Twas the Play Before Christmas

By Kris T. Bethke

After the death of his wife, Nick Valenti is raising his twins on his own. It’s no surprise when his son, Quinn, gets a part in the holiday show, but Nick is amazed when he shows up at the parent meeting and finds his old high school friend is now his son’s music teacher.

Emmett James is full of passion and energy, and Nick is captivated by him. Volunteering to help with sets gives Nick the opportunity to get to know the man Emmett has become. Sparks fly, flirting ensues, and Nick wants nothing more than to see where the attraction between them goes.

With Christmas in the air, and holiday music helping them along, will Nick and Emmett find a romance that can last?

• Language: English
• Publisher: JMS Books LLC
• Release date: Dec 15, 2018
• ISBN: 9781634868211

Book preview

8

Chapter 1

Nicholas Valenti! It’s about time. Dinner is ready.

I literally just walked in the door, hadn’t even taken off my boots, and I was already getting two-named? I rolled my eyes because my mother couldn’t see, hidden as I was in the entryway. After getting out of all my winter wear, I padded sock-footed into the kitchen and kissed her cheek.

Ma. I told you that you didn’t have to cook for us. I’m perfectly capable of feeding my children dinner.

She gave me an indulgent smile. I know, sweetheart. But I’m here, and you work hard. She walked to the stove, then picked up the huge pot of pasta to carry to the sink. I kept my sigh inside. We’d be eating spaghetti for a week. My mother didn’t know how to cook for just a few people.

Leaving her to it, I focused on my daughter, sitting at the table with her math book open in front of her. I kissed the top of her curly head. Those curls she’d gotten from her mother—God rest her soul—and Nina gave me a huge smile.

How was school today, sweet pea?

Good. Normal. Learned stuff. This math is hard, though. Can you help me later?

Of course. I grinned, because even though we’d lost Michelle five years ago, Nina sounded so much like her mother sometimes it was scary. Nina was a little mini-Michelle, and I loved that she would carry part of her mother with her always.

Quinn, on the other hand, was a mini-me. Twins hadn’t even been on our radar when we started trying to have kids, but Nina and Quinn surprised us both. Thinking about my son, I realized he wasn’t at the table.

Where’s your brother?

My mother made a noise as she set the drained and sauced pasta on the table. Moping in his room.

I ignored her and kept my attention on Nina. Her bottom lip stuck out just a little. At ten, the twins were in that halfway transitioning stage. Still children, but maturing. It was times like this, though, I could see the small child poking through.

The parts for the play got announced today, Nina whispered.

Oh, damn. I should have remembered that was today. Quinn was so dang excited about auditioning for the holiday show. He’d been talking about it for years, about how as soon as he was in fifth grade, and old enough, he was going to be in the show. I placed a hand on the top of Nina’s head and gave her scalp a little rub. I’ll talk to him.

Tell him to come to dinner. My mother’s tone made it clear that she felt Quinn should be at the table, and not having whatever emotions he was having in his room.

I shot a look over my shoulder at her. Ma, I love you. And I appreciate you coming here to watch the kids after school. I’m grateful you make us dinner even though I tell you not to. But I parent my kids, right?

She blinked. Yes, of course. Her voice carried the tiniest bit of hurt.

I sighed, and turned around to kiss her cheek. Thanks, Ma. You heading home or staying to eat with us?

Oh, I have to get your father’s dinner on the table, so I’m going. She seemed a little flustered, and I knew she’d stayed later than she’d intended. My mother was old-fashioned in a lot of ways, and though she’d held her own job for forty-five years, she still felt it her responsibility to feed my father. If Dad had been a different sort of man, I would have had issue with that. But Vito Valenti doted on his wife, and loved my mother fiercely.

All right. Thanks again. We’ll see you tomorrow. I gave her a squeeze and another peck on the cheek, then headed upstairs.

Quinn’s door stood open, but I knocked anyway, and waited for him to give me permission before entering. My kids needed privacy just as much as any other human, and I wasn’t the type to barge in unannounced.

Quinn was sitting in his desk chair, books open in front of him, but he was hunched over on himself, staring moodily at the wall. I gave him what I hoped was a sympathetic smile as I picked my way over the socks and pants strewn on the floor. Quinn wasn’t usually this messy, and I knew he’d pick up everything before