📘🎥Friday's Film Adaptation🎥📘: Anne of Green Gables by by LM Montgomery

Summary:

Eleven-year-old orphan Anne Shirley has just arrived at Green Gables, and already her guardians want to send her back. First, she’s not the boy the Cuthberts expected. Second, she talks too much. And even with her generous spirit, the redhead’s a trouble magnet. She gets the neighbor drunk and nearly poisons the pastor!

Still, despite a rocky start, the fiery Anne wins over her guardians and her new community. She enjoys life at Green Gables, excels in school, and earns a coveted scholarship. But when tragedy hits, Anne must choose between her dreams and the only home she’s ever known.

In this beloved coming-of-age story, Lucy Maud Montgomery drew from her own experiences growing up in Canada during the nineteenth century to introduce generations of readers to one of literature’s most original and inspiring characters.

CHAPTER 1

Mrs. Rachel Lynde is Surprised

Mrs. Rachel Lynde lived just where the Avonlea main road dipped down into a little hollow, fringed with alders and ladies' eardrops and traversed by a brook that had its source away back in the woods of the old Cuthbert place; it was reputed to be an intricate, headlong brook in its earlier course through those woods, with dark secrets of pool and cascade; but by the time it reached Lynde's Hollow it was a quiet, well-conducted little stream, for not even a brook could run past Mrs. Rachel Lynde's door without due regard for decency and decorum; it probably was conscious that Mrs. Rachel was sitting at her window, keeping a sharp eye on everything that passed, from brooks and children up, and that if she noticed anything odd or out of place she would never rest until she had ferreted out the whys and wherefores thereof.

There are plenty of people in Avonlea and out of it, who can attend closely to their neighbor's business by dint of neglecting their own; but Mrs. Rachel Lynde was one of those capable creatures who can manage their own concerns and those of other folks into the bargain. She was a notable housewife; her work was always done and well done; she "ran" the Sewing Circle, helped run the Sunday-school, and was the strongest prop of the Church Aid Society and Foreign Missions Auxiliary. Yet with all this Mrs. Rachel found abundant time to sit for hours at her kitchen window, knitting "cotton warp" quilts – she had knitted sixteen of them, as Avonlea housekeepers were wont to tell in awed voices – and keeping a sharp eye on the main road that crossed the hollow and wound up the steep red hill beyond. Since Avonlea occupied a little triangular peninsula jutting out into the Gulf of St. Lawrence with water on two sides of it, anybody who went out of it or into it had to pass over that hill road and so run the unseen gauntlet of Mrs. Rachel's all-seeing eye.

She was sitting there one afternoon in early June. The sun was coming in at the window warm and bright; the orchard on the slope below the house was in a bridal flush of pinky-white bloom, hummed over by a myriad of bees. Thomas Lynde – a meek little man whom Avonlea people called "Rachel Lynde's husband" – was sowing his late turnip seed on the hill field beyond the barn; and Matthew Cuthbert ought to have been sowing his on the big red brook field away over by Green Gables. Mrs. Rachel knew that he ought because she had heard him tell Peter Morrison the evening before in William J. Blair's store over at Carmody that he meant to sow his turnip seed the next afternoon. Peter had asked him, of course, for Matthew Cuthbert had never been known to volunteer information about anything in his whole life.

And yet here was Matthew Cuthbert, at half-past three on the afternoon of a busy day, placidly driving over the hollow and up the hill; moreover, he wore a white collar and his best suit of clothes, which was plain proof that he was going out of Avonlea; and he had the buggy and the sorrel mare, which betokened that he was going a considerable distance. Now, where was Matthew Cuthbert going and why was he going there?

Had it been any other man in Avonlea, Mrs. Rachel, deftly putting this and that together, might have given a pretty good guess as to both questions. But Matthew so rarely went from home that it must be something pressing and unusual which was taking him; he was the shyest man alive and hated to have to go among strangers or to any place where he might have to talk. Matthew, dressed up with a white collar and driving in a buggy, was something that didn't happen often. Mrs. Rachel, ponder as she might, could make nothing of it and her afternoon's enjoyment was spoiled.

"I'll just step over to Green Gables after tea and find out from Marilla where he's gone and why," the worthy woman finally concluded. "He doesn't generally go to town this time of year and he never visits; if he'd run out of turnip seed he wouldn't dress up and take the buggy to go for more; he wasn't driving fast enough to be going for a doctor. Yet something must have happened since last night to start him off. I'm clean puzzled, that's what, and I won't know a minute's peace of mind or conscience until I know what has taken Matthew Cuthbert out of Avonlea today."

Accordingly after tea Mrs. Rachel set out; she had not far to go; the big, rambling, orchard-embowered house where the Cuthberts lived was a scant quarter of a mile up the road from Lynde's Hollow. To be sure, the long lane made it a good deal further. Matthew Cuthbert's father, as shy and silent as his son after him, had got as far away as he possibly could from his fellow men without actually retreating into the woods when he founded his homestead. Green Gables was built at the furthest edge of his cleared land and there it was to this day, barely visible from the main road along which all the other Avonlea houses were so sociably situated. Mrs. Rachel Lynde did not call living in such a place living at all.

"It's just staying, that's what," she said as she stepped along the deep-rutted, grassy lane bordered with wild rose bushes. "It's no wonder Matthew and Marilla are both a little odd, living away back here by themselves. Trees aren't much company, though dear knows if they were there'd be enough of them. I'd ruther look at people. To be sure, they seem contented enough; but then, I suppose, they're used to it. A body can get used to anything, even to being hanged, as the Irishman said."

With this Mrs. Rachel stepped out of the lane into the backyard of Green Gables. Very green and neat and precise was that yard, set about on one side with great patriarchal willows and the other with prim Lombardies. Not a stray stick nor stone was to be seen, for Mrs. Rachel would have seen it if there had been. Privately she was of the opinion that Marilla Cuthbert swept that yard over as often as she swept her house. One could have eaten a meal off the ground without over-brimming the proverbial peck of dirt.

Mrs. Rachel rapped smartly at the kitchen door and stepped in when bidden to do so. The kitchen at Green Gables was a cheerful apartment – or would have been cheerful if it had not been so painfully clean as to give it something of the appearance of an unused parlor. Its windows looked east and west; through the west one, looking out on the back yard, came a flood of mellow June sunlight; but the east one, whence you got a glimpse of the bloom white cherry-trees in the left orchard and nodding, slender birches down in the hollow by the brook, was greened over by a tangle of vines. Here sat Marilla Cuthbert, when she sat at all, always slightly distrustful of sunshine, which seemed to her too dancing and irresponsible a thing for a world which was meant to be taken seriously; and here she sat now, knitting, and the table behind her was laid for supper.

Mrs. Rachel, before she had fairly closed the door, had taken a mental note of everything that was on that table. There were three plates laid, so that Marilla must be expecting some one home with Matthew to tea; but the dishes were everyday dishes and there was only crab-apple preserves and one kind of cake, so that the expected company could not be any particular company. Yet what of Matthew's white collar and the sorrel mare? Mrs. Rachel was getting fairly dizzy with this unusual mystery about quiet, unmysterious Green Gables.

"Good evening, Rachel," Marilla said briskly. "This is a real fine evening, isn't it? Won't you sit down? How are all your folks?"

Something that for lack of any other name might be called friendship existed and always had existed between Marilla Cuthbert and Mrs. Rachel, in spite of – or perhaps because of – their dissimilarity.

Marilla was a tall, thin woman, with angles and without curves; her dark hair showed some gray streaks and was always twisted up in a hard little knot behind with two wire hairpins stuck aggressively through it. She looked like a woman of narrow experience and rigid conscience, which she was; but there was a saving something about her mouth which, if it had been ever so slightly developed, might have been considered indicative of a sense of humor.

"We're all pretty well," said Mrs. Rachel. "I was kind of afraid you weren't, though, when I saw Matthew starting off today. I thought maybe he was going to the doctor's."

Marilla's lips twitched understandingly. She had expected Mrs. Rachel up; she had known that the sight of Matthew jaunting off so unaccountably would be too much for her neighbor's curiosity.

"Oh, no, I'm quite well although I had a bad headache yesterday," she said. "Matthew went to Bright River. We're getting a little boy from an orphan asylum in Nova Scotia and he's coming on the train tonight."

If Marilla had said that Matthew had gone to Bright River to meet a kangaroo from Australia Mrs. Rachel could not have been more astonished. She was actually stricken dumb for five seconds. It was unsupposable that Marilla was making fun of her, but Mrs. Rachel was almost forced to suppose it.

"Are you in earnest, Marilla?" she demanded when voice returned to her.

"Yes, of course," said Marilla, as if getting boys from orphan asylums in Nova Scotia were part of the usual spring work on any well-regulated Avonlea farm instead of being an unheard of innovation.

Mrs. Rachel felt that she had received a severe mental jolt. She thought in exclamation points. A boy! Marilla and Matthew Cuthbert of all people adopting a boy! From an orphan asylum! Well, the world was certainly turning upside down! She would be surprised at nothing after this! Nothing!

"What on earth put such a notion into your head?" she demanded disapprovingly.

This had been done without her advice being asked, and must perforce be disapproved.

"Well, we've been thinking about it for some time – all winter in fact," returned Marilla. "Mrs. Alexander Spencer was up here one day before Christmas and she said she was going to get a little girl from the asylum over in Hopeton in the spring. Her cousin lives there and Mrs. Spencer has visited here and knows all about it. So Matthew and I have talked it over off and on ever since. We thought we'd get a boy. Matthew is getting up in years, you know – he's sixty – and he isn't so spry as he once was. His heart troubles him a good deal. And you know how desperate hard it's got to be to get hired help. There's never anybody to be had but those stupid, half-grown little French boys; and as soon as you do get one broke into your ways and taught something he's up and off to the lobster canneries or the States. At first Matthew suggested getting a Home boy. But I said 'no' flat to that. 'They may be all right – I'm not saying they're not – but no London street Arabs for me,' I said. 'Give me a native born at least. There'll be a risk, no matter who we get. But I'll feel easier in my mind and sleep sounder at nights if we get a born Canadian.' So in the end we decided to ask Mrs. Spencer to pick us out one when she went over to get her little girl. We heard last week she was going, so we sent her word by Richard Spencer's folks at Carmody to bring us a smart, likely boy of about ten or eleven. We decided that would be the best age – old enough to be of some use in doing chores right off and young enough to be trained up proper. We mean to give him a good home and schooling. We had a telegram from Mrs. Alexander Spencer today – the mail-man brought it from the station – saying they were coming on the five-thirty train tonight. So Matthew went to Bright River to meet him. Mrs. Spencer will drop him off there. Of course she goes on to White Sands station herself."

Mrs. Rachel prided herself on always speaking her mind; she proceeded to speak it now, having adjusted her mental attitude to this amazing piece of news.

"Well, Marilla, I'll just tell you plain that I think you're doing a mighty foolish thing – a risky thing, that's what. You don't know what you're getting. You're bringing a strange child into your house and home and you don't know a single thing about him nor what his disposition is like nor what sort of parents he had nor how he's likely to turn out. Why, it was only last week I read in the paper how a man and his wife up west of the Island took a boy out of an orphan asylum and he set fire to the house at night – set it on purpose, Marilla – and nearly burnt them to a crisp in their beds. And I know another case where an adopted boy used to suck the eggs – they couldn't break him of it. If you had asked my advice in the matter – which you didn't do, Marilla – I'd have said for mercy's sake not to think of such a thing, that's what."

This Job's comforting seemed neither to offend nor to alarm Marilla. She knitted steadily on.

"I don't deny there's something in what you say, Rachel. I've had some qualms myself. But Matthew was terrible set on it. I could see that, so I gave in. It's so seldom Matthew sets his mind on anything that when he does I always feel it's my duty to give in. And as for the risk, there's risks in pretty near everything a body does in this world. There's risks in people's having children of their own if it comes to that – they don't always turn out well. And then Nova Scotia is right close to the Island. It isn't as if we were getting him from England or the States. He can't be much different from ourselves."

"Well, I hope it will turn out all right," said Mrs. Rachel in a tone that plainly indicated her painful doubts. "Only don't say I didn't warn you if he burns Green Gables down or puts strychnine in the well – I heard of a case over in New Brunswick where an orphan asylum child did that and the whole family died in fearful agonies. Only, it was a girl in that instance."

"Well, we're not getting a girl," said Marilla, as if poisoning wells were a purely feminine accomplishment and not to be dreaded in the case of a boy. "I'd never dream of taking a girl to bring up. I wonder at Mrs. Alexander Spencer for doing it. But there, she wouldn't shrink from adopting a whole orphan asylum if she took it into her head."

Mrs. Rachel would have liked to stay until Matthew came home with his imported orphan. But reflecting that it would be a good two hours at least before his arrival she concluded to go up the road to Robert Bell's and tell the news. It would certainly make a sensation second to none, and Mrs. Rachel dearly loved to make a sensation. So she took herself away, somewhat to Marilla's relief, for the latter felt her doubts and fears reviving under the influence of Mrs. Rachel's pessimism.

"Well, of all things that ever were or will be!" ejaculated Mrs. Rachel when she was safely out in the lane. "It does really seem as if I must be dreaming. Well, I'm sorry for that poor young one and no mistake. Matthew and Marilla don't know anything about children and they'll expect him to be wiser and steadier that his own grandfather, if so be's he ever had a grandfather, which is doubtful. It seems uncanny to think of a child at Green Gables somehow; there's never been one there, for Matthew and Marilla were grown up when the new house was built – if they ever were children, which is hard to believe when one looks at them. I wouldn't be in that orphan's shoes for anything. My, but I pity him, that's what."

So said Mrs. Rachel to the wild rose bushes out of the fulness of her heart; but if she could have seen the child who was waiting patiently at the Bright River station at that very moment her pity would have been still deeper and more profound.

An orphan girl, sent to an elderly brother and sister by mistake, charms her new home and community with her fiery spirit and imagination.

Release Date: December 1-2, 1985

Release Time: 199 minutes

Director: Kevin Sullivan

Cast:

Megan Follows as Anne Shirley

Colleen Dewhurst as Marilla Cuthbert

Richard Farnsworth as Matthew Cuthbert

Patricia Hamilton as Rachel Lynde

Marilyn Lightstone as Miss Stacy

Schuyler Grant as Diana Barry

Jonathan Crombie as Gilbert Blythe

Charmion King as Aunt Josephine Barry

Jackie Burroughs as Amelia Evans

Rosemary Radcliffe as Mrs. Barry

Joachim Hansen as John Sadler

Christiane Krüger as Mrs. Allan

Cedric Smith as Rev. Allan

Paul Brown as Mr. Phillips

Miranda de Pencier as Josie Pye

Trish Nettleton as Jane Andrews

Jennifer Inch as Ruby Gillis

Jayne Eastwood as Mrs. Hammond

Dawn Greenhalgh as Mrs. Cadbury

Jack Mather as Station Master

Samantha Langevin as Mrs. Blewett

Vivian Reis as Mrs. Spencer

Mag Ruffman as Alice Lawson

Sean McCann as Dr. O'Reilly

Roxolana Roslak as Madame Selitsky

Robert Haley as Professor

Robert Collins as Mr. Barry

Morgan Chapman as Minne May Barry

David Roberts as Tom

Nancy Beatty as Essie

David Hughes as Thomas Lynde

Wendy Lyon as Prissy Andrews

Zack Ward as Moody Spurgeon MacPherson

Trailer

Clips

Green Gables(1934)  /  Green Gables(1985)

Avonlea(1987)

Author Bio:

Lucy Maud Montgomery was a Canadian author, best known for a series of novels beginning with Anne of Green Gables, published in 1908.

Montgomery was born at Clifton, Prince Edward Island, Nov. 30, 1874. She came to live at Leaskdale, north of Uxbridge Ontario, after her wedding with Rev. Ewen Macdonald on July 11, 1911. She had three children and wrote close to a dozen books while she was living in the Leaskdale Manse before the family moved to Norval, Ontario in 1926. She died in Toronto April 24, 1942 and was buried at Cavendish, Prince Edward Island.

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Monday's Musical Melody(Tuesday Edition): Second to None by Felice Stevens

Summary:

The Breakfast Club #3

Flirting with the customers for tips is easy, but resisting the dark and sexy Marcus is becoming harder to do with each passing day.

Nightclub owner Marcus Feldman never met a man he didn’t love, at least for the night. Although his best friends have all found love, Marcus shuns their advice to commit to one man and settle down. His past has taught him monogamy and marriage is for fools, and Marcus is anything but a fool.

Tyler Reiss’s dream of dancing professionally is unexpectedly cut short and replaced by a different kind of love. He trades in his ballet slippers for go go boots, and spends his nights dancing at the hottest gay club in the city. Flirting with the customers for tips is easy, but resisting the dark and sexy Marcus is becoming harder to do with each passing day.

Unforeseen circumstances bring Marcus and Tyler closer and though they give in to their mutual passion, both still struggle to guard their hearts. When crises threaten, Tyler and Marcus find their strength in each other rather than falling apart. Tyler must choose to either run, or stay and fight for the life he wants, while Marcus realizes that love doesn’t mean losing himself and opens his heart, making him a better man in the end.

Original Review February 2016:

Second to None is brilliant!  Okay, I know you want more so here it goes.  No amount of good intentions can make Marcus see what his friends tell and show him, love and commitment is not a death sentence for your soul's ability to experience fun, life, and freedom.  Some things just have to happen for certain people to truly believe, and happen it does . . . well eventually anyway.  Life may not be exactly where Tyler envisioned for himself but that doesn't mean he isn't exactly where he needs to be.  When these two cross paths, it is explosive, at least it was for this reader.  Sometimes when couples meet and their chemistry is off the charts, for the reader at least even when the characters don't feel it yet, their journey can peak early and fall a little flat or remain status quo for the rest of the book but not this time.  Felice Stevens brings us another great couple with this entry in The Breakfast Club.

RATING:

“This wasn’t a permanent arrangement; you knew that.” Tyler leaned against the wall. “I can’t impose on you any longer. I’m sure you want your bedroom and your life back.”

“I didn’t mind it last night.” He walked over to Tyler and placed a hand on his neck, stroking him. This he could do. He had no qualms about seducing Tyler to stay with him. The troubling reason why he wanted him there so badly, Marcus pushed to the side for now. Instead, he pulled Tyler close, settling their hips in line, and his cock thickened in his pants. “I’d tell you if I did. Please, come with me to brunch, and we can talk.”

Doubt clouded Tyler’s eyes. “I don’t belong there. Those are your friends, the people you’re closest with.”

“I had my dick inside you twice last night, Tyler. How much closer could we get?”

It took Marcus many minutes of deep, persuasive kisses to rid Tyler of his confusion. When he pulled away though, the ground under his feet reeled, and Marcus needed a moment to compose himself.

They remained standing close; Tyler’s hands rested on his shoulders while he clasped Tyler around his hips. He nuzzled Tyler’s ear, then pleaded with him.

“Come on; you have to help me out here. They’re all coupled up, and the last thing I want is to listen to them be all disgustingly loving and happy.”

An amused glint lit Taylor’s eyes. “And you hate that, huh?”

“Bet that sweet ass of yours I do.” He gave Tyler’s ass a squeeze for effect, and the light in Tyler’s eyes smoldered.

“If you want me to come, you’d better get your hands off my ass.”

Marcus’s lips curved up in a grin as he popped open the button of Tyler’s jeans and drew them down.

“I definitely want you to come; in every way possible,” he said, and sank to his knees, uncaring of how late he might be to meet Zach and Julian.

Author Bio:

Felice Stevens has always been a romantic at heart. She believes that while life is tough, there is always a happy ending around the corner. Her characters have to work for it, because just like life in NYC, nothing comes easy and that includes love.

Felice is the 2020 Lambda Literary Award winning author in best Gay Romance. She lives in New York City and has way too much black in her wardrobe. If she's not writing, you'll probably find her watching reality TV or procrastinating on FB in her reader group, Felice's Breakfast Club.

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Second to None #3

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Week at a Glance: 8/1/22 - 8/7/22

July Book of the Month(Monday's Mysterious Mayhem-Tuesday Edition): The Mystery of the Spirits by CS Poe

📘🎥Friday's Film Adaptation🎥📘: Mum's the Word by Kate Collins

Sunday's Safe Word Shelf: Three's Company by NR Walker

Saturday's Series Spotlight(Sunday Edition): Shielded Hearts by Elle Keaton Part 1

Sunday's Safe Word Shelf: Three's Company by NR Walker

Summary:

When he started looking for someone to help heal his broken heart, Wilson Curtis never dreamed he’d find two someones. 

After Wilson Curtis was publicly outed, his restaurant business left in tatters, and dumped by his closeted boyfriend, he goes to Key West alone. There he meets Simon Stanford and Adam Preston. Fascinated by this couple, he is soon invited into their bed for some holiday fun.

But once isn’t enough, and the offer is extended for the remainder of his stay. As they get to know each other, in and out of the bedroom, sparks fly, and ten days is all it takes to change their lives.

When it comes time for Wil to leave, with tensions closing in and time running out, tempers flare and emotions fray. Beneath the physical attraction and the foolish misunderstandings is the realization these three men aren’t ready to say goodbye. 

Wil soon learns that love isn’t always conventional, and the only thing better than giving your heart to one man, is giving it to two.

** Re-released edition. While this book has been re-edited and has a new cover, no new content has been added since the 2015 edition.**

Original Review July 2015:

Holy Cow!!! Awesome read, tons of hot sexy time, lots of love, loads of wit, and heartfelt revelations. This book has it all. When I first started reading it, I could see how it would end and I expected just flirty fun summer fling to get us there. It gives us so much more. I don't do spoilers, as most of you know, but let me just say this: if you're looking for some light but naughty summer reading or a real heart tugging romance, you'll want to check this out because it fits both qualifications. It is a M/M/M story which isn't for everyone but I think that part is pretty self-explanatory from the summary. I don't usually do a heat level here but let's just say if you're reading it on an e-reader or your laptop, you'll want to make sure your insurance is up to date because it will fry your device and if you are reading a paperback copy then you better have a bucket of water handy to squelch the flames.  This was recommended to me by friends whose opinions I truly respect and once again they delivered. Now I am recommending it to you.

RATING:

The foyer of the hotel was beautiful. The furniture matched the dark hardwood floors and beams, white walls and the cathedral ceiling. It reminded me of pictures I’d seen in brochures for Tahiti, not really what I’d expected from a hotel in Key West.

Not that I’d really known what to expect. I’d never left Alabama before. My first vacation out of state was supposed to have been for two—a romantic two weeks, secluded, private and intimate. With a resigned sigh, I dropped my bags at the reception desk.

The man who looked up at me was tall with short, black, spiky hair, sky-blue eyes and a beautiful, full-lipped but professional smile. His name tag declared him to be Simon.

“Hello, I’m Wilson Curtis,” I told him. “I have a reservation.”

“Ah, yes,” he said, typing on his keyboard. “Curtis and Mackey. We’ve been expecting you.”

I swallowed down the lump in my throat. “Actually, it’s just Curtis. The Mackey half isn’t coming.”

I tried to look like it didn’t bother me, like it was my choice to be here solo, but my faltering smile must have given me away. Simon stared at me for a long, uncomfortable second before seeming to remember his professional position. He handed me a key and said, “I’ll show you to your room.”

I’d chosen the smaller, more personal hotel for the privacy. There were only twelve rooms in all—that would have ensured we’d be left alone and not be under the prying eyes of too many others. Not that it mattered…not anymore. It was a gay-friendly hotel too, where we could have just been ourselves, without judgment, without fear.

Not that that mattered anymore either.

After walking out from behind the desk, Simon collected the bag from the floor near my feet. There was a smile in his eyes as he led me out through the foyer into a courtyard by the pool. “You’re in room seven,” he said, leading the way. There were small bungalow-style rooms off the pool, but the entire area opened out onto the sand and the Gulf of Mexico.

Simon smiled at my distraction at the view. “Restaurant is open noon ‘til two for lunch, from six ‘til ten for dinner. The bar is open from lunch ‘til late.” He waved his hand toward the poolside bar with a thatched roof.

He unlocked the door to my room, walked in and put my bag on the bed. The room was decked out in white, with dark floors, and the only color was the lime-green painting above the bed—the huge, king-sized bed.

It was beautiful.

Simon cleared his throat to get my attention. His dark hair, pale skin and blue eyes made for an interesting combination. There was absolutely no doubt he was a good-looking guy. “Not all our guests come here with a partner,” he said, somewhat diplomatically. “So please feel free to take a look around, and this afternoon, if you find yourself at the bar, you might find others who are…looking for company.”

I blinked at his blatant assumption. “Uh…”

“Enjoy your stay,” Simon added professionally. “And if you need anything, be sure to let me know. If I’m not here, any of the staff will help.” And with another smile, he turned and walked out, closing the door behind him.

I sat on the bed and took a deep breath. This wasn’t what it was supposed to be like. It wasn’t the vacation I’d planned, but when Rod had told me he wouldn’t be coming with me, I’d had two choices. I could either stay in Dalton, Alabama, and face an entire town full of people who had their homophobic pitchforks at the ready, or I could come to Key West and take the vacation by myself.

So that was just what I’d done.

Leaving my business in the trusted hands of my best friend Callie, I’d packed my bag, boarded a plane in Birmingham and sat next to an empty seat the entire way to Key West, Florida, for a two-week vacation.

By myself.

I had no intention of spending the two weeks wallowing in self-pity. What was the point? Rod had made himself clear. We were through. And the more I thought about it, the more I wondered whether there had ever been an us at all.

So I unpacked my things and set off to have a look around.

The hotel opened directly onto the beach, so it seemed the logical place to start. I kicked off my shoes, hit the sand in bare feet and walked.

It was cathartic. The ocean, even without waves, still had an ebb and flow, a rhythm to it—it was cleansing. The blue sky looked better over the blue of the Gulf. I don’t know why, but life looked better when viewed over the blue of the ocean.

It looked…simpler.

After I’d walked for long enough, feeling the hot sand and cool water on my feet, I found myself, just as Simon had suggested, sitting at the bar.

I waited until the bartender had finished serving the two guys before me. Nothing here seemed urgent. The bartender had a mop of unruly blond hair, a square jaw, sun-kissed skin, blue-green eyes and a contagious smile.

“Adam,” he introduced himself.

I smiled back at him and returned the courtesy. “Wilson Curtis.”

“What can I get you, Wil?”

Wil. There was only one other person who called me that. “Just a soda, thanks.”

He raised an eyebrow—I think my non-alcoholic drink choice threw him—but he served me with a smile. He joked that he didn’t think boys with a Southern accent like mine drank just soda. I rolled my eyes at him and he laughed. I soon learned Adam always smiled. He had an honest face. His smile made me smile.

He was quick to greet other guys, serving them cocktails and easy conversation, but always came back to me. Whether he was taking pity on me because I was there alone, or he was just excellent at his job, I didn’t know.

Over the next two days, I took in the sights of Key West during the day, went for walks along the beach in the afternoon and sat at the bar and talked to Adam at night. Simon joined us when he finished his shift each night and slid straight into the conversation. We discussed all sorts of things, from current affairs to movies, music and sports, but the conversations between us were fun and flirty.

The first time Simon walked behind the bar and kissed Adam, I almost died of heart failure. They were boyfriends, apparently. Adam chuckled at my reaction. I’d never seen guys kiss in front of me before and I’d almost choked on my drink.

Simon was more standoffish than Adam, but he wasn’t snobby. He was just quieter than the always-smiling, make-me-laugh Adam. They were an interesting couple, not that I was any kind of expert on gay couples, but it was easy to tell they adored each other. There was always a quick kiss, a touch on the arm, a smile. It was something I’d never experienced, and I envied them that. It really was beautiful to watch.

Author Bio:
N.R. Walker is an Australian author, who loves her genre of gay romance. She loves writing and spends far too much time doing it, but wouldn't have it any other way.

She is many things; a mother, a wife, a sister, a writer. She has pretty, pretty boys who she gives them life with words.

She likes it when they do dirty, dirty things...but likes it even more when they fall in love. She used to think having people in her head talking to her was weird, until one day she happened across other writers who told her it was normal.

She’s been writing ever since...

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