Old Acquaintance by Annabelle Jacobs
Summary:
There are two sides to every story, even those buried in the past.
When Sam spots the hot guy moving in next door, he’s all for going round to introduce himself. That soon changes when it turns out his new neighbour is in fact an old school acquaintance, Charles Whitmore. Sam didn’t like him back then, and fifteen years haven’t altered that.
Splitting up from his long-term boyfriend means a move across the city for Charlie. As luck would have it, his immediate neighbour is a guy he went to school with, Sam Gellar. While Sam is less than welcoming, his best mate is more than happy to invite Charlie into their social circle. Whatever problem Sam has with Charlie, Charlie resolves to get to the bottom of it, because, frosty beginnings aside, Charlie likes him.
With Christmas just around the corner, fate thrusts them together, and they get on so much better than they ever did at school. Despite his efforts not to, Sam develops feelings for Charlie, and they appear to be reciprocated. If Sam wants to take things further he needs to either confront Charlie about their past--a past Charlie seems to have forgotten entirely--or let it go and move on. Sam knows deep down that he can’t let it go, but it never seems the right time to bring it up. Until it is.
There are two sides to every story, even those buried in the past.
When Sam spots the hot guy moving in next door, he’s all for going round to introduce himself. That soon changes when it turns out his new neighbour is in fact an old school acquaintance, Charles Whitmore. Sam didn’t like him back then, and fifteen years haven’t altered that.
Splitting up from his long-term boyfriend means a move across the city for Charlie. As luck would have it, his immediate neighbour is a guy he went to school with, Sam Gellar. While Sam is less than welcoming, his best mate is more than happy to invite Charlie into their social circle. Whatever problem Sam has with Charlie, Charlie resolves to get to the bottom of it, because, frosty beginnings aside, Charlie likes him.
With Christmas just around the corner, fate thrusts them together, and they get on so much better than they ever did at school. Despite his efforts not to, Sam develops feelings for Charlie, and they appear to be reciprocated. If Sam wants to take things further he needs to either confront Charlie about their past--a past Charlie seems to have forgotten entirely--or let it go and move on. Sam knows deep down that he can’t let it go, but it never seems the right time to bring it up. Until it is.
Annabelle Jacobs has a real winner with Old Acquaintance. Sam and Charlie are two people you just know will be perfect for each other and yet Sam obviously has bad memories of Charlie from school, unfortunately they are memories told to him by his one-time best friend. When you spend fifteen years hating on someone it can be hard to let that go and in Sam's case even the idea that his then best friend turned out to be not such a nice guy still makes it difficult to not believe what he's been hanging on to. Luckily for Sam he has a couple of good mates now that keep him thinking.
Now that's more than I normally would give away but I don't really see it as a spoiler, more of an incentive to read this one for yourself because you don't want to miss this holiday gem. Miss Jacobs may have set this one during the holiday season but it is so much more than Christmastime, Old Acquaintance is one that should maybe actually be read anytime but the holidays. Why you ask? We tend to be more open-hearted during the holidays and once the decorations are put away most of us tend to go back to our pessimistic ways so its nice to be reminded of what makes us optimistic and full of the holiday spirit the other 11 months of the year. But whenever you read it you will definitely find yourself entertained and who knows maybe you'll even reach out to someone who wasn't on the top of your list a week earlier.
RATING:
Summary:
New Milton #1.5
Real life enemies, online lovers. Two lonely men, destined for each other—if only they knew it.
Alfie Carter grew up in New Milton, caring for his sick father and keeping their auto repair shop on its feet. He’s touchy about his poor education and doesn’t take kindly to snide remarks from the town’s prickly bookstore owner—no matter how cute he looks in his skinny jeans. Left to run the family business alone, Alfie spends his lonely evenings indulging his secret passion for classic fiction and chatting online with witty, romantic ‘LLB’ as they fall in love over literature.
Leo Novak’s new life as owner of Bayside Books is floundering. And he could do without the town’s gorgeous, moody mechanic holding a grudge against him after an unfortunate—and totally not his fault— encounter last Christmas. Still reeling from a bad breakup and struggling to make friends in New Milton, Leo seeks comfort in his blossoming online romance with thoughtful, bookish ‘Camaro89’.
But as the holidays approach, ‘LLB’ and ‘Camaro89’ are planning to meet, and realities are about to collide…
This novella is approximately 39,000 words and comes with a HEA guaranteed.
Under the Felt Mistletoe by Nell Iris
Summary:
The most wonderful time of the year is about to get even better.
On a cold, rainy December morning, Finn’s beloved Grampa, his best friend and rock, makes a friend outside their home who he invites in for coffee. The last thing Finn expects is Nelson, a man with a painful past, who is beautiful and generous and turns Finn’s knees into jelly.
What starts out as a chance to get out of the rain, soon becomes more as Nelson helps Finn get ready for the Christmas market. They bond over coffee and fabric and Mariah Carey. Can handmade Christmas ornaments and an understanding heart give Nelson the love he’s been denied?
Original Review January 2019:
What's not to love about this holiday novella? The characters, setting, and just overall feel is fun, romantic, sweet, and full of heart. Finn, Nelson, and Grampa are the kind of people that make holiday reads special: comraderie, friendship, family, love, young, and young-at-heart, they are people you want to know. Under the Felt Mistletoe has it all and more, the sights, sounds, and smells of the holiday jump off the page. You find yourself going "awwww" quite often and that's never a bad thing because its the "aww moments" that brighten your day. Christmastime or not, this is definitely a feel good read you don't want to miss.
RATING:
The most wonderful time of the year is about to get even better.
On a cold, rainy December morning, Finn’s beloved Grampa, his best friend and rock, makes a friend outside their home who he invites in for coffee. The last thing Finn expects is Nelson, a man with a painful past, who is beautiful and generous and turns Finn’s knees into jelly.
What starts out as a chance to get out of the rain, soon becomes more as Nelson helps Finn get ready for the Christmas market. They bond over coffee and fabric and Mariah Carey. Can handmade Christmas ornaments and an understanding heart give Nelson the love he’s been denied?
What's not to love about this holiday novella? The characters, setting, and just overall feel is fun, romantic, sweet, and full of heart. Finn, Nelson, and Grampa are the kind of people that make holiday reads special: comraderie, friendship, family, love, young, and young-at-heart, they are people you want to know. Under the Felt Mistletoe has it all and more, the sights, sounds, and smells of the holiday jump off the page. You find yourself going "awwww" quite often and that's never a bad thing because its the "aww moments" that brighten your day. Christmastime or not, this is definitely a feel good read you don't want to miss.
Summary:
Lovestrong #.5
Eighteen-year-old virgin Shaw Michaelson is alone at his family cabin, waiting both for his parents to return from town and for his dad's hotter-than-hell best friend to arrive to spend New Year's with them. When Nick St. Cloud arrives with a flurry of snow at his back, Shaw's first thought says it all... hello, Santa.
Former Navy SEAL "Saint" Nick can't let himself be attracted to his friend's kid. Even if Shaw does check every box on his list, Nick can't go there... although every part of him wishes he could.
Snowed in, no power, with only the heat and light from the fireplace, Nick and Shaw must spend an evening getting to know each other better and fighting their attraction. But how can Nick keep fighting when he's startled awake by a determined virgin with one goal?
Summary:
A wild and dangerous ride takes two lonely men into uncharted territory…
1943 Montana. Returning home to Montana after being wounded in the Pacific, Police Chief Robert Garrett was hoping for a little much needed Peace on Earth and Goodwill Toward Man. Instead, he finds himself chasing after a cold-blooded killer on Christmas Day aided—whether he likes it or not—by eager young reporter Jamie Jameson.
Jamie has idolized Police Chief Garrett most of his life. Despite a stolen birthday kiss three years earlier, he knows his feelings are unreturned. Even if Rob felt the same, there’s no room in their world for such feelings between men. But while Jamie can accept Robert not sharing his feelings, he won’t put up with being treated like a troublesome kid brother. He too has a job to do and he intends on traveling this bloody and twisted road with Robert Garrett—no matter where it leads.
Considering it's only been about 6 months since I originally read Slay Ride(listening to the audiobook so soon is something I very rarely do) the suspense still had me glued to my seat. There really is nothing more I can add to the original review so I'll just add that Alexander Masters' narration is spot on. Whether it was the 1943 setting of Slay Ride or the narrators brilliant reading but I really felt like I was listening to one of the old radio shows I collect which only heightened the enjoyment.
Original Review Book of the May 2019:
Once again Josh Lanyon does not disappoint. She has blended suspense and romance perfectly as well as set the scene for the WW2 era homefront. Robert having been wounded and discharged is now sheriff and Jamie, 4F who is disappointed not to serve. One of my dad's uncles was unable to serve and was told his services were needed here as he was a farmer. The disappointment Jamie feels is spot on, not that I expected anything less from the author. As with her other historicals, it is pretty obvious that she has a healthy respect for the past with the little details she includes in the story and yet the accuracies are never so strong that it reads as a history lesson. I know that is why some steer clear of the historical sub-genre so if you are one who lets stories of the past go unread because you don't want to be "taught a lesson" then this is the book for you. You definitely get a feel for the era but it never overshadows the entertainment factor.
As for Robert and Jamie, they have this push and pull dance of attraction balanced with the fear of being discovered. You just want to tell them it will be okay but in 1943, that isn't a guarantee and Josh Lanyon balances that scale with flirty danger that kept me glued to my seat. Throw in a layer of suspense which I won't spoil and you have a must read for Lanyon fans as well as historical and mystery fans.
Now, I should mention that I actually loved the way the author "finished it off" off-page. I know some might not like that and will feel a little cheated not to "see" all the action but if you are a fan of classic films of the 40s then you know you often didn't get to see the big payoff. Of course in old Hollywood they had the censor board they had to adhere to but as Slay Ride is set in 1943, I found it quite fitting to finish the way it did and I not only can't imagine it ending with a big "onscreen bloody shootout", I would have been disappointed if it had. I guess what I'm saying is the way the author wrote the ending is, in my opinion, just another example of the respect she has for the past that makes this story wonderfully entertaining.
RATING:
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Random Tales of Christmas 2019
Love Around the Corner by Sally Malcolm
Chapter One
“Seldom, very seldom, does complete truth belong to any human disclosure; seldom can it happen that something is not a little disguised, or a little mistaken.”
Very true, Alfie thought, as he stared up at the underside of Mrs. Kohli’s ancient Nissan. Poor old thing should have been put out of her misery years ago. The car, that was, not Mrs. Kohli. Alfie adjusted the position of the wrench and tried again, wincing as the metal dug into his hand. The damned nut still refused to budge.
The narration continued, a clear melodious voice in his ear. “Mr. Knightley could not impute to Emma a more relenting heart than she possessed, or a heart more disposed to accept of his. He had, in fact, been wholly unsuspicious of his own influence…”
He smiled as the happy ending unfurled. Good old Knightley. He was, maybe, Alfie’s second favorite Austen hero. But LLB was a big fan, he said Knightley was the sort of guy who’d worship you in bed and always remember to take out the trash in the morning. Alfie preferred Wentworth, though. All that resentful passion bottled up for eight long years at sea? Bring it on.
Someone kicked his foot.
He glanced down the length of his body, stretched out under the car, to where a pair of familiar sneaker-clad feet stood next to his own. Dani kicked him again. “Hey, boss,” she said, breaking into Emma and Knightley’s happy reunion. “Mail call.”
Sighing, he paused the book and rolled out from under the rusting Nissan, sitting up to squint at his assistant. Well, ‘assistant’ was being generous. Danita Da Silva was a good kid; she came in every day after school to work for a couple hours in exchange for his help fixing up the junker her folks had bought her for her sixteenth birthday. If she was lucky, she’d get it on the road by the time she was eighteen. One of Dani’s jobs was to sort the mail, a task she usually managed without his input. “What you got that can’t wait?” he said, setting down the wrench and tugging out his earbuds.
Dani grinned, holding out a thick cream envelope. “An invitation to the ball, Cinderella.”
Curious, Alfie wiped his greasy fingers on his overalls and stood up. Sure enough, his name was printed in elegant handwriting on the front of the envelope: Mr. Alfie Carter.
His heart sank when he realized what it was. “It’s from Sean and Tejana Callaghan,” he guessed, tearing open the envelope and reading the invitation inside. “Yup. They’re having another Christmas party. On Christmas Eve, this year.”
Dani’s eyes shone. “Oooh, are Finn and Josh going to be there?”
“Well, it’s not going to say on the invite,” Alfie said. “But I guess they might visit his brother for the holidays.”
Finn Callaghan—actor—was New Milton’s only claim to fame. Beloved of teenage girls, and a few boys since he’d come out as bi last year, he spent most of his time in LA with his cute new boyfriend. But Finn’s brother lived in New Milton, and he and his wife were very genial, generous neighbors who loved hosting community events like this.
“But you’re going, right?” Dani said. “So you could get Finn to sign my High Stakes shirt!”
“Nah, sorry.” He dumped the invitation on the counter. “You-Know-Who will be there, and I don’t wanna risk another run-in.”
Dani rolled her eyes like only a sixteen year old can when dealing with her dimwitted elders. “Really? You’re still not over that? It was, like, a year ago.”
“And Novak’s still—like—an asshole. What’s your point?”
“My point,” she began, but Alfie didn’t listen to the rest because a text alert pinged, bringing with it a hot buzz of anticipation. Slipping his phone out of his pocket, he swiped the screen open.
LLB: Boooooored
He grinned and replied: This day is lasting forever
“Hey!” Dani elbowed him. “Nobody ever tell you it’s rude to check your phone when someone’s talking to you?”
He looked up, blinking. “Sorry, what?”
“I said— Oh never mind.” She lifted a sardonic eyebrow. “You’ve gone all ‘heart eyes’. It must be Secret Boyfriend.”
“He’s not secret,” Alfie said, smiling. He couldn’t help smiling when it came to LLB. “And he’s not my boyfriend.”
At least, not yet.
He and LLB had been messaging for months and their friendship was as real as fuck. Alfie would fight anyone who said otherwise. What he felt for LLB was important, as important as anything he’d ever felt for anyone. More so, really, because they were soulmates. That’s what LLB called it: two halves of the same soul.
LLB was crazy romantic. Alfie had never known another guy like him.
His phone pinged again.
LLB: You got time to chat?
Alfie threw a despairing look at Mrs. Kohli’s Nissan and rubbed the sore patch on his palm. “I need a coffee,” he decided, pocketing his phone. “You want anything from Dee’s?”
“Oooh, a hot chocolate.” Dani fluttered smoky eyelashes at him. “Extra whipped cream?”
He laughed and reached for his coat. “I’ll even get you marshmallows, since it’s Christmas.”
Leaving Dani finishing up sorting the mail, he stepped out into the cold winter morning. The temperature had been steadily dropping for a couple days and there was snow forecast for the weekend—in time for Christmas, if they were lucky.
He smiled at the thought and dug out his phone, entertaining dreamy notions of being snowed in with LLB, and tapped out a quick message. Taking a break. What you up to?
A reply pinged right back.
LLB: Wishing it was 7pm already.
Alfie grinned like the Cheshire Cat, stomach swooping giddily. He and LLB had first met back in January, on the JASNA-NY Facebook Group, and, as two of only a handful of guys in the Jane Austen Society of North America (New York), they’d started chatting. Twelve months later, they messaged all the time and it was awesome. They talked books and movies, but also about stuff Alfie had never shared with anyone: dreams for the future, regrets, hopes and fears. He and LLB got each other on every level—they just hadn’t met on the physical one. Yet.
But all that was about to change. Because, what Dani didn’t know—what nobody knew—was that he and LLB were going to meet.
Tonight.
Anticipation sat in the corner of his heart like a glowing coal, warming him from the inside out. Anticipation and a dash of tension. LLB was smart, funny, highly educated—and he didn’t know that Alfie was a mechanic who hadn’t even graduated high school. Maybe Alfie should have told him, but they’d never really exchanged personal information. LLB said it was better they didn’t judge each other on external crap, and Alfie agreed. After all, who’d want to talk books with an under-educated car mechanic like him?
So their meeting would be a revelation. And the start of something, Alfie hoped. The start of something serious—a real-life, long-term relationship. Love, if he was going to be bold. Because Alfie was in love with LLB, had been for months, and tonight he was going to tell him face-to-face.
The prospect made him fluttery with anticipation and he slowed down as he replied to the message, stepping to one side of the sidewalk so he wasn’t in anyone’s way.
Counting down the hours—he added a heart emoji and a smiley face for good measure.
It was only when he looked up from his phone that he realized he was standing outside Bayside Books, Leo Novak’s store. A place he usually avoided.
Not a single Christmas bauble or thread of tinsel adorned its window, in contrast to the rest of Main Street. New Milton wasn’t a particularly affluent place, but everyone did their best for the community. Everyone except Novak, it seemed. The town’s resident Ebenezer Scrooge.
In his hand, Alfie’s phone buzzed.
LLB: Excited/nervous about tonight. You?
He grinned like a fool, all thoughts of Novak swept aside as he crossed the road and headed up the street to Dee’s Coffee Shop. As the only coffee shop in town, Dee’s did good business. It helped that she served fantastic coffee and awesome baked goods. Alfie paused outside, hesitating before going in. It looked crowded, the windows steamed up, and he wanted to reply to LLB without Dee nosing into his business. So he leaned up against the wall, and typed Definitely excited. Can’t wait to meet you at last.
Then, whistling happily, he slipped his phone into his back pocket and pushed open the door. Unfortunately, the first person he saw was Scrooge himself: Leo Novak stood at the counter, hips cocked at an annoyingly provocative angle, his shock of dark hair unmissable. But it was what he was saying to Dee that grabbed Alfie’s attention.
“I mean, come on. Have you seen the sign outside his shop?” There was laughter in his voice, a disdainful smirk. “Alfie’s Auto’s? With that horrible misuse of an apostrophe?”
Dee’s eyebrows rose as she caught Alfie’s eye. “Leo—”
“No, Dee,” he said. “I’m sorry but I require at a least basic level of literacy, even in a hookup.”
Alfie stared, his good mood evaporating beneath sharp humiliation. Not that he let it show, he wouldn’t give the asshole the satisfaction. He just watched with grim amusement as Novak stilled, finally getting the message, and turned with agonizing reluctance to face Alfie.
Merry fucking Christmas.
Leo’s phone buzzed in his coat pocket and he pulled it out while he waited for his vanilla latte, Bing Crosby crooning White Christmas in the background and the air warm and heavy, redolent with the aroma of coffee and spice.
Camaro89: This day is lasting forever.
He grinned. Two weeks before Christmas, and Leo felt good. Better than good, he felt excited about the future in a way he hadn’t in a long time. And it was all because of this man.
Still grinning, he typed back: You got time to chat?
“So you do actually smile then?” Dee’s amused voice cut across Bing’s crooning and Leo’s sappy thoughts. “I was beginning to think ‘moody’ was the only setting on your dial.”
Leo rolled his eyes. He hadn’t made many friends in New Milton since he moved here. Okay, scratch that: he hadn’t made any friends, but Dee tried her best. She ran New Milton’s only coffee shop and was a mainstay of the town with her spikey burgundy hair, pink framed glasses, and nose for gossip. He liked her, despite himself.
“I was just texting my boyfriend,” he said primly, setting his phone on the counter.
“Uh-huh.” Dee looked at him over the frames of her glasses. “This would be your online ‘boyfriend’.”
The quotation marks were so heavy they practically hit the floor. It was an old argument. “You know, he is an actual human being. We communicate online, but he doesn’t live ‘online’. He’s a man, just like me.”
“So he says.” Dee snapped the lid onto Leo’s reusable coffee cup. “You ever heard of catfishing?”
“Oh please!” His phone buzzed and he snatched it up before Dee could see the message, ignoring her pointed look.
Camaro89: Taking a break. What you up to?
He smiled. Wishing it was 7pm already
Camaro89: Counting down the hours
The message came complete with a smiley face and a pink heart.
In his chest, Leo’s actual heart performed a somersault worthy of a cheerleader at the Super Bowl. Such a dork, but for once he didn’t care. He was in love, he was allowed to be a dork. Turning back to Dee, he said, “You think I don’t know him after twelve months of intimate conversation? I know him better than I’ve ever known anyone.” He put a hand to his chest, pressed it over his heart. “I know his soul.”
Dee leaned on the counter, skeptical eyebrows raised. “But you don’t know his name,” she said. “Or what he looks like, or what he does for a living.” Leo shifted, made an attempt to reach for his cup but Dee held it back. “That doesn’t strike you as strange?”
It really didn’t. They’d talked about exchanging photos and personal information early on in their friendship, but both had enjoyed the freedom of anonymity—their relationship was a pure meeting of minds, of ideas, and conversation. Unlike Leo’s most recent relationship disaster, born of his bad habit of falling for beautiful awful guys, his relationship with Camaro89 felt fresh. Pure, even. It wasn’t about any of the exterior stuff, it was only about them—two men who’d fallen in love over literature.
It was the most romantic thing that had ever happened to him. And they were about to take it to a new level. Feeling a twitchy smile on his lips, he said, “If it makes you any happier, I’m going to meet him soon. Tonight, actually.”
“Tonight?” From the narrowing of Dee’s eyes, he suspected that didn’t make her feel any happier. “I hope you’re meeting somewhere public.”
“Why? In case he’s an axe murderer?”
“You shouldn’t joke about that stuff, Leo. Are you? Meeting somewhere public?”
He took his coffee from her resistant hands. “Top of the Empire State building. At midnight. I’ll have a red carnation between my teeth.”
“You’re a funny guy,” Dee said. “They’ll put it on your gravestone when this guy turns out to be some kind of—”
“We’re meeting at The Half King.” He wrapped his hands around his cup, relishing its warmth. “It’s a pub in Manhattan. We’re going to have a drink there and walk the High Line afterward. Maybe get dinner if it goes well.” His stomach clenched at the thought, bringing a nervy laugh to his lips. “I’m sure it will.”
Dee’s expression relaxed. “Hmm.”
“He’s… We’re very good friends, Dee. I feel like it’s…” Well, he wasn’t going to say ‘destiny’ out loud, but he couldn’t help feeling some cosmic force had brought them together in cyberspace, and now they were going to make that connection out in the real world. “I feel like it’s meant to be.”
“I can see it means a lot to you,” Dee said cautiously. “I hope you’re not disappointed.”
Leo gave a nervy laugh. “I hope he’s not disappointed.”
“No danger of that. You’re cute as a button and—” A pause. “And if he’s got any sense, he’ll see beneath that prickly shell of yours.”
She wasn’t wrong. Leo could be prickly. But when you grew up too smart, too sensitive, and too gay for the tastes of most people, you learned to defend yourself. “Is it wrong,” he said, lowering his voice for the confession, “that I hope he’s hot?” He grimaced at his own hypocrisy. “I mean, obviously this is about a meeting of minds, but…”
“But you’d like it to be about a meeting of other things too?”
Flushing, he took a sip of his coffee. “Yeah.”
He hated the thought of meeting Camaro89 and feeling disappointed, but far worse was the idea of seeing disappointment in Camaro89’s face. What if there was just no spark?
Nervously, he toyed with his phone. God, maybe they should have exchanged photos already. Or maybe meeting itself was a mistake. One way or another, tonight would change everything.
Spiked by anxiety, he found himself typing: Excited/nervous about tonight. You?
The thing was, if they didn’t meet, their relationship couldn’t evolve. It would remain static—an intense, cerebral connection. But Leo wanted more than that, he always had. He wanted companionship and love, he wanted cozy evenings on the sofa and passionate nights in each other’s arms. He wanted a partner in life, a friend. A lover.
“You know,” Dee said, “if you’re after a boyfriend you could do worse than looking locally.”
He peered at her over his coffee. “In New Milton’s vibrant gay scene, you mean?”
Her turn to smile. “Alfie Carter’s handsome and—”
“Carter? God no. He hates me.”
“Alfie doesn’t hate anybody,” Dee protested. “He—”
“He thinks I’m—and I quote—‘an arrogant, prissy little prick’ who he wouldn’t fu— sleep with if I was—quote—‘the last gay man on earth.’”
Oh yes, Alfie Carter had been an absolute sweetheart at that excruciating Christmas party last year. Hitting on Leo with all the subtlety of a truck, and then getting resentful and pissy when Leo hadn’t been interested.
And he hadn’t been interested, despite Carter’s smoldering good looks—or maybe because of them. Truth was, Carter was exactly Leo’s type, and he reminded him way too much of his unlamented ex, Grayson Sands. Well, Leo was done with all that. He wanted more, and he’d found it in Camaro89. He and Carter were polar opposites. Like matter and antimatter, they were so different they probably couldn’t exist in the same room at the same time.
As if to prove the point a new message flashed up on his phone.
Camaro89: Definitely excited. Can’t wait to meet you at last.
His heart warmed just looking at the words, his misgivings evaporating. It would be fine. It would be wonderful, it would be everything he hoped for. Because it would be Camaro89.
“If you got to know Alfie,” Dee persisted, oblivious to Leo’s inner dialogue, “you might find he surprises you. Why don’t you come along to tomorrow’s meeting about the Christmas market? I could introduce you. You’ve got a lot in common, and Alfie—”
“No.” Absolutely the last thing he needed was Dee trying to set him up. Besides, he had a boyfriend—almost. Dee opened her mouth as the coffee shop door opened with a jingle of bells, but Leo cut her off before she could speak. “I mean, come on. Have you seen the sign outside his shop? Alfie’s Auto’s? With that horrible misuse of an apostrophe?”
Her eyebrows rose. “Leo—”
“No, Dee. I’m sorry but I require at a least basic level of literacy, even in a hookup.”
An odd, strained silence followed his words. The kind of silence that never meant anything good. Leo’s skin prickled along his neck, the side of his face glowing with the intense awareness of a pair of eyes on him. Jaw clenched against the inevitable, he turned his head to see Alfie Carter watching him from inside the door.
Shit.
Carter’s brows were drawn low over his dark eyes, smoldering with anger now rather than interest. And maybe something worse, something suggested by a flush visible beneath the stubble on his jaw, something like embarrassment. Leo winced and for a moment they just stood staring at one another. In the background, Bing had moved on to Silent Night as if to make a point.
Then Carter looked away, breaking the spell as he cast his eyes over the half-empty coffee shop. “Don’t worry,” he growled, “the feeling’s mutual. I require at least a basic level of civility, even in a hookup.”
That stung. Leo was civil. He was very civil! It wasn’t his fault that Carter had been standing there listening like some kind of vengeful Heathcliff at the window. “Eavesdroppers never hear any good of themselves,” he said, aware he may have sounded rather prim. Aware, too, that he could have just said sorry. That he should have, probably. And that maybe he would have, if Carter hadn’t been so damned provoking.
“I wasn’t eavesdropping,” Carter said, coming to stand at the counter next to him, dominating the space without trying. Damn, but the man had presence—tall, broad, and carrying with him the cold tang of a winter’s morning. A total lumberjack fantasy with that square, scruffy jaw, dark hair peeking out from under his watch cap, and long powerful limbs. Carter’s eyes slid to Leo’s and away again. “You should be careful, running your mouth about folks like that,” he drawled. “People are gonna start thinking you’re an asshole.”
“Well…Takes one to know one.” Leo grabbed his cup and headed for the door, wincing as his own words caught up with him.
Takes one to know one? Christ, a quip worthy of Oscar Wilde himself. Pulling open the door, he stepped out onto the sidewalk, the blast of frigid air a relief against his burning face.
He told himself he didn’t care what Alfie Carter thought about him. Or what anyone thought about him, for that matter. He had Camaro89, his soulmate. He slipped his free hand into his pocket, curled his fingers around his phone and held on, feeling his pounding heartbeat start to slow.
Yes, it was okay. Nothing mattered apart from tonight.
When he pushed open the door to his silent shop, breathing in the comforting scent of used books and wood polish, he took a moment to type out a quick message: There are too many assholes in the world. I’m so glad I met you.
The reply came a moment later.
Camaro89: I was just thinking the exact same thing. 🙂
Under the Felt Mistletoe by Nell Iris
Sunday arrives with clear skies and no rain, but instead, the temperature has dropped overnight and hovers in the low thirties. I arm myself with a thermos of coffee and dress accordingly: long johns under my orange bellbottom corduroy pants, a long-sleeved t-shirt and a turtleneck layered under my windbreaker, a fluffy scarf wound around my neck and a beanie that makes my hair look ridiculous. It flattens everything under the hat, but at the ribbed cuff, my curls explode in every direction with a vengeance.
A lot of people attend the first market of the season and despite the cold pluming my breath in front of me, everyone is in high spirits and full of holiday cheer. My neighbor to the right, Mrs. Winterbottom -- yes, that’s her real name -- is dressed as Mrs. Santa and sells magnificent hand-crafted fir wreaths. On my left, Mr. and Mrs. Carruthers sell gold-brushed chocolate pralines that are too pretty to eat and taste even better.
Every vendor plays holiday music, greets the shoppers with a jolly ho-ho-ho, and a comment on the weather. The shoppers, in turn, have deep pockets and are eager to acquire the merchandise. People love my ornaments, and my stuff flies off the table. I will be cleaned out completely before the market closes if this continues. I need to spend more time sewing so I can bring lots more next week.
After a couple hours, huge powdery snowflakes start sailing leisurely from the sky, adding to the holiday feeling. The only downer on this fabulous day is that I ran out of coffee early. Mrs. Winterbottom forgot hers at home, and I shared mine with her. I wouldn’t let my worst enemy go without coffee if I could do something about it.
But in a lull between customers, a savior arrives.
Nelson. Carrying two paper cups in mittened hands.
Warmth flashes in my chest at the sight of him; his shy smile and brown eyes that are warm enough to thaw the thin layer of ice from the pond in the middle of the park where the market is held.
“Hi,” he says, sounding out of breath. “I know you like coffee, but I thought maybe hot chocolate would be nice in this cold?” He holds out of the cups and if we weren’t separated by the table I would show my gratitude by hugging the stuffing out of the man. New acquaintance or not.
“My hero!” I accept the offering, tear off the lid, and inhale. The sweet, slightly bitter aroma makes my mouth water. I take a small sip, but it isn’t too hot to drink so I have some more. I hum in happiness and smile at him. “This is awesome. Thank you so much.”
Nelson’s gaze is glued to my mouth with eyelids heavy and lips parted. “You’ve got ...” He sets down his cup and pulls off his red and white mittens, then he leans forward and swipes the pad of his thumb along my upper lip.
I draw a stuttering breath.
“You had chocolate on your lip,” he rasps, his voice so deliciously rumbly I feel it all the way in my bones. “There. All gone.” He does a final sweep before withdrawing.
I can’t help it; my hand flies to my mouth and I finger my lip as though I’m trying to stop the lingering warmth from evaporating.
“Thank you.” My voice is hoarse. Our eyes lock as he picks up the mittens and put them back on. My breathing grows shallow and the Christmas music cacophony and loud buzz of the market-goers fade into the background. All I see is him. All I hear is his breathing.
“Finn. I ...”
Slay Ride by Josh Lanyon
Chapter One
Chapter One
“Seldom, very seldom, does complete truth belong to any human disclosure; seldom can it happen that something is not a little disguised, or a little mistaken.”
Very true, Alfie thought, as he stared up at the underside of Mrs. Kohli’s ancient Nissan. Poor old thing should have been put out of her misery years ago. The car, that was, not Mrs. Kohli. Alfie adjusted the position of the wrench and tried again, wincing as the metal dug into his hand. The damned nut still refused to budge.
The narration continued, a clear melodious voice in his ear. “Mr. Knightley could not impute to Emma a more relenting heart than she possessed, or a heart more disposed to accept of his. He had, in fact, been wholly unsuspicious of his own influence…”
He smiled as the happy ending unfurled. Good old Knightley. He was, maybe, Alfie’s second favorite Austen hero. But LLB was a big fan, he said Knightley was the sort of guy who’d worship you in bed and always remember to take out the trash in the morning. Alfie preferred Wentworth, though. All that resentful passion bottled up for eight long years at sea? Bring it on.
Someone kicked his foot.
He glanced down the length of his body, stretched out under the car, to where a pair of familiar sneaker-clad feet stood next to his own. Dani kicked him again. “Hey, boss,” she said, breaking into Emma and Knightley’s happy reunion. “Mail call.”
Sighing, he paused the book and rolled out from under the rusting Nissan, sitting up to squint at his assistant. Well, ‘assistant’ was being generous. Danita Da Silva was a good kid; she came in every day after school to work for a couple hours in exchange for his help fixing up the junker her folks had bought her for her sixteenth birthday. If she was lucky, she’d get it on the road by the time she was eighteen. One of Dani’s jobs was to sort the mail, a task she usually managed without his input. “What you got that can’t wait?” he said, setting down the wrench and tugging out his earbuds.
Dani grinned, holding out a thick cream envelope. “An invitation to the ball, Cinderella.”
Curious, Alfie wiped his greasy fingers on his overalls and stood up. Sure enough, his name was printed in elegant handwriting on the front of the envelope: Mr. Alfie Carter.
His heart sank when he realized what it was. “It’s from Sean and Tejana Callaghan,” he guessed, tearing open the envelope and reading the invitation inside. “Yup. They’re having another Christmas party. On Christmas Eve, this year.”
Dani’s eyes shone. “Oooh, are Finn and Josh going to be there?”
“Well, it’s not going to say on the invite,” Alfie said. “But I guess they might visit his brother for the holidays.”
Finn Callaghan—actor—was New Milton’s only claim to fame. Beloved of teenage girls, and a few boys since he’d come out as bi last year, he spent most of his time in LA with his cute new boyfriend. But Finn’s brother lived in New Milton, and he and his wife were very genial, generous neighbors who loved hosting community events like this.
“But you’re going, right?” Dani said. “So you could get Finn to sign my High Stakes shirt!”
“Nah, sorry.” He dumped the invitation on the counter. “You-Know-Who will be there, and I don’t wanna risk another run-in.”
Dani rolled her eyes like only a sixteen year old can when dealing with her dimwitted elders. “Really? You’re still not over that? It was, like, a year ago.”
“And Novak’s still—like—an asshole. What’s your point?”
“My point,” she began, but Alfie didn’t listen to the rest because a text alert pinged, bringing with it a hot buzz of anticipation. Slipping his phone out of his pocket, he swiped the screen open.
LLB: Boooooored
He grinned and replied: This day is lasting forever
“Hey!” Dani elbowed him. “Nobody ever tell you it’s rude to check your phone when someone’s talking to you?”
He looked up, blinking. “Sorry, what?”
“I said— Oh never mind.” She lifted a sardonic eyebrow. “You’ve gone all ‘heart eyes’. It must be Secret Boyfriend.”
“He’s not secret,” Alfie said, smiling. He couldn’t help smiling when it came to LLB. “And he’s not my boyfriend.”
At least, not yet.
He and LLB had been messaging for months and their friendship was as real as fuck. Alfie would fight anyone who said otherwise. What he felt for LLB was important, as important as anything he’d ever felt for anyone. More so, really, because they were soulmates. That’s what LLB called it: two halves of the same soul.
LLB was crazy romantic. Alfie had never known another guy like him.
His phone pinged again.
LLB: You got time to chat?
Alfie threw a despairing look at Mrs. Kohli’s Nissan and rubbed the sore patch on his palm. “I need a coffee,” he decided, pocketing his phone. “You want anything from Dee’s?”
“Oooh, a hot chocolate.” Dani fluttered smoky eyelashes at him. “Extra whipped cream?”
He laughed and reached for his coat. “I’ll even get you marshmallows, since it’s Christmas.”
Leaving Dani finishing up sorting the mail, he stepped out into the cold winter morning. The temperature had been steadily dropping for a couple days and there was snow forecast for the weekend—in time for Christmas, if they were lucky.
He smiled at the thought and dug out his phone, entertaining dreamy notions of being snowed in with LLB, and tapped out a quick message. Taking a break. What you up to?
A reply pinged right back.
LLB: Wishing it was 7pm already.
Alfie grinned like the Cheshire Cat, stomach swooping giddily. He and LLB had first met back in January, on the JASNA-NY Facebook Group, and, as two of only a handful of guys in the Jane Austen Society of North America (New York), they’d started chatting. Twelve months later, they messaged all the time and it was awesome. They talked books and movies, but also about stuff Alfie had never shared with anyone: dreams for the future, regrets, hopes and fears. He and LLB got each other on every level—they just hadn’t met on the physical one. Yet.
But all that was about to change. Because, what Dani didn’t know—what nobody knew—was that he and LLB were going to meet.
Tonight.
Anticipation sat in the corner of his heart like a glowing coal, warming him from the inside out. Anticipation and a dash of tension. LLB was smart, funny, highly educated—and he didn’t know that Alfie was a mechanic who hadn’t even graduated high school. Maybe Alfie should have told him, but they’d never really exchanged personal information. LLB said it was better they didn’t judge each other on external crap, and Alfie agreed. After all, who’d want to talk books with an under-educated car mechanic like him?
So their meeting would be a revelation. And the start of something, Alfie hoped. The start of something serious—a real-life, long-term relationship. Love, if he was going to be bold. Because Alfie was in love with LLB, had been for months, and tonight he was going to tell him face-to-face.
The prospect made him fluttery with anticipation and he slowed down as he replied to the message, stepping to one side of the sidewalk so he wasn’t in anyone’s way.
Counting down the hours—he added a heart emoji and a smiley face for good measure.
It was only when he looked up from his phone that he realized he was standing outside Bayside Books, Leo Novak’s store. A place he usually avoided.
Not a single Christmas bauble or thread of tinsel adorned its window, in contrast to the rest of Main Street. New Milton wasn’t a particularly affluent place, but everyone did their best for the community. Everyone except Novak, it seemed. The town’s resident Ebenezer Scrooge.
In his hand, Alfie’s phone buzzed.
LLB: Excited/nervous about tonight. You?
He grinned like a fool, all thoughts of Novak swept aside as he crossed the road and headed up the street to Dee’s Coffee Shop. As the only coffee shop in town, Dee’s did good business. It helped that she served fantastic coffee and awesome baked goods. Alfie paused outside, hesitating before going in. It looked crowded, the windows steamed up, and he wanted to reply to LLB without Dee nosing into his business. So he leaned up against the wall, and typed Definitely excited. Can’t wait to meet you at last.
Then, whistling happily, he slipped his phone into his back pocket and pushed open the door. Unfortunately, the first person he saw was Scrooge himself: Leo Novak stood at the counter, hips cocked at an annoyingly provocative angle, his shock of dark hair unmissable. But it was what he was saying to Dee that grabbed Alfie’s attention.
“I mean, come on. Have you seen the sign outside his shop?” There was laughter in his voice, a disdainful smirk. “Alfie’s Auto’s? With that horrible misuse of an apostrophe?”
Dee’s eyebrows rose as she caught Alfie’s eye. “Leo—”
“No, Dee,” he said. “I’m sorry but I require at a least basic level of literacy, even in a hookup.”
Alfie stared, his good mood evaporating beneath sharp humiliation. Not that he let it show, he wouldn’t give the asshole the satisfaction. He just watched with grim amusement as Novak stilled, finally getting the message, and turned with agonizing reluctance to face Alfie.
Merry fucking Christmas.
*****
Leo’s phone buzzed in his coat pocket and he pulled it out while he waited for his vanilla latte, Bing Crosby crooning White Christmas in the background and the air warm and heavy, redolent with the aroma of coffee and spice.
Camaro89: This day is lasting forever.
He grinned. Two weeks before Christmas, and Leo felt good. Better than good, he felt excited about the future in a way he hadn’t in a long time. And it was all because of this man.
Still grinning, he typed back: You got time to chat?
“So you do actually smile then?” Dee’s amused voice cut across Bing’s crooning and Leo’s sappy thoughts. “I was beginning to think ‘moody’ was the only setting on your dial.”
Leo rolled his eyes. He hadn’t made many friends in New Milton since he moved here. Okay, scratch that: he hadn’t made any friends, but Dee tried her best. She ran New Milton’s only coffee shop and was a mainstay of the town with her spikey burgundy hair, pink framed glasses, and nose for gossip. He liked her, despite himself.
“I was just texting my boyfriend,” he said primly, setting his phone on the counter.
“Uh-huh.” Dee looked at him over the frames of her glasses. “This would be your online ‘boyfriend’.”
The quotation marks were so heavy they practically hit the floor. It was an old argument. “You know, he is an actual human being. We communicate online, but he doesn’t live ‘online’. He’s a man, just like me.”
“So he says.” Dee snapped the lid onto Leo’s reusable coffee cup. “You ever heard of catfishing?”
“Oh please!” His phone buzzed and he snatched it up before Dee could see the message, ignoring her pointed look.
Camaro89: Taking a break. What you up to?
He smiled. Wishing it was 7pm already
Camaro89: Counting down the hours
The message came complete with a smiley face and a pink heart.
In his chest, Leo’s actual heart performed a somersault worthy of a cheerleader at the Super Bowl. Such a dork, but for once he didn’t care. He was in love, he was allowed to be a dork. Turning back to Dee, he said, “You think I don’t know him after twelve months of intimate conversation? I know him better than I’ve ever known anyone.” He put a hand to his chest, pressed it over his heart. “I know his soul.”
Dee leaned on the counter, skeptical eyebrows raised. “But you don’t know his name,” she said. “Or what he looks like, or what he does for a living.” Leo shifted, made an attempt to reach for his cup but Dee held it back. “That doesn’t strike you as strange?”
It really didn’t. They’d talked about exchanging photos and personal information early on in their friendship, but both had enjoyed the freedom of anonymity—their relationship was a pure meeting of minds, of ideas, and conversation. Unlike Leo’s most recent relationship disaster, born of his bad habit of falling for beautiful awful guys, his relationship with Camaro89 felt fresh. Pure, even. It wasn’t about any of the exterior stuff, it was only about them—two men who’d fallen in love over literature.
It was the most romantic thing that had ever happened to him. And they were about to take it to a new level. Feeling a twitchy smile on his lips, he said, “If it makes you any happier, I’m going to meet him soon. Tonight, actually.”
“Tonight?” From the narrowing of Dee’s eyes, he suspected that didn’t make her feel any happier. “I hope you’re meeting somewhere public.”
“Why? In case he’s an axe murderer?”
“You shouldn’t joke about that stuff, Leo. Are you? Meeting somewhere public?”
He took his coffee from her resistant hands. “Top of the Empire State building. At midnight. I’ll have a red carnation between my teeth.”
“You’re a funny guy,” Dee said. “They’ll put it on your gravestone when this guy turns out to be some kind of—”
“We’re meeting at The Half King.” He wrapped his hands around his cup, relishing its warmth. “It’s a pub in Manhattan. We’re going to have a drink there and walk the High Line afterward. Maybe get dinner if it goes well.” His stomach clenched at the thought, bringing a nervy laugh to his lips. “I’m sure it will.”
Dee’s expression relaxed. “Hmm.”
“He’s… We’re very good friends, Dee. I feel like it’s…” Well, he wasn’t going to say ‘destiny’ out loud, but he couldn’t help feeling some cosmic force had brought them together in cyberspace, and now they were going to make that connection out in the real world. “I feel like it’s meant to be.”
“I can see it means a lot to you,” Dee said cautiously. “I hope you’re not disappointed.”
Leo gave a nervy laugh. “I hope he’s not disappointed.”
“No danger of that. You’re cute as a button and—” A pause. “And if he’s got any sense, he’ll see beneath that prickly shell of yours.”
She wasn’t wrong. Leo could be prickly. But when you grew up too smart, too sensitive, and too gay for the tastes of most people, you learned to defend yourself. “Is it wrong,” he said, lowering his voice for the confession, “that I hope he’s hot?” He grimaced at his own hypocrisy. “I mean, obviously this is about a meeting of minds, but…”
“But you’d like it to be about a meeting of other things too?”
Flushing, he took a sip of his coffee. “Yeah.”
He hated the thought of meeting Camaro89 and feeling disappointed, but far worse was the idea of seeing disappointment in Camaro89’s face. What if there was just no spark?
Nervously, he toyed with his phone. God, maybe they should have exchanged photos already. Or maybe meeting itself was a mistake. One way or another, tonight would change everything.
Spiked by anxiety, he found himself typing: Excited/nervous about tonight. You?
The thing was, if they didn’t meet, their relationship couldn’t evolve. It would remain static—an intense, cerebral connection. But Leo wanted more than that, he always had. He wanted companionship and love, he wanted cozy evenings on the sofa and passionate nights in each other’s arms. He wanted a partner in life, a friend. A lover.
“You know,” Dee said, “if you’re after a boyfriend you could do worse than looking locally.”
He peered at her over his coffee. “In New Milton’s vibrant gay scene, you mean?”
Her turn to smile. “Alfie Carter’s handsome and—”
“Carter? God no. He hates me.”
“Alfie doesn’t hate anybody,” Dee protested. “He—”
“He thinks I’m—and I quote—‘an arrogant, prissy little prick’ who he wouldn’t fu— sleep with if I was—quote—‘the last gay man on earth.’”
Oh yes, Alfie Carter had been an absolute sweetheart at that excruciating Christmas party last year. Hitting on Leo with all the subtlety of a truck, and then getting resentful and pissy when Leo hadn’t been interested.
And he hadn’t been interested, despite Carter’s smoldering good looks—or maybe because of them. Truth was, Carter was exactly Leo’s type, and he reminded him way too much of his unlamented ex, Grayson Sands. Well, Leo was done with all that. He wanted more, and he’d found it in Camaro89. He and Carter were polar opposites. Like matter and antimatter, they were so different they probably couldn’t exist in the same room at the same time.
As if to prove the point a new message flashed up on his phone.
Camaro89: Definitely excited. Can’t wait to meet you at last.
His heart warmed just looking at the words, his misgivings evaporating. It would be fine. It would be wonderful, it would be everything he hoped for. Because it would be Camaro89.
“If you got to know Alfie,” Dee persisted, oblivious to Leo’s inner dialogue, “you might find he surprises you. Why don’t you come along to tomorrow’s meeting about the Christmas market? I could introduce you. You’ve got a lot in common, and Alfie—”
“No.” Absolutely the last thing he needed was Dee trying to set him up. Besides, he had a boyfriend—almost. Dee opened her mouth as the coffee shop door opened with a jingle of bells, but Leo cut her off before she could speak. “I mean, come on. Have you seen the sign outside his shop? Alfie’s Auto’s? With that horrible misuse of an apostrophe?”
Her eyebrows rose. “Leo—”
“No, Dee. I’m sorry but I require at a least basic level of literacy, even in a hookup.”
An odd, strained silence followed his words. The kind of silence that never meant anything good. Leo’s skin prickled along his neck, the side of his face glowing with the intense awareness of a pair of eyes on him. Jaw clenched against the inevitable, he turned his head to see Alfie Carter watching him from inside the door.
Shit.
Carter’s brows were drawn low over his dark eyes, smoldering with anger now rather than interest. And maybe something worse, something suggested by a flush visible beneath the stubble on his jaw, something like embarrassment. Leo winced and for a moment they just stood staring at one another. In the background, Bing had moved on to Silent Night as if to make a point.
Then Carter looked away, breaking the spell as he cast his eyes over the half-empty coffee shop. “Don’t worry,” he growled, “the feeling’s mutual. I require at least a basic level of civility, even in a hookup.”
That stung. Leo was civil. He was very civil! It wasn’t his fault that Carter had been standing there listening like some kind of vengeful Heathcliff at the window. “Eavesdroppers never hear any good of themselves,” he said, aware he may have sounded rather prim. Aware, too, that he could have just said sorry. That he should have, probably. And that maybe he would have, if Carter hadn’t been so damned provoking.
“I wasn’t eavesdropping,” Carter said, coming to stand at the counter next to him, dominating the space without trying. Damn, but the man had presence—tall, broad, and carrying with him the cold tang of a winter’s morning. A total lumberjack fantasy with that square, scruffy jaw, dark hair peeking out from under his watch cap, and long powerful limbs. Carter’s eyes slid to Leo’s and away again. “You should be careful, running your mouth about folks like that,” he drawled. “People are gonna start thinking you’re an asshole.”
“Well…Takes one to know one.” Leo grabbed his cup and headed for the door, wincing as his own words caught up with him.
Takes one to know one? Christ, a quip worthy of Oscar Wilde himself. Pulling open the door, he stepped out onto the sidewalk, the blast of frigid air a relief against his burning face.
He told himself he didn’t care what Alfie Carter thought about him. Or what anyone thought about him, for that matter. He had Camaro89, his soulmate. He slipped his free hand into his pocket, curled his fingers around his phone and held on, feeling his pounding heartbeat start to slow.
Yes, it was okay. Nothing mattered apart from tonight.
When he pushed open the door to his silent shop, breathing in the comforting scent of used books and wood polish, he took a moment to type out a quick message: There are too many assholes in the world. I’m so glad I met you.
The reply came a moment later.
Camaro89: I was just thinking the exact same thing. 🙂
Under the Felt Mistletoe by Nell Iris
Sunday arrives with clear skies and no rain, but instead, the temperature has dropped overnight and hovers in the low thirties. I arm myself with a thermos of coffee and dress accordingly: long johns under my orange bellbottom corduroy pants, a long-sleeved t-shirt and a turtleneck layered under my windbreaker, a fluffy scarf wound around my neck and a beanie that makes my hair look ridiculous. It flattens everything under the hat, but at the ribbed cuff, my curls explode in every direction with a vengeance.
A lot of people attend the first market of the season and despite the cold pluming my breath in front of me, everyone is in high spirits and full of holiday cheer. My neighbor to the right, Mrs. Winterbottom -- yes, that’s her real name -- is dressed as Mrs. Santa and sells magnificent hand-crafted fir wreaths. On my left, Mr. and Mrs. Carruthers sell gold-brushed chocolate pralines that are too pretty to eat and taste even better.
Every vendor plays holiday music, greets the shoppers with a jolly ho-ho-ho, and a comment on the weather. The shoppers, in turn, have deep pockets and are eager to acquire the merchandise. People love my ornaments, and my stuff flies off the table. I will be cleaned out completely before the market closes if this continues. I need to spend more time sewing so I can bring lots more next week.
After a couple hours, huge powdery snowflakes start sailing leisurely from the sky, adding to the holiday feeling. The only downer on this fabulous day is that I ran out of coffee early. Mrs. Winterbottom forgot hers at home, and I shared mine with her. I wouldn’t let my worst enemy go without coffee if I could do something about it.
Nelson. Carrying two paper cups in mittened hands.
Warmth flashes in my chest at the sight of him; his shy smile and brown eyes that are warm enough to thaw the thin layer of ice from the pond in the middle of the park where the market is held.
“Hi,” he says, sounding out of breath. “I know you like coffee, but I thought maybe hot chocolate would be nice in this cold?” He holds out of the cups and if we weren’t separated by the table I would show my gratitude by hugging the stuffing out of the man. New acquaintance or not.
“My hero!” I accept the offering, tear off the lid, and inhale. The sweet, slightly bitter aroma makes my mouth water. I take a small sip, but it isn’t too hot to drink so I have some more. I hum in happiness and smile at him. “This is awesome. Thank you so much.”
Nelson’s gaze is glued to my mouth with eyelids heavy and lips parted. “You’ve got ...” He sets down his cup and pulls off his red and white mittens, then he leans forward and swipes the pad of his thumb along my upper lip.
I draw a stuttering breath.
“You had chocolate on your lip,” he rasps, his voice so deliciously rumbly I feel it all the way in my bones. “There. All gone.” He does a final sweep before withdrawing.
I can’t help it; my hand flies to my mouth and I finger my lip as though I’m trying to stop the lingering warmth from evaporating.
“Thank you.” My voice is hoarse. Our eyes lock as he picks up the mittens and put them back on. My breathing grows shallow and the Christmas music cacophony and loud buzz of the market-goers fade into the background. All I see is him. All I hear is his breathing.
“Finn. I ...”
Slay Ride by Josh Lanyon
Chapter One
Maybe Tom Finney’s phone call was a blessing in disguise.
Robert was having an early dinner at the home of Sheriff’s Deputy Clinton Dooley’s widow. Dooley had been shot to death on Mill Creek Road six months earlier, and it was a god-awful Christmas for Mabel and the three little girls.
But then, with the war on and so many families missing loved ones, it was a god-awful Christmas for everyone. Joey, Robert’s kid brother, had been killed in the Pacific the previous spring. The Pacific was where Robert had nearly lost his right leg the January before that. There wasn’t a family in Bolt that hadn’t been touched by the war. In fact, there probably wasn’t a family in Montana or maybe the whole of the United States that hadn’t felt the brush of that icy finger.
Robert was doing his best to bring a little holiday cheer to the proceedings. Mabel was swell. He’d been to school with her, had even thought about asking her to marry him at one time. But somehow, he’d never gotten around to it, whereas Clint Dooley had. Now Dooley was dead, shot one night on a country back road by a nameless assailant, and Mabel was making a brave effort not to cry into the mashed potatoes.
When he was done failing to comfort the Dooley girls, Robert was supposed to head over to his mother’s house, where his kith and kin would make their own brave effort not to notice the empty place at the table.
So yes, in a funny way, Officer Finney’s phone call was a relief.
“Chief, I just got a call from Eugene Boswell, the assistant manager of the Safeway over on Harrison Avenue. He claims there’s some bird holed up at the Knight’s Arms, waving a roscoe around and squawking about bumping off his girlfriend.”
“Knight’s Arms. That’s the place on Main Street?” Robert asked. And then, suspiciously, “How would Eugene Boswell know what’s going on in the Knight’s Arms?” Finney had a fondness for practical jokes, and was known to celebrate the holidays, every holiday known to man—including some that hadn’t been thought of yet—with a nip or two.
But Finney sounded cold sober when he replied, “Boswell was over there having dinner at his mother-in-law’s apartment when a gal burst in, followed by this Harold Braun. Braun said he had three bullets, two for the dame and one for himself. While the women were trying to reason with him, Boswell scrammed across the street to the Scandia Bar and called us. He said Braun’s not fooling.”
“On my way. I’ll meet you in front of the Knight’s Arms.” Robert hung up and turned to find Mabel standing in the doorway holding his hat and coat. Her pretty face was pale. She was a tall, thin blonde with a spatter of golden freckles across an upturned nose. In the old days, she had always laughed a lot.
“Trouble?” she asked. She had been a lawman’s wife for nearly a decade.
Robert nodded. “Sounds that way. I’m sorry about dinner.”
Mabel brushed aside the mention of the meal on which she had used up so many of her ration coupons and worked so hard to prepare. “Be careful, Robert.”
“Sure,” Robert said easily. “I’m not the heroic type.”
“Not you,” Mabel agreed. “Not being heroic is how you got shot in the Philippines.”
“Everybody got shot, so that doesn’t count.” Robert shrugged into his coat, took his hat, and limped toward the front door. “Anyway, it was my leg that got shot, not my Philippines. My Philippines still work fine.”
Mabel laughed shakily. “If you can come back later, do. I’ll save you a slice of mince pie.”
“I can’t promise, but if I can, I will.”
She was still standing in the doorway, framed in cozy lamplight and hugging herself against the cold, when he climbed into his car and pulled away from the curb.
* * * * *
A handful of snowflakes drifted down as Robert parked behind the Scandia. He got his pistol out of the glove box and climbed out of the car. His leg ached in the damp winter air. But then, his leg always ached now.
Christmas lights strung across the windows of the bar cast watery blue and red and green smears on the black, shining street as he hurried across to where Finney and O’Hara were pacing in front of the brick apartment building. There was a third man with them, young, sandy and balding, plump as a pigeon, in a dark overcoat. That would be Boswell, the grocery store assistant manager, and Robert automatically wondered why he wasn’t in the army or some other branch of the service.
“Chief, we were just about to go in,” Finney said as Robert reached them. Finney was in his forties, short, wiry, hair prematurely white. He always reminded Robert of a smooth-haired fox terrier. Now he was almost quivering, like a dog tugging at a leash.
O’Hara was older than Finney. He was big—tall and broad—with a head of curly and startlingly dark hair. He hooked a thumb back at the trio of men hovering just out of earshot, and said, “The newshounds say they heard a shot right before we arrived.”
Newshounds? Robert swore inwardly. It had taken him less than five minutes from receiving Finney’s phone call to get over to Main Street, and he had been relieved to see there wasn’t much of a crowd gathered yet. But now that he took a closer look, he saw that the three men lurking a few feet away near scraggly shrubbery were not casual bystanders. One of them, a kid with a shock of white-blond hair, held a camera. Robert recognized the second man as Earl Arthur from the Montana Standard. And the third man… His heart jumped at the sight of that tall, lanky figure with the untidy chestnut hair.
Jamie.
He hadn’t seen Jamie—James Jameson—since Joey’s funeral, but he’d been on Robert’s mind the past few days. Ever since Officer Alf Davies had told him Jamie had traveled to Great Falls and tried yet again to enlist. With the same results as before. 4F. Weak lungs. There were worse things. A lot worse things, as Robert would have liked to remind him, but somehow he hadn’t gotten around to it, and now here was Jamie gazing back at him, eager and alert, hazel eyes shining like Santa had brought him a brand-new bicycle that very morning.
How old was he now? Twenty-one? Twenty-two? No. Twenty-three. Same age as Joey would have been. Why kid himself he didn’t know? Not like he would ever forget the year Jamie turned sixteen—and a stolen kiss at a birthday party.
Remembering that Jamie now worked for the Bolt Daily Banner, Robert groaned inwardly. He turned his back on Jamie and the other newshounds. Another snowflake drifted down and melted as it brushed his skin.
“He’s crazy,” Boswell was saying between chattering teeth. “He’s going to kill that woman. My wife’s still up there.”
Finney and O’Hara were only waiting for his word. Robert pulled his pistol from his belt. “How many people are in the apartment?”
“My wife, my mother-in-law, Mrs. Mileur, and her sister.”
“That’s four. Which apartment?”
“Top floor. First one on the left. I can show you.”
Robert nodded. “Good man.”
Finney sprang for the front door. The reporters moved to follow. Robert turned back to them. “Not a chance. You boys wait here.”
Jamie and the pup with the camera burst into protest. Arthur, older, harder, or just lazier, waved them on. Robert ignored them all, following his men and Boswell up the slick wooden steps and through a pair of tall white doors with oval panes of etched glass.
Inside, the building was warm and smelled of a dozen cooking Christmas dinners. Delicious and comfortable scents of roasting turkey and baking pies. The halls smelled the way the world used to smell before Herr Hitler came goose-stepping along.
Bing Crosby’s voice floated from beneath one closed door. “I’ll Be Home for Christmas.” But a few million people would not be home for Christmas. Would not be home ever.
Boswell rushed up the staircase, feet pounding, and Robert followed. His leg twinged in painful protest. Behind him, Finney and O’Hara made enough noise for a herd of elephants as they crashed after him up the carpeted steps.
As they reached the top floor, the sound of a woman sobbing reached their ears. All else was eerily silent.
“Anne!” gasped Boswell, starting forward.
“Wait.” Robert grabbed Boswell’s arm. “Stay here.” He went past the other man, moving quietly, cautiously down the hall. The line of doors stayed closed, all but the last. That one stood ajar, and through the opening he could hear voices. Women’s voices.
A floorboard squeaked beneath his foot. Robert paused. O’Hara breathed heavily down the back of his neck.
Robert’s heart was fast, but that was just adrenaline, readiness for action. He didn’t figure he’d ever feel real fear again. Not after Bataan.
He could feel Boswell’s anxious impatience from down the hall, but he wasn’t going to be rushed.
When no one charged out of the apartment at them, Robert reached the half open door and pushed it wide.
He could see his reflection—Finney and O’Hara hovering behind him—in a long mirror hanging over a white and green flowered sofa. A string of Christmas cards hung across a doorway leading into another room. A small Christmas tree sat on three-tiered table. Its silver star was crooked.
There were four women in the room. One woman slumped in a chair while two others worked over her bloodied form. A fourth woman in a red dress sat on the sofa, weeping into her hands. There was no sign of anyone else.
“Where is he?” demanded Robert, and the weeping woman looked up and screamed.
Boswell charged past Robert, nearly knocking him over in his haste. “Anne!”
“Oh, Gene!” The woman in the red dress threw herself in her husband’s arms. “Mrs. Mileur’s been shot. She was struggling with that maniac for the gun, and the gun went off. He shot her!”
“There, there, honey,” Boswell said, clasping her tight.
“You’re no doctor.” A white-haired woman, older than the others, stared at Robert.
“We’re the police.” It seemed pretty obvious to Robert, but maybe not to the woman. “I’m Chief Garrett.”
She demanded, “Then where’s the doctor?”
Robert opened his mouth.
“I’m all right.” The blood-stained woman, Mrs. Mileur, suddenly sat up, startling them all. “The bullet just nicked me.”
She was about forty, with brown hair and blue eyes. Blood soaked the white lacy collar of her navy-blue dress, but she seemed alert enough. She was holding a makeshift bandage to the side of her neck.
The second woman attending to her was younger than the rest of them, dark-haired, and very pretty. Her voice wobbled as she said, “The bullet grazed your throat, Alice. He nearly killed you.” She gulped. “And all because of me.”
“What do you mean because of you?” Robert asked. “Who are you?”
Her blue eyes were angry—and afraid. “I’m Jean McDuffy. Alice’s sister. I was…well, I used to go with Harry. Harold Braun. He was mad at me. That’s what all this was about.”
Finney said, “Why was he mad at you?”
“Because I wouldn’t take the dirty gifts he bought with his dirty blood money!”
“You’re not to blame for anything he did.” Alice Mileur glared at Finney as though he had suggested otherwise.
“Oh, Gene, I want to go home,” Mrs. Boswell sobbed.
“Sure, honey. Sure, we’ll go right away.”
“Nobody’s going anywhere,” Robert said. “There are questions that have to be answered.”
“This woman needs a doctor,” the white-haired lady informed him while at the same time Jean replied to her sister, “You warned me he was no good. I guess I thought I knew better—”
“Never mind all that now. Where’s Braun?” Robert had to raise his voice to be heard over the din of everyone talking at once. “Where did he go?”
The white-haired woman answered. “He ran downstairs. He must’ve thought he’d killed Mrs. Mileur.”
The injured woman said with reassuring vigor, “He meant to kill Jean, and no thanks to him, he didn’t. He lives in an apartment in the rear of the building, by the door to the cellar. I should have thrown him out weeks ago.”
“You’re the manager of this place?”
“Yes.”
“Does Braun live alone?”
“Yes. I’ll tell you now he’s a chicken thief and a hophead. Don’t trust him for a second.”
“It’s my fault,” Jean said again. “This is all my fault.”
“Be quiet, Jean. The only thing you’re to blame for is having lousy taste in men.”
“Nobody leaves this apartment. Boswell, lock the door after us.” Robert turned back to O’Hara and Finney. “Come on. Downstairs.”
A chicken thief and a hophead. Well, it could be worse. It nearly had been. A lot worse.
He pounded back down the staircase, Finney and O’Hara on his heels.
There was a good chance Braun had already fled the premises. In fact, if he had any brains, that’s exactly what he’d have done, but if he was hopped up on dope, all bets were off. He might be sitting there waiting quietly for them to arrest him. Or he might be planning to ambush them from around the next corner.
Cautiously, Robert and his men made their way down a narrow hall. No ambush materialized.
They passed the battered door to the cellar and lined up outside Braun’s rooms.
There was no sound from within.
Robert nodded at Finney. Finney pounded the door with his fist.
“Police! Open up!”
The door did not open. There was only silence.
Robert touched the round doorknob. The door swung silently open.
“Careful, boys,” Robert whispered.
Pistols at ready, the three men entered the apartment. The blinds were drawn and the room was in darkness.
“He’s gone,” Finney said. “He must have lit out.”
Robert felt through the gloom for a lamp.
“There’s another room here,” O’Hara’s voice floated through the blackout.
There was a squeak of hinges, the gloom wavered as a door opened, and too late Robert saw white muzzle flash and heard the blast of Braun’s revolver.
O’Hara cried out. The lamp flared on just as there was another flash and another loud bang. Robert glimpsed the nightmarish vision of Finney crashing into the wall, firing at the open bedroom door.
Robert didn’t remember turning the lamp out again, but the room fell back into blackness as he dived for the floor.
Braun was still shooting, and Robert returned his fire. He could hear Finney groaning and swearing, and for one crazy, confused moment he thought he was back on Luzon, under fire from the Japs. He had fallen badly on his leg, and it was throbbing like he’d been shot all over again, but that was the least of his problems.
Swift footsteps approached, someone running toward Braun’s apartment, and to Robert’s horror, a voice he would have known anywhere called, “Rob? Chief Garrett?”
So much for the comfortable notion he would never feel real fear again. Terror squeezed his heart, squeezed his lungs as he yelled, “Jamie, stay the hell out of here.”
He listened, ears straining.
Braun had stopped firing.
Had he managed to hit Braun in the dark? Robert didn’t think so. More likely, Braun was hoping to slip into the front room and pop him. He kept his gaze trained on the slit of faded light between the dark living room and the bedroom.
Jamie hovered outside the apartment doorway. Robert knew it, could feel it in his bones, but he didn’t dare call out again, didn’t dare draw Braun’s attention to Jamie. Finney was still groaning.
“O’Hara?” Robert tried.
There was no answer. Rather, that deadly stillness from the spot O’Hara had fallen was the answer.
“How bad are you hit, Tom?” Robert called.
Finney stopped moaning. He choked out, “The sonofabitch chicken thief got me in the right shoulder. And my left arm.”
“Did he get you, Rob?” Jamie asked from the other side of the front door frame. He sounded startlingly calm.
“No. I’m okay,” Robert said. “Stay out of here. Understand? Stay clear of the door. Stay back from the walls.”
“Got it.”
A gust of cold December air blew in from the bedroom, and Robert tasted snow. “Goddamn it,” he exclaimed. “He’s gone out the back.”
He scrambled up, levering himself on the small table with the lamp, knocking both over. The glass globe smashed on the wooden floor. Robert stayed close to the wall, moving quickly around the square of the room. Keeping to the side, he threw open the bedroom door.
In the wintry light he saw O’Hara sprawled and motionless. Crimson pooled beneath him, soaking the floorboards.
“Goddamn it,” Robert said.
Brown curtains bobbed lightly on the breeze blowing through the open window next to the bed. Aside from O’Hara, the room was empty. When he thrust his head out the window, the alley behind the building was empty too.
Robert swore again, bitterly, turned and ran past Finney, who was slumped and bloody against the wall. “Hold on, Tom.”
Finney didn’t answer.
There was no sign of Jamie in the hall. That showed reassuring good sense, and Robert was relieved as he limped hurriedly down the narrow passage and back to the front of the building.
Arthur from the Montana Standard was fairly dancing with excitement on the pavement in front of the house. “By God, what a story! What’s the name of this gunman?”
“Never mind that. Where’d he go?”
“Thataway.” Arthur pointed down the street, where a green sedan had all but disappeared into the now heavily falling snow. “There were two women in that car he grabbed.”
God almighty. It just kept getting worse and worse.
Robert looked around. A crowd had already gathered on the sidewalk behind them. Well, that was bound to happen, and maybe in this case it wasn’t such a bad thing. He scanned the ring of bystanders. “I need a doctor. I’ve got two men down in the apartment next to the cellar entrance and an injured woman upstairs.”
“The doctor just went up,” Arthur said.
Well, that was something anyway. Robert realized that the face he had been instinctively searching for was not among the growing crowd.
His heart sank still lower. He turned back to Arthur. “Where’s the kid?” he demanded.
“Who?”
“The red-haired kid. Works for the Bolt Daily Banner. He followed us inside. Where did he go?”
“Kid? You mean Jameson?” Arthur pointed down the street, now empty of all but snow flurries. “He and that damned cub who’s supposed to be my photographer took off after your bird.”
Annabelle Jacobs lives in the South West of England with three rowdy children, and two cats. An avid reader of fantasy herself for many years, Annabelle now spends her days writing her own stories. They're usually either fantasy or paranormal fiction, because she loves building worlds filled with magical creatures, and creating stories full of action and adventure. Her characters may have a tough time of it—fighting enemies and adversity—but they always find love in the end.
Sally Malcolm
Sally Malcolm was bitten by the male/male romance bug in 2016 and hasn’t looked back.
Perfect Day was her first published male/male romance, with the follow-up (Between the Lines) out later in 2018 and a dozen other ideas bubbling away on the back burner. Her stories are emotional, sweetly angsty, and always have happy endings.
Sally also writes tie-in novels for the hit TV shows Stargate: SG-1 and Stargate Atlantis. To date she’s penned nine novels and novellas, and four audio dramas.
She lives in South West London with her American husband, two lovely children, and two lazy cats.
Nell Iris is a romantic at heart who believes everyone deserves a happy ending. She’s a bona fide bookworm (learned to read long before she started school), wouldn’t dream of going anywhere without something to read (not even the ladies room), loves music (and singing along but let’s face it, she’s not Celine Dion), and is a real Star Trek nerd (Make it so). She loves words, poetry, wine, and Sudoku, and absolutely adores elephants!
Nell believes passionately in equality for all regardless of race, gender or sexuality, and wants to make the world a better, less hateful, place.
Nell is a 40-something bisexual Swedish woman, married to the love of her life, and a proud mama of a grown daughter. She left the Scandinavian cold and darkness for warmer and sunnier Malaysia a few years ago, where she spends her days writing, surfing the Internet, enjoying the heat, and eating good food. One day she decided to chase her life long dream of being a writer, sat down in front of her laptop, and wrote a story about two men falling in love.
Nell Iris writes gay romance, prefers sweet over angsty, and loves writing diverse and different characters.
As an avid reader and big romance fan myself, I love sharing the stories of the different people who live in my imagination. My stories are filled with humor, a few tears, and the underlying message to not give up hope, even in the darkest of times, because life can change on a dime when you least expect it. This theme comes from a lifetime of lessons learned on my own hard journey through the pains of poverty, the loss of more loved ones than I'd care to count, and the struggles of living through chronic illnesses. Life can be hard, but it can also be good! Through it all I've found that love, laughter, and family can make all the difference, and that's what I try to bring to every tale I tell.
I'm a happily married mom with one snarky teenage boy, and three grown "kids of my heart." I'm more widely known for my mpreg writings as Susi Hawke; this new name is a departure from that. Whether written by Susan or Susi, the books are filled with that all-important love, laughter, and family I mentioned; the only difference is that this name has no male pregnancy. I look forward to sharing my stories with you, and to bringing more romance and laughter into this world that needs it so very badly.
Bestselling author of over sixty titles of classic Male/Male fiction featuring twisty mystery, kickass adventure and unapologetic man-on-man romance, JOSH LANYON has been called "the Agatha Christie of gay mystery."
Her work has been translated into eleven languages. The FBI thriller Fair Game was the first male/male title to be published by Harlequin Mondadori, the largest romance publisher in Italy. Stranger on the Shore (Harper Collins Italia) was the first M/M title to be published in print. In 2016 Fatal Shadows placed #5 in Japan's annual Boy Love novel list (the first and only title by a foreign author to place on the list).
The Adrien English Series was awarded All Time Favorite Male Male Couple in the 2nd Annual contest held by the Goodreads M/M Group (which has over 22,000 members). Josh is an Eppie Award winner, a four-time Lambda Literary Award finalist for Gay Mystery, and the first ever recipient of the Goodreads Favorite M/M Author Lifetime Achievement award.
Annabelle Jacobs
EMAIL: ajacobsfiction@gmail.com
Sally Malcolm
Nell Iris
Susan Hawke
Old Acquaintance by Annabelle Jacobs
Love Around the Corner by Sally Malcolm
Under the Felt Mistletoe by Nell Iris
iTUNES / KOBO / GOODREADS TBR
How Not to Wait by Susan Hawke
Slay Ride by Josh Lanyon
AMAZON US / AMAZON UK / B&N
AUDIBLE / iTUNES AUDIO
KOBO / iTUNES / GOOGLE PLAY
SMASHWORDS / GOODREADS TBR
AUDIBLE / iTUNES AUDIO
KOBO / iTUNES / GOOGLE PLAY
SMASHWORDS / GOODREADS TBR
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