by Lucy Smoke
I chuckled through the tears at her attempt in humor, but something inside me told me I royally screwed this up. There was no fixing this. I saw the hurt there. I wouldn’t forgive my rejection either if I was them.
I laid my head down on Sara’s lap, letting her soothe me as I watched the fire. She stroked my hair and kept telling me that everything would be okay, but I fell asleep there, dreading their own rejection when I tried to call and make it right in the morning.
It was just my luck to finally understand what it felt like to love someone, then throw it all away because I was too stupid to understand it.
I woke up the next morning on the couch; my head pounded as the smell of coffee drifted into the room. I could hear Sara awake and moving around the kitchen.
I pulled myself up and dragged my feet as I walked in there.
“Morning, princess,” she announced cheerily when I walked in. She poured me a mug of coffee and set it down in front of me on the counter.
“I’m an asshole. I’m sorry I threatened to cunt punch you,” I apologized sheepishly, taking a sip of the coffee.
She shrugged her shoulders and sipped on hers. “Not the first time you’ve threatened that. I knew you wouldn’t because you knew I’d retaliate.”
I bobbed my head. “Fair enough.”
She looked at me with concern before pulling my phone from her pocket and sliding it to me. “You gonna call them?”
I looked at the phone and swallowed hard. I knew I needed to as soon as possible. Caffeine or not in my system, it was better to tell them how sorry I was now, rather than wait until later.
I grabbed it and dialed Tobi’s number, knowing he always had his phone on him. Unfortunately, all I got was voicemail. Tobi always answered his phone, so I knew he didn’t want to talk.
“Nothing?” Sara asked.
I shook my head. “Nope. I don’t blame him.”
“Try the other two. Maybe he’s busy,” she supplied with hope lighting her voice.
I did just that, but both of their phones just rang until hitting voicemail.
I felt so defeated and angry with myself.
“I’m sorry, Low. Maybe they just need some more time. If they truly loved you, they’d call you back and fight for you.”
I set the phone down and looked sadly at my coffee, spinning it slowly in my hands. “I don’t think I deserve a call back, Sara.”
I walked back into the living room and sat on the couch, turning the TV on and flipping the channels. When I landed on Prancer, I couldn’t bring myself to change it. I heard Sara in the kitchen on the phone talking to Caleb. She was probably telling him she’d be staying a bit longer to make sure I didn’t do anything stupid like drown myself in Jack; which honestly sounded like a really good fucking idea. But, I knew in my heart I wouldn’t.
She came into the living room and sat next to me, staying silent and just sipping her coffee as we watched the damn reindeer movie.
About forty minutes in, I heard a large truck beeping as it backed up. I couldn’t bring myself to get up from the couch though and check it out. Sara did it for me anyways. She pushed down the blinds and looked out the window.
“There’s a moving truck backing up. Did Stanley really sell that side of the cabin that fast? I didn’t think he was putting it up for sale until after tomorrow.”
I shrugged. I didn’t want to think about anyone else but the guys living there. It was too much.
Sara joined me back on the couch. “I couldn’t see who it is.” I saw her look at me from the corner of my eye. “Sorry, babe. I know this probably sucks. Who moves in on Christmas Eve? That just seems dumb.”
We heard footsteps coming up to the porch, then a knock.
“Uh, should I get it?” Sara asked.
I just nodded, not wanting to talk to the new fucking neighbors. I just wanted to sulk over my monumental screw up and watch a fucking baby reindeer learn to fly. Was that asking too much?
Sara opened the door, but I didn’t hear her speak until she said my name. “Um, Low? You should come talk to your new neighbors.”
I groaned. “I don’t care about new neighbors, Sara.”
“You’ll care about these ones.”
I looked over the couch at her face and paused. Why the fuck did she look so happy?
Out of pure curiosity, I stood and dragged myself over to the door. She moved out of the way as I got to it. I was about to tell the new neighbors to leave alone, but I stopped.
It was the guys.
“Hey, Low,” Tobi said looking a bit shy.
I gaped at them. “What are you all doing here?”
They looked between each other, smiling coyly.
“We bought the cabin next door,” Ezra replied cautiously, as if waiting for me to be angry.
My heart stopped. They bought the other side of the cabin. But…
“Why?” I whispered.
“Because we’re not stupid enough to let you run away,” Jasper replied. “We don’t need the big apartment in the city to run our company.”
“Yeah. We kind of liked living out in the middle of nowhere. It was what we needed to relax and remember why we love doing what we do. We were starting to lose that in the city and under the watchful eyes of the world.” Added Ezra.
“But more than that, we love being with you. So, you can try to fight us on this, but we know you care more than you’re saying. We plan to stay and make sure you own up to it. You’re ours whether you like it or not and we’re not letting you go. We know you’ve been left and you’ve felt loss, but so have we. We are not going to leave you no matter what you say or do, Lowen,” Tobi proclaimed seriously.
“And we brought spiked eggnog, some of your favorite Christmas movies, and a shit ton of marshmallows. So, you can’t say no to that,” Jasper said with a smile and his signature wink. He always had to throw in some humor.
I couldn’t stop staring at them. They bought the cabin for me. They brought everything with them to give me a Christmas like what I had with dad. They loved me and were fighting for me.
For the first time in my life, I wasn’t afraid of the future anymore.
And damn it, I loved them for it all so much more.
“So, what do you say? Can we come in or is this just too much?” Tobi asked with a bit of worry in his tone.
I finally couldn’t take it anymore. A genuine smile lit up my face and a single tear streaked down my cheek as I gazed at my men. By their resounding smiles, they knew with that single look, that I was prepared for it all. I would do my damndest to tell them every day I loved them if that’s what it took to convince me that I could do this. I could love these men and not be afraid of it or question it.
I would just love them and let them love me.
“The more the merrier.” I replied.
Want more from K.B. Everly? Grab your copy of her new standalone reverse harem book, The Faceless, right HERE.
About K.B. Everly
K.B. Everly is a romance author from Southern Mississippi. She has one daughter, a rotten little puppy, and two cats who she claims are stealing her soul in only tiny doses so she won't notice. She can be found (or not found) hiding from her tiny human so she doesn't have to share her snacks. Usually, it’s in the closet. What free time she has is used fighting with her prosthetic leg, or stuffing her face with copious amounts of coffee and candy as she types away on her next book.
An Alpaca For Christmas
Jacie Lennon
Will alpacas bring them together, or will the generations-old rivalry between their families keep them apart?
What does an animal race through town have to do with the Christmas Festival? Milly Collins is about to find out, thanks to Evan MacAlister's big, fat, sexy-as-sin mouth. Landing her dream—and much-needed—job as the Christmas Festival director, Milly is on cloud nine. Until Evan steps in as her co-director, and suddenly, she has to contend with someone else's input. As a type A, always-in-control person, it's less th
an ideal. But one look into his vibrant baby blues has her coming around. Or is it the sexual tension between them?
When Evan MacAlister approaches Milly about working with her on the festival, he just wants a week or two to get his mind off his past holiday trauma. He never expected to butt heads with the blonde-haired spitfire—or to enjoy it so much. Not even an alpaca with a mean streak or a hardware store owner with a dip problem will be able to deter him from doing the best job he can for Milly—er, for the people of Clarissa Cove. But once the festival is over, will he be able to take his mind off of Milly?
An Alpaca For Christmas © Jacie Lennon 2019
All Rights Reserved
Visit my website at www.authorjacielennon.com
Cover Designer: Premade Ebook Cover, www.premadeebookcovershop.com
Editor: Jovana Shirley, Unforeseen Editing, www.unforeseenediting.com
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
This book is dedicated to my mom, D, who always decorates her house to the nines. Christmas was always magical for me when I was growing up, and I hope to continue the magic with my own children.
1
Milly
“Any questions?” I ask and pause, the bright light glaring into my face, causing my skin to warm and my underarms to sweat.
This is the worst part of Trivia Night, having to stand up here under the perusal of all the faces staring at me. Usually, I’m just giving the details about trivia teams and how they will earn points before I go back to my job as a waitress. But now, I’ve just been thrust into the role of director of the Christmas Festival—my absolute dream—and I don’t want to screw it up. I have expenses that my waitressing job doesn’t cover. Namely, medical bills for a sick mother and trying to help my sister out with her dream of college. So, I’m using my platform at The Feisty Fox to address the cares and concerns of all the citizens of our lovely town, Clarissa Cove, and hopefully, I’ll do a bang-up job. The town of Clarissa Cove sits in a small valley between two hills. The church is on one, overlooking the people, and on the other hill sits the MacAlister house. The town is small, and it’s one of those places where your business is not only your business, but it’s also everyone’s.
Like clockwork, Peter Stinson’s hand shoots up, and I fight the urge to roll my eyes.
“Peter?” I say between gritted teeth.
Every single year, Peter tries to organize a race competition as part of the Christmas Festival, and every year before this one, Ms. Potts has shot him down. She’s the town therapist, but around Christmastime, she becomes the organizer and director of our famed festival. This year, her daughter is having a baby within the next two weeks, and she decided to hand the reins to me, Milly Collins, the resident Christmas fanatic.
“I want to put my race idea to a vote.” He glances around, his few friends smiling and cheering beside him.
I close my eyes, counting to three. One, two … three.
Honestly, a race competition isn’t a bad idea. It’s what he wants to race with.
“You cannot race your alpacas during our Christmas Festival, Peter.” I paste a smile on my face and look at him for a moment before consulting my clipboard again.
“Ah, come on. Just for this year?”
“Ms. Potts did not give me the okay for that.” I pray that will put an end to his absurd idea, but like most prayers, sometimes, the answer is no.
“Now, Ms. Potts isn’t here,” Peter says with a grin, and a few of his friends laugh.
“Well, I’m in charge, and I don’t think that’s very conducive to a great Christmas Festival experience. There aren’t that many alpacas here; it wouldn’t be fair for others to not be able to enter.”
I nod at him, and he sits back with a huff, his smile melting off, replaced with a frown.
“I think you should let him do it,” a gruff voice sounds.
A murmur ripples through the crowd as everyone shifts in their seat to get a look at whoever is coming to Peter’s aid. No one has before because most of the town agrees that alpaca racing shouldn’t be on the docket.
“Excuse me?” I bring my hand up to block the glare of the spotlight I’m melting under and peer into the dark recesses of the back of the room, trying to get my eyes to adjust.
“I said, I think you should let him do it. What would it hurt?”
My eyes finally adjust, and the microphone in front of me catches the quick gasp I let out, broadcasting it to the rest of the room, but it doesn’t matter. Everyone else is gasping and muttering among themselves as well.
Evan MacAlister is sitting in an aisle chair in the very last row, one arm thrown over the back of the chair next to him and an ankle atop his knee, which is jutting out into the open walkway just a bit. The picture of comfort and relaxation.
“What would it hurt?” I sputter, my heart sinking when I realize I don’t have a good reason to deny Peter his alpaca race.
Ms. Potts will be so disappointed in me. If my first foray into being the director is going this abysmally, who is to say the rest of my stint of being in charge won’t be the same?
“I’m not sure.”
I see Peter pump his fist and light up again, completely sure that he’s going to get his silly alpaca competition as part of the Christmas Festival. I glance back to Evan, his eyes fastened squarely on me, and I gulp. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t smile or nod his head, look away or flash me the bird. Nothing. I try to drag my eyes away and can’t. It’s like his gaze is a magnet, keeping mine on his.
Then, he moves. His right eye descends in a long, slow, luxurious wink, and I swear that my knees almost buckle.
Damn, the man is fine.
But that’s all that could be said for him. He doesn’t get out much, and no one really knows anything concrete about him. Since he came back three years ago, he’s kept to himself in his castle on the hill, paid for by his family’s money—which is also his money, I suppose. Until now, he has never attended a town meeting or had anything to do with organized events, and heaven forbid, he should appear at the Christmas Festival. The whole idea of him even being in this room right now is laughable.
I clear my throat and pull myself together, vowing not to look back in his section of the room again as I go over the rest of my checklist.
“That concludes the meeting for the Christmas Festival. Peter, I need to see you about what an alpaca race entails.” Again, I try not to roll my eyes. “Trivia Night will begin in ten minutes.”
I smile amid the whoops of happiness let loose in the room. We hold our meetings in the local restaurant that doubles as a bar—The Feisty Fox. Citizens of Clarissa Cove busy themselves, shifting tables back and setting chairs around. The bartender is rushing around, filling drink orders, and I head to the back of the room where I set up the festival sign-up form.
I reach both hands up to grasp the bottom of my shirt, fanning it back and forth to cool the perspiration on my body as I stand next to the table, waiting for the last couple of stragglers to sign their names or take the brochures laid about. I smile and nod, murmuring hellos and good-byes, and then breathe a sigh of relief when the table is empty.
The hair on the back of my neck stands on end before I see him. It’s as if my entire body is somehow hardwired to alert me when he’s close by, which is strange since I’ve never been close by him. I don’t think my body ever felt like this with Rick, my ex, which has me on edge. Squinting my eyes and tilting my head to the side, I realize there just wasn’t much fire in that relationship.
“M
illy Collins?” His deep voice creeps up my spine, sending a shiver through my body and making my nerves tingle.
I turn and immediately regret the action, getting lost in his stare again. I feel like if I could escape my body and hover over this scene, I would look down on a girl who looks like an idiot with her mouth hanging open and drool coming from her lips. Thank God I can’t do that. Still, I reach one hand up to feel for any runaway saliva before realizing what I’m doing.
“You are Milly, correct?”
Now, here’s the thing. In a town this size, everyone knows everyone, so it’s a little insulting that he even has to ask my name. Especially when we all know his name and we went to school together. Granted, it was elementary and some middle school, and I’d wager that we look a bit different now. Although he never looked twice at me in school.
“Yes, I’m Milly.” I extend one hand out, and he grasps it in his large paw of a man hand.
Holy guacamole, I think my entire hand disappeared.
“Ms. Potts said I should meet with you.”
His eyes sear my skin as I try to look everywhere but straight at them. I feel a bit like what a man must feel like in Medusa’s presence. If Medusa were, you know, real.
“Did she? What about?” I turn quickly and busy myself, picking up the clipboard with signatures and papers lying around.
“The Christmas Festival.”
I stop, my hands stilling as I glance over my shoulder.
