Under the Felt Mistletoe

By Nell Iris

The most wonderful time of the year is about to get even better.

On a cold, rainy December morning, Finn’s beloved Grampa, his best friend and rock, makes a friend outside their home who he invites in for coffee. The last thing Finn expects is Nelson, a man with a painful past, who is beautiful and generous and turns Finn’s knees into jelly.

What starts out as a chance to get out of the rain, soon becomes more as Nelson helps Finn get ready for the Christmas market. They bond over coffee and fabric and Mariah Carey. Can handmade Christmas ornaments and an understanding heart give Nelson the love he’s been denied?

• Language: English
• Publisher: JMS Books LLC
• Release date: Dec 8, 2018
• ISBN: 9781634868204

Nell Iris

Nell is a forty-something bisexual Swedish woman, married to the love of her life, and a proud mama of a grown daughter. She left the Scandinavian cold and darkness for warmer and sunnier Malaysia a few years ago, and now spends her days writing, surfing the Internet, enjoying the heat, and eating good food. One day she decided to chase her lifelong dream of being a writer, sat down in front of her laptop, and wrote a story about two men falling in love. Nell writes gay romance, prefers sweet over angst, and wants to write diverse and different characters.

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Under the Felt Mistletoe

By Nell Iris

Published by JMS Books LLC at Smashwords

Visit jms-books.com for more information.

Copyright 2018 Nell Iris

ISBN 9781634868204

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Cover Design: Written Ink Designs | written-ink.com

Image(s) used under a Standard Royalty-Free License.

All rights reserved.

WARNING: This book is not transferable. It is for your own personal use. If it is sold, shared, or given away, it is an infringement of the copyright of this work and violators will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.

No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review.

This book is for ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It may contain sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which might be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Published in the United States of America.

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To anyone who loves gingerbread cookies and Christmas music and lighthearted fluff as much as I do.

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Under the Felt Mistletoe

By Nell Iris

Chapter 1

Good morning, son. What are you doing outside on a dreadful morning like this?

Grampa’s voice is loud and can probably be heard two counties over. I chuckle. Leave it to him to find someone he can speak to at—I glance at my watch—eight-fifteen on a Saturday morning when it’s raining cats and dogs outside. Frozen cats and dogs.

I cut out more stars from the red flannel fabric printed with tiny white flowers I found at a garage sale. I already have a huge pile of them but need more so I can make plenty of ornaments to sell at tomorrow’s first Christmas market for the season.

I’m sorry, but the Freemans moved out a couple months ago, Grampa continues. Apparently, the person had answered Grampa and intends to visit the old neighbors. Nah, I don’t know. They didn’t care much for me or Finn, so we barely spoke to them.

Hah, I huff with a shake of my head. Ain’t that the truth. The first time Mr. Freeman saw me after Gramps and I moved into the house after Gramma died a couple years back, I wore a black kilt and bright pink over-knee socks. Mr. Freeman’s eyes wandered between my clothes and my face and didn’t seem to think the outfit went with the scruffy beard I was cultivating at the time, because he snapped his mouth shut with a sound that could be heard from our side of the fence, and his big nose curled upward as though he smelled something foul. I told Grampa after that Mr. Freeman probably would have preferred a rotting corpse in his backyard over me.

And if there’s one thing Grampa can’t stand, it’s someone attacking his beloved family, so he agreed with that loud booming laughter that always melts my heart. We kept a polite distance to the Freemans after that first awkward meeting.

Why don’t you come inside for a second? We have fresh coffee.

I still can’t hear the other person, but I put down my rotary cutter next to my sewing machine on the desk in the living room I use as a work space and walk to the kitchen. I have yet to meet someone who’ll say no to my grandfather, and I better make fresh coffee since I just gulped down the dregs leftover from breakfast.

It doesn’t take me