As far as Christmases went, this one sucked.

Ford Komeke rolled over on the couch and grabbed the pen and notepad from the coffee table. He flipped over another page—the one previous was a request for a hot lemon and honey drink—and composed a short memo.

Dear Nurse Wifey. He cracked a smile, knowing how the current nickname for his new bride would earn him a filthy look. Worth it, though—a pissed-off Holly was a sexy-as-hell Holly.

Looks like you’ll have to lead the carol singing tonight. I’ve got your back with the guitar, though.

“Holly?” his voice came out a hoarse croak, the effort of which caused a tickle in the back of his raw throat and triggered another bout of coughing. Shit.

The door banged open, and Holly and a blast of cool air from the hallway swept inside the sauna-like temperature of their living room.

“Why didn’t you ring your bell?” she demanded.

Ford made a gallant effort to rein in the coughing while Holly lunged for the bottle of cough syrup. His attempts would’ve been more successful if his breath hadn’t locked up in his phlegm-filled lungs at the sight of his wife in nothing but a skimpy pair of panties and lace bra—the crimson color of her lingerie matching the festive stripe in her long brown hair.

Given his current condition, the twitch beneath his track pants was unavoidable but ill-timed.

Holly hovered beside the couch with a measured dose of syrup, her gaze skimming down his body, lips curving into a sinful smile. “You have got to be kidding me.”

“Sick, not dead,” he managed in a death-rattle whisper and took the tiny plastic vial from her hand.

While he sipped, she picked up the fallen notepad and read his message. “Finally given up the notion of singing tonight, huh?”

He nodded and crinkled his nose in resignation.

“All right,” she said. “Harley will pick you up and bring you to the pub in about an hour. I’ll head out to Mum and Dad’s now and have a bit of a practice.”

Maybe it was the alcohol in the cough syrup warming his chest, but he loved the sound of Holly calling his parents ‘Mum and Dad.’ His little whanau—and he could quietly admit to himself that he was kinda glad Harley, Bree, and the kids would be home for Christmas this year after all.

He puckered up his lips for a kiss. Holly blew him one, so he lifted his left hand and tapped the gold band that Holly had slid on his finger only a few months ago.

“Yeah, yeah. I know we promised in sickness and in health, but I don’t want your man flu, Sweets.” She giggled and backed away. “You have a power nap until your brother arrives. Be good, and maybe you’ll get a little pre-Christmas present later.”

That, he liked the sound of. Especially if it involved stripping off that pretty red underwear of hers. He gave her a thumbs-up and shut his eyes—he’d need that power nap to kick-start his immune system so he could finally, after three days, kiss his wife again.

A little over an hour and a half later, Ford found his happy place inside Due South’s pub. His guitar rested against his stomach, his dad, Rob, at his side with his guitar, and the only difference from their usual jam sessions was the two microphones were positioned in front of Holly and his dad. The pub was packed, the big windows overlooking Halfmoon Bay harbor misted up from the warmth of so many bodies inside. Carly and Kip had been busy earlier in the week decorating the heck out of the pub. Tinsel and fairy lights were strung above and along the bar, and Carly had even managed to convince her stepbrothers to carve out enough space for a small pine tree covered in glittering decorations. Both Carly and Kip worked the bar tonight. Like Harley and Bree, they hadn’t been able to get off the island. Carly had a huge smile on her face, but Ford noticed her receiving the odd concerned look from Kip at her preternatural cheerfulness.

From Ford’s position on the tiny platform where he and a few others would play live music—plus where the infamous quiz master Rhonda McCullum ran the quiz nights at the pub—he had a perfect view of all the familiar faces of his friends and family.

Piper and West shared a table with Ben and Kezia, Kezia holding her niece, Michaela, in her lap and whispering in her ear. Ford waved to Zoe and Jade, who wore reindeer antler headbands and offered plates of nibbles to the tables.

Mrs. T held court next to the Harland-Westlake table with a couple of her cronies and Ford’s mum, who was cuddling her grandson, Tāne, but looked as if she were about to lose him at any moment to the clucking brood of elderly ‘aunts’ eyeing him up. Couldn’t blame them; Ford’s youngest nephew was pretty damn cute.

Harley—the older twin by six minutes, a fact he’d lord over Ford for all eternity—sat with one arm draped around Bree and the other resting on the back of Carter’s chair. Carter looked up at that moment and caught Ford’s eye. As required by the uncle-nephew code, Carter crossed his eyes and pulled a face. Ford returned the gesture with a pūkana—a fearsome Maori facial expression showing the whites of his eyes and a dramatic poking out of his tongue.

Across from Carter sat Joe and his lady, MacKenna, and a couple he didn’t recognise but who must have been Joe’s sister by the family resemblance. Also at their table was Tarryn, the local Department of Conservation worker, and Erin, who made a mean espresso.

Holly leaned into the mic. “Well, that has to be the most enthusiastic cover of ‘Santa Claus is Coming to Town’ Due South has ever heard!”

Whoops from the audience. Once the noise had died down and another gust of wind had rattled the windows, Holly spoke again. “Everyone give a round of applause for Glenna who’s going to take over for a bit.”

Lots of clapping while Piper, Ben, and Shaye’s mum wove through the crowd to the front. Ford frowned but kept his mouth zipped. This swap hadn’t been on the night’s agenda so far as he knew. Holly didn’t meet his gaze as she vacated her spot next to him and let Glenna take center stage.

Curiouser and curiouser, Holly wasn’t the only one in the room to head toward the exit that opened into the hotel part of Due South. Bree, Piper, Carly, Kezia, MacKenna, Erin, and Tarryn all made a beeline in the same direction. A mass exodus to the ladies’ room to powder their noses? More like a conspiracy was afoot.

“Shall we sing something a little more traditional now?” Glenna settled herself in front of the mic and swept a hand flamboyantly to her heart, arching her chin. “Please turn to page three of your carol booklets and we’ll sing ‘Silent Night.’”

Ford strummed the opening chords, and dozens of voices lifted the simple lyrics to the rafters—most in tune, some not so much, but all with Oban community spirit. They plowed through “Silent Night,” “Away in a Manger,” and “O Come All Ye Faithful.”

“And now for our final song of the evening. Our wonderful musicians”—she touched Ford and his dad’s arms—“you can sit this one out.”

Ford slipped off his guitar and headed to Harley’s table, his twin giving him a what the hell’s going on? eyebrow lift. Ford shrugged, since he planned to save what remained of his voice to rasp sweet nothings in Holly’s ears later.

“We have a special treat in store for you all,” Glenna continued once Ford and Rob had sat down. “Direct from the North Pole, please welcome Santa’s little helpers!”

Due South’s sound system popped to life and the familiar intro to Mariah Carey’s “All I Want For Christmas” tinkled out. The connecting door opened and Holly and the girls swept into the pub, all of them but Holly dressed as elves with short green dresses, knee-high striped stockings, and green pointy hats. Holly took pride of place in a Mrs. Claus outfit, complete with a fur-trimmed skirt, a floppy Santa hat, thigh-high black boots, and a laced-up red corset thing that nearly stopped his heart.

The crowd erupted into cheers and laughter as the girls lip-synched the lyrics, dancing and moving among the tables, making everyone stand up and dance and sing to the one Christmas song Holly knew Ford couldn’t stand.

But after this?

Ford knew he was grinning like an idiot as his gorgeous wife sashayed over, wrapped an arm around his neck, and perched on his lap. Hell, maybe this Christmas wasn’t going to be so bad after all. And maybe “All I Want for Christmas” had just become his favorite silly season anthem.