Renaissance (Village Love #2)

By Lillian Francis

Smudge really needs to get laid, if only to stop himself wondering about the softness of Raleigh’s curls and why he keeps running away.
After his tumultuous teenage years, Smudge has settled into his quiet life in the sleepy English village of Slopy Bottom. He’s his own boss with the time and space to indulge his artistic creativity. And he has friends. He’s happy. Satisfied. Lonely. And the pool of potential soulmates is almost non-existent. His friends, Rick and Mal, flush with their own happy romance, keep trying to set him up with the most incompatible men, and he's never finding true love on Grindr. Hell, he's not even going to manage a hook up based on the kinky messages he’s been getting recently. He'll just have to slake his desire to find his own HEA in the pages of bosom-heaving romance novels.
Raleigh is the darling of Slopy Bottom’s blue rinse brigade: church organist, mobile librarian, and apparently wedded to his trademark cardigans. He seems to be the polar opposite of the artistic Smudge, whose brightly coloured mohawk and piercings should be a red flag to Raleigh. Yet he’s yearning for company too. It’s just that Raleigh has less expectation and definitely less courage to chase after it, for reasons that he keeps very close to his chest. Reasons that don’t stop him from being drawn irresistibly to Smudge.
Smudge is sure that the way Raleigh runs from him whenever he sees him is cruelly deliberate. A reflection on his bad boy looks and his disdain for Raleigh’s precious church. So why can’t he stop thinking about the softness of Raleigh’s curls and his delicate body? Then Raleigh offers an olive branch of sugar and caffeine, Smudge’s favourite combination, starting them on a road to an awkward truce. And when they are conned into working together on a community project at the local hospital, the proximity ignites a spark that can’t be ignored. But navigating the murky waters that could take their relationship beyond tentative friendship all depends on whether Raleigh can release his secret fears – and whether Smudge is the man to share and allay them.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lillian Francis
• Release date: Mar 8, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370577873

Lillian Francis

Lillian Francis. Author of gay romance. Happy Endings guaranteed. Eventually.Lillian Francis is a self-confessed geek who likes nothing more than settling down with a comic or a good book, except maybe writing. Given a notepad, pen, her Kindle, and an infinite supply of chocolate Hob Nobs and she can lose herself for weeks. Romance was never her reading matter of choice, so it came as a great surprise to all concerned, including herself, to discover a romance was exactly what she’d written, and not the rollicking spy adventure or cosy murder mystery she always assumed she’d write.

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Copyright

Renaissance, First edition © 2017 Lillian Francis

Published by Finally Love Press

Smashwords Edition

Cover Artist: Garrett Leigh of blackjazzdesign.com

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.

This book cannot be copied in any format, sold, or otherwise transferred from your computer to another through upload to a file sharing peer to peer program, for free or for a fee. Such action is illegal and in violation of Copyright Law.

This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or business establishments, events or locales is coincidental.

All trademarks are the property of their respective owners.

The Licensed Art Material is being used for illustrative purposes only. All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Warning

This book contains material that is intended for a mature, adult audience. It contains graphic language, explicit sexual content, and adult situations.

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

About the Author

Dedication

Much thanks and love to the usual suspects, Clare, Elin, Alex, Krista, and Liam. And to ‘eagle eyes’ Sue and Lane for spotting those last minute errors.

To Garrett for another gorgeous cover.

And special thanks to Jay for suggesting the perfect flower for my cover.

Chapter One

No, no, no! Don’t you dare. Not again. Smudge tightened his grip on the books in his hand and hastened his pace.

Surely, he wouldn’t? But Smudge knew the exact moment Raleigh clocked him. The way his head shifted between all points of his escape. To Smudge. The door of the mobile library bus. The pull-down steps, currently occupied by Mrs Danridge, one of the frailer members of the Slopy Bottom community. She was Smudge’s only hope that he would make it to the village green car park where the bus was parked.

With the length of the main road of Slopy Bottom stretching before him like a scene out of Alice in Wonderland or the Wizard of Oz, Smudge broke into a jog. The plastic covers of the library books slipped in his sweaty clutches and he slowed to tighten his grasp. He should have put the bloody things in a bag. The last thing he wanted was his choice of reading matter to be scattered across the tarmac of Bridge Street.

Satisfied he wasn’t going to lose his latest round of catnip reads, he raised his gaze and refocused on his target. Mrs Danridge had reached the bottom of the stairs—with a helping hand from Raleigh no doubt.

Talk of the devil. That tousled-haired alleged angel of the village looked straight at Smudge, his gaze dropping to the hand that held the books Smudge needed to return, and then leapt back up the steps.

Smudge paused long enough to take a breath and shout, Don’t you dare leave, Raleigh Fortier. Then he put on a new burst of speed even as the steps disappeared from view.

The engine of the old bus roared to life and by the time he’d covered the last four hundred metres, the mobile library had disappeared in a shower of gravel leaving nothing but a cloud of dust.

Don’t expect me to pay late charges on these, Smudge shouted after the bus. I should report your skinny arse. You four-eyed, curly-mopped, fuckwad. He kicked a larger stone in the direction the bus had disappeared and watched it skitter across the now empty car park.

He turned toward the sound of disapproving tsking and shrugged apologetically at Mrs Danridge. The library was supposed to be here for another hour. He attempted to explain his irate behaviour to the pensioner. It sounded lame.

I’m sure Raleigh had his reasons for closing early.

Yeah, he hates me. And the feeling is more than mutual.

"He’s a good boy and a cherished and loved member of this village. I’m sure he’ll waive the charges if you explain. She smiled, but it was tight lipped and nothing like the sunshine that she would have bestowed on Raleigh. Gauges, tats, and a purple faux hawk with green streaks would do that. Or maybe she believed the rumour that he was growing marijuana in the workshop behind his print shop. And I don’t know who you think you plan to report him to. The mobile library is a local service and has always been run by the church. Certainly in my lifetime. I suppose you could speak to the vicar, but as Raleigh is his organist and you barely set foot in church… She seemed to remember her Christian sentiments, but she still pursed her lips as though sucking on a lemon. I can vouch you were here at the right time, I suppose."

Don’t put yourself out, lady. Putting those feelings into words wouldn’t help his cause. Neither would reporting Raleigh, because, as she rightly pointed out, curly-headed organist versus multi-coloured faux-hawked atheist, the odds were stacked against him.

I guess so. It wasn’t just about the money, though. He’d hoped to pick up the next book in the series he’d been reading. He’d requested the book as soon as he knew the release date and it was a popular enough series that Raleigh couldn’t refuse to purchase the book for the library. Not that he’d ever turned down one of Smudge’s requests. Apparently if the people of Slopy Bottom and the surrounding villages wanted to read a book, Raleigh did his damndest to get it for them. Thank you. I’m sure you’re right and Raleigh had his reasons.

The words stuck in his throat but he could hardly protest that Raleigh was the spawn of the devil and that this wasn’t the first time he’d driven off and left Smudge standing in the street like a fool. Nobody would believe him. Not of Raleigh.

I’m heading to the church to discuss the flower arrangements for Sunday’s service. I could take your books and leave them at the vicarage with a note, if you can’t get here at the weekend or on Tuesday, Mrs Danridge offered, already working the zip open on her shopping trolley.

Tuesday. The day Raleigh did story time on the green with the preschoolers if the weather was nice. The long-range forecast predicted traditional August sunshine for the next fortnight and he’d probably be doing something with the older kids as well since the schools were breaking up this week for the summer.

No. That’s fine. I’ll catch him Tuesday. By the sodding neck if Raleigh tried to pull that stunt again. Except he couldn’t strangle the local librarian, not with an audience of under-fives hanging on Raleigh’s every word. Thank you for the kind offer, though.

Not that he’d take it up in a month of Sundays. Heaven forbid the village busybodies should get a look at his reading matter. The thought was barely formed when he felt plastic slip from his grip. He flailed for the escaping paperback, and ended up just juggling the remaining five in his hands, as the sixth landed on the ground with a thwack and a spray of dust. A swarthy Arab Prince, bare-chested and bronzed, manhandled a veiled maiden in a desert backdrop. Sins of the Seven Veils. Could have been worse. The latest in the Highland Wolfman series was still in his increasingly sweaty clutches. Well, not the latest; the latest was somewhere on that bloody bus. His cheeks burning, Smudge scooped up the book from the dirt and pivoted away from Mrs Danridge with mumbled words of farewell.

Coffee or back to the print shop? He’d told Pete, his apprentice, he’d be about an hour—he liked a leisurely flick through the titles. Even when he picked his six books, he stayed, studying the artwork on the lurid covers. The library soothed him—even with Raleigh’s presence—and he didn’t want Pete to think he’d hurried back because he didn’t trust the lad.

Across the road, the dual scents of caffeine and sweet baked goods emanated from Latte Nights and Earl E Mornings assaulting his senses and making his mouth water. Maybe Adam had made brownies.

Coffee it was then.

* * * * *

The bell above the door tinkled as he opened it, not that Adam would have been able to hear it over the chatter of the women that took up several tables and one of the sofas on Smudge’s right. Several of them glanced over at him but dismissed him just as quickly. Too young, too scruffy, too gay. Not that anyone here really knew he was gay. He didn’t hide it, but he didn’t paint rainbow flags over everything either.

Apart from Rick and Mal, of course. They knew. He’d outed himself to Rick in an attempt to stop the idiot from ruining his best chance at happiness. And it had worked. To his left, as far away from the gossiping women as they could get, Rick and Mal were snuggled up on the sofa in the other soft chair grouping. Well, snuggled might have been pushing it, but they were pressed up close, far closer than they needed to be on the two-person sofa and they touched often. Talking too low for the sound to carry, an intimate conversation that left no doubt of their couple status.

Smudge! Rick called over as though Smudge hadn’t been watching them for the last few moments. Join us?

Nodding, Smudge tried for a smile—although in his current mood it was probably more of a grimace—and indicated the counter. A stupid move since he almost lost the entire pile of books again. Dropping them in here would be a hundred times worse than losing one in front of old Mrs Danridge. He hugged the paperbacks to his chest as he stepped up to the counter, thankful that there was no one in front of him.

Can I have a bag, mate? he asked as soon as he had Adam’s attention.

That’ll be 5p.

What? His run-in with Raleigh had left him short-tempered and he was aware that he’d snapped at the mild-mannered Adam.

For the bag. To hide your deepest desires. Adam, the barista and owner of the coffee shop, winked. Unless you’d prefer to keep them close to your heaving bosom.

What? The ever-loving fuck. How the hell did Adam know?

Adam sighed and the teasing smile slipped from his face. Have the bag. He handed one over. The ones he used for takeaway meals rather than cakes and sandwiches; thick brown paper marked with the coffee shop logo and two strong handles. Maybe you’ll find your sense of humour in the bottom.

Sorry. Thanks. Smudge took the bag and placed the books facedown, careful not to display the covers. He could feel Adam watching him but, when he glanced up, Adam’s gaze was on his hands. "What is your problem?"

Not me with the problem, grumpy pants. Jesus, Benji is better at communicating than you today and he’s in grunting teenager mode most days. When he was taking his exams all he wanted to do was go fishing, but since school finished on Tuesday I can’t get him away from the blooming X-Box.

Sorry, Smudge mumbled again, feeling like an idiot. He didn’t know if he was closer in age to Adam or his son but he thought he’d outgrown the arsehole behaviour of his teens years ago.

Anyway, maybe I’m overcome by… Adam squinted. The sheer desire of your animal within. Then he fanned himself and fluttered his eyelashes. "Or it could just be an attack of the vapours. By the way, what is he keeping under his kilt?"

Wanker! Keep camping it up like that and you’ll lose all your post school-run groupies. Smudge skimmed the cover of the remaining book in his hand. The taglines Adam had just paraphrased were easy enough to read, but upside down? He turned the book and tried again.

Teenager. You learn to read all ways from sideways just to surreptitiously check they are reading what they need for their homework and not a précis on the latest release in the Marvel franchise. Coffee?

Red Bull?

The Kaur’s are open down the road. Or maybe the newsagents. Not in my shop. Coffee?

Smudge sighed but it was more for effect and because it was expected. He perused the specials board. What’s in a Chillin’ Squirrel?

Iced double shot latte with hazelnut syrup and a spoonful of Nuttella. Finished with a sprinkling of praline dust.

Squirrel?

It’s full of nuts.

Smudge managed his first genuine smile since Raleigh had pulled up the steps and driven off with his next read. I’ll have one of those, please. You’re still a wanker.

And under the tattoos, piercings, and skater boi chic you’re a hopeless rom—

Fuck off. Try as he might Smudge couldn’t keep the laughter out of his voice. "This is not skater boi chic. I was not a skater boy, not really."

More like graffiti grunge. Graffiti had been his thing. Having a skateboard and not being afraid to use it to the edge of its limits just helped facilitate a quick getaway from security guards, neighbourhood watch nosers, dangerous dogs, and the police.

I’ve seen you showing Benji and the other lads a few tricks.

Benji’s pretty good. Low centre of gravity.

Nice way of saying my son is short.

He’ll grow. What are you? Six two?

Yeah. His mum’s tiny, though. Not even 5 ft in her bare feet.

Interesting. It wasn’t often Adam, or Benji for that matter, talked about Benji’s mum.

Go and sit with the guys. I’ll bring it over.

Thanks. And a brownie too.

They’re blondies today. Smudge must have looked confused because Adam added, White chocolate brownies. Mix up with the chocolate delivery left me with an abundance of white chocolate. Still interested?

Sure, why not. Live dangerously. Anything to feed his sweet tooth and caffeine addiction today. A thought occurred to him and he turned back to the counter. You should make mocha brownies. That would be amazing.

Adam looked surprised. Yeah. Not a bad idea. Now go, sit, while I make your drink and think about that.

Wow, Adam seemed to be taking his suggestion seriously. Smudge sauntered over to where Rick and Mal were camped out—hah—in the corner by the book swap shelves and the community notice board.

So what’s got your knickers in a knot? Rick asked as Smudge dropped into the overlarge comfy chair opposite them. You slammed in here with a face like thunder. You look better now though. After talking to Adam. Oww! Rubbing his thigh through his cargo shorts Rick turned to his boyfriend. What the fuck did you pinch me for?

Mal’s grin was wicked and accompanied by a barely noticeable shake of the head. What are those two up to? Smudge was still too riled to try to figure it out and anyway he finally had people in front of him he could vent to.

Fucking Raleigh. He made a face at Rick’s childish snort. "You’ll never guess what the bastard did to me again?"

* * * * *

The old bus could barely manage forty on a good day but, despite his panic, Raleigh wouldn’t dream of going that fast in the centre of the village. However, even with the needle wavering around the twenty mile an hour marker on the vintage speedometer, Smudge’s lithe form and bright hair soon became nothing but a fixed point in his mirror.

For one heart-thumping moment Raleigh had thought Smudge intended to chase after the mobile library. Sweat broke out at his hairline, and his hands tightened on the steering wheel. But the moment passed, Smudge shouted something about fines that Raleigh couldn’t quite make out over the noise of the diesel engine, and then his shoulders slumped and he turned to talk to old Mrs Danridge.

Crisis averted, Raleigh let out a long steadying breath and slowed the bus even further to take the humped bridge over the stream, sounding his horn as he went. The deep toot echoed like a victory celebration and Raleigh glanced guiltily in his mirror to gauge Smudge’s reaction.

A pointless exercise. Smudge was angled away from the bus now, and anyway he was too far away for Raleigh to attempt to read his features. He turned his attention back to the hill, more guilty feelings swamping him that he’d let his focus wander away from the narrow single lane bridge.

Cresting the rise gave him a clear view of the other side of Bridge Street where quaint cottages lined either side of the road.

And a view of young Clarisa Donaldson with her twins. Both boys struggled to carry the bags that Raleigh gave each of the village kids who joined the library—just simple book bags with the words ‘Slopy Bottom Mobile Library’ printed on them.

The image of Smudge, hurrying along the street with his books gathered awkwardly in his arms, flashed unbidden into Raleigh’s mind. Maybe he should gift one of the book bags to Smudge. It would appease his guilt at leaving the man high and dry every time there was a chance of the two of them being alone together in the library.

Pulling the mobile library into the bus stop—the next bus to town wasn’t due until early afternoon—Raleigh flicked the switch to open the pneumatic doors, then killed the engine and slid from his seat. He’d already disappointed one person today, there was no way he was adding a pair of three-year-old boys to that list.

He dropped the steps and, while he waited for the twins to arrive, turned to survey the inside of the library. Most things were exactly where they should be—after all he hadn’t been driving fast and much of the library was fixed into place—but one of the wheeled wooden boxes that housed the children’s picture books had shifted into the children’s reading area, stopped from rolling further down the bus by the giant ladybird cushion. And several paperbacks had fallen to the floor; they had probably been left on one of the small tables that were built into the shelves.

In his haste to get away he hadn’t bothered to tidy up or lock down anything. Damn. What was it about Smudge that triggered his fight or flight response? Flight in his case, because he’d tapped out his fight response a long time ago. Had it beaten, burned, and broken out of him.

It was pathetic. He was pathetic. All he had to do was take in the returns and then log out any new books Smudge wanted. There was minimal conversation required, none if the books were returned on time, which they invariably were because Smudge seemed to go through those ridiculous romance novels in the same way he went through caffeine-based drinks and brownies.

But just having Smudge in the enclosed space of the bus… Raleigh would watch Smudge in the mirrors dotted around the library, his heart pounding and hands sweaty. He looked like trouble with the multicoloured hair and gauges, his full sleeve tat proudly on display under his ripped and torn band shirts.

Raleigh tugged at the sleeves of his lightweight cardigan, pulling the cuffs down to the heel of his hand.

Yes, he would watch Smudge, determined to catch him doing something inappropriate that meant Raleigh could, in good conscience, ban Smudge from his space. Of course, he never did. He’d hang around the art books, ink-stained fingers turning the pages with seemingly genuine interest, until he was certain that he was alone in the bus. Then he would switch his attention to the romance section, thumbing through the bodice rippers with swift intent. Cover, inside of back cover to check for his ‘mark’, then the blurb. Not that Raleigh approved of the system some people had to identify books they’d read before, but he wondered if Smudge was the owner of the red dot or the green circle, or even the black cross, but that seemed too dull for someone so colourful and vibrant. Smudge ran through that routine every single time. He’d pick five or six like that, quick and furtive, and then, if still alone, he’d just browse the covers with another level of interest. Raleigh couldn’t quite put his finger on what was different about the second look through, but it seemed almost assessing. Appreciative but critical. Not that he watched Smudge that closely to really notice…

The chatter of tiny but excited voices broke into his reverie, pushing thoughts of Smudge aside.

He waved for the two identical boys to join him down at the children’s section of the bus and pulled out a couple of the wheeled boxes of over-sized preschooler books.

William. Henry. He greeted the boys with a deep bow and they giggled, their blond heads close together, and handed him their book bags. Little princes, both of them, and not just as namesakes. They found a book and settled onto the ladybird cushion together. Certain they were