Today, the lovely Nell Iris is with us to talk about her story, The Santa Emergency, which will be released tomorrow. I’m so glad Nell is talking about glögg! This year, I made my own. Picked lingonberries and boiled with all the spices. Then I went a bit overboard as I tend to do at times, and made apple glögg (pretty nice) and chokeberry glögg (too sweet, but hubby added some vodka to it and then it turned just fine. He’s resourceful, my man 😆)

And now that Nell has got me talking glögg – Sorry, Nell – I have to say, that my granny always had glögg on midsummer. She invited her friends and they’d sit in the garden, a group of old ladies sipping glögg and eating gingerbread in June. I miss her dearly.

And with this, the longest welcoming intro in history – welcome, Nell! It’s lovely to have you here.

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It’s me. Nell. I’m back, have you missed me? I’ve missed you! And I’ve missed our lovely hostess Ofelia, because I haven’t been in the morning office as much as I’d liked lately, so before I dive into what I’m here to talk about, I’m blowing a cyber kiss Ofelia’s way. Thanks for having me, you’re always so kind and generous. ❤️

Not that that’s over with, let’s talk books! I’m here to talk about my new holiday story The Santa Emergency. The story is full of Swedish holiday traditions, and you’ll find me around the internet talking about them, but I saved the most important one for you:

Glögg.

Mulled wine in Swedish is called glögg; it’s a shortened version of glödgat vin which means heated wine. The first written mention of glödgat vin in Swedish literature is from 1609, but drinking heated, spiced wine is an old tradition; even the ancient Greeks did it as it was a good way of covering the foul taste of a bad quality wine. But in Sweden, we’ve been drinking it at least since the Middle Ages, but it was only in the 19th century it became a Christmas related drink.

Swedes are crazy about glögg, and these days, we buy our mulled wine pre-spiced. According to statistics, we drink five million liters of glögg every year, which is a lot considering our population of not quite 10.5 million people and that we mostly drink it in December. There are several different varieties of glögg, made from red or white wine, some with added spirits like rum or brandy. Every year, the largest glögg producer Blossa, releases an annual seasonal glögg, a special blend flavored with something not traditionally in the recipe (in 2021 it’s oranges), and there’s even glögg bubbly which is disgusting, and I say this as someone who loves both glögg and bubbly.

We drink it in espresso-sized cups and add raisins and almonds and we have glögg parties with our friends where we serve finger food that goes with it.

In short; Swedes are crazy about glögg.

So when I decided to write a Christmas story set in Sweden, glögg needed to be a part of it. Main character Sigge in The Santa Emergency isn’t a huge fan of Christmas, but if there’s one thing about it he likes, it’s the glögg. So when Kristian comes knocking, frazzled because he has less than an hour to solve an emergency, Sigge invites him into his home and soothes his nerves with mulled wine.

Blurb: 

I have a Santa emergency and I desperately need your help.

Sigge isn’t exactly a grinch when it comes to Christmas, but he’s not a fan of the holiday either. So when his new neighbor Kristian shows up in a panic, begging him to help by donning a Santa suit, Sigge’s gut reaction is to say no. But Kristian is cute and funny, rendering Sigge powerless against his heartfelt plea—especially after a promise of spending more time together—so he agrees. 

The instant connection deepens as they share mulled wine and conversation as easy as breathing. But is it just holiday magic swirling in the air, or is it something real? Something that will last into the new year and beyond?

M/M Contemporary / 13 816 words

 

Buy links: 

JMS Books :: Amazon :: Books2Read

About Nell

Nell Iris is a romantic at heart who believes everyone deserves a happy ending. She’s a bonafide bookworm (learned to read long before she started school), wouldn’t dream of going anywhere without something to read (not even the ladies room), loves music (and singing along at the top of her voice but she’s no Celine Dion), and is a real Star Trek nerd (Make it so). She loves words, bullet journals, poetry, wine, coffee-flavored kisses, and fika (a Swedish cultural thing involving coffee and pastry!)

Nell believes passionately in equality for all regardless of race, gender or sexuality, and wants to make the world a better, less hateful, place.

Nell is a bisexual Swedish woman married to the love of her life, a proud mama of a grown daughter, and is approaching 50 faster than she’d like. She lives in the south of Sweden where she spends her days thinking up stories about people falling in love. After dreaming about being a writer for most of her life, she finally was in a place where she could pursue her dream and released her first book in 2017.

Nell Iris writes gay romance, prefers sweet over angsty, short over long, and quirky characters over alpha males.

Find Nell on social media:

Newsletter :: Webpage/blog :: Twitter :: Instagram :: Facebook Page :: Facebook Profile :: Goodreads :: Bookbub

Excerpt: 

I clear my throat, and ask, “So what’s the emergency? And come in properly, please. Can I get you a drink?”

Kristian follows me as I lead the way to the kitchen. “Yes, please. If you have anything hot, you’ll forever be my hero. I almost froze my ass off on my way over here.” 

I hum in understanding. The sun has been out all day and even though clouds have rolled in during the last hour or so, the temperature hasn’t risen above minus ten degrees. His suit doesn’t seem nearly thick enough to keep him warm even on the short walk between our houses. 

“Coffee?” I ask. “Or I have some mulled wine warming by the TV if you’d like?”

“Gawd, yes. That, please!”

I chuckle and grab another of the tiny cups for the mulled wine—the green one decorated with outlines of reindeer because it’s as whimsical as his Santa hat—from the cabinet, and nod in the direction of the den. “This way.” 

The mulled wine sits on the coffee table in a pot that looks like a laboratory flask, the round bottom part resting in a metal stand, and it’s kept warm by a flickering tealight. I grab the top part of the flask and pour some steaming wine into the reindeer cup and offer it to him. I gesture for him to sit as I retake my previous spot, refill my own tiny cup—this one red with white Christmas trees—then move the bowls containing raisins and almonds closer to him. “Help yourself.”

He wrinkles his nose at the raisins but adds a generous helping of nuts into his cup before taking a sip. “Ahhh. Just what I needed.”

I drink some myself and hum when the flavor hits my tongue. Mulled wine is the only Christmassy thing I like; my childhood Christmases meant too much booze and screaming matches—and fistfights if I was really unlucky—so the holidays hold no fond memories for me. I’m not a Grinch, I don’t hate Christmas, but I prefer to keep it out of my own space. I don’t decorate, I don’t listen to Christmas music or watch sappy holiday movies. I never do anything special on Christmas Eve; my friends try to talk me into joining them every year, but I don’t feel right about intruding on their family time. 

The mulled wine is the only exception, my only Christmas weakness; I love the flavors of cinnamon and cardamom and cloves, love the way it warms me from the inside, love the way it makes my house smell. Other than that, I usually spend my Christmases on the couch, ordering takeout, watching one black-and-white B-movie or another, and drinking mulled wine the traditional way, with raisins and almonds.

It seems my new neighbor shares my appreciation for the beverage, and he warms his hands on the cup between sips. It looks a little ridiculous; his long fingers wrapped around the tiny thing, trying to soak up what little bit of heat it offers, and I’m tempted to ask him if I should get him a big mug for the wine so he can properly warm his hands. “Tell me about your emergency,” I say instead. 

He gulps down the contents and turns to face me on the couch. “My mom broke her leg two weeks ago. We always do Christmas at her house, and she wanted us to this year, too, despite her injury. But she’s not the kind of person to sit idly by and let other people do all the work, especially since she doesn’t let anyone into her kitchen. She’d insist on business as usual, and she’d exhaust herself and risk re-injuring her leg. So my sister came up with the idea of Christmas at my house since I’m the only one in the family besides Mom living in a house and not an apartment.” He rolls his eyes. “Because Santa would surely strike us down with a mighty hammer if we celebrated Christmas in an apartment, right? I know I’m mixing my metaphors, but I’m trying to say that I’m sure the world wouldn’t end. I love my sister to death, but she has the weirdest ideas.” 

He speaks with his whole body; he gestures with his hands and his face is lively and animated, and I can easily read every emotion as he experiences them, even after only being in his presence for a few minutes. All that makes him even more irresistible. In a society where everything is about hiding the truth behind a pretty surface, meeting someone open is refreshing.

“Anyway,” he says, “that gave me two whole weeks to unpack my stuff and plan a party. Dammit, Sigge, I’m a copywriter, not a party planner!” 

Holy crap. He’s paraphrasing Star Trek, too? Is he perfect? 

“But I did all right. The food, the decorations, everything is perfect. Or you know…everything except that I forgot to convince someone to come play Santa. When my sister found out, she lectured me in her scariest hissing voice until I was overcome with the urge to run away from my own house. She said I must not love my nieces and nephews since I forgot about a Santa. Her blame game is on point.” He grimaces.

“I’d say.”

“It’s Christmas Eve, and Santa always comes after Donald Duck is over. I can’t believe I forgot. The kids reach meltdown level if someone needs to go to the bathroom after the TV is turned off, so I have exactly—” he looks at his watch and gasps “—thirty-five minutes until my sister declares me the worst uncle ever. You must help me. Pretty please with sugar on top.”

His eyes are wide and pleading, his eyebrows slumping sadly, and I swear I can detect a hint of a tremble in his lower lip. I reach out and ease the cup out of his hands and pour more mulled wine into it before handing it back to him. “Drink this.” 

 

Today, Amy Spector is on the blog to talk about How to Cheat at Dirty Santa, which I had the privilege to read even before it was out 😊 Welcome, Amy!

A big thank you to Ofelia for letting me take over her blog today!

Today is release day for my very first Christmas book!

I love Christmas. The more decoration a holiday requires, the better. And, of course, with school-age children, and a near addiction to shopping that I rarely get to indulge, Christmas is the perfect storm of awesome! So, it’s amazing that I have not written more stories centered around the season. In fact, this is my first true Christmas story. The only one that came close was Shiny Things, but that’s really a Thanksgiving story that just happens to end at Christmas.

How to Cheat at Dirty Santa is a story about Jonah, a—possibly—misguided man whose plan to win the heart of his coworker Nathan is thrown into jeopardy.

Like with most of my books, there was a little real-life story cannibalizing for this one. But what good is stupid life mistakes if you can’t steal them for the stories you write? None! LOL

Check out the How to Cheat at Dirty Santa blurb and an excerpt below! As well as a link to an Advent Calendar giveaway of Big Flames and Small, my first title with JMS Books.

Blurb:

Some things are worth risking the naughty list.

Jonah Newfeld is not someone men fall for at a glance. They have to get to know him first. So when he meets the perfect man, he knows he needs to play the long game.

Nathan Sharp is the newest guy on the customer service floor. He’s clever, kind, blessedly single, and volunteers weekends at a local animal shelter. Jonah wants to raise babies with him. But when Nathan’s sister starts trying to fix him up with her veterinarian, Jonah’s dream is put into jeopardy.

Jonah needs the perfect plan if he wants to win over the man of his dreams. But a terrible plan will have to do, and more than a little help from his friends. If Jonah can pull it off and manage to get the boy, it’ll be more than worth being put on Santa’s naughty list for good.

Buy links:

books2read.com/howtocheatatdirtysanta :: JMS Books

Excerpt:

“Did he invite you up?” Lydia asked, tossing me another bag. This time they were kitschy red-cheeked cowboys.

“Christ, how many balloons does one birthday party need?”

“More helium, less bitching.” She pointed at the tank with an angry mom finger. I would have found it intimidating if I’d never held her hair while she was throwing up. “Did he invite you in?”

“He did, but then my grandmother called that she’d locked herself out of the house.” It had been tragic timing.

“Oh, hon.” Lydia gave me a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry.”

“Did I tell you that he volunteers weekends at an animal shelter?” With Lydia, I didn’t have to hide the longing in my voice. “I want to have babies with him.”

“Maybe you could just ask him out?” She held a hand up before I’d even opened my mouth. “It’s not high school anymore, Jonah. Guys actually like redheads in the real world.”

Casey walked through the front door with a bag of ice and the cake candle they’d forgotten to pick up, and I was saved from having to justify why I felt the need to play the long game.

I couldn’t take a chance and mess this up. It was too important to me.

“Who saved the day?” Casey held up the giant wax three, and Lydia pressed a quick kiss to his mouth.

“You did. Thank you.” When he disappeared into the kitchen, she caught me looking at her. “What’s that look?”

“Oh, nothing.” But it wasn’t. I wanted that. After the messiness of my parent’s divorce, what she had with Casey was lovely to see. “Just thinking.”

I was not much for crowds, but as expected, family from both sides were soon filling the small apartment. It was loud, and crowded, but still fun to see the birthday boy enjoying being the center of attention.

Lydia had been born on December seventh, and had lived twenty-seven years of afterthought birthday presents wrapped in Santa paper, and pulled from among her gifts waiting under the Christmas tree. When Tyler had been born on the eighteenth, she’d swore he’d never have to suffer the same disappointment.

He’d never remember them, but Tyler’s birthday parties so far had been grand affairs, and I’d never missed one.

“So, Jonah.” Lydia’s great-grandmother asked me the same question every time she saw me since tenth grade. “Have you met a nice boy yet?”

“I think I have, Gigi.” Gigi loved me, and this made her beam. “You’d probably like him.”

“You should have brought him with you to the party.”

“Maybe next time. I’m still working out the details.”

That made her laugh, and she patted my knee like she understood. “I thought Lydia’s great-grandfather was the most handsome man I’d ever seen. But he was dating my best friend.”

“So what happened?” If anyone had dating wisdom to share, I was sure it was great-grandma Gigi.

“They broke up just before Thanksgiving, and when Christmas rolled around, I had the luck to get his name in the Christmas gift exchange in our church group.”

“What’d you get him?”

“Well, it was just before the war, and I was broke in those days. But I knew from my friend that he was a terrible cook and that his mother lived in Des Moines. So I gave him a homemade meal.” She was grinning now, enjoying a chance to reminisce about her late husband. “I’d had a few dollars squirreled away, and I made him meatloaf and potatoes, and baked a vinegar pie.”

I caught Lydia watching me, the same huge-eyed I’ve got a brilliant idea look she’d been giving me since we’d met in high school, and I squinted at her and shrugged my shoulders, before turning my full attention back to Gigi. “And that won him over?”

“Yes and no.” She laughed again. “The meatloaf was dry, the potatoes lumpy, and the pie was a disaster, but we’d spent the evening together, talking and laughing, and trying to salvage what we could. And when it was over with, he asked me out.”

“Awww.” I let out a sigh. “That is a perfect story.”

“Sometimes the best thing you can do is give them a chance to get to know you.”

Yeah, Gigi got it. I was not everyone’s cup of tea. Men got to know me before they like-liked me. It was the way it had always worked.

The birthday cake came out then—a yellow cake with buttercream frosting and little plastic cowboys roping cows on the top—and Tyler clapped his hands and yelled surprise for himself, making everyone laugh.

It was exactly what I wanted someday. And I knew I wanted it all with Nathan.

 

Bio

Amy Spector grew up in the United States surviving on a steady diet of old horror movies, television reruns and mystery novels.

After years of blogging about comic books, vintage Gothic romance book cover illustrations, and a shameful amount about herself, she decided to try her hand at writing stories. She found it more than a little like talking about herself in third person, and that suited her just fine.

She blames Universal for her love of horror, Edward Gorey for her love of British drama and writing for awakening the romantic that was probably there all along.

Amy lives in the Midwest with her husband and children, and her cats Poe, Goji and Nekō. 

Links

Website http://www.amyspectorauthor.com/

Blog http://www.amyspectorauthor.com/blog

Facebook https://www.facebook.com/amy.spector.12/

Instagram https://www.instagram.com/amy_spector/

Goodreads https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/8366028.Amy_Spector

Hello, everyone! Holly here to take over the blog again – I always make myself laugh saying that I’m here on my blog, but as my other name, very confusing.  

Today, it’s Christmas Card Day, and it just so happens that I wrote a story. The Scent of Pine was meant to be a cosy little tale about a man finding peace and love in time for Christmas.  

It didn’t turn out quite as cosy as I’d pictured it. 

Since it’s written for Christmas Card Day, there are Christmas cards – several, creepy cards. I had this idea that the two main characters would find love because of a card delivered to the wrong address. Cute, right? And it happens. Only the one sending the cards is a stalker ex and Rafael, one of the main characters, has been hiding for two years. When Ashton, a cop on sick leave, gets several Christmas cards wrongly delivered to his address, he goes looking for the person who should’ve received them. That sense of something not being quite right is there, and since he doesn’t have anything better to do during the days, he guards over Rafael. 

Even though The Scent of Pine didn’t turn out the way I’d planned, I loved writing it.  

Over at my blog, you can read the first chapter of the story, so I thought I’d continue it here by sharing chapter 2. 

Chapter 2

A knock sounded on the door. Rafael was in the middle of translating a badly written blog post from English to Spanish as cold washed over him. A knock. No one knocked on his door.

His heart banged hard and his fingers hovered over the keyboard. When the knock came again, he stood. He hadn’t ordered anything. On tiptoe, he neared the door and peeked through the peephole. His lungs shrank until he couldn’t draw breath.

Outside was his neighbor—the dark-haired man who’d held onto the railing when he’d walked to the mailbox.

Rafael quickly stepped away from the door and pressed himself against the wall. When the knock came again, Rafael took another step away from the door. Then he stopped. What if something was wrong? Maybe the man needed help and had knocked on every apartment door in the building without having anyone opening for him. It was in the middle of the day; people were at work.

He took a deep breath. “Yes?” He didn’t unlock the door but spoke loud enough for it to be heard through the door—he hoped.

“I’m Ashton Cross from the… from across the street.”

Ashton Cross. It had sounded as if he’d been about to say something other than across the street, but Rafael memorized the name. He’d Google him later.

“Yes?” He didn’t know what else to say.

“Could you open the door?”

Open the door? Cold wrapped around him. “Why?”

“I… eh… the mailman mixed our addresses up, and I would like to… Are you okay?”

Rafael frowned; he should have kept looking at the man when he grabbed the mail earlier; to see his reaction when spotting a wrongly delivered letter… “Can’t you put whatever they left you in the slot?”

“I could, but… I want to see your face when you read it.”

Rafael took a step back. What the hell? That was the weirdest request he’d ever heard. “Post them, please.”

“Look, man, I’m a cop. Not on duty, I’m on sick leave, but… could you please open the door? Is there a woman living in this apartment with you?”

A cop? A woman? Rafael stared at the door. He’d had good and bad experiences with the police. When trying to get away from Blake, he’d truly believed they had wanted to help him, even when their hands were tied.

“No woman.”

The silence lasted for several seconds.

“Are you in a long-distance relationship?”

“I don’t see how it’s any of your business.” Rafael’s heart jumped from his chest to block his throat.

“Right.” The man, Ashton Cross, sounded weary. “Still, could you unlock the door?”

Rafael wanted to say no, but he made sure the security chain was fastened on the door and turned the lock. Through the gap, he met Ashton’s gaze. “Hi.”

Ashton nodded, his eyes sweeping over his face then a quick dip to his hand before meeting his gaze again. “I might be completely wrong—” He handed over a small stack of cards. “Maybe it’s a romantic gesture from your girlfriend—”

“No girlfriend.”

Ashton nodded. “Thought so. I got the feeling it’s a man who’d written them. I could be wrong, though.”

Rafael glanced at the writing on the first and forgot how to breathe. He couldn’t say for sure it was Blake who’d written them, but he believed so.

“That was the first.” Ashton gestured at the card Rafael was staring at. “I was gonna ask my sister to run over with it, but I forgot. Then they kept coming, and…” Ashton ran a hand through his hair. “I didn’t mean to read them, but they weren’t in envelopes.”

Rafael nodded.

“You don’t find it strange?”

Rafael met his gaze again. “What?”

“Five cards. They’ve arrived every other day. It’s the same motif and the writing becomes more and more… And they’re all delivered to the wrong address.”

The wrong address was strange, but the rest made perfect sense. Blake had found him. “I’m sure it’s a bad joke.”

Ashton nodded. “You’d tell me if you were in danger?”

Rafael ignored the question. “Thank you for bringing them to me.” He had to leave. He couldn’t stay here. Urgency clawed at him. If Blake knew where he was…

Ashton watched him with narrowed eyes. “No problem. I’ll talk to the mailman too if I can catch him.”

Rafael nodded. “Thank you.” He closed the door despite Ashton looking like he wanted to say something more.

He had to leave.

* * * *

Ash grunted as Megan placed a box of Christmas decorations on his kitchen table.

“I can do it.”

“You don’t have to. I’ll do it.” He smiled and nodded but his mind wasn’t on Christmas decorations. The look in R. Vidal’s eyes—he hadn’t asked his name—when he’d seen the writing kept playing in his mind. And it was the first card, the non-threatening card. The others weren’t threatening either, but…

“Ash!” Megan knocked on the table. “Are you listening to me?”

“Sorry. What did you say?”

She huffed and shook her head. “Are you coming to us for Christmas?”

Ash normally worked on Christmas. He had no family of his own, nowhere he needed to be, so he worked, and those of his colleagues who had children could spend the holiday with them. He didn’t mind. Since their mother had passed away a few years back, Christmas hadn’t been the same anyway.

“That would be lovely, thank you.”

“You’re a mile away today. Did something happen?”

Ash shook his head. “Nah, I got a Christmas card—

“Oh, from who?”

“I don’t know. It wasn’t for me; the mailman got the address wrong.”

Megan widened her eyes. “You’re distracted by a card that wasn’t for you?”

“Five.”

“What?”

“There have been five cards, and… Something isn’t right.”

“No, you should call the post office or someone. I don’t want to think about how many parcels will end up in the wrong place if you’ve already had five cards delivered to the wrong address.”

Ash smiled and nodded.

“Okay, I’ll be off. Do you need me to fix something before I go?”

“No, thank you.”

Megan frowned at him. “You’re in a good mood today.”

Was he? He hadn’t reflected over it. With his mind occupied by the cards and R. Vidal’s reaction to them, he hadn’t had time to feel sorry for himself. “I was outside for a bit earlier. Still about as fast as a snail, but it was nice to move a little.” It had been. He’d been exhausted when he came home, but it was great to use his body again.

“Good.” She walked to the hallway, and Ash followed. “I’ll be by tomorrow with a Christmas tree.”

He’d told her not to get one for him twenty times if not more, but she wasn’t listening. “Ben and I will get them tonight.”

Ash nodded. “I’ll be here.”

She opened the door and stepped outside. “You should put up lights on the railing.”

Ash nodded again.

“You’re the only one who doesn’t have any decorations.” She gestured at the neighboring houses.

“Meaning?”

She huffed. “It would be pretty if you too made an effort.”

He grinned. “Me? Make an effort?” He didn’t care. It wasn’t that he was against Christmas decorations, but he didn’t give a damn what the neighbors did or thought about him.

Megan shook her head. “Hopeless.”

That made him chuckle. As Megan walked down the stairs, he looked up at R. Vidal’s apartment and noted motion behind the curtain covering the window. Was he watching?

He waved at Megan as she got into her car, then walked back inside. He walked into the kitchen, ignored the box of Christmas decorations, and headed for the coffee maker. With a freshly poured cup, he sat in the easy chair by the window facing the road and the apartment building.

The snow had been so beautifully white this morning, but now it had a gray tinge to it close to the road. With a sigh, he grabbed his tablet and geared up for some mindless YouTube watching while keeping an eye on R. Vidal’s apartment.

Blurb:

Ashton Cross was stupid enough to fall out a window while trying to catch a criminal. Now he’s on sick leave and has been for weeks, and has nothing to do but watch his neighbors go about their day. It’s driving him insane. When he gets a Christmas card not meant for him, he doesn’t think much of it, but then there is another and another, all with the same motif.  

For two years, Rafael Vidal has been hiding from his ex. He almost believed he’d gotten away when his neighbor knocks on his door to hand over a stack of Christmas cards. One look at the writing, and Rafael suspects he has been found.  

When Ashton understands the situation, he’s set on catching Rafael’s ex. He might not be ready to get back to active duty at the police station, but finally, he has something to do, and he doesn’t mind keeping Rafael close. Rafael is trying to distract himself by helping Ashton put up Christmas decorations, but will they be able to enjoy Christmas with his stalker ex lurking around the corner?  

Buy links: 

Contemporary Gay Romance: 17,557 words 

JMS Books :: Amazon :: books2read.com/TheScentOfPine