A hunky reindeer handler . . . a grumpy elf-turned-novelist . . . a case of mistaken identities . . . and, of course, Santa — my new book’s got what you’re craving from your Hallmark-esque holiday romance novels with all the trimmings.
Sexting Santa is a short ‘n’ steamy contemporary holiday romance that’s part of The Holiday Honeys, a series of standalones set in the real-life town of North Pole, New York.
And not only is it out right now in Kindle Unlimited, but I’ve got a free excerpt for you to enjoy right here and now. Enjoy the first two chapters from Sexting Santa. Happy reading! :)
Bethany
I’m walking back from our lunch break with my best friend and co-worker at Santa’s Workshop, Tansy, when I see him.
Sexton Kail.
Reindeer handler.
Blue-eyed, rugged, twenty-something hunk.
Love of my life.
Okay, fine, crush of my life. But same difference, right?
The reindeer barn is admittedly out of our way. We’re heading from the Christmas theme park’s break room back to Santa’s Photo Shop where we work as elves. The reindeer barn is not exactly on the way.
But I don’t mind the extra distance. It’s worth it to catch a glimpse of Sexton.
Which we do, praise Joseph the non-biological baby daddy of Jesus.
He’s in his regulation elf costume, cheeks rouged, green and white striped sleeves showing off his biceps. At the moment he’s introducing a gaggle of the theme park’s many pint-sized patrons to Rudolph — a.k.a. a long-suffering reindeer forced to sport a faux red nose.
Sexton looks up as Tansy and I pass.
“Hi,” Tansy says, waggling her fingers at him.
“Urgh,” I say.
He inclines his chin in our direction.
His strong, grizzled, perfect chin.
“Hey,” he says in his deep voice.
I smile like a maniac and promptly trip over my own two feet. I hit the cobblestone sidewalk hard, barely keeping my chin from cracking against the hard surface.
Tansy’s at my side in a second. “Shit. Are you okay, Bethany?”
Am I? I’m honestly not sure. The palms of my hands are throbbing, my heart’s pounding, and I’d like the earth to open up and swallow me whole, thanks very much.
Another shadow falls over me. I feel strong hands join Tansy’s, helping me to my feet.
I’m about to fall all over again, this time in a swoon, thinking it’s Sexton that’s come to my rescue.
Raising my crimson-cheeked face to meet his, words of gratitude prepare to gush from my mouth.
Then I freeze.
Because it’s not Sexton who’s got his hands on my upper arms, assisting me.
It’s Santa Claus.
Like, the one I work with at the photo shop.
I think, anyway. In that getup, they all blend together.
“Oh,” I say, tongue feeling suddenly stiff. “Um. Thanks.”
He shrugs, blue eyes gleaming at me above his fake white beard. “What else could a jolly old guy do for one of his elves?”
I glance over at the reindeer barn, thinking Sexton might be worried about me. But he’s smiling at the kids as if from far away, eyes glazed, while they pet Rudolph.
My face burns hotter. I wiped out in front of my crush and he couldn’t even be bothered to notice. I wonder which would be worse, him seeing or him not seeing.
At the moment, I’m kind of leaning toward the latter.
“Do you need to go to First Aid?” Santa’s saying.
I run a mental scan of my body. “Um. I don’t think so.”
His gaze lingers on me. Tansy’s at my side frowning at me in the same way. “You sure?” he presses.
I stare at him, wondering what he looks like under his wig, hat, and faux beard. “Absolutely.”
“Then let’s get back to work before we’re missed.” He winks at me and takes off.
Tansy and I follow in his wake. “You really okay?” she murmurs.
“Yeah, just a bruised ego. At least Sexton didn’t notice. He’d think I was a klutz. Which,” I admit, “wouldn’t exactly be the wrong assumption.”
“When do you think you’ll work up the guts to talk to him?” she says, waggling her eyebrows.
I groan. “Probably never.”
She shakes her head. “You can’t let your love go unrequited. You’ve got to at least talk to him.”
“And say what?”
“Well, what would your book characters say?”
I roll my eyes. “Something that would probably sound dumb in real life.”
“I disagree. You’re a romance writer. You’ve got a corner on the talking-to-sexy-guys market.”
Tansy’s got a point. I do write romance novels and publish them independently on the side. I hope to one day do it full-time. I’ve got experience thinking about love.
But I’ve got zero experience talking to guys like the heroes in my books.
Guys like Sexton.
“No, I’ve got a corner on the writing-about-sexy-guys-that-don’t-exist market,” I point out. “Big difference.”
“There’s a staff meeting after the park closes tonight.” She nudges me gently with an elbow as we pass the heavenly smelling bake shop and the much less heavenly smelling blacksmith shop. “You should talk to him then. Maybe even get his number. Pretend it’s about work.”
I wrinkle my nose. “I don’t know . . .”
She stops on the stone path and whirls around, blocking my way. “You have to. For your readers.”
I raise a single skeptical eyebrow. “My readers?”
“Okay, fine. For me.” Her fists find her hips. “But for you too.”
“Ugh. Okay, you win,” I relent, knowing that if I don’t she’ll never stop hassling me. “I’ll try. But that’s all I’m promising.”
“Tonight?”
I sigh. “Tonight.”
Tansy gives a little squeal, which, given her elf attire, is freaking adorable. “I’m so excited.”
I won’t admit this to my friend because I’ll never hear the end of it. But deep down, beneath the abject terror, I’m excited too.
Maybe by the end of the day, I’ll have some more real-life experience to pepper my novels with.
I don’t squeal like my best friend, but the thought makes a grin that I can’t hide spread across my face.
Jasper
I’d seen her before, the blonde elf with the blue eyes that match my own.
I mean, obviously I have, we work together. From a distance, sure, because no one ever really gets close to Santa except for the folks sitting on his lap. It ruins the mystique. Or something.
Still, we’e in the same building. We share oxygen on the daily.
But I’d never truly seen her, if you know what I mean. Not until she fell at my feet, literally, and I helped her up. Because when that happened, I found those blue eyes scrutinizing my face, trying to see beneath the Santa costume.
It’s been ages since anyone’s looked at me like that, like they were trying to see the real me. Certainly not since going to the city.
New York City, I mean. I’d left North Pole, New York, to travel to the Big Apple.
I should’ve known that a place where the locals think anything off their metropolitan island is “upstate” isn’t the place for me.
But at first, I’d thought it was. I’d wanted to escape the small town life, to make a name for myself. If I ever came back to North Pole, I wanted to do it hung with college degrees, awards, and achievements.
Instead, I’m back here with my tail between my legs, hung only with this hot, itchy Santa costume that’s too big for my slim frame.
But I’ve got one thing I didn’t have before I left — an appreciation for everything that North Pole is, instead of derision for everything it isn’t.
Yeah, it’s a small town, but it’s not backward. The people are kind and look out for each other, no matter how different they may be. They’re sharp and won’t hesitate to call you on your bullshit. But they will be the first to lend a helping hand to anyone who needs it, no questions asked.
That’s how I got this Santa gig. Frank, my brother from another mother since childhood, is a manager at the theme park and went to bat for me with his boss.
And strangely, I’m enjoying myself more in my jolly suit — the management’s attempt at a more politically correct term for fat suit, with dubious results — than I ever did at Columbia University.
The school was not only too big and overly attended by students who are positive they’re better than everyone else, but I stopped being able to afford it.
After taking a handful of years off from education following high school graduation, I’d enrolled in Columbia at twenty-five, my first two years paid for by a mosaic of scholarships that I’d spent uncountable hours applying for.
And then, two years in, financial terms changed. My scholarships no longer covered most of the tuition. No job that I was qualified for would come even close to covering the rest — if I had time to work enough hours between classes and homework.
So, loathe to saddle myself with student loans, I’d left.
Now, instead of continuing to pursue a business degree, I’m listening to Santa’s Workshop park patrons of all ages whisper their hopes and dreams in my ear.
And I kind of love it.
Like, a lot.
Except for one thing, an unwelcome souvenir of my time in the city. You know, besides the jolly suit.
I’m having a damned hard time trusting anyone. After years of a brutal — for me, anyway — city life of competition, one-upmanship, and fending off all of my classmates and neighbors to barely scrape by, it’s hard for me to not feel the same here.
Even though North Pole isn’t at all like that. The generous holiday spirit that the town embraces year-round isn’t just an act — it’s the heart and soul of this town and all the people in it.
Having grown up here, I know that full well.
But, as my parents tried to gently warn me, life in the big city can change a man.
It made me harder, more skeptical.
Living there made it hard for me to trust that the people I’m surrounded by won’t stab me in the back once it’s turned.
Until the elf from the photo shop takes a tumble before my eyes. And she sees me, beneath the makeup and padded suit and synthetic beard. Or tries to.
And that changes everything.
When I leave the elf and her friend — also an elf, of course — I find myself walking lighter in spite of the jolly suit. The two women are following in my wake, and every nerve in my body is attuned to their presence.
To her presence.
I want to learn everything about her, to know why she looked at me the way she did and what she saw.
I don’t recognize her from my years growing up in North Pole, so she must be new. Which means that she chose to move here.
Or I have really bad memory.
But no, I tell myself as I settle back into Santa’s red-velveted chair at the photo shop. I’d remember a girl like that. No question.
The elf takes her place at the door, welcoming children and their adults to the shop. Her friend positions herself behind the camera. Soon my lap is warm from being sat on, my cheeks sore from smiling.
All the while, though, the elf’s presence shines from the front of the shop like a crackling fireplace on a cold winter’s night.
Before the day is through, I promise myself, I’m going to learn her name.
And maybe more.
Thank you for reading! This comedic holiday romance was so fun to write. I spent several formative living in New York state, and it was a pleasure to revisit my old stomping grounds. I wish I’d known about North Pole while I was there, though — it sounds like a blast!