The Holly Hearth Romantic Comedy Collection

by K B Cinder

  “You guys suck!” I snarled, Pop doubling over in laughter behind Mom as the girls smirked.

  “Not as much as you do! You left me here with that moody son of a bitch!” Karine growled, coming up behind me with Pierogi in tow, his nails clicking off the tile. She froze, turning to my mother. “Wrong word! You definitely are not a bitch, sorry! But your son sucks!”

  “I’m well aware,” Mom chuckled, setting a fistful of stuffing in a ceramic bowl. “I was in labor over sixteen hours with that rhino.”

  Karine crossed her arms over her chest, her slinky gray sweater hugging her petite body. “And what about this monster?” she asked, tilting her head toward me.

  “Not as long. Maybe two hours tops. She carved her way out.” Mom grinned wickedly as everyone lost it.

  Everyone but me, that is.

  I clasped my hands in front of me in prayer and looked up at the ceiling. “Dear Santa, I’d like a new family for Christmas.”

  “Oh, hush, we’re not that bad!” Sage laughed as he entered the room with Dash. “If we were, Mom wouldn’t have bailed you out!”

  “Before church, nonetheless! I had to look Jesus in the face after picking up my cock-carving criminal of a daughter!” Mom plopped one last wad of stuffing in the bowl before turning to the sink to wash up.

  “I only called you because someone was passed out.”

  Karine grinned at my jab, not that I blamed her one bit for any of it. I, too, had drank too much that night. I should have gone home with her rather than to Brandon’s, though if I had, I probably would have still been dating the cheating scumball none the wiser.

  “It’s okay. Jesus forgives you, as does Santa. He promises he’ll be nice this year even though you were naughty.” Mom dried her hands on a turkey towel before slipping her golden wedding band back on.

  “Let’s hope Fate cooperates,” I grumbled, grabbing a bowl of green beans from the counter as I headed toward the dining room.

  Karine snatched a bowl of carrots and followed, muttering Portuguese swears under her breath.

  The dining room was in full-blown festive mode, the long, walnut table decked out with an orange tablecloth and burlap runner, candles and gourds sprinkled along its length. Mom had gone all out with her good dishes and fancy folded napkins, the ones she kept locked away from her grubby kiddos until the holidays rolled around. They’d been her mother’s, and someday would be mine, though I doubted I’d ever risk using the heirlooms. Styrofoam was more my dinnerware style.

  “So, how did it go?” Karine asked, setting her veggie bowl down beside mine on the buffet Mom had already crowded with vases of sunflowers and orange roses. “Everything good beyond the community service?”

  “It was okay, and I still have a chance at a career, so that’s a plus. The prosecutor was a complete creep though.”

  “I’ve heard that,” she huffed, nose twitching with irritation. “Did he try anything? Because I’ll break his face if he did.”

  I laughed, shaking my head at my feisty friend. “Honey, you know I wouldn’t be standing here if he did.”

  Soraya and Talita came in with mashed potatoes and roasted brussel sprouts, while Dash and Sage followed with dinner rolls and braised radishes. They played buffet Tetris to make it all fit, and after a few more trips back and forth, we had the table bursting with the fruits of Mom and the Nunes girls’ labor.

  I was glad she had them to teach, as she’d long-since given up showing me anything beyond boiling water after I caught a pan on fire one too many times.

  Everyone lined up to get some grub once Pop struck the obnoxious mini dinner gong, and once everyone was situated, we chowed down.

  I was the wall erected between Sage and Karine, which unfortunately left me staring directly at the object of my ovaries’ affection across the table: Dash.

  I gorged myself on potatoes, hoping to feed the desire, literally, but all it did was make my skirt tight.

  Sage looked on in disgust when I scooped a third glob on my plate, but I didn’t care. I’d smother the sex demon with carbs all night if I had to, because clearly it was out of control.

  Dash was not sexy.

  I was just hungry.

  Or tired. Or sad. Or something.

  Everyone chattered about the upcoming holiday season, while I doused my inner flames one spoonful at a time until I couldn’t without erupting like Mount Saint Mashed Potato.

  Afterward, I kept my eyes fixed on my plate, since every time I looked up, I couldn’t help but stare at Dash.

  How could someone chew sexily?

  Swallow seductively?

  Butter a roll filthily?

  God, I needed a glass of wine.

  I sprang to my feet, remembering the bottle I’d stashed in my purse.

  My parents were fun and all, but I wouldn’t drink the wine they bought. I needed a little sweetness in my life, something their mature stock never offered.

  As I poured a glass at the kitchen island, Dash stepped in and made a beeline for the fridge, likely after a beer. In four strides, he crossed the room and was behind me, the telltale clank of bottles confirming his objective.

  “Great minds think alike,” I sighed, setting my bottle of white down and stuffing the cork back in.

  “It wouldn’t be a family food fest without booze.” He moved to stand across the island from me, a bottle of beer cradled in his large hands.

  “Everything is better with a little booze,” I agreed.

  God knows it made discovering Brandon with Clare a little easier, magically shortening the road between tears and anger. Maybe it shortened it a little too much, but oh well.

  “How have you been?” He twisted the top of his beer off, the metal cap falling to the granite with a clank. “I haven’t seen you in forever and a day.”

  “I’m hanging in there. You?”

  Obviously Sage had given him the rundown on all things Brandon, so I didn’t need to rip that bandage off. No sense bringing up my lack of a job, either.

  “Same. The station has been busy as hell. You’d be surprised how many idiots get overly confident with their turkey-frying skills.”

  I took a sip of wine with a smile, not too shocked that people around Honey Hills got cocky. Jersey was full of blustering bravado and weekend warriors. Give them a little bit of booze and some matches, and you were bound to get the fire department involved. “You’re a captain now, right?”

  He’d worked at the local firehouse since graduating high school, skipping college like Sage to embrace the grind. I envied them sometimes, especially when I looked at my college loans slowly bleeding me dry each month.

  He nodded, running a hand through his hair, the short spikes standing wildly on end. “Yeah, I was promoted a few months back. It’s tough, but I love it. I definitely found my dream job.”

  I threw back another gulp of wine, blinking back the tears that threatened my eyes.

  I’d had my dream job. I loved my students, the group I affectionately referred to as my kiddies. The current year’s crop was tough, hyperactivity as rampant as head lice, but damn, did I miss the little squirts.

  “Sage told me about Brandon and all that shit. You’re a great teacher, Juni. Keep your head up. The right opening will come along. If you need anything in the meantime, I’m sure the department could use you in the office.”

  My stomach burned just thinking about not seeing my class again, so I tossed back another sip. “Thanks, I appreciate it.”

  I did, even if I had no intention of taking the offer. Not only because I belonged in a classroom, but because working for him was another no to add to the pile.

  He leaned on the island toward me, his eyes honing in on mine. “I know this time of year sucks for you, but don’t let this hiccup keep you down. I mean it. You’re meant to work with kids. They’re your calling. All that crazy has Juni written all over it.”

  I swallowed hard, surely choking down some sort of sob as I curled my toes in my shoes, desperatel
y trying to keep tears at bay. He had no idea how much his words meant to me. “Thanks.”

  Pop walked in then, breaking up the heaviness, his hands holding a stack of empty dishes. “What’s up, kiddos? Having a drink-off?”

  “Trying to drown our sorrows,” I joked, tapping my fingers on my glass. “Can I help, Pop?”

  “I’m okay, Junebug. Mom is going to divvy out dessert once we all stop rolling around, if you want to help with that.”

  Dash dipped out of the room, leaving me and my stepfather alone as he shuffled Mom’s prized dishes. He handled them with care, the same way he’d always treated me, his little broken doll with sharp edges. Sure, I could be cute, but I’d always been a bit prickly.

  The title of Dad had never felt quite right despite the fatherly love I had for him, the word rolling around like oil on my tongue, forever associated with the man we’d lost almost twenty-five years earlier on Christmas Day.

  But Pop? Pop sounded fun, just like the man Mom married right after my ninth birthday. The same man who taught me yo-yo tricks and weird handshakes.

  “Are you coming with Mom and I on Friday?” I asked, referring to our Black Friday outing. We were planning on manning the mall for some deals, credit cards swooping in to save the day while I figured out my employment situation.

  He set the silverware in the sink, Mom’s precious dishes safely stacked on the counter out of harm’s way, a roughly thrown spoon all it would take to chip away at their splendor. “Heck yeah. I wouldn’t miss a chance to see your mother take out a soccer mom for a food processor.”

  I laughed, more than able to picture Mom steamrolling shoppers for a deal on kitchen gadgets. “And you guys wonder where I get it from.”

  He bent down and scooped up Pierogi, the fur child’s indignant chin tilted high in the air as his black and white hair flowed elegantly, forever better-groomed than I’d ever be.

  “And your family loves it, Junebug. Don’t you go changing on us.”

  4

  Who knew a turkey-shaped doughnut would be so tasty? Somehow the poultry pastry was more delicious than regular ones, pillows of sugary happiness dancing across my tongue.

  I’d grabbed a pair at the gas station on the way home from my parents’ the night before, and it was the best impulse decision I’d made in ages.

  I feasted on mine atop the counter, while Karine nibbled on hers on the other side of our hideous kitchen. Her head bobbed as she quietly mouthed notes from her tablet in preparation for a sales call.

  She was already set for the day in a sweater dress and thigh-high boots, her hair styled for the gods in long ringlets. She even had a full face of makeup on, contoured to perfection.

  Meanwhile, I looked every part the unemployed teacher I was in rumpled, oversized pajamas, complete with missing buttons and questionable stains, likely courtesy of nachos or ice cream. My hair sat in an oversized top knot, stray tendrils sticking out as they pleased.

  “Who needs a dildo on Turkey Day?” I asked, the question coming out garbled as I struggled to swallow a hunk of pastry.

  Karine crumbled her doughnut wrapper in her hand, sauntering to the trash can to toss it, the heels of her boots tapping loudly on the cracked ceramic tile, one of the many things on my to-do list since buying the house. “Sex happens 365 days a year, Juni. We’re not all as dried up as you.”

  “That would be a good jab if I hadn’t had sex more recently than you,” I countered, still leisurely working my way through my sugary breakfast. Unlike her, I didn’t have anything to rush to, free until noon when I’d head out to watch the fire department vs. police department football game with Sage. “I’m not the dry one, dusty beav.”

  Karine refused to even think about dating or sex with her eyes on the prize, caring more about her actual business than her lady business.

  There was nothing wrong with it, either, but her taunts about my lack of a sex life were a little pot meet kettle. Especially since it’d been less than a week since I’d last knocked boots, thank you very much.

  She glanced at the wall clock, rushing to rinse her hands at the sink when she saw it was after nine. “I’d rather have no sex than fuck Mr. Finger.”

  “Hey!” I grumbled, scowling at her over my doughnut. “He wasn’t that bad! I wouldn’t have stayed with him if he was!”

  Maybe he wasn’t as adventurous as others, or as focused on me as I would’ve liked, but he got the job done.

  Well, I did. But still. He participated.

  He participated with others, too, which was why I went straight to the gyno for testing the Monday after I caught him. Luckily, everything was good under the hood. If anything was leaky, he would have paid. Big time.

  “Keep telling yourself that, mama.” She took a gulp of water straight from the tap and hurried to study her reflection in the mirror by the front door, adjusting her cleavage in her dress, a plunging number I’d love to wear if it wouldn’t look pornographic on my D cups. “I’m happy my girl can get the big O in the future with someone who isn’t named Finger.”

  I grinned, wiping a smudge of icing off my lip. “May Santa deliver penis and pleasure!” I announced, lifting my doughnut in a toast.

  I wasn’t in a rush to get back in the dating game, but when it was time, I was ready to have fun. I definitely deserved some after Brandon.

  “Cheers to that! Hopefully not delivered severed in a box, though!” Karine rushed over, planting a kiss on my cheek before hauling ass down the hall toward the bedrooms. “I love you! I’ll see you at the game!”

  “Love you too! Good luck, Rini!” I called.

  Her door clicked, sealing her off from the world as she chased her dreams. The tiny bungalow didn’t offer enough space for an office, so she made her bedroom into one, maximizing the space by switching to a twin bed, every inch used for her desk and storage.

  She was rocking the whole career thing, running her own high-end adult toy company. She’d built it from the ground up, sourcing suppliers and designing products. She’d funded it all herself, too, while bartending in Philly and Atlantic City, perfecting the art of the hustle.

  I needed some of her spunk. Maybe if I’d had it, I never would have fallen for someone as crappy as Brandon Finger.

  I polished off my doughnut and went to the shower, taking my time getting ready since I was headed straight to my parents’ from the game.

  I wanted to bum it in sweats, but Babcia would whack me with her purse if I showed up to Thanksgiving Dinner in anything less than a dress, the matriarch cantankerous as hell at ninety-five years old.

  Rather than performing a concert in the shower as usual, I washed in silence, battling shampoo and conditioner as it desperately clung to every strand. It was a small price to pay for my best friend’s success, though I did find myself tempted to hum or beatbox. Anything to avoid silence.

  Why? Because every moment of it let my mind slip back into no territory, the land where thoughts of Dash ran free, complete with crotch bulges and dreamy eyes.

  Everything about it was wrong and dirty, but all the soap in the world couldn’t cleanse my thoughts of him or that body.

  Maybe Finger’s infidelity was the straw that broke the camel’s back, unleashing a waterfall of raunchy thoughts about the last people on Earth I should be fantasizing about. Next up I’d get the hots for the weatherman or the guy on the Preparation H commercial.

  After spending too much time drying and styling my hair along with attempting makeup, I was set, whisking off to the high school athletic center with a travel thermos full of hot cocoa. Real adults might prefer coffee, but I was partial to the other dark stuff in the morning - chocolate.

  I claimed one of the last spots in the parking lot, thankful I wouldn’t have to attempt off-roading in my Civic on the lumpy grass.

  The complex was already teeming with attendees, firetrucks and police cars gathered around while the players strutted their stuff on the field before game time.

  As I strolled toward
the stands, I mentally put my money on the firefighters, nothing but discipline on display as they tossed balls back and forth. It wasn’t that the police officers weren’t in tip-top shape, too, but they seemed more keen on goofing off than practicing, throwing wonky balls that landed everywhere but in the receivers’ hands.

  It was one of the chillier Thanksgiving games I could remember, the high set to barely reach thirty that day. My pea coat did its thing against it, but my legs were freezing despite the fleece-lined leggings I wore under my dress.

  And once my booty touched the metal of the stands? Forget it. Total buttsicle.

  I hunched over and nursed my hot cocoa as the stands filled, familiar faces from high school and beyond waving from afar. I returned the gesture for most, many of them firmly belonging in the people you used to know bin. The same people I dodged in the grocery store. They were lost from my memory and had no need to be found, like a glove missing a finger.

  Dash was on the field surrounded by his unit, a mix of big, bulky beefcakes and middle-aged men. He stuck out for more than just his captain’s jersey, his body rigid as he shouted commands. It was impossible to make out the words, but whatever he was saying, it was pumping his guys up, the testosterone tornado whirling with claps and whoops.

  The wind cut through my clothing as if it were nothing and not a carefully-planned system of layers. And my ass was still freezing. It might even stick to the metal by the time the game was over.

  I stuffed my free hand in my pocket, grateful the exposed one was at least warmed by my thermos.

  The sudden plop of Sage down beside me made me jump, almost spilling my drink all over a man in front of me.

  A man I realized was my high school biology teacher once I caught a glimpse of his pointy, braided beard. That would’ve sucked. Mr. Barton was a jerkoff and a half.

  “Hey, Sissy!” Sage greeted. The oaf looked toasty as can be in a hooded sweatshirt and jeans, a black beanie hat covering his short-cropped brown hair.