Change of Address

by Jordan S. Brock

  Poor Michael gave a deer-in-the-headlights blink. “Your family?”

  Josh nodded. “They’ll be thrilled to hear I’m finally settling down after my years-long wild dating spree.”

  Michael laughed and hooked his fingers in Josh’s belt loops to tug him close. “Yeah. He can tell.”

  “Hear that, Dad?” Josh asked into the phone.

  “I heard,” Dad said, voice full of happiness. “And, uh, it wouldn’t hurt if you brought him to talk to the rabbi.”

  “Dad . . .” Josh warned, even though he was grinning.

  “All right, all right. But don’t blame me when everyone starts texting you to ask if you’re having a Jewish wedding.”

  “If Aunt Mitzi learns to text, I’ll eat my phone.”

  “Then use plenty of mustard. Your cousin Rebecca showed her.”

  “We’re all doomed. And I have to go, Dad. I need to get Michael settled, then get myself to work.”

  “Go. And mazel tov, both of you. Tell him I said so, all right?”

  “Yes, Dad. Love you,” Josh said, hanging up before the call could devolve into five minutes of “one more thing” and repeated good-byes.

  Michael was staring at him, bemused. “I, uh, heard about three-quarters of that,” he admitted.

  “Dad gets loud every time he goes to Brooklyn. It’s the only way to be heard over the chaos,” Josh explained, pocketing his phone. He put his arms around Michael’s shoulders and said, “I told you he wouldn’t mind.”

  “We’ll see how it goes,” Michael insisted. “There’s a big difference between liking your son’s boyfriend and wanting him living with you. And Kaylee sheds, even if I bathe her every week.”

  “Oh my God, you sound like my grandmother,” Josh said, rolling his eyes again. “Will you stop looking for trouble? We’ll work something out. And worst case, it’s temporary until we can find somewhere together—assuming you’d be interested.”

  Michael blinked, lips parting in surprise. “You’d want to? I mean, this whole thing wasn’t planned. We haven’t even really talked about it.”

  Josh sighed, wondering if Michael would ever realize just how great he was. “Yes. I want you to move in with me or for us to live somewhere else or whatever it takes for us to be together.”

  Instead of protesting or arguing or coming up with even more reasons it wouldn’t work, Michael surrendered. Josh saw it in his smile and felt it in his sweet, soft kiss.

  Time to move forward. When the kiss ended, Josh said, “Okay. First things first. Is he going to change the locks, or can I sneak in later tonight and pick up your stuff for you?”

  “I’ll do it,” Michael said.

  Josh hesitated. “Is that a good idea?”

  Michael winced. “Honestly, he’s probably too impractical to think of changing the locks, but he would have you arrested for trespassing. I can get my stuff. Or I can hire movers and just go supervise.”

  “That.” Josh nodded. “Do that. At least you won’t be there alone. He won’t start anything in front of strangers, right?”

  Michael’s smile was thin. “No. And if he tries, I’ll make damn sure to record every word he says, and send the file to every newspaper in the Northeast.”

  Josh probably should’ve said something about reconciliation or let bygones be bygones, but he was still seeing red. Instead, he leaned in and gave Michael a kiss full of love and approval. “Good. So what next?”

  Michael took a deep breath and looked out at the water for a few seconds. “We get you to Bagel End in time for your shift. I’ll call my sister and let her know what happened. If you don’t mind me using your laptop to start scouting real estate, I’ll hang out there until you close. Then you can show me where I’m going to be living.”

  “Sounds perfect.” Josh took the SUV keys out of his pocket. “We just have to stop at the grocery store on the way home.”

  “No food at your place?”

  “Mostly cans and frozen stuff, and tomorrow morning, I plan on making you brunch. Let’s call it our first tradition,” he said, turning to walk back around to the driver’s side.

  Michael caught him by the arm and tugged him close for a kiss that was hot and slow and full of the promise of many more to come, leaving Josh’s heart pounding.

  “I love you,” Michael whispered, lips moving against Josh’s.

  Josh smiled into the kiss. “Love you too, babe.”

  The night was crisp and cold, with just enough wind to stir the tree branches and not a cloud in sight. If it hadn’t been below thirty degrees outside, Josh might’ve suggested going to the north end of the island for some stargazing, but why leave the house to find romantic ambience when they had a perfectly good fireplace right here? Besides, they had plans for a night of TV until Dad went to bed, followed by a few hours of Josh and Michael in front of the fireplace, ignoring the TV.

  After more than six months with Michael, Josh had yet to get sick of appreciating all sorts of romantic ambience.

  “You know, these aren’t bad,” Josh’s dad called from the living room, followed by a suspiciously loud crunching sound. Had they started in on the tortilla chips already?

  Frowning, Josh leaned away from the fridge, but he couldn’t see through the doorway to his dad’s armchair. “What are you eating?”

  “Nufin’!” Michael answered.

  As if Josh was supposed to believe that? He finally found the jar of salsa behind the ketchup, which somebody had put back empty. “Okay, look. I know you both love ketchup—” He stopped in his tracks when he spotted a brightly colored box on the coffee table, in reach of both his father and his pre-fiancé. The box was printed with frolicking cartoon dogs and bagels raining down from the sky. The bag of tortilla chips lay untouched on the other side of the table.

  Dad smiled sheepishly at Josh. “We were, uh . . .”

  “Eating dog treats?” Josh finished, bringing the salsa to the table. The TV was tuned to the Portsmouth news station. Michael’s laptop was pushed out of the way to make room for the dog bagels, even though he couldn’t have finished his homework yet, which was no surprise. He’d been complaining about having to do homework ever since he enrolled in a couple of online courses last September.

  Michael swallowed and shrugged. “They’re better than I expected.”

  “Uh-huh.” Josh sat down on the couch next to Michael, letting the worn-out springs tilt their bodies close. “You were supposed to be doing homework. And you.” He pointed past Michael at Dad. “You were supposed to be filling the boxes. The New Year’s sale starts tomorrow.”

  “I have two days to turn in this essay. And I’m helping make sure this new batch came out right. It’s quality testing,” Michael said, utterly sincere despite the absurdity of what he was saying.

  He leaned forward for a kiss, but Josh put up a finger, blocking his lips. “Dog cookie breath.”

  Michael laughed and nipped Josh’s fingertip. “Dog bagel breath. And we have more than enough to stock the shelves. You outdid yourself with the baking.”

  “Actually,” Dad interrupted, surreptitiously brushing bagel crumbs off his fingers before he picked up the TV remote, “I think the sale might be delayed.” He turned up the volume.

  “—upgraded to a winter storm warning for most of New England,” the meteorologist was saying, pointing back over her left shoulder. “We’re looking at twenty-four to thirty-six inches of snow for the southeast part of the state as far west as Nashua, with wind gusts of fifty miles per hour.”

  “Wonderful,” Josh said flatly. At his tone, Kaylee stood up and rested her chin on his knee. Michael was still her first priority, but she’d taken it upon herself to check in with the rest of her new family as needed. He ruffled her ears and explained to her, “I’m already sick of shoveling.”

  “Two to three feet of snow?” Michael asked, frowning at the TV. “That’s not normal, is it?”

  “I thought you grew up here,” Dad said.

  Josh snickered.
“Give him a break, Dad. He’s been away from snow for ten years. His blood’s thinned.”

  “Hey,” Michael protested. “It snowed like crazy where I was stationed in Japan.”

  “Uh-huh. And two inches of snow shuts down Southern cities like DC,” Josh countered.

  Michael shook his head. “Still, two to three feet.”

  Trying to find a hint of optimism, Josh scratched behind Kaylee’s ears and said, “That’s if it doesn’t move out to sea instead.”

  The weather map on TV shifted to show all of New England. The meteorologist said, “Governor Baldwin has joined with the governors of nearby states in declaring a state of emergency. Residents are requested to stay home and stay off the roads, where blowing snow and heavy winds are expected to reduce visibility. Widespread power outages may affect the region, and residents in the affected zone, especially along the coast, are advised to take emergency measures, including evacuation for people with special medical needs.”

  The TV cut to the anchor desk, where two reporters began to discuss those emergency measures, and Dad muted the broadcast. For a few seconds, the only sound was the crackle of logs in the fireplace. Josh did a mental tally of how much wood was in the pile out back. Between that and their last delivery of heating oil, they’d be warm no matter what.

  “Do we also want to evacuate?” Michael finally asked, looking from Josh to Dad and back.

  “That’s just the news being paranoid,” Dad said with a dismissive wave.

  Josh nodded. “I think they have to say that for legal reasons. We’ll be fine.”

  “Still, it’s not yet eight,” Dad said thoughtfully, glancing at the clock on the fireplace mantel. “The grocery store’s still open. One of us should pick up supplies.”

  “We’re going to have to open the shop tomorrow,” Josh said, getting to his feet. He was the one who did the nighttime driving in the household. “We have too much dough proofing to let it go to waste. And people might come in, looking to stock up.”

  Michael followed Josh over to the coatrack by the door to the garage. “Kaylee and I will come with you. We can get the shopping done twice as fast.”

  “Thanks.” Josh gave him a quick smile and started to put together a mental shopping list.

  “Should we get some plywood, board up the shop window?” Michael asked.

  Dad frowned at the TV, where a list of emergency phone numbers was scrolling down the screen. “I think we’ll be fine.” He turned to Michael and asked, “Are you going out anywhere this week?”

  Michael tipped his head, frowning. “Physical therapy at ten tomorrow, but I think that’s it.” He crouched to put on Kaylee’s vest.

  “You might want to pick up some tire chains, just in case.” When Dad looked at Josh, it was with a sly grin, eyebrows raised. “I suggest you put up a sign to let customers know we might be closed once the storm hits, if the roads get bad, but that’s up to you. Feel like opening tomorrow morning, boss?”

  Josh snorted. “I think you gave me half your share of the business so you could sit on your ass and make me do all the work.”

  “If you two can be pre-engaged, I can be pre-retired,” Dad said smugly, deliberately pulling the lever on the side of his recliner to put his feet up. “Best Hanukkah gift I ever gave you.”

  Ignoring Michael’s snickers, Josh said, “Fine, I’ll put up a notice. But we’re still going to the supermarket now, before there’s a run on bottled water and Oreos.”

  “And ketchup,” Dad reminded him. “Oh, and pick up some eggs.”

  “Oreos, eggs, and ketchup,” Michael said, getting back to his feet. “Are you two sure we don’t need to evacuate?”

  “We’ll be fine. It’s just snow,” Dad said reassuringly. “We have a hospital down the road and plenty of firewood. Absolute worst case, the elementary school is an evacuation center, and it’s not too far away, and we’ve got insurance on everything.”

  “Yeah,” Josh said, trying not to let Michael’s worry get to him. “Okay.”

  Michael nodded, relaxing. “If you think of anything else we need, text us.”

  Dad leaned forward and picked up his phone from the coffee table. “I will. Drive safe.”

  Once Josh had his coat zipped up, he led the way into the garage. Michael tossed him the car keys and went around to the passenger side. Josh had to suck in his gut to squeeze into the driver’s seat, but keeping both vehicles inside was worth the hassle. None of them wanted to scrape ice off the windshield every morning.

  Josh got the engine started, then turned to watch Michael get into the passenger side. Kaylee was already in the back, muzzle resting on the center console. “She doesn’t need her boots?” Josh asked, reaching up to hit the garage door opener.

  “She’s fine.” Michael touched Josh’s arm, stopping him from putting the SUV into reverse. “Whatever happens, we’ll be okay. Right?”

  “Yeah.” Josh looked into Michael’s eyes, seeing the love and confidence that had grown over the last seven months. Seven months of dating and learning each other, of Michael adjusting to life on Hartsbridge Island, of tourists and college students, and both of them ignoring the reporters who occasionally came nosing around, looking for a scandal. “As long as we’re together, everything will be fine.”

  Michael leaned in close so he could cup Josh’s face in his hands, holding him still for a kiss. “Then everything will be fine.”

  Dear Reader,

  Thank you for reading Jordan S. Brock’s Change of Address!

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  This book wouldn't exist without Katie and Michele, the greatest beta readers and cheerleaders to ever lurk in Google Docs with me; my husband, who gave me the time, space, and freedom to write; my service dog, Darian, who helped me reclaim my place in the world; and everyone at Riptide Publishing, who welcomed me with open arms and gave my creative side a way to shine. There isn’t enough coffee in the world to thank you all!

  Hartsbridge Island

  Building Bridges (coming soon)

  Coffee-fueled author Jordan Brock writes engaging contemporary romance with a deliciously pan-romantic sensibility and an emphasis on consent, respect, and, of course, love. Her characters are constantly surprised by the way love’s slow burn sneaks up on them.

  Jordan’s children are all four-legged and furry. They love to be oh-so-helpful with her writing. She can usually be found hiding from the sun with her service dog and her puppy-in-training. (She tried the training thing with cats first, since cats are so much smarter, but it was a no-go.)

  Before she was published, Jordan worked as a tech writer in the semiconductor industry. She’s also created labs and learning materials for auto, diesel, and motorcycle mechanics. The technology was the easy part; the hard part was trying not to slip in pop-culture snark.

  Jordan lives in the desert outside Phoenix, Arizona, despite the fact she turns into gray goo and blue hair dye when exposed to heat. For fun, she hunts scorpions in the backyard, with a blowtorch, and a crowbar. She’s chronically unavailable fo
r at least a month after new game releases from Blizzard. She’s an unapologetic fangirl and has been known to write an occasional fanfic to prove Bucky Barnes is not a villain. Oh, and she crochets the cutest amigurumi ever.

  If you’d like to learn more about Jordan, check out her blog and website at jordansbrock.com.

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