Steamy Holidays 9
’Twas the day before Christmas when three Southern Charms swept into the radio studio announcing a Southern Cola jingle competition. Clifford Pemberton—quiet sound engineer—didn't realize they meant him.
Adeline Vance arrives like old Hollywood royalty in red velvet. Harper Lynn bounces in with sunshine confidence and denim shorts. River Mae glows with quiet grace and a smile that makes Clifford forget to breathe. They’re brand ambassadors for a new cola company taking on the Atlanta giant, and they’re setting up kissing booths all over Broad Street for Rome’s SantaCon.
What starts as a little tune Clifford composed in his spare time ends up as a full-blown social media parade—complete with Santas, reindeer antlers, and his jingle blasting from every corner of downtown. Suddenly the guy who’s spent his life behind the soundboard glass is Rome’s hometown hero, viral sensation, and the winner of $10,000.
The prize money is nice. But the three Southern Charms have decided on a different reward—and they don’t mind sharing.
A fizzy, feel-good romantic comedy about second chances, small-town charm, and the courage to step into the spotlight—even when three stunning women are already standing there, waiting for you.
Before his usual doubt changed his mind, he threw on the first jacket he could find and hurried through the cold to McCall’s rooftop bar. The December wind nipped at his ears, but something inside him burned bright and steady.
Adeline was already at her kissing booth, framed by twinkling lights and the wide winter sky. Mostly guys had lined up for her. The Seven Hills Parade had turned her cheeks into practiced smilers. She had a catalog of pinup poses she selected from with each cheek-kiss. She waved away her latest booth visitor. When she looked up, a man reached her from the side—no hesitation in his step, no shy half-smile, no retreat.
Just Clifford, walking straight toward her.
Her breath caught.
READ MOREHe cupped her face, gentle but sure, and kissed her—full on the lips. Not rushed. Not reckless. Just right. Around them, the rooftop crowd erupted into cheers and whoops, Santa hats bobbing like exclamation points.
When he pulled back, he whispered, “Thank you.”
Adeline stood absolutely still, lips echoing the kiss, trying to reconcile the boy from her prom with the man in front of her. A dozen butterflies she thought she’d long outgrown snapped awake all at once.
Then—CRASH.
COLLAPSELily Chen on Goodreads wrote:HOLY GEORGIA PEACHES! If you thought J. Tiffany Noore had already mastered every flavor of Haremlit, wait until you get a taste of Southern Cola, a fizzy, nostalgic masterpiece that proves she can turn even a Rome radio studio into a hotbed of charm and hormones. This story drops us right into the middle of a high-stakes jingle war between a veteran radio jock and Clifford Pemberton—yes, that Pemberton—who is the last living descendant of the man who invented the original Coca-Cola recipe. Every page crackles with Southern hospitality, secret history, and the kind of slow-burn longing that makes you forget you’re reading a holiday romp until the “Southern Charms” walk in and start making every man in the room forget his cue. (more,,,)
Some stories don’t just pop like a cold soda—they fizz over with a nostalgic heat that stays with you long after the last drop is gone. Southern Cola is J. Tiffany Noore at her most enchantingly local, weaving a Christmas Eve tale where the legacy of a name—specifically the Pemberton name—collides with the magnetic pull of three unforgettable “Southern Charms”. Adeline, Harper, and River aren’t just brand ambassadors; they are a three-part harmony of velvet, sparklers, and mountain sunrises that pin Clifford Pemberton against his own radio booth and dare him to start dreaming again. Noore juggles the small-town charm of Rome, Georgia, with the high-stakes tension of a jingle competition, making every moment feel as urgent as a live broadcast and as intimate as a shared secret. (more...)