A warm Love Bytes welcome to author Philip William Stover joining us today to share his new release “The Evolution of Love”.
Welcome Philip 🙂
How to Fall in Love with Your Husband Again
The Evolution of Love takes place during a luxury tour of the Galapagos Island. About a decade ago my husband called me from work one day and told me he had been asked to replace the watercolor instructor on a tour of Ecuador that included Quito and the Galapagos. Three days later we were on a plane headed to a country and landscape about which I knew very little.
We’ve been together over twenty years but at the time of the cruise we had only been dating about five years. He was working at a museum and I was teaching writing at a university. When we met we were both in graduate school. He was getting an MFA in painting and I feel in love with him during late night visits to his painting studio where he would show me his work and we would talk for hours about art, places we wanted to visit and things we wanted to accomplish. He often worked in a pair of paint splattered overalls without a shirt so my wanting to visit his studio with such frequency wasn’t only to talk.
While I had seen him paint plenty of times, I watched him teaching others to do what he loved during the trip. He taught a group that included small children and senior citizens. He explained brushstrokes, techniques and basic color theory. He was so gentle and patient with everyone. He found a way to connect with each participant that made my heart melt. That moment is really what this book is about.
This book is about the moment when someone shows you who they are in a way that is so open and genuine that it gives you a chance to dive right in. In The Evolution of Love Michael is a painter who has lost his way but his ex-boyfriend can’t forget that moment of seeing deep inside his former partner in way that made them both feel awake, aware and in love.
I hope you’ll take a trip with me to Ecuador and the Galapagos Islands. The scenery is beautiful and there is no better location for a kiss then the deck of a cruise ship as sunsets beneath inky waters.
Blurb:
When a charming but misguided account manager gets stuck on a cruise to the Galapagos Islands with his hunky zoologist ex, he might rediscover his true passion—in and out of the bedroom.
After art school, Mike Davis gave up on his dream in favor of a stable job. But when he gets an opportunity to teach wealthy travelers how to paint stunning sunsets, it seems like the perfect break. Until he finds out he’ll be sharing a suite with his ex, charismatic Benton Aldridge—a British scientist cuter than the baby animals he studies. Mike makes it clear he has no intention of getting back together with Benton, but sharing a suite makes it almost impossible keep his distance.
As they climb over volcanic peaks and swim with manatees through sparkling jade-colored water, can they also heal past wounds and take the next step in the evolution of love?
Buy links:
Philip William Stover splits his time between Bucks County, Pennsylvania, and New York City. He has an MFA in writing and is a clinical professor at New York University. As a freelance journalist, his essays and reviews have appeared in Newsday, the Forward, the Tony Awards, the Atlanta Journal-Constitution, the Houston Chronicle, the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel, and other national publications. For many years he ghosted for an international best-selling women’s fiction author. He has published multiple middle-grade novels for Simon & Schuster and was the American Theater critic for About.com.
His gay romance series set in New Hope, PA will debut with Carina in spring of 2020.
Philip grew up tearing the covers off the romance novels he devoured so he wouldn’t get teased at school. Now he enjoys traveling the world with his husband of over twenty years and would never consider defacing any of the books he loves.
He can be found on social media as Philip William Stover and at: http://www.philipwilliamstover.com
Chapter 2
I open the door to Artists and Craftsmen Supply, and the familiar chimes announce my entrance.
The owner, Terry, makes a dramatic gasp and wheels his chair toward me, his elegant paisley silk scarf flowing behind his wheels. “Do my eyes deceive me, or is it really Mike Davis? How are you, you gorgeous sandy-blond twink?” Terry is a shameless flirt. In fact, there is even a sticker on his wheelchair that says Shameless Flirt.
“I’ve told you, Terry. I’m thirty-two, so I can’t be twink, and I’m fine,” I say. I don’t tell Terry about my pending promotion. He would openly scoff. He thinks jobs are for “normals,” not artists. Of course, Terry inherited a large trust fund. My bequest will be a second mortgage and my mother’s collection of thimbles from every state in the union. We don’t exactly have the same financial responsibilities.
“Heard from your gorgeous ex-boyfriend? I miss seeing Prince Charming.”
Terry always called Benton Prince Charming because of his very upper-crust British accent and the fact that he did, in fact, look a bit like a Disney prince—square jaw, wide, perfect smile, deep eyes, and brown hair so thick it looked like it was painted on. I thought Benton’s muscular chest and thick legs made him look more like a superhero, but I’m not even sure there are British superheroes, so Prince Charming was an apt name.
“No, Terry, I haven’t,” I say, hoping my annoyance shines through in my tone. “That’s generally what the term ‘ex’ implies.”
“Such a shame. I’m still cheering for you both to come to your senses. You had so much passion.” He shimmies his shoulders like the very thought gives him goose bumps.
Terry would know. The last time he saw us in the store felt like a crime of passion.
We had just had dinner at the Crest Cafe. After two servings of their famous guacamole and more chips than any two gay men should ever consume, Benton told me about a new exhibit he had been developing at the San Diego Zoo, where he was an assistant. Nothing made Benton more excited than being with animals, but talking about them was a close second. A meerkat had just been born, and Benton was beyond thrilled. He spoke each word deliberately, and his voice had this deep gravel in it that became even more intense. It wasn’t the destination of the conversation that was so compelling; it was always the journey. How his deep brown eyes sparkled, how he would run his hands through his hair when he got caught up in the moment.
After the guac and chips, Benton said he had something he wanted to show me. We walked out of the Crest Cafe and around the block to Terry’s store.
“Why are we going in here?” I asked outside the store. At that point I was at most an infrequent visitor.
“I want to show you something. Let’s not tarry.”
I reluctantly followed him in. He walked me directly to a display of new brushes. “Look!” he said, pointing.
A red sable rigger brush stood proudly on display. The sign said it was a brand-new arrival from Japan. It looked as much like Fred Astaire as a watercolor brush could, all elegance and class. Benton knew I had a thing for brushes, and he knew the red sable rigger flat wash was ne plus ultra.
“It’s exquisite,” I sighed.
“I saw it in the window yesterday, and I’ve been dying to show it to you. I want to celebrate the birth of the new meerkat at the zoo and buy you a whole set of them.”
A whole set of brushes? At that point it had been months since I put paint to canvas. In fact, I had a whole set of brushes I hadn’t yet opened. I felt guilty even thinking about those brushes, and I couldn’t let Benton get me another set that might never be used.
“Oh, I don’t think I need it,” I said, trying to keep it light.
“Of course you do,” he said. “It’s been months since you painted, and a new set of brushes will inspire you.”
“No, they won’t.”
Benton thought it was so easy. The last few months had been grueling with budgets, client proposals, and endless invoices. What would I paint at this point? A portrait of a spreadsheet?
“Don’t be daft,” Benton said with a playful smile. “I’m getting them for you.”
“I don’t want them,” I said with a bit more force than I planned. But I did not want them. I just wanted to leave. “Let’s go.”
Benton picked up the package of brushes and walked toward the register.
“No!” I said with an uncharacteristic sharpness.
“What’s wrong with you?”
“It’s you,” I said. “You always do this.”
Now Benton was getting pissed. “I always do what, pray tell?”
“You just steamroll your way over me because you think you know better.”
“Well, in this case, I do.”
“No, you don’t!” I said too loudly.
“Sod off, Michael. They’re just brushes. I want to see you paint and not just stare at your computer all weekend.” He tossed them back on the shelf. “The problem is you don’t know what you want.”
“I know exactly what I want!”
At this point we were shouting at each other. Terry came out to see what was going on, and that calmed us for a bit, but the fight escalated and kept growing until we got home. Benton pushing me to paint. Me explaining I had responsibilities and didn’t want pressure from him.
That was the beginning of the end. Benton couldn’t stop, and it only made me resist. Working at Biddle was my choice, and I wasn’t going to feel guilty about a job that allowed me to make a good living.
We couldn’t quite recover from the arguing, and about two weeks after the disaster at the art store, he moved out. He decided to take a post-doc position in the zoology department at the University of London not far from where he grew up. He loved the San Diego sunshine and our group of friends, so for him to move back there must have meant he wanted to get pretty far from me.
“Earth to Michael. Come in, Michael,” Terry says in an overly enunciated voice while tapping on the arm of his wheelchair.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I say, snapping back to reality. “I’m in a rush. I leave tomorrow for the Galapagos.”
“I’ve always wanted to go there,” Terry says dreamily.
“That’s literally what every person I have told has said to me.”
“Well, at least you’re finally taking a vacation from that awful job.”
“Not exactly. I’m teaching a watercolor class for my aunt, Penny. She’s leading the cruise.”
“Oh, that’s marvelous!” Terry says, giving me a mischievous smile.
“Don’t get too excited. It’s only a week.” I pull out the list of supplies I need.
“Maybe a particularly streaky sunset will make you change your mind.” Terry takes the list from me and puts on the glasses that are hanging around his neck. “Martine is leaving at the end of the month. There’s always a place for you in framing. Think about it. It would give you plenty of time to paint, and I’d even let you use the empty back room as a painting studio.”
“Terry,” I say with a tremendous sigh that I hope indicates my lack of interest in this topic.
Terry wheels away and says, “Fine. Meet me at the register. Be there in a jiff.”
Once he is far enough away, I walk past the aisles of canvases, matte cutters, and oil paints until I just happen to be in front of the red sable flat wash brush. I stare at it for a few moments. The handle is forest green, and the delicate hairs of the brush come together at the shiny gold ferrule. It looks like it could foxtrot, but before my imagination can go any further, I turn my head away from the display and walk back down the aisle to meet Terry.
