Heartsville #2
Two years after the death of his wife, Aubrey Hendricks is still weighed down by grief. He can’t focus on anything beyond working at the family farm, First Light. At the urging of a friend, he takes a step toward resuming a normal life and reopens the bakery his wife once ran. He places a Help Wanted ad in the local paper, and to his surprise, an applicant shows up the next day.
When Oliver Hansen gets a second chance at life, he grasps it with both hands. Leaving his stressful life in New York, he plans to enjoy the simpler things. Driving to Heartsville in the Pocono Mountains to thank his heart donor’s widower is a top priority. But the brusque man with the melancholy eyes strikes a chord in Oliver. So when Aubrey mistakenly believes he’s there to apply for the bakery job…Oliver takes him up on the offer.
As Oliver busies himself with the grand reopening, he and Aubrey establish a tentative friendship, which soon shifts to blazing attraction. Oliver falls hard for him, yet he can’t help but wonder if Aubrey’s feelings are an attempt to maintain a connection to the wife he’s still mourning. And Aubrey is unsure if Oliver will tire of the slow pace in Heartsville and go running back to the city he loves. The two must successfully navigate the stormy waters of grief, doubt, and their very different lifestyles, or they risk losing both their hearts—again.
*Please note: This is in the same world as our MMM, LAST CALL, except FIRST LIGHT is MM and a complete standalone.
1
Oliver
Oliver pulled into First Light, a produce farm in Heartsville, which was a quaint little town tucked away in the Pocono Mountains of Pennsylvania. His hands were trembling on the steering wheel, his pulse thumping in his throat. Would Aubrey Hendricks appreciate the reason for his visit, or would he turn him away?
The transplant coordinator from the hospital had assured Oliver the Hendricks family was open to meeting the donor recipients, but maybe that wasn’t such a great idea after all. She hadn’t mentioned the farm directly, and the number he’d been given must’ve been a landline, because it rang ceaselessly. Now it made sense that the man was rarely at home. Oliver had looked him up in the spirit of paying it forward, wanting the widowed man to know how grateful he was to be alive. Except…maybe it would be too painful for him to remember the car crash that took his wife two years prior.
As his Mercedes crunched over fallen leaves and twigs down the gravel driveway, he passed a wooden Help Wanted sign bolted to a post and noted the large farmhouse with the darkened windows. It might be too late for visitors. Maybe he should find a motel and wait until morning. But he was itching to get out of the vehicle and move his legs; he’d been driving for two hours straight.
According to the website, which was rudimentary at best, First Light was a year-round seasonal farm featuring fresh produce and flowers for sale as well as a small bakery. Photos displayed strawberries and blueberries in the summer, apples and pumpkins in the fall, and pine trees in the winter. And given the baskets of blooming tulips, hyacinths, and daffodils hanging from hooks around the property, along with the lingering scent of lilacs, he would guess they even stocked up in spring. Sliding out of the car, he breathed in the sweet scents and settled on taking a chance, no matter the outcome.
A successful mergers and acquisitions attorney in New York City, Oliver had always imagined retiring into a simpler life in a picturesque small town. Not that he was anywhere near retirement at age forty-five. But once his cardiomyopathy—which the doctor explained was a weakening of the heart muscle—was discovered, and he was told he might not last another year without a transplant, he knew he had to make some significant changes.
He was assured the odds were good once he was placed on the transplant list. Still, the idea of enjoying life again after such a devastating scare felt surreal.
“If you can afford it,” Dr. Smith had said when Oliver was in recovery, “you should take the time to do some things on your bucket list.”
“I hear you, Doc.” The weeks following the transplant had been touch-and-go, the odds of his body rejecting the organ frightening him enough to follow medical instructions to the letter. “I always knew I’d walk away from that high-stress environment, so now might be the perfect time.”
Once he was released from the hospital, the kind of life he’d led for the better part of twenty years just didn’t feel like him anymore. Not after being so near death. His colleagues threw him a lavish farewell party and wished him well. Though he still kept in touch with a couple of them, they inevitably grew apart, and he didn’t feel they had much in common anymore.
His last relationship had ended before he became ill, and he certainly wasn’t in the right frame of mind to fold someone else into his life when he didn’t even recognize himself anymore. So he traveled a bit and visited his family in Westchester more than usual. He’d taken culinary classes this past year, plugging into interests he’d forgotten he had until given a large enough chunk of time to consider them. He maintained a steady workout routine to keep his heart ticking, even if it was on borrowed time.
And though he appreciated being given a second chance at life, he was also getting pretty antsy, which was why he’d decided to get in his car and hit the road, this time with a specific destination in mind. Besides, how many more cookies could he bake and give away before he succumbed to temptation and ate entire batches himself? Or muffins and cakes, for that matter? He was terrible in general with idle time, and his sister, Jennifer, immediately guessed something was up when he’d spoken to her just an hour before.
“Do you think I’m making a mistake showing up like this?” he’d asked.
“Not sure,” she’d replied in a hesitant voice. “You never know how people are going to respond to this type of thing. He knew his wife’s organs were being donated, and he gave permission to be contacted, but be prepared to get the door slammed in your face. What was it the coordinator said about the husband?”
“To keep in mind that Aubrey Hendricks is a grieving spouse and to take that into consideration. She wasn’t allowed to say more, but there was something in her tone…which I guess could’ve meant anything,” Oliver had reiterated. “But it made me feel like he might not exactly be an open book.”
His sister sighed. “Tread carefully, Oliver.”
Oliver scaled the steps to the porch and knocked on the door, but there was no answer.
He tried again, and again nothing. Maybe it was too late.
Just as he was getting back into his car, the sound of a motor pierced the silence. A man appeared from over the hilltop, riding a four-wheeler. As he parked the vehicle on a patch of grass a short distance away, he narrowed his eyes suspiciously at the stranger on his property.
Oliver noted his large frame, the brown, wavy hair beneath his ball cap, and the hardened eyes looking him up and down. Damn, he did not look friendly. That frown on such a handsome face was totally disconcerting.
He cleared his parched throat. “Are you Aubrey Hendricks?”
Oliver lifted his hand in a wave as the man approached. A moment of wariness flitted through his gaze before he barked out a response. “That’s right. You here for the job?” There was a hopeful lilt in the question—either that or Oliver was reading into it too much.
“Uh…” Oliver stuttered, and he couldn’t fathom why the word “no”hadn’t sprung from his mouth immediately. He certainly wasn’t looking for work on a farm, but he couldn’t help being curious—about so many things. “My name is Oliver Hansen. How come you’ve got an opening?”
“The bakery hasn’t been in operation for some time now, and we wanted to make a go of it again. Folks around here been missing our fresh-baked goods,” Aubrey grunted as his penetrating eyes inspected Oliver. He found he didn’t enjoy the scrutiny, so he stood taller, wanting to prove something to him. Who the hell knew the reason why? Despite being nearly six feet tall, he only reached the height of the man’s chin, and Aubrey probably had fifty pounds on him as well. Still, Oliver had always kept himself fit, even more so after the transplant.
“What exactly would I be doing?” The question rolled too easily off his tongue. It was unfair to feign interest, but his curiosity got the best of him, especially when he looked beyond Aubrey’s shoulder at the picturesque countryside—or at least what he could make out in the dusk. He bet it was even prettier in the fall.
“Baking,” the man snapped, staring at him suspiciously. “Running the kitchen.”
“Of-of course,” Oliver stammered, feeling the color bloom on his cheeks.
“Pies were my wife’s specialty.” Aubrey’s voice hitched on that last word, and Oliver felt his heart thump in his throat. Holy shit, his wife. The man was definitely surly, but grief always had a way of sneaking inside any tough exterior. “We still have her recipes, but I’m sure you’ve got your own style.”
“If the residents have been asking, her recipes might be a good starting point.” What in the hell was he even saying? He definitely loved baking and had excelled at making all sorts of desserts in the culinary classes he’d signed up for, but to actually create pies and whatever else for a business was ludicrous at best. So why did the idea of it give Oliver a little thrill? He loved a challenge, and the words left his lips before he had the chance to consider what he was getting himself into. “I’ll take the job. I mean, unless you have other candidates to consider.”
For Christ’s sake.Oliver was supposed to show up, thank the man for the heart now ticking in his chest and keeping him alive, and then be on his way. But something in the set of Aubrey’s jaw told him there was a story there—way more than he was willing to share—and it piqued his curiosity. He was always able to read people pretty well, which probably helped in the courtroom. Aubrey Hendricks kept a protective barrier around himself, but there was also sadness in the slope of his shoulders, and the bags beneath his eyes indicated he barely slept. Was he haunted by grief or guilt? Or just exhausted from the sheer effort of running this farm?
Regardless, he needed help, and it was the least Oliver could do. He practically owed the man his life. And didn’t it just figure that the woman who gave him her heart also loved to bake? There had to be some sort of blind luck in that.
Aubrey inhaled deeply as if in relief, then set his jaw firmly again. His gaze seemed to scrutinize Oliver’s black Mercedes before snagging on his expensive white sneakers. He wished they were a bit more scuffed up. “I’ll have to let you know.”
Oliver got the impression Aubrey didn’t want to appear too eager. Either that, or he didn’t think someone like Oliver was up to the task. And that only made him want the job more.
“Okay, then. I’m staying at the Clover Motel,” Oliver replied, opening his car door. He’d passed the travel lodge on his way to the farm and remembered the vacancy sign. “I’m, um, new in town, and I haven’t found the right place yet. So…you’ll know where to find me.”
Oliver could feel Aubrey’s gaze on him as he backed out of the dusty driveway. He suddenly wished he owned a more average vehicle. But damn it, he’d earned this luxury.
Once back on the road, his breathing finally returned to normal. He could always drive straight out of town and chalk the visit up to some aberration. In fact, he didn’t have to lay eyes on Aubrey Hendricks ever again. So why didn’t he seem to be able to shake the man from his thoughts?
By the time he turned into the parking lot of the Clover Motel, he’d made up his mind. He’d stay put in Heartsville for at least another day.
Christina's sarcastic view of the world doesn't always match up with her life as a romance author but at least you know her characters will be flawed and real. She writes steamy slow burns with plenty of swoon, because who doesn't melt for those small, tender moments or grand, sweeping gestures?
She has books published in different sub-genres of romance, but mostly with LGBTQ characters because representation matters and everyone deserves a happily-ever-after.
You can find more info on her website. From there you can link to her Facebook reader group called The Swoon Room as well as her IG account and newsletter.
Felice Stevens
Felice Stevens writes romance because what is better than people falling in love? Her favorite part of a romance novel is that first kiss…sigh. She loves creating stories of hopes and dreams and happily ever afters. Her stories are character-driven, rich with the sights, sounds and flavors of New York City and filled with men who are sometimes deeply flawed but always real.
Felice writes M/M romance because she believes that everyone deserves a happily ever after. Having traveled all over the world, she can safely say that the universal language that unites people is love. Felice has written in a variety of sub-genres, including contemporary, paranormal and has a mystery series as well.
Felice is a two-time Lambda Literary award nominee, and Lambda award winner for Best Gay Romance for her book, The Ghost and Charlie Muir.
Christina Lee
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Felice Stevens
First Light #2
Heartsville Series
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