Jingle Wars: A New Adult Enemies to Lovers Romcom (Hollyridge Book 1) Read online

  Jingle Wars

  Hollyridge Book 1

  R. Holmes

  Veronica Eden

  Copyright © 2020 by R. Holmes and Veronica Eden

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the authors, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, businesses, companies, organizations, locales, events and incidents either are the product of the authors’ imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons, living or dead, is unintentional and co-incidental. The authors do not have any control over and do not assume any responsibility for authors’ or third-party websites or their content.

  Cover Design: Najla Qamber, Qamber Designs

  Contents

  About the Book

  Playlist

  1. Finn

  2. Freya

  3. Finn

  4. Freya

  5. Freya

  6. Finn

  7. Freya

  8. Finn

  9. Freya

  10. Freya

  11. Finn

  12. Finn

  13. Freya

  14. Finn

  15. Freya

  16. Finn

  17. Freya

  18. Finn

  19. Freya

  20. Finn

  21. Finn

  22. Freya

  23. Finn

  24. Freya

  25. Finn

  26. Freya

  27. Finn

  28. Freya

  Epilogue

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About R. Holmes

  Also by R. Holmes

  About Veronica Eden

  Also by Veronica Eden

  About the Book

  From bestselling authors R. Holmes & Veronica Eden comes an all-new steamy new adult enemies-to-lovers holiday romcom standalone.

  Two inns, one town, and there’s not enough room for the both of them.

  Add in a reindeer-ish donkey, a Christmas competition, and a rivalry to end all rivalries and you’re bound to end up in disaster, right?

  Finn Mayberry has enough on his plate trying to keep his Grandparents inn afloat. The last thing he needed was some California state of mind starlet bulldozing into his town and throwing up a five-star resort right next to his family’s inn.

  But, now she’s here and he can’t get her out of his town or his head.

  Freya Anderson took one look at the snowcapped mountains of Hollyridge and fell in love. She’s finally here and ready to take on the task of proving to her father that she can handle running Alpine.

  She never expected to make enemies with the sinfully delicious lumberjack of a man who runs the inn next door. He’s moody, impossible and completely off limits.

  There can only be one winner, but you know what they say. All is fair in love and… Jingle Wars?

  Dominick the Donkey (The Italian Christmas Donkey)—Lou Monte

  Holly Jolly Christmas—Michael Bublé

  Let It Snow—Liam Payne

  Like It’s Christmas—Jonas Brothers

  Bring Me Love—John Legend

  Run Run Rudolph—Kelly Clarkson

  Last Christmas—James TW

  Champion—Bishop Briggs

  Confident—Demi Lovato

  Sleigh Ride—Carpenters

  Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas—Haley Reinhart

  My Only Wish (This Year)—Britney Spears

  Best of You—Andy Grammer & Elle King

  My Favorite Things—Kelly Clarkson

  Be Your Love—Bishop Briggs

  Baby, It’s Cold Outside—Brett Eldredge & Meghan Trainor

  Stuck with U—Ariana Grande & Justin Bieber

  Never Tear Us Apart—Bishop Briggs

  All I Want for Christmas Is You—Mariah Carey

  White Christmas—George Ezra

  Make It To Christmas—Alessia Cara

  Blue Christmas—Michael Bublé

  You Make It Feel Like Christmas—Gwen Stefani & Blake Shelton

  Winter Things—Ariana Grande

  I’ll Be Home for Christmas—Rascal Flatts

  To kismet and the messages you need to be reminded of at the time when you need them most.

  “Grams, seriously, there’s nothing up here.” Once again, my eyes search the dim, musty smelling attic for the specific decoration that she’s asking for. There’s practically everything else you can imagine, but no donkey riding a snowmobile. I’ve been up here for at least thirty minutes and each time I tell her it’s not here she just hollers at me to look harder, because I’m missing it.

  Right… Because donkeys riding a damn snowmobile are easy to miss.

  “Oh Finn, shucks, just move some stuff around. I know your Gramps put it up there somewhere,” she calls up to me.

  I hear her muttering under her breath. As much as I love this woman, my patience is wearing about as thin as this reindeer sweater that she insisted we wear while we begin decorating for the Christmas season. One thing I’ve learned is that you don’t tell Grams no. Well, unless you want to be eating sandwiches for a week. Wicked woman, bribing us with food.

  “Are you sure Gramps put it up here? Remember last time when you swore that Gramps was the one to misplace the extension cord? Except you forgot you lent it to the bingo hall for their light display?”

  I close my eyes, grab the bridge of my nose, and let out a disgruntled sigh.

  “Don’t sass me, Finn Michael!” she exclaims. I can hear the feigned exasperation in her voice from up here.

  Christ.

  Even though I know it’s not here, I move a few more miscellaneous boxes around and look through them quickly. In the dim light, I can’t make out much and I’m using my hands to feel my way through the attic. Of course, I catch my big toe on a wooden beam and the pain radiates up my leg.

  “Shit! Ah, damn it!” I curse, grabbing my throbbing foot.

  “Finn Michael Mayberry!” Grams calls up the ladder, chastising me.

  Jesus, get me down from this damn attic.

  My final sweep of the attic reveals no donkeys and definitely not one riding a snowmobile, so I head back down the rickety ladder extended from the attic. The old wood creaks and groans under my weight and I make a mental note to add it to the never-ending list of things around here to fix.

  Every time the wind blows, something else breaks or is on the verge of breaking, and there’s not enough time nor money to go around.

  “Finn, you in here?” My Gramps calls out from the living room. He’s been working in the front all morning fixing and arranging everything exactly to Grams’ liking until she came in here and put me on the mission of finding the damn donkey.

  “In here, Harold!” she yells from her chair in the corner, where she’s knitting yet another Christmas sweater of some sort.

  “Finn, my boy, thank you for all of your help. You know how much your Grams and I appreciate you,” Gramps says as he walks through the hallway door. Snow covers his shoulders and sits in the hair of his white beard. His red, wind- whipped cheeks make him look like a jolly version of everyone’s favorite fat man. He’s sporting one of Grams’ newest creations, a sweater of a Christmas tree with actual fuzzy pom poms knitted into it. He’s been grumbling all morning because they keep getting caught on everything. As much as he complains, he’d wear it regardles
s because he’d do anything for Grams. He walks over and claps me on the back, giving me a warm smile.

  It’s November first and that means the start of the Christmas season here at Mayberry Inn. Grams and Gramps have owned this inn since they were younger than I am now. I’ve lived in Hollyridge my entire life, and the Mayberry is where I grew up. I ran down these hallways with toys, and played with the guests’ children on the front lawn having snowball wars until we were frozen solid from the cold.

  Every memory from my childhood has a piece of this place, so I guess it’s only right that it’s my turn to take some of the reins, literally and figuratively. My grandparents are getting older and with Gramps’ heart problems in addition to the scare that we recently had with said heart problems, they’re forced to take a step back and not work so hard.

  And that’s where I come in. Now the place I once called home growing up is where I find myself once more. When they called, I packed up my small one-bedroom apartment and moved back in. Now, this will be my first year as the person running the inn. I’m determined to make Grams and Gramps proud and to make sure that this place is around for a lot longer. I’ve been using any free time that I have to do repairs. Paint, fix holes, work on the plumbing. I’m the first to rise and the last to lay my head down at night, but it’ll pay off.

  “It’s nothing Gramps. We’ll have this place fixed up in no time. I just wish you would’ve asked for my help earlier.”

  “Well, I tried to do it all myself, but you know this old ticker isn’t allowing me to do much of anything anymore. With your Grams here on my back, I need to follow the doctors order and let my body rest,” he says, his face falling ever so slightly. My heart squeezes at Gramps crestfallen face. I hate seeing him feel like this.

  When you’ve put your heart and soul in something for the last fifty years, only to be told that your body won’t allow you to anymore... It’s a tough thing to wrap your head around. That’s why I want to be here to help them as much as I can. It’s up to me to restore the inn to its original glory.

  “Don’t worry Gramps.” I give him a reassuring smile.

  Grams looks up over the rim of her thin, gold metal framed glasses and says, “You know, Finn, me and the ladies at Pokeno last week were just talking about you.”

  And here we go...

  “Mary Ellen has a granddaughter that is coming to visit for the holidays. I think it would be so lovely if you took her out and showed her the town.”

  “Christ. Grams, I do not need you setting me up with your friends' grandchildren. I am perfectly capable of finding a woman.”

  She grins ever so slightly. “I know that Finn, but you're creepin’ in on thirty. You know that they consider women geriatric when they have children over thirty?” She huffs. “All the women in the town fawn all over you, why don’t you just pick one already?”

  Why am I single at twenty-seven? Because there’s not a woman in this town that interests me enough to keep her around longer than the night. I wouldn’t call myself a player or anything of the sort because my grandparents taught me to respect a woman. But I’m up front. They know exactly what they’re in for from the start. I’m not looking for anything serious. The Mayberry is what has my full attention and I don’t have time for any distractions.

  “C’mon Grams. You know you’re the only woman in my life.” I grin.

  Grams loves me, I know it, but the meddling drives me insane

  She rolls her eyes and huffs, “Would you please do it, Finn? For me?”

  This guilt trip is taking a turn for the worse, quickly. The look on her face is one that makes me feel bad and I haven’t even done anything wrong. Dammit Grams.

  “Fine. But it’s not a date,” I mutter.

  Her face lights up and she hastily puts her knitting on the table beside her, then stands.

  “Oh, I have to go call Mary Ellen and tell her! She will be so excited.” She squeals then leaves me and Gramps standing there, off to gossip with her friends.

  Gramps looks at me and laughs, clapping me on the shoulder once more. “Welcome to the past fifty years of my life, son. You do a lot of things you don’t want to do for the women that you love.”

  Tell me about it.

  It’s late by the time we get all of the decorations unboxed and Saint Nick, the inn’s resident mascot and reindeer/donkey has been tended to. With the house silent and still, I sit down in front of the crackling fire, thankful for the quiet moments that are rare in a house filled with people at all times. It’s been an adjustment from having my own peaceful solitude to the hustle and bustle of guests. Even though bookings through what is usually the Mayberry’s prime tourist season have been…light. Which worries me more than anything. Usually the inn is completely booked, no vacancies. That was my first sign that something wasn’t right.

  One thing that my grandparents have always believed in is family. The Mayberry may not be the biggest, or the fanciest inn in Hollyridge. It may have a few loose floorboards, and need a new coat of paint, but it’s always been a place where guests can come to feel welcomed. Since the Mayberry's foundation is built on tradition, people enjoy coming here to spend quality time with their families. Each year we get a wave of the same familiar faces as families make visiting their own personal tradition.

  But for the past few years…business has slowed down. Greatly.

  Kids get older, they get iPads, Instagram and TikTok, or whatever the hell they call it, and then spending face to face quality time with their families isn’t very high on their list of priorities and yeah, I get it. Today’s generation is much different than the one I was raised in. But that’s what we're trying so hard to do here, preserve a place that is filled with love, tradition, and the real Christmas spirit. One that doesn’t include TikTok.

  Although it’s hard to stay positive and cheery when the bills I see Gramps carry in every day weigh heavily on us all. We have three months and then the bank is going to foreclose on the property and everything that Grams and Gramps worked so hard to build. So, it’s up to me to save the inn and make a legacy that our family can be proud of. No pressure, right?

  The real estate listings for this quaint little mountain town are like freaking unicorns. There and gone in a blink. Something that might’ve been a vodka cranberry soda-induced mirage.

  This is the third time I’ve lost out on a place in the two weeks since I arrived in Hollyridge, Montana. I got here just in time for the holiday season.

  With a dejected sigh, I toss my phone to the faux fur chair matching the one I’m curled up in. For the time being, I dash my dreams of an Insta-worthy rustic cabin to call my own, and turn to the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the snowy mountainside view. A Michael Bublé song plays in the background on the flatscreen during a scene from 12 Dates of Christmas, the cheerful holiday soundtrack filtering through the speaker system while I wallow. Even a fun holiday romcom movie can’t lift my spirits like they usually do, my go-to favorite pick-me-up lacking the usual mood-lifting magic it brings me.

  My new friend Riley swears I’ll be able to see wild elk from my window, but they’re as elusive as the Zillow listings around here. The only thing I’ve spotted from my window is a donkey, and that’s not what I came all this way for.

  Elk aren’t real reindeer, but with their pronged horns, it’s close enough for me to pretend I’m witnessing some Christmas magic from my favorite movies with my own eyes in real snow.

  The corner of my mouth lifts. I pull my highlighted brown hair half up in a messy knot and cross my legs, admiring my new knit socks from the outfitter shop downstairs.

  I didn’t expect Montana to be so cold. Those street fashion Pinterest girls lied to me in their chic sweater dresses and thigh high boots when I was packing to come out here from California. I finally broke down and grabbed them to help my winter-challenged ass warm up. The cream cable-knit knee socks go perfect with my fuzzy pink coat.

  I arrange my legs so they’re kicked over the side of
the low lounge chair and snap a shot that captures the view and part of my room—Scandinavian Winter, an all-white dreamscape with modern touches. Each one at the property has a name instead of a number, creating a home away from home experience tailored to our guests’ needs.

  “Perfect,” I murmur, editing it and adding it to the hotel’s Instagram feed with the caption getting cozy in one of our rooms with a view, plan your stay today for a dreamy winter escape #thealpinehollyridge #winterwonderland.

  It’s better this way. My hashtag cabin style home decor dreams can wait. First, I’ve got goals to smash.

  Staying at the Alpine, Dad’s latest crown jewel in his hotel empire, I can get a better feel for running the place.

  It’s the reason I came here. This is my big chance to not be seen as my father’s daughter working for him. The one I’ve fought tooth and nail to earn, to prove to Dad I’m perfectly capable of managing a property. It only took me until I was twenty-five and blue in the face for him to finally listen.

  Thank god, because that desperate shade of blue so doesn’t go with my SoCal tan complexion.

  I half-heartedly watch the movie for a few minutes before I give up and turn it off. I’m in serious mourning over that perfect cabin.

  Maybe what I need after the letdown from the real estate listings is some fun. The resort offers a full spectrum of amenities to cater to our guests. They can create their perfect vacation whether they like the spa with our natural hot spring or are the adventurous type with winter sports.