Table of Contents
Blurb
Acknowledgments
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
About the Author
By R.L. Merrill
Visit Dreamspinner Press
Copyright
A Peace Offering
By R.L. Merrill
Dover Billings has sold his handcrafted wares at the Dickens Fair in San Francisco for over twenty years. He’s not as outgoing as the other artisans at this yearly Victorian celebration and prefers to observe the festivities from the shadows. That is until a new corset maker moves into the booth next door and unsettles his carefully constructed life. Landry Malcolm is handsome, well dressed, and the life of the party… one Dover wants no part of. Too bad he’s attracted to his confident younger rival.
Landry desperately wishes to get through to the beautiful artist next door, but every move he makes seems to be the wrong one, until a drunken kiss breaks through Dover’s serious demeanor. Miscommunications plague any attempts to find common ground, though, leaving Landry wondering what—if anything—he can do to make things right. Will a custom-made peace offering open the door to friendship, cooperation… and maybe more?
Acknowledgments
THANK YOU to all of the authors who have created stories for the yearly Dreamspinner Advent collection. For someone who is not a huge fan of Christmas, I find I can always get lost in your stories and find the hope I need to get me through the season. I’m grateful to be given the opportunity to join you this year.
To Jennifer, Rachel, and all of the Dickens cast, many thanks. Year after year you’ve created a wonderful experience for families in Northern California. This story is a love letter to your hard work and dedication to your craft. Happy Christmas!
To my editor, Liz, thank you for supporting me as I attempted to write this story. I’m grateful for all of the support I’ve received from Dreamspinner!
To Amy Lane… the sneak peek at your Fiction Haiku method really helped me craft the perfect story for this year’s Advent theme of Homemade for the Holidays! I appreciate you sharing your wisdom with me and I’m so glad we got to hang out in New Orleans.
To Marielle, thank you for being my accountability buddy this spring as I worked frantically to finish all the stories I’d committed to, including this one. I hope we continue to cheer each other on for many WIPs to come!
To Emz, my sister in horror! Thank you so much for reading for me and for always reaching out. Someday we’re going to collaborate and it will be epic!
To Vanessa, my longtime pal, thank you for entrusting your incredible home to me and the kids so I would have plenty of time and inspiration to craft this tale. I’m so grateful our friendship has endured the trials and tribulations of life and that we’re growing oldish together. Not old, though. Never.
And to my husband, who is quite the craftsman, thank you so much for all of the beautiful things you’ve created. I hope someday you will have all the time you want to make your pens, paint your figures, or build kits with our son. You deserve it after how much you’ve supported me. I love you.
Chapter One
December 2018
Dover
“AND THAT’S a wrap! Happy Christmas, everybody!”
Champagne bottles popped among whoops and hollers from the booth next to Dover Billings. He was too tired to do more than roll his eyes. The Great Dickens Christmas Fair and Victorian Holiday Party had lasted five weekends this year, and Dover was wrecked. Bah humbug, for real.
The new guy with all the fancy corsets next door had driven him crazy the entire run of the fair. Dover had suffered from endless bawdy tunes, the wall being constantly bumped by the new guy’s rowdy friends, and several times his drunken patrons had even knocked over one of Dover’s displays, breaking two of his acrylic pens and a magnifying glass.
“Hey, Dover, did you hear old man Williams is retiring? You know what that means?”
Miranda Prasad, Dover’s business partner, was always in the know when it came to fair gossip. He usually tried to stay out of it, but this information could benefit him.
“It means I will be requesting his spot as soon as proposals open,” Dover said. “It also means I’ll be asking not to be next door to the new guy and his shit show.”
“You mean Landry? He’s hilarious. Last weekend I had him fit me for a new corset. I can’t wait to wear it next year.”
Dover didn’t even have the energy to roll his eyes once more. Miranda was married to Darwish, Dover’s best friend and the bass player for their prog rock cover band, Sense of Measure. She’d been working with him at the San Francisco Dickens Fair for the past eight years, and together they sold his acrylic and wood pen sets and other implements as well as her Victorian-inspired jewelry using antique keys and other recycled items. “I can’t believe you went over there. Isn’t his group a little… over-the-top?”
Miranda elbowed him. “Just because they like to sing and dance and prance around in their undergarments doesn’t mean they’re over-the-top. You’re a bit of a prude, Dover Billings.”
He supposed she was right. Fair was filled with the kinds of people he’d stayed away from in school: the drama kids who turned everything into a performance. Being the son of the drama teacher meant he got enough of that at home. While he loved the stagecraft side of the theater, he shied away from acting. Dover ended up at Dickens because his father had been friends with the family who’d run the event since the 1970s. Dad had been an actor, painter, craftsman, and lover of all the arts. Luckily those genes were passed down, and the two of them bonded over their creations. They’d sold their wares together for years until his father retired and moved to the desert with Dover’s stepmother.
“Hey, you guys want some champagne?”
There he was: the object of Dover’s frustration, in all his glory. Landry Malcolm was a golden boy. A successful tailor and costumer, the guy worked the Dickens Fair because it was a fun way to hang out with friends through the holidays, unlike most of the vendors who needed to make serious money during the holidays to support their art the rest of the year.
“No, thank—”
“We’d love some,” Miranda cut in. She kicked Dover behind the table before coming around to the front to accept two glasses of champagne.
“I figured we could all use a glass after this hellacious schedule. It’s been a blast, but whoo, I cannot wait to sit in front of my TV for a week and decompress.”
The guy’s smile even sparkled, if that were a thing. He’d dressed in the finest period wear throughout the show, changing into different outfits sometimes even twice or three times a day. At this moment his shirt and vest were unbuttoned, showing off his tanned chest. Landry was younger than Dover, was somewhere around six feet tall, and was built like an Olympic swimmer. His blond hair was just below his jaw, and he wore his sideburns long during fair season. He looked like he’d stepped off a movie set, he was that gorgeous.
“I can’t wait to see my corset.” Miranda downed the last of her champagne and handed the glass back to Landry.
“Excellent. I should have it ready for you in a couple of weeks? Maybe? I’ll call you when it’s ready for a fitting. I’m pulling out all the stops on this one. You’ll be even more smashing than usual, milady.” He executed a full gentleman’s bow, and Dover wanted to snort. Why did he hav
e to be so extra? Why do I keep staring at him like a starving man?
Miranda squealed and hugged Landry, giving him a kiss on the cheek.
Dover turned away and made a face. All this fuss over a freakin’ corset was beyond him.
“You know, I make men’s corsets as well, in case you’re ever in the market. I’d love to fit you for one.”
Dover turned sharply to look at Landry. Was he flirting?
Landry had one eyebrow raised as he waited for an answer.
“I’m fine.” Dover cleared his throat and looked down at his shabby vestments. He’d worn the same outfit for the past ten years. It was a bit ratty, sure, but he didn’t need fancy-pants coming in here telling him he needed to dress better. “I don’t like anything constricting.”
Landry seemed disappointed. “Fair enough. Let me know if you change your mind. I do my best to put comfort and fashion on the same level of importance. I’d think you’d want something flexible since you’re working—”
“I’m good,” Dover said. He handed back the glass he hadn’t sipped from. “And thanks, but I don’t—”
“I’ll have his, then,” Miranda said, taking the glass and downing its contents. “Thank you, Landry.” She slipped her arm in his and led him back toward his store. “I want to see what else you’ve got over there. I might want some of those stockings.”
Landry smiled at her, but he glanced back at Dover with a sad expression on his face.
“See you around, Dover.”
Dover waved to him, but something clenched in his chest. He hadn’t meant to be rude. Okay, he was often blunt, and a lot of people took it personally. It wasn’t his fault. He said what he meant and didn’t believe in sugarcoating things for people. Likely the reason why he was still single at thirty-eight years old.
He went to work closing up his booth, packing away his inventory that hadn’t sold, which thankfully wasn’t much. Being open five weekends netted him ample sales to cover his booth fee for this year, his warehouse rent for first quarter, and a little extra to stock up on supplies. He thought about Miranda’s gossip from earlier. If old man Williams wasn’t going to be back, Dover wanted that booth. He could bring in some of his larger pieces, maybe even his paintings, and perhaps experiment with his offerings. He did not want to be stuck in the corner next to the annoyingly attractive tailor for another season.
“Don’t be such a dick, Dover.”
“That’s right, dick. He’s so nice,” Miranda said, catching him talking to himself as she wandered back in. “Why don’t you like him?”
Dover shrugged. Because the truth was, he found him attractive, and Landry Malcolm was the kind of handsome distraction Dover didn’t need.
“He’s so nice. I wish you’d give him a chance.”
“He is nice. He’s young. I don’t know. It’s just… I don’t have anything in common with him.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Other than spending months together each year, celebrating your love of Victorian-inspired wares, your theater background—”
“I built sets for my dad—”
“Your obvious attraction.”
Dover blinked.
“You think I didn’t notice that while you were trying to appear annoyed at his antics, you couldn’t take your eyes off of him?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he lied.
Yes, Landry Malcolm was beautiful to look at. But beautiful men were just that: lovely to gaze at from afar. Not to let into your life.
Chapter Two
July 2019
Landry
LANDRY WAS experiencing a level-ten foodgasm over his chowder bread bowl from Sam’s Chowder truck as he walked back to his traveling costume shop when he spotted the last person on earth he thought he’d run into on a sunny day on the San Francisco Bay.
Dover Billings was the biggest mystery Landry had come across in a long time. The man was a quiet beauty. Long, dark brown curls with faint wisps of gray flowed down his narrow back. Dover was built on the slight side, but he reminded Landry of European nobility from ages ago with his aquiline nose and big blue eyes. His pale skin likely had more to do with remaining in his workshop most days rather than exposing himself to the sun, but it was probably for the best. Landry knew his dalliances in the sun would likely land him in the dermatologist’s chair for sun-damaged spot removals at a premature age. Twenty-seven wasn’t too young to be thinking of these things, and yet he still loved the beach.
He stood off to the side behind a rack of antique mirrors and watched as Dover smiled—he actually smiled—at a customer. Landry had admired his handiwork during the previous winter’s Dickens Fair, even sending his best friend, Gwen, over to purchase one of his fountain pens. He’d have gone himself, but he had a feeling something about him annoyed Dover. Every time he’d passed by and tried to make small talk, he got responses barely above a grumble.
Dover’s coworker, Miranda, was sweet. Landry had done a little digging with her to make sure he was barking up the right tree where Dover was concerned, which she confirmed. She’d added that Dover was shy and liked to keep to himself as an explanation for Dover’s standoffish behavior. Seemed like more than that to Landry, but for whatever reason, he couldn’t shake his fascination with the brooding artist. Landry didn’t want for the company of handsome older men, but this one was different. There was something soulful about him that drew Landry in.
The older woman who was at Dover’s booth continued speaking with Dover and even had him laughing now. And blushing! Landry couldn’t help himself; he had to move in closer to eavesdrop.
“I still remember the look on Darwish’s face when I told him his bowl cracked in the kiln. He was heartbroken. ‘No, Mrs. Ramirez! I can’t fail ceramics! My parents will kill me. They never wanted me to waste my time on art classes. Oh! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean your class.’ Always having to extract his foot from his mouth.”
Dover chuckled, his cheeks a lovely blush pink. “His parents still give him a hard time about taking art classes in high school, even after all these years. They blame me he didn’t go to Harvard and instead chose to waste his time at the Academy of Art.”
“But you both were so talented! Do you still paint?”
Dover shrugged. “Some. But turning wood and acrylics pays the bills, so I spend most of my time on the lathe.”
Dover spotted Landry out of the corner of his eye, and the easy way he was conversing with the older lady seemed to vanish.
“How’s your father? He was the best drama teacher we ever had. Sure was sad to see him go, but then he deserved a relaxing retirement more than anyone I knew.”
Landry hovered over the end of the table, running his fingers over the smooth finishes of the several styles of pens. It seemed that Dover made other things as well, such as letter openers, wine bottle stoppers, and even candle holders. Landry paused at the next display. It was a gorgeous wooden box created to look like an old-fashioned clock or radio, and the tag next to it said Bluetooth Speaker. How clever. Landry opened the latch, and inside, sure enough, was a small speaker.
“He’s good. He and my stepmom are settled down in Indio. They like the artist vibe down there. He’ll be up for Dickens, though.”
“Oh, I love the Dickens Fair.” The woman pressed a hand to her chest. “My wife and I used to go there every year until the boys got too old to be patient while we shopped. I loved all the period clothing they sold there.”
Dover nodded in Landry’s direction. “Landry here took over the corset-selling business this past year.”
The woman turned to gape at him, and he bowed with grand flourish.
“Landry Malcolm at your service, milady. The finest custom vestments in town.” He stood and smiled at Dover, who was still staring at him like he was the last person he’d expected to see. Maybe that wasn’t a bad thing? Landry hoped a change of scenery might give them a much-needed do-over.
“Pleased to meet you. Ramona Ramirez, art teacher
. I taught this young man all he knows about painting. Well, all he knew, what was it, twenty years ago?”
Dover smiled, but with less wattage than he’d had from afar, when he hadn’t known Landry was watching him. “Yes, ma’am. I graduated twenty years ago.”
“You paint, too?” Landry was increasingly fascinated the more he learned about Dover.
Dover shrugged. “When I can. Most of my time off work is spent making inventory for Dickens and other shows.”
Landry nodded. He knew he was incredibly lucky to be doing what he loved. His tailoring business, inherited from his grandmother, was far into the black. The Dickens Fair had been an experiment this past year, and one that paid off handsomely. The endeavor netted him enough money to cover his booth and his latest exploit. He’d bought the travel trailer to take to fairs in the summer just to sell some of his passion projects as well as the corsets, but his shop did steady business, and he’d been able to hire two full-time tailors/seamstresses to handle most of their day-to-day business, giving him the time to design what he liked and work these weekend gigs. Life was good, and he was making money hand-over-fist. He knew most of the artisans at these shows weren’t necessarily as fortunate.
“I’d love to see your paintings sometime.” God, he sounded almost breathless. He was like a damn schoolgirl around this man. He was so in awe of Dover’s talent, and that, in addition to how attractive the guy was, meant he couldn’t keep his cool.
“Oh, uh—”
“There’s my wife. It was nice to meet you, Landry. Dover, give an old lady a hug.”
Dover came around the table in a pair of worn Levi’s that looked buttery soft and hugged his lean hips lovingly. Dover embraced the woman, who couldn’t have been much older than fifty. Far from an old lady in Landry’s estimation.
“Thank you for coming by,” Dover said, giving her one last squeeze. “I’ll see what I can come up with for you.”
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