It`s time for Tuesday Tales.
Today we have an excerpt from Where the Pines Kiss the Sky, a standalone M/M contemporary romance releasing August 14th.
Please do bear in mind that these snippets are unedited so please be kind if you find any mistakes.
This story may have gay erotic scenes, strong social issues addressed and mature language. If those things offend now is the time to move onto another Tuesday Tales blog. Thanks for stopping by!
Maine imgae here
Stepping into the lobby I was nearly bowled over at the landslide of memories. Racing up and down the stairs leading to the second floor, helping in the kitchen, running a carpet sweeper along the corridors, stealing toilet paper from housekeeping just for the fun of it. The warmth of a fire in the hearth hit me in the face as did the smell of garlic.
“Do you still have Emelda cooking?” I asked as Dad led me up the stairs. I nodded at an older woman behind the front desk. She was attractive, blond bob haircut, wide smile for the guests she was engaged in. “Who’s at the front desk?”
“That’s Kimmy, she’s been here for a year now. And yes, Emelda is still cooking,” Dad replied as we climbed the stairs to the second floor. The walls here were white, as they were throughout the inn, and oils from local artisans hung here and there. Seascapes mostly. There were several chunky pieces of furniture spattered along the hall, handcrafted tables with flowers in some of the most unique ceramic vases I had ever seen. I even paused to inspect one of them up close. The pottery was shiny and had dragonflies painted on it in shades of dark blue, green, and a rusty gold. The cut flowers from the back flower garden were lovely but they paled in comparison to the vase holding them.
“Pretty eh?” Dad asked, stepping up beside me, the sweet smell of pipe smoke clinging to his clothing. “Fella down at the tip makes them. Calls himself a ceramist. I thought folks what played with clay were potters.”
“Times and terms do change,” I whispered as I ran my fingers over the textured ceramic.
“Ayup,” Dad murmured. I glanced his way and caught his eye. The same dark brown eyes that I had. People always said that there was no denying I was Marcus Kesside’s boy. “Elias, I know this is hard for you…”
He paused when a young couple – maybe early thirties – exited their room. They both gaped at me. Fuck. I’d not put my shades back on after leaving the car. Not that people didn’t know me even with sunglasses and a hat.
“Oh wow, you’re Elias Lake,” the fellow said as if he were speaking to the Pope. I smiled and shook his hand. Dad stood there with my bag, beaming with pride, as I did my best to be polite and not engage too deeply. “I have seen every one of your movies. That last one where Connor Days tracked down those terrorists who were trafficking young women was amazing. That scene where Connor used only a box cutter to—”
His wife shuddered. “He loves your films.” And she didn’t. I got that a lot from women. “Are you here trying to shuck the media after that…well, that news about you.”
©Copyright V.L. Locey 2023