Showing posts with label friendship. Show all posts
Showing posts with label friendship. Show all posts

Thursday, July 16, 2026

πŸŽ…πŸŽ†πŸŽ„⏳Throwback Thursday's Time Machine-Xmas in July⏳πŸŽ„πŸŽ†πŸŽ…: Not Just for Christmas by Annabelle Jacobs




Summary:
Ben has Christmas, cats, and mistletoe on his side…. Jason doesn’t stand a chance

For Ben Slater, moving back to Bristol means being closer to his family, living with his best mate, and volunteering at the local animal shelter. But there’s also Jason, his best mate’s eldest brother. Ben’s had a crush on Jason for as long as he can remember, but the eleven-year age gap has always seemed insurmountable.

Jason Armitage works as a vet at his uncle’s practice. He owns a cute cottage on the outskirts of the city, and a loving dog. The one thing missing is someone to share it all with. His brother’s best friend seems a bad choice, but Jason can’t help taking a second look. Ben’s changed a lot since Jason last saw him; both in appearance and attitude. Gone is the shy young boy, replaced with a confident, twenty-four-year-old man.

In the run up to Christmas, the festive period gives Ben the ideal opportunity to show Jason what he has to offer. But concerns for his brother’s feelings hold Jason back. If they have any chance of making this work, Ben must convince Jason that he’s old enough to know what he wants, and Jason needs to believe that a relationship with his brother’s best friend won’t ruin their friendship.


Originally Read January 2018:
You are going to have to forgive me for this review being both late and short.  How I missed doing a review when I read this story nearly a year ago I have no idea other than it just slipped through the cracks.  As for the brevity of my review, well I haven't forgot the story but as I have read over 200 books and dozens of fanfiction stories in the 11-1/2 months since reading Not Just for Christmas, unfortunately some details blur.  However, I do remember the enjoyment, the thrills, and the adrenaline rush I got reading Ben and Jason's journey.  Whether you read this gem for its romantic elements of holiday, May/December, crushes-become-reality, or just romance in general it won't matter because at the end of the day and the end of book you will have enjoyed a tremendously interesting blend of happiness, love, friendship, with just the right amount of drama to tie it all together.

RATING: 




Ben parked out front of the three-storey apartment block and turned off the engine. The building was seventeen years old, still new-looking, and Ben grinned. He’d lived with three other people back up in Nottingham. Sharing with just one was going to be heaven—especially since that one was his best friend, Liam.

He grabbed his phone from the passenger seat, scrolled through to Liam’s number, and clicked on it.

Four rings later and Liam’s breathless voice sounded on the other end. “Hey. Where are you?”

“Parked outside on the road. Why are you so out of breath?” It wasn’t as though he’d any stairs to run down.

Liam laughed. “I was in the loo, had to run and get my phone from the living room.”

“I hope you washed your hands.”

“Yeah, of course. Hey, I can see you.”

Glancing over at the building again, Ben looked from window to window until he spotted Liam waving at him from one of the ground-floor apartments. “Come and let me in, you idiot.” He hung up, got out of the car and locked it.

For the end of November, the weather was mild. Ben left his jacket in the car, and tucked his phone and keys in his jeans pockets.

Liam bounded out of the front door and met him halfway down the path. “Hey.” He pulled Ben in for a hug. “Can’t believe you’re finally moving back down here.”

Ben hugged him back, rolling his eyes. “It’s only been two years since we finished uni.”

“I know, but it seems like ages since I moved back here and it’s not been the same without you. I bet your mum and dad are over the moon?”

“There might have been a squeal and some tears when I told my mum.” He stepped back and took a good look at his friend. The summer seemed ages ago, and in the three months since Ben last saw him, Liam had put on a fair bit of muscle. Ben gripped Liam’s bicep and squeezed. “Been going to the gym?”

Liam’s smile grew. “Yep.” He flexed his muscles. “Not every day or anything, but the local one does this monthly deal, so I thought I’d give it a go since it seemed to be working out so well for you.” He poked Ben in the stomach. “Christ. It’s as hard as a rock!”

Avoiding the obvious comeback for once, Ben shrugged. “I’ve had a lot of spare time with most of my mates moving away after uni.” He was hoping that would change now he was back home. Not that he’d give up going to the gym, but it’d be nice to have things to do other than train.

“Talking of which….” Liam turned to head back inside and beckoned Ben to follow him. “Are you still interested in volunteering at the animal shelter?”

“Yep. I’ve got a month to kill before the new job starts, I’m going to need to do something.” Ben walked down the hallway after Liam, and they stopped outside a door with 1A on the front. According to Liam, the apartment he’d bought needed a bit of work doing to it before they moved in. Ben didn’t care; he’d been a student not so long ago. It couldn’t be any worse than some of the places he’d lived in.

Liam started to open the door, then stopped and turned to face Ben. “Now I know you said you weren’t bothered what state it was in, and I never sent you any pictures, so just keep in mind that this is not what it’ll be like when we move in.”

Ben sighed and motioned for Liam to hurry up. “I’m sure it’s not that bad. Just open the bloody door.”

Liam pushed the door wide and led Ben inside. “This is why I got it so cheap.”

The door opened into a short hall, which apart from some peeling wallpaper, looked fine to Ben. When they reached the living room, Ben let out a low whistle. “Wow. Who the fuck lived here before?” The space itself was empty, making the state of the floor and the walls even more noticeable. The beige carpet had more than one stain on it, and if Ben wasn’t mistaken, a couple of burn marks too. Dark blue paint covered the back wall, and it looked as though someone had been playing with samples on the others. Saying all that though, it was just cosmetic. If there’d been anything majorly wrong with the place, Liam’s dad would never have let him buy it—he was a joiner by trade, working mainly on new builds, and knew what to look for in a building,

Ben stood in the middle of the room and looked out the window. “It might need a lick of paint,” Liam scoffed beside him, “The view’s not half bad, though.” The housing estate was big—Ben had got lost twice trying to find the place—but their building was right on the edge of it. Beyond there were still farmers’ fields. Whether or not they’d remain fields Ben had no idea, but for now it was great.

“Yeah. I’m hoping they won’t build more houses, but I reckon it’s inevitable,” He turned and rubbed his hands together. “Anyway. This is just one room. Let me show you the rest of it.”

Liam took him on a tour of the kitchen, bathroom, and the two bedrooms. The decor was shit in every room—clearly someone had a fixation with paint samplers—but that was easily fixed. The only room that needed some serious work was the bathroom, which was the last room Liam showed him.

Ben eyed the cracked sink and then the toilet missing its seat. “Why didn’t the owners fix this before selling? I mean it worked out okay for you, but surely they’d have got a lot more with a few repairs?”

“The estate agent said the last tenants left it like this. I think they’d been a lot of trouble and the owner wanted to get rid of it quickly.” He poked a toe at the toilet. “Whatever. Not sure Aunt Kate’s money would have stretched far enough if they’d fixed it up. Now though, I can afford to splash out a bit and get it how I want. Especially with you paying me rent.” He nudged Ben’s shoulder. “It’s going to be great.”

“Yeah, it is.” He flashed Liam a grin. This was why he’d driven down today, to see what needed doing before they moved in. He had a week or so before he had to be out of his old place, and he was hoping that was long enough to get the flat ready to move his stuff into. He didn’t want to have to dump it all on his parents if he could help it. “Where do we start?”

“I’m so glad you asked.” Liam waved a hand at the whole bathroom. “Since Dad knows everyone in the trade, he’s organised some guys to come in and tile the floor and walls, and fit a new bathroom suite. “I’ve already prepared the walls.” He pointed to a tub of PVA in the corner, with a mini roller on top. “That was fun. They’re due tomorrow morning, so he said it would be helpful if we could empty it of any clutter and rip up the carpet.” He turned to face Ben. “Who puts carpet in a bathroom?”

“My parents have carpet in theirs.”

“Oh.” Liam frowned. “Yeah, mine do too, come to think of it. Anyway, if you could help me get this room clear, I reckon that’ll do for today. It’s already three o’clock, and Mum’s invited you for dinner if you’re free?”

Clapping his hands together, Ben grinned. “Come on then.” After sitting in a car all morning, he was itching for some exercise. “And food at yours sounds good, I haven’t seen your folks in ages. Mum said she and Dad were going out anyway, so it’s perfect.”

Liam handed Ben a screwdriver and pointed at the cabinet on the wall. “You start with that, and I’ll take the curtain rail down.”

As casually as he could, Ben asked, “Will it just be us and your parents or the whole family?”

Judging by the smirk on Liam’s face, Ben’s attempt at subtlety had failed miserably.

“Oh no, you get the whole Armitage family tonight.”

Arse. Ben didn’t know whether to be happy or not. He’d had a crush on Liam’s eldest brother since about age fourteen. The whole family knew it—he hadn’t been very subtle then either. “That’s great. It’ll be good to see everyone.”

Liam barked out a laugh. “Yeah, I bet you can’t wait to see Pete.”

Pete was Liam’s other brother. Jason had been the object of his schoolboy fantasies. And still starred in most of them now.

Liam pointed at the cabinet that Ben had yet to start on. “Stop daydreaming about my brother and get to work.”

“Fuck off.” Ben grinned, gave him the finger, and got to work.

But for the next hour or so, his mind drifted back to dark hair, green eyes, and a voice that used to make him shiver. Would it still have the same effect?


Annabelle Jacobs

Annabelle Jacobs lives in the South West of England with three rowdy children, and two cats. An avid reader of fantasy herself for many years, Annabelle now spends her days writing her own stories. They're usually either fantasy or paranormal fiction, because she loves building worlds filled with magical creatures, and creating stories full of action and adventure. Her characters may have a tough time of it—fighting enemies and adversity—but they always find love in the end. 




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Thursday, July 9, 2026

πŸŽ…πŸŽ†πŸŽ„⏳Throwback Thursday's Time Machine-Xmas in July⏳πŸŽ„πŸŽ†πŸŽ…: Unwrapping Hank by Eli Easton



Summary:
Unwrapping Hank #1
Sloane loves a good mystery. He grew up as the son of two psychiatrists, so he finds most people tediously easy to figure out. He finds his way to Pennsylvania State University, longing for a rural experience, and ends up being lured into joining a frat by Micah Springfield, the hippest guy on campus.

Nothing in Sloane’s classes is as intriguing as Hank Springfield, Micah’s brother and fellow frat house member. Hank looks like a tough guy—big muscles, tatts, and a beard—but his eyes are soft and sweet. He acts dumb, but he’s a philosophy major. He’s presumably straight, but then why does Sloane feel such crazy chemistry whenever Hank is around? And why does Hank hate Sloane so much?

When Sloane ends up stuck on campus over Christmas, Micah invites him to spend the holidays at their family farm in Amish country. It’s a chance to experience a true Americana Christmas--and further investigate the mystery that is Hank Springfield. Can Sloane unlock the secrets of this family and unwrap the heart hidden inside the beefcake?

Original Review December 2014:
I've never read this author before but I can tell you I will be reading her again.  How can you not love Sloane?  And what about the title character?  Hank is definitely a conundrum wrapped in a very bulky package.  Sloane has his work cut out for him trying to figure that guy out.  Micah, Hank's big brother, doesn't exactly help matters either.  This is a very pleasant holiday story, hell it's a great holiday story and really despite it being a Christmas tale it's really quite perfect for anytime of year.

RATING:




CHAPTER 1
Sloane
 “SLOANE, why don’t you get us some more sangria? In the kitchen. On the kitchen table. That’s the good stuff.” Micah Springfield winked at me.

“You know, Hank is—” Brian started.

Micah put an arm around Brian’s neck in a casual stranglehold, clapped a hand over his mouth, and patted it lightly, as if he was joking around. “Sloane?” Micah held out his glass to me.

“Uh… sure.” I took his glass, wondering if this was a pledge thing. If I, as a new member of Delta Sigma Phi, and a lowly freshman, was going to be a community gopher for the foreseeable future.

But so far, Micah and the Delts had been amazingly benevolent. When I and four other freshmen rushed, there were no illegal pranks, panty-on-head wearing, belly-crawling through urine, or naked spanking. Which was good, because I would have laughed, ho ho ho, at least at everything except possibly the naked spanking. Then I’d have made a beeline for the exit.

I never thought I’d be the type to rush a frat. In fact, if my parents knew about it, they’d be lecturing me over the phone on peer pressure, the dangers of codependency in closed social structures, and the effects of one’s social group on GPA in a university setting. They were both psychologists, and I, I was their lifelong patient. Nothing in my life went undeconstructed. But when Micah, a TA in one of my classes, latched onto me and gave me the hard sell, I didn’t resist.

Micah Springfield was president of the Delts. He was that guy who was hipper than you could ever hope to be, even if you took master lessons from Bob Dylan and Will Smith. He was genuinely smart but a thousand leagues from being a nerd, good-looking but lazy with it, you know? He had wild curly brown hair down to his shoulders, with these little braids in it, dread-style, and a remarkably unskeevy soul patch. He wore slouchy low-riding jeans, crazy-patterned shirts, and leather sandals most of the time, even in November. He was a senior in environmental science, of course, because that’s what terminally hip people major in. And he had these insightful brown eyes, eyes that looked right into yours and said I’m touching your soul, brother.

Micah was warm. In other words, the opposite of my parents.

Besides, the Delts lived in a cool old mansion, which was so much better than sharing a dumpy dorm room with my perpetually anxious, tums-chewing, pre-med roommate. I was over all the hair-pulling. He pulled his own hair, not mine, but still. I was definitely ready to move into a room in the Delts house that first weekend in November.

And if I’d had some stirrings of attraction to Micah at first, it honestly had nothing to do with my decision. I figured out in the first ten minutes that he was straight, and that was the end of that. Tiny nubbin of interest nipped in the bud, and we were both the better for it.

“Kitchen,” I repeated, looking pointedly at the punch bowl not two feet away.

“Trust me,” Micah insisted, winking at me again.

I sighed and went off to find the frat house kitchen.

 
* * * * * * *

 
I pushed through a swinging door and saw a refrigerator. I’d found the kitchen. My sense of accomplishment lasted for about two seconds. Then I noticed the guy standing at the sink doing dishes.

The Delts I’d met so far were upscale-looking guys. Even with Micah’s slouchy hippiness, there was a sense of quality about him that shone. And the other frat members, like Brian, tended to polo shirts and button-downs and managed to tread that narrow line between respectable students and nerds. They were more prone to hacky-sack and ultimate Frisbee on the front lawn than video games or football and steroids. It was a zone I felt comfortable in, if not one where I precisely belonged.

But this creature at the sink was something else.

He was a big guy, had to be over six feet and he was broad. He wore old, holey jeans that showcased a perfect, firmly rounded ass. On top, he wore a white tank top and nothing else, which left acres of huge muscles and tattoos exposed. He had a thick buzz cut and a full beard. One bare foot was propped up on the opposing calf as he washed glasses in hot, soapy water.

I clenched the stems of the glasses in my hands so hard it was a miracle they didn’t break. Black began to descend on my vision, and it took me a moment to identify the problem—I wasn’t breathing. Silly me. I gasped in a mouthful of oxygen, and the sound caused Sink Guy to turn his head to look at me.

“Hey.” Sink Guy’s grunt was low and rough like a dog or a bear. He turned around and went back to washing dishes.

I loved a good mystery. In fact, I found it boring how unmysterious life was most of the time. Study the material, get correct answers on tests, get a good grade, eventually get lots of good grades to get a good job. Point A to B to C. And people? Growing up the son of two psychologists, and furthermore being a huge fan of murder mysteries, I had a tendency to analyze people and put them in boxes fairly quickly. For example, the pinch of my mother’s mouth could indicate long-suffering, irritated, or secretly pleased, depending on its exact tension. There’s a look a guy gets in his eye when he’s attracted to you and a different look when he finds out you’re gay and he’s disgusted by that. Most people were open books.

But standing in that kitchen, my head was flooded with a dozen questions.

Who was this guy?

What was he doing in the Delts’s kitchen washing dishes? He didn’t look like a Delt, but he didn’t look like anyone a sane person would hire for catering or cleanup either.

He seemed young, about my age, yet I knew he wasn’t a freshman rushee, because I’d met all of them and we were currently being schmoozed out front in our ‘welcome to the frat’ party.

Why was he barefoot?

If he was a Delt, why was he hiding in the kitchen doing dishes instead of socializing with everyone else?

And why, oh, why did I have an overwhelming urge to run my hands over the plump muscles on those arms, shoulders, and back, when I’d never before in my life been attracted to muscle guys or tattoos? The guys I’d dated had been smart and fairly sophisticated. A guy like this should not move me. But he did, like Mt Vesuvius.

Oh God, was I going to hell? Would I end up living in Texas?

The guy looked over his shoulder at me again. His eyes were dark blue, with what looked like flecks of gold, and he had long, long black lashes. They were soft eyes.

How did a guy who looked like an ex-con have eyes that were that sweet?

“Need something?” he asked me with a slight frown.

Right. Because standing frozen by the kitchen door holding two glasses in a death grip was not weird at all.

I cleared my throat. “Refill.” I spotted the pitcher of sangria on the table and managed to fill up the two glasses. The guy had gone back to ignoring me, gently clinking glasses in the water and being ridiculously noir with the steam from the sink wafting around him like a figure in an old Humphrey Bogart film.

Some snooping was definitely in order. I left Micah’s glass on the table and wandered over to the sink with my sangria.

“Are you a Delt?” I asked, all casual.

He took his hands out of the suds and braced them on the edge of the sink. They were thick hands, flush with veins.

He looked me over critically, and I tried not to betray the fact that I found him incredibly attractive. Playing it cool, I took a sip of my drink.

“Yeah,” he said at last. “I’m Hank. Who are you?”

Oh, God. Oh, no. “Sloane. Greg Sloane.”

“Oh.” His face closed off in a heartbeat. He went back to washing dishes. “Yeah, Micah mentioned you.”

As it happened, I’d heard of Hank too. Hank—the one guy at the fraternity who’d voted against my membership, a fact I shouldn’t know but did because Brian had let it spill. He’d also told me to “never mind Hank. Just stay far away from the guy, and he won’t bother you.” The impression I’d been left with was that bothering me—maybe with his fists—was entirely possible should I accidentally annoy this paragon.

Hank, the one Delt I’d never met but had a vague notion was homophobic and thus hated me on principle.

That’s when I noticed the cross tattooed on his impressive left bicep. Without another word, I picked up Micah’s drink and went back out into the living room. My heart was beating fast, and something like disappointment burned in my stomach.

“Hey,” Micah said. He took his glass and threw his other arm around me. “Come on, I want you to meet Sam Wiser. He’s a junior and in the vet sciences program too.”

“Sure, uh… There was a guy in the kitchen… Hank.”

Micah stopped and looked at me, smiling shyly. “Yeah? What’d you think?”

What’d I think?

“He seemed really… domesticated. You know, for a white supremacist.”

I was being perhaps a wee bit judgmental, but Micah laughed, a big booming laugh that made everyone turn to see what was so funny.

“I guess you know the guy,” I commented, even more perplexed by Micah’s reaction.

“Oh, I know him.” Micah pulled me in by the neck to whisper in my ear. “Hank is my baby brother.”

 

That night, in my dorm room, I couldn’t sleep. I had boxes shoved up next to my bed, all ready for the move to the Delts’s house, and my hair-pulling roommate was snoring away in the bed nearby.

Maybe I should have been having misgivings, but I wasn’t. I was excited. I couldn’t stop thinking about the move. I couldn’t stop thinking about Hank Springfield.

I finally decided to banish the mental tail-chasing by making a list. I took my iPad from the top of a box and turned it on, thankful it was self-illuminating. I opened the notepad app.

The mystery of H.S.:

1. He’s Micah’s brother — how could they have grown up in the same household and be so different?

2. Eyes too soft for his biker-style tatts

3. Doing dishes at a frat rush party — socially awkward? Lost a bet? Biker dude clean freak?

4. Doesn’t fit the Delta Sigma Phi mold

The list bothered me. Not because I had no answers, but because I had questions at all.

Why did I care about Hank Springfield anyway? He was very possibly a homophobe. It was clear he had something against me personally, which made no sense since I hadn’t met him unless it was just about what I was. If I was smart, I’d put him out of my mind. As my mother would say, ‘not let him own a single moment of my thoughts.’

I would, I promised myself. Soon. He’d just engaged my curiosity was all. Hank was a puzzle piece I had yet to fit. Once I had, I’d lose all interest in him. I was pretty sure.







Eli Easton

Having been, at various times and under different names, a minister’s daughter, a computer programmer, a game designer, the author of paranormal mysteries, a fan fiction writer, and organic farmer, Eli has been a m/m romance author since 2013. She has over 30 books published.

Eli has loved romance since her teens and she particular admires writers who can combine literary merit, genuine humor, melting hotness, and eye-dabbing sweetness into one story. She promises to strive to achieve most of that most of the time. She currently lives on a farm in Pennsylvania with her husband, bulldogs, cows, a cat, and lots of groundhogs.

In romance, Eli is best known for her Christmas stories because she’s a total Christmas sap. These include “Blame it on the Mistletoe”, “Unwrapping Hank” and “Merry Christmas, Mr. Miggles”. Her “Howl at the Moon” series of paranormal romances featuring the town of Mad Creek and its dog shifters has been popular with readers. And her series of Amish-themed romances, Men of Lancaster County, has won genre awards.


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Unwrapping Hank #1

Midwinter Night's Dream #2


Tuesday, July 7, 2026

🌈June Book of the Month🌈: The Solstice Additions by VL Locey




Summary:

Laurel Holidays Summer Romance
As the days grow longer, a tetchy pub owner’s family and heart burst into full bloom.

Brann Argraves has never been happier. Of course the irascible barkeep wouldn’t admit that to anyone other than his love, retired country singer Kenan Gardet. And then only under extreme tickle duress.

The two men have been merrily tumbling deeper into love as the seasons rapidly warmed the small town of Whiteham, New York. Now the couple is facing a summer filled with familial growth, a small but stressful menu expansion at the alehouse, and the realization that they’re about to become grandparents to four web-footed hooligans.

The Solstice Addition is a grumpy/sunshine, established couple, gay summer romance with a not as cranky as he pretends to be barkeep, a wandering country crooner who is putting down roots, a small town alehouse packed full of opinionated clientele, two ornery geese who are sitting on a nest full of trouble, an incoming arrival from the stork, and a summery sweet happy ending.

Content warning: This story has references to past substance abuse.



I want to start by saying Brann and Kenan's journey begins in the Laurel Holidays Xmas entry, The Christmas Keeper, which BTW I have not read. I mention this for two reasons: 
1. If you want to see their beginning first, then you need to go back and read #6. 
2. Having not read their origins, I was not lost at all. Sometimes with established couples that you are not with from the beginning the reader is left with a hole filled with endless questions. That was not the case for me here. Sure, it made me curious to see how they got from point A to point G(for geese I'll talk about shortly) but never lost.

So that's out of the way. I couldn't help but love Brann and Kenan, their chemistry is true, fun and believable.  As they are an established couple, there is none of the drama that comes with beginnings and pure fun rom com all the way through. I point that out because, humor is often an element in short story/novella entries starring established couples but typically there is a small helping of drama to balance it out. Not here. Solstice Additions is just a joyful delight. I won't say more because I don't want to spoil it for anyone but, Solstice is such a gem, puts a smile on your face from page one and never lets go. I look forward to learning how they got to be so perfect for each other.

So, there is one personal tidbit I want to include. The geese! We had geese when I was little and they were evil, I mean pure unadulterated evil! Their part of the farm was the east side and the west side was the people zone, they did not stay on their side. I clearly remember one morning when I was trying to go to the end of the driveway(nowhere near the geese domain BTW, we're talking couldn't get much farther away from their land and still be on the York property) to get on the bus. They came running over, squawking to high heaven, would not let me cross, two of them pecked at me leaving holes in the knees of my jeans(which drew enough blood I was subjected to a treatment of the dreaded pink stuff, Mercurochrome), Mom came out and waved the bus driver on, got me back in the house, cleaned me up, ironed on a couple of smiling strawberry patches on my jeans, and drove me to school. They weren't around much longer after that. I clearly recall the devilish smirk on my mother's face as she raised the axe. Don't get me wrong, Brann and Kenan's feathered family is protective of their nest but my experience is different and I can't lie, had the lads been parents to pigs or sheep(which we also raised when I was little) my smile would have been just a tad bigger. I usually thank the author for bringing a happy memory to mind and though the beginning of my recalled time was a horror show to my 5 year old self, the inclusion of the geese also brought to mind their end at the hands of my mother and that is a part of the story that I hadn't thought of in too long, so I really do say, Thank You, VL Locey.

RATING:





Chapter One
“So this is Diaphony now that she’s got a tooth. Just the one tooth. My Kelli is sure that another is on the way. If you stick your finger in the baby’s mouth, you can feel it.”

I gazed down at a red-faced baby of about eight or forty months. I don’t know babies. I know beer and darts and dark-eyed singers with aged souls. Those I’m familiar with. Squalling infants. Nope. Not a clue.

“Why would you put your finger in a baby’s mouth?” I asked my great-aunt Priscilla while my sister, Nora, was busy opening yet another present from another woman I sort of knew as one of Nora’s friends from work.

Aunt Priscilla snorted into her cup of tea as if I were an idiot. “You men,” she said, shaking her silver head. “You dip your finger into some whiskey and rub it on the sore gums.”

I lowered the picture of Diaphony to gawk at the elderly woman. “I’m not real up on baby care, but even a dope like me knows that you probably shouldn’t be getting your kid soused.”

“Pah, that’s what’s wrong with all these new parents. Back when I was raising Patty, that’s Kelli’s mother, we did what worked. My kids rode in the front seat with only my arm to stop them if we got rear-ended. They drank from hoses, rode bikes with no helmets, and rode down metal slides with short shorts and they turned out fine.”

I had no reply to that, so I searched the huge condo that Nora and her husband Antoine had just moved into last month. Antoine was not here, the coward. Neither was my father or any other person of the male persuasion other than Kenan, and I found him sipping punch by the sliding glass door with some woman with blue hair and a ring in her nose.

Kenan felt my gaze, for he glanced my way. I mouthed ‘Help me!’ as Priscilla went on about how much better it was back in the day. His smile was just a small twitch at the corner of his sexy mouth. Standing under the AC vent, his long dark curls blew about his face, a look that I always found incredibly sexy. He said something to nose ring girl then slowly made his way around a baby swing, a car seat, a bouncy thing that looked like it would propel my future niece or nephew—they’d not found out, and good on them for that precluded me coming up to Ottawa to watch them pop a balloon with pink or blue powder in it—into the bright blue Canadian sky. Tiny baby clothes piled up everywhere. Bottles, diapers, and some sort of contraption for breastfeeding that I wanted no part of. The condo was a yellow duckie explosion that even my mother found a bit much.

“Hey, you,” Kenan whispered as he drew near. “Can I steal him away from you for just a few minutes? There’s something on the patio I wanted to show Brann.”

“Oh yes, of course, dear. I love corned beef.”

“So do I,” he replied with a kind pat of her hand before taking mine to lead me out onto the patio. The temps out here were pleasant, around sixty, with a touch of humidity. Nora had the thermostat set at fifty-five degrees in the condo, so it was the same temperature as a meat freezer. No shit, Antoine could hang slabs of meat in the kitchen and go all Rocky Balboa on them as training for his time on the ice.

“Oh man, this is heaven. Thank you.” I pecked his whiskery cheek. A soft wind blew up the side of the newly built tower overlooking the Alexandra Bridge. “She had me pinned down and was talking about sticking her finger into some poor kid’s mouth. No wonder the old folks all died of dysentery if that was what was considered good hygiene.”

He chuckled and turned to look over the Ottawa River, flowing peacefully along. “I’ve had your fingers in my mouth more than a few times and haven’t fallen dead yet.”

“You’ve had more than my fingers in your mouth,” I reminded him and turned to enjoy the view with him. “You know, it sucks being the only people with XY chromosomes here. Why did Dad and Antoine get to bail to play golf?”

“You know why. You’re the chosen birthing brother.”

“Between you and me, I’m not sure I want to be the chosen birthing brother. What am I supposed to do while she’s in labor? Where should I look? Why does she need me there as well as her husband? I mean, he’s seen her baby parts before, obviously, so what the hell am I there for?”

“You’re there because she loves you deeply and wants to share this moment with you.”

“I can share perfectly fine out in the waiting room, where I can puff on a cigar.”

“They don’t allow that in hospitals anymore.” He bumped my hip with his.

“Seems my mother would be the better candidate.”

“Really?”

“No, not really.” I sighed as the slider opened behind us. A gust of arctic air carrying the delightful aroma of Estee Lauder Muse enveloped us.

“Hey, what are you two doing out here?” Nora wiggled in between us, her big belly keeping her at least a good foot from the patio railing.

“He’s hiding from your great-aunt and her baby advice,” Kenan ratted me out and draped an arm around Nora. She rested her head on his shoulder. They had grown incredibly close. She liked to say he was a godsend who had brought light and love back into her brother’s life. Since I couldn’t really argue that I merely accepted they were thick as thieves now. It was kind of nice.

“Oh yeah, I’ve gotten all kinds of advice from people. Total strangers will walk up to me and ask to touch my belly.” We all went ‘Ewwww’ at the same time. “I know, it’s very creepy. And everyone has words of wisdom to pass along. Like this woman in Costco who pushed her cart into mine to inform me that if I put a pickled egg on the highest shelf of my pantry, it would prevent ear infections.” Kenan and I both stared down blankly at the perky little brunette wedged between us. “Right? I had so many questions. Is the pickled egg just sitting on the shelf? Is it in a jar alone or with other pickled eggs? How does placing this egg on a shelf combat bacteria or viruses?”

“I always suspected there was more to pickled eggs than just being disgusting bar snacks.”

“Why don’t we have any pickled eggs at the alehouse?” Kenan asked as Nora slipped one arm around both of us. Whenever she could, she enjoyed telling me she liked having two brothers. I would remind her that Kenan was my boyfriend and not her brother-in-law to which she would just bat her long lashes and giggle as if she knew something that only women knew.

“They’re evil,” I replied flatly.

Nora snorted in a most unladylike manner. “My back is killing me,” she moaned. “This baby is sleeping on my spine. And now I want pickled eggs.”

“I refuse to allow you to ingest pickled eggs. It will taint my niece or nephew. Do you want a purple kid? No, you do not. So nope to pickled eggs.”

“But Brann…”

“No. Do not try to work your sisterly wiles on me. I am a brick wall. Emotions mean nothing to me. I am a rock.”

***

An hour later, I returned from the local deli with a jar of pickled eggs. Kenan found it all quite hysterical, but I knew that someday I’d get my culinary revenge.

Karma could be a real bitch.




Saturday Series Spotlight
Part 1  /  Part 2  /  Part 3




VL Locey
V.L. Locey loves worn jeans, yoga, belly laughs, walking, reading and writing lusty tales, Greek mythology, the New York Rangers, comic books, and coffee.
(Not necessarily in that order.)

She shares her life with her husband, her daughter, one dog, two cats, a flock of assorted domestic fowl, and two Jersey steers.

When not writing spicy romances, she enjoys spending her day with her menagerie in the rolling hills of Pennsylvania with a cup of fresh java in hand.


EMAIL: vicki@vllocey.com



The Solstice Additions

Laurel Holidays Series


Thursday, July 2, 2026

πŸŽ…πŸŽ†πŸŽ„⏳Throwback Thursday's Time Machine-Xmas in July⏳πŸŽ„πŸŽ†πŸŽ…: Let it Sew by Anna Martin




Summary:
Anna Martin's Xmas Shorts #1
It’s the day before the last day of term and Year One teacher Harry Britton has a problem: all of the costumes for his nativity play have been destroyed by accident. The only person who can possibly help him is Edward Saunders, who runs a small tailor and alterations shop in the village.

Edward is more than a little shocked to be asked to make seventeen costumes for five year old children—he’s more comfortable making bespoke men’s suits. But there’s something beguiling and utterly charming about Harry Britton, so despite all his hesitations, he agrees to help.








Original Review December 2019:
In my reading experience tailors of higher end quality items, whether they are in a large or small shop, tend to be a bit on the snooty side, thinking they are a little above everyday/off the rack items.  Edward Saunders is not and I think that was what made me love him from the very beginning.  When Harry Britton comes into his shop and is in need of children's costumes for a school Christmas play Edward sounds hesitant for a few minutes then sees the desperation on Harry's face and jumps in with his whole heart.  Of course the chemistry between Edward and Harry is also extremely lovely, sweet, cute, and completely believable all the way.  Holiday tales tend to bank on the magic of the season and in a way Let it Sew does the same, Harry's desperate need for costumes quickly brings the two together and because of the time spent with each other they talk and learn things that might normally take several chapters and several dates.  It's this very same need and timing that makes the chemistry and "insta-connection" so believable and enjoyable.   Another gem for my holiday library.

RATING:




On the last Thursday before Christmas, Edward’s shop was quiet. He hadn’t minded in the morning; Edward liked to take the mornings slowly, waking up with multiple cups of tea while he worked on anything that had been left over from the previous day. Business often picked up around lunchtime.

With the hammering rain outside creating a lovely background tune for his task, Edward finished the repairs on an old smoking jacket and carefully set it on a hanger ready for steam cleaning. The jacket had come from a man who’d found it in his granddad’s attic, and wanted to wear it for his wedding on New Year’s Eve. It was a marvellous thing—black velvet with satin lapels and a beautiful patterned lining. Edward hadn’t recognised the name on the label so he’d turned to the internet to research it. That had taken a few days, but he’d learned that it had likely come from a tailor in London, who had been very fashionable in the nineteen twenties. The jacket was probably a hundred years old.

Edward had opened his tailoring and alterations shop in the village of Little Wetherill, on the northern edge of Dartmoor, almost six years ago. Despite his relative youth in the community, he’d become a solid figure in it. People travelled from all over the south-west to bring him things—either repairs, which he enjoyed, or custom projects, which he’d built his reputation on.

His mother had been overtly derisive of his decision to open a real-life, bricks and mortar shop, convinced that he’d never be able to turn it into a profitable business. But Edward had been running a bespoke tailoring business out of his living room for years, and he had a small but loyal following of people who bought his custom designs online.

Sure, the shop was small, and cold, and in the first year he’d been forced to spend hundreds of pounds replacing the windows at the front so they were double-glazed. In the winter he only got the sun first thing in the morning because of the side of the high street he was located on. So he’d spent even more money installing good lights, so he could see what he was doing at his workstation at the back of the shop. It was worth it. Every penny.

Edward was startled from his cup of tea by the shop door crashing open, then a man rushed into the shop looking particularly red-faced and out of breath.  Edward thought that when he calmed down, he might look attractive. Handsome, even. Probably looking for a gift for his wife, knowing Edward’s luck.

“Can I help?”

“I really hope so.” The man heaved his satchel, which was dripping with rainwater, onto Edward’s counter. “I don’t suppose you have a set of nativity costumes that would fit a group of five and six year old children?”

Edward stared at him. “I’m a tailor. A menswear tailor.”

“I know. It’s just that I’ve been everywhere, literally everywhere, and I don’t know who else to ask.”

Curiosity killed the cat.

“How many costumes do you need?”

He started to count them off on his fingers. “Mary and Joseph. Three wise men, three shepherds, three sheep, a cow and a donkey. The inn keeper and his wife, and the Angel Gabriel. And a star.”

Edward blinked. “Seventeen. Seventeen costumes.”

“Yes.” He nodded rapidly. “Ten boys and seven girls. That’s my class.”

“And when do you need these by?”

“Three o’ clock tomorrow afternoon.” “Can you sew?” Edward asked, feeling like asking had been a monumentally bad idea.

“Honestly? No.”

Edward stared at the handsome intruder. Did he want to make seventeen nativity costumes? Of course he didn’t. That sounded like absolute mayhem. He took a deep breath, then sighed.

“Well, for your sake, I hope you’re a fast learner.”

Edward pulled on his long wool coat and flipped the sign on the door to ‘Closed’. He grabbed an umbrella, too, it was still raining cats and dogs out there.

“My name’s Harry, by the way. Harry Britton.”

Harry. It suited him.

“Edward Saunders.”




Saturday Series Spotlight
Part 1  /  Part 2

Random Xmas Postings



Anna Martin

Anna Martin is from a picturesque seaside village in the southwest of England and now lives in the Bristol, a city that embraces her love for the arts. After spending most of her childhood making up stories, she studied English literature at university before attempting to turn her hand as a professional writer.

Apart from being physically dependent on her laptop, Anna is enthusiastic about writing and producing local grassroots theater (especially at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival, where she can be found every summer), going to visit friends in other countries, and reading anything thatΓ­s put under her nose.

Anna claims her entire career is due to the love, support, prereading, and creative ass kicking provided by her best friend Jennifer. Jennifer refuses to accept responsibility for anything Anna has written.


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Let it Sew #1

Anna Martin's Christmas Short Stories