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

by Anthology

  "Wow, way to set the tone, Beck. Nice."

  "I’m serious, Marcus. This isn’t right. If I wait for her to get home no one will eat tonight. You want bread and butter for dinner or the bacon wrapped filet mignon your sister slaved over all morning?"

  "Fucking Riley. She never could finish what she started. We’ll be over as soon as we can. I think Tessa’s wrapping a few more gifts. We’ll swing by and pick up Dad on our way, too."

  "No, he called earlier. He wants to drive himself. He sounded really weird if you ask me, but you know better than anyone how he gets this time of year."

  "Old man’s probably got a date at the cemetery. Set in his ways. Let him be."

  "Exactly. So, see you in thirty?"

  "Make it sixty. I have some secret present wrapping to do myself."

  I hang the phone up, hopeful. Mentally checking off the never ending list, I wipe my hands on my jeans and pace the kitchen. I have no idea what to do next. I want to help, but I’m not sure exactly how. After circling around the table like a dog chasing his tail, I open the fridge, pop open a beer and pull out the stuff to make a salad. I’ll probably fuck it all up, but at least they can’t say I didn’t try.

  Five minutes into chopping onions, my eyes are filled with unrelenting tears. The doorbell rings and I mistakenly swipe my eyes, causing them to burn even more. "Shit!" I yell, running to see who’s here—early.

  Bearing gifts, and a beard that would put Santa’s to shame, is Griffin—my ex-girlfriend’s brother and my wife’s ex-boyfriend. Under normal circumstances, if a guy with that catalog of baggage came knocking on your door on Christmas Eve, you’d slam it shut. But, there’s nothing normal about the Graysons making Griffin a very welcome guest in our home.

  "Dude, perfect timing," I say, ushering him inside.

  "What’s with the waterworks? Everything all right?"

  I can’t see him through the curtain of chopping-tears, but I can only imagine how he’s appraising me. "Onions. Fucking killers." I turn toward the kitchen and hope he follows. "Come in. Hang your coat. Claire’s still asleep and I’m running the show. Which is—"

  "Scary." He finishes for me.

  "Exactly. So would you mind lending me a hand?"

  "Of course not." Taking over my half-assed attempt at dicing the onions, Griffin asks, "Where is Riley, anyway?"

  "Working. Again." I don’t want to sound frustrated, but that’s exactly how I feel. I love my wife more than anything, but I never imagined we’d be spending so much time apart because of her job. My schedule at the firehouse is hard enough, but this—it’s like we’re two ships passing in the night. I can’t even remember the last time we slept together without our daughter wedged in between us. And although it’s become a game of cat and mouse, at least our sex life hasn’t suffered. I’d have to draw the line there.

  "Beck? Where’d ya just go? You definitely weren’t here."

  "Nah, you’re right. I was wherever she is. I miss her lately. Her career is taking off big time, but—"

  "No need to tell me. I get it. There’s never enough time together." Griffin’s always been kind of broody, but this time I can see it on his face. He’s lonely. He’s been traveling a lot for work himself and he never mentions a woman.

  "You know what?" I announce, puffing up my chest.

  "What?" Griffin laughs.

  I grab another beer from the fridge and twist off the cap. I extend the bottle to Griffin and pick mine up from the counter. "A toast?"

  "And what exactly are we toasting?" Petulant bastard. He always had this way of patronizing me with his intense stare.

  "To winging Christmas. We got this."

  "We do?"

  "Well, do we have a choice?" I look around the kitchen, making it clear we’re all alone. Two men, in charge of preparing a feast fit for the birth of Christ.

  "Uncle Griff, I heard you!" Claire barrels into the kitchen, rubbing the sleep from her eyes and sporting a massive case of bedhead. Great. I have to brush that and get her all pretty too?

  Surrendering his beer, Griffin scoops my daughter up and swings her in the air. "Claire Bear! Merry Christmas, sweetheart!"

  "Oh no! Santa? I miss it?" She squirms out of his hold, peeking into the living room where the nine foot Victorian Christmas tree stands.

  When she doesn’t find any presents, she runs back into the kitchen with a dispirited pout. "No presents? I a bad girl? Where’s Mama?"

  What a mess! "No, baby." I kneel down in front of her. I take her little hands in mine and kiss the tip of her nose. "It’s not Christmas yet. Mommy will be home soon. You were just napping. See." I point to the stove and the countertop full of unprepared food. "Uncle Griffin is helping Daddy get everything ready. Grandpa, Aunt Tessa, Uncle Marcus and Luca man are almost here. You didn’t miss a thing, baby. The fun’s just about to start."

  And if that’s not the understatement of the year—I don’t fucking know what is. Because fun—or whatever you want to call it—is certainly about to go down. Grayson style.

  * * *

  Riley

  I strip off my coat and scarf, blowing my hair out of my eyes. This train car is hotter than balls thanks to the pumping heat. That’s working, but apparently whatever it is that makes the actual train move is not. I should’ve known better than to take the subway to my office today—I thought it would be easier than weaving in and out of downtown holiday bumper to bumper traffic—but suddenly this thirty minute commute has taken over two hours. And what’s worse than sweating like it’s the middle of the summer, is missing my family on Christmas Eve.

  I rummage through my purse for my phone. 5% battery. Awesome! No charger. No service. No way to let Beck know what the hell is going on. He’s probably worried sick and my house is probably pure and utter chaos. Merry Freaking Christmas, Riley.

  * * *

  Marcus

  Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Waving the dishtowel back and forth under the smoke detector is not fucking cutting it. "Lemme at that thing!" I swat at the contraption and rip the batteries out.

  "Seriously? That’s a—"

  "Just shut up, Smokey the Bear. I know it’s a fire hazard, Beck, but it’s also a fucking murder threat because if it didn’t stop I was gonna kill someone." I chuck the batteries on the table and pocket the detector. You’re done for the day, asshole. Yeah, I’m that frustrated that I’m talking to a plastic object. I’m hungry, irritable, and just plain disappointed. Christmas Eve—my favorite holiday—is on its way to being ruined, and when Riley does finally walk through that door, everyone’s going to pounce on her because it’s her fucking fault.

  Dinner is toast—like, literally. That’s all that’ll be left because everything else is wrecked. Tessa tried to salvage what little Riley had prepared before she left this afternoon to take care of business, but it was too late. Beck and Griffin meant well, but the result is an overcooked disaster. And a salad. I forgot about the salad. We’ll have that too. Yay!

  And on top of all this, Tessa’s not feeling well. Out for the count up in Claire’s room. Morning sickness has been all day sickness. I wish I could take the pain from her, but that’s obviously not an option. I just thank God Luca is out of the I-only-want-mommy stage—he has Claire so he’s content. He seems happy. Everyone else—not so much.

  "Where the hell can she be?" Beck growls, punching numbers into the house phone. "Her phone keeps going straight to voicemail. I’m getting worried. She should’ve been back hours ago."

  Shaking my head, I run through the scenarios. Riley’s not flaky, especially when it comes to her family and hosting. Something’s not right, but I don’t want to get everyone in a panic. "I’ll call Dad. Maybe she stopped by there first and forgot to call. He should be here by now, too."

  Beck busies himself with assembling a toy Griffin bought for Claire. I call Dad’s but get no answer at the house or on his cell. Jesus Christ. Where is everyone? "Hey, Griff." I whisper to get his attention without Beck noticing.

&
nbsp; He rises from the couch and follows me into the kitchen. When we’re both alone, I turn to face him, scrubbing my hand down my face. "Something’s not right. You think she’s okay?"

  We go back and forth for a while—trying not to get too involved in all the crazy things that could be happening to my sister as we sit here and complain about our feast-gone-wrong. Finally I decide to go out to look for her. "Beck, I’ll be right back. I’m gonna go—I’m gonna get some take out. Toss the burnt stuff and have the kids help you set the table. I’m hoping Dad will be here any minute."

  * * *

  Tessa

  I must have dry heaved at least twenty times but nothing will make its way up. This kind of nausea is debilitating. I’ve spent most of the day in bed, and I feel like a failure as a wife and mother. Suck it up, Tessa. It’s pregnancy, not war.

  On wobbly feet, I stand from my hunched position over the toilet and make my way downstairs.

  It smells awful. The house is quiet. The guys are unenthusiastically helping Luca and Claire set up a new Lalaloopsy play set. "Hey, where’s Marcus?" I realize he’s missing. "And Riley’s still not back? What time is it?"

  I glance over at the cable box. It’s almost six o’clock. Everything’s off kilter. I’m so confused.

  Beck stretches as he stands and comes to meet me at the foot of the steps. "Marcus left five minutes ago. Went to get food since ours is now garbage. Riley is MIA and I’m freaking out a little."

  I feel like I’m in the Twilight Zone. "How freaking long was I asleep?"

  "A few hours. You feel better?" Beck places a gentle hand on my arm.

  "A little, thanks, but now you have me worried too. Where can she be?"

  "Hey, guys," Griffin interrupts, pointing at the television. "Look."

  All eyes focus on the screen, tuned to the news station. "Many holiday commuters are spending their magical night aboard the not-so-Polar-Express . . ."

  The newscaster goes on to report about mechanical issues delaying a few of the New York City subway lines. Riley took the train today. Riley’s got to be stuck on one of those trains. It’s just her luck. All our luck.

  "Okay," I try to collect my thoughts. "I bet that’s where she is. She’s not answering her phone?"

  "Voicemail every time. Probably dead. She never remembers her charger. Don’t you think she would have hailed a cab by now?"

  "I’m sure she’s trying everything in her power to get home, Beck. You know she wants nothing more than to be here with you and Claire. Have faith. She’ll be home soon."

  I try to calm my brother-in-law as I check on Griffin out of the corner of my eye. He’s keeping the kids busy, listening in and understanding. He winks and nods, letting me know he’s got Luca and Claire covered so I can tend to Beck.

  "Hey, chin up. We’ll make this work. I got your back."

  Kissing me on the cheek, Beck smiles. "Thanks, Tess. Guess we can chalk it up to another Grayson holiday without the actual Graysons?"

  I tilt my head and pout. I don’t want to agree, so I remain silent.

  And then the doorbell rings. I expect it to be a Christmas miracle—Marcus finds a way to rescue Riley from the train dilemma. My tattooed knight in sexy underwear. Riley runs into Beck’s open arms and they kiss each other in a long, loving embrace. Luca surrounds me and Marcus, Claire does the same to Beck and Riley. Griffin raises a toast and sets the gourmet takeout food on the table. "God Bless us, everyone."

  Cue the record scratch. That is so not what goes down.

  Beck rushes to the door, tugging it open. "Ri—"

  "Merry Christmas, clan! Ho, ho, ho!" It’s not Riley. It’s not Marcus. And it’s certainly not Santa. It’s my father-in-law, dressed in a red and white suit, with one arm wrapped around the body of a very young, very sexy, Mrs. Claus.

  My eyes pop. Beck’s jaw drops. The kids jump up to greet their grandfather, and Griffin just chuckles. Yeah, buddy. Laugh it up. You’re so lucky you got out when you did.

  "Everyone," my father-in-law announces as he ushers his barely dressed vixen into the house. "This is Hannah. My fiancé."

  "Holy shit," escapes Griffin’s mouth, followed by the loudest cackling I’ve ever heard.

  Beck and I stare at each other for a long, silent minute. I have no words. They’re lost. Jumbled letters fail to string together to attempt anything remotely coherent in this awkward moment.

  * * *

  Marcus

  After I heard about the subway situation, I decided to actually hold up my second end of the bargain—food. We desperately need food.

  My mouth waters at the thought of the delicious four course meal we should’ve been enjoying, but there’s no use crying over burnt steak. I drive out a few miles further than I intended, but wind up at one of my and Tessa’s favorite restaurants. It might take a while for them to fill a decent takeout order, but at this point—who cares? Who knows when Riley will be home, and in the meantime everyone else is left picking on cheese and crackers while they wait.

  I shoot Tessa a quick text to let her know where I am.

  Her response takes me a second to process.

  I barge out of the lobby of the Bella Notte and into the cold winter air. Tessa picks up after half a ring and I don’t even give her a chance to say hello. "What do you mean fiancé? Who the—are you—is this some kind of joke? I don’t under—"

  "There’s no use trying to wrap your head around it. Just get back as soon as you can. Please. I still don’t feel so great and everyone’s starving. I think tomorrow I want to stay under the covers and pretend it’s just any other day. What a fucking mess."

  Her negativity stabs me in the gut. Tessa fucking loves the holidays. I hate hearing her like this—void of all her usual Christmas spirit. I contemplate dropping everything just to run back to her side and kiss her blues away. But we have nothing to eat, Riley’s still MIA, I’m not exactly ready to face my father and some bimbo and—Jesus, what a fucking mess is right. "Wow. Just wow. Way to ease us in, Pop. When did he even start dating her?"

  "I don’t know. Beck and I decided to save the inquisition for you and Riley."

  "Thanks," I mock. "Has anyone heard from her yet?"

  "Yeah. Beck finally got in touch with her. She’s stuck in the city. Still waiting for a cab. Poor thing must be starved and livid."

  "I bet you any amount of money when she walks in that door and has to face Dad and his new lady friend, she’ll wish she was still stuck on that train."

  * * *

  Three Hours Later—Riley

  "Hello?" I zoom through the door like a madwoman.

  "Shhh!" Everyone makes the same sound, pointing to the sleeping children underneath my Christmas tree.

  I appraise it all with an ache in my heart. Milk and cookies for Santa and carrots for his reindeer are set out on a small snack table. Claire is fast asleep, curled up on the floor next to an also snoozing Luca. My little angel clutches her blankie with her thumb in her mouth, dressed in her gingerbread nightgown.

  "I—I—I missed everything!" I can’t control the tears that gush. This day has been hell, and I’ve never felt so guilt-ridden for choosing work over family. "I totally fucked up!"

  Beck is at my side, his arms around my shoulders. Instead of flipping out on me for leaving him to deal with this mess, he reassures me. "Stop. We’re just happy you’re home safe. The kids didn’t even realize it. I tried to keep her up, but she was exhausted and too excited about Santa."

  It only adds to my massive pile of holiday-wrapped remorse. "But—but—I missed it." I shrug out of his hold, throw my coat over the couch and plop into an empty seat next to— "Who are you?" I survey the young woman dressed in skimpy red and white holiday attire.

  "Hi," she says as she extends her hand. "I’m Hannah."

  Before Hannah can elaborate and tell me what the hell she’s doing in my house, on Christmas Eve, I turn to Griffin. "She belong to you?" A glimmer of shame washes over me as I recognize what a bitch I must s
ound like to this poor girl. But after the day I had—Dad walks in from the kitchen sipping eggnog and smiling brightly at Hannah—why do I have a feeling this scene’s about to go from horrendous to horrific.

  "Baby girl, Hannah is here with me. I wanted to tell you sooner, but I thought this was as good a time as any." And there it is—horrific. He walks over to Ms. Sexy Claus and laces his fingers with hers. She follows his lead and rises from the couch. Dad wraps his arm around her tiny waist and beams, "Riley, baby, Hannah is my fiancé. We’re getting married—next week. A New Year’s wedding."

  I stare blankly at the couple—the completely mismatched, incompatible, ridiculous couple—awaiting my approval. But I have no words.

  The room remains silent for far too many awkward seconds. Beck, Griffin, and Tessa find a weird, robotic, rehearsed way of leaving the room. Marcus suddenly appears—stage right, this is a comedy act, right?—out of nowhere. The four of us, and two sleeping toddlers, are left amidst the glow of my beautiful Christmas tree and lit fireplace, adorned with my family’s stockings.

  "Marcus, did you know about this?" I ask, a lump forming in my throat. I can’t help think about Mom. It’s been years since she died. Dad’s been miserable. He deserves happiness, but I can’t process this now. Here. Today. Alone. "Marcus? Answer me. Did you know?"

  My burly brother, covered in tattoos, machismo to the nines, thick-headed and vain, walks over to me in silence with tears in his eyes. He sits on the couch beside me. Hannah and Dad remain quiet, allowing me and Marcus this moment. "Ry, I had no idea. Promise. You know I would have told you."