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Happy Grandparents Day! For Grandparents Day 2025, I chose the following 5 stories. Perhaps the grandparents only play a minor part, some may be a flashback or the reason the MC finds themselves facing the scenario before them, some might not always play a positive role, or 100 other possible roles. Whatever the reason grandparents were featured they made a lasting impact on the MC, the story, and possibly the reader. If you have any grandparent-centric stories to rec, please feel free to comment on this post or the social media post that lead you here.
On a little personal note: I was fortunate & blessed to have most of my grandparents & a few great grandparents in my life and my blog cover above is 3 of the 4 generation pics of me with said grandparents & great grandparents.
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The Alphas Santa-Kissed Omega by Lorelei M Hart
Summary:
Alpha Kissed #4
Nothing is simple when you’re dating a single father.
I told myself after my alpha passed away that I might not ever find another. I would raise my son Dane the best I knew how and, when, years later, our family and friends were still acting as if I should mourn forever, I decided to move from The Netherlands to start over in the United States. My little guy deserved a bright future where he wasn’t constantly being asked if he missed a dad he didn’t even remember.
I didn’t do it with the intent of finding another alpha. After all, most omegas were lucky to find one to fall in love with, and I’d had mine. But when I saw Link, I knew he was mine. My true mate.
The moment Gustav walked into the room, and I took in his scent, my heart knew he was mine and there would never be another for me. It was perfect. Except his son disliked me on sight. Now I have no idea how to move on with my mate when someone so important to him disapproves. But I’m not going to give up. I’ve found not only my omega, but my family, my future. One I hope we can all share.
The Alpha’s Santa-Kissed Omega is a MM, Mpreg, non-shifter holiday romance with a strong, kind alpha, an intelligent loving omega, an adorable little boy who isn’t sure about his new situation, and a baby on the way.
Original Review January 2025:
I want to take a second to thank the author for the Netherlands connection, my great grandfather came to America with his parents and siblings in 1910 and I really found the holiday traditions interesting. I also found Link trying to connect with Gustav's son, Dane, through the traditions a lovely little touch.
I won't say too much so as not to spoil anything. I know some don't like an insta-love romance, they don't find them believable but I can attest to the fact that they are very real as my grandparents were just that: insta-love that lasted 48 years until my grandfather passed. Of course when dealing with fated mates tropes, why wouldn't insta-love be involved? Long as the author writes it well it's one of my favorite tropes and Lorelei M Hart definitely writes it well.
When children are involved in the story it can be hard to do them justice, to get the balance right between sugary sweet and obnoxious brat. Dane is a well balanced little boy who is sweet as can be except when it comes to the new man in his daddy's life. The author does a wonderful job when it comes to that balance as well as both Gustav and Link's responses to his moments of defiance. You just want to wrap all three up in huge Mama Bear Hugs to let them know how well they are all handling everything and to let them know it's okay for time to be given to getting all the emotional pieces to fit.
This is only the second story in the author's Alpha Kissed series but I know it won't be my last, a true holiday gem.
The Heart as He Hears It by AM Arthur
Summary:Perspectives #3
Love can slip through the smallest crack in the door.
While most of his friends have moved on to “real” careers, Jon Buchanan is content skating through life as a part-time waiter and gay porn star. Firmly single thanks to a previous relationship disaster, he focuses his spare time on Henry, a dear friend dying of cancer. And with Henry’s happiness paramount, Jon is on a mission to help Henry meet his recently discovered grandson.
Isaac Gregory hasn’t set foot outside for the past year. He has everything he needs delivered, and his remaining family knows better than to visit. When a complete stranger shows up claiming to be his grandfather—with a distractingly handsome younger man in tow—his carefully structured routines are shaken.
Despite his instant attraction, Jon senses Isaac is too fragile for a relationship. Yet tentative friendship grows into genuine companionship. And when Henry’s health begins to fail, they realize Fate brought them together for a reason.
Note: This book was previously published by Samhain Publishing. No significant changes have been made. Please read with tissues handy.
As usual, when each new installment in a series concentrates on a new couple, I have a hesitancy to let the new pair into my heart because I am not ready to let the last one go yet. With AM Arthur's Perspectives series, I was dead set on knowing no one could possibly reach me as wholeheartedly as Tristan from book 2, The World as He Sees It, did. Boy was I wrong. Isaac Gregory may not have passed Tristan in my heart but he burrowed in right next to him. I am by nature a very shy person having grown up in the boonies and an only child, I tend to keep to myself as well but it does not compare even an iota to what Isaac deals with. When he lets Henry and Jon into his home, their lives are forever changed. With The Heart as He Hears It, the author shows us just how much one person can truly change our lives, how strangers become friends, lovers, and become home. Truly a great read filled to overflowing with heart, all the strength and weaknesses that come with letting someone in. I cannot recommend this series enough, you won't be disappointed.
Original Audiobook Review September 2020:
RATING:
It has been over four years since I read The Heart as He Hears It and it is as beautifully told today as it was then. Isaac is just, well I just want to protect him, tell him it's okay to be mindful of the outside world but at the same time make sure he knows he's strong enough to face what is out there. I can see parts of myself in Isaac and yet I am completely blown away by not even beginning to imagine what thoughts are rattling around inside his head. Don't think that last sentence is a negative judgement of Isaac, no it's more of a statement of how complex and yet completely relatable character he is.
As for Jon, well if I met him on the street and he behaved the way he is I'd think he's too good to be true, he's too considerate but lets face it, he has his flaws too which is why he and Isaac are so perfectly suited. Friendship plays such a huge part in this tale and for me that is what makes this entry in AM Arthur's Perspectives series so amazing, so real, so heartwarming.
This is my first audiobook with the narrator Guy Locke and he did an amazing job. I could feel Isaac's anxiety, I could see Jon's compassion, and not to be too clever I could hear their relationship unfold. Because his narration reached all my senses, it made AM Arthur's words that much more incredibly gripping.
9 Willow Street by Nell Iris
Summary:9 Willow Street #1
Heartbroken after the death of his beloved Nana, Hannes, the family outsider, finally allows himself to grieve. The legal battle over Nana’s quirky old house -- the only place he’s ever felt accepted and loved -- is over, and he moves in and finds a sense of peace.
... And a rabbit.
An adorable bunny with a huge personality moves in, too, and refuses to leave. Hannes instantly falls in love with the sweet animal who helps heal his heart. But one morning, Hannes’ view of the world changes when the rabbit transforms into a man. A man named Mattis.
After the initial shock, Hannes and Mattis discover a connection between them that runs deeper than it seems. Will their newfound feelings survive unraveling secrets and meddling families, and grow into something real? Something deep and everlasting?
... And a rabbit.
An adorable bunny with a huge personality moves in, too, and refuses to leave. Hannes instantly falls in love with the sweet animal who helps heal his heart. But one morning, Hannes’ view of the world changes when the rabbit transforms into a man. A man named Mattis.
After the initial shock, Hannes and Mattis discover a connection between them that runs deeper than it seems. Will their newfound feelings survive unraveling secrets and meddling families, and grow into something real? Something deep and everlasting?
Original Review July 2019:
This is one of those stories that just kind of sneaks up on you. I imagine in the publishing world just about every animal has been told in shifter stories but I can honestly say I have never read a rabbit shifter tale. 9 Willow Street is a fun, romantic, and sexy quick read. By "quick" I don't mean it lacks substance, because this newest Nell Iris novella may be shorter than most shifter tales it is certainly not lacking in story.
One thing I want to point out that I loved was that Hannes is missing his great grandmother, very rarely do we see characters that even mention having a "great"-grandmother let alone a loving relationship with one. I realize that not everyone has the opportunity to get to know there great grandparents, I was lucky enough to know one of mine, not just know her but to have a relationship with her. I just turned 20 when my Great Grandmother Alta passed away in 1993, she was just shy of her 92nd birthday and I have always felt blessed to have known her. So that element in itself in 9 Willow Street made this novella special and really spoke to me.
As for Hannes, you just want to wrap him up and give him a giant Mama Bear Hug and tell him everything is going to be okay and then in hops a little white rabbit with odd markings and you almost feel as if his great grandmother sent the little guy. I won't say too much more, but Mio is a special little rabbit, not your typical garden variety that likes to eat your flowers, he's a cuddler and is exactly what Hannes needs.
That's all I'm going to say about the story other than, as it is a novella, 9 Willow Street may be short on quantity but it is long on quality and well worth the read. You will want to smack a couple of people but mostly you just want to smile, laugh, and believe. When I think of paranormal shifter tales, high drama and even violence tends to come to mind but you won't find that here. Oh, there is drama but not really angsty. What you do find is true joy, true love, that will entertain from beginning to end.
This is one of those stories that just kind of sneaks up on you. I imagine in the publishing world just about every animal has been told in shifter stories but I can honestly say I have never read a rabbit shifter tale. 9 Willow Street is a fun, romantic, and sexy quick read. By "quick" I don't mean it lacks substance, because this newest Nell Iris novella may be shorter than most shifter tales it is certainly not lacking in story.
One thing I want to point out that I loved was that Hannes is missing his great grandmother, very rarely do we see characters that even mention having a "great"-grandmother let alone a loving relationship with one. I realize that not everyone has the opportunity to get to know there great grandparents, I was lucky enough to know one of mine, not just know her but to have a relationship with her. I just turned 20 when my Great Grandmother Alta passed away in 1993, she was just shy of her 92nd birthday and I have always felt blessed to have known her. So that element in itself in 9 Willow Street made this novella special and really spoke to me.
As for Hannes, you just want to wrap him up and give him a giant Mama Bear Hug and tell him everything is going to be okay and then in hops a little white rabbit with odd markings and you almost feel as if his great grandmother sent the little guy. I won't say too much more, but Mio is a special little rabbit, not your typical garden variety that likes to eat your flowers, he's a cuddler and is exactly what Hannes needs.
That's all I'm going to say about the story other than, as it is a novella, 9 Willow Street may be short on quantity but it is long on quality and well worth the read. You will want to smack a couple of people but mostly you just want to smile, laugh, and believe. When I think of paranormal shifter tales, high drama and even violence tends to come to mind but you won't find that here. Oh, there is drama but not really angsty. What you do find is true joy, true love, that will entertain from beginning to end.
Summary:
Cambridge Fellows Mystery #6
This time, one touch could destroy everything…
The suspected murder of the king's ex-mistress is Cambridge dons Orlando Coppersmith and Jonty Stewart's most prestigious case yet. And the most challenging, since clues are as hard to come by as the killer's possible motive.
At the hotel where the body was found, Orlando goes undercover as a professional dancing partner while Jonty checks in as a guest. It helps the investigation, but it also means limiting their communication to glances across the dance floor. It's sheer agony.
A series of anonymous letters warns the sleuths they'll be sorry if they don't drop the investigation. When another murder follows, Jonty is convinced their involvement might have caused the victim's death. Yet they can't stop, for this second killing brings to light a wealth of hidden secrets.
For Orlando, the letters pose a more personal threat. He worries that someone will blow his cover and discover their own deepest secret… The intimate relationship he enjoys with Jonty could not only get them thrown out of Cambridge, but arrested for indecency.
The suspected murder of the king's ex-mistress is Cambridge dons Orlando Coppersmith and Jonty Stewart's most prestigious case yet. And the most challenging, since clues are as hard to come by as the killer's possible motive.
At the hotel where the body was found, Orlando goes undercover as a professional dancing partner while Jonty checks in as a guest. It helps the investigation, but it also means limiting their communication to glances across the dance floor. It's sheer agony.
A series of anonymous letters warns the sleuths they'll be sorry if they don't drop the investigation. When another murder follows, Jonty is convinced their involvement might have caused the victim's death. Yet they can't stop, for this second killing brings to light a wealth of hidden secrets.
For Orlando, the letters pose a more personal threat. He worries that someone will blow his cover and discover their own deepest secret… The intimate relationship he enjoys with Jonty could not only get them thrown out of Cambridge, but arrested for indecency.
Original Review from September 2014:
As much as Orlando has grown since his fateful meeting of Jonty, he still keeps his innocence and it's still so endearing. When Jonty had to explain just what a "gigolo" was, I laughed so hard. As much as I love seeing Orlando and Jonty sleuthing together, it was a nice change to see Jonty doing a good share of his investigating with his father, Mr. Stewart. We get a brief introduction to Orlando's grandmother which foretells possible future detecting and maybe (hopefully not) tension between the two lovers. As for the mystery that they are asked in to investigate, it seems calmer than some of their previous cases but still keeps your interest. Another winner so I'm off to start number 7.
Summary:
Bake Sale Bachelors Season Three #5
An alpha no omega would want…
Jace has no desire to date; after all, what good is an alpha who can barely afford to take care of himself, let alone a mate? Maybe someday – when he gets his finances under control – he’ll find that special omega.
Despite his money troubles, Jace wants to give back to the hospital, but all he can do is supply something for the bake sale auction. In order to avoid an awkward cheap date with an omega, he agrees to make his popular maple sugar candy, but only under the condition that his friend bids for the item. Jace helps and doesn’t have to go on a date; problem solved. But he never expected someone to outbid his friend…
An omega who can do it alone…
Omega Ashton is thrilled to donate to the hospital that saved him and his daughter. When he sees the maple sugar candy – just like his grandmother used to make – he has to have it, luckily, money is no object; the only downside is the unwanted date that comes with it.
Ashton is so over alphaholes who date him for his money but also feel threatened by it. Worse than the ones who break his heart are the ones he trusts enough to introduce to his daughter, only to have them leave too. No more. Ashton is finished with dating.
Once on the date, however, Ashton and Jace can’t deny the chemistry between them. But will Jace’s insecurity over his financial situation be an all too familiar red flag for Ashton? Throw in some unexpected ice and a broken ankle and you have a recipe for a love story sweeter than candy.
Maple Sugar Mix-Up is an M/M mpreg romance in the Bake Sale Bachelors series. Each one can be read as a standalone. In this book you’ll find an alpha learning he’s worth more than what’s in his bank account, an omega doing his best as a single dad, and the surprise baby who brings them together. If you love books that are sweet with heat and full of characters who you’ll laugh and love with, get Maple Sugar Mix-Up today.
Original Review February 2024:
I'm still fairly new to the omegaverse so my experience is limited for comparisons but I've loved everything so far and Maple Sugar Mix-Up is no different. Perhaps a bit different as Kallie Frost is also a new-to-me author so in a way Maple is doubly fresh and exciting.
One thing that was completely new to me(and again limited experience here😉) was the role reversal of financial and status structure in this novella. Completely polar opposites of what one tends to think of when dealing with alpha/omega pairings. I can understand Ashton and Jace's hesitancies due to the whole station-in-life labeling. The emotions behind Ashton and Jace's scenario adds a lovely hint of realism to an already entertaining and delicious blend of fiction and fantasy.
Maple Sugar Mix-Up is a delightful novella that warms the heart, soothes your soul, and put a giggle or two on your face.
**Blogger Note: Unfortunately I only had time to read this entry but it lead me to place the entire season on my #TBRList.**
The Alphas Santa-Kissed Omega by Lorelei M Hart
Chapter One
Gustav Van Dijk
“Papa, I’m scared.”
The words made my heavy heart even more laden. I glanced in the rearview mirror to see my not-quite five-year old in his booster seat, looking out the window. His little cheeks were pale, and his eyelids fluttered, a sure sign he was about to cry. Dane, named after my omega who died giving birth to him, was not responding as well as I’d hoped to our move to the United States.
With the holidays coming soon, I’d decided to wait until January to enroll him in kindergarten, and my own schedule with my new company would be light until then. However, I did need to work online a few hours each afternoon and couldn’t do that easily with a fretful preschooler. Also, my son might adjust better if he made some friends. But I’d seen no other children playing near our rental house, so how?
We’d been strolling down Main Street the day before when we came upon a window covered in gift wrap and a big bow. Dane’s mood lifted and he bounced, asking, “Papa, is that a present?”
A chuckle preceded a pair of men emerging from the store, arms around one another’s waists. “It is indeed, little man,” said one of them. “A surprise present for the town, to be revealed next Saturday. I’m Liam by the way and this is my candy shop, Sugar.” He shook my hand then waved toward the other man. “And this is Edison, my mate.”
“Nice to meet you both,” I replied. “I am Gustav, Gus for short, and this is my son, Dane. So a surprise, huh?”
“We like to do a special window for each holiday, make it really special.”
The other man, Edison, rolled his eyes. “My mate has a flair for the dramatic, but he does run the very best candy store in town.”
“Edison!” protested Liam. “It’s the only candy store in town.”
His mate poked him in the ribs. “It’s the best in the country, but you already know that, and I refuse to contribute to your ego.” A twinkle in his eye offset his words. “Would it be all right to give your son a little something from the store?”
Dane’s smile stretched his chubby cheeks. Since it was the first sign of his happy self I’d seen in weeks, I nodded. “I guess so, if he promises to eat all his broccoli at dinner.”
“Papa, I love the little trees,” Dane protested. “Maybe you should make me eat lima beans instead.” He squinted his eyes and stuck out his tongue. “They’re yucky.”
Liam reached behind him into the store. “I think your son is quite the honest fellow.” He drew out a Santa Claus sucker, dark chocolate with a red suit and white beard. “Here you go!”
“It’s like Sinterklaas.” Dane closed his little fist around the stick and beamed at his new friend. “Thank you, candy-store man.”
“That’s Mr. Liam,” I chided softly.
“Thank you, Mr. Liam,” he echoed. “I promise to eat my broccoli—even if it’s lima beans.”
“You’re welcome,” the man said. “Now, I don’t offer this often, but would you like just the teensiest peek at our window?”
“Or even a bigger one!” Dane thrust out his chest.
Edison tilted his head. “I don’t know, Liam. Do you think he can keep a secret?”
“I can, I can!” my son shouted. “I never even told Daddy I broke his cup.”
A brief silence stretched before the two men burst into laughter.
“Dane!” I chided. “We’ll have to talk about that later. But I think you’ve made your point.
“Okay, little man.” Liam led him into the store and stopped right inside. He tugged back a red velvet curtain and let Dane duck his head under for a few seconds before saying, “Okay, that’s it.”
Dane backed out and straightened, his cheeks flushed, mouth in an O. “I won’t tell anybody! Not even my papa.”
I opened my mouth to speak, but Liam beat me to it. “I think we all agree you shouldn’t have secrets from your papa, so you can tell him, but only in very private, okay? We don’t want to spoil the surprise.”
Dane’s head bobbed. “Okay, Mr. Liam. And thank you for the candy and the secret.”
“Do I detect an accent?” Liam asked. “You aren’t from Holland, are you?” Although nearly everyone learned English in school back home, we by no means sounded like we were born in the USA.
“Exactly right. We just arrived last week.”
“Staying long?”
I flicked a glance at my son, who was busy ripping the plastic off his Santa sucker. “Permanently, if all goes well. I accepted a job here.”
“What do you do?”
“Computer coding.”
“Wow. And why did you choose to come here? I’m sure with your skills you can work almost anywhere.”
I hesitated, and he blushed. “What an ass. It’s none of my business.”
“No, it’s fine.” I didn’t mind answering. Dane had failed at plastic removal, and Edison was now assisting, so I took a step away and the other alpha followed. I lowered my voice. “I was widowed a couple of years ago, and I wanted a change of scenery. Dane barely remembers his other dad, but everywhere we went, people brought him up and it wasn’t good for either of us. So...when this opportunity came along, I decided to give it a shot.”
“Have any friends here in town?” he asked, without the sympathetic tone I’d learned to hate.
“No, not yet.”
“You do now.” He gave me a pat on the arm. “Come by and visit anytime.”
“That means a lot.”
“That’s okay. We have a family ourselves, three and growing. We’ll have to do a playdate.”
“That would be wonderful. Hey, since you are also a dad...do you know of a good babysitter? I need someone for a few hours in the afternoons.”
“Better than that.” He called to his omega, “Edison, do you have any openings at My Brother, My Sister for the afternoon program?”
He did. And Dane had been wildly excited for the past two days, but nerves had gotten hold of him once he was actually on the way.
I braced myself for what was to come.
The Heart as He Hears It by AM Arthur
Jon studied Isaac, his gaze taking in…something. “May I ask you something?”
“Of course.” His chest flushed with anticipation.
“How do you feel when you’re with me?”
Isaac tried to push aside the anxiety still attempting to blur his thoughts, an old friend that wanted to be part of the conversation. Only anxiety wasn’t allowed in, not this time. He shuffled through different words, emotions and adjectives, searching for the one that best described how he felt about Jon. How Jon made him feel, despite being a near-stranger, bigger, stronger and far more experienced in pretty much everything. Jon still made him feel… “Safe,” Isaac said.
Jon’s eyebrows crept up. The corners of his mouth quirked into something not quite a smile. “Really?”
“Yes. The first time I saw you on my security feed, I noticed how beautiful you were.” His cheeks warmed.
Jon flat out grinned. “Yeah?”
“You’re kind and patient, and I feel safe because you don’t try to fix me, and you don’t act like I’m broken. My family thinks I’m broken, and I don’t want them to fix me. I just…” Something in Isaac shifted, accepting this new truth. “I need to feel safe, Jon. That’s why I hide. But you make me not want to hide.”
Jon’s eyes glittered. His expression melted into something so warm, so sweet, that it burned in Isaac’s blood in a way he didn’t understand at all. The strange sensation urged him to reach out, to initiate contact of some kind. Deep-rooted fear kept Isaac still, unable to make that first move. Unable to do anything except soak in the wonderment on Jon’s face.
“I think that’s the greatest compliment I’ve ever gotten,” Jon said. His voice was hoarse, strange. Almost difficult to hear, so Isaac paid more attention to his lips. “Is it cheesy to say your strength makes me want to be better too?”
Isaac shook his head. “I’m not strong.”
“You’re stronger than you think. You proved that by letting me and Henry in two weeks ago. You proved it again by going out to rescue a kitten. Twice, by the way. You told me you want to get better, get into the world, and that takes a ton of courage when you’ve lost as much as you have. I know it won’t be easy, but I still want to help you do that.”
“I know you do. I want that too.”
Isaac needed to prove to Jon how much he wanted it. He couldn’t do it with words. Words only went so far when making promises. Actions spoke much more loudly. Swallowing hard against a storm of butterflies, Isaac turned his left hand palm up and slid it to the center of the table, knuckles skidding on the cool wood.
Jon’s gaze traveled from Isaac’s eyes, down his arm, stopping at his hand. His outstretched hand. Jon placed his right hand flat to the table and pushed it forward, a centimeter at a time. Timid. Tentative. Oh so careful. He stopped with his middle finger a bare inch from Isaac’s. Neither of them spoke. For an instant, Isaac forgot to breathe.
And then Jon covered Isaac’s palm with his, warm and strong, so much like their handshake from the previous week. A sure grip that sent a jolt up Isaac’s arm, then right down his spine to his d**k and balls—a reaction that terrified him as much as it made something deep inside of him sing. An acknowledgment of feelings he couldn’t yet voice.
He was holding Jon’s hand, and he liked it very, very much.
Jon’s fingers drifted higher, the tips lightly stroking the inside of Isaac’s wrist in a gentle, soothing rhythm.
Isaac closed his eyes, basking in the simplicity of something so rare as human touch. Human touch that he’d initiated for the simple reason that, in his very core, he’d missed it. Early hugs from his mother. Back slaps from Pappou. Brief, one-armed embraces from Yia Yia. Wrestling with his cousins when they were children.
Jon’s hand in his made his body hum with joy as much as it made him want to cry. Isaac had made a connection. An actual, real connection with another human being unlike anything he’d had with his family. This ran deeper, past his fear and his walls and into his soul. This was something he could trust.
Pressure and heat around his hand increased, the squeeze subtle, but Isaac’s eyelids flew up. Jon was smiling at him, perfect teeth flashing white, his eyes dancing with beautiful things.
Isaac reached his other hand out, and Jon caught it in a sure grip—a lifeline that would never let go. “I don’t understand this,” Isaac said.
Jon drew their locked hands together in the center of the table, all four in one tangle. “This is what attraction is, Isaac. This thing you’re feeling. You don’t have to act on it, but does it feel good? Safe?”
“Yes.” It felt unlike anything Isaac had experienced. Was that it? He was attracted to Jon, so all of the good things like trust and friendship came along with it? Perhaps so. “I do feel safe. And good.”
“I’m glad.” Jon’s gaze flickered lower, toward Isaac’s chin. No. Mouth. “You have no idea how much I want to k—hug you right now.”
Isaac’s gut burned in a totally new, unexpected way. A good way. The last hug he’d allowed had been on the day of Yia Yia’s funeral, from his cousin Grace. Afterward he began side-stepping hugs, and the family stopped offering them. “I haven’t been hugged in a really long time.”
“I kind of guessed.” Jon’s smile went soft, almost shy. “Is that okay? Are you doing okay?”
“I’m fine.” He actually was fine.
“May I hug you, Isaac?”
Instead of allowing the question to throw his insides into knots, Isaac calmly examined it. He liked touching Jon, and he liked it when Jon touched him. A hug was something offered between friends and family, and they were definitely friends. And he trusted Jon enough to know that if Isaac asked him to, he’d let go.
“Yes,” Isaac said. “I’d like to try that.”
Jon’s smile was wide and beautiful, joy going all the way to his eyes. “Okay.”
Somehow they both stood without letting go of each other’s hands—except they were kind of holding each other by the wrist now, a firmer, more powerful grip. Jon came around to his side of the table, slowly obliterating the space between them. Isaac’s shoulders tightened and his back tensed, an instinctive reaction to proximity that he couldn’t stop. Jon noticed and froze with less than a foot of air separating them.
“Is this okay?” Jon asked.
Isaac rolled his shoulders, forcing himself to relax. “Yes. Sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it. If it gets to be too much, tell me, all right?”
“I will.”
“Good.”
Isaac concentrated on their hands, warmed by this new, intoxicating connection to another human being. It made Isaac want more than his closed-off life in this house. Jon shuffled closer, the spice of his cologne and the heat of his body living things that wrapped themselves around Isaac.
Their eyes stayed locked, Jon’s flickering with both intent and trepidation. Isaac had no idea what his eyes said to Jon. Yes, please, it’s okay, I’m fine, he hoped. Slowly Jon let go of his hands, leaving Isaac’s skin cold where they’d touched—until one landed on his shoulder, while the other rested gently on his hip.
“Still okay?” Jon asked.
Isaac’s heart flipped, overjoyed at how patient and careful Jon was being with him. “Yes.”
Jon’s hands slid toward his back, one down over the shoulder, the other up past his waist. He leaned in, his chest pressing gently against Isaac’s, an unfamiliar but very welcome weight, until Isaac was enveloped in a one-sided embrace. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, enjoying the scents of cologne, sweat and something earthier beneath it—the unique scent of Jon. He relaxed into the sensation of heat and pressure everywhere Jon touched him.
The angle of the embrace left Isaac’s arms free. He wanted to hug Jon back, but hugs were bigger than holding hands. He worked against the stiffness that had overtaken his limbs, forcing his right arm to move to Jon’s waist, fingers brushing cotton and the shape of a belt. He got his left arm working too, and rested his palm lightly on Jon’s shoulder. As much as he wanted to mimic Jon’s posture, he couldn’t make his hands stray from those points.
His heart thundered in his chest and blood pulsed in his temples. Everything about this felt right, like everything he’d been missing for a very long time. A part of a puzzle he’d been too scared to acknowledge was unfinished. He unknotted himself enough to rest his chin on Jon’s shoulder, putting Jon’s ear close to his mouth. Jon hugged him a little bit tighter and leaned his head against Isaac’s—another contact point.
He wanted to ask Jon what he was thinking, what he was feeling, but Isaac couldn’t find the words. All he had were unexpected and joyous emotions, and speaking might ruin it all. Except he had to say one thing. One thing to show Jon how important this was.
“Thank you,” Isaac whispered.
More than hearing the words, he felt them rumbling through his chest as Jon answered, “You are so welcome.”
“Of course.” His chest flushed with anticipation.
“How do you feel when you’re with me?”
Isaac tried to push aside the anxiety still attempting to blur his thoughts, an old friend that wanted to be part of the conversation. Only anxiety wasn’t allowed in, not this time. He shuffled through different words, emotions and adjectives, searching for the one that best described how he felt about Jon. How Jon made him feel, despite being a near-stranger, bigger, stronger and far more experienced in pretty much everything. Jon still made him feel… “Safe,” Isaac said.
Jon’s eyebrows crept up. The corners of his mouth quirked into something not quite a smile. “Really?”
“Yes. The first time I saw you on my security feed, I noticed how beautiful you were.” His cheeks warmed.
Jon flat out grinned. “Yeah?”
“You’re kind and patient, and I feel safe because you don’t try to fix me, and you don’t act like I’m broken. My family thinks I’m broken, and I don’t want them to fix me. I just…” Something in Isaac shifted, accepting this new truth. “I need to feel safe, Jon. That’s why I hide. But you make me not want to hide.”
Jon’s eyes glittered. His expression melted into something so warm, so sweet, that it burned in Isaac’s blood in a way he didn’t understand at all. The strange sensation urged him to reach out, to initiate contact of some kind. Deep-rooted fear kept Isaac still, unable to make that first move. Unable to do anything except soak in the wonderment on Jon’s face.
“I think that’s the greatest compliment I’ve ever gotten,” Jon said. His voice was hoarse, strange. Almost difficult to hear, so Isaac paid more attention to his lips. “Is it cheesy to say your strength makes me want to be better too?”
Isaac shook his head. “I’m not strong.”
“You’re stronger than you think. You proved that by letting me and Henry in two weeks ago. You proved it again by going out to rescue a kitten. Twice, by the way. You told me you want to get better, get into the world, and that takes a ton of courage when you’ve lost as much as you have. I know it won’t be easy, but I still want to help you do that.”
“I know you do. I want that too.”
Isaac needed to prove to Jon how much he wanted it. He couldn’t do it with words. Words only went so far when making promises. Actions spoke much more loudly. Swallowing hard against a storm of butterflies, Isaac turned his left hand palm up and slid it to the center of the table, knuckles skidding on the cool wood.
Jon’s gaze traveled from Isaac’s eyes, down his arm, stopping at his hand. His outstretched hand. Jon placed his right hand flat to the table and pushed it forward, a centimeter at a time. Timid. Tentative. Oh so careful. He stopped with his middle finger a bare inch from Isaac’s. Neither of them spoke. For an instant, Isaac forgot to breathe.
And then Jon covered Isaac’s palm with his, warm and strong, so much like their handshake from the previous week. A sure grip that sent a jolt up Isaac’s arm, then right down his spine to his d**k and balls—a reaction that terrified him as much as it made something deep inside of him sing. An acknowledgment of feelings he couldn’t yet voice.
He was holding Jon’s hand, and he liked it very, very much.
Jon’s fingers drifted higher, the tips lightly stroking the inside of Isaac’s wrist in a gentle, soothing rhythm.
Isaac closed his eyes, basking in the simplicity of something so rare as human touch. Human touch that he’d initiated for the simple reason that, in his very core, he’d missed it. Early hugs from his mother. Back slaps from Pappou. Brief, one-armed embraces from Yia Yia. Wrestling with his cousins when they were children.
Jon’s hand in his made his body hum with joy as much as it made him want to cry. Isaac had made a connection. An actual, real connection with another human being unlike anything he’d had with his family. This ran deeper, past his fear and his walls and into his soul. This was something he could trust.
Pressure and heat around his hand increased, the squeeze subtle, but Isaac’s eyelids flew up. Jon was smiling at him, perfect teeth flashing white, his eyes dancing with beautiful things.
Isaac reached his other hand out, and Jon caught it in a sure grip—a lifeline that would never let go. “I don’t understand this,” Isaac said.
Jon drew their locked hands together in the center of the table, all four in one tangle. “This is what attraction is, Isaac. This thing you’re feeling. You don’t have to act on it, but does it feel good? Safe?”
“Yes.” It felt unlike anything Isaac had experienced. Was that it? He was attracted to Jon, so all of the good things like trust and friendship came along with it? Perhaps so. “I do feel safe. And good.”
“I’m glad.” Jon’s gaze flickered lower, toward Isaac’s chin. No. Mouth. “You have no idea how much I want to k—hug you right now.”
Isaac’s gut burned in a totally new, unexpected way. A good way. The last hug he’d allowed had been on the day of Yia Yia’s funeral, from his cousin Grace. Afterward he began side-stepping hugs, and the family stopped offering them. “I haven’t been hugged in a really long time.”
“I kind of guessed.” Jon’s smile went soft, almost shy. “Is that okay? Are you doing okay?”
“I’m fine.” He actually was fine.
“May I hug you, Isaac?”
Instead of allowing the question to throw his insides into knots, Isaac calmly examined it. He liked touching Jon, and he liked it when Jon touched him. A hug was something offered between friends and family, and they were definitely friends. And he trusted Jon enough to know that if Isaac asked him to, he’d let go.
“Yes,” Isaac said. “I’d like to try that.”
Jon’s smile was wide and beautiful, joy going all the way to his eyes. “Okay.”
Somehow they both stood without letting go of each other’s hands—except they were kind of holding each other by the wrist now, a firmer, more powerful grip. Jon came around to his side of the table, slowly obliterating the space between them. Isaac’s shoulders tightened and his back tensed, an instinctive reaction to proximity that he couldn’t stop. Jon noticed and froze with less than a foot of air separating them.
“Is this okay?” Jon asked.
Isaac rolled his shoulders, forcing himself to relax. “Yes. Sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it. If it gets to be too much, tell me, all right?”
“I will.”
“Good.”
Isaac concentrated on their hands, warmed by this new, intoxicating connection to another human being. It made Isaac want more than his closed-off life in this house. Jon shuffled closer, the spice of his cologne and the heat of his body living things that wrapped themselves around Isaac.
Their eyes stayed locked, Jon’s flickering with both intent and trepidation. Isaac had no idea what his eyes said to Jon. Yes, please, it’s okay, I’m fine, he hoped. Slowly Jon let go of his hands, leaving Isaac’s skin cold where they’d touched—until one landed on his shoulder, while the other rested gently on his hip.
“Still okay?” Jon asked.
Isaac’s heart flipped, overjoyed at how patient and careful Jon was being with him. “Yes.”
Jon’s hands slid toward his back, one down over the shoulder, the other up past his waist. He leaned in, his chest pressing gently against Isaac’s, an unfamiliar but very welcome weight, until Isaac was enveloped in a one-sided embrace. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, enjoying the scents of cologne, sweat and something earthier beneath it—the unique scent of Jon. He relaxed into the sensation of heat and pressure everywhere Jon touched him.
The angle of the embrace left Isaac’s arms free. He wanted to hug Jon back, but hugs were bigger than holding hands. He worked against the stiffness that had overtaken his limbs, forcing his right arm to move to Jon’s waist, fingers brushing cotton and the shape of a belt. He got his left arm working too, and rested his palm lightly on Jon’s shoulder. As much as he wanted to mimic Jon’s posture, he couldn’t make his hands stray from those points.
His heart thundered in his chest and blood pulsed in his temples. Everything about this felt right, like everything he’d been missing for a very long time. A part of a puzzle he’d been too scared to acknowledge was unfinished. He unknotted himself enough to rest his chin on Jon’s shoulder, putting Jon’s ear close to his mouth. Jon hugged him a little bit tighter and leaned his head against Isaac’s—another contact point.
He wanted to ask Jon what he was thinking, what he was feeling, but Isaac couldn’t find the words. All he had were unexpected and joyous emotions, and speaking might ruin it all. Except he had to say one thing. One thing to show Jon how important this was.
“Thank you,” Isaac whispered.
More than hearing the words, he felt them rumbling through his chest as Jon answered, “You are so welcome.”
9 Willow Street by Nell Iris
Next morning, I wake up early. It’s still dark outside, and I’m not sure what woke me up -- a quick glance at the ancient mechanical clock radio on the bedside table tells me it’s almost two hours until my alarm will go off, so I close my eyes again, willing myself to go back to sleep.
My eyelids are heavy, and I melt into the mattress as my mind drifts. I must already be dreaming because I can smell coffee; strong and bitter and fruity, and it’s making my mouth water. The scent grows more intense and I hum. I’ve never had a dream this life-like before.
My eyes flutter open and I rub a palm over my face, but the coffee aroma doesn’t disappear even though I’m clearly awake. Knitting my eyebrows together, I turn on the light.
And there, on the bedside table, stands my favorite cup -- the one Nana hand-painted with my name and wood anemones, my favorite flower -- full of hot, steaming coffee.
“What the ...?” I push myself up to seated and stare at the thing as though it’s a huge disgusting cockroach.
... and from the corner of my eye, I notice someone sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall under the window.
I gasp, scrambling backward until I almost fall off the bed. When my feet hit the floor, I put as much distance between me and the stranger as I can. My legs wobble and my hands tingle as I press my back against the wardrobe door.
“Who are you? How did you get in here?” I say, voice breathy and hesitant. I wouldn’t scare a mouse in my state. My gaze flits between the intruder and the door.
Can I make a run for it?
My heart is galloping in my chest, and I shake my head, trying to clear it and make sure I’m properly awake, but he’s still there. He’s real, not a figment of my imagination.
As I look closer at the man, who’s not saying anything, just sits there as though he’s trying to be as unthreatening as possible, I realize he’s vaguely familiar.
I definitely recognize the Bob Dylan T-shirt he’s wearing. “Are you wearing my clothes?”
He nods, making his huge white-blond curls bounce around his head. The tip of his nose twitches and his forget-me-not colored eyes are big and guarded.
It’s the eyes that does it.
“Wait! You’re that guy. The one the Nymans were here looking for.” I bite my lip as I search my brain for the name of the missing man. “Mattis?”
“Yes.”
I jump when he speaks, making my head slam against the wardrobe, and I wince.
“Don’t be afraid, I won’t hurt you, I promise.”
I scowl at him, inching myself closer to the door, hoping he won’t try and stop me when I get close enough to bolt.
Why, oh why, did I make that stupid rule for myself to never bring my phone to bed? If I’d had it, I could’ve hidden in the closet and called 911.
“I made you coffee, Hannes. Please don’t run, I need to talk to you.”
“How do you know my name?” My voice is nowhere near as demanding as I want it to be. Instead, it sounds more like a plea and cracks.
Slowly, he rises to his feet in one fluid motion, keeping his gaze on me and his voice soft. “I know many things about you.”
“How?” I’m pretty close to the door now. Just a few steps and I’ll be out.
“Please don’t run. Sit, drink your coffee, and I’ll tell you.”
I shake my head. “Why should I? How do I know you’re not here to kill me or something?”
He cocks his head and his nose twitches faster. “’Don’t be afraid. I know I probably look big and scary to someone as small as you, but I promise I’m nice. I won’t hurt you.’”
I freeze as he quotes my own words back to me, the ones I said to Mio that day I found him in the kitchen. “How?” I whisper.
My eyelids are heavy, and I melt into the mattress as my mind drifts. I must already be dreaming because I can smell coffee; strong and bitter and fruity, and it’s making my mouth water. The scent grows more intense and I hum. I’ve never had a dream this life-like before.
My eyes flutter open and I rub a palm over my face, but the coffee aroma doesn’t disappear even though I’m clearly awake. Knitting my eyebrows together, I turn on the light.
And there, on the bedside table, stands my favorite cup -- the one Nana hand-painted with my name and wood anemones, my favorite flower -- full of hot, steaming coffee.
“What the ...?” I push myself up to seated and stare at the thing as though it’s a huge disgusting cockroach.
... and from the corner of my eye, I notice someone sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall under the window.
I gasp, scrambling backward until I almost fall off the bed. When my feet hit the floor, I put as much distance between me and the stranger as I can. My legs wobble and my hands tingle as I press my back against the wardrobe door.
“Who are you? How did you get in here?” I say, voice breathy and hesitant. I wouldn’t scare a mouse in my state. My gaze flits between the intruder and the door.
Can I make a run for it?
My heart is galloping in my chest, and I shake my head, trying to clear it and make sure I’m properly awake, but he’s still there. He’s real, not a figment of my imagination.
As I look closer at the man, who’s not saying anything, just sits there as though he’s trying to be as unthreatening as possible, I realize he’s vaguely familiar.
I definitely recognize the Bob Dylan T-shirt he’s wearing. “Are you wearing my clothes?”
He nods, making his huge white-blond curls bounce around his head. The tip of his nose twitches and his forget-me-not colored eyes are big and guarded.
It’s the eyes that does it.
“Wait! You’re that guy. The one the Nymans were here looking for.” I bite my lip as I search my brain for the name of the missing man. “Mattis?”
“Yes.”
I jump when he speaks, making my head slam against the wardrobe, and I wince.
“Don’t be afraid, I won’t hurt you, I promise.”
I scowl at him, inching myself closer to the door, hoping he won’t try and stop me when I get close enough to bolt.
Why, oh why, did I make that stupid rule for myself to never bring my phone to bed? If I’d had it, I could’ve hidden in the closet and called 911.
“I made you coffee, Hannes. Please don’t run, I need to talk to you.”
“How do you know my name?” My voice is nowhere near as demanding as I want it to be. Instead, it sounds more like a plea and cracks.
Slowly, he rises to his feet in one fluid motion, keeping his gaze on me and his voice soft. “I know many things about you.”
“How?” I’m pretty close to the door now. Just a few steps and I’ll be out.
“Please don’t run. Sit, drink your coffee, and I’ll tell you.”
I shake my head. “Why should I? How do I know you’re not here to kill me or something?”
He cocks his head and his nose twitches faster. “’Don’t be afraid. I know I probably look big and scary to someone as small as you, but I promise I’m nice. I won’t hurt you.’”
I freeze as he quotes my own words back to me, the ones I said to Mio that day I found him in the kitchen. “How?” I whisper.
Lessons in Seduction by Charlie Cochrane
Dr. Coppersmith and Dr. Stewart felt nervous, as anyone in their situation would, standing outside the hallowed sanctum of the Master of St. Bride’s like a pair of naughty schoolboys summoned to see the headmaster over fighting in the dorm. It felt like the end of the world. Their future at the college, or at least the immediate part of it, was at present being discussed in Dr. Peters’ study the other side of the heavy oak door. No matter how hard Orlando stared at the thing, willing it to yield its secrets, it was keeping them in ignorance.
“Now I know how young Ingleby felt when he was summoned here for playing his ukulele too loudly. I’m scared enough—he must have been petrified.” Jonty grinned, but he was obviously nervous and not at all his usual witty, confident self.
“This is a serious business, Dr. Stewart. I just wish they would reach a decision more quickly. How long can it take to work out whether we’re leaving the college?”
“Perhaps the longer they take, the better, assuming…” Jonty didn’t have the chance to finish his sentence, as the door swung open, making Orlando jump and produce what Jonty always alleged afterwards was a squeal.
“Gentlemen, come in.” Dr. Peters beamed, beckoning them into the room. Tall, handsome and rather austere, when he smiled his appearance changed from medieval abbot to chevalier. “Chief Inspector Wilson has persuaded me that he needs you much more than your university will these next few months. You’re both to be granted a sabbatical.” He indicated two august figures behind him. “And these gentlemen have reluctantly agreed, given the special circumstances of this case, to allow it. Mr. Wilson can be very persuasive.”
Anxiety turned to smiles, they shook hands all round and a decanter of sherry appeared almost from thin air.
“Are we to be told exactly what’s going on?” Jonty could barely stop the glass shaking in his hand, from what Orlando hoped was excitement, not fear. Whichever it was, this was clearly going to be a two sherries, at least, conversation. “All we know is that Chief Inspector Wilson requires our services but we don’t know how long or what for.”
“As much time as is required.” The dean, Dr. Peters’ second-in-command, spoke through clenched teeth. No one would have been pleased at being deprived of two such shining stars.
“I have negotiated a little something with the relevant parties to oil the wheels.” Chief Inspector Wilson resembled neither abbot nor chevalier. He looked like a headmaster with an enormous intellect and radical views, and he carefully avoided the use of the words “bribe” or “douceur”. Whatever had been employed, it had at least stopped the bursar vetoing things. He was clutching his sherry in a happy financial haze.
“Gentlemen, I refuse to agree to anything until I know who these parties are and what they expect of us.” Orlando’s commanding streak, which only appeared in moments of great importance—or high passion—asserted itself.
“A lady has been found dead, in a fashionable hotel just outside Pegwell Bay in Kent. I believe you know the area, Dr. Coppersmith?” Mr. Wilson raised both an eyebrow and his sherry glass in enquiry.
“I do. My grandmother lives nearby.” The combination of a suspicious death and familiar ground eased the tension; so far, so good.
“Two doctors couldn’t agree whether it was due to natural causes. A third doctor, one who said he could see nothing suspicious, swayed official opinion.”
“And?” Jonty had finished the first sherry and was eyeing the decanter hopefully.
“The identity of the victim meant cogs got set into motion.” Mr. Wilson inclined his head. “Lady Jennifer Johnson was the mistress of the king for the best part of two decades when he was still Prince of Wales. Those initial doubts have put a bee in His Majesty’s bonnet. He wants his old friend’s death investigated properly.”
“I wonder if there would have been all this interest if it had just been one of the chambermaids found dead?” Orlando sniffed, derisive of the class system which seemed to make one death worth more than another.
“I can just imagine him talking to Papa.” Jonty produced an uncanny impersonation of the king’s tones. “I have a feeling in my bones that she’s been murdered, Richard.” He turned to Dr. Peters. “I’m right in assuming my father got involved in this somehow?”
“So I believe.” Dr. Peters nodded his austerely handsome head. “The chief inspector says His Majesty knows all about your penchant for sleuthing.”
“No doubt. Papa must have bored him about it enough times.” Jonty seemed pleased to see his glass refilled; one needed all the help one could get in this sort of situation. “I can imagine the palace applying pressure on the University.”
Wilson nodded. “Quite so. And on the constabulary. What’s needed here is efficiency.”
Peters glowed with pleasure—probably totting up how many high calibre students would be attracted to St. Bride’s on the back of another successful investigation. “I feel we should be paying for the privilege of you taking on the case.” The Master ignored the bursar nearly dropping his glass. “This college’s name was in the descendant at the turn of the century and the case of the St. Bride’s murders didn’t help. But for a college to have its own Holmes and Watson is without precedent.” Of course it was—now Bride’s star shone and its fame had been renewed throughout the land.
Wilson inclined his head. “When I was asked in to solve a case needing the utmost diplomacy, where else would I turn? I wanted the very best men alongside me. Having someone—” he nodded towards Jonty, “—with a connection to the nobility will be a great advantage. This pair will prove invaluable.”
Orlando was deep in thought, wondering what attributes he could possibly possess which would make him invaluable. Apart from his brains.
“We’re to travel down there as soon as possible, I take it?” The sherry had worked its emboldening effect on Jonty. “Have we rooms booked?”
“Ah. For Dr. Stewart, yes.” Wilson suddenly found his sherry glass to be of great interest. “Dr. Coppersmith, we have a special commission for you. Almost in the nature of espionage.”
Orlando’s ears pricked up, like a horse in sight of the winning post. “Are you suggesting I take a post at this hotel to spy from the inside?”
Wilson nodded, at last brave enough to face Orlando eye to eye. “You would gain the confidence of both staff and guests, while Dr. Stewart works in a more obviously formal capacity.”
Jonty grinned. “Splendid. Even old Sherlock Holmes puts on his dressing-up clothes to further investigations.” It wasn’t the best example to give.
Orlando started. “Dressing-up clothes?”
“We thought the role of professional dancing partner would be an ideal one.” Mr. Wilson addressed a spot just behind Orlando’s left ear. “For accessing confidential information. His Majesty is relying on us. On you.”
The door bursting open forestalled Orlando’s disgruntled reply.
“Is it settled then?” The Master’s sister swept into the room, grinning broadly. “Dr. Coppersmith’s off to be a gigolo?”
*****
Jonty almost danced all the way back up the Madingley Road, full of the prospect of the seaside, dancing and high society.
“Of course, you’ll love every moment of this investigation.” Orlando took a swipe at a branch which had dared to get in his way.
“Absolutely. And so will you. Don’t pretend you won’t be thrilled to have a murder to solve. You like them as much as your beloved mathematical puzzles.” Jonty’s broad, handsome grin made him look like a boy at Christmas, bouncing with excitement at the prospect of the weeks ahead.
“I suppose so. Only…”
“Yes?”
“I was just wondering—” Orlando felt himself colour, not just with annoyance, “—what a gigolo actually does.”
“I love Miss Peters more than any other woman to whom I’m not related, but I could cheerfully have killed her today, coming in and saying that. In front of the bursar and all. You will not be a gigolo.” Jonty sighed. “No one expects you to be anything more than a professional dancing partner at the hotel.”
“Why can’t you do the gigolo bit? Why does everyone say it has to be me?”
Jonty threw up his hands. “If we were going to the farthest-flung parts of the empire perhaps, but some of these people will have met me. Besides, look here.” He turned Orlando’s face towards his own. “This face, the Jonty Stewart fizzog, it’s a case of once seen never forgotten, isn’t it?”
Orlando looked at his lover’s fine profile as if seeing it for the first time. The bright blue eyes were as stunning and unnerving as when they’d first met, the nose perfectly formed and the mouth full of promise. He snorted. “It’s a face getting too big for its own flannel if you ask me.”
“For once I wasn’t being vain. My mother and father are both striking-looking creatures and anyone who’d met them would take one look at me and think there’s a Stewart sprog if I ever saw one. It just can’t be done.”
“But I’m hopeless with women. I can’t flirt or make small talk. They’ll turn their noses up at me.”
“You don’t have to flirt. You can dance, can’t you?”
Orlando nodded.
“In fact you dance very well. That’s all you’ll need to do, dance with them and talk a little about current affairs. You’ll be stern, aloof and handsome and it will drive them absolutely insane, just like it did me when we first met. They’ll be like putty in your hands and you’ll get all sorts of information out of them.” He drew closer to Orlando, laid his hands briefly on the man’s lapels and looked into his eyes. “Besides, you look absolutely gorgeous in a dinner suit. If there are any women who don’t fall in love with you they’ll either be followers of Sappho or have hearts of absolute stone.” He quickly spoke again, grinning as he did so. “And I won’t under any circumstances give an explanation as to the significance of that minx.”
They’d reached their house, a little Tudor cottage with a lot of recent refurbishment, and turned in by the gate and through the door into their haven of security from a world which wouldn’t approve of how they lived.
“But that can’t be all a gigolo does or why would everyone keep smirking when the term is used?”
Jonty produced a radiant smile. “Ah, well, you see, it’s a term that can also be applied to a man who—um—sells his services to women.”
“What sort of services?”
“If you have to ask the question I’m not sure you’ll understand the answer. Bed. You know.” Jonty tipped his head towards the stairs and winked.
Orlando worked his mouth, temporarily unable to speak. This was scandalous. “They never do.”
“Oh yes, it goes on all over the place. I told you when we were in Bath that there had always been male and female prostitutes.”
“But I assumed they were like the boys we came across in the course of solving that very first murder. Sold themselves to men, I mean.”
“They don’t restrict themselves to that, although whether it’s the same chaps doing the selling, or others, I have no idea and don’t want to find out. Women pay and these men oblige.”
“Well, I’m shocked. The absolute cads. And however did Miss Peters learn such a disgraceful term?”
*****
Forsythia Cottage was becoming used to being the scene of discussion of crime and Mrs. Ward, the housekeeper, had become accustomed to the arrival of members of the constabulary to consult her gentlemen. Just so this fine late September afternoon when Mr. Wilson appeared bearing his most solemn look and praising her baking to high heaven. She’d borne forth the fruits of her kitchen then retreated there to leave her lads to their endeavours.
“I’ll have to find some excuse for being there, at the hotel.” Jonty had indulged in some pastries and while his inner man was satisfied, he wasn’t pleased about his position in the investigation. “It’s easy for you, you just change your name to hide the fact that you’re the Dr. Coppersmith of The Times fame and you can get away with anything. But even if I change my name, there are plenty of folk who would recognise me in the circles in which we’ll move. I bet some of them even remember dear old grandmamma and I’m said to be her image.”
“Could you invite your family along and make it some innocent Stewart excursion?” Wilson raised a distinguished eyebrow and gestured with his teaspoon.
Orlando shook his head. “I won’t have Mrs. Stewart seeing me dressed as a dancing partner. If she’s involved then I’ll give up the case, immediately.”
“What about Papa? We could pretend he’s had an operation or something and needs the sea air for convalescence. We’ll have to find a way to make him look in less than ruddy good health of course, but it might just work.” Jonty found the idea more and more appealing. “Then I could have a legitimate reason to be there, to look after the old geezer. And, Chief Inspector, if you think Dr. Coppersmith does the business in terms of charming the ladies, you should see my father. He can turn the heads of girls young enough to be his granddaughters.”
“I can’t believe that. Your father is such an adherent of the Ten Commandments—no adultery and all the rest.” Orlando found this a shock to top all the rest. “He’s the scourge of—what does he call them—those who ought to know better. I can’t imagine him chatting up women.”
“That’s half the appeal of him, Dr. Coppersmith. The women know they’re absolutely safe and so do their husbands or fathers, so he’s told all sorts of things that other men wouldn’t be privy to.” A thought occurred to Jonty. “Actually, do we need to have an innocent excuse? Ever since The Times printed that story we’ve been labelled as Holmes and Watson. No one would believe I was at Pegwell Bay for any other reason than to look into this business. Why not use that fact to our advantage?”
“It might work, you know. If people there think you’re doing the sleuthing they might be more likely to let some little indiscretion slip to Dr. Coppersmith. No secrets then—you can be there with your deerstalker and everyone can know it.”
Jonty grinned; he was looking forward to this case, not least because it postponed meeting his dunderheads of students. This new intake was said to be particularly obtuse. “Now, Chief Inspector, I have my notebook to hand and no doubt Dr. Coppersmith has his, sharpened pencil and all. Before he gets to the matter of writing his packing list, might we have a resumé of the case as you know it?”
“Of course, Dr. Stewart. I’ve prepared a set of notes for you to read—perhaps you might peruse them now, and then I can try to answer any of your questions?” Wilson produced two identical documents and let his hosts read them.
The matter as set out was fairly straightforward. Lady Jennifer Johnson had been found dead in her suite on September 21st 1907, just the previous week, at the Regal Hotel, Pegwell Bay. The chambermaid, bearing early morning tea and a biscuit, had found the body, spilt said tea and run to fetch the housekeeper and, via her, a doctor. His report said the woman had died peacefully in her sleep, probably of heart failure. Agnew, the hotel manager—who had seen Lady Jennifer taking plenty of exercise and always appearing hale and hearty—had called for a second opinion.
The second physician had some doubts that the matter had been entirely natural, but by this time the police had already been called in and the chief constable notified, via his godson, who happened to be the same Mr. Agnew. The third medical opinion—heart failure—had proved decisive in most people’s minds. No one had been ordered to stay at the hotel as the police supposedly had no case to pursue. They’d just taken contact details from all who had been present at the time, under the police’s favourite guise of Routine, sir. Normal procedures, ma’am.
Orlando and Jonty were struck by the similarity between this and the last case they’d tackled, except the thing seemed to be turned on its head. The last time, a suspicious death had been deliberately treated as natural to deflect attention from the important personages who’d been involved with the victim. Here was a case where what might well turn out to be an innocent event was being treated as suspicious, partly because the victim had contacts in very high places, ones who were determined to see that justice would be done.
“What was she like, Mr. Wilson?” Orlando laid down the papers and smoothed them.
“Lady Jennifer wasn’t a great beauty like her alliterative counterpart Lillie Langtry.” The chief inspector smiled. “I understand she was plump, pretty and more like a dairymaid than a great lady. They say she was sweet natured and exceedingly discreet.”
“I suppose she was.” Jonty rubbed his nose where his reading spectacles pinched a bit. “I’ve been on the telephone to Papa. He says her relationship with royalty went on for years, but it’s only coming to light now. Was she a great favourite of the prince, as he was then? I don’t remember her name being mentioned by my father until now.” Mr. Stewart had always taken a pretty dim view of the morals of royalty. Jonty remembered seeing some lady at a function wearing a huge brooch which she’d been given for services rendered. Papa had muttered under his breath that it would probably be easier to give some sort of a badge to those women who hadn’t rendered services to His Royal Highness. It would certainly involve fewer pieces of jewellery.
“I think she was someone with whom he could relax and be entirely himself. I’ve spoken to someone else who knew her and their opinion is that she was a genuinely nice woman who rarely spoke ill of anyone nor sought to further herself above her station. She was content in life and didn’t nag others about how they lived theirs. Both of them are endearing qualities.”
“And yet she was the mistress of a married man.” Orlando’s voice was quiet, disapproving.
“That’s the rub. Some nice people do things which horrify you and some nasty people obey every jot and tittle of what they believe to be the law. Remember Mrs. Tattersall?” Jonty smiled, knowing full well that the world was full of people who did things Orlando didn’t approve of. No wonder he got on so well with Papa.
“I shall never forget her.” Orlando shivered, even though it remained a mild and pleasant day.
“We must never judge those we seek to find justice for.” Wilson stared out of the window, addressing his sermon to the trees. “The law must be absolutely neutral, in spite of what some of my colleagues feel. Although I do worry that the investigation of this crime will be given much more precedence than if the victim had been of less illustrious stock. Money and influence talk.”
“I’d still seek to find the killer whatever the station in life of the victim, and even if I absolutely hated them.” Orlando cast a sideways glance at Jonty; they were both aware of the consequences of such a course of action.
“What happens next I will leave to you, but I believe the truth must be served, whatever the circumstances.” Wilson stared into his empty cup, as if he might find some desperate criminal hidden under one of the stray tea leaves at the bottom.
“Had the lady any family? Papa and Mama would be useful in gaining information about and from them, I’d warrant.” Jonty had his pencil ready to take down the names.
“She’d been widowed these last ten years, but she has a son, Sir Laurence Johnson—he’s been travelling in Egypt with his bride and was contacted with the sad news as soon as possible. Otherwise there is a sort of cousin who acted as companion, a Miss Lynette Jordan, and she was at the hotel at the time. Those are the only close kin. You’ll be able to see both of them in Kent, I hope.”
“Are there any enemies spoken of?” Jonty had little hope that some threatening letter or wronged acquaintance might turn up and make life easy. In his growing experience, nothing about murder was straightforward and the only constant between their cases was that Orlando would try to seduce him at every opportunity. The thought that the chances for such fun would be rather limited this time around made him suddenly sad. Finding opportunities to be together would present just as much of a challenge as the solving of the case.
“Lady Jennifer doesn’t seem to have made enemies, or so the initial gossip has it. But the fact remains that someone must have disliked her enough to kill her in cold blood—if this is murder—and we need to find out everything we possibly can about what’s been going on down at Pegwell Bay.” Wilson fixed Orlando with an intent but kindly gaze, like a headmaster outlining his expectations of a pupil’s performance in an entrance examination. Orlando wouldn’t let the policeman down. “Now, we have to find you an alias.”
“An alias? Why?”
“Oh, for goodness sake.” Jonty punched his friend’s arm. “If I can’t hide my face you can’t hide your name. Coppersmith is becoming a bit too well known, with all those newspaper reports of our detective prowess. Here.” He fetched a dictionary of names from the bookshelf.
What seemed like hundreds of names and their meanings were consulted, but the intended bearer rejected every one of them as inapt.
Jonty soon lost patience. “What about Duncan Disorderly or Ivor Grumpyface?”
“Don’t be stupid.” Orlando ignored all the suggestions, even when they verged on the obscene. “I rather like the name Hugh.”
Jonty couldn’t hide an enormous grin. “I can think of lots of surnames which would work well with that. What about Jamp…” Before he was allowed to divulge any more he was unceremoniously bundled out of the room and not allowed to return until he could be sensible.
Wilson suggested they use the initials O.C. “It would mean any monogrammed articles won’t seem out of place and you might have more of a chance of remembering to respond to it.”
“Oliver Carberry.” Orlando put down books and notepad. “That’s a name I could use.”
“Oliver Carberry it is.” Wilson made a careful note. “Now, you should travel to Kent as soon as possible—probably tomorrow—and have a day or two to settle in as the new dancing partner, escort, or whatever smart title they bestow upon you.”
“And you can assure us that this Agnew is beyond all suspicion of murder?” Jonty had been looking through the police report again. “We can’t have Mr. Carberry walking into the lion’s den.”
“White as snow. He was staying with the chief constable of the county the night in question. We’ve had him party to the plan from the start and we’ve turned his scepticism around. He sees it would be much better to have respectable persons, albeit ones incognito, conducting the investigations rather than clodhopping policemen getting into everything and upsetting the guests.” Wilson knew the value of maintaining the hotel’s reputation. “Once Oliver Carberry is ensconced and beginning to make headway, you can arrive, with your father.”
“Then the fun can really begin.” Jonty rubbed his hands in anticipation. “And I suppose you’ve some strange lines of communication established as neither of us can be in touch directly with Orlando.”
“And I daren’t talk directly to the police.”
“It’s all in hand, gentlemen.” Wilson rose to take his leave.
Jonty began to be excited at all these little aspects of the case. He loved subterfuge and playing games so the whole thing struck him as enormous fun. Only when he looked at Orlando, to find him casting a peculiar longing glance in his direction, did the glamour begin to wear off things. They would be apart but together, close but not intimate, able to talk but not in any depth, separated socially and physically. Most importantly of all, not able to kiss or touch, and this status quo would remain until the end of the case.
Suddenly, playing at detectives didn’t seem such an attractive prospect.
Maple Sugar Mix-up by Kallie Frost
Chapter One
Jace
The flyer caught my eye and I stopped to study it. A bake sale auction to benefit the children's wing of the hospital! Well, that sounded like a great cause.
While I was reading it my friend and co-worker – if you could consider our very different jobs as co-working – walked by.
“Hey Jace,” he said. “Gonna make something?”
“I think so, Paul,” I said, glancing at the flyer again.
“What are you going to do for the date?”
I double-checked the date of the auction. “It’s on February 14th,” I said.
Paul chucked. “No, the date.”
I looked at him in confusion.
“Read the fine print,” he suggested.
I turned back to the flyer. Sure enough, there was something I had missed; the auction wasn't just for baked goods, it was for a date with the baker.
“Oh,” I said in disappointment. Count me out of this one. “Nevermind.”
I readjusted the way I was carrying my armload of medical files and stepped away from the bulletin board. It was a shame. I didn't have any spare change lying around to give to the hospital, but they were doing great things in the children's wing and I would have loved to be able to support them somehow. Baking would have been a good way to contribute.
“You’re single, aren’t you?” asked Paul.
“By choice,” I said.
“It’s just a date,” he laughed. “Not a commitment.”
“I know…” I took one more look at the flyer.
Sure, it wasn’t a commitment, but as the alpha hosting the date I’d be expected to pay and I sure as hell didn’t have that kind of money. Even if I did have enough to scrape together for a date, there weren’t a lot of omegas who would be very happy with an alpha who could barely afford a night out. It was an alpha’s duty to care for his omega, not to mention their future family.
I hated to admit it, but I could hardly take care of myself. There were days where I ate all three meals in the hospital cafeteria because I couldn’t afford groceries. What omega would want a guy like me?
“You know I can’t afford a fancy date,” I muttered.
Paul may have known, but I was still embarrassed, especially since he had a sweet scholarship that paid for his med school tuition and I knew what he was making now as a doctor.
“It doesn’t say it has to be fancy,” Paul pointed out. “Do something cheap.”
I looked at him skeptically. “Did you see where it’s being held? It’s like the fanciest place in town. Any omega there bidding on a date is not going to be impressed with something cheap. They’re all way out of my league.”
“You're so old fashioned,” Paul snorted. “There are plenty of omegas out there who earn more than their alphas.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” I grumbled, shaking my stack of medical files in his direction. “You’re already happily married to a stay-at-home-omega.”
“I didn’t go traditional by choice; we fell in love and that’s just how it worked out,” said Paul. “Believe me, Jace, when you meet the right omega, he isn’t going to care how much money you have.”
He was right; I knew that, I really did. But my parents had been strictly traditional when it came to alpha and omega roles. The idea that I would be the one providing for my omega had been drummed into me since I was old enough to know what an omega was.
My parents would have been absolutely mortified if I even considered being with an omega who was financially above my station. Then again, they would also have been mortified by my current living conditions, which were well below the standards they would have set for an alpha. On the bright side, they weren't around anymore to know.
And on the other side of that, their untimely deaths had come with a lot of unforeseen financial complications that left me scrambling to make ends meet before they were even in the ground.
“I should get back to work,” I said, adjusting my pile one more time.
“I’ll bid on you,” Paul said just as I started off.
“What?” I asked, turning back in confusion.
Paul laughed and pointed to the flyer. “I was going to donate anyway. Allie isn’t big on baking and I think she’d be pretty jealous if I tried to set up a date with an omega for myself… so, you bake something, put it on the auction table, and I’ll bid on it. Then we both get to contribute and you don’t have to go on a date.”
“You don’t have to do that to make me feel better.”
“I guarantee I'll spend more bidding on whatever you make than I would just flat out donate. Hell, I’ll keep a number in mind and if I end up bidding less, I’ll donate the remainder anyway. And if it costs me more, everyone wins.”
I did want to do my part and help out. And there weren’t many other ways I could contribute, short of kicking ass as a receptionist.
“Tell you what,” I said, not quite believing I was agreeing. “You promise to place the winning bid and I’ll do it.”
“Deal,” said Paul. I heard a beep and he pulled out his phone and checked it. “Gotta run.”
“Later, Doc.”
~~~***~~~
Before I knew it, the day of the auction arrived and I headed over with my chosen treat: maple candy.
As soon as I saw some of the fancy selections, I knew I had made the right choice. My maple candy was plain and boring; exactly what I needed to avoid people bidding on it. The only decoration, if you could call it that, was the ivy leaf shape mold I used. My grandmother had spend years wasting time with a maple leaf mold that only made six at a time. When she found an eighteen-piece mold, she was so excited she didn’t realize it was ivy and not maple leaves. Her baking partner, and best friend, had loved them, so they turned it into their own little inside joke and kept using them. The pan had been passed down to me and I was happy to keep using it.
I smiled fondly at the memory of standing over the stove with Grandma Sophia; eager to lick the spoon when she was done. She always brought a jug of fresh maple syrup when she came to visit and we made the maple candy together.
“And this is?” asked the woman checking me in.
“Maple candy,” I said.
She arched an eyebrow at me, then wrote it down. I wondered if everything else had a fancy name. Good, one less thing to attract an omega.
“What’s your designation?”
“Alpha.”
“And the date?” she asked.
“Um… It’s February…” I started to pull out my phone to check.
“No,” she said, stifling a laugh. “The date for the auction.” She jabbed her pen toward one of the cards on a fancy basket.
I leaned over to read it.
Roasted Almond Toffee Chocolates. Dinner at the Opera House.
Crap. I racked my brains, trying to think of a date that would be that would be unappealing. Not to mention cheap. If, for some reason, Paul couldn’t bid or something I needed a date I’d have to actually be able to follow through with.
I thought immediately of my favorite coffee shop. It had free refills, as long as you were drinking black, and tons of used books to peruse. They were rarely crowded and almost never kicked you out before closing to make room. Better yet, when I knew the barista – and I usually did – they’d refill my coffee even if I had something a little fancier and a free unsold baked good or two before closing.
“Coffee and sandwiches at the Mill Street Coffee Shop,” I said. “Tomorrow night.”
Short notice was good too, to minimize bidding.
“The Mill Street Coffee Shop…” she echoed. “And… then?”
“That’s it,” I said, forcing my smile to stay fixed.
“Okay…”
“When they call yours, you go up on stage for the bidding,” she started to say.
“I’m not staying,” I said quickly. “I uh… have to work.”
“Right,” she muttered. “And I need your contact information so the omega can contact you for the date details.”
I sighed and gave her the information, then pushed out through the well-dressed crowd. With any luck Paul would place a decent bid and make this all worth it; I’d contribute to the Children’s Hospital and I had an excuse to make Grandma’s maple candy.
I headed back to my crummy apartment and, with nothing better to do, decided to read some old favorite, comfort books. Since I was thinking of my grandmother, I grabbed a mystery novel by Victoria Peppers. Although I had never been fortunate enough to meet her, she had been my grandmother’s best friend – the same one she baked maple candy with, in fact. They were so close that Victoria had even given her some of her manuscripts, long before she was published.
Grandma Sophia used to read them to me and passed her love of mystery books on. Not only did I devour them, but I also tried my hand at writing them. Of course, none of my crappy stories would ever see the light of day, especially the ones that borrowed Victoria Peppers’ sleuths and settings. Okay, so maybe I didn’t write books, so much as fanfiction.
Nevertheless, I still read every Victoria Peppers mystery as it came out, even though she had passed some years ago and her daughter had taken over writing them. In my opinion, they were just as good as the originals.
Tonight, however, I chose one of the old classics Victoria had written by herself; one my grandmother had loved.
Once I was settled in and reading, with some extra maple candy to snack on, I almost forgot about the auction.
Then my phone rang.
It was an unfamiliar number, but I answered anyway in case it was the hospital; it wasn’t uncommon to get called in to help with busy shifts. With all of the ice and snow we had been seeing an increase in patients.
“Hello?”
“Hi, is this Jace Wagner?”
“Yes,” I said.
“I’m Ashton Basque. I won your maple candy and was calling to uh…”
My stomach dropped out from under me. “I’m sorry, what?” I said.
“I bid on your maple candy at the auction. For the children’s hospital? I won and was told to contact you to arrange the date.”
I clenched the phone and sucked in a sharp breath. No, no, no. This wasn’t supposed to happen!
“It’s tomorrow night. Um, at eight. At the Mill Street Coffee Shop. It’s in the—”
“I know where it is.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow then,” I said reluctantly.
“See you then.” There was something flat and wholly unenthusiastic about his voice.
I hung up and nearly chucked my phone across my small apartment. “Are you kidding me?!” I spat instead.
I quickly dial Paul's number.
“Dr. Sullyfield.”
“Paul, what the hell?!” I demanded.
“Sorry?”
“An omega just called me! He said he won my maple candy and wanted to set up the date.”
“Oh,” Paul groaned. “I was gonna call you, I guess he's on the ball.”
“On the ball?” I snorted. “What happened?!”
“He outbid me.”
“You promised!”
“I know,” Paul groaned. “It was just…”
“Tell me this wasn’t some complicated scheme to rope me into a date,” I growled.
“No, no. He was a former patient and he really wanted the maple candy and… Look, I’m sorry, really. It’s just one date. He’s sweet.”
“Thanks a lot,” I muttered.
“One date. It won’t be the end of the world.”
“Yeah, yeah. See you at work.”
I hung up with a groan. Who was this omega? I had the plainest candy and the cheapest, most boring date, and he bid on it anyway?
Not to say an evening in a quiet coffee shop wasn’t an ideal date in my opinion, but I didn't think it would have been that appealing to most people. This was going to be nothing short of embarrassing.
With a sign, I sagged down onto my couch, trying to avoid the spots where the uncomfortable springs poked up. I tried to remind myself that Paul was right; it was just one date. One night and then done. With that in mind, I sought out the last couple pieces of maple candy and munched on them to make myself feel better.
Lorelei M. Hart is the cowriting team of USA Today Bestselling Authors Kate Richards and Ever Coming. Friends for years, the duo decided to come together and write one of their favorite guilty pleasures: Mpreg. There is something that just does it for them about smexy men who love each other enough to start a family together in a world where they can do it the old-fashioned way ;).
A.M. Arthur was born and raised in the same kind of small town that she likes to write about, a stone's throw from both beach resorts and generational farmland. She's been creating stories in her head since she was a child and scribbling them down nearly as long, in a losing battle to make the fictional voices stop. She credits an early fascination with male friendships (bromance hadn't been coined yet back then) with her later discovery of and subsequent love affair with m/m romance stories. A.M. Arthur's work is available from Carina Press, SMP Swerve, and Briggs-King Books.
When not exorcising the voices in her head, she toils away in a retail job that tests her patience and gives her lots of story fodder. She can also be found in her kitchen, pretending she's an amateur chef and trying to not poison herself or others with her cuisine experiments.
Nell Iris writes gay romance, prefers sweet over angsty, short over long, and quirky characters over alpha males. She published her first book in 2017.
Nell is an author with a day job that steals too much time from her writing, her reading, her gardening, and her crocheting. She’s an introverted tea drinker who loves her family, her books, and her home in the Swedish countryside.
Charlie Cochrane
As Charlie Cochrane couldn't be trusted to do any of her jobs of choice - like managing a rugby team - she writes. Her favourite genre is gay fiction, predominantly historical romances/mysteries, but she's making an increasing number of forays into the modern day. She's even been known to write about gay werewolves - albeit highly respectable ones.
Her Cambridge Fellows series of Edwardian romantic mysteries were instrumental in seeing her named Speak Its Name Author of the Year 2009. She’s a member of both the Romantic Novelists’ Association and International Thriller Writers Inc.
Happily married, with a house full of daughters, Charlie tries to juggle writing with the rest of a busy life. She loves reading, theatre, good food and watching sport. Her ideal day would be a morning walking along a beach, an afternoon spent watching rugby and a church service in the evening.
Kallie is the pseudonym of a USA Today Bestselling Author who normally writes young adult fantasy and dabbles in paranormal romance. She loves animals of all kinds, so she loves reading and writing books with shifter themes. Her favorite time to write is late at night when her husband and kids are asleep and everything is quiet. During the day she can be found chasing her boys, baking, and talking to herself.
Lorelei M Hart
AM Arthur
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The Alphas Santa-Kissed Omega by Lorelei M Hart
The Heart as He Hears It by AM Arthur
9 Willow Street by Nell Iris
Lessons in Seduction by Charlie Cochrane
Maple Sugar Mix-up by Kallie Frost
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