Christmas Coda 32

Carey and Walter from Slings and Arrows

 

 

“Everything is not a joke,” Walter said.

Which was a clue to how tense he was about the upcoming Christmas dinner with his father and his father’s new wife. Walter usually liked Carey’s sense of humor.

“I don’t think everything is a joke,” Carey said, surprised.

“Of course you do.” That was so unfair it almost seemed like Walter was trying to pick a fight. Which really was out of character.

Carey didn’t enjoy confrontation and he sure as hell didn’t want to fight with Walter, so he was quiet. Walter turned away and walked to the frost-edged window of the apartment, staring bleakly out at the night. In the raw silence, Carey could hear the departing wail of distant train.

“Maybe you shouldn’t go,” Walter said finally.

“Go?”

“Come. To Christmas,” Walter said tersely. He turned to face Carey, his gold-rimmed spectacles glinting blankly, his expression withdrawn.

It was unexpected and painful. So painful that it took Carey a moment to say, “Look, Walt. I…know how to act in public. I’m not going to chew with my mouth open or talk about what we do in bed.”

Walter’s expression went tighter, closed like a fist.

“I don’t…understand,” Carey said at last.

“I’ve changed my mind,” Walter said with the same cold preciseness he used to use back when he’d been Dr. Bing’s teaching assistant rebuffing all slackers and goof-offs. “I don’t think it would be a good idea for you to come with me. You can go to your parents, correct? They’ll be happy to have you stay for a few days. We both know you’ll have a better time there.”

Carey swallowed. He was afraid the sound was audible. But Walter’s expression did not change. He was not going to relent. He did not want Carey to go with him. It was that simple. Simple as an arrow through the heart.

Carey said stiffly, “In that case, maybe I should just leave tonight.” He couldn’t imagine lying next to Walter in that perfectly appointed bedroom with all this between them. Hurt. Anger. Bewilderment.

“I think that’s a good idea,” Walter said.

* * * * *

Was it over?

Carey wasn’t sure.

They had been together for a little under a year. Walter loved him. He loved Walter. There was no question of that. There was no question that they were happy together. But Walter could be odd. Odd and hurtful. And Carey wasn’t sure that love was enough.

Four months ago Walter’s father had abruptly remarried. Walter had attended the small, private civil service without Carey. It had sort of bothered Carey, but he had understood. There was no love lost between Walter and his father.

“Believe me, you don’t want to go,” Walter had told him at the time.

“I want to go if you want me there.”

“I don’t want you there,” Walter had said.

That was Walter at his most bluntly honest, but Carey had forbore to take offense. The little Walter had shared about his childhood had been alarming to someone who had grown up in a big, noisy, affectionate clan like Carey’s. No wonder Walter had a few, well, intimacy issues.

When Walter had returned, he had said the wedding went smoothly and that he thought his new stepmother would suit his father. Carey had not pressed for more information. He was not sure he wanted to know.

But this was Christmas. Their first Christmas together. This mattered to Carey. Not least because they had both been invited to spend it at Walter’s family estate. And they had accepted. Together. As a couple.

Otherwise they could have spent it at Carey’s family -- where they would always be welcome with or without formal invitation -- together and as a couple.

Instead they would be celebrating Christmas apart. And Carey wasn’t completely sure if they still were a couple or not. Was Walter ashamed of him? Did Walter really think Carey would make inappropriate jokes or use the wrong fork or…

Or was it something else?

Something even worse?

Who knew with Walter?

This time Carey didn’t feel like being understanding or patient. It took him less than fifteen minutes to pack his suitcase (later he discovered he’d forgotten his toothbrush) and headed straight for the front door.

Walter was still staring out the window at the black and starless night. He didn’t turn around and he didn’t say anything to stop Carey.

“Have yourself a merry little Christmas,” Carey said bitterly. He regretted that crack later, but at least he refrained from slamming the door.

* * * * *

Christmas day passed without a word from Walter.

Carey had told himself he wasn’t expecting to hear from him, but the letdown was something akin to discovering Santa had skipped your zip code. His family showed unusual discretion and tactfully didn’t ask.

It was a nice Christmas. It was a Christmas like all the Christmases that had come before it. And probably all the Christmases that would come after. The thing that would have made it different, remarkable, memorable was Walter.

“Maybe next year,” his sister Susan said, and Carey smiled noncommittally.

He stayed over the weekend. Walter wasn’t flying back until Monday anyway, so there was no reason to hurry home.

On Monday Carey debated staying over another night, but it was starting to feel like he was hiding out. If he didn’t go home, he needed a reason, and that reason would have to be there was something seriously wrong between him and Walter.

If he went home now, they could pretend it had just been an ordinary, run-of-the-mill argument. Carey wasn’t sure he was ready to face it being more than that. Once he’d stopped being so angry, he’d started missing Walter. He still loved Walter. Doubts about the future didn’t change that.

But sooner or later they were going to have to face it. Whatever it was.

* * * * *

The minute Carey unlocked the front door, he knew Walt was home.

The apartment was silent, but the silence had a living, breathing quality. Relieved, Cary pushed open the door and walked inside.

There was a neat tower of expensively wrapped red and green parcels on the chrome and glass coffee table. His own gift to Walt, a plum-colored cashmere pullover, hung over the arm of the sofa. All other signs of Christmas had been cleared away. Walt was in the kitchen making a grilled cheese sandwich.

He looked up at Carey’s entrance. “How was your family?” he asked.

“Fine,” Carey said. “How was yours?”

“Fine.” Walter was unsmiling and serious. But that was usual for Walt.

“Did you have a nice Christmas?” Carey asked.

“It was all right,” Walter said politely. “How was yours?”

Carey opened his mouth. But he couldn’t do it. Couldn’t play the game, couldn’t be a part of this. He wasn’t built like Walter. His former relief that everything could go back to normal vanished -- because this was not normal.

“I missed you,” he said. “But I guess I better get used to that.”

Walter’s pale, bony face reddened. “Carey --”

Carey waited but Walter didn’t go on.

Carey let out a long weary sigh. He hadn’t realized how tired he was. It was the effort of holding back all that sadness and worry. But there was no holding it back now. “That’s what I thought,” he said.

“What did you think?” Walter turned off the stove and came across the kitchen to Carey, but Carey put a hand up to stop him. Walter did stop. He looked stricken.

“Carey,” he said in a very different voice.

“I don’t know any way to explain it that I’m not going to sound childish or petty,” Carey said. “But this isn’t about where we spend the holiday. Or how we celebrate, except that holidays are for spending with the people we love.”

“Next year we’ll spend it with your family,” Walter said quickly.

“No. I don’t think we will because…” Carey swallowed but made himself go on. “I’m not sure we’ll be together next year. I don’t think we will be.”

Walter put a hand out to grip the back of one of the kitchen table chairs--as if Carey had punched him. No, more like as if Carey had delivered some mortal blow. “Of course we’re going to be together,” Walter said. He sounded almost frightened. “I love you and I know you love me.”

“I do,” Carey admitted. “But I just spent the five most unhappy days of my entire life. And I don’t even know why.”

“Why what?”

“Why it had to be that way. You shut me out -- and not the first time -- and there’s no debate, no discussion. It’s just the way it is. And then when you decide to open the door again, everything goes back to the way it was. Except now I’ll be waiting for the next time the door slams.”

“It’s not like that,” Walter said. “If I’m…if I’m closing doors, it’s to protect you.”

“Give me a break, Walt,” Carey said, surprised to find himself getting angry.

“It’s true.”

Carey shook his head and turned away. Walter caught his arm. “Wait.”

Carey stared at Walter, seeing the jump of his adam’s apple jump, the little nerve pulsing in his cheek. He seemed unaware his fingers were digging into Carey’s forearm. Walter kept himself in tight check all the time. Only with Carey did he ever let his guard down.

“I love you and I don’t want to lose you,” Walter whispered.

It killed him to hurt Walter. “I love you too, but we’re already losing each other if we can’t be honest.”

“Wait. Listen to me,” Walter said. “Just…listen.”

Walter didn’t go on, but Carey listened anyway. And he did feel like there was some kind of plea in Walter’s struggling silence.

“Walt,” he said helplessly. “Talk to me.”

“I don’t want you to see me like they do,” Walter burst out. “I don’t know why you love me, but you do. And I don’t want you to stop. I know it’s not logical. It’s not rational. But I don’t want you to change toward me.”

Relief washed through Carey. This was one explanation that had not occurred. Maybe it should have, knowing even the little he did about Walter’s childhood. He was still a little angry, but now it was on Walter’s behalf. “I’m not going to change.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Of course I do.”

Walter shook his head. “Sometimes, even now, it’s a struggle for me not to see myself like they do.”

“You have to have some faith in me.”

“I do. This is about not having faith in myself.”

Carey said carefully, “But it’s also about not having faith in me and what I feel for you. I don’t want a stack of expensive presents. I want you. All of you. The good and the bad. The real you. Isn’t that how you want me?”

Walter said instantly, “Of course.”

“Buying a bunch of presents is like something your dad would do.”

Walter looked startled and then dismayed. “It wasn’t like that. I just want you to feel appreciated.”

Carey started to smile. Relief and happiness were filling that hollow ache he’d had for the past five days.

Watching him, Walter smiled tentatively in response. He drew Carey toward him, and this time Carey yielded. 

He said softly, “Okay, well as far as making me feel appreciated, I’ve got a couple of ideas…”

 

 

 

 

 

   

 

Advent Calendar Day 12

So did you all enjoy yesterday's fabulous coda? ;-D  No? But seriously there will be a coda in that spot shortly. I am now done with my holiday shopping. Round of applause please?

I caint heah you.

I CAINT HEAH YOU!

I am feeling happy today -- and even better, I am conscious and mindful that I am happy. In addition to finishing up the trial (and errors) that is Christmas and holiday shopping, I am starting a new non-fiction project next year (too early to discuss) and making other plans and devising strategies. This is that time of year. I'm on vacation but I'm not really on vacation. I have audio files to listen to, covers for translations to arrange, ads to run, etc. It never stops once you become your own publisher.

The other thing I did yesterday was sign up for two services that I think will improve the quality of life around Chez Lanyon. One is Farmbox Direct. And the other is Blue Apron. I think they will both result in us eating healthier and more delicious foods. I guess they probably are a little bit pricey but I look at it two ways: what is the point of working all the time, if we can't afford some quality of life improvements around this joint? And two, if we are eating smarter and healthier, it is worth every penny.

If you have your health, you have everything. One of my grandmothers used to always say that. When you're kid, it's highly amusing. As you get older, you realize there is something to it.

Anyway. That was yesterday. Today IT'S RAINING. It's pouring. My old man is snoring. I am happy. It is going to be a day of sitting in front of the fire and writing codas or listening to audio files. Haven't quite determined which yet. I have a birthday party to go to this evening. I am starting to unwind a little -- and there are still technically three weeks to go before I am back to work on Winter Kill.

 Today, I thought we could perhaps share our favorite holiday play lists.

Here's the one L.B., Harper, and Joanna (and me) came up with for the Comfort and Joy anthology. Do you have a Christmas or winter holiday play list? Do you have a favorite Christmas song?

PLAY LIST:
"It's beginning to look a lot my Christmas" by Michael Buble  (Joanna Chambers)
"Brothers and Sisters" by Twin Atlantic (Harper Fox)
"Nothing Like You and I" by the Perishers (LB Gregg
"Baby, It's Cold" by Dean Martin (Josh Lanyon)
"Tu Scendi Dalle Stelle" by Friar Alessandro (Josh)
"White Winter Hymnal" by Fleet Foxes (Joanna)
 "Stay for a While" by Nikhil Korula Band (Lisa)
The opening of Bach's Christmas Oratorio (Harper)


The giveaway today will be three print books from my print book catalog -- meaning one print book each to three lucky commenters. Remember you can contact me for your winnings through my website contact page.

You're still welcome to comment even if you already own everything in my catalog. I really do enjoy reading your comments. The one on holiday traditions and the impromptu storywriting were fantastic.

Christmas Coda 31

Con and Wes from EVERYTHING I KNOW

 

 

“What did you want for Christmas?” Wes asked.

It was asked absently, almost in afterthought as they were having a late dinner the week before Christmas vacation began. Wes was working more overtime than usual trying to finish up a couple of construction projects before the year’s end -- and since he always worked a lot of overtime, Con felt like they’d barely seen each other in weeks.

Of course that was as much due to Con’s schedule as Wes’s. Between school and the regular drives up north to visit his mother…

“I want to spend Christmas together,” Con said.

Wes’s smiled, his brown eyes warm. “We’re definitely spending Christmas together.”

But they already knew that. They were having Christmas dinner at Wes’s mom. Lizzy would be back east spending the holiday with her mom and Grammy Angie, so it was just Con and Wes -- and Wes’s mom and Wes’s job.

Con understood. They both lived busy lives. He just wished sometimes it could be him and Wes. Just the two of them. But even when it was just the two of them, like right now, Wes was often distracted, preoccupied with work. He was a workaholic.

Which Con respected. Even admired. But…

Wes leaned over -- Con craned to meet his kiss -- and Wes’s affectionate expression changed. “Hey,” he growled. “What are you doing up?”

Con sighed inwardly.

“I want a drink of water,” Lizzy said from behind him.

Con and Wes drew apart again. Lizzy padded across the kitchen floor in her pink nightie and fluffy pink robe, heading straight for Con.

“Do you think Connor is a drinking fountain?” Wes was still trying to hang onto the forbidding Pappa Bear voice, but Lizzy just giggled and reached out for Con to pull her onto his lap, which of course he did. She smelled like bubble bath and little girl.

 “You’re supposed to be in bed,” Con told her as Lizzy made herself comfortable.

She gave him a look of sweet understanding. She had both of them wrapped around her littlest little finger. And well she knew it.

“How about a tune-up for that death trap you drive?” Wes suggested.

It took Con a second to remember they had been discussing Christmas presents.

“You don’t have to do that,” he said uncomfortably, picking his fork up again. They having a casserole. Wes was a master of casseroles. He had a casserole for every occasion -- and occasions no one other than the Campbell Soup people ever conceived of. This one had ground beef and noodles. Actually, they almost all had ground beef and noodles. Con chewed and considered.

He didn’t want to reject a potential gift if that’s what Wes wanted to give him. And it wasn’t really about the money because they had had several talks about money, and Wes had done his best to reassure Con on that score. It did continue to bug Con that he was always in the position of “taking.” But in their last conversation, Wes had asked him to please stop talking about “taking,” and Wes had been serious.

“You don’t talk about giving and taking in a relationship. Not like that,” Wes had said, as though he actually had experience at relationships.

But then again, remembering some of the problems with Eric, maybe Wes was right. Maybe his instincts were the truer.

“I know I don’t have to,” Wes said now. “But I worry about you driving back at night and breaking down on the road somewhere.”

This was delicate ground. Once before Wes had offered to loan Con the money for car repairs and he had declined. When Wes had pressed him, Con had gotten snappish. That was before the big talk about giving and taking.  

“That would be a thoughtful gift,” Con said, making an effort.

Wes’s mouth firmed like he was trying very hard not to make any sound or expression that would lead Con to think he was being laughed at. “Okay, we’ll see what Santa thinks,” he said briskly. He looked at Lizzy. “Speaking of Santa, I think he’s checking his list right about now.”

“Ha ha ha!” Lizzy chortled.

Or maybe it was “Ho ho ho!”

* * * * *

“Well, what are you getting Wes?” Pip asked.

They were on the playground, gazes trained on the two-legged whirlwinds kicking up sand and filling the air with shrieks. The kids were always wild in the days before the winter break.

“Not sure. He’s not easy to buy for.” If Wes needed something, he bought it. And he bought the best he could afford. But he didn’t go in for a lot of toys and gadgets. Unless the toys and gadgets were for Lizzy. Lizzy was Wes’s weakness. And Miss Lizzy was the original material girl.

“Surprise him,” Pip advised. “Go for something totally romantic.”

Con assented noncommittally. He’d feel silly trying to buy Wes a romantic gift. Like what? Wes was so…pragmatic. Plus, Wes didn’t like surprises. No, Con would be getting Wes some kind of gift certificate -- if he could think of something both inexpensive and personal enough. His own finances were severely limited. Of course you didn’t have to have money to give someone a wonderful Christmas gift, but you did need time, and he had as little of that as he did cold cash. It was frustrating because it was their first Christmas together. He’d have liked it to be special.

Of course just the fact that it was their first Christmas made it sort of special. And hopefully there would be other Christmases.

“Robin, stop throwing sand,” Pip shouted. In normal tones she said, “Do you think he’s going to ask you to move in?”

“I don’t know.” Con doubted it. Not in the short term anyway. Not that Wes was rigid exactly, but he had everything just the way he liked it in his life. He was not particularly adventurous and he was definitely not experimental.

“You’re spending a lot of time together.”

“Yeah, but he said early on he didn’t want to send any confusing messages to Lizzy.”

“That was in the beginning. You guys have been together for a couple of months now.”

“I don’t sleep over there on the nights Liz is home. Which is still most nights.”

As though choreographed, they turned their backs as a gust of wind sent a small dust devil skipping and hopping toward them. Or maybe that was just a very sandy kid wishing to lodge a complaint.

When they turned to face the yard again, Pip said, “If he asked you to move in, would you?”

“Yeah.”

Pip threw him a curious look. “You’re that sure?”

Con nodded. He was. Yes. He loved Wes. But he knew what Pip was really saying. Wes was older, he had a kid and a job that took up most of his time and attention. He was a passionate and attentive lover, but he was not Prince Charming. Pip thought Con deserved Prince Charming. She thought he deserved moonlight and roses and champagne. Wes was fine for now, but Con would be settling for less if he moved in with Wes. That was Pip’s view.

But as much as Con would have liked moonlight and roses and champagne, he understood Wes. He was like Wes in a lot of ways. He liked security and stability and he understood all about responsibility and commitment.

He didn’t think moving in with Wes would be “settling.” He also didn’t think that would be happening any time soon.

* * * * *

“Con,” Wes said abruptly.

Con looked up. It was Thursday night and they were having another late dinner at Wes’s. He’d be heading home after dinner because Lizzy was not staying over at her mom’s after all. It was disappointing, but it couldn’t be helped. Tomorrow night wouldn’t work because Con would be driving north to visit his mother. In fact, that’s what he’d mostly been thinking about, that he should have let Wes take his car in for a tune-up because the engine was making that weird ticking sound again.

At the grim expression on Wes’s face, the tuna casserole he’d just swallowed seemed to lodge in his throat. “What’s wrong?” he got out around the lump of tuna and noodle.

“I think I made a mistake,” Wes said.

“About what?” Con tried to sound neutral but, given the precarious start to their relationship, maybe his instant anxiety wasn’t unreasonable. Or maybe it was just that tuna casserole didn’t agree with him. One casserole too many?

Wes was still gazing at him with that uncharacteristic mix of unease and worry. “I wanted to surprise you, but I just realized maybe…”

“You made a mistake?”

“Maybe.” Color rose in Wes’s face. “The thing is, we haven’t had a lot of time to ourselves, and you’ve been working so hard, I just thought maybe you’d like something…different. Something more…”

Wes seemed to be waiting for Con to fill in the blank. Con said cautiously, “More…different?”

Wes gave a tiny shake of his head. “Romantic,” he said in a pained tone.

“Romantic?” Con echoed in astonishment.

Wes went redder. “Yeah. I thought what you said about spending Christmas together, and I thought if we went away somewhere for a few days where we wouldn’t have any interruptions--”

“We’re going away for Christmas?”

“If you want to,” Wes said. “I probably should have asked. I know I should have asked. I know you’re not crazy about surprises.”

“I’m not?” Con felt like laughing and he wasn’t even sure why. “Where are we going for Christmas?”

“Hawaii,” Wes said. “Blue water, white sand.”

“Moonlight and roses?” Con suggested. “Champagne?”

“Er, sure. If that’s what you want,” Wes said, but he was starting to smile too, looking more like his usual assured and capable self. “I want our first Christmas together to be…”

Con missed the rest of that. Our first Christmas together. Those were the words he needed to hear. Everything else was fine by him.

He glanced over his shoulder at the empty hallway, and then leaned forward. “It already is,” he said.  

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Advent Calendar Day 10

Morgan Studios licensed thru Shutterstock
 

Day 10? Ten? Is that possible?

I do intend to write some codas in here. The skipped days are day I intend to go back and write codas. But in the meantime, I am Christmas shopping. Shopping, shopping, shopping. I am almost -- almost -- done. I still have to buy for my father and one of my nephews. My father is easy. He needs everything and he is grateful for anything. He stops to appreciate the wrapping paper.  That's my dad. My nephew... Well, he is always polite. But there is a difference in the politeness of someone who has received exactly what they want and someone who receives what they didn't want. :-D

Anyway, this puts me in mind of many other Christmases and holidays. And so today's Advent Calendar is about you. Share with us your earliest Christmas or winter holiday memory. How far back can you remember?

I think my very earliest holiday memory is of the Christmas tree in our house in Glendale. I must have been...hmm. Maybe three? No, probably two. New house, new baby. That's right. My sister would have been a newly born baby. Just three months old. I remember walking around the tree and accidentally knocking off a very fragile red glass horn ornament. There were two of them. Er...one of them.

Anyway, I remember the wonder and the horror of those fragile little ornaments. :-D I remember being totally confused by the holiday. Though not as confused as I was about Easter (where I continued to check many days afterwards to see if more chocolate rabbits had mysteriously arrived during the night).

How about you? Share with us your earliest winter holiday memories. And three random commenters will be picked to receive an audio book download.

Advent Calender Day 9 - Excerpt

I was Christmas shopping yesterday, so I didn't have time to do much on the Advent Calendar, so we're going to just go with an excerpt. This is from Icecapade. It was part of Carina Press's His for the Holiday anthology. I did that one with LB Gregg, Harper Fox and Z.A. Maxfield. :-)

We'll keep it simple today. One randomly selected commenter will win a copy of Icecapade to keep or to have gifted to a friend.

BLURB:

On the eve of the new millennium, diamond thief Noel Snow seduced FBI special agent Robert Cuffe, then fled into the dawn. Now a successful novelist, Noel uses his capers as fodder for his books, and has modeled his hero's nemesis (and potential love interest) on Cuffe. Though he leaves Robert a drunken phone message every New Year's Eve, Noel hasn't seen or heard from him in a decade.

So he's thrilled when his former lover shows up at his upstate farm one Christmas Eve. Elation quickly turns to alarm when Robert accuses Noel of being responsible for a recent rash of diamond heists. Robert is all business and as cold as ice: it seems his only interest in Noel is to put him behind bars.

Innocent of the crimes, and still as attracted as ever to the oh-so-serious lawman, Noel plans a second seduction—providing he can stay out of jail long enough!

EXCERPT:

 

When he finished tying a neat mountain climber’s knot, he started to move away. Robert hooked a hand beneath his arm. “Hold it.”

He reached for Noel’s waist and double-checked the knot.

“It’s not Everest you know.”

“I know. It’s at least twenty feet down and there’s loose rock and ice.”

Noel nodded. “If this keeps up, I’m going to start thinking you care.”

“Always the wiseass. Just watch what you’re doing.”

“Piece of cake.”

“Please be careful,” Francis said as Noel squatted on the ledge.

“It’s okay, Francis.” Noel swung a leg over the edge. He kept his gaze trained on the tree the rope was tied to.

Mind over matter. You know what you’re doing. You’ve done it hundreds of times.

He ignored that sickening shift, the conviction that his equilibrium was sliding out from under him. His gaze dropped to his gloved hands gripping tightly to the outthrust rock. Snow dusted the black wool and he could see every sparkling crystal blazing like diamonds in the sunlight.

Slowly, cautiously, he felt with his right foot for a toe hold. There was another disorienting slide, but he knew—logic told him—that regardless of the message his body was sending, he was perfectly all right. He was not moving. The hillside was not moving.

A hand clamped down on his wrist.

Noel looked up.

Robert was leaning down, his head blotting out the sun, throwing his face in shadow. Even so, Noel could make out the predatory gleam of his eyes.

“What’s going on?”

“Huh?” Noel was confused. “Nothing’s going on.”

“Bullshit.” Robert leaned closer as though trying to read his face. “There’s something wrong with you. There’s a problem with your equilibrium, isn’t there?”

Talk about lousy timing. “It’s no big deal. All I have to d—”

“Get up. Get out of there.” The hand locked around Noel’s wrist, tightened. He couldn’t free himself without struggling and no way could he afford any fast moves balanced as he was.

“What is it? What’s happening?” Francis asked, looking worriedly from Noel to Robert. Daisy trotted up and down the opening, whining, Even the llamas were gargling at him. In another time and place it might have been funny.

Or…not.

“Change of plan,” Robert said, brisk and businesslike. “I’m climbing down and Noel will hang onto the rope.”

“The hell.” Noel’s normal pragmatism gave way to affronted male ego.

Infuriatingly though, the rope looped around Robert’s large gloved mitt was already being retracted. He held his other hand out. His own balance apparently unshakable. “Come on, Noel. Let’s not waste any more time. You trying to climb down there is a very bad idea and you know it.”

Noel. It sounded natural coming from Robert. It sounded…nice. Which didn’t change the fact that he was totally incensed at being treated like he was helpless.

“No way. I can handle this. I just have to go slow. I’ve still got more experience than you have.”

“You have no idea of my experience. Now get up here.”

“You won’t fit through this opening.”

Robert laughed. “Now you’re being rude because you’re pissed off.”

Partly. Not entirely. Robert was going to be a tight fit. If he was in the least claustrophobic, it would be a no go.

“Chop chop. Little lost llama is waiting.”

“Oh for—” Noel slapped his gloved hand into Robert’s and let himself be drawn the rest of the way up. That change in angle and speed of movement sent his stomach plummeting and his balance skittering away. He had to close his eyes for a second, and that—as always—made it worse.

He stumbled up over the edge as Robert rose. Noel reeled into Robert’s solid chest. A hard supportive arm fastened around him and for a moment he leaned there while the world went spinning away. He could feel Robert’s heart pounding against his own through the canvas of his field jacket and the leather of Robert’s coat.

After a few seconds he became aware of Robert’s lips moving almost soundlessly against his ear. “If you think the earth moved just now, imagine what’ll happen when I fuck you.”

Noel’s head snapped up. He stared in wide-eyed disbelief. Had Robert…had he really whispered that or was Noel dreaming? Maybe Noel had slipped and knocked himself out because there was absolutely nothing to read on Robert’s face. Nothing but that funny glitter in his eyes.

Maybe Noel was finally losing it.

Or maybe Robert really had made the most astonishing statement Noel had ever heard.

 

Advent Calender Day 8

Today's Advent Calendar giveaway requires more effort from you, Dear Reader. You see below a photo of a holiday scene.

Write a paragraph on what you think is happening in that scene. You can use my characters or make up characters. You only need to come up with a paragraph, but if you get inspired, go for it. It can be funny or serious or whatever you like. I will choose based arbitrarily on what appeals to me most at that particular moment. Have I stressed UTTERLY ARBITRARY enough?

Your winnings: your choice of either an audio, print or ebook from my backlist.

Here is your writing prompt. Dazzle me. Dazzle my readers. We had 700 views yesterday.

Advent Calendar - Day 7

Today I'm sharing opening snippets from the four stories in COMFORT AND JOY, the new holiday anthology I did with L.B. Gregg, Harper Fox and Joanna Chambers. And the giveaway is a copy of the anthology from a randomly selected comment below.

Remember the book can go to you or to a friend with your holiday compliments.

From Rest and Be Thankful by Joanna Chambers:

“You’re going to have to replace it, I’m afraid.”

Cam stared at the back of the plumber’s head, glad the man’s attention was still on the ancient boiler. Glad he wasn’t watching as Cam visibly swallowed against the hard lump that had materialised in his throat at this news.

“How much’ll that cost?” Cam asked.

He’d waited three days before he’d called Alan Glenn, a near neighbour and the only plumber for miles around, hoping beyond hope the heating might spontaneously come on again. It was only with this unexpected cold snap that he’d finally given in, worried by the prospect of burst pipes.

Alan looked at Cam over his shoulder. He was one of those men whose hair went white early, but his skin was smooth and unlined and his bushy eyebrows were black, making his age difficult to judge. Those startling eyebrows drew closer together as he totted up the cost in his head. “It’s an old system,” he said at last. “I reckon you’re looking at fourteen, fifteen hundred, all in.”

Cam pressed his lips together and gave a short nod. He’d been praying the problem would turn out to be something minor and cheap to fix. No such luck.

Luck wasn’t something he’d had much of lately.

 

 

From Out by Harper Fox:

 

My name is Cosmo Grant, and I have no pride left.

I’d been doing all right until yesterday. The run-up to Christmas always turns the big Edinburgh hotels into pressure cookers, backstage at least; front of house, we try to present a genial, welcoming face to our public, and here at the Royal Barlinney we succeed.

Recently that’s been due to my efforts, I can say without lack of modesty. I started as junior housekeeper five years ago, and I scrubbed as many toilets and made as many beds as any of the domestic staff under my shaky command. I learned by doing everyone’s job as well as my own. I cleaned miles and miles of carpets and Italian marble floors. Changed light bulbs, fixed leaky taps, once brought ambassadorial aid to a foreign princess fleeing a murderous regime. As well as my bilingual English and Gaelic—the latter just a frosting, ceud mìle fáilte to charm the Americans—I picked up enough French, German, Arabic and Italian to help out most of our visitors with most of their basic needs. I learned from the kitchens upwards all the workings of our vast flagship hotel, which sails above the city’s railway lines like an ocean liner lit up from within by a thousand crystal chandeliers.

And two years ago George Brace, the Barlinney’s manager, rewarded all that initiative by promoting me to housekeeper-in-chief. I think it nearly killed him.

 

 

 

From Waiting for Winter by L.B. Gregg:

 

The first words my ex said to me in six months were delivered sotto voce as I was minding my own business at Leunig’s crowded bar. The night was young, the restaurant was bright, and Winter Kendrick filled the entry with his massive shoulders and his giant presence and his unbelievably appealing two-day shadow. He didn’t speak to the hostess. He barged in like he owned the place—which he could have—and swept the room with his icy gaze. He was in a suit and tie, as if he remembered how much his corporate dick persona turned me on and had dressed accordingly. His sharp, pale eyes locked on target, and he brushed through the meat-market singles, practically swatting the riffraff out of his path in his single-minded pursuit of a sure thing.

Me.

“Let’s get out of here.”

Not exactly the heartwarming declaration of love or the long-awaited, well-deserved apology I needed. I almost laughed, because he was an overbearing prick, until I realized he expected me to jump up and follow him.

His approach had worked before, sure, but I kept my ass on the stool, elbows on the frigid Carrara marble, and lifted my drink. In a bistro like Leunig’s, playing it cool was as much a part of the scenery as the amber light and expansive wine list. I could be cool. “I see you left your manners in Berlin. That whole Me Tarzan act—”

“Is exactly what you like, don’t pretend otherwise.” Winter’s glittering gaze found mine in the mirror over the bar. Silver light threaded his recently shorn hair, and he was all hard jaw, crisp cotton, smooth silk tie, and knowing smile. He looked fucking hot, like moving on from our relationship had been kinder to him than it had to me. My mouth dried and I took another sip of scotch. A frown line pinched his perfect brow. “Since when do you like scotch?”

 

From Baby, it's Cold by Josh Lanyon:

 

“No,” Rocky said. “Oh hell no.”

“Merry Christmas to you too,” I said. “And for your information, this wasn’t my idea.”

“Where’s Poppy?” Rocky peered past me into the rain, looking for my grandfather, Fausto Poppa—of Poppa’s House. You’ve seen the program. Everyone’s seen the program. It’s America’s longest running cooking show. It’s been on the air longer than there’s been a Food Network.

I said tersely, “Poppy’s sick. He’s got the flu. Why else would I be here?”

Rocky drew himself up to his full height. Which is…my height, which is medium. Yes, he wears it better, although why assorted piercings and tattoos should make a guy look taller, I don’t know. What I did know was that his green eyes were level with mine—and it was very weird to be this close to him again.

 

 

 

 

 

Guess the Author - Round One

So we're going to have four rounds today of GUESS THE AUTHOR. Today's game is a little harder than yesterday's in that these lines are not likely to be in the excerpts you've seen so far.

Match the correct Author to the following lines. The first four people to come up with the correct match win their choice of ebook from any one of our backlists BARRING the new stories in this anthology. ;-)

1 - He couldn't wait to be out in the city again, was even looking forward to queuing for Gomorrah, sharing that weird buzz of anticipation with the other clubbers as they waited to be let in, taunted by the fat, driving beats that escaped every time the bouncers opened the doors to let someone in or out.

2 - He smiled and shook his head, a right jolly old elf. If I’d had an eject button on the dash, he’d have sailed straight into the trees.

3 - It was snowing. Every kid in X had by this time given up on a white Christmas, but here it came: a spiraling flurry of glitter, orange and silver and diamond blue as each spinning fragment caught the light.

4 - My eyes jerked open and I sat bolt upright. A dark, burly figure filled the driver’s window and a Fair Isle-gloved hand was banging on the glass.



Your possible choices are:
Josh Lanyon
Harper Fox
LB Gregg
Joanna Chambers

Answer in the comment section below.

You can only win once, but you can enter all four rounds. The next round is over at LB Gregg's house. Don't trip over the reindeer sleeping on her lawn.

NEW RELEASE - COMFORT AND JOY (holiday anthology)

Once upon a time, my dear pal LB Gregg and I came up with a plan to write a pair of spooky, funny Halloween stories -- a sort of mini-anthology -- and market them as a Fright Night Double Feature sort of thing. The stories turned out to be Mummy Dearest and Dudleytown. I won't go into the horror story of why that project didn't work out, but the desire to do something together stuck. And every year we've talked about doing something thematic and fun like...Catalina/Cowboy/Christmas...hmmm...yeah, what about Christmas?

And this year we actually decided to do it. Of course, us being us, we immediately started scheming and plotting to drag more pals into it. Because...the more, the merrier. Especially at Christmas. Harper Fox and Joanna Chambers were enlisted coz isn't that wonderful symmetry: two Americans and two Britishers? We are all about the symmetry.

And the eggnog.

I only bring this up because I have folks asking if I am going into the publishing business now, and the answer is a most emphatic not at this time. Probably never. But now and again it's fun to get together with friends and do stuff.

And the "stuff" we did this year is a winter holiday anthology called Comfort and Joy. Four heartful helpings of romance and seasoned -- er, season's -- greetings.

I'll be adding buy links within the next day or so, but meanwhile there are celebrations and parties going on and as usual lots of goodies are being given away, so even though the book is not out yet, I don't want you to miss out on the fun.

So here's what's happening over at Goodreads.

And more fun starting tomorrow over at my Facebook Fan Page.

Next week LB, Joanna, Harper and I will be coming up with some fun stuff too, so stay tuned to your Yule Log.

Meanwhile, the first four people who can accurately match the following first lines to the correct story will get an audio download code for any one of our audio books. Enter your guesses in the comment section below:

1 - “No,” Rocky said. “Oh hell no.”

2 - My name is Cosmo Grant, and I have no pride left.

3 - The first words my ex said to me in six months were delivered sotto voce as I was minding my own business at Leunig’s crowded bar.

4 - “You’re going to have to replace it, I’m afraid.”


And your story choices are:
Rest and Be Thankful, Out, Waiting for Winter, Baby it's Cold Outside

TASTE TEST - Baby, it's Cold

Coming this weekend. "Baby, it's Cold" is part of the Comfort and Joy anthology. Yes, you will be able to purchase it on its own, but this is a really heartwarming and delightful anthology with stories by L.B. Gregg, Harper Fox and Joanna Chambers (three of my very favorite authors), so if were you, I'd buy the whole thing.

Before you ask, no, it's not available for preorder. The book launches on Sunday (Santa willing and the crick don't rise).

I do have a little taste for you. ;-)


Talk about Kitchen Nightmares! TV Chef Rocky and Foodie Blogger Jesse have been pals forever, so it should have been the most natural thing in the world to kick their relationship up a notch. Instead, it turned out to be a disaster. But Christmas is the season of love, and someone’s cooking up a sweet surprise…

I was putting the bottle of champagne in the freezer when Rocky said from behind me, “What are you planning on cooking?”

I couldn’t quite hide my jump, but I managed to say calmly, “It’s a surprise.”

“Well, always with you. But what are you hoping to cook?”

“Steamed mussels in white wine and garlic.”

His green eyes lit up. They almost glowed.

“Someone knows what you like,” I said.

“It’s practically the Feast of the Seven Fishes.”

We grinned at each other and for a second it was like old times. “You know,” I said, “you’d have been welcome tonight. We were friends a lot longer than we were whatever we were. Mama was saying yesterday it won’t feel the same without you there on Christmas Eve.”

“Let alone without you there.” Rocky’s gaze was curious.

“That couldn’t be helped,” I said.

“Because of this mysterious romantic dinner Poppy was paid a fortune to cook.”

“Yep.”

Rocky snorted. He had changed his blue flannel shirt for one of red and white plaid, and he had shaved. He smelled of soap and aftershave. But then he believed he had company coming.

“Believe what you want to.” I turned away and began hunting for the bowls and pans and spoons I’d need. Rocky watched for a few seconds and I tried not to get self-conscious. I’d known him half my life, so it really didn’t make sense that he could make me nervous just by staring at me. But he could. In fact, that had been part of the problem between us. All those years of easy companionship had vanished like sugar in water once we’d tried to take our friendship to the next level. It had been a big disappointment to both of us, I think. We should have been great together. But somehow it had been worse than starting from scratch.

“So how’ve you been?” Rocky asked finally, going to the wine rack.

I shrugged. “Good. Busy.”

“I saw you won Saveur’s Readers’ Choice for best written blog. Congratulations.”

I glanced at him. “Thanks.”

Rocky studied the wine labels, selected a bottle, brought it to the counter. I moved away, filling a pan with water and turning up the stove burner.

Rocky poured a glass of white wine and leaned back against the counter studying me.

“We’re going to have sides? I’m impressed.”

“You’re getting it all. Starter to sweet. Okay? Poppy picked the menu.”

“So then he’s delirious?” Rocky’s expression grew earnest and concerned. “I had no idea he was so ill.”

I laughed, set a glass bowl over the pan of gently simmering water, and dropped in broken pieces of semi-sweet chocolate. I’d done some of the prep work at home so I wouldn’t run out of time or get distracted and forget some vital step. I’d figured Rocky would probably hover. Expecting a chef not to hover when you’re preparing a meal is like asking a boxer not to take a swing. I added the diced butter, a pinch of salt, and left the mixture to melt while I set about pressing sponge fingers into the walls and bottom of a deep earthenware dish. The dish—like practically every other piece of crockery in the place—was decorated with pine cones.

“Tiramisù?” Rocky asked.

I nodded. Did some more pressing. The sponge didn’t stick very well. I gave up and moved to the stove, gave the chocolate and butter a stir, checked on my coffee. I removed the pot, added sugar, swirled the mixture in the carafe. Some of the liquid spilled out the spout. Rocky opened his mouth, then closed it.

I remembered I had to add the Vin Santo and I hastily set the coffee aside to scramble for the wine—trying all the while to look like nearly forgetting the wine was all part of my master strategy.

I found the wine. Rocky watched without a word as I dived past him to grab the corkscrew.

I got the wine open, and splashed some of it into the melted chocolate. Rocky cleared his throat. I stirred the chocolate and wine, glanced up at him.

“I got it.” I grabbed the coffee pot and poured the hot, sweet coffee over the sponge which was once again beginning to peel from the walls of the dish. I pressed the soggy sponge back into place, managing not to yelp at just how fucking hot the coffee was.

Rocky began, “Are you sure you—”

“Nope. I got it.”

I snatched up a potholder and removed the glass bowl from the pan, drizzling chocolate all over the coffee-soaked sponge. Cautiously, I smoothed the chocolate out to the edges, trying not to tear the sponge to pieces. When I’d managed to cover the sponge with an even layer of chocolate, I set the dish aside to cool and wiped my forehead.

Finally the sponge was sticking to the walls of the dish, so that was something. I found the carton of eggs and snagged two small bowls. I cracked a couple of eggs.

Rocky made an amused sound. I looked up. “That you do with flair, I gotta say. Always.”

“Ha.” Me and Audrey Hepburn. But cracking an egg with one hand was one of my two party tricks. The other was flipping pancakes. Well, there was a third, but it had nothing to do with cooking.

I separated the eggs, whites in one bowl and yolks in another. I had Rocky’s full attention now. Well, I’d had his full attention from the start, but now I had his considering appraisal.

“Egg whites in tiramisù?” he asked.

“I know it’s not traditional, but this is the way my mama makes it.”

“I thought that might be her secret ingredient.”

“Unfortunately now I can’t let you leave this cabin alive.”

“With you cooking, my chances were only fifty-fifty anyway.”

“Okay,” I said. “Enough with the jokes about my cooking.” But it felt natural, comfortable, joking back and forth like we used to.

Rocky grinned back and swallowed a mouthful of wine.

Christmas Coda 30 - Griff and Pierce from STRANGER ON THE SHORE

Griff and Pierce from  STRANGER ON THE SHORE

Kind.

That was the word. People were kind. Very kind. And curious. Because…what a story. Long lost heir returns after twenty years. Mystery solved. Happy endings all around. Well…mostly.

It was going to make a hell of a book, though Griff was no longer sure he was the right person to write it. It was definitely different being one of the principal players in a case. It gave you a whole new perspective.

But anyway, no need to make a decision on that. Not right away. In the meantime…Christmas.

Jarrett had gone full out. Making up for lost time. And, more dismaying, looking ahead to a future where he wouldn’t be around to celebrate holidays.

“After all, I’m not getting any younger, my boy,” he had said when Griff had tried to talk him out of arranging fireworks on Christmas Eve.

A private fireworks show? That was just…

But Griff didn’t have the heart to squash Jarrett’s enthusiasm. Jarrett’s heart attack had scared him. Scared Jarrett too, which was why he kept chirping ominous things about not being around forever.

“Don’t say that,” he would say to Jarrett, and Jarrett would pat him fondly on the shoulder or the back. At least he didn’t pat Griff on the top of the head and tell him to go play, so that was something to be grateful for.

The Christmas Eve Ball -- yes, ball, not a cocktail party; formal dress was required -- was enormous. In fact, the word “enormous” really didn’t seem to do that lavish extravaganza justice. It seemed like everybody on Long Island showed up, certainly everyone in Syosset was there. There was a small dance band playing Big Band numbers, which gave you an idea of the type of event it was. There were ice sculptures and caterers (sometimes it was hard to tell the difference). The towering Christmas tree was decked in generations-worth of glittering and hand-painted antique ornaments.  Miles of real pine garland wreathed the staircases and hallways. Everybody in attendance got presents, including the wait staff.  Griff received a ridiculously expensive watch, which merely seemed to emphasize that time was fleeting and it would be best to pick his battles.

He drank a lot of champagne. Not his beverage of choice, but he was nervous and tense and self-conscious. It was all that kindness. People trying very hard to show that he was accepted and welcomed. Which he appreciated. He did. But he didn’t enjoy feeling like a charity case. Life had not been a picnic for him growing up, but he also had never felt like some sad, pathetic victim. Until all that kindness.

So he smiled and drank more champagne and wondered if Pierce was going to make it or not. Pierce had been held up late over a juvenile court matter, and Griff very much loved the fact that Pierce was willing to give up his Christmas Eve for some kid caught in the rigid machinery of the legal system, but… It would have been easier if Pierce had been with him.

And tomorrow would be just as tiring. Christmas dinner here with Jarrett and Marcus and Muriel. Chloe had opted to spend the holidays in San Francisco with Michaela, who was unable to forgive Griff for being Brian. Well, it really wasn’t about that, but either way Griff understood. He was surprised to find how much he missed Chloe though. Her unguarded and occasionally outrageous comments were kind of a relief sometimes.

And then another later Christmas dinner with Pierce’s parents. Who didn’t know what to make of Griff and Pierce’s relationship, but treated Griff with unfailing kindness.

He was standing on the fringe of the crowd gazing out the window at the red, green and silver fireworks, when warm lips nuzzled the back of his neck. He jumped and turned, already registering Pierce’s aftershave and cologne -- or maybe it was something more fundamental. The almost electric energy of Pierce’s presence.

Pierce, unsurprisingly, looked fantastic in a tux. He probably owned a couple of them. White and black? This one was black and severe and suited Pierce’s classic handsomeness. He was smiling, but as his amber gaze studied Griff, his smile faded. His expression grew attentive and, yes, kind.

“Feeling overwhelmed?” he asked softly.

“It’s beautiful,” Griff replied, conscious of the crowd around them, conscious that people were trying not to look like they were listening.

“Which doesn’t answer my question.” Pierce drew Griff away from the crowd at the window. “Come and buy me a drink.”

Yeah, like it wasn’t a hosted bar. But Griff obligingly went along to the bar with Pierce. Pierce ordered Black Velvet. Griff declined another champagne cocktail.

“Ah,” Pierce took a long, grateful sip.

“Everything go okay?” Griff asked.

Pierce nodded noncommittally. Then he smiled. “Glad I made it home before Santa arrived.”

“Yeah, well, we’re not home yet.” Not true. Technically Griff was home, but these days home was really Pierce’s house in Syosset.

“We can leave right now,” Pierce said. He was perfectly serious. “Say the word.”

Griff shook his head. “I can’t do that to Jarrett.”

Pierce considered him, then sipped his drink. Your Honor, I refuse to answer on the grounds I might incriminate myself.

“I have to ask you something,” Griff said.

“Yes,” Pierce said promptly.

Griff laughed. “You don’t know what I’m going to ask.”

Pierce winked at him. Man, that effortless, assured charm. It was effective, no doubt about it.

“But it’s kind of private,” Griff said.

“Then the answer is definitely yes.” But Pierce put a hand beneath Griff’s elbow, guiding him away to a little alcove where they could only be overheard by the Fontanini angels.

“You can be honest with me,” Griff said. “I want you to be honest, even if you think it’s going to hurt me.”

Pierce stopped smiling. He said quietly, “I’m always honest with you.”

“You are, but this is something you may not be honest with yourself about.”

Now Pierce was frowning. He said, “Go on.”

Unexpectedly, it was hard to say the words.

Griff struggled for a moment and then said, “Are we together because you feel bad about the past?”

“I don’t think you should drink champagne,” Pierce said.

“I’m asking a serious question.”

Pierce didn’t answer for so long that Griff began to wish he hadn’t asked the question. Don’t ask any question you couldn’t bear to hear answered truthfully. Rules for Happy Living. He wanted, maybe even needed, to believe what he and Pierce had was real, but it was that damned newshound instinct. He just couldn’t help pushing to find out the truth. If it killed him.

And for a couple of seconds, it felt like it might.

Pierce said slowly, carefully, like the lawyer he was, “Are you asking me if I feel sorry for you?”

“No. I know you don’t feel sorry for me. But I know you feel guilty about the past. And I wonder if --”

“No.” Pierce spoke with utter conviction. “I wish I’d done some things differently, yes. But you should know me well enough by now to know however sorry I feel about what’s past, I wouldn’t cheat both of us out of a chance at future happiness because of misplaced guilt.”

“Because this really matters to me.”

“It really matters to me too,” Pierce said.

“Everybody is trying so hard to make up for what happened, and I just don’t want that between us.”

“That’s not what is happening here. That is not what is between us.”

“I don’t want that. Not for us.” It seemed very important that Pierce understand this point, but also what Griff was not saying aloud.

And maybe Pierce did because his lean cheek creased in a reluctant smile. “I swear to tell the truth and only the truth. Now you tell me something. How much of that champagne did you drink?”

“I may have lost count.”

“You may have. Not that glassy-eyed doesn’t look good on you.”

“Coz I’m not going to ask again.”

“No, we’ve talked it out and it’s settled,” Pierce agreed. He was relaxed and confident again. Also amused. A little. 

But that was okay. That was what you wanted with someone you were hoping to spent the rest of your…Christmas with.

“What are you smiling about?” Pierce asked softly, leaning closer.

“Hm? Not sure,” Griff evaded.

“Well, let me give you a good reason.” Pierce kissed him, then kissed him again. On the third kiss, the Fontanini angels blushed.