It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Chick Lit: A Holiday Anthology by V.A.

Release Date: 10.31.2016


Eleven short and funny holiday stories of women going home for Christmas, stirring up old flames (& finding new ones), baking grandma’s cookies, planning revenge pranks on high school duds, opening Pandora’s Box, racing across the country for love, & kissing cute hunks under the mistletoe. 

Grab your copy while this limited time collection is still available!


I love anthologies because they give you the chance to read more than one author and to have a sample of their writing,but I love even more Christmas anthologies because tis is the season!!!!

This is a bundle of eleven short stories that will definitely warm your heart and put a smile on your face while reading it. 

I've enjoyed all the stories and I really wished they were a lot more longer because I was curious about the characters.


From I’m Scheming of a White Christmas by Kate O’Keeffe

A bit of background: Tilly and her friend Lana have arrived at a Christmas party in New York City where they have a plan to avenge what happened to Tilly at the hands of the dreamy Brady McKinnon back in high school...

I turned to see Brady approaching us. As part of Point One (Look Devastatingly Hot), with a sigh of regret, I shrugged my warm winter coat off, shivered, and tried to look Super Model bored—as though the scene before me wasn’t my idea of Christmas perfection.
I flicked my hair the way Lana suggested, trying to look confident and sexy. Thanks to almost the entire contents of a bottle of hairspray, it barely budged.
Brady had a big grin on his impossibly handsome face and he was dressed in a pair of jeans and a bomber jacket, bundled up against the cold.

“Hi, Tilly! I’m so glad you could make it.”

“Hi, Brady. Nice...” my eyes drifted down to his flashing bowtie. “... tie.”

He fingered it self-consciously. “Got to get into the swing of things, right?” His eyes swept over me. “You look... wow.”

I glanced down at my short, red sequined dress with the plunging neckline. It showcased my usually meagre cleavage, which was hoisted up so high by Lana’s industrial strength padded bra that my chin could almost rest on it. I adjusted my Santa hat atop my lacquered hair.

There was an outside chance I may have been a little over dressed right now.

Brady reached across and, to my utter surprise, pulled me in for a hug. “Thanks so much for coming. Have you done something different tonight?”

I battered my false eyelashes at him, the way Lana taught me. No matter how good she said they made me look it felt like I had a couple of dead, fat caterpillars stuck to my upper eyelids. I don’t know how those Kardashians did it: it was not a good feeling.

“Why, thank you for noticing, Brady,” I responded, my voice low and husky as I channelled my inner sex goddess—who, incidentally, I’d never met before.

He gave me a sideways look. “Are you coming down with something? Maybe you should put your coat on. It’s cold out tonight.”

I cleared my throat, did my best to suppress a fresh shiver. “No, I’m just... no. Thanks.” I shot him an I’m-so-sexy-I-can-barely-function look, tossing my immobile big hair once more. Losing my balance I teetered on my heels, forced to steady myself with aeroplane arms.

Not quite the look I was going for.

Brady watched all this with a hesitant look on his face. “That’s... that’s just great.” He smiled at Lana beside me, who had been observing our exchange closely.

“Hi. I’m Brady.” He extended his hand.

She took it, shaking it with vigour. “Lana Schwartz. Nice place you’ve got here.”

“Oh, it’s not mine. It belongs to Tobey Thomas’s parents.” He turned to me, releasing Lana’s hand. “You remember Tobes, don’t you, Tilly?”

“Sure do!” I smiled as I imagined seeing Tobey Thomas thrown from the roof terrace to his certain death below. “It’ll be so great to see him again,” I lied through a fake smile. I was perkier than Polly Pert at a pep rally.

Brady sniffed the air, his nose wrinkling. “Do you smell that?”

I moved Chester’s output behind my back, hoping my body would somehow muffle the stench. “No. Nothing. What?”

“It smells a bit like... something died.”

“Really? Something died, you say?” I squeaked like a mouse. “Do you smell anything, Lana?”

“Just the scent of Christmas,” she responded smoothly.

“Okay.” Brady looked uncertain. “Why don’t you both come with me? I’ll get you a drink.”

“Here’s a present.” Lana thrust the bag of chocolate Santas at Brady.

He took the packet in his hands. “Thank you.”

Lana’s eyes were trained on him. “It’s chocolate. Homemade. Have one now.”

He let out a laugh. “I’m not sure chocolate will mix with beer, but I’ll keep them for later. Thanks.”

Lana nudged me. “Tell him why he has to eat one now, Tilly.”

I took the cue, searching my brain for a plausible reason. “Well, Brady... in New Zealand... we eat chocolate with our beer all the time.”

Yes. That’s good. Plausible. Reasonable. A total lie, of course.

He shot me a dubious look. “You do? Doesn’t that make the beer taste bad?”

“Not at all. In fact, we believe the sweetness of the chocolate enhances the hops in the beer.”

Where did that come from?
A smile spread across his face. “Is that so?”

“Yes, yes it is, Brady. And not only that, we New Zealanders take it as a personal affront if you don’t eat our chocolate at Christmas time.”

Wow, I was on a roll!

“Huh. I didn’t know that. I’ve never been to New—”

Brady stopped speaking abruptly as Lana snatched the bag of chocolates from his hand and unwrapped them with haste, dropping the mistletoe and ribbon carelessly to the floor. “Here.” She thrust the open packet at him. “Eat one, or you’ll offend Tilly.” She leant in closer to him. “And I know you don’t want to do that.”

He glanced at me. I smiled feebly back. Lana sure was a woman on a mission tonight.


Lana and I watched intently as he reached into the bag and pulled a chocolate Santa out. Without putting it in his mouth, he said, “Now, let’s get that drink.”

“But...” Lana began.

I elbowed her in the ribs. “Leave it,” I muttered through teeth clasped into a smile. “We don’t want to be too obvious.”


Posta un commento

Post popolari in questo blog

Never Fall for Your Fiancée by Virginia Heath

Blame it on the Eggnog by Jami Davenport

The Post Box At The North Pole by Jaimie Admans