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

by Anthology

  "What is there left to say?" She whispers as her lips curve into a pitiful smile.

  The raw honesty of her words punch me in the gut, and she takes the opportunity to shut her door and fire up the engine. As her car backs out of the drive, my eyes dart between Annie and Luna, confused by it all.

  Annie’s my past—the girl who ran away. The damage she inflicted on my heart healed over the years, but the scars she left behind linger in every relationship I refuse to have.

  But what’s barreling through my mind, what’s crippling me as I stand half naked and stunned on this icy driveway, is if Annie’s my past, is Luna … is Luna a piece of our history?

  Chapter Four

  Present Day

  Emmett

  "This freak ice storm is not what I had in mind for Christmas this year. Ugh! Why won’t Mother Nature cooperate?" Alex whines over the phone as I listen with half an ear.

  My attention is divided between the computer screen glowing in front of me and the kitchen window looking out onto the driveway. I haven’t eaten since yesterday, too focused on searching the internet for any sign of Annie and Luna. I’ve been glued to this spot since yesterday, waiting for them to return, needing another peek. At three in the morning, I woke up with my keyboard tattooed across my cheek, Annie’s car back in the drive, and a pissed the fuck off attitude that I missed my opportunity.

  My social media search yielded one Facebook photo. The rest of Annie’s account is private, but that one picture speaks volumes. A tiny pink bundle nestled in a beaming, but tired Annie’s arms stole the wind from my lungs. The post date on the photo delivered a swift kick to the balls. Knowing Annie gave birth to Luna four years ago, less than a year after she threw me away like a sack of rotting fruit, it swirls in my veins and occupies my every thought. The timing is too uncanny to be a coincidence.

  I spent the rest of my night rifling through my mother’s Facebook photos, scrolling through childhood pics of Alex and me. Maybe it’s lack of sleep … it could be gut-wrenching hunger … or it’s possible that full blown psychosis has set in, but I swear Luna resembles Alex when she was a child. I close my eyes to conjure up my one image I have of her from yesterday and then study young Alex’s features with great detail.

  "Emmett? Are you even listening to me?"

  "Huh? Yeah, yeah, I hear you. No big thing, sis. I’ll swing by for eggnog and presents after the ice melts. Santa can wait a few days. I’ll just camp out here for Christmas."

  What ever will I do with my time?

  "Absolutely not. No way are you spending the holiday all by yourself. This is Avery’s first Christmas!"

  I hear West’s warm chuckle in the background. "Babe …"

  "Don’t ‘babe’ me, West Adler. You either, Emmett. She may not be born yet, but she still needs to hear her godfather wish her a merry Christmas." Alex sighs into the phone. "If you leave right now, you can make it here before they close the roads. You’ll have to bring some clothes and stay the night with us, though. It’ll be a bit cramped, but we’ll make it work."

  "Emmett, no," West calls out in the background. "Stay far away, dude."

  A borage of hushes and slaps fills the phone, followed by electrified silence.

  "Oh, all right, I’ll tell him," Alex huffs. "Emmett, Mom may have … brought someone with her for Christmas."

  "Oh no," I say, shaking my head and shoving away from the table. "She did not cook up another hair brained matchmaking scheme. I’ll kill her."

  A visit home isn’t complete without my mom inviting someone to dinner for the sole purpose of marrying off her baby boy. She’s relentless. She’s also terrible at it. Last year, she just knew I’d hit it off with the newest divorcee from her Bible study—the woman bawled into her beef wellington all evening. There was also the time she brought home her fellow hospital volunteer. At dinner, Polly gushed over her new homecoming dress … her high school homecoming dress. Seriously, I can’t make this shit up. My mother, Sue Ellen Fontaine, aka the prissy pedophile pusher. I won’t even get into the time she hillbillied up and delivered my distant cousin.

  "She’s really very cute," Alex hedges.

  "Like a St. Bernard," West calls out in the distance, followed by a resounding slap. "Ouch, woman!"

  "Nope. That settles it. I’m staying right where I am."

  "Aw, come on, Emmett. She’s sweet."

  And just so we’re clear, describing a girl as sweet or cute to a guy is the ultimate kiss of death. When a guy hears the word "cute," he automatically pictures the Hunchback of Notre Dame’s kid sister. "Sweet" conjures up images of my ninety year old neighbor Ethel and her homemade chocolate chip cookies. The cookies are great, no question, but it doesn’t mean you wanna lay the pipe with the broad … yep, I just threw up a little in my mouth at the thought.

  Another scuffle breaks out on the other side of the phone, and West seems to be winning. "Give me back that phone!"

  "Dude."

  Score one for my boy West.

  "When my lovely wife says sweet, what she means is grade A fucking weird."

  "That bad, huh?"

  "I’m hiding my drawers, man. That one looks like a panty sniffer."

  "Then you tell my lovely sister I’ll see her on the flip side of this ice storm, preferably after the match maker and her latest victim leave town."

  West lets out a low chuckle. "Good call, man, good call. Fucking sucks that you’re stuck by yourself, though. You should pop in next door. Annie won’t mind, and I know she’ll have extra food. She’s always trying to feed me when I stop by."

  I cringe at his suggestion. "Yeah, maybe I’ll do that," I lie. "Take care of my sister and niece, man."

  I sit back down at the kitchen table and say my goodbyes to West. As I hang up, the sound of spinning tires and burning rubber draws my attention. When her car fails to move even an inch, a visibly upset and disheveled Annie flies out of the driver’s seat and disappears inside her house. After a few minutes pass, she reappears, arms swinging with purpose. One hand clutches a shovel, and the other hand holds a … is that a … carton of salt?

  Maybe I can be of some assistance. What type of gentleman would I be if I didn’t help a damsel in obvious distress? Honestly, it’s the neighborly thing to do. It would also get me closer to the answers I desperately need.

  Is it possible to love a little girl I’ve only seen once?

  And can I ever forgive her mother for keeping her from me for all these years?

  Chapter Five

  Present Day

  Annie

  I scrape the icy gravel collecting around the back tire and ignore the pulsing dread circling my heart. I sprinkle more salt on the sludgy mess and chip away at each chunk of ice and rock keeping me from my baby girl.

  "Come on, come on," I whisper, my pep talk to the hardening ice falling on deaf ears. I feel a gentle tug on my shovel from behind, and I shake the handle free. I jam it underneath the tire again, and keep on digging.

  "Annie, stop."

  He tugs on the shovel again as I shut my eyes, wishing with all my might I could do the same to my ears. His voice makes me ache for what I threw away. His husky tone pulls me back in time, makes me want to lean into him and remember everything I struggle so hard to forget. While memories of him haunt me, my Lou Lou fills me full with life and love. And she’s all I have room for at this minute, so I shake the shovel free once again.

  "Enough, you’re gonna hurt yourself," he says gruffly, grabbing the shovel from my grip.

  When I reach for the handle, he pulls it back further and challenges me with a glare. I grab the carton of salt from the top of the car and sprinkle as much as I can around each tire, hoping to melt some of the ice. I feel his gaze burning my skin, but unless he can help get me to Luna, I can’t focus on him right now. The shovel hits the ground, and Emmett grabs my shoulders and squeezes tighter when I try to squirm away.

  "What the hell are you trying to do?" he demands.

  I draw in
a deep breath and try to find my calm. "I’m trying to get my damn car unstuck and unfrozen so I can get to my little girl. You have two seconds to either help me do that or get the hell away before I make Christmas Eve dinner out of your meatballs and cocktail weenie."

  He shakes his head, confusion and amusement battling in his eyes. "I’m not sure if that’s an invitation to dinner or an offer to blow me. And, for the record, we both know there’s nothing ‘cocktail’ about my weenie."

  "Ugh! I can’t deal with you right now, Emmett! My little girl is … I-I’ve never spent—" I feel the moisture brewing behind my eyes, and I’m helpless to stop it. Shit. I drop my head and shove my thumbs into my eye sockets. Stay right where you are, fucking tears. I need to channel my fearless bitch today.

  "Hey," he whispers, bending low and tipping my chin with his hands. His now gentle eyes are level with mine, making me feel safer than they should. "What’s all this about, sweet Annie?"

  His unexpected kindness and gentle touch unleash something inside me, and the words spill out on a frustrated sigh. "I’ve never been away from Luna for Christmas, and now my b-b-baby can’t get home because of the s-s-storm."

  And then the dam breaks wide open. Tears, snot, wailing—all while I clutch Emmett’s shirt, using it as an impromptu tissue. To his credit, he rocks me gently and rubs my back as I make a blithering idiot of myself.

  "We’ll figure it out, Annie. I’ll do whatever I can to help you, okay?" he croons, consoling me like I never gave him away. His words let me pretend, if only for one second, we’re a team. It’s been just Luna and me from the beginning, so I foolishly close my eyes and let the fiery warmth seep into me with each tender word.

  When my sobs slow to a crawl, he leans back and swipes his thumbs under my eyes. I can only imagine what I look like—splotchy face, bloodshot eyes, and matted hair wet and stringy from the falling sleet. But he smiles at me like he sees through it all. He smiles. And I can’t help but remember a time when that one gesture meant everything in my life could fall perfectly into place. If I’m honest with myself, I’ve never truly forgotten.

  "While I applaud your efforts, a shovel and a carton of table salt aren’t gonna solve anything." He reaches for the salt, sprinkles some into his hand and tosses it over his shoulder with a laugh. "Really? Table salt? You’re giving Southerners a bad name, sweet Annie."

  I giggle despite myself and cover my mouth with my hand. "Well, I had to do something. I don’t know what they use to clear the roads, but that’s the best I could do on short notice."

  Emmett places the carton back on the car and dusts off his hands. "What did you plan to do? Jump out the car every ten feet and sprinkle your salt shaker?" I roll my eyes and shrug. Sure, it sounds ridiculous now, but it made perfect sense to my frantic mind only a few minutes ago. "Now, where’s Luna and what do we need to do to get her home?"

  Home. Oh, how I like the sound of that—so much more than I should.

  "S-santa is bringing her a bicycle this year. We haven’t iced the Christmas cookies yet. I c-can’t believe this is happening." I feel the despair creeping in, and so must Emmett, because he rubs my arms to soothe me. "Luna always spends Christmas Eve day with her dad, but then I pick her up and we spend the rest of the holiday together. He took her to her grandparents’ house for a family get together. But they live in the country, thirty minutes north of Providence in Nowheresville, Louisiana. The roads closed already by their house, so I don’t know what to do."

  Somewhere between ‘Christmas cookies’ and ‘Nowheresville, Louisiana’, his comforting arms stiffen and drop to his sides. I look up from my helpless hands, and meet pure ice in the form of Emmett’s eyes. The warmth and tenderness of only moments before is gone, and now I’m the one left confused.

  "Emmett?" I ask as his jaw clenches and his eyes close for a long, treacherous moment.

  When he opens them, he releases a breath from flared nostrils and glares at me. "Her dad?"

  I tilt my head and try to make sense of his question. What about her dad? What does he … wait …

  The flames of my temper meet his icy stare, and I unleash. I unleash everything boiling inside me with pounding fists on his unforgiving chest.

  "You son of a bitch! You thought she was yours?"

  He reaches for my wrists, but I pull away each time, wanting to punish him for thinking so little of me.

  "What was I supposed to think, Annie? Shit, just stop for a second, will you?"

  I push away from him with a frustrated grunt. Grabbing the first thing I see, I lob the half-empty salt carton at his head with a maniacal scream. He blocks the hit with his raised arms, just barely, but just stands there and waits for my next move. Unfortunately, I don’t have one. The temper fueling me wanes slightly, leaving nothing but crushing pain.

  "You think that little of me?" I cry, overcome with sadness. "Fuck you, Emmett."

  "She’s not mine?"

  Three simple words delivered with a strained whisper. How could three little words slice through my heart so swiftly? Could it be the pain rolling off him and surrounding us both? Could he really have wanted Luna to be his? Wanted a child … with me?

  Dreams are more dangerous than a loaded gun pressed to my temple. Hope leaves nothing but crippling pain in its wake. Emmett is every hope and dream I’ve ever wanted for my daughter and me, and edging open a window that’s been painted shut for years serves no real purpose. I’ll load the bullet in the chamber, spin, and pull the trigger every time before I allow myself to lose Emmett Fontaine again.

  So I turn on my heel, march into my house, and dead bolt the door … my life … my heart.

  And as I watch him shuffle back to his apartment with his head bowed and fists shoved in pockets, I hate every fucking second of it. Almost as much as I hate myself.

  Chapter Six

  Five Years Earlier

  Emmett

  "Annie, open the fucking door! I know you’re here, and I’m not leaving until you do." I pound my fist into her front door, the tarnished lion knocker jolting with every hit.

  I’ve been knocking for the past fifteen minutes, and I’m not lying when I say I’ve got all day. I deserve answers, and I’m not leaving here until I get them.

  I waited for her all night. She never fucking showed—didn’t even bother to call, or even answer the dozens of calls I made. I’m not sure what the hell is going through her mind right now, but there is one thing I know for certain. What I felt this week, what I feel right now, is real. I’ll be damned if I let her toss it away.

  After what feels like an eternity, the door edges open, brown eyes peering through the crack, door chain firmly in place.

  "Open the goddam door, Annie," I demand, my voice low and purposeful.

  "Go home, Emmett," she says coldly, and my eyes widen at her refusal. "How did you find out where I lived?"

  That one off-hand question hammers home how little I know about this girl who’s stolen my heart. Yes, I had to channel my inner detective to find out where she lives, but I know exactly how to make her moan, make her come, in sixty seconds flat. I know what I feel about her is mirrored back at me in her eyes. I know the things that count, and if I have my way, this address will be a memory, and she’ll go wherever I go from this moment on. Just as soon as I figure out what the hell went wrong.

  "That’s what you think is important after you stood me up last night? We have so much to talk about, so much to plan, and you’re worried about how I found your house? Open the door."

  "There’s nothing to talk about. Nothing to plan. Just leave, Emmett." She rolls her eyes and edges the door closed. I push back with the flat of my hand, and she huffs. She fucking huffs, like I’m an annoyance. The gum on the bottom of her shoe she just can’t scrape off.

  "Talk to me, sweet Annie," I plead, resting my head on the door. "It’s me, you can tell me anything. Why are you doing this?"

  A strangled sigh releases from her lips, and her hand slaps the door, making me j
ump. "I need you to hear what I’m telling you, Emmett. Leave and don’t come back. Why are you making this harder than it has to be? We had a fun fling, and now it’s done. Go to New Orleans and live your fucking life." The acid in her words burns my veins, my heart, my soul, and every ounce of indecision is gone from her voice.

  She doesn’t want me.

  She pushes to close the door, and I push back, not ready to end our connection—unable to lock the door on our fate. How can she walk away so easily when I would do anything to spend every day wrapped up in only her?

  "Wait, Annie, just wait." I don’t know what to say to change her mind. I need a minute. Just one fucking minute to find the words that will turn this around.

  "If you’re not gone in the next five minutes, I’m calling the police."

  My momentary shock at her words gives her the chance to shut the door before I can stop her. I hear the dead bolt slide into place, and what was once fire and passion ices over in an instant. I’ve never been more wrong about a person in my entire life.

  And I don’t give two fucks if I ever see Annie Frederick again.

  Chapter Seven

  Present Day

  Emmett

  I’m not her father.

  I pace the length of the apartment, my mind a whirling tornado of questions. I managed to find out what I thought I needed to know, but I’ve never felt more lost. What the fuck just happened out there?

  She’s not my daughter.

  I was so sure. The puzzles pieces clicked into place one by one, revealing a picture of Luna and me, father and daughter, dancing. Her ballet shoes were perched on top of my feet, and her pink tutu crushed against my knees as I held her tiny hand. Her white blonde pigtails brushed the small of her back as she tipped her head back to look at me with love. She was going to love me, I just knew it. And I was going to spoil my little girl rotten.