Summer Son
Authors: Anna Martin
Readers love Anna Martin
Jurassic Heart
“This is a great read, fast paced, entertaining and even educational! I’m impressed with Anna Martin’s research and creativity, oh yes and I can’t forget…very steamy romance writing skills!”
—MM Good Book Reviews
“I really enjoyed this book. It was everything I was hoping for and more. I can see this book sitting firmly on my re-read shelf. A fantastic read.”
—Gay List Book Reviews
“The writing is smooth, the pace is strong and even, and the story is long enough to get really involved with. I enjoyed it.”
—Hearts on Fire
Tattoos & Teacups
“There is no unnecessary drama. It’s a romance with adorable characters and it’s refreshing to read something so real and drama free for a change. Well done, Anna Martin!”
—Sinfully Sexy Books
Cricket
“I so enjoyed this book!! What a lovely read. If you love beautifully developed characters, wonderfully descriptive writing, and lots of fun Britishisms, you need to get on board!”
—Mrs. Condit & Friends Read Books
“Ms. Martin’s swan ride was so smooth, it was over before I knew it. That is what makes
Cricket
a four star read. It’s comforting, warm and very welcome. I highly recommend this book.”
—The Novel Approach
By
A
NNA
M
ARTIN
Cricket
Cuddling (Dreamspinner Anthology)
Dr. Feelgood (Dreamspinner Anthology)
Jurassic Heart
Kid Gloves
Summer Son
Tattoos & Teacups
Two Tickets to Paradise (Dreamspinner Anthology)
A
NOTHER
W
AY
S
ERIES
Another Way
Of Being Yours
To Say I Love You
Published by
D
REAMSPINNER
P
RESS
http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com
Copyright
Published by
D
REAMSPINNER
P
RESS
5032 Capital Circle SW, Suite 2, PMB# 279, Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886 USA
http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of author imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Summer Son
© 2014 Anna Martin.
Cover Art
© 2014 Aaron Anderson
Cover content is for illustrative purposes only and any person depicted on the cover is a model.
All rights reserved. This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of international copyright law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines, and/or imprisonment. Any eBook format cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Dreamspinner Press, 5032 Capital Circle SW, Suite 2, PMB# 279, Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886, USA, or http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/.
ISBN: 978-1-62798-728-8
Digital ISBN: 978-1-62798-729-5
Library of Congress Control Number: 2014943223
First Edition August 2014
Printed in the United States of America
This paper meets the requirements of
ANSI/NISO Z39.48-1992 (Permanence of Paper).
For the wonderful man who inspired this story, and his beautiful son.
I more than love you both.
Promise me no promises
So will I not promise you:
Keep we both our liberties,
Never false and never true:
Let us hold the die uncast,
Free to come as free to go:
For I cannot know your past,
And of mine what can you know?
—Christina Rossetti
“Promises Like Pie-Crust” (1830-1894)
Chapter 1
I
OFTEN
wondered how much of our nighttime routine actually meant anything to Harrison. It had been the same since the day I’d brought the tiny red-faced baby home from the hospital, full of ideas and ideals about how I wanted to raise my son.
That first night, Tom Waits’s first album was already in the CD player, and it was what I turned on as we settled down in the rocker. It was probably inappropriate in places, but Harrison didn’t know that.
For seven months I’d listened to a couple of songs on that album every night while Harrison had his bottle and fell asleep in his daddy’s arms. As soon as Harrison was sleeping deeply enough, I moved him to the crib and turned the music off, then went to work.
Fortunately, “work” was a desk set up in the corner of the living room with my super-wide-screen monitor and desktop computer. The routine was important to make sure I could squeeze in another couple of hours work before going to bed myself. Most of my clients were thrilled for us when we’d brought Harrison home and I announced that I’d be lightening my workload to be a stay-at-home dad, but they still expected me to deliver.
I automatically checked the clock as I walked out of the nursery with the baby monitor—just before six thirty, almost like clockwork.
If I wasn’t so fucking exhausted, it would be charming
.
The computer was almost never turned off. All I needed to do was wiggle the mouse and the screen blurred into life. I loaded up my e-mails first of all, while rubbing my hands over my face and wishing for coffee. As of this morning, we were out, and I hadn’t had a chance to go to the supermarket yet. There weren’t even disgusting sugary sodas in the fridge. I hadn’t bought them in years. Oliver had said they were bad for my teeth, so I’d stopped.
I’d stopped doing a lot of things at Oliver’s insistence.
I was convinced there were never less than ten unopened e-mails in my inbox; tonight there were twenty. There wasn’t time to read them all, so I quickly scanned the few that looked important before switching over to my design window.
The graphic design business that I owned and ran was still simmering on the verge of being successful. I was closer to making it big before Harrison came along, but there was no way I was going to cut back on time with my son to spend more time at work. I’d made the commitment to be a full-time parent, and I was fucked if I wasn’t going to keep up that end of the bargain. Even if Oliver wasn’t holding up his.
With the volume on the baby monitor turned up, I quickly set some of my own music on to play, although Metallica at such a low volume was fairly pointless. I still wasn’t sure where the Tom Waits album had come from—I didn’t remember buying it myself, but Oliver hadn’t taken it with all his things when he’d moved out. Once upon a time, Oliver used to tease me about being a metalhead, but my taste in music was fairly wide reaching. I liked grunge and classic rock and sleaze too.
I worked until my eyes felt itchy and my clicking finger was actually cramping up. A quick glance at the clock told me it was just after one in the morning. The fact that Harrison hadn’t woken up yet was both a blessing and a curse—it took him longer to settle in the middle of the night than at any other time, but that meant he’d probably wake up in the morning by about five. That gave me four hours to sleep, tops.
There was no point in showering or even changing into pajamas. I flopped, facedown, onto the bed wearing the boxers and T-shirt I’d been wearing all day. Within moments I was asleep.
M
ORNINGS
WERE
a cheerful affair, for Harrison at least, who awoke sunny and happy, ready to brighten my day before it had even begun. I wasn’t a morning person and never had been. Like so many other things, parenthood changed this about me too.
I managed four and a half hours sleep, a blessing, since I woke to a text message from Meg, who said she was on her way with pastries and coffee. I sent a silent prayer of thanks to whatever God was listening.
She knocked on the door sharply at six thirty, and I opened it to her slightly bleary smile.
“Why are you up so early?” I asked, stepping aside to let her in.