A Little Holiday Fling, page 1
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2025 by Farah Heron
Cover design and illustration by Caitlin Sacks. Cover copyright © 2025 by Hachette Book Group, Inc.
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Heron, Farah, author
Title: A little holiday fling / Farah Heron.
Description: First edition. | New York : Forever, 2025.
Identifiers: LCCN 2025018042 | ISBN 9781538725498 trade paperback | ISBN 9781538725504 ebook
Subjects: LCGFT: Romance fiction | Christmas fiction | Novels
Classification: LCC PR9199.4.H4695 L58 2025 | DDC 813/.6—dc23/eng/20250429
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2025018042
ISBNs: 9781538725498 (trade paperback), 9781538725504 (ebook)
E3-20250904-JV-NF-ORI
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
Epilogue
Recipes
Acknowledgments
Discover More
About the Author
Books by Farah Heron
Praise for Farah Heron
This book goes out to my loyal fans who have stuck with me through ten books. I adore you all and am endlessly grateful.
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RUBY DHANJI HAD NEVER seen herself as a particularly interesting or memorable person. Probably because she wasn’t all that good at anything. She had no advanced degrees—hell, no unadvanced degrees, either—she had no athletic skills, and she was downright horrendous at sewing and car maintenance, despite her parents being a seamstress and a mechanic. But what Ruby lacked in God-given talents, she more than made up for in enthusiasm and living in the moment. Her life was great, because Ruby carpe’d the fucking diem her way through it. Ruby didn’t just enjoy things; she relished in them.
Three passions had risen to the top of Ruby’s interests. First, she loved anything and everything coming out of the UK—except colonialism, of course. She was Indian, and British colonialism hadn’t been kind to her people. But she loved the architecture of old English manor houses, loved Jane Austen, loved the Beatles, and loved modern British exports, too, like Harry Styles and chicken tikka masala. Second, Ruby loved the finer things in life: designer clothes, imported skin care, even expensive handbags. This particular passion was probably the result of working in high-end retail for years, so she was surrounded by luxury goods every day. Ruby was practical, though—even with an employee discount she would have gone bankrupt several times over if she wasn’t willing to buy her luxury goods secondhand or on clearance.
And finally, despite her Muslim upbringing, Ruby Dhanji adored the Christmas season with her whole heart. She loved the winter aesthetic, Christmas carols, holiday movies, and watching happy families celebrating together. Secularly, of course—she ignored the religious roots of the holiday. As far as Ruby was concerned, if she could love most things British while still being critical of their nasty habit of randomly declaring places people already lived in as their own colony, then she could also pick and choose which aspects of a holiday to celebrate and love.
This year, the Christmas season was a little bittersweet, though, because it would be her last one in Toronto—likely her last in Canada. So, as a proper send-off to the city that hadn’t always been great to her, Ruby was throwing herself a thirty-third birthday and tree decorating party on the day after her birthday—since she had to work on her actual birthday.
On Friday evening, the night before her party, Ruby left Reid’s Holiday, the small pop-up store in the Distillery District where she was store manager. The district had just transformed into the annual Toronto Winter Market, modeled after European Christmas markets, and Ruby hadn’t seen all the new vendors and temporary stores yet. When she spotted a new sign advertising LIVE CHRISTMAS TREES, she knew it was fate. She’d planned to set up the hot-pink tree she’d thrifted last year for her party, but a real tree would be so much better.
After buying the perfect small one (because her apartment was beyond tiny), Ruby carried the tree out of the lot by holding it in front of her so it wouldn’t touch her vintage red coat. She quickly realized she should have stuck with her pink one, though, because navigating cobblestones in high-heeled shoes, a velvet miniskirt, sheer tights, and a whole-ass tree was tricky. She should have brought a wagon. Not that she had a wagon. She was only three feet away from the lot when she dropped the twine-wrapped bundle. The trunk bounced on the stone walkway before falling sideways, hitting a person walking near her on its way to the ground.
“Bloody hell,” said a voice. “Watch it!”
“Oh no! I’m so sorry!” The man her tree hit could have been the one to chop it down in the first place. He seriously looked like he’d just walked out of a forest, with his worn blue jeans, a shearling-lined denim jacket unbuttoned to reveal a red flannel shirt, plus a blue beanie pulled down almost to his eyelids. He was Brown, like Ruby, and maybe in his mid-twenties.
“Careful with that…” He scowled, causing his hat to lower even more. “Is that a tree?”
Ruby smiled warmly as she bent to pick up her fallen tree, being careful to lift with her knees and not her back. She couldn’t get laid up with a back injury now. “I’m so sorry. It’s just… it’s so much bigger than I thought it’d be!”
The man stared at her, his dark eyes blinking in slow motion. And… Ruby realized what she’d just said. Classic Ruby. She giggled at herself. “That wasn’t innuendo,” she said.
Although, maybe it should be? Because despite this man’s stereotypical Canadian attire (which honestly wasn’t Ruby’s vibe), he was cute. Actually, more like… classically handsome. That jawline. The smooth skin. Ruby had over a month left in Toronto—there was certainly time for a final fling with a young Canadian before she moved overseas.
But the guy wasn’t laughing with her at her suggestive gaffe. Or at her. Okay, so the lumberjack didn’t have a sense of humor. No worries; a fling was probably a bad idea anyway. Ruby held her tree in front of herself with outstretched arms again and started walking.
The guy sped to walk next to her. “Why are you carrying a tree like that?” he asked.
“This is a vintage Max Mara coat. I’d rather not get poked right now.” She laughed again. Clearly her subconscious had ideas about this guy and his cute frown. Although it wasn’t mutual. He still looked annoyed at her. In fact, he might be the surliest person in the Winter Market. Which was fair—she’d just dropped a tree on him.
“Isn’t it gorgeous?” she asked. “It’s so fragrant. Here smell it.” She turned so the tree was inches from the guy’s face.
“I can’t smell anything,” he said, nose wrinkled.
“Weird. It’s so strong! This is a Colorado blue spruce. I picked it because of the strong scent, and apparently, it’s a long-lasting tree—not that I need it past December thirty-first. I hope it lasts that long. Oh!” Ruby felt the branches in her hands start to buckle. In what felt like comical slow motion, she scrambled to prevent the tree from hitting the surly guy again, ending up hugging it close to her while the trunk hit the ground.
“Oh my god,” Ruby said. “I’m such a klutz.” She stepped away from the tree, h
Suddenly, the guy took the tree from her hands.
“Oh, um, thank you! But I’m fine.” Ruby reached out to take it back, but he’d already hoisted the thing onto his shoulder with what looked like no exertion at all. He was strong. She looked at his broad body carrying her tree on his denim-clad shoulder. It was… hot. He should be a lumberjack. Although, she noticed for the first time that there were dusty white splotches all over his jeans.
“I got it,” he said. Or rather, he grunted.
Ruby exhaled. “It’s okay! I can carry it!”
“You’ve already dropped it twice, so no, you clearly can’t carry it. Where’s your car?” he asked.
Ruby raised a brow. “A car? In this economy? Who can afford that?”
The guy blinked at her again. She could almost see his eye twitch with irritation. Ruby should shut up and take her tree home. But this guy didn’t look like he was going to give it to her.
“I could call an Uber?” Her condo was only a few minutes’ walk from the Distillery District, and she doubted an Uber would show up for such a short ride.
“They’re not going to let you take a tree in their car,” the guy said, exasperated. “Why did you buy a tree without a way to get it home?”
Ruby smiled. “Because it was pretty? I’m having a tree-decorating birthday party tomorrow. Today’s my birthday.”
He stared at her for several seconds. “You really should have thought this through.”
Ruby bit her lip. He was right. There was no way she could walk the five minutes to her apartment without dropping the tree again or seriously hurting herself. Or ruining her coat. She could call a friend, but her cousin Marley wasn’t able to lift heavy things yet after her surgery, and her friend Shayne had a photo shoot today.
“It’s fine. I can take it,” Ruby said, slipping off her coat and hanging it off her arm. “It’s only a five-minute walk home. I can—”
“Which way?” the guy said, the tree still on his shoulder.
“Which way what?”
“Which way is home? I need to head back to work, so let’s get going.”
Ruby shook her head quickly. “Is this a pick-up, because I’m not looking for chivalry here.”
The guy actually huffed a laugh at that, which completely changed his face. This grump was very cute. His gaze swept from her heels to her white mohair scarf. “You’re not my type. Where am I taking this tree?”
Ouch. Ruby bit her lip. It was fine—based on how he was dressed, women in vintage red coats, Michael Kors shoes, and the perfect red lipstick for their skin tone weren’t his type. But to hear an exceedingly attractive man with the most amazing skin she’d ever seen say he wasn’t interested based on how she looked didn’t feel nice. Maybe he was one of those guys who thought girls with makeup and nice hair were “high maintenance” (cars were high maintenance… people were worth it). Or more likely, it was Ruby perpetually sticking her foot in her mouth that had turned him off.
Ruby pointed to the grouping of condos in the distance. “I’m in there. Thank you.”
“Okay, let’s go,” he said, walking past her with a whole entire tree on his shoulder like he was a chimney sweep carrying a broom or something.
Ruby took a few quick steps to catch up to him while putting her coat back on. “I appreciate this a lot,” she said. “Did you say you need to get to work? Which is weird because you’re all dusty, so I assume you came from work? That’s dust, right? Or maybe it’s flour! I know a baker; she’s always covered in white when she’s working. She’s on maternity leave right now, which sucks because her bread is the best. Well, it doesn’t suck for her, because her baby is gorgeous.”
Ruby was rambling. Which she did when she was uncomfortable. Seriously, with her nervous motormouth, and her permanent foot-in-mouth, someone should really remove Ruby’s mouth. But then she wouldn’t be able to wear MAC’s Ruby Woo—a red lipstick so perfect for her skin tone that she was convinced it was named after her.
The man kept walking, focused on the sidewalk in front of him. It was hard to keep up and incredibly awkward to walk with someone holding your Christmas tree without saying anything at all.
“So… do you work around here, too?” she asked. He didn’t respond. This mystery lumberjack was a man of few words. “I mean, I assume you must. Oh! Do you work at the pet store! All that dust could be cat litter! I don’t have a cat—I move too often. But I want to get one. Maybe after I move to England. British shorthairs are so cute! Why do they look so different from North American cats? Like—”
“It’s not cat litter,” he said. “It’s drywall dust.”
“Oh. So, you’re in, like, construction? Cool! I work in the Distillery District. It’s gorgeous this time of year, right? I love the Winter Market so much. It used to be called the Distillery Christmas Market, but they changed the name to be more inclusive, which is great. Not that I have anything against Christmas, but I mean, I’m all for inclusivity. I’m the manager at the Reid’s Holiday pop-up store. You know Reid’s, right? The department store in Yorkville? They have a mini store in the Winter Market only for the season. We have lots of gift-giving options, like designer ornaments, fragrances, and skin care. And services, too, like bespoke wrapping, custom gift baskets, and private shopping services for corporate clients. You should come by! I’d be happy to wrap some of your gifts for you, free of charge. As a thank-you for carrying my tree! You don’t have to shop at the store for wrapping…” Ruby’s voice trailed off. She hoped he didn’t think she was implying that he couldn’t afford to shop at Reid’s. Because she didn’t mean that at all. The store was expensive, but she knew people in construction could make good money, especially if he was a skilled tradesman.
“You work in a Christmas store?” he asked.
Ruby nodded. “Reid’s Holiday. I know it’s not the most original name. But… seriously, you should come by with gifts you need wrapped so I can repay your kindness.”
He shook his head, making his blue beanie drag against the needles of the tree on his shoulder. “I don’t celebrate Christmas.”
Ruby laughed awkwardly. “Oh, I don’t either. I mean, not religiously. But I love this season! We have non-denominational wrap, too. And some Hanukkah paper, and Eid—”
“I don’t do any holidays.”
Ugh. She’d offended the lumberjack. But as usual, her mouth didn’t know when to shut up. “But gifts don’t have to just be for holidays, do they? You must have someone in your life that deserves a ‘just because’ gift! I love giving people little things for no reason, you know? To show you have their back. It’s like—”
He turned sharply to face her again. Thankfully there was no one behind them, or he would have hit them with the tree.
“Do you always talk this much?”
Ruby gave an awkward smile. “Yes. You’re taking my tree all the way home, and it would be rude if I said nothing, wouldn’t it?”
The guy stared at her for several long seconds again before turning back around and pointing to the building in front of them. “That yours?” he asked.
“Yeah. Um, you don’t have to bring it upstairs for me or anything. I mean, I can have the building concierge help.”
He didn’t respond. He climbed the two steps to the entry and rested her tree next to the door. “You can take it from here,” he said, already walking back down the stairs and away.
“Wait,” Ruby called out. The guy turned back to her. He was still frowning. Such a shame. The guy was breathtakingly gorgeous when he had laughed for half a second. “Thanks again for helping me. I really appreciate it,” She smiled. “I think… I think maybe that was fate. I mean, if you hadn’t found me, I’m sure I would have spent the rest of my birthday in the ER with a broken back. And I meant it—if you work nearby, come see me at Reid’s Holiday so I can repay your generosity. I’m Ruby, by the way.”
“My mother taught me to never leave a woman struggling. Happy birthday, Ruby,” he said, that small smile appearing on his face for a moment before he turned and walked away.
Ruby watched the mystery man head back toward the Winter Market. She exhaled. She knew that she could be annoying. She hyperfixated on the things she loved, and she wasn’t always great at noticing when she needed to chill about her passions. Or needed to stop talking.
