WIP Wednesday: Let's Talk Turkey

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I'm getting a woefully late start on this so I don't hold out much hope of it being ready in time for the Dreamspinner Press Advent Calendar deadline, but this is a story I've been waiting to write for two years, so I decided to give it a go.

This year's Advent Calendar topic is holiday mishaps that have happy endings, so my meet-cute story about a man calling a turkey hotline because he got his hand stuck in the turkey while trying to take out the packet inside seemed perfect. You guys, I can't even explain how much I've wanted to write this story. SO. MUCH. But it never rose to the top of my WIP pile because there's no way it could possibly be an entire novel, and I was already working on several novellas.

I've been busy finishing up Some Assembly Required and doing the first-round edits on King of the Kitchen (and pondering the possibility of a sequel to it, thanks to a seed planted by my editor....) so I am so far behind schedule with this delightful and funny romp about the turkey hotline. But it's started, at least, and that's something. *g*

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Talk Turkey

    “Thanks for calling the Talk Turkey hotline. This is Tom.”
    The voice was like velvet. Deep and soothing. Carson's frazzled nerves instantly calmed, and his tense shoulders released a bit. Did they train the hotline operators to talk like that? Surely anyone who was desperate enough to call a turkey hotline was in a bad way. And really, Tom?
    “Tom,” he said, disbelieving. “Like Tom Turkey? Is that what they call every guy who works there?”
    The husky chuckle that came across the line gave Carson goosebumps.
    “One, I'm the only guy who works here. And two, my name really is Tom. Thomas Alexander Stockton. But yes, I do get my fair share of Tom Turkey jokes.”
    It was Carson's turn to laugh. “Maybe you should go by Thomas instead. It makes it less obvious.”
    Tom hummed thoughtfully. “The only people who call me Thomas are my mom and my grandma, and even then it's only when I'm about to be flayed by one of them. I don't think I could shake the association.”
    “Well, I suppose the jokes are inevitable, then.”
    That earned him another throaty chuckle. Carson swallowed hard, his chest tingling.
    “I've gotten used to them,” Tom said dismissively. “Can I get your name and a brief description of your turkey problem so I can give you a better customer service experience?” The silky, easy cadence of his voice had taken on a bit of stilted hesitation. Carson wondered if he was reading off a script now. How disappointing.
    How starved for human contact was he that he'd melted because the person who'd answered a turkey hotline sounded hot and interested?
    Goddamn it.