by Ana Newfolk
My hands were shaking as I held up the key to open the front door of the town house we were going to call home for the next year.
I hung my coat on the hanger behind the door, remembering our first night in this house. The movers had been delayed because of bad weather and we ended up in the big house with no furniture and only our suitcases with some clothes.
We'd gone out to buy a mattress and bed linen and spent our first night there eating Chinese takeout like we'd done that first night we were together years ago.
And just like that night we'd made love like nothing else in the world existed, except this time our moans of pleasure echoed around the empty room heightening our senses further.
I was certain there was no better sound than that of us together.
As I walked through the living room I looked at the fireplace decorated in green, red and gold, with fairy lights weaved through it giving it a magical feel.
Despite all the decorations we had around the house my favorite were the three stockings on the fireplace, the two big ones with a D and a JP on them and the little one in the middle with an S.
I heard light Christmas music coming from the bedroom so
I took the gift I’d bought earlier from the bag and walked toward the sound of Sinatra’s White Christmas.
I found my husband rocking gently to the music, staring at the wall in front of our bed. The wall that had been bare only this morning and was now full of sticky notes I recognized so well.
He turned to face me when he heard my footsteps and his smile took my breath away.
"What are you doing here? I thought we were going to meet at the center."
I walked into his arms and kissed him, loving that familiar feel of his soft lips on mine, and his strong arms around me.
"I was but... I spent the morning reading the letters you sent me since we first started corresponding, it brought back lots of memories."
Dorian pointed to the bed, and then the wall.
"What are the chances?" I chuckled.
"This is us, baby. We were never meant to be like anyone else." He said, stealing another kiss from me.
I took a step closer to the wall to read some of the notes. The first one I read made me laugh.
JP,
Did you know French fries aren't actually from France?
D
___
D,
Did you know hot dogs aren't actually American?
JP
___
JP,
Did you know the English invented French mustard?
D
___
D,
Did you know apple pie first appeared in a British cookbook?
JP
I laughed at the notes that went on and on stating all the things that people assumed about our countries.
D,
If you watch the next episode of ANTM before I get home I'm never going to make you brownies again.
JP
___
JP,
You wouldn't!!
D
___
D,
I would! Try me...
JP
Ahhh, the food wars when I threatened to stop making any kind of food Dorian liked so I could get my way.
JP,
I'm coming home early so we can spend the day together.
Be naked ;-)
D
___
D,
I love you.
That is all.
JP
And that was the most absolute truth.
"Do you think we were made for each other?" he asked in earnest.
"Dorian, look at all those letters, look at the sticky notes. Who else would ever get us?"
"Thank you for not giving up on me when you had the chance. I have forgiven myself for it but I will never stop making up for it."
I knew he wouldn’t, just like I would never stop telling him he had nothing to make up for.
"Dorian, I have a present for you. It was something I was thinking of giving you for Christmas but after today, reading all those letters, I don't know. it feels like this is the right moment."
I reached for the small box I'd laid on the bedside table and gave it to him.
Chapter Thirteen
Dorian
"Oh baby, you know you didn't have to give me anything." I said.
"I know, you can repay me later," he winked.
I pulled one end of the red bow. It was silky smooth and expensive looking so I wondered what would be inside the box.
I gasped when opened it and saw inside, nestled on a bed of royal blue velvet a beautiful pen with the inscription "I will always read you."
Happy tears ran down my face.
"I will always read you too, baby," I said taking him in my arms again.
When I looked at the pen closely I noticed that there was a note sticking out from under the velvet. I pulled it out and unfolded the small piece of paper.
The neat handwriting was unmistakably Jean-Paul's.
He put his hands on my face so I could look into his beautiful dark brown eyes.
"Dorian, we are going to start a new chapter in our life. There will be challenges ahead but I wouldn't wish to do this with anyone else but you."
15 December 2018
Dear Dorian,
Twenty years ago a boy from Paris wrote a letter to a boy who lived in New York.
What started as a school project turned into a friendship that has survived distance, bereavement, and stubbornness.
That American boy became my best friend, the keeper of my secrets and eventually my heart.
The day I saw that boy for the first time the world as I knew it changed forever. My heart knew it, even if my mind hadn't caught up with it yet.
When our lips met for the first time it was like all the ingredients for the best recipe in the world were mixed to create something special and unique, just for me.
I have had many great experiences in my life but I always thought nothing would ever come as close to perfection as the day I married my best friend.
I was wrong. Today, the day we get to bring our baby daughter Stephanie home from the adoption center is definitely the best day of my life so far.
Dorian, never be afraid to use this pen to tell me what's in your heart, if you cannot say it out loud. Just like I will always love you with my heart, body and soul, I promise to always read you too.
Let's go get our baby daughter.
Your soul mate,
Jean-Paul
The End
Also by Ana Newfolk
Made In New York - A Christmas Short Story
Isaac’s trip to New York just before Christmas was supposed to serve a single purpose, learn as much as he could about running an LGBT Youth Center to take back home and make those much necessary improvements to the youth center he ran in his native Portugal.
Max’s love of the Christmas season was only surpassed by his love for the LGBT Youth Center he volunteered at, and his job as a nurse. One last speech about sexual education for LGBT young people at risk at a conference in the same center was all that separated Max from getting started with his Christmas celebrations.
Isaac didn’t count on needing to be rescued from a fire by a strapping brown-eyed nurse.
Max didn’t count on Christmas coming early in the shape of a curly-haired man with the most bewitching pair of eyes he’d ever seen.
With 48 hours left in New York, Isaac never thought he’d get an offer he just couldn’t resist.
Suddenly, the chill in the air isn’t enough to stoke the fire that now burns in a completely different way to the one that brought Isaac and Max together.
This book contains 17500 words.
Book 0.5 in the Made In Series although it can be read as a standalone.
Made In Portugal
At 10 years old Joel was uprooted from his home and everything he knew in Portugal to start a new life in the States. A
t 26 he finds himself returning for the first time in thirteen years. So what if looking into the eyes of his childhood best friend again still makes his heart race out of his chest?
Living in sunny, laid-back Portugal isn't all it's cracked up to be. For David, dreams of being a pastry chef come second to working in his family's café where his renowned custard tarts draw in the crowds. Seeing Joel brings old feelings back. Feelings he’s not sure he’s brave enough to acknowledge to anyone other than himself.
With the inspiration of an old travel journal, the two friends embark on a real journey through memories in a country where looking back into the past runs as deep as the blood that courses through their veins.
Falling in love was never meant to be a stop along the way, but maybe inevitable when you have the adventurous spirit and courage to pursue what you want, make love under the stars and even figure out how to jumpstart an old Citroen 2CV in the middle of the Alentejo countryside.
Made In Portugal is Ana Newfolk's debut novel and is a standalone gay romance novel with a HEA ending and no cliffhanger. Fair warning, there will be naked man parts touching, know-it-all grandparents, a red car, and pastry, lots of pastry.
Made In Portugal is approximately 74000 words.
Keep reading for a preview of Made In Portugal.
Made In Portugal - excerpt
Prologue
David
Portugal, August 2003
All I could see from my position, lying on the beach towel, on my back, with my eyes closed was bright orange. I moved my eyes around under my eyelids, but it was the same all around, then a darker orange and brown for a moment until it was bright orange again.
The sun was warm on my face, and I could feel the skin on my arms and legs tingling from the heat. Maybe we should go for a swim to cool down. While my tanned skin was used to the sun, I didn’t want to burn.
My best friend, Joel, and I had spent most of the last six weeks on the beach. This particular spot was our favorite since it was the furthest away we could get from home on our own. In the last two summers, our moms had allowed us to take the small train that transported people along the thirty kilometers of continuous beach. Those beaches were always a favorite with locals and tourists since it was just south of Lisbon, on the other side of the river Tagus.
We always chose the last stop, thinking it was unlikely we’d run into anyone we knew. Not that we did anything other than to sunbathe and swimming.
Joel lived in America so at the beginning of his holidays here we always met up with friends from school and others who lived near us, but after a while, we just ended up doing stuff on our own. By the end of his visits, we were virtually inseparable. It was as though we wanted to make as many memories to last the year until he would come back again.
I opened my eyes only a little bit, the bright sunlight making my eyes water until I focused on the blue of the sky. There were no clouds, just blue, and all I could hear around us were the seagulls squawking in the distance and a soft giggle right next to me.
A face appeared in my line of sight, slightly blurry at first until my eyesight adjusted and zoned in on the blue eyes hovering over me. The same face, the same eyes, that beginning tomorrow I would no longer see every day, at least for another year.
“Não the mexas!” Joel cried, putting a hand on my shoulder so I wouldn’t move. His blond hair flopped all over his eyes, sun-bleached and stuck together from the salt water.
“Porquê?” I asked why.
“Because I’m building a shell made of shells on you,” he said as though it was an entirely natural thing to do. I must have been asleep because I didn’t remember feeling him place the shells on me, and we both knew there wasn’t a chance of me staying still long enough for that to happen.
I lifted my head slightly to see all over my flat stomach the shape of a seashell made out of the little shells collected from the sand around us. The individual shell rings consisted of shells from different colors and to make them distinct from each other. I was impressed.
“Joel, I need to move. I’m burning,” I said, trying to keep still so the shells didn’t fall off.
“But I haven’t finished yet.” Joel pouted his lips like he used to do when we were little. His shiny blue eyes looked at the shells and then at me, and a small smile appeared on his lips.
I knew what he was thinking, and he would have to catch me first. In a split second the shells were falling off me as I got up to escape the tickling attack I knew he was planning. Joel got up after me and chased me in circles on the sand, trying to catch me.
We were both out of breath and giggling as I held my hands in front of me and suggested we go for a swim.
“Okay,” Joel agreed. “How long do we have until we have to get back?” he asked, looking in the direction of the bag where we kept our phones.
“I think there’s enough time for a swim. We can walk for a bit while our shorts dry out and take the train back home at the next stop.”
# # #
Joel
New York, Present Day
The summer afternoon sun was shining brightly through my kitchen window, bringing out the colors of the drawings I had stuck on the fridge door. I found myself standing there remembering the class earlier this week when I told my students about where I came from, that small country on the southwest of Europe that everybody likes to confuse with Spain, Portugal.
"Mr. Peterson, what color is the sand in Portugal?"
"Have they got palm trees?"
"What about ice cream? Do they eat ice cream? Ice cream is my favorite. My mommy takes me to Dairy Queen and gets me a chocolate-dipped cone when I do all my homework."
I’d asked my young students to draw a picture of something they like about Portugal based on the photos I showed them in class. What I got was an array of weird and wonderful drawings that only the imagination of six-year-olds could conjure. Sandy beaches, castles, palm trees, sharks, and even pirates.
I loved teaching; it was a passion I knew I’d inherited from my dad, and looking at the work of my students made my heart swell with pride.
The intercom buzzed, bringing me back to the present.
What was I going to the fridge for? Oh yeah, food!
Max was coming over to get the spare key to the apartment, and I was sure he’d be hungry after his shift at the hospital.
"Time to get the coffee brewing,” I muttered to myself as I buzzed Max into the building.
Max had been my best friend from the moment we met at school after literally bumping into each other on my first week in the new American school. A school that was so different to what I was used to in Portugal.
Max's home life wasn't all that great, so he spent a lot of time at my house, becoming more of a family member than a friend. The only difference between us was that I loved reading and had a passion for languages, something I got from my dad, while Max felt a pull towards medicine and helping people. When I started my Early Childhood studies, Max went to nursing college.
Our made-up family of four was pretty much perfect in my eyes all the way up to the day of the tragic accident that took both my parents last Christmas. Six months later, it still hit me hard in the chest every time I thought of the day I found out I would never see my parents again and more than anything wouldn't be able to hug them and feel like I belonged somewhere.
"Hey, Joebug, what's up?" Max said, coming in, dropping his backpack in the hallway.
I got stuff out of the fridge to make a couple of sandwiches and ignored his use of the nickname he’d given me in high school.
"Ooh, is that chorizo in your hand, or are you happy to see me?" Max asked with a smirk and his eyebrows motioning up and down.
"Do you want coffee?" I asked, ignoring him. Max lived to get a rise out of me, and I was determined to keep my reactions neutral.
"Hell, yeah, I feel like I've been put on the spin cycle of a washing machine and still came out dripping. I love working in the ER, but, m
an, it’s hard work."
"Any interesting patients today?" My mom had worked in the emergency room in the same hospital with Max, and she always used to share her funniest patient stories. It became a tradition on our weekly catch-ups, and something I always looked forward to.
"This hot guy came in today with a kid who needed some stitches on his little finger. He looked very nervous, and I thought he was going to faint at the sight of blood. Unfortunately, there was no need for mouth-to-mouth resuscitation." Max chuckled but then looked down and frowned.
“You okay?” I asked. “Have you been on any dates recently?”
“Of course I have.” The indignation in his voice was clear. “I’m young, good looking, and smart. I can get all the ass I want.”
“You forgot modest, too.”
I finished making up the sandwiches as the coffee maker was spewing its last drops of coffee into the pot. I loved the smell of coffee; it always reminded me of my grandmother’s house in Portugal.
I used to joke with my mom that the blood on her side of the family was fifty percent coffee. Of course, it had been a while since I’d walked into a house that had that familiar smell of a freshly made brew.
"Are you all set for the trip?" Max asked before taking a bite of his sandwich and bringing us back to the reason for his visit.
"Nearly. I'm all packed, and I've got the ashes with all the documentation." I looked down at my sandwich, well aware that wasn't what Max meant, but was trying to avoid overthinking the reason for my trip.