Josh Lanyon's Blog, page 22

Advent Calendar Day 16

 

Good morning! Grab a cup of your favorite hot beverage and settle down for a nice long-ish read set in the world of Sort of Stranger Than Fiction. I'm not sure what it is about Karl's character, but he has inspired no fewer than two (possibly more!) holiday codas. :-) 

Today's offering is from another first time contributor: Almathea. She not only tackled her first holiday short story, she did it in English, which is not her native language! It's so wonderful that we've had so many delightful and heart-warming contributions this year. It's always appreciated, but something about you all finding time to participate in such a hellish year, makes it even more special. <3 

So without further adieu...

 SORT OF STRANGER THAN A CHRISTMAS FICTION

 

“Once upon a time in North Pole, there was an Ice Troll living all alone in a weirdly carved ice cave. This Troll was always angry and grumpy, for he only had is loneliness to accompany him. So he spent his days fetching ice and sculpting it with the craft of his hands and the twisted in his mind and giving it the sinister shape of his unfulfilled dreams…”

“You stupid moron! If you were any dumber, you’d start doing photosynthesis!”
Karl Hagar’s eyes drilled through the equally disgusted eyes staring back at him from the mirror. He was so sick with himself. With his inability to say the right words. How could he be the rising star of the MFA Writing Program, so at ease with written words, and then so awkward with spoken ones?

When he was writing, words were flowing easily. They were pouring from him to his computer screen like a tsunami, expressing all his anger in his murder stories. Anger for everything he didn’t have. Like friends. Support. Love… He didn’t hate the characters he murdered in his tales. But he liked his killers most because they were misfits. Unhappy weirdos full of loneliness and pain. Like Karl. Writing was his catharsis. A way to both express and punish himself. Talk about self-loathing…

But this emotional way out was a double edged knife, as he had finally realized. The eerie stories and gruesome deaths made people really uncomfortable. They only saw the cruelty in them and tend to wonder about Karl’s sanity. Add to that his cold looks, his deep shyness and his total inability to say his mind and one would only understand why people were avoiding him, burying his dreams of a new life here in San Francisco in the process. He had thought that leaving Peabody would allow him to be himself. Not being “the Hagar son” anymore. Not being the only single gay guy in town – and in the closet. He had thought these were the cause of his unhappiness. Now he knew better. HE was his own curse.

Karl closed his eyes and laid his head against the cold surface of the mirror. Defeated.  He could still hear himself saying “We should date Killian. Spend Christmas together. You owe me since I saved you last week”. Still see Killian’s lovely face ignite until it was almost as red as his hair. And then there had been this final glare full of wrath and loathing, so alien on Killian’s sweet features telling him what a lower being he was before he briskly turned around and disappeared into the winter night. Out of Karl’s life.

“It’s Ethan all over again” whispered Karl. And he let himself remember. 

************************************ 

“…One day, as he was fetching more ice at the bottom of a remote fjord, the troll saw a Christmas Elf gracefully picking edelweiss on the cliff. He watched this rare occurrence with wonder at first and then horror when the elf lost his grip and tumbled down. The troll refused to see the magical creature die and used all his power on ice to create a thick pillow of snow where the elf was going to crash.

After getting back on his feet and checking that he was still alive, the elf assessed his rescuer. “Thank you for saving my life, M. Troll” said the elf. “I owe you a Christmas wish for this. My name is Lear from the Sunny Elves Tribe.” The troll grunted. “And you are?” insisted the elf. It was hard to form a word after so many years of silence and now the troll had to struggle with his own tongue just to crow his name. “Karrel.” The elf appeared jolly after this inelegant introduction. “Do you have a wish?” Oh yes! The troll had a wish. He wanted this cheerful creature to become his friend and fill his loneliness with joy. He wanted to have someone to talk to. He wanted to carve beautiful statues instead of twisted ones! But it was too much to say for a troll who had spent years without speaking. The best he could manage was “Tomorrow. Come back.” The elf seemed to understand all the feelings hidden under these three words and giggled happily. “This is hardly a wish my friend. I’d be delighted to come back to my savior for as long as you can put up with me…”

Karl was in a bad mood when he left M. Carson’s office on December the 16th. Writing a Christmas short story due before the Christmas Holidays?  Without a killing Santa? Not even one teeny tiny murder with poison? But full of magic and feel good? Really? Jeez, Karl didn’t have a clue about how to find the beginning of an idea. But Carson had been adamant: Karl had to prove himself in a completely different genre if he wanted to get an A. “Look around you and you’ll find your inspiration” Carson had said.

Yeah! Of course. And I will see a Christmas elf appear out of thin air?

Just to prove how ludicrous this was, Karl looked around him… And saw The Elf missing a step from the steep staircase and plummeting to the ground, bewilderment rounding his eyes and mouth. Without even thinking, Karl threw himself in the trajectory of the human missile like he used to do on the football field and caught The Elf in the cradle of his arms before they ended up lying on the ground, Karl’s lungs void of air. He didn’t know if it was from the physical shock of the catch or because of the gorgeous hazel eyes focused on him. Maybe both.

With a shaking hand, Killian O’Leary –aka The Elf- pushed back his copper bangs. And then he smiled! He smiled to Karl!

“Whoopsie! That was a close call. I’m always so clumsy but this time… I thought it was all he wrote for me. Thank you for saving the damoiseau in distress Karl.” And then Killian did the most unexpected thing of all: he kissed Karl on the cheek.

Karl couldn’t speak. Not because of his usual struggle for words. Just because his mind has suddenly been turned into a blank sheet. All he could do was to absorb every detail of the moment trough his senses. The warmth of Killian’s body pressed against his. The warmth of these hazel eyes dotted with golden specks like the stars in a clear sky. The warmth left by the velvety lips still tickling on his cheek. The warmth in the sweet voice while saying his name…

Of course he had noticed Killian from Day 1. Karl had always had a soft spot for gingers with hazel eyes. But this one was definitely breath-taking with his beautiful face and lean frame. Graceful and blazingly ethereal. Hence the nickname he had secretly given him: The Elf. Karl had a serious crush for Killian but never dared to approach him. The ginger was a different type of being: always cheerful, surrounded by friends, talkative and openly gay. He was really talented for writing, but favored comedies with gay romance in them. They were just coming from two different worlds.

Except that Killian was in his arms at this very moment. And it went all supernova in Karl’s brain.

Killian chuckled. “You’re comfy and I’m certainly not complaining about you saving my neck but I think we’re drawing a bit of attention onto ourselves here.”

The words snapped Karl’s neurons back to functioning and just a quick look confirmed that all the people in the hall were staring at them, a few of them shell-shocked. Karl grunted and started to twist to extract him from under The Elf. Still giggling, Killian stood up and held a hand to Karl. “Hi, I’m Killian O’Leary. Let me help you big guy.” When they were both back on their feet with the crowd around them thinning now that the show was over –and with the next classes about to begin- Karl finally answered “Karl Hagar”. Then he realized that he must seem like a retard, stating what was already obvious. But Killian’s smile was genuine and kind when he said “Oh I know who you are! We share the same Creative Writing class. And your writing skills are certainly… 

Impressing.” Karl didn’t know what that really meant so he just grunted. “Look Karl, I have to go to my Literature class now.” Of course thought Karl, though the ginger was not finished yet. “But I’d like to repay you for what you did. Not that I could ever really repay you… What about having a coffee after classes?” Stupor muted Karl who could only manage to nod. “You know what? Give me your phone number and I’ll text you”. Like a robot Karl recited the numbers while Killian tapped them into his smartphone before rushing to his class on a last “See you!”

Two hours and six texts later –texts were good to Karl- they met at a coffee house. Though Karl felt awkward and barely dared to speak, favoring monosyllabic answers, it all went surprisingly smoothly, thanks to The Elf’s easy going and chatty nature. And he felt something like joy when Killian proposed him to do it again on the day after. After all, it was the closest thing Karl ever had to a date…

“…And the day after Lear came back to spend one hour with the taciturn troll. And the day after. And the next one, as Karrel always asked him to. Day after day, hour after hour, the troll’s throat opened up to let more words come out. And finally he was able to explain why he was living alone so far away from his people. Karrel was one of the three sons of the Ice Trolls King, Hagard, a hard man who focused all his considerable strength and gold to get more of each. If he had ever loved his third son, he never showed it. Actually he seemed to hate everything about him: his desire to craft ice instead of gaining wealth, his shyness with others while he could crush them with his regal power and –worst of all- he sensed his last son may have sympathy for Christmas beings! So, feeling that each one his words was cause for his father’s ire, the troll stopped talking until he forgot how to speak. And ultimately he left for his lonely cave where he could express himself in silence through ice. The elf always listened with patience and compassion and even wonder about his craft and his being an Ice Prince...”

For the following days it became a routine for them to meet at the coffee house at the end of the day. At first all they did was small talk. Ages. Origins. Hobbies. Living places. Favorite movies and songs. Reverting on the day classes. Innocuous topics that allowed Karl to feel at ease and speak without fear, though he never was loquacious. But he really enjoyed these meetings. They were the best part of his days. It felt right and good like… Having a friend?

Gradually they started discussing more personal topics. Killian told Karl about the day he came out and how supportive his family had been. How much he was missing his dad who had passed away from kidney cancer a few years ago. All the shenanigans he did with his siblings.

And Karl opened up like he had never before. At least, as much as he could: with short sentences and a clipped voice.  He told Killian how it was to grow up in a small town where everybody knew who he was. He talked about his life in the closet and how he had been turned down by his first crush. And he finally talked about his Father comparing him to his brothers. How he always disappointed him and was told to man up. Karl had never told about this to anyone and it felt great to finally take this weight out of his chest. More than great: freeing!

But the best part was that Killian never expressed pity. He had this way to see the best in everything and cheer Karl up. Sometimes by saying something positive like “That sucks. But hey! Look where it brought you. On the right path to become a writer!” Some other times by making silly jokes that always made Karl smile and snort.

But he really laughed when Killian told him “Heck! They call you The Ice Prince but you’re actually coming for a troll horde!” Karl had never heard anything so silly and couldn’t help laughing out loud, discovering the sound of his own adult laugh. “Trolls it is! That’s a good one. But what is it with this Princy thing?” he said when he finally could speak again.
“You really don’t know? You’re so handsome but always act so cold and aloof, that the people in CreaWri have nicknamed you The Ice Prince”.
Karl felt a bit at loss. “Are you sure? Because the last time I wore a black outfit, I heard some of them say “Beware! Here comes the Gestapo!” It was… Very unpleasant. So a prince, even and icy one, that’s… Better.”
Killian’s phone beeped. It was time to part.
But as they were saying their goodbyes in the parking lot, Killian whispered with a smile almost mysterious “You know, I may have been the first to call you The Ice Prince…” And with this he climbed into his car and left.
Karl remained there for a short while pondering over these last words, wondering if this was an opening to something more intimate, his heart warming in his chest as he watched His Elf drove by.

“…On the sixth day, the troll asked “How is it? Happiness?” This was a tricky question for Lear. How could he explain such a complex and glorious feeling to one who had never experienced it? To one who knew only rejection and frustration? He couldn’t find the words for it so he did the unthinkable. “Let me show you” he said while gently putting his hand to the troll’s chest and pressing it just above his heart. Then he thought about all the past Christmas, the merriment, the friendship the cinnamon rolls. Lear conjured all his best memories and sent them like a glowing ghost into Karrel’s heart. The troll felt like a burning sun was melting the ice surrounding his heart. Nobody had even ever touched him and there was the touch, and all this warmth and joy he didn’t know about. It was the most extraordinary feeling! And it was too much. Too much at once. The troll broke the contact, reeled back and after stuttering his usual “Tomorrow. Come back” he ran away...”

On the next evening, Karl’s chest was still tingling with warmth. And something that appeared a lot like hope.
Karl ordered his usual large espresso. Killian, who changed his order every day, went for a hot cocoa with whipped cream, cinnamon and caramel chips. It was part of their habits now. They ordered their drinks, found an isolated table and enjoyed their beverage in silence for a few minutes. Or comparative silence, as His Elf had a tendency to moan every time he tasted something he really liked.

That was one thing Karl never tired of: this ability Killian had to enjoy small things to the fullest. Like every little nice thing brought him a huge pleasure. It was so endearing. And strange too. But mostly endearing. God I have it bad! Everything about this guy enchants me. Not to mention what these moans of pure pleasure did to his crotch… Karl wiggled in his chair.

“What is it with you and sugar?” he asked to end with this torture.

Killian’s greedy eyes met his. “Oh man! This is not sugar, this is pure bliss! It’s about mixing tastes and textures. It’s about the cream and caramel melting in the chocolate. It’s like… Like a perfect kiss! Wanna taste?”

Oh yes I want to taste, but not from the cup… Still he took the cup and then a sip. It was tasty indeed. Too sweet for his taste but nice. He hesitated, braced himself and finally asked “Seriously, how is it to kiss a man?”

Killian froze. “I thought you were gay! Was it some kind of sick homophobic game?”

Karl’s eyelids fluttered. “Yes. I mean, I am. Gay. It’s not a game. And certainly not a homophobic one!”

His Elf’s posture softened. “So… Are you telling me that you’ve never been kissed at 28?”

Karl nodded curtly. Deadly ashamed. Thinking Killian would laugh so hard about how pathetic he was. Knowing he should have never asked.

“Woaw! I knew you didn’t have much experience but I didn’t realize… Sorry for thinking you were making fun of me; for believing that you could play… well forget it.” Killian paused. “Honestly, I don’t know how to describe a kiss. With the right guy it’s sweet but devastating. It’s like a prelude and like sex at the same time. Oh! But then you don’t know about sex either…”

Redder than Killian’s hair, Karl shook his head.

“Hmm… I suppose you’ll have to find out for yourself…”

Karl wanted to vanish. Now.

“Hey, don’t be ashamed. We all have started as virgins you know,” Killian said with a wink. “And with your good looks I wouldn’t worry if I were you”. The understanding and praise lightened a bit Karl’s discomfort.
“Hey! You didn’t tell me: have you finally started writing your Christmas story?” Okay. Not a bad move for a change of topic. This was safer ground. Karl could relax at last, while bitching about the assignment he had only two days left to do and had not even started.

As usual, they went back together at the parking lot and Karl escorted Killian to his battered Toyota Corolla. When the door was opened, Karl stepped back, as he always did. But Killian grabbed his arm. “Wait. I’ve got the answer to your question.” Before Karl could even understand what His Elf was talking about, he felt Killian plastering his body against his. The next second thin arms were around his neck and lips were softly caressing his. At first Karl didn’t know what to do. Then instinct kicked in and he embraced the lean body and lost himself into his first kiss.

It was intoxicating. Killian’s lips were so much softer and plumper than he had imagined. The flat body pressed against his in all the right places, like the yin and the yang. And when Killian’s tongue invaded his mouth, he tasted like chocolate, cream, caramel and cinnamon. Pure bliss. Soon, Karl was lost in their panting breaths and entwined limbs, giving as much as he received, pressing Killian between his body and the old car, his hands roaming every place he could touch trying to get to the skin, rubbing his hardening dick on the other’s stomach, bathing in the scent and taste of the man he loved.

The man he LOVED… Oh my god!

Karl jerked back, struck by the lightning of his epiphany. I was not a crush. Not anymore. It was love. Still breathless he stared into the eyes of an equally breathless Killian. How an entrancing face he had with his lips and cheeks all rosy from their shared kiss.
My first kiss. With my first love.

It was something he had waited for all his life. And suddenly he felt unprepared. Terrified by something utterly unknown. So out of his league.

Karl staggered back. He mumbled “This is… Was… That was great… See you tomorrow, okay?” Without waiting for an answer he rushed to his TR7 sports car and fled the scene of his enlightenment under Killian’s startled gaze.

“… On the seventh day, the troll was still giddy with amazement and wonder. He knew he could never go back to his silent cave and twisted statues after… After that. He wanted more joy. More happiness. He wanted to spend every single second of his life with the bearer of such light, he wanted to become a part of Christmas. That was his Wish. The wish from his heart. But it was so much more than the usual Christmas wish! It had nothing to do with “I want a new chisel” for Santa’s sake! And he feared refusal so much that the words came all wrong: “I know my Wish. I want you to be my slave as I own your life.” The troll realized what he had said only a second before Lear vanished...”

That night, Karl barely slept. He was so overwhelmed with it all. And so afraid too. 

Afraid that Killian had kissed him for no other reason than helping a friend. Or that he was looking for casual sex. Afraid to hope and see his hope crushed. Afraid to lose his first friendship and afraid to ruin his first love. Afraid of what might and what might not be.

He wanted to hope. But he knew he wasn’t exactly a keeper.

And that kiss! It had been everything. Like His Elf had said: “sweet and devastating”. He still had Killian’s taste rolling on his tongue and Killian’s scent lingering on his sweater put down next to his pillow. Just remembering Killian’s arms caressing and kneading his back, his moans or the way he had rubbed his erection against Karl’s thigh made him hard again. That night he did two things. For one, he decided to ask Killian out. Only his sheets remember the other one.

On the morning, Karl had barely slept and was unable to focus on his classes. All he could do was dream of all the things he wanted now. More kisses. Many more. Kisses were amazing. And sex, because it was said to be even better. Just thinking about sex with His Elf was a liability for his jeans buttons to pop out so hard they would ended up in orbit. But more than everything he longed for being loved in return. He needed a chance to build a real relationship with Killian. To cuddle in front of the TV. To share the intimacy of sleeping in each other’s arms. To spend Christmas together.

He spent most of his day looking at the time that passed so slowly, barely able to contain his eagerness to be with Killian again. Daydreaming about the coming evening. Too bad they didn’t have Creative Writing on that day. He even craned his neck in the hallways, hoping to catch a glimpse of His Elf without luck. But as the afternoon went by, Karl started to feel worried and unsettled. He remembered how Ethan had turned him down, kindly but firmly. His old fears crept back. And what if Killian laughed at him, thought he was preposterous?  Or was just not interested in him? Suddenly the ticking of the clock sped up. And when it was time to leave for their coffee house, Karl was a bundle of nerves. And a little late.

Seeing Killian ordering for both of them when he entered the café didn’t calm him. No more than the wave of a steaming cup and smiling welcome he received. “Hi there!  I hope you didn’t decide to try something else today, ‘cause here is your large espresso!”

It was only when they sat that Karl realized Killian’s smile was a bit forced and his silent slightly awkward. Because of the way I fled yesterday?  Or because he’s getting bored with me? They took a few sips in silence. There was no moaning today.

“Hmm… Nope. Maple syrup is not a good match with coffee.” Another silence. Karl was trying to hold his countenance.

“So… Are you going back to Peabody for the Holidays?” asked Killian.

“No. I don’t want to. I will stay here. You?”

“I wish I could go back to Denver spend Christmas with my family. But that’s a hell of a drive and planes are too expensive for us. So I guess I’ll stay here too and maybe spend the day with a friend…”

That’s my queue! I just have to tell him that I’d love to be the one spending Christmas with him because he has become so important to me. That I want to date him. It’s not that hard! Come on, man up!
Karl opened his mouth and completely different words came out. “We should date Killian. Spend Christmas together. You owe me since I saved you last week.”

One minute later, Killian was gone.

“…And so, Karrel was back to his loneliness and the cold of the cave that he couldn’t call home again, for his home was where the elf was now. Except that he would be less than unwelcome there after the stupid offensive words born of his stupid aching fears. He had lost everything. He felt sick with himself, regretful and more miserable than ever. The amount of his loss was too much to bear. He couldn’t live with it. He had to make amends no matter the cost, even if the elf would never forgive him. And he had to find a way to do it without his traitorous mouth to fail him again. So he started to express his feelings in the best way he could: by carving ice. He put all his present remorse into a statue of Lear, but also everything he had started to feel since meeting the wonderful elf. He created an artwork that was not the exact replica of the magical being, but the reflection of the elf into Karrel’s heart. Gorgeous. Warm. Glowing. Loving…”

Karl left his bathroom and sat on his bed. Alone in the dark. As always. He had fucked it all up. Again. But it was worse. So much worse. He could see now that Killian had been hinting about spending Christmas together. The same Killian that had invited him for a coffee at the beginning and knew his name. The one who had called him The Ice Prince. The one who had kissed him.
Killian had liked him. Had been attracted to Karl. But… Yeah, past tense…

Karl felt broken. Maybe he should call Killian and try to apologize and explain… But no. He would probably say something mean again. Make it worse. If that was even possible. Maybe he should write him a letter. Written words were his allies. So yes he could write him a letter, a beautiful letter where he would be able to express all his love and regret. A love letter to His Elf.
Yes he could do this! He could write…

Wait! Write? To My Elf? Just before Christmas?

Karl knew what he had to do. He was going to write the Christmas story! Not to get an A, but to get a chance to redeem himself. And maybe, just maybe, get a chance at happiness.
Karl sat at his computer and started to type. The story was coming to him so naturally. An easy flow of words about a troll and a Christmas elf pouring from his heart.

By 11 P.M. he was done. Or almost done. Before he could second guess his action, he took his phone and typed “Please, I know you’re mad at me. But please read this. You’re the only one who can tell me how the story ends…” He put his short story in attachment and sent it to Killian.

Afterwards he remained there, his eyes locked on his computer clock, then on his screen saver, seeing nothing. Just waiting. Shallow.


“…The troll was exhausted when he finished the statue and truly it was a masterpiece. But he was not done yet. He cleared his throat, enchanted the statue and said “I’m so sorry Lear. I didn’t know how to tell you that for me you ARE happiness. My only happiness. You’re the blazing sun that melts my heart. You are everything to me, as unworthy as I am. I was so afraid to tell you these words that I said horrible things instead. If you could ever forgive me, I would spend my life atoning. Will you be all my future Christmas?” Karrel gathered his last strengths to summon an ice wind strong enough to carry the enchanted ice statue to the elf’s doormat. And then he collapsed on the ground and waited for his fate. He waited for what felt like years. Not daring to hope for a Christmas miracle. Not daring to let his fears sneak in back again. Barely daring to breathe. He waited and waited. Finally he realized that a snow petrel had entered his cave and landed on one of his twisted statues, glaring at him with a vellum roll in his beak. With a shaking hand, the troll took the message, unrolled it and read the answer…”

It was past midnight when Karl’s phone rang. “Lothlórien's Theme”. Killian then.

Karl was astounded. In his core he had known that Killian would answer him. Because he was a kind man. But he had expected a short text. Not a phone call.

After remaining still, now he was shaking and he fumbled with his phone to take the call before it went to voicemail. His voice too was quivering when he picked up.

“Killian?”

He could hear muffled sobs on the other end of the line.

Had it succeeded in making it worse after all?

“Please Kil, talk to me…”

Another sob. Then Killian’s constricted voice.

“You’re so dumb!”

Okay. Nothing new here.

Then a trembling laugh.

“It’s beautiful Karl. It’s the… most wonderful thing that was ever done for me.”

“I… Thank you. I’m so sorry Kil. You are My Elf. Always. But the ending is yours.”

Another laugh, less trembling. Merrier.

Karl braced himself.

“You’re really really dumb! It’s a Christmas story! Of course there’s a happy ending. I’ll be at your place in twenty minutes. And for the record, I’m in love with you!”

Advent Calendar Day 15

 

TEN DAYS TILL CHRISTMAS!!!! 

Today our dear Natasha Chesterbrook is back with another holiday coda. 

You may remember that last year one of our activities was for you all to write the beginnings of a coda with the hope that some of you might finish them up and even submit! Well, Natasha did that very thing. :-D 

I LOVE IT WHEN A PLAN COMES TOGETHER.

Today's coda features Perry Foster and Nick Reno, and I know you're going to love it. 

Nick Reno loved Perry Foster with all his heart and soul. That being said, today he wanted to kill him.

After a long night of trailing a gang of smugglers through the back bays of Los Angeles Harbor, he was cold, tired and hungry. Having spent several early morning hours dealing with the police who eventually showed up when things really started to turn ugly, he’d returned home to find Perry fast asleep on their sofa in a cold apartment, the heat Nick had turned up the evening before now off.

A stranger sat slumped in a chair dressed up like Santa Claus and smelling like a distillery. At his feet a red sack spilled over containing, if Nick was not mistaken, the apparent rewards of a night spent burgling. What had Perry gotten himself into this time?

Tiny pinpoints of light twinkled across the floor where the small Christmas tree Perry had rescued from some cast off heap stood. Perry was good as rescuing things – rescuing people – and sometimes that scared him.

Nick knelt beside the sofa and, as gently as he could, touched Perry’s shoulder hoping not to startle him. His breathing was slow and steady as much a balm to Nick’s soul as any could be. Perry’s eyelids fluttered open with a start but immediately focused on Nick with adoration akin to worship. The weariness Nick wore from a long night eased at that look and he smiled knowing full well how sappy it must have sat on his face.

“Sweetheart, you okay?” Nick constantly surprised himself with that being his first priority in any situation.

“I’m fine. Just…” Perry trailed off as his eyes darted to Santa then quickly back to Nick. As for Nick, he waited knowing Perry needed to gather his wits enough to answer Nick’s questioning gaze. He could be patient for Perry. Actually, as he found out this last year, he could be anything for Perry.

“He’s still here.” The surprise in Perry’s voice didn’t go unnoticed but it was also the look of concern on his face that made Nick stand up.

An abrupt snore from the sleeping Santa broke the quiet causing them both to start and then stare at the stranger. He didn’t wake up or even move much beyond his face twitching a bit before settling back into the slackness of somnambulance.

“Let me go turn up the heat, get you another blanket and then you can tell me what happened.” 

When he returned, Perry was sitting up and more alert. Nick wrapped the blanket around his shoulders and rubbed his arms. “I’m okay, Nick. Really.” If there was a note of agitation in Perry’s voice, Nick chose to ignore it.

“Who’s Mr. Claus?”

Perry drew a breath. “I had just finished work on my latest piece and was cleaning my brushes when I heard the most beautiful voice singing Christmas carols. I looked out into the courtyard and there he was.” Perry nodded to the sleeping St. Nick. “It was magical.”

Nick frowned and waited but Perry seemed to have run out of story. 

“So you invited him in?”

“Well… he was in a pretty bad way.”

“And turned down the heat?”

“He was sweating, and I thought he’d be more comfortable.”

“And the stolen goods?”

“What?!” Perry started to rise but Nick held him down.

“Okay, I’m just guessing. It looks pretty suspicious.”

Perry frowned again, “I didn’t think…”

Nick heaved a sigh then snapped, “I guess you weren’t thinking by inviting a complete stranger into our home. He could have been anyone. He could have robbed us. He could have – could have – hurt you!”

Now Perry did jump up. “Look at him. Does he look like he’s in any condition to hurt me?”

“That’s not the point,” Nick replied tersely. He didn’t want to argue with Perry, but the weariness weighed on him tearing down his resolve. “I wasn’t here to...”

Perry looked away, eyes downcast. “Protect me? Because I’m weak? Please, don’t treat me like a child.”

“Then stop acting like one!” Nick instantly regretted the words but didn’t know how to pull them back. He didn’t know how to do a lot of things for Perry. Say the right things. Tell him how he felt.

***

Exhausted as he was Nick fell into a deep sleep from which he woke early not feeling in the least refreshed. Perry lay silent with his back to him under the layers of blanket Nick has piled on before passing out. Nick could tell he wasn’t asleep.

“I’m sorry.” At least Nick knew how to start even if he was lost as to how to proceed. But Perry didn’t give him time to lay out a course.

Turning over he snuggled into Nick and hugged him tight. “I’m sorry for scaring you. That’s it isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Nick figured he’d just go where Perry led. Then decided he needed to steer some too even if it did make him uncomfortable.

“Sweetheart, I hate leaving you alone so much. I don’t think you’re weak. But when I’m not here to protect you I need to know you’ll protect yourself.”

Perry raised his head and gifted Nick with a sweet, soft kiss. “I love you too.”

One kiss became two, then three before they remembered their overnight guest and rose to see if they still owned any furniture.

The front room was empty of strangers with only the folded blanket lying on the sofa Nick remembered Perry draping over the faux Santa. Nick checked the front door which was still locked.

Perry looked at him with wide eyes, ‘Where do you think he went?”

“Up the chimney? Nearest bar?” Nick quipped.

Perry drew a hand through his blond locks, “Nick, I know what I did last night was careless and I’m sorry. But I can’t just turn my back on people. Life is a risk.” He looked at Nick with love in his eyes. “You took a risk on me. How can I not embrace that?”

Nick looked at this man – his man – across the room and recognized a strength he himself lacked and nodded. If Perry can be brave, so can he.

He moved over to Perry pulling him into a kiss then whispered, “Wanna go back to bed?”

From the courtyard, “The First Noel” rang out in a strong, melodious voice.

Perry was right. It was magical.

Advent Calendar Day 14

 Good morning and welcome to another chilly and cloudy Monday in December. Only 11 days till Christmas. I still can't believe this year is nearly over. Not that I'm not happy to see it go. I have high hopes for 2021, and I'm guessing you do too. 

We have a brand new contributor to the Advent Calendar this morning. Terry Wylis, who you may know from novels like Kissing Sherlock Holmes and Solitude & Sea Glass written with T.D. McKcKinney--or from just hanging out with the gang on Facebook. 

Terry is sharing her lovely art and poetry with us.

Christmas Is...

The smile of pine and gingerbread,

The warmth of fire's glow;

A moment of affection shared

Beneath the mistletoe;

A diamond-fall of snowflakes

That carry their own light;

Sweet reverence for the tiny Child

Born on that holy night;

Searching for that special gift

That shows how much you care;

Voices singing joyfully

The carols held so dear;

A bond with friends and family

The love held in our hearts;

The little things filled with the joy

That Christmastime imparts.

1995

Terry has offered to mail that wonderful little twilight scene to one lucky commenter. Share what Christmas is to you and I'll randomly select from the responses below. 

Advent Calendar Day 13

 Happy Sunday morning in December!

We're about to have quiche and coffee and then a quick morning walk. It's cold and sunny and the trees are just about bare. What do you have planned for the day? Well, before you do that, here's your daily gift of holiday cheer. Today we have a lovely teaser by the lovely Catherine Dair. Cat captures one of my favorite scenes from The Monuments Men Murders. ;-) 

And then, because heck, it's the holidays! I'm sharing another little bit of sweetness. This coda was  written for Patreon way back when. A reader pointed out that we never actually get to see Sam and Jason's first real kiss because it happens after the end of The Mermaid Murders. (So much of the best stuff happens between books, doesn't it? :-P )

Anyway, here you go! Have a lovely morning! 

Jason and Sam – First Kiss

 

Kennedy let out a long breath, like a swimmer who just didn’t have the strength to keep fighting current. The moment seemed to float there, and then he reached out, hand locking in Jason’s hair, pulling him in for a kiss.

Just before their lips met Kennedy said softly, “When and where?”

 

The pressure of Sam’s mouth warmed, deepened—our first real kiss, Jason thought dizzily—Sam’s lips parting Jason’s lips with gentle insistence, and Jason opening right up, like a solar sail unfurling in space…he was flying, flying with astonished delight.

Sam here. Sam kissing him.

Sam tasted of bitter coffee and hard words, but his kiss was honey-sweet, unexpectedly, meltinglysweet.

Who would have dreamed Sam Kennedy could kiss like that? And when they reluctantly parted, Sam dropped another quick brush of a kiss on Jason’s mouth.

Jason tried to read Sam’s face. He was still a little uncertain. He had gone from heartbreak to happiness in less than sixty seconds and he was feeling off balance.

Sam’s gaze fell on Jason’s bags, packed and ready to go beside the door.

“You were planning on an early start,” he said.

“I know when I’m not wanted.” Jason was smiling, but the hurt had been real.

Sam’s hard mouth curled into a faint self-mocking smile. He shook his head, drawing Jason back against him. “I never said that.” He touched his mouth to Jason’s, lightly, teasingly, but maybe there was a hint of apology. Maybe?

Sam whispered again, “No, I never said that.”

CHRISTMAS CODA 59

 

Christopher Holmes and JX Moriarity

(NOTE: this coda takes place in a world without COVID19)

 

“So what you’re saying is you don’t want to spend Christmas with my family.”

“I didn’t say that,” I protested.

J.X. said darkly, “It’s what you don’t say.”

Clearly this was not going to be the quick and cheerful conversation I’d (foolishly) anticipated when J.X. strolled into my office, coffee mug in hand, flannel shirt distractingly unbuttoned. I took my glasses off, rolled my chair back a few inches.

“That’s not fair.”

Maybe J.X. agreed—he was nothing if not fair-minded—because he said, “Okay, but you’re not making it easy for me to figure out what you do want to do for the holidays.”

“What’s the hurry here? Christmas is nearly a month away.”

“Kit, it’s less than two weeks. People need to make plans. We need to make plans.”

I sighed--more loudly than I’d intended.

“You said you don’t want to spend Christmas with your family, and you clearly don’t want to spend the day with mine—”

“Again. Not what I said.” I couldn’t help adding, “Anyway, we spent last year with your family.”

J.X. began to splutter. “You left midway through Christmas day and flew back to LA.”

“Well, yes, but that’s not the point. The point is we—”

“That is entirely the point,” J.X. interrupted. He wasn’t yelling, exactly, but he was definitely getting irritated, despite his obvious good intentions. And on that topic, is there anything more annoying than someone showing how hard they’re trying to be patient with you?

I snapped, “Look, if it means that much to you, we’ll spend Christmas with your family. Again.”

Which I freely admit was not conducive to peace on earth and goodwill to men. 

But it wasn’t just peevishness on my part. The problem is, when you marry someone who loves his kinfolk as much as J.X. does, you marry the whole family—and J.X.’s family was not all that keen on me or ourimpending nuptials. I mean, I did try to get along with them. I really did. And we had made some headway over the past months, but…it was my Christmas too.

And—this is not fair, I agree—I couldn’t help feeling like J.X. ought to instinctively understand that and be maybe a little more sensitive to my feelings. It’s not like I haven’t expressed them often enough.

Maybe too often.

J.X. flushed. His dark eyes got sparkly with emotion, mostly temper. “Oh no, you don’t,” he said. “One martyr on Christmas day is enough.”

To which I replied, “It’ll be three, won’t it? Counting your mother.”

Yeah, I know.

Bad habits, bad relationship habits, take time to break. I don’t know why I instantly reverted back to how I used to argue with David. Maybe the same reason J.X. turned without a word and walked from the room—a tactic he knew drove me crazy.

 

I blame it on Christmas.

That viral load of emotion and expectation that comes with the holidays—especially for new couples—it makes everyone nuts.

Not that J.X. and I were a new couple, exactly, but we were still learning how to be together, and this was our first real Christmas now that we’d pledged our troth. Or pledged to pledge our troth. The wedding was still six months away.

Which brought up a whole ‘nother set of emotions and expectations: this impending wedding of ours. Because I knew exactly what would happen on Christmas. We’d sit around that long formal table in the Moriaritys’ tastefully decked out dining room, and someone would, for the sake of politeness, ask J.X. how the wedding plans were coming, and the floodgates would open, and Mr. Moriarity’s eyes would glaze over and Nina would shrink smaller and smaller in her chair, and Mrs. Moriarity’s smile would get tighter and tighter, and I would start praying for an earthquake. Something in an 8.5 or higher.

Seriously, though, I just couldn’t take the idea of another excruciating family dinner, especially this particular one which would be topped off by another agonizing gift exchanges. How many ties did those people think I needed? Were they hoping I'd take the hint and hang myself? Why couldn’t J.X. see this from my point of view?

For a few minutes, I brooded over his insensitivity, pecking out the occasional word on my computer and pretending I could still concentrate on Miss Butterwith’s ongoing investigation, while I relived the last few minutes of the first argument we’d had in months.

I mean, J.X. was right. At best, I only deserved partial credit for last year. And I had vetoed the idea of Christmas with my parents, so how fair was it to nix spending the holiday with his? What did I want? To spend the day together? Alone?

Well, yes. That was exactly what I wanted.

But was that even allowed?

Probably not.

Anyway. Wasn’t this was supposed to be the Season of Love? Maybe I could stop thinking of myself for a little while and could try showing a little of that love to the man who mattered most to me in all the world.

 

I barreled out of my office straight into J.X., who staggered back a foot or two.

“Ouch.”

“Sorry,” I said. “And sorry for earlier. I’m being a jerk. I love you and we’ll do whatever you want for Christmas. So long as we’re together, what does it matter?”

I only hoped Santa was taking note of what a really good boy I was.

I'm not sure J.X. heard me. He waved what appeared to be a glossy brochure in front of my face.

“Okay. What about Pacific Grove?” he demanded.

“I didn’t have anything to do with that. Whatever it was. I have an alibi. I'm sure.”

He held up the brochure and read aloud, “Pacific Grove’s unique coastal take on holiday romance includes festive lights, picturesque Victorian architecture, a brisk ocean wind, and the sound of waves crashing against the rocky shore. A host of holiday events evoke memories of Christmases past, kicking off with the annual Holiday Parade of Lights and a night of caroling.”

“That sounds…really nice.”

It sounded like a Hallmark movie, frankly. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.

“I can book us into the Seven Gables Inn right now. Just say the word.”

Now it sounded less like a Hallmark movie and more like a soon-to-be crime scene. I could already envision the whole cast of sinister guests.

“Uh…”

J.X. said, “Wine and cheese in the afternoon, milk and cookies in the evening.”

“I appreciate your appeal to my love of the finer things—” 

“Stained glass windows, crystal chandeliers, Persian rugs, fine linens, and every room has a stunning view of the coast. The lighthouse is just a few minutes' walk.”

“That sounds pretty darned charming,” I said. “Are you really saying you want to spend Christmas alone? Because I’m more than happy to--”

J.X. smiled and, like the Grinch, I felt my heart expand about three sizes. “I won’t be alone, will I? I’ll be spending Christmas with you, and I can’t think of anything I want more than that.”

I was torn between hope and doubt. “Really? You reallydon’t mind--”

“Really.”

I sighed. “Now I feel totally guilty.”

“You’ll get over it.” J.X. laughed at my glare, tossed the brochure aside and pulled me into his arms. “But if you would like to make it up to me, I have one or two ideas…”

 

 

 

Advent Calendar Day 11

 

Good morning! Today the wonderful Meg Perry has been generous enough to gift us with a little bit of fiction featuring Elliot Mills, Tucker Lance and a couple of guest stars I'm sure you will recognize from previous appearances on this channel (and elsewhere!). ;-D  

“Mawage: that bwessed awwaingement…”
--The Impressive Clergyman, The Princess Bride

 

Elliott Mills accepted the bottle of beer that Tucker Lance handed him with a sigh. He’d gotten the cast off his arm only a couple of days ago, and his hand was still too weak to perform a lot of stupidly simple activities. Like screwing the cap off a beer bottle.

He settled onto a barstool from which he could watch Tucker work in the kitchen. “Who are these people coming to stay at Tom and Jane’s?”

When Steven Roche, Elliott’s next-door neighbor, was killed by Andrew Corian, he died without a will or heirs. The bank that ended up owning his house was anxious to unload it. Tom Beach and Jane Devereaux, a sixty-something couple from Yakima, had snapped it up at a ridiculously low price. They’d eventually retire to the house; until then, they and their relatives were using it as a vacation home.

Tucker picked up the pad of paper on which he’d written the information. “Pete Ferguson and Jamie Brodie. From New Mexico. They’re in-laws of Tom and Jane’s daughter.”

“I suppose Jamie is a woman.”

“Jane didn’t say. But usually, yeah, that’s a female name.”

“New Mexico? I hope they like humidity.”

Tucker shrugged. “Maybe that’s why they’re coming.”

 

When the doorbell rang a half-hour later, Tucker was stirring spaghetti sauce. Elliott slid off his barstool. “I’ll get it.”

He opened the door and tried to keep his expression neutral. Whichever one of these two masked men was Jamie, he definitely was not a woman. One was tall, broad-shouldered, and blond; the other was even taller and dark-haired. Both were a few years older than Elliott and Tucker. The blond said, “Hey, I’m Jamie Brodie. We’re staying next door. Jane said y’all had the keys.”

Y’all? “We do. I’d invite you in, but…”

“Understood.”

“I’ll get the keys.” Elliott turned but left the door open. “Tucker? The neighbors are here.”

Tucker stepped out of the kitchen, failing to conceal the surprise on his face. “Oh. Hi. I’m Tucker Lance.”

Elliott added, “And I’m Elliott Mills.”

The dark-haired one said, “I’m Pete Ferguson. Glad to meet you.”

“You too.”

Jamie said, “Y’all are some brand of law enforcement, huh?”

Elliott stared at him. “Tom and Jane told you?”

“Nah. You both have the look.”

Elliott wasn’t sure what to think about that. Pete said, “I was a cop for ten years. LAPD.”

Tucker said, “We’re FBI.”

The corner of Jamie’s eyes crinkled. Under the mask, he was grinning. “Feds! Cool.”

Tucker gave Elliott a bemused look. Elliott took the keys from a hook by the door and handed them to Jamie. “We have a fire pit on the back deck. Once you’re settled, why don’t you join us for a socially distanced beer?”

Pete frowned. Jamie said, “We’re supposed to quarantine for fourteen days, coming from out of state.”

Tucker waved a hand. “We’ll be outside and sit on opposite sides of the fire. It’ll be fine.”

Pete said, “That sounds great. About an hour?”

“Perfect.”

“Okay, we’ll see you then.”

Jamie said, “Thanks for the keys.”

“No problem.” Elliott saw them out then returned to his beer. “Damn. They made us as cops in about thirty seconds.”

“They probably know lots of cops.”

“Do they say y’allin New Mexico?”

Tucker barked a laugh. “Apparently.” 

 

An hour later, Tucker had built a roaring fire in the pit. Elliott could hear the wind in the tops of the pine trees, but on the ground, there was just enough breeze to dispel their exhalations.

He heard Jamie and Pete coming, talking and laughing about something. Completely at ease with each other. After they were seated and the full introductions were over—turned out they were here to soak up the humidity—Elliott asked, “How long have you two been together?”

Jamie answered. “Friends for fourteen years, together for eight, married for five. What about you?”

Elliott glanced at Tucker, who didn’t hesitate. “Almost two years, but on and off. Now absolutely on. We’re talking about getting married next summer.”

Jamie lifted his bottle as if toasting them. Pete said, “Congratulations.”

Elliott said, “Thanks. I’m curious—how does it change...everything?”

Jamie and Pete exchanged a wordless glance. Jamie said, “There are stages, I think. At first, it’s getting used to merging your finances.”

Pete said, “Having to consult someone else before you make a major purchase.”

Jamie said, “Your relationships with each other’s families change.”

“Before, you were just the boyfriend. Now, you’re related to these people.”

“Gaining nieces and nephews overnight.”

“Negotiating holidays.”

Jamie said, “Then you get comfortable with ogling other guys together.”

Elliott and Tucker laughed. Pete said, “It’s true. It’s the security that comes with knowing you’re both just looking.”

Jamie drained his bottle. “Then you get a dog and learn to read each other’s minds.”

Pete added, “Although those two things are not necessarily related.”

Tucker asked, “What’s the downside? Of marriage, not reading each other’s minds. Although that might be a downside.”

Jamie nudged Pete. “You can tell ‘em about life with an obsessive neat freak.”

“There is that.” Pete opened another bottle. “The first year we lived together, I could never find anything because he’d already put it away.”

Jamie grinned. “I’ve got him trained to put stuff away himself now. For me, the downside is not being able to spend every holiday with my family. But you’ve just gotta compromise on that.”

Elliott looked at Tucker, who said, “Neither of us has much family. So that’s not a huge issue.”

Pete said, “For us, I think, the most difficult adjustment has been learning to deal with each other’s different moods and energy levels. But you can either see that as a stumbling block or as an opportunity to complement each other.”

Jamie added, “We were in couples counseling for over a year before we got married. I highly recommend it.”

Elliott couldn’t hide his skepticism. Pete noted it and said, “I know. It’s not a comfortable concept for law enforcement. I fought it for a long time. But we wouldn’t be here without it.”

 

They talked for another hour about a variety of topics—dogs, profiling, teaching, living in a pandemic. Finally, Jamie said, “I’m so cold I can’t feel my toes. Thanks for having us over.”

Elliott asked, “How long are you staying?”

“Just a week.”

Tucker said, “We’ll do it again in the daytime. If it doesn’t rain.”

Pete said, “Deal.”

They said goodnight and left. Tucker gathered bottles while Elliott doused the fire. Once they were inside and settled on the sofa, Tucker said, “What possessed you to ask about marriage?”

“I didn’t plan to. It sort of popped out. But we don’t have any married gay friends, so… It’s like I said. I was curious.”

“They seem to have it figured out.”

Elliott grimaced. “Partly thanks to counseling, though.”

“Yeah, I don’t know about that.”

“Me either.”

Tucker grinned and wrapped an arm around Elliott. “They didn’t talk you out of getting married, did they?”

Elliott grinned back. “Hell. no. I’m holding you to that, Lance.”

Tucker leaned in for a kiss. “You’d better, Mills.”

Advent Calendar - Day 10

 Now this is a song I'm sure you've heard a million times, but I think it holds up really well. It's like a precursor to Mariah Carey's "All I Want for Christmas," (which, yes, it's been played to death, but  I still love it for its relentless peppy optimism in the face of almost certain holiday disappointment).

Anyway, here's Darlene Love's "Christmas" ("Baby Please Come Home") to start your day off right.

Advent Calendar Day 9

 

Today I'm sharing my recipe for Mai Tais-perfected over this last very long, very hot summer--AND we have another giveaway.

Now, I don't really think of the Mai Tai as a winter beverage. But something about this particular winter has me longing for sandy beaches and blue skies and the sway of palms and cries of gulls. OH MY GOD I MISS CATALINA ISLAND. So I've been trying to persuade the SO to grill every weekend, even he has to wear a parka, and I've been wearing body lotion that smells like a cross between a suntan lotion (so different from sunscreen) and falling into a vat of Piña Colada, and I've been experimenting with a whole host of summertime cocktails.

 My recipe is tweaked from the original Trader Vic's Mai Tai, so it's a bit sweeter, but still strong enough to knock you on your ass.

The Pirate's Cove Mai Tai ;-)

– 1/2 oz lime juice

– 1 oz orange Curaçao

– 1/2 oz Orgeat syrup

– 1/4 oz simple syrup

– 1 oz aged Jamaican rum

– 1 oz aged Martinique Agricole rhum

Shake all ingredients over ice, pour into a double old-fashioned glass. Fill to rim with crushed ice (the colder the better, for this one). Garnish with a wedge of lime shell and a maraschino cheery.

And our giveaway is another kooky vintage "ornament". This one is a set of ceramic Christmas tree napkin holders. They're really quite nice. Shipping them is going to be tricky, so I'm limiting this giveaway to the U.S. 

Share your own cocktail recipe in the comment section below to be included in the random drawing.

Christmas Coda 58

 
Will and Taylor from the Dangerous Ground series

The faintest ghostly chime woke Will from his thoughts.

He murmured, “Warm enough?”

“Mmhm.”

They were spooned together in the cabin’s slightly lumpy bed, their sleeping bags zipped into one large comforter. Will was chafing Taylor’s feet between his own, and for once Taylor’s feet did feel warmish. Taylor, who was extremely ticklish, barely jumped as Will ran his toes down the sole of his foot.

The tiny silver angels on the candle chimes sitting on the nightstand, began to speed up, silhouettes glinting and flashing, as the heat from the candles rose. The chimes were their sole effort at holiday decor. Taylor had picked them up in a drug store on the long drive north.

“What do you think?” he’d asked Will.

“Easier to carry than a Christmas tree,” Will had responded. What he really thought was that it was amazing that after all this time, they could still surprise each other. That there were still things about Taylor he didn’t know, couldn’t predict. And only the rest of their lives to figure each other out.

The firelight from the fireplace across the room cast shadows across Taylor’s face. He was smiling faintly, his expression unusually peaceful.

“Glad we came?” Will asked, watching him.

Taylor’s mouth twitched, but clearly, he decided to throw Will a bone. He said kindly, “This wasn’t such a bad idea, Brandt.”

Will’s mouth curved in reply. His original idea had been to go camping, but he was enough of a realist to know December in the High Sierras was not going to be a hit with Taylor. So instead they had rented a lonely little cabin in a rundown mountain resort. They could fish for trout (Merry Fishmas!!) hike and explore all day—no need for masks, no need to socially distance from anything but the occasional deer—and in the evenings they got to enjoy hot showers, drinks before their own fireplace, and cuddling up in a reasonably comfortable bed.

They needed this break. Hell, after 2020, the entire world needed a break. On the bright side, business was booming. Nothing like a global pandemic to bring out the paranoia in, well, everyone. Unfortunately, a lot of the business revolved around cyber threats, their least favorite part of protection services, but they were meeting the challenge—remotely most of the time, but whatever worked.

So yeah, business was booming. And so far, their little team was still healthy and strong and thriving. Not that there hadn’t been moments. Euphonia had come down with the virus. Luckily, she’d only had a light case. As Taylor said, “Even plague germs are afraid of Nee.” Will had tested positive for the virus three fucking times—false positives each time, as it turned out—and Taylor had gotten into two punch ups in the last six months: one when some asshole had tried to jerk his mask off, the second when another asshole had tried to jerk Taylor’s client’s mask off. Will worried about that vulnerable right lung of Taylor’s—the one a bullet had punctured in what felt like a lifetime ago--not that he was dumb enough to say so. No way was Taylor going to sit on the sidelines and wait for the danger to pass.

So, see, Will was learning. Learning to keep his mouth shut, anyway.

Love in the Time of Corona.   

Anyway, as Christmas vacations went, Will figured this was one of their best. Nearly as nice as Hawaii because regardless of everything else going on in the world, between them there were no more doubts, no more confusion, no more fear.

Well, no more fear as far as their commitment to each other. It was the year of living dangerously, after all.  

Will whispered, “Happy?”

“You’d know if I wasn’t.” But then Taylor turned within Will’s arms, locking his hand in Will’s hair, kissing him quick and hard. “Very.”

Will smiled and kissed him back. For a few moments they simply gazed at each other, the firelight catching the glimmer of eyes and teeth.

“I didn’t think it would make such a difference,” Will admitted.

“What?”

“Being married. I didn’t think I could feel closer to you than I already did.”

“Commitment,” Taylor said. “That’s the difference.”

“But I was committed to you. I always felt committed to you.”

“I know. Same. But it does make a difference.”

Will nodded. It really did. A little oasis of security in an insecure world?

“Anyway,” Taylor said, “Happy Anniversary.”

Riley, curled in a tight ball in front of the fireplace, suddenly groaned loudly.

 Will laughed. “He thinks we’re about to get mushy.”

Taylor laughed too, whispered, “He’s right.”

The silver angels spun faster and faster in the flickering firelight.

(**Note: this coda was expanded from its original version BECAUSE I'M A GOOF)

 

 

Advent Calendar Day 7

 

Happy 7th of December!
A good day to remember that things can always be worse. At least nobody is dropping bombs on us today.  We're not in the middle of a world war. Things are looking up! 

This year, for the first time ever, we've got an artificial Christmas tree. It's...pretty. It doesn't look like my trees usually do, but I did the best with what I had to work with. AND my Christmas shopping is all done. In fact, a bunch of prezzies have already been delivered. And the Advent Calendar is pretty well blocked out now, so I can just spend the rest of the month writing and enjoying the fruits of my rewards AKA drinking. 

I'M KIDDING. 

Well, not entirely.

Anyway, today we're bringing back one of our interactive Advent Calendar treats, and that's helping me make teasers for my stories.

In this context, teaser means a pithy quote from one of my stories matched with a visually striking
photo or bit of art. But you don't have to create the whole teaser (although you can if you want to!), you just have to come up with the pithy or memorable quote part.  

Mostly I love this exercise because it's so intriguing (and often surprising) to see which lines resonate most with readers. Sometimes it's a line I love too and sometimes it's a line I never thought much about. But either way they give me something to hang a bit of promo on. I love making teasers, I love matching art to words.

So today's "game" if you will, is to share some of your favorite lines from your favorite JL stories. You can pick any story you like, but if you're looking for inspiration, I don't have any teasers from the first two All's Fair books, or from Strange Fortune or The Darkling Thrush or most of the short stories or the novellas. That's a lot of un-mined teaser territory to choose from.

To help you along in your endeavor, my dear friend and mod, the super talented Johanna Ollila, has created three of her own teasers, which she's offering as magnets to three authors of the teaser quotes randomly selected as our winners.

Ready, set... Share your favorite pithy JL quote in the comment section below!