Love Is Coming to Town
A Small Town Christmas Romance Anthology
with stories by
Rebecca Barton, Dawn Luedecke, Danielle Pays, Alexa Rivers,
Kaci Rose, Megan Ryder, Bell Splendor, Kate Stacy, Claire Wilder
What’s a small town Christmas without a little romance?
Fake relationships, second chances, friends to lovers, and sexy brother’s best friends.
Mix in some small town gossip, meddling matchmakers, and Christmas magic and you have a perfect holiday escape.
Finding His Cheer by Claire Wilder
He loved and lost. She’s just lost. This Christmas, will love be the thing that finds them both?
Operation: Christmas Seduction by Megan Ryder
A sexy bartender seduces his crush of Christmas trees, gifts, and cookies. But when the season ends, will their romance too?
Second Chance Christmas by Alexa Rivers
Breaking down outside her ex’s bar wasn’t part of the plan. Could a Christmas reunion reignite their old spark?
Love At Frost Sight by Bell Splendor
When two enemies come together, will it be steamy heat, or a melting iceberg of disaster?
Captivated by Danielle Pays
Needed: One fake boyfriend for the holidays. She never expected her brother’s best friend, aka her crush, to volunteer.
Twelve Days by Kate Stacy
She’s missing her usual holiday spirit, until a secret admirer gives her twelve days of Christmas she’ll never forget.
Christmas at La Villa Rosa by Rebecca Barton
Two creatives clashing on a joint project…surely it’s too cold to shut each other out, especially on Christmas Eve?
Her Second Chance Christmas by Kaci Rose
Her best friend’s Christmas wedding. A family reunion and the man she never thought she’d see again.
Kiss Me Under the Mistletoe by Dawn Luedecke
The only person who can put Sexy Santa in his place is a pain in the butt, and the perfect Mrs. Claus.
**Only .99 cents!!**
Operation: Christmas Seduction
Author: Megan Ryder
Short Blurb: A sexy bartender seduces his crush over Christmas trees, gifts, and cookies. But when the season ends, will their romance too?
Full Blurb:
True to his name, Ryan Holliday loves Christmas, as proclaimed by the tinsel and lights adorning his bar, Bangers and Mash. Sadly, the town Grinch, Paige Taylor--a woman who’s locked him in the friend zone—missed the memo. When he notices her mood unaffected by the trimmings, he makes it his mission to help her find her holiday spirit. Who knows? His good deed might even coax St. Nick into granting Ryan’s long-held Christmas wish to win her affection.
Any joy Paige Taylor might’ve known during the holidays had been killed by years of tense family affairs. For her, this year’s “Season of Stress” would be even worse thanks to her parents’ efforts to reunite Paige with her cheating ex-fiancé. In their eyes, his money and influence made up for his flaws. In fact, they blamed her for boring him with her dedication to her career as a history professor. At this point, even Henry VIII appealed more than modern men, which meant she shouldn’t flirt with the sexy bar owner insisting she party with the ghost of Christmas present.
Ryan seduces her over Christmas trees, cookies and shopping but will the Christmas magic they find together last beyond the New Year?
Excerpt:
"What are you drinking?"
She glanced at the glass, blinking owlishly behind her sexy, black-rimmed glasses, as if only now realizing it was empty. "Vodka and cranberry."
He whipped the glass away in one deft motion. "Not tonight. Let me make you one of my patented holiday drink specials."
He grabbed the blender, eggnog, amaretto, brandy, and ice cream. She leaned over the counter, trying to see around him, but he turned his back from her, hiding what he was doing. Finally, he sugared the rim of the martini glass and poured the mixture into it, garnishing it with a miniature candy cane.
He presented it to her with a flourish. "As if it came off Santa's sleigh just for you." He held it back for a second, just out of reach. "Have you been a good girl this year?"
She grinned. "I'm always good."
He leaned forward until the fuzzy white ball at the end of his Santa hat brushed her forehead. "Where's the fun in that?" He winked and handed her the drink. "Enjoy."
She took a sip and nodded, but he saw the slight grimace. "It's good."
"Good?" He pretended outrage. "It's Christmas in a glass! The most wonderful time of the year. And you say it's good?"
She laughed, finally letting down her guard a little. "Okay, fine. It's Christmas in a glass. Wonderful. Fabulous. Like drinking snowflakes. Are you happy now?"
He frowned. She was definitely a tough nut to crack. Fortunately, he’d had experience cracking tough cases. He’d figure her out too. "You hate it, don't you?"
She set the glass down. "Not a fan of peppermint or candy canes."
He took a step back and narrowed his gaze at her. Maybe he was figuring out the issue. No holiday garb, and a distinctly uncomfortable feeling around the holiday cheer. Yup, she was not in the holiday spirit. How could she have missed it? His whole bar was decked to the rafters for the season, the best time of year. His whole family came in over Thanksgiving and helped decorate the bar. Yet Paige was sitting here as if it were any other night of the year. "You do know it's Christmas, right?"
She wrinkled her nose. "How could I have missed it? What happened in here anyway? Drunken elves trash your bar? Lose a bet?"
He followed her gaze around the bar. "What do you mean? We're just getting started here." Suspicion dawned. “Do you hate Christmas or something?"
She shrugged, sipping the drink again. "Or something. It's a kids' holiday, not for adults. In my family, Christmas is really more of a social obligation than a fun time. I guess I just don't see the point."
He fell back dramatically against the bar, hand against his heart, feigning shock. "You really mean that? Oh, Paige, darling. Christmas is a season for miracles, a time for family, a time for fun." He shoved himself off the bar. "There's nothing for it. You need the Christmas spirit. And I'm just the Santa to bring it to you."
She stared at him, her green eyes a little wide, her full lips parted. She considered him, tentative, nervous, kind of like that rescue cat, not sure what he'd do next. She pushed her glasses up and shook her head.
"No, thanks. I'm good. I just never really saw the point. You rush around fighting crowds of people to buy stuff for people who already have stuff. Everyone is irritable and cranky, spending more money than they have. Why?"
He leaned forward on the bar, his upper body close to hers. "It's all about perspective. Think about finding that perfect gift for someone, then watching them open it on Christmas morning and seeing their joy and excitement. You don't have to spend a lot. It's the thought that counts."
She blew a raspberry at him. "Oh pooh. You really believe that? I think the advertising people would beg to disagree with you. And let's face it. All evidence is against you. It's all commercial now. All Christmas spirit is gone, lost in a flurry of money, gifts and greed."
He listened to her words but heard something else under it all. He had hoped she'd be a little more receptive to Christmas, not shutting it down completely. But at least she wasn't running scared from him. "So, what do you have to lose? If you're right, then you've lost a few hours. If I'm right, you've gained the holiday spirit."
He held his breath, half expecting her to say no thanks.
He'd never heard of someone not loving Christmas. In his family, they began preparing for Christmas in September, planning gifts, Christmas tree themes, and parties. When he first opened Bangers, as soon as Thanksgiving ended, holiday decorations went up. Hearing that someone didn't celebrate Christmas, didn't appreciate the holiday as he did, was a concept that was as foreign to him as someone not liking ice cream.
He dried a glass, striving for nonchalance while inside, he was twisted up. Damn, she was beautiful, in an understated way, easily missed by most of the guys hanging out in this bar looking for something more obvious. Maybe he could finally figure out why she was so attractive and work out this connection between them.
The silence dragged on and he had to push her. He wasn't above a little emotional blackmail. "Unless, maybe you don't want to spend time with me. Maybe you don't like me or something."
The look on her face was priceless. Shock, surprise and a hint of something his ego might interpret as fascination.
"Of course not. But it would be a waste of time," she replied, voice prim and proper.
"Spending time with you is never a waste of time.”
Excerpt from Finding His Cheer by Claire Wilder:
"We can do this, Rubes," I said.
Ruby's skinny arms wrapped around me like a rope, cinching my chest. No, like a harness tightening as I stood on the angle of a high roof, knowing I could take a risk because I was contained in the grasp of something good and real and safe.
I kissed the top of my daughter's head. "Ready?"
Then the doorbell rang.
I was surprised to hear the sound. We rarely had visitors. It had to be my Grandma Pearl. Ophelia must have shoveled her driveway again, and she was excited to be out on the road and—
I opened the door and my battered, hole-ridden heart jumped.
This was not Grandma. Not by a long shot. It was my neighbor, Morgan Carter. She wore a mac jacket too thin for this weather with a wool hat pulled down over her dark hair. Her chest heaved as if she'd just run over here.
"Hi, Heath," she said, her breath puffing out of her pink lips in bursts.
I stared at those lips a moment too long.
What the hell's the matter with me?
"Hi Morgan," I said.
Morgan and her husband Vince lived in the house next door, though next door wasn't quite accurate given there was a quarter of a mile of trees between our properties. I hadn't seen her this close in... I couldn't remember how long.
"You cut your hair."
Her cheeks went pink and she reached up as if to check if this was true. She dropped her hands again. "How are you doing?"
"Good," I said. "Fine."
Which is it?
I was no good at talking to people these days. I couldn't remember the last time I'd spoken to Morgan. Even though she was my neighbor, we weren't much more than strangers who waved at each other as we passed on the dirt road. She and Vince had moved in sometime in that hazy period when Jeanne had first gotten sick. Four years ago, maybe.
Morgan seemed flustered. She unfolded her arms from around herself, and her jacket fell open. Under the insufficiently warm coat, she wore mud-splattered overalls, and under that, a tank top. There was something shocking about seeing so much bare skin in the middle of winter. Especially when that skin was creamy and flushed pink.
Something stirred inside of me.
Seriously, what the hell?
Morgan was a married woman. I didn't think about women anymore, especially not married ones. I gave myself a mental slap.
"Is this a bad time?" she asked.
Not at all. We were just about to unpack my dead wife's favorite Christmas ornaments and my daughter is—
I looked around.
Nowhere to be seen. Probably upstairs hiding.
"Nope."
Morgan pursed her lips for a moment as if deciding whether I was just being nice. Then she sighed. "Well, I'm sorry to disturb you, but do you know anything about electrical stuff? I've blown a fuse or something and it's kind of critical I get the power back up—I'm in the middle of something. I'm pretty sure it's an easy fix—I can handle most of the house stuff, but electrical, well, it scares me. Because of the, you know, electrocution part. I know you work in building stuff, and—well, I know you're a roofer and that doesn't have anything to do with electrical."
All of that had come out in a nervous-sounding ramble.
I had to twist my lips to keep from smiling.
Morgan pressed a palm to her forehead and pivoted on the step like she was going to leave. "I'm sorry. This is stupid. I should call an electrician."
"It's not stupid," I said. I felt the strongest urge to help calm her down. I hesitated. "Is Vince out?"
Morgan gave me a strange look. Then she glanced down at her shoes. She was wearing black sneakers. They were splattered with the same mud as was streaked on her clothes.
"Vince left last spring. It's just me over there now."
My stomach did a little dive. "I'm sorry. I had no idea."
Morgan put on a smile that looked falsely bright. "It doesn't matter."
Now that I thought about it, I couldn't recall the last time I'd seen Vince around. Not that I'd been remotely observant over the past few years.
"I'm happy to come take a look."
Morgan seemed to soften.
That thing in my stomach came back—a little jolt I couldn't place. I was happy I might be of use to someone again, that was all. It wasn't Morgan and her adorably awkward demeanor and sweet smile.
"Thank you," she said.
I stood there for another moment before I realized I'd been staring. "Come in—I'll get my coat. And Ruby."
Excerpt 3
"Hey, Anita," Derek says, a sinewy twist of invitation or implication in his voice. I'm not up for what he considers the height of sexy banter. I've seen the girls he's had hanging on his arm for the past twelve years, and I'm not interested in being number whatever. Derek Langer is about as appealing to me as cat barf on a hot patio.
"Piss off," I tell him evenly. He's used to a flat rejection by now. It's all just part of the game.
"'Nita!" my sister sighs. She's been listening to this back-and-forth for years.
"Zach and I are gonna head up to the Dells in a couple weekends, maybe go ice fishing," he says, and does the absolute dumbest thing imaginable, which is that he lifts both arms over his head and stretches, dragging his shirt up from over his perfect six-pack abs to show them off.
It's a cold and gray overcast day in late November, and Derek Langer is doing his spring mating dance.
Great.
The worst part... the worst part is that they do look pretty good. I can't lie about that. I can, however, get him to shut the hell up.
"Miranda's dating someone in a committed relationship, and I wouldn't touch you with a ten-foot pole, so you're just—" I waggle a few fingers. "Making conversation with yourself."
He doesn't blink.
"I just meant you could use your ice magic to cut us a hole and lift all the fishies out—" He wiggles his fingers back at me, like shiny blue and white sparks are about to come out of his fingertips.
"Oh, is that why?" I say mock-thoughtfully. "I thought maybe you wanted me to tag along to gut and clean your catch for you, since children aren't supposed to use knives."
He chuckles, rising to the challenge.
"Actually, I shouldn't be surprised that you wouldn't come—wouldn't want to ruin that manicure by doing something that doesn't involve telling movers where to put a couch," Derek says. "I bet the only raw fish you've ever seen is at a sushi restaurant."
"I dunno," I answer in a faux sweet voice, "Better to experience a California Roll instead of just letting everyone in town assume that I've ever had anything to do with Cali, let alone set foot in the state."
Miranda groans.
"Why do they do this?" she asks the sky. "Do they get off on being mean to each other? Is that what it is?"
"It's called banter, Miranda," Derek answers.
"Like you know what banter is," I shoot back at him, "You probably think wit is a medical condition."
"Oh yeah?" Derek takes a step forward. Up close he smells like leather and freshly shaved cedarwood, like the inside of a hope chest.
"Yeah," I say, squaring up toe to toe with him, because nobody gets away with trying to intimidate me.
"Maybe I'll show you my wit," he says, like it's actually some kind of threat, but it's just incomprehensible.
"Oh, please do," I tell him, setting my fists against my hips, "I'd love to help you get that rap sheet nice and long."
Derek opens his mouth, probably to say something filthy.
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