The Broody Brit: For Christmas ( A Hot Single Father Second Chance Romance) (A Holiday Springs novel)

by MJ Fields

  “Tuesday, you’ll nurse a hangover, sleep the day away, then spit shine your aunt and uncle’s entire house, including that bitch of a cousin’s room, and finally,” she sighs in mock exasperation, “retire to your room, slash Gloria’s sewing—”

  “Knitting,” I correct her.

  She literally growls before continuing, “Okay, Cinderella.”

  “Aunt Gloria is so far from an evil stepmother, she’s—”

  “Sweet as pie,” she says in that fake as hell voice she uses. “But she cursed that cousin of yours by naming her after Nellie Oleson from the Laura Ingalls Wilder books.”

  “Grams says Nellie’s been stopping in more since I came back, so maybe—”

  “Buttering her up so they don’t give you the whole damn shop?”

  “I don’t want the store. I want—”

  “The Bad Apple.”

  “The Big Apple,” I correct, looking down at my phone, closing out Facebook and opening IG.

  “What are you doing?”

  Jesus, like seriously, she must be psychic.

  “Nothing.”

  “Same thing my boys said this weekend when I caught them being quiet for ten minutes. You know what those little shits did?”

  “What?” I stare at the Instagram stories, scrolling through Townes’s friends’ stories, and hoping to catch one of them posting pics from their weekend.

  “They caught the cat on fire.”

  “Well, that’s nice.”

  She yells, “Nikki!” I jump, and my phone goes flying across the Jeep to the passenger seat.

  “What!”

  “Get off that devil app.”

  “I was—”

  “I told you they caught the cat on fire, and you said that’s nice!”

  “So!”

  “We don’t even have a cat!”

  “Sorry, I’m sorry I’m just—”

  “Go do your Monday thing, alone. We’ll chat tomorrow over coffee.”

  “Shoot, Nellie asked me to cover her morning shift.”

  “Then Wednesday, ladies’ night, and we’ll chat about the date I have set up for you this weekend.”

  I’ve avoided the local bar because I have no desire to run into the men Jenny has set me up with.

  “Oh, hell no.”

  “You’ll do it for me. Once the snow starts really flying, I won’t get a girls’ night out for months.”

  “Then no more date talk.”

  She says nothing.

  “Jenny, I told you no more after the last several catastrophes.”

  “I’ve only delivered what you said you wanted...”

  “Seriously, Jenny, I said blue-collared and calloused hands, but I don’t think it’s too much to ask that those collars and hands be clean for God’s sake.”

  “And none of them thought it was too much to ask that you stayed off your phone.”

  “I’m just not ready,” I admit, reaching over and grabbing my phone off the seat.

  “Good, then ladies’ night will be just that, us ladies.”

  I grumble, “Fine,” putting the Jeep in drive.

  “Love you, babe, see you Wednesday!”

  “Yahoo.” I try to sound excited, but the word falls flat.

  She laughs and ends the call.

  Tuesday

  By this afternoon, my lonely Monday hangover had subsided. However, I totally binged on social media, watching story after story on Instagram of yet another bro-cation that gave me a worse headache than the bottle of wine.

  And now, Nellie, who was supposed to be back over an hour and a half ago, is still not here. I look up at the analog clock framed in red and white candy cane colors and candy cane-shaped clock hands that have been in the shop since I can remember, and it reads two-fifty p.m.

  The afterschool rush is coming, and Nellie is late. I cringe, hating the fact that I may have no choice but to face them, alone, in ten minutes. And my stomach? It’s flipping, knowing hot, rich, British daddy and the adorable little thief come in every single day at two fifty-five, presumably right after school closes. It’s been like clockwork over the past two weeks, and I’m here... alone, unable to hide without Nellie coming in on time.

  Once I caught onto their schedule, I realized I could easily sneak into the back. Nellie loves taking care of them anyway. And once they leave, I skip out the door. Without Nellie, I’ll be stuck handling them. God, I wish I could run into the back and lock myself up. I guess that tough girl, running on anger fumes, is slowly disappearing.

  And yet, hot rich British daddy is another thing messing with my head, regardless of my avoidance. I despise wealthy arrogant assholes, but he’s interrupting my dreams. I’ve never had dirty, no, filthy dreams about a man in my entire life. But in last night’s episode of Nikki the Naughty Christmas Elf, I was bent over his knee, receiving a spanking. I shiver with the thought.

  I woke up wondering if it was guilt for being harsh with his son, or maybe the fact that it’s been months since I’ve had any sort of sex, like any, not even with myself.

  Face in my hands, I groan. My pity/self-humiliation party is interrupted by the jingling bells hanging from the door.

  “My manicure took longer than I expected,” Nellie huffs. “Apparently, no one can find reliable help nowadays.”

  Pot, meet Kettle, I think as I slide off the stool. Five minutes until hot rich British daddy comes in.

  Dismissively, she waves a hand in the air. “You can go.”

  I’m half a breath from finally telling her she can stop being a bitch any day now when the bells ring again. I squat down behind the register, quickly pretending as if I’d clumsily dropped something on the floor. To say I am relieved when I hear female voices would be an understatement.

  Standing up, I smile at Nellie. “Well, have a good afternoon.”

  She looks at me with borderline disgust. “B, bye.”

  Bitch, I think as I look toward the front windows and see them begin to walk in.

  I turn and hurry to the back, just in time. “Need the bathroom,” I quickly call out.

  Rule Number Four

  Adult games are only fun in the bedroom

  Raff

  “Dad, come on.” Nathaniel tugs on my hand. I love the fact that he occasionally still holds my hand while we walk down the street, making it feel like the six years since Hope passed hasn’t flown by in almost a blur.

  “I’m quite certain that the Sweet Spot will not be closing the doors before we get there, Nathaniel. Their hours have been the same since I first visited when you were still in your mum’s belly.”

  He looks back at me. “How big was her belly again?”

  I answer the same as I always do. “The size of the sun.”

  “Which is how you knew I was a boy.” He grins.

  I nod. “Your mum always gave me exactly what I wanted.”

  “She’s the best,” he states as he continues briskly walking toward the store.

  “That she is.”

  “I bet you can find another one, almost just like her.”

  Last year’s wish was that I dated more so I could find someone to love so that he could spend more time with his friends. I hadn’t known he was carrying the burden of responsibility for my happiness.

  That was when Faith began insisting he stay with her at least every other weekend if he wasn’t with one of his buddies. It wasn’t necessary, but it was good for both of us, I assume.

  Nathaniel knows I date. On numerous occasions, he’s asked me to meet the women I’ve seen, and I’m always honest with him. I’ve met some nice women, but anyone he meets will have to be quite special, and thus far, no one has been special enough.

  He tugs at my hand again. “Come on.”

  Once we get there, he flings open the door to the Sweet Spot, and I watch a flash of auburn waves ducking into the back.

  I can’t help but smirk, knowing damn well that the past two weeks after school, when we stop for Nathaniel’s after-school treat
, it makes her incredibly uncomfortable. I’ve been watching her run into the back like her arse is on fire for two bloody weeks.

  It shouldn’t rile me up, but it does.

  Every. Fucking. Time.

  Nellie smiles at me, her grin ear to ear. “Hey, Nate!” she exclaims, her eyes on me.

  “Hi, Miss Nellie.” I rub Nathaniel’s back, thankful he’s so polite.

  She walks close to us, bending down with her hands on her knees. “Halloween is coming. We’re hosting our first annual caramel apple contest this year. Are you excited?”

  He nods.

  “Do you know what you’re dressing up as this year?”

  He looks up at me and grins, then back at her. “It’s a surprise.”

  “I’m telling you, I could totally match up with you and your father.” She gives me a slow wink, the kind that is supposed to look sexy, but after all these years, it merely looks desperate. “He’s full of surprises.”

  From the corner of my eye, I see another flash of red hair pass from one side of the back kitchen to the other.

  Nathaniel finally chooses his snack. I try to delay leaving by looking at some new decoration in the front, but Red stays in the back. Again. Finally, we leave.

  “Soccer ends in two days, Dad, then basketball starts. Are you sure you don’t mind if I play, even though you’re not coaching?” Nathaniel spits his toothpaste into the sink and continues brushing.

  “As long as you don’t mind me attending every game and being one of those parents who yells from the bleachers.”

  He gives me a side-eye, and I have to hold back a laugh.

  He spits again. “You’d never do that.”

  “I’ll attempt to hide my extreme enthusiasm for basketball, however, expect a full performance report at the end of the game.”

  He grins.

  “Finish brushing. I’ll meet you out there with a brand-new book.”

  “Can’t we just start over with—”

  Walking out, I call over my shoulder, “Not going to happen, Nathaniel. You have nearly memorized the entire series.”

  “Have not,” he calls after me.

  Rule Number Five

  Never look back, always look ahead.

  Nikki

  The air is crisp, as expected for this time of year. Hell, we’ve already had our first dusting of snow, and thankfully it’s held off since. I’m hoping for all the parents and the kids in the area’s sake that the weather holds off until the last day of soccer, in two days, and past Halloween. Some children are still playing in the street, riding bikes, and racing, even though it’s getting dark. Their faces are red from exertion but sparked with happiness. I haven’t seen kids playing like this in years. They’re...free. No city bustle stopping them from playing, or constant noise from traffic.

  I walk the few blocks from my aunt and uncle’s home, gripping the cell phone in my hand like a weapon, and cut through old Mr. Rooni’s yard like I’ve done thousands of times. Pushing through the fat green bushes, they are thornier than I remember. A stick pricks my side. Ouch.

  I’m meeting Jenny at Blizzards Bar, and my hands are nearly freezing. I didn’t even think to bring my gloves. I stuff my cell back in my purse, wishing I could break the thing. Blowing into my hands to warm them, I have to consciously stop myself from reaching back into my purse and grabbing it again.

  Scrolling on Instagram is my very own personal torture, and as much as I want to, I can’t seem to put it on pause. Turns out that days after I left the life I thought would be mine forever, Townes, the man I thought would be my prince, has done nothing but live his best bachelor life. This week, he’s on a trip with his friends to Miami. The One Hotel, to be exact. And while Townes himself barely posts on social media, the friends in his social circle are all about the ‘sharing life.’ And by sharing, I mean telling the world how their lives are better than everyone else’s. By default, and in comparison, my life looks like shit, which makes moving on so much harder.

  That jet they took to Miami? Private.

  The flights I will be taking from here on out? Commercial, if I can even afford to travel again.

  Lodgings? King-sized beds in the presidential suite, complete with balconies facing the ocean.

  The room I’ll be sleeping in? My old bedroom in my aunt’s home, last painted cotton candy pink circa 1995.

  The food they’re eating? Crisp and cold Caesar salads with roasted shrimp.

  The food I’m eating? Homemade chicken sandwich on Wonder bread with mayo and caramels coated in dark chocolate with a hint of the season, pumpkin.

  What are they drinking? Ice cold rose wine.

  And me? Tap water, no ice.

  They’re at the hottest clubs in Miami and New York, and I’m freezing my ass off standing in front of the old haunt of Holiday Springs, Blizzards Bar.

  God, I don’t want to walk in.

  I exhale, knowing I have to. I promised Jenny, who stopped into the store today while I was stretching taffy in the back of the shop, silently raging. I’m annoyed at myself for missing Townes. And I hate myself for acting like a scared mouse every time the cute little boy and hot AF daddy come into the shop. Scurrying into the kitchen while listening to Nellie shamelessly flirt with BOTH the rich hot British daddy and the angelic little thief/boy ruffles my feathers. It’s not just her flirting, but my fear of this man. Why am I scared? I’m not sure. Oh, who am I kidding? I hate the fact that he’s rich, gorgeous, and clearly a great father. I’m also still embarrassed at the way I acted in front of the shop two weeks ago after my incident with his son.

  Once I start pitying myself, it all comes rushing back. Even coming home feels like a failure. I left here years ago without a backward glance, looking toward the bright lights and the big city, with nothing but a couple of thousand dollars I’d saved since I was old enough to work, and a dream of getting the hell out of here. Dreamed of finding a place where I truly belonged, with people who love me—not pity me for everything I had gone through.

  I worked my way through Cornell University and met Townes my senior year while waiting tables at the Lupfer Steakhouse. He was the handsome man in a suit, and I had stars in my eyes. It didn’t take long for him to convince me to date him. He was in graduate school, finishing up his master’s in business. We graduated at the same time, and he immediately offered me a job where I would use my degree in economics as his administrative assistant. Then we fell in love, or so I thought.

  New York City was always my dream, and up until a few months ago, I thought I had made it… until I realized that the comfortable bed I was sleeping on was filled with nothing more than vapor and lies.

  I pull up my big girl panties and open the door to the bar. Stepping inside, I expect maybe a bit of change. Instead, it’s like I’ve taken a time machine back to 2003. It even smells the same, like stale beer, cigarettes, and worn oiled leather.

  I scan the ‘ladies’ night’ crowd and see Jenny talking to a man who clearly has had too much to drink. She’s trying to be polite. I hurry toward her knowing she can’t continue to do so; it’s not in her to hold back for long.

  She sees me and jumps into my arms, her relief at finally having me here apparent. “Let’s go.” I barely spare the drunkard an ounce of attention as we walk away, arm in arm, to the end of the bar. We take two high-top seats beside each other and sigh our relief.

  “So glad you came! How are y—” She stops mid-sentence, her face crumpling with pity.

  Am I so obvious? And why is it that the moment someone I love speaks to me, I can no longer keep a front? I swallow hard.

  She shakes her head, rubbing my shoulder. “No. Please, don’t be sad. I know life sucks right now. It will get better.”

  I groan, putting my head in my hands and mumbling, “Fuck Instagram. And fuck my life.”

  “You need a sticker on the back of your phone that says: Social Media is Bad for my Mental Health. Seriously,” she scoots herself and her stool forward, “it could
help you. One of boy number two’s friends has that same sticker.” She smiles at me, and I wish I could smile back in earnest. Instead, I finally take off my coat, hanging it over the back of the stool, and placing my purse beside it, hoping it’s not too sticky.

  Jenny is a typical Holiday Springs citizen. Born and raised here, just like me. She spent four years at Binghamton University for college before returning home and marrying Bobby Baker, quarterback of our graduating classes champion football team and Jenny’s very own high school sweetheart. With two kids and a full-time job running the local flower shop, she’s always busy, but never too busy for me.

  Pulling out her phone, she shows me the sticker on Amazon. “See? Only $5.99.”

  “Maybe I should.” I glance at my purse, wondering if Townes or any of his friends have posted anything new since I last checked. I grab my phone and quickly check it out. Their nights never seem to end. There is always a dinner, a party, and then an afterparty. Hours later, cocktails at brunch. Suddenly, the sticker is looking quite necessary.

  Jenny grabs the phone from my hands.  “Are you in the mood to obsess and rant and then receive my unsolicited opinion and advice? Or are you ready to say, fuck that shit, it’s time to move on? Because frankly, I wouldn’t mind telling you how much I’ve always hated him and his world for you.”

  I pry my eyes away from my phone and look at her. “Maybe just for a minute…”

  “Good.” She snags my cell and plops it on the bar in front of me before turning fully in her barstool and looking me dead in the eyes. “Let’s take a walk down memory lane, shall we? Nothing like remembering the bad times to remind you how lucky you are to be out of that situation. Frankly, you could use a kick in the keister to get you going in the right direction.”

  “Well, it wasn’t all that bad.”