Be My Christmas Treat : A BWWM Christmas Romance

by Nia Arthurs

  A ring. A band. A quiet restaurant.

  With snow falling gently outside. I propose to Clark over a candle-lit dinner on the second anniversary of the day we met.

  She says yes and, in that moment, the happiness I feel eclipses every bad experience I’ve had on this holiday. It feels like a new chapter opening. A new door standing in front of me.

  I can’t wait to walk through it with the love of my life.

  “Tell me what you want,” I whisper to Clark in the middle of Maxine’s living room.

  Her sister is in the back changing the baby’s diaper while Moe and Tan are getting ready to leave for our ‘she said yes’ family dinner.

  “What I want?”

  “The wedding.” I kiss her cheek. “The honeymoon.” My lips slide down to her neck.

  She moans softly. “Yes.”

  “Tell me what you want and it’s yours.” I slip my hands over her thigh. Squeeze gently so she looks at me. My eyes turn firm. “I mean it. Don’t be shy. I promised you I would spoil you.”

  “And you’ve done more than enough,” she says, leaning forward to keep on kissing.

  I ease back. “Woman, don’t make me ask you twice.” I narrow my eyes. “Get the dress of your dreams. The venue you’ve always wanted. The—”

  “I have you,” Clark says, tugging on my tie and yanking me closer. “I need you.” Her eyes dip to my lips. “Be mine for the rest of my life. That’s what I want.”

  We neck on the couch until the kids return.

  That night and the next few weeks are filled with congratulations and inquiries about our wedding planning.

  Every major magazine wants an interview and though it annoys the hell out of me, Clark soaks it up.

  “It’s good for my business,” she says.

  “So you’re just using me?” I tease her, wrapping an arm over her shoulder as we pose for an obligatory engagement photoshoot for an international magazine.

  “Just like that,” the photographer calls out. “Love that chemistry. Clark, you’re sure this is your first time modeling?”

  I slant the camera a cocky grin. Clark looks absolutely gorgeous in a cream silk gown.

  Hell yeah.

  I hype her up myself, glad to see her being bolder, not only in her business but in life as well.

  After we’re done with the photoshoot, Will surprises me by stopping by.

  I give him a big hug. “It’s been a long time.”

  “You’ve turned into a fine young man, Mave.”

  “Thank you,” I say. Then I grin at Clark. “That’s the most he’s ever spoken to me.”

  “Oh, hush.” Clark swats at my shoulder.

  Will hands something to her. “This was to be delivered on your engagement. It took me a while to get here. Sorry it’s late.”

  “It’s for me?” Clark blinks in surprise.

  He nods.

  I crowd over her shoulder, my body stiffening when I recognize Gran’s handwriting on the envelope.

  Clark opens the folder. Chokes back a sob.

  “What is it?” I ask, concerned immediately.

  She turns it over. “It’s the family recipe for Leanne and Janet’s Christmas cookies.”

  My heart swells with pride.

  For a moment, it feels like mom and Gran are here with me.

  I wrap Clark in a hug and whisper, “Let’s put those cookies back on the menu.”

  Want to peek on Mave and Clark’s romance six years from now? Join my mailing list here for your exclusive bonus scene (and future sneak peeks, cover reveals and deals).

  Kayla and Brendon first met as a one-night stand that almost happened. If you’d like to read their full romance, you can grab Be My Always here.

  Kayla and Brendon represented The Make It Marriage crew in this holiday romance. I’m so glad they got to be there for Mave and (hopefully) find someone awesome for Maxine. I hope you feel the same! If you liked this book please leave a review now.

  Read on for an excerpt of Be My New Year’s Dream, Book 2 in the Make It Marriage Holiday series!

  Author’s Note

  Some stories are like pulling teeth. I’ll sit in front of the computer and beg my characters to speak to me (anyone, please. Just tell me what you want to do today!)

  That was not the case with Be My Christmas Treat. The moment I sat down, Mave popped up in my head and rumbled, “this is who I am. This is why I do what I do. Don’t mess this up, Nia.”

  Mave wasn’t the only one who did this. All the characters spoke to me (I swear I’m not crazy). It, honestly, felt like I was writing about a real family. Especially when it came to Clark and Maxine.

  It is so easy to stand on the peripherals of a situation, peer in and take note of all the red flags and warning signs as an outsider, but when you’re the one in the thick of it, it’s not that easy to be objective.

  Clark and Maxine walked away with different lessons from the example their parents’ marriage set for them. Even though they disagreed, they never stopped being there for each other.

  I hope that you can treasure your family as well, not only in the holiday season but in all the seasons. The people that are precious won’t be with us forever. Just ask Mave. That’s why we’ve got to spoil them and love them now so that we have no regrets.

  I hope you enjoyed Be My Christmas Treat. For access to Mave and Clark’s exclusive bonus scene (and future sneak peeks, cover reveals and deals), sign up to my newsletter here.

  Until the next whirlwind BWWM Romance.

  ~ Nia

  Be My New Year’s Dream

  SNEAK PEEK

  Sneak Peek! Be My New Year’s Dream Chapter One

  Lev

  Twelve Years Ago

  I stare at the romantic candlelit dinner, a wide grin pushing my cheeks under my eyes. It’s done. I just need Atlas to get here.

  Nerves tie a knot in my stomach. I inhale deeply. Stare at the view before me to quiet my mind.

  It’s a gorgeous day.

  Blue sky. Puffy clouds. Gorgeous sunset.

  No rain in sight.

  And that’s a freaking relief. The forecast warned they’d be a storm, but I couldn’t afford to put this off any longer.

  We’re graduating high school tomorrow.

  Mom’s shipping me off to my dad’s for the summer.

  This confession has to happen today.

  My eyes sweep the expanse of the rocky plateau. It’s a hideout just outside of town, and it’s my favorite place. I stumbled on it while running away from home.

  I’d spend hours exploring the caves, pretending I was Indiana Jones on a breathtaking adventure. I’d collect rocks from the base of the cliffs and store them in Mason jars that I put on the shelves in my room. I’d shout at the sky and pretend that it heard me.

  As I got older, I stopped running away from home, but I never stopped coming here. The view always filled me with peace. Reminded me that the world is bigger than my parent’s mansion. Than the fighting matches that happen whenever they’re in the same room together.

  I thought the divorce would end the war between them. That my mother would finally be happy.

  And she was for a while.

  Or she tried to be.

  When the weather got hot enough to scorch our backs, we would take long drives to the beach. She would dive into the ocean. Resurface with a sparkle in her blue eyes and a grin on her lips.

  We would sunbathe on blankets and stare at the clouds. Dig our fingers into the sand and talk about what we would do in this new phase of our lives. She wanted to paint again. Write songs. Maybe travel.

  I was thirteen.

  All I wanted to do was impress a girl at school.

  Life was sweet. Simple.

  But that was before. Before dad decided to date again. Before Mom became obsessed with the past and getting him back. Before my life turned into a tug-of-war with me being the rope.

  In just a few months, I watched my strong, brave mother deteriorate in
to an angry, bitter woman. I saw beer bottles in the pantry behind the sugar container. Vodka in her morning coffee. Prescription pills scattered next to an empty glass of wine.

  She said she was alright. She tried to smile like she meant it and laugh like she cared.

  But it was different.

  There were no more long drives. She couldn’t stay sober enough to get behind the wheel of a car. There was no painting except for the nights she’d toss wine on the couch and brush her fingers across it. No singing except for cursing up a storm as she burned a few more of dad’s photographs.

  Those brief happy days on the beach felt like another life.

  And I slowly morphed into another person.

  At fifteen, I had to cart my mother up the stairs because she’d pass out in the living room next to a bottle of whiskey. I learned to cook because she wouldn’t eat if I didn’t. I had to forge signatures. Make excuses. Scatter explanations like salt on old wounds.

  ‘Mom is sick.’

  ‘Mom is busy.’

  ‘Mom is mom.”

  I had to keep it all a secret because she swore it wasn’t a problem.

  ‘Relax, Levy. Mommy’s just dealing with something.’

  ‘I’m okay, Levy.’

  ‘Just pass me that beer and I’ll be good as new’.

  I kept it together, but inside, I was dying.

  And I was alone.

  Until her.

  Like an angel, Atlas appeared without warning. She poked a head of big, thick curls out of the cave that I called my refuge. She stared at me with chocolate eyes and glowing chocolate skin. She raised a fist and swore she knew karate as she told me not to get too close.

  In a moment, she stole my heart.

  I was popular at my private school. I had dated before. Girls who’d fry their natural curls. Cake their faces with makeup. Wear short skirts and bat their eyelashes at me because, for some reason, they were drawn to the guy who rarely smiled and insisted on being left alone.

  But I’d never met any girl like Atlas.

  She staked her claim over my favorite spot and I made room for her. Eventually, I found myself looking for her. Waiting for her. Wanting to talk to her.

  She was my age, but it didn’t seem like she attended school. She spoke in straightforward tones, unafraid of how the words came out or how harsh they sounded.

  She lacked pretension, elegance and everything I’d come to associate with the act my mother put on when people stopped by our house to visit.

  I tried everything I could think of to get close to her, but it seemed like Atlas only tolerated me.

  Until a few months ago.

  That night, she flung her arms around me and fell into my chest. Her tears soaked my cardigan and her dark fingers pulled the jacket like it was a life raft. Like she was drowning.

  She didn’t explain when I asked what was wrong.

  She just told me to hold her and so I did.

  The days that followed, Atlas became quiet and withdrawn. I learned to hug her without asking. To soothe her without words. To be there for her without knowing what had her so worried.

  She relied on me.

  And I fell deeper in love with her.

  Since that night, I’ve been holding the words in, too afraid that she’ll stop meeting me here if I tell her how I feel.

  But it’s time she learned the truth.

  My hands are shaking as I check my watch. Every day for a month, Atlas has been appearing at the cliff at precisely five o’clock.

  Any moment now, I’ll hear her footsteps.

  Adrenaline is turning me inside out. Restless energy fuels my veins when I should be dog-tired. It took me forever to lug the tables, chairs, and food out here. I made about a hundred trips.

  Five minutes crawl by.

  I frown. Check my watch again.

  She’s late.

  I pull out my phone and stare at the number Atlas gave me.

  “This is only for emergencies, Lev. Don’t you dare call this number unless it’s life and death or I’ll beat you to a pulp.”

  I’d been tempted to dial it over and over, but I haven’t yet. Atlas is good for the threat.

  I close my eyes. Try to memorize the speech I spent three days writing. Try to imagine what her response will be. This moment has been a dream of mine since the day we met. I’m just glad I’m about to get it off my chest.

  Ten minutes down.

  The ocean chews at the sun, dragging it to the depths.

  Dark clouds roll overhead.

  Thunder flashes ominously in the distance.

  Okay, Lev. Get yourself together. Call the damn number and check if Atlas is still coming.

  I suck in a deep breath. Slap my thumb on the button.

  A harried voice picks up on the fourth ring. “St. John’s Homeless Shelter. This is Ashley.”

  “Hi, Ashley. I’m looking for…” The words hit me one after another.

  Homeless.

  Shelter.

  My eyebrows arch. “What did you just say?”

  “St. John’s Homeless Shelter.” Her tone hardens. “Can I help you?”

  Shock chokes me. Keeps me silent.

  “Who is this?” Ashely snaps.

  “I-I think I might have the wrong number. I’m looking for Atlas but—”

  “Oh Atlas?” Ashley makes a popping sound like she’s chewing gum. “You don’t happen to be some guy named Lev, huh?”

  “Yeah. I’m Lev.” I tap my chest. Try to breathe properly while a million thoughts rush through my head.

  Atlas gave me a homeless shelter’s number. It could mean nothing. Maybe she just volunteers there and uses their phone instead of a cell. Maybe she’s playing a prank on me.

  But the excuse rings hollow.

  Unease wraps around my spine and pulls tight.

  “She had a note for you.” Rustling ensues in the background. I imagine Ashely tossing around old receipts, chocolate wrappers and documents with long, red claws.

  My breath thickens as I wait.

  It’s okay, Lev. Atlas will explain everything. Don’t freak out.

  “Here it is.” Ashely sighs.

  “What did she write?”

  “Thanks.”

  I blink. Grip the phone harder. “What?”

  “That’s all she wrote on here.” She pops her gum. “‘Tell Lev I said thank you for everything’.”

  “Is Atlas there?”

  “Um…”

  “Where is she?” I bark, hurrying down the cliff.

  There’s a long pause and the silence that grows between us is one of the most unnerving in my life. What the hell is going on?

  Ashely sighs. “I’m not supposed to give out client information.”

  I freeze, nearly skidding down the incline of the cliff. “C-client?”

  “It’s against the rules.”

  “She lived there? Atlas… lived in a homeless shelter?”

  “Kid—”

  “Please.” I hear the desperation creeping into my own voice. Panic lashes at me like the lightning bolts flashing in the sky. “I need to talk to her.

  “Atlas and her mom left early this morning. They didn’t tell anyone why or where they were going.”

  “No…”

  “I don’t know what her relationship was with you, but the fact that she left a note means you were something, a’ight? That’s more than the rest of us got. In cases like this, it’s best you move on and try to help someone else.”

  My heart drops down the cliff. Sinks to the ocean floor. Keeps going until it reaches the center of the earth. “What?”

  “I’m sorry. We’re really busy today. If that’s all—”

  “No, wait.”

  “What?”

  I lick my lips. The first drop of rain falls. “If she shows up again, can you give her my number?”

  “I already told you—”

  “Just in case.” I shake my head. “She might come back.”

  “Fine.
”

  I give her the information. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome, kid.”

  Click.

  I stumble back. Clutch a hand to my chest.

  Atlas was homeless.

  Atlas is gone.

  The two revelations run circles through my mind, both pummeling me for entirely different reasons.

  My knees lose strength.

  They sink into the rock. Into the dirt.

  Our conversation yesterday drifts back to me in frightening detail.

  “What would you do if you had a million dollars?” she asked, her head tucked close to mine.

  “I’d run away.”

  “Where?”

  “Somewhere far.” I rolled over. Staked my head on top of my palm. “I’d take you with me though.”

  “I don’t want to run away.”

  “No?”

  “I’m tired of running.” She sighed. “If I had a million dollars, I’d buy some land in the country. I’d build a house on it. I’d stay there forever.”

  “Forever?”

  “Yeah.” Her plump lips inched up at the corners. “If I had all the money in the world, all I’d want is a home.”

  Last night, I thought she was being figurative. Talking about settling down in one place instead of moving constantly from state to state as she had been.

  I had no idea she didn’t have a roof over her head. A bed of her own. A place to lay her head at night.

  “Atlas.” I hurry down the cliff, running until I get to my car.

  Dad bought me a brand-new Lexus for my seventeenth birthday. Mom almost threw a fit when I told her I wouldn’t accept it. That I wanted nothing from him. She screamed that I should be grateful he stilled wanted to be in my life.

  Eventually, I gave in. Accepted the keys. Tried to keep myself from driving dad’s gesture of goodwill off a cliff.

  I remember when I showed the vehicle to Atlas. She hopped in. Inspected the leather seats. Ran slender fingers over the dashboard. Draped her body over the backseat.

  She made me smile.

  I used to take Atlas driving in this.

  I taught her how to drive in this.

  A memory of her brown eyes gleaming and bright smile hits me right in the chest. The wind had torn through those unruly brown coils. Her dark fingers had hugged the steering wheel tight.