Catered All the Way(2023)
Summary:Tis the season for a hopeless crush on my older brother’s best friend…
This year will be different. I’m all grown up, my gaming channel is a huge success, and I finally have the confidence to make my move on Atlas Orion, the hottest chief in the navy.
However, I don’t intend for my smooth move to be covering Atlas in cranberry sauce. Not at all how I want to reintroduce myself to my new roomie and coworker. Atlas is in town to help save Seasons, my family’s historic holiday gift shop and event space. Seasons is booked solid with catered parties, so we need to avoid any more disasters.
Like my malfunctioning air mattress. We’re down to one bed, two dudes, and a whole lot of holiday-fling temptation. Atlas has never been with a guy, but I don’t have to do much persuading. And what better way to explore than a secret romp? No strings, and no one has to know.
The problem? With every passing week, I fall harder for Atlas, who’s far more than his drool-worthy muscles and heroic job. He’s kind, funny, makes me breakfast in bed, and each midnight snowball fight brings us that much closer to heartbreak.
Atlas can’t stay in Kringle’s Crossing forever, and I can’t imagine leaving the only place I’ve called home. Our feelings run deep, but is it a holiday illusion? Can we find our way to a lasting future?
CATERED ALL THE WAY is a brand-new, full-length holiday romance from the beloved author of THE GEEK WHO SAVED CHRISTMAS. Lovers of stand-alone swoon-worthy Christmas stories will fall for this geek + military pairing. Full of spicy first times, bisexual awakening, quirky small-town residents, and guest appearances from some fan-favorite characters, this only one bed, brother’s best friend romance is sure to find a place under many trees! Dual POV and the happiest of endings guaranteed.
Summary:
His grumpy neighbor needs some holiday sunshine…
Gideon Holiday is the perfect neighbor. Need a cup of sugar? Spare folding chair? Extra batteries? He’s always ready to help. And he’s waited years for his hot, grumpy, silver fox neighbor, Paul, to need him. For anything. But this December, Gideon would be happy if he could just get the Scrooge-like Paul on board with the neighborhood holiday lights fundraiser.
Paul Frost has no intention of decking his halls or blazing any Yule logs. Even if his spunky bowtie-clad neighbor does look perfect for unwrapping, Paul would prefer to hide away until December is done. But when his beloved younger brother announces an unexpected visit, Paul needs all the trimmings for a festive homecoming—and fast.
Luckily, Gideon is there with a color-coded plan to save Christmas. Soon Paul’s hanging lights, trimming trees, and rolling out cookies. And steaming up his new flannel sheets with Gideon. How did that happen?
It’ll take some winter magic to preserve their happiness and keep these rival neighbors together longer than one holiday season.
The Geek Who Saved Christmas is a low-angst m/m holiday romance with a guaranteed happy ending. This grumpy/sunshine, neighbors-to-lovers, found family tale features two heroes in their forties figuring out that maybe their sexily-ever-after was right next door the whole time. It stands alone and is not connected to any of the author’s other universes. However, it does contain a heaping helping of the same emotions and steamy moments readers have come to expect!
Summary:
Nolan Bell has a very Merry problem this holiday season…
As a native New Yorker, I’ve always dreamed of my name in lights on Broadway. But when my Army officer brother calls in a favor, I wind up in Hawaii to help his family while he’s deployed.
A winter in paradise doesn’t sound too bad until I become the substitute choir teacher at a middle school near the base. Wrangling a bunch of tweens while planning the annual school holiday lights festival is a far cry from playing Peter Pan.
Enter Merrick “Merry” Winters, the school’s grumpy but hot shop teacher. I can win over any audience, but Merry’s a tough sell. And I need his help to make the festival successful.
The more time I spend with Merry, the less grumpy he seems, and the more I like the guy. He’s the third generation of a legendary North Shore surfing family. He’s committed to raising his twin boys on the island as a single dad. And like me, he doesn’t have time for an inconvenient but undeniable attraction.
As disasters pile up, the only holiday magic Merry and I seem to be making is with each other. What starts as a harmless fling becomes the only present I want under my tree.
If I want this romance to last past New Year’s, I have to decide which dreams are truly worth chasing.
Can Merry and I catch a wave for a future together before the sun sets on this holiday season?
A brand-new holiday romance from the author of the beloved The Geek Who Saved Christmas starring two middle school teachers in over their heads in an opposites-attract, fish-out-of-water romance. Deck the Palms features a slightly grumpy single dad and a sunny city slicker navigating family dynamics amid holiday small-town romance vibes with a side of Hawaiian sunshine. Guaranteed low-angst, feel-good, happy ending with a heaping helping of holiday spice!
Catered All the Way
Chapter One
Zeb
THANKSGIVING DAY: 30 SHOPPING DAYS UNTIL CHRISTMAS
“What do you mean Atlas isn’t coming?” I glared at my older brother, who always managed to bring out my grumpy side, especially this early on Thanksgiving. Not that it was the crack of dawn, but I was dragging because I’d streamed late into the night on an important collaboration with some popular Australian gamers. However, I didn’t dare mention my tiredness to Gabe. I’d already been scolded for being ten minutes late to help prep for the annual Thanksgiving dinner hosted at Seasons, our family-run gift shop and event space.
“There was some sort of delay again with his flight back to the States from wherever he’s been deployed.” Gabe sighed, the same world-weary sound he made whenever Atlas, his longtime best friend, had to cancel plans because the navy wanted to whisk him away. It was the same heavy exhale Gabe did when I disappointed him too. A natural manager, Gabe had been born precisely on time with high expectations for the rest of the world. “It’s okay. We can make do with a limited crew as long as no one else calls out.”
“And you wanted to lecture me about my reliability earlier?” I continued my work setting up the cold section of the buffet, which would house various salads and condiments, before leading into the dessert section full of pie slices. We’d expected Atlas to arrive two days ago, and I should have known better than to count on that timeline. “How many times over the years has Atlas let you down, Gabriel? Shouldn’t a freaking SEAL assistant be more reliable?”
“I don’t know, Zebediah.” Gabe matched my deliberate use of his hated first name. “He’s out there saving the world. More important things to do than play bartender for Seasons, that’s for sure.” For all Gabe’s good qualities, and he did have them, irony wasn’t his strong suit. “And the technical term is SEAL support, which is possibly even more mission-critical.”
“So what you’re saying is you’re fine with not being a priority.” I plopped a large green salad into the refrigerated buffet table. I wasn’t truly upset with Gabe. Or Atlas, for that matter. Gabe liked to paint him as some sort of superhero, which wasn’t that far off the mark. Atlas wasn’t a flake. All the times he’d had to cancel, he’d had world-hanging-in-the-balance emergencies. Couldn’t argue with that. And we could manage fine without Atlas’s help for the upcoming holiday season. But even so, I felt deflated, like an off-balance parade balloon sagging too low.
I’d had plans for his month-long leave, damn it. For the first time, I was ready for Atlas to see me as something other than Gabe’s pesky little brother. I wanted to impress him. I had no idea if he was into guys, but I was more than willing to find out. And all my plans required Atlas in the flesh, so yes, I was a little cranky.
And reckless. My unintended force made the salad contents dance around inside the clear bowl.
“Watch what you’re doing.” Gabe’s voice was as sharp as if I’d scattered greens everywhere, yet all the contents were perfectly safe under a layer of plastic wrap. “You’re going to drop something.”
“You think I don’t know how to set a buffet table by now?” I rolled my eyes because I, like Gabe, had grown up in this place. I could prep Thanksgiving dinner in my sleep. Speaking of which, I stifled another yawn.
“I don’t know, Mr. Priorities,” Gabe shot back. “You missed the Bauman’s annual Halloween party because of your gamer friends—”
“I was at a con.” I was exhausted by his constant minimization of my chosen career. And yes, I’d missed a couple of fall bookings, but I’d had good reason. “It was one of the largest gaming conventions, and I was on a panel—”
“Uh-huh.” Gabe sounded distracted, which was his permanent condition these days. And it wasn’t like I didn’t sympathize—the business was struggling, expenses were up, and he and Paige were expecting twins. Impending parenthood or not, I had a hard time keeping my cool when he started rearranging the items I’d laid out.
“What are you doing? The buffet looks fine.”
“The bowls weren’t spaced evenly, and they’ll look better grouped by size.”
“Whatever. Suit yourself.” I tried to let Gabe’s pickiness go, but he kept huffing as he moved items around. And every micro-adjustment served to remind me he hadn’t heard a word I’d said earlier. “Why do you keep acting like I’m still some couch-surfing slacker?”
“Because you’re too old to be working here part-time. Being a gamer is not a viable profession.” His big-brother-knows-best voice had grated even before our parents died in a car crash a decade ago, and now I chafed whenever Gabe went all paternalistic on me.
“It’s hardly like the small-business life is super stable.” The ongoing cash flow issue here at Seasons was a low blow, but he was the one who kept treating me like I was still seventeen, living on corn chips and energy drinks and playing games with other broke teens all night. However, I was reformed and on a mission to get the world, especially Gabe, to finally take me seriously. “And I’m making money now.”
“I know you are.” Gabe might as well go ahead and ruffle my hair. “But hospitality is evergreen. Just like Seasons.” He did love to tout the long history of Seasons. For all he worried about money, he also tended to ignore how trends changed and fewer people rented small-town event halls now. Proving my point, he thrust a giant crystal bowl of cranberry sauce at me. “Hold this.”
“WTF? The cranberry sauce was fine in the middle where it always goes.”
“Your placement wasn’t the middle.”
“Why do you have to be such a perfectionist about everything?” I used to wish I could be more like Gabe. Perhaps then we would get along better. Maybe if I developed a love of ironing, early mornings, and precise details, we wouldn’t fight so much. But these days, I liked who I was. I simply wished Gabe didn’t always manage to bring out my inner whiny kid.
“I don’t know, Zeb.” Instead of taking the cranberry sauce back, Gabe moved three other smaller bowls fractions of an inch this way and that. “Why do you have to be lackadaisical?”
“That’s right. Go for the ten-dollar word.” Trying to tamp down my ire, I managed half a chuckle. Gabe did love Scrabble and every other word game that came his way, having inherited our grandfather’s love of crosswords.
“Atlas.” Gabe’s eyes widened, and his gaze drifted over my left shoulder.
“Good one, bro,” I groaned. When Gabe wasn’t micromanaging the business, we had a long history of minor pranks on each other. Every now and then, the dude managed to find his sense of humor. “Act like he’s right behind me and could hear me ranting about him no-showing mere hours before—”
“Hey, Gabe.” That distinctive, deep, dark, and delicious voice could only belong to one person.
“Atlas.” I, on the other hand, squeaked like a freaking gerbil as I whirled around. The cranberries came with me, a tidal wave of cold red sauce that was no match for the thin plastic wrap over the top of the bowl. And oh my fucking God, Atlas Freaking Orion was right there, like mere inches behind me, and I crashed into him, sloshing berries everywhere, including all over the one guy I wanted to impress this holiday season.
“Zeb.” Gabe went straight for scolding me. “What did you do?”
“I told you the sauce was fine where it was.” I glared at Gabe because anger was far more practical than embarrassment. I’d had plans, and this unmitigated disaster was not in any of them.
“Uh, guys?” Atlas glanced between Gabe and me. “Some help?”
Oh, right.While Gabe and I were trying to score points off each other, Atlas was wearing gallons of sauce. Atlas was every bit as tall as I remembered and quite possibly broader. Paige and Gabe had visited him in Virginia a couple of times, but pictures hadn’t done the man justice. Ripped like an action star, he’d trimmed his black hair super short. The look was hot as hell on him, especially with his Mediterranean coloring and dark eyes. He had on the sort of everyday BDUs all the navy guys seemed to wear on duty unless it was a formal occasion. Sadly, the uniform was soaked and probably done for.
“Sorry—” I started, only to be cut off by Gabe.
“Sorry, Atlas. You probably remember my little brother, Zebediah. Always causing mayhem. But it’s good to see you.” He grabbed an entirely inadequate bar towel from the cart I’d used to bring in the salads and handed it to Atlas before clapping him on the one clean spot on his meaty shoulder. “Thought you weren’t going to make it.”
“Me too. I caught the last transport out of DC right before my phone ran out of power, then lucked into a ride heading this direction.” He sponged off his face before turning his attention to me. “And this is little Zeb? I remember you being a kid in high school—”
“I’m twenty-eight now,” I brightly informed him. My tone was too crisp, tinged by my irritation at Gabe. “Neither little nor a kid, despite what my elder statesman of a brother thinks. Time flies.”
“Huh. I guess it has been a while since I’ve been back.” Atlas rubbed his stubbled jaw. Probably hadn’t shaved or slept in a couple of days, given his tired red eyes, and I immediately felt bad for the dig at his lengthy absence. My shoulders slumped, and my gaze dropped to the messy floor.
“Let’s get you cleaned up,” Gabe said to Atlas before turning back to me. “You work on this mess, and I’ll help Atlas find a spare server’s uniform.”
“Guess I would have needed to change anyway.” Atlas was far more good-natured than either of us deserved. “But I might need hosing down first.”
“There’s a shower,” Gabe steered him toward the double black doors that led to the kitchen area. “I’ll show you.”
“I remember.” Atlas chuckled fondly. Why, oh why, did every damn thing on the man, including his laugh, have to be so sexy?
“Oh, that’s right.” Gabe joined in Atlas’s laughter. “Didn’t my dad catch you and Marla Kleinsdorf in there senior year?”
“She needed help getting glitter out of her hair after her birthday party.” Atlas sounded more factual than bragging, but my back still tensed. Maybe his perpetual bachelor status wasn’t the sort of clue to his sexuality that I’d hoped for.
“Sure, buddy, sure. She still lives in the area, you know.” The way my luck was running, Gabe would have Atlas and Marla, who owned a flower shop, engaged before December. Pausing at the kitchen door, Gabe turned back to me as I attempted to scrub the worst of the sauce from the carpet. “And, Zeb, don’t try to salvage the table linens. Fresh set. Our guests have high expectations of a Seasons’ Thanksgiving dinner.”
“I’m aware.” My voice was crouton dry, not that either of them would notice.
“And for God’s sake, smile.” Gabe gave me the widest, fakest grin ever. “It’s the happiest time of year.”
Uh-huh. More like about to be the longest month of my life.
The Geek Who Saved Christmas
Chapter One
‘Tis that time of year again, neighbors! The annual holiday lights charity fundraiser is coming! It’s time to get serious about those decorations, folks! ~Cheryl Bridges posted to the What’s Up Neighbor app
Gideon
“See the blazing Yule before us,” I sang happily. I was running late, but that didn’t stop me from summoning some early seasonal spirit on my way into the tiny Evergreen Park community center at the heart of our historic neighborhood. I’d been looking forward to this meeting for weeks now, the moment when my grand plans would all be revealed. I did love a good plan, and I had the schematics to prove it.
Deck the halls, indeed. If I had my way, the whole neighborhood would be transformed into a perfect—
“Watch it.” A voice I knew a little too well had me looking up in the nick of time to avoid crashing into my next-door neighbor. My very hot, very grumpy, very not-into-community-meetings neighbor.
“Paul!” I faked some cheer in the hopes that maybe his grinchy heart had thawed this year, and he’d finally join us in decorating. “You here for the meeting?”
“Yep.” Typically monosyllabic, his stony face revealed nothing about his intentions.
“Does this mean you’re going to put up some lights this year?” I asked brightly. My voice had the same embarrassingly breathless quality it always took on around Paul Frost. Something about all those muscles and silver-fox looks combined to fluster me every darn interaction. We were both over forty, but he wore it so much hotter. “I’ll be going over guidelines and helpful hints.”
“I don’t need hints.” It really was a darn shame, the way the man totally lacked an appetite for fun and community togetherness. But maybe when one filled out a leather jacket like he did, a personality was strictly optional.
“Still, everyone is looking forward to hearing my plans.” Everyone other than him went without saying. And if he was there to object, he could save it. I’d worked too hard on my plans to turn back now. “I’d better get in there.”
“Sure.” Paul held the door for us both. “Nice tie.”
“Um. Thanks.” I had no idea what to make of the half-smile that teased the edges of his mouth as he indicted my bow tie, which featured cheerful and seasonally appropriate turkeys.
Mr. Leather Jacket had an endless wardrobe of plain black T-shirts and wasn’t the type to appreciate my fashionable whimsy, making me even more suspicious of his motives for coming to the meeting. However, before I could question him further, Cheryl, our longtime leader, frantically motioned me over to the coffee table. I headed toward her and most certainly did not sneak a look at the flex of Paul’s muscles as he found a seat near the back of the community center.
Liar. Okay, a tiny peek. It wasn’t my fault the man was riveting. Even frowning, he added something to the otherwise drab space. The multipurpose room consisted of a low stage at the front and folding chairs, which could be stowed for senior citizen fitness classes, kid art classes, and other community activities.
“See something you like?” Cheryl raised an eyebrow as I reached her. Oops. Maybe I hadn’t been as subtle as I thought.
“Your new sweater. Love the rose shade on you,” I said smoothly.
“Gideon.” Her pragmatic tone was just this side of scolding. “Paul Frost is a tree you can’t climb.”
“Not planning on trying,” I lied. I’d blaze his Yule in a heartbeat if I thought he was interested, but he was most decidedly not. Every neighborhood interaction tended to turn frosty in a hurry. Which was a shame because we were both single men of a certain age.
According to Cheryl, who had an unparalleled talent for getting details, he’d never been married and didn’t have kids. What he did have was a discreet rainbow on his truck and business logo. And over-forty, unattached homeowners who were possibly into guys didn’t come along all that often in our sleepy suburb. So, understandably, I’d initially been gleeful when he’d moved in, but four years of terse interactions said that short, geeky, snappy dressers didn’t float his particular boat.
Or maybe it was my relentless optimism. Maybe he was allergic to smiles and needed someone similarly dour to hang with, not that I’d seen him date. No hookups escaping late at night or early morning either. And yes, I was a nosy enough neighbor that I’d know.
“Well, he’s not the only new face tonight. This crowd is an excellent omen.” Cheryl patted me on the sleeve as I removed my stack of handouts from my leather messenger bag.
“The big turnout is great, but we may need more snacks.” I gestured at the table, which was already running short on cookies and coffee cups.
“I’m on it.” Smiling deviously, she retrieved an extra platter of turkey-shaped cookies from under the table. “Think Paul will actually decorate this year?”
“That would be a pleasant change.” This was my third year as holiday chair, and if I’d learned anything, it was that Paul Frost didn’t do seasonal celebrations and quite possibly went into hibernation each December. No parties. No appearance at Cheryl’s big New Year’s Eve celebration. No neighborly food offerings. And nary as much as a wreath or single strand of lights.
“I suppose we should get started.” After setting out the fresh platter of cookies, Cheryl clapped her hands with all the authority of a woman who’d raised four sons to adulthood. “Now, I’m sure you’re all here for Gideon’s decorating plans, but before we get to that, we have some housekeeping. The first snow is coming soon, and you’ll want to remember our shared sidewalk obligations.”
Cheryl had a number of such reminders before moving on to new business. “The Morrisons have raised the issue of the high schoolers. Again.”
This got a murmur from the crowd. Paul straightened up from his earlier lazy sprawl. Ah. Maybe he wasn’t here about my decorating after all. And undoubtedly, he sided with the only residents who were possibly bigger scrooges than him. The Morrisons lived to complain. This time it was about the increasing number of young people who were cutting through the park to reach the high school on the other side and trudging across the shared green space maintained by the neighborhood association. The lack of a formal path meant they left muddy footprints and trash in their wake.
“We need to fence off the area.” Mr. Morrison went right to his preferred solution for everything. “Close access. Post signs. Big signs.”
“Yes, that’s one idea.” Cheryl’s tone was way nicer than he deserved. “Proper signage is always a good first step.”
“This is a problem. We can’t keep letting them strut on through like they own the place.” Morrison’s rant got several nods from the crowd.
“Sure we can,” Paul spoke clearly from his spot, not bothering to stand or raise his hand, but he had the sort of voice that when he spoke, people tended to listen. Deep. Gravelly. Working-class Philly with a little hint of Jersey. His sort of blunt directness always impressed me, the way a tell-it-like-it-is person could cut through a lot of game playing and posturing.
And this was a stunning turn of events. My head whipped toward Morrison, eager to see how he’d respond. Paul taking the side of the high schoolers caused wide eyes all around the room and more than one swift intake of breath. High drama for a Tuesday night around here.
“Let them continue to cut through?” Morrison’s skin was getting all splotchy pink and a sheen of sweat appeared on his forehead. “We can’t make it that easy on them.”
“They’re kids.” Paul shrugged, completely unmoved by Morrison’s bluster. “They’re trying to get to the school fast, often in bad weather. Let them cut through. But let’s make it even easier.”
“Easier? Why would we do that?”
“Now, Ernest, let’s hear Paul’s idea.” Cheryl made a sit-down motion with her hand that Morrison ignored.
“What you need is a path. A real path. Add a trash can at each end to handle the litter issue.”
“Paths cost money.” Cheryl spoke before Morrison or someone else could. The community center itself was held together with love and a lot of rusty screws, many years removed from its humble midcentury origins. The greater township never had enough spare budget for parks and rec for the neighborhoods.
“Yup. Any sort of landscaping is going to have costs. But so do fences.” Paul had a sharp look for Morrison. “And it would be a short path. Quick project. My guys can do it, on us. It’s a slow enough time of year for our crew that we can do it between other jobs. If we hurry, we can get it in before it gets too cold to pour concrete.”
Even Cheryl’s experienced eyes went wide at that. Grumpy Mr. Frost had a heart? For late-running high school students, no less? I’d known he was a contractor from his large truck emblazoned with his Frost Construction & Landscaping logo, but this was unexpected generosity from a guy who glared if my trash cans were a few inches out of line on our shared driveway.
“You’d donate a path?” Cheryl clarified.
“Yep. That’s what I said.” Paul rubbed his neck as if maybe public speaking wasn’t his favorite activity. “It’s work for my crew, keeps us busy. And it will look better than a fence, which the kids would likely jump anyway.”
This got a murmur of agreement from a large portion of the audience.
“Well, I suppose it’s worth bringing to the improvements committee for a vote. Maybe something can be scared up for materials expenses.” Cheryl gave a decisive nod. Her stamp of approval meant the project was likely a done deal. Apparently none too happy about this turn of events, Morrison went harumphing his way toward the exit, his long-suffering wife trailing after him.
“Wait!” Cheryl called after him. “Gideon Holiday was about to speak. Don’t you want to hear the neighborhood decorating plans?”
“Don’t need to.” Older with saggy jowls, his scowl was a lot less interesting than Paul’s. And they were the only neighbors as uninclined toward the holidays, what with their house’s lone spindly reindeer lawn ornament and same ancient wreath each year. Morrison was also one to loudly rant about others’ displays, complaining excessive lights and decor were eyesores. And he had endless things to say about the traffic it brought to the neighborhood.
Paul, on the other hand, wasn’t a complainer. Somehow his lack of participation didn’t feel as mean-spirited. More like he simply wasn’t interested, but this year, I had a plan for that. And after discovering that he had a bigger heart than I’d originally thought, I was even more optimistic that my efforts might be successful at long last.
Knowing he had something of a soft spot for younger people, I looked right at Paul when it was my turn to speak. The specifics of the lighting schedule could wait. Instead, I waxed poetic about the children’s programming here at the center we were collecting donations for from visitors who would come to see our displays. We’d also collect food and unwrapped new toys for needy families.
I was super passionate about obtaining more support for the community center’s efforts, but meeting Paul’s sharp hazel eyes as I delivered my appeal was a mistake. There was a reason I tried not to look too hard or too long at the guy. All that stubbly gray hotness had a tendency to make me fumble my words and tried my careful composure.
“The box will go in the toys.” I blinked at my bungling of the point. “Er. Toys. In the box.”
Get a grip, Gideon. I had to look away from Paul and fast. He already thought I was the nutty Holiday guy. I didn’t need him thinking locking gazes with him was enough to trip me up like a high schooler with a crush. Even if it was.
“The kids need our help, and by working together, we can ensure our display makes all the best of the area lists. More visitors equals more donations. The charitable giving committee says requests for help are way up this year, and they need all the assistance we can give them.” There. I finished strong, but Paul didn’t seem particularly moved, glancing down at his phone and shifting in his seat. Maybe he was simply too polite to follow Morrison out the door.
His disinterest didn’t faze me. I had a plan B, C, and D where Paul Frost was concerned, and I wasn’t giving up quite yet.
Deck the Palms
One
Welcome to November, ohana! It was lovely to see so many of our middle school family members at our Autumn Festival. Now, the countdown begins for our annual Lights Festival. Mrs. Crenshaw is on a medical leave of absence, but never fear! Our holiday extravaganza is in excellent hands…
NOLAN
I stared down at the colorful newsletter distributed to students during last period and sent to parents via email. As someone who’d enjoyed a rocky relationship with reviewers, I tried to believe any press was good press. However, Principal Alana was testing that belief by way overselling my talents for a job I’d only learned about twenty minutes prior.
“Are you sure you want a substitute in charge of something so important?” I asked Principal Alana. She had arrived at the choir room shortly after the final bell sounded, undoubtedly to prevent my escape with the students and ensure my attendance at the holiday festival planning meeting.
“First, you’re not just a sub. You’re a Broadway star.” The principal was barely over five feet with long dark hair piled on her head. Many of the middle schoolers were bigger, and indeed, she didn’t look much older than the eighth graders. However, the principal had a voice worthy of commanding a fleet. “You’re exactly the shakeup this festival needs after years of the same script.”
“Star might be pushing it,” I said demurely. Sure, my resume was full of production credits, and if we counted Off-Off-Broadway, a few leading roles, but no one in New York would ever mistake me for a star. Perhaps things were different in Hawaii.
“Second, I’ll be honest, we don’t have a ton of other options.” Principal Alana continued her forthright attack on my resistance. Unlike the cushy New York private high schools where I encountered stiff competition for my substitute teaching and voice-lesson gigs, I’d apparently been the only applicant for the role of substitute choir director and drama teacher at this public fine arts magnet middle school. It was a sobering thought.
Impervious to my glum thoughts, Principal Alana plowed ahead. “Merry Winters will help, of course, but Merry lacks your flare. However, you can count on the industrial arts students to deliver whatever decorating vision the two of you arrive at.”
Merry Winters. I immediately visualized the industrial arts teacher as a kind, gray-haired British hippy lady. Probably ever so slightly butch, what with the woodworking classes, but churning out domestic projects like cutting boards and candlestick holders. Good at set construction, but seeking the guidance of a plucky Broadway star for this holiday festival.
And yes, I was exactly vain enough to love that vision.
“Lucky for you, I’m a praise wh—junkie, and all that ego stroking worked.” I winked at Principal Alana, narrowly avoiding calling myself a praise whore in front of my boss for the next two months. “Lead the way to this meeting.”
“How was the first day of classes?” she asked as we navigated the wide hallway lined with lockers, artwork, rules and reminders, and varied club and activity announcements.
“Fine. Loving it here.”
I delivered my lines crisply, with no hint of deceit. In reality, though, public middle school was way different from Upper Eastside high schools. No celebrity kids, no bodyguards lurking at the back of classrooms, no designer bags or gourmet lunch options, and definitely no ten-to-one student-to-teacher ratio to brag to the alums about. Instead, I’d had six periods of thirty to forty loud, rowdy tweens in barely controlled pandemonium. In fact, I’d narrowly avoided being locked out of my classroom by a pair of twin pranksters during first period. “Such spirited students.”
“Wonderful. Did Dory leave you good notes?”
“Oh yes.” More lies. Dory Crenshaw’s notes for a substitute included video recommendations out of the 1950s, suggestions for classes no longer offered, information pertinent to the school’s prior building, and very few real resources for the next two months. Naturally, the woman couldn’t have predicted emergency hip surgery following a fall doing the Halloween Hula at the school event, but Dory sure could have left more help.
“Feel free to put your own spin on the classes,” Principal Alana chirped. “I’m excited for some new material.”
From what I understood, Dory Crenshaw had been around since the fine arts-focused middle school achieved charter status in the nineties. Principal Alana was an alumnus of one of those early classes who’d shot up the teaching ranks to become principal of her old school. I liked her fresh ideas and enthusiasm because Dory’s musical selections desperately needed to leave the stand-still-and-sing generation behind.
However, not everyone shared Principal Alana’s desire to bring in new ideas.
“What do you mean we’re not doing Holly Holliday’s Holiday Surprise?” Belinda Masters had likely taught math longer than I’d been alive, and from her stony expression, she also hadn’t smiled in nearly that long. “Parents look forward to that every year.”
“Emphasis on every year, Belinda.” Principal Alana released a long-suffering sigh. “Dory created that script thirty years ago, and it’s barely been updated.”
“That’s the charm.” Belinda gave a haughty sniff. With her long gray braid and pressed khaki shorts, she looked ready to lead an excursion for an Oahu bird-watching club, not unruly middle schoolers needing long-division help. “And what’s this I hear about food trucks?”
“The festival needs to grow.” The principal spread her palms wide. “We need the festival to be a big fundraiser for us this year. With budget cuts, we need the Lights Festival to fund spring field trips and cultural speakers. A fresh production, new sets, and, yes, new food options mean more tickets sold. The kids are counting on us.”
“Trying something new isn’t a terrible idea.” Ken Kekoa was a round, affable fellow around fifty who gave off lounge singer vibes but was actually a well-regarded art teacher my nieces adored.
“Thank you, Ken. I appreciate the open mind.” Principal Alana graced him with a wide smile, revealing her perfectly straight teeth. “I know Nolan and Merry—”
“Sorry, I’m late.” A dude who had possibly wandered in from the nearest beach rushed into the room to take the open chair next to Principal Alana. Sandy-blond hair a good year past a trim, scruffy stubble, faded surfer board shorts, and a paint-stained T-shirt added to his haphazard vibe. “Did I hear my name?”
“You did.” Principal Alana beamed while I inwardly groaned. Like any good actor, though, I schooled my expression as she made introductions. “Merrick Winters, meet Nolan Bell. He’ll be in charge of this year’s holiday production for the Lights Festival. You’ll still handle all the lights and sets, of course.”
“Of course.” Merrick “Merry” Winters was neither British nor elderly nor a lady. And with a voice drier than week-old sand in a bucket, he clearly wasn’t thrilled about working with me.
“Like I was telling Ken, we’ll all need to work together.” Principal Alana either hadn’t picked up on Merry’s hostile glare or had decided to plunge ahead in her usual fearless style. She smiled encouragingly at Merry. “I know you and Nolan will appreciate the help from the students, and you’ll be the perfect right-hand man for Nolan in coordinating everything.”
“Uh-huh.” Merry sounded far from convinced as he leaned back in his ancient plastic chair, which let out an ominous creak.
“Just tell me what you need painted.” Ken motioned at Merry and me. “But I’m going to leave the festival details to you two. I’ve got to run to my second job.”
“Ken works evenings as a host at a popular resort restaurant,” Principal Alana explained. “Budget cuts state-wide and rising housing prices mean more and more of us working second and third jobs. They’ve got two in college and one in high school. It’s hard to make it as a two-teacher family these days.”
“Or as a struggling actor.” My voice was bright, but Merry remained anything but as he glowered at me.
“I’m sure. You’re the Bell sisters’ uncle from New York?” His brown eyes peered sharply into mine. “The famous Broadway dude?”
“You’ve heard about me?” I couldn’t help preening. Maybe I’d oversold the whole star thing to more than Principal Alana.
“Yep.” Merry’s tight nod deflated what was left of my ego. “You’re the fun uncle. What did they call you? The Funcle?”
Merry made it sound like a rash in a personal area rather than a cute inside joke between me and my favorite sister-in-law.
“I am the fun uncle. And the Guncle.” I adopted a proudly defiant tone. Might as well toss the gay uncle part out there right now. “And the little brother who can’t say no when his big, bad lieutenant colonel bro asks for a favor.”
As much as I liked being an uncle and adored my two nieces and new nephew, I was only in Hawaii because Craig had summoned me. And for all we were total opposites as adults, my heart still remembered him as the big brother who’d scared away all the monsters under my bed and defended me from school bullies.
“Bet you can’t wait to get back to Manhattan.” There was a challenge in Merry’s tone that I had to work to not take personally.
“I sublet my studio through the end of the year. I’m kind of stuck, but I’m not complaining.” More lies. I’d done nothing but complain in texts to my theater friends about the humidity, the sand in strange places, the lack of a social life, the unreliability of the public transit options, and more. But for Merry, I smiled serenely. “I’m happy to help with Craig and Cara’s new baby and the girls.”
“How is the baby?” Principal Alana jumped in before Merry could continue whatever this cross-examination was. “I heard Cara delivered him early.”
“Yes, that’s a big part of why Craig sent for me.” For all my excellent imagination, I didn’t harbor many illusions. Craig was deployed, leading some army mission, and if he’d had any chance of making it home before his wife had their surprise third baby, he wouldn’t have called on his flighty younger brother for help. “The baby came at thirty-four weeks in a dramatic fashion. Takes after his uncle.” Principal Alana laughed. Merry didn’t. Undeterred, I continued, “Noah Craig is out of the NICU now and home. He’s still teeny, but he’s doing great.”
“Wonderful. Love the name,” the principal enthused. It wasn’t exactly the same as having a namesake, and everyone kept calling Noah Craig “the baby,” but I was awfully proud of the little guy nonetheless. “And I know you will make the whole family proud of you with this task for the school as well.”
Way to lay the pressure on a little more. I grimaced, trying to figure out how to tell her to lower her expectations. Luckily, the ill-tempered Belinda saved me from a reply, shuffling her papers and various tote bags on her way out the door.
“I have to head out as well. At least try to have some of the elements our Anuenue community has come to expect.” Belinda’s glare was almost as poisonous as Merry’s. The school was named after the Hawaiian word for rainbow, but there was little sunny about my reception thus far.
“Sorry. Belinda’s…passionate about our history. I’m sure whatever you come up with will be perfect.” Principal Alana managed to never waver from her chipper tone as she stood up from the table. “And with that, I’m going to leave you and Merry to get to know each other and devise a plan while I make some phone calls.”
More disciplinary issues?” Merry groaned. He stretched, long, lean swimmer’s build on full display. He had the sort of broad shoulders and narrow waist combo that made watching the Olympics such a pleasure. However, it didn’t matter how hot the guy was if he didn’t want to cooperate and work together. “Please tell me I’m not on the naughty list.”
“Not this time.” She laughed lightly.
“Legend and Ryder managed to survive the entire day.” “Legend and Ryder are yours?” I blinked. Those were the identical twin pranksters from first period. I knew I should have sent them to the office, but I hadn’t wanted to make a fuss fifteen minutes into my new job. “You’re a dad?”
Merry seemed way too young and carefree to be a dad, but he nodded. “Yep. I trust they weren’t too much trouble.”
“Perfect angels,” I lied through my best smile. Never let the audience see you sweat. And precisely how I would put together an entire holiday festival performance performance in six weeks with Merry, who seemed to hate me on sight, remained to be seen.
Saturday Series Spotlight
Annabeth Albert grew up sneaking romance novels under the bed covers. Now, she devours all subgenres of romance out in the open--no flashlights required! When she's not adding to her keeper shelf, she's a multi-published Pacific Northwest romance writer.
Emotionally complex, sexy, and funny stories are her favorites both to read and to write. Annabeth loves finding happy endings for a variety of pairings and is a passionate gay rights supporter. In between searching out dark heroes to redeem, she works a rewarding day job and wrangles two children.
Emotionally complex, sexy, and funny stories are her favorites both to read and to write. Annabeth loves finding happy endings for a variety of pairings and is a passionate gay rights supporter. In between searching out dark heroes to redeem, she works a rewarding day job and wrangles two children.
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EMAIL: Annabeth@annabethalbert.com
