Dreams of Winters Past

By Shae Connor

A collection of four holiday stories to warm a winter night.

The Half-Life of Pumpkin Pie
Wil Johnson's holiday season is off to a crappy start: the pie he takes to Thanksgiving dinner bombs, and then he gets word his payment at the bakery didn't go through. When he goes to the shop to pay up, though, he meets Vin Hammel, who invites Wil to a toy-themed holiday party. But when the pair arrive, they find the toys aren't exactly what they expected.

Sharing Christmas
Christmas looks to be a bust for Rick, who's stuck covering the office over the holiday. But when his neighbor, Steven, invites him to join some residents in their apartment complex who put together gift bags to distribute at a homeless shelter for the holiday, Rick decides to join them and gets an unexpected holiday gift: Steven.

Of Holiday Spirits, Wake-Up Calls, and Happily Ever Afters
After Guy staggers home after a raucous Christmas Eve with his closest friends, he's visited by a spirit who looks suspiciously like Teddy, the friend Guy's secretly crushing on. Guy needs to learn the lessons of the past—and make the right choices in the present—so his future will be less about one night and more about forever.

In From the Cold
When Jeff Young walks into the rural Georgia lodge Neal Owens, he's just looking for a room to escape a few frigid late December nights. What he ends up finding is a new friend, a lover, and maybe more, all wrapped up in one hot package.

All stories have been previously published.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Shae Connor
• Release date: Feb 29, 2020
• ISBN: 9781386289784

Book preview

Author’s Note

I’m a big fan of the winter holiday season. Between late November and January 1, I personally celebrate Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year’s—and my birthday! These stories cover all of them except my birthday. This collection of four previously published seasonal short stories is for everyone who loves winter holidays, silliness, fluff, and romance as much as I do. :)

My thanks go out to the various beta readers and editors who have worked on these stories over the years, in particular Rachel, Dani, Kat, Trish, and Brynna.

Happy holidays, everyone!

The Half-Life of Pumpkin Pie

Wil Johnson’s holiday season is off to a crappy start: the pie he takes to Thanksgiving dinner bombs, and then he gets word his payment at the bakery didn’t go through. When he goes to the shop to pay up, though, he meets Vin Hammel, who invites Wil to a toy-themed holiday party. But when the pair arrive, they find the toys aren’t exactly what they expected.

Wilbur Johnson hated pumpkin pie. 

He hated his name, too, and the whole holiday season, which only served to remind him that he was alone. No family, no boyfriend, only a handful of friends—who, he was convinced, spent all their time when he wasn’t around pointing and laughing behind his back. 

Okay, so Wilbur—or Wil, as he preferred to be called, for obvious reasons—was having a bad day. 

He’d gone to Thanksgiving Day dinner at his closest friend’s house the day before, trying his best to be buoyed by the long weekend and the prospect of a big feast with some people he genuinely liked, an improvement on the sad little office party they’d had on Tuesday. Turkey roll-ups, a veggie plate, and store-bought apple turnovers did not a holiday make. Wil had asked Rob what to bring for the friendly feast, and Rob had suggested pumpkin pie with lots of whipped cream! Wil agreed readily, already thinking of the bakery down the street with the cute guy behind the counter and the apple turnovers that tasted homemade, not like the supermarket stuff procured by Peggy in accounting. 

Wil showed up to Rob’s perfectly on time, two gorgeous-looking pumpkin pies in hand, along with a bag that held both a can of real whipped topping and a container of the fake stuff—which, truth be told, Wil preferred on pumpkin pie. He’d cover a slice so completely that it just looked like a pile of fluff, and that was perfect. 

Dinner was amazing. The beautifully browned roasted turkey was moist and flavorful. Perfect mashed potatoes almost dripped with fresh butter and, to gild the lily, an equally rich gravy came on the side. Add in a huge platter of roasted vegetables, sweet-potato casserole covered in marshmallows, and two different kinds of rolls, all of it served with a selection of wine, tea, and cider, and Wil was soon pleasantly overstuffed. 

The dessert course was where the trouble started. 

Rob’s oldest friend, Marcus, had brought apple pie, but not just any apple pie, oh no. From the oven, where it had warmed while they ate, he produced an oversized latticework-topped miracle, oozing with juice and smelling like cinnamon heaven. He’d picked up a half-gallon of high-end French vanilla ice cream too, and when he set his offerings on the table and everyone ooed and ahhed in admiration, Wil almost didn’t want to break out his dessert. How could cold pumpkin and spray-on cream measure up? 

He’d brought the pie and toppings out anyway, but as expected, everyone filled up on apple-y goodness. Rob, as host, and Marc, probably feeling bad for stealing the sweet spotlight, had each taken a small slice of Wil’s dessert and made the appropriate yummy noises, but everyone else begged off as too full. 

When Wil headed home, along with a plastic-wrapped plate of turkey, potatoes, and veggies, he carried one complete, untouched pumpkin pie and an unopened container of whipped topping. He’d left the more-than-half-uneaten second pie and canned cream behind and didn’t even care what happened to it. Let Rob feed it to his dog. 

Friday morning, Wil got up still grumpy. He drank a cup of coffee and stared balefully at the refrigerator door, imagining the pie inside smirking under its bakery cover. He couldn’t eat an entire pie by himself, not before it started growing little science experiments or he turned into a pumpkin, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to throw it out, either. 

His phone rang. Happy for something to do other than contemplating squash-induced obesity, he grabbed for it and answered without even checking the screen. Hello? 

Hi, is this Wilbur Johnson? 

All else aside, he really did hate that name. 

Wil, he corrected automatically. Who’s calling? 

Hi, Wil, the man replied. He sounded like he was smiling, and it made Wil want to smack him. This is Vin down at Hammel’s Bakery. You bought a couple of pies from us on Wednesday? 

Oh my God, don’t remind me. Yeah, I did. Is there a problem? 

Vin chuckled. Well, I’m sure it’s just a glitch, ’cause I know you’ve been in before and we’ve never had an issue. But it looks like your credit card didn’t go through right. I wanted to double-check to be sure we had the number right and all that. Or you can come down and use another card or pay cash if you prefer? 

What he wanted to do was go down and smash the leftover pie all over the bakery floor, but that would be a bit excessive. I’m off today, he replied. Give me an hour or so and I can come down. Will that work? 

Perfect. Vin was smiling again. Or still. Whatever. 

If he was smiling in person, Wil would have to resist the urge to punch him in the face. 

See you then. Wil hung up and, resisting the urge to growl at the world in general, headed to the shower. 

Maybe shampoo and shower gel would wash away his mood. 

He wasn’t counting on it. 

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Vin looked up when the bell rang over the door and couldn’t help smiling when he saw Wil walk in. Vin had been trying to convince himself for months that his gaydar was right and he should ask the other man out. Wil’s messy hair, big eyes, and long body flipped every switch Vin had. All legs and arms, he looked like a cross between a newborn racehorse and a Muppet, in all the most adorable ways. The slightly geeky glasses only added to Wil’s charm in Vin’s eyes. 

Today, though, the Muppet he resembled most was Oscar the Grouch. Well, that, or one of those inflatable yard decorations that had sprung a leak. Wil looked like he’d lost half his air, and Vin’s smile slipped a notch, but he wasn’t giving up that easily. 

Good to see you, Wil, he forged ahead, hoping to brighten the guy’s mood by sheer force. Sorry about the problem. Did you decide how you want to handle it? 

Wil stopped at the far side of the case and gave a sort of grunting sound. Cash, I guess. He shrugged and reached into a back pocket. The pie was good. I mean, the one that got eaten. The other one’s still in my fridge. 

Oh. Vin himself deflated a bit at that. He’d made all the pumpkin pies for the holiday, so he hoped he hadn’t messed anything up. Not a family favorite? 

Wil flipped through his wallet. Wouldn’t know. Haven’t seen them in years. Took it to my friend’s place. Got overshadowed by the best apple pie in the history of apple pie. 

Oh. Vin held back a wince. Sorry about that. 

A sharp shoulder shrugged. Not your fault. Wil pulled out some cash and went to hand it to Vin, but his hand brushed the edge of the cake stand atop the display case, and before Vin could react, the whole setup toppled over. 

Letting out a yip like a lapdog, Wil jumped back out of the way, but thankfully, the stands Vin used were solid acrylic, not glass. The stand bounced one way, the cover the other, and the three doughnuts that had been on display rolled across the floor in three different directions. 

Shit! Wil scrambled to pick everything up, moving so quickly that Vin barely had time to come out from behind the counter to help. He grabbed the doughnuts and tossed them toward the trash can, then turned to Wil, who held out the cake stand in shaking hands, his cheeks apple red. 

S-sorry, he stuttered. I’m such a klutz. 

As Vin reached for the stand, a brilliant idea popped into his head. I know how you can make it up to me. 

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Wil couldn’t figure out how going to a party with Vin would make up for anything. He’d paid for the pies, of course, once he’d gotten over the immediate embarrassment of knocking over the doughnut display. 

He’d tried to pay for the doughnuts, too, but Vin had said they were on the verge of being tossed for fresh anyway and wouldn’t take the extra money. Instead, he’d made it sound like going to the party was the very last thing he wanted to do, but he had some kind of obligation Wil couldn’t quite figure out. 

I mean, it’s not going to be horrible, Vin assured him. It’s just there are so many holiday parties, you know? And this one is all toy themed. Bring a gift for Toys for Tots for admission, and they’re going to have toys for us to play with. Which could be fun, I suppose, but what are we going to do, dress Barbie dolls and push around Tonka trucks? 

Wil had agreed eventually, mostly because Vin had told him he could bring the pie in place of a toy. Vin already had one—and it’s really two, because it’s a set of twin dolls, right?—so he assured Wil that plus the pie would be plenty. They agreed to meet in front of the bakery at seven, closing time, and go to the café across the street for a quick dinner before walking the five blocks to the house where the party was being held. 

Wil got home feeling a bit like he’d been railroaded but also a bit relieved to have something to do other than contemplate his lot in life and angst over the leftover pie. He ate a turkey sandwich for lunch, spent his afternoon doing laundry, and stressed himself out over what to wear. 

Finally ready, dressed in khakis and a button-down shirt, he slid his feet into his loafers, pulled on a light jacket, and opened the front door... then mentally smacked himself and headed back to the kitchen to collect the pie he’d almost forgotten. 

Finally ready for real, he headed out, hoping he wouldn’t do something else dumb like trip over his own feet and give Vin a pumpkin pie facial. 

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Vin