Spreading Christmas Joy Read online

  Spreading Christmas Joy

  Tory Baker

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright and Information

  Blurb

  1. Joy

  2. Eb

  3. Joy

  4. Eb

  5. Joy

  6. Eb

  7. Joy

  8. Eb

  9. Joy

  10. Eb

  11. Joy

  12. Eb

  13. Joy

  14. Joy

  15. Eb

  16. Joy

  17. Eb

  18. Joy

  19. Eb

  20. Eb

  21. Joy

  22. Eb

  23. Joy

  24. Eb

  25. Joy

  Epilogue

  Afterword

  Spreading Christmas Joy

  Tory Baker

  [email protected]

  Copyright © 2017 by Tory Baker

  Cover Designer: Romantic Book Affairs

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: The unauthorized reproduction, transmission, or distribution of any part of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

  This literary work is fiction. Any name, places, characters and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or establishments is solely coincidental.

  Please respect the author and do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials that would violate the author’s rights.

  Joy loves everything about Christmas.

  Her town has even nicknamed Christmas Joy.

  Eb is a recluse who has no time for the holiday.

  When Joy comes over to share her cookies and spreading Christmas cheer, there’s only one thing that Eb wants to spread.

  Joy.

  This standalone Christmas novella is hot enough to put you on Santa’s naughty list and give you visions of a lot more than sugar plums dancing.

  1

  Joy

  “Joy! Your delivery is here!” Tina calls from the front of the shop. I barely stop myself from clapping. I’ve been waiting for that delivery all day!

  “Be right there!” I call, sending up a silent prayer of thanks for Amazon’s quick delivery service. I wipe my hands on my apron, looking at the wedding cake I just frosted. It’s clean white everywhere with a sprinkling of silver glitter dust to give the effect of new snowfall. Naomi is going to love her cake and I’m going to love the business her wedding brings me.

  I run Comfort and Joy bakery. I’ve built it from scratch, so to speak, and slowly it’s taken off. This Christmas will mark my second year in business and I’ve loved every moment of it. There have been months I wasn’t sure I was going to make the rent, but somehow, through it all, I’ve survived. This wedding is my biggest account yet. Naomi is a local celebrity—she anchors the local news—and her cake will be seen in the local papers, on her news broadcast and by her over two hundred fifty guests. It might not sound like a lot, but in a town that only has one thousand residents, it means a lot.

  I practically skip to the front of the bakery. Tina is cleaning off the small tables we have sitting in the front room. It’s almost closing time, and she likes to be able to leave as soon as the doors lock.

  “Hey Joy,” Sam the delivery guy says, handing the package.

  “Hey, Sam. Are you staying busy?”

  “It’s that time of year,” he laughs. “Tina says you’ve been waiting for this little beauty,” he adds, waving the box he just carried in.

  I grab it from him, smiling ear to ear. I try to tear it open and quickly realize I’m going to need something to cut this damn packing tape with.

  “What do they use to make this tape stick so good?” I grumble, taking the box to the counter and grabbing a pair of shears to slice through the it.

  “Have no idea, but you’re not the first to ask,” he laughs.

  “I wish I knew. I’d use it to invent a new type of spanks to help shrink my ass.”

  “Nothing wrong with your ass, Joy. From where I’m standing it’s damn fine.”

  “Awe, Sam. You’re so good for my ego. If you were just—”

  “A few years younger?” he jokes, interrupting me.

  “I was going to say single,” I answer, shaking my head with a giggle. “How is Lani and the kids?”

  “Beautiful and spoiled…. And the kids aren’t bad either,” he answers. “Oh hell. Is that what I think it is?” Sam asks from behind me.

  I turn around holding up the contents of the delivery like a trophy. It’s my Wayne Newton Christmas CD!

  “I don’t know Sam. What do you think it is?” I ask

  “A CD? Do people actually use those things anymore?”

  “Joy probably even has 8-tracks,” Tina says sarcastically.

  “Kiss my ass,” I tell her, sticking out my tongue. I can’t say too much because I actually do have an old one in my garage. It belonged to my dad. I even managed to keep an old CCR tape. “And besides,” I continue, “This is not just any CD! It’s the deluxe Wayne Newton’s Christmas CD!”

  “Wayne… Newton?” Sam repeats, like he doesn’t believe me.

  “Let her go, Sam. Just be thankful it’s not Don Ho,” Tina quips. I roll my eyes at her. I actually do have that one, but it’s not as festive. Something about Wayne singing “I’ll Be Home for Christmas,” never fails to get me in the Christmas spirit. Not that, that is too hard to do. Folks around down have nicknamed me Christmas Joy for a reason.

  “On that note I’m out of here. You two have a great holiday if I don’t see you again before then,” Sam says, turning to leave.

  “Wait!” I call. “I have something for you!”

  “Now, Joy. As much as I joke, I am a married man.”

  “Very funny, Sam,” I reply, shaking my head as I grab the red container and bring it to him. It’s a large container covered in reindeer and the top says C&J Bakery.

  “Is this cookies? Please tell me this is your Christmas cookies,” Sam begs, making me grin.

  “Cookies and peanut butter fudge. The cookies for your girls and the fudge is for you and Lani.”

  “You’re an angel!” Sam grins, hugging me. “Have a great Christmas, Joy.”

  “You too.” I watch him leave and then turn to look at Tina. “You think you can close? I want to run another container of cookies over to Mrs. Reynolds.”

  “I saw two containers,” she replies.

  “Yeah, I was going to take one to my new neighbor next door. He moved in three days ago and I still haven’t met him. I thought it was the least I could do. I want to try and welcome him into the neighborhood.”

  “You haven’t met him? That’s a little strange.”

  “Yeah. I hope he’s not an asshole. I’m already worried.”

  “Why? Does he have noisy pets or something? Women coming and going all hours of the night? Give me the deets! You’ve been holding out on me.”

  “No. I mean well, I don’t know. It’s just that it’s December now and Christmas is right around the corner…”

  “Christmas?” Tina asks confused.

  “Yeah and he’s not put out one single decoration. It’s downright depressing. When the Monroe family lived there they decked the place out. Actually my whole street decorates. This guy not decorating is making the house stick out like a sore thumb.”

  “Wait. If you haven’t seen him, how do you know it’s a man?”

  “Lisa at the realtor office told me. He’s supposed to be some kind of recluse. She said he was a writer, but she didn’t recognize his name, so he mus
t not be that great.”

  “Well, hey. Maybe he uses one of those pen names. You know?”

  “Maybe,” I shrug.

  “Let me know if he’s cute… Oh! And if he’s single!” she says excitedly.

  “Whatever. I don’t really care what he is or isn’t. I’m mostly hoping that getting a delivery of Christmas cookies, will give him the urge—”

  “To sample other things you might offer him?” Tina giggles, trying to move her eyebrows back and forth. Sadly, she doesn’t, so it mostly looks like she might need to go poop.

  “To decorate his damn house! Or at least put up a tree! I just know he’s going to cost my street the Juniper Springs County trophy this year for best décor!”

  “The horror!” Tina mocks.

  “I hate you. Just for that you’re locking up completely on your own,” I grumble. I put on my coat and then grab the two containers off the counter.

  Tina just doesn’t get it. Then again, most people don’t understand my love of Christmas—which is sad.

  It’s the most wonderful time of the year! I giggle thinking of the old song and then I hum it as I make my way to the Senior Citizen’s building at the end of town. Time to spread some cheer. At least Ms. Reynolds will appreciate it.

  2

  Eb

  I rub the tension at the back of my neck. It’s been a long fucking day. I’m working under a deadline. I need to have the first draft of this damn book finished in two weeks and the way things are going, there’s no way that’s going to happen. I had to be fucking insane to plan a move this close to my contractual obligations. I wish I had never signed that damn contract. There was a time writing was fun for me, but it’s been so long ago I can barely remember it.

  Now it’s all about the Benjamins.

  The thing about money is once you have a taste of the good life, you keep wanting more of it. It’s a vicious damn cycle.

  Still, today I seemed to have gotten in a groove. I’ve knocked out chapter after chapter and I’m actually liking the direction of the story. I’m typing away when… all at once I hear it.

  Outside my window there’s… singing. Several people singing actually, and at least two of them have to be completely tone deaf. All thought processes screech to a halt suddenly and as someone’s voice cracks on Silent Night. Screech seems to be a good word to use. Jesus.

  When I asked my agent to help find a rental that was in a quiet town in Nowhere USA, I thought she had finally come through with Juniper Springs, Colorado. I should have been more specific, however. This whole place has gone Christmas crazy. My neighbor’s decorations alone hurt my eyes to look at. I’ve had to have total blackout blinds installed and I swear there’s still traces of light that seem to infiltrate my house. How the fuck they manage to pay their electric bill is beyond me. The place should be declared a national security risk. I’m pretty sure that there are planes above mistaking their yard for an airport runway, all because of the fucking lights.

  I stand up, stretching muscles which are sore from lack of use. I don’t know how many hours I’ve been sitting at my damn computer, but I’m pretty sure when I started that it was barely daylight. One glance at the clock tells me that night will be falling soon.

  No wonder I’m fucking sore.

  I might as well take a break and regroup since no more writing will be done today. I walk into the kitchen wondering if there is anything in here worth eating. I pull back the lid to the pizza I had delivered yesterday…or maybe a couple of days before. I can’t really remember. When I’m writing I tend to get lost in the story and lose track of time. There’s still a piece left and there’s no mold on it, so I figure I’m good. I don’t bother heating it up. Warmed up pizza is for men who shave their balls.

  I walk back towards the front door, pizza in hand. As I go I’m sifting through my outline in my head, mentally going back through what I’ve written and trying to see where I still need to go. This is my process. It’s also the reason why after I write a book that I do nothing for months afterwards—my brain needs a vacation. I open the door to check to see if the mailman left mail out front. The first couple of days he knocked. I don’t remember him knocking today, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t. I trap the piece of pizza between my teeth and lips and open up the metal mailbox which is mounted beside the door. There’s some mail in there, so I guess the guy did come by. I dig out the magazine and a few sales papers and one envelope. The only real mail seems to be a letter from my agent. I wasn’t expecting one, so this could be good or bad. I take the last two bites of my pizza, tossing the leftover crust in a trashcan I keep by the entryway. I wipe my hand on my sweats, to rid it of at least some of the excess pizza sauce, and then I tear open the letter.

  I read over the note, frowning because my balls are itching. Hearing from my agent has that effect on me. She’s not bad to look at, but she has that hungry look about her that scares the shit out of me. Not the kind that says she’s up for sex anytime and every time and will wear your dick out. The kind that says she’d chop your dick off if it meant she’d get further ahead. It’s a scary fucking look for a woman, but a great one for an agent and the one simple reason I hired her. I move my hand down, sliding it between my stomach and sweats, scratching my balls, still reading the letter.

  “Oh!”

  A startled gasp comes from my left. I look over and see a sexy little blond holding a large container decorated in Christmas crap. She’s wearing tight jeans that cling to her, an oversized white sweater, that sadly completely hides her tits from view, though I’m sure they are under there… somewhere. She also has some weird little Santa hat on that’s red and complete with a white puffy ball on the end.

  Suddenly I have the strangest urge to get on the naughty list.

  3

  Joy

  I spent more time than I should have visiting Mrs. Reynolds, but she was lonesome. Still, as a result I’m really pushing it trying to get home before it gets dark. I don’t normally drive, even in the colder weather. It just seems like a waste, because I don’t live that far from town. But, now I’m really hoofing it to get home before dark. Juniper might be a quiet neighborhood, but a woman walking home alone after dark isn’t safe anywhere these days. I turn the corner, deciding to go straight to my neighbor’s house. I can deliver their package of Christmas cheer and hopefully help push him into the spirit and then go home and crash. I can already hear my large soaking tub calling my name. When I look up at my neighbor’s door, my breath stops in my lungs.

  He’s standing at his mailbox, in sweats and he’s not wearing a shirt and… he’s delicious. That’s the only word that comes to mind. Delicious. Because he is. He’s like a Greek god—an Adonis in the flesh. His skin is a golden bronze, and looks so inviting… almost like candy because all you want to do is lick it. He’s got wavy black hair that looks months too late for a cut, but the long, messy locks is sexy and screams with masculinity. There’s traces of gray here and there, but that only makes it more appealing.

  His face looks as if it was chiseled by an artist. It’s just that perfect. He even has this perfectly symmetrical indention on his chin that makes me wonder what it would feel like to slide my tongue against it.

  I find myself hoping he’s single. I find myself praying he’s the answer to the long dry spell I’ve been having.

  I start to speak up to announce my presence when I see him move his hand inside his gym pants. I blush slightly, but even though I know I shouldn’t—I still watch. He moves his hand down, adjusting himself and I swallow, because my throat is suddenly dry.

  Then he does something that completely floors me.

  His hand moves in his pants and I can see him actually stretching out his shaft. It’s not hard—at least not completely—but, even through the loose sweatpants that he’s wearing you can tell he’s packing. He’s big. Really big.

  I can’t stop the startled, “Oh!”, that comes out of my mouth, or the way I feel flushed, weak, and yet strangel
y energized all at the same time.

  He turns to face me then and I can feel heat fill my face. His gaze moves up and down my body. It lingers on my breasts and the look in his eyes excites me. I should be ashamed at the wetness gathering against my panties, but I’m not. It’s been a long time since a man has looked at me and even then, he looked nothing like this man. This man is…

  Sex on a stick.

  “Hello,” he says. That’s it. Just one word, but his voice is deep, throaty, with a touch of playfulness in it and if my panties weren’t already wet…

  “Hi. Um… I didn’t mean to bother you,” I answer. I start off in a whisper, my vocal chords not exactly wanting to work. But, to be fair, it’s hard to tell what I sound like over the pounding of my heart.

  “Honey you’re no bother. You’re a dream come true,” he says with a quick, dirty, little grin. I really should dismiss his words—maybe even run back home. I can’t seem to make myself do either of those.

  “Um…” I stutter, because I have no idea what to say to that. He’s probably making fun of me. I’m used to that. Folks in town are good to me, and most like me. Still, how many times have I heard them laugh about Christmas Joy?

  Maybe I shouldn’t have worn the Santa hat?

  “I brought you a gift. A welcome to the neighborhood kind of thing,” I tell him lamely, stepping in closer to him. I’m proud of myself that I manage not to stare as he pulls his hand out of his pants.