“It’s perfect, Grandpa,” Lucy says. “I love it. And I love you.”
She wraps her arms around me, and I hold her tightly, the miracle of Christmas still not lost on me.
~The End~
About
Home Is Where The Beard Is
You could call me a Grinch.
But instead of green fur, I grew a beard and a brooding attitude.
Sure, I’ve got a chip on my shoulder — but we all have our issues.
I live in the woods. Alone. That’s the way I like it.
Until this December.
When Maple St. Claire knocks on my cabin door and everything changes.
I may be a grump, but I’m a sucker for sweet things.
And this girl? I’ve been in love with her since I was six years old.
It’s the season for miracles and maybe just this once I’ll get the present I’ve wanted all my life:
Maple St. Claire in my arms under the mistletoe.
Dear Reader,
It’s Christmas and I was feeling generous… so I gave you not one, but two virgins.
That’s right, this filthy-sweet romance features an alpha hero who is saving himself for his one and only… and a sweet as sugar heroine who’s been dreaming of this moment all her life.
They’re both about to get a really good Christmas gift!
xo, frankie
Filson
With my shirtsleeves rolled up and an axe in the air, I slam the blade down, splitting the chunk of wood in two. I wipe my forehead with the back of my arm, assessing the stack of firewood. More than enough for the rest of the long-ass winter that’s ahead of us here in the Northern Cascade Mountains. Hell, there’s already a few inches of snow at my feet.
I turn, hearing tires crunch against the freshly covered gravel of the driveway. A car is pulling up and my springer spaniel, Sammy, starts barking. “It’s okay, girl,” I say, burying the axe in the stump, the thick scent of pine trees and the smoke from the chimney swirling around us. The tires come to a stop and I wonder who would be coming out here today when the forecast predicted a flurry of snow for later this morning.
I live about thirty minutes from town in a mountain cabin that I built with my own two hands. Hell, it’s not like there was anyone else to help me knock those timbers together. Didn’t need anyone’s help either. Never have. Never will.
When the car door swings open and a pair of feet hit the snow, I call for Sammy to stay by my side, trying to figure out who might be coming to these parts. There’s only one man I’m hoping to hear from soon and I don’t think Asher Martin would be so stupid as to show up on my property.
The closer I get though, the clearer it becomes.
I know who it is.
And for a second, I consider turning around — not talking to her at all. Because this girl — well, she’s a woman now — is sweet as sin and always has been. The girl grew up on Jingle Bell Lane. Her childhood was a greeting card if there was such a thing. Goody two-shoes is the icing on her Christmas cookie.
Maple St. Claire still looks like magic, a princess wrapped up in perfection, and even now, as she stands on my property, I feel butterflies in my stomach.
Crazy, I know that. I’m a burly-ass man with a beard, a flannel shirt, and a no-nonsense attitude, but seeing her here, so damn close, makes me jittery like the little kid I was all those years ago when we met. We were six years old and her granny was the only woman in town crazy enough to babysit a hothead like me. Maple, like her granny, saw through my temper. They both seemed to understand I was a little boy without a mother in sore need of a little TLC.
Maple gave it in droves. She made me drawings of the two of us holding hands on the playground. She passed along her favorite books to me when she finished them — and I didn’t care that they were all fairytales of princesses who lived in castles. She made me want to be more than a beast… For her, I wanted to be a knight in shining armor.
Just didn’t have any goddamn clue how to do that. My father was a bad example. My uncles were even worse. I didn’t know how to be a man.
And when I finally figured it out, it was too late.
Last time I saw her was at the graveside service. And that was seven months ago. It’s not like we talked then, we haven't talked for years. Why would we?
Whatever history we share is in a book that has been closed for a long-ass time. I was never the sort of man Maple would be interested in even though she’s the only girl I’ve ever wanted. Part of me thinks she’s always known how I feel, but just doesn’t care. But the other part of me thinks she doesn’t have a goddamn clue. Because a girl like her lives in a different atmosphere. A different world entirely. Certainly not the one I’m from. No. I’m from dirt roads and trailer parks. From the other side of the tracks. From a drunken-ass father who gave me a bottle of whiskey on my sweet sixteen.
Maple though? She’s nothing like that. She’s sugar and spice and everything nice. Looking at her now in a pale pink wool coat, a pink knit cap covering her ears, long red hair spilling out from under it; those curls to her elbows that I’ve always ached to run my fingers through. They remind me just how different we are. How different we’ve always been.
It doesn’t mean my heart feels any differently though.
Damn, this girl put a spell on me when I was six years old and it’s never broken. Not once.
“Filson?” Her sweet voice rings out as she steps closer to me. The closer she comes, the clearer she becomes. A vision, just like always. Now though, with a backdrop of pine trees and blue skies and the snowy mountains above us, she looks more beautiful than ever. She looks like hope. I’m sure she sees something else when she looks at me. Something I don’t want to know. Still, I do my best to not act like the grumpy-ass Grinch I am. Instead, I wipe my hands on my jeans, wishing I had my jacket on. I worked up a sweat while swinging that axe, but now all I feel is the December frost in the air.
“Long time no see,” I say, instantly regretting my stupid words. Wishing I had the words that would win Maple to me.
“Yeah,” she says looking me over. “It’s been a really long time.”
There’s a moment of awkward silence. Me looking at her, her looking at me. Goddammit. I step closer, wanting to breathe her in even though it’s not my business to.
“What brings you out here, Maple?” I ask, knowing it must be something important to have her come out all this way.
“I have something I wanted to ask you, actually,” she says, licking those pink lips of hers.
“Yeah?” I cock an eyebrow at her, running a hand over my thick beard, wondering what on God’s green Earth she’d have to ask me. The longer I stand there though, the more I get to thinking. Wondering about the last time she asked me a question. And how I’d answered. The no I gave her back in high school seems to echo around the valley.
“Can we talk inside?” I ask, not wanting to freeze my balls off.
“Yeah, sure, of course,” she says, dropping her keys in her purse.
Part of me wants to reach out and take her hand to make sure she doesn’t slip in this snow, but she clasps her hands together under her chin, and I don’t make a move, scared of breaking this spell.