The Heart of St. Nick Read online

  The Heart of St. Nick

  A.D. ELLIS

  Contents

  1. Gannon Joseph Snow

  2. Hayden Christopher Green

  3. Gannon

  4. Hayden

  5. Gannon

  6. Hayden

  7. Gannon

  8. Hayden

  9. Gannon

  10. Hayden

  Epilogue

  Also by A.D. Ellis

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  CHAPTER 1

  Gannon Joseph Snow

  “Gannon, be reasonable,” Shan said, all but stomping his foot as he crossed his arms over his chest in my bedroom. “You can’t possibly think I’m going to be okay with you leaving for some Podunk little Santa Claus town in the Midwest right before Christmas.”

  Sighing, and not at all upset with his temper tantrum because I’d known where this relationship was going—or not going—for the past month—I continued to pack my suitcase.

  My long-time assistant, Ellen, had taken care of booking my flight and ride to the airport. I didn’t have a lot of time to dawdle.

  “It’s called Saint Nicholas Crossing. I may be back before Christmas.” I slipped past him to grab one more pair of jeans, another t-shirt, and a sweater. I knew the Midwest was cold this time of year, and I didn’t exactly have a plethora of winter-wear, but I didn’t think my usual dress pants and Oxford with a tie were going to cut it.

  “We had plans!” Shan said, this time actually stomping his foot.

  “No, you had plans.” I pointed my finger at his pretty face. “I told you when we started this thing I didn’t have time for a relationship and I didn’t do sentimental or holidays. It’s not my fault you didn’t listen and thought you could change me.”

  Shan was gorgeous with his bleach-blond hair, sun-kissed skin, and full lips—all of which he paid very well for. But he was just one more in a line of pretty, young twinks I’d been attempting to scratch an itch with over the past however many years.

  At thirty-seven, after several failed relationships, maybe it was time to swear off men for good—especially the young twinks.

  I just wasn’t cut out for love.

  Or I was looking in the wrong places.

  Or…

  Blah, blah, blah.

  Maybe I was just a grumpy asshole who didn’t deserve to find love.

  I didn’t really like a lot of people, maybe it was best for me to be alone.

  “Ganny,” Shan said, pout filling his puffy lips.

  “Stop, you know I hate that name.”

  “Damn it, Gannon.” Shan tried again. “I have parties lined up. I need you here.”

  “That was one of your many mistakes. I don’t do parties. I wasn’t fucking you to be your arm-candy.” I zipped up my suitcase and held out my hand. “Give me the key you’ve been using.”

  Shan had the decency to look confused.

  “The one you had made when you think I didn’t realize you’d taken mine? I need it back unless you’re planning to come gather my mail and check on my plants while I’m gone.”

  He wrinkled his nose and fished in his pocket.

  Slamming the key into my hand, Shan pursed his lips. “You’re going to regret this. When you get back from Timbuktu and want a piece of ass, I won’t be around.”

  “Yeah, kinda figured that.”

  “For real, Gannon, we’re breaking up.”

  “Again, I got it. I wish you all the best, Shan. I really do. I’m sorry I couldn’t be more what you were looking for.”

  I’m sorry I couldn’t be what anyone was looking for.

  But really, who wanted a thirty-seven-year-old grumpy realtor with a frozen heart the size of a postage stamp?

  I knew my faults and I wasn’t what most would describe as a catch.

  Sure, I had a successful job and money wasn’t an issue.

  And I supposed I looked good, but looks only got a person so far.

  The silver at my temples mixing in with jet black hair didn’t make up for my grumpy personality and lack of a heart.

  The shot of silver in the five o’clock shadow along my strong jawline and glint of my grey-blue eyes didn’t excuse my complete disdain for most people on most days.

  At just over six-feet and well-built, I commanded a room and almost always got what I wanted when it came to men and real-estate deals, but I wasn’t someone a lot of people thought fondly of.

  And that was fine by me.

  If it left me a bit lonely from time to time, I dealt with it.

  I was a successful realtor in one of the biggest cities in the world, I really didn’t have much to complain about.

  Or, more accurately, I had plenty to complain and be sad about, but I didn’t allow it. There was no good to come of it and wishing for things to be different was just a waste of valuable time.

  I followed Shan to the parking lot of my condo community and watched him stomp his way to his little hybrid, grateful he wasn’t making more of a scene.

  Five minutes later, I tossed my suitcase in the back of my ride and headed toward LAX.

  Was it bad I wasn’t even the slightest bit upset about Shan?

  He wasn’t a bad guy, just over-the-top materialistic and much too worried about what people thought of him.

  The sex had been good—but most sex was at least decent. True, I didn’t really believe claims of life-altering sex and soul-deep connections, but I was satisfied with a sexy, warm body under me in bed. I didn’t need the connection or fireworks in the bedroom.

  Could I have maybe waited until after the holidays to travel to Saint Nicholas Crossing and take care of the sale of my late grandfather’s home and business?

  Yeah, most likely.

  Did a part of me know I’d opted to travel right before the holidays knowing Shan would freak out and leave?

  Again, yes.

  But the sooner I got to Christmas town and took care of my grandfather’s estate, the sooner I’d be back in sunny Los Angeles.

  Los Angeles.

  The smog.

  The traffic.

  The people.

  God, so many people.

  I’d contemplated the fact I was feeling a bit trapped—suffocated—in LA lately.

  The urge to flee had been slowly building.

  But where would I go?

  Aside from a few extended trips to Saint Nicholas Crossing as a kid and teen, I’d never lived anywhere but LA.

  Sure, I’d done a lot of traveling, but I’d always returned to sunny LA.

  As I watched the crowded city-scape pass outside the window of my ride, I wondered again if a change was needed.

  I was one of the most successful realtors in the area, but I could easily work pretty much anywhere if I put my mind to it.

  Maybe once I returned from St. Nicholas Crossing and the hubbub from the holidays died down, I’d take a look at potential locations for a move.

  Somewhere I didn’t have a thousand people within a hundred feet everywhere I turned.

  Somewhere I could hole up and be anti-social if I damn well pleased.

  Until then, I’d be dealing with the folks in St. Nicholas Crossing—a small railroad town with streets named after reindeer and citizens with more heart than money.

  As a child, I’d been in love with the place. And I’d adored my grandfather, who was the kindest, most cheerful, loving man I’d ever met, unlike his asshole son.

  As a teen, more and more angry and jaded each and every day as my parents’ marriage fell apart and trapped me in the middle of their vicious fights, I’d still loved escaping to St. Nicholas Crossing and my grandfather.

  But each passing year found me more and more closed off to the whimsical
magic and cheery joy of the little town, until I finally stopped going to see Grandpa because it was easier to shut it all out.

  As my car pulled up to the drop-off lane at the airport, I sent up a prayer to whoever was listening that my excursion would be quick and painless.

  A house and a store.

  Those were the two things my late grandfather, Joseph Snow, had left to me.

  With my skills and a bit of luck, I’d be out of St. Nicholas Crossing and sipping a cocktail on my balcony by Christmas Eve.

  In and out.

  No need for nostalgia.

  No room for sentimentality.

  St. Nicholas Crossing was from my long-ago past. Hell, I’d lost touch with Grandpa beyond a birthday card and yearly letter from him for the past decade—and damn if my gut didn’t sour with guilt over that one. I’d always sent him a gift on his birthday along with a card, but the part of me that still had a heart recognized a phone call or a visit would have meant more.

  The man was the only family I’d claimed after my parents divorced and moved on—I hadn’t spoken to them since I was eighteen—and the news of their deaths a couple years apart, Mom from too much partying and drugs, Dad from a heart attack, hadn’t even made me blink.

  But my heart still hurt to know Grandpa Joseph was gone.

  Shaking my head and huffing out a breath, I pushed aside the silly emotions. There was no time or reason for getting upset. What was done, was done. I had a job to do, nothing more. Getting sentimental about my late grandfather would only churn up more guilt and wasn’t productive.

  Making a beeline toward my gate—the familiar anxiousness over flying coursing through my veins—I gave brief consideration to calling Ellen to let her know I’d be making a road trip out of my return to LA. I’d wrap things up with my grandfather’s estate, rent a car, and spend a week sight-seeing to clear my head as I journeyed back to the City of Angels.

  Either way, as much as I wanted to feel bad about Shan, all I felt was relieved.

  I needed a break from dating.

  A break from young, pretty guys.

  It wasn’t as if I was looking for love—quite the opposite, in fact.

  I took men home for sex.

  If they opted to stay and make things into more, that was their decision—and mistake.

  I just wasn’t cut out for a relationship—not made for love.

  My parents had made sure I couldn’t keep a healthy relationship going.

  I had no family near me or living.

  And that was fine by me—I didn’t need the entanglement.

  Taking a deep breath as I boarded the plane, I decided this little trip and task would be a nice break and a good refresh.

  A bit of time roughing it in a small town would be the reset I needed.

  The bone-chilling cold and icy slush of snow would be just what I needed to really appreciate what I had in LA.

  If the thought of returning to LA had a tiny pit of dread forming in my gut, it would likely dissipate by the time my excursion neared its end. I’d be longing for the sunshine and anonymity of the big city in no time flat.

  Swoop in, put the estate in order, sell, and walk away.

  That was the plan.

  No falling prey to memories.

  No letting my heart recall how happy the place used to make me.

  No Christmas cheer.

  I could do it. I’d been blocking people out, walls up around my heart, for over two decades. Hell, my grandpa wasn’t even there anymore. Not letting myself feel anything would be even easier.

  This was business only.

  And looking on the positive side, at least I wouldn’t have to worry about any cute, young twinks in St. Nicholas Crossing.

  CHAPTER 2

  Hayden Christopher Green

  “Enjoy your weekend, Candy,” I said with a smile and a wave to one of St. Nicholas Crossing’s oldest and most beloved citizens. “You too, Ginger,” I added when the other woman stuck her head around the corner.

  Candy and Ginger were inseparable.

  They’d been living in St. Nick’s their entire lives—with the exception of the years they tried to move away—and had plenty of stories to tell to anyone who took time to listen, and maybe even those who didn’t.

  As the head cooks at the small K-12 school, the women knew absolutely every single person in our tiny town.

  “You too, Hayden. Maybe get yourself a hot date,” Candy said with a wicked grin.

  I laughed. “Hot dates aren’t plentiful around here.” Waving a stack of papers before stuffing them in my bag, I said, “Plus, I’ve got papers to grade and plenty to do at the store. No time for dates.”

  Nestled smack dab in the hills of the Midwest, St. Nicholas Crossing was a tiny railroad town. Not a lot of money, but plenty of holiday cheer year-round. With a very small school to educate approximately two-hundred-fifty children, the town did its best with what we had.

  As a part-time teacher at the school, I split my day between teaching three classes of middle school and high school English and helping my dad run The Heart of St. Nicholas, also known as St. Nick’s Heart, the general store that truly was the heart of our town.

  My parents had lived most of their lives in the Crossing. They’d moved away to go to college, but returned after graduation and had no plans to leave.

  My mom, Carol Green, did most of the work when it came to fundraising, writing grants, and reaching out to organizations and resources to help the town. With a degree in social work and philanthropy, she was the best at what she did for our citizens. The fact she wore a perpetual smile between her rosy cheeks, organized the Christmas carolers every year, and never met a person who didn’t need a hug made her a natural when it came to making everyone in town feel welcome, safe, and cared for.

  Dad, Jack Green, oversaw every aspect of the general store. Right in the middle of town, the store was as much a hub as the railroad was. While the railroad provided several jobs, the store provided jobs, goods, and survival for many in town. Dad put his business and social work degrees to good use as he ran the store.

  Neither of my parents were making big bucks, but they had money coming in from small inheritances, past investments, and their very humble salaries. The thing about St. Nicholas Crossing was we maybe weren’t rolling in the dough, but we also lived modestly with a very low cost of living, and we were beyond rich when it came to taking care of our own, sense of community, and general cheer.

  Myself, I’d grown up in the town—never really realizing there was life outside St. Nick’s—gone off to college, earned a degree, tried to live elsewhere, but got pulled back in by the tiny town.

  The place wasn’t for everyone.

  Some folks were there because it was the only job they could get thanks to life circumstances beyond their control.

  Others had nowhere else to go.

  Many, like my parents and me, chose to stay in St. Nick’s because it was where our hearts felt the most at home.

  So, between teaching—which I adored—and helping with the store—which I loved almost even more—my heart and schedule were full.

  That didn’t mean I didn’t long for love.

  I did.

  Very much so.

  But it would take a Christmas miracle of epic proportions to make that happen.

  Not that I didn’t believe in such things, I very much did.

  However, my heart was in St. Nicholas Crossing and we didn’t get a lot of single gay men coming to town.

  Sure, there were the occasional hookups.

  Single guys taking jobs here and there just to get by.

  Men on the downlow who would never in a million years come out, but they made for a fun night in bed.

  I made it a point to never hookup with guys who had family.

  That just wasn’t my thing.

  My thing was tall, dark, and handsome.

  And as much as I held our town and citizens dear to my heart, I longed for that perfec
t man to waltz into my life, sweep me off my feet, and devote the rest of his life to loving me and St. Nick’s.

  I snorted as I hefted my school bag onto my shoulder.

  As if that would ever happen.

  Yes, I believed in Christmas miracles—hell, I even believed in plain ol’ miracles.

  But a tall, dark, and handsome man strolling into St. Nicholas Crossing, falling in love with me and the town, and deciding to stay?

  Far-fetched to say the least.

  I wasn’t saying it could never happen.

  Wasn’t saying I didn’t want it to happen.

  Just saying I wasn’t holding my breath.

  With a final wave to Candy and Ginger, I headed out of the school building. It wasn’t large, but with only two-hundred-fifty students in any given year, it didn’t need to be. We had one class per grade level and most of the middle and high school teachers taught multiple grades and subjects. While we weren’t going to make the news for over-the-top academics or sports, our students gained a solid education and were ready for a job, the military, trade-school, or college when they graduated.

  Walking along the holiday-decorated sidewalks on the icy-yet-sunshiny day, I took in St. Nicholas Crossing and recalled, yet again, that leaving this place just wasn’t what my heart wanted—even though the fickle organ pumping in my chest wanted a lot of other things as well.

  Jingle bells sounded throughout town for at least six weeks leading up to Christmas. Huge poinsettias adorned every house and shop front window from one end of town to the other. Cheery holiday flags hung from every light pole and seasonal songs played from speakers all over town.

  Even when Christmas was over, the town maintained its holiday spirit and fun with a neighborhood named Vixen Village and street names such as Blitzen Boulevard, Prancer Parkway, Comet Circle, Cupid Court, Rudolph Road, Dancer Drive, Donner Drive, and Dasher Drive. Folks around town laughed that the original town planners got bored and dumped their creativity with those last three.