Snowstorms and Second Chances
A Williamsville Inn Christmas Story
Brigham Vaughn
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Snowstorms and Second Chances ©2019 Brigham Vaughn
ISBN: 9781674160467
Cover design by Brigham Vaughn
Book design and production by Brigham Vaughn/Hank Edwards
Editing by Sally Hopkinson
Cover Images:
© Africa Studio/AdobeStock
© theartofphoto/AdobeStock
© janecocoa/AdobeStock
© LIGHTFIELD STUDIOS/AdobeStock
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Printed in the United States of America
First Printing, 2019
Author Note
Last summer, at one of the Pride events Hank Edwards and I take part in, he mentioned a holiday story he was thinking about writing. I’d had a few ideas floating around in my head and they meshed perfectly with what he was writing. We came to the obvious conclusion that we should try writing in a shared universe. Thus, the Williamsville Inn Christmas Stories were born.
I want to thank Hank Edwards for all of his hard work creating the Williamsville Inn and allowing me to tag along in his world. And for the quick beta reading he did.
Thanks to Sally Hopkinson for her editing work and to Heather Rawlins and Sabella Long for their speedy work proofreading it.
As always, a big thank you to all of you readers and fans who help make this possible. I couldn’t do it without you all!
And I hope your holidays are as joyous as Erik and Seth’s time together!
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Epilogue
About the Author
Pride Publishing
Two Peninsulas Press
Off Topic Press
Chapter One
December 24
Erik Josef grimaced down at his Scotch as the singer crooned the familiar, hellishly optimistic tune. The most wonderful time of year, my ass. If Erik heard one more fucking Christmas song, he was going to light everything even remotely Christmas-related on fire. Under the best of circumstances, the winter holidays were his least favorite time of year, but this, by far, was the worst.
His marriage of nearly twenty years had officially ended last week. He didn’t miss Robin one iota; they’d been virtual strangers since their daughter, Joanna, went off to college four years ago—and they’d barely tolerated each other for a decade before that—but with the relentless barrage of holiday messages about family and togetherness being shoved in his face, being single left him feeling even more hollow than usual.
And lonely.
This year, Joanna was spending her holiday break in Vail with her boyfriend’s parents. By the end of the break, she’d presumably come home with a sparkling engagement ring on her finger. Or at least, that’s what her boyfriend was planning, and based on the besotted looks Joanna usually gave Keith, she’d say yes.
When Keith had called a few weeks ago, Erik had given him his blessing and swallowed down the cynical words that hovered on the tip of his tongue that Keith would be better off just handing over half of his assets to Joanna and skipping the whole damn failed marriage and inevitable divorce. Not that Joanna was a whole lot like her mother—or Erik, for that matter—and Keith was a decent guy, but that didn’t mean Erik thought they’d make a success of it.
What couple did? He couldn’t think of a single happy couple he personally knew. Presumably, they existed somewhere in the world. Or maybe every couple was miserable and hiding it. People had been shocked when he and Robin divorced. They’d truly thought the show the two of them had put on over the years had been genuine. What a damn joke.
Now the relentless holiday cheer made him want to hunker down and ignore the entire month of December. He’d planned to spend a few weeks somewhere tropical and forget Christmas even existed. Being served drinks on a beach in Tahiti by a woman in a bikini sounded far better to him than drinking alone in his Philly loft. He’d moved in nearly a year ago, but he’d hardly bothered to do more than furnish it with the necessities. Joanna had been devasted when he and Robin had sold her childhood home, but it was a giant monstrosity that neither he nor Robin had wanted. If Joanna had stayed home for the holidays, he probably would have made an attempt at decorating—gotten a tree with lights and hung some ornaments at least—but if he was spending the holiday by himself in the tropics, what was the damn point?
He’d been ready to book his tickets when his business partner Bertram had stumbled upon an old hotel in the property management company’s holdings. A considerable amount of digging had revealed that it had been acquired by Erik’s father decades ago, but why the elder Josef had bought it in the first place was a mystery. A run-down hotel thirty minutes outside of Buffalo, New York wasn’t the typical acquisition for the company, but since his father had died a little over a year ago of a heart attack, Erik had no way of finding out why he’d purchased it in the first place.
Bertram had decided he wanted it off the books before the end of the year, so here Erik was, killing time in an airport bar in Buffalo on Christmas Eve instead of in Tahiti. What on earth had he done in a past life to deserve that? Surely, no one was that terrible.
The original plan had been for both Erik and Bertram to fly into Buffalo, then drive to Williamsville together to assess the property and decide if it should be sold. But Bertram had booked a later flight that had been delayed at least three times due to the winter storms sweeping in. At this rate, Erik had begun to doubt Bertram would ever make it. So, until Erik heard otherwise, he was going to keep his ass parked on the stool in the airport pub and order glasses of Scotch until either his money or his liver cried uncle. Given the size of his bank account, the odds were on his liver giving out first.
If Bertram wanted Erik here in Buffalo the day before Christmas, he could damn well do the driving himself.
“Is this seat taken?”
Erik glanced up to see a boyish grin aimed in his direction. The man it belonged to had a grip on the back of the barstool next to him and an inquisitive eyebrow cocked at him. Erik shook his head in answer. “Help yourself.”
Erik turned back to his drink as the guy flopped onto the chair next to him, bumping Erik’s right arm and thigh as he got settled.
“I think this is the last open seat here,” the stranger said as he hung a canvas messenger bag off the back of the chair, his elbow brushing Erik’s side. “Sorry to disrupt you. It’s a bit of a tight squeeze.”
Erik glanced around the pub as he tried to subtly shift away from the guy next to him, but it was packed. Umpteen delays and rerouted flights had swelled the usual number of travelers in the Buffalo airport, and the gates and restaurants were all packed to bursting as people tried to find a way to kill the time.
“It’s fine,” Erik muttered.
“Seth Cobb.” The stranger held out a hand and offered him a warm smile, his expression animated. He was maybe in his early thirties at most. Erik was a good ten years older, and his blue eyes and short
red hair were the polar opposite of Seth’s messy brown hair and dark eyes. “I figure I should introduce myself if I’m going to be all up in your business here.”
“Erik.” Reluctantly, he shook the proffered hand, not wanting to encourage a chatty stranger.
“Hell of a storm coming through here, huh?” Seth asked as he got comfortable in his chair. He sounded disgustingly cheerful in spite of the topic. “They’re predicting almost two feet of snow. That’s Buffalo for you, I suppose. Lake-effect snow and all that.”
Erik grunted.
“What can I get you?” the bartender asked Seth, and Erik sent the man a silent thank you for interrupting. Hopefully, Seth would turn his attention elsewhere afterward. Unfortunately, Erik couldn’t tune out the conversation they had.
“A hard cider, please. Can I order food here at the bar too?” Seth asked.
“Sure. You know what you want?” The bartender sounded as bored as Erik felt.
“Oh, I’ve hardly had time to look at the menu. Hmm. I feel like all I’ve eaten in the past few days is Buffalo wings. Any suggestions for something that doesn’t involve spicy chicken?”
“Our blue burger is good, and so is the pulled pork flatbread.”
“Let’s see ... melted blue cheese, pickled red onion, and cracked black pepper mayonnaise,” Seth read off. “Yum. That does sound good. Although, the slow-cooked pork with cheddar and BBQ sauce sounds tasty too. Now, is the flatbread crispy or chewy?”
“Chewy.”
“Hmm. Which is your favorite?”
“Blue burger,” the bartender said without hesitation. “It’s my go-to.”
“I’ll take that then.”
“You won’t regret it. Fries okay?”
“Do you have sweet potato fries?”
“We do.”
“I’ll take those, please.”
“Sure thing. Anything else?”
“A water too, please. Thanks.”
When he was gone, Seth nudged Erik with his elbow. Automatically, Erik glanced over at him. He was in the midst of removing an olive-green cardigan. Underneath was a wrinkled black shirt that had several buttons undone and revealed a slice of his chest. A rather hairy chest. As he rolled up his shirtsleeves, Erik could see that his arms were hairy too—although not so much as to be off-putting—and given his dark beard, he was probably hairy everywhere. Wondering why he was even thinking about it, Erik glanced away again, staring blindly at a nearby table where a couple of guys were eating.
“Hey, is that Rex Garland?” Seth said under his breath. He nudged Erik’s side with his elbow again, but this time, the motion seemed deliberate.
Reflexively, he looked back at Seth. “Who the hell is Rex Garland?”
Seth gaped at him. “You seriously don’t know who Rex Garland is?”
“No. Should I?”
“He’s a huge deal. Probably the biggest gay singer out there right now.”
“Well, that explains why I don’t know him.”
“You have something against gay singers?” Seth raised an eyebrow, and Erik realized how that had probably come across.
“No.” He took a swallow of his Scotch. “I don’t listen to much popular music.”
The tightness on Seth’s face eased. “You should check out his stuff sometime. He’s good. I’m more interested in the fact that he looks like he’s flirting hard with that guy he’s with though. Last I’d heard, he was single.”
Erik glanced in the direction Seth was looking. “Which guys are you even talking about?”
“The two at that small table over there who you were staring at. The one with the dark beard is Rex Garland. I don’t recognize the guy he’s with. He’s good looking though. I like the big bear vibe he has going on. Rowr.”
Erik just nodded. He had no idea why he’d even been dragged into this ridiculous conversation. He just wished he knew how to make it stop.
“So where are you traveling to? Or from?” Seth asked. Christ. Erik felt a headache begin to form at the base of his skull.
"Williamsville. A little town about thirty miles from here," Erik said shortly. Seth seemed insistent on chatting though, and when Seth looked at him expectantly, Erik dutifully added, "What about you?"
“Oh, well, I’m a travel writer. I was on assignment in Buffalo, doing an article on the top ten best Buffalo wings in the city."
Erik grimaced. "My sympathies."
Seth chuckled as he accepted the drinks the bartender slid toward him. "By last night, I was starting to get heartburn, so I’m looking forward to eating something different, that's for sure." He took a sip of his drink. "Once I finished here, I was supposed to fly into Pittsburgh to visit my family for the holidays.” He let out a rueful little laugh. “At this rate, it’s starting to look like I won’t make it though."
“Delayed flight?"
"Several times." Seth glanced at his phone. "I expect they'll start canceling flights soon, honestly. Airports all along the Eastern Seaboard are going to be affected by this storm. Well, both of them, really. There’s one coming up from the Atlantic around D.C. and another one sweeping in across Chicago and Detroit. We’re smack dab in the middle. Last I checked, the FAA was rerouting every plane that’s already up in the air and grounding the rest."
Erik groaned. "I was afraid of that. I'm waiting for my partner to fly in and meet me, but so far, he hasn't been able to get out of Philadelphia. At this rate, I may be going to check out the Williamsville Inn alone."
"Oh, no, I hope not." Seth lay a hand on Erik's arm, his expression sympathetic. "That would be a shame. Especially this time of year."
Erik felt a prickle of heat go through him at the contact, and he subtly tried to shift away. What an odd thing to say too. What did the time of year have to do with his business dealings being disrupted? "Yeah," he agreed, his tone bland.
"So how did you meet him?" Seth asked.
“Who? My partner?” Seth nodded. "Oh, he was working for my father when I started working at the company. He's a bit older than me."
"My last partner was at least ten years older than me," Seth said. "I don't find it matters much as long as both people are willing to work at it."
"Right." Erik frowned, his forehead wrinkling with confusion. He had never found the age of his colleagues to make any major difference to him either, but he didn't feel like he'd had to put that much work into it. Still, maybe it depended on what kind of working relationship you had.
Seth's burger and fries appeared a minute later, sparing Erik any further conversation with the all-too inquisitive man. When the scent hit Erik's nostrils, he felt his stomach rumble. Maybe he should have eaten something before drinking heavily. He glanced down at his nearly empty glass with a grimace.
"Would you like another?" the bartender asked him.
"No, I'm good for now."
When Seth let out a little moan, Erik glanced over to see him sink his teeth into the generously sized burger. As he set it down again, Erik’s gaze lingered on Seth’s long, narrow fingers as he licked them clean. When Seth winked at him, Erik cleared his throat and fixed his gaze on the sweet potato fries.
“Probably should have eaten more before drinking,” he said gruffly.
"Hey, if you’re hungry, you're welcome to help yourself," Seth said, nudging the plate toward him. "I have more fries than I'm ever going to eat."
"I'm good," he said gruffly. "Thanks though," he belatedly tacked on when the silence grew awkward. He turned his attention to his phone again.
"Sure. Well, if you change your mind ..." Seth attacked his burger with gusto but left the sweet potato fries more or less untouched until the end when it became clear Erik wasn't going to take him up on the offer.
Erik appreciated that the food kept Seth's mouth too occupied to talk, but the silence was once again filled with the chatter of the other bar patrons and the hellish Christmas music in the background. Less of an improvement than he would have expected, to be honest.
W
hen Erik’s phone buzzed on the shiny wooden bar top with a text notification, he glanced down to see a message from Bertram. It was about time. Hopefully, it was telling him that Bertram was boarding his flight now. His stomach sank as he read the words.
All flights out of Philly are canceled. I’ll keep trying, but it doesn't look like I'm going to make it to Buffalo any time today.
"Fuck!" Erik glared at the message from Bertram. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."
"Has your partner’s flight been canceled?" Seth asked, his tone concerned.
"Yes. Excuse me.” Erik threw some money on the bar to cover his drinks—plus a generous tip—and fetched his bags and jacket. He left the pub, nearly running over the singer Seth had mentioned earlier.
With a muttered, “Excuse me,” he dialed Bertram’s number as he strode away from the noisy restaurant to try to find a quieter corner of the airport.
“Look, I’m sorry, Erik. I know this is shitty,” Bertram said as soon as he picked up, but Erik had no patience for his apologies.
“Yeah, it is. I’m in Buffalo, ready to work, and you aren’t,” he snarled. “What the hell do you want me to do now? This trip was all you. I didn't want to be here in the first place."
“Look, you’re already in Buffalo. Just go to the inn and do what we planned to do together," Bertram said, his tone mild. "If I can grab a flight in the next day or so, I’ll come, but if not, you evaluate it. You’re more than capable of gathering the information so we can decide if we should allow the renovations to go forward before we sell. Or, if you think it’s not worth investing in more renovations, we’ll sell as-is. It’s not that difficult.”
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