Mr. Sparkles

When Jacob meets Celyn he hates him on sight. Too disrespectful and gaudy. Too different.

But even the grumpiest of wood carvers will find it impossible not to be won over by Mr. Sparkles.

And maybe even fall in glittery love.

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On the first day of Christmas, he threw glitter on my tree

“What the bloody hell happened here?” I poked at my little Christmas tree, artfully decorated with the tiniest hand-carved ornaments, and a shit ton of glitter landed on the floor. Who would do this? Who would take a beautiful, simple tree and cover it in glitter?

“My bad,” a voice came from behind me.

I didn’t have to turn around to know who it was.

Fucking Mr. Sprinkles, or Mr. Sparkles, or whatever his name was. He'd taken over Fiona's Fragrance Shed in the Cardiff Christmas market, and I didn't like it. Not one bit. Fiona and I had an understanding forged over seven years of being in adjacent stalls. We took it in turns to bring tea to each other, but we didn't chat. Nor did we throw glitter at each other's spaces. Unfortunately, Fiona's daughter was about to give birth, which I immediately thought was damned inconvenient, even though I’d responded to her email with all the right words. I’d even shown an interest in the forthcoming new arrival and refrained from commenting on the unfortunate timing of said birth.

Christmas was not a time to have babies, for God’s sake.

This was only day one of him being here, and I was already pissed off. He'd arrived around the same time as me, backing up his old mustard-colored van, emptying boxes of God-knows-what into the sheds we’d all been given.

When I say shed, it's a large space, maybe ten foot square, and mine is set up perfectly, a table placed where people can watch me carving, and simple shelves holding items for sale, from the tiny ornaments I showcased on my perfectly symmetrical tree, to the large reindeer I'd carved in oh-nine and never sold. It was clean, tidy, warm, inviting, and okay, sales weren't good last year, but Cardiff had an air of excitement about it this year, and I had high hopes I'd pull in enough to fix my roof, with some left over.

Mr. freaking Sparkles, on the other hand, seemed to think that gaudy worked well, and was catering for the budget buyer, with his colossal sign proclaiming that everything cost one pound.

A pound, for God's sake. Somehow, I’d ended up next to the bargain bucket vendor who would, no doubt, be selling dodgy DVDs and fake perfume.

I turned to face my nemesis and caught his apologetic expression. I wanted to ask him what the hell he'd done, but he beat me to it, holding up what looked like a cardboard tube covered in silver foil.

“My glitter cannon went off early,” he said, and smiled wryly, “you could call it a premature celebration.” He had a touch of a lilting Welsh accent which meant that every sentence ended on a high note. I bet he was one of those relentlessly upbeat kinds of men.

I blinked at him as he snorted at his own joke, and then closed my eyes briefly. When I opened them again, him, his gaudy in-your-face glitter shed would have gone, the cannon thing would be a bad memory, and my tree would be perfect again.

None of that actually happened. It was all still there.

Along with six foot of man, bundled in a thick coat, with a blue beanie pulled down over his hair and big black glasses, with what looked like diamante at each temple. He clearly hadn't shaved in days, but that might have been deliberate, and his gray eyes sparkled with humor.  I could see he was trying not to laugh again, and it set me on edge.

“I’m Celyn Morgan. Celyn means holly, which is all kinds of great at Christmas,” he announced, and held out a hand covered in glitter. I rolled my eyes and grimaced, and he dropped it with another smile. “And you're Jacob, right?” He pointed at my sign, “Jacob MacDonald, wood carver. Nice to meet you, Jacob.

“Stay away from my shed,” I snapped and turned my back on him.

“Okie dokey.”

Okie dokey? Who even says that? Fuck my life.

On the second day of Christmas, he tried to feed me fudge

“I don’t want any fudge,” I said.

Again.

“Jacob, don’t be silly, it’s cranberry flavor, and it’s Christmas,” Celyn announced.

Again.

“It can be turkey-flavored, and I still wouldn't eat it.” Go away.

I stared back down at the wood I was working on, the smallest of stars that I would thread with ribbon and hang on my still-glittery tree.

“Bella-the-Fudge-Lady wants to know what you think.”

“I’m busy.”

“Us stallholders need to stick together, and it's a new flavor,” Celyn said, and nudged the small plate closer to me.

I shot a look at him. “I don’t like fudge.”

Celyn gasped, and fake-clasped his chest, his scarlet gloves bright against his dark coat.

“Everyone likes fudge; it's the law.”

“Go away, Celyn.”

He kept taking. “I remember all my childhood holidays down in Cornwall, and I ate so much fudge. I love vanilla, what about you? Do you like it vanilla? Or are you the spicy type?”

I wanted to argue against the blanket statement that everyone liked fudge, but he was grinning, and then he winked mischievously, and I played back what he’d just said. What did he mean? What was he saying?

“I don’t want fudge.”

“Try it; you might like it,” he insisted.

“I won’t like it.”

”Is your hatred of fudge an irrational responses to a horrific childhood experience of eating sprout flavor or something?”

He was teasing me, and I was hot under my thick argyle sweater. I hated to be laughed at, or told I was wrong. Years of being the odd one out at school, at home, at university, had given me a complex, and I knew that.

“I don’t want any fudge because I don’t want to start putting on weight.”

Celyn picked up the fudge then. “Okay then.” He turned to go, but at the last minute he turned back. “One thing,   Gorgeous, you do not need to worry about your weight.”

He departed, leaving a trail of glitter behind him, and I was still catching up with what he’d said. Did he call me gorgeous? Or the fudge? And what did he mean about my weight?

I was so hot and flustered, I took off my very special lucky Christmas hat, a tartan cap that I’d worn every year I’d been on the market.

Yep. That hot.

On the third day of Christmas, he put sugar in my tea

I took one sip of the perfect looking cup of tea, and my life was ruined. It had been Celyn’s turn for the tea run, and he knew damn well I didn’t take sugar in my tea.

Why would anyone ruin a perfectly good cup of tea with sugar? I dribbled it back in the mug, and then realized he was watching me.

“They gave me the wrong mug, didn't they,” he said, and frowned.

“No, it’s okay, I’m okay,” I said, in a hurry to show the proper English acceptance of a shitty situation.

“I’ll go back and get you another one.”

I glanced past him at the queue for the burger van and shook my head. “No, it's fine.”

It blatantly wasn’t fine. I’d really wanted that cup of tea.

“Here,” he placed his own mug in front of me. “You have that one; I'm going back to get some of Bella's fudge tea.”

I immediately reached into my pocket for money to cover it. “Let me pay.”

He shook his head and smiled. He was always freaking smiling. “No bother, Bella said I could get one free to try.”

He winked at me again, and I felt my face heat.

“You know what you need in here?” he asked and pointed at the ceiling of my stall.

I waited for him to tell me, but clearly, he needed me to prompt him. “What?” I asked as politely as I could, when all I wanted was for him to go, and for me to drink my tea in peace.

“Mistletoe,” he announced, and then left.

I looked up at my bare ceiling, appreciating the way the wood overlapped and not seeing why mistletoe should be a thing.

Celyn is weird.

Cute, annoying, and very weird.

On the fourth day of Christmas, he hung up mistletoe

“Celyn!” I shouted, as soon as I opened up my shed and saw what he’d done. It was the first thing I spotted, hanging right inside the doorway, mistletoe.

He jogged around the corner, and I did a double take. The man was dressed as a dragon, a Welsh dragon, scarlet from head to toe with the dragon’s head tucked under his arm.

“You found it!” he exclaimed, and bounded into the shed and right up into my space, the tail of his costume catching my tree and causing it to wobble, more glitter drifting to the floor.

I didn’t know what to address first—the mistletoe appearance or the dragon thing. I was on sensory overload, and he was smiling at me, and invading my personal space, and his plump pink lips were permanently curved upward. The smile reached his eyes, and he was waiting for me to be… what? Pleased he’d somehow gotten into my shed and put up mistletoe? Or happy that I was sharing space with a mascot.

“You can get kisses,” he said, and stepped closer to me. I moved away, my calves hitting the legs of my desk.

“I don’t want kisses,” I lied.

Of course, I wanted kisses. Everyone needs kisses, but Frank, the boyfriend who'd become an ex two years ago, had been my last foray into kissing, and I wasn’t ready to kiss someone else.

“What if someone wanted to kiss you?” he asked, and his dragon tail swished some more as he stalked me.

Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.

“How much for this star?” a woman called from behind us, and Celyn immediately moved away, his tail dangerously close to my stockpile of angels, before he left to go back to his Mr. Sparkles shack.

“These are hand carved, very delicate, and need to be looked after.”

“Yes, but how much?”

I caught Celyn lurking out of the corner of my eye. He was frowning.

“Five pounds,” I explained. The woman, winced, two kids, hanging off her, attempting to drag her to next door, and placed the star back into the basket.

“Thank you,” she said.

“Happy Christmas,” I replied, when what I really wanted to do was ask her why she winced at the price I'd quoted. I mean, it took hours to make even a simple star. I bet she took her kids next door and spent a fiver on sparkly crap.

Celyn came to find me again, crossed his arms over his broad chest. “You need a crash course in selling things.”

“No, I don’t. I’m a craftsman. It’s not as easy to sell carvings as it is your kind of thing.”

He raised an eyebrow at that, but didn’t comment on my rudeness. Then he nodded at his shed with its gaudy sign. “It’s all Christmas, Jacob, if it’s handcrafted like yours, or simple happiness like mine. We’re all selling an ideal of Christmas.”

I huffed, because what else could I do when I knew deep down that he was right?

Saturday was our busiest day, I expected sales, but the enthusiasm of the crowd didn't turn into a monetary gain for me. I couldn't help being despondent as I shut up shop and refused to meet Celyn’s worried gaze.

“We're going for a beer, you in?” Bella-the-fudge-lady asked, clutching a huge box that she placed back into her shed.

“Tomorrow, for sure,” I lied.

I wasn't ready to socialize and commiserate about sales, or the cold weather, or austerity, or whatever else the stallholders wanted to talk about.

I just wanted to go back to my B&B and lick my wounds.

And maybe think about the almost kiss.

On the fifth day of Christmas, the kids drove me insane

Sunday was quieter to start, a choir sang close by while stilt walkers made their way through the shoppers, past face painters and stall-holders.  This was the big day, the sales day that was always the best because of tourists flooding the Christmas market, all with money to spend. By lunchtime, I'd sold plenty of ornaments, and a couple of the carved Santas. Hell, I'd even had some interest in the reindeer, but six hundred pounds was too much, even if it was three feet high, and possibly the best piece I'd ever carved.

I finished serving a man who was looking for something different for his wife. He ended up buying a traditional Welsh love spoon, another of my more marketable items, and chose the one which had symbols of forever. My pocket was filling nicely, and then at midday, it all stopped.

At least, sales stopped at my stall.

Celyn’s place was heaving with children spending their pocket money on things that no kid should buy. Items covered in glitter, which was bound to go everywhere and upset even the most level-headed of parents.

“How much?” Someone asked, and I realized they were talking to me. A short blonde girl with the widest green eyes picked up one of the delicately carved stars. I wanted to snatch it away from her immediately. She couldn’t want one of my precious stars, she was likely only there for the glitter next door and had gotten lost, and I wanted her to leave it alone.

“Expensive,” I said, and heaved a sigh of relief when she replaced the star in the basket. She sighed as well, and it made her elf hat jingle.

“Okay,” she murmured and left to join her friends next door.

The kids all chatted, and laughed, and threw glitter at each other, and when some of it floated into my place, I deliberately stood in the doorway and scowled.  Not that it mattered. They were rowdy, laughing and shouting, and in the middle of it all was Celyn, grinning like he was having the best day of his life. He must have sensed me looking over, and he caught my eye, smiling, winking, pushing those damn glasses up his freaking sexy nose.

And then he blew me a kiss.

The fucker.

On the sixth day of Christmas, he stole a dragon kiss

Monday was always a quiet day at first, but by ten traffic had picked up, tourists mostly, and there were plenty of sales. I swept out glitter. It blew back in with the gusts of icy wind. I swept it out some more and then gave up.

What was the point? It was like standing on the beach and attempting to stop the ocean. Celyn’s enthusiasm for everything was just as unstoppable. He loved knitting, apparently. And dancing, singing, playing jokes, his family, cats, hot chocolate, cold beer, fudge, and kissing under the mistletoe.

I mean, he actually came out and said, “Jacob, I want to kiss you under the mistletoe.” Just like that. Maybe, not exactly those words, but it was very close to those words. All I could wonder was why he was still dressed in his dragon outfit when there were fewer children around.

“So that's a yes, then?” He asked, and stepped a little closer. I'd taken the prudent action of moving my tree out of the way yesterday, and it hadn't moved today. That was one thing I'd managed to save; unfortunately, I couldn't stop the sparkles he trailed in.

“What?” I asked, still fixated on the dragon outfit thing.

“Never mind,” he said, and I really thought that was the end of this whole mistletoe nonsense, and then I didn’t have any time to think at all.

He bent me back, held me as if I weighed nothing, and the big idiot in the dragon costume kissed me.

Oh God, I have never been kissed so gently, or with so much passion all at the same time. He licked into my mouth, and all I wanted to do was taste him back. I clung to his shoulders, gave as good as I got, and when he stood me upright, I had to say I was dazed.

He pushed some hair behind my ear and smiled that beautiful smile of his.

“That’s one off the bucket list.”

“Huh?” Yeah, cohesive thought so wasn’t happening.

“Kiss a sexy man under the mistletoe. Check.” He underscored the word by writing a tick in the air. Then he winked again. “Later, sexy man.”

He'd stolen that kiss, but more importantly, he'd stolen my breath.

Damn man.

On the seventh day of Christmas, he knitted me a scarf

“It's blue to match your eyes,” Celyn said, as he wrapped the scarf around my neck and pressed his nose to mine. “Did I ever tell you, that you have gorgeous eyes?”

“It's a scarf,” I said, attempting to ignore the eyes remark, because I didn't have an answer, apart from the idiotic no that was on the tip of my tongue. His question had to be rhetorical. Right?

“A scarf to keep you warm,” he murmured, and left me to my work.

Sue me, if I kept that scarf on, and also, no one could prove I spent most of the day inhaling the scent of him that lingered in the wool.

On the eighth day of Christmas, he sold my Christmas hat

“It was here,” I said, sure my distress was evident.

Celyn peered at the counter where I’d placed my lucky Christmas hat.

“I can't see it,” he said and bent down to check the floor behind. “Nope, not here.”

“What did you do with it?” I asked. “I bought you tea, you wouldn't let me leave, and now you've lost my cap. What happened?” I gasped. “Did you sell my lucky hat?”

His eyes widened, and he gave me a guilty look, and then winced. “I don’t think so,” he said, which to my ears sounded like an admission of guilt.

“How could you sell something that had not one single speck of glitter on it?”

“Uhm…”

“The crap you sell on this stall is nowhere near the quality of that hat!” I snapped. Then I threw up my hands, sure that the cap had gone to some kid who’d bought it for a quid, and that the sales for the rest of my time on the market would be a big fat zero.

“Whatever,” I was sad, angry at myself, and just ever so slightly irrational. With hindsight, I knew I'd overreacted, and God, I felt stupid.

I'd settled back down to carving, when I caught something out of the corner of my eye, something waving. A hat. On a stick, poking around the edge of the shed door. Not my hat, but a perfectly respectable replacement.

“Hewwo, Mr. Jacob. I'm your new hat; pwease be my friend.” The voice was squeaky, and obviously a fully grown male adult trying to be cute. It worked.

“Celyn?” I couldn’t help but laugh, and when Celyn’s face, with its apologetic expression, appeared from where he was hiding, I was still laughing. What was it about a hat on a stick that made me feel so damn happy?

It was a very nice new hat and much warmer than my old one, not that I would tell Celyn that.

Anyway, it wasn’t half as warming as the kiss Celyn placed on the top of my head before he put the cap on.

On the ninth day of Christmas, he sang me Jingle Bells

“Jingle Bells, Rudolph Smells…”

“Celyn! For the love of all that’s holy. SHUT UP!”

He did.

And then he kissed me.

On the tenth day of Christmas, he kissed me in the snow

“Come on, Jacob, live a little.” Celyn draped some tinsel on my reindeer, moving the price card to the front, and then dangling a wooden snowflake from one perfectly carved antler.

“You can’t do that!” I reached for the tinsel, but he stopped me, held my hand in his and squeezed gently.

“Your work is stunning, but you’re not selling Christmas enough. When someone asks you about a piece of your work, tell them that each one is made with love, and Christmas spirit. Tell them that every tiny item has a special place in your heart, how buying it is worth every penny, and finish on how you would love the work to go to an exceptional home where it can be loved.”

“Celyn, please.” What was I asking? For him to stop, or for him to hold my other hand? I was torn—little by little he'd chipped away at my icy heart, one sprinkly, sparkly tinsel strand at a time. He took my other hand, tilted me back for another kiss, and I knew I was falling for him.

Snow blew into the shed, and I shivered. He held me close.

Then he whispered. “You’re everything I ever wanted. You know that, right?”

I didn’t think he needed an answer, but I held him tight and deepened the kisses, and snow swirled around us.

“What are you doing for Christmas Day?” he asked, when we took a breath.

“Going home, I have a place in Bristol, a workshop on a farm, with a room over it.”

It wasn't much to show for my thirty-two years, but I was happy there, in my splendid isolation, watching the seasons, and working with my wood.

“I’d love to visit.”

“Of course, you can.”

“For Christmas Day.”

Wait? Is that what I said? I smiled because I guess that, yes, that was precisely what I’d meant to say.

“Just don’t bring any glitter with you.”

He kissed me again, even though people were walking past. “It’s magic glitter,” he murmured against my lips.

“What’s magic about it?” I had to hear his reasoning.

“It brought me you.”

He said all the right things.

On the eleventh day of Christmas, I knew I was in love

When he held my hand the next day as we drunk our tea, it was as if he couldn’t get enough of me, and he wasn’t alone. Every puff of wind that pushed glitter into my shed was a reminder that I was giddy with falling in love.

“How much for the snowflakes?” A man asked.

“Five each,” I said, and waited for him to grimace and walk away.

“I’ll have ten,” he said, “and two of your Santas, and how much is that reindeer?”

I wrapped the snowflake and the Santas, and recalled what Celyn had told me to say.

“The reindeer has a special place in my heart, it’s expensive, but I put hours of work into it and the result is worth every penny you’d pay.”

“I see,” the man said, and peered closer.

What else did Celyn say I should do? I remembered, and narrowly avoided clicking my fingers as I knew what to say. “I know it can only go to an exceptional home, to someone who will love it as much as I do.”

I realized that actually, every word was true.

“I’ll take it,” He said, and at first I didn’t think I’d heard right.

“Sorry?”

“I’ll take the reindeer, can you bubble wrap it for me, also…” he handed me a card. “I run a gallery and I’d be very interested in including your work in a Spring event.”

I took the card and held it tight. There was no way I was going to look stupid and ask him to repeat what he’d said. I wrapped the reindeer, brushing off some of the remaining glitter, but leaving just a little as a connection to Celyn.

He chatted on about his gallery, and when he left we shook hands.

“Remember to call me in the new year. Happy Christmas to you and yours,” then he left.

“It went, then?” Celyn appeared at the door, and appeared sad, and come to think of it, I was as well. That piece of work had been with me for over five years since I’d first carved it, and it felt like part of my heart had gone with it.

“To a collector, he has a gallery and wants me to call in January.”

Celyn smiled so wide, and picked me up off the ground, with a whoop.

“That's my boy,” he said and kissed me as I slid down into his arms. “That's my boy.”

“How much is the star?” a small voice asked, and I recognized the blonde girl with the green eyes from the bunch of kids who’d been there the other day. She was still wearing her elf hat for today’s market visit.

I hesitated, and she opened up her hand. I could clearly see three pound coins, and a few bits of change, adding up to about three pound sixty.

“Dad will love it, and y’know, he’s been sad since mum died, and she’s a star now, so Dad likes to think.”

She looked older than her years, but couldn’t have been more than ten.

“I saved up,” she said, and moved her hand a little, making the coins jingle together.

My heart broke.

“I have a special offer,” I pointed at the stars. “Two for three-pound-twenty.”

Her eyes widened. “So I can have two?”

“Yes, and I’ll even wrap them for you.”

She deliberated for a long time, choosing the best two she could, and then as I wrapped them I caught her wide grin. I took her money, because it meant something to her, that she paid, that this was a gift from her heart.

“I forgot,” I said, as she turned to leave, and she looked up at me expectantly. I scooped up a little glitter and scattered it in the bag. “These are magic sparkles of Christmas happiness.”

Maybe she believed me, maybe she didn’t, but the smile she gave me was beautiful.

Celyn was there, watching me. He was always there.

He cradled my face, and was so serious. “Ah, cariad. You make it so easy for me to love you,” he whispered.

On the twelfth day of Christmas, he filled my heart with joy

Packing the boxes away in the van was a sad time for me. As much as I grumped about the cold, and the crowds, and lack of sales, this year had been very different. I’d been inundated with glitter, had my hat sold, gained a scarf, along with a truckload of sparkly glitter, and best of all, I’d met Celyn. We were two of the last to leave, delaying the event that all the stall holders were attending after the Christmas market closed.

The snow was heavier now, blanketing the sheds, and maybe this year Cardiff would have a white Christmas. He pulled me under the mistletoe one last time, and I kissed him first.

“I love you,” he whispered in the still night, the sound muffled by the snow.

I pushed off his beanie and slid my fingers into his hair. How the hell had this happened? How had I learned so much about a man, seen so many good things, and laughed so hard that I'd fallen in love as well? He deserved for me to say the words.

And so, in the soft light glow of street lamps, in the silence of the snow and cold, I cradled his face and told him what was in my heart.

“I love you, too.”

THE END

If you enjoyed Mr Sparkle, then I have listed my other Christmas stories below.

To read the next story in the Rainbow Advent, please visit the Facebook Rainbow Advent Group.

You can also find the List of Published Advent Stories and stories to come here.

Christmas Stories from RJ Scott

New for 2018

• Christmas Prince – https://www.books2read.com/Angel-Scott (Kindle Unlimited)
• Home For Christmas – https://www.books2read.com/home-christmas (Kindle Unlimited)
• Neutral Zone (Railers 7) – https://www.books2read.com/neutral-zone
• Dallas Christmas – https://www.books2read.com/dallas-christmas (Kindle Unlimited)

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Christmas Prince

The Christmas Angel books

new for Christmas 2018

Prince Raphael, the youngest son of the Montaunoit royal family, is the custodian of his country's history. At a Sotheby's auction, he outbids Marc on an item he doesn't even want. Just because he can.

Meeting the museum curator turns Raphael's world upside down, and when lust turns to love he knows he has to change.

Can Marc be the one to show Raphael that he doesn't have to stay the lonely prince forever, and that love is always an option?

* * *

In 1750, a master woodcarver poured all his unrequited love, passion, and longing into his masterpiece—a gorgeous Christmas angel for his beloved’s tree. When the man he loved tossed the angel away without a second thought, a miracle happened. The angel was found by another who brought the woodcarver True Love.

Since then, the angel has been passed down, sold, lost and found, but its magic remains. Read the romances inspired by (and perhaps nudged along by) the Christmas Angel through the years. Whether it’s the 1880’s New York (Kim Fielding), the turn-of-the-century (Jordan L. Hawk), post World War II (L.A. Witt), Vietnam-era (N.R. Walker), the 1990’s (Anyta Sunday), 2018 Europe (RJ Scott), the Christmas Angel has a way of landing on the trees of lonely men who need its blessing for a very Merry Christmas and forever HEA.

BUY LINKS for Christmas Prince, RJ Scott

* * *

‘Christmas Prince’ is one of seven books linked by the theme of the carved wooden angel. These can be read and enjoyed in any order.

They include:

Christmas Angel – Eli Easton

Summerfield’s Angel – Kim Fielding

The Magician’s Angel – Jordan L Hawk

Christmas Homecoming – LA Witt

A Soldier’s Wish – NR Walker

Shrewd Angel – Anyta Sunday

Christmas Prince – RJ Scott

* * *

All buy links can be found here:

rjscott.co.uk/prince

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Love Happens Anyway

BUY NOW – Amazon Exclusive – FREE with your Kindle Unlimited Subscription

Hiring a boyfriend for Christmas; what can go wrong?

Derek is facing yet another Christmas where his life feels out of control. He has a new career that doesn’t feel like his, and parents who would just love to see him settled down. All he needs is a temporary buffer for the parties he has to attend, and for his parents to leave him alone. Enter, Luke.

Luke is twenty-thousand dollars short for the renovations on Halligans; his family’s bar in New York’s Financial District. A favor for a buddy has him agreeing to play the part of boyfriend to a guy with more money than sense.

But when the spirit of Christmas works its magic on the two men, and they begin to fall for each other, Derek runs scared, and Luke needs space.

It doesn’t matter what obstacles you throw in the way of love, or how much you run in the other direction, because, when you’re least expecting it, whether you want it or not, love happens anyway.

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The Christmas Throwaway

BUY NOW

Christmas is a time for giving – what do you do when no one gives a damn?

For Zachary Weston Christmas means sleeping on a churchyard bench in the freezing snow with nothing better in his future. Thrown out of his home for being gay, he is left without money or, it seems, anywhere to go. Until a stranger shows him that some people do give a lot more than a damn.

Ben Hamilton is a rookie cop in his small home town. He finds a young throwaway, fresh from the city, sleeping on a bench in the churchyard on a snowy Christmas Eve. Can he be the one to give Zachary his own Christmas miracle?

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New York Christmas

BUY NOW – Amazon Exclusive – FREE with your Kindle Unlimited Subscription

It's been far too long since Christian Matthews has seen Daniel Bailey. In fact the last time they met Chris was a senior in college and he was the TA tasked with helping Daniel who was a way too confident freshman.

Seven years down the road, Chris is licking his wounds after being asked to leave the private school where he was teaching. He has no job, no money, and has to rely on his friend Amelia for the job and a room to live in. He needs a freaking Christmas miracle to make this Season anything other than a total loss.

Then Daniel comes back into his life and suddenly everything seems possible. Not only is Daniel still the man Christian wants more than anything, but this time Chris may well actually tell Daniel how he feels.

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The Road to Frosty Hollow

Nick and Cameron face old demons, and find new love, on a Christmas road trip.

Former Marine Nick Sheridan is at a crossroads. With his entire life ahead of him he struggles to find direction and his place in the world. Car sharing to get home for his sister’s Christmas wedding seems like a good idea at first. Spending the time with the man he kissed and left years before, maybe not so much.

Cameron Bennett lost most of his teenage years to cancer and he now lives every day to the fullest. He decides to drive from Seattle to Vermont for his best friend’s wedding and capture moments of it on film. He hadn’t planned on car sharing with the man who kissed him ten years ago, but somehow he ends up with a brooding Nick by his side.

Along the way, the men learn that sometimes life plans mean nothing in the grand scheme of things. Love can be found in the most unexpected of ways, and facing your demons head-on is sometimes the only way to live.

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Neutral Zone (Harrisburg Railers 7)

Written with VL Locey – BUY NOW

Tennant Rowe has it all, a boyfriend he adores, a loving family, and a career on the rise. He’s sure of his place in the world, and the future can only get brighter. Then one night, in a flash of skates and sticks, life changes forever. Getting back on the ice is Ten’s priority, and experts tell him that it’s just a matter of time.

Jared watches his lover fall in more ways than one, and when tragedy strikes, even the strongest of relationships are tested. Ten is strong, but Jared has to be stronger to help the man who holds his heart. Only, he has to admit that maybe it isn’t just him who can make Ten whole again.

Jared and Ten’s love is forever, but the rocky path to the romantic Christmas Jared had planned may be hard to travel.

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Jesse’s Christmas

BUY NOW – Amazon Exclusive – FREE with your Kindle Unlimited Subscription

For Jesse Connor, Christmas is nothing but a series of bad memories.

It takes a man imbued with the spirit of Christmas to help him realize that the Christmas spirit lies in everyone. If they only know where to look.

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Angel in a Book Shop

BUY NOW – Amazon Exclusive – FREE with your Kindle Unlimited Subscription

What happens when a broken man has to trust in the impossible?

‘Chapter One’ is an antique book shop and is the last tangible thing Josh and his mom have left of his dad. Nestled in a quiet square a few steps from London's St Pauls Cathedral, it is boarded up with whitewashed windows and no new stock. The place is a sad reminder of loss and it has to go, but destroying a business that has been in his family for generations is not a role Josh is looking forward to.

Michael is the owner of ‘Arts Desire’, the shop next door. With his rainbow pride mugs and his sunny positive outlook, he is the complete opposite to what Joshua thinks he needs in his life.

But, when Josh and Michael become friends, Josh learns that finding true love starts with making big decisions and that everyone deserves their own Christmas miracle sometimes.

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About RJ Scott

RJ is the author of the over one hundred published novels and discovered romance in books at a very young age. She realized that if there wasn’t romance on the page, she could create it in her head, and is a lifelong writer.

She lives and works out of her home in the beautiful English countryside, spends her spare time reading, watching films, and enjoying time with her family.

The last time she had a week’s break from writing she didn't like it one little bit and has yet to meet a bottle of wine she couldn’t defeat.

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www.rjscott.co.uk | rj@rjscott.co.uk