeked with annoyance, his lips flat, and his light brown eyes shooting sparks that caused a tug deep down in Rudy’s stomach. One day, Rudy wanted to see Mik’s eyes shoot sparks for an entirely different reason, one that had nothing to do with irritation and everything to do with the sparks Rudy felt along his skin whenever he was in Mik’s presence.
Rudy pulled into the driveway of the house he rented on a month-by-month basis. He was due at the pub in half an hour, so he showered and changed quickly, and before starting the short walk downtown, he snapped a photo of the brown shipping box that had been delivered yesterday and sent it to Mik as a little teaser.
Rudy
Bet you can’t guess what kind of decorations I’ve got in here.
Grinning to himself, he started walking, nodding hello at the neighbors who called good morning. He had a few hours free between the lunch and dinner crowds today, so he’d pop back home and put up his decorations. That way Mik would see them when he took the long way home tonight.
Rudolph’s, the pub he managed, was located on Christmas Boulevard in Santa’s Village—or, in normal people speak, on Main Street in downtown Christmas Falls. And no, he didn’t own the pub. The name was purely coincidental, much to the confusion of tourists. As if Rudy would ever name an establishment after himself.
He’d never meant to become manager of a small-town pub. He’d followed his best friend Josh—Mik’s older brother—to Christmas Falls two and a half years ago when they’d both retired from the NHL. It had been meant as a quick trip to wind down after a hectic season, yet here he still was. And when it had become clear that he’d be staying longer than the two weeks he’d envisioned, he’d gotten himself a job as a bartender at Rudolph’s, just for something to do.
He’d been promoted to manager eight months ago after the previous manager had quit, something else he hadn’t planned for. But then, there wasn’t much other than hockey that he’d planned for in his life. Being raised with nomadic parents who went wherever the wind—or a new job—took them meant that plans often got tossed out the window. And Rudy was fine with that. It was what he was used to.
It hadn’t been easy, leaving new friends behind, but taking to the open road for his parents’ next job opportunity had been some of the best times of his life. Experiencing new ways of life—from fast-paced city life to slower country living, as well as different climates and foods—had always been fun. He hadn’t loved having to join a new hockey team whenever his parents landed them someplace new, although constantly joining a new team had helped him deal with the four times he’d been traded in the NHL.
Honestly, some days he was tempted to pack up his belongings and hit the road, maybe meet up with his parents and join them on their next adventure. He’d been in Christmas Falls two and a half years already, his longest stint in any one place. There was a whole world out there to discover and there was an itch in Rudy’s veins for something new.
Maybe in the spring, once the weather began to warm, he’d pack up his things, get in his car, and see where the road took him.
Maybe.
Because there was Mik to consider. Josh too, of course. Rudy had never had a friend like Josh, who was patient and kind and who knew him inside and out.
But Mik . . .
Sometime in their decade of hockey rivalry—or perhaps in the past six months since Mik had moved back to town after retiring himself—Rudy had plunged headfirst into feelings he didn’t know what to do with.
He hadn’t planned that, either.
But if Mik would never see him as anything other than his rival, was there any point in Rudy sticking around when his feet were itching for something different?
A question to contemplate another day.
Saturday morning breakfast at Rudolph’s was doing a brisk business when he walked into the family-friendly pub. The regulars waved and greeted him by name, which was more of a mindfuck than random strangers stopping him on the street for a selfie or an autograph. Although Rudy’s parents had always made sure they moved somewhere with a hockey team he could join, they’d never stayed anywhere long enough for the townspeople to know his name.
Rudy nodded hello to his junior manager as she took the orders of a family of four near the back wall and stepped behind the bar, where he stashed his coat underneath the counter and washed his hands.
“Hey, Frank,” Rudy said, grabbing a pitcher of water to refill Frank’s glass.
“Rudy! Just the man I wanted to see.” Frank pushed graying hair off his forehead and waggled his fork in Rudy’s direction. Scrambled eggs fell off it and back onto his plate. “I was researching the health benefits of lamb yesterday, and know what I discovered?”
“I couldn’t possibly guess.”
“It’s a fantastic source of iron.” Frank slathered ketchup over what was left of his home fries. “And a mere three ounces of lamb meat will provide half of most people’s daily B12 requirements. And before you tell me that adults in the United States consume less than one pound of lamb a year—” Frank added with a raised eyebrow when Rudy opened his mouth to interrupt. “—just keep in mind how popular the lamb special you had on the menu last winter was.”
It had been popular. They’d sold out of it before 9:00 p.m., but there were costs to consider. The costs per portion per customer had been astronomical, even with the markup on the dish. Rudy might as well fork over a kidney, considering how expensive a cut of lamb was.
Rudy contemplated the man who frequented Rudolph’s every Saturday for both breakfast and dinner and who always sat on that same barstool. Last week, Frank had suggested adding barramundi to the menu. The week before that it had been eggs Benedict on steak with micro-greens.
Shaking his head, Rudy checked his inventory of Prosecco. As it inched closer to brunch-hour, customers would start ordering mimosas. “Why were you researching the health benefits of lamb?”
“Wasn’t on purpose,” Frank said. “I started out researching if you can still pull DNA from bones that have been in the earth for twenty years, and somehow I ended up there.”
Rudy raised an eyebrow. “Something we need to know about your extracurricular activities, Frank?”
Frank’s booming laugh was loud over the sound of jaunty holiday music playing over the pub’s speakers. “Nah. I’m as innocent as a babe. I was doing research for a new book.”
“A murder mystery?”
“A rom-com.”
Rudy stared at him.
“Kidding. Of course it’s a murder mystery.” Frank slapped the top of the bar, and Rudy couldn’t help but laugh along with him. “Anyway. Think about what I said while you get me a box so I can take my fries home.”
“You got it.”
In the kitchen, Rudy grabbed a small cardboard box and a dish waiting to be served and went right back out to the dining room. He passed Frank the box, then walked to the other end of the bar. “Here you go, Travis,” he said, placing the French toast on the counter.
Travis dragged his gaze off Billie, one of Rudy’s servers, with obvious reluctance.
“She’s never going to notice I exist.”
“Have you tried talking to her?” Rudy asked. “I find that’s a good first step in getting someone to notice you.”
Travis sighed, the put-upon sigh of the shy mid-twenty-something. “I talk to her all the time.”
“You order food. That’s not the same thing. Try a conversation. ‘Hi. I’m Travis. Do you like cheese?’”
Travis gawped at him. “Did you just quote She’s the Man at me?”
“I have many hidden depths.”
That sent Travis into uncontrollable laughter that had Billie glancing over with a smile, so maybe not all was lost there.
A family on their way out called their goodbyes and Rudy wished them a good day before seating a group of friends near the fireplace. Jem Knight—Christmas Falls’ homegrown NFL superstar—tried to coax Rudy to join them, but he was on the clock for several more hours.
If Rudy actually sat down and made a list of all the places he’d lived in his life, the number would surely come out somewhere in the twenties. And of those, Christmas Falls was the friendliest. It had a unique charm and people who waved to him from across the street, even if they’d never exchanged names or basic pleasantries.
Would he miss that when he left?
His phone vibrated in his pocket, displaying an unknown number when he pulled it out. One of his distributors?
Catching his junior manager’s eye, he gestured that he was heading to the office to take the call and answered with a brisk, “Rudy Snow.”
“Snowie! It’s Toshie.”
“Hey, man.” Rudy huffed a surprised laugh as he closed the office door behind him and sat at his desk. “How’s it going?”
Toshie—known to hockey fans everywhere as retired left-winger Satoshi Matsumoto—was an old teammate who now worked in the media center at the NCAA headquarters in Indianapolis. Rudy had co-hosted a podcast with Toshie about midway into his NHL career. The podcast had been an idea cooked up by the organization, a new way to keep their fans engaged via half-hour episodes released every two weeks during the season, where Rudy and Toshie talked hockey, had special guests in the form of other teammates, coaches, and staff, and took fan questions. They’d only hosted it for one season—the hosts changed every year—but it had been fun as hell.
“Not bad, man. Not bad,” Toshie said. In the background came the sound of phones ringing and conversations, what Rudy imagined every newsroom sounded like. “Listen, I wish I had time to shoot the shit, but I’ve got a meeting in five, so I’ll get right to the point.”
“Shoot,” Rudy said. Wasn’t like he had time to spare either.
“My team and I are going to be launching a new hockey podcast in the fall, in time for the new D1 season. It’ll be a generalized podcast discussing prospects, games, and stats, but in a way that pulls the curtain back and gives fans a behind-the-scenes look into college hockey. Guest stars would range from coaches and athletes to equipment and travel managers, maybe even former players and sports psychologists.”
Toshie paused for a moment while Rudy’s heart kick-started in anticipation.
“It’d be a weekly podcast, about an hour each, and what we’re looking for are three hosts who have good chemistry and who know the game inside and out. I threw your name into the hat, and when my superiors heard the podcast we did together, they agreed that you’re exactly what we’re looking for. As it stands right now, you’re our first-round draft pick for this.”
Rudy was so surprised he couldn’t even find a laugh for the joke.
“The job’s based in Indianapolis, and there will be some travel involved since we’ll want the hosts at some of the games. I know you’re still in Christmas Town with Josh Gilmore, but—”
“Christmas Falls,” Rudy muttered absently.
“Whatever. Just know that the job requires relocation. If you’re interested, my bosses want to interview you as soon as we can make it happen, but between you and me . . .” Toshie’s voice lowered. “Don’t tell anyone, but the job’s basically yours if you want it. But here’s the kicker,” he went on, louder, without giving Rudy a chance to respond. “If you are interested, what that means is we’re going to hire the other two hosts once you’re fully on board, to ensure you all get along. If you’re not interested, I need to get hiring, because even though the podcast launches in September, there’s a ton of prep work that I want the hosts involved in. So I’d need your answer by February fifteenth.”
Hadn’t Rudy just been thinking that he was ready for something new? And now this job opportunity fell into his lap?
It couldn’t have been more of a sign than if Toshie had shown up on his doorstep with his new contract in hand and all the podcast equipment he’d ever need.
And more than the coincidence of this falling into his lap? The job sounded fun. Really fun. Excitement pounded at the base of his skull and pulsed through his veins. He could talk about hockey until he was blue in the face. This wouldn’t be a job so much as three people shooting the shit into a microphone.
But Indianapolis . . . It wasn’t far from Christmas Falls. About five hours or so. Either way, if he moved, it’d be the end of whatever he’d wanted to have with Mik.
And was he ready for that when, if he was being honest with himself, he’d never really tried?
February fifteenth was three months away. A job interview wasn’t a guarantee, no matter what Toshie said. Rudy could meet with Toshie’s bosses, and if they offered him the position, he’d still have three months to decide.
Three months to launch a charm offensive.
Three months to make Mik his.
And if Mik didn’t feel the same . . .
Rudy swallowed hard at the thought. “Okay,” he said. “Let’s set up that interview.”
* * *
An hourafter Rudy drove away, Mik walked into his family’s pub on Christmas Boulevard, hefting a box of Christmas decorations he hadn’t used at his own house. He and Josh had already decorated Frosty’s so it would look merry and bright for the start of festival season, which had launched a few days ago.
Festival season was the season in Christmas Falls. It ran for an entire month, beginning in mid-November, and brought in tourists from far and wide with its Parade of Lights, holiday cooking classes, cocktail hours, pie bake-offs, wine tastings, ice sculpture demos, holiday house tours, numerous holiday-themed socials, and the Arts & Crafts Holiday Fair.
Just to name a few of the activities.
But with a name like Christmas Falls, what else was their small town supposed to be known for if not Christmas?
Frosty’s didn’t open for lunch until 11:30, so the pub was empty, although the lights were on. Josh was probably in the back office, so Mik rounded the counter and placed his box on the bar.
Now that Mom and Dad had retired, it was up to Mik and Josh to manage the pub that had always been like a second home. His and Josh’s growth charts were written on the wall in pencil next to the fireplace, though they’d stopped adding to them in their late teens. Some of the chairs still had tennis balls on their legs from when he and Josh had attached them in grade school following a school-wide project to add them to classroom chair legs to reduce noise. Dad had bought out every tennis ball from the general store and supervised as Mik and Josh carefully cut holes into them.
And right on that barstool was where Mik had realized with one hundred percent certainty that he was into dudes and only dudes. Mom and Dad had held an afternoon talent show when he was twelve, and Mik had watched from the barstool, nursing a 7-Up, and had fallen hard for a guitar player with broody eyes.
Ah, young love.
Of course, that guitar player hadn’t known he existed, but that was beside the point.
“Hey,” Josh said, pulling up his sleeves as he approached from the office. Frosty’s was as casual as any pub, and Josh wore jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt, same as Mik, though Mik’s was wrinkled from being at the bottom of his T-shirt pile.
Strangers often thought Mik and Josh were twins, and on the one hand, Mik could see it. They were the same height, had the same light brown hair, the same light brown eyes, and the same shape to their noses and mouths.
Other than that, Mik didn’t see the resemblance. Josh’s jaw was sharper, his legs longer. Mik’s hair curled around his ears, and his chest wasn’t as wide.
Plus, Josh had bags under his eyes the size of Bigfoot’s nose. Co-managing a pub, raising a two-year-old bundle of chaos while his ready-to-pop wife was on bed rest due to preeclampsia, and coaching a youth hockey team would do that to a person.
“What’d you bring?” Josh asked, nodding at the box.
“Decorations I wasn’t able to use at home.” Mik pulled out a welcome mat that read Merry Christmas Ya Filthy Animal. “We can put this out front.”
“Um . . .”
“And I got this.” He removed a box that held a light-up dachshund wearing a Santa hat. “It needs to be assembled.”
“Um . . .”
“Ooh, and the pièce de résistance.”
“Is that . . . Santa?”
“Santa hanging from the rooftop. See?” Mik unfolded the plush suit to reveal that it was mostly flat. “His arms are up and there’s adhesive to stick his gloves to the roof. I figure we can put it on the rooftop, next to the window.”
Twisting his lips, Josh looked from the suit to the tasteful decorations hanging in the dining room—from tinsel and garland to the Christmas tree in the window and the lights along the liquor shelves—and back to the suit.
Mik held it by the shoulders. “You know you want to,” he singsonged.
“Why didn’t you hang it up at your place?”
“It didn’t go with the rest of my decorations.”
Josh’s expression turned flat. “You have Bigfoot in your front yard but Santa is a no-go?”
“Don’t question it. It made sense in my head.”
“Well, unfortunately, Santa doesn’t really go with the décor here either. I’ll take the welcome mat home, though. Meredith will love it.”
Meredith, Josh’s wife, who was also known as Mik’s childhood BFF, had way more class than Mik and Josh combined, but she also had the sense of humor of a twelve-year-old.
A knock on the door preceded its opening. Mik turned, ready with his customer service sorry-we’re-not-open-yetsmile, but it was Mom who stepped through the door, Dad right behind her. They both sported suitcases as large as a house, and Mom’s sunglasses hid half her face. With the shaggy feather boa-like scarf draped around her neck, she looked like an aging movie star on the lam.
“Morning, boys,” Mom said, shoving her sunglasses to the top of her head. Unbuttoning her wool coat, she looked around. “Love the Christmas decorations you’ve put up. Where’d you find this gnome? I don’t remember that from last year.”
“It was custom made by Murphy Clark,” Josh said, naming Christmas Falls’ resident wooden-gnome carver.
As Mom picked it up, Dad yawned hugely and slumped onto a barstool. He wore a winter coat in forest green, a big bulky thing more commonly seen on skiers than retired pub owners, and a knit hat covered his balding head. Mik poured him a cup of coffee from the pot Josh had going.
“I knew you were my favorite,” Dad murmured, toasting him with his mug. “Your mom had me up until three in the morning. Packing. ‘Which sundress should I bring, Joel? This one, this one, or this one?’”
“Let me guess,” Mik said with a grin. “She brought them all.”
Dad grunted. “Half my suitcase is filled with her clothes. How much stuff does she need to lie on the beach for a month? Lots, as it turns out.”
“Look at it this way—if she brings everything with her, that means less clothes shopping while you’re on vacation.”
Dad nearly choked on his coffee. “If that’s what you believe, you don’t know anything about women.”
“I never claimed to,” Mik said. “And probably never will.”
Mom stole Dad’s coffee, took a large gulp, then said, “Which one of you is driving us to the airport?”
“That’d be me. I’m parked on Dasher,” Josh said, naming the adjacent side street. He flipped his car keys at Dad. “Why don’t you guys put your suitcases in the trunk while I grab my coat?”
He disappeared into the backroom, and Mik eyed his parents as they rebuttoned coats and pulled on gloves. “Aren’t you even a little bit sad to be missing festival season?”
They looked at each other. Back at him.
“Nope,” Dad said.
“Not even a little,” Mom added.
“Nothing but sun, sand, and Key West’s beautiful beaches for four whole weeks. We won’t miss you one bit.”
Mik snorted a laugh. “Liars.” He hugged them both, then held the front door open for them to wheel their suitcases through. “Have fun. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
“Love you.” Mom kissed his cheek on her way out. “See you in a few weeks.”
Josh nodded at him as he trailed after them. “I’ll be back in time to open for lunch.”
“Cool,” Mik said. “Drive safe.”
Josh tended to work the lunch shifts on weekends while Mik worked evenings, giving Josh the opportunity to spend his evenings at home with his wife and kid. Mik didn’t have anyone to go home to, so he was happy to work until the wee hours of the morning.
Mik closed and locked the door, shutting out the Saturday morning chill, and turned to face his pub. As much as this place felt like home and as much as he loved running it with Josh, sometimes he wondered where he would’ve ended up after retiring from hockey if Mom and Dad hadn’t expected him and Josh to run Frosty’s one day. Would he be a police officer? Teaching English abroad? Taking a break from everyday life to travel? Developing an app?
He’d never had much of an opportunity to see the world outside of travel for games—and in no way, shape, or form did those resemble vacations. Nine times out of ten, there hadn’t been any time in the schedule for sightseeing. Outside of the hotel and the arena, it had been like the rest of the world hadn’t existed.
And it wasn’t that he wanted to travel, necessarily. He just wanted that more, that nameless something that made him feel fulfilled. Managing the pub was fun and challenging, and that he got to do it with his big brother was doubly cool. But it didn’t leave him feeling like he’d found his purpose.
Josh had hockey coaching, and Mik had . . . a giant, ugly question mark.
Blowing out a breath, he pushed those thoughts aside and got to work. He pulled his phone out to sync it with the speakers and put on his favorite holiday playlist, and—
Oh. A missed text.
From Rudy.
Mik’s heart gave a jolt at seeing Rudy’s name on his phone screen. From annoyance, obviously. What did Rudy want now?
Rudy
Bet you can’t guess what kind of decorations I’ve got in here.
He’d also attached a photo of a large box, clearly something that had been delivered, given the shipping label.
Rudy’s Christmas decorations . . . came in a large box? A very large box. The last time Mik had received a delivery in a box that big, it had been his new office chair.
If Mik was to believe Rudy’s box was full of decorations, that meant he was putting up way more than a wreath and a doormat.
Flattening his lips, Mik tucked the Santa suit back in his own box and set it aside to bring home later. Santa would make a nice addition to his outdoor décor, after all.
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Season One
Season Two
DJ Jamison writes romances about everyday life and extraordinary love featuring a variety of queer characters, from gay to bisexual to asexual. DJ grew up in the Midwest in a working-class family, and those influences can be found in her writing through characters coping with real-life problems: money troubles, workplace drama, family conflicts and, of course, falling in love. DJ spent more than a decade in the newspaper industry before chasing her first dream to write fiction. She spent a lifetime reading before that and continues to avidly devour her fellow authors’ books each night. She lives in Kansas with her husband, two sons, one snake, and a sadistic cat named Birdie.
Jacki James has been saying she was going to write a book since she was sixteen and wrote fanfiction (before fanfiction had a name) about her favorite Rockstar. She is a believer in love of all kinds but MM romance is her favorite by far. She has a romantic heart and a dirty mind and likes to write stories that let both shine.
When she isn’t writing she is either creating beautiful pieces of glass art or reading. She is an animal lover and dreams of having a small hobby farm where she can raise goats, chickens, and organic veggies. In the meantime, she lives in town with her two cats, awesome husband, and two college-aged kids.
Amy's lived with her head in the clouds since she first picked up a book as a child, and being fluent in two languages means she's read a lot of books! She first picked up a pen on a rainy day in fourth grade when her class had to stay inside for recess. Tales of treasure hunts with her classmates eventually morphed into love stories between men, and she's been writing ever since. She writes evenings and weekends—or whenever she isn't at her full-time day job saving the planet at Canada's largest environmental non-profit.
An unapologetic introvert, Amy reads too much and socializes too little, with no regrets. She loves connecting with readers. Join her Facebook Group, Amy Aislin’s Readers, to stay up-to-date on upcoming releases and for access to early teasers, find her on Instagram, or sign up for her newsletter.
DJ Jamison
Jacki James
Grinch Kisses by DJ Jamison
Snowbody Loves Me by Jacki James
Christmas Falls Season 1
Christmas Falls Season 2
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