Santa Material Read online

  Santa Material

  MINK

  Santa Material

  MINK © 2020

  All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this e-book only. No part of this e-book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from MINK.

  This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Contents

  Santa Material

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Epilogue

  Epilogue 2

  Also by MINK

  About the Author

  Santa Material

  MINK

  Am I obsessed with my neighbor? Yes. Mac is a huge bear of a man, one with bright eyes and big hands—a man that you can’t help but drool over. He’s so kind, always asking me if I want help with my projects around the house. Maybe I’ll spend this Christmas in his arms, cuddled by a fire.

  At least, that would’ve happened if I didn’t … accidentally … kill Santa Claus.

  Look, I know how it sounds. But it was an accident! Now, it’s up to me to save Christmas, and I have to find the right person to take the Big Guy’s place. A man with a kind heart, a giving soul, and a laugh that can warm even the chilliest of grinches. A man like … Mac. But can I give up the only man I’ve ever loved to save Christmas, or will I keep him to myself no matter the cost?

  1

  McMurphy

  Hot.

  Almost a foot of snow on the ground and some of the coldest temps we’ve ever seen this time of year. And what am I? I’m hot.

  Jocelyn is out putting up her Christmas lights. She’s stretching and bending, her leggings hugging her round ass with each move she makes. Christmas is almost here—I should be thinking about how much it sucks that I spend the holiday alone every year. Instead, I can’t stop staring at my neighbor.

  I pretend to shovel my driveway, hoping she doesn’t notice I already shoveled it this morning when she first started putting out her decorations.

  “You sure you don’t need any help?” I call as I poke at the snow pile on the curb.

  “I’m good.” She turns, and even from here, I can see her light blue eyes are sparkling and her cheeks are pink from the cold. “I only have a few more strands. I don’t go as big as the lady down the street used to.”

  “The travel agent?” I sort of remember her.

  “Yeah, she and the guy across the street went all out, but now that they’ve moved away together, I’m trying to pick up a little bit of the slack.” She shrugs and pulls at a string of colored lights on her holly bush.

  “It’s looking great, Jocelyn.” I eye the tangle of lights and the slightly dumpy Santa blowup that stares at me from the porch.

  “Thanks!” She waves and gets back to work.

  My offer of help is denied. Again. Dammit.

  I even wore a stupid sweater out here, one with reindeer on it and snowflakes. It seemed non-threatening. I’m a big guy. Burly, my mom always said. Pretty much a bear, I guess. So I tried to wear light colors and fix my wild hair so Jocelyn might trust me.

  But she doesn’t. She still won’t let me help her out.

  I sigh and go back to knocking the snow into my drive again when she’s not looking. That way I can spend another hour out here pretend-shoveling and keeping an eye on her.

  Hmmm. Maybe I should’ve shaved my beard? No. Chicks dig beards. I googled it and everything. It’s well-trimmed and dark like the hair on my head. I’m not some scary boogaloo from the woods or anything. Well, I mean, I am from the woods but not in a bad way.

  I shovel some more, watching as she bends over again and again. My mouth goes dry, and my cock has been fighting the cold for hours. It won’t go down. She does this to me every time I see her outside.

  Jocelyn is a big do-it-yourselfer. Cuts her own grass in the summer, pulls her own weeds, shovels her own walk. Well, she used to do all that—but then I started doing it for her when she was away. Beating her to it whenever I could. It just made her do more. Like fixing the creaky front steps and painting her door. She even finds old furniture and refinishes it out in front of her garage.

  Every time I ask if she wants help, she wipes the sweat from her brow, thanks me sweetly, and declines.

  She’s handy. She can make all sorts of things with nothing more than her hands and a few rough ingredients. Amazes me all the time.

  I’m the proverbial bull in a china shop. Once I got out of my old life, I decided I wouldn’t use my size to intimidate people anymore. No more enforcing, no more working for the syndicate. I wanted to be a different person. And when I saw Jocelyn and talked to her that first time? Well, I thought she’d be the one I could show my softer side to. But she still keeps me at arm’s length. I must still be scary.

  I frown down at my stupid sweater. It didn’t work.

  “I love the sweater, by the way,” she calls.

  I look up. She’s leaning on her mailbox, her breath puffing out in white clouds.

  “Thanks.” I hurry to my own mailbox, matching her pose.

  But when I lean on mine, it gives way. The post snaps in half, and I tumble into the snowbank.

  “Mac!” she cries and hurries across the street as I pick myself up and brush the snow from my knees. “Oh my God, are you okay?”

  Her hands.

  Her. Hands.

  She’s touching me, running her palms along my arms. “Hurt?” she asks.

  I should make words. I can’t. All I can do is stand here and look at her. Smell her. Sense her. She’s warm and inviting, and I could swear she smells like hot chocolate with extra marshmallows.

  “Mac?” she peers up at me, those beautiful eyes so bright in the daylight. “Did you hit your head?”

  “No.” I can answer that. Then I swallow hard. My mouth dryer than ever.

  When she drops her hands, I almost groan in disappointment.

  “Sorry.” She steps back. “I just was checking for injuries is all.”

  “No.” I need to say more than that one stupid word, but I can’t. Nothing is firing except my thoughts of her.

  “Okay.” She smiles despite my fucking weirdness that I can’t seem to control. “As long as you aren’t hurt.” She drops her gaze to my mailbox. “But I’m going to need to fix that. Might take some time.” She picks up the box and the splintered wood stake. “Can I borrow this for a while?”

  “I, uh, I—”

  “Great!” Her smile brightens even more. “I have just the thing. I’ll bring it back when I’ve repaired it.” And with that, she turns and dashes across the street, taking her bright, sparkly perfection with her. And, just like that, I suspect she’s made off with more than just my mailbox—she’s taken my heart as well.

  2

  Jocelyn

  I stare at the broken mailbox and wonder what’s wrong with me. That was not how I anticipated my exchange with Mac going. I keep making this worse. He’s never going to see me as anything other than the quirky girl that lives across the street at the rate I’m going.


  It’s a title that never bothered me before I met him. But I don’t want him to think of me as being a girl. I want him to see me as a woman. One he desires. One he wants to kiss and decorate a Christmas tree with.

  I sigh and stare at the splintered wood. The man is so out of my league. The first time I saw him, I almost took a tumble off my ladder. I was out checking on my gutters, and there he was. Never in my 22 years had I ever seen a man and wanted to jump into his lap. Yet that was my reaction when I saw Mac for the first time. He looked intimidating and cuddly at the same time.

  He’s so big, so damn tall. I barely come up to the center of his chest.

  I run my fingers over the spot I intentionally weakened in his mailbox. It hadn’t taken me but a second to do it. It would take an expert to notice the small notch I’d put in it. Someone who understood the lines and grooves of the wood. I knew when I did it that Mac would never notice it with a mere glance.

  I had it all planned out. I would back my car softly into it. A small amount of pressure to the wood, and the crack would expand, snapping it in half. Then I could swoop in and save the day by fixing it for him.

  That had been my plan. I should have known better. All the plans I have that involve my hot neighbor always seem to blow up in my face. I was horrified when he leaned against the box. I knew exactly what was going to happen.

  Before I could say anything, he was already on the ground. Thank goodness it happened so fast. I swear if I’d had time to tell him to stop I would have. It’s probably for the best, because then I would have had to explain how I knew the mailbox was going to break to begin with. Trying to get my neighbor’s attention is exhausting. Every day I try to come up with a new plan to get him to notice me.

  I wish I could say that it ended there. But it didn’t. I switched to plan B once I saw what a disaster plan A had turned into.

  What was Plan B that I made up on the fly? That I would run over there and help him up. I thought maybe he would be all thankful and invite me inside for some hot cocoa. Then as a thank you for the yummy drink, I could invite him over for dinner. I could lure him over to my house where I’d spent part of my morning putting up homemade mistletoes everywhere in hopes that we would land under them.

  Mac would kiss me because those are the rules and BAM! He’d be madly in love with me. He would no longer think I’m the girl next door that he only did stuff for because it’s the neighborly thing to do. He’d see me as a woman and ask me out. Maybe ask me to marry him. Crazier things have happened. It’s kind of the story of my life. For someone who is so good at mixing and making creations, I am just as good at destroying them too.

  Instead, all I got was a look of horror on Mac’s face when I tried to help him up. He couldn't get away from my hands fast enough. I swear I thought for a second he was scared of me. My giant hairy man bear doesn't look like anything could scare him. How could it with hands like his? He could easily snap anyone in half. That thought sends a deliciously inappropriate thrill racing between my thighs.

  But Mac never seems to want to get close. He just talks from across the street.

  “This might be a lost cause.” I huff out a breath. There’s no point in getting Mac over here and under a mistletoe if he doesn't want me touching him. This dating thing is hard. We aren't even dating yet, and it’s still hard!

  The wood isn’t salvageable. At least not to make another mailbox. I knew that would happen, and it’s why I planned to take a quick trip to the hardware store to get more wood sometime today. I’d made the crack in the mailbox in the middle of the night, thinking that would be okay because there was no mail on Sunday. I figured I’d have time to pick up the wood and then break it this afternoon, but it hadn’t worked out that way.

  That’s why I had to run from Mac when I got my hands on the box. If he’d come with me, he would have seen I didn't have the wood and would’ve told me he’d deal with it later.

  I leave the mailbox on my workshop desk before I head inside to grab my keys. I stop at my computer and scan over any new orders that might have come in. I make a list of some of the other items I can pick up for a few of them.

  I had no idea when I started putting my stuff onto this Etsy shop how much it would explode. I’d started the account because I love creating things with my hands or taking something that many would think should be tossed away and bringing it right back to life. I didn't need 40 end tables so I had to do something. I was a big believer that one man's trash could be cleaned up, resurfaced and turned into another man’s treasure.

  My eyes stop on an email from a man named Nicholas. Something makes me click on it. I read it three times, because I can’t understand why a toy company wants to have a meeting with me. I’ve done personalized children’s gifts before but never anything on a grand scale. One of my favorite things to make are the wooden puzzles of kids' names. The bath bombs are fun too. I love hiding little trinkets inside. So fun!

  I fire back an email saying I’m open for a meeting. They’ve caught my curiosity. What’s the worst thing that could happen?

  I should know better than to ever ask that question.

  3

  Mac

  Where is she going? I watch from my front window as she backs out of her drive, her bumper coming perilously close to where my mailbox used to stand. Hell, if I hadn’t busted it, she might’ve hit it. That would’ve been interesting. Maybe if she did that, I could’ve talked her into coming over and helping me fix it.

  That chance is gone, just like she is. I dart down the center hallway, almost knock Sylvester off his favorite cat tree, and grab my keys. The garage is frigid as I start my car, but I don’t give the engine a chance to warm up.

  Where can she be headed? It’s freezing outside, and more snow will be here soon. She works from home, so what could possibly be leading her into town? Frozen Falls is usually a calm, boring sort of town, but lately there’ve been some issues with strangers in town making trouble. I can’t let her go alone, not when there are unsavory characters lurking about.

  I follow far behind her, though I always keep her in view. She pulls into the hardware store and jumps out.

  Parking a few rows over, I watch her bounce into the store. Her ass still looks unbelievable, and when a man holds the door for her and checks her out as she goes in, I grip my steering wheel so tight it groans.

  Getting out, I slide my shades on and stomp to the entrance. The jackass is still standing there letting the heat out and staring at my crafty angel’s perfect rear.

  “Beat it,” I growl.

  He turns to me with a sour look, then has to step back to look all the way up at me. Whatever he wanted to snap back at me with dies on his tongue as he nods and hurries away. He probably needs to check his pants. Good.

  Easing into the store, I let the door close and move over into the feed aisle. On the way, I knock over a bag of birdseed, but manage to catch it before it hits the floor. I put it back on the display, take a deep breath, then move into the aisle and just stand there. It’s the safest thing, really. Jocelyn doesn’t need any feed, so I should be able to hang out without being too obvious. This is a perfect plan, so I—

  “Mac!”

  I spin and knock over a hay bale and several bags of oats stacked on top.

  “Whoa.” Jocelyn jumps back as I catch the bags and use my leg to keep the hay bale in place.

  Then I replace the stack and straighten them.

  “Oh my God. That has to be over a hundred pounds of oats!” Her eyes are wide as she looks up at me. Color creeps into her cheeks, and her lips part a little.

  I bet I look like some Frankenstein monster throwing heavy things around. She must be terrified.

  “I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.” Her voice is breathy.

  I realize I’m still wearing my stupid sunglasses. Dammit. I swipe them off my face. “Hi, Jocelyn, I was just here for some—”

  “Cat food? I love it when Sylvester stares
out the front window at me. He seems like the sweetest little guy.”

  I clear my throat. “Yeah, cat food. Right.” I reach over and grab a 50-pound bag and toss it over my shoulder. “Yep.”

  She does this thing with her legs, sort of like she’s pressing her thighs together, and she runs a hand through her hair and nibbles her lip. Does she have to pee?

  I try not to stare at her nipples, but they’re so hard I can see them through her form-fitting sweater. Damn, I want to know what those feel like. The more I try not to look directly at them, the more I think about them. Fuck.

  I reach over and grab another bag of cat food. “Storm’s coming, you know. Gotta make sure Sylvester has plenty.”

  She leans against the shelves, her cheeks growing even pinker as she licks her lips.

  What’s wrong with her? If I hurt her, I don’t know what I’m going to do. I can’t stand the thought of it. “You aren’t hurt, right? I didn’t hurt you, did I, when I knocked over all that stuff?”

  “I’m fine,” she says brightly. “It’s just, um, just hot in here, you know.” She fans herself with her hand. “Well, I better be going. I need some things to build some … um—” Her gaze travels down my body.

  God, she must be terrified of me.

  “Need some big, thick, hairy—”

  “Hairy?”

  She blinks. “What? No, I mean.” She laughs in a high-pitched sort of way. “No, I meant some big pieces of wood.” She swallows hard. “Pine. Yes. Need some pine to make some things. For orders. Lots of orders. Christmas is almost here. So I just, you know, I have a long, long, thick, you know, thick list.” She does the thing with her thighs again.