Dev Bentham's Blog

Love in a Time of Coronavirus #1

The meeting was scheduled for 9 am. At 8:50, I straightened my tie, smoothed back my hair and hit the link to join. Soon my screen was populating with faces in boxes. My heart pounded as I waited for the black box titled John Sprague to appear. The anticipation reminded me of seventh grade when I’d sit forward in my desk, watching for the football player I had a crush on walk through the door.

I knew the feeling was ridiculous. I barely knew anything about John Sprague, other than he had gotten trapped in a remote area of Northern Wisconsin and was now stuck in a place with spotty internet. And yet, I could feel myself flush every time I saw his name in that little black box on the daily video call.

Maybe it was the mystery of a man without a face. The first week he explained that the signal was strongest when he turned off his video. Which meant he could see me, but I couldn’t see him. I tried to picture what he looked like from his voice, a voice that sent shivers up my spine when he spoke. There was a kindness in the way he talked that got me every time.

Being alone all day did strange things to my head. My only outside contact was the daily video call with work colleagues, many of whom I met for the first time on that first call between all the managers. Most of us worked in different offices but we’d been organized into teams based on our duties, not on our location because location didn’t matter anymore. The rest of the time I was alone in my studio apartment. I worked a lot, because what else was there to do?

When I wasn’t working, and even when I was, I fantasized about John Sprague. Was he fair or dark? Tall or short? And most importantly, gay or straight? My infatuation was a crazy dream, but nothing was normal anymore, so anything seemed possible.

In the second week, we were asked to pair up to work on small parts of a larger project. I stared at John’s black box, summoning the courage to ask. A chat from him popped up on my screen.

“Would you like to work together?”

I almost broke my keyboard in the rush to say yes. Exchanging contact information felt like a miracle.

Our first exchanges couldn’t have been more mundane, but the ballet of sent and received emails thrilled me. Each time I sent him some boring bit of work, I’d get a little shiver as I hit send, and another when his name popped into my inbox. I scanned his emails for secret messages and hidden meanings even though I knew they weren’t there.

On the third day, I signed off an email with a personal note, telling him I hoped he was doing okay where he was.

His reply began, “A cabin in the woods isn’t a bad place to be stuck, but I’ll be happy to get back to civilization when this thing is over.”

After that, the conversation grew with each exchange. I told him how quiet the city looked outside my window. He sent me a picture of a herd of deer strolling past his. We talked about how our families were doing and ruminated on politics. His father had passed a few years back, but his mother was doing fine, staying safe. He had a sister who was going crazy at home with three kids, and another who worked in an E.R. and he worried about her. The more I learned about John Sprague, the more I liked him.

Each day I carefully dressed for the video conference and impatiently waited for his little black box to appear. Knowing he could see me I had a hard time concentrating on the call. I stared at his black box, willing his image to flicker on for just a second. But it never did.

On the seventh day he asked if I wanted to have a beer after work. By phone. His internet could handle emails and texts and phone calls well, but video-chatting was out of the question. Even so, I dressed carefully for our date. He couldn’t see, but it made me feel better.

The phone rang at six exactly. The blood rushed to my face as I answered. My voice caught as I said hello.

“This is John Sprague. Thank you for this. I’m going a little crazy up here. My mother always warned me that if I didn’t shut up, I’d get tired of the sound of my own voice. She was right.”

I laughed, feeling my shoulders relax. “I know what you mean. I’ve talked to my cat so much I’m afraid she might start answering.”

There was nothing scary about talking with John. The more we talked, the more I wanted. It felt like talking to someone I’d known forever, and I wanted to know everything about him. One beer together turned into two. Then we heated up our respective dinners and ate together. By the time we hung up it was midnight and my head buzzed with his voice, his wonderful, beautiful voice.

I started my next email to him by telling him what a great time I’d had the night before and asked if he wanted to do it all over again.

“Yes. Absolutely.”

We fell into a rhythm, with our days spent working on our piece of the project and our nights on the phone talking about our lives, our dreams, our hopes. We came out to each other in our second phone call and it just got better after that.

Can you fall in love with someone you’ve never seen? I’m beginning to think so. I still don’t know what John looks like, but it doesn’t matter. I could ask him for a photograph, but this is better. I’m getting to know him from the inside out. I know he loves playing basketball even though he’s terrible at it. And that as a kid he had a spectacular toy car collection that he only gave away last year. Like me he loves old movies and knows all the words to Broadway tunes. His favorite holiday is Halloween. And when his father died, he went into a deep depression that only lightened after he started taking long walks deep into the night. That experience left him grateful for every positive day.

I know when I finally do see John, what I’ll see is his true self shining out through his eyes. And that will be beautiful.

When his little black box comes onscreen, I smile. Our new feelings are our secret. Getting to know John is making time fly. Someday we’ll be able to be together in person. That will be amazing. In the meantime, we’re sequestered together in our hearts and that’s enough for now.

The end

The Bad Valentines Have Been Delivered!

Here’s what people are saying about Temporary Dad

I enjoyed Ruby’s part in their romance too, and thought she came across very realistically for her age. -Anne Barwell

 I'm just not that interested in kids in my romance books, but it was really sweet and possibly the most well-developed of the relationships among the four. - AAHickman

I had never read this author before so I wasn't sure what to expect with this one. It ended up being my favorite in the series. It had way more depth than the others and the author did a great job of setting up their relationship and showing it unfold on page. -Alisa

The writing is rock solid, the supporting characters are awesome! - Kat

Prior to requesting ARCs for the stories in this collection, I had never read Dev Bentham before. Shortly after receiving Bentham’s ARC, I also received an email newsletter containing several flash fiction pieces. Even though each piece was incredibly short, at the end of each I felt a satisfying sense of completion. With those impressions in mind, I felt certain that an 80-page story would be just as well-written and just as satisfying. And I was not disappointed. - Island River Scribe

First I've read of this author, I'd love to read more. I like the way they spin a tale! - Debbie

I really enjoyed this story and how there wasn’t a big blowup about Dylan lying. The two men are cute, and the chemistry was there. I liked being able to see it from both points of view. I can’t wait to read more from Dev Bentham. - Georgiana

An excellent Valentine's Day treat! I liked both Dylan and Nick, and was extremely pleased that they weathered the bumps on the road to a relationship without undue drama or emo. - Jillian MacLeod

I really enjoyed this truly sweet story. It’s not sticky sweet—it’s just right sweet. - Wendy

This is a delightful story and I really enjoyed it. The characters and storyline are great and it is well-written and hilarious. I love Nick and Dylan together and how their relationship develops. They have a great connection and sizzling hot chemistry. - Sarita

This was the best of the lot in the Bad Valentines stories and definitely my favorite. - Bayou Book Junkie

Temporary Dad by Dev Bentham did something many holiday stories don’t, which literally was make me laugh out loud! Of course, both the main characters are great guys who just happen to need to learn some things about life. Good thing Dylan is a teacher and Nick can listen. - Susan

Nick and Dylan were so very cute together. I loved that they met before Ruby was involved, but that she was the catalyst for them meeting again. - John-Torlief Harris

Out of all the books in this multi-author endeavor I think Dylan and Nick's story was the sweetest. - Joscelyn Smith

I loved that these guys spent weeks getting to really know one another. Great ending. - Shelley Chastaneger

I always admire Dev’s writing, in that with a few sentences, she paints a picture that you can really visualize, and this sweet story is no different. - Amazon Customer

Temporary Dad - Available on Amazon

Bad Valentines are coming!

I’m so excited to be part of the Bad Valentine collection. What a great group of lighthearted stories. Coming out February 1st and available on Amazon for preorder now.

Bad Valentine is a collection of short stories and novellas by Jordan Castillo Price, Clare London, Jesi Lea Ryan and me. The stories are light and romantic to celebrate Valentine's Day. Jordan and Jesi's have paranormal elements while Clare and mine are contemporary romantic comedy. Each begins with "Nothing good ever came from a valentine."

My contribution is Temporary Dad - the story of a one-night stand that should have been the beginning of a love story except for one stupid lie and a rambunctious seven-year-old. I had a great time writing it and I hope you enjoy it too. The Bad Valentine stories are fun. Check them all out here.

Meanwhile I’ll go back to thinking about my next story, which I’m thinking I’ll call Temporary Husband , because while life is fleeting, true love lasts.

Another flash from Dev's News Flash

I send out a newsletter every month with an original piece of flash romance. Keep scrolling down for an example from last month. If you're interested in finding a little story in your inbox every now and then, all you need to do is sign up (and of course you can always unsubscribe). I've posted my privacy policy on this website but basically the only thing I'll ever send you is a little bit of news and some fiction.

Subscribe to Dev's News Flash

Stepping in It

 

“That sounds disgusting.” I wrinkled my nose. My sister, Annie, should know better than to ask me to something called Brunch in the Barn.

“Come on, Guy, it’ll be fun.” She poked my side in that irritating, baby sister way she has. “Hot farmers. Maybe a cowboy or two?”

“Right, because nothing shouts hot gay guys like a barnyard full of cow shit.”

“How would you know? You never leave the house. Not exactly a great strategy for meeting Mr. Right. Besides, I didn’t expect to find true love at a cooking class and yet here we are.” She waved her new, shiny engagement ring at me.  “Maybe your plus one will be in the barn having brunch with his sister too. You won’t find out unless you try.”

I’d known it was a losing argument from the beginning. Annie had flown in for the weekend to rope me into wedding planning. I hadn’t seen her since Christmas and if she wanted brunch in a cow shed, I’d pull on my oldest, grossest shoes and go along. And she was right about the getting out of the house part. My last relationship fell apart a week after I started freelancing from home. These days a trip to the grocery store felt like an adventure.

I drove, and she navigated. The road wound through vast green fields. We passed maybe a dozen decrepit barns with peeling paint and missing boards. Ancient pickups and mud-encrusted farm machinery dotted the front yards. Every now and then I caught the distinctive smell of fresh manure, and my appetite disappeared.

But when we finally arrived at the right farm, the freshly painted farmhouse and pristine red barn weren’t anything like I expected. Late model cars filled the drive and people clustered in small groups. Everyone held a mug of something and they all looked happy.

“This is so cute, even better than on the webpage.” Annie grinned at me. “Oh, Guy, thanks so much for coming.”

My mood lightened when I saw how happy she was. Maybe this was a good idea after all. I climbed out of the car with my heart full. We started up the drive toward the other happy, smiling people.

That’s when I stepped in it.

Cow shit, chicken shit, even pig shit – I’d been expecting all of those. But instead I felt that familiar urban squish and smelled the stink as my shoe slid across a big, fresh pile of dog crap.

I swore loudly enough that a few of the cheery brunch folk looked over. Someone laughed. Someone else groaned in sympathy. Too many people watched as I scraped my shoe against the gravel. No wonder I never left the house.

“Come on over and we’ll get that cleaned up.” A man’s voice cut through the crowd.

I looked up to see a vision beckoning to me from beside the farmhouse where he stood holding a hose. He was tall and lean with curly dark hair and bright blue eyes. He smiled, and my knees went weak.

“Go on. You need to wash that off.” Annie poked me in the ribs and I realized I was just standing there, gaping at him. I closed my mouth and limped over, feeling stupid and awkward and unable to take my eyes off him.

When I got closer, he patted a white plastic lawn chair. “Sit down and take off your shoe. I’ll get it cleaned up. Dog dirt, that’s what the Brits call it. Sounds much more appetizing, don’t you think?” He held out his hand and kept talking, which was great, because I’d been struck dumb. “I told Madison that if she was going to let the dogs out in the front this morning that she’d need to clean up after them. But you know how kids are.”

“Madison?” I managed to ask as I slid my shoe off and handed it to him. A little zing flew up my arm as our fingers brushed.

He gestured with my dirty shoe to a middle schooler who was passing through the crowd with a tray of muffins. She had his coloring. A blond woman holding a carafe of coffee stopped to stroke the girl’s head in a proprietary, motherly way. His family. My little vision of walking into the sunset with this gorgeous man dissolved in a surprisingly painful wave of disappointment.

I gestured to my shoe and the hose in his hand. “Thanks for cleaning that off. It’s really nice of you.”

“No problem. I’m something of a clean freak.” He grinned at me as he held the shoe away and sprayed the tread. “I doubt you’d enjoy your meal with the smell of poop wafting up from your feet.”

I looked around at the farm fields and the freshly painted barn. Very attractive as a farm, but hardly somewhere you’d expect to find a clean freak. I cocked my head and looked up at him. “Being on a farm must be a challenge.”

“Tell me about it.” He examined the dripping wet bottom of my shoe. “Did you and your wife drive out from the city this morning?”

“My sister.” I glanced at Annie, who was busy trying not to watch our interaction.

He looked me full in the face, his smile even more radiant than before. “Your sister. How nice.”

The beautiful man with a lovely wife and child held my gaze for a few more beats, then he handed back my shoe. “What a crappy start to your barn brunch experience, so to speak. Still, welcome to the farm. I’m Patrick.”

“I should have offered to clean this off myself but I’m really glad you did. As a fellow clean freak, I know what a sacrifice you made to enhance my brunching experience.” I held up the shoe in a weird little salute that only sort of reduced the tension between us. “Thank you, Patrick. I’m Guy.”

“You must be the Guy I’ve been waiting for.” He grinned.

I blinked at him. It wasn’t the first time I’d heard the joke, but I was pretty sure I’d never heard it from a husband and father. Maybe he swung both ways. But even though he was heart-wrenchingly attractive, I just couldn’t see myself as anyone’s piece on the side.

I decided to act like I’d misunderstood. “Excuse me?”

He looked away. “Sorry. Just. Never mind.” He gestured to his wife and continued in a more formal tone. “You better head on over to Sue and get yourself some coffee. I hope the food makes up for the inconvenience.”

I walked away, telling myself that spending any more time with him was dangerous. That way lay heartache. I rejoined the crowd without looking back. Sue gave me coffee. I grabbed a muffin from Madison, and found Annie, whose expression was all questions.

I shook my head and mouthed, “Married.”

She scrunched up her face into a comforting look of disappointment. She’s a great sister.

Birds sang, bees buzzed, and a rooster crowed in the distance. Eventually Sue led us all to the back yard where long tables had been set between the vegetable gardens.

It was like a rustic garden party, not at all the manure scented meal I’d been expecting.

 A familiar voice from just behind my ear said, “They only do barn service in the rain.”

They? I turned. Patrick’s face was inches from mine. He smelled of soap and coffee and fresh air. He held my gaze for a long moment, then patted my shoulder and moved out of the crowd and toward the kitchen door. I stared after him.

Beside me Annie whispered, “Are you sure he’s straight?”

I shook my head. No, I wasn’t sure at all.

For the next hour, Sue and Patrick and Madison and three other clearly related children brought out heaping platters of food. Grilled vegetables, eggs, meat, sliced tomatoes, pastries, homemade bread and jam, all washed down with rich coffee and fresh cream. Annie chatted happily with the woman next to her and the couple across the table. I ate and stole glances at Patrick.

Who was often looking right back at me.

At the end of the meal the kitchen door opened, and a man stepped onto the stoop, wiping his hands on a towel. With broad shoulders and thick biceps, he was much larger than Patrick, but the similarity in coloring was striking. People around us started clapping and whistling.

Someone called, “Chef, chef.”

The man on the back stoop smiled tiredly. Sue put down a platter and stood beside him, her arm around his waist, smiling at the group of clapping guests.

Annie was looking from Patrick to the chef and back again. She turned to me and mouthed, “Brother?”

I nodded. My attention was riveted on Patrick. As I held his gaze, his smile widened. Annie had been half right. It hadn’t been in the barn, with his sister and he’d been serving, not eating brunch. But I’d found my plus one on the farm. Thank god he was just visiting for the weekend. Our first date was back in the city where I belonged.

It all goes to show, even after a shitty start, there might just be a happy ending.

The End

Flashing an Anthology

Two of the newsletter flashes will be included in a romance anthology coming out very soon. I'm very honored to have Afterlife and Treasure Hunt appear in A Wink and A Smile - from Smoking Pen Press. I'll let you know about the publication date when I hear.

In the meantime, here's the lovely cover. 

A Time to Plant

Just a week ago it was quite cold and the yard was covered in snow. Today the sun shone, the temperature pushed 70 and I saw the first robin (not the first robin anyone saw this spring, just the first one I noticed). A bad mood seems impossible.

Our little community garden opens next week. It's still a while before we can plant anything less hardy than peas or spinach up here in the northwoods. But somehow that makes the gardening season even more precious.

I've been thinking about our long, dark winters and how much I treasure the warm weather when it comes. There's a metaphor in there somewhere about valuing things more when they're rare - like good friendships, exquisite meals and true love. I wish you all three, and the feeling of gratitude that comes from knowing just how precious these good things are.

Passover with Nathan and Isaac

It's Passover and I thought you might enjoy the Seder from Learning from Isaac, my Passover book from the Tarnished Souls series (available for free at Instafreebie). The Seder happens about a third of the way through the book but I think all you need to know to make sense of this excerpt is that Isaac is working his way through college as an exotic dancer and sex worker and that Nathan is his biology professor. There's a great deal of chemistry between them but they've (mostly) kept their hands to themselves so far and are determined to keep it platonic until after Nathan graduates.

 

Chapter Seven, Learning from Isaac

 

The first night of Passover happened to fall on a Sunday night at the beginning of spring break. On Sunday morning, I arrived at my mother’s house. She and Jeremiah were finishing breakfast.

Mom waved at me with her toast. “Help us finish this loaf of bread. It’s too good to throw out.”

“Coffee?” At my nod Jeremiah reached into the cupboard and produced a cup.

When I was growing up, Mom’s observance of the proscription against eating leavened bread during the eight days of Passover was spotty, at best. One of my earliest memories was of stopping for cake on the way home from my strictly observant grandparents’ Passover Seder. Now for Passover, she cleaned out the cupboards in deference to Jeremiah, who had converted to Judaism sometime in his forties. I hadn’t asked whether she still stopped for pastries when she was by herself.

My own faith was complicated. For years, I approached Judaism as an identity more than a religion. But since I had started teaching at a Catholic college, I’d found I wanted to carefully distinguish myself from my colleagues. Not that I was religious. If there was a God, I hadn’t met him. Still, I intended to survive on matzo through Passover, and gratefully accepted my mother’s delicious toast, since it was the last I’d have for over a week.

“How are you, son?” Jeremiah pounded my back.

“Great. And you?” I took the coffee he offered.

He sat down beside my mother and patted her hand. “Your mother’s as stubborn as a mule, but other than that, I’m fine.”

She handed me my toast. “Don’t try to rope poor Nathan into this. It’s between you and me.”

I reached for the butter. “You proposed again?”

He nodded. “And she turned me down, again.”

Slathering butter on my toast, I grinned at him. “She’s a lawyer. There’s no way you can make an honest woman out of her.”

Jeremiah guffawed. “You  probably have something there.”

Mom made a face. “Jeremiah Bridges, you were a lawyer before you were a judge. Don’t encourage Nathan with his lawyer jokes.”

I bit into the toast, savoring the rich, hearty taste. “So, how many tonight?”

Mom counted on her fingers. “Your Uncle Mickey, of course, and Cousin Steve with Cindy and their little girl, Kayla.”

At my groan, she admonished, “They’re not that bad.”

I snorted. “Steve’s a prig, Cindy’s dumb as a stump, and Kayla is spoiled rotten.”

Jeremiah chuckled. “Good thing there’ll be four cups of wine.”

Mom shook her head. “Grape juice this year. My friend Marla who works at Kaperman Recovery Center is sending over two Jews stuck in treatment over the holiday. I promised an alcohol-free Seder.”

I looked at Jeremiah and winked. “Maybe we should do shots before they get here.”

Mom glared at me. “Don’t even think about it.”

I gave in. “All right, all right. No booze. Tell me Cousin Leah is coming. If I have to endure Steve, it’s only fair we get his sister, too.”

Mom refilled our coffee cups. “Leah’s coming, with Pete and the children. Jeremiah met a University of Chicago visiting professor from Israel, and invited him too. An interesting man, a novelist. I think you’ll like him. And of course, you and your student.  That’s fourteen.”

Jeremiah sat back in his chair, settling his coffee cup on his prodigious belly. “Tell us about this student. Is he a dim or a bright bulb?”

The image of Isaac was sudden and vivid. I probably blushed. I know I stuttered. “Uh, he’s, um, he’s very bright.”

My mother’s eyebrows nearly touched her hairline.

I rubbed my hands together and glanced around the kitchen. “So, how can I help?”

* * * *

When the doorbell rang, my cousins, Steve and Leah, had just started their annual Passover argument about whether their mother’s matzo balls sank or floated in the soup. Aunt Deb had been gone so long that even Uncle Mickey couldn’t remember how she made the matzo balls. My mother bought hers at Manny’s Deli, and most years they float. The two strangers Marla had delivered from Kaperman watched the exchange with the dazed expressions of battle survivors. Given they were in treatment for alcohol or drug abuse, that was probably a fair description of their lives.

Uncle Mickey and the Israeli, whose name, Tzvi Nacham, Mom, Jeremiah, and I had spent the afternoon practicing pronouncing, seemed to be engaged in heated agreement about the injustice of Palestinian occupation. The kids were playing an elaborate game that mostly involved running around the house screaming. As the oldest and most obnoxious, Steve’s daughter Kayla appeared to be the ringleader. Her younger cousins, Naomi, Lilly, and tiny Seth, trailed behind in various stages of mania.

I opened the door. The only guest unaccounted for stood on the doorstep, awkwardly holding a bouquet. In a black wool coat and pressed chinos, he looked so beautiful that I had to hold on to the doorjamb to keep from touching him.

“Hey.” Isaac held out the flowers. “I wasn’t sure what to bring.”

“Thanks.” I moved to give him room to come inside. “May I take your coat?”

“Sure.” He stepped into the narrow hallway and shrugged out of his coat. Our hands brushed as I took it from him. There was something electric about it all, Isaac in my mother’s hallway, standing close enough that I could smell him. He met my eyes, and I could tell he felt it too, the intimacy of shared space and time.

He smiled. “I’m looking forward to seeing where you come from.”

I laughed. “You may not say that after you meet the family. They’re not exactly normal.”

I led him into the living room and introduced him around. Cousin Steve shook his hand in a very bankerly way, while his wife, Cindy, dithered about how nice it was to have a young adult around. Cousin Leah and her husband Pete were both more restrained and pleasant. The folks from Kaperman muttered and shuffled, and the kids careened into him.

Tzvi shook Isaac’s hand formally. “You look familiar. Perhaps I’ve seen you around the University of Chicago campus?”

I took another look at Tzvi. Had he been to the club and seen Isaac dance? Or worse? I clenched and unclenched my fists, trying to shake off a sudden need to lash out.

Isaac shook his head. “No. Must be someone who looks like me. That happens a lot.”

The Israeli gave Isaac the once-over. “I doubt that.”

Isaac’s smile was forced. He turned to my  mother. “Thank you very much for having me.”

“My pleasure.” She looped an arm through his and led him toward the dining room. “You’re sitting by me. I’d like to hear all about how things are going for you here in Chicago.”

Leah caught my eye and cocked an eyebrow.

I shrugged. I wasn’t about to tell her how complicated things were. We all followed Mom and Isaac and found our preordained places. As I settled into mine, with Tzvi on one side and Leah on the other, it clicked why Mom had insisted on putting him next to me. It was a setup. I could practically hear her thinking, “Both academics, both Jewish, they have so much in common.” Only what we had in common was the handsome young man on her right. From the way Tzvi was staring at Isaac, I was sure he’d been to the club. While he might not remember yet, it looked like he might remember soon. I’d need to quickly engage him in conversation The last thing I wanted was to embarrass Isaac in my mother’s house. Or myself, for that matter.

Mom clinked a fork against her glass. “I’m delighted to have you all here. Let’s get started, or we’ll never eat.”

My shoulders relaxed as Tzvi’s focus shifted to his prayer book.

In my grandparents’ house, the Seder meal took hours. The formal telling of the Exodus story, the songs, psalms, prayers—it all went on and on and on. I remember falling asleep before any real food was produced. My mother’s Seders preserved bits and pieces—the Israelites still crossed the Red Sea, my second cousins fidgeted and blushed through the four questions, and we all ate horseradish hot enough to make us weep, but the whole thing zipped by at record speed so that we could get on to the important things, like food and conversation.

After the Seder service, Isaac jumped up to help me serve the soup. Steam from the soup pot rose, permeating the kitchen. As we stood together ladling soup, I whispered, “So, Tzvi?”

He paled. “I don’t know, maybe. It’s not like I would remember most of them. And I don’t even register the guys who watch me dance out front.”

I winced. “Right.”

Picking up another bowl for me to fill, he looked into my eyes. “If we got involved, you wouldn’t be able to handle meeting my ex-customers, seeing how they look at me, or knowing what I might have done with them. You know you wouldn’t....”

I bit my lip, chicken soup dripping onto the stove top. “It’s new territory for me, I’ll give you that. But I don’t think it would scare me off.”

He brushed a finger along my cheek. “I got an internship with an environmental engineering firm in downtown Chicago. It starts right after graduation. Doesn’t pay much, but enough to cover my rent.”

I was puzzled by the sudden subject change. “That’s great.”

He arranged the full bowls on a serving tray. “If things go well this spring, I’ll have my loans down to a manageable level by graduation.”

I nodded, handing him another bowl. I didn’t want to think about how he was earning enough to pay off his loans now.

He gave me an exasperated look. “It means I can quit in May.”

“Thank God.” A wave of relief swept through me that was so strong I almost dropped the bowl of soup I was carrying. Even if nothing happened between us, the thought of Isaac safe felt like a miracle.

Cocking his head, he looked at me. “I still think you won’t be able to handle it.”

He picked up the tray of bowls and disappeared back into the dining room. I stared at the closed door for a long time, wondering if he was right. I returned to the task of filling bowls with clear, aromatic chicken broth and two, perfect, floating matzo balls.

During the main course—a Moroccan chicken recipe with apricots and almonds, served with beautiful red potatoes and fresh green beans—Mom turned the conversation to slavery and what it meant to be enslaved.

“For example.” She gestured with her fork at Steve. “Is the financial world enslaving us, or does money set us free?”

“It’s unfair to pick on Steve that way,” Cindy whined, batting her big blues at her husband.

Leah snorted. “The financial world enslaves us all. Take, for example, public school teachers. Pete and I haven’t had a raise since the economy tanked. And why did it tank? Because big investment companies, like my brother’s, let their own greed ruin us all.”

“Public schools,” Steve scoffed. “Why should you get a raise when all you’re doing is babysitting those kids?”

Uncle Mickey’s fists slammed against the table hard enough to make the crystal rattle. “Oh, for God’s sake, would you two stop it? Grow up, will ya?”

Jeremiah cleared his throat. He had on what Mom calls his judge face. “Historically, slavery has its roots in both economics and greed.”

One of the alcoholics spoke, her voice little more than a whisper. “I feel like I’ve been a slave to my disease.”

Her friend nodded vigorously.

Isaac spoke softly into the silence that followed. “Maybe the answer to your question is that both are true. If we’re desperate for money, it’s enslaving because of what we become willing to do to get what we need. Having enough money makes us free to choose our way in the world.”

Tzvi shifted beside me. I could almost feel the pieces snap together in his mind. His smile as he faced Isaac was cruel. “True, but financial circumstances needn’t make us prostitute ourselves.”

Isaac held his gaze. “We’re all prostitutes in one way or another. Some are simply more straightforward than others.”

I stood and began clearing plates. “So, dessert, anyone?”

Leah stood to help as well.

My mother smiled at Isaac. “You’re very wise for such a young man. What are your plans after graduation?”

Isaac’s mouth twitched, but he didn’t look at me. “Actually I’ve been accepted into graduate school in environmental engineering.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful.” She handed her plate to Leah. “Where are you going?”

He glanced down the table at Tzvi. “I have a few offers but haven’t decided yet. It depends on a lot of different things.”

She patted his hand. “I’m sure you’ll make the right choice.”

Jeremiah stood and rubbed his hands together. “I’ll have you all know I made a chocolate almond flourless torte that is out of this world. Who’s game to try?”

In the kitchen, Leah whispered, “What’s the story with your student?”

I shrugged and hurried back out to get more dirty plates.

Tzvi was standing. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Kohn, but I must be going. I have an early day tomorrow. No, no, don’t get up. I’m sure Nathan can show me where to find my coat.”

As everyone murmured good-bye, I had no choice but to follow him down the hall.

“Seder is a solemn event, don’t you agree, Nathan?” Tzvi asked as I handed him his coat.

“Of course. Although we try not to take ourselves too seriously.”

He frowned at me. “Is that why you brought your whore to Seder?”

“Get the fuck out.” I slammed the door in his smirking face.

Mom appeared beside me. “What was that about?”

“Nothing.” I leaned against the wall, trying to bring down the pounding of my heart. “He’s a creep.”

She made a tsking sound. “I was afraid he wouldn’t be your type. I do like your young man, though.”

I shook my head. “He’s not my young man.”

She patted my arm. “An environmental engineer. Very impressive.”

I rolled my eyes. “He’s twenty years younger than I am, and a student, for God’s sake.”

“Maybe we could all have dinner sometime soon.” Her heels clicked decisively as she made her way back down the hall.

I stayed leaning against the wall, nostalgic for my regular, dull life. Loneliness wasn’t really that bad, was it?

But then Isaac appeared and my heart lifted.

His smile was sad. “I’m sorry I ruined the party for you.”

“What?” I sprang off the wall. “You didn’t ruin anything.”

He shook his head. “I don’t belong here.”

I rested my hands on his shoulders. “My mother wants me to bring you to dinner.”

He brightened. “Does she? I like her.”

“She likes you, too.” I ran my hands down his upper arms. “I do, too.”

He cocked his head. “Tell your mother I’d be happy to come to dinner. After graduation.”

Footsteps approached. I handed him his coat and opened the door.

Halfway down the steps, he stopped and turned around. “Thank you for inviting me to Seder, Dr. Kohn. It was the best one I can remember.” And with that, he ran down the steps and began striding away.

Leah’s arm curled into mine. We watched together until he disappeared. Then I closed the door.

She leaned her head on my shoulder. “You like him, don’t you?”

I nodded. “It’s complicated.”

“Because he’s a student?”

I patted her hand on my arm. “For starters.”

She smiled up at me. “You’re a good guy, you know that?”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” I kissed her forehead.

“Thank God you don’t teach high school.” She giggled.

“I don’t know, the kids are too young, but I hear some of those teachers are hot.” I wiggled my eyebrows at her.

She pushed me. “Flatterer. He won’t always be a student, you know.”

“That’s what he says.” I let go of her arm and turned back toward the kitchen. “He also says I’m not up to it. And he might be right.”

....

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Except from Driving into the Sun

Excerpt

I thought you might enjoy visiting with Joe and Dusty today

Joe’s cousin’s place was a two-story wooden house with a screened-in front porch. At this hour, most neighborhoods were quiet, but Dusty guessed that was usually true for this tree-lined lane.

Joe parked on the street. He turned to Dusty. “How you feeling?”

“Like I’m coming down and I’ll be sorry when I land.” Dusty opened the car door. He grimaced against the pain in his knee as he stood. “And stupid. I should have come with you in the first place.”

Joe opened the hatchback and picked up Dusty’s bags and the medical kit. “I’ve known a siren call or two in my life. You need help walking?”

Dusty took a step forward. His knee throbbed but held. “Your cousin’s not going to meet us with a shotgun at this hour, is he?”

Joe gave a low chuckle. “She might, if I hadn’t left a note. She’ll want to smoke you before she shoots.”

“Smoke me?” Dusty imagined some elaborate ritual with a peace pipe. But would it be a peace pipe if she then shot him?

“Sorry. Army term.” Joe started up the walk. “Sue tends to be protective of me.”

Just what Dusty needed. More angry relatives. A bird started to sing as Dusty limped after Joe. Each step echoed with a dull pain in his head. He could feel his heartbeat in the ache of his knee and the throbbing of his hand. He didn’t even want to think about all he’d lost in one night. A few fucking hours.

Joe slid a key into the door and pushed it open. He held his finger to his lips. Dusty nodded and followed him inside. The house smelled of cinnamon and old wood. Through the window, a streetlight lit the living room with silvery, ghostly light. Dusty could make out comfortable furniture. A plant hung in the window. Hardwood floors creaked under his feet.

Joe dropped Dusty’s gear in a corner and led him down the hall to a bathroom. Joe stepped in, gestured for Dusty to follow, and closed the door behind them. He flipped a switch, and Dusty blinked against the light. The room was small, white, and clean—a powder room with just a toilet and a sink.

Joe whispered, “Sit down. I want to look at that hand.”

Even at a whisper, he had a gorgeous voice. He leaned against the wall so Dusty could maneuver past. Dusty brushed against Joe, who smelled of cedar and sleep. Joe held Dusty’s good elbow and steadied him as he lowered slowly onto the toilet seat. He leaned back against the cold tank and held out his hand for Joe.

Joe gently unwrapped the bandages and turned Dusty’s hand to the light. Blood welled in the wound. Joe pushed on one side and then the other, and the pool of blood grew. He turned on the faucet. Dusty closed his eyes as Joe pushed his hand under the faucet. His hand throbbed under the cool water, and he felt the flutter of his ripped skin. The thought of his flapping skin made Dusty’s stomach lurch. He tried to concentrate instead on the warmth of Joe’s hands beneath his. When Joe shut off the water, Dusty opened his eyes.

Joe held out a pale blue washcloth. “Hold this against your palm with your other hand.”

Dusty pressed it against his palm. Bloodstains grew at the edges, where his fingers pressed into the cloth. He watched Joe bring things out of his big yellow box and line them up along the edge of the sink—hydrogen peroxide, a white bandage roll, a surgical clamp, and a rectangular foil packet.

Dusty nodded toward the foil packet. “That looks like a condom.”

Joe’s eyebrows rose. He held up the skinny rectangular package. “Who have you been dating?”

Dusty snorted. Nobody. Not in a very long time.

“It’s a suture kit.” Joe pulled on a fresh pair of latex gloves.

Dusty looked at the gloves. Right, the blood thing. “I’ve been tested. I’m negative.”

Joe knit his eyebrows. He followed Dusty’s gaze to his hands. “You already told me that. If I was seriously worried about catching a blood-borne disease, I would have double gloved. These are to keep me from inadvertently infecting you with any of the garden-variety pathogens that live on hands. The things we worried about even before HIV.”

“Oh.”

Joe produced a small glass bottle and a syringe. Dusty watched, fascinated, as he filled the syringe, tapped it, and pushed the plunger until a tiny spurt of liquid shot out the top.

“That’s quite the magic box you’ve got. Do you carry that stuff with you all the time, or is this a road-trip special?”

Joe was holding Dusty’s hand and peering at his palm. He looked up, and Dusty’s breath caught at the big, toothy smile that transformed Joe’s face. “I assembled this as part of my last job. Comes in handy.” Joe focused again on Dusty’s hand. “This will numb you up, but first it might sting.”

Dusty squeezed his eyes shut against the burn in his palm. When it eased, he opened his eyes to see Joe using the surgical clamps to push a fishhook-shaped needle through the skin of his palm.

“You’ve done this before, right?”

“Army trained.” Joe didn’t look up as he hooked the other side of Dusty’s wound, pushed through, and efficiently looped, spun, and tied off the stitch.

Right. Army. He’d said something about that before. That explained the great posture. Dusty looked away, staring at the dark blue towel hanging neatly on the wall in front of him. The clamps clicked open and closed. Dusty swore he could hear the pull of catgut or whatever it was through his skin. He needed to start a conversation, if only to hear something other than the click, swish, click of his hand being stitched up. The buzz was gone, leaving behind a dull ache in his head and a thick layer of stupid in his brain.

And the knowledge that he owed Joe a big apology. Not just for waking him in the middle of the night, but for siding with Ryder in the first place. He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry about tonight.” There was so much more he should have said, but he couldn’t come up with the words. “If it makes you feel better, I lost half my cash.”

The clicking stopped. “Why would that make me feel better?”

Dusty shook his head. “Because you were right.”

“That doesn’t make me happy.” The clicking started again. “We can stop by an ATM in the morning.”

Dusty stared at Joe. Of course, a normal person would have an ATM card with a functional bank account behind it. Lose a little money, no problem, just replace it from the rainy-day fund. But then, most people hadn’t been living in a downpour for months.

He mumbled, “That won’t be necessary.”

Joe stopped sewing and looked at him. Dusty stared at the floor. After a moment, Joe grunted and went back to work. “That’s rough.”

Dusty couldn’t think of anything to say to that. Joe was clearly way too perceptive. Dusty decided to keep his mouth shut. He stared at the towel. It felt like forever before Joe let go of his hand. Dusty turned his head and looked at a precise line of black knots across his palm. “Looks like ants.”

“I’ve always thought stitches looked more like flies.” Joe used a pair of scissors to open the bandage roll. Dusty watched him wrap the gauze around and around Dusty’s hand. Despite the fact that Joe’s hands were wide, his fingers were long and thin, his movements precise. Nice hands.

When Joe finished with the hand, he put his fingers under Dusty’s chin and tipped his face toward the light. His touch was gentle, like a lover right before a first kiss. Dusty’s lips opened as he stared up into Joe’s dark brown eyes. Joe’s gaze flicked to Dusty’s mouth, then away. He wet some gauze and began dabbing at Dusty’s cheek. Dusty had forgotten about the scrape on his face. Now it stung. So much for the moment before a kiss. He bit the inside of his lip to keep from pulling away.

“Don’t worry.” Joe’s voice was soft, amused. “This won’t scar your handsome face.”

Dusty rolled his eyes. Handsome was about the last thing he’d call himself tonight. Still, he found himself smiling at the thought.

When he was through with Dusty’s face, Joe sat back on his heels. “Where else does it hurt? Your knee? If you want me to take a look at that, I can.”

Dusty glanced down at his pants—skinny jeans, now filthy, but not torn. He’d need to take off his pants if he wanted Joe to look at his knee. “It’ll be fine. Thanks.”

“Suit yourself.” Joe stood and started cleaning up.

Dusty held the sink with his good hand and stood. His hand didn’t hurt, but his face stung, his head throbbed, and he knew his knee would scream the minute he put any weight on it. He felt beaten down, and the worst part was that this time it was his own fault.

He touched Joe’s shoulder. “I guess I’m a ride board nightmare.”

Joe raised his eyebrows. “Keep your cowboy fetish in check for the rest of the trip.”

Dusty nodded. He followed Joe out of the bathroom and into the living room. His knee hurt like crazy, and he hoped they weren’t going far. The sky outside was light with the blue-gray dawn.

Joe pointed toward the couch, where a red wool blanket lay in a tangle. The pillow at the end still held a dent. “I’m up for the day. You get some rest. I’ve got some errands to run. We’ll leave when I get back.”

Dusty knew he should protest, that he shouldn’t take Joe’s bed after all he’d done for him. But every muscle in his body begged him to lie down. He stumbled to the couch and crawled under the rumpled bedding. The pillow smelled like Joe. It was oddly comforting. Dusty inhaled deeply and fell asleep.

Available at Amazon

Driving into the Sun

One of my favorite stories, out with a shiny new cover by the inimitable Jordan Castillo Price.

Two lonely men, one small car and two thousand miles

Chicago has become a dead-end for Dusty Walker. He’s lost his job, his apartment and most of his self-respect. The only choice he’s got left is to move into his parents’ basement, even though they live half a country away, didn’t approve of him when he was a teenager and are even less likely to now. 

Joe Black Eagle has his own complicated past. He made a mess of things five years ago. Since then he’s concentrated on his sobriety and earning back his nursing license. He’s about to get a fresh start with a new job in Seattle. Things are finally looking up.

Dusty has a few more mistakes to make and Joe might be just the guy to help him find his way. Provided Joe doesn’t toss Dusty out of the car somewhere in North Dakota first.

From chapter two:

When Joe finished with the hand, he put his fingers under Dusty’s chin and tipped his face toward the light. His touch was gentle, like a lover right before a first kiss. Dusty’s lips opened as he stared up into Joe’s dark brown eyes. Joe’s gaze flicked to Dusty’s mouth, then away. He wet some gauze and began dabbing at Dusty’s cheek. Dusty had forgotten about the scrape on his face. Now it stung. So much for the moment before a kiss. He bit the inside of his lip to keep from pulling away.

“Don’t worry.” Joe’s voice was soft, amused. “This won’t scar your handsome face.”

Driving into the Sun is a stand-alone, gay romance with just enough sex and a very happy ending. This full length novel was first published by Loose Id in 2014

Available on Amazon

A Valentine's Day story from the archives

As many of you know, my monthly newsletter is called Dev's News Flash and consists of a bit of news and an original piece of flash fiction (if you're interested in signing up, you'll find a form for that on the right hand bar of this page). I thought I'd offer up last year's Valentine's Day flash. Enjoy.

The Valentine FairyThe only thing more pathetic than being single on Valentine’s Day, was being a queer guy in his thirties in charge of the mixer at a local nursing home. Don’t get me wrong. I loved my job. But as much as the seniors I worked with busted open my heart on a regular basis, I was in the market for someone a little closer to my own age. It’s just that the Valentine’s Day Fairy hadn’t ever showed up for me.There’s a myth out there that after a certain age, people are just done with the whole sex, love, romance part of life. That’s true for some, but plenty of the folks I know are still chasing that elusive something right up until the end. And maybe it’s because they’ve lived a long time and seen a lot of heartbreak and joy, but it seems to me that old people truly believe in love. At least more than most guys my age. Maybe even more than me.So I shouldn’t have been surprised when Mary Jane approached me after the first V-Day Dance planning committee meeting. I was collecting the used coffee cups when she sidled up beside me, wearing her signature pale pink sweater.“Joe, is there a special sweetheart you’d like to bring to the party?” She smiled up at me.I couldn’t remember the last time I’d met someone who qualified as special, much less was sweet enough to enjoy dancing to the oldies with a bunch of octogenarians. Most of the guys I knew got turned off when I even mentioned my job.But I didn’t need to go into all that with Mary Jane, so I just beamed down at her and said something inane like that she should save a dance for me.She patted my hand. “That’s what I thought. I’ve got a surprise for you, someone I think you’re really going to like.”I stared down at her, trying to figure out what to say. While I stood there gaping, she gave me another wide smile and a brisk pat, then swung her walker around and walked away. When she was almost out the door, she turned and waved. “Wear that blue shirt. It really brings out your eyes.”And with that she was gone.Mary Jane was setting me up. That couldn’t be good. For one thing, letting her go all matchmaker on me wasn’t very professional, and for another, while I’m not exactly in the closet, I’ve also never made a thing of broadcasting my sexuality to the clientele. In my experience, the older generation wasn’t always on board with the whole gay agenda. Half my own grandparents were cool with it and the other half thought I was heading to hell, so I figured it was just easier not to deal with the issue at work.On the other hand, the fact she wanted to find me a date was sweet as hell and I didn’t have the heart to shut her down. With any luck, whoever it was she had in mind would have better things to do on Valentine’s Day than come to an oldies but goodies party. I decided to hope for a no show.I’d almost forgotten about it by the afternoon of the party. I took one last look around the community room and had to admit that we’d done a pretty good job on a shoestring. It’s amazing what you can do with balloons, crepe paper and a few well-placed tea lights. I straightened the collar of my best blue shirt.Then my heart fell as I spotted a tall young woman standing in the doorway. I really hoped she was a new nurses’ aide or social worker come to join the festivities and not Mary Jane’s phantom pick for me. She was a good ten years too young and definitely on the wrong team.A voice called, “Miranda.”The young woman turned at the name and I recognized Mary Jane’s click-step tread coming down the hallway. I schooled my face, not wanting her to see how awkward and awful I felt. I really hoped Miranda and I wouldn’t have to have that conversation. With any luck, Mary Jane hadn’t clued her in on the plan.I busied myself with a balloon bouquet and tried not to listen to their conversation. Mary Jane sounded peevish, though. I hoped there wasn’t a problem with the food preparation. I gave the air a surreptitious sniff but nothing smelled burned. Miranda bent down close to Mary Jane. They whispered back and forth while I fussed with the decorations, staying as far away from them as possible. It was unbelievably embarrassing. All I wanted to do was get out of there.“Joe.” Mary Jane waved me over.I put on my best professional smile and crossed the room, bracing myself for the awkward introduction. Which didn’t come. Instead, Mary Jane waved toward the foyer.“My granddaughter left a tray of cookies in the car. Could you go get them, please?”An escape. Relief coursed through me. I didn’t even stop to wonder why the granddaughter couldn’t get the cookies on her own, or try to figure out Mary Jane’s plan, but bolted from the room like it was on fire.Outside the sun bathed the surrounding fields with a lovely late afternoon gold. The air was brisk, but not cold, and I wondered just how long I could linger before I had to go back in. I scanned the parking lot, realizing I had no idea what I was looking for.Until I found it. A tall dark man leaned against the hood of a compact. The sunlight hit the smoke from his cigarette, lighting a halo around his head. My breath caught. He was the most beautiful creature I’d ever seen.I must have made a noise because he glanced over. He paused, as if startled to be seen. Then he smiled.He stood and stubbed out the cigarette.I walked a few paces closer.His smile grew. “God, I hope your name is Joe.”Simon, Miranda’s brother, turned out to be even sweeter than he looked. That was just the first of many holiday dances the two of us attended. Who knew the Valentine’s Day Fairy was an old lady who only wore pink? It’s never too late for love. Clap your hands if you believe.

 

The end