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    Holly and Oak
    Holly and Oak
    Holly and Oak
    Ebook160 pages2 hours

    Holly and Oak

    By R. Cooper

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    Once a year, the town of Ravenscroft celebrates the winter solstice by watching the Oak King symbolically slay the Holly King to ensure the death of winter. To most people, it’s a pagan ritual that has lost all meaning in the modern world, harmless fun during the week of Christmas. To the coven who founded the town, it’s a magic so important they entrusted it to the two strongest witches in generations.

    Will Battle and Chester Sibley are opposites in every way, or so Ravenscroft residents insist. Quiet, polite Will is the town’s beloved adopted son, popular and admired. Defiant, outspoken Chester is disliked and avoided despite being a direct descendant of the town’s founders. It’s no wonder Will is the embodiment of spring and life as the Oak King and Chester was given the cold, dark Season of Holly. No one in town seems to realize their nice, well-mannered Oak King has iron at his core and their fearsome Holly King only wants to make people happy. Perhaps that’s also why not even the other witches suspect that Chester has been in love with Will for almost his entire life.

    That’s how Chester wants it. He might dream of Will, but he’s learned to keep his dreams to himself. The trouble is Will. For all that he smiles and nods, Will has started quietly rebelling against both the town and the coven. With only days until the winter solstice, he issues Chester a challenge—to finally ask for what he wants. If Chester tells the truth, he risks losing Will and upsetting the ritual that has made the town prosperous. But there is more between them than magic, no matter how powerful or ancient, and Chester would do anything for Will, even, just maybe, coming in from the cold.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherR. Cooper
    Release dateDec 5, 2017
    ISBN9781370706648
    Holly and Oak
    Author

    R. Cooper

    I'm a somewhat absentminded, often distracted, writer of queer romance. I'm probably most known for the Being(s) in Love series and the occasional story about witches or firefighters in love. Also known as, "Ah, yes, the one with the dragons."You can find me on in the usual places, or subscribe to my newsletter (link through website).www.riscooper.comI can also be found at...Tumblr @sweetfirebirdFacebook @thealmightyrisInstagram @riscoopsPillowfort @RCooperPatreon @ patreon.com/rcoopsBluesky @ rcooper.bsky.social

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    • 5/5
      R. Cooper has a rare talent for telling a story in a way that makes the story into a myth and at the same time a serious story about love.

    Book preview

    Holly and Oak - R. Cooper

    Holly and Oak

    Familiar Spirits Book Two

    R. Cooper

    Copyright 2017 R. Cooper

    Cover art by Kimieye Graham

    Content tags: social isolation/rejection, drinking, on page sex, implied homophobia

    Table of Contents

    Chapter One

    Chapter Two

    Chapter Three

    Chapter Four

    Chapter Five

    Chapter Six

    Chapter Seven

    Chapter Eight

    Chapter Nine

    Epilogue

    The End

    Chapter One

    Chester peeked out one of the windows as he fussed with the dust cover for the waffle cone maker. The rainwater glass didn’t give him much of a view, which was great when he was in the kitchen and didn’t want an audience, but terrible when he was trying to keep a lookout.

    Several wavy figures were visible a little farther up the road, probably heading toward the square. The square was the center of Old Town Ravenscroft, and, at the moment, a draw for locals and tourists alike. The cold night and icy streets would not deter them, not this week, anyway.

    He considered the pretty white lights on every tree that lined the sidewalk, and the old-fashioned street lamps with iron curlicues all decorated with plastic garland meant to look like holly.

    He sighed.

    You don’t have to stay, Miss Mercy called out from the front. The cash register chimed, although it was after six o’clock and Ravenscroft Creamery was technically closed.

    Chester was here before open and after the last customer left—at least in the winter when they closed earlier. Even if he wasn’t behind the counter, he was working. Which was frankly a better deal for everyone. Chester got to develop flavors and do the food prep in the back, and customers got to enjoy the ice cream without having to deal with Chester himself.

    I’m working, Missy, Chester snapped impatiently, although he did not have nearly as much to do in the winter as he did in the summer, and was actually finished for the day. He’d been done since around four. Goodwin was getting impatient.

    Hmm, Miss Mercy answered, expressing doubt with one loud hum. The cash register chimed again, this time with the kick of the drawer opening with it. She was probably tallying up today’s totals. She hadn’t locked the door yet and Chester could hear a customer by the counter, but Ravenscroft was that kind of town.

    And this building, in particular, should never have that kind of trouble. Chester was as sure of that as any witch could be.

    He reached out to scratch between Goodwin’s ears, and let Goodwin’s heavy purr soothe him while tourists skidded and nearly tripped on the sidewalks. They were probably distracted by how prettily the patches of ice reflected the white fairy lights. It had rained last night and the temperature had dropped another ten degrees. Tonight it would probably drop a few more. Chester should leave soon, go curl up at home in his most snuggly blankets.

    The three churches in Old Town had rung their bells promptly at six. It was now fifteen minutes past, and Chester was an idiot for staying this late.

    He moved from the window and went to the big sink to wash the traces of cat off his hands before he headed out front.

    Ravenscroft Creamery consisted of one large workroom, a walk-in freezer, a few storage closets and restrooms, and the front area referred to as ‘the parlor’ by anyone old enough to remember what a real ice cream parlor was.

    In the past, when only the few traditional flavors had been offered, the parlor had included a soda fountain and several small tables and chairs, presumably for the kind of couples who courted each other with egg creams before riding off to spark on a bicycle built for two.

    By the time Chester had gotten a job here as a teenager, the flavors had been numerous and the display cases had eaten up most of the space for the tables. Of course, the flavors then had also been mostly store-bought, and the back had been more of a storage room than a kitchen. Obviously, store-bought was an abomination that would not stand in his creamery—though he understood the need for ice cream could drive people to desperate measures.

    Miss Mercy sat on the stool behind the register, at one end of the refrigerated display cases. Alma Madison was at one of the remaining tables, loudly scraping her spoon across the bottom of a small paper cup. She paused when she saw Chester.

    I swear the chocolate chip peppermint is better this year than it was last year, she told him, with a smudge of chocolate chip ice cream by her mouth. I was about to head to the store, and it’s such chaos in there this time of year, especially this week, and I said to myself, ‘Alma, you deserve a treat.’

    It’s the time of year for treats, Mercy remarked. She was wearing a fuzzy Santa hat as well as red and green leggings. A week ‘til Christmas.

    And the solstice in a few days! Alma tried her best to get more from her empty cup. The Solstice Celebration got covered in another one of the city papers. I think we’ll get even more tourists this year. She focused warily on Chester, who hadn’t moved from the doorway to the back. You got a write-up this year too, didn’t you?

    Chester stared at her.

    The Creamery did, I mean, Alma continued quickly. I don’t think the article mentioned you.

    The article had, in fact, mentioned Chester. Specifically, how a twenty-eight-year-old lanky beanpole with hair six shades of blue was an unlikely person to make such delicious ice cream.

    My hair is only two shades of blue, Chester commented coolly. Three, tops.

    Mercy scoffed merrily. Alma’s the last for the day, Chester. You really can go if you want.

    As if Chester was going to let five feet, one inch high Mercy walk alone over icy streets in the dark to get to the bank.

    I’ll take the deposit. Chester came over to get the day’s cash from her and scan the displays as he went, although he had taken a quick inventory earlier. The mainstays—chocolate, vanilla, strawberry, banana—were low, but replacements were already chilling in the back freezers. The seasonal favorites were out or almost out, and the day’s special was completely gone. Missy, see if Alma wants that last bit of the chocolate chip peppermint. No point in saving just that. Don’t charge her.

    He returned to the back so he didn’t have to deal with Alma fluttering in surprise at the free gift, or going so far as to make herself thank him. He added the money to the money dropped into the safe earlier and stuck it all in a deposit bag.

    Another glance out the window made him sigh again.

    This town wouldn’t be the same without this place. Alma was still talking when he returned. I’m grateful it’s been kept open, even if—ah, tradition is what keeps this town going, she finished, catching sight of Chester.

    Chester couldn’t have cared less about whatever she’d been going to say, although it had probably been about him.

    He stopped on the verge of coming into the room, regretting that he’d put his cardigan and coat on already, and then that he hadn’t buttoned anything, so his blue flannel with the holes from Goodwin’s claws was clearly visible. His dark jeans were stained from work in the kitchen, his sneakers more comfortable than fashionable. It was no worse than he looked after any long day, and yet it felt a hundred times worse, because it was only a few days until the solstice, and Will was there.

    Will didn’t come in near closing time every day during the rest of the year, but he usually showed up each evening like clockwork as the solstice approached. He probably couldn’t help himself any more than Chester could keep a stupid flush from turning his face an unsightly pink.

    Will was smiling, a pleasant, polite expression that, combined with his face itself, tended to leave men, women, and everyone else in a state of flustered contentment. He gave the appearance of listening earnestly to anyone who talked to him, and he probably was—Chester had never known him to lie. Will either had incredible patience or all that hiding in his workshop for days at a time was his chance to escape the small town pressures. Perhaps both were true.

    But his genuine interest and warm, sparkling eyes made people practically glow in response. Like waking up from a nap on a day in early spring and finding the sun had emerged from the clouds.

    Chester cleared his throat completely unnecessarily and Will turned toward him with this small, nearly imperceptible hesitation. Chester tried not to think it, but couldn’t help but feel that Will had to force himself to look at him at all.

    Chester could have worn his best shoes and a lovely, patterned, cashmere sweater vest with a crisp button-down and cute bowtie. He could have worn the tailored gray three-piece he wore to the rare meetings with his family’s lawyers, with no tie. It wouldn’t have mattered.

    The small, plastic heart-shaped clip that kept his bangs out of his face while he worked abruptly gave out. It snapped in half and two pieces of red plastic skittered to the floor.

    Thick strands of royal blue, ice blue, and white blonde hair immediately fell over Chester’s eyes. Thankfully, most of the rest of his hair was shaved close to his head, which meant only the swoop of his bangs had to be dealt with.

    Mercy got up to hand him another clip from the bowl under the register—a purple clamshell this time. Chester stuffed it into his pocket and huffed at her and successfully avoided having to deal with the not quite six foot tall, black coat and hat wearing, dark-skinned, square-jawed, quietly attentive presence talking to Alma.

    Will was in a red plaid flannel button-up, which, first of all, how dare he choose a color that festive and bright and warm and noticeable when the rest of his outfit was stark, sturdy black? He probably had a henley underneath the red plaid, but both had apparently shrunk in the wash since they were stretched over his broad chest and ever so slightly soft stomach. Will’s body spoke of years of hard work, but also someone who had always known plenty.

    Rude, Chester decided, with a flutter in his gut and hand shoved into a coat pocket. He hadn’t heard the door open. That was also Will’s fault. Like coming here late, again, or showing up without a scarf or anything more practical than a black felt beanie with the high school football team logo on it.

    Will didn’t even like football. He just seemed to take no interest in buying proper winter clothes. In the summer he wore fitted black jeans and thin, white, sleeveless T-shirts as he worked, displaying the chest and arms that drove Chester—and much of the town—to distraction. His style was clearly meant to be practical and to give the impression he didn’t care what he was wearing, and yet Chester did not believe for a second that

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