Second Helpings Blurb:

After escaping to New York City and building a successful career, food blogger Isaac Reynolds returns to his small Ozark hometown for his twenty-year high school reunion. But old ghosts and a charged family history surrounding his mixed-race identity emerge to threaten the emotional safety that time and distance once provided.

Grant Atkins never expected his long-lost love to make an appearance at the reunion—or to step foot in their hometown, for that matter—not after two decades in the big city. But the flames Isaac inspired in Grant have yet to cool, and while part of Grant wants to shove the past aside and live for the moment, the other part screams out a warning that the risk might shatter his heart and the peace he has finally found.

As Isaac explores the memories and flavors of childhood, he realizes what his soul has been craving all this time… And a second chance might be just within Grant’s reach.

(This novella contains 23,000 words and three recipes.)

Buy Link: Amazon

Grant

 

“Sure did. They’re my favorite. Course, I tell my sister hers are my favorite, but that isn’t true. Maudra Phelpman used to make these all the time, and she gave me the recipe ages ago. You remember her, don’t ya? She lived in that old Victorian on Walnut and Main. Close to where I live now, but I guess you wouldn’t know that. She was the one who had that pet raccoon… well, that was after you left too, but…”

Isaac stared at me openmouthed for a moment. “I think that was more than you said during our entire four years in high school.” A smile grew. “You became a talker all these years later?”

Shit. He was right. Talk about word vomit. I shook my head.

He stared at me.

I stared at him.

Shit. Again.

He lifted what was left of the cookie. “Well, they’re really amazing. I was just thinking the food blog I—”

A squeal cut him off. Kaddie, in all her blond frizzy glory, pushed between us, pulling along Jennifer Sage. “Isaac, you remember Jennifer, don’t you? She said she was in the National Honor Society with you. She’s been hoping to make a break on Broadway, and I thought maybe, since you live there…”

Her words faded, and I took a step back. Isaac’s gaze flicked to me but then back to the women when I stopped and gave a nod, indicating I wasn’t going anywhere.

Man, I wanted to. Wanted to turn tail and book it for the hills. I’d already left once. Saw Isaac as soon as he’d arrived and darted out the back door like some yella-bellied coward. Then paced around in the vestibule when I finally worked up the nerve to come back in, trying to figure out exactly what to say to Isaac Reynolds.

The plan had been, Hey, good to see you. You look amazing after all these years. Not drone on about Maudra Phelpman and her cookies. And he did. He looked amazing. Better than he had in high school, which was saying something.

Squealing Kaddie and Jennifer continued to yammer, giving me the chance to really look at him from a closer perspective—the first time in her life Kaddie did something that didn’t make me want to bash my head into a wall.

Isaac had been beautiful back then, but boyish, even though he’d been tall. Now he was a brick wall of muscle. A beautiful brick wall, with clothes that probably cost more than every item I had in my closet added together. Wide handsome face, slicked-back hair, manicured beard, thick neck to match his thick shoulders, chest, and arms. My gaze halted on his left forearm, showing from his rolled-up sleeves. A tattoo, all the way from his wrist and disappearing beneath the fabric.

Well, I’ll be damned. Mr. Straight A—straight everything—good boy Isaac Reynolds, all inked-up.

Times had changed.

The girls kept talking, and Isaac kept looking my way. I couldn’t tell if he was afraid I was leaving, hoping I would, or if he was trying to get me to save him.

I wasn’t going to save him. I’d already ruined the first plan. I needed to come up with another one. One besides memorizing every aspect of his body.

I could ask him about New York… and then be just like Kaddie, only with less squealing. Maybe ask him how long he was in town. Ask him where he was staying. Ask him to stay with me.

No. Nope. Shit. And this was why I needed a plan.

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Brandon Witt received his roots in the Ozark, grew wings in Denver, and is learning to fly in New Orleans. When not snuggled on the couch with his two dogs and his partner, Stephen, he is more than likely in front of his computer, nose inches from the screen, fingers pounding the keys.

 

Website:  http://www.brandonwitt.com

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