Jingle Balls: A Holiday Romantic Comedy Anthology

by Dylann Crush

  Kimmy: Stefan Cane? For real? Why are you just telling me now that he’s there?

  Lucy wasn’t sure. Or maybe she was, but she didn’t want to admit to Kimmy that she’d been full on ogling him from afar all night. She told herself it was because you didn’t often see a hot London television producer in a sleepy village like Ash Wycombe, and that was at least half-true. Rumor had it Stefan and Lee Holland were scouting the derelict Fat Rabbit as the next location for their pub renovation reality show, Your Friendly Local. Everyone was talking about it. Well, everyone but Lucy because, sure, having the reality show film in Ash Wycombe could be “cool,” but the Fat Rabbit would put her pub, the Blue Dog, out of business. That wouldn’t be “cool” at all. Ash Wycombe wasn’t big enough to sustain two pubs. Hell, sometimes Lucy wondered if it was big enough to sustain one. Judging by the October ledger for the Blue Dog, maybe not.

  Lucy grimaced as the numbers ran through her head again. It had been a bad idea to do the books today knowing she was coming to the Jingle Ball tonight because it usually made her feel like shit, and today was no exception. Add in all the whispering and speculation tonight about Your Friendly Local and it was enough to send Lucy fleeing to the loo before she screamed. Or cried, which would be worse. The irony that Stefan was the one who caught her outside the bathroom door as she came careening out was the cherry on top of her shit sundae.

  And, okay, those muscular biceps and strong shoulders gently straining against his suit jacket were the other reason she’d been ogling Stefan all night. Add in that up close and personal his citrusy scent was damn distracting, and it was easy to see why he was the most eligible bachelor in the UK. But, hot or not, the sooner Stefan Cane left Ash Wycombe the better off they’d all be.

  Lucy’s phone buzzed again.

  Kimmy: Speaking of balls…do you remember the rumor about Stefan and that tiger tattoo on his thigh with the tail that supposedly wraps around his dick? Hell, forget TJ, your mission is to see that tiger in attack mode.

  Lucy snort-laughed as she typed: That rumor was started by the model he broke up with who’d been spotted scoping out engagement rings “just in case.” Camilla something or other? She might not be the best source.

  Kimmy: True, but I still think you should find out and let me know. I need to run. Left Alex sitting at the bar and she’ll kill me if I don’t come back soon. I’m going to check my schedule and pick a weekend to come visit you. Will let you know.

  Lucy put her phone face down on her red sequined dress with a sigh. Shit, shit, and double shit. When she’d pictured tonight, she thought she’d have a slice or two of overcooked turkey for dinner, drink a few cheap glasses of fizz, and remind everyone that the Blue Dog was still booking Christmas parties. Talking up the pub was the reason she’d decided to come to the first annual Jingle Ball in the first place. Yes, the ball was to benefit testicular cancer, and Lucy was all about a good cause, but her accounts needed a dash of Christmas cheer. As it was, the Blue Dog would be empty since most of the village was here, and she was paying staff, so she’d be in the red for tonight, too. She should have given her staff the night off and manned the bar herself. At least then she could have multitasked.

  Instead, she was tucked away in a small sitting room at Walker Hall, Eleanor Walker’s stately home, waiting for Stefan Cane. On the plus side, she wasn’t out there making small talk or trying to dance to ABBA’s greatest hits. On the minus side, she was wearing a red sequined dress that rode way too high up on her thighs and a strapless bra that pinched in all the wrong places. She’d have red marks on her boobs when she took it off, but it wasn’t like anyone was going to see them. She tried to imagine Stefan bending down to kiss the angry red marks away, but couldn’t even go there, it was so cringeworthy.

  “If he’s not here in the next five minutes, I’m leaving,” Lucy murmured out loud.

  She didn’t have to stay. But when Stefan steered her into the open door and sat her down, she’d winced when he touched her ankle and he told her to sit tight or she wouldn’t be able to walk on it. That was enough to convince her because the Blue Dog would be open for Sunday lunch tomorrow. She opened for Sunday lunch twice a month, and Lucy figured it would be a good idea to make one of those Sundays the day after the ball because who wanted to cook a roast dinner when they were hungover? No one, that’s who. Hopefully it would help recoup some of tonight’s losses, too. Which reminded her, the usual cleaning wouldn’t get done tonight, so she also had to go in early to scrub the loos.

  Christ on a bike. There were way too many loos in Lucy’s life. She wondered when the last time Stefan had cleaned a toilet. Judging by his social media, he spent his weeks working hard and his weekends playing harder. From ice bars in Iceland to raves in Ibiza – always with a gorgeous model or three draped on his arm – there were entire social media accounts dedicated to “sightings” of Stefan – his six-pack abs on display in tiny Speedos in the Canaries, that dark hair waving in the breeze on a beach in the South of France, even an up close and personal of his stubble-dotted jaw, a tumbler of whiskey at his lips. Unsurprisingly, Kimmy followed more than a few Stefan Cane fan accounts. Also, unsurprisingly, toilets did not figure heavily into the rotation.

  Lucy rolled her eyes. If she left out the part where the Fat Rabbit might put her pub out of business, this would make a funny story tomorrow while she and Charlotte, her chef, did lunch prep. Charlotte was the least tech-savvy person Lucy knew, but she’d bet a stack of Yorkshire puddings Charlotte knew Stefan Cane.

  Honestly, who didn’t know Stefan Cane?

  Lucy had just turned her phone back over when Stefan sauntered back into the room. His charcoal grey suit jacket set off deep blue eyes and his dark hair was tousled in a way that may or may not have been intentional. His trademark stubble dotted his chin, his lips were full, and his teeth toothpaste-commercial white. He grinned at her, holding a bag of ice in both hands like it held the Crown Jewels. It was the grin that distracted her. It was both lazy and wolfish, which should have been unattractive, but came across as damn sexy instead. It was the grin of a man who shamelessly used it to get a woman into bed, but sure as hell knew what to do with her once he had her there.

  No wonder when Stefan bent down in front of Lucy and wrapped the ice around her bare foot she forgot to protest.

  Or warn him that the minute the cold ice touched her bare skin, she was going to pass out.

  2

  Stefan

  Holy fuck.

  Stefan dropped the ice and fell to his knees. Usually when he was in this position, he knew the woman’s name and they were both wearing fewer clothes, but the way this woman’s eyes rolled back in her head and she went limp was some next-level shit.

  “Excuse me, miss? Ma’am?” Stefan jumped to his feet and leaned closer to her face. He’d barely looked at her when she’d crashed into him coming out of the loo, but now he noticed the sprinkling of freckles across her nose and cheeks, as well as those plush red lips and, damn, she was bloody gorgeous. Aside from that dress – which he had noticed when she crashed into him. The dress was hideous.

  Stefan believed only women of a certain age should wear sequins and they were women whose years of plush lips were well behind them. Although, the dress riding up on her toned thighs wasn’t the worst thing…

  But ogling an unconscious woman possibly was. Jesus.

  Stefan let out a long breath and reached out to touch the woman’s forehead when she jerked awake in front of him and sputtered, “What the hell are you doing?”

  “You passed out.” Stefan bent down again to grab the ice. “I brought the ice for your ankle and you passed out.”

  “No. Don’t touch me with that.” She jerked her leg away, wincing a little with the movement.

  “Sorry.” Stefan dropped the ice and put his hands up like she’d shot him.

  She squeezed her eyes shut. “Sorry. But really, don’t touch me with that. I have cold urticaria and I can’t put ice directly on my skin or I
pass out.”

  “You have what?” Stefan furrowed his brow. “What does that mean?”

  “It means if you put that ice on my ankle, I pass out again.” The woman gave Stefan a look that he decided not to try to interpret because he was pretty sure there was more than a bit of ‘are you fucking listening to me at all right now?’ in it. “Urticaria is a rare autoimmune disorder. Some people react so badly they can’t even go swimming in cold water. Mine is specific to ice or snow on my skin.”

  “Really?” Stefan wasn’t dense. It was just that he’d heard of a lot of weird shit working in television but had never heard of this.

  “Wouldn’t make it up. Trust me on that.”

  “Right, of course.” He pointed to her ankle. “So how do you handle something like this?”

  “Grin and bear it or, if it’s really bad, I have meds I can take that will allow me to ice an injury.” She smiled sheepishly. “I don’t have my pills with me, though. I wasn’t thinking I’d need them tonight.”

  Stefan’s job was problem solving and his mind searched for a solution. Technically, his job was producing Your Friendly Local with Lee Holland, but that came with a hell of a lot of fires to put out and Stefan was a damn good fire fighter.

  No planning permission for that outdoor beer garden? No problem. Put in a kid’s climbing frame and it became a play area with tables on the side for the parents to watch their precious tots.

  Bartender drinking the profits? Stage an intervention featuring his mum because TV audiences were suckers for family drama.

  Find out Lee’s lover from twenty years ago was offering him an amazing project on a silver platter?

  Well, frankly, that’s how they’d ended up in this little corner of the English countryside in the first place. Lee needed Stefan along for “moral support,” he’d said. Jane, Lee’s ex-lover, owned the Fat Rabbit, a former Michelin-star pub that she wanted to restore to its former glory. Left to his own devices, Lee would greenlight the project without a second thought – or a second of due diligence.

  Stefan was very good at due diligence and saying no came easy to him. It probably also helped that – unlike Lee – he wasn’t swayed by Jane or her pub. She was gorgeous in an Elizabeth Hurley kind of way and she seemed perfectly nice, but nice didn’t count for shit in business.

  “Hello? Excuse me? Stefan?” The woman looked up at him with a small smile.

  Stefan’s head jerked. “How do you know my name?”

  “Uh, because you’re Stefan Cane and I don’t live under a rock?”

  Right. Usually television producers were behind the scenes, but Stefan was in front of the camera a fair bit, which led to him being way more recognizable than the average producer. It probably didn’t help that he’d also developed this…persona…on social media, for better or worse. It had started innocently enough but had taken on a life of its own since he’d dated Camilla Thorpe last year. Or maybe it had changed when he broke up with Camilla last year. That had been a clusterfuck and a half.

  Stefan shook his head and looked back at the woman in front of him, fixing his gaze on her freckles again. They made her seem wholesome and innocent, which wasn’t his vibe at all, except he didn’t know anyone with freckles. At least not ones they let people see. “What’s your name?”

  “Lucy Maclaren. Like the car but, well, not.” Lucy smiled in a way that let Stefan know this was a well-worn joke with her. It was also kind of adorable. Usually Stefan didn’t have any patience for adorable. But he didn’t usually have a thing for freckles either, yet here they were.

  “Okay, Lucy Maclaren-like-the-car, what do we do about your ankle we can’t ice? We should probably see how it feels when you stand on it?” Problem-solving would get his head back on track.

  “Sure? I guess?” Lucy held out her hand and Stefan took it.

  It was cool and dry in his and her touch gave him a little jolt he’d been half-expecting. Judging by the blush that crept over Lucy’s cheeks, she felt it, too. Interesting…

  Maybe a weekend in the middle of nowhere wouldn’t be so bad after all with a girl like Lucy around.

  Lucy pushed herself to her feet and Stefan peered down at her. “Are you okay? How does it feel?”

  “Like I slipped in the mud, but I’m sure it will be fine in a few minutes.”

  Mud? Stefan couldn’t remember the last time he even saw mud, never mind slipped in it. The dry city streets of London were way more his speed. He avoided wrinkling his nose in distaste, but barely.

  Aloud, he said, “Do you usually slip in the mud?”

  “I mean, doesn’t everybody?” Lucy shrugged and took a tentative step. She wasn’t looking at him when she asked, “Is it true you’re in Ash Wycombe because you’re scouting out the Fat Rabbit for Your Friendly Local?”

  “I can’t tell you or I’d have to kill you.” Whoa. Stefan wasn’t expecting that and grinned to cover up his surprise. Obviously him and Lee being in Ash Wycombe was no secret – they were at the Jingle Ball because Jane insisted they come to “get a feel for things” – but he didn’t think anyone knew about the Fat Rabbit except Lee, himself, and Jane. He bowed slightly and continued, “Murder isn’t really my forte, though, I have to be honest.”

  “Well, killing me would be a ballsy choice.” Lucy gave him a sardonic smile. “Get it? Jingle Ball? Ballsy.”

  Stefan laughed, as much from the blush that deepened on Lucy’s cheeks as she said that as anything. When was the last time he’d been with a woman who blushed? Sixth Form, maybe? Jesus. He knew he was jaded, but in the span of the last ten minutes, Lucy had shown him just how jaded he really was.

  “I’d rather dance with you than kill you,” said Stefan. Yet another surprise, but this time because it was true. Stefan was imagining Lucy in his arms and he realized he was holding his breath a little, hoping she’d say yes.

  “Same.” Lucy nodded once. “Alright, then. Let’s dance.”

  Stefan extended his elbow for Lucy to take, but she ignored it, even though she was limping a little and clearly favored her uninjured leg. He thought about insisting, but Lucy didn’t seem like she’d appreciate that. Besides, following behind her gave him a chance to ogle because Stefan was an ass man through and through. The red sequins were still a firm no, but the way they caught the light as she moved made them – and Lucy - even more appealing.

  3

  Lucy

  Oh my God. She’d agreed to dance with the enemy. And ballsy? Really?

  Kimmy’s text replayed in Lucy’s head about Stefan’s tattoo and it was all she could do not to blurt that out too. Thank God for the Christmas decorations. They gave her something to look at and pretend to be preoccupied by – three Christmas trees, a couple of life-size toy Nutcrackers, and fairy lights intertwined with red velvet bows strung along the crown molding that must have taken hours to hang. Lucy wondered if the bows were up specifically for the ball, but somehow, she didn’t think so. Eleanor seemed like the type who’d be over the top with her Christmas decs, judging by the little Lucy had seen of the rest of the house. Although, if Lucy lived in a house big enough to host a village ball, maybe she’d be over the top with her décor, too.

  Lucy took one more glance at the bows – was that mistletoe woven in with them, too? – then focused on the room where the ball was taking place. The polished hardwood floor gleamed, although it was easy to imagine plush throw rugs covering it. Especially with the big stone fireplace at the far end. Lucy wondered what the room had been before it was transformed for the ball. It felt too big to be a sitting room or dining room. Maybe it really was just a ballroom? It was easily accessible from the foyer, and there was even a small alcove beside it for a coat check.

  Lucy’s escape to a random sitting room probably wasn’t uncommon and she remembered how impersonal that seemed. It was definitely set up for public consumption. Lucy couldn’t even remember seeing a family photograph anywhere. God, it would be weird to live in a place like this.

  Stefan
’s hand on the small of her back brought Lucy back to the moment. To be honest, she was shocked she’d ever left it. Not only was she with Stefan Cane himself, but the prospect of dancing with the enemy should have consumed her. At least the music was loud, which was a blessing. Maybe they wouldn’t have to talk and Lucy could escape like she’d wanted to all along.

  It was either that or she’d end up embarrassing herself and blushing so red people wouldn’t be able to tell where her dress ended and her body began. There would be no in between, so minimizing her time with Stefan was definitely for the best.

  But just as they rejoined the ball, the music stopped and Eleanor Walker took the stage. Eleanor’s silver hair was in a chic updo, a burgundy ribbon wrapped around it that matched her form-fitting gown. She looked bloody fantastic. Lucy had heard some whispers tonight about Eleanor’s gown being a bit over the top, but as the hostess and the reason there was a Jingle Ball in the first place, she was entitled. Her husband had died from testicular cancer three years ago and tonight’s ball was as much a tribute to him as anything.

  Eleanor started off by thanking everyone for coming and then opened her fist to reveal what looked like a small upside-down heart. She held it up, swinging it by its ribbon from her index finger and said, “You all should have a bau-ball in your goody bag, among a few other things. I just want to point it out in case anyone was wondering if we got a discount on out-of-date Valentine’s Day decs. The Jingle Ball is to benefit testicular cancer and we thought it would be appropriate to include Santa’s sack.”

  The room erupted into laughter and Eleanor smiled, saying, “Thank you all again for coming. The bar will be open until midnight and dancing will continue until one. Have a lovely evening, everyone.”

  The music started up again and couples started shuffling towards the dance floor. Stefan’s hand rested on Lucy’s lower back again as he took a step forward. His hand was warm through the thin fabric of her dress and Lucy tried to ignore it because if she thought about it too much she’d hyperventilate. Besides, it seemed inevitable now that they were going to attempt a dance, and Stefan seemed like the kind of guy who knew how to do it properly, which could possibly make her hyperventilate more. Lucy could move her hips in time with the music well enough, but she wouldn’t call it dancing. Fuckity, fuck, fuck, fuck. Why wasn’t she at the Blue Dog instead of the Jingle Ball again?