Welcome to Flash Fest December!
I have some author friends who have joined me in this challenge, and are contributing to the prize baskets!
This week’s prize basket:
- $5 Amazon gift card
- Free e-book for Red Wine & Roses, contemporary romance
- Swag bag
- e-book of What We’ve Unlearned: English Class Goes Punk (The Writerpunk Project Book 4)
- e-book of Holiday Fling, contemporary romance
This is how the prize giveaway will work:
Leave a comment throughout the week on any blog post, whether it’s the blog hop, flash, guest spot, or weekend writing warriors. I will select one of the commenters through Randompicker and post it on Monday’s post ( or rather Tuesday as it’s been lately, since my internet connection has been sketchy.) That person can contact me on Facebook or email me at: firstname.lastname@example.org.
The challenge is to write a flash piece, 500 to 1000 words based on a Holiday tune as a prompt. The author was given the option to select their own or I would assign one. Trust me, my list of holiday tunage is anything but traditional!
The Christmas Song by the Raveonettes
Nic Collins hung her head and huffed out another irritated sigh. She hated Christmas lights, and right about now, she hated her house and the gutter and the light clips and the ladder she stood on, and the neighbor who had called a greeting to her—oh yeah, he’d sounded a little amused and a lot smug—and she swallowed down a prickly, niggling little jolt of hatred for Hailey Gerritsen. The very same Hailey Gerritsen that the rest of the world loved.
Okay, maybe not the whole world, but pretty much everyone in Nic’s world, and maybe hatred was a bit strong, but also pretty darn close at the moment. After all, it was Hailey’s fault that she was all but hanging from her gutter, stringing up the damned icicle lights that were at least a few years out of style.
Damn. And let’s not forget the part about Scott Walton standing at the foot of her ladder. Holding it steady for her. She almost jumped, because that last wave of frustration with Hailey had trumped everything else, and she had forgotten that Scott was here. To help her.
She rolled her eyes and groaned quietly as she lifted her chin.
“Hmm?” She didn’t trust herself to speak.
“You okay up there?”
Why was he here? Well, yeah, he was helping her put up her Christmas stuff. Nic got that much. Hailey had probably sent him over, but Nic had told him she was fine. She didn’t need help. He could go. He hadn’t, though. He hadn’t left, and he was helping, and he’d offered at least seven times now to do this part. To climb the ladder and hang the lights.
“You sure you don’t want me—?”
She dropped her head back to hang between her shoulder blades. Her hands hurt from the cold.
“I’m fine, Scott,” she mumbled.
“Can I make a suggestion?”
Nic flexed her fingers as she turned slowly on the ladder and shot him a look that said I’m all ears. But she bit her tongue when she met his cobalt blue gaze. How could one guy be that cute and nice?
Scott Walton was dreamy; she’d noticed that three years ago when he’d been new on the crew and Hailey had introduced him to Nic and the rest of the gang. He was tall and a little lanky, but not in a bad way. His long legs weren’t awkward, so much as lean and sexy—not that Nic looked. Much. He had wide shoulders and a tapered chest, and Nic had noticed his butt. What female on the planet wouldn’t notice Scott Walton’s butt?
Best of all? He was nice. No false advertising in his friendly smile. He was mild-mannered, handled himself professionally, sure, but he was fun, too. Always had time to help anyone out. Which Nic supposed was why he had shown up here earlier.
She nodded slowly. As the producer on set, Nic was used to doling out orders and taking charge. The crew had been together for five years, and Nic rarely had to flex her bossy muscles. But she could and did now and then.
Not with Scott, though. Nope.
“Sure.” She arched her eyebrows and waited for him to suggest she get down and let him finish the lights for her. She wouldn’t. She’d thank him and go back to wondering why the damn lights weren’t working, and he’d go back to watching her. Either until they were finished or until one of them froze.
Doubtful. It was just cold enough to be miserable, but certainly not freezing.
“C’mere.” He reached for her hand.
Well. This was new. She squeezed her hand into a fist again and then backed down the ladder to the first rung, so she was standing almost eye to eye with him.
“What if…” He took her hand, even though she’d just moved down to look at him. “We…scrapped these lights. And went to get new ones.”
They’d worked together for three years. They were work friends. Period. She blinked at her fingers, encircled in his big warm hand. Warm? How was his hand warm?
“New ones?” She cleared her throat and looked up to find those blue eyes searching her face intently. He nodded, but rather than speak, he stepped toward her. Into the bushes where she’d had to wedge the ladder. His eyes never left her face, so Nic was careful not to look away, though she wondered what he was doing. Why was he getting so close?
“New lights,” he repeated. When he squeezed her fingers, she nodded.
New lights. Of course. Why hadn’t she thought of that?
But he didn’t step back, didn’t look away. Instead, he leaned further into her. Nic caught her breath when she felt him touch her cheek with his free hand. He stroked his thumb over her lower lip and dropped his gaze there when she gasped in surprise again.
He was—what the—oh—he was going to kiss her. Yep. He had that look, that intense look that guys in the movies get just before they kiss the girl. Before Nic could process that, before she could react, Scott brushed his lips—warm and soft—over hers.
Okay, proof that she wasn’t frozen yet, because her heart fluttered in her chest and throat, and a wave of warmth unfurled through her belly and fingertips. Still, in his hand, they throbbed and Nic curled them around his.
He made another pass, this one just as slow and soft, his lips over hers. It had been a damned long time since she’d done this, but she couldn’t recall the feeling of wild horses dancing on her chest before.
Her lips remembered their part, though, and suddenly, Nic realized she was kissing him back. Really kissing him. The lazy stroke of his tongue over hers was delicious and wicked, too, and Nic’s body was warm now.
All too soon, he pulled away from her, but he held her eyes in his gaze.
“What—?” She cleared her throat, but the word still came out like a croak. “What was—?”
His smile was sweet, and the thought of those lips on hers just moments ago made her ache in places she’d thought were long dead. She flicked her gaze up to watch him as he reached to pluck something from her hair.
“You had…” He shrugged, and Nic’s eyes were drawn to his lips again. “Mistletoe…in your hair…”
“Mistletoe?” she whispered, and her heart did a belly flop. She’d fallen for a moment. Believed in the magic of the season. When in reality, Scott had only kissed her because he was supposed to because of the mistletoe.
“Let’s get new lights and start again tomorrow.”
About the author:
You can find all of Tracy’s books on Amazon: Tracy Broemmer
Leave a comment and let her know what you think of this story.
Write on my friends, write on!