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    His Wood Her Fire: Cherry On Top Tales, #6
    His Wood Her Fire: Cherry On Top Tales, #6
    His Wood Her Fire: Cherry On Top Tales, #6
    Ebook114 pages1 hourCherry On Top Tales

    His Wood Her Fire: Cherry On Top Tales, #6

    By C.D. Gorri

    ()

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    About this ebook

    He just wants to be alone. But she's a complication he can't ignore.

     

    Gloria DeSoto never imagined she'd still be single at forty. With another Christmas rolling around, and the endless parade of party invites she'd have to attend alone, Gloria hatches a plan.

     

    This year, she was going away for the holidays. Two weeks in a quiet little cabin on a mountainside away from the hustle and bustle.

     

    And the sorry state of her love life.

     

    But when things get a little rough for the city girl, her gorgeous, axe-wielding curmudgeon of a neighbor steps in to help. Gloria tries to thank him, but the nasty man blows her off.

     

    Maybe some of the wood he cuts so effortlessly found its way up Bo Dubois' behind.

     

    It's the only explanation for the man's rude behavior. But there's something about him she can't forget.

     

    Can Gloria change the mountain man's mind? Or was this just another bad judgement call?

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherC.D. Gorri
    Release dateDec 9, 2024
    ISBN9798227505798
    His Wood Her Fire: Cherry On Top Tales, #6
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      Book preview

      His Wood Her Fire - C.D. Gorri

      CHAPTER ONE-GLORIA

      N ot another one, I moaned.

      I read the latest email invitation to yet another ugly sweater, cookie exchange, holiday caroling party bash from one of my many married friends and acquaintances.

      Christ.

      Shit. I didn’t mean that in a bad way.

      I winced and sent that thought into the universe, hoping to appease whatever deity might be listening.

      I was raised Catholic, and even though I don’t go to Church, I do believe. And I still celebrate the fun stuff.

      You know, like Easter and Christmas, which was just a few weeks away.

      But for some reason, I just wasn’t feeling festive this year.

      Okay, fine.

      It wasn’t for whatever reason. It was for one very simple, basic, and utterly humiliating reason.

      I’d just turned forty before Thanksgiving. And I was still as single as the day I was born.

      FML.

      I wasn’t throwing myself a pity party or anything. But what the hell, Universe?

      How could it be that the last steady and meaningful relationship I’d had with someone of the opposite sex was in grade school?

      I had this cute friend who lived down the street from me and every holiday like clockwork that sweet little boy brought me presents from the time we were in preschool until fifth grade.

      This kid knew his stuff, and he always had the perfect something for everything.

      Balloons for my birthday. Chocolates for Valentine’s Day. A candy bunny for Easter. And my favorite thing in the whole world every December 25 th—a brand new book wrapped up in bright, festive paper.

      At the time, I’d been completely obsessed with those Choose Your Own Adventure paperbacks, and little George used to get me one every stinking year.

      We still talked, though not very often. George and his wife, Lee, had moved to San Diego and were doing just great. They welcomed their second child this past August, and I looked forward to his yearly newsletter and greeting card.

      If George and Lee were still here, I’d go to their Christmas party.

      As it was, I received twenty-seven invitations, and I’d turned them all down. I just couldn’t do it.

      I would not be the third wheel, or whatever the heck it was called these days, at any of these holiday get-togethers.

      All the pitying looks. The concerned expressions. The sympathetic pats on the shoulder, with the oh-so-annoying reassurances that I would find my someone soon.

      No thanks.

      Hard pass.

      Hey Lo, are you going to Mark’s this year? Andy, my personal assistant, came into my office bearing gifts in the form of a hot double espresso with two packets of sugar in the raw.

      Come to mama.

      Andy, I would rather get my pussy waxed without numbing cream, fuck you very much, I snarked and gem that he was, he managed to swallow his own mouthful of iced coffee before he started LOLing.

      You have to answer these handwritten ones, he said, handing me a brand new stack of invites.

      Fuck no. You do it.

      You know, you never told me why you are being so Scroogey this year, he said, sitting down across from me while we drank our coffees.

      For an assistant, Andy tended to cross the line between what was an acceptable amount of concern and what was really not okay.

      But that was part of his charm. He was always meddling and God, I usually loved him for it. But I didn’t want to go there with him.

      Not this time.

      I lifted my to-go cup to my mouth and shook my head.

      Okay, so what are you going to do?

      What? You mean about the invitations? Ugh, with the office shutting down the next few weeks for that remodel, I was planning on just holing up in my condo, I mumbled.

      What? No way! Lo, that is not okay. I know you don’t talk to your brother anymore, but there has to be someone you want to spend the holidays with?

      Actually, no. There isn’t. I’m fine staying home⁠—

      Nope. Not having it. Okay look, Desmond just surprised me with a trip to visit his parents in Vermont, Andy began, and I raised my hand for him to stop.

      Wait! Did he propose? I asked, mouth open.

      Andy started to blush, but he lifted his hand to show me the gorgeous platinum band on his ring finger.

      And you didn’t tell me? Andy! CONGRATS! I squealed and got up to hug the lucky bastard.

      Aw, thank you, Lo. I mean, I didn’t want to say something and upset you, he mumbled, and my heart squeezed.

      Wow!

      Had I really been that self-absorbed that my own assistant was hiding things from me?

      Probably.

      And it meant I sucked more than I thought.

      Nonsense. Andy, you are a wonderful man, and knowing you finally found the happiness you deserve with Desmond is truly the best news ever, I said.

      Thanks, Lo. I appreciate that. But it means the cabin I’d booked us for the holidays is free and I would love it if you took over the reservation, he replied, smiling so widely I thought his face would crack.

      What are you talking about? Me? In a cabin?

      Yes, you! Gloria, it’s so freaking beautiful. Here, let me shoot you the details. Say yes and I will have them transfer the reservation to your name.

      I sighed and rolled my head on my neck, shaking it as I focused on my screen.

      I don’t know, Andy. You know, I hate the outdoors, I said, and I clicked on his email.

      Oh my God. You do not. Besides, this is a luxury cabin rental. Not a tent in the woods.

      Fine. Let me look, I mumbled and scrolled through the images.

      You do that, and I am going to finish boxing up the junk on my desk. You are all set, right? he asked, nodding at my own boxes all neatly lined by the door.

      My boss said renovations were going to be three weeks minimum but told us to plan to work from home for the next month.

      Luckily, I had just closed a major deal I’d been working on. I worked for a PR firm, handling clients who required special attention based on their fields of expertise.

      Mainly, I took care of social media posts, scheduling in person events, press releases, and things of that nature. I was good at my job, and I loved that I was able to do it for select New Jersey artists and photographers.

      In fact, I’d just sealed the deal for a sweet gallery showing for this mystery photographer’s work. He went by the initials B.D. only,

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