Hot for the Holidays (21 Holiday Short Stories): A Collection of Naughty and Nice Holiday Romances

by Anthology

  That gets a little grin out of her. Finally.

  I focus in on my plan. The route we'll take to our last grand Parisian adventure.

  With the paper folded back into it's natural state, I grab her hand and pull her from the table.

  "Where are we going? It's supposed to start snowing harder soon."

  "Your point is?"

  We leave the warmth of the building and the chill hits us immediately. I nearly fall over a heap of what seems like garbage but then it groans and Kara leaps back, taking my arm with her.

  I pull back the top layer of a snow-covered cloth and a woman with grey hair and soft blue eyes looks up at me.

  "Sorry," I mumble in French.

  "S'okay," she whispers back in English. "Happens more than you think."

  Her eyes dart from Kara to me and then she starts to pull the covers back over her head.

  The homeless are my weakness. I don't care if that makes me sound like a pansy-ass or not. There's just something about their plight that strikes me. Being in a different country doesn't change that.

  "Wait!" I say and hand her what's left of my coffee. "It's not much but it should keep you warm for a bit."

  I dig into my pockets and find a few Euros left and slide them into her hand.

  "For me?" she squeaks.

  I nod. She's silent and I take that as acceptance. A silent thank you. We start to leave but she calls out to us.

  "I could give you a free reading if you'd like?"

  "A reading?" Kara asks.

  "Your fortune, miss. I have a… gift."

  Kara and I exchange glances.

  "Sure," I say.

  It's part of the adventure.

  The woman stands and the red fabric of her skirt is barely visible beneath the dirt and grime caked atop of it.

  "Give me your hand," she says to me.

  I give it to her.

  When we touch, warm to cold, it's as if an electric shock rolls through me.

  It's all part of the illusion that this woman is magic, I remind myself. It can't be real.

  She cradles my hand and closes her eyes. She hums quietly and then runs her fingers across the lines in my palm.

  I've never believed in anything outside of facts and realities. Ghosts and spirits? No way. People who can speak to the dead? Yeah right. And fortune tellers? I doubt it.

  She pulls my attention to my hand as she traces over a particular line in my hand.

  "You've had a rough life, yeah? Your life line is broken but not damaged. You survived whatever it was."

  She wasn't wrong, but she was vague. I look to Kara who rolls her eyes.

  She believes even less than I do.

  "Your heart line is short. You're cautious with your love. You've given it away only once. And that's where it'll stay," the woman says, looking up and over to Kara.

  Kara averts her eyes.

  "Your mind is a creative place. But it's also scattered. It takes you time to collect your thoughts and discoveries but when you do, the end result is often magical."

  Still vague, but it seems to be a compliment so I'll take it.

  "Your fate line is a bit jagged, which indicates that you like to tempt fate. Surprise yourself and others by doing things they wouldn't expect. Sometimes the results are favorable. Other times…they're not. In fact, this is the major flaw in you. Be cautious, friend, for one day, the result might not be what you thought. Or what you want," she says and then closes my hand within hers. She bows and gestures to Kara.

  I'm sure she's a cold-reader that had us sized up before we even entered the cafe but for some reason, her words sit in the pit of my stomach. Could she be referring to my plan to propose? Would Kara say no?

  I shake the thought away and watch as the woman cups Kara's hand in hers the same way she did to me.

  Judging by Kara's stance, she has already assessed that this lady is a full of it.

  As if to make Kara’s case even more, the woman closes her eyes and hums before speaking.

  "You've been blessed to have a good life despite the challenges limiting your relationships with your family. The obstacles are no longer a roadblock for you and you feel strength and courage in your life because of your family."

  The words seem as if they come from a different place within her. A more regal, wise and all-knowing place. But when I look into her eyes, I see the same, sad gypsy woman staring back.

  And, no matter how vaguely familiar it sounded, Kara doesn't react. Doesn't flinch, doesn't chuckle. She's great at playing this game. It's how she weaseled her way into investigations and got people to talk. She's a female James Bond.

  "Ah. Quite the promiscuous young woman you were at one point," the woman says quietly. "But you settled when your heart did. When you found the one who healed you."

  Kara bristles a bit and opens her mouth, but closes it when the woman starts to speak again.

  "Your head line is very interesting. Not one I see often," she says.

  "Yeah? Why's that?" Kara asks dryly.

  "Because it's perfectly positioned. You've known exactly what you've wanted to do since you were a young girl. You've followed every meticulous step to get there. And you've achieved it with your hard work."

  Kara grunts. "So why is that unusual?"

  "Because not very many people know what they're meant to do in this life. At least not as definitively as you do. Most don't figure that out until it's too late."

  Kara pinches her lips together.

  "But your hard work may be compromised by fate. Your line is short. Faded. It does not necessarily mean death, but rather…complications. Troubled waters."

  "Oookay," Kara says.

  The woman doesn't let go of Kara's hand and instead pulls her in close. Whispers something in her ear.

  When Kara steps away, the woman retreats to her space on the ground. Begins to pull the cloth over her head.

  "Um, thank you for the reading," I say.

  She nods, but looks at Kara. "Remember what I told you. It will serve you well."

  Kara yanks my hand and guides me down the street.

  "That was so..."

  "Strange? Oddly accurate? Scary?" I finish for her.

  Kara shakes her head. "Yes, yes and yes."

  "So what did she say?"

  "Huh?"

  "Oh don't pull that on me. I know you better than that. What did she say?"

  Kara sighs and repeats it for me. "Home is where your heart is the happiest. It's not a place, but a feeling."

  I take a minute to think about the words and maybe, just maybe, the woman isn’t a hack at all.

  Sure, she spewed vagueness and clichés, but maybe that's because they stem from the truth so often.

  The snow had picked up slightly so we stroll down the streets a little more quickly.

  "You know…she's not wrong. It doesn't matter where we are, as long as we're there together," I say.

  She shakes her head and laughs. "I think Paris has done you in. Where is my cynical, sarcastic boyfriend? Did he fall for the city of love?"

  I shrug. Maybe that's part of the beauty of being here, in a strange place with her. I can be anyone I want. We can leave our lives behind for a sliver of time and just…be. We're on borrowed time and there's a special kind of allure to that.

  "Ten bucks says she's right about it all," I say and leave her with those words to sink in.

  Chapter Three

  Be not inhospitable to strangers

  Lest they be angels in disguise

  -Walt Whitman

  "Close your eyes," I tell Kara as we get closer to the destination I have in mind.

  "Why? It’s not—"

  "Just do it, stubborn-ass," I say.

  She laughs and closes her eyes.

  With her hand wrapped in mine, I guide her toward the infamous Shakespeare and Company.

  We’d staked it out several times in the past few weeks, but hadn’t gone in for ourselves. We’d meant to… wanted to…
but there was always a more important person to talk to. To observe.

  We watched tourists go in and out with smiles lining their faces and every time someone came out with a tote bag full of books, Kara winced. She’d wanted to go inside. Bad.

  But not bad enough to jeopardize the story.

  Tonight is different though. We’re not on assignment. We’re not staking it out. We’re an American couple stuck in the city of love - visiting the famous shop.

  I give a silent thank you to the city when the shop comes into view, lights blazing, the inside bustling.

  Two days before Christmas, I remind myself. Last-minute shoppers. To hell with the snow - they need to get their gifts so they can cozy around the fireplace and hand them over.

  With Kara’s eyes still closed, I spin her so she stops right in front of the famous window.

  "Now open your eyes," I say.

  Her eye lids burst open and she lets out a soft gasp.

  "I didn’t think we’d get to see it," she says softly.

  "I know. Now aren’t you glad I wanted to stay? And aren’t you happy a freak snow storm hit just at the time we should have been going home? I mean, it’s Shakespeare and Company!"

  She gives me a raised eyebrow and smirk. "I wouldn’t go that far," she says and leans forward, planting a kiss on my cheek. "But thank you, Vince."

  I nod and lead her inside.

  We’ve been to a lot of bookstores. Bookshops. Hell, more so in the last two months than ever before with this whole Ariel Sky case - but this? It’s different.

  It doesn’t carry the same fresh ink and printed paper smell the new bookstores have. And it’s not as musty as some of the older bookshops we’ve been to.

  It’s a mixture of leather and nutmeg. Perfumes and coffee. It smells like a place that’s being lived in.

  "This. Is. Incredible."

  "It feels different than being across the street looking in, that’s for sure."

  Kara traces the spines of a dusty old book in one of the stacks.

  "God. Do you know how epic this is?" she asks, wide-eyed.

  I shake my head. Reading - at least the way she does - is not my sort of thing. I prefer the medium of video.

  "This is where Whitman stood, looking over his stacks," she says. She points to a clearing in the stacks. "And that’s where Ginsberg and Burroughs probably sat down and talked about life and writing and drugs."

  Her fingers touch, caresses and grace dust jackets, spines and the wood work of the stacks of books.

  I watch her with admiration. Lust. Love.

  She’s a complicated girl but her passion for things…it gets me every single time.

  She walks around in awe and I just follow her like that’s what I was born to do.

  We stop at a staircase, the red paint chipped and rubbed raw in areas. But the quote leading up the steps chills me to the bone.

  "I wish I could show you when you are lonely or in darkness, the astonishing light of your own being." - Hafiz

  I point to it.

  "That’s you," I say quietly. "I’ve never seen a more accurate quote."

  She reads it and turns to me, wrapping her arms around my neck.

  "Thank you. For being here with me. For making us stay even though we’re stuck. For loving me even when I’m awful."

  I laugh. "Maybe I should take you here after every fight…"

  "Don’t get glib," she says, smiling.

  "I—"

  I look down and there’s a white cat rubbing against my pant leg.

  "The resident cat!" Kara squeals and bends down to pick it up.

  It grunts in her arms, but then purrs like a generator.

  "I see Kitty has made some new friends," a sweet, French voice says behind us. I turn to see a woman leaning against the door frame, her arms crossed.

  "He’s a sweetheart," Kara says.

  "He’s a she," the woman says, "but he doesn’t care so long as someone is petting, holding or feeding him."

  We all chuckle and Kara sets Kitty on the floor. He circles our legs and then moves on to find something or someone more interesting than us.

  "You’re American, yes?"

  We nod.

  "Spending Christmas in Paris?"

  "Not voluntarily," Kara responds.

  There’s something about the way Kara looks in that moment that nearly breaks me. She doesn’t look like she’s a tourist in awe anymore. She doesn’t even look like she’s all that impressed. . Not in awe. She seems… sad. I wonder if the woman can see it too.

  The woman nods. "The shutdown at the airport. You’d think we know how to handle a bit of snow by now. Well, please, make yourself at home. And if you need a place to stay, you’re welcome to be our tumbleweeds."

  She nods and walks away and I frown. Tumbleweed?

  "What did she mean by—"

  "That’s her," Kara interrupts me.

  "Who?"

  "The owner. The one getting ripped off by Ariel Sky. The one we can’t say a damn word to."

  "Oh…"

  "Doesn’t it infuriate you? That someone is stealing right beneath her nose and we can’t say anything? I should — "

  I grab her arm. "No. We’re not going there, remember? We are not working. We’re on vacation. You and me and the snow."

  She sighs. "You’re right."

  "Of course I am."

  She slaps my arm playfully. "She really should know."

  "She will, Kara. And I’m sure you’ll be the one to tell her. But not tonight. You’re not Kara Pierce, investigative reporter right now. You’re Kara Pierce, girlfriend, vacationer, tourist," I say. "Now find yourself a souvenir and let’s go on another adventure."

  I pull her toward me and kiss the top of her head. "Oh and tumbleweeds? What does that even mean?"

  She smiles and guides me down a hallway full of portraits and stacks of books. "I’ll tell you later..."

  She rambles on about this writer and that writer.

  And I almost want to do it right then. Right in the middle of the stacks with her favorite writers as witness.

  But I don’t. Not yet.

  Chapter Four

  Tattoos keep track of time. Sometimes things happen and you feel that you need to mark them down.

  -Scott O’Connor, Untouchable

  Word to the wise - when you want to convince your girlfriend to do something crazy when you’re in a foreign country - just use a tired cliché.

  "C’mon. When in Paris, do as the…"

  "That’s not the right phrase," Kara says, stopping in place. She looks up at the sky. At the endless amount of white flakes falling.

  "Who cares? It’s the principle that matters. When are you ever gonna get the chance to do something like this again?"

  I didn’t plan on stopping at a tattoo shop. Hell, I didn’t even know it was here. But when I saw it across the street, lights blazing, the open sign flashing red through the snow flurries, I knew that was our next adventure.

  Tattoos in Paris. Who could say no to that?

  She gazes over at me and then cracks a smile.

  "Fine. I’ll do it if you will."

  "Really?"

  She nods. "But only if we get the same thing."

  I squint at her. I’m not sure that I like this proposition now. "Um, I love you and all, but… I don’t think name tattoos are the best idea,"

  She rolls her eyes, "Do you even know me at all?" she teases. "I love you, Vince, but your name is not going anywhere on my body permanently."

  Some men might take offense to that. I just think it's being smart.

  "Good."

  "So do you trust me?" She asks.

  I wait a beat before answering. "Always."

  "Then we’re both getting tattoos?"

  "Deal," I say and grab her hand.

  When we enter, the bald, beefed-up, tattooed guy behind the counter stares at us.

  He asks us something in French.

  Kara steps forward and says somet
hing back. The guy laughs and I feel out of the loop. Like they’re sharing a secret I can’t know. I hope she’s not telling him I want a tattoo of a heart or some shit like that.

  "He says if we wait for another ten minutes, they can get us in."

  "You still want to do it?"

  "You got me here, didn't you?" she asks.

  I take that as a yes, she wants to do it.

  She sits in the leather chair, looking out the window at the snow, her expression set in wonder. She’s thinking.

  We wait around for another couple of minutes and then Baldie ushers us to the back.

  Kara and I sit across the hall in two separate rooms across the hall from each other I can just barely see her but can't hear a damn word she says.

  A tall, slender guy with a ponytail comes into my room and says in stilted English, "you want tattoo?"

  I nod.

  "You get same one as girl?"

  I swallow. Am I really doing this? Am I going to regret it?

  Then I remember that I’m gonna ask her to marry me and if everything goes as planned - she’ll be stuck with me forever, so it’s really on her.

  "Yes," I choke out.

  He nods and tells me to lift my shirt.

  "Huh?"

  "Girl say you get it on chest."

  I swallow again. What did I get myself into?

  "Mmkay."

  I pull up my shirt, he cleans and shaves the left side of my chest - opposite of the tattoo on my ribs. At least she has a sense of balance.

  "Lay down," he says and gestures to the table.

  I do as I’m told, because who wants to piss of a French tattoo artist? Not me.

  When I look over at his tray, I see black and white ink and that’s it. The air seeps out of my lungs a bit.

  At least she hadn’t gone crazy with the color.

  Minutes later, I hear buzzing coming from Kara’s side of the room. She was actually going through with it.

  "Ready?" Frenchie asks me.

  I nod.

  He leans over my chest and I wait for the inevitable. A few seconds later, I feel the slight burn and the vibrations rock through me.

  I close my eyes and think about this moment. The absurdness of it. The spontaneity that’s more like me and less like Kara and yet she’d bested me. This might just be the most spontaneous, nerve-wracking thing I’ve done yet.