Available: Dreamspinners Press
Blurb:
Kris Hamilton escaped the rat race in LA to live his dream of owning an art studio and making snow globes in a Christmas-themed town in Northern Minnesota. But lif in a tint town isn't as peaceful as advertised, and being treated like an outsider is making Kris's Tourette's flare up. When he inadvertantly offends tyr Tollefson—a beautiful
blond giant of a man—Kris is ready to chuck it all. But he strikes up an unlikely friendship with Tyr's cousin Bun, who shows them the magic of Christmas and gives them both a lesson in love and acceptance.
It was the face pressed against his storefront window that first
caught his attention.
"Pressed" might have been too delicate a word. "Mashed"
is better, Kris thought idly, admiring the spread of pink skin sticking to
the glass before his brain latched on to the thought spinning and tumbling at
an increasingly alarming rate.
The litany of words shoved their way to the tip of his tongue,
rushing to spill over and out of him in a waterfall of frothing
adjectives: smushed, squashed, scrunched, crunched, crushed, squished,
pushed, flattened, pancaked…. He'd barely been able to throw on the brakes,
limiting the torrent to a barely audible whisper until the words dribbled to a
halt.
Crap. It had been weeks since the last time he lost control of his own
peculiar form of Tourette's.
He looked around the tiny store to see if anyone had noticed, but
was quickly drawn back to the spectacle outside. The little voice teasing at
the edges of his mind suggested a few more words that he ruthlessly rejected,
fully alert to the insidious nature of his own brain. The person outside was an
impossible mélange of old and young, tiny and broad, all brown and pink and white
and fluffy red. Was that a scarf and hat?
Pompoms in July seemed off to Kris, and the noise came rushing
back—odd, unusual, unexpected, surprising, strange, weird, astonishing,
peculiar…. Gasping, he stuttered back a breath, choking in the words and
squeezing eyes shut tight.
Twenty-five cleansing breaths. Twenty-four, twenty-three…. His
head noise kept pace with his diaphragm until petering out around number
twelve. Kris paid attention, waiting to open his eyes again until the countdown
reached number one… or was it zero? He felt another tingle of panic try to
erupt. Shit. If he wasn't careful, he'd be off to the races again,
and he could feel the happy little ponies inside him bouncing in delight at the
thought.
This time when he opened his eyes, his world was still. No strange
visions at his window, no customers with pity or contempt in their eyes, no
rampaging word strings waiting to torment him. With shaking hands he put up
the Out to Lunch sign and locked the front door.
Not for the first time, Kris felt like he was living inside one of
his own snow-globe creations—never knowing when something was going to yank him
upside down and shake him. At least for now, all the blizzarding shards seemed
to have settled back to the bottom.
"NO, BUN, we'll be late for Eddie's appointment." Tyr
ran his long fingers through his white-blond hair as he silently begged for
patience. His cousin was having one of her "days," and she wasn't in
the mood to go along with "the plan." Insisting that they go back to
the little Christmas shop across the square. Gently he pulled out the yellow,
lined paper, carefully unfolding it to show the pair. At least no one had
started wringing their hands. Yet.
"Look, Bun, this is the step we're on." He'd gathered
them next to a convenient mailbox, carefully laying it on the top so that they
could all see. Bun jerked forward to smooth and touch every inch of the paper
and run her fingers over each of the meticulously printed words.
They'd referred to it numerous times since leaving the farm. Tyr
hoped this would be enough to get them all back on track with enough time to
get his uncle to his cardiology appointment. Monthly trips into town had always
been stressful, but his uncle's declining health and Bun's advancing age seemed
to be making them worse.
Sighing, he carefully pointed to item number two: Eleven thirty
appointment with Dr. Morgan for Eddie. "See, Bun, Dr. Morgan is expecting
us in…." A quick glance at his watch showed that they were already ten
minutes late. "Well… we have just enough time to make it if we walk over
there now."
A flash of movement from
across the way drew his attention. There was a God. Someone in the Christmas
shop had just put up the CLOSED sign. From across the street,
he caught just a glimpse of long dark hair before the figure disappeared. It
only took a few nudges and a promise to stop by later to get them all moving
again.
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