“What did they call their experiment again?”
“W.O.K.E. It stands for War on Kringle Experiment. It was sparked by a comment one of their professors made during a class at Goodville Community College. I guess this guy stated that the world had forgotten the true meaning of the holiday. He was giving extra credit to students who conducted an experiment on what happens when you strip away the commercialization of Christmas, like decorations, Santa Claus, and snowmen.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said. “How the hell did they get away with it?”
“They wore different costumes each time. Turns out that Oprah, Marilyn, Elvis, aliens, gypsies, and even Sasquatch were behind the thefts.”
“Oh my God, they’re evil geniuses.”
“Yeah, and lucky too since none of you are pressing charges now that your belongings have been returned.”
“It’s Christmas,” I said. “It’s no time for those kids to spend in jail. Besides, I think we proved just how wrong the nutty professor was. Our community was pissed about our memories and traditions being stolen from us, not commercialized symbols.”
“Good point,” Gabe said then reached into his back pocket. “I didn’t forget.” He dangled the candy cane-striped handcuffs from his fingers. “Wanna give these a try?”
“Yippee-ki-yay!”
Even though our babies turned one on December thirty-first and January first, we decided to officially celebrate the big day later in January when we could all be together. We had a private celebration with the grandparents on New Year’s Eve before they returned to Florida to put their houses on the market. As hectic as Christmas was, it felt great to ring in the new year quietly while our friends traveled or celebrated privately as we did. It was a moment of wonder and excitement over what the new year would bring, but also a little sadness that we couldn’t turn back time or hold onto that moment just a little longer. When the clock struck midnight, we kissed our sleeping babies on top of their soft heads before we tucked them into their separate beds. I adored our son and daughter, but I had some adult celebrating to do with their daddy.
Later, I held Josh tight against my chest after I loved him to within an inch of his life. He nuzzled his nose against my tattoo that matched the one on his chest. I couldn’t help but think about those empty branches just waiting for apples to be added. I had no idea how many more kids we would have, but I knew it was going to happen when the time was right.
“Give me at least another year,” Josh whispered. “Let Dylan and Destiny have two years with Papa and Daddy before they are asked to share.”
“Did I say something out loud?” I asked in confusion.
“Nah, I can just hear your gears grinding and took a wild stab in the dark. Lucky guess.” He placed a kiss over my heart then said, “Now go to sleep because our little munchkins will be getting up bright and early in the morning. They do not care that it’s a holiday and Papa wants his rest to cheer on another football team.” I couldn’t see his face, but I knew he was rolling his eyes.
“Are you making ribs, mashed potatoes, and sauerkraut?” I asked.
Josh snorted. “Always thinking about your stomach.”
“Or my cock.”
“It’s a tossup which comes first with you.”
It was my turn to snort. “Cock then food,” I told him. “You satisfied one and now I’m focusing on the other.”
“It’s New Year’s Day, Gabriel. Of course, I’m making ribs, mashed potatoes, and sauerkraut. It’s good luck. Now go to sleep.”
“Yes, dear.”
A few weeks later, I looked around the formal dining room that had been converted to birthday party central. There were balloons, streamers, and colorful banners everywhere the eye could see. “You do realize they’re only one year old, right?” I asked.
“Yes, but they’ll never be one again,” Josh answered.
“What time are the unicorns showing up?”
“Same time as the clowns, dear.”
“Snark ass,” I grumbled.
“Hey, you’re the one who picked this fight. I’m ending it. Quit busting my balls over the babies’ big day or I break out the big guns. You should be glad it’s too cold for that big blowup jumpy thing that’s all the rage or unicorn rides.”
“They’re strapped in and ready to go,” my mom said, encouraging us to bring their mini cakes over.
“I’m not ready for this,” Josh whispered.
“The cake mess? I thought you were looking forward to that?”
“No, I’m not ready for this moment to be over. It’s happened too fast, Gabe. I swear we just brought them home five minutes ago.”
“One breath, one step at a time,” I told him.
“Bring those cakes over here, boys. I’m not getting any younger,” Bertie said.
“Yeah, we want them to open their presents,” my dad said. “No one got arrested over this one.”
“Hold your unicorns; we’re coming,” Josh said. “Get your camera ready. You do photos and I’ll do video.”
Josh and I placed the mini cakes on their high chairs and we all began singing happy birthday to them. Dylan impatiently grabbed a fistful of cake while Destiny gingerly poked the icing before we finished the final chorus.
I think we snapped a hundred pictures and filmed every second of the cake massacre. Josh made everyone pose with the twins when they opened their gifts so we could put them in their scrapbook. The grandparents made sure that their present was opened last.
“What do you think it is?” Josh asked me. “They seem pretty excited about it.”
I just shrugged because I had no idea what was in the big box. “I guess we’re about to find out.”
My mom pulled off the lid in a dramatic ta-dah fashion, earning surprised looks from Dylan and Destiny.
“Just go with it, kids,” I said to our children.
“What’s in there, Dylan and Destiny?” Josh asked, sounding more excited than the kids.
Dylan pulled out a stuffed Minnie Mouse and Destiny pulled out a stuffed Mickey Mouse. Destiny took one look at the Minnie Mouse and tossed Mickey to the ground. She reached for Minnie, but Dylan turned his upper body and blocked her.
“No! No!” he said. It was his new favorite word, but we were just glad it wasn’t cockbadger.
“Uh oh,” I said. “I sense another fight is about to happen.”
“Not today,” Bertie told me. “Dylan and Destiny, there are more presents in the box.”
That settled them down temporarily as they reached into the box once more. They each pulled out a Mickey hat with names embroidered on them and kept pulling them out until there was one for each of the twins, both sets of grandparents, and Daddy and Papa.
“I think we’re going to Disney World!” Josh said excitedly.
The final picture of the party was the group of us wearing our hats and smiling for the camera. We set the kids down amongst their new things while we started picking up the wrapping paper mess that was scattered everywhere.
Destiny let out a battle cry worthy of Zena and grabbed the Minnie Mouse from Dylan.
“Fuh nug!” Dylan yelled at his sister.
“Dylan, no!” Josh and I both said at the same time. Our son looked at us like he couldn’t understand what the fuss was all about.
“Excuse us a second,” Gabe said, grabbing my hand and pulling me out of the room.
He pushed me into the library and we laughed our asses off. Once we gathered our composure, we returned to the dining room. As I passed Savage and Sassy’s fancy solarium, I said, “Dirty Bird!”
“Blow me!”
Damn, I had the best life.
The End!
Josh, Gabe, Destiny, and Dylan would like to wish you all a happy holiday! As a thank you for all the love you’ve shown them, Josh has decided to share a few recipes with his Dye Hard fans. We hope you enjoy them!
Josh’s Amazing as Fuck Zucchini Bread
This recipe makes two loa
ves.
3 cups of flour
1 and ½ cups of sugar
½ cup of brown sugar
1 cup of oil
3 eggs
1 teaspoon of baking soda
1 teaspoon of baking powder
1 teaspoon of salt
1 teaspoon of cinnamon
2 cups of shredded zucchini—Drain excess liquid, but do not pat completely dry. Trust me.
2 teaspoons of vanilla extract (I’ve also used almond extract)
Here’s what you do:
Mix all the ingredients together except the zucchini. It looks a little dry and you’re going to wonder why the fuck everyone loves my cooking and baking so much, but trust me. Add the zucchini in last and watch as the moisture gives this bread batter the perfect consistency. If you’re so inclined, you can add ¾ cup of nuts to the batter at this point. I’m a huge fun of nuts, but not in this bread recipe. You might like it though.
Grease and flour 2 loaf plans. Bake at 325 degrees for 50–60 minutes.
Gabe likes his slices thick, warm, and with a lot of butter.
Josh’s Perfect Pumpkin Pie
This recipe makes one deep dish pie. I double it for two. Please note: don’t even think about using the pumpkin pie spice that’s premixed. Hell-to-the-no! It is not the same and don’t let anyone tell you different! I see you eyeing the cloves and thinking you want to leave it out. Don’t fucking do it!
1½ cups pumpkin (small can)
1 small can of condensed milk
½ cup of granulated sugar
½ cup of light brown sugar
½ teaspoon salt
½ teaspoon ginger
½ teaspoon nutmeg
¼ teaspoon clove
1 teaspoon cinnamon
2 level tablespoons of flour
1 tablespoon of melted butter
2 eggs slightly beaten
1 cup of milk
Mix all of that amazingness up and pour it in a deep-dish pie crust. I buy them frozen. It saves time and energy. Yeah, Gabe knows. He’s kept my secret all this time.
Below is the critical part in making the pie. Don’t screw this part up! It’s one thing to leave out the butter, but fucking this step up will ruin the pie. Do you want to ruin the pie?
Bake at 400 degrees for 15 minutes
Reduce temperature to 300 and bake for an additional 45 minutes
If you get carried away with your filling, you may have to bake a while longer. If the center is as jiggly as your aunt Edna’s jowls, then you’ll need to bake it until the jiggling is gone. I check every two to five minutes.
Refrigerate until completely cool. Now, you can either buy that store-bought whipped crap or you can make my homemade cinnamon whipped cream. The recipe follows.
Josh’s Orgasmic Cinnamon Whipped Cream
Recipe yields 1½ to 2 cups
1 cup of heavy cream, chilled
¼ cup of confectioner’s sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
Pour the heavy cream into a large bowl (chilled works even better) and beat with an electric mixer until thick and frothy. Add the confectioners’ sugar, vanilla, and cinnamon, and beat until medium peaks form.
Scoop that shit on everything!
*You could always add a splash of cinnamon whiskey, bourbon, or a liqueur if you’re so inclined.
Josh’s Fucktastic Apple Pie—Boozy and Regular
Recipe makes one fucktastic pie.
Regular apple filling:
3 lbs of Granny Smith apples (usually 4 to 5 large apples works well) peeled and sliced thin
½ cup of sugar
3 tablespoons of flour
Pinch of salt
½ teaspoon of each of the following: cinnamon, ginger, and nutmeg (I add ¼ teaspoon of cloves also)
Squeeze of lemon
2 tablespoons of butter
Toss the ingredients together and pour into a prepared pie crust. I use a frozen deep-dish crust. Dot the top of the apples with 2 tablespoons of butter.
Pie Topping:
¾ cup of flour
¼ cup of granulated sugar
¼ cup brown sugar, packed
1/3 cup of butter or margarine, room temperature
Use a pastry blender or fork to mix flour, both sugars, and butter until coarsely crumbled. Sprinkle over the apples.
Bake at 375 degrees for 50 minutes.
Boozy Pie:
To get a boozy pie, simply soak the peeled and sliced apples in the liquor or your choice. Everything else is the same. I prefer to use ¼ to ½ of fireball whiskey then add water until the apples are covered. Let them sit an hour or so in the refrigerator, drain, and pat dry with a paper towel. You might have to add ½ tablespoon more of flour to offset the additional moisture in your apples from soaking them.
The rest of the ingredients and instructions are the same. Top with ice cream or whipped cream.
“Time to get up, sleepyhead,” Gabe whispered in my ear. I ignored him and burrowed deeper into the blankets. Gabe countered by trailing kisses down my neck. Then he sank his teeth into my shoulder, evoking a warm tingle that settled in my belly and spread outward like a starburst. “We have a big day planned.”
I blindly felt around the bed until my hand landed on its intended target. Squeezing Gabe’s dick through his denim, I said, “Big plans, indeed. I think you’re overdressed, though.”
My husband jerked out of my grasp and rolled off the bed. “Oh, no,” he said. “We’re not starting that now.”
Had Gabriel Roman-Wyatt just turned me down for sex? That broke through my sleep fog quicker than if he’d poured ice water over my head. I sat up and stared at him. “Oh my God. It’s happened.”
“What?” he asked, slowly backing away from the bed.
Throwing back the covers, I said, “You’ve lost that loving feeling.”
Gabe rolled his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Me? Ridiculous? As if. Dramatic, maybe. But never ridiculous.”
“Fine,” Gabe conceded with a wry grin as he continued inching away. Funny, funny man to think he could ever get away from me. “You’re being overly dramatic.”
“Overly?” I repeated. I didn’t care for his quantifier, but I swatted away the annoying thought like a gnat. I had more important things on my mind, so I stalked toward him, putting extra sway in my hips like he loved. I imagined myself gliding over the carpet like a majestic panther stalking his prey. Gabe, my prey, froze in place and stared at me in wide-eyed wonder. “You’ve never turned me down for sex before. Tell me the truth. Am I losing my…touch?”
I punctuated the question by placing my hands on my stomach, then slowly slid them upward like a lover’s caress. Gabe’s breathing intensified and his hot gaze followed my movement. I kept my eyes locked on his, watching every expression wash over his face. Yeah, I still had it. So, why was he in such a hurry to get out of bed? The answer came to me on my next step. I’d been so focused on seducing my husband I hadn’t noticed the stuffed Minnie Mouse on the floor until I tripped over it. I stumbled forward a few steps and landed in my husband’s arms.
“Steady there,” Gabe said, holding me close. “You and I both know you haven’t lost your touch. I always want you, but I refuse to follow through on the desire while our parents and children are waiting for us on the other side of the door. We have a breakfast date with Cinderella, remember?”
“I do now.”
Gabe chuckled, and the pleasant vibrations rolled through my body. “I let you sleep in as long as possible, but our parents won’t be able to hold the little blessings back for much longer.”
“Okay, but can we come back and take a nap afterward?” People had accused me of having an unlimited supply of energy, and I used to agree. A week at Disney with twin eighteen-month-old toddlers proved us all wrong.
Gabe ghosted his fingers over my spine, stopping at the top of my boxer shorts. His fingers flexed against my skin
, showing me how much he wanted to explore my body. “I have something even better planned for later today.”
“What?”
“It’s a surprise.” Gabe kissed my lips and released me. “Now, go get ready for your date with Cinderella.” He swatted me firmly on the ass, then headed to the door.
I heard the twins squealing happily as soon as their papa stepped into the living room of the hotel we’d called home this week. The grandparents had gone all out by renting a luxury suite at the Polynesian Resort that accommodated our large family. We even had our own concierge specialist who made us feel like royalty every day with special outings and celebrations. I mean, this was the life I was born to—
“Joshy,” my mom yelled through the closed door. “You’ll always be my little prince, but not even you should keep Cinderella waiting.”
“Coming,” I called out on my way to the bathroom.
At home, it took me a ridiculously long time to get ready for the day. I devoted a lot of energy—some would say too much—to pampering my skin, fussing with my hair, and choosing the perfect outfit. None of that mattered to me on vacation. I didn’t feel pressure to look perfect. I didn’t want my kids to look back at the photos and admire my wardrobe or hairstyle. I wanted them to notice the smile on my face and the happiness in my eyes. So, I used minimum products on my face and in my hair, tossed on a pair of shorts and a Mickey Mouse T-shirt, and went to claim my morning hugs from our babies.
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