Blame It on the Fruitcake (5 page)

I was getting louder, but I couldn’t turn down the volume. “I’m a guy who squeaked by high school, who owns a garage and fixes bikes for a living. I wear jeans and Wolverines and undershirts, which more times than not are grease-stained and frayed. There isn’t a designer anything around me. I have a loft where the most expensive things came from the Salvation Army. I grew up in the Children’s Home, for God’s sake, with no family and nobody who cared then or cares now. Don’t you see the fucking Grand Canyon here? I would’ve thought Brian would’ve explained it to you if no one else did.”

He plopped down next to me and took my hand.

“Okay. I see what you’re saying, but you got a few of the facts wrong. Yes, I went to college, but I wasn’t really good at anything. So I graduated with a liberal arts degree. I got out and had no idea what I was going to do. I bounced from job to job. A friend of a friend needed to find a four-story house for a film. I knew where one was. I fell into being a location scout.”

He heaved a big sigh and kissed the back of my hand. I looked down at my calluses, cuts, and scratches making a backdrop for his manicured finger as he rubbed a tiny circle over the place he’d kissed.

“I was hired by one of the top location scout firms in Hollywood and promptly fell in love with my boss. He loved me for my contacts and my nearly encyclopedic memory of everywhere I’ve ever traveled. I gave him my heart, soul, and contacts. Once he’d drained me dry, he walked. I crawled back home and stayed for four years with Nana, licking my wounds and feeling sorry for myself. Yeah, I got a great family, but it’s too easy for me to be dependent on them.”

He turned my hand over and kissed my palm. Now I was hard and wanted to skip dinner and this talk and drag him to bed. We could get each other off and then sleep. Sleep. Finally sleep.

“The thing is,” he said softly after kissing my palm again, “I don’t
do
anything. I don’t work hard. I make a lot of money doing jack shit. And you know what?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “I’m lonely, and all I can see around me are more poseurs like me. Nothing real. Nobody worth as much as his weight in gold. I’ve been searching for you for years. Probably my whole life.”

Bullshit. That was just pure, unadulterated bullshit. But God was it good to hear.

“I’m not in love with you. I don’t know if I can love a guy after….” He waved his hand. “But I’d like to give it a shot between us. If I can.”

I leaned in and kissed him. What the hell? He thought he was worthless. I thought I was worthless. Sounded like a match to me. Maybe together we would be something special.

I sighed. So much for me kissing him good-bye. I guess I was lining up to be dumped eventually. But like he said, why not give it a shot?

T
WO
YEARS
later, right after Thanksgiving, we were sitting on the same couch, but now it was located in his loft, along with the rest of my stuff. We’d made an area we called the rec room where we could sit in our sweaty, dirty clothes on my old sofa and watch TV.

“You ready for your yearly job?” Jay asked. “Nana says I can’t wear you out tonight. You have to be in shape tomorrow.”

I grinned at him. “Yeah, bring it on.”

Nana had appointed me the official fruitcake stirrer in the family.

“He does it right,” she told everyone around the table last year. “He’s big and strong, just what you need to get a good mix. Sam doesn’t get tired and wimp out like the rest of you. He understands the importance of fruitcake.”

Why wouldn’t I? If it hadn’t been for fruitcake, I wouldn’t have found a husband and a family. I’d never have known what the holidays were all about.

31 stories of holiday love!

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P
AT
H
ENSHAW
,
author of the Foothills Pride Stories, was born and raised in Nebraska and promptly left the cold and snow after college, living at various times in Texas, Colorado, Northern Virginia, and Northern California. Pat has found joy in visiting Mexico, Canada, Europe, Nicaragua, Thailand, and Egypt, and relishes trips to Rome, Italy, and Eugene, Oregon, to see family.

Now retired, Pat spent her life surrounded by words: Teaching English composition at the junior college level; writing book reviews for newspapers, magazines, and websites; helping students find information as a librarian; and promoting PBS television programs.

Two of her fondest memories include touching time when she put her hands on the pyramids and experiencing pure whimsy when she interviewed Caroll Spinney (Big Bird and Oscar the Grouch). Her triumphs are raising two incredible daughters who daily amaze her with their power and compassion. Her supportive husband keeps her grounded in reality when she threatens to drift away while writing fiction.

Talk to Pat at:

Facebook: www.facebook.com/pat.henshaw.10

Goodreads: www.goodreads.com/author/show/6998437.Patois

Book website: whatsinanamenovella.blogspot.com

Website: patbooked.blogspot.com

E-mail: [email protected]

Tumblr: phenshaw.tumblr.com

A Foothills Pride Story

Barista Jimmy Patterson thinks it’s a good idea to get rip-roaring drunk on his birthday after he’s dumped by his boyfriend. When the burly owner of Stonewall’s Bar rescues Jimmy, the night starts to look up.

Now Jimmy just wants to know the bartender’s first name since he's worn a different name tag every time Jimmy's seen him. “Guy” Stone gives Jimmy seven guesses, one for each night he takes Jimmy out on a date.

While Jimmy’s trying to come up with his name, he's distracted by the destruction of his coffee shop and what looks more and more like a hate crime.

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A Foothills Pride Story

Renowned interior designer Fredi Zimmer is surprised when outdoorsman Max Greene, owner of Greene’s Outdoors, hires Fredi to revamp his rustic cabin in the Sierra Nevada foothills. Fredi is an out-and-proud Metro male whose contact with the outdoors is from his car to the doorway of the million-dollar homes he remodels, and Max is just too hunky for words.

When Max comes on to Fredi, the designer can’t imagine why. But he’s game to put a little spice into Max’s life, even if it’s just in the colors and fixtures he’ll use to turn Max’s dilapidated cabin into a showplace. Who can blame a guy for adding a little sensual pleasure as he retools Max’s life visually?

Max, for his part, is grateful when Fredi takes him in hand, both metaphorically and literally. Coming out is the most exciting and wonderful time in his life, despite the conservative former friends who think they’re saving him from sliding into hell.

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A Foothills Pride Story

Big, burly CEO Abe Behr is dismayed to discover someone—possibly a family member—is stealing from Behr Construction, which primarily employs Behr relatives. Abe takes the unprecedented step of hiring an outsider, likeable CPA Jeff Mason, to go over the books and help find the culprit. They are drawn to each other as they talk to workers, including Abe’s two younger brothers and their shifty cousin.

Since he has sacrificed romance all his life to build the business, Abe’s surprised by his feelings for the handsome Jeff. He’s even more shocked when they are confronted by bigotry in the Sierra Nevada foothills community, which is being inundated by gays moving from the San Francisco area. As he and Jeff get closer, Abe must come to grips with coming out to a family and community that aren’t very tolerant. Fortunately, being the head Behr helps him find his footing and grab onto love when it bites him.

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