Of Autumn Leaves and New Beginnings
By Nell Iris
3.5/5
()
About this ebook
Pete is happy, albeit a bit lonely, after divorcing his wife of twenty years and isn’t looking to replace her. But when Oren shows up, all grateful and handsome and in that fancy suit, the longing for the deep connection of a relationship flares up inside him.
As the leaves turn yellow, Oren and Pete spend a lot of time in honest conversations. Their attraction grows. Will the two men recognize the promise of new beginnings, and take the chance to find the happiness they both deserve?
Nell Iris
Nell is a forty-something bisexual Swedish woman, married to the love of her life, and a proud mama of a grown daughter. She left the Scandinavian cold and darkness for warmer and sunnier Malaysia a few years ago, and now spends her days writing, surfing the Internet, enjoying the heat, and eating good food. One day she decided to chase her lifelong dream of being a writer, sat down in front of her laptop, and wrote a story about two men falling in love. Nell writes gay romance, prefers sweet over angst, and wants to write diverse and different characters.
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Of Autumn Leaves and New Beginnings - Nell Iris
Epilogue
Chapter 1
Peter Higgins?
I raise my voice to make myself heard over the rock ‘n’ roll music booming in the garage, but the man crouched by the motorcycle resembling something you’d buy at Ikea before it’s assembled hears me and snaps up his head.
He shadows his eyes against the bright light with his hand, then he holds up his index finger in the universal sign for hang on a minute.
He jumps to his feet and jogs to the bench at the back of the garage, where I’m assuming the stereo is located, considering Robert Plant gets cut off in the middle of a magnificent moan.
As the man approaches me, his long legs quickly eating up the distance, I take in his appearance. Dark brown, tousled hair as though he just ran his fingers through it when he stepped out of the shower. A full beard with strands of silver, albeit still more pepper than salt. Laugh lines bracket his mouth and sprawl out in the corners of his hazel eyes. He’s fit; his thigh muscles play under the faded denim and an oil-stained T-shirt clings to defined abs.
My mouth waters and I struggle to keep my face neutral. I don’t want to get caught ogling the man before I’ve had the opportunity to thank him. But he is damned fine, that’s for sure.
I’m Pete Higgins,
he says. Can I help you?
His tone is as friendly as his face; he shows no sign of irritation over being interrupted in the middle of assembling—or disassembling—the five-thousand-piece bike puzzle.
I’m Oren Walker.
I smile and extend my hand. Daphne Walker’s son.
Oh! Ms. Daphne! How is she? Is she all right?
He moves to take my hand but stops himself with a grimace. Sorry,
he says and holds out his oil-stained palms for me to see. I’d better not shake your hand. I don’t want to get your suit all dirty.
I chuckle and lower my hand, ignoring the pang of disappointment in my stomach that I won’t be allowed to touch him and see for myself if his palms are as callused as I hope they are. Yeah, I came right from work.
I finger my blue-striped tie and feel out of place wearing my two-thousand-dollar suit in his garage.
"I figured. The day is too hot for a suit. Heck, this entire summer has been too hot for a suit. I’m glad fall is around the corner, so we’ll be able to breathe again. Let’s go inside. The air is cranked up. He flashes me a smile and waggles his eyebrows.
I’m thirsty, and you can tell me all about your mom without the risk of being boiled to death."
Sounds great.
With my eyes glued to his ass—it’s round and squeezable, and if I don’t look away soon, I’ll be in trouble—I follow him into the garage, through a utility room, and into a big, cozy kitchen, with pale green cabinets, gleaming appliances, and a round kitchen table standing beside a bright bay window.
He nods at the fridge. Help yourself to whatever’s in there. Grab a longneck for me, will ya? I’ll wash my hands and be right back.
He disappears into the hallway before I have time to answer.
Feeling rude and nosy for opening a stranger’s fridge, I do my best not to snoop and take out the first two bottles of beer I find. There’s a bottle opener magnet on the fridge door, and I pop off the caps and return it to where I found it.
The only other thing on the fridge is a photo that must be a family picture—Peter Higgins with his arm around a dark-haired teenaged girl who’s the spitting image of him, minus the beard and the crow’s feet. Next to the girl stands a tall, blond boy, probably a little older than his sister, and last but not least, a beautiful blonde, wearing a wide smile and a smart business suit that screams power-woman.
Pete Higgins strolls back into the kitchen wearing a fresh T-shirt. I glance at his hands, now reasonably clean, and my gaze continues up his arms—I’ve always had a thing for arms—before I remember the family photo and force myself to look up and meet his gaze.
Great, you found the beer!
he says.
I nod and hand him one. You have a beautiful family.
I tilt my head toward the photo.
He looks at it with a fond smile. Yeah, they’re a great bunch. It’s a few years old now, though. Both rascals are in college, can you believe it?
I don’t have kids, but I can imagine it must be…tough?
He chuckles and plops onto a chair at the kitchen table. Someone should have told me that men suffer from empty-nest syndrome, too. Please sit.
I join him and take a swig of the beer; it’s cold and bitter and perfect for a hot day like today. I enjoy his company—he exudes friendliness—and he’s easy on the eyes, so I’m not in a hurry to get out of here. So, no wild celebrations on your part? Party all night now that you don’t have to keep an eye on rebellious teenagers?
I ask as a way of stalling.
He grins. Nah, man, that was never my style anyway.
That makes two of us.
I return his smile.
He holds out his