Booked for Christmas: A Short Story

By Lily Menon

Booked for Christmas, a novella from debut author Lily Menon, is sure to get readers in the holiday spirit!

Novelist Sophia Hart (real name: Sophie Bartholomew-Kaur-Hughes, but try fitting that on a book cover) absolutely hates her loudest critic—Evan Wolfe, evil mastermind behind the Lone Wolfe book review column. They've never met, but Wolfe's favorite pastime seems to be dumping on Sophie's unapologetically happy, magical romances. Sophie, not one to be left behind, gets her revenge in her own ways (never annoy a writer in search of a villain).

When Sophie decides to throw a holiday party at her cabin, Wolfe is the last person on her mind. But the universe has a twisted sense of humor. Not only does Wolfe show up as someone’s plus one, but a massive snowstorm blows in, stranding them both alone together in Sophie’s cabin.

Over the next few days, Sophie begins to realize that Wolfe isn’t as odiously cynical a man as she’d originally thought. In fact, he’s kind of…sweet. And impossibly hot. But still, Sophie’s been hurt before and she has so much to lose. What she needs is one sure sign that she and Wolfe are meant to be together. Will Sophie and Wolfe get their Christmas miracle?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Macmillan Publishers
• Release date: Oct 13, 2020
• ISBN: 9781250801845

Lily Menon

Lily Menon has always been enamored of romantic comedies and happily-ever-afters in all shapes and sizes. Her very first love story, written at age nine, was about a handsome young boy who wooed the heroine with books, chocolates, and a very fat puppy. Now Lily lives with her own handsome boy (who indeed wooed her with books, chocolates, and fat puppies) in the mountains of Colorado, where she spends her days dreaming up kissing scenes and meet-cutes. When she's bored, Lily also masquerades as New York Times bestselling YA author Sandhya Menon. Make Up Break Up is her first adult romance.

Book preview

1

Hell hath no fury like a writer scorned by a book critic.

But Sophie Bartholomew-Kaur-Hughes (pseudonym: Sophia Hart) wouldn’t waste another moment thinking about Evan Wolfe and his obnoxious, snarky, completely unfair review.

Tipping her head back to catch a snowflake on her tongue, Sophie smiled at the beautiful winter’s night around her for a good long moment. And then, with a defeated sigh, she thought about Evan Wolfe’s obnoxious, snarky, completely unfair review.

The one about her latest romance had gone live yesterday on his online newspaper column—The Lone Wolfe Review—and was already the most read article on The Sun’s website. The review was very catchily titled, "Hart Attack: Why Sophia Hart’s Dashing through the Snow Made Me Want to Die."

Jackass.

She thought she got one over on him when she created the villain in her last book (the villain’s name was Kevin Wolfe, and similarities to any person living or dead was entirely coincidental). But Evan Wolfe had gleefully referred to that in his review as evidence that imitation was the greatest form of flattery. Dear Ms. Hart, he’d written in his column, I invite you to use my full, real name next time. Don’t be shy. He was completely incorrigible.

Sophie’s fists clenched in the pockets of her winter coat. Stop it, Soph. Focus on the happy things.

That’s right; she wasn’t going to squander a single thought more on Wolfe. Because tonight … tonight was one of her most favorite nights of the year. It was December 23rd, the night of her annual Christmas party.

Standing at the base of her driveway, Sophie took a deep breath and looked up at her cozy little log cabin. To buy this place, she’d scraped together funds from advances and royalties, an inheritance her grandma had left her, and profits from her now-defunct side hustle making tarot cards from recycled wine labels. She’d never regretted spending money on any one of the five luscious acres that made up this place. Unlike her apartment in Portland, here in Starlit Grove, she could look outside and see no one at all. Just miles and miles of trees and open sky.

Sophie had gone all out for the party, naturally (her childhood nickname wasn’t Little Elf for nothing), and in the indigo dark of early evening, she had to admit to being pretty damn happy with her efforts.

Twinkling white lights were wrapped around the posts and beams of her porch and icicle lights hung from the eaves of the slanting roof. She’d wrapped a lit garland around the entrance frame, and her door had an enormous light-studded, music-playing wreath on it that winked on and off in time to an instrumental version of Jingle Bells. Mini potted pines flanked the two steps up, and these, too, were draped with twinkling lights. As if she were in a Hallmark movie, crystal flakes of pure white snow drifted gently from the inky sky above, landing delicately on her nose and the roof of the cabin. Faint strains of her pop holiday music playlist floated down to her from inside the cabin, infusing everything with just a touch of Christmas magic.

Sophie crossed her fingers at her sides, feeling that tiny flurry of nerves she always felt before any social event. Hey, universe. If this is going to be the best Christmas party yet, please give me a sign.

On cue, a mournful howling sounded from the forest behind her, echoing through the still, crystal clear night. Wolves were extremely rare in this part of Oregon; it was likely a dog or a coyote. But that didn’t matter to Sophie. She had her sign.

Feeling sparkles of anticipation as the wind picked up and dusted her dark, wavy hair with more snow, Sophie adjusted the slim glitter belt around her waist (the finishing touch to her outfit: cream sweater dress with bell sleeves and brown knee-high boots with a four-inch heel). Then she walked back into the comforting, warm cocoon of her winter cabin to wait for her friends.

---

Marco, Jonah, and Peyton were the first to arrive. They got there thirty minutes before the party began, just like they did every year. They’d all been best friends since college, and Peyton had been the first person she’d told about her very first book deal junior year. That phone call from her literary agent telling her she’d sold her book was still one of the top three moments of Sophie’s life.

Her friends flung the door open—they didn’t need to knock, and they knew her well enough to know she didn’t lock the door when she was expecting company—and then Jonah announced, Like the three wise men, we have arrived bearing the most important gifts of the evening. Dapper as ever in a button-down shirt, reindeer-print bow tie, and suspenders that held his silk pants up, he looked at Sophie. Booze, more booze, and sugar.

Marco laughed and walked forward to kiss Sophie’s cheek. He was dressed more sedately in jeans and a burgundy sweater that set off his dark complexion and locs. Let me translate. We brought three different kinds of wine and sangria, two bottles of port, and a half dozen different kinds of eclairs, cookies, macaroons, and liquor chocolates. He quirked a thick eyebrow and shot a reproachful look at Peyton, who was unwinding her gold ankh print scarf and hanging it up. I was not responsible for this overabundance.

Hey! Peyton rushed forward to wrap Sophie in a hug while simultaneously looking offended and holding onto a box of cookies. It was an art form. Her snake bracelet pressed into Sophie’s back. I just didn’t want people to be hungry! Or thirsty! Or sober! Also, look!

She opened the box she was holding. Nestled inside were a dozen sugar cookies with Sophie’s latest book’s cover printed on them.

Touched, Sophie gathered Peyton into a hug. Oh my gosh, that’s so sweet. Thank you, P.

You can thank me by making sure we eat and drink every single morsel I brought, or Marco will never let me live this down, Peyton whispered into her ear.

Laughing, Sophie squeezed Peyton once and then let go. Her best friend smelled like car freshener and mint gum and, as usual, was dressed in black: Tonight, she wore a glittery black oversize sweater tunic that amplified her pale, almost translucent skin.

"What the hell is that?" Peyton said, clearly looking at something over Sophie’s shoulder.

Letting go of her friend, Sophie turned to see the cause of Peyton’s agitation: her Christmas tree. Smiling fondly, Sophie walked over to the little thing, patting its bare top. Oh, this is Bert.

Jonah raised an eyebrow. Explain.

Marco frowned in the general direction of her tree. I second that.

Nobody was picking him in the lot, you guys, Sophie protested.

Yeah. Peyton looked at her like she had told them she was choosing celibacy for life. That’s because that thing’s almost dead.

Shh, Sophie said. Plants can sense your energy, you know.

Jonah snorted and threaded his arm through Sophie’s. "Okay, that’s enough of … Bert, was it? Yeah. We need to go see what the food and booze situation is in the kitchen,