Love Story vs Romance by Colleen L. Donnelly

Welcome our guest blogger today, Colleen L. Donnelly...ah romance.

Romance – it’s the rally-for-the-heroine and fall-for-the-hero sort of tale that makes hearts all over the world go pitter patter. It’s the genre of fiction that promises we will come away with a smile on our face and a sigh slipping from our lips. 

Romance – it’s not as messy and it’s far less complicated than the love stories other genres weave in, sometimes beneath their main plot, where no happy ending is guaranteed. 

Why would I subject myself to a story where passion may break from what’s comfortable and spill into the uncomfortable, defy a construction I know will make me happy, and take me beyond a ripped bodice to the heart that beats beneath it? A heart that aches to love and be loved, trust and be trusted, or hate and behave despicably in return? A heart that can choose to forgive – but may not. That has every reason to stay – but may not. Or that enters into a relationship which seems so right…yet not. 

Because sometimes the less happy ending makes me breathe a little deeper, haunts me for days afterwards, draws me into thousands of imaginary arguments with characters who should have done things my way. Love stories that retain the right to disappoint reveal the inner throes of loving someone the same way a mirror reveals my outer beauty as well as my flaws. They force me to take a step beyond the dream into the reality of loving, hurting, and hopefully healing. Sometimes the story that doesn’t make me smile is the story I’ll remember. 

“Mine to Tell” is one of those books – Was it adultery that marred the Crouse family’s reputation for three generations, or merely the accusation of it? Was it the fact that Julianne Crouse disappeared for two weeks that brought shame to all of the Crouse family women, or was it the stories told about those two weeks by others? On the cusp of her own marriage, Julianne’s great-granddaughter, Annabelle, has to know the truth. Defying her family’s and fiancé’s wishes, she unboards the house her great-grandfather had sequestered Julianne to, and searches for her great-grandmother’s story. Alone, at first, then with the aid of the quiet man down the road she’d ignored when they were children, and her great-grandmother’s words that begin to slowly trickle in.

Buy link for “Mine to Tell”:   http://amzn.to/1PNJo4S 

Excerpt:

“Mine to tell,” Kyle said suddenly. It was a jolt. I was yanked from my mental tumble into a pit of unredemption. Alex looked up too, a quizzical expression on his face. “Julianne left a story behind,” Kyle continued. “Some of it speculation and rumors by people who don’t know, and the rest of it by her own hand. It was a love story. One that was countered with suffering.” 

We were all quiet. I looked at him, my heart melting as I heard his masculine voice speak of love and suffering. I wanted to lean across the table and hug him, but I was too afraid. 

Alex leaned back in his chair. “What my father went through didn’t feel like love when we were little.” 

“But maybe it was,” Kyle persisted, his tone smooth and even. “Does love always turn out the way we want it to?” Then he looked at me. “Julianne Crouse was a fine woman. We haven’t finished her story, but she suffered, and she was fine indeed.” 

Tears came to my eyes. “Thank you,” I squeaked. Kyle stood and walked around the table to me. He helped me stand as he thanked them for their time. He retrieved Julianne’s picture, took my hand, and together we went to the door, Alex and his wife following us. 

“I hope you’re right,” Alex said, running his hand through his thin, brittle hair as we stepped outside. “My father had some things to come to terms with, but he was a good man. A better man later in life, when he told us he was sorry. I never knew for what.” 

Other Buy Links:

“Asked For”:   http://amzn.to/1TyflEu

“Love on a Train”:   http://amzn.to/1m9eYCx 

Contact me:

Blog: http://colleenldonnelly.wordpress.com/

Website: http://www.colleenldonnelly.com

Twitter: https://twitter.com/ColleenLDonnell

Goodreads: http://www.Goodreads.com/colleenldonnelly

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/ColleenLDonnelly

I hate blubbering in public! ~ By Leah St. James

I can’t recall if I’ve mentioned before, but my younger son is getting married in July. As the Mother of the Groom (MoG, as I call myself), my involvement in the wedding planning has been fairly nonexistent in the year or so since the couple set the date. Things have ramped up in the past few weeks as the MoB (Mother of the Bride) asked for some help, which I’m happy to give. Plus I still have to find a venue for the rehearsal dinner which will be in a town where the couple grew up, 400-something miles away...meaning I can’t get there in advance to check it out... Oh, and I still have to buy a dress.

But it's all good. It's a happy stressful. Here's a picture from their Senior Prom, more than ten years ago, and they're still together. Aren't they cute?

Anyway, with all that on my mind, I had completely forgotten about the one part of the big event where I’ll really be in the spotlight–the part where my son and I do the groom/mother dance.

I realized this, ironically, when I was riding with him on the trip that I wrote about last month. We were on the way home with my sister, listening to his play list on his iPod, when I said, “Hey, (Son No. 2), do we have to pick a song to dance to for your wedding?” (I think there was a hint of panic in my voice.) “Uh...yeah....I guess so,” he answered, equally enthused.

Neither of us likes being in the spotlight, and neither of us is a skilled dancer. The chances of us breaking into one of those choreographed routines posted on YouTube are probably zero, so picture us swaying to some ballad in the middle of an empty dance floor for an interminable three or four minutes ... if not longer depending on which song we pick...

Determined to tackle this task head on, I pulled out my phone and started Googling “Mother/son dance songs for weddings.” Of course I got pages of suggestions and started scrolling through one that said “Top 50 mother/song dance songs for weddings.” Certainly I could find a song among 50!

First on the list: Josh Groban’s “You Lift Me Up.” Hmm...it’s a nice song, but doesn’t really give me a mother/son vibe.

Next was “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough” by Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell. It’s one of my favorite songs by Diana Ross and the Supremes, but again, not a mother/son song, to me.

On I searched through a lengthy list of songs by country music artists. All seemed perfectly acceptable, but my son really, really loathes country music, so they were out.

Next came some pop groups like Boyz 2 Men. My son hates pop music.

Moving on... “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” by Israel Kamakawiwo'Ole. Okay, it has an island-type beat (which makes sense since he’s Hawaiian), which my son (oddly) does love. Unfortunately...he HATES The Wizard of Oz!

Good grief, I thought as I continued scrolling. There must be a song...

Finally my eyes lit on “Child of Mine” by Carole King.

“I love Carol King!” I announced as I clicked on the YouTube video.

I listened to the lyrics (briefly excerpted here):

“Although you see the world
Different from me
Sometimes I can touch upon
The wonders that you see
All the new colors
And pictures you’ve designed
Oh yes, sweet darling
So glad you are a child of mine...”

Oh dear...my chest tightened, my eyes began to fill, and just that fast I burst into tears. “Are you CRYING, Mom?” the object of my emotion shouted from the front seat. I couldn’t answer so my sister passed a handful of tissues back to me. They didn’t help.

I kid you not, I cried like that for ten straight minutes...then I stopped for a few and started crying some more. I’m crying now just thinking about it. (Who was it who wrote the blog a few weeks back about criers??)

Obviously sentimental songs are out, which probably means ballads are out. Which means we might have to do one of those choreographed mother/son dances that will keep me so busy and focused I won’t think about the fact that my BABY is GETTING MARRIED!

I’m sure everything will be fine. I’m sure as I’m blubbering in front of all these people, and my face mottles, my nose swells and turns an unattractive shade of burgundy, everyone will understand. Right?

Just in case...any of you who’ve married off your sons and had to go through this, HELP! Any advice would be greatly appreciated.

<><><><><><><><><>

Leah writes stories of mystery and romance, good and evil and the power of love. She blogs here on the 6th and 22nd of the month and promises to share pictures of the mother/son wedding dance when the time comes, as long as they don’t show her face. 

Visit Leah at LeahStJames.com or on Facebook at Facebook.com/leahstjames

Valentine's Day by Christine DePetrillo

Every year I get stuck posting on February 14^th on this blog. Me. The one who doesn’t like Valentine’s Day. The romance writer who spends pages and pages establishing a cozy happily ever after who would rather be at home on her couch than on some romantic Valentine’s Day date. The woman who wants to be loved every day, not just one day in the middle of winter.

Due to the fact that I don’t want to spoil anyone’s holiday – even if it is some sadistic attempt to measure love in candy and flowers and fancy dinners – I’ll just post a romantic poem. How’s that? Okay? Good.

Chance Encounter on a Winter’s Night

Snow flutters on the icy breeze,

winter fairy dust,

white and sparkling

like an Arctic dream

in the black night.

Faces turned toward the sky,

chilled angel kisses

fall on rosy cheeks,

crystallized feathers

fall from the heavens.

All is not lost.

A fire builds

in lonely caverns,

once deserted and dead,

devoid of the rhythmic drum

of human hearts.

Warmth flares,

spills to dead zones,

awakens the primal need

for touch,

for acceptance.

For love. 

Hands reach out

as the white world whirls dizzily.

Contact is made between lonely souls

under the dim glow

of a city streetlight.

Time freezes

like water on asphalt

in the cold of a winter’s night,

But in the tight circle of electric sun,

the right words are exchanged.

Two hearts collide.

Hope your Valentine’s Day is everything you hope it to be.

Toodles,

Chris

www.christinedepetrillo.weebly.com

SAFE, Book One, The Shielded Series, FREE in ebook!

PROTECTED, Book Two, The Shielded Series, available now!

SECURE, Book Three, The Shielded Series, coming soon!

More Than Mistletoe Chapter Three by Christine DePetrillo

This tale is part of my Maple Leaf Series! 

Chapter Three

 Great. She knew it. These were the last moments she’d ever spend with Alex. He’d enjoyed the kiss, but it was too weird and he didn’t want to cross that line and they’d be going their separate ways now. It was over. She’d have no one to listen to her stories, to peel her off the ceiling when work got too stressful, to drink with at The Clumsy Grasshopper, to binge watch The Office with, to laugh with. She’d probably lose Mark and Erin in the deal too because Mark was Alex’s brother. He’d have to take Alex’s side.

An image of her all alone in a rocking chair, just staring out her apartment window flashed into her mind. Cats meowed at her feet and wrestled with one another to get into her lap.

No. Not cats. She couldn’t become that lady. She would use all her newfound free time to toss herself into her work instead. She’d be a superstar architect. Yeah, that was what she’d do. She didn’t need a social life—or a love life. She’d make designing buildings her life.

Still, the meowing wouldn’t stop in her head.

“Look at me, Dayna.” Alex’s voice surprised her. Oh, he was still here. He hadn’t walked out yet. 

Why was he still here?

She didn’t want to look at him. Looking at him meant seeing his gorgeous hazel eyes, that sexy stubble, those addictive lips. Looking at him meant saying goodbye to the best person she’d ever known. Someone who had shown her that she was more than her father’s punching bag. Someone who had ultimately gotten her out of her bad family situation when he’d gotten so mad at her father and called the police. Someone who had saved her on too many occasions to count.

Who would save her now?

“We’re not going to be best friends anymore.” After taking off his ski jacket, Alex sat back on the bed. This time he was at the curve of her waist. Close enough to feel the heat of his body. “We’re going to be more than that. Much more.”

Slowly, he leaned forward and brushed his lips against hers.

At first, Dayna was too stunned to kiss him back, but it didn’t take long for instinct and desire to take over. Good Lord, where had he learned to kiss? And why hadn’t they done this years ago?

He shifted closer and cupped her face with his left hand as he deepened the kiss. His right hand burrowed up into her hair, his fingers scraping wonderfully against her scalp. When she slid her hands to his shoulders and pulled him closer, a hum rumbled in his throat and threatened to undo her right then and there.

Alex ended the kiss with a few light nips to her bottom lip then rested his forehead against hers. “Do you remember when we first met?”

“Yes.” How could she forget? He’d been the new kid in fifth grade and the principal had escorted him into Mrs. Tarat’s class. His black hair had been combed neatly into place. His clothes were ironed, matched, and fit his lanky body. No hand-me-downs there. Dayna instantly wanted to meet his parents and see if they’d adopt her. Clearly they knew how to take care of a child. Hers didn’t have a clue.

His hazel eyes had searched the room with a nervous squirrely edge to them, but when his gaze had landed on Dayna, his expression had relaxed and she’d immediately raised her hand.

“Yes, Dayna?” Mrs. Tarat had asked as she rifled around on the bookshelves, trying to locate extra materials for the new kid.

“He can sit over here.” Dayna had pointed to the empty desk beside her. “I’ll show him what we’re working on.”

A look of gratitude and relief had washed over Mrs. Tarat’s face. “Thank you, Dayna. That would be perfect.”

With a little nudge from the principal, Alex had walked down the aisle and taken the seat next to Dayna. He smelled clean and his smile was friendly.

“I’m Alex Simmons.” He’d held his hand out to her.

She’d wiped her palm on her jean skirt and shook his hand. “Dayna Birchfield.” She’d waited for him to ask her about the purple and black bruise on her forearm. The one her father had put there when he’d grabbed her by the arm as she’d tried to run from him two nights ago.

But Alex hadn’t commented on it. He’d simply given her another smile. One that made Dayna feel as if everything would be all right one day.

They’d let go of each other’s hands pretty quickly because shaking hands with the opposite sex in fifth grade would get the rumor mill a-spinnin’ in no time. Dayna hadn’t wanted her recess totally destroyed by taunting and teasing.

She’d liked shaking Alex’s hand though. His grip had been solid as if he’d hold on even in times of trouble.

Now he dropped a kiss on the tip of her nose. “I think I’ve loved you since then. I love you now too.”

Those were words she hadn’t heard growing up. I love you. Her parents had never said they loved her. Her father hadn’t loved her and her mother was too busy avoiding her father’s fists to bother saying it or showing it.

Alex had said it now and he’d been showing it for years. He was the only one who’d ever loved her.

“I love you, Alex.” God, it felt so right to say that to him. “So what have we been doing all this time?” She’d wasted a lot of effort on dating losers. So had he.

“Well, to put it in terms you’ll understand, my dear architect, we’ve been building a foundation. A very solid one.” He scooted behind her to sit against the headboard and tugged her back so she leaned against him. Wrapping his arms around her, he nibbled on her neck by her earlobe, making her entire body vibrate with need.

“And now it’s up to physics, my dear engineer,” she said. “We can just fall. In love.”

Alex laughed, the sound husky in Dayna’s ear. “Gravity. Love. It’s all the same principles.”

She leaned her head back so she could see his face. “So kissing you wasn’t a stupid idea?”

He caught her lips in a heated kiss then smiled. “Does that feel like a stupid idea?”

“Not even a little bit. In fact, it feels like my best crazy idea ever.”

She nestled against him, his laughter and his body doing more to warm her than the blankets on the bed. She’d been pretty upset over spraining her ankle, but being bed-bound didn’t seem as bad anymore. Not with Alex there too.

“So we can’t ski anymore.” He gestured down to her elevated ankle. “What shall we do instead?” His mouth was back on her neck, his stubble tickling in just the right way.

“Well, it is almost Christmas and there is still that mistletoe up there.” She pointed up to the sprig that now looked like the most beautiful plant on Earth.

Alex tightened his arms around her. “I could unwrap this present then and kiss it all over.” He slid his hand around to her stomach and tunneled under her thermal T-shirt.

Dayna arched into his touch. “Sounds like a perfect plan.” She pulled his head down for another kiss. “Merry Christmas, Alex.”

It really would be the last time she kissed anyone under the mistletoe. Anyone other than Alex. 

Happy Holidays, everyone! 

Tune in tomorrow for holiday fun from Author Leah St. James!

Want more holiday fun? Visit my website to read More Than Biscotti, a short Christmas novella, or Midnight Mistletoe, another short holiday novella, for FREE! Just scroll down to the bottom of the "Books" page.

Toodles,
Chris
www.christinedepetrillo.weebly.com

More Than Mistletoe Chapter Two by Christine DePetrillo

This tale is part of my Maple Leaf Series! 

Chapter Two

Alex paced in his room at Hinsdale Inn. His lips still buzzed from Dayna’s kiss.

Dayna’s kiss!

What the hell had happened? One minute he was tucking his best friend in, making sure she was comfortable and her injured ankle was properly elevated. Taking care of her as he had for all the years they’d known each other. The next minute, they were sucking face like two horny teenagers. He’d been powerless to stop it.

No. That’s not true.

He’d had time to stop it, but he hadn’t wanted to stop it. How long had he dreamed of kissing Dayna? Like forever. Those nights when she’d needed a place to hide from her father had been awful for her, but not for him. He’d loved the way she made his room smell—peaches and sunshine—and talking in the dark for hours with her had always relaxed him. He’d tried being best friends with the boys in his classes, but they always fell short. So immature. Dayna made him think and laugh and dream.

And now he knew what her lips felt like pressed against his. That kiss had been better than anything he’d ever imagined.

So why did I run?

Because he was a coward. Dayna was the best friend he’d ever had. If he lost her… if a different kind of relationship didn’t work between them and they couldn’t see each other anymore, he wouldn’t be able to deal with that.

Although… nothing about that kiss suggested they wouldn’t be amazing together. It was as if her lips had been made to fit his. For the few moments before his stupid brain took over, everything had been perfect. Her lip gloss tasted like cinnamon toast. Her long, black hair had slipped like silk between his fingers as he’d slid his hand up to the back of her slender neck. She still smelled like peaches and sunshine even though it was the end of December. The small noises that came from her throat as they kissed nearly set him on fire.

The look in her deep blue eyes, however, when he’d torn his lips from hers and bolted to his feet told him she’d never forgive him for running away. How could she? She’d taken a chance—a big chance—and he’d thrown it back at her. He’d even slammed the door on his way out. Not on purpose, but he’d had to get out of there. Had to tamp down his arousal before things got out of control. Get his head back on straight.

He wasn’t supposed to be kissing Dayna Birchfield. Best friends didn’t kiss. They hung out. They laughed. They busted each other’s balls. They didn’t fall in love.

Did they?

Crap. This was too much for him to think about. Wasn’t he supposed to be not working hard on this mini-vacation? Kissing Dayna was more complicated than any engineering problems he tackled at work.

He raked his hands through his hair then caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror hanging on the wall above the dresser. Black strands stood out like spikes and he had a wild look in his hazel eyes. If someone handed him an ax to go with his flannel shirt, he’d look like a serial killer right now, lumberjack style.

Alex went to the bathroom adjacent to his room and smoothed down his hair. After a few splashes of cold water to his face and donning his ski jacket, he left the inn, intending to take a long walk in the icy air and figure out some things.

When he got to the frozen pond on the property, he found Mark and Erin snuggling on a bench, steaming mugs of hot cocoa in their gloved hands. Now there was a couple who knew how to follow the rules. They’d met in college. Dated for a few years. Mark proposed. Erin said yes. They were well into their happily ever after. Like completely normal people.

He sighed. Loudly apparently because Mark and Erin turned around at the same time to look at him.

“How’s Dayna?” Mark asked.

“I don’t know.” Alex jammed his hands into his jacket pockets. “How would I know how she is?”      

“Uhh, because you were getting her settled in her room.” Mark raised his blond brows then turned so he could see Alex more fully. “Dude, what’s wrong with you? You look like you’ve seen a ghost or something.”

Erin grinned as she sniffed in the steam from her mug. “I think he’s seen something all right. What took you so long?”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Alex started walking again, prepared to get lost and freeze to death in the woods instead of have Erin give voice to what was cycling around in his head. How did she know anyway? Some kind of womanly insight? Damn her.

“You keep telling yourself that, Alex,” Erin called.

“Telling himself what?” Mark looked from his wife to his brother. When neither of them replied, Mark frowned. “I’m missing something.”

Erin patted her husband’s cheek. “Men miss a lot of things, sweets. Fortunately women are a forgiving sort.” She dropped a quick peck on Mark’s cheek then stared up at Alex. “If forgiveness is asked for in a timely fashion that is.” She motioned back to the inn with her mug.

Dammit. He wasn’t ready to go back in there. To face Dayna. To deal with the kiss.

But Erin was right. The longer he went without doing something, the more likely he was to lose Dayna forever. That couldn’t happen.

With a growl, Alex turned around and stomped back toward the inn, Erin’s call of good boy floating on the chilly breeze behind him.

He marched through the inn’s great room where Lily and Rick were huddled on the couch. Did this inn pump something into the air to make folks want to get romantic? Jeez.

“Can we get you anything, Alex?” Lily tugged on a fleece blanket Rick was apparently hogging.

Balls. Some balls would be good. Because going upstairs to see Dayna was making his palms drip with sweat. His heart was doing this weird dub-lub dub-a-de-dub dub-lub in his chest. His mouth was wicked dry too. Maybe he was a little dizzy.

Oh, God. He was going to die before he told Dayna how he really felt about her.

“Alex?” Rick surrendered the blanket to Lily and stood to face him. “What’s wrong? Did you see a bear out there?” He squinted out the great room windows.

“A bear?” Lily crunched up into a ball on the couch.

“No. No bears.” Just one nosey sister-in-law who happened to always be right. “I’m just going to check on Dayna.”

“Let us know if she needs anything.” Lily had uncoiled and offered some blanket to Rick who readily accepted it as he sat on the couch again. The two of them were back to cuddling before Alex hit the stairs.

Cuddling. Yeah. Okay.

He stared up the stairs. Dayna’s closed door was to the right. She was just on the other side of it. Was she sleeping? Should he maybe not disturb her?

Should he stop stalling?

Did she want to cuddle?

The trip up the stairs was too short. He stood at her door, his hand at his side clenching into a fist, unclenching, clenching, unclenching.

Just lift your hand, man, and knock already.

Why was he being such a damn baby about this? Had Dayna’s kiss scrambled his brain entirely?

Yes. Definitely.

But he could do this. He had to.

He knocked on the door, the sound echoing in the tranquility of the inn. Vermont was so quiet. Too quiet. Alex was used to Boston noise. Comforting city noise. This silence made his wild heartbeat thunder in his ears.

“Come in.” Dayna’s voice sounded groggy.

Crap. She had been sleeping. Now he felt like a jerk again, but it was too late to turn back now.

He opened the door and stepped into the room. Sunlit ice crystals on one of the large windows mesmerized him for a moment, but a sniffle from the bed immediately garnered all his attention.

“Dayna?” He moved closer to the bed. “Are you crying?”

Dumb question. Of course she was. Her beautiful eyes were slightly bloodshot and her cute nose was red.

She cleared her throat and sniffed again. “No.”

“Liar.” He sat on the edge of the bed near her feet, doing a quick scan of her ankle. “Are you in pain?”

A choked laugh filled the space between them. “You could say that.”

Ouch. Maybe Erin had been wrong. Maybe forgiveness wasn’t possible. Maybe Dayna hated him.

“Do you want me to get you something to drink or eat?” He swallowed loudly. Damn that quiet.

“Because you can’t wait to run out of this room again?” Her blue fire gaze threatened to fry his retinas. Dayna didn’t usually do dripping with disdain, but right now? Heck, right now she was nailing it.

“Look, about that…” He scrubbed a hand down his face and looked at his boots.

“Let me guess,” she said. “That kiss was a mistake and we’re best friends and best friends aren’t supposed to make out under the mistletoe, which if I could stand up right now, I’d rip that freaking weed down and burn it.” She huffed out a breath and shifted, a wince flitting across her features as she jostled her ankle.

“You’re a terrible guesser.” He risked scooching up to where her knees were, his arms itching to hold her maybe.

“I am?” She licked her lips and he couldn’t help but stare at them now that he knew what they could do to him.

“I don’t think that kiss was a mistake,” he whispered.

“Then why did you run?” Dayna folded her arms across her chest as if she thought he was full of crap.

“Y chromosome?” He dared to slide up to her thighs now, moving as if he were approaching a butterfly he didn’t want to fly away from him. “I panicked. I was enjoying that kiss too much. I couldn’t—”

Her hand on his stopped him. “You enjoyed the kiss?”

“Very much. Who wouldn’t, Dayna?” He flipped his hand over so he could thread his fingers between hers. “You know how I’m always telling you’re good at things?”

She nodded, her gaze focused on their clasped hands now.

“Add kissing to that list.” He reached out his free hand and tipped her head up with a finger to her chin.

Her cheeks were a beautiful shade of pink as she looked at him. “Are we still best friends?”

Alex stood, his hand slipping from hers. “Definitely not.”

Tune in tomorrow for the final segment, Chapter Three!

Want more holiday fun? Visit my website to read More Than Biscotti, a short Christmas novella, or Midnight Mistletoe, another short holiday novella, for FREE! Just scroll down to the bottom of the "Books" page.

Toodles,
Chris
www.christinedepetrillo.weebly.com

More Than Mistletoe by Christine DePetrillo

This tale is part of my Maple Leaf Series! 

Chapter One

This was the absolute last time she kissed anyone under the mistletoe. How could she have been so dumb? Dayna Birchfield was famous among her friends for coming up with crazy ideas. But kissing Alex Simmons? Her freaking best friend in the entire universe?

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

And now he’d booked it out of her room. At warp speed.

Dayna would have followed him—probably—if her ankle wasn’t sprained from her amateur skiing expedition in the mountains of Vermont. Another one of her ridiculous ideas.

“Let’s go skiing,” she’d announced two weeks ago while hanging at The Clumsy Grasshopper with Alex, his brother, Mark, and Mark’s wife, Erin. The four of them met regularly at the Boston pub which Alex’s friend, Grady, owned and operated. The steak sandwiches were to die for, but it was Grady’s sexy Irish accent that kept Dayna coming back. Too bad the hot bartender was already taken. All the good guys were.

Except for Alex.

“Skiing?” Alex’s dark brows had crinkled over his big hazel eyes. “You can’t walk on the semi-level sidewalks of Boston without falling on your rump. Do you actually think skiing will be easier, Miss Graceful?” He’d grinned like he had a million times before, but the black stubble he’d let grow around his mouth and jaw recently had turned that grin into something… potent.

Shaking her head, Dayna had glared at him hard enough to melt the December snow outside, but the dude was right. If the opportunity to stumble, trip, or crash head first into anything presented itself, her body would snatch at that chance. She tried to be careful. She did. Honestly. Gravity just had it out for her.

“I saw a ski weekend ad for Hinsdale Inn in Vermont,” she’d said, choosing to ignore Alex’s comment—and his stubble—and address Mark and Erin instead. “We could get a few rooms, ski, drink hot cocoa, have a Scrabble tournament. Our own little Christmas party in the woods.”

“If there’s Scrabble, I’m in,” Mark had said.

“Playing Scrabble with a writer is no fun.” Alex had finished off the last of his beer. “The rest of us don’t stand a chance.”

“The rest of you i-d-i-o-t-s, you mean?” Mark had ducked when Alex flicked the cap of his beer at him.

“If Dayna wants to ski, I say we ski.” Erin had nodded at Dayna, the woman’s brown eyes narrowing as if she’d come to a conclusion of some kind. “How many hockey, baseball, and football games have we gone to because you two morons wanted to go?” She’d gestured between the brothers then looked pointedly at Alex. “Besides, you’ve been working too hard.”

Alex wouldn’t be Alex if he wasn’t working too hard. Dayna had been best friends with him since the fifth grade and even back then he’d always gone the extra mile on just about everything. She’d really appreciated him working hard to be her best friend all these years. It wasn’t always easy. Being her friend.

And now I’ve destroyed it all with one damn kiss.

Dayna flopped her head back on the pillows stuffed behind her. Pillows Alex himself had positioned and plumped for her. The weekend had been going well. They’d arrived at Hinsdale Inn without incident even though the roads were snowy. Lily and Rick Stannard who owned the inn had been more than welcoming, and Alex had been super patient as he’d taught Dayna the basics of skiing. He’d mentioned many principles of physics in his instruction, but that was how Alex explained the world. Through science. He made sure she understood though before releasing her on the mountain. Everything had been great.

Until Dayna’s feet got all tangled up with her skis and her left ankle had not emerged victorious. Physics was no friend of hers. The pain had sucked as had the emergency room visit.

Alex carrying her down the mountain, however, had not sucked. His muscled arms were strong, his hard body warm, and the up close view of that stubble was killer. Was he giving off a new pheromone or something? Had he always been this hot? Why was she only noticing over this last month that Alex Simmons could, in fact, be The One?

He’d always been there for her. When her father beat her mother and then went looking for his next victim, Alex, who had lived next door, had opened his bedroom window and let her climb in. He’d assured her she was safe. He’d promised to protect her. He’d distracted her with comic books, video games and baseball cards—all the things a boy considered treasures. He’d shared them with her without a second thought. He’d stayed awake until she fell asleep under his Scooby Doo sleeping bag he’d set up on the small couch in his bedroom for her. He’d brought her food. Mostly Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups, because let’s face it, everything was better with Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups.

They’d been friends all through school, college included, and when he’d landed a job as an aerospace engineer, she’d figured he’d leave Boston far behind.

But the genius hadn’t.

He’d stuck around. “I can rocket science anywhere, Dayna. Why not here? This is home.”

Boston was home. Maybe there were other things that made the city home too. Dayna didn’t know for sure, so they’d just continued being best friends. She asked him about rocket sciencing and he asked her about architecting. They talked, chilled, best friended. Just like always. They dated other people then immediately texted each other to point out the inadequacies of the potentials. These conversations usually ended in complete hysterics and one of them suggesting meeting up at The Clumsy Grasshopper.

Bottom line? Dayna preferred Alex’s company over anyone else’s.

Clearly he didn’t feel the same way. Or maybe her breath had been rancid when she’d pointed out the mistletoe hanging over the bed and smashed her mouth against his in possibly her most impulsive move ever.

She cupped her hands over her mouth and breathed out a puff of air. After inhaling deeply, her final assessment was that no, her breath wasn’t rancid. Nonetheless, she was alone in her room. Alex had left. She didn’t know if he would return. Oh, God, what if he didn’t return?

He did kiss me back though.

There was that. He had every chance to push her away before their lips locked. He could have said, “I’d rather you didn’t kiss me, Dayna.” He’d had time to slip off her bed and get out of range.

But he hadn’t.

His warm lips had softened against hers, that stubble scraping pleasantly against her skin. He’d smelled like fresh winter air and Christmas magic. The red and black checkered flannel shirt he wore had been soft beneath her hands as she’d gripped his broad shoulders. He’d opened his mouth when her tongue sought entrance. He’d even hooked his big, calloused man hand on the back of her neck. He’d moaned. She was certain of it.

Then he’d ripped his mouth free of hers and darted for the door like a spooked animal.

Dayna looked up at the mistletoe still hanging from the canopy of the four-poster log bed. It looked so harmless, but it had the ability to ruin everything. 

Tune in tomorrow for Chapter Two!

Want more holiday fun? Visit my website to read More Than Biscotti, a short Christmas novella, or Midnight Mistletoe, another short holiday novella, for FREE! Just scroll down to the bottom of the "Books" page.

Toodles,
Chris
www.christinedepetrillo.weebly.com