A Long Time Coming

Book Cover: A Long Time Coming
Editions:ePub, Kindle

When Jack meets Tom, he’s immediately smitten. But the time isn’t right for romance. Instead, they become best friends. Tom has just bought his dream café and is working around the clock to get it up and running. Jack totally understands since he’s establishing himself as a CPA.

After Tom’s sister dies, leaving him with her six-year-old son, Jack realizes Tom doesn’t have the time or energy to do everything the boy needs. So Jack offers to help raise the boy. Despite Jack’s reluctance to declare his love and Tom’s exhaustion, they adjust into a semblance of a modern family.

When Zack is ready to go off to college, though, the dynamic is threatened. Will their nuclear family explode or become fused forever?

Excerpt:
    • One afternoon about a year after his mom's death, Zack asked me, "Do you like my dad?"
    • His homework was done, and we'd been trying to figure out if we wanted to go to what he'd called a hot new movie or stay in the apartment and play board games. The noise of customers and the smell of Tom's cooking had risen into my rooms and adjoining office.
    • We had been having a quiet, dull afternoon until he casually lobbed the bombshell question at me.

 

    • "Do I like Tom? Sure. I'm his best friend, aren't I?" I wondered what he was getting at. I feared what it might be.

 

    • "So why don't you live at our house?" His guileless questions tripped off his tongue.

 

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    • "I guess because we're only friends. We aren't lovers." I could see the potholes but wasn’t sure how to avoid them.

 

    • "Why not?"

 

    • Earthquake! Fissure! What was I about to fall into?

 

    • Grasping for an acceptable answer, I said, "I don't know. We just aren't."

 

    • Like every time we talked about something Zack really cared about, he got quiet.

 

    • I'd noticed he was a little like me since he would spend an inordinate amount of time internalizing before he would timidly venture into areas he thought were touchy and ask a question. When he did, however, he turned into a small version of Tom, boldly blasting away until he got an answer he liked.

 

    • His question about why I wasn't living at his house had been a kick in the gut to me. Could I blurt out that Tom had never suggested it as a possibility? Would Zack accost him with the same question? Could I face Tom the next day if Zack did?

 

    • I’d always told myself Tom and I were both too busy building our lives. Tom had never asked me to move in with him, much less asked me out on a date. We'd never kissed. Sure, we'd hugged, the quick man-hug of friends.

 

    • Still, I’d let us unwittingly dig a gorge between us. The truth was I was too chicken to tell Tom I was gay. That I loved him. That he was my life.

 

    • If he rejected me after all this time and everything we'd been through, I would die.

 

    • Whenever I thought about confessing, I’d asked myself why someone with the body of an athlete and the personality of a genial, much-loved star would want a short, pudgy, shy, precision-obsessed bald man. There was no sane answer to the question.

 

    • Most frustrating these days was my non-existent love life. I was so tired lately I'd stopped paying for male companionship. I'd even started masturbating, which I didn't prefer.

 

    Tom, Zack, and I were stalled on the treadmill of life.

 

COLLAPSE

A Lovely Plan for the Holidays

Book Cover: A Lovely Plan for the Holidays
Editions:ePub, Kindle, PDF

It’s July in Smallwood, Nevada. Time to try, once again, to bring the two halves of the community together to plan the town’s holiday festival.

As usual, the craftsmen and women on bar owner Wild Bill Toohey’s side want the holiday celebration to reflect the rowdy, fun-loving Gold Rush Days of the west. On the other side of town, Smallwood Inn’s Clive Pritchert and members of the Handcrafter’s Co-op see the winter holiday as a more mellow, family affair.

Longtime resident Harold “Gizzard” Ramsey thinks if he can just get Bill and Clive together to plan the yearly event, everything will be all right. Glenglory Ski Resort management thinks their event planner, Sylvia Marsden, will whip the town into shape.

Who will win in this holiday planner’s nightmare? Gizzard’s betting on love.

Excerpt:
    • “Thank you for agreeing to have dinner with me tonight,” Clive said to Bill as they settled in a quiet, secluded alcove of the Inn’s dining room. The balcony window overlooked the calm valley and mellow night. After the day’s July heat, the balm of evening felt refreshing.

 

    • Bill had made an effort, Clive realized. His jeans were clean, his Henley almost new looking, and his boots not exactly polished but cleaned up. He’d also bathed and shaved. His look still leaned toward the barbarian to Clive, but a civilized barbarian, someone smart and handsomely attractive.

 

    • “Nice.” Bill was looking around as if he’d never seen or been inside the Inn before. “Always wondered what it was like in here.”

 

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    • Clive was surprised.

 

    • “I thought you’d been here before.” Hadn’t Bill grown up in Smallwood?

 

    • “Nope. Always been told it was too expensive for anybody in the Toohey clan.” Bill was smiling like it didn’t matter, but his words disturbed Clive.

 

    • “Oh, for Pete’s sake. Do you think everyone else on your end of town feels the same way? Is that why I’ve never seen any of them eat here?” Clive frowned. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean for anyone to feel unwanted. Ever. Especially fellow townspeople.”

 

    • Bill shrugged his huge shoulders.

 

    • Clive had a sudden urge to run his hands along those shoulders and feel the power and strength they held. His body shivered at the thought. He was surprised he was turned on by big, burly, uncouth Bill. Who would have thought?

 

    • “Thought Gizzard comes in here to eat a lot.” Bill’s gaze made a lazy arc around the dining room where rich golfers pontificated to their wives and girlfriends. Bill’s near smirk grew until his eyes landed on Clive and he smiled. “Gizzard’s townspeople.”

 

    • It took Clive a moment to place someone named Gizzard.

 

    • “Oh! Harold. You mean Harold. I keep forgetting his nickname. What is a gizzard, anyway, except a chicken or turkey part? Why would people call someone Gizzard?” Clive took a breath. “I’ll shut up now.”

 

    • Bill’s eyes sprouted laugh lines and his lips lifted, but he didn’t let out a roar of delight. He felt it rip through his body though.

 

    • “Gizz used to think he was a music visionary.” Bill snorted in disagreement. “Liked a band called King Gizzard. Something like that. We all teased him ‘cuz they were so bad. Finally one of the guys tagged him Gizzard because of it.”

 

    • Clive’s eyes lit with understanding and mischief.

 

    • “Good to know. From now on, maybe I should call him ... Gizzard, because he likes to act so grizzly.” After a moment of silence, Clive shook his head. “No, Gizzard’s bad enough. I couldn’t possibly make it worse.”

 

    • It was too much for Bill. He exploded with laughter.

 

    • “Good one. Good one.” He started to slap the table, looked startled, and his hand retreated to his lap. “Good one,” he muttered.

 

    • “No, go ahead. Be you. I like you being you.” Clive shut his mouth as his face turned bright red.

 

    • “I’m trying to be couth here,” Bill said, sounding sincere. “I literally grew up in a barn. Tryin’ not to act like it.”

 

    • Clive put his hand on Bill’s arm and squeezed.

 

    • “Don’t try so hard. In a way, I grew up in a barn too. I grew up on a farm. Only I liked the inside stuff more than the outdoor. I understand and don’t care about elbows on the table and eating with the wrong silverware. None of it matters. What’s important is you being comfortable wherever you are, including here at the Inn.”

 

    • Bill studied Clive for a long moment. Then he put his hand over Clive’s and gave it a gentle squeeze.

 

    • “You know, I think we could actually be friends.” Bill’s voice was hushed like he’d had a revelation.

 

    “Oh, I hope so,” Clive replied with a bashful grin.

 

COLLAPSE

Arriving at Love’s Door

Book Cover: Arriving at Love's Door
Editions:ePub, Kindle, PDF

Will reconnecting after more than a decade apart rekindle their love? Or will they not like each other at all?

Unexpectedly, two-year college English instructor Joseph Rutledge gets a letter from Quentin Richards, the boy who sat in front of him at a charity school for wayward boys. Joe vividly remembers Quentin comforting him in fifth grade during an unprecedented earthquake. What could have been a lasting friendship with the boy he loved dissolved under Joe’s inherent shyness.

Little does he know Quentin too remembers the traumatic day of the earthquake and has relied on his memories of Joe’s comfort to buoy him during rough times. After recovering from a debilitating incident at the Olympics, Quentin’s keen to get together with Joe and writes to ask him out.

Will their memories of each other be enough to spark a relationship? Or do they each remember a person who never really existed?

Excerpt:
    • Twelve months later, the dreaded annual performance review weekend of looking back at the past year and forward to the next one began Friday night with a welcome dinner. The Mogrovejo and Paredes Counties Community College Consortium managed seven two-year colleges in a predominantly rural area in the Northwest United States.

 

    • Since I graduated from college, I’ve taught English composition at two of the colleges and probably would until I retired.

 

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    • Attending the yearly recap, team building, and planning for the future was required for department heads such as myself. It was an extremely boring two days for those of us who’d been-there, done-that for the past eight years. Same people, same problems, no additional funds, no real hope for the future except for incentives the individual instructors could give their students.

 

    • At least the new area casino which was sponsoring this year’s symposium offered more entertainment than listening to my fellow instructors bitch and moan during the session breaks.

 

    • We had convened in the hotel foyer and had been milling around, talking about the casino and by-passing discussions of the recession year and the consequential budget shortfalls. A call to dinner had galvanized us into a booze-fueled crowd ready for food.

 

    • Following behind a group of others who were chattering away, I was stopped at the door to the dining room.

 

    • “Dr. Joseph Rutledge?”

 

    • Although I never got my PhD and am not a doctor, I nodded and stepped out of the way of the crowd which was moving toward the white-clothed tables and uncomfortable-looking chairs.

 

    • “I’m here to escort you to your seat at the head table.” He pointed at the stage.

 

    • “Oh, uh, no. There must be a mistake. Um, I’m not speaking or presenting or anything. I’m not even a PhD, a doctor. I think maybe you should check your records.”

 

    • When he looked down at the paper in his hand, I melted into the crowd and found a seat next to an English instructor from another college.

 

    • The scuttlebutt around my table was the Consortium had scored a coup by landing a well-known athlete to head up a new, revolutionary regional sports medicine program.

 

    • The women at the table were excited because according to rumor, even though the new program director was a man, he was an advocate for women athletes and their education as well.

 

    • Finally, the hall doors closed and the lights dimmed, signaling everyone had made it to the ballroom and was to be seated. The casino had opted to serve us. No plodding buffet lines this year. But as we settled down, no waiters hustled into the room with trays of food. Instead, the PA system clicked on and a shrill screech assaulted us.

 

    • “Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention?” As if the noise hadn’t already made us sit up and react. “Will Doctor ...” the sound of a hand covering a microphone, “Will Mr. Joseph Rutledge please come forward to the stage? Mr. Joseph Rutledge?”

 

    • Reluctantly, I rose as everyone looked around for the mysterious Mr. Rutledge.

 

    • “Joe! What in God’s name ...?” my fellow instructor started to ask.

 

    • I shook my head in bewilderment.

 

    “I have no idea.”

 

COLLAPSE

Bright, Shiny Love

Metal artist Martin Murphy knows dragons don’t talk, especially the dragon crafted of sequins on a former flame’s vest. So when the dragon seems to reach out and tells him to help its creator Ty, Marty refuses to believe the illusion. The sparks between him and Ty, on the other hand? They’re as real as it gets.

As he and Ty reconnect after so many years, Marty sees firsthand how the big man’s innate kindness and willingness to help others consume his time and energy. Maybe the dragon was right, and Ty needs saving.

While Marty is willing to try, what he really wants to do is pounce on the man and keep him all to himself while they walk down the path to HEA. Does that count as saving him?

Excerpt:

“You know what I liked best about the play?” I asked Ty.

We were at Luca’s, a tiny family-owned Italian restaurant. Luca’s is one of those Bay Area eateries with no fixed hours. It’s open until it’s not. This meant diners dropping by the place could get a meal most nights unless the Luca family had an emergency and the doors were locked.

One of Luca’s big plusses is everyone who worked there was always happy to prepare a meal for friends. To them, every customer is a friend.

“I don’t know. What did you like best about the play?” Ty’s eyes lit with mischief. “That you didn’t have to sit through it more than once?”

“Ha, ha,” I scoffed. “No, I’m serious here. I loved the illusion with the dragon.”

At his questioning look, I expanded my comment, “When your character turned away to get R and J the poison.”

“R and J,” he laughed. “Sounds like a tobacco company!”

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Then he smiled. Lines of exhaustion framed his eyes. But he seemed to relax and be less tense as we talked.

“Yeah, I’m glad you liked it, Marty. I was hoping the light would catch the sequins just right. Make the dragon head leap out and look menacing as a comment on their buying poison.”

Although we hadn’t ordered it, a plate of appetizers appeared on the table.

“For you gentlemen while we prepare your meal.” The waiter winked at us and ran his hand under Ty’s hair along his shoulder.

“Hey, thanks, man.” Ty touched his hand and nodded. The waiter strutted back to the kitchen.

“Ricardo,” Ty said to me with a nod in the guy’s direction. “He likes too think of himself as a player even though he’s pretty much bonded at the ... hip ... with Wayne. He thinks I’m pining after him. I play along. Doesn’t hurt anybody. Makes Ric feel like a stud, though.”

He popped a piece of ham-covered toast in his mouth, chewed, swallowed, and sighed. I followed his lead, without the outward sigh.

“Anyway, I’m glad you like the dragon illusion,” he added after a gulp of his wine.

“Well, not exactly what I meant. Don’t get me wrong. The dragon reveal was great. No, I meant the bit afterward when its head reached out over the audience and talked to us. Now that illusion was really special.”

He stared at me a moment and then wiped his lips with his napkin and brushed off his beard.

“What do you mean? I don’t get it. The dragon spoke to the audience? What did it say?”

I stopped munching.

“You don’t know? How could you not? The dragon’s head went from the back of your vest out into the audience and said something like, take care of him or keep him safe or something like that. Then it said or he will die.”

Ty tilted his head as he stared at me. Did he think I was making this up? He had to be teasing me.

Finally, he shook his head and resumed clearing out the hors d'oeuvres. The empty plate was taken away and our entrees appeared.

Before he dug in, he looked at me for a few seconds. Then he shook his head and grinned.

“Wish I had thought of it and how to do it, Marty. Would have been cool. But, no, I didn’t. I don’t think any of the others working on the show did either. Your CBDs are playing tricks on you.”

He dismissed it so casually, I was stunned. It hadn’t been a part of the play? Then what was it? A bit of theatrical craziness on my part? An hallucination? How unsettling.

But now wasn’t the time to unravel what I’d seen. I’d have to think about the vision later. Ty and I were together again. Why waste the time with idiotic speculation?

COLLAPSE
Reviews:Scott on Queeromance Ink wrote:

I am thrilled to see Pat Henshaw tackling a new series of magical realism romance novellas featuring unlikely pairings. It’s set in the San Francisco Bay Area, in the art scene.

The first one, Fragile as Glass, was between Ashton and Hunter, a glass artist and a rockstar. That unlikely pairing worked out really well in the end. Hey, it is a romance! Ashton had a gift – when he touched pieces of crafted glass, he could see their future.

In Bright Shiny Love, it’s Tyson who has the gift – his ability to make his sequin art come to life.

Marty, whom his mother calls “delicate,” starts out recounting the time in high school when he was crushing on another boy. A really tall, robust boy, whose family had absolutely no use for art in their lives. Fast forward to the present day, when an older Marty finds out his old friend Ty is doing the costuming and art for a play that’s a retelling of Romeo and Juliet, only gay.

They get lunch together, but Marty’s rosy memories of the past are tempered when they smash into the reality of Ty’s current life, and how much his step-family relies on him, making everything into an emergency and demanding far too much of the gentle giant’s time, with very little thanks.

Marty has to learn to step out of his own shadow to help Ty out of his. I love the allusions to fantasy throughout the peace, and the troubles they have to get through together in order to find their happily ever after.

Bright Shiny Love follows the normal romance beats – meet, fall in love, break-up, make-up – but it’s a cute, quirky little tale of unexpected love between two people who are very different, and yet clearly meant for each other.

A great addition to Henshaw’s new series – a perfect short light read.


A Helping Hand to Love

Book Cover: A Helping Hand to Love
Editions:ePub

Everyone needs a helping hand at one time or another to find their path to love. Sometimes the hand is extended from a person or other times it’s a gentle push from circumstances. Either way, if like the gay men in these stories, the man takes the hint, he will discover happily ever after isn’t just a slogan but a reality.

Contains the stories:

12 Blind Dates: Luke’s best friends Tina, Gina, and Rita think it’s time for Luke to get over his breakup with his former boyfriend and plot to get him back in circulation.

A Kiss in Time: When tagger and parkour enthusiast Eric sees fellow student Joel arguing with a woman about being gay, Eric runs to his aid. What seems like a helpful kiss turns a lot more complicated.

The Thaw: A country doctor leaves a cabin and plot of land to two young men. He hopes farmer Vlad and rancher Tommy, once boyhood friends, will reconnect and settle their differences.

A Short Essay on Love: College football star Jason must go to English lab tutor Steve for help. Steve just doesn’t realize how much help Jason needs to find his way to love.

Published:
Editors:
Cover Artists:
Excerpt:

From 12 Blind Dates:

Dates two and three were total busts. Nightmares better forgotten than recorded.

Gina set up date two at a prix fix French restaurant fifteen miles out of town in an old refurbished farmhouse. The chef, his wife, and two adult sons had relocated to the area from Lyon, bringing with them family recipes and a Cordon Bleu experience.

I’d heard good things about it and looked forward to eating there. Reservations were backed up for months, so they were only available on a know-somebody-who-knows-somebody basis. Gina’s firm was handling their publicity, so she knew the chef, his wife, and their sons. She assured me I would get top-line service. Even on a busy Saturday night.

Unfortunately, since my date was a no-show, I also got top-line visibility.

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After a half hour of waiting for him and not drinking the house-comped wine—I still had to drive back home—we all gave up on seeing or hearing from him. The management kindly loaded up my food. The chef even taped reheating instructions to every parchment-wrapped bundle. I did the walk-of-shame from the best table in the house to the front door then all but ran to my car. If the food hadn’t smelled so good, I would have tossed it into the nearest garbage can.

Gina, backed by Rita and Tina, pounded on my front door Sunday morning, ready to throw herself on a sword in remorse.

“Go away. It’s not your fault,” I shouted through the door.

Little did I know I’d get to say this a few more times in the coming week.

After a while, the Trio left. The night before, I’d drunk a bottle of wine, so with a hangover, I went back to bed.

* * * *

No rest for the wicked, however, since I still had an open-mic poetry reading at a local bookstore with Paulo for date number three.

Groucho’s Bestsellers started as a used bookstore and comic shop, and hadn’t changed in decades. In fact, it was probably the most down-to-earth bookstore on the planet stocked with works from defunct small presses, random poetry houses, and overflowing shelves of mystery, science fiction, fantasy, and other genres lofty critics usually sneered at. If nothing else, an open-mic late afternoon should be interesting.

Paulo showed up wearing a beret, a mime’s striped, long-sleeve knit shirt, chef’s pants, and combat boots. His face was so pale I wanted to check his pulse to see if he was alive.

“Man, am I scared.”

“Um, why?” I didn’t get it. Hadn’t he signed up to do this?

“Oh, man, your friends didn’t tell you?” I must have looked blank because he hurried on. “I’m reading first from my epic poem, Whither the Wildebeest. It’s about my migration from riches to rags.”

“Okay. Can’t wait to hear it.” Actually, I couldn’t. The title and explanation were about what I’d expect from Groucho’s.

“Oh, man. I feel like I’m gonna hurl.”

An hour later, I was still waiting to hear the poem. Paulo, unfortunately, had walked up to the mic, tripped on the mic wire, slammed into the stool, face-planted at the foot of the stage, vomited, and passed out in a pool of blood from the gash in his forehead. After EMT’s and ambulance personnel left, the poetry reading was cancelled.

COLLAPSE

Love Is Free

Book Cover: Love Is Free
Editions:ePub

It’s hard to believe we have entered the year 2025 with so many of our civil liberties, which we fought so hard to achieve, now on the cusp of being taken away.

The political scene in the United States, as well as in many other countries, has become more polarized in recent years. In the aftermath of the US 2024 presidential election, many of us have found it difficult to express our fears and concerns. Regardless of nationality, the authors of JMS Books sought an outlet for their emotions; thus, this anthology of short stories was created.

Love Is Free celebrates queer love in all its forms, proving love can survive despite adversity. Whether a quiet night in or a loud night out, in this world or another, in the past, present, or future, this collection embraces how enduring same sex love can be, in any and every shade under the LGBTQIA umbrella.

Featuring never before published work from 52 authors, Love Is Free is a collaborative effort whose entire proceeds will go to the American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU) to help with their work protecting the freedoms of all people in the US. All the work in the collection, including the editing, has been donated. This stunning anthology will be a charitable keepsake whose message of love regardless of gender will endure beyond the current political strife threatening to tear us apart.

Authors included in this anthology are: Adam Carpenter, Alexandra Caluen, Amy Spector, Anne Russo, Becky Black, Carol Holland March, Charles Payseur, D.J. Fronimos and Elke Lakey, David Connor and E.F. Mulder, Dianne Hartsock, Drew Hunt, E.M. Schenker, Ellie Thomas, Emery C. Walters, Eule Grey, Feral Sephrian, Gareth Vaughn, Gordon Phillips, Hannah Morse, Holly Day, J.D. Walker, J.M. Snyder, J.T. Marie, Jordan Demaine, Justin James, K.L. Noone, K.S. Murphy, Katey Hawthorne, Kim Davis, Kris T. Bethke, La Toya Hankins, Mere Rain, Michael P. Thomas, Mychael Black, Nell Iris, Ofelia Gränd, Pat Henshaw, Patrick Bryce Wright, Pelaam, Rafe Jadison, Ray Hatch, Red Haircrow, Sarah Hadley Brook, Scarlet Blackwell, Sean Cunningham, Shawn Bailey, Shawn Lane, T.J. Blackley, T.K. Dane, Teal H.S. Fields, Vivien Dean, and Warren Rochelle.

Published:
Cover Artists:
Excerpt:

Love, Step by Step

Book Cover: Love, Step by Step
Editions:ePub

Peter Lamont and Mark Trainor met as freshman in college. They separated to go to different law schools, but promised if, when they turned thirty, they weren’t attached or married, they would get back together again. Over the years, they met up time and again, keeping their friendship alive and well.

Recently, Peter turned thirty. Now for Mark’s thirtieth, Peter has planned a progressive dinner at the restaurants on the refurbished pier. Will the lovely sunset, twinkling lights, and excellent food set the scene for their reunion? Or will one of them decide to renege on the promise?

Excerpt:
    • “Our second step back in time leads to the Good Samaritan Shelter.” Peter gestured to Soup It Up Café as Mark groaned.

 

    • A waiter wearing an apron with an oversized logo seated them. They were surrounded by a country kitchen themed space with red and white checkered tablecloths, pottery dinnerware, recycled wood walls, and dried herbs hanging in bundles overhead. It was much busier her than at Mama Mia’s. But then, it was now early dinner hour.

 

    • Although the Soup It Up décor wasn’t like Good Samaritan’s food kitchen and shelter, the crowded tables and jostling crowd were. Unlike Good Samaritan’s these diners weren’t smelly men and occasional women off the streets who stood in line to eat each evening. This place reeked of family.

 

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    • “Hey, I was going through my do-gooder phase,” Mark protested. “Because of you, I might add.”

 

    • “Your grudging, complaining, growling do-gooder moment I think you mean,” Peter added. “You showed up, what? Three times. The first time after a day of drinking when you could barely stand and called me to come bail you out.”

 

    • Even though Soup It Up wanted to be upscale and trendy with its kitchen antiques and deliberate homey smell, the noise level screamed big, vocal family at the holidays. There might have been ambient music, but no one could hear it.

 

    • Peter and Mark huddled closer together so they could talk and hear each other.

 

    • “Hey, I was trying,” Mark protested. “Besides, my bad mood and drinking were all your fault. That morning, I’d been to see the shrink you convinced me to visit. A shrink who ‘drilled down’ into my unhappiness at getting dumped a second time by my scumbag boyfriend. I was drowning my sorrows, including my shitty taste in men and my incredible stupidity in thinking a man who cheated once wouldn’t actually do it again.”

 

    • Mark grimaced. “I know, I know. You warned me not to take him back. And I got mad at you. Sorry to have been such a loser friend.”

 

    • Peter held up his hands in a defensive gesture as they were served the soup of the day. The herbs hanging from the hooks overhead might be decoration, but by the delicious smell, they could tell the chef used them well in his creations.

 

    • “Not a loser. Eternally hopeful. Eat up. This looks delicious.”

 

    • Both men tucked in as if they hadn’t had canapes a few moments before.

 

    • “I might remind you, you agreed to see the shrink, Mark. And, you told me you felt better afterward.” Then Peter grinned, his trademark dimples and twinkly eyes making Mark feel as if he wasn’t being blamed or shamed. “Well, at least you told me you felt better after I came to your rescue at the soup kitchen. You even said the experience with your ex and with the shrink had made you want to give back to the community. So you decided to help out on the serving line at the shelter.”

 

    • Mark sighed.

 

    • “Yeah, okay, I know you think I’m a quitter and a loser.” He held up a hand to stop Peter from speaking. “Not your turn to talk now, okay?”

 

    • At Peter’s nod, Mark continued, his voice empty.

 

    • “I just hadn’t found the right way to help others. My way to help. Standing in a serving line and watching man after man walk by getting a bowl of soup, roll, butter, and drink didn’t make me feel like I was really helping. All it did was remind me over and over that there but for the grace of God go I.”

 

    • They ate in silence for a few minutes.

 

    • “My turn to talk now?” Peter asked.

 

    • Mark dunked his roll into the broth.

 

    “Yeah, I guess.”

 

COLLAPSE

Fragile as Glass

A scrying stone says after his gift is destroyed, a famous songwriter will fall in love. Will the stone’s prediction come true?

Glass artist Ashton Snell is delighted when superstar singer/songwriter Hunter Davidson walks into his shop looking for a gift for a friend. On a whim Ashton looks through a scrying glass to see what’s in store for Hunter in the future. The stone shows a vision of the glass unicorn gift shattering and Hunter falling in love. Should Ashton tell Hunter what he’s seen?

Before he can decide, Hunter asks him to lunch. Ashton agrees although he’s surprised someone as celebrated as Hunter would want to be seen with him. Despite living with it since birth, Ashton is still self-conscious about his limp. Hunter, however, doesn’t seem to notice it.

Could their lunch be the beginning of a lasting friendship? Or will their attraction turn into something more?

Excerpt:
    • I handed him the bag. He put his hand over mine for a few seconds, long enough to make me shiver and wish I was someone else. Someone who could attract a man like him.
    • “When do you take off for lunch?” he asked abruptly.
    • The question was as surreal as the entire encounter had been. I shook myself.
    • Since it was a few minutes past twelve, I had planned to close the shop and eat after he left. The sign at the door said the shop was closed from noon to one, which was mostly true. I was a little nonplussed about his question and what I should answer.
    • “No, wait. That’s not what I wanted to ask.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Would you go out to lunch with me? Now? Today?”
    • He looked pleased with himself, which was funny because he was a well-known celebrity, one of those performers who people recognized even if they couldn’t remember his name. I was flattered. And flustered. No, a thousand times no. But wait. Why not? I couldn’t come up with an answer. This was a once in a lifetime chance.
    • “Uh, yeah, sure.” I tried to keep my internalizing hidden. Between my clamoring thoughts and pounding heart, I wasn't sure I could. “I just need to lock up since I’m the only one here until later.”
    • “Great.” He beamed like I’d done something to make him extraordinarily happy.
    • As I turned off lights and made sure the shop was secured, he strolled around the displays again. The first time, he’d seemed intent and focused on finding the perfect gift. This time, his fingers tapped lightly against the sales bag as if he were drumming to a song only he heard.
    • Without his stage makeup, he looked like an ordinary customer, which startled me. Weren’t superstars a breed apart? His status as an icon was slipping. I was enchanted by the change.
    • His onstage signature curly, floppy, brilliant red hair was now cropped short and looked almost mouse brown in the low light of the shop. Without eyeliner, his face was ordinary, unremarkable. His jeans, T-shirt, and blazer, all in shades of blue, were the uniform of men over thirty. No wonder he hadn’t been followed and had no entourage. He looked like a lot of the guys walking around the city.
    • When I finished closing up and moved to the front door, he hurried over to me.
    • “Where to?” he asked. “I’m not familiar with this part of the city. Let’s go somewhere not too public, if it’s all right with you. I’d like to talk. Trade ideas.”
    • Trade ideas? What did I know about music or songwriting? This promised to be a really short conversation.
    • “Sure. No problem,” I said as I locked up and pocketed the keys. “Arnold’s is a couple blocks away. I think you’ll like it.”
    • Arnold was the Americanized version of the Greek chef’s name. He and my grandfather were about the same age and best friends. My father and his son, another Arnold, were their tagalongs.
    • My mother was appalled by the elder Arnold because he constantly told her she was a disgrace. Why were the men in her family so skinny? Did she not feed them? She would stomp away while Arnold laughed.
    • “Your mother takes herself too seriously,” he’d tell me. “She should dance and sing more.”
    • Which was the other part of my mother’s disgust with Arnold. He, my grandfather, and my father would sit on the front porch of our house at night after he closed his tiny restaurant. There they’d drink ouzo, belt out folksongs, and challenge each other to perform fancy dance steps.
    • Mother threatened to call the police to quiet them with a warning, but she never did. Nor did the neighbors who could often be found watching and egging the men on.
    • Because he made me nervous, I told most of this to Hunter as we walked to Arnold’s. The story had no real point. As we neared the plain storefront with the plate glass window, my words slowed, then stopped. I was out of breath, trying to keep in step with him like a normal person.
    •  with a stylized depiction of applause -- clapping hands and arms waving -- under it.
      • I gestured to the elaborately written

    Arnold’s

    • “We’re here.” I was nearly panting.

 

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Reviews:Sadonna on Love Bytes wrote:

This was an interesting story and went off in directions I didn’t anticipate. There are aspects of the story that were not really resolved, but that didn’t detract from the relationship that Ashton and Hunter are building. Yes, there are obstacles, especially with Ashton’s self-consciousness of his limp, but both men grow in their outlook here.

I don’t want to spoil the plot here, but let’s just say that things aren’t always as they appear, particularly for celebrities. Ashton is surprised that someone so famous would be interested in him at all. They go from friends to more as Hunter shares his real self – not the celebrity version – with Ashton.

Overall I enjoyed this story and the secondary characters were quite well drawn as well. In fact, I can see how their stories might be interesting too 😉 Ashton and Hunter may seem like very different people on the surface, but their artistry and personalities really do mesh. Once they get out of their own way a bit 🙂 Recommended. 4 Hearts

Fay on MM Bookworm Reviews wrote:

❤️ Awww I loved Aston and Hunter in this.
Aston 34, comes from a long line of glass artists with his shop selling to tourists and visitors.
When, well-known Hunter walks into his shop magic happens.
A gorgeous story of sand turning into glass and creating something beautiful for love.

Serena on Rainbow Book Reviews wrote:

This is a very cute, if somewhat angsty in places, story about two artists who feel a deep connection when they meet but don’t quite know what to do about it. Well, they sort of know what they want to do about it, but Ashton cannot believe anyone could love him and Hunter does not see how self-conscious Ashton is. Both need to learn to listen to their heart – and the other man – before anything more than friendship can develop.

Ashton is a talented glass artist, born into a family of successful glass artists and with a talent to “see the future” in what his family calls scrying stones they collect at the beach. When musical superstar Hunter first comes into the family store, Asher checks out Hunter’s future and what he sees, a gift destroyed, makes him assume all kinds of things that get in the way of him opening up to Hunter. That, and his belief that his limp will stand in the way of a relationship (like it has done before), mean he is more hesitant than he might be otherwise.

Hunter may be a famous musician, but he is looking for a human connection when he meets Ashton. He also makes a few assumptions, but his almost relentless interest in Ashton is stronger than what might get in the way of the two men getting to know each other.

I loved the descriptions of all the glass art in Ashton’s store, how each piece is unique, and how connected he is to his father and grandfather. Hunter “not seeing the problem” with Asher’s disability is as endearing as it is problematic – because there are things to watch out for that Hunter has to learn about.

If you like stories about artists who can be off in their own world but still want to have a real relationship, if misunderstandings at the beginning of a relationship are your thing, and if you are looking for a happy ending despite obstacles, then you will probably like this story.

Melanie M on Scattered Thoughts and Rogue Words wrote:

Rating: 4🌈

Fragile as Glass by Pat Henshaw is a wonderful, slightly mystical romance in JMS Books LLC’s Gay Advent Calendar this year.

Henshaw does such an excellent job in creating the character of glass artist Ashton Snell, complete with compelling history that explores and helps the reader really understand him, his personality, including his disability, and the slightly magical gift that he inherited from his grandfather. Ashton is so well written that he and this narrative need a longer story to completely dive into all the many elements and characters this author has created here.

The other main character is singer/rock star/songwriter Hunter who just isn’t as layered a character but has the ability to grow into something special. He’s intriguing but there’s so much to Ashton that anyone would be a lesser individual with this story. There’s not enough pages for equal development.

He comes with a good backstory, two side characters ( a bodyguard and his boyfriend , a chef) that I also wanted more of. Especially Gil, that bodyguard, because in a tv show or on stage, he’s what’s called a “scene stealer”. He’s that dynamic.

There’s also something fascinating going on, plot wise, that Henshaw pulls together here. After giving us an idea of the intriguing place where Ashton lives, a home turned compound that his grandfather started and has filled with artists. Ashton has two long time friends,fellow artists, and the author begins a storyline about a changing new dynamic between them, not a welcome one.

It’s a great plot. But that’s not what the story is about, and it has nowhere to go. It’s dropped. But I certainly was glued to this aspect of the story and it’s still there in my mind, going back over what the author might have done with more pages to really explore this aspect of Ashton’s life.

The romance between Ashton and Hunter is magical, quick, with a dramatic moment and then a sweet ending. That seems a bit rushed. But that is my preference for longer stories in general and this is in keeping with the spirit of the story.

Fragile as Glass by Pat Henshaw is a lovely story. It’s got so many interesting elements and well done characters that I wish it was twice its length or a prequel for more of this universe to come.

It’s another win for this author and the delightful press, JMS Books LLC. Check them out!


12 Blind Dates

Following a horrific break up with his fiancé, Luke Bennet spends two years as a social hermit, only going to work and talking with Tina, Gina, and Rita, three friends from high school.

Refusing to let him wallow any longer, they intervene and talk him into going on twelve blind dates to get him back in social circulation.

The Trio have not only planned the dating venues but also chosen the perfect guys to lure Luke from his isolation.

Will he find love through these dates? Or will he run for cover again?

Excerpt:

About the most positive part of date four was the date showed up. Equally, that could have been the worst part of the date.

Since dates four and five had already been lined up without Mike and Bert being invited to go on them, we decided to start the foolproof date backup plan on date six. I mean, what could go wrong on Friday and Saturday?

Rita who organized catering for gala events had scored a pair of tickets to the premier of the newest Marvel film at the refurbished mall Cineplex. During the pandemic, the Cineplex had gutted its theaters, transforming its rows of hard-backed chairs into home entertainment seating.

I’d read a couple of online articles about how incredible the new wave of movie theater comfort was becoming, so even if I wasn’t gung-ho about another blind date, I was excited to be one of a pampered audience.

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Bernard showed up in a three-piece suit looking like he’d stepped out of a GQ ad. Audience members around us ranged from those costumed to those in theme T-shirts. I wore jeans and a neutral sweater.

After exchanging names and a hearty handshake, we were greeted by people with clipboards who logged us in and told us where our seats were located. As we waited our turn to enter the theater itself, Bernard glanced around and sighed.

“I should have known.” He looked like he was in pain. “Who are these people?”

Thinking it was a genuine question and he’d never seen cosplayers before, I started to answer as he shook his head, disgust written all over his face.

“They have no appreciation of the time, trouble, and creative genius that went into this production,” he said.

“What? No! You’ve got it wrong. They’re the ones who truly appreciate what we’re going to see.”

I realized my mistake almost immediately. Obviously, nobody ever told Bernard he was wrong.

The date immediately plunged toward disaster status.

With him ignoring me, we were checked off the guest list, given brochures about the operation of the lounge seats, and ushered into the theater.

I was reading how the seats reclined, featured built-in speakers, sported cup holders with cold and hot settings, and even gave massages. To break our silence, I was about to comment how a massage might put me to sleep instead of enhance the movie experience when I realized Bernard wasn’t anywhere near me.

He was down the row facing a handsome twenty-something in the center chair.

“I don’t give a fuck who you think you are! I’m sure this is supposed to be my seat,” Bernard yelled.

After we were escorted from the theater -- without seeing the movie -- Bernard stalked off to the parking lot and it was the last I saw of him.

Mike thought the story of the date was really funny.

“Okay, wise guy. What would you or Bert have done to help me out?”

“Um, I would have stepped in and explained how we weren’t responsible for your blind date’s actions and let Bernard leave and be his own unhappy self. Then we all would have sat back and enjoyed the movie. You were being too nice to have walked out with him.”

“Well, he was my date.”

“Not right then he wasn’t.” Mike looked at me with a huge grin. “Did you even get to try out the new lounge chairs?”

At my head shake, he added, “Well, I’m putting them down on our to-do list.”

Our to-do list?

How come his words made me feel hopeful? I didn’t tell him, though.

In the end, he and I thought the next date couldn’t possibly be worse.

We were wrong. So wrong.

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Reviews:Natalie on Goodreads wrote:

This was a cute and fun read that just made me giggle as Luke went through his dates, most of them just a disaster. Mike is Luke's first date and as Luke goes through his other dates, these two start to get closer than just friends. I loved that Luke's friends wanted to help him get out of his rut but man did they did not pick some winners, except for Mike of course. This is short and entertaining so if you need something to make you smile or a palate cleanser between emotionally heavy reads, then pull this up.

Maureen on Goodreads wrote:

A delightful and entertaining tale of how sometimes friends, although they mean well, are not the best Cupid assistants. Actually it's more than that, it's freaking hilarious! Who knew so many blind dates could be so disasterous. Poor Luke, having three female BFF's is bound to bring about emotional upsets as they try to re-involve him into the dating world. Great fun to read and a sweet sweet finale.


Holiday Quartet box set

Bells ring and choirs sing. People bustle with happiness and joy. Calories pile up while everyone gathers to chat with friends and relatives. What’s more exciting than all the holidays in December?

But sometimes we need a break from the expectations and the wonderment. A great way to revive our spirits is by reading a story to ground us in the true meaning of the season.

This collection features four stories infused with happiness, love, and joy. From a small business owner discovering his first fruitcake and a homeless man finding a permanent home to a blacksmith’s wish to propose to his childhood friend and a gay man relocating to a small town, each story is a journey of self-discovery leading to happily ever after.

Contains the stories:

Blame It on the Fruitcake: Motorcycle shop owner Sam McGuire falls for the fruitcake his loft neighbor’s grandma makes as well as the man himself. But will handsome, educated, personable Jay Merriweather be attracted to a grease jockey like Sam?

The Orpheum Miracle: The son of crack addicts who abandoned him as a child, Mick has found refuge in the historic Orpheum Theater. But when the new owner takes over, will Mick be pushed out on the street or taken into the owner’s heart?

Making the Holidays Happy Again: Butch has been manning the forge in Old Town and fantasizing over his best friend Jimmy since they were in high school. Does Jimmy feel the same way about Butch? Does Butch want to push their friendship and find out?

Heart of the Holidays: When Silicon Valley programmer Dan Lassiter moves to a small California town, he doesn’t expect to find love. After Rick Reardon opens his bakery across the street, Dan may change his mind.

Excerpt:

EXCERPT FROM "Blame It on the Fruitcake"

    • “Hi there. Did I hear you say you’re the neighbor from down the hall?” At my nod, the new guy added, “Let’s get you a drink and introduce you to a few people.”

 

    • Now here was my kinda man. Like me, on the street, nobody’d probably guess he was gay. Only not like me, since I looked like the bike mechanic I am, he looked like one of the bankers I’d talked to last week. He was a couple inches shorter than me, with conservative-cut hair, blue eyes, and a trustworthy face. He looked like he cared whether I was having a good time or not.

 

    • “Uh, sure. That’d be great.”

 

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    • I couldn’t figure out how I was supposed to act. If I wasn’t bullshitting with friends, my words usually dried up. Fortunately it hadn’t happened at the bank when I was presenting my case for a loan to a guy who looked like him, or I’d have been fucked.

 

    • So I let this guy lead me around, introducing me, telling me something about everyone, and letting them know I lived at the other end of the hall.

 

    • At one point he stared at me with a funny twinkle in his eyes and asked, “You’re not by any chance McGuire’s Bikes, are you?”

 

    • I managed to nod. I was stunned. It wasn’t like I was famous or anything.

 

    • He beamed. “No shit! Wow! I wanted to meet you after the Reno Roadshow. I loved your Loose and Wild Rainbow. Great bike.”

 

    • Ah, yes, L&WR, the winner of the Roadshow competition. I’d tricked out the bike for a buddy of mine who died of AIDS. He wanted the bike to be a memorial, but so far we couldn’t locate a cemetery or burial place where we could put his ashes and his machine. We were finding that burial laws by the ocean and in the mountains were pretty archaic and exclusive. If we wanted a bike cut into marble, no problem. But Harry hadn’t been a stone monument sorta guy.

 

    • “Uh, thanks. Yeah, it was a special kinda project,” I mumbled.

 

    • Even with the music, the shouting people, and the yelling when a couple were caught under the mistletoe, the guy still heard me.

 

    • He put his arm around my shoulders and gave me a hug. “Yeah, I know. He’ll be missed.”

 

    • Now my head was reeling. What the fuck? He knew Big Harry?

 

    • “I met Harry when I was a kid hanging around my buddy’s dad’s garage,” he said.

 

    • “Where’d you grow up?” I asked. After I’d had a couple drinks, the pumping music, the blinking Christmas lights, and the strangers laughing and yelling were making the night surreal. This handsome, clean-cut guy had known Harry? I must be dreaming. He and Harry looked light years apart.

 

    • “Little town outside Denver in the foothills. Deer Creek. You probably heard Harry talk about it. Not the place you want to grow up gay.” His laugh was short and dismissive.

 

    • “Yeah, so Harry always said.” I shifted to my other foot and looked down at the red plastic cup of punch. This was the last one for me tonight. I still hadn’t found the fruitcake. “So you go to bike shows?”

 

    • “Yup. The best part of my job.” He shrugged with a happy grin.

 

    • “Yeah? What do you do?”

 

    • We were bumped and separated by an incoming group. They exclaimed over my new friend, one of the women smothering him with kisses. He glowed with embarrassment and shot me a rueful glance. As the sea parted us, I drifted away looking for the food table and hoped it held enough fruitcake that I could steal some and not out myself as a thief.

 

    • I’d eaten three pieces and was busy wrapping up a fourth in napkins to take with me when my new nameless friend walked up and stood next to me.

 

    • “You like the fruitcake, huh?” He was smiling like I’d really pleased him.

 

    • “Yeah. I’d never tasted it until I got some with the invitation.”

 

    He gave me a tiny smile and shook his head, his eyes twinkling as if laughing at some cosmic joke.

 

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