Believing in love and in luck is something Gavin swore he’d never do
again — until he meets Ford.
After being left at the altar by his former fiancé, he’s a firm
disbeliever in good fortune and love. Though there’s an immediate
attraction between himself and Ford, they’re just too different to make
a relationship work. The sex is explosive and despite himself Gavin even grows
to like Ford’s quirky sense of humor and skewed view of life.
Isn’t that good enough?
Not for Ford. A happy-go-lucky diviner of fortunes and omens, he’s
sure from what he’s seen that Gavin is the love of his life and the man
he’ll marry. He makes it his mission to overcome Gavin’s doubts
and fears and teach him how to love again. Never giving up in his enthusiastic
pursuit of the once-burned twice-shy secretary, he brings Gavin back to life
and helps restore him to the man he used to be.
Ford makes Gavin want to believe in love again. But when Ford begins to
lose his faith, it’s up to Gavin to save the magic they have between
them and blaze the trail toward their happily ever after.
EXCERPT
“Something wonderful is going to happen today.”
“Were you talking to me?” A fun-sized blonde deliverywoman, no one
Ford had met before, juggled her armload of Flowers Fast! boxes to pop out her
iPod earbuds.
Ford grinned up at her from where he’d crouched to study the sidewalk
perpendicular to the museum service elevator he, and presumably she, was
waiting on. “Sorry, no. I wasn’t talking to you. Not that I
wouldn’t. Everyone I’ve ever known swears you can’t shut me
up for love or money. They’re usually right.”
The deliverywoman looked like she couldn’t decide between aww, cute and
running. “You’re a little crazy, aren’t you?”
“So I’m often told.” He’d bet this woman was one heck
of a character herself. She’d made some, er, interesting fashion choices
involving calf-length striped tights and patchouli hair wax. “I’m
Ford.” He offered her a hand from below. “Come down here and check
this out.”
“This isn’t some kind of cheesy pick-up line, is it? I’d be
flattered, but… okay, wow. From the look on your face, I can answer
that one myself. So not a pick-up line. If you were any less into women,
you’d be a gastropod.”
Ford laughed. “That’s a new one on me.”
“If the shoe fits. I’m Kayla.”
“Ford.”
“Like the truck?” The deliverywoman crouched beside him. Good.
Ford liked her, and her coming along for the ride was an excellent sign.
Something wonderful and something unexpected were set to happen today.
“You deliver for Rush Plus, right?”
“Packages where you want them to go as fast as you want ‘em to get
there. Or as fast as I can pedal.” Ford patted his heavy messenger bag.
“Pleased to meet you. I could use a pick-me-up. Delivering flowers is
surprisingly thankless work. What’s this good thing that’s going
to happen today?”
“I don’t know yet.” Ford waved up from their spot on the
sidewalk at the weird door to the external service elevator and the five
floors of refurbished mill-cum-museum it had to sledge its way down at the
speed of thick molasses. “It’s complicated. If you’re up for
it, there’s time for me to explain.”
“God, tell me about it.” Kayla scowled at the stubborn doors.
Ford had started to feel the burn of his crouch, the solid weight of his body
not really best designed for sitting this way, but he could take it a little
longer, and he had a good example right in front of him. A penny, less than a
foot away on the sidewalk. “Do you believe in magic?”
“Wait, what? Do you mean stage magic? Illusions and that kind of
thing?”
“Not exactly.” Ford nudged the penny with the tip of his finger
and waggled his eyebrows at her. He liked playing over the top. Made people
less nervous of the giant with his crazy talk.
“Ohh, I get it. See a penny, pick it up, and all day long you’ll
have good luck?”
“Exactly.” Ford levered the penny off the sidewalk.
“Ugh!”
“Hey, don’t knock it just because it needs a little TLC.”
Ford balanced the penny in his palm, where it looked lost and tiny in the
breadth and width of his hand. Or, depending on your point of view, safe.
Protected. “It’s heads up, even. Extra good luck.”
“Yeah, but where’s the proof?”
“You don’t need proof if you believe. And I do. Because it’s
true. This penny means it’s my lucky day.” Ford shifted and
winced. His knees had had enough of bearing all his weight. Time to stand.
“I need to stand up. Don’t freak out, okay?”
“Why would that tweak me?”
“You’ll see.” Ford stood slowly to give her time to adjust
to his size. At six feet nine with a proportionate build that could only be
described as solid, he liked to make sure people knew in advance he
wasn’t a threat.
Kayla’s eyes widened. She took a step back, then forward, her chin up.
“Holy cow. Sorry, just… wow, man. You’re huge.”
“And you’re itty-bitty. I won’t hurt you.”
“A gentle giant, huh?” Kayla studied him with her head tilted to
one side. “Okay. I believe you.”
“You’d be surprised how many don’t. Thank you. May I?”
Ford took her hand to kiss the back of it.
“Touché, Mister.” Kayla fiddled with a strand of her spiky
hair. “So you really, really believe in luck? What about omens and good
signs and that kind of thing?”
“Yes, yes, yes, and all of the above, yes. And you don’t,
right?”
When Kayla shook her head, a ladder of silver rings running along the outer
shells of her ears jingled. All positive signs that pointed toward good
fortune. Better and better. “Don’t shun me or anything. I’ve
just never seen any proof that all those old wives’ tales are more than
just stories.”
Ford grinned broadly at her. He loved it when someone was willing to be
convinced. “If it’s proof you want, I can do proof. Prepare to be
amazed.”
About the Author
A storyteller and a sewist, Will Okati has lived through a few Interesting
Times but come out the other side ready to roll. Looking for them? Look for a
keyboard or a vintage Singer. They’ll be there. They’re most often accompanied
by their beloved pair of orange-flavored felines: Hobbit (toothless, sweet)
and Onion (spicy, known to bounce off the literal ceiling in pursuit of a
ladybug).
Will likes to say still waters run deeper than anyone knows, and life — like
storytelling — is always a work in progress.
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Publisher on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and TikTok: @changelingpress
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