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“You heard from Dom?” Immediately, Ves’s mind flies to the book proposal for his next middle-grade fantasy he’d delivered to his editor, Dominique Horowitz, in June. “She doesn’t want the book?”
“I want to reassure you that she does love it, and if it were just up to her, she’d buy it in a heartbeat, but... The long and short of it is the publisher thinks you’re treading the same ground all over again. Their market research is telling them that readers are tired of lonely Chosen One narratives with shitty parents who don’t care that their kid is plunging themself into danger to save the world from darkness.”
“In other words, the exact opposite of my first series,” Ves says flatly. “What the hell do I know about positive support systems?”
“Hello, you have me, very much not chopped liver,” Arun says with a note of censure. “Anyway, it’s not a definite no. It’s more like ‘What else is Ves working on that we could take a look at?’ ”
Which is cagey-masquerading-as-upbeat publishing-speak for no. “At the moment?” Ves furrows his brow. “Nothing that would be a fit for them. Dominique seemed so excited about this one that I thought we were all set.”
“Okay, well, no problem. Publishing is already winding down for the holidays, so we have time to come up with something else. Now that we know Carlton House is looking for something more, mmm, heartwarming, we can work with that.”
Ves aims for positive, but he’s off by a mile as he grumbles, “Sure. Whatever. Okay.”
“Is that your pissed ‘whatever’ or your standard ‘whatever’?”
Ves digs his teeth into the meat of his inner cheek. “No, that’s my Christmas-spirit ‘whatever.’ ”
“Proud of you for taking this in such stride,” Arun says brightly, ignoring Ves’s inelegant snort. “Just let your creative genius do its thing so we can wow the socks off them. I’m here for whatever you need. Bouncing ideas, pep talks, pet pics. I mean, not my pet, obviously, since Cade still isn’t budging on us getting a corgi or seven. But I’m here for you, day or night. And hey, maybe Piney Peaks will inspire you?”
“Arun, I can’t stress enough how unlikely that is. This town... isn’t me.”
“You never know. Even hardboiled city girl Dominique is a big fan of Sleighbells under Starlight.”
“Her and everyone else,” Ves grumbles. “I mean, it’s just an old Christmas movie.”
“Ah, how could I forget that you run a mile from anything resembling a warm and fuzzy emotion.”
Ves grins at his best friend’s fond tone. “Speed walk, not run. And probably because you want me to be as happy as you, which is physically impossible. People like Cade are one in a million.”
“Meet-cutes are everywhere you look. Save a local business, protect a landmark, fall in love with a wholesome small-town girl. Maybe she’s the hot lumberjane daughter of a tree farmer! Kiss under a blanket fort! Break your rule about holiday romance! Do everything different. The opportunities are endless.”
“You can’t find what you aren’t looking for,” says Ves. “My heart will just have to stay a shriveled, underused prune. I’m not here for love and I’m definitely not desperate enough to watch Sleighbells.”
Arun groans. “You’re killing me, Ves. And for god’s sake, don’t let anyone in town hear you say that! Google tells me they’re really proud of it. Cade watches it every winter, and I have to say... it’s not terrible.”
“A ringing endorsement,” Ves says wryly. “Anyway, I’ve hogged you for long enough. I better get a move on. Since I’m stuck here, I might as well be productive and get it cleaned up and ready to sell. Sooner I’m done here, sooner I’m back. And sooner I can find some real inspiration.”
“Is there a TV?” asks Arun.
Ves blinks. “You realize I’m out of the city, not out of the century?”
“Precisely!” Arun crows. “You have no excuse! Watch Sleighbells, you complete philistine.”
Ves ignores that. He has zero intention of cocooning himself in the holiday nostalgia that comes so easily to others. “Hold on, you said this was the bad news. What’s the good news?”
Silence slinks across their connection. “Erm,” says Arun, the word encompassing both sheepishness and guilt. “You arrived in one piece?”
Well, sort of. Ves snorts. Without thinking his eye flicks to the candy cane propped against the wall.
He releases a gusty, defeated sigh. “There’s only the bad news, isn’t there?”
Merry fucking Christmas to me.
Chapter Six
Ves
An hour later, Ves selects Piney Peaks’s highest Yelp-rated restaurant for dinner. The Old Stoat promises traditional American fare that is “heaven on a fork,” the finest selection of wines and ales in the Poconos, and a family atmosphere, so he tries not to be put off by the pub’s name.
