His holiday fate, p.1
His Holiday Fate, page 1
His Holiday Fate
RS McKenzie
Copyright © 2023 by RS McKenzie
All rights reserved.
No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.
Contents
1. Chapter 1
2. Chapter 2
3. Chapter 3
4. Chapter 4
5. Chapter 5
6. Chapter 6
7. Chapter 7
8. Chapter 8
9. Chapter 9
10. Chapter 10
11. Chapter 11
12. Chapter 12
13. Chapter 13
14. Chapter 14
15. Chapter 15
16. Chapter 16
17. Chapter 17
18. Epilogue
Chapter 1
Andrew
“Time for you to go home,” my boss says in a singsong voice. I roll my eyes and spin around in my chair to give him the hairy eyeball. He chuckles, throwing a stress ball at me. “Come on, And. It’s our office’s annual holiday break. You can’t be here, man.” He’s the only weirdo that calls me And instead of Drew.
I scoff, turn back around, and make the last revisions to the book I was editing. When that’s done and my boss, Stephan, is still standing behind me, I sigh and sign off the computer.
“Fine, I’m leaving.” I stand and grab my bag and my coat, zipping it to the neck to walk into a Fair Falls winter. “Why are you still here?” I ask, angry that he won’t let me work.
We step outside into the cold evening air, and I take a deep breath. No matter how much I bitch about the cold, I love the crisp air. Stepping outside and getting a lungful always clears my head.
Stephan throws an arm around my waist—since he can’t reach my shoulders as a smaller omega— snapping me out of my thoughts. “I knew you wouldn’t leave without a push. Someone had to pull you away.”
The publishing house I work for as an editor and occasional social media correspondent closes two weeks before Christmas and we won’t come back to work until after the new year. It’s nice for people that have a family or plans, but I have neither. I have an empty house with a bunch of dead plants. Three weeks off will be hell. At least I’ll have some books to work on.
Until Stephan bursts my bubble.
“We took company access from you for these three weeks.”
I whip around to look at him, eyes wide. “You did what? Why?”
“You need a break. You work way too hard. You know we assigned you six books last month and you asked for more. No one works that much. You’ll burn yourself out.” Stephan sighs, putting a hand on my shoulder, squeezing lightly. “Look, And. You’re one of the best editors we have. I don’t want to lose you because you worked yourself into the ground. Take a break. Get some sun.” He laughs, looking around at the snow blanketing the ground. “Get some fun. Please, as a personal favor to me.” He pats me on the arm and heads to his car.
Walking backwards, he shouts, “Maybe you should take yourself on a date. Woo yourself.”
Against my better judgement, I laugh. I watch the puff of air leave my mouth as Stephan drives away, honking his horn at me. I blow out another puff, this time in exasperation. Take myself on a date. Yeah, I’m the only person willing to date me.
It’s not like there’s something wrong with me. I think I’m a catch. But I’m focused. I’m busy, I’m dedicated to my work and I don’t take shit. Most omegas like that initially, thinking I can provide for them and any kids we have, but as soon as they see just how much I love my work, they don’t take long to hit the road.
My last relationship taught me that love isn’t enough. Especially if you’re trying to climb out from being a beta reader to actually editing manuscripts and proving your worth. Being an editor isn’t demanding work, but I like to make sure my work is perfect for the authors signed to our publishing house. We’re a small house, but we pride ourselves on what we do. My pride kept me at work longer than it should have and my omega found an alpha that would give him the things I couldn’t. Like time and attention.
Kicking a pile of snow, I stomp to my car, angry with Stephan for not letting me work over the break and angry at myself for letting my ex bring my mood down more. I head home, trying to plan what to do for the next three weeks, but I come up blank. Maybe I’ll listen to what Stephan said. Maybe I’ll take myself on a date.
In spite of the snow, it doesn’t take long for me to get home, even driving more carefully than I normally would. I wish the drive were longer, so I wouldn’t be forced to spend more time than absolutely necessary in an empty house. As much as I say that I don’t mind being alone, I really do. It’s the worst. Even with my shitty ex that couldn’t keep it in his pants, coming home to a warm body was great.
Now, I have my cold sheets and table setting for one. But at least I have my pride and intact heart.
Walking inside, I toss my keys on the counter and pull out a beer. I drink it standing in front of the fridge, knowing I’ll just get another. I don’t drink much, but knowing I’ll be home alone for the next three weeks, I need some alcohol to start my vacation off right.
After finishing my first beer, I grab another and take it to the couch. I turn on the television and I’m met with Christmas movie after Christmas movie.
Ugh! I’m so sick of Christmas. It’s only a week into December and I’m ready for it to be over already. There’s nothing festive about the season. It’s the season where people sing and get drunk and do stupid shit like propose to their omegas in front of a Christmas tree with a stupid holiday hat on, just as his man tells him he’s been cheating on him for the past three months and wanted to come and get his things and was going to tell you before you got down on one knee like a fucking fool.
Oh, and to tell you he was taking the dog. Dumbass.
Scoffing, I chug my beer and put the empty bottle on the table, glaring at it while I hear festive music play from a movie that I hate on principle. My ex, Carlton, used to make us watch a holiday movie every day, starting December first. He would make popcorn, hot chocolate, and make us wear Santa hats while we watched the movies that were the same—city omega meets country alpha, and they get down and dirty in the snow and live happily ever after. Same formula, different movie.
I hate to say that I was looking forward to our last movie after my proposal, but that’s when he dropped the bomb on me. What was really fucked up about it was the fact that, the day before, he gave no indication that he was unhappy, or our relationship wasn’t solid. I was completely blindsided, not knowing what I did wrong. Until he dropped the hard truth on me.
“Drew, you haven’t paid attention to me in weeks,” he said, looking at me sadly. “Have you even noticed anything about me?” I remember looking at him long and hard, not seeing anything different, which made him scoff. “I dyed my hair. And it’s longer. I got my ears pierced.” I took in all the things he said and was ashamed that I really didn’t notice. Carlton was a brunet, but at that moment, I noticed the lightness of it and the blond highlights. His hair was usually longer on top and short at the back, but it was touching his collar then. And when he tucked a lock of hair behind his ear, I noticed his piercings.
I was absent.
He’d already had his bags packed. He said he wanted to wait until after the holidays but didn’t want to drag it out. He said all this while I was down on one knee, after pouring out my heart to him.
Palming my empty beer bottle, I cock my arm back and throw it into the empty fireplace, then curse at the mess. Lucky for me this fireplace is only for show, but it’s best I go ahead and clean it up now before I get too drunk.
Stomping into the kitchen, I grab the broom and dustpan and get busy cleaning. Unlucky for me, the way the fireplace is set up, I can’t fit my broom in there without breaking something, my nose being one of them.
I grab my mini sweeper and get down on my hands and knees to clean the glass. It doesn’t take long, but by the time I’m finished, I’m a little sweaty from trying to get as far back as I can and there’s a bit of dust on my hands. I can only imagine what my face looks like.
After dumping the glass and dirt, I go to take a shower, needing to wash the bad memories as well as the dust away.
While I’m in the shower, I run my hands over my body. I’ve always been a big alpha, body corded with muscle with a minimum amount of working out required. I spend a bit of time running, but that’s the extent of it. I look pretty damn good. My dark brown, almost black hair contrasts sharply with my blue eyes, a conversation starter for most flirting omegas. Physically I’m a catch, but with my working habits, I don’t think I can carry on a relationship.
Snarling, I wash myself roughly and get out of the shower before my morose thoughts bring me down anymore.
Just as I flop on the couch, my phone rings. I scoop it up and see one of my good friends, Miles, calling. “What’s up man?”
“Not much,” Miles says cheerfully. “I wanted to see if you want to join me at the bar down on Third? Winchester’s? It’s been forever since I’ve seen you and I want you to meet another friend of mine.”
“I don’t know man,” I say, even though I don’t have any plans. I had two beers, though they didn’t even make me tipsy. “I just—”
“You ain’t doing shit,” Miles quips and I chuckle. “Come on man, me and my friend usually spend time with our omegas, but we want to hang for a bit. I figured you would want s
Miles and I have been friends since college, so he knows me well enough to know I need to get out. It’s been months since we’ve had drinks, so it would be nice to see him.
Sighing, I look at the time on my phone. It’s only four-thirty. I have plenty of time to sober up, even if I don’t feel the effects of the alcohol. “Fine. What time?”
“Fuck yeah!” Miles shouts, making me pull my phone from my ear. “Let’s meet at seven thirty. My friend has a mate and two kids. He can’t be out too late. And he’s a sappy mess since he met his fated, so he doesn’t want to be out too late anyway.”
I scoff. “Fated mates aren’t real man.”
“I’d agree if I didn’t see it. They’re the real deal man. Rare, but real. I don’t think everyone has one, but Rome sure does. And they’re unbelievable together. Anyway, you’ll like him. Before he met his mate, he was a workaholic like you.” I scoff again. “Who knows? Maybe Santa or whoever you believe in will bring your fated to you for Christmas.”
“Yeah, like that will happen.”
We wrap up the conversation and hang up. Sighing, I toss my phone on the table and lean back against the couch. I turn the shitty movie off, tired of hearing the declarations of love and seeing the cutesy snowball fights.
Because I want that.
I had it and I fucked it up because of work. But I don’t have anything else. When Carlton left me, all I had to fall back on was my work. I probably did the opposite of what I should have done. Instead of slowing down, learning from my mistakes, I went forward full speed ahead, working harder and trying to keep myself busy from my loneliness.
Maybe I’ll be able to find something that will keep my attention away from work for the next few weeks. Hell, maybe I’ll find a new bar I can hole up in until work starts after the New Year.
Fuck. This is going to be a long three weeks.
Chapter 2
Dylan
Skipping down the sidewalk, I look around at the preparations of the annual holiday parade Fair Falls holds. The bar I work at is participating this year and I’m stoked. I had to beg my boss, Bryce, to let us have a booth and he told me as long as I was the one staffing it, he didn’t care. And I told him as long as I could have mulled wine and be in charge of the decorations and I could wear my Santa hat, I was all in. Didn’t hurt that Bryce is my brother and I co-own the bar.
The parade is in a little over a week and Fair Falls looks like a completely different city. With the beautiful decorations and the snowfall from last night, it’s like a winter wonderland.
Opening the door, I twirl around to the Christmas music I insisted upon playing at least three days a week. My brother doesn’t love it, but he lets me get my way. Especially because he’s rarely in the bar proper to hear it.
Bryce sees me dancing like a loon and shakes his head. “Get behind the bar, Dyl. We’ll have customers coming in soon.”
I grin at him, move around behind the bar, and stand on tip toe, kissing his cheek. He laughs, nudging me away. “Loosen up, Bryce,” I tell him, dropping my bag and, after washing my hands, I pick up my cutting board, a paring knife, and some limes. “It’s the holiday season. Who doesn’t like dancing to holiday music?”
“Me. Now get to work.”
I give him a dry look. “Uh, what does it look like I’m doing?” I throw a cut lime at him, which he catches and squeezes into his mouth. So disgusting. “Get out of here. I know you have paperwork to take care of.”
He snaps the hand towel he had over his shoulder at me, then heads to his office. I smile after him. It’s great going into business with my brother. He’s the brains and I’m the word of mouth, getting butts in seats so we can keep this place running. It also doesn’t hurt that I’m a master mixologist, taking several courses and also having my own line of bottled cocktails. They’re only available in Fair Falls, but they do really well.
I go about doing my opening duties—filling up the saltshakers, prepping glasses for shots, filling napkin dispensers and making sure beer is deep in ice. Glancing at the clock, I see it’s about ten minutes before we open. Few people come in right when the bar opens, but it’s the holiday season, so you never know.
While I wait for customers to come, I pull out my notebook and check over what I want done with our booth for the parade. Of course, I want some of the bottled cocktails to be for sale, but I also want to introduce the non-alcoholic version and the mulled wine I’ve been tinkering around with. Mulled wine is an acquired taste and would only be available for the holiday season, but it could bring in some good business.
Along with that, the decorations need some work. I love all of it, the tinsel, the garland, the holly, all of it. But I don’t want a gaudy booth. I want it to look good and elegant, drawing attention to the bar and our wares. This bar is my brother’s dream and being able to be creative is mine. So, it’s important that this booth showcases that.
We’ve been in business for seven years now, but this year will be the first that we have our own booth and I want it to be the best. Other bars in town have booths and do well, bringing in more customers. It’s our year to do the same.
Humming, I sketch out the booth and the decorations I want to have bordering it. The booth is more like a stall, with covering on the top and on three sides. I’ll have room for a long table, some boxes of inventory, and a drink dispenser to keep the wine warm. From there, I’m able to do whatever I want. Starting with color, color, color! Not only the typical holiday colors, but all the colors of the rainbow.
I just have to find someone tall that is willing to help me. Bryce refuses, saying he needs that time to rest and walk around to visit other booths. If it comes down to it, he’ll help, but my brother is not the physical one in this family. If stereotypes are to be believed, I should have been born an alpha.
That makes me giggle. Our parents said the same thing, but they never meant any harm. They liked that Bryce and I subverted expectations of the alpha/omega hierarchy. Bryce is all alpha—big, strong, very take charge—but he doesn’t like to do manual labor. I love all that stuff.
And decorating of course.
I get the booth down to my specifications just as the first of our regulars walks in. “Dyl!” Reese shouts, slapping the bar as he slides onto a stool. “I’ll take my usual.”
“Reese, I swear, I’m going to get you to try one of my cocktails one day.” I give him a wink and turn around to pull down the ingredients for a Manhattan.
He makes a pssh sound and I chuckle. “Never, kid. I’ve been drinking a Manhattan since I was your age and I ain’t about to quit now.”
Reese was one of our first customers, giving our bar a shot because it was closer to his condo. He told plenty of his work friends about us, getting us business. He’ll always be family and always gets his first drink on the house.
Laying out a napkin, I place his glass on it and lean on the bar top. “Tell me, Reese,” I say, turning on the charm, even though it’s wasted. Reese loves alphas—makes no secret about it—so he knows this is all silly flirtation. “When are you going to whisk me away from this terrible life and make me your house husband?” I put my hand on my forehead and pretend to swoon.
His laugh is hearty as he takes a sip of his drink. “As soon as you change your designation, sweetheart.” He sips again, humming in appreciation. “Damn, Dyl. You sure know how to make a drink. I might have to change my mind about the house husband thing.”
Chuckling, I slap him with my towel and move on to the others that walked in. I move around the bar, talking to everyone, making them feel comfortable, and guaranteeing some tips for the day. With it being the holiday season, people are more generous, dropping fives and tens in my jar as opposed to ones any other day. I’ll take it.
Time slips by and I sing along with some patrons to the Christmas music coming through the speakers. It’s the same songs over and over, but I don’t mind. And the more people drink, the less they mind.
My favorite song comes on and I start to belt it out, drawing the attention of the patrons at the bar. A few join in, but most let me sing my own tune. I have a decent singing voice and I’m not afraid to show it off. Just as I hit the end, the door opens and a loud-mouthed alpha groans and says, “If there’s Christmas karaoke, I’m out.”
