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CATEGORIES: Excerpt, Exclusive, Grumpy + Sunshine, Holiday Romance, Kendall Hale

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Life doesn’t always go according to plan, but sometimes it brings you exactly what you never knew you needed.

I’m Noelle Holiday, lover of all things cozy and festive. I thought moving into my grandma’s rent-controlled apartment in New York would be a fresh start. What I didn’t expect was sharing a wall with Jacob McCallister, my grumpy, Grinch-of-a-neighbor who hates joy, scented candles, and any music with jingle bells.

He’s broody, blunt, and allergic to holiday cheer.

I’ve never met someone so bothered by a string of Christmas lights or the scent of freshly baked cookies. Naturally, I’ve made it my mission to thaw his frosty demeanor.

The problem is that the more time we spend together—whether it’s bickering over decorations or sharing late-night conversations through the walls—the more I realize there’s more to Jacob than scowls and sarcasm.

And when Grumpmas Eve arrives, we’re both faced with a choice: keep things the way they are or risk it all for a love worth unwrapping.

EXCLUSIVE EXCERPT: The Night Before Grumpmas

Kendall Hale

Expected Release Date: 5 December 2024

Book Series: Happily Ever Mishaps

An all-new grumpy/sunshine, holiday romance, brimming with banter, delicious tension, and plenty of festive spice, is out this week from Kendall Hale, and I have a little sneak peek for you.

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Excerpt

I’m a pretty smart man. Seriously, my IQ is one hundred and thirty-nine, and my SAT scores were a perfect sixteen hundred. Yet somehow, this woman just bamboozled me into… something. What did I agree to? I’m not even sure anymore, but it feels like I’ve been lured into her fantasy island, inhabited by one adorable holiday freak.

And what exactly is she supposed to teach me? The meaning of the holidays? Is that even a real thing?

Frustrated, I bang my fist against the wall that separates our apartments. “What the hell are we supposed to be doing together? I mean, I know I agreed to something, but I don’t remember signing up for a holiday-themed intervention.”

There’s a pause, and then her voice filters through the wall, muffled but still clearly exasperated. “You need to stop banging on my wall every time you want to have a conversation.”

“That’s the only way to get your attention,” I grumble. “But that’s not the point. What exactly did I agree to?”

“I was going to show you how holidays bring happiness to people, but not anymore. I changed my mind.”

The fuck she changed her mind. I know there was a promise—a solid promise that she’d take down those ridiculous decorations. I remember that part clearly. My brain’s just a little scrambled, thanks to the way she talks—and the way my mind keeps drifting back to her mouth.

She’s driving me crazy, and not in the “I want to throttle her” way. More like the “I want to pin her against the wall and show her exactly what I can do with my tongue” kind of way. I shake off the thought—focus, Jacob—but it’s not easy when the idea of her writhing under me, gasping my name, is pretty much the only thing I can think about.

I rake a hand through my hair, trying to get a grip, because the thought of her and my frustration are starting to blur into dangerous territory. “Look,” I snap, “there was a deal. You take down the tinsel explosion, and I—well, that’s where you need to fill the gap. What the hell did I agree to? But hey, my offer to let you fuck my face is still on the table.”

There’s a brief silence. Then I hear her sputtering on the other side of the wall. “What?! You—uh, no.” Her voice is all high-pitched and flustered, and I can practically see her cheeks turning red. “That’s definitely not something we discussed. Focus on your issues with the holidays. That’s what’s on the table, remember?”

And then it hits me. Right. She babbled about the holidays, but that’s not where this all started. We went from her forgetting her keys to her admitting she’s only ever been with one guy, and somehow ended up at my supposed “holiday obsession” or whatever ridiculous label she slapped on me.

Was it holiday aversion? Anti-compulsive disorder? I can’t even fucking remember. She talks too fast, bouncing from one topic to the next like an over-caffeinated elf. It’s exhausting keeping up, and honestly, I tune her out half the time.

Yet, she makes it impossible to forget that I’ve been dying to kiss her. Maybe even get a taste of that sweet cunt of hers. I bet she tastes like the holidays she preaches about—cinnamon sugar and a hint of peppermint, something warm and sweet.

Stop thinking about her lips—or how badly you want to spread her thighs and bury your face between them—and focus on what actually matters here. This deal with the holiday devil could be dangerous. For all I know, I’ve promised her my entire fortune or something equally fucking stupid.

“So, what exactly did I agree to do with you?” I insist, tapping my fingers impatiently against the wall.

“I was going to show you how holidays bring happiness to people,” she replies, her tone clipped. “But not anymore.”

She says it like I don’t deserve to know. Like I’m some naughty boy who’s going to get coal this year for misbehaving. And you know what? Naughty people might get coal, but we also get to have really good sex.