Love, Laughter and Happily Ever After: A Short Story Collection

by Daisy Prescott

  I kiss her hip, and she bucks off the bed.

  Without pausing, I slip back inside her. Kissing her neck, her jaw, the corner of her mouth, I can’t get enough of her. We’re as close as two people can be, and it’s still not enough.

  I need more.

  I need to expand this love inside me.

  “Let’s have a baby,” I whisper against her lips.

  Chapter 5

  “Let’s make a baby.” I repeat watching as her eyes widen and her pupils dilate.

  “Right now?” Her voice is nothing more than a whisper.

  I slowly move inside her. “Sure.”

  “Oh…” Her breath catches.

  “Breathe, Hailey.” I stroke down her cheek with the back of a finger. Tracing her jaw, I trail that finger down her neck, over her collarbone and down the center of her chest.

  Her chest trembles with her inhale.

  “Um, I’m on the pill. Remember?” She doesn’t blink, her eyes searching mine.

  Of course. I honestly forgot. I still my movements, but don’t withdraw.

  “Maybe you should stop.” Leaning forward, I kiss the spot near her ear that always makes her moan.

  “Having sex with you? Or taking the pill?”

  I cup her breast and squeeze. “Definitely not the sex part.

  I roll us so she’s on top of me, her knees straddling my hips. I weave my fingers through hers and lift her hands to my mouth, slowly kissing my way across each of her knuckles.

  She sighs. “Are you sure?”

  Afraid to say something stupid, I nod, looking into her eyes.

  “Oh…”

  I kiss her palm before placing it over my heart. I move our other hands, fingers still woven together, and rest them on her lower stomach, below her belly button. I nod again. “Never been so sure about something that scares me so much.”

  My focus is on our hands over her belly as I lose myself in thoughts of feeling and watching it swell with a baby we’ll make together.

  Her fingers spread over my heart. “Tom?”

  I lift my gaze from her stomach to her face.

  “Are you serious?”

  “What makes you think I’m joking about this?” I gently press against her hand, then let my hand skim her skin down to where she ends and I begin.

  She shifts above me, gently tipping her hips. I’m reminded of our connection. It’s not only sexual. I’m hers, all of me. Heart, soul, and body.

  “I want to make babies with you. I want little versions of us running around in the world. Dimples, long legs, beautiful, kind, stubborn humans that are half you and half me.”

  She pinches my nipple. “The stubborn and dimple parts they’ll get from you, right?”

  I flinch, but grin. Holding her hips, I pull her down further onto me. “Say yes.”

  Tears sparkle in her eyes. “I already said yes when you proposed last year.”

  “Let’s set a date. Let’s make babies.”

  Her laughter tickles my skin when she leans forward. “Which one do you want to do first?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “How about we start with the wedding and one baby?”

  I frown and press my lips together. “Okay on the wedding, if it’s soon. By the end of the year. I want you knocked up and barefoot by Christmas.”

  “That’s so romantic.”

  “Fine. You can wear socks. I know how you hate cold feet.”

  A small smile tugs at her lips.

  “Since you get the socks, how do you feel about twins? Go for the twofer?”

  Her eyes widen again and she stills her slow grind. We’re talking more than we’re having sex right now despite me being completely buried inside her and her naked boobs inches from my mouth.

  “Think how great twin boys would be?” I tease her breast, bringing it close to my lips so I can gently bite her nipple. She doesn’t move or speak. With my mouth still on her, I study her face above me. I use my teeth to get her attention.

  “Twin boys? Two Donnely boys?” Her stare is faraway. I can’t tell if the idea delights or terrifies her.

  I kiss her nipple and release her. “Or girls. Or one of each. You know, triplets.”

  It’s an old joke, but it makes her laugh.

  “Us as parents.” Her voice falters.

  “We’re going to be amazing. Much better than John. I found Alene in the dog crate today.”

  “Again?”

  We both chuckle.

  Our eyes meet and our smiles mirror each other. I lean up on my elbows to reach her mouth. She meets me halfway, slipping her tongue between my lips. The need for words disappears as our bodies move together. I tangle my fingers into her hair, gently tugging her head back to look into her eyes. Our breaths mix together when I use my hands on her hips to increase our rhythm.

  I circle my thumb in the spot that drives her wild. She arches her back and comes apart above me as another orgasm hits her. This is the kind of two-fer she loves.

  My thrusts stall and become erratic as her pulsing pushes me into my own orgasm.

  We won’t make a baby tonight.

  I’ll try to be patient. I’m not promising I’ll be successful.

  I drift off to sleep thinking about fat babies with dimples and dark hair.

  OLAF’S CHRISTMAS CAROL

  A CROSSOVER CHRISTMAS SHORT

  Introduction

  Originally shared only with my newsletter subscribers, my 2016 holiday short stars Olaf, everyone's favorite snarky bartender.

  My 2016 holiday short starring everyone's favorite Whidbey bartender, Olaf. I love writing these future glimpses into the characters' lives at the holidays.

  Look for a new holiday novella coming out late 2017.

  A Very Merry Olaf Christmas

  "It's the hap, happiest time—"

  No.

  No more.

  The carolers have surrounded my front door again and are caterwauling loud enough to send the town's feline population into spontaneous heat. If I had a fire hose, I'd spray them silent. The town should give me a medal for restoring peace and quiet.

  Enough!

  A man can only handle a certain amount of cheer before his brain begins to seep out his ears and his soul shrivels into a dried husk in the hollow shell of his chest.

  No, not a roasted chestnut shell either.

  Don't get me started on all the traditional garbage women force their families to eat because it's Christmas.

  Fruitcake is a monstrous abomination of the words fruit and cake.

  Mincemeat? In a pie? Stop it right now. No, I don't care if nuts and raisins are involved. You lost me at the word mincemeat. Not to mention raisins.

  I had a grandmother who liked to set a plum pudding on fire after she dramatically turned off all the lights in the dining room on Christmas Eve. In my innocence, I was fascinated by lighting food on fire. That had to mean it would be amazing. Wrong. I never expected her to make us eat the flaming corpse of my shattered Christmas illusions.

  Another painful right of passage from childhood is discovering your parents made you sit on a strange man's lap and took pictures for posterity.

  Is there something about the Santa suit that smells like urine or do they only hire incontinent men for the part? I'm asking for a friend. It's been years since I've been close enough to smell the foul stench of lies and stale beer.

  To make the worst month of the year worse, I have to deal with the annual Sip n' Stroll taking over downtown Langley and clogging up the Dog House with merry revelers aka sippers who nurse a single beer and take up limited space for way too long.

  Worse, the college kids, who are junior alcoholics, return to the island and think the law of the great state of Washington doesn't apply to them or their half-pickled livers.

  Hiring a bouncer to sit at the door and check IDs costs me money.

  "Bah humbug," I mutter to myself as I pull a pitcher for a group of grown ups wearing green-striped onesie pajamas a
nd Santa hats.

  I hope the good baby Jesus can't see the festival of the ridiculous his birthday has become.

  "Olaf, did you just say—" John Day asks from the other side of the counter where he's waiting for his own pitcher. Thank the sweet Baby Jesus he's wearing normal pants. His dark eyes hold a concern I've finally cracked my nut.

  "Bah humbug." I spit out the words, carefully enunciating my disdain. "And don't go calling me Scrooge. Ebenezer was a rich man. You see any bags of gold sitting around this place?"

  "I think you're confusing the Dickens character with Scrooge McDuck, Old Man." Tom Donnely shares his unwanted opinion from the other side of John. I didn't see him come in. He's sporting one of those neon orange Carhatt beanies over his shaggy blond hair. The man always needs to be the center of attention. Guess dressing like a traffic cone works.

  "You call me old again and you're banned for the rest of the year."

  "That's only ten days. Might be worth it." The light to John's dark, Donnely strokes his blond beard in thought. "You going to have your tough bouncer throw me out, too?"

  I follow the jerk of his head to the man outside the door. Carter Kelso, wearing a set of reindeer antlers, is set up on a stool outside. He brought his own flashlight to check for fake IDs. I have little faith in either Kelso off-spring, but he eagerly volunteered for a few pitchers of beer and an agreement I'll recommend his goat business.

  The boy is starting a goat business. I have no words for that nonsense.

  At least it's better than last year when his younger brother stole one of my stools to take advantage of the mistletoe vandals hang all over town every year. Okay, the vandals are really the Ladies of Perpetual Annoyance or some other committee formed to better the town and bug honest business owners like myself. Bunch of miscreants with access to a suspicious amount of ribbon, if you ask me.

  "Shouldn't you be home with your women instead of harassing me in my own establishment?"

  John shrugs. "Diane's with Hailey down the street buying yarn or something. They keep talking about learning how to crochet."

  "Knit," Tom interjects and gives his friend a smug smirk. "Something about tiny booties for the next baby."

  "Or your baby." John teases back.

  Tom stills his face and flattens his lips. "I expect I'll know that information before you."

  "Don't tell me if you're working on making that happen. Try to keep it to yourself," I say.

  Tom gives me a small salute. "Speaking of our better halves, they may be awhile. I saw them go into the tasting room before we came in here. "

  "With the baby?" I ask.

  John smiles. "Alene doesn't mind. She loves the lights. And being snuggled against Diane is her favorite place to be."

  "Can't blame her." Tom dodges John's attempt to slap his shoulder. "I'm talking about the warm comfort of a mother's touch. Jeez."

  No way in hell his original comment is innocent.

  Ignoring Tom, John continues talking with a soft look in his eyes like he wants to walk to the end of the block and check on his women. "My aunt will pick her up and bring her home for the night."

  Tom's open palm successfully makes contact with his friend's shoulder. "Getting some action at the Saratoga tonight?"

  "Aren't you banned from there?" I ask, already knowing the answer. During a holiday party for Donnely boats last week, Tom and Hailey got caught having relations in one of the inn's rooms. What a man and woman do behind closed doors is nobody's business. Unless the door and the room don't belong to them. Tom tried to blame it on being newlyweds, but management didn't buy it.

  The couple from Indiana who had reserved the room wrote a helluva review on Trip Advisor. Heard Tom's already framed a copy.

  "O!" a familiar voice shouts from the double-saloon doors. Erik Kelso shoves his way through the crowd.

  "The night gets better," I mumble and start a pint for him.

  I blink twice when he sets his hoof on the counter.

  "What the hell is wrong with you?" I eye the rest of his get up. I expect Tom Donnely to be a ham, but after all that bullshit earlier this year with Erik's naked tuckus, you'd think he'd keep a low profile.

  Not dress himself up as the Christmas ass.

  Erik glances over his shoulder and then down at his brown furry chest. "Nothing?"

  With a shake of my head, I point out the obvious. "You're a grown man. Halloween was two months ago."

  John and Tom chuckle into their pint glasses.

  "Where's the Christmas spirit, O? No respect for Rudolf?"

  The red dot on his nose makes more sense now.

  "The sign says no shirt, no service. Don't make me amend that to ban hooves in here. Again."

  John coughs as he sputters on his beer. "Again?"

  "Someone put a cow in the backroom in the early twentieth century when this was a private club. You boys should learn your island history better."

  "When are you going to stop calling us boys?" Tom asks, looking put out.

  "Never. You'll always be younger than me and lacking good sense. You paying for those beers? Or you want a tab?"

  "Start a tab," Erik says. "On me."

  My eyes bugs out a little at his offer. I've never known a Kelso to be generous when it comes to money. I knew they'd help out a friend without hesitation. Coffee business must be good.

  "Oh for crying out loud," I say when I see Erik's wearing a fluffy deer tail on the back of his brown velvet costume. He catches me staring and shakes his backside for my benefit.

  "The only onesie a grown man should wear is a Union Suit."

  "With the trap door? Sexy, O!" Erik joins John and Tom at a table on the far side of the pool table.

  I think about padding his bar tab for being a pain in my ass.

  More people pile through the front door and fill the space around the stools. I'm grateful for hiring some kid as a bar back to help out during the holidays.

  He's stranger than the Kelsos and named Falcon. Yes, that's really his name. I had to check his ID when I hired him.

  And if he asks one more time if he can set up his drums in the corner for a drumming circle, I'm going to fire him.

  Speaking of, where is that weirdo? We're running low on glasses. I scan the crowded room and spot his dreadlocked head next to Ashley Kingston's red curls.

  For being smart enough to run a successful business, that girl has terrible taste in men.

  I know her family and she's the perfect example of strict parenting inciting rebellion. For both her and her brother Jonah. He's got more holes in his head than God intended and she's got herself a bad reputation.

  I'm about to throw something at Falcon's head to get his attention when Carter strides over and breaks up their conversation by stepping between the couple and turning his back on Falcon.

  I can't hear Ashley's words, but from her tight expression I'm guessing she's not pleased.

  This place has more drama than a soap opera. And I have a front row seat.

  Lucky me.

  Hold on. If Carter is pissing off Ashley, who's watching my door?

  A monkey would do a better job at being a bouncer.

  Falcon sets a tray of steaming hot glasses on the back bar with too much force, rattling the glass.

  Perfect timing.

  I put my hand on his shoulder like I'm offering him a promotion. "Get those organized and then go take over the door."

  "Really?" His eyes light up.

  I don't understand how this kid ticks. "Sure. Put on a jacket. It's cold out there."

  "I never get cold." He bounces on his tip-toes and speeds off outside in his T-shirt and ripped jeans.

  If he catches pneumonia, I'm going to put an ad out for a real trained monkey.

  Dan keeps telling me I need to get more help in here and slow down.

  At least he doesn't call me old to my face.

  A breeze of fresh, but cold air blows through the open door. I see Falcon holding it open like a doorman. T
he thought he doesn't know what a bouncer does concerns me until I see a few familiar faces.

  Maggie Marion and her group of friends stand near the door. I'm not too proud to admit I loved her mother, Ann, from afar for years before her death. She won me over with her baked goods and class despite being older than me by more than a decade. I think a lot of men around here had crushes on her. Her daughter sold the bakery, but carries the same sparkle as Ann did. Maggie's fella stands beside her along with another couple. A man holding a toddler is stuck between the swinging doors and the outside door.

  I'm about to tell them this isn't a day care, when Diane walks in behind him carrying Alene.

  The group of seven squeezes into an opening at the corner of the bar near the window. The little girl happily takes up residence on the bench in the window, patting the glass and smiling at the people outside.

  Diane waves me over using Alene's chubby arm instead of her own hand.

  "Kind of a late night for our little angel." My voice softens at the sight of Alene sitting on her mom's hip. Normally, kids aren't allowed in here in the evenings, but I guess I'll make an exception for this sweetheart. At least she's not trying to charm her way past Falcon. Yet.

  "She's started fussing." Diane gives me a weak smile while bouncing Alene."We're waiting on Helen to meet us here."

  "Let me hold her." I extend my arms for Alene. She claps her mittened hands together and reaches for me.

  "She's kind of going through a stranger-danger phase right now." Diane apologizes, but hands the pink bundle over the bar to me.

  Alene attempts to tug my beard, but her fingers are trapped. Her forehead scrunches and her face darkens as she works herself up to a wail. I remove her mittens and set the world right.

  Delighted, she tugs at my white whiskers.

  "She probably thinks your the real Santa," Diane says softly. "You'd make the perfect one."

  I stare into Alene's happy face.

  Dammit if that little girl doesn't have us all wrapped around her fingers. Anything bad ever happens to her and it'd break all our hearts.