Fairy Cakes in Winter Read Online Lane Hayes

Categories Genre: Contemporary, M-M Romance, Romance Tags Authors:

Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 47254 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 189(@250wpm)___ 158(@300wpm)

A grumpy baker, a quirky ad man, and a recipe for forever…


So this cute guy sits next to me on the plane and proceeds to talk my ear off for hours. Not good. I don’t like talking and I don’t like strangers. But Theo’s sweet, smart, and sexy—the perfect distraction from business woes and personal worries.

Okay, things got overly friendly, but we’re adults and we know the score. I’m too old, he’s too nice, and we live on different continents.

Then, out of the blue, he shows up at my bakery with that pretty smile and a list of wacky marketing ideas—like how to make fairy cakes a thing.

I don’t like fairy cakes.

But I do like Theo, so…maybe?


The new me takes risks. The new me is brave and confident. The new me flirts with hunky, imposing bears on planes while traveling to a foreign country.

It’s going well, thank you.

However, my plans to do some sightseeing, drink tea, and eat my weight in biscuits every day get derailed when I realize there might be a way to help Scott and prove a few things to myself.

Don’t worry. I won’t fall for the grumpy baker. No way. He’s complicated and broody and—

Uh oh…it might be too late. Help!

Fairy Cakes in Winter is a bisexual, age-gap, grumpy/sunshine MM romance featuring a sexy baker, a sunny tourist, and a few dozen fairy cakes.

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************


“In the midst of winter, I found there was, within me, an invincible summer.”—Albert Camus


The flight attendant directed traffic with a smile, pointing the college-aged twentysomethings hefting giant backpacks to the far side of the plane before picking up her microphone. She gave the usual rambling speech, asking passengers not to crowd the aisles or stuff winter jackets into the overhead bins…Yadda, yadda.

I listened with half an ear for important info, like when this tin can was expected to get in the air and what time we’d land in London. Not that it mattered. I’d been on the late flight from Seattle so often, I knew I was in for a nine-and-a-half-hour ride and that I’d arrive at Heathrow sometime in the late afternoon. I also knew I’d be too disoriented to care about anything other than grabbing something to eat on my way home.

I had to admit, I was one of those weirdos who kind of liked the hum of airplane noise, and there was something vaguely comforting in the routine I’d established over the past seven years. I shrugged off my coat and made sure my headphones were within reach—along with my iPad, reading glasses, and the Ziploc bag of homemade trail mix my sister had sneaked into my carry-on bag. Then I buckled up, settled in, and hoped like hell that the seat next to mine would magically remain open.

Of course, that rarely happened. And I highly doubted my wish would come true this time around ’cause A, cross-Atlantic flights were rarely empty, and B, I didn’t have that kind of luck. The best I could hope for was a quiet neighbor. I peered over at the empty window seat and sent up a quick prayer for it to stay that way before slipping my readers on to check messages on my phone.

My ten-year-old nephew informed me he’d already beat my high score on Madden, my parents asked if there was any way I might finagle a trip home in the spring, and my sister claimed she’d added more M&M’s to her trail mix this year. She also asked if I was okay.

I sent an exclamation sign to Emmett, a heart symbol to my folks, and a thumbs-up to Heather. None of those messages required a wordy response. I’d learned that it was best to stick to basic communication with my family. Emmett was happy with the occasional poop or wind emoji, and my parents liked hearts. Real words got tricky. My parents knew that coming home for Christmas had been a stretch for me. I couldn’t swing another trip too soon, and it was best to avoid circular arguments.

And questions that might spark conversations about an old ex and his new wife. Yep, a thumbs-up was much easier.

I added another for posterity and was about to switch my cell to airplane mode when a new message from Becca lit up my screen.

Call me when you land! I’ll pick you up. Btw, I made a gorgeous lemon meringue pie I’m dying for you to try. Safe travels! xo


Since when did we do XOs? Since never. Was that a Britishism I’d missed? Maybe, but I’d known Becca for years and I didn’t think she’d ever added an XO to a text.

I frowned at those two letters, wondering how to respond. I’m going to take the train. Lemon meringue is cool. No. That didn’t sound right. I deleted it and tried again. Thanks, don’t worry about picking me up. I’ll see you tomorrow.

“Excuse me, sir? I’m next to the window.”

“Oh, right,” I mumbled. “Sure thing.”

I spared my seatmate an apologetic smile and shoved my duffel out of the way before standing to give the younger man room to slide in. I didn’t intend to give him more than a passing glance, but I was hard-pressed not to notice that he was short, slight, and cute as hell. Oh, and he smelled like peppermint.

I quelled the urge to sniff him like a Labrador when I reclaimed my seat.

So much for having the row to myself. Figures I’d sit next to a holiday-scented elf after having just survived my busiest season to date and a visit home. A whiff of him served as a reminder of all the work I had waiting for me in the new year. He didn’t have to say a word to stress me out. But damn, it would be kind of amazing if he didn’t say a word, I mused grumpily as I reread my message to Becca and pushed Send.

I queued up some tunes while my neighbor made himself comfortable. He stuffed his seat pocket with a hardback book, a water bottle, three Kind bars, and a crossword puzzle before unwrapping the complimentary blanket and pillow. He draped the blanket over his knees, stuffed the pillow behind his back, and covered his eyes with a lavender-scented mask.