by Marie Sexton
Table of Contents
Blurb
Has it really been ten years?
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Meant to Be
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Copyright
Promises
By Marie Sexton
Part of the Coda Series
Can a man who loves his small hometown trust it to love him back?
Jared Thomas has lived in the mountain town of Coda, Colorado his whole life. He can’t imagine living anywhere else. But Jared’s opportunities are limited—the only other gay man in town is twice his age, and although Jared originally planned to be a teacher, the backlash that might accompany the gig keeps him working at his family’s store instead.
Then Matt Richards moves to town.
Matt may not be into guys, but he doesn’t care that Jared is. A summer camping and mountain biking together cements their friendship, but when Matt realizes he’s attracted to Jared, he panics and withdraws, leaving Jared all too aware of what he’s missing.
Facing Matt’s affair with a local woman, his disapproving family, and harassment from Matt’s coworkers, Jared fears they’ll never find a way to be together. But for the first time, he has the courage to try… if he can only convince Matt.
Meant to Be
Jared has simple goals for his freshman year of college: make friends, lose his virginity, come out, and maybe fall in love. He doesn’t anticipate getting caught between his friend Bryan and Bryan’s flamboyant ex. Through the awkwardness, Jared learns love doesn’t always mean sex and the most meaningful connections might have nothing to do with romance.
Has it really been ten years?
I FREQUENTLY hear authors say, “I always wanted to be a writer.”
Well, I didn’t.
I was always an avid reader, but I had no intention of ever becoming an author. Sure, I knew how to write. The basic mechanics of it were easy for me. What I lacked (at least, in my estimation) was the imagination to really pull it off.
Fast-forward to December 2008, when I quit my job of eleven years at an OB-GYN clinic in order to be a stay-at-home mom. I only planned to be home a few years—just until my daughter started school full-time—before reentering the workforce.
About four months into my new life, I woke up with an idea in my head. I sat down at my computer and I started writing. I felt like a fraud. What the hell did I know about writing a book? I hadn’t even started the story at the beginning! I’d jumped right into the middle, which seemed absurd, even to me.
But I kept going.
I wrote like a fiend, hiding it from my husband the entire time. I was so secretive, he eventually asked if I was having an affair. (He was quite relieved to find out the affair was with two imaginary men.) I wrote and wrote and wrote. Eventually, that story turned into Promises. The first publisher I sent it to rejected it (thank goodness, because they went out of business not long after), but the second accepted it.
And suddenly—almost accidentally—I was an author. A very clueless, lost, naïve author, but an author nonetheless.
Here I am now, ten years later, reediting Promises for its mass market release. And wow. A lot has changed in those ten short years.
When I wrote Promises, only about half the people I knew had cell phones, and none of them owned a smartphone. Even the doctors I worked for didn’t use them. They still relied on pagers. (Yeah. Pagers.) Only ten years ago, landlines were the norm, handheld GPS devices were revolutionary, Al Davis was still alive, and the opioid epidemic in America hadn’t yet been realized. So when it came time to reedit Promises, we had to decide how many of those dated references to leave and how many to change.
Well, I changed the bit about Al Davis, because what was funny when he was still alive felt callous now that he’s passed. But the rest we chose to leave—landlines, Vicodin, and all.
As for me, I think I’ve changed more than anything. I’ve published thirty-odd stories since Promises and seen my books translated into seven languages. I’ve laughed. I’ve cried. I’ve learned to say, “I’m a romance novelist” when people ask what I do, without needing to somehow qualify it or defend it. I’ve made friends. I’ve lost friends. I’ve cried some more. I’ve grown as both a person and an author. And I’ve learned what it means when somebody offers heartfelt, unwavering support.
In the first version of Promises, I thanked Carol Ibanez and Amy Caroline. They still deserve my gratitude because without them, this story would never have been published. But ten years later, I’d like to take a minute or two to thank the people who have stuck with me since day one:
Elizabeth North: For some crazy reason, Elizabeth decided to take a chance on my silly little book and me. She graciously put up with some rather rookie mistakes in those early days, and one or two (or ten—who’s counting?) temper tantrums since then, and yet she keeps taking those chances. Without her, I’d probably have been back in an office job ages ago.
Wendy Russo: Wendy and I have known each other since second grade. We often joke that we share a brain (but I got the naughty part). She’s listened to me whine, bitch, bellyache, and celebrate. She’s read nearly every single book in its infancy and offered me invaluable advice along the way. If you’ve developed a fondness for Arbor Mist since reading Strawberries for Dessert, you have Wendy to thank.
Ethan Stone: I met Ethan in early 2009 when I saw his reading list on PaperbackSwap.com and realized we were both hunting for gay romance. I contacted him out of the blue and asked if he’d like to start swapping books. From there, we became good friends. Since then, we’ve both published books and we’ve learned a lot together. He’s also listened to me whine, bitch, bellyache, and celebrate. (I tend to do those first three things too often, and the last one not nearly enough.)
My mother-in-law Judy: Judy’s a lifelong Republican who has proven to me that open-mindedness lives on both sides of the aisle. She reads every single book I write and keeps asking for more.
My husband Sean: When Dreamspinner Press sent me that very first contract, my trusting husband said to me, “Forget going back to work. Just keep doing this.” All that whining, bitching, and bellyaching I mentioned before? Well, he’s taken the lion’s share of it, and he’s never once complained. (Not to me, at any rate.)
Most importantly, I’d like to thank my readers. Many of you have followed me from the bright optimism of Coda to the dark, troubled streets of Davlova and beyond. A few of you, I’ve met. Some of you, I know by name. Many more of you are still strangers to me. Yet you’ve joined me on these journeys over and over again. Not only that, you’ve shared parts of yourselves with me. Over the years, I’ve received letters that have truly touched me. I’ve had women tell me they changed their mind on gay marriage because they stumbled across one of my books. I’ve had men tell me my
books gave them the courage to come out, the strength to keep going, and the hope that they too can find a happily ever after. I’ve had readers thank me for tackling religion without bashing it in Between Sinners and Saints. I’ve heard from countless children of alcoholics who were reassured by Family Man that they weren’t monsters for sometimes hating their own parents. I will never forget one particular reader who told me he made it through a humiliating situation by channeling Cole, and that it was one of the most empowering moments of his life.
These are things authors live for. These are the reasons we live and die on the page.
So although I’ve thought about quitting this whole writing gig more times than I can count, it’s the readers who always convince me to stop whining, bitching, and bellyaching. It’s the readers who remind me to celebrate. It’s you, dear readers, who make me think that maybe—just maybe—it’s all worth it.
None of this would be possible without you.
Thank you.
Chapter 1
THE WHOLE thing started because of Lizzy’s Jeep. If it hadn’t been for that, I might not have met Matt. And maybe he wouldn’t have felt the need to prove himself. And maybe nobody would have been hurt.
But I’m getting ahead of myself. Like I said, it started with Lizzy’s Jeep. Lizzy is the wife of my brother Brian, and they were expecting their first child in the fall. She decided her old Wrangler, which she’d had since college, wasn’t going to cut it as a family vehicle. So she parked it out front of our shop with a handwritten For Sale sign in the window.
“The shop” had come to us via my grandfather. Originally, it’d been a hardware store. At some point, auto parts had been added as well. When my grandpa died, my dad took over the store, and when he died, it passed to Brian, Lizzy, and me. Normally, I didn’t mind tending the place, but it was a gorgeous spring day in Colorado, and at that moment, I would have rather been outside, enjoying the sunshine. Instead, I was sitting with my feet on the counter, dreaming of what might have been.
That’s when he came in.
He caught my attention right away, simply because he wasn’t from around here. I’ve lived in Coda my whole life, not counting the five years I spent in Fort Collins, at the university, and I knew everybody in town, by sight if not by name. So he was either visiting somebody in the area or just passing through. We’re not a tourist town, but people do bump into us occasionally, either looking for four-wheel drive trails or on their way to one of the dude ranches farther up the road.
He certainly didn’t look like one of the middle-aged suckers who frequented the dude ranches. He was probably in his early thirties, taller than me by several inches, putting him just over six feet tall, with military-short black hair and a couple of days’ worth of dark stubble on his cheeks. He wore jeans, a plain black T-shirt, and cowboy boots. Broad shoulders and big arms showed he worked out.
In short, he was drop-dead gorgeous.
“That Jeep run?” His voice was deep with a little bit of a drawl. Not Deep South drawl, but the vowels were definitely longer than a Coloradan.
“You bet. Runs great.”
“Hmmm.” He glanced out the window at it. “Why’re you selling it?”
“Not me. My sister-in-law. She says it’ll be too hard to get a car seat in the back. She bought a Cherokee instead.”
He looked a little confused by that, which told me he didn’t have kids himself. “So it drives okay?”
“Perfect. Want to try it out? I’ve got the keys right here.”
His eyebrows went up. “You need collateral or something? I can leave my license.”
I think at that point, he could’ve talked me into anything. My knees wobbled a bit. Was there really a touch of green in those steel-gray eyes? I hoped I sounded casual when I said, “I’ll go with you. I know the roads around here. We can take it up one of the easy trails so you can see how it handles.”
“What about the store? Hate to leave you shorthanded during rush hour.” He raised an eyebrow toward the empty store, one corner of his mouth barely twitching up. “Won’t your boss be mad if you leave?”
I laughed. “I’m one of the owners, so I can slack off if I want to.” I turned and called into the back room, “Hey, Ringo?”
Our one employee came warily out of the back. He was always skittish with me, and if Lizzy wasn’t around, he made a point of keeping his distance. I think he expected me to make a pass at him. He was seventeen with stringy black hair and bad skin. He probably weighed a buck five soaking wet. I didn’t have the heart to tell him he wasn’t my type.
“Yeah?”
“Hold the fort. I’ll be back in an hour or so.” I turned back to my tall, dark stranger. “Let’s go.”
Once we were in the Jeep, he held his hand out to me. “I’m Matt Richards.”
“Jared Thomas.” His grip was strong, but he wasn’t one of those guys who had to break your hand to prove how macho he is.
“Which way?”
“Turn left. We’ll just drive up to the Rock.”
“What’s that?”
“What it sounds like—a big fucking rock. It’s nothing spectacular. People go up there to picnic. And the teenagers go there to park or to get high.”
He frowned a little at that. I was starting to think he didn’t smile much. I, on the other hand, was grinning ear to ear. Getting out of the store for a few minutes, especially to head into the mountains, was enough to brighten my day considerably. Doing it in the company of the best-looking guy I’d seen in a hell of a long time? Yeah. It was already the best day I’d had in ages.
“So what brings you to our fine metropolis?” I asked him.
“I just moved here.”
“Really? Why in the world would you want to do that?”
“Why not?” His tone was bantering, although his face was still serious. “You live here, don’t you? Is it that bad?”
“Well, no. I love it here. That’s why I’ve never left. But, you know, the town is dying. More people moving out than moving in. Towns along the Front Range are booming, but nobody wants to live up here and commute.”
“I was just hired by the Coda PD.”
“You’re a cop?”
He raised an eyebrow at me with obvious amusement. “Is that a problem?”
“Well, no, but I wish I hadn’t told you about the kids coming up here to get high.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t tell them you’re the rat.” So, the good officer wasn’t completely without humor. “You’ve lived here your whole life?” He didn’t sound curious so much as like he was just trying to make casual conversation.
“Yep. Except for the years I spent in college.”
“And you own the store?”
“Me and my brother and his wife. It’s not a big moneymaker or anything, but we manage. Brian’s an accountant, and he has other clients, so he mostly just does the books. Lizzy and I run the shop.”
“But you went to college?” Now he sounded genuinely curious.
“Yeah, I went to Colorado State. I have degrees in physics and elementary education. I have my teacher’s certificate too, for all the good it’s doing me.”
“Why aren’t you a teacher?”
“I didn’t want to let Brian and Lizzy down.” That wasn’t entirely true, but I didn’t want to tell him the real reason: that I didn’t want to deal with the fallout of being a gay high school teacher in a small town. “There isn’t anyone else to cover the shop. We can’t afford a full-time employee. Well, we could if they didn’t want benefits, but they do. So instead, we just have Ringo, part-time. We get half his salary back, ’cause he spends his paychecks on stuff for his car, so it works out okay.” I laughed. “Ringo. That can’t be his real name.” Good lord, I was babbling like an idiot. “Sorry I’m talking so much. I’m sure I’m boring you.”
He looked right at me and said, “Not at all.”
We reached the parking area at the end of the road. “You’ll have to turn around here.”
He stopped the Jeep and glanced around. There were no other cars. “I don’t see any rock.”
“Just up the trail a bit. Want to walk up there?”
His face brightened a little. “You bet.”
So we walked down the trail, through Ponderosa pines and Douglas firs and aspens that were just starting to bud, to one of the rocky abutments that must have helped give the Rockies their name. The Colorado mountains are full of these giant piles of boulders, rounded by wind and time, covered with dry sage—and rust-colored lichen. This one was about twenty feet high on the downhill side. If you walked up the hill, you could practically walk right out onto it. But what’s the fun in that? These rocks just beg to be climbed.
Once we reached the top, we sat down. The view wasn’t really any different from there. We could see down the trail to the Jeep, but other than that, it was just more trees, more rocks, more mountains. I love Colorado, but this type of view can be found in hundreds of spots. I was surprised to hear a contented sigh from Matt. When I looked at him, his face showed amazement.
“Man, I love Colorado. I’m from Oklahoma. This is better, believe me.”
He turned to look at me, squinting into the sun, and I almost quit breathing. His skin was tan, and his eyes were shining. Yeah. Definitely a hint of green in them. “Thanks for bringing me up here.”
“Anytime.” And I meant it.
Chapter 2
MATT CAME by the shop the next day, cash in hand, to buy the Jeep. It was a Saturday, normally one of our busier days, so Lizzy and I were both working.
“Will you join me for a beer?” Matt asked. He’d shaved that morning, and it made him look several years younger. Man, he was cute.
“I’d love to, but you’ll have to give me a rain check. I’m having dinner with the family.”
“Oh.” He sounded disappointed. “Well, maybe another time….”
“Wait a minute,” Lizzy interrupted, grinning ear to ear. I could tell by the look on her face she thought she was doing me a huge favor. “Why don’t you join us? We’re just having dinner up at the house. We’d love to have you.”