Because Santa Claus is so small, the Warriors consist of players from here and from three neighboring towns: Mariah Hill, Lincoln City, and Buffaloville. Because they are rivals in high school, it’s important to always bring them together as a team on this field. A divisive team never truly wins.
“Find some Christmas cheer, play Boyz II Men’s ‘Let it Snow’ on repeat, and write the book,” I tell her. What other options do I have? Frustrated, I add, “I need to call my ride. I’m headed back to the airport.”
“I don’t know why I’m here, love. I couldn’t sleep, so I decided to run and ended up here,” I admit, then sigh. Mya and I were always one hundred with each other. So, I’m not going to start lying now. “That’s not true,” I retract. “I ended up here because I didn’t dream about you last night, and that shit freaked me out. I never want to stop thinking about us or what we had. “I miss you—a lot. I’m not supposed to live without you, but I’m trying. It’s hard, though. I still can’t spend too much time in the house. Again, I am trying. I try every day to do what you wanted: live, be happy, and find love again,” I say, repeating her final wish for me. She told me those words daily. “The last part is the hardest,” I admit. “It threatens what we had, and I don’t like that. How can I find something that I gave all to you?” The sound of a lawn mower interrupts my words. I glance around and see two groundskeepers on riding mowers. One approaches me, riding in the row in front of me. He kills the engine. “Sorry, sir. I didn’t see you. I can come back later,” he apologizes. “You’re good. I’m heading out,” I tell him because I’ll return on Christmas Day and bring tulips. “See you on Friday, love,” I say to Mya, then nod at the groundsman.
My head tilts down, and her face lifts up. Our eyes meet. I think I’m losing my mind because everything in me wants to kiss her. I mean, I really want to possess her lips with mine, and this pull is definitely a first. I haven’t felt this strong of a pull to any woman since my wife. “My bad,” I utter, then drop my hands. “You don’t have to,” she starts, but she suddenly stops, then turns around. She steps back to the chair and grabs a bag of marshmallows. “So, how do I do this?” she asks. Crystal stands, then steps closer to Saira. She grabs two sticks. “The only thing that goes on the fire are the marshmallows,” she begins. “You got to get it good and hot.” “And melty,” Devyn adds. She stands too, and the three women work together to make the s’mores. “Baby, I’m about to go get me a drink,” Keith yells out. “You want something?” “If there’s some more hot chocolate in the carafe, then a cup of that with my Kahlua. It’s in the refrigerator,” Devyn replies as she places two large marshmallows on a stick. “That sounds good and warming. Can you get me one of those too?” Saira says. “Me three,” Crystal adds. “Aye. Y’all Negroes come with me. I ain’t got that many damn hands,” Keith huffs. I definitely need a damn drink. I’m all off of my square around Saira. I’m doing stuff that I usually don’t do. I was all up in her space, uninvited, rubbing her arms. What the fxxx! “Let’s go,” I say, then start trekking to the cabin. I need to put some distance between us so that I can clear my mind. Halfway to the cabin, I realize that I’m walking solo. “Damn, Negro!” Keith yells. “Slow the fxxx down,” he says. In my haste to get away from Saira, I’m power walking, and Keith and Mike are steps behind me. So, I stop and wait for them to catch up. “You good, man?” he asks. “Yeah.” “You sure? The way you just took off without us, ion think so,” he says seriously. “Miami got you shook?” he asks. “A little,” I sigh. “Shit! I don’t know. I’m not supposed to be,” I start, then stop. While shaking my head, my mind drifts to Mya. A heavy wave of guilt rushes my entire body. “I’m drawn to her, and I don’t know what to do,” I admit out loud. “What the hell you mean? Shoot your shot, Negro,” he barks, and my eyebrows furrow. I sigh again. Picking up on my hesitation, he takes a step back, then says, “Oh. Right. My bad. This is different. She’s different. You’re really feeling her?” “I am.” “Then the same advice applies, man. It’s time, and it’s okay,” he says. I met Keith right after Mya died. When I finally joined the SCFD, he was the first person I talked to at the firehouse. He was adjusting to the small town, and I was adjusting to my new life without her. We bonded quickly, and he was a good friend on those hard days when I needed one. “Coach, she’s feeling you. We can all see that,” Mike adds. “Man, Ray Charles can see that shit.” Keith slaps my back. “Don’t overthink it,” he adds. “Bet. You’re right,” I say. “I always am,” he jibes. “Now, can we go get my Yak and kill this girl talk?”
We start back to the cabin. When we enter, Mike heads to the bathroom, and Keith and I stay in the kitchen. After washing our hands, he checks on the hot chocolate, and I grab the Kahlua and my bottle of 1942 out of the fridge. Mike starts talking as soon as he walks into the kitchen. “Crystal just texted. She said to bring the whole bottle of Kahlua.” I slide the bottle over to him, then search the cabinets for cups. I find the to-go coffee cups with lids and grab the pack. “Is there any hot chocolate in the carafe?” I ask Keith. “It’s half full,” he answers. “You might as well grab it too,” I suggest. “Bet.” With our arms full, we trek back to the fire. The ladies are sitting in the chairs, which are now closer to the fire. I rejoin Saira. Keith hands Devyn the carafe, and I open the pack of cups and distribute them. When I pour my Don Julio into my cup, Saira holds her cup in front of me. “Can I have a splash, please? I think I want that in my hot chocolate instead.” I put the spout over her cup. “Tell me when,” I say, then start to slowly pour it. She taps her cup on the bottle. “That’s enough,” she utters, and I raise my bottle upright. After closing it, I put the bottle on the ground next to our chair. Then I reach for her cup, and she hands it to me. I pass it to Crystal, and she fills it with hot chocolate. As soon as it’s back in Saira’s hands, she sips it and smiles. “You got enough tequila?” I ask her. She nods her head as she sips in response. My eyes travel the length of her, admiring all that is her again. That’s when I notice that the ingredients for the s’mores are gone. Even though I didn’t want any, I ask teasingly, “Where’s my s’more?” She stops drinking from her cup, but her lips stay glued to the rim of it. With raised eyebrows, she utters, “I didn’t know you wanted some. After making one, we gave the rest of the stuff to them.” She tips her head over to the others around the other fire. “Did you like it at least?” After placing her cup on the arm of the chair, she responds. “It was okay.” All the excitement that she had when we got the ingredients has faded. “I don’t know what I was expecting, but that wasn’t it,” she shrugs. Her beautiful eyes drift up to my face. “Did you really want one?” “No. I’m good,” I say, and her face quickly relaxes. Then her lip does the little curl thing. Damn, she’s so pretty.
~~~~
Folks, it's been a long time since I got excited about a purely romance story... I don't know why this one did it for me. Perhaps that, from my older age, I've noticed that our black neighbors are deeply involved within their own community. I've always assumed is was because of the racism that so many have voiced against them by my race... But this story revealed a depth of love between man and woman which I've not seen before. You're right, I'm not a fan of romance books... I need a mystery or a problem to solve in most books to keep me happy. But...I have to say, the characters in this book were so finely drawn, that I was pulled into the story just because of each of those characters!
It was kinda interesting, too, that the title, A Novel Christmas was a perfect choice for the plotline... You see, the main character, Saira, is an author who has received a "slight" warning from her publishing company that they'd like to see her write books geared to the holidays as well as what she was writing. Saira had purposely avoided that for her own reasons, but her agent made it quite clear that there was no longer a choice... She was to write a Christmas story--or else!
Saira was not happy, but if she had to do it, she figured she better find some way to actually get into the holiday spirit... She realized she needed atmosphere to do that... So she started searching for towns that naturally emphasized Christmas and found a small town called Santa Claus! Checked out possible accommodations and without any further delay, was on her way...
The only concern she had about the town was whether or not there were any black people living there. If not, she wasn't sure how to get past that to get to know the town... But that turned out not to be a problem since a young sista caught her attention and immediately headed for her as she arrived... And
immediately bought what she was selling for the local Fire Department... A Christmas calendar... And the cover--and Mr. December was... a gorgeous man... so immediately, I had an image... based upon what I'd read so far... Shemar is known for many TV shows, but this picture showed the kind of serious man who you will meet. He is a widower whose wife had died from cancer 3 years ago... He had been devastated, but had been coaxed into becoming a voluntary fireman and had begun to come out of the shell he had placed around himself...
Saire was to be the first woman for whom Dorian has developed an interest... and he was having a difficult time, often finding himself feeling guilty for these new feelings...
The book goes back and forth for first person between Dorian and Saire... Readers will experience both the excitement...and the frustration... of each of them as they don't know how to relate to each other... Saire only has a week to be in town... Yet, the pull toward each other forces intimacy, simply because it turned out that Saire had rented a side of a duplex...from... yes... Dorian!
Readers will enjoy the fun Saire displays as snow comes to town... Saire had never seen snow that accumulated in inches! So she was gung-ho to build snowmen, make snow angels...and all the things that come with winter weather... But she quickly learned that her body had become attuned to Florida's temperature where she lived, and was freezing most of the time... The fireman knew that when she brought lighter fluid to use on her fireplace, he would have to be watching her and teaching her a lot of stuff just to make sure she didn't burn the duplex down. LOL!
So was this to be love at first sight? NOT! Saire had been burnt before and still not over how she had been treated. She was not willing to fall in love and have her heart broken again... Dorian was still taking flowers to his wife's grave weekly, to spend time with her, telling her about his life now--by the way, he'd become a coach as well! What is that old saying? The heart's going to do what the heart wants to do... And they soon became a couple attending all the festivities happening in a town call Santa Claus as Christmas drew near... And there was really no way they could ignore how both were feeling...
“Then amuse me, beautiful. If I was in your book, how would you write me?” he challenges. He may be the athlete, but I’m competitive as well. So, when challenged, I gladly accept. I sip my hot chocolate, then lean back in the booth. My eyes inspect him again as I gather my thoughts. When my words come together, I begin.
“Sitting in this diner, I can barely finish my drink because I’m mesmerized by him, all of him. His deep amber eyes and flawless ebony skin captured my attention first. His manly, sexy, spicy essence trapped me next. However, his chiseled chin and beautiful smile took me over the top. He’s sexy, handsome, and fine. How can I forget the chiseled arms and strong, muscular legs that are all apparent even though he’s fully dressed? I can’t. I won’t. He’s etched in my brain, scribbled in my thoughts, and imprinted on my soul. He’s a landlord, coach, firefighter, and to me, a hero. He kept me from setting myself on fire, and he rescued me from the brink of death at the hands of deadly creatures. He’s everything, but if I must simplify him, I can just call him . . . Dorian.”
“Damn,” he utters.
While smiling and internally patting myself on the back, my mind temporarily drifts to Marle, my publisher. Forget her! I still got it!
~
GABixlerReviews
With a personal Christmas Thanks to Charity Shane' for her Lovely Story...
from Gabby...
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