Sugar Kisses: a BBW Christmas Romance (Warming Up to Love Book 5) Read online

  SUGAR KISSES

  a BBW Christmas Romance (Warming Up to Love Collaboration)

  MEGAN WADE

  CONTENTS

  1. Sophia

  2. Jackson

  3. Sophia

  4. Jackson

  5. Sophia

  6. Jackson

  7. Sophia

  8. Jackson

  9. Sophia

  10. Jackson

  11. Sophia

  12. Jackson

  13. Sophia

  Epilogue

  Epilogue 2

  Warming Up to Love

  Also by Megan Wade

  SOPHIA

  Shutting the door to my apartment with a definitive click, I walk past the snoozing doorman at the front desk and out into the cold Boston night.

  “Sophia Clarke,” I whisper to myself as I square my shoulders and lean into the cold. “It’s just the beginnings of a snowstorm. You are not going to sit in your apartment all alone on Christmas Eve.”

  With that fiercely whispered promise in the air, I trudge down the street, and my boots flatten the snow that has gathered on the sidewalk with rapid speed. This morning, it was an inch. But now, it’s more like five with the bulk of it still to come. We’re in for a cold one, as the weatherman—and my father—pointed out.

  I draw my soft fawn coat tighter around me, wishing I’d thought to bring a scarf in my haste to leave. I swear, if I’d sat around that apartment moping for a moment longer, I was about to scream. Christmas should not be spent alone.

  Shoving my cold hands deeper into my pockets, I squint through the rapid snowfall that has blanketed the entire street in a layer of pure white, now bathed in the warm yellow of the streetlights and flashing greens and reds of the Christmas decorations. It’s almost like I’m wandering through the center of a newly shaken snow globe. If I wasn’t struggling to suck in a warm breath, I could see this as charming. But I’m just too upset to stop and appreciate it as I usually would. If it weren’t for the bad weather, I’d be home by now.

  My stomach rumbles, and for the hundredth time today, I think about how this is not what I expected to do on Christmas. I’m supposed to be eating dinner with my family, not feeling stuck in the city, lonely and hungry.

  I tried so hard to get another flight back. I wince at the memory of the incredulous look the woman at the booking-desk had given me when I begged her to get me a different flight.

  “They’re all grounded. You’re asking for a Christmas miracle, dear, and I’m not Santa,” she’d said before promptly dismissing me for the next customer in line. I let out a mist-filled sigh, and my stomach rumbles again.

  All I have at home are a tub of yogurt and an apple, the rest of my food cleared out since I was supposed to be away until after the new year. I had briefly considered eating those two items, but the thought of yogurt on Christmas eve, when I could have been drinking eggnog and nibbling mom-made shortbread, had propelled me out into the cold night, looking for somewhere— anywhere—to get real food and be around other people.

  Misery loves company and all that...

  I turn down a street, and I’m met by a group of jolly people, walking home from a Christmas party or on their way to another one. Their laughter juxtaposes my misery, and all of a sudden, I’m the Grinch who wants everyone’s Christmas to be as miserable as mine. Bah Humbug!

  Pausing when I hear the tinkle of a bell above a door, I look up and find a pokey little diner across the street. The sign reads a simple, ‘Eddie’s,’ with a flashing neon 24/7 next to it that looks just about ready to give up and die.

  I can relate.

  Making my way across the deserted street, I can see my breath coming out in puffs of white as I make a beeline to the diner’s door. “Eddie better have roast chicken and pie,” I mutter as I close my hand around the cold steel handle and push my way inside.

  It’s warm and...fragrant? A smell that reminds me more of dirty grease traps than chicken and pie. Beggars can’t be choosers, I suppose. I look around at the faded wallpaper that was once a sunny yellow, and at the worn out, faded seats in the booths. Another sigh escapes me.

  Shrugging out of my coat, I make my way to a booth overlooking the street and slide in.

  “Know what ya want?” A dull voice asks, just as I lay my coat down next to me.

  Glancing up, I’m met by a bored-looking waitress standing by my table, a small notepad in hand, but no pencil in sight. I look at her name tag: Maggie.

  “Hey, Maggie. I’d like a miracle, please.” I smile up at her in an attempt to force some cheer into my voice.

  Maggie merely stares back at me, and I get the impression she just had to stop herself from rolling her eyes at me.

  I sigh yet again.

  “OK. No miracles on the menu then. In that case, what would you recommend tonight? Do you have something special for Christmas?” I ask, already knowing what her answer will be.

  Predictably, Maggie gives me another one of her looks.

  “Eddie just made a batch of mac ‘n’ cheese. There’s also some chicken dumpling soup.” She pauses and looks at me. “Eddie owns this place,” she adds unnecessarily.

  “Yes, I gathered that. I like your blouse, by the way.” I try again and looking at it, I’m surprised that I actually do like it.

  Maggie blinks down at me. “You do?” she asks uncertainly.

  “Yes, I love the fabric and the pattern. Where did you buy it?”

  She traces the edge of her neckline absently before replying, “I made it, actually. My mom helped me cut the cloth.”

  “You’ve done a great job.”

  She shrugs, and I can tell that I’ve embarrassed her.

  “No, really, I can tell that you’ve got a knack for it,” I insist.

  “Yeah? You a designer or something?” she drawls, and I let out a self-conscious laugh.

  “Or something, I guess. I actually came to Boston to become a designer. I make clothes for plus-sized women, or I will someday. For now, I’m looking out for that right window, or door… you know how it is.”

  As I explain, my hands unconsciously skim my generous hips under the table. When I smile up at Maggie, she has this faraway look in her eyes. I’m boring her.

  Feeling like an idiot for babbling, I decide to move on with the matter at hand. “I’ll just have the mac ‘n’ cheese, please,” I opt, spying an older woman two tables down staring into a murky bowl of soup with a frown on her face. Is that how sour I look too?

  “Mac ‘n’ cheese, it is.” Maggie flicks her unwritten-in notepad closed and turns to leave.

  “Hot cocoa, too, if you have it. Extra marshmallows,” I call after her, and she signals she heard me with a hand above her head as she walks off toward the kitchen.

  I close my eyes, thinking of my home in Oakwood falls. The crisp mountain air, and the quiet of the small-town lifestyle. Right now, Mom’s roast chicken and potatoes—smothered in gravy—would be sitting uncomfortably in my stomach since I would have eaten way too much of it. But still, I’d say yes when Dad offered me a cup of hot cocoa that he makes the old-fashioned way on the stove. Heck, I’d even take gran’s Jell-O surprise about now. I’m so homesick that I’d choke down that terrible lime Jell-O and pineapple concoction—the surprise is a handful of pecan nuts that gran stuffs in the middle—and swear it was the best thing I’ve ever tasted. Why? Because it would feel like home. Dear Santa, please give me a sign that Christmas isn’t entirely ruined.

  No sooner than the thought enters my mind, the brush of an arm past mine startles my eyes back open. “Mac ‘n’ c
heese,” Maggie says as she slides a bowl of unappetizing goop in front of me. “I’ll be back with your coffee in a minute.”

  “Oh, uh…thanks?” I pick up my spoon and poke at the glutinous mass before registering what she just said. “It was a hot cocoa,” I call out before she gets too far, feeling sure I’m getting coffee whether I like it or not. “Guess that’s the answer to my Santa wish then…”

  Pushing my bowl to the side, I pull out my cell and open the Kindle app, hoping something Holiday-themed will distract me from the surrounding dreariness. When the bell above the door to the diner chimes, I don’t even bother to look, preferring to keep my eyes focused on the story about a girl who needs a fake boyfriend for a holiday cruise. I’m just getting to the part where she meets her would-be boyfriend for coffee when a deep, masculine voice startles me.

  “Not quite the Christmas feast you were expecting, is it?”

  Blinking, I hit the power button on my cell and look up. And up. And up. I have to crane my neck because the sexy voice belongs to a very tall, dark-haired man who, mind you, is smoking hot and looking directly at me, an intimate smile on his handsome, bearded face.

  “Me?” I can’t help but look around just to make sure there isn’t another girl, cuter girl, sitting beside me. This guy can’t possibly be approaching me?

  His blue eyes crinkle at the sides. “Yeah. You.”

  “Um… As good as can be expected, I guess.” I try to laugh off the disgusting food and his unusual interest, but it comes out as a weird guffaw.

  “I’ve lived in this area for years, and I think this is the first time I’ve ever come inside this place,” he says, shrugging out of his leather jacket before he gestures to the empty seat across from me. “May I?”

  “Knock yourself out,” I say, my stomach igniting with butterflies as I watch the muscles in his broad chest flex with his movement as he drops his jacket then slides into the booth to face me.

  I’m grinning like an idiot.

  This kind of thing doesn’t happen to me very often. Actually, men never approach me. Except for a few weeks back when I was Christmas shopping, a cute young guy chased me out of the store, calling my name. I thought he must have been desperate to ask me out, but then it turned out he only wanted me because I forgot my credit card at the register. Whoops! So embarrassing.

  The sexy stranger tilts his head and studies me as I fidget with nerves. “Expecting company?”

  I bite my lip, my heart thump-thumping with anticipation. “No, I’m all alone.” I smile in a way I imagine being very coy before it suddenly falters when I realize how pathetic that just sounded. Not to mention the fact he could be a serial killer, and I’m playing right into his trap. Yikes!

  “Alone, huh? Is it the storm or a choice that’s keeping you solitary this Christmas eve?”

  “The storm. My flight back home was canceled. What about you?”

  “My date ditched me. Where were you flying home to?”

  “Oakwood Falls. Wait, your date ditched you?” I ask incredulously. I find it hard to believe that someone would ditch this man. He’s sex on legs and so easy to talk to, I’d probably give him my Wi-Fi password if he asked me for it.

  “She did.” I watch in fascination as his mouth widens in a purely masculine grin. My eyes stay glued to his lips before I belatedly realize he can see me staring at him. How embarrassing!

  Be cool, Sophia.

  “That’s a shame. How long have you been, uh, together?”

  He chuckles, and I wonder why that question is so funny. “All my life?” My eyes go wide before he elaborates. “My sister. She’s in town and we’d made plans, but she ditched me to meet up with an old friend instead.”

  “Your sister.” I wrinkle my nose in relief as he gives me a wink.

  “She’ll make it up to me with a box of donuts or something.” He shrugs it off.

  “Coffee.” Maggie returns with two mugs and a pot of steaming liquid that she wields quite frighteningly as she fills our mugs only halfway. “Anything else?”

  I open my mouth to repeat that I wanted hot cocoa, then promptly close it. There’s no point. “That’s fine. Thanks,” I say to her already retreating back.

  “What even is this?” he asks, looking at the gray mac ‘n’ cheese. I wonder if my face holds the same expression of horror and distaste that I can see on his.

  “It was supposed to be my dinner.”

  “You can’t eat that. You actually might die from whatever that is.”

  “It’s mac ‘n’ cheese.”

  “More like mac and geez.” We chuckle, and I watch as his face transforms from handsome to drop-dead gorgeous.

  “There isn’t a lot more appetizing at home either.”

  “Well, I’m not watching you give yourself food poisoning. How about we get out of here? There’s a little Irish pub a couple of blocks from here. I’m certain that their food won’t look or taste anything like that.” He gestures in distaste to the congealed mac ‘n’ cheese.

  “I’m not sure....”

  “They serve great pies.” He waggles his eyebrows as he pulls out a twenty and drops it on the table. “Come have dinner with me. Please. This place is depressing, and pretty girls shouldn’t be alone during the holidays.”

  “Great pies, you say?”

  He grins as he holds out his hand. “I do say.”

  “Well, in that case.” I grin as I take his hand and let him lead me out of that horrid diner.

  The moment I place my foot in the extra inch of snow, I’m suddenly hit by the craziness of this situation. I mean, I just met this guy, and I haven’t ascertained whether he’s a serial killer or not yet.

  “I’m not a serial killer.” The man laughs.

  “What? Oh no. I said that out loud, didn’t I?” I groan.

  He steps closer and pulls up the collar of my coat to shield my neck from the icy air. “You did.”

  I bite my lip again, something I do when I’m particularly nervous. “I’m sorry. It’s just that...I don’t even know your name,” I whisper, looking up at him.

  “I don’t know yours either,” he points out, as he removes his scarf then loops it around my neck, gathering and holding my hair to the side as he loops it in place. The gesture seems intimate, and I’m caught off-guard by just how much I like having him close to me, how warm and protected I feel. I can even smell his clean and spicy scent on his scarf, and I swear he gives my curls a gentle tug when he releases my hair…Um, hot!

  “Thanks,” I whisper as he grins and steps back, tugging a black beanie over his dark hair.

  “It’s no problem. I run hot anyway.” His blue eyes study me like he’s memorizing every inch of my face. “Jackson Lee,” he finally offers.

  “Nice to meet you, Jackson.” I resist the urge to touch my cheek, to see if it is as hot as it feels. Everything about him makes me feel warm and tingly. “I’m Sophia.”

  JACKSON

  “We’re pretty busy tonight, but I can squeeze you in at the end of the bar,” the hostess at the pub, Kelly’s, tells us. “Mr. Kelly and his son, Cillian, are grilling as fast as they can. But we’re almost at capacity, and almost out of food. May I suggest the Guinness pie? It’s probably the last thing left on the menu, but it’s the perfect meal to heat your belly before an incoming storm.”

  As we follow the hostess to our seats, Sophia walks a few paces in front of me, and I take the opportunity to drink her in. I can think of little else and haven’t since the moment I saw her in that shit-hole of a diner. She stood out like a flower that had managed to grow in between the cracks of the pavement. Exotic and utterly voluptuous. I knew instantly I had to have her.

  I watch her spectacular hips sway, and I can tell it’s unconscious because no way does this woman know how beautiful she is. Her constantly pink cheeks told me that. I can’t tell if it’s luck that’s kept her for me till now or fate, because she’s mine, and has been since the minute we locked eyes and she smiled.

 
; God, she is beautiful.

  I force myself to take my eyes off her delectable derriere as we reach our seats. Soft brown eyes meet mine as she turns to look up at me. “Is eating at the bar OK?” she asks.

  “Perfect,” I reply, sliding onto my stool while not taking my eyes away from her face. I’m not even talking about our seats, and based on that deepening blush, she understands the sentiment completely. My heart gallops like a horse in the Kentucky derby.

  We order our pies and a pint of warm cider, and while we wait, her mouth curves and all I want to do is cup her heart-shaped face and kiss her senseless. I want to see if she tastes as sinfully sweet as she looks.

  “You’re staring at me,” she says, picking up the cardboard coaster with the bar’s logo printed on it and spinning it between her fingers.

  “I like what I see.”

  Her cheeks get brighter, and she smiles, but she doesn’t meet my gaze. I make her nervous. “And what do you see?” She chances a glance up, meeting my hungry gaze.

  I want to say, ‘My Christmas gift’ or ‘The woman I’m going to wake up next to tomorrow morning.’ But something tells me being too forward might scare her away.

  So, I go with, “A girl I’d like to know.”

  Intimately. Biblically.

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Anything.” Everything. “Tell me about yourself. What do you do?”

  “Well,” she begins hesitantly. “I came to Boston two months ago because I wanted to design clothes for plus-sized women.”

  “Interesting. Why didn’t you go to LA, or New York?” I ask. “Paris, even?”

  “Boston is just where I managed to get an internship. So far, all I’ve done is make coffee and get lunch for people. Not a lot of design work.”

  “We’ve all got to start somewhere, I guess. How does your family feel about you living in a big city?”

  “My family and I are very close, so it was hard on them when I said I wanted to leave Oakwood Falls. Dad’s very protective.” She huffs out a laugh. “He’s our little town’s sheriff, and I’m his only daughter. He sulked for a week before I left, but he came around. He drove me all the way here and helped me get my apartment together, actually.” Her face is soft as she talks about her dad.