My Hot Holiday by Kate Crown

 
     
    Chapter 1: The Meeting  
     
     
    The only thing worse than driving through a blinding snow storm on Christmas Eve is doing it alone.
    Well, that’s exactly where I’ve ended up.  I, Jillian Reece, am divorced, alone, and white-knuckling every inch of the drive to Oyster Cove, just a stone’s throw from Cape Cod.  You see, my two adorable children are spending their first Christmas with their father and his gorgeous (albeit silicone and collagen-enhanced) 24-year old new wife.  I, on the other hand, am headed to my parents’ house to drown my sorrows.
    The only good part of this treacherous drive is stopping off at my favorite bookstore and catching a glimpse of the handsome man behind the counter.  I’ve sauntered into Jake’s Books four times over the past three months.  I can’t help but wonder if Mr. Tall Dark and Handsome realized I came in for a view of more than the bounded books.
    Okay.  Don't freak out.  It's only a handsome man who owns a silly bookstore.  I mean, he's not even going to notice me, right?
    I stare out of my Toyota's icy windshield at the glow of lights inside Jake’s Book’s, willing myself to open the car door and walk through the snow into the land of Mr. Beautiful .  “He's only a guy, and he's probably already got a girlfriend,” I tell myself for the thousandth time.  I close my eyes and start mentally rehearsing my casual walk through the door.  The door will chime.  I'll look seductively over my shoulder and beeline it to the last-minute Christmas gifts.  I can do this!
    I open my eyes and spot the digits lighting up the dashboard.  Rats!  5:55!  Five minutes till closing!  As my fingers hit the door handle, I remember to take a deep breath.  I can do this!
    I step meticulously across the sidewalk, trying to avoid getting snow in my worn-out, black Manolo heels.  It isn't easy, since the walkway is about a half-hour from requiring a good shoveling.  I reach gaily for the door handle, but my fingers don't quite squeeze the frigid steel.  They remain clutched around it while my mind is overwhelmed by my fantasy.  I'm sure you can guess what it is by now.   Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome runs his hands through my snow-dusted hair, and his mouth warms my lips with the deepest kiss that most of us divorcees believe can only take place in movies.  I know my fantasy sounds far-fetched, but after the break up I just went through, it's been my little slice of emotional cake.  Nearly two years have passed since I’ve been close enough to feel the hardness of a man's arousal.  My husband saved all of that for the twenty-somethings he met during his "business trips.”
    A smile is plastered across my face as I squeeze the metal and step through door, and then I feel it.  My smile withers and then disappears.  Something has grabbed me by the throat and won't let me swallow.  I think it could be panic.  That's because Mr. Tall Dark and Handsome isn't behind the register.  He's been replaced.  Yep.  Possibly the hottest guy I've laid eyes on in years is greeting me with a cheery "Merry Christmas."  This is disastrous. Mr. Tall Dark and Handsome is just what the doctor ordered!
    “Breathe!” I scream internally.  I hastily pull the tail of my wool coat from the door jamb and try to muster a poised smile.  I steal a look at the stunning stranger and focus on balancing my jumbled self.  This is not normal for me.  You see, as a writer, book stores are comforting, like a shoe store must be for a reality TV housewife.  But, this fine specimen of a man has evoked a very different emotion in me...  He's the type I avoid eye contact with on the sidewalk or inside the elevator, so I don't have to face the fact that I'm not 25 and fun anymore.  I mean, I'm not exactly a lost cause, but let's just say I've had two annual checkups since my last lingerie purchase.
    I take a deep breath and force myself to focus calmly on responding to this tall drink of steaming