Christmasly Obedient

By Julia Kent

Tree picking in glorious, downeast Maine. Snow. Santa. Roaring fires, people you love, and a good life. What more could a guy want?

Or, rather, two guys?

Mike and Jeremy have a quiet life with Lydia, on her parents' family campground in Verily, Maine. It's a little boring, sure, but after the craziness of their old lives, what's wrong with boring?

Besides, Jeremy and Mike find Lydia anything but.

As Christmas looms, and an unexpected oops leaves them all in a state of uncertainty, they have to ask themselves: is it time to let life be a little less boring?

And what's inside that slim box Lydia's giving them both on Christmas morning?

Christmasly Obedient is a new holiday book in Julia Kent's USA Today bestselling Obedient series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Prosaic Press
• Release date: Nov 29, 2022
• ISBN: 9781950173846

Julia Kent

New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Julia Kent writes romantic comedy with an edge. Since 2013, she has sold more than 2 million books, with 4 New York Times bestsellers and more than 21 appearances on the USA Today bestseller list. Her books have been translated into French, Italian, and German, with more titles releasing in the future. From billionaires to BBWs to new adult rock stars, Julia finds a sensual, goofy joy in every contemporary romance she writes. Unlike Shannon from Shopping for a Billionaire, she did not meet her husband after dropping her phone in a men’s room toilet (and he isn’t a billionaire in a rom com). She lives in New England with her husband and children in a household where everyone but Julia lacks the gene to change empty toilet paper rolls.

Book preview

1

Lydia

---

She could not stop crying, no matter what she did.

And it was all her grandmother's fault.

Lydia! Madge croaked over the video conference software they were using as Lydia learned to cook one of her grandmother's signature foods.

Fried green tomatoes.

What? The cabin Lydia shared with her guys, Mike and Jeremy, had a soaring ceiling in the combined kitchen-living room, with a great, long counter where Lydia could cook with abandon.

While her brother, Caleb, was the chef in the family, and their grandmother, Madge, ran a diner in Boston that was a stalwart tradition in that corner of the city, Lydia had never mastered some of the family's cherished dishes.

It was time.

Her grandma was getting old, and Lydia needed the connection. The engagement. The interaction.

But mostly, she needed to not be such a bad cook.

You're turning it all into goo, Madge chided, lips pursed in a tight line, head shaking with a motion that triggered instant shame in Lydia.

I'm dredging! Just like you told me! Reaching for her glass of Merlot, she took an extra long sip, using her other hand to move her long, dark braid off her shoulder and behind her, where it belonged.

And why are you crying? her grandmother demanded.

The onions. She sniffed, as if to prove a point.

But really because her nose burned.

You didn't use my trick?

The bread-in-the-mouth trick?

No! The swim goggles!

"You wear swim goggles when you chop onions, Grandma?"

Yes! Caleb showed me a Hickory Dickory Dock about it.

A what?

You know. That website that shows people doing short videos?

You mean Tik Tok?

That's what I said! Her grandmother's big, beaming face filled her tablet screen as Lydia stared at her first attempt at a slice of fried green tomato. Madge’s hair stuck out in crazy tufts, framing a wrinkled face that looked like a shrunken apple. Wise old eyes, ever sharp, watched Lydia through the screen.

Grandma, the juicy tomato slice is too much. When I drag it through the breading, it just clumps.

Did you do the egg dip first?

I thought that was after the breading.

Nope! Egg, then breading.

Listening carefully, Lydia tried it, using a fork to pierce the green flesh of the tomato slice, dunking it in the scrambled egg in a bowl, then dredging it, carefully plunking it on the baking tray.

One down, nine to go! she announced.

Caleb appeared on the screen with Madge. The two gave her a polite golf clap, Lydia’s younger brother looking smug, muscled forearms poking out from under a stained chef’s shirt.

This isn't helping!

What, sis? We're applauding you.

You're mocking me!

Same thing in this family, Madge joked, but while her words were sarcastic, her mannerisms were all infused with love and affection.

When will we see you here at the campground, Grandma? Lydia asked as she executed the dip and dredge perfectly for the second slice, wondering why she ever thought this was hard. In a large frying pan, onions and peppers sauteed in ghee, seasoned with Turkish oregano and lime, awaited a sprinkling of crumbled feta cheese, to be served with the fried green tomato slices.

She already made the tiger sauce, a blend of horseradish and sour cream.

By the time she was done, Jeddy's Diner's signature dish would be served in her own home up here in Verily, Maine.

And it would taste almost as good.

She might not be the first member of her family to get it right, but she would be the first in the cabin she shared with Jeremy and Mike, which made this an achievement that deserved to be celebrated.

With more Merlot.

How many glasses is that? Caleb teased her over the video window he appeared in, now connected on his phone, which was propped up somewhere on the kitchen line at the diner. A few years ago, he joined Madge as co-owner of the old restaurant that had been a part of the Charles' family life since, well...

Since Lydia could remember.

My Merlot consumption is none of your business, Caleb. Speaking of things that aren't anyone's business, how's your love life?

Madge cackled.

Caleb left the call, disappearing off camera. Lydia could hear the grumble, though, for a few seconds more.

Which meant she hit the right nerve.

I don't know why that boy doesn't get up the guts to just kiss that poor best friend of yours and break the ice, Madge said as she tipped a beer to her lips and took a sip. And get your oil ready. What're you frying those tomatoes in?

Canola oil.

WHAT? That's a waste of good tomatoes. Get some bacon grease.

Bacon grease? Grandma, that'll clog your arteries.

Then maybe the only reason I'm still alive well into my eighties is because my arterial walls have been replaced with bacon fat, Lydia. Don't you dare use any canola oil!

We don't have leftover bacon grease.

Where's your can under the sink?

Grandma, I know you told us we should do that, but Mike was grossed out and said it's not sanitary.

Not sanitary? I do it and I'm fine!

You've had two heart attacks in the last five years.

Those were just blips. Not my fault Ed's so good in the sack my heart gets pushed to the limits.

Grandma! Gross! That comment called for more wine.

Says the woman who's screwing two men at the same time? Lydia, when did you become such a prude?

When you destroyed my eyes with onions and mocked me for it. I am this close, Lydia said, holding her index finger and thumb a centimeter apart, to joining Caleb and logging off!

You can't do that until you properly fry one of these. And not in that canola oil crap!

With a peal of laughter, Lydia did as she was told, finding some avocado oil that barely passed Madge's muster. Lydia missed the old woman, more than she realized until now. They'd been roommates in Boston, an odd combination that had worked really, really well.

Until Lydia met Mike, then Jeremy, and the threesome decided to relocate to the family-owned campground and help run it.

And live in their custom-built cabin together.

When she’d met Mike and Jeremy, Mike had been the founder and CEO of Bournham Industries, the faceless, nameless megacorporation where she’d been a corporate drone. Working her way up the ladder had sucked.

Meeting Mike hadn’t, though the circumstances had been about as weird as could be. He was undercover for a reality television show, pretending to be a middle manager of his own company, and they’d fallen for each other.

Nothing like accidentally making love on camera for a billion people to watch.

Oops.

Jeremy was Mike’s best friend, and Mike had transferred her to Iceland, a fake assignment designed to get her out from under media scrutiny. He’d also sent Jeremy to watch over her.

Which Jeremy had.

In bed.

And now here they were, permanently together, blissfully happy, and Lydia spent her days helping with marketing for the campground while her two billionaires did… stuff. Mike was an outdoorsman, trading mergers and acquisitions for ocean kayaking and trail bikes.

Jeremy puttered around the campground and helped her father and brothers with odd jobs.

Never in a million years did she imagine she’d move back home and settle down at the family-run campground, but here she was.

Sometimes, Lydia missed the city life.

More than that, she missed her grandmother.

Madge was a curmudgeon's curmudgeon, old and crusty in a way that Lydia didn't quite understand, but found very fascinating. Gruff on the outside, with a sarcastic comment always at the ready, her grandmother was also an endless source of deep love, stability, and practicality.

Had a problem? Madge could help.

Needed to keep busy? Madge always had a suggestion.

Wanted to whine and complain? Find someone else.

How's it going? Madge asked before taking another sip of her beer. For the first time, Lydia realized Madge held the beer bottle with a firmer grip in one hand vs. the other.

Strength was fading in her strong-willed grandmother.

But will alone wasn't enough to stay alive. If only.

I've got five frying now, and five more to go.

That enough for the three of you?

The three of us? I'm alone. Mike's out ice fishing – or trying to – and Jeremy's doing something with Miles and honey.

I can't believe Miles taught him to make that shit wine. Who drinks mead these days?

Making a face, Lydia leaned in toward the camera and whispered a