Saturday's Series Spotlight: Bake Sale Bachelors Season 2 Part 1(Xmas Edition)

Mint Chocolate Mayhem by Jena Wade

Summary:

Season Two #1

Dr. Christobel Zanella loves Christmas when he has time for it. The decor, the parties, the cookies, the auction. The auction?

When his friend and fellow little asks him to do the bake sale bachelor auction, he can't say no. It is for a good cause. He just adds it to the ever-growing list of things he has trouble juggling. Being a doctor, an omega, a little. It’s a lot, especially alone.

If only he had the right kind of daddy to balance him out and take care of his needs. But daddies always ask him to give up his career, and that’s a hard limit for him.

For Officer Dennison Marglin attending the auction seemed like a good idea. Finding a boy seemed like an impossibility, but a nice dinner with someone new would be worth the donation.

Winning a date with Christobel was a dream come true. It seemed as if his luck was taking a turn for the better. Taking care of Christobel when he needs a daddy gave Dennison purpose again.

But Christobel resists and pushes him away, and out of respect Dennison listens.

When tragedy strikes the hospital and both Dennison and Christobel are on administrative leave, they turn to each other to get through.

A temporary arrangement meant to prevent burnout could become the catalyst that keeps them together… but only if they are willing.

 

Mint Chocolate Mayhem is the first book in the Bake Sale Bachelors season 2 series. It features mpreg, light age-play romance, and a sweet happy ever after.

Peanut Butter Promise by Lorelei M Hart

Summary:

Season Two #2

Sometimes Christmas magic begins with one little dog biscuit...

Alpha Shaw spends his days keeping Dellburn’s animal shelter running smoothly. He saves lives and completes families. When he’s asked to help with this year’s charity auction, he is all in. He might not be the world’s best baker, but his dog biscuits are loved by canines, young and old.

Omega Caleb, one of Dellburn’s newest residents, has one goal—to climb the corporate ladder and so far he is taking the rungs three at a time. He’s all work and no play, but with his goal within reach, it’s totally worth it. He doesn’t even mind giving up his planned trip home to see his family to attend a local charity auction on his company’s behalf—mostly. It would have been nice if his boss filled him in on it being a bachelor auction.

An emergency at the shelter has Shaw missing the auction, leaving Caleb with a plate of inedible cookies and no way to politely get out of his date. He’ll just keep their promised date short and call it good. Spoiler alert: Mother nature, some stray kittens, and a dead battery have an altogether different idea.

Peanut Butter Promise is a super sweet with knotty heat mm non-shifter mpreg romance featuring a businessman who lost his Christmas spirit, an omega who helps him find it, a snow storm, a box full of kittens, a lopsided snowman, the sweetest dog you ever did meet, hot chocolate kisses, more than a cookie in the oven, and a guaranteed happy ever after. If you like Christmas romances sweeter than a frosted sugar cookie, your happily ever afters filled with baby snuggles, and your mpreg with heart, this installment of Bake Sale Bachelors is for you. While all each book in the Bake Sale Bachelors series is set in the same world, they can each be read as a standalone.

Double Cherry Delight by Xander Collins

Summary:

Season Two #4

Jamison.

An alpha ... a cop ... and a hell of a good baker.

Reece.

New cop at the precinct ... and new omega in town.

But he's trying to keep that part a secret.

Jamison is having a bad day. His new partner, Reece, has been made number one detective on the case they've just been assigned. Not only that but he lost his parking spot when Reece pulled in ahead of him. As far as Jamison is concerned, Reece just seems to be getting ahead of him at every turn. And when Reece shows up to the annual bachelor auction with the exact same cookies, Jamison is livid.

Reece just wants to fit in. He's new in town, he has a new job, and he's hoping to find a new love at the bachelor auction. The trouble is, he can't stop thinking about his new partner, Jamison. But he has to keep his attraction a secret. He doesn't want to rock the boat. He doesn't even want anyone at the precinct to know about his omega status.

Little does Reece know that his choice of cookies ... the double cherry delights that he bakes and brings to the auction ... will cause more waves that he can imagine between he and his new partner.

Double Cherry Delight is an enemies to lovers mpreg story featuring two incredibly hot rival cops who eventually figure out they can't keep their hands off each other. Oh ... and lots of sweets, holiday festivities, and a super cuddly baby.

Mint Chocolate Mayhem by Jena Wade

Chapter One 

Christobel 

I shuffled my weight from one foot to the other. I couldn’t believe that I was here, sitting backstage at a bachelor auction. An auction in which I was one of the eligible omega bachelors who would be auctioned off to the highest bidder. 

I appreciated the cause and knew that it was worthy. It just felt odd that I had volunteered and actually gone through with the whole thing. This wasn’t your typical stand on stage and parade around while people threw out bids type of auction. Each individual being auctioned off had some sort of cookie plus the date package they had put together. Mine was pretty simple. I had a mint chocolate ganache cookie that was one of my favorites, store bought, not homemade unfortunately, and the date package was on the tamer side. Dinner and a walk on the pier. Done. 

My friend Pace had been much more inventive with his package. I couldn’t remember the cookie exactly, but his date was a trip to a children’s museum where I’m sure whoever bid on him would have quite the adventure. The museum would be followed by a stop at the aquarium, then a dinner out, and then an additional outing to the ice cream shop, where more than likely Pace would convince whomever he was with to buy him the largest dessert possible. The boy really was a brat. 

“How’s it going, Christobel?” Pace grinned as he said my full name. This time of year, with the holidays on everyone’s minds, my full name came out more and more often, as if it were tied to the season itself. 

“Fine,” I said. “You’re awfully calm.” Normally, Pace was an anxious sort. Always bouncing on his toes, looking around the room. 

He sighed contently. “I went to the club last night, had a nice little scene with a Daddy there. He mellowed me right out.” 

I had a pang of jealousy. I was happy for him. Truly, I was. Both of us were littles, though we had very different needs. Pace had a harder time than I did keeping his little side to himself. Which was why he went to the club more often and was able to be his little self and grab the attention of every Daddy Dom in the place. The Doms there loved him. He was a fantastic sub and a great little. He never had any trouble finding someone to play with. 

I knew, like me, he longed for a Daddy Dom to call his own. Maybe even have children together in the future.

That future was not in my cards though. It seemed silly that I would want such a thing. I was perfectly happy being an ER doctor. I didn’t need all that other stuff to get in the way of my career. Being an omega, a little, and a doctor was a lot to juggle, and it was hard to find a Daddy who could deal with all sides of me. At some point I had given up trying. Probably right after my last sort of relationship, when the alpha had gotten pissed that I worked twenty-four hour shifts. 

Which is why I remained single and didn’t visit the club on a regular basis. I was perfectly content being little on my own. I could sink into my little space without anyone around. There hadn’t been any mishaps so far. 

“I wish you would come with me when I go play,” Pace said. 

I wrinkled my nose. “You know I don’t like going to the club that much.” 

“Just for a visit,” he said, his voice sliding into a whine. “You don’t have to play with anyone. How are you ever going to meet anyone if you don’t ever go anywhere except work?” 

“I’m here, aren’t I? How do you know my Daddy Dom isn’t out there waiting to place his bid?” 

Pace’s eyes lit up, and I knew that had been the wrong thing to say. Pace, the optimist and hopeless romantic, had stars in his eyes now. 

He bounced on his toes. “Do you really think that could happen?”

“Pace. You know I don’t believe in things like that. I’m sure both of us will find someone sooner or later.” Not me, but he wasn’t ready to hear that. “But the likelihood of it happening here, at a random auction? C’mon.” 

Pace frowned. “If you don’t open up your heart to somebody sooner or later you’re going to continue being miserable.” 

I scowled. “I’m not miserable.” Was that really how he saw me? 

He put a hand on my shoulder. “Sorry, I didn’t mean that to be as harsh as it sounded. You know I just worry about you.” 

It was a conversation we’d had a lot. He didn’t think it was healthy for me to spend time as my little self without a Daddy around to care for me. But I could manage. I had been for over a year now. If I didn’t spend at least some time unwinding as little me, then I would have burned out eons ago. Scenes at the club didn’t work for me, and I never found a Daddy that wanted me for a long term commitment. 

“I know,” I said and I smiled. I couldn’t stay mad at Pace. He was right after all. My heart was quite closed off. But I only kept it that way to protect myself. I’d worked hard to be where I was. Was it so wrong to want a Daddy that was fine fitting into my life as it was? It wasn’t as if I were some unbendable crazy person. 

I’d make compromises. One of those compromises could not be my career, though. 

“Come on,” I said. “We’re going to be up soon. We need to pay attention.”

“Thank you for doing this with me,” Pace said. 

I grinned. “How could I say no to your face?” 

His grin broadened, and his eyes sparkled with mischief. And I saw what it was that made all the other Daddy Doms swoon. 

“How much do you think they’ll raise for the new children’s wing at the hospital?” Pace asked, switching the topic to the whole reason we were here. 

“Not sure. Last year the community center raised a ton of money, and their Pi day fundraiser did even better. I’m sure we’ll meet the goal.” I hoped we did. I didn’t want to have to participate in another one of these in a few months. The cause was great, but this just wasn’t my favorite way to spend an evening. I worked at the hospital that we were raising funds for, their pediatric ward needed to be brought up to date to meet the needs of the community. The funds tonight would help that. 

I just needed to remind myself of that each time random alphas ogled me. One of them would be my date, I had to come to accept that.

Peanut Butter Promise by Lorelei M Hart

Chapter One 

Shaw 

“Don’t sit hunched over like Daddy does.” I stood up stretching, Wendy’s tail whacking the side of my desk like a metronome. I’d been trying to find money for supplies in the shelter budget where it didn’t exist. 

I’d figure it out though. 

I always did. 

“That thing is a weapon,” I teased, reaching down and scratching behind her left ear the way she loved. Always the left one. Something about her right one had her backing away if anyone even brushed it. The vet never found any reason, determining it was probably past trauma. It wasn’t uncommon for the dogs that came through the shelter to have unseen scars. It was the sad reality. 

It was my job to help them find their new families and their happy ever afters. 

“Let’s go make the rounds.” 

She licked my hand in what I read as her agreement. Wendy had been one of the shelter dogs but wormed her way into my heart so deep that when she was finally ready to be put up for adoption, I couldn’t do it. Now, she was my work buddy as well as my fur baby. 

We walked through the kennels, stopping at each cage to say hello. “Hello Princess,” I greeted the little Pomeranian mix who was in the first spot. She was left here only a week ago, and today would be the first day she was available for adoption. Her human mom passed away and, while she was older, she had a wonderful temperament and was under the weight limit a lot of landlords had. 

I never really understood that. The dog I’d seen cause the most damage, the one we’d affectionately named Taz here at the shelter, weighed fifteen pounds and, in one afternoon, destroyed eight thousand dollars’ worth of furniture, which was how he wound up with us. Yeah, size didn’t equate with what small dogs could accomplish if they set their mind to it. That was for sure. 

“You’re going to have a big day, sweet girl. Four families have already called about you.” I rubbed under her chin, snapping back as the buzzer startled me. 

“I’ll be back to say hello to the rest of you,” I promised and walked around to the door where donations were dropped off. 

As I rounded the corner, I saw Carin from the community center standing there with a bag of dog food almost as big she was in her arms. I jogged over and swung open the door. “Carin, really? I could’ve helped you with that.” I grabbed the bag from her. She was one of the regulars. When she was at the grocery store, she often added a bag of food or litter for the shelter, and it was very much appreciated. This? This was a significantly larger donation than normal. 

“I figured you could help with the other things.” She scurried ahead of me, opening the second doorway. 

“What brings all this to our door?” I set the food down with a thud. 

“You updated your wish list, and it was rather long.” She shrugged. 

She wasn’t wrong. We’d been taking in some overflow from a hoarding situation the next county over, and it had our needs outweighing our hads. 

“We appreciate you.” So much. We were lucky in that Dellburn was a community that came together and supported each other. Carin wasn’t the only person who would add just a little bit extra to their cart each week. 

And the way the community wrapped around the community center after the fire—the memory still brought tears to my eyes. Between the auctions and the yard sales and the penny drives, they had managed to not only bring it back to what it once was, but make it even better. Dellburn was a special place. That much was for sure. 

The two of us worked side by side, emptying the back of her SUV. She had gone overboard, and it brushed some of the stress off of my shoulders. We just had to make it a few more weeks until Adoption Night when one of the national pet food companies not only dropped off enough food to get us through the winter, but also paid all but a few dollars of the adoptions fees. It was our biggest adoption time of the year, and, while getting a pet for Christmas was a bad idea as a rule, I understood that for many families, they were simply waiting until they could both afford the adoption and had some time off to help the pet adjust. 

“You are sunshine and buttercups.” I set the last bag down. “Let me get you a donation slip.” 

“No need.” She knelt down to pet Wendy, who took that to mean it was kisses time. “Wendy, I’m not that kind of gal.” She giggled. “Fine. But only because you’re cute.”

“She is a lover.” 

“Speaking of love…” She stood up. “I need more peanut butter biscuits for Hank. Do you have any out front I could buy?” It was one of the things I did when time allowed—baking dog biscuits to “sell” for a donation. The dogs loved them, and the treat was starting to get a following. It didn’t bring in a ton of money, but it helped. Every bit did. 

“I do. How many were you looking for?” 

“Just give me what you’ve got.” I’d have questioned her more if I had an abundant amount, but it was time to bake again. Maybe I’d go visit Uncle George. He loved to make them with me, and it had been a couple of weeks since I’d visited him at his assisted living facility. 

I hated that he was there even though he insisted it was wonderful, complete with daily bingo and Grilled Cheese Thursdays. I had to remember that just because something wasn’t for me, didn’t mean it wasn’t for him. 

“Let me write a check.” She took out her wallet, a paper dropping to the floor. 

I picked it up and held it out to her. “You don’t even know how many there are.” 

“No, but I know what I can afford to pay for them.” She pointed her pen to the paper. “I actually brought that for you.” 

I turned the paper over. It was about an auction, another bake auction. “I thought the community center was doing well.” 

“It is. This is for the children’s wing of the hospital,” she explained and went back to writing her check. “Cookies. You know in England they call cookies biscuits. You make biscuits.” She glanced up at me with a smirk. 

“You want me to bake dog biscuits for a bake auction?” That sounded like the exact opposite of what people would be looking for. 

“It will be different and might just catch the eye of the right omega.” She winked, tearing off her check and handing it to me. “Think about it as you get my biscuits.” 

I glanced down at the number. “I’ll never have enough biscuits for this.” 

“Just get me my biscuits and think about it. They could really use all the help they can get. You know how it is.” 

She was right. I did. 

Dagnabit. 

I was going to make dog biscuits and auction myself off to the highest bidder, wasn’t I?

Double Cherry Delight by Xander Collins

Chapter One

Jamison

“Whoa, there! Simmer down, man! You’re gonna break something if you keep that up!” 

I took a deep breath and gently set down the sauce pot I was gripping in my hands. Just as my friend Ty had walked in my back door I’d yanked it out of the cupboard, causing a bunch of other pots to come tumbling down onto the linoleum floor. I sighed. “You can’t break stainless steel, you knucklehead.” 

“Okay, well, maybe you’re right, but you never know. Why would you want to risk hurting his feelings?” he asked, picking one of the pots up off the floor and caressing it. “What did this poor guy ever do to you?” 

I snatched the pot out of Ty’s hands. I didn’t even look up at his face because I knew he was smiling, probably even silently laughing at me. “Whatever. It’s no Amoretti. It’s not even copper.” 

Ty laughed out loud this time. “I don’t even know what Amoretti is, dude. All I know is you look like you’re about to strangle someone. What’s going on? Is it work?” 

I turned the knob for one of the burners and waited until the pilot light ignited before I turned around. “It’s always work.” I turned back to the counter and gathered the ingredients together for the cookie filling I was working on. I’d already prepped the cherries, so all I had to do was dump everything into a sauce pot and heat it over a low flame. 

“I don’t know why you don’t just quit your job and do this for a living, Jamie. The only time you get angry at your cookware is when you’re getting the shaft down at the station. What happened this time?” 

I washed my hands and dried them off, then threw the kitchen towel down onto the counter as hard as I could. The movement wasn’t as fulfilling as I’d hoped it would be, but at least it was something, and I wasn’t in danger of breaking any pots. “There’s a new guy … a detective from out of state. He moved here recently and he and I were put on the Danvers case today. It’s some organized crime group that started on the West Coast and have infiltrated almost every casino in every state all the way to the Mason Dixon line. They’ve gotten a stronghold on a couple in this state. That’s all I can really say about it, though. But the case is a huge deal, and guess who Holman made number one?” 

“The new guy?” Ty asked. 

“Bingo.” 

“But wait, you’ve been there for years. You should totally have seniority.” 

“No shit.” I leaned against the counter and folded my arms across my chest. “I mean, Foreman is out on maternity leave, so I’ve basically been a floater for the last month, but that shouldn’t mean anything.” 

“Yeah, just because your partner’s out for a couple months doesn’t mean you’re back to square one. Did you talk to the chief?” 

“Of course I did. He doesn’t give a damn. Apparently this guy is hot shit in whatever town he came from. Holman says he’s got experience with some of the guys we’ll be questioning in the case. He also said I could learn a thing or two from him.” 

“Ouch,” Ty said. “That’s gotta hurt. So seriously, why don’t you take your baking to the next level? You already have a successful YouTube channel and blog. What’s holding you back?” 

“The blog doesn’t mean shit, and the YouTube channel … it’s just not secure. Those things can be demonetized or shut down at any time, for absolutely no reason at all. If that was my only source of income I wouldn’t know from one month to the next if I was going to be able to pay my mortgage. And I can’t live like that.” 

“Yeah, that’s true.” 

“Besides, I like being a detective. When it’s not making my blood boil, that is.” 

Ty stood over my shoulder and watched me stir the pot for a while. “But what about taking the whole baking thing to the next level. You could open a freaking bakery right here in town. People here would love it. You told me you’re always getting asked to bring those famous cherry cookies of yours to every single function. People love them.” 

“I don’t know.” 

“Hey,” he said, still looking over my shoulder. “Is that what you’re making for the auction tonight?” 

“Yeah, this is the filling.” 

“Ooooh, are there gonna be any extras,” Ty asked, grabbing a spoon and dipping it into the simmering liquid. 

“I’m making a double batch.”

“Dude, what the hell?” he asked as he put the spoon coated with cherry filling into his mouth. “You don’t sound like someone who’s making a double batch of the best cookies in the world. You sound like you’re on the way to get a root canal. Cheer up! This auction is supposed to be fun! Aren’t you excited?” 

I rolled my eyes and shrugged. “Yeah, sure, I’m excited.” 

“Come on! I hear Brad Johnson is going to be there! You’ve had the hots for him for freaking ever!”

Saturday Series Spotlight

Season One

Part 1(Xmas Edition)  /  Part 2

Season Two

Part 1(Xmas Edition)

Season Three(Valentine's Edition)

Part 1  /  Part 2

Jena Wade

Jena began writing in January of 2013 as a New Year's Resolution--and so far she has stuck to it!

She lives in Michigan. By day she works as a web developer, and at night she writes. Born and raised on a farm, she spends most of her free time outdoors, playing in the garden, or riding her horses. She also helps run the family dairy farm.

Lorelei M. Hart

Lorelei M. Hart is the cowriting team of USA Today Bestselling Authors Kate Richards and Ever Coming. Friends for years, the duo decided to come together and write one of their favorite guilty pleasures: Mpreg. There is something that just does it for them about smexy men who love each other enough to start a family together in a world where they can do it the old-fashioned way ;).

Xander Collins

Xander Collins write super sexy, romantic omegaverse stories with the warm fuzzies, hot dudes, and cuddly babies we all crave.

Jena Wade

FACEBOOK  /  TWITTER  /  WEBSITE

NEWSLETTER  /  FB GROUP  /  AMAZON  /  GOODREADS 

Lorelei M Hart

FACEBOOK  /  WEBSITE  /  NEWSLETTER

FB FRIEND  /  AMAZON  /  GOODREADS

EMAIL: Lorelei@mpregwithhart.com 

Xander Collins

FACEBOOK  /  FB GROUP  /  WEBSITE

NEWSLETTER  /  SMASHWORDS

BOOKBUB  /  AMAZON  /  GOODREADS

EMAIL: xandercollinsauthor@gmail.com 

Mint Chocolate Mayhem by Jena Wade

AMAZON US  /  AMAZON UK  /  GOODREADS TBR

Peanut Butter Promise by Lorelei M Hart

AMAZON US  /  AMAZON UK  /  GOODREADS TBR

Double Cherry Delight by Xander Collins

AMAZON US  /  AMAZON UK  /  GOODREADS TBR

Season Two Series

AMAZON US  /  AMAZON UK  /  GOODREADS TBR

Season One Series

AMAZON US  /  AMAZON UK  /  GOODREADS TBR

📘🎥Friday's Film Adaptation🎥📘: A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens

Summary:
One of the best-loved and most quoted stories of “the man who invented Christmas”—English writer Charles Dickens—A Christmas Carol debuted in 1843 and has touched millions of hearts since.

Cruel miser Ebeneezer Scrooge has never met a shilling he doesn’t like...and hardly a man he does. And he hates Christmas most of all. When Scrooge is visited by his old partner, Jacob Marley, and the ghosts of Christmas Past, Christmas Present, and Christmas Yet to Come, he learns eternal lessons of charity, kindness, and goodwill. Experience a true Victorian Christmas!

Re-Read Review 2020:

The only thing I want to add to my previous reviews is that 2020 needs A Christmas Carol more than ever.  We need to see the kindness all around more this year as there has been so much negativity, hatred, anger, and plain old fashioned heartbreak.  No matter what form you read, listen, watch, take the lessons the Ghosts of Christmas teach Ebenezer Scrooge to heart.  Charles Dickens may have had no idea what he was giving to the world or the impact it would have on humanity but for me the story never gets old and frankly I don't have to wait till Christmastime to enjoy it.  A true classic delightful gem.

Re-Read Review 2019:

This book just never gets old.  Frankly, if there ever was a time we need to be reminded of what is truly important in life it's now.  With all the strife and ignorance and intolerance in the world, it's never wrong to be reminded of what Christmas is all about.  A Christmas Carol should be read throughout the year, not just during the holiday season.  The lessons of kindness, decency, and acceptance to our fellow man should be lived every day.  I don't mean to sound preachy or judgmental but Charles Dickens has a way of making the spirit of Christmas come alive in A Christmas Carol that often gets forgotten the other 364 days of the year.  Truth be told, not only does it remind us of the holiday spirit it's a pretty darn great ghost story too😉😉.

Re-Read Review 2017:

There was a time when I read A Christmas Carol annually but since starting my book blog it seems I that life just hasn't allowed me the time to read it yearly.  So I decided that I would make time this year to give it a read and its just as good as its always been.  I wish I could say we don't need to be reminded of what should be important to us at Christmastime but everyone is always so busy that the Christmas spirit doesn't stay with us the way it should.  Charles Dickens has a way of making us remember and I love him for it.  Merry Christmas everyone and if you aren't one to celebrate, try to remember that the true meaning of the story and the lessons Ebenezer Scrooge learns still rings true for you too and for every day: kindness and goodwill to your fellow man should never be far from your heart.

Original Blog Review December 2014:

Not all of Charles Dickens' work is among my reading list but A Christmas Carol is my favorite of all.  It's the best Christmas tale, in my opinion.  At the heart of the story is what so many of us tend to forget, although perhaps not to the extent as Ebenezer Scooge has, and that is that heart and kindness is more important than wealth.

“And therefore, Uncle, though it has never put a scrap of gold or silver in my pocket, I believe that [Christmas] has done me good, and will do me good; and I say, God bless it!” 

“But you were always a good man of business, Jacob,' faltered Scrooge, who now began to apply this to himself.
Business!' cried the Ghost, wringing its hands again. "Mankind was my business; charity, mercy, forbearance, and benevolence, were, all, my business. The deals of my trade were but a drop of water in the comprehensive ocean of my business!”  

“It is a fair, even-handed, noble adjustment of things, that while there is infection in disease and sorrow, there is nothing in the world so irresistibly contagious as laughter and good humour.”  

“For it is good to be children sometimes, and never better than at Christmas, when its mighty Founder was a child Himself.”  

“I will honour Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year. I will live in the Past, the Present, and the Future. The Spirits of all Three shall strive within me. I will not shut out the lessons that they teach!”

And I think the final quote from the book says more about why I love the book so much than any words I could come up with.

“And it was always said of him, that he knew how to keep Christmas well, if any man alive possessed the knowledge. May that be truly said of us, and all of us! And so, as Tiny Tim observed, God bless Us, Every One!” 

RATING: 

Stave One
Marley's Ghost

Marley was dead: to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that. The register of his burial was signed by the clergyman, the clerk, the undertaker, and the chief mourner. Scrooge signed it: and Scrooge's name was good upon' Change, for anything he chose to put his hand to. Old Marley was as dead as a door-nail.

Scrooge knew he was dead? Of course he did. How could it be otherwise? Scrooge and he were partners for I don't know how many years. Scrooge was his sole executor, his sole administrator, his sole assign, his sole residuary legatee, his sole friend, his sole mourner.

Scrooge never painted out Old Marley's name however. There it yet stood, years afterwards, above the warehouse door: Scrooge and Marley. The firm was known as Scrooge and Marley Sometimes people new to the business called Scrooge Scrooge, and sometimes Marley He answered to both names. It was all the same to him.

Oh! But he was a tight-fisted hand at the grindstone, was Scrooge! a squeezing, wrenching, grasping, scraping, clutching, covetous old sinner!

Nobody ever stopped him in the street to say, with gladsome looks, "My dear Scrooge, how are you? when will you come to see me?" No beggars implored him to bestow a trifle, no children asked him what it was o'clock, no man or woman ever once in all his fife inquired the way to such and such a place, of Scrooge. Even the blindmen's dogs appeared to know him; and when they saw him coming on, would tug their owners into doorways and up courts; and then would wag their tails as though they said, "no eye at all is better than an evil eye, darkmaster!"

But what did Scrooge care!

Once upon a time — of all the good days in the year, upon a Christmas Eve-old Scrooge sat busy in his counting-house. It was cold, bleak, bitMg foggy weather and the city clocks had only just gone three, but it was quite dark already.

The door of Scrooge's countinghouse was open that he might keel) his eye upon his clerk, who in a dismal litde cell beyond — a sort of tank-was copying letters. Scrooge had a very small fire., but the clerk's fire was so very much smaller that it looked like one coal. But he couldn't replenish it, for Scrooge kept the coal-box in his own room; and so surely as the clerk came in with the shovel, the master predicted that it would be necessary for them to part. Wherefore the clerk put on his white comforter, and tried to warm himself at the candle; in which effort, not being a man of a strong imagination, he failed.

"A merry Christmas, uncle! God save you!" cried a cheerful voice. It was the voice of Scrooge's nephew, who came upon him so quickly that this was the first intimation Scrooge had of his approach.

"Bah!" said Scrooge, "Humbug!"'

"Christmas a humbug, uncle! You don't mean that, I am sure."

"I do. Out upon merry Christmas. What's Christmas time to you buta time for paying bills without money; a time for finding yourself a yearolder, and not an hour ri cher; a time for balanci ing your books and having every item in 'em through a round dozen of months presented deadagainst you? If I had my will, every idiot who goes about with 'MerryChristmas,' on his lips, should be boiled with his own pudding, andburied with a stake of holly through his heart. He should!"

"Uncle!"

"Nephew! Keep Christmas in your own way, and let me keep it mine."

"Keep it! But you don't keep it."

"Let me leave it alone, then. Much good may it do you! Much good it has ever done you!"

"There are many things from which I might have derived good, bywhich I have not profited, I dare say, Christmas among the rest. But I amsure I have always thought of Christmas time, when it has come round-apart from the veneration due to its sacred origin, if anything belong' ingto it can be apart from that — as a good time: a kind, forgiving, charitab1e, pleasant time: the only time I know of, in the long calendar of theyear, when men and women seem by one consent to open their shut-uphearts freely, and to think of people below them as if they really werefellow-travellcrs to the grave, and not another race of creatures bound onother Journeys. And therefore, uncle, though it has never put a scrap of gold or silver in my pocket, I believe that it has done me good, and will do me good; and I say, God bless it!"

The clerk in the tank involuntarily applauded.

"Let me hear another sound from you," said Scrooge, "and you'll keep your Christmas by losing your situation. You're quite a powerful speaker, sir," he added, turning to his nephew. "I wonder you don't go into Parliament."

"Don't be angry, uncle. Come! Dine with us tomorrow."

Scrooge said that he would see him — yes, indeed he did. He went the whole length of the expression, and said that he would see him 'in that extremity first.

"But why?" cried Scrooge's nephew. "Why

"Why did you get married?"

"Because I fell in love."

"Because you fell in love!" growled Scrooge, as if that were the only one thing in the world more ridiculous than a merry Christmas. "Good afternoon!"

"Nay, uncle, but you never came to see me before that happened. Why give it as a reason for not coming now?"

"Good afternoon."

"I want nothing from you; I ask nothing of you; why cannot we be friends?"

"Good afternoon."

"I am sorry, with all my heart, to find you so resolute. We have never had any quarrel, to which I have been a party. But I have made the trial in homage to Christmas, and I'll keep my Christmas humour to the last. So A Merry Christmas, uncle!"

A contemporary comedy based on Charles Dickens' novel "A Christmas Carol," focusing on a television executive who decides to exploit the holidays in order to boost ratings.

Release Date: November 23, 1988
Running Time: 101 minutes

Director: Richard Donner

Cast:
Bill Murray as Francis Xavier "Frank" Cross
Karen Allen as Claire Phillips
John Forsythe as Lew Hayward
John Glover as Brice Cummings
Bobcat Goldthwait as Eliot Loudermilk
David Johansen as the Ghost of Christmas Past
Carol Kane as the Ghost of Christmas Present
Robert Mitchum as Preston Rhinelander
Nicholas Phillips as Calvin Cooley
Michael J. Pollard as Herman
Alfre Woodard as Grace Cooley
Mabel King as Gramma
John Murray as James Cross
Wendie Malick as Wendie Cross
Brian Doyle-Murray as Mr. Cross

Mary Ellen Trainor as Ted

Lisa Mende as Doris Cross

Maria Riva as Mrs. Rhinelander

Kate McGregor-Stewart as Lady Censor

Kathy Kinney as IBC Nurse

Robert Hammond as the Ghost of Christmas Future (uncredited)

 
Cameos
Jamie Farr as Himself / Jacob Marley
Buddy Hackett as Himself / Ebenezer Scrooge
Robert Goulet as Himself
John Houseman as Himself
Lee Majors as Himself
Mary Lou Retton as Herself / Tiny Tim
Maria Riva as Mrs. Rhinelander
Miles Davis, Larry Carlton, David Sanborn, and Paul Shaffer as street musicians

Trailer

Clips

1935  /  1938  /  1951

1970  /  1983  /  1988

1992  /  1997  /  1999

Author Bio:

One of the grand masters of Victorian literature, Charles Dickens was born on February 7, 1812, in Landport, Portsea, England. He died in Kent on June 9, 1870. The second of eight children of a family continually plagued by debt, the young Dickens came to know not only hunger and privation,but also the horror of the infamous debtors' prison and the evils of child labor. A turn of fortune in the shape of a legacy brought release from the nightmare of prison and "slave" factories and afforded Dickens the opportunity of two years' formal schooling at Wellington House Academy. He worked as an attorney's clerk and newspaper reporter until his Sketches by Boz (1836) and The Pickwick Papers (1837) brought him the amazing and instant success that was to be his for the remainder of his life. In later years, the pressure of serial writing, editorial duties, lectures, and social commitments led to his separation from Catherine Hogarth after twenty-three years of marriage. It also hastened his death at the age of fifty-eight, when he was characteristically engaged in a multitude of work.

GOOGLE PLAY  /  iTUNES  /  KOBO

AUDIBLE  /  INDIE BOUND  /  B&N

AMAZON  /  WIKI  /  GOODREADS

AMAZON US  /  AMAZON UK  /  B&N

KOBO  /  iTUNES  /  iTUNES AUDIO

GOOGLE PLAY  /  AUDIBLE  /  WIKI

INDIE BOUND  /  GOODREADS TBR

Film

AMAZON US  /  AMAZON UK  /  B&N

ALL MOVIE  /  WIKI  /  IMDB  /  TCM

Random Tales of Christmas 2021 Part 11

A Very Genre Christmas by Kim Fielding

Summary:

Very little is merry in a private dick’s world.

Private detective Nick Bozic works the mean streets of 1950s Portland, Oregon, shadowing unfaithful spouses and nabbing thieving employees. He may be lonely, but at least he’s not crooked. Despite the festive season, Christmas simply means less dough in his pocket.

With the holiday only a few days away, a regular client drops a new case on him: yet another being has come through the Rift and needs help finding his way home. Maybe Evindal the elf will help Nick find something too—a bit of cheer and magic amid the usual brew of corruption and betrayal.

Fairytale of LaGuardia by AE Wasp & Beth Bolden

Summary:

Once upon a time, a hockey player and a baseball player walked into a bar...

It wasn’t coincidence that brought Red to New York. It wasn’t coincidence that got him stuck there overnight either.

After taking a unscheduled detour on the way to his grandmother’s house, hockey player Red O'Reilly finds himself snowed in at the airport. What could have been a bleak Christmas Eve suddenly turns magical when Owen “the Wolf” Lindsay, a wicked pitcher with an irresistible charm who Red's been crushing on for years sits down next to him in the last open seat in the bar.

If Owen had left New York when he was supposed to, he wouldn't be trapped in the worst airport in the world. He also wouldn't have met the sexy, irrepressible young Red and that would have been a tragedy. Could it just be coincidence that they are both in the same place at the same time?

No, this has to be something much stronger than coincidence; they just might have a bonafide Christmas miracle on their hands.

The Boss of Christmas Present by Ali Rycart

Summary:

Can the spirit of Christmas transform a modern-day Scrooge?

Jordan Fairchild’s been harbouring a secret crush on his boss for almost two years, but he’s starting to ask himself why. Conrad Ryder might be as hot as hell but as Christmas draws near, he’s less Santa Claus and more Scrooge.

When an angry phone call shatters Conrad’s well-laid plans to escape Christmas, he’s faced with nowhere to go and nobody to be with. Cut off from family and friends, Christmas is suddenly looking as cold and bleak as the snow-covered city streets.

Entranced by the spirit of the season, Jordan is determined to make the festivities magical — even if his only companion is a three-legged, Christmas jumper-wearing dachshund.

A chance meeting brings Jordan and Conrad together on Christmas morning. Will Jordan’s Conrad-coloured dreams come true? And will Conrad, with Jordan’s help, rediscover the joy of Christmas to make this his best Christmas Present ever?

***This novella contains an adorable dachshund, an outbreak of Christmas jumpers, reindeer antlers, and the healing spirit of Christmas. Sweetness overload guaranteed, along with low angst and a one hundred percent Happy Ever After***

The Christmas Manny by Sammi Cee

Summary:

This single dad needs to find his joy.

When Jace is hired to watch the precocious Rebecca and her adorable little brother Max, this sunshine manny can’t help noticing the dark cloud hanging over their lonely dad.

Bringing love, happiness, and cheer, Jace sprinkles so much joy and glitter into their lives, that even the workaholic father gets caught up in his spell.

Will one holiday season be enough time for Jace to turn Mitch’s house into a home again? And with the magic of Christmas, will they fall in love along the way, making their family complete?

The Omega's Krampus Christmas by Lorelei M Hart

Summary:

Never take an elf’s cookie… even if it is for a good cause.

School teacher Alger loved his job, his town, and his volunteer work at the local children’s hospital. That is until he loses it all with one mistake: he gave away the wrong cookie. Now cursed to be a Krampus and scare children into behaving, he is miserable. Beyond miserable. At least there’s an out to his curse: Find unconditional love. If only it were as simple as that.

Widower single father Jordan is not a fan of Christmas, not since his alpha’s accident. Each year Jordan fakes it, slapping on his best Christmas Cheer persona in the hopes of making it special for his son. Each year it gets a little bit easier. Who knows… maybe one year the holidays will be merry and bright.

When an unexpected blizzard comes to town, Alger and Jordan end up trapped together and learn that there really is magic in Christmas snow.

The Omega’s Krampus Christmas is a super sweet with knotty heat MM Mpreg Holiday retelling of the fairy tale Beauty and the Beast featuring an alpha who accidentally pissed off the wrong elf, an omega who sees the heart within, more Christmas cookies than anyone should eat in a lifetime, a magical sleigh ride that leaves more than just Santa’s bag being filled, the cutest cat ever…as in ever, Christmas wish lists a mile long, a Christmas miracle or two, including an adorable baby on the way. If you enjoy true love, fated mates, a little bit of whimsy, and your mpreg with heart, download The Omega’s Krampus Christmas today.

Random Tales of Christmas 2021

Part 1  /  Part 2  /  Part 3  /  Part 4

Part 5  /  Part 6  /  Part 7  /  Part 8

Part 9  /  Part 10  /  Part 12

A Very Genre Christmas by Kim Fielding

1 

Portland, Oregon — December 1954 

“Hey, Nick. We’ve got another one.” 

“I’ll be over right away, sweetheart.” I hung up the phone receiver but remained seated in my padded desk chair. Amelia Sansone had sounded annoyed instead of afraid, so I didn’t have to hurry. I finished my cigarette and whiskey, then took a minute to make sure my Colt was fully loaded. I shouldn’t need it on a call like this, but in my line of work, assumptions get you dead. 

Out in the reception area of my office, Carmilla Karnstein paused her typing and watched as I buttoned on my overcoat. I’d met her during one of my previous jobs for Amelia, and she’d ended up as my secretary. She was an odd duck, but she arrived at work before dawn and never left before sunset, and she was a whiz at getting bloodstains out of my clothes—a favor I needed pretty often. 

“Another one at the bookshop?” Her husky voice seemed a mismatch for her delicate frame. But she was older than she looked, and her pale beauty was only a façade for her sharp mind. 

I set my fedora on my head. “Yeah. I doubt I’ll be back after, so lock up for me, please.” 

“Of course. Good luck, Mr. Bozic.” 

I tipped my hat and headed out. 

It was a typical winter afternoon in Portland, gray and drippy, with mist obscuring details and blurring edges. I didn’t mind. In fact, I preferred this weather to bright sunshine, which brought false promises. And anyway, I was in a good mood as I walked down Burnside toward Sansone Booksellers. Although Amelia had some dough, I’m not sure I’d have charged her for these jobs. The city paid my bills for these particular calls, and the city paid well. 

My office was in a third-floor walkup across the street from the Chevy dealership, but Sansone’s was in a more upscale location on 6th Avenue, near the Fred Meyers. Her retail space occupied the bottom two floors, her office was above that, and the top two floors contained apartments she rented out. She could’ve saved herself a lot of grief by moving somewhere else, away from the Rift, but business was good where she was, and she was too stubborn to budge. For a dame who’d been left with nothing after her husband bought it on Okinawa, she was doing well for herself. 

Amelia met me as soon as I entered. She was a small woman whose gray suits always appeared to be swallowing her, and she kept her light brown hair in a pixie cut to avoid fuss. “You walked again instead of driving?” she said by way of greeting. 

“Needed the exercise. Besides, takes less time to walk than to find a place to park near your joint.” 

“Suit yourself.” 

I took off my hat and followed her to the back stairway. “So, what’ve we got this time? It ain’t another kid, is it? That one was a pain in the ass.” He kept waving a stick around and saying words that Amelia told me were mostly bad Latin. I was glad when we sent him back home. 

“No, and it’s nobody you’ll need to shoot, so you can keep that gun tucked away.” 

I shrugged. You never can tell who’ll need shooting. Then I had a hopeful thought. “Is it another guy wearing nothing but that, uh….” I waved vaguely around the region of my groin. 

Amelia gave me a knowing look and shook her head. “Loincloth? No. This one is fully dressed.” 

Shame. Now that fellow had been something to look at, with long black hair and gray eyes, and he had a lot of interesting stories about apes and other animals. He was athletic too. I took him to Forest Park, partly because I wanted to watch him in action, and he’d swung from fir branch to fir branch as easy as you please. That had been a pretty sight. 

The first flight of bookshop stairs was wide, with pale marble steps and a polished wooden railing, but the second—used only by employees—wasn’t for show. A little window on the landing had a view of the alley and the grayish building on the other side. 

“You’re not gonna give me any hints about this one?” I coaxed Amelia as we ascended the final part of the staircase. 

She got an odd expression, one I couldn’t read. “We have a big display of Christmas titles out now.” 

Well, that wasn’t enlightening. 

Whenever the Rift shifted, the results ended up in a dead-end hallway on the third floor, just around the corner from Amelia’s personal office. Nobody knew why, although the eggheads at that commie college across the river liked to throw around fancy words and call them theories. In any case, after the first couple of times, Amelia had arranged for iron bars to be installed across the hallway, forming a sort of jail, with a heavy lock holding the gate closed. That kept most of the results contained until they could be dealt with, although a few had managed to slither or ooze through the openings, and a muscular blond guy with a giant hammer had smashed his way right through the wall. Then he’d jumped, apparently under the impression that he could fall forty feet with no problem. 

That one hadn’t ended well. 

I didn’t draw my Colt, but I made sure my coat was unbuttoned, and I kept my hand hovering near the holster as we turned the corner. 

“Oh jiminy, ma’am, I thought you were never coming back!” 

I stopped walking so suddenly that I almost tripped over my own feet. 

A man stood inside the makeshift cell, his hands wrapped around the bars. He was a good four inches shorter than my five-ten, slender, probably in his late twenties. His pale straight hair hung to his shoulders in back and swooped across his forehead in front, and he had a slightly pointed chin, pink cheeks, and enormous cornflower-blue eyes. 

But it was his clothing that had thrown me for a loop: shiny red boots; red-and-white-striped stockings; an emerald-green tunic with red belt, cuffs, and collar; and a floppy, pointed green hat. With a giant bell at the end. 

And did I mention that his ears were pointed too? 

I turned to Amelia. “Is this what I think it is?” 

“Detective, meet Evindal, the Christmas elf.”

Fairytale of LaGuardia by AE Wasp & Beth Bolden

“You shouldn’t lie on Christmas,” a clear voice said quietly as soon as the bartender left. It wasn’t his whiskey drinking neighbor, it was Blush Boy. “You’re going to get on Santa’s naughty list.”

The guy had finally stopped pretending not to notice him, so Owen could get a good look. He was young, maybe early twenties. A fine specimen of youth with bright red hair, a sweet smile, and the body of an athlete, he seemed as happy and as eager to please as a Golden Retriever.

And since Owen was becoming a garbage pit of a person, that sweet eagerness combined with that young hard body made him want to do bad, dirty things to the kid. If his flight hadn’t been leaving soon, Owen might have tried to pick him up. He might have to be ‘Owen Lindsay, the baseball player’ to do it, but for those soft, pillowy lips and blue eyes, he’d make a few sacrifices.

“Me?” he asked the guy with a grin. “Lie?”

The kid’s smile widened. “Yeah, you are Owen Lindsay,” he said confidently. “I would’ve recognized you anywhere. I totally had your poster on my wall growing up. I looked at it a lot.” His eyes drifted down over Owen’s chest. “Like, a lot.”

Well, what do you know? Owen’s gaydar was pinging big time and he had a hunch he knew exactly which of his posters pretty boy here had spent some quality time with. Years ago, he’d posed naked for one with only a strategically-placed glove standing between him and a public indecency charge. Christ, had that really been almost a decade ago?

“Is that so?” Owen asking, sipping the orange juice the bartender had set in front of him. “And how much of that time did you spend staring at my face?”

The boy blushed bright red, which made him look even more adorable, but he didn’t look away. “Some,” he answered with a half-smile. He shifted on his stool, angling his body more towards Owen.

Maybe there was a bit of the Wolf left in Owen after all. Something about this kid made him feel like a predator stalking a particularly tasty bit of prey. Since neither drinking, working out, nor playing the stock market had worked to distract Owen from his impending midlife crises, maybe he should give mindless casual sex a try. After all, according to a hundred and one employees at this airport, his flight was bound to be delayed. He had to kill the time somehow. He could think of worse ways.

Owen swiveled his bar stool until he was almost entirely facing the other man. “What did your parents have to say about that,” he asked.

The kid blushed again, the pink heat trailing down his neck and disappearing beneath the neckline of his t-shirt.  “I hid it behind a Britney Spears poster,” he admitted.

“How heteronormative of you,” Owen said with a grin.

“Or crafty,” the kid said, holding up a finger and grinning back. “It all depends on your perspective.”

The Boss of Christmas Present by Ali Rycart

1

“Jordan, get this over to Kaplinskis’ now. And where’s the Fisher presentation? I need it on my desk in ten minutes. The video conference with the Watson Brothers group in New York, it’s been moved to 4:30pm this afternoon—” 

Jordan Fairchild’s eyes widened. “That’s in the diary for Wednesday—” 

“It’s been changed. Just sort it, will you? And get this sent to the dry cleaner.” 

A blue nylon suit bag was dumped on Jordan’s desk, scattering the neat pile of papers and knocking over Jordan’s empty coffee mug. He scrambled to catch it before it smashed to the white marble floor. 

“Bring me a coffee.” 

The door to Conrad Ryder’s office slammed closed. 

Jordan sighed as he shifted the bag from his desk, grabbed a note pad and listed Conrad’s rapid fire series of demands. No please, no thank you, just barked out orders. Nothing new there. After almost two years working as Conrad Ryder’s Executive PA, Jordan was used to his fiery, demanding, and often bad-tempered boss. He was used to all of it, just as he was used to being invisible. 

“God alone knows why I stay,” Jordan muttered under his breath. It wasn’t as if he was paid a fortune. You could earn way more…You could walk into any Executive PA position… his friend Lena always said. And he could, in any number of the big City finance companies. But it’s close to home… The benefits are pretty good… Except they weren’t, not really. Lena’s withering stare always withered his words. She knew why he stayed, just as much as he did. He glanced over at the closed door to Conrad’s office, before he turned his attention back to the list he’d made. 

Jordan marked the demands in priority order, only half his mind on the task. Maybe Lena was right, that he was underappreciated and overworked, and that was all he ever would be. Perhaps it really was time to move on. 

The door in the glass wall that separated him from the busy open plan office beyond was propped open, and a burst of laughter from the far end caught Jordan’s attention. He looked up, and grinned. 

Everybody was pulling on Santa hats, some of them studded with lights flashing on and off, or with reindeer antlers. And Christmas jumpers, everyone wore a Christmas jumper. Images of snowmen, elves, Christmas puddings, turkeys and mince pies, and wrapped-up gifts topped with bows adorned the misshapen woolly garments, all doubtless pulled from the backs of cupboards where they’d been stored all year. 

Ah, of course. It was Wear Your Christmas Jumper to Work Day. How could he have forgotten? Maybe he could nip back home at lunchtime and pick up his own, new, Christmas jumper. If he got a lunch break, which he doubted. He turned back to the list. 

The more straightforward things he’d have given to Lucy to sort out, if she hadn’t have run from the office the previous week, screeching that she couldn’t take it any longer. It being Conrad. The same thing had happened with Anisha before her, and Donny before her. A long line of Assistant PAs, more than he could remember, who’d quit — or been fired — taking their belongings away in a brown cardboard box amid rage or tears. Mostly tears. 

He had the telephone number of the agency they used for recruiting admin staff branded on his brain. Even before he’d made the call in the wake of Lucy’s hysterical departure, he’d known how the conversation would go. We can’t provide a suitable, a sufficiently robust candidate with exceptional strength of character at such short notice, the recruitment consultant had told him. Recruiting for somebody to work with Conrad Ryder is — challenging. There was a need to find the right person, the consultant had said, somebody who was resilient… 

Jordan had heard it all before. The language was coded: Conrad Ryder is a bastard to work for. Nobody with any sense would stick it for more than five minutes. Anybody who worked for the Ryder Corporation, if they had any sense, should demand danger money. Now, with just under a week before Christmas, there was no point in even thinking about getting anybody in. He’d wait until the New Year, when everybody was fired up to change their jobs. Until then he’d do it all, just like he had so many times before. 

Jordan tapped his pen against his lips as he studied the list. It was going to be tight, but he’d get it all done. Just. He’d end up working late again, but what was new about that? He had nobody to rush home to. Jordan glanced at his coffee mug, which had barely survived Conrad’s assault on his desk, and smiled. Nobody wasn’t quite true. 

He looked at the list again. He’d not noted the most important task, because that was self-evident. Pushing up from the desk, Jordan made his way to the small kitchenette, reserved exclusively for Conrad, and fired up the coffee machine. 

*****

“For fuck’s sake, Tony, what the hell are you talking about? What do you mean, you’re leaving for Boston and not coming back…?” 

Conrad’s hand, gripping his mobile, shot away from his ear as Tony screamed angry, non-stop invective at him. He caught a handful of words, sandwiched between Tony’s increasingly colourful and heavily accented English, before he clamped the phone back to his ear. 

“What?” Conrad barked. 

Tony’s answer was a mix of English and Italian. One language Conrad understood loud and clear, the other he could guess at.

Conrad rummaged in his desk for the painkillers. Finding them, he popped two from the blister and dry swallowed, but they caught in his throat and he started coughing. 

Where the hell was Jordan with his coffee? 

“You’re not coming back because of me? What the hell is that supposed to mean? I don’t—what? I don’t treat you right?” 

Conrad jumped up from his desk and paced his office, shoving the fingers of his free hand through his hair, messing up the sharp, groomed style. Tony was walking out on him? On him? Then what was he supposed to do for Christmas? He’d arranged everything. Well, Jordan had. Verbier in Switzerland, the exclusive ski lodge high up in the mountains. Instead of a flight to Geneva, Tony was heading west in an hour’s time, and not coming back. 

“After everything I’ve given you—what the fuck?” 

Screamed out English-Italian invective was replaced by sudden silence. Conrad pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at it. It was hot, as though the heated rage Tony had spewed at him before he’d hung up had transferred itself to the mobile. 

“You ungrateful little—” 

Conrad slung it across his office, not caring if it shattered against the expensive modern artwork hanging from the wall. Instead, it hit the edge of the soft leather sofa and bounced onto the plump cushions. Conrad breathed in deep. In-out, in-out, each breath tamping down the rage, his mind already racing to what needed to be done. His pulled his hands over his hair, flattening it back down, flattening everything back into place. 

The door opened after a discreet knock, and Conrad swung around. 

Jordan edged in, carrying a tray laden with a pot of coffee, an oversized porcelain mug, and a brownie on a matching plate, which he placed on Conrad’s desk. Conrad scowled at the chocolate delight. He couldn’t eat that. Jordan knew he was following an ultra-low carb diet. Didn’t his PA know the contents of his food cupboard and fridge better than he did? 

His stomach rumbled and his mouth watered as the rich and heady sweetness filled the office. Chocolate, sour cherry and caramel, from The Bakehouse, the local artisan bakery. He rubbed at his brow. Perhaps his blood sugar levels had dropped, so maybe a bite, or two. 

Conrad turned away and looked out at the city spread out below, blanketed in a thick layer of snow. He screwed up his eyes and winced, swinging away from a sudden dazzling shaft of sunlight braking through the one, solitary cloud in the clear blue sky. He rubbed at his head again. Why weren’t the painkillers kicking in? 

“Jordan,” he snapped, just as his PA turned to leave. 

“Yes, Mr. Ryder?” 

“The Verbier trip, cancel it.” 

“Excuse me? Cancel it? But you’re flying out on Christmas Eve, that’s just four days—” Conrad answered with an exaggerated sigh. “Is my instruction so hard to understand? And cancel the order from Hogarth’s, too.” 

“The Hogarth order? The watchmaker?” 

“I don’t imagine you’ve been in touch with too many people by the name of Hogarth lately. So yes, the watchmaker.” 

“No. I mean yes. Yes, Mr. Ryder. I’ll see to it straight away.” 

“See that you do. I don’t want any disturbances for the next couple of hours. And get my suit to the dry cleaner.” 

As soon as Jordan left, closing the door with a barely-there click, Conrad leaped on the sticky, sweet brownie and gave himself up to sugar overload.

The Christmas Manny by Sammi Cee

Chapter One 

Jace 

“Who are you? I’m not opposed to talk to strangers,” the little boy in dinosaur pajamas said, peering up at me with big green eyes filled with curiosity. 

Tapping my chin, I stared down at him. “Are you supposed to answer the front door by yourself?” 

He checked over his shoulder, found the coast clear, and shook his head from side to side. “Nope. Nana says I have to wait for her or Daddy to answer the door, but he’s in the shower because I assidentaly spilled my cereal, and he had to clean it up, so it made him late. But I didn’t do it on purpose. It was an axident.” His voice got thick with tears as he continued, “I only wanted to show him I could be a big helper like Sissy.” 

Hunching down in front of him so that we were eye level, I grabbed his little hands, ignoring the fact he’d just swiped one of them under his nose. “Don’t worry. I bet your daddy knows that, and he’s not even upset.” I hoped. “But you know what he wouldn’t like?” The little guy shook his head back and forth again. Too cute. “He wouldn’t like that you ignored his and your nana’s rule to not answer the door by yourself. I’m a good guy, but what if I had been someone else?” 

His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “How do I know you not bad?” 

I shrugged, but before I could say, You don’t, a deep voice said sternly, “You don’t. Maximus, what have I told you?” Good gravy, I hoped they normally called him Max because he was just a peanut, and Maximus was a mouthful.

The little boy whirled around to face the hot-as-fuck, thoroughly pissed-off man who I assumed was his father. “I know I’m not opposed to, but you had to take a shower because I made a mess, and I wanted to show you I can be a big helper like Sissy.” 

How the dad, Mr. Teake, according to the agency, answered this question would tell me a lot about the man. It was only a three-day assignment, so it shouldn’t really matter, but I seriously disliked working for people who didn’t treat their children well. My best friend said that made no sense because without families needing mannies, I’d be out of work. But I tended to attach to the children I watched pretty quickly, and when their parents were jerks, it broke my heart, and I worried like a crazy person. 

Mr. Teake didn’t disappoint me, though. His eyes, the same pale green as his sons with a hint of sadness, softened, and he lay his big hand on his little blond head. “I know, Max. And I appreciate you wanting to help, but even Rebecca knows better than to answer the door.” 

“That’s why I went and got Daddy, stupid,” a little girl said, probably a few years older than her little brother, in a sassy know-it-all voice from farther back in the hallway. 

I bit my lip to keep from laughing at the man’s sigh. If I wasn’t mistaken, it took everything in him not to roll his eyes as he craned his neck to look at her. “We don’t call each other names in this house, Rebecca. You know better than that.” 

“Sorry, Daddy,” she mumbled, with complete repentance and sincerity. Nice, she was actually a good kid, even if she’d wanted to stick it to her brother a little bit. I could work with that. 

My laugh escaped when I glanced down to see Max sticking his tongue out at his sister. Mr. Teake caught it, too, but very pointedly ignored it and focused on me. “I’m assuming you’re Jace.”

Holding my right hand out, I said, “Yes, sir, Mr. Teake,” as we shook. His hand was large, his grip firm, but his skin felt velvety soft and smooth to the touch. Damn. I wondered if he’d be interested in a bargain that didn’t involve a cash transaction. I’ll watch your kids all day, and then you can take care of me all night. 

His gaze turned questioning. Oops. Needed to keep a blank face if I wanted to have pervy thoughts. To cover my blunder, I pointed back and forth between the kids. “And these are my little charges for the weekend, I’m assuming?” 

He nodded briskly. “Yes. This one”—he ruffled the boy’s hair, making him giggle—“is Max, and the cheeky one is Rebecca. If she had her way, I’d leave her to babysit, but eight isn’t really old enough.” 

“Nine. I’m almost nine, Daddy.” 

He sighed again. “Still not old enough to be alone all day with your brother, sweetheart. And the kids may call you Mr. Jace?” he asked me. 

That was a little stuffy, and I preferred plain Jace, but I understood teaching the children respectful ways to interact with adults, so I nodded. He hummed his approval and checked the gold watch on his wrist, and my heart raced in my chest. Yum. Men who wore watches instead of using their cellphones to check the time ticked all of my boxes. “Okay, Jace. My mother left their schedule on a notepad in the kitchen. If you don’t know where something is, you can ask Rebecca. She’s very helpful.” 

“Yes, I am.” She nodded, stepping up right behind her brother. Huh. Mr. Teake’s genes ran strong. Both his daughter and son had his pale green eyes, bronze coloring, and both blondes hair. Although, Rebecca had those fun chipmunk cheeks that were like a siren call to old ladies everywhere. Squeeze Me, they cried. 

The man had become thoroughly distracted after checking his watch, so I wasn’t surprised when he nodded absently at her and asked me, “Is there anything else you need from me before I leave?” 

Smiling politely, I asked, “May I come in?” 

“Of course. Sorry.” He stepped back, swinging the door open wider, but with Max still hovering, I had to brush right past hottie-dad, and wow, did he smell good, like body wash and cedar. I sighed. I swear, I met all the good ones while watching their kids. If any of my dates ever looked or smelled this scrumptious, maybe I wouldn’t still be single. 

After shutting the door, Mr. Teake strode past me and the kids, so I shrugged at Max and pointed at his retreating father. “You think we should follow him?” There was no question that it would be easier to win over the youngest of the Teake children. 

Max shrugged back, but Rebecca narrowed her eyes at me suspiciously. Ha. Smart kid. Obviously, I planned to follow him. With that firm ass clad in those tight dress pants, he’d be able to lead me anywhere. Shaking my head to clear my wayward thoughts, I reached my hand down to Max. He stared at it cautiously for a second, then grabbed it and dragged me in the direction his dad had gone. Rebecca trailed behind us like she anticipated having to save her little brother from the five-feet-five-inch manny. 

We found Mr. Teake in the kitchen with a black trench coat draped over his arm and his briefcase in hand. He pointed toward the counter. “Their schedule is there. I shouldn’t be too late. Maybe eight o’clock or so.” 

He didn’t think that was late to be working on the Friday after Thanksgiving? “Okay, when do the children go down for the night?” 

“Eight-thirty since it’s a non-school night. I’ll be home to tuck them in, but please make sure they take their baths and are dressed in their pajamas when I get here. That will allow me to spend some time with them before they go to sleep.” He smiled down at the kids.

Max let go of my hand and flung his little arms around his father’s legs. Rebecca, however, bit her trembling lip, then masked her sad expression and said bravely, “That’ll be great, Daddy.” 

He ruffled his son’s curly blond hair, smiled gently at his daughter, and then focused on me. “If you have any questions, I wrote my cell number at the top of their schedule. Feel free to text me, and I’ll get back to you as quickly as I can.

” Text him? Whatever. “One last question. Was the agency correct? You need me all weekend?” 

Mr. Teake sighed. “Unfortunately. My company is in the middle of negotiations for an important contract. With the holiday weekend, a lot of the staff is on vacation, so I have my work cut out for me.” 

“That’s too bad. It would’ve been nice for you to be home, too.” 

He waved me off. “I don’t mind. It needs to be done. I expected my mother to be here with the children like usual, of course, but she and a couple of her other friends left yesterday afternoon for a weekend shopping spree.” He looked bemused. “I’m sure she’ll have fun, but she surprised me since she generally decorates for Christmas this weekend.” 

So he wasn’t working just because of the contract. This was normal. It made me sad for him and his kids. I wondered where their mother was, but all the agency had said was that he was a single father, and I didn’t want to be intrusive. Besides, without knowing their story, I didn’t want to upset Max and Rebecca. 

Mr. Teake bent down and hugged both of the kids goodbye, and then he exited through the door on the side of the kitchen with one last glance over his shoulder. Since I didn’t see a vehicle in the driveway, I assumed he parked in the garage. Once the door shut behind him, I faced my companions for the weekend. Max gazed up at me with a hopeful expression, while Rebecca eyed me warily. “Let’s see what your grandmother had planned for the day.” 

Crossing the room, I picked up the notebook, which had Friday clearly marked on the top line. At a glance, I saw times with the basics like lunch and dinner. Underneath, she’d written several suggestions for the day. Turning the page, I saw the same list for the normal routine, with another handful of ideas for Saturday. Everything she suggested were family activities, not the type of things you did with a manny you’d just met. With a sigh, I set it down and noticed that next to the notepad was the emergency contact number for the doctor’s office in her handwriting. It made me remember Mr. Teake had said he left his cell in case I needed to text him. Sure enough, there it was in barely decipherable chicken scratch. 

“Well? What are we doing today?” Rebecca demanded. 

Good question, kid. Hunching down next to Max, I asked, “No one told me how old you are. I know Rebecca is eight—” 

“Almost nine.” 

I held in a chuckle. “Yes, sorry. Nine. So what about you?” 

He held up his hand. “I’m five, but I’ll be six soon. On my birthday.” 

That explained his mispronunciations and his desire to be big like his sister. He was a petite little thing, which probably made it even harder for him to be taken seriously by his older sibling. Since I knew all about that, my heart went out to him. “Oh, well, if you and your sister are both about to have birthdays, then let’s just say you’re six and nine. We have a lot more options if you're both older, am I right?” 

Max giggled, and out of my peripheral vision, I even saw a faint twitch of the lips from Rebecca. Yes, I knew exactly how to win her over today. “First, this is a very important question. Do you prefer to be called Maximus or Max?” 

He regarded me seriously. “Super M.”

Rebecca snorted. “That’s not a real name.” 

“But maybe it is.” I side-eyed Rebecca. “With a superhero name like that, I bet he can do all kinds of things with lightning speed.” She wrinkled her nose, so I continued, “Like, if we did something fun like make paper snowflakes, I bet someone with the name Super M could clean up all of the little pieces of extra paper with super-human speed. Faster than either of us could help.” 

Max yelled, “Yay,” as Rebecca’s expression turned sly. 

“So you mean if we made a mess, Super M would have to clean it?” 

I blinked innocently. “Well, of course. He’d want to show off how quickly he can do things to help since he likes to be a big helper like you. Right, Super M?” 

He beamed proudly. “That’s right.” 

Rebecca giggled, then caught herself and regarded me with mild interest. “That may work, but we can’t make paper snowflakes. The only white paper we have is in my dad’s office for his printer, and we’re not allowed to go in there without permission.” 

“But do you have colored construction paper?” 

Max tilted his head. “Colored? Snowflakes are white.” 

Gasping, I fell back on my butt in horror. “But when we make our own, they can be whatever color we want them to be. Just think about it. When it snows and the sun hits those big snowflakes, they twinkle all kinds of pretty colors. Haven’t you done that in school?” 

He glanced at his sister, and she shook her head. “No, we use plain white paper.” 

What the hell? Their school needed more creative teachers. “What fun is that? I’ll tell you what, since I didn’t ask your dad about going out, I’ll bring the stuff with me tomorrow, and we can make some really cool ones.”

Rebecca looked doubtful. “Don’t you think that’s kind of for babies like Super M? I mean, I can help him with the scissors, I guess.” I hid a grin. She’d jumped right into the spirit of the game, calling her brother his new and approved superhero name. 

“Trust me. We’re going to have a blast.” Tapping my chin, I said, “That leaves us with nothing to do today, though.” 

“Well, if Super M is going to clean up, I guess we can build things with his blocks this morning. I don’t really like doing that too much, but he does,” she hurried to add. 

“What do you think, Super M? Does that sound good to you?” 

Max started jumping up and down. “Yes. They’re in the playroom. Can we go in there now?” 

Glancing at Rebecca, I opened my eyes wide. “You guys have a playroom?” 

She smirked. “Yeah, it’s pretty cool.” 

Jumping to my feet, I swept my arm through the air and toward the doorway. “Lead on, my friends. I can’t wait to see this playroom.” 

Max took off running, and after scrutinizing my face for sincerity, Rebecca followed her brother more sedately. “Come on.” 

As we walked through the house, I took it all in. Off of the eat-in kitchen on one side was a dining room with half-walls opening into the living room. The doorway we originally entered in the kitchen led back to the same hallway, and we passed the living room on our left, down a hallway that had several doors leading to a bathroom and bedrooms before turning to what looked like another hallway. 

For being one level, the large house was decorated beautifully with natural wood tables and chairs, light blue walls, gray furniture, and steel blue and white accents on the curtains and throw pillows. Wall sconces in the living room, as well as a framed landscape, and a large simply framed mirror, gave off a homey vibe that continued throughout the rest of the house. 

The playroom, which happened to be the first door we encountered on the right, ended up being exactly what I would’ve wanted growing up if my sisters and I had had an extra space to share. The whole room was sky blue, and on one side of the door leading in, a jungle theme with trees, monkeys, lions, and giraffes started and wrapped halfway around the room. At the window straight ahead, the jungle theme grew more conservative until it rolled naturally into a beautiful field with sunflowers and tulips. And in the sky, flitting around a rainbow that arched down over one big wall, were red and blue birds, butterflies, ladybugs, and a huge sun in one corner with a smiling face. It was the perfect space. 

In the center of the room, the kids had a small white table with four chairs, but on the jungle-themed walls were bins of blocks, trucks, dinosaurs, cars, and what looked like pieces of a train set sticking out. The other walls held bookshelves, a mini-balance beam, and a ballet bar. In front of the window were two plush kid-sized chairs. One was red and blue with a cape hanging off of the back, and the other was purple with white stars. They were both adorable, and it gave me an idea. “Super M. We forgot your cape.” 

Wide-eyed, he stopped rolling the bin of blocks into the center of the room and stared at me. “All my capes are on my pajamas. I don’t have a plain cape.” 

“Oh, I know,” Rebecca exclaimed and ran out of the room. She came back with a hooded children’s bath towel in the design of a cape. “Just put this on, Super M.” 

“Yes!” He fist-pumped the air and took it from her, sticking the hood right on his head.

“Tell your sister thank you. All good superheroes are polite.” 

“Thank you, sissy.” 

She shrugged one arm. “It was no big deal.” Then she walked over and fastened the two velcro pieces on either side at the bottom of the hood around his neck and pushed the hood off. “There. Now you won’t get hot.” 

Max bobbed his head with a big grin and spread his arms out like he was flying and flew one lap around the room. Rebecca rolled her eyes and dropped down on the carpet and began sorting the blocks by shape and color. “What do you want to make?” she asked her brother. “We can make something bigger if we work together.” 

Smiling to myself, I sat down to join in the fun. These were two good kids, and we were going to be just fine. 

*****

Day one with the Teake children had been a success, and day two was off to a smashing start. Yesterday, we’d ended up making a huge castle out of the blocks. Rebecca had a real eye for organization and color, so we’d left it out for their father to see. I’d been a tad nervous he’d be mad that we hadn’t cleaned everything up, but he’d been thrilled with their efforts and encouraged them not to tear it down until their nana got a chance to see it on Monday. 

In the afternoon, I taught the kids how to make homemade clay, with Rebecca doing a lot of the measuring and stirring under my guidance, and then they’d gotten creative. Max had made the most hilarious dinosaurs. But after hearing that we could harden them, Rebecca had decided to make flowers for her grandmother for Christmas. I assured her they would be ready to paint on Sunday, and I would help. In between our activities and meals, I let them have a little screen time with their tablets, and we’d curled up together to watch a movie after they’d had an early dinner and bathed.

Today would be just as fun. I knew that Rebecca thought our project of snowflakes would be a dumb, waste of time, but she’d never made them with me before. To my roommates' amusement, I’d gone to Walmart and bought several multi-packs of construction paper, glue, and different colors of sparkles. 

Before I’d left yesterday, I’d checked for kids' scissors and paper plates. They’d had the first, so I’d picked up paper plates as well. Not even Super M would be able to clean up the mess we were about to make without some preemptive measures. 

Rebecca eyed me warily as soon as her dad left. In my experience, kids were never sure for the first couple of days if what they got from me on day one was what they were really getting or if I was faking it. Max, on the other hand, ran right up to me with a big smile. “Are we still making paper snowflakes, Mr. Jace?” 

“We sure are, buddy. Let me show you what I brought for today.” I went back to where I’d left my purchases by the front door. Not all parents appreciated me bringing in my own supplies. On longer contracts, we worked out the parents buying or reimbursing me for the extras I needed for projects, but I didn’t do that with short-term assignments like what I had with the Teakes this weekend. 

As I started unpacking our supplies onto the kitchen table, Max asked, “Do we get to keep them when we’re done?” 

“Of course we do, stupid.” Rebecca rolled her eyes. “Like he would want our crummy snowflakes, anyway.” 

Max’s eyes welled with tears, so I ignored his sister and hunched down next to him. Children liked it when adults got down on their level, but I’d noticed yesterday that he seemed to especially appreciate it. “Anything we make will be yours to keep, but I wouldn’t say no if you wanted to make a snowflake just for me. I’d hang it up on my bedroom door.”

“Really?” 

“Absolutely. It’ll make my roommate so jealous if he sees that I have a special one made by Super M.” 

Max giggled, so I held my closed fist up for a bump before standing back up. As I kept lining things out on the table, I said conversationally, “I’d say I hate the word stupid, but I don’t like the word hate, either. Both of them are icky, mean words.” 

Rebecca snorted. “Well, I hate brussel sprouts, and that’s not bad to say.” 

Shrugging one shoulder, I said, “Maybe. Maybe not. Like it’s a strong opinion on the delicious little vegetable, which you may like someday when your tastebuds change. But even if you never do, what if someone invited you over for dinner, and you didn’t know what they were serving? If you said you hated brussel sprouts when they made them special for you because it’s the vegetable they think they make best in the world, they might get upset. But if you said, I’m going to try your brussel sprouts even though they’re usually not my favorite. They’d appreciate you being willing to try theirs, right?” 

Rebecca started organizing the paper I pulled out of the plastic by color, but she’d proven to be an intelligent and thoughtful girl, so I knew she was weighing my words. Max, on the other hand, scrunched his nose at me. “Do you actually like brussel sprouts, Mr. Jace?” 

“Mhmm. They’re one of my favorites.” 

The kids leaned around my back, and I chuckled, picturing the faces they were making at each other. Once they stood back up at the table, I hip-checked Rebecca. “Anyway, as I was saying, I don’t really like the word stupid. It’s one of those words that make people feel bad and don’t really say anything.”

The Omega's Krampus Christmas by Lorelei M. Hart

Prologue 

Alger 

Once Upon a Time 

Teaching school paid next to nothing, but I had cheap lodgings and some of the families made me meals from time to time, which helped keep body and soul together. Some did not consider teaching a man’s job, one that could support a family, but at least for the time being, my pleasure in helping to form young minds superseded any other factors. 

Especially at the holiday season. On the last day of school before the Christmas vacation break, we suspended regular classes to bring all the classes together in the decorated auditorium for a holiday recital and festivities before sending the children to their frolics until the New Year. 

This year, our class would be singing a selection of Christmas carols and I, dressed in the red suit of Saint Nick popularized by Clement Moore’s ’Twas the Night Before Christmas or A Visit from Saint Nicholas would appropriately read that story to close the event. As I prepared for my reading, a little sadness tugged at my heart. It was easy to pretend I had enough time with these children during class terms, but on holidays, when they were with their real families, the loneliness seeped in. Maybe I should have aspired to another career. 

Sitting in the armchair placed at the front of the stage, with my students seated on the floor around me, my heart warmed. Sometimes the poverty many of them lived in daunted their spirits, but now smiles of pride at their performance lifted the corners of their lips. They’d indeed done well, and Santa Claus might have taken notice from his North Pole residence. I cleared my throat, bemused at my suspension of logic. Christmastime always made me sentimental, reminded me of my parents and brother, grandparents, all those who’d already departed this realm. They would celebrate the birth of the Christ Child with the angels in heaven, while I sat in my rented room eating whatever someone thought to bring me from their holiday table. 

Even my landlady, who often included me in her holidays, would be away. I’d put her on the train myself, this morning, laden with presents and baked goods she’d prepared. I didn’t resent her good fortune this year. Her married daughter had remembered she had a mother for the first time since my arrival and invited her for the festive season. Mrs. Dougherty’s excitement had been contagious, buoying my spirits as I waved until the train disappeared down the tracks. 

Such a good soul, she deserved happiness. A tug on my trousers reminded me of where I was, and I began the poem. I recited more than read the beloved verses, putting as much heart into them as possible. My gift to the children whose faces I gazed into every school day, who learned their letters and numbers at my tutelage. 

I taught the youngest of them, tasked with giving them a love of learning as much as any specific knowledge. If they had that love, they would do well going forward. 

Finishing the reading, I closed the large book on my lap and chuckled as I thought Saint Nicholas might have before going up the chimney after laying out the gifts for the children of the house in the story. 

Silence for a moment had me worried I’d not done justice to the tale, but then appreciative applause reassured me. The book was one my mother read the same story to me from, precious in its faded covers and holding just as much magic now as then. After I finished, the headmaster stood from his seat at the back of the stage and made a short speech. The same speech, word for word, as last year and the year before. But it suited the occasion and sent everyone off with a smile and a wave. 

A few other teachers and I supervised some of the older boys putting the auditorium to rights before closing the school for two weeks. When we were done, and all the handmade decorations removed, it looked so dull. But clean and ready for the events of a new term. 

As we were leaving, I spotted a bit of litter near the stage, so I bid the others goodbye, said I would lock the doors as I went, and crossed the room to pick it up. Alone, I looked around again. Just an hour or so ago, it had been filled with singing and laughter and bright colors both in the decorations and the students’ and their families’ holiday best attire. 

Now, there was just me, in my brown jacket and trousers, not one sprig of greenery or red ribbon in sight. And since we’d turned down the furnace, the warm air in the room was being replaced by a distinct chill. 

Time to go home. 

I was about to leave the building when I saw a small boy sitting on a chair by the door, kicking his feet and staring at the floor. Little Timothy from my class. All by himself. I approached him and took the seat beside his. 

“Timothy, did your fathers leave without you?” All the families were invited to the holiday recital, filling the auditorium with their appreciation for their children’s performances. 

“No, Mr. Bobell.” His legs slowed their kicking but did not stop. Nor did he look up from his focus on the black-and-white tiles. 

Oh. “They were unable to attend today, then.” He looked so sad. 

“They never come. Like they didn’t come on Meet the Teacher night. Or our spelling bee or...or anything. Sir.” 

I didn’t always get to speak to every parent when they came. Some were shy or just never made it to the front of the room for one reason or another. But from the children’s reports, nearly all their parents or guardians attended when we invited them. Making the invitations was always a fun and popular activity for our art class the week before, and I had some very talented artists in my room this year. Timothy was one of the best. “Sometimes parents are very busy with their responsibilities and cannot take time to enjoy themselves. It’s a shame. But we must try to understand.”

He did lift his eyes to mine at that point, and they held all the pain and disappointment no child should have to experience. 

“I have to lock up now, Timothy. Can you see yourself home?” Some did, and some others had a parent or older sibling to walk them. 

“Yes, sir. I always go home alone.” 

Alone. I had a feeling he often arrived into an empty house. His worn shoes and everyday clothes had stood in stark contrast to most of the other children’s holiday outfits, but poor didn’t mean abused or neglected, and not all had new clothes. But his sad loneliness said it all. How had I not realized just how bad things were? Maybe because we were not allowed to interfere with students’ outside of school, and parents had absolute authority there. Knowing they had it rough made it even harder to do my job and treat all the children equally. 

Still. 

Timothy stood and started for the door, but on a whim, I stopped him with a question. “Timothy, what is your wish this Christmas?” If it was within my power to grant it for him, I would, even if it meant I skipped a meal or two. 

“A cookie,” he replied. “Like my grandma used to make before she died.” 

My heart squeezed so hard, I gasped for a moment before recovering my breath. My mind worked furiously. Where had I seen cookies? A big cookie on a plate! “Timothy, do not leave. I will be right back.” 

I dashed down the hall to Mr. Samberg’s class where, on his desk, sat a plate with a large, perfect, dark-brown molasses cookie. A single delight that might bring a smile to a young man’s face. Mr. Samberg was gone already, and by the time we returned from our holiday, it would be gone anyway, food for a stray mouse. 

Timothy was still there when I returned, and I gave him the cookie, thrilled to see the sadness retreat from his expression while he studied the marvel in his hands. “This is all for me? This whole cookie?” 

“Merry Christmas, Timothy.” I held the door open, turned off the lights, and followed him outside. “Be a good boy, and I’ll see you after New Year’s.” I locked the door and by the time I turned to leave, the little boy was nowhere in sight. I wished I had so much more to give to this child and to the others who might have less-than happy Christmases for different reasons this year. 

Like me, many had lost relatives in the Spanish Flu epidemic a few years before, others had folks who were out of work or had debt that made it impossible to buy things for a festive meal or gifts. 

Saddened by the thoughts that not all the children I taught would have what all children should have for Christmas, I trudged away from the school building. 

“Hey, you. I have a bone to pick with you, Mr. Teacher.” 

That couldn’t be...but it was. An elf.

Kim Fielding

Kim Fielding is the bestselling, award-winning author of over 60 novels and novellas. Like Kim herself, her work is eclectic, spanning genres such as contemporary, fantasy, paranormal, horror, and historical. Her stories are set in alternate worlds, in 15th century Bosnia, in modern-day Oregon. Her heroes are hipster architect werewolves, housekeepers, maimed giants, and conflicted graduate students. They’re usually flawed, they often encounter terrible obstacles, but they always find love.

Having migrated back and forth across the western two-thirds of the United States, Kim calls California home. She lives there with her family, her cat, and her day job as a university professor, but escapes as often as possible via car, train, plane, or boat. This may explain why her characters often seem to be in transit as well. She dreams of traveling and writing full-time.

AE Wasp

A dreamer and an idealist, Amy writes about people finding connection in a world that can seem lonely and magic in a world that can seem all too mundane. She invites readers into her characters’ lives and worlds when they are their most vulnerable, their most human, living with the same hopes and fears we all have. An avid traveler who has lived in big cities and small towns in four different continents, Amy has found that time and distance are no barriers to love. She invites her readers to reach out and share how her characters have touched their lives or how the found families they have gathered around them have shaped their worlds.

Beth Bolden

A lifelong Oregonian, Beth Bolden has just recently moved to North Carolina with her supportive husband and their sweet kitten, Earl Grey. Beth still believes in Keeping Portland Weird, and intends to be just as weird in Raleigh.

Beth has been writing practically since she learned the alphabet. Unfortunately, her first foray into novel writing, titled Big Bear with Sparkly Earrings, wasn’t a bestseller, but hope springs eternal. She’s published twenty novels and six novellas.

Ali Ryecart
I love all kinds of MM romance and gay fiction, but I especially like contemporary stories. Born and raised in London, the city is part of my DNA so I like to set many of my stories in and around present-day London, providing the perfect, metropolitan backdrop to the main action. I write at home, in the gym, in cafés —in fact I write any place I can find a good coffee!

Sammi Cee

Sammi Cee was raised in a family of readers. Summer vacations consisted of a good book while sitting lakeside from as far back as she could remember. After growing up and having her own children, her appreciation of how the written word could transport you on an adventure, bring you to tears, or give you hope, took on a whole new meaning.

These days Sammi is watching her children develop into fine young ladies while doing the things she enjoys most: drinking coffee, eating chocolate, and writing her own stories.

Lorelei M. Hart

Lorelei M. Hart is the cowriting team of USA Today Bestselling Authors Kate Richards and Ever Coming. Friends for years, the duo decided to come together and write one of their favorite guilty pleasures: Mpreg. There is something that just does it for them about smexy men who love each other enough to start a family together in a world where they can do it the old-fashioned way ;).

Kim Fielding

FACEBOOK  /  TWITTER  /  WEBSITE

BLOG  /  B&N  /  SMASHWORDS

KOBO  /  AUDIBLE  /  GOOGLE PLAY

YOU TUBE  /  DREAMSPINNER

iTUNES  /  AMAZON  /  GOODREADS

EMAIL: kim@kfieldingwrites.com

dephalqu@yahoo.com 

AE Wasp

FACEBOOK  /  TWITTER  /  WEBSITE

NEWSLETTER  /  INSTAGRAM  /  AUDIBLE

PINTEREST  /  AMAZON  /  GOODREADS

EMAIL: amy@aewasp.com 

Beth Bolden

FACEBOOK  /  TWITTER  /  WEBSITE

NEWSLETTER  /  AUDIBLE  /  BOOKBUB

INSTAGRAM  /  AMAZON  /  GOODREADS 

Ali Ryecart

FACEBOOK  /  TWITTER  /  WEBSITE

NEWSLETTER  /  INSTAGRAM

FB FRIEND  /  AUDIBLE  /  BOOKBUB

FB GROUP  /  AMAZON  /  GOODREADS 

EMAIL: aliryecart@ryecartauthor

Sammi Cee

FACEBOOK  /  TWITTER  /  FB GROUP

FB GROUP2  /  LINKTREE  /  NEWSLETTER

PROLIFIC WORKS  /  INSTAGRAM

BOOKBUB  /  AMAZON  /  GOODREADS

Lorelei M Hart

FACEBOOK  /  WEBSITE  /  NEWSLETTER

FB FRIEND  /  AMAZON  /  GOODREADS

EMAIL: Lorelei@mpregwithhart.com

A Very Genre Christmas by Kim Fielding

AMAZON US  /  AMAZON UK

AUDIBLE  /  GOODREADS TBR

Fairytale of LaGuardia by AE Wasp & Beth Bolden

AMAZON US  /  AMAZON UK

WEBSITE  /  GOODREADS TBR

The Boss of Christmas Present by Ali Rycart

AMAZON US  /  AMAZON UK

WEBSITE  /  GOODREADS TBR

The Christmas Manny by Sammi Cee

AMAZON US  /  AMAZON UK  /  GOODREADS TBR

The Omega's Krampus Christmas by Lorelei M Hart

AMAZON US  /  AMAZON UK  /  GOODREADS TBR