The Cupid Crawl by Hank Edwards
Summary:Williamsville Inn #3
A hook-up app serial dater. A Valentine’s bar crawl. A day that will change their lives.
Carter Walsh will be alone on Valentine’s Day, and his plans include a candy sampler of hook-ups. But once he learns about the Cupid Crawl—a bar crawl covering a half dozen bars, both gay and straight—he decides on a change of plans.
At the first bar, Carter meets Harry, a divorced dad coming out later in life, and he’s far from impressed. Harry’s definitely not the type of guy Carter would ever swipe right for. But as the Cupid Crawl hops from bar to bar, the two seem to naturally gravitate toward each other, and before he realizes it, Carter’s succumbed to the magic of Valentine’s Day and ditched the hook-up app to spend all his time with Harry.
The Cupid Crawl is a funny, sweet, and steamy opposites attract, divorced bi-sexual dad, slight age gap story that takes place in the Williamsville Inn series world, and features characters from the Christmas stories Snowflakes and Song Lyrics by Hank Edwards and Snowstorms and Second Chances by Brigham Vaughn.
The Cupid Crawl is, plain and simple, a rom-com that will delight from beginning to end. Is this the kind of romantic comedy you might find on Hallmark? Doubtful. To be honest, Cupid is way better than just another Valentine's Hallmark-y cliche. "Carter the Farter" is hilarious and yet you can just feel Carter wanting the ground to open up and pull him under when it's announced in public where he's hoping to find some meaningless hook-ups. You can't help but be in equal parts laughing and wanting to wrap him up and tell him it was long ago and nobody cares.
As for Carter, well at times he's a hard pill to take but he quickly gets sucked into your heart and just want him to find his HEA. In Harry you know he just might find that HEA if everything aligns, okay you know they'll find each other to be more than just a hook-up but it's the getting there that is where all the fun lies.
I can't help but feel the more I say the less fun I make it sound, that the story appears to be cliche and formulaic and it isn't so I think I'll just end with pushing the point that The Cupid Crawl is a delightful holiday gem. So whether you read this as a Valentine's story or as a romance later in the year, you won't be sorry. I should also note that I have not yet read Hank Edwards' Christmas entry to the Williamsville Inn series but I don't feel lost in any way, is their a question of Carter's friendship with Will? Maybe but I wasn't lost, I didn't feel that anything was missing.
RATING:
Summary:
Season of Joy #2
By the beginning of 1944, Walter Webb and Stanley Gardner have been together for twenty years. They live quietly above the grocer’s shop on Cheltenham’s Lower High Street, outwardly two middle-aged bachelors sharing a home.
Cheltenham might have escaped the worst of the bombing raids, but the privations and dangers of the second war have put a strain on the whole community. This includes ongoing concern about loved ones on active duty. Stanley’s beloved nephew Jack is serving in Italy, while engaged in the fiercely fought Battle for Rome.
Walter worries about the strain on Stanley’s health, never robust after the Great War, as they both deal with family issues and direct threats from the enemy.
As St. Valentine’s Day approaches, can Walter and Stanley find solace in the hope of a peaceful shared future after the war?
This was an unexpected surprise. Ellie Thomas' Season of Joy was one of the first books I read when my mom was in hospice and near the end, which really helped me stay sane, as well as one of my favorite reads in 2025 so when I came across the author's FB post about the pre-order of a 3rd story, I immediately looked and 1-clicked this second entry.
In Joy, we met Walter and Stanley, both dealing with post-WW1 life and in Hope, we see them 20 years later dealing with WW2 on the homefront, from ration books to unexploded bombs to worrying about family. Speaking of family, we get to see Stanley's nieces and nephews all grown up in their own stages of life, especially his nephew, Jack who is currently serving his country.
So I won't give anything else away. I can't lie, I think I liked Joy slightly better, not because it was first but because of the post-WW1 element as there is just not enough WW1/post-WW1 era stories in the LGBTQ+ genre for my liking. As much as I was missing that time frame, I loved seeing the characters older, how far they've come and grown, seeing what kind of life they were able to create for themselves. Don't mistake my missing the post-WW1 element as a negative because its not, its just a tiny reason why Joy inched ahead, I was thoroughly entertained riding along on Walter and Stanley's heartwarming and loving journey. Add in a little Valentine's Day factor and it's an extra layer of yummy goodness. Considering it's a romantic holiday, there aren't very many stories that touch on the love holiday. A delightful treat.
Summary:
Four seasons, four stories, one connection - finding love. Two men who hate Valentine's Day discover they might have been wrong. A Paralympic swimmer gets an unusual incentive to win gold. Love and lust flourish under desert skies, but nature's cruel. Shakespeare's Twelfth Night gets a new twist.
Stories Included:
Horns and Halos (representing spring)
Tumble Turn (summer)
Sand (autumn)
What you Will (winter)
I won't review each of the four stories individually instead this will be for the collection as a whole. Love in Every Season is a delightful collection of four tales of romance and friendship set within multiple sub-genres. So whether you like contemporary, historical, holiday, and even a touch of steampunk there really is something for everyone. If you have read any of these before then here is your chance to relive the magic and if they are new, it's never too late to experience them for the first time. Personally, I read What You Will about four years ago so I've included my original review for that but the other three were brand-spanking new to my eyes. Frankly, if I wasn't already a Charlie Cochrane fan than these would have spurred me on to read more of her work. It may sound cliche but Love in Every Season is such an interesting mix of settings that there really is something for everyone.
What You Will
Original Review January 2015:
A very interesting and intriguing holiday tale to add to any collection. As Obi-Wan Kenobi says in Star Wars, "Who's the more foolish? The fool or the fool who follows him." It's a perfect quote that sums the story up in my opinion and sometimes by short-changing the nature of those around us we make ourselves even more foolish.
RATING:
Love Story by RJ Scott
Summary:Harmony Lake
Love wasn’t on Sam Caldwell’s agenda until a city boy with haunted eyes and no coat crashed into his world.
As a fourth-generation maple farmer in Caldwell Crossing, New Hampshire, Sam is rooted in tradition, family, and a quiet life filled with woodsmoke, laughter, and loyal friends. But everything changes when he finds Ben Marshall half-frozen on the side of the road. Ben is sharp, guarded, and running from his past—yet there’s a pull between them that Sam can’t ignore.
Ben never expected to end up in a snowy New Hampshire town, especially not after losing everything in Boston. Forced to leave his career and reputation behind, he retreats to the one safe place left—his great-aunt Harriet’s home in Caldwell Crossing. But safety doesn’t mean peace, and the last thing he needs is to catch feelings for the grumpy, gentle farmer who rescued him.
As winter thaws and maple flows, so does something deeper between Sam and Ben—trust, laughter, and the terrifying possibility of love. But when Ben’s past threatens to drag him back under, can two men who’ve built walls around their hearts find the courage to create something together?
Love Story features a city boy starting over, a maple farmer rooted in tradition, found family, best friends, early mornings that turn into something more, and the kind of love that feels like coming home.
Original Review June 2025:
What a lovely opener to the 4-story multi-author series, Harmony Lake. From Ben's need to escape legal threats to Sam's unexpected chemistry in the middle of his busiest time during syrup season, Love Story has a little of everything. Okay, not everything, there's no sci-fi(although there are a few references to his friends' love of Star Wars which only strengthens my love of the group😉), horror, or apocalyptic threats BUT otherwise a little of everything.
Ben's need to leave Boston spoke to my love of mystery. I won't go into too much of that element, it doesn't play a huge part in a who-done-it sense but we are left wondering what role he'll face in the fraud case he uncovered and watching that play out is perfectly layered into this tale of love and friendship. If you're at all familiar with RJ Scott's work, you know she's all about the HEA, but she also likes to put her characters through a stress-heavy gauntlet. Ben is no different, I couldn't help but want to reach inside my kindle and give him the biggest MamaBear hug possible and tell him to have faith, but we just have to let the characters find it out for themselves.
Sam, well, his heart is still feeling the pain of betrayal from his last boyfriend and has no plans to go after love anytime soon. We all know where that's headed😉. He may be on the threshold of his busiest season in the syrup business but that doesn't mean his heart won't reach out when Ben enters his life. This may be Ben and Sam's romance but I really love the friendship Sam has with Haider, Conor, and Ryan. Their scenes may not be large in quantity but they are high in quality and you can just feel their connections to each other throughout the story.
Putting Ben and Sam together is chemistry on fire, their actual first meeting will be a cute meet story for them to share with their loved ones for years to come. Now it may not have been so cute in the moment, Ben's car going off the road and getting stuck in the snow completely unprepared for the elements and Sam happening on him as he drove home from a night with his buddies, and taking him to the ER, but in the aftermath the cuteness grows. I really loved Ben's discovery of letters Sam's ancestors wrote, that spoke to my love of genealogy and family history, truth is I wouldn't have minded had there been a little more of it but it's a perfect way for the pair to connect beyond Ben's borderline clumsy-magnet ways.
Whether there is enough humor in Ben and Sam's scenes to label it rom-com or dramedy, or flat out as the title says, Love Story, with the humor being more in the friend scenes, whichever way you view it, it's 150% enjoyable. Time may not be on my side at the moment to read Haider, Conor, and Ryan's quest to find love, I do look forward to discovering them as they have already earned a spot on my TBR list.
Four-Legged Cupid #2
The dead of winter is no time to uproot your life.
So being contrary, I chased a job advert to a tiny town Up North in January. Maybe, this way, I can out-run my string of bad luck and bad decisions.
Yeah. No. I take one nap on the bus trip, and everything I brought with me—everything I owned—walked off the bus without me. I don’t even have enough change for a cup of coffee when I finally arrive.
Of course the man I’ll be working for has stepped out of every fantasy I’ve ever had, and the town’s notorious stray has decided I’m her person.
Lucky me. Owned by the meanest kitten to ever kitten, and about to take a job working for the man of my dreams, who I can’t have, because I need the job more. I can’t imagine I was the guy Matthew was waiting for all his life. But here we are.
Cats are devious, manipulative creatures. She totally orchestrated all of this.
Another fun entry in the author's Four-Legged Cupid series. As much as I am a read-in-order kind of gal, this is one of those series where that hasn't happened. Last year I was looking for Easter/Spring stories and came across the last entry, Hoppy Egg Hunting(loved BTW) and as much as I had good intentions to read the rest of the series in 2025, time got away from me. So when I was looking for Valentine stories, this seemed the likely option. So glad I recalled there was one - LOVED IT!
I won't say much so as not to spoil for anyone who, like me is new to the series, but I will say you won't be sorry, it's just simply put: FUN! The characters, Matthew and Leland are such a perfect fit, they may not have been looking for a forever but luckily, the author was. I'll be honest, I'm more of a dog person, but we had kittens and their momma on the farm when I was growing up and loved them so to see their inclusion here is a real treat as dogs tend to be the go-to fur baby in the books I read. Certainly helped tie so much together, or perhaps she manipulated more than tie😉.
This is a standalone series but from what I can tell, the stars of the first entry, Holiday Pup-capade, does make an appearance. I was not lost at any time but as the read-in-order gal I mentioned earlier, I think a few character connections may have flowed together a little better had I read the Xmas story first, but never was I lost. This is a Valentine story but you will enjoy the fresh, fun, uplifting tale all year long. I look forward to catching up on the remaining entries, fingers crossed this year.
RATING:
The Cupid Crawl by hank Edwards
Vic, the organizer, led the way, squeezing past the men and women standing in the doorway and forging a path for Carter to follow. At first, Carter thought he was way overdressed. The men he slid past were shirtless, some wearing just white loin cloths or even cloth diapers along with feathered wings strapped around their broad chests. These men gave him a brief glance, maybe a quick smile, but were busy talking to each other or women who were also baring a lot of skin. Didn’t these people realize it was February in Boston?
When he reached the bar, Carter was relieved to see people wearing shirts and pants instead of just diapers and short shorts. Vic leaned in over the bar and said to the bartender, “Don, this is my good friend, Carter. Put his first two drinks on my tab.”
“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” Carter insisted. “I have money.”
“Happy Valentine’s Day, Carter,” Vic said. “The first two drinks are on me to help you relax. I’m going to make a round of the bar, but when I return, I hope to find you talking with someone, and not just leaning on the bar all alone.”
“I know how to socialize,” Carter said.
“Oh, I’m sure you do.”
Vic winked again before threading his way through the crowd, greeting people as he slid past them. Carter ordered a beer from Don, and then fished a couple of singles out of his wallet for a tip. He lifted his bottle to salute Don and had just taken a swig when a piercingly high voice shrieked from just behind him. The sound startled him so much he choked on his beer and started to cough. He turned, coughing and sputtering, and squinted through his tears at the woman standing behind him.
Auburn hair done up tall, bright green eyes that could be nothing other than colored contact lenses, a pert, upturned nose, and a broad mouth filled with teeth laser-whitened to solar flare level.
Carter’s heart stuttered with surprise and dread as he struggled to clear his airway.
“I saw you walk in and had to come over and see if it was really you!” she exclaimed.
With a final clearing of his throat, Carter managed a smile and said, “Lizzie. Hello! What a treat to see you.”
Lizzie’s smile widened even further and she crossed her arms. It was then Carter noticed she wore what looked like a sports bra with a pair of white wings strapped to her shoulders, and a sheer white shift around her waist that showed off a pair of black panties trimmed with lace.
“As I live and breathe,” Lizzie said with a shake of her head. “Carter the Farter.”
Season of Hope by Ellie Thomas
When they were back in the kitchen together, washing and drying the dishes after their evening meal, Stanley and Walter were free to discuss the letter at leisure. For once, they didn’t have to dash off promptly for a Home Guard meeting, but were merely joining their pals for a drink at the Plough Hotel.
“I know Jack can’t tell us exactly what’s going on. Loose lips sink ships and all that,” Stanley said, as he dunked a plate in the regulation amount of water. “But having been a soldier, I can read between the lines and imagine all too well. The Battle for Monte Casino sounds as grim as anything we faced in France and Flanders. I’m only grateful that Jim and Donald aren’t there too.”
Walter nodded in agreement as he dried the crockery. Both Jack’s older brothers were in the Royal Engineers, patrolling the coastline to keep the country safe from invasion.
Stanley added, “At least Jack’s dad is spared our memories. That’s another blessing.”
“It certainly is.”
During the Great War, Stanley’s brother-in-law had been turned down by the military on account of his poor vision.
Not that he hadn’t done his bit on the home front.
Walter recalled sanctimonious individuals handing out white feathers to apparently able-bodied men of conscription age. He’d been appalled by their lack of insight to the recipient’s inner convictions or hidden health issues.
He wouldn’t resent any man spared from the hell of mass conflict. It was a miracle that he and Stanley had emerged relatively unscathed.
If there is a God, please let Jack come through this, he thought for the umpteenth time.
Stanley coughed. His slim frame shuddered as he covered his mouth with his hand.
Walter was reminded amongst the uncertainty of wartime, some things remained worryingly constant. They weren’t through the winter yet. He hasn’t got the strength to cope with another bout of pneumonia.
Walter kept his observations to himself. Stanley would brush off any concerns up to the point where he was struck down by a full-blown chest infection. Tactfully Walter kept to the subject in hand.
“I was chatting to Dad today. With Jack and the others away, it’s dawning on me how he must have struggled. At the time, I was too bloody busy trying to stay alive to think about how worried he must have been.” Walter added casually. “If anyone understands what you’re going through, it’s Dad. He said you could call round anytime.”
Stanley’s face brightened.
“That’s very kind of him. I certainly appreciate the offer. But I always have you to talk to.”
“Of course you do, love.”
Walter tried not to reveal the helplessness he felt at the worry that ate away at Stanley. “Dad thought a chat might help. You’ll probably be sent home with an extra sack of potatoes too.”
“He’s a good man, just like his son.”
Stanley smiled. Not the restrained expression of recent times, but a real smile, crinkling the skin around his eyes.
That particular smile never failed to pull at Walter’s heartstrings. It also provoked a reaction below the belt, even after two decades together.
“I’m not that good,” he said lightly.
Stanley’s smile widened.
“That’s a matter of opinion.”
Walter put his hands on Stanley’s shoulders, turning him around so they were face to face. He bent down and kissed him.
When they’d first met, Stanley had sported a pencil moustache. Walter had loved how it framed his lush lips and the feel of those coarse hairs against sensitive areas of his body had driven him wild.
Stanley had been clean-shaven for some years. This also had its advantages. Walter found the prickle of his five o’clock shadow equally alluring. He pulled Stanley closer, making him laugh, his damp hands either side of Walter’s waist.
Stanley’s body moulded against Walter’s as their kiss deepened.
What a difference a letter from Jack makes.
Walter pulled back slightly, before burying his head in Stanley’s neck. He kissed the bare skin above his shirt collar.
Stanley shivered appreciably.
“If we carry on like this, we won’t get to the pub,” he joked. “Only Monty, Sam and Jonesy can make it tonight, so we need to make up the numbers.”
Walter continued to hold Stanley, enjoying their closeness.
“If we turn down our homemade entertainment for the sake of a pint with the chaps, I’ll be seething if the landlord has run out of beer again.”
Love in Every Season by Charlie Cochrane
Horns and Halos
Jamie didn’t think he had a guardian angel. If he did, the so-and-so had been noticeably slacking on the job over the last few years, especially regarding hitching him up with a decent bloke. So, the fact that he’d been put on the same practice interview panel as Alex—therefore could legitimately spend the next day and a half of the course working alongside him—must just have been good luck.
Or maybe bad. Two days of trying not to make it obvious that he fancied the pants off the bloke. Why did nice things always seem to come on the horns of a dilemma?
Chatting over coffee break was fine, the whole of his table having congregated together, the six of them looking a bit nervous at what they’d let themselves in for. Inevitably the conversation had drifted off into matters February the fourteenth-related, at which point Jamie had tried to look interested, although he’d dreaded the seemingly inevitable, “What surprise have you got lined up for your girlfriend?”
“I can’t stand all this Valentine’s nonsense,” one of the blokes in the group said He was the one Jamie had nicknamed Mr. Daft Ideas—although not to his face—because of the answers he’d come up with for the quiz.
“What does your wife think of that?” Sandra, the panel leader—elected because she’d smiled and nodded at the wrong time—asked.
“The same as me,” the bloke replied, as if there couldn’t be any other answer. “It’s just another way of conning people out of their money.”
“I’d agree with you on that.” Alex broke his biscuit—a custard cream, Jamie noted, with approval—made as if to dunk it then clearly thought better of the manoeuvre. As though he was weighing up every word and every movement. “And it always seems so cruel.”
Jamie sipped his coffee, intrigued. Something about the day clearly made Alex feel uncomfortable, maybe at a deeper level than the obvious, I never got any cards when I was a spotty teenager.
“Oh, Jamie, you’ll have to be the one to stand up for your gender,” Sandra said, tapping the table with an elegant, pink painted nail. “Surely you’ve got a romantic streak in you.”
“I have,” Jamie said, looking anywhere except at Alex, “although I’m not sure Valentine’s Day really has much to do with romance. Sorry to be a disappointment, but…” He shrugged.
“You’ll be in trouble with your—”
Sandra was interrupted by Bossyboots insisting they reconvene. Never had Jamie so welcomed being called back into class and so avoid having to explain why he couldn’t be in trouble with his wife or girlfriend, as he didn’t have one and never would. Out of the frying pan into the fire, though, because his group had to get their heads down over some hot school improvement plans and person specs, and maybe his and Alex’s heads would be a bit too close for comfort.
Tumble Turn
The bar wasn’t as bad as I thought it was going to be. I’d imagined something overpriced (even for London 2012) and up itself, but it proved to be far enough from the Aquatics Centre to have escaped the crowds and the hype. Jenny was there to meet us, Matty having texted her earlier; she seemed a nice girl, not quite the stuck-up tart I’d expected. Hell—I was getting as bad as Mrs. White at sticking labels on people without any evidence. I liked Jenny, and not just for the fact that she kept Matty happy while I talked to Nick. After half an hour, Nick went to get his round in and Matty slipped away to relieve the pressure on his bladder, so I had the opportunity to pump Jenny.
Before I could get up my courage, she turned to me with a big grin. “I don’t believe in beating around the bush, so based on what Matty’s told me, I’ll be blunt. Nick’s gay. And he’s available. I leave the rest to you.” She tapped my hand with her index finger. “Only don’t hurt him, right? Or else I’ll break every bone in your body, Matty’s pal or not.”
She smiled again, like she’d just said something sweet, and immediately changed the subject to what Matty had been like at school. I think I answered most of her questions in a manner that sufficiently emphasized her boyfriend’s good points—he did have them—while taking the rip out of him. That’s the sort of thing friends are supposed to do.
I carried on after he returned, partly because it was fun to see him trying to talk his way out of some of the crap I dumped him in, like that story about him spying on the girls’ changing rooms at school. And it didn’t hurt taking centre stage with Nick there, especially now I knew I wasn’t wasting my time trying to impress him. A nagging little voice in the back of my head tried to suggest that Matty had organised the whole thing, just like I’d suspected, maybe even getting his mum to liaise with my mum about which events I was attending. Although given the initial rush for tickets he’d have had to be clairvoyant and set it all up the spring of the year before. Maybe that was taking the conspiracy theory too far.
By the time we finished that round and Matty had been sufficiently made fun of, it was getting late, too late for a lad who had to get his backside to a training camp the next day, so I started to make “goodbye” noises.
“You can’t go yet.” Matty—who might just have had a touch too much of the falling down water—made a grab for my arm.
“Leave him be.” Nick came to my rescue with another one of his dazzling smiles. “This boy’s got a busy few weeks ahead. He doesn’t need any beauty sleep, but he’s got to keep that body of his in peak condition.” He got up. “I’ll walk you to your car.”
“I’m getting the tube home. I’ve got all my gear at my parents’ house.”
“Then I’ll walk you to the station.” He offered me his hand, to pull me up out of my seat. “I’ll go straight home afterwards, Jenny.” We made the usual pleasantries, Matty promising that it wouldn’t be so long in between us meeting up next time, after which we managed to get away.
I walked as slowly as I could, just to eke the time out as much as possible, although I must have overdone it, getting to the point Nick where stopped and asked if I was alright.
“I’m fine,” I snapped, immediately regretting how sharp I’d sounded. “Sorry. I just didn’t want you thinking I have to walk this slow. You know, because of it.”
“It?”
“The cerebral palsy. I’m not a fucking cripple.”
“I know you’re not.” He moved a step closer, grabbing my jacket and drawing me face to face with him, just a beery breath apart. “I meant what I said about you not needing any beauty sleep. You can’t improve on perfection.” He leaned in, sharing the most romantic kiss I’ve ever been lucky enough to receive. I don’t know what swept me off my feet more—the kiss or the words.
Jamie didn’t think he had a guardian angel. If he did, the so-and-so had been noticeably slacking on the job over the last few years, especially regarding hitching him up with a decent bloke. So, the fact that he’d been put on the same practice interview panel as Alex—therefore could legitimately spend the next day and a half of the course working alongside him—must just have been good luck.
Or maybe bad. Two days of trying not to make it obvious that he fancied the pants off the bloke. Why did nice things always seem to come on the horns of a dilemma?
Chatting over coffee break was fine, the whole of his table having congregated together, the six of them looking a bit nervous at what they’d let themselves in for. Inevitably the conversation had drifted off into matters February the fourteenth-related, at which point Jamie had tried to look interested, although he’d dreaded the seemingly inevitable, “What surprise have you got lined up for your girlfriend?”
“I can’t stand all this Valentine’s nonsense,” one of the blokes in the group said He was the one Jamie had nicknamed Mr. Daft Ideas—although not to his face—because of the answers he’d come up with for the quiz.
“What does your wife think of that?” Sandra, the panel leader—elected because she’d smiled and nodded at the wrong time—asked.
“The same as me,” the bloke replied, as if there couldn’t be any other answer. “It’s just another way of conning people out of their money.”
“I’d agree with you on that.” Alex broke his biscuit—a custard cream, Jamie noted, with approval—made as if to dunk it then clearly thought better of the manoeuvre. As though he was weighing up every word and every movement. “And it always seems so cruel.”
Jamie sipped his coffee, intrigued. Something about the day clearly made Alex feel uncomfortable, maybe at a deeper level than the obvious, I never got any cards when I was a spotty teenager.
“Oh, Jamie, you’ll have to be the one to stand up for your gender,” Sandra said, tapping the table with an elegant, pink painted nail. “Surely you’ve got a romantic streak in you.”
“I have,” Jamie said, looking anywhere except at Alex, “although I’m not sure Valentine’s Day really has much to do with romance. Sorry to be a disappointment, but…” He shrugged.
“You’ll be in trouble with your—”
Sandra was interrupted by Bossyboots insisting they reconvene. Never had Jamie so welcomed being called back into class and so avoid having to explain why he couldn’t be in trouble with his wife or girlfriend, as he didn’t have one and never would. Out of the frying pan into the fire, though, because his group had to get their heads down over some hot school improvement plans and person specs, and maybe his and Alex’s heads would be a bit too close for comfort.
Tumble Turn
The bar wasn’t as bad as I thought it was going to be. I’d imagined something overpriced (even for London 2012) and up itself, but it proved to be far enough from the Aquatics Centre to have escaped the crowds and the hype. Jenny was there to meet us, Matty having texted her earlier; she seemed a nice girl, not quite the stuck-up tart I’d expected. Hell—I was getting as bad as Mrs. White at sticking labels on people without any evidence. I liked Jenny, and not just for the fact that she kept Matty happy while I talked to Nick. After half an hour, Nick went to get his round in and Matty slipped away to relieve the pressure on his bladder, so I had the opportunity to pump Jenny.
Before I could get up my courage, she turned to me with a big grin. “I don’t believe in beating around the bush, so based on what Matty’s told me, I’ll be blunt. Nick’s gay. And he’s available. I leave the rest to you.” She tapped my hand with her index finger. “Only don’t hurt him, right? Or else I’ll break every bone in your body, Matty’s pal or not.”
She smiled again, like she’d just said something sweet, and immediately changed the subject to what Matty had been like at school. I think I answered most of her questions in a manner that sufficiently emphasized her boyfriend’s good points—he did have them—while taking the rip out of him. That’s the sort of thing friends are supposed to do.
I carried on after he returned, partly because it was fun to see him trying to talk his way out of some of the crap I dumped him in, like that story about him spying on the girls’ changing rooms at school. And it didn’t hurt taking centre stage with Nick there, especially now I knew I wasn’t wasting my time trying to impress him. A nagging little voice in the back of my head tried to suggest that Matty had organised the whole thing, just like I’d suspected, maybe even getting his mum to liaise with my mum about which events I was attending. Although given the initial rush for tickets he’d have had to be clairvoyant and set it all up the spring of the year before. Maybe that was taking the conspiracy theory too far.
By the time we finished that round and Matty had been sufficiently made fun of, it was getting late, too late for a lad who had to get his backside to a training camp the next day, so I started to make “goodbye” noises.
“You can’t go yet.” Matty—who might just have had a touch too much of the falling down water—made a grab for my arm.
“Leave him be.” Nick came to my rescue with another one of his dazzling smiles. “This boy’s got a busy few weeks ahead. He doesn’t need any beauty sleep, but he’s got to keep that body of his in peak condition.” He got up. “I’ll walk you to your car.”
“I’m getting the tube home. I’ve got all my gear at my parents’ house.”
“Then I’ll walk you to the station.” He offered me his hand, to pull me up out of my seat. “I’ll go straight home afterwards, Jenny.” We made the usual pleasantries, Matty promising that it wouldn’t be so long in between us meeting up next time, after which we managed to get away.
I walked as slowly as I could, just to eke the time out as much as possible, although I must have overdone it, getting to the point Nick where stopped and asked if I was alright.
“I’m fine,” I snapped, immediately regretting how sharp I’d sounded. “Sorry. I just didn’t want you thinking I have to walk this slow. You know, because of it.”
“It?”
“The cerebral palsy. I’m not a fucking cripple.”
“I know you’re not.” He moved a step closer, grabbing my jacket and drawing me face to face with him, just a beery breath apart. “I meant what I said about you not needing any beauty sleep. You can’t improve on perfection.” He leaned in, sharing the most romantic kiss I’ve ever been lucky enough to receive. I don’t know what swept me off my feet more—the kiss or the words.
Love Story by RJ Scott
Chapter One
Sam
Samuel ‘Sam’ Caldwell
I WAS LATE, which was unheard of for me. Ryan was typically the late one, losing track of time when he was buried in one of his projects, not me. But something had gone sideways at the farm—a busted sap line, of all things, just when I thought I’d finished the week’s maintenance—and by the time I’d wrangled it back into working order, I was thirty minutes behind schedule.
The snow fell thick and fast as I trudged down the narrow path leading to the trailhead. The Caldwell covered bridge loomed ahead, its red timbers dusted with white, picture-perfect in the way it always was after a storm.
And there they were, waiting for me under the old sugar maple at the trail’s entrance. The three men—my best friends—were bundled up against the cold, hats pulled low, scarves wrapped high, like a mismatched set of snowmen. Conor was the tallest, and his firefighter’s build was unmistakable, even under layers of winter gear. Haider was easy to spot, too, bright red gloves flashing as he gestured at something Ryan had said. And Ryan—well, our resident craftsman was easy to pick out because he was standing a little off to the side, examining a branch of the tree they were under as if imagining the things he could make with it.
“You’re late,” Conor called out when he saw me, his grin wide enough to be heard in his voice.
“Don’t sound so shocked,” I shot back, stuffing my hands deeper into my pockets as I approached. “I didn’t think Ryan would be on time.”
Ryan glanced up; his face half-hidden behind his scarf. “I set an alarm. Haider said he’d kill me if I were late for his birthday again.”
“Damn right,” Haider said, crossing his arms and squinting at me. “And you—Mr. Reliable—what’s your excuse?”
“Farm stuff,” I muttered, kicking at the snow. “A line broke, and I had to fix it.”
Conor’s eyebrows shot up. “In this weather? You really love those trees, don’t you?”
“Someone has to,” I said, rolling my eyes, but I couldn’t help smiling.
“Come on,” Haider said, gesturing toward the trail. “It’s my birthday, and I’m not spending it standing here in the snow waiting for you to explain your maple emergencies.”
We fell into step together, the four of us walking along the familiar path. It was tradition to meet here on our birthdays and take this walk. From the trailhead, we’d follow the bend in the path curving through the woods, past the covered bridge, and loop back to town. I didn’t know who had suggested it first, but it stuck. Some traditions were worth keeping.
Haider’s cheeks were red—not just from the cold but from his excitement when he told us one of his dating stories. He was marching ahead, his red-gloved hands flailing as he talked, and Ryan and Conor were already howling with laughter. I had no idea what I’d missed, but I didn’t want to be left out. I really hated being late.
“Wait, wait, start over,” I called, catching up to them. “What happened?”
Haider spun around, walking backward to ensure I saw his full level of exasperation. “Okay, so I matched with this guy on the app—Benji. Cute. Seemed normal, you know? We decided to meet up at that coffee shop by the bookstore. You know the one.”
“Sure,” I said, grinning. This was already promising.
“So, I get there first, right? Order my latte, sit down, whatever. He shows up, and—” Haider paused, throwing his hands up dramatically. “The first thing out of his mouth is, ‘Wow, you look taller in your photos.’”
Conor let out a loud laugh. “Classic. Always a great start to a date.”
“Right?” Haider groaned. “And I’m just sitting there, thinking, What the hell do I even say to that? So, I’m like, ‘Uh, okay, thanks?’ And he shrugs like it’s no big deal. Strike one.”
“Wait, wait,” Ryan interrupted, grinning. “Was he shorter than you?”
“Of course, he was shorter than me,” Haider said, gesturing to himself. “And I’m not even that tall! Anyway, we’re making awkward small talk, and I’m trying to steer the conversation toward literally anything normal. Then the waitress brings his drink, and he looks her dead in the eye and says, ‘Thanks, but I don’t tip.’”
A collective groan went up from all of us.
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “No way.”
“Oh, yes,” Haider said, eyes wide with mock horror. “I wanted to crawl under the table. The waitress just gave him this look like, ‘Really?’ And then I ended up tipping extra because I was so embarrassed.”
“Strike two,” Conor said, smirking.
“Strike two and three,” Haider shot back. “But no, it gets worse. He starts talking about how he’s ‘working on a screenplay’—because of course he is—and goes on this whole rant about how no one understands his vision and how he has this ‘intense connection’ to cats.”
Ryan frowned. “Like, he likes cats. That’s not bad.”
“No, no,” Haider said, waving a finger at him. “Not like he ‘likes cats.’ Like he thinks he was a cat in a past life. He literally said, and I quote, ‘I think my soul resonates with feline energy.’”
I almost choked on my laughter. “What does that even mean?”
“I have no idea!” Haider threw up his hands. “I sat there, nodding like an idiot because I didn’t want to be rude. But then—then!—he says, ‘Do you ever feel like people just don’t understand your meows?’”
Conor lost it, doubling over with laughter. Ryan wasn’t far behind, his laugh so loud it startled a flock of birds out of a nearby tree. I couldn’t help myself, either. I laughed so hard my sides hurt.
“So, what did you do?” I managed, wiping my eyes.
“What could I do?” Haider said, shaking his head. “I excused myself to the bathroom, told the waitress good luck, and walked out. Blocked him on the app before I even reached my car.”
“You abandoned him?” Conor said, grinning. “Cold.”
“Oh, please.” Haider snorted. “The guy deserved it. And I’m pretty sure the waitress gave me a thumbs-up on my way out.”
“See, this is why I don’t date,” I said, still laughing. “It’s too dangerous out there.”
“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, Maple Boy,” Haider shot back. “At least I’m trying. What about you?”
I shrugged, dodging the question. “I’m not the one resonating with feline energy.”
The teasing continued as we walked, the cold forgotten for a while as Haider’s disastrous date story turned into the best entertainment we’d had in weeks. I should have expected nothing less from him. It wouldn’t be a Haider birthday without a story like this one.
“Thirty,” Haider groaned, dragging the word out as if it were a life sentence. He kicked at a clump of snow on the path, sending it flying. “How am I thirty and still single? It’s pathetic. I mean, come on. I’m a nice guy, right?”
He looked at us, waiting for validation. Conor did this weird laugh-snort thing, while Ryan stayed quiet, biting his lip as if he were trying to decide how serious he needed to be.
“You’re a great guy,” I said, rolling my eyes at his theatrics. “But maybe tone down the pity party. It’s only been your birthday for fifteen hours, so the day is young.”
“Fifteen hours is plenty of time for introspection,” Haider shot back, hands on his hips. “I just think it’s ridiculous. I own my own business. I’m charming. I’m romantic. And I make the best damn chocolate in this town. Why am I still single?”
Ryan, who’d been lagging behind to brush snow off his boots, caught up. “I’d date you just for the chocolate,” he said, deadpan, his breath visible in the cold air.
We all stopped walking for a second, staring at him, and then burst out laughing. Haider crossed his arms, feigning offense. “Just for the chocolate? Wow. Real flattering, Ryan.”
“Hey, I’m just saying,” Ryan replied, shrugging with a grin. “Your truffles are, like, next-level. And you’re not bad-looking, I guess.”
“‘Not bad-looking’, he guesses,” Haider muttered, rolling his eyes. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
“You’re welcome,” Ryan said, smirking. “But for real, stop beating yourself up. You’ll find someone. Probably someone who’ll also date you just for the chocolate.”
Haider huffed but didn’t say anything, and Conor clapped him on the back, almost sending him stumbling into the snow. “Ryan’s got a point, though,” Conor said. “You’ll figure it out. And if you don’t, we’ll keep eating your chocolate and pretending we’re supportive.”
I chuckled, falling into step with them again as the trail stretched ahead. For all his complaining, Haider wasn’t wrong. He was a nice guy—one of the best, actually. And yeah, his chocolate was amazing, but we all stuck around because he made life better, even when he was being dramatic. Someone would figure that out eventually. They’d be lucky to.
“Anyway,” Haider said with a grin, and I just knew what was coming. “I’m not the one who made a pact with my best friend to marry him at thirty.” He whirled in the snow and pointed at me, and then Conor. I groaned. I’d been drunk. Scratch that—both Conor and I had been drunk. We exchanged eye-rolls.
“Your birthday’s up next, Joker,” Conor said.
Joker. Yeah, because my birthday is on April 1, and isn’t that the most fantastic nickname ever for an April Fool’s baby?
Not.
I glanced at him, my stomach tightening. “Yeah. It’s coming, and May the fourth’s not far behind, Jedi.”
The pact we’d made years ago, half-joking and half-serious, suddenly felt as if it had claws, digging in the closer we got to thirty. And I wasn’t sure what terrified me more—the idea of going through with it or that part of me that didn’t hate the thought of not worrying about finding a date when I had more important things to think about.
Like the farm.
Haider clapped his hands. “Sam-you-ell and Con-noor sitting in a tree—”
I pushed Haider into the snow, Conor sat on him, and Ryan lost his shit, laughing so loud he was bent at the waist.
My friends.
I loved them all.
We finally let a grumpy, icy Haider up, and snow fell around us, muffling everything but the sound of Haider’s cursing. Which didn’t last long because he was perennial sunshine, and he laughed as he regaled us with another one of his dating horrors.
Another year, another birthday, and the same thought gnawed at the back of my mind—how did thirty sneak up on me so damn fast?
“I might have a new guy to look at anyway,” he said, his voice dripping with exaggerated nonchalance.
Conor groaned. “Here we go.”
Ryan, always the slower one to pick up on Haider’s antics, tilted his head. “A new guy? Where?”
“In town,” Haider said smugly, savoring the moment like one of his chocolates. “Harriet Thompson’s great-nephew is moving to Caldwell Crossing.”
Harriet was the town librarian and ran the local crafting group, which meant she heard and saw everything and discussed it with her friends while knitting. She also frightened me at school whenever I was late returning a book.
“Harriet has a nephew?” I repeated, frowning.
“Great-nephew,” Haider corrected. “Apparently…” He paused, letting the word linger in the air as if he were announcing the winner of some dramatic reality show. “He’s super-sweet and cute, coming here to unwind after some big-city burnout. Boston, I believe.” He halted abruptly, planting his hands on his hips like a diva mid-performance. Snow swirled around us, but Haider was in his element. “And I call dibs on the new guy in town.”
Ryan groaned, throwing his head back. “You can’t call dibs on a person, Haider. That’s not how it works.”
Haider spun on his heel to face us, waving dismissively. “Of course I can. It’s efficient. Saves everyone time and energy.”
I smirked. “He might not even be into you, Haider,” I pointed out. “You ever think of that?”
“And he might not be into guys at all,” Conor added, shrugging.
Haider gasped as if we’d just insulted his very existence. “You don’t think so?” he said, gesturing to himself with a dramatic flourish. He tossed his head back, flipping an imaginary mane of hair. “I mean, come on. Who wouldn’t be into this?”
I snorted, shaking my head. “You’re impossible.”
“Thank you,” Haider said, flashing me a grin. “But seriously, Harriet Thompson’s great-nephew—Ben, I think?—sounds like a catch. He’s a big-city escapee, and she says he’s cute, but I bet he’s all broody and sad, but in a sweet way. I’m into it.”
“You’ve met him then.”
“No, but Ben is a sexy name, right?”
“So, based on a name, you’re already planning your future together,” Ryan said dryly, brushing snow from his coat.
“Someone has to plan,” Haider retorted. “Otherwise, how will it happen?”
We all laughed, the sound echoing through the snowy forest. Haider’s theatrics were nothing new, but they made our meetups feel special. Still, as we continued walking, I couldn’t help but wonder about this guy Ben. Burnout, Harriet’s family—he didn’t seem like someone who’d fit into Haider’s usual circle.
Not that I cared. I didn’t. Really.
We split up at the trail’s end. “Don’t forget my presents at the party,” Haider called after us.
“I didn’t get you anything,” Conor teased. “Deal with it.”
Haider rolled his eyes but grinned as he turned toward the parking lot. I watched the others go, their laughter fading into the distance as the snow muffled the world around me. I tucked my hands into my pockets and headed back to my truck, the thought of home pulling at me. I had so much to do today, which wouldn’t be achieved by hanging around here.
First, I needed to stop at Lakeside Inn, with its weathered stone facade and green shutters—venue for Haider’s party later. The inn sat nestled beside the lake, where the frozen water stretched smooth as glass mirroring the dark clouds in the overcast sky. I stayed long enough to drop off maple products for their guest baskets. Then, it was back to the farm.
The drive was quiet, and there was a stillness around me that could allow me to let my mind wander if I wasn’t careful. Snow still fell, light and steady, blanketing the trees and fields on either side of the road. The fencing running along the edge of our property was in my sight when I noticed it—a car pulled off to the side of the road and half-hidden by the snow.
I eased off the gas, my grip tightening on the wheel. It could’ve been abandoned, maybe left behind when the late winter storm rolled in over the weekend. But something about the angle—its nose tilted forward—didn’t sit right.
I pulled over, my tires crunching over the compacted snow as I flicked on my hazards and killed the engine. The icy wind cut through my coat when I stepped out, biting at my cheeks and numbing my fingers. The car before me had seen better days—a battered scarlet Prius with a front end half-buried in a slushy mix of mud and snow. A layer of frost and grime dulled its paint, and as I approached, the wind whipped around me, the snowflakes stinging like tiny needles.
Leaning closer, I squinted through the frosted driver’s side window, my breath fogging the glass.
There was someone inside.
A man slumped over the wheel, his short dark hair sticking up in uneven tufts. For a second, my stomach dropped. He wasn’t moving, and for a heartbeat, I thought—
I knocked on the window hard enough to startle myself. “Hey! You okay in there?”
The figure shifted, groaning as he turned his head toward me. Relief hit me fast and sharp. He was alive, thank God.
“Hey, can you hear me?” I knocked again, this time with less force, my voice cutting through the muffling quiet of the snow.
The man blinked, his jade-green eyes glassy, as he tried to focus on me. His face was pale, and his lips were tinged with a bluish hue that didn’t look right. He squinted as if it took effort to lift his head, his breath fogging the window, and then he opened his eyes wider as he tried to focus on me and failed.
“Hold on,” I said, more to myself than him, as I yanked at the car door. It was locked, of course, and I tapped on the window. “Hey, unlock the door if you can.”
His hand fumbled for the lock, shaking as he managed to hit the button. The door gave a click, and I pulled it open, the cold air rushing into the small space. He shivered, and that was when I realized how badly off he was. He had no coat, just a thin hoodie and jeans, and with the engine off, he was sitting in an icebox. His hands were bare, his fingers trembling on the steering wheel.
“Shit, should I try to move you? What if your neck…” I reached in to touch his shoulder, and he winced. “I need to call paramedics,” I told him, but more for myself. “What the hell are you doing out here dressed like that?” I asked, crouching down to get a better look at him. My tone was sharper than I intended, but I was rattled. He didn’t answer. He leaned back against the seat and rolled his neck—okay then, no neck injury. Or would he still move if he was paralyzed?
“Okay,” I said, forcing myself to stay calm. “Stay there, and I’ll get a blanket.”
I headed to my truck, scrambling up the small bank, but a noise behind me—a groan—had me turning back—the idiot had climbed out of the car and fallen to his knees in the snow.
“Jesus… what are you… We need to get you somewhere warm. Can you walk?”
He shook his head a little, his gorgeous eyes drifting shut.
“Hey, no. No sleeping. Come on.” I slid an arm under his body to support him. He was too light, worryingly so, and his legs refused to cooperate as he staggered against me. His breath hitched, and for a moment, I feared he might pass out again.
“Easy,” I said, practically carrying him to my truck. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”
Whoever this guy was, he hadn’t planned to end up here, not in a ditch in the middle of nowhere. And judging by his state—pale, shivering, a bump rising on his head—he wouldn’t last much longer in this weather if I didn’t do something.
“What’s your name?” I asked, my voice steady despite the growing knot of worry in my chest.
He groaned, his voice barely above a whisper. “Huh.”
“Your name?”
He closed his eyes, and I poked him. “Open your eyes!” I ordered, and he blinked at me. “What’s your name?”
“B-b-Ben,” he managed. At least he was coherent.
“Okay, Ben,” I said, glancing at him as I reached into the back seat and grabbed the emergency blanket I always kept there. He was so small, curled in on himself, his breath coming in shallow puffs of white. He blinked at me, green eyes bright with emotion and it struck me like a fist to the chest.
“You’re safe now,” I murmured, buckling him into the passenger seat and wrapping the blanket around him. My fingers brushed his as I tucked the edges in, and I felt how cold he was—too cold. His trembling only worsened, and something fierce and protective rose inside me.
I climbed into the driver’s seat, fumbling with the heating controls as I blasted warm air into the cab. Was that the right thing to do? It wasn’t as if I was stopping to consult the internet. The vents roared to life, and I adjusted them to point toward him. He shivered harder, pulling the blanket tighter around himself, his teeth chattering.
“Hang in there, Ben,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady as I reversed onto the road and focused on steering us back to solid ground.
As the truck found traction, I glanced at him again. His head lolled against the seat, the bump on his forehead looked worse out from beneath the shadows of the pine trees lining the road. I debated my options. I could take him to my parents’ place—Mom would know what to do. She’d fuss over him, get him warm, and ensure he was okay. But that bump on his head… What if it was more serious? What if he needed more help than Mom’s fussing and hot soup could provide?
I decided before I could second-guess myself. I tightened my grip on the wheel and turned onto the main road, heading straight for the hospital. The snow continued to fall thick and fast, but the thought of getting Ben somewhere safe kept me focused.
“Almost there,” I said, more to myself than to him as I pressed the gas pedal gently, the truck humming steadily beneath us. He didn’t respond, his head lolling again, but his breathing was steady, and that was enough to keep me going.
I glanced at him one more time, my chest tightening at how vulnerable he looked, swaddled in the blanket, small and fragile in my truck. Whatever had brought him here or left him like this didn’t matter now. All that mattered was getting him to safety.
He was mumbling something, but I couldn’t make it out at first. Then bits and pieces made sense—a name—Harriet.
And he said he was Ben?
I put two and two together—was this Harriet’s great nephew—big-city-burnout Ben?
Too much of a coincidence not to be.
If it was him, he’d picked one hell of a way to make an entrance.
Valen-Kitten Day by Jaime Samms
All Out of Order
The door to the Tim Horton’s shop opened just as Leland reached for the handle, and a grey fluff spat out, hissing and growling.
“Stay out this time!” a barista shouted into Leland’s face.
The grey fluff landed, spikes out, on his pant leg, and he froze. It glared up at him, tiny face furious, spat, hissed, and clawed its way around to his calf.
“Ow.” He resisted the urge to shake it loose long enough for it to meet his gaze, growl, and launch itself into a snowbank, then disappear into the long grass on the other side. Swaying brush indicated its passage through the field and down a gully, where even that sign disappeared.
“I, uh. I meant the cat,” the barista said.
“Right.”
They backed up, holding the door. “You coming inside?”
Taking pity on the server’s short sleeves and shivering, Leland grabbed the door and nodded. “Sure.”
He fingered the coins in his pocket individually, making sure they were all still there as he waited in line to place his order. He purposefully did not look at the display case filled with mouth-watering baked goods. He didn’t have the coins for those. Just for the coffee to warm up his frozen self.
He’d been walking through Northern Ontario January weather more than long enough and was feeling that cold down in his bones. The slip of paper in his other pocket, that held the address for his job interview, said the road he was looking for was off “the main highway.” He’d ridden the bus to the top of the hill and got off on Main Street at Sixth Avenue, only to be told by the guy at the garage on the corner that he should have gotten off three klicks back, at the bottom of the hill.
“Next!” the server behind the nearest cash called, staring right at him.
“Right.” He hurried up and ordered his double-double.
“That’s two-forty-seven, please.”
Leland’s heart sank. He dropped his three coins onto the counter as another barista placed his coffee next to them. “I only have two-thirty-five.” He patted at his pockets, then began to fish around in them, as if looking for another coin he knew wasn’t there. “Hang on. Let me…”
The barista watched him, gaze flat.
Heat crept up Leland’s neck as it became clear this server was not going to give him a break. He was so flustered, he almost missed the tap on his shoulder.
“Excuse me.”
He turned to find someone holding out a twenty-dollar bill. “What?” It came out more surly than he’d meant.
“I think this fell out of your pocket while you were looking through them.” The person’s smile caught Leland’s attention for a split second before someone else called over the heads of those standing in line behind Leland.
“Bryce. You coming? I’m going to be late.”
“Yes, Jack.” Bryce grinned wider and shook the bill at Leland. “Impatient as fuck, that one.” He winked. “Gotta love him, though.”
“I—that’s—”
“It fell from your pocket,” Bryce insisted, though they both knew it hadn’t.
“Thanks.” Leland took the bill in shaking fingers.
“No problem. Have a good one.”
“Bryce!”
“I’m coming! Geeze. They aren’t starting the meeting you called without you, darling.” Bryce’s bright grin and wide smile at his “darling” had the intended effect of getting Jack to loosen his tight features and almost smile back.
“It would be rude to be late,” Jack insisted, and their voices trailed away as they left the coffee shop.
Leland turned back to push the bill across the counter at the barista, who was now sweeping his coins into their palm.
“Don’t worry about it,” they said, not meeting Leland’s gaze. “You’re good.”
Would have been nice for them to have accepted his short change before Bryce had shoved charity at him, but whatever. He grabbed his coffee before they changed their mind and scurried out of the shop.
Across the lot, Leland spotted Jack and Bryce scooting down a narrow trail through a ditch between the Tim’s lot and the lot for the series of strip malls next door. He called to them, then hurried to catch up.
He should have stopped to better consider his route instead of plunging down the trail after them. The passage of snowmobiles and many other pedestrians had churned up the snow, making it just deep enough his feet sank and it spilled over the tops of his already-damp runners.
There were a lot of things he should have better considered, he figured, but here he was.
“Hey.” Bryce smiled at him as he reached them.
He held out the twenty. “You know I didn’t drop it,” Leland said, no preamble.
“True.”
“So thanks, but—”
Bryce gently pushed his hand back towards his chest. “Keep it.”
“I don’t need—”
It was Jack who snorted, then grunted when Bryce elbowed him in the gut.
“You can pay me back later.”
“I don’t even know you.”
Bryce pointed at a nearby cinder-block building standing apart from the other strip mall rows. “That’s the pet shop. I work there. When you can, come see me and pay me back. No rush.”
Having the money would certainly make dinner easier. He’d noticed a few restaurants around the business hub that might have something other than doughnuts and muffins and that he could afford if he had this cash.
“Listen,” Bryce said, moving away from Jack and edging Leland away too. “I get it, okay? I was new here only a few months ago. I came for a job, and regretted just about everything until I met Jack’s dog, then Jack. But this place, it’s a nice town. Give it a chance.”
“How do you know I’m new here?”
Bryce eyed him, head to toe. “No toque. No gloves. That jacket is not warm enough for this weather. I almost want to give you my scarf. And running shoes? Since when?”
Leland grimaced. “Since there’s no snow in Toronto.”
Bryce grinned—something Leland noticed he did a hell of a lot. “Me too! Man, I was woefully under-clothed when I got here. Do you have a place?”
“Not yet. Just a job interview.” He pulled the slip of paper from his pocket and handed it to Bryce.
“Oh! Ancestral Acres Woodworking. That’s just down the road.” He pointed past a bigger strip mall and an ATV dealer to the road beyond. “Just over there. Turn left at the road, and it’s the second house on the left, just over the bridge. Big white thing, double garage. Can’t miss it.”
“Thanks.”
“Sure.” He patted Leland on the shoulder. “I’m Bryce, and that grumpy suit over there is Jack. You know where to find me if you need anything, okay?”
“I don’t even know you,” Leland said again.
Bryce shrugged. “I had pretty much nothing too, when I got here. Now I have…” He smiled, and it was way more dreamy this time. “Well, pretty much everything. So.” He patted Leland’s shoulder again when Jack called him. “Gotta go, though. Good luck!” He waved and hurried off, slipping a hand into Jack’s when he reached him.
Neither man looked back as they jogged towards a very winter-worthy SUV. The head of a happy-looking white dog stuck out a back window, because apparently no one was worried about the vehicle’s contents going walkabout.
He supposed even at his most desperate he never would have stuck his hand into a car with such a big dog either, no matter how friendly it looked.
Turning his attention back to his own business, Leland shoved the money and the paper with the job address back into his pocket and pulled out his phone, noting the thin red line in the battery icon. “Shit.” He had about ten minutes to get to his interview. Hopefully the house he was looking for wasn’t far down the road.
Curling frigid fingers around his coffee cup, hoping to steal some of its warmth, he hurried across the parking lots towards what he hoped was his future.
Hank EdwardsHank Edwards has been writing gay romantic fiction for more than twenty years. He has published over thirty novels and dozens of short stories. His writing crosses many sub-genres, including romantic comedy, contemporary, paranormal, suspense, mystery, and wacky comedy.
He has written a number of series such as the funny and spooky Critter Catchers, Old West historical horror Venom Valley Series, suspenseful Up to Trouble series, and the very erotic and very funny Fluffers, Inc., He is also part of the shared universe Williamsville Inn series of contemporary gay romance books that feature stories by Brigham Vaughn as well. He's written a YA urban fantasy gay romance series called The Town of Superstition, which is published under the pen name R. G. Thomas.
No matter what genre he writes, Hank likes to keep things steamy, kind of sassy, and heartfelt. He was born and still lives in a northwest suburb of the Motor City, Detroit, Michigan.
Ellie ThomasEllie Thomas lives by the sea. She comes from a teaching background and goes for long seaside walks where she daydreams about history. She is a voracious reader especially about anything historical. She mainly writes historical romance.
Ellie also writes historical erotic romance under the pen name L. E. Thomas.
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.
RJ ScottWriting love stories with a happy ever after – cowboys, heroes, family, hockey, single dads, bodyguards
USA Today bestselling author RJ Scott has written over one hundred romance books. Emotional stories of complicated characters, cowboys, single dads, hockey players, millionaires, princes, bodyguards, Navy SEALs, soldiers, doctors, paramedics, firefighters, cops, and the men who get mixed up in their lives, always with a happy ever after.
She lives just outside London and spends every waking minute she isn’t with family either reading or writing. The last time she had a week’s break from writing, she didn’t like it one little bit, and she has yet to meet a box of chocolates she couldn’t defeat.
Jaime SammsLost. Broken. Found…loved. Romance for all.
Jaime is a plaid-hearted Canadian who spends the long cold winters writing stories about love between
men and the too-short summers digging in the garden. There are dust bunnies in the corners of her
house—which she blames on a husky named Kai.
There are dishes on the counter—which is clearly because teenagers! There is hot coffee in the pot and the occasional meal to keep her from starving—because her husband is remarkable and patient.
A multi-published author whose work has been translated into French, Italian and German, Jaime delights in the intricate dance of words that leads her through tales of the lost and broken-hearted men she writes about, to the love stories that find and mend them.
And when the muse is being stubborn, she also makes pretty things with yarn and fabric scraps because in her world, no heart is too broken to love, and nothing is too worn or tired it can’t be upcycled into something beautiful. All it takes is determination and the ability to see life a little bit left of centre.
Hank Edwards
Ellie Thomas
Charlie Cochrane
RJ Scott
BOOKBUB / KOBO / SMASHWORDS
EMAIL: rj@rjscott.co.uk
Jaime Samms
The Cupid Crawl by Hank Edwards
Season of Hope by Ellie Thomas
Love in Every Season by Charlie Cochrane
Love Story by RJ Scott
Valen-Kitten Day by Jaime Samms
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