Sol (Love in Translation Book 1)

by Leslie McAdam

  Just kidding. Mostly so I could see your giving, loving, radiant spirit. The way you feed off of joy and then give it back one hundred-fold. The way you live, Dani, it’s infectious. Your desire to help everyone understand each other, your insatiable appetite for new lands, your desire to get to know everyone. Your enthusiasm for life. I admire the way you live. I admire you.

  I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to grow up more and become more like you.

  I know when I left, you got mad because you don’t like the army. I do. But so what? Don’t worry about that. My love for you goes so much deeper than one fight. One disagreement. All is forgiven.

  You have to know. I always wanted to be a soldier. No one talked me into this. It was my decision. I take responsibility for whatever happens to me. I’m going into this with my eyes completely open, since I’m writing this letter to you.

  In your Universe, there is enough room for you to have a world where we all put down arms and love each other, and one for me to go off and defend your right to have that world. Yeah, it’s a mindfuck, but think about it. We can both coexist harmoniously in this Universe as you say, my darling, dearest hippie sister.

  So don’t worry about anything you said. I know you didn’t mean it. Or rather, I know you meant that you were scared that I was going to die and that you loved me. I love you, too. Please know that I died fighting for what I most believe in. Your freedom.

  Love,

  Your little brother,

  Degan

  P.S. I hope you marry Trent. He’s not gonna read this. I’m gonna seal it up so he doesn’t know. But really, enough already. You guys are meant for each other.

  P.P.S. I know you don’t do funerals, but if you do, you know what to do for me.

  After I finished reading it out loud, I carefully folded it back up and put it in the envelope. I handed it to Trent, who put it in his back pocket. Then I turned to Trent, tears in my eyes. “I loved him. I still love him.”

  “I do too,” he said, and he hugged me tight.

  “All is forgiven.”

  “All is forgiven.”

  25

  Epilogue

  One year later

  “Babe. Where on earth are you taking me?”

  “Knowing me it could be anywhere, huh?”

  “Isn’t that the truth?”

  I sat back in the convertible Opel and let my wife drive.

  For the past year, we’d been inseparable. She’d taught in Granada. I attended school, just not in her class.

  We escaped a lot of weekends to wherever she wanted to go. Morocco. Greece. Sweden. Turkey.

  I’d moved into her tiny apartment.

  When we’d gone home to visit, we’d stopped by to see friends in Vegas. With a glint in her eye, by the Bellagio fountains, Dani said, “Wanna get hitched?”

  “What?” My heart had started beating like it was gonna dance in the Electric Daisy Carnival.

  “Will you marry me?” she said.

  I’d stared at her, stunned. “I thought you weren’t into a wedding.”

  “I changed my mind.”

  “Well, damn, then I wanted to propose.” I pulled her into me.

  She giggled. “Then propose.”

  In the middle of the Las Vegas Strip, with hundreds of tourists around me, I got down on one knee. “Danika Anderson, you’re the love of my life. Will you marry me?”

  “Absolutely, yes,” she said.

  We got married that day.

  The red tierra of Spain spread before us, dotted with olive trees, like a quilt across the landscape. A bumpy quilt. A bed like Degan would have made when we first got to boot, all messed up and bumpy. I smiled to myself. He would have been chewed out.

  We exited the autopista, and I caught a glimpse of storks’ nests in the telephone poles. What huge birds they were. No wonder people thought they’d deliver babies. They could probably deliver a Chinook helicopter.

  Almost every week for the past year, I’d had a therapy session with Marie Thrash. While I still had nightmares, they’d decreased in frequency and intensity. I started taking meds, got the levels adjusted, and felt better. Not perfect. But better.

  Dani made me feel better, too. Her love. Her forgiveness. Her power.

  As we wound our way down the narrow road, I repeated, “Babe. Where are you taking me?”

  Dani’s dandelion floss hair blew in the breeze, and she looked over at me, her blue eyes covered with dark glasses. She patted my knee. “Just you wait, Trent Milner.”

  We sped along at Dani’s usual breakneck pace, until we came to a sudden halt because of a pack of sheep crossing the road. “Baaaa,” they bleated.

  “Baaa,” we bleated back.

  The old sheepherder waved at us. Once the path was clear, she gunned it.

  “Jesus, Dani.”

  She smiled. “I can’t wait to show you.”

  Up ahead of us, on a hill, was an old stone building, as is common in Spain. This one looked habitable.

  I pointed. “We’re going there?”

  Shrugging, she just kept going, refusing to say.

  But yes, we headed up the hill to a rusty old gate tangled with red poppies and wildflowers. Olive trees dotted the entire area everywhere you looked. To the south, the Med sparkled in the distance.

  Unearthing a huge, old-fashioned key out of her bag, she got out of the car and opened the gate, then drove through, got out, and closed the gate behind us.

  Motoring much more sedately, she said, “Have a look around, my darling, dearest Trent. This is our new base.”

  “New base?”

  “Yep. I bought you a base.”

  “Meaning a home?”

  “Meaning a home.”

  I took it all in.

  “You’d be amazed what a 1960’s tract home goes for in Northern California. And how much you can buy in Spain if you’re willing to work with the process.”

  “You bought a home?”

  “I did. We can keep our things and travel the world from here, together. It’s remote enough that I won’t worry about anyone breaking into it. And,” she singsonged in typical Dani fashion, “if they really needed a place to stay, of course we’d let travelers have a place to stop. It’s on a hilltop, so you won’t have to worry about defending it. You can see from all sides.” I looked at her gratefully. She knew my fucked up mind so well. “And then whenever we feel like it, we can just take up and go.”

  I leaned over and kissed her. “Can I see the house?”

  “Sure. It isn’t much. It’s kind of small. But it is a castle in Spain, technically.”

  The warmth in my heart spread to my fingertips and toes. “Dani. You’re incredible.”

  She pulled up at the stone house. An old terracotta roof topped walls of golden stone. It seemed to have doors and a window.

  So far, so good.

  “This is your new home. A ruin of a castle on a hill in Spain, fortified with a new roof, plumbing, electricity, heating and air conditioning.”

  I shook my head in disbelief.

  “Let’s go inside,” she whispered.

  I stepped in, and immediately, I was home.

  “It’s wired for internet,” she said.

  But that wasn’t what I cared about.

  She’d decorated. A hippie lover’s dream. Tapestries hung on the walls, with candles in sconces. A big purple couch, covered with pillows, faced a large television. Out the other way, we had a view across the countryside to the ocean. A cozy fireplace held pictures of me and her, me and Degan, and both of our parents.

  His flag was given a place of honor over our mantel.

  I walked around. A small kitchen, clean and white-tiled. A tiny bathroom with a metal bathtub. And a bedroom with a big bed that was all ours. Mountains of white sheets and pillows, covered with a bedspread from Bali.

  I backed her into the bed.

  “This is incredible.”

  “I’m glad you like it.”

  “I l
ove it.”

  “You are mine now, Danika Milner.”

  “Always and forever, my husband.”

  “I’m going to worship you here. Explore your body like it was the map of a fairytale kingdom.”

  She giggled. “Sounds good to me.”

  “Your eyes are those of a fairy princess. They’ve seen the world and determined that it is good. And they have decided to stay in your own world. Your hair is like spun sugar. Magical. These tattoos? They tell a story. You make me wild, wood sprite. The way you see the world. The way you go about wanting to make it all better. Make people understand each other.”

  Reaching up and cupping my cheeks, she kissed me.

  After we made love, I got up and turned on some music on my phone.

  Sevillanas.

  I stood, wearing nothing, holding out my hand. “Dance with me, Dani.”

  She hopped over to me, naked in the sun.

  “First you pick the apple,” I whispered. “Then you eat the apple. Then you throw the apple away.”

  Holding my wife, dancing in Spain, I kissed her.

  “Welcome home, soldier,” she said. “This is our base. And now we both can fly.”

  I’d never felt more comfortable, more secure, and more loved. “I think we should put a sign over the door.”

  “That says?”

  “Sol. We bought our ticket in the sun.”

  Acknowledgments

  Every writer needs a Mary. I cannot express how much Mary Carr helped me. She read and reread this book until it was part of her DNA. She helped me write it, chapter by chapter, word by word. Her texts, gifs, and support knew no end. Her pages and pages of notes, plot suggestions and tweaks, and great lines were so helpful. She is not only a collaborator, but also a cheerleader. Or maybe a midwife. Thank you, girl. Trent is waiting.

  Kristy Lin Billuni is my writing coach. She should be yours. Find her at www.sexygrammar.com

  Heather Roberts remains my spirit animal. Thank you for everything.

  Taylor Lotre patiently answered any question I had about the modern military experience in Afghanistan. Thank you for your service, dude. Good vibes only.

  Cory Stierley translated my character into art for the cover. You are magnificent, sir.

  Michele Catalano kicks ass. Thanks for the cover design, darlin’.

  Lex Martin, I love you, Psycho Kitty.

  Stacey Read, Tara Ransom, Julia Heudorf, Joyce Hiebert, Dave Maher, and Phala Theng all provided needed and helpful feedback and encouragement. Thank you.

  Every writer needs honest, constructive, critical feedback. Deb Markanton kicked my ass, made me cry, and then made it all better. I am indebted.

  Jerica “J-Mac” MacMillan is my rock. Thanks, girl, for everything.

  Shanoff Formats puts up with my PITA self and makes all the paperbacks pretty.

  Southwinds Coffee darlings. I count on your support and do not take it for granted. Thank you.

  My son named Trent. Trent’s belt is for Erin Remaley. Miley is for Nelson Wells. The barks are for Katie Heckey. Fruit punch Mentos are for Taylor Lotre. Class A’s are for Cory Stierley. Sputnik coffee is for Tom McAdam. And Dani’s hair, eyebrows, and joyful spirit are inspired by Sally Mustang. Steph Destiny named Danika in a takeover.

  My children infused this work since they incessantly played the Guardians of the Galaxy II Mix Tape Soundtrack while I edited this. If some random lyric ended up in here, it’s their fault. And no, I’ve never seen the movie. I’m just wondering how my kids know more about 70s music than I do.

  Finally, my long-suffering husband brought me coffee and Mexican Cokes, did the dishes, folded laundry, went grocery shopping, cooked meals, mowed the lawn, fixed the toilet, installed lights, and went to his day job, all while I wrote. Generally, he’s my best friend and lover. Thanks, hon.

  I love you all.

  A note from the author about the cover

  On July 27, 2016, Cory Stierley sent a group text to me and our mutual friend Erin, a painter, completely ticked off about seeing a guy running. Since I don’t normally get upset about seeing people run—and neither do Cory or Erin—I thought this was odd behavior.

  Cory: “Ok, this is common from me but I’m kinda pissed off right now!!!”

  Me: “Let it out”

  Erin: “…go on”

  Cory is a professional photographer who has taken the cover photographs for half of my published books, in addition to other New York Times bestsellers. He loves color and celebrating bodies. He has an eye for beauty and a knack for getting amazingly creative shots.

  Cory's text: “So, I was getting off the highway and I happen to see this dude running, red tank top with white edges, black and white shorts. He was running on a path next to a green field, so of course it stuck out to me. I had to go slow past him cuz the speed limit and the turn I was making. He immediately hit me as your next cover model.”

  Me: “And why are you pissed about this”

  Because why would anyone be mad about seeing a guy running in a park? Right?

  But Cory was so upset because this was the one who got away. A muse, an inspiration. Marching orders from the creative universe to actually make something.

  And his potential subject was gone.

  Cory was adamant. “He NEEDS to model. … Leslie, I’m not lying when I say he is your IDEAL dude/model.”

  He was right.

  Describing the guy, he told me and Erin:

  “Super chiseled face. Boulder shoulders and arms. One arm has half a sleeve. [Not accurate] Piercing green eyes [blue], about 6 feet tall. … Had an ‘Afghanistan sticker on the back [of his car], so I’m guessing he’s military. Just as I got out to walk over and say something to him, he got in his car and drove off.”

  (Erin and I: Tattoos <3)

  In an attempt to find the guy, Cory placed a “missed connections” ad on Craigslist, but was discouraged because of the slim-to-none chances that someone would see the ad and know the identity of the runner.

  I tried to reassure him: “Well he’ll find you. And you’ll take his pic. And I’ll buy it. That’s all. Done. … This is the part where I expose to you all what a mystical weirdo I am. But that’s what happens. You’ll find him. .. Or he’ll find you. That’s the way the universe works. … Relax you’ll find him.”

  (And then Erin and I discussed tattoos for a while. <3 Sigh.)

  The next day, Cory went back to the same park at about the same time and hung around.

  No dude.

  The following day, Cory woke up and got the idea to stop by a local gym. Cory walked in and was relieved to see that there was a younger girl behind the counter. (He was grateful that it was a younger chick, thinking that a story like this wouldn't weird her out so much, and that she would help.) He went up to her and started describing the guy he saw running.

  She got a knowing look on her face like, I know who you’re talking about. Reinstalling Instagram on her phone, she pulled up a profile.

  And it was the guy!

  Named Taylor.

  So Cory had FOUND THE GUY despite nearly zero odds.

  Looking at his profile, we were not only struck by handsome Taylor’s looks but also his incredible attitude. Nearly all of his posts were positive quotes and affirmations. There was just an amazing spirit about every single thing he did.

  We all felt a sense of relief that Cory had found the guy, and both he and I direct messaged him on Instagram. (Cory made me redo my original message because he thought it sounded too stalkery.)

  And we were relieved when he responded.

  We found out the following. (1) He’d been wanting to model, and encouraged to do so by family and friends his whole life, but didn’t know how to go about it, and (2) this was his second day doing cardio in three years, since he had gotten out of the Army. But this was the first day, at the last second, he had decided to run a different route. If he would have gone the other way, Cory wouldn't have seen him.

  You can
draw your own conclusions to this story. My conclusion is that some things are meant to be. Taylor was meant to model and Cory was meant to find him.

  And now, not only did Cory find him, they took the pic, I bought it, and he’s on my cover, but the fact that he served in Afghanistan provided me with a muse for this story.

  To my readers

  Thank you for reading Sol! I’d love to hear what you thought and hope you’ll consider leaving a quick review on Amazon and Goodreads.

  Next in the Love in Translation series is Sombra, Tavo and Kim’s story, then Penumbra, which is Lulu and Wyatt’s story.

  If you want to keep in touch and find out about my next releases, please sign up for my really, really infrequent newsletter over at www.lesliemcadamauthor.com or find me on social media. If you like pics of shirtless men and lots of giveaways, I have a really fun Facebook Group: www.facebook.com/groups/southwindscoffee.

  If you want to read my other books, they are all steamy standalones with HEAs!

  Each book in the Giving You… series can be read as a standalone. Warning, mature content.

  The Sun and the Moon (2015 Watty winner, featured in Cosmopolitan.com)

  After a heartbreaking tragedy, successful attorney Amelia Crowley has numbed herself to the pleasures of life, clinging to a specific set of rules, finding strength in order and organization. When she meets easy going surfer Ryan Fielding, that organized life is turned upside down by a sea of washboard abs and sun-kissed hair. Can Amelia let Ryan take the lead or will she cling to her rules and wipe out their chance at love?

  The Stars in the Sky (#1 in Western Erotic Romance and a bestseller)

  When foul-mouthed, tattooed, vegan Marie Diaz-Austin accepted a summer internship on a ranch north of Santa Barbara to work with underprivileged and special needs kids she was expecting hard work. She wasn't expecting the gorgeous, but conservative rancher, Will Thrash who wants nothing to do with left-wing hippies like her. Although they hate each other’s politics, they can't deny their immediate and growing attraction to each other. But when they're forced to make a choice, what will give? Their principles or themselves?