World Letter Writing Day: A Flowering of Ink by K. L. Noone

Thanks to Ally for letting me stop by! I’m so excited about this project – last year’s Naked Gardening Day collection was such fun that we definitely needed to get the band back together, this time for World Letter Writing Day! Holly, Ally, Nell and I have stories out this weekend, and Amy will hopefully join us a bit later!

“A Flowering of Ink” is m/m contemporary romance, 26,839 words, and it starts with Burne, a scientist on an isolated island, and Devon, a lonely architect in a thunderstorm house, and a piece of misdirected mail. And then someone writes back…

For this story, I actually did a lot of research into, er, research – that is, what kind of work Burne would be doing, as a scientist, out on a small island off the coast of California! I did a lot of looking into the work that’s being done on the Channel Islands (the ones near California, I mean – Anacapa, Santa Barbara, San Miguel, and so on): everything from studies of rare isolated ecosystems to excavations of Paleolithic rocks! The National Parks website for the Channel Islands is great for that; there’s even a lovely little 24-minute film about the islands! I’m not really a scientist but I come from a family of them; my father is a certified nurseryman (that’s plants, not babies) and gardener, so some of that’s in the background too – and it was a neat little carryover, thematically, from the Naked Gardening theme last year!

I can’t wait to see what we come up with next year – already looking forward to it! I’ve loved getting to see the stories my fellow authors have dreamed up—always so different and fascinating, despite the same starting-point! And, of course, full of romance.

I hope you enjoy our stories—and here’s an exclusive excerpt from mine, below!

A Flowering of Ink by K.L. Noone

One misdirected card…and a chance at love.

Cover of A Flowering of Ink

Professor Burne Cameron loves his job and his environmental research. Unfortunately, three months of field work on a tiny island can get pretty lonely, especially when even his brother forgets his birthday. That is, until an unexpected letter arrives…and Burne finds himself fascinated by the mysterious sender.

Devon Lilian lives alone in a house he’s designed, full of roses and ocean views. His architectural designs are famous, but Devon has reasons for not going out in public. But when a misdirected birthday card for a Professor Cameron turns up at his house, Devon has to send it on…and can’t resist adding a note of his own, a gift for a scientist who might be equally alone.

As Burne and Devon trade letters across the sea, they fall for each other in ink and paper—but now Burne’s research is nearly complete, so he’s coming home.

And Burne and Devon will have to decide whether they can write the rest of their love story together…once they finally meet.

Buy Links: Amazon : JMS Books

Excerpt:

The mail boat did not come every day, and even the first arrival, three days later, was a disappointment; Burne knew rationally that that was too soon, given that the post took time and Devon probably hadn’t answered immediately, but he nevertheless felt a pang in his chest, a drop of rain piercing inside.

He did some comparative growth rate analysis, grumpily. He went for walks along the pebbled beach, down to the harbor amid the sound of lapping water, up alone into the rolling summertime green-gold hills. He had meals with friends and colleagues, and chatted about research and family updates and plans upon returning home: in one case a baseball game, in another case a family reunion.

He looked at his art. He ended up smiling: even if Devon hadn’t bothered to write back and this whole odd pen-pal conversation had ended, he still had those sketches. A gift. Because someone had been kind.

He did hope Devon would write back. He’d understand if not. He’d asked questions and been intrusive, and Devon no doubt had a life and no time for a random letter-exchange with a random scientist who rambled about flowers and had sand in his beard.

But he liked Devon, or he thought he did. He liked the person who shared his sense of humor, who’d shared art with him. He wanted to spend more time with that person. Even if only on a page, in ink and words and shapes.

Three days after that, he was lying on some sun-warmed rocks and sticking a monitor into the bed of a tidepool when Mike materialized behind him. “Mail came.”

“What? Ow.” Burne hit his elbow on the rock, shooting upright. “That’s early!”

“Nah, you’ve just been busy. Put something on your desk. Looks like a book. Feels like a book.”

“A book?”

“There’s dried grass in your hair.”

“There’s what? Oh—thanks, it gets everywhere—oh, damn, that’s not properly anchored—”

“I’ll fix it. Go on.”

“Really?”

“It’s what grad students’re for. Being helpful. If it’s a book, can I borrow it later? I’ve read everything I brought.”

“Maybe. Thanks again—”

“Comb your hair!” Mike yelled at his back, laughing. Burne contemplated the relative dignity of PhD candidates versus associate professors, and finally just ran away.

He did try to run hasty fingers through his hair, in his office. And then he wondered why—not as if he were about to have a video chat—and cleared his throat and sat down. Professorial. In charge of the situation. His chair creaked, snickering at him.

The small box on his desk had a post-office printed label. But the name, the return address—

Burne shut his eyes, opened them. Knew he was grinning, ear to ear. Did not care whether anyone, grad students or dried roots or computer data, saw.

He opened the box. He found the book, which had a letter tucked inside, which he discovered upon picking up the book and hastily catching the envelope as it slid. Pages opened; a beautiful spray of illustrated purple needlegrass, Nasella pulchra, displayed hand-drawn antique color for him. Entranced, Burne drifted through a few more chapters, basked in a fifty-years-ago author’s love of California wild oats and lemonade berry.

Devon had sent him a book. A gorgeous book.

And a letter. He pounced on it.

About K.L. Noone:

K.L. Noone teaches college students about superheroes and Shakespeare by day, and writes LGBTQ+ romance – frequently paranormal or with fantasy elements, and always with happy endings – when not grading papers or researching medieval outlaw life. She also likes cats, a good dark craft beer, and the sound of ocean waves.

Come say hi! Blog : Twitter/X : Facebook : Instagram : Mastodon : Amazon

World Letter Writing Day: Dear John by Holly Day

Hello everyone! Thank you, Ally, for allowing me to swing by. I’m Holly Day, and I write MM Romance in all sorts of subgenres.

By now, you might be aware we’re doing a group thing for World Letter Writing Day. Nell Iris, A.L. Lester, K.L. Noone, and I have each written a gay romance novella with letters in it. I always write stories for specific days. This is actually story number… let me count… thirty-three that I’ve written for a specific day.

Insane, but so much fun! 😊

My story for this project is called Dear John, and yes, if you know what a Dear John letter is, you can guess where this is going.

I know I said above that I write all sorts of subgenres, and I do, but I don’t do historical. I’m amazed by those who do, all that knowledge and research, but it’s not for me. I’d be terrified of getting it wrong, so instead I was trying to come up with a reason for there to be letters, old-fashioned, handwritten letters sent with snail mail today.

And the characters could’ve been letter-writing kind of people, they could have been, but they’re not. Not under normal circumstances. So I had to change the circumstances. And I did. I placed them on a one-house island without any phone reception.

The island is a digital detox resort. All screens are forbidden, and there is no phone line and no reception. And those attending aren’t allowed to leave the island. The remaining possibility of communication with the outside world is letters.

Logan is a cop working undercover and posing as the resort manager. Their intel says a syndicate leader will spend six weeks alone on the island, but instead, it’s his boyfriend, a lonely artist, who shows up. It soon becomes apparent the syndicate leader won’t show, and Logan gets to know Zion, the artist, instead.

Zion knows the relationship he’s in is beyond salvage, and he needs to end it, both for his own sake and because he sees something in Logan, he’d like to investigate closer. So… he sends a Dear John letter.

No one knows exactly where the expression Dear John letter comes from, but it’s believed it came into use among the American soldiers during World War II. The soldiers had wives and girlfriends (and probably a few boyfriends too) back home that they were forced to leave for months on end. It wasn’t uncommon for their partners to meet someone else while they were away, and then they’d send a Dear John letter, calling things off.

So that’s what Zion does. And since Logan is a cop working undercover, he steams it open and reads it.

Dear John

Cover, Dear John

How to break up with your boyfriend when your only means of communication are letters?

Logan Fleet is working undercover on a one-house island. A syndicate leader he and his team have been investigating was meant to arrive a week ago but hasn’t shown. Instead, Logan spends his day watching Zion, a talented artist and the syndicate leader’s boyfriend. Logan shouldn’t care, but he feels drawn to Zion.

One bad decision after the other has landed Zion Dash on an island with no cellphone reception, no internet, and no TV. His only means of communication with the world are letters, and his life is falling apart. He wants to curl up next to Logan, but he must get out of the relationship he’s in first.

As the days go by, Logan and Zion grow closer. When news about the syndicate leader being on his way reaches them, Logan tells Zion who he is and tries to get him off the island. But Zion isn’t sure he believes Logan. How can he trust someone who’s been lying about who he is the entire time they’ve been together?

Buy links:

Gay Contemporary Romance: 17,578 words 

JMS Books :: Amazon :: Everywhere Else

Excerpt:

Zion looked at him for several seconds before turning around and leaving through the kitchen. Logan made coffee and when Zion didn’t come back into the room, he put a kettle on the stove to steam the letter open. He winced. It was his job, but he didn’t want to betray Zion’s trust.

Sipping on his coffee while little by little getting the glue to let go without burning his fingers, he soon had the envelope open.

He peeked into the dining room to make sure Zion had gone to bed before pulling the letter from the envelope.

Dear, John.

Logan double-checked the address. It was for Igor. He snorted and kept on reading.

Yes, it’s one of those letters. Spending time on this island has got me thinking, and I can’t go on the way we have been. I’ll arrange for a moving company to clear out the apartment. I won’t come back once my stay here is over.

This is the last letter I’ll send to you. All future communication will go through my lawyer. Don’t try to contact me, and don’t come here.

I hope we can resolve this as smoothly as possible.

Zion

Logan didn’t know what he’d expected, a longer letter perhaps. He swallowed the last of the coffee, resealed the envelope, and headed toward the motorboat.

He’d send the letter, call Carr to make sure someone was watching the apartment, and then he’d go to the library to use the computer to look for apartments… or did Zion want a house? Was he planning to buy or rent? Maybe the house-hunting could wait till tomorrow.

The sky was overcast this morning, and Logan feared it would rain. So far it hadn’t rained. He hoped he’d make it back to the island before it started. He should’ve kept an eye on the weather report. Being out on the sea wasn’t smart if there was going to be thunder, and he didn’t think the boat would do well in a storm. He had to report to Carr, though. He had no idea how Sidorov would react to Zion’s letter, but they had to survey the apartment.

He had his phone out the moment he set foot on land, calling Carr.

“Yes?” He sounded stressed.

“I’m about to post a Dear John letter, express mail.”

“Oh?”

Logan nodded at an old man walking down the jetty. “Yeah, don’t know if it’s gonna make any difference, but he writes he’ll have a moving firm empty the apartment. I don’t think he’s hired anyone yet, unless he did while I slept, though how could he without a phone or internet? He wrote all future contact should go through his lawyer. I don’t know if he has one.”

“Steer him toward Catalina Moreno, she’s handled similar cases before.”

Logan hummed. He’d never spoken to her, but she had a reputation for being unflinching.

“Bad weather is rolling in, so I don’t know if I can make contact tomorrow. We’ll see how it develops.”

“You have the satellite phone should you need to call.”

“Yes. It’s in my room in the house.”

“Good.”

They ended the call, and Logan stepped into the small post office. The woman behind the counter smiled at him. “The retreat, right?”

Damn, did everyone know who he was now? He hadn’t been here long. “Yes.”

“I have a letter for you that arrived this morning.” Her English was good. So far, he’d hardly met anyone here who didn’t speak English.

“Great! And I have one I want to send. Could you make it so it arrives as soon as possible?”

She hesitated. “It costs extra.”

He nodded, well aware it cost extra.

The letter addressed to Zion burned in his pocket as he exited the post office and headed to the tiny grocery store. There were more people than usual, and when he heard someone mention the oncoming thunder, he added an extra loaf of bread to his shopping basket. Stocking up, that’s why there were more people than usual.

“Will the storm be bad?” He studied the cashier as he put his items on the conveyor belt.

She grimaced. “I doubt it. Most of these people live on the island, though, so it’s a precaution. They’re already well-prepared, but it’s a chance to connect.” She smiled. “It’ll be the same once it’s blown over, then everyone will come in to check on each other and report the damage.”

“There will be damage?” Shit, he wasn’t ready for a gale, hurricane, typhoon or whatever they got out here.

Her hands stilled on the bread as she watched him with narrowing eyes. “The retreat, right?”

Damn, did everyone know who he was? He nodded.

“It’s a solid building. There are no trees on the island. Make sure to tie the boat properly, and you’ll be fine.” She rang up the bread. “You have a satellite phone, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Then you’re all set.”

Was he? He’d never been afraid of the ocean, but he and Zion would be alone on a tiny island. He’d better get going so the storm didn’t catch him halfway there.

About Holly Day

According to Holly Day, no day should go by uncelebrated and all of them deserve a story. If she’ll have the time to write them remains to be seen. She lives in rural Sweden with a husband, four children, more pets than most, and wouldn’t last a day without coffee.

Holly gets up at the crack of dawn most days of the week to write gay romance stories. She believes in equality in fiction and in real life. Diversity matters. Representation matters. Visibility matters. We can change the world one story at the time.

Website :: Facebook :: Twitter :: Pinterest :: BookBub :: Goodreads :: Newsletter :: TikTok

New Release: The Naked Gardening Day Box Set!

The Naked Gardening Day Box Set is out on 5th November!

Remember the five gay romance stories we released back in May to celebrate World Naked Gardening Day? Well we have gathered them together in a box set. We had a bit of to-and-fro-ing about what to use for the cover, but eventually we all agreed this was a superb image–radishes and forearms! What more could you want!

They are all MM romance novellas featuring being naked in a garden somehow, somewhere, to mark World Naked Gardening Day on 7th May 2022.

You can read a bit more about each story here or buy it here!.

Back when they came out, we did some visiting of each other’s blogs to chat about our stories. You can find everyone’s guest posts here on the blog with a little bit about each story and an excerpt.

I love these stories and it was a such a fun project to do. We are currently discussing what to do next year!

World Naked Gardening Day: The Hermit of Aldershill Manor by K. L. Noone

Hi there! Thank you so much to Ally for letting me drop in today to tell you about my contribution to our collaborative World Naked Gardening Day project – Ally and I, plus Holly Day, Nell Iris, and Amy Spector, have all written gay romance novellas based around World Naked Gardening Day, which happens on the first Saturday in May! This year it’s the 7th, which is when all our stories will be released!

My story for our project is called The Hermit of Aldershill Manor, a 17,000-word m/m romance between Lionel, a gardener on a historic estate, and Charlie, the newly arrived historian, here to help with the archives. There’s an unexpected summer storm, and shelter in an old hermitage, and an instant spark, among rain and flowers and green growing things.

I love history and historic gardens, and we’re lucky enough to live near some beautiful examples, like the Huntington Library & Botanical Gardens out here in Southern California, which has a Shakespeare Garden and a Rose Garden and Lily Ponds as well as—over in the library—an Ellesmere Chaucer manuscript and a Gutenberg Bible! There’s something soothing about the gardens: the colors, the scents, and the living history, full of deep roots and present-day delight.  So I wanted those emotions to flow throughout Hermit: the sense of connection, of growth, of finding a place that’s simultaneously new and colorful and also laced through with the past and the richness of stories. Charlie and Lionel both love the old manor and its grounds, and share their appreciation for the gardens and for the history—and, of course, for each other! (Nakedness, after all, was one of our themes…)

There’s also baking. And old books. And tea. (Not all at the same time.) And learning how to wake up next to another person, when you’ve been very used to being alone. And did I mention the nakedness? There’s certainly that, plus a few truly terrible puns about roots and seeds.

Here’s a bit more about Hermit! I hope you enjoy it, and I hope you enjoy all our Naked Gardening stories—I’m so excited to share this project with you all!

The Hermit of Aldershill Manor

The Hermit of Aldershill Manor by K. L. Noone

Charlie Ash is ready to start a new job and a new life at Aldershill Manor. As a historian, he’s thrilled to dive into the estate’s archives. Plus, he can move on from the end of his last relationship, when the man he’d thought he’d marry broke his heart. He’ll find solace in exploring the manor’s famous gardens…until he’s caught in the rain, and found by a gardener.

 Lionel Briar enjoys making people happy, as long as he doesn’t have to talk to them. He does not enjoy tourists, small talk, or social obligations. But he does like plants and history and his job, taking care of Aldershill’s gardens, helping beauty grow. He likes gently tending the world.

So when Lionel discovers the estate’s adorable new historian getting drenched by a summer thunderstorm in his gardens, he offers Charlie shelter…a rescue that could bloom into love.

JMS Books : Amazon

Excerpt

Just around the bend, and up the small rise; the old hermitage beckoned: an eighteenth-century fantasia of ornamental tower-curved stone and climbing roses and tumbling ivy, tucked into a garden corner by the stream. The honeysuckle and irises by the door, drenched in rain, perfumed the afternoon. Old stones welcomed wet feet, going up the shallow steps.

Lionel opened the door, tugged Charlie in—the young man was looking at the tower with wide-eyed delight, as if expecting dragons and princesses—and only then realized that he’d done more touching of another person, in the last five minutes, than he’d done in the last three years.

His hands catching a slim arm when Charlie’d slipped, earlier. His hands brushing ungloved fingers, handing over a jacket. His hands resting on Charlie’s shoulders, nudging thinness inside.

It’d felt right. It still felt right. He didn’t know why. 

Charlie hadn’t protested being nudged, either. Though he was now gingerly peeling off Lionel’s coat, wincing, apologizing. “I’ll just stand over here, I’m dripping everywhere…” His hair, darkened by rain, had flattened into treasure-box colors: old gold and shimmering amethyst. 

“You’re not a problem. You need to get warm.” Lionel yanked off his own boots, winced as the tangle of his hair got into his face, shoved it back. “I’ll find you some clothes.”

“I’ll be right here.” Charlie waved a hand at him. “Which is already better than being out there, thanks.”

Lionel did not know how to answer, and so escaped, heart beating faster than it should’ve done. He felt Charlie’s presence at his back as he went.

The hermitage had been converted to a residence sometime in the nineteen-thirties, and then updated in the seventies, and then again much more recently, with the influx of visitors and finances to the estate. It was an odd shape, only four rooms, the one main tower and the three smaller towers joined on at the back, all of them short and snug. But the walls were white-plastered and the wood floorboards were pleasant, and books lined most of the main room, and the central fireplace would heat the whole space, once he got that going.

Lionel had always liked the hermitage. They fit each other, awkward but hopeful, part of the garden grounds. 

He tried to hurry, crossing the main room, opening the third door. He tried not to drip on his sofa or his books or the braided rugs, not too much, at least.

The wardrobe and his bed took up ninety-five percent of the space in the bedroom tower, and that wasn’t an exaggeration: he barely had room to walk around. He liked his bed, though. The wood had been hand-carved by a local artisan, crafted from a fallen oak on the estate; it belonged here, and had a purpose. Right now it gazed at him in silent four-poster astonishment, as Lionel flung open the wardrobe and dove into denim and flannel and knit.

Too large, everything would be too large—sweatpants, perhaps—heavy socks—

His hair, wet, got into his eyes. He swore. Found a hair tie, and contained it.

He ran back out. Charlie had obediently remained in place by the coat-rack, dripping onto the mat, which was designed for that. His lips were more pale, and he was shaking, though he was trying to hide it.

He was still beautiful. Those cheekbones, that chin, the way his eyes were framed by the knowledge of laughter. Lionel swallowed roughly. Thrust clothing his way.

Charlie took the offering, but paused. “Should I…go and change in your bathroom? I mean, unless you want me to sort of do that right here, and not get anything else wet.”

Lionel’s cheeks got warmer. He felt it, wondered if it was visible, tried to recall how to speak to humans instead of rosemary and yarrow. “You. Either door. Bedroom. Or bath. You can.”

“Thank you again,” Charlie said, and went off to the second door, which led to the hermitage’s small but serviceable bath. He was careful, Lionel noticed, to leave muddy shoes back on the mat, and to drip as little as possible along the way. Precise, and considerate.

Precise, considerate, beautiful, and in Lionel’s house. Lionel exhaled, and wanted to collapse back against the aged stone tower wall and let it hold him up. He didn’t, because he was still gently damp. But he wanted to.

A person. A man, obviously an adult but also obviously younger than Lionel himself, probably by a good ten years. Someone he’d only just met. 

And now here. In his home. How’d that happened? What had possessed him to offer? For that matter, why had Charlie said yes?

He scrubbed a hand across his face. He also needed to shave. And evidently he’d had a leaf in his hair the whole time, which he only discovered upon dislodging it.

He took a deep breath, let it out. What mattered most was the next step. Charlie was here now, and Charlie needed to get warm. Which meant a fire, and tea. Perhaps biscuits. Or bread.

He could do those things. Concrete, clear-cut, things. Warmth and comfort. Yes.

He found the kettle. He tried not to shiver, because although he wasn’t too wet, he hadn’t managed to change clothes yet.

Which a mysterious young man was doing. In his house. Which he was not thinking about. Obviously.

He built up the fire, in the old-fashioned fireplace. He made it large and glowing.

He turned from poking a log, and found Charlie behind him, having just come in.

Their eyes met. Lionel forgot how to breathe, momentarily, because that was what happened when one discovered a petite American garden sylph standing in one’s living room, dressed in too-long sweatpants and a thick knit jumper. He managed, “Sorry.”

Charlie’s eyebrows went up, spring-blond drifts of surprise. “For what? I hung the wet stuff in your tub, by the way. If you’ve got a dryer—”

“In the kitchen. Don’t worry about it. Sit down.” He dove for tea, a shield. “Tea? Chamomile. From the gardens here.”

Thunder boomed, and rain burst against the windowpane, a sharp rattling clamor. Charlie laughed, and curled up in the chair closest to the fire, giving in. “I guess I’m not going anywhere.”

“No. Yes. I mean. Not in that.”

“Well, thanks for the sanctuary.” Charlie accepted tea, wrapping slim fingers around warmth. He took a sip and made a small pleased sound, and Lionel couldn’t take that and therefore gulped half his own to drown out any thoughts. It was very hot.

“So,” Charlie went on, grinning at him, pushing one too-large knitted sleeve up, “what’s your name? And what do you do? When you’re not rescuing academics in distress, that is.”

Lionel stopped to gaze at him. Academic? A scholar? Not an enchanted flower-sprite or dryad? With that bewitching gift for conversation, familiarity, putting the world at ease? 

He was holding the mug halfway up, in front of his face. Neither here nor there. He lowered it hastily. Felt his cheeks flush. “Lionel. Is my name. Lionel Briar. I’m a gardener.”

JMS Books : Amazon : Barnes & Noble

The World Naked Gardening Day novellas

The Naked Gardening Day stories are a collaboration between Holly Day, Nell Iris, A. L. Lester, K. L. Noone and Amy Spector. They comprise five MM romance novellas featuring being naked in a garden somehow, somewhere, to mark World Naked Gardening Day on 7th May 2022.

All the World Naked Gardening Day stories

Read more about them!

World Naked Gardening Day: The Death of Digby Catch by Amy Spector

Hello! And thank you, Ally for letting me stop by to tell everyone a little about myself, and to share a little about my new release for our World Naked Gardening Day project!

When I was asked if I wanted to take part in the collaboration, my first thought—after naked what?!!—was how I could write a story that—at its core—was about gardening, and somehow make it my own.

I don’t garden. I’ve tried, but other than succeeding in growing a very sad tomato plant that produced rather odd tasting tomatoes—how it is possible to make a tomato taste bad?—I’m a gardening failure. I even managed to kill every single thing I planted with the seeds that Ofelia Gränd—aka Holly Day—sent to me, along with detailed instructions on what to do! (Shhh…Don’t tell her!)

But I love flower and vegetable gardens and greenhouses, and I’ve taken my children to the nursery since they were in diapers—my boys are now ten, thirteen and seventeen—to enjoy the colorful plants and in hopes that one day they would succeed where I had failed.

In the end, I’m quite pleased with my story. Though, I suspect it’s not quite what anyone had in mind when I was invited to join the group.

The Death of Digby Catch is a book about strained family relationships, those people who you chose to be our family, instant attraction, and murder. And, as with most of what I write, quite a bit of humor. Fun!

You can read the blurb and an excerpt from the story below.

The Death of Digby Catch

It had been more than eighteen years since August Catch’s uncle Digby had disappeared to the Cape to mourn the death of his sister. So, when August arrives at Arachne’s Loom to collect his late uncle’s things, he wasn’t expecting to find stories of a man larger than life. Or the very real possibility that Digby’s death may not have been from natural causes.

Theo Webb has had few people in his life that he loved, and fewer still he could trust. But the estate groundskeeper, Digby Catch, had been one of them. Returning home for his funeral, he’s thrown together with Digby’s nephew, and the attraction is instant. But so is Theo’s certainty that things surrounding Digby’s death don’t add up and that at least one person isn’t telling the truth.

Discovering a killer is difficult when someone is desperate to keep more than just their identity a secret. And when all the clues point in one direction, even Theo isn’t sure what to think. The two of them must work together if they’re going to solve a murder, and not let the thing growing between them be a distraction.

But then, maybe a distraction is exactly what they need.

JMS BooksUniversal Link

Read an Excerpt

“You look nice this morning.”
She made a noncommittal noise, too absorbed in the paper she was reading, just as his father had always been on those rare occasions when he joined them for breakfast. But she did look nice, in a pale blue blouse and a colored tint to her lips she’d been wearing for as long as he could remember.
Theo was hit then with a sad longing for something he couldn’t quite put his finger on, so he busied himself with breakfast, not looking up from his plate until he heard the door to the room open.
 “Mrs. Webb?” Silvia, his mother’s assistant, was always so serious Theo thought it a miracle she’d stayed at his mother’s side for as long as she had. “Mr. Catch is here.”
He looked up then, and sat straighter in his chair.
August Catch was even more spectacular looking now after a few hours’ sleep and some dry clothes than Theo had imagined possible.
“Mr. Catch. Welcome to Arachne’s Loom.” His mother was out of her chair, animated in a way that only the presence of an attractive man was able to accomplish. “So glad you came.”
“Please, call me August.” He stole a look at Theo, and Theo smiled and tried hard not to apologize. For what exactly, he didn’t know, not yet. But there would inevitably be something, and it would be mortifying. The day was still young.
As she walked their guest down the length of the buffet, encouraging him to fill his plate, and practically wrapping herself around his arm like a snake, Theo’s appetite disappeared altogether.
“So, August.” They’d taken their chairs, and his mother had folded her newspaper and placed it on the corner of the table next to Theo. “Is this your first time to the Cape?”
“Yes.” August took his cloth napkin as he spoke, unfolded it, and placed it on his lap. “Digby invited me up to stay with him a few times, but it never worked out.”
“I think he might have been eyeing you as his replacement.” His mother was smiling, leaning toward him, making slow, deliberate circles on the tablecloth with one French-tipped nail. “Tell me, do you enjoy World Naked Gardening Day as much as your uncle did?”
“Good Lord, Kitty.” Theo was saved from having to cover his mother’s mouth with his hand by the appearance of her lawyer. Never had he been more happy for the arrival of Dante in his life. “Let the poor man eat his breakfast.”
“August?” Instead of looking embarrassed, his mother just smiled. “This is my dearest friend in all the world, Dante Lolan. Dante, this is August Catch.”
“Nice to meet you.” Dante poured a cup of coffee and took a seat at the far side of the table, looking less than pleased.
“Glad to see you’re feeling better.” Theo’s mother was still smiling serenely, as if she liked annoying the man.
“You’ve been sick, Dante?” Theo grabbed onto the change of subject.
“It was nothing. A little stomach bug. So, Mr. Catch.” Dante put an abrupt end to that conversation too. He didn’t like to share his personal life. It made Theo wonder what he and his mother found to talk about. “What is your plan, and how can Mrs. Webb be of service?”
“Well.” August picked up his fork, fiddling with it a few moments, before putting it back down. “I believe my uncle had a bedroom on the estate? I thought I could go through his things this afternoon, box up what I’ll be keeping, and make arrangements to ship it back…home.” He hesitated on the word home. “Or depending, swap out my rental for something larger and drive it back myself.”
“A house.” Theo wanted more than a single nightmare of a breakfast to get to know Digby’s nephew. “There’s a groundskeeper cottage at the back of the property. Near the greenhouse. Three bedrooms, one and a half baths, a kitchen, living room, and a study. It’ll probably take a little longer than an afternoon.”
“I’ve already had boxes and bubble wrap dropped off. And I’ll send you over a few of the girls to help.” For once, Theo hated his mother’s love for efficiency. “I’m sure you have a life to get back to.”
“Mom, August might want a little privacy.”
“Oh.” His mother turned and blinked at him, as if she’d just realized that they were talking about August’s dead uncle’s belongings. “Of course. I wasn’t thinking.”
“No. That’s alright, but yeah. I might prefer a chance to go through at least some of his things myself. But if you don’t mind, as soon as I think I’m ready, I would be grateful for the help.”
“Not to break this up, but there are a few things we need to discuss, you and I.”
Dante held Theo’s mother’s gaze for a long moment before she seemed to give in. She stood, pardoning them both, leaving Theo alone with August at the table.
“After breakfast, I can walk you over to the groundskeeper’s cottage.” August gave him a smile and did little more than slowly pick at his plate. “Digby used to use one of those…little utility vehicles to run around the property, but it’s not far, and a beautiful walk. “
“I’d appreciate it.” August gave him another one of those polite smiles, and Theo felt like he was failing at whatever it was he was trying to do. Maybe it was just that since Theo felt like he somehow knew August, he hoped August would look at him with the same recognition, and not paint him with the same brush as his mother. Or if nothing else, their shared connection with Digby would make them fast friends.
“So, you’re ground manager at a horse farm?”
“Up until recently.” August seemed relieved at the subject change. “The Blue Horse. It was more of a horse center really, with an equestrian history museum and campgrounds. And they host different events throughout the year.”
“Sounds nice. Do you ride?”
“No. I had someone that was teaching me.” August shrugged, and then seemed to abandon the pretense of eating altogether. “But that fell through.”
After a few moments of silence, Theo made a show of checking to see if anyone might be listening, looking to his right and then to his left, before leaning in. “How about we swap plates and then I’ll walk you over before my mother gets back. She’ll never even know you weren’t particularly hungry.”
This time August gave him a genuine smile, and Theo would have sworn he felt butterflies.
“You’d be my hero.”

You can check out another excerpt on my website at HERE.

About Amy Spector

Amy Spector grew up in the United States surviving on a steady diet of old horror movies, television reruns and mystery novels.

After years of blogging about comic books, vintage Gothic romance book cover illustrations, and a shameful amount about herself, she decided to try her hand at writing stories. She found it more than a little like talking about herself in third person, and that suited her just fine.

She blames Universal for her love of horror, Edward Gorey for her love of British drama and writing for awakening the romantic that was probably there all along.

Amy lives in the Midwest with her husband and children, and her cats Poe, Goji and Nekō. 

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The World Naked Gardening Day novellas

The Naked Gardening Day stories are a collaboration between Holly Day, Nell Iris, A. L. Lester, K. L. Noone and Amy Spector. They comprise five MM romance novellas featuring being naked in a garden somehow, somewhere, to mark World Naked Gardening Day on 7th May 2022.

All the World Naked Gardening Day stories

Read more about them!