Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

SLOAN

I ’ve never wanted to go full on ‘ Bah Fucking Humbug ’ but this year…it could be a vibe. Or an aesthetic. Or even my entire identity for the next two months.

Maybe even for the next year. I mean, there are places where people keep their holly jolly madness going all year. I bet Ebenezer Scrooge was a crabby asshole up until he was haunted and got a bad case of the ghost insomnia. I’d be grumpy as fuck if people kept interrupting my sleep, too. But then again, he turned into Mr. Christmas himself, didn’t he?

Sigh .

I hurried to the gate, just in time to hear final boarding being called for my flight. “Sorry,” I mumbled and fumbled for my phone, trying to unlock the screen while my bag slid down my arm in an attempt to cut off my circulation.

“Here, let me help you,” a deep voice, like honey and utterly male, said from behind me. My head shot up, and I whipped it around only to find a towering lumbersnack of a man. All that was missing from his red-haired, trimmed beard muscle-ness was a damn flannel.

So not lumberjack. But all snack.

I hated him on sight and twisted so he couldn’t help as he attempted to grab my bag that was now almost to my wrist…Nope, not today, Man. Y’all can go fuck yourselves.

“I’m fine,” I bit out, the gate attendant cleared her throat. “Sorry.” A scanner in hand, she held it out, and I flashed my screen.

“Have a nice trip, and happy Thanksgiving. Sir?”

The gorgeous man grinned, and his eyes sparkled as he regarded her. Actually sparkled, and she immediately softened even more ,which made him smile and look even more appealing. I flinched inwardly, at all the things that made me uncomfortable.

Nice, kind, and helpful. A non-existent, fairy tale, Christmas wish that would never come true. I huffed a breath in a vain attempt to get the hair that had fallen in my eyes out the way. Then a glare directed at the two of them for a moment.

Without another word, I spun and trudged down the tunnel connecting the plane taking me to my family’s holiday torture. Thanksgiving at the Poole household was a loud, boisterous time filled with nosy relations, food, and absolutely no privacy. Everyone gathered at Connie and George Poole’s house for a day of food, family, and deafening annoyances. Normally, I loved the holidays at my grandparents’ house. But this year, the holiday spirit looked more like a punishment filled with reminders of why I was alone, too independent, and destined to be the one everyone tried to set up with a random person from the small town they lived in for the past fifty years.

And in a little less than a month, it would be a weekend-long Christmas torture event of epic proportions.

This year, for the first time since I graduated high school, I had someone to bring home.

Until the man I thought I had a future with stole my ideas for a project at the company we both worked for, claiming it as his own. Fucking asshole. Never trust a man who can’t get you off and gets jealous of your vibrator. Especially when he thinks he has gotten you off, and then like a fool, you talk over your presentation, believing that he wants to help you. Praise your work. All the while stealing every damn part of it.

And when I flew off the handle when I caught Jon pitching my ideas to our boss, he had the fucking nerve to imply that somehow sleeping my way to a promotion had been my end game. Maybe decking him wasn’t the best idea, but when Justine, my co-worker, slid into the room and called him baby , I lost my shit.

It was then I realized he was a narcissistic, controlling asshole who had made me feel like I needed him because everything I did needed improvement. Looking back, I realized I apologized nonstop, even when he was a dick. And God, was he a dick.

The entire incident cost me my job, my dignity, and maybe a chance to not be single for once for the holidays. The last one could skip town like Frosty when it heated up. And kneeing a man in the balls never felt so good. I figured if I was going down, I might as well enjoy the process. I should’ve known when he referred to himself in the third person on our second date that he would turn out to be the guy who deserved a punch in his Nutcracker.

I loved my job, I think. And my dignity left town in such a flurry that I expected to be living at the North Pole from now on once my cheeks stopped flushing, either in embarrassment or anger. Maybe both.

The only bad part of it all was that his family lived a few towns over from mine. I cringed when I thought about how we had bonded over that stupid fact that meant he wasn’t going to be as far away as I’d hoped.

But, here I was, alone, albeit in first class, on a flight home that was supposed to be my I-am-no-longer-single Thanksgiving, jobless, and no longer wanting any type of holly fucking jolly. The overhead compartment was still open when I shoved my carry-on into it. Just as I stepped back, I collided with a hard wall of muscle and nearly fell backwards onto my ass in the middle of the aisle. The flight attendant rushed forward, but strong arms stopped me just before impact. My hair fell into my face, as the world came to a sudden stop.

“Hey, I got you.”

Fuck. My. Life. It was him. Mr. Helpful Lumbersnack himself. All muscles and smelling amazing and gazing down at me with concern in his eyes.

One side of his mouth twitched. “And I doubt your life is fucked, and thank you for letting me know I smell…what was it? Amazing?”

Oh. My. God. “I said that out loud?”

He nodded and helped me right myself. “Yep, you did. I am not going to ask what a—what was it again?” I backed away, cheeks on fire and rage in my bones for reasons both known and unknown. I nearly flinched when he snapped his fingers. “A lumbersnack?”

The other passengers were having conversations as we settled into our seats, and the murmurs and low voices created a lull in the cabin that thankfully made the uncomfortable silence not so silent. I sat in my seat, thankful that at least the one next to me would be blessedly empty since Jon was no longer a part of my holiday plans.

“Thank you for catching me, now if you’ll excuse me-” My jaw dropped as he sat down. In my no-longer-boyfriend’s seat. Good smelling muscled body and all. “What are you doing?”

Mirth-filled blue eyes stared back at me. “Getting ready for takeoff. Thanksgiving is tomorrow, and I happen to love turkey and stuffing. Even if it’s takeout.”

“But that seat-”

“Opened up while I was at the ticket counter.”

“I paid for that seat.”

He continued to settle in, pulling out a book and buckling in. “Actually, I paid for this seat about an hour ago. And getting a first class ticket this close to Thanksgiving was a miracle, so…”

I looked around frantically for the flight attendant, already feeling my Bah Humbug sinking further into the marrow of my bones. Yep, I grew up in one of those the Christmas started in November households. We decorated the day after Halloween.

“After it was refunded.”

My head snapped back to him. “Wait, what? He can’t do that. I paid for his seat because he. UGHHHH.” That asshole . “He exchanged the ticket I bought him, didn’t he?” I didn’t wait for or expect an answer. “I should've kneed him in the balls harder.”

“Excuse me?” The lumbersnack asked. Oh, God.

He was HUGE. But not in that I’m going to take up all the space manspreading. No, he was huge in the way a girl dreamed of when she wanted to climb a tree but found a hot ginger man. Like his forearms alone could make me dream of sugar plums dancing along them. Oh, the muscles. Was he six-foot-five-and-a-million or something?

“Sugar plums?” he asked, eyes dancing again like he was more amused as I flushed once again. Cheeks heated and my dignity, once again, fleeing for a colder climate. “And I’m six five. Not a million.”

Again, I searched for the flight attendant, but she was busy with someone else. “You can’t sit here.”

“I can, and I promise, I don’t bite. Unless you want me to, and even then, I am definitely not a vampire.” He gestured to the space between the first class seats. “Plenty of room to not ‘manspread’ and I even have an audiobook to listen to, which means unless you talk, I’ll zone out for the flight.”

My eyes widened as I realized the doors were shut, and I was stuck sitting next to him, when all I wanted was to wallow in my misery and figure out a way to explain my single, jobless status over turkey and cherry clove cranberry sauce.

“Excuse me, but you’ll have to fasten your safety belt and stow your items to prepare for takeoff.”

The flight attendant smiled, and as much as I wanted to dislike her for nearly swooning over this…man, she was just doing her job. At least she had one. I nodded, mumbling an apology and buckled up. The click felt as the belt snapped into place felt like the door closing on the last vestiges of my life that were now a pile of unwanted and blown out Christmas lights. And I was too tangled and tired to do anything about it for now.

I inhaled a deep breath, smoothed my hair, and faced my companion for the flight home. “It’s not that I don’t want you here, it’s just that I really was hoping to wallow in self-pity before facing my family because I’ve had a hellish few days. I mean, I don't really want you here, but it's not you. At all. It’s all me, and my disaster of a life. Sulking, or maybe drinking myself into a happy tipsy buzz while I make excuses for the things my mom will ask, or my sister will say to remind me how perfect her life is. While eating my feelings stuffing my mouth with gingerbread cookies. The soft kind, not the hard crappy ones you build things out of.”

Those eyes sparkled again, dancing before he put on a semi-serious expression. “I understand. Sometimes you need to hide for a little bit, lick your wounds, and come up with a game plan before everyone judges you. And those cookies sound amazing.”

I opened and closed my mouth. “How did you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Make me feel better, even just a little? Especially after the way I’ve acted?”

He shrugged. “Judging someone doesn’t do anyone any good. You never know what someone is going through.” A faraway look entered his eyes, then he shook his head. “Sometimes all we need is someone to tell us it’s going to be okay, we're doing our best, and the sky isn’t falling based on the opinions of other people.”

The plane jostled as it lifted into the air, and I shut my eyes.

“Afraid of flying?” he asked.

I shook my head. “It’s not the flying, it’s the not being able to hold onto anything solid until we hit cruising altitude.”

“Here,” he said, and I opened my eyes. His hand, big and strong, waited, palm up.

“Why?”

“You can hold my hand until we hit cruising.”

“But, I don’t know you.”

“Jacob. And you are?”

I swallowed as the plane stuttered a little more and grabbed his hand. “Sloan.” His skin was warm, his palm rough with calluses that weren’t unpleasant, but more like a map of how hard he must work. Jon’s hands had been smooth. Should’ve been my first clue.

Lazy asshole.

But this? Holding Jacob’s hand? Felt more intimate than the entire span of the relationship I’d let myself believe was something it wasn’t. My cheeks flushed, but he was right. Holding his hand did make everything feel more solid. Or maybe it was the way he looked at me, making sure I was okay.

“Visiting family for the holiday?” he asked.

The plane shuddered as we flew higher and higher. “Big family holiday. Nosy, loud family holiday. You?”

He seemed to think about it for a second, then the corners of his mouth lifted. “Same. Kind of. I’m visiting…family, and picking something up that’s very special to me before I head back home Friday.”

“Not staying the weekend?”

“I have to go back to work,” he said.

His hand felt warm in mine, like the kind of warm you get holding a mug of hot cocoa spiked with something that made your belly warm and your toes tingle.

The sun shone through the windows as we breached the clouds.

I shifted in my seat as much as the lap belt would let me, and pulled my hand from his. My throat felt scratchy all of a sudden and the attempt at clearing it wasn’t helping. “Thank you. Cruising altitude and all. Listen away. I’ll just be over here, reading away. Trying to be happy you’re in that seat and not the person who I bought the ticket for.”

A nod, and the kind of smirk that was far too sweet and sexy spread across his face. His neatly trimmed beard framed lips that I was pretty sure had kissed a lot of other lips, and those damn blue eyes were doing the damn tinsel sparkle thing again.

Curse you, mom. All the ‘November begins the Christmas season’ has turned me into a crazy mixture of Bah Humbug and Deck the Damn Halls this year.

I cleared my throat again. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

With one last look, I let out a sigh and resigned myself to another miserable, single and now jobless holiday with the loudest and nosiest if not well-meaning family ever.

And did my best to ignore the really good looking man who made me want to either climb him or hide in the restroom at the front of the plane for the entirety of the flight home.