Seasons

By Kat Samuels

After one perfect night, can 30 years of longing lead to finding each other again?

1967: At a hippie shindig at the height of the Summer of Love, May and Ethan discover that one person they'd always been hoping to find. The stars seem to have aligned to bring them to the start of a whole new life together--until a police raid separates them, leaving them alone and forlorn.

1997: Now in her early 50s, May is a widow and grandmother, but she's never forgotten about that one night of passion and the man she left behind. For Ethan, now divorced with a grown son, he's never quite moved past the woman he met for that one brief moment.

Two lonely strangers meet on a park bench, each convinced the past is just a dream. Can they find a way to heal themselves and rediscover the love fate once took away? Find out in this steamy, seasoned romance.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Katherine Gilbert
• Release date: Oct 18, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393535607

Book preview

Also by Kat Samuels

Ghosts of the Past (a steamy, new adult, romantic suspense novel with a touch of the paranormal)

Garden of Delights (a steamy, multicultural, college rom-com)

Beyond the Next Breath (a steamy, interracial, reverse age-gap romantic suspense tale)

Theater of Engagement (a steamy, multicultural, new adult, fake engagement rom-com)

Dedication

For Chris, who keeps me from working myself to nothing

And especially for Armida, who always helps, even when romance isn’t really her thing

Author’s Note:

As this is the story of May and Ethan’s romance, it is told in both of their perspectives (and occasionally in other characters’, as well). Please be prepared for chapters to switch back and forth between viewpoints, so you receive a fuller vision of their love story.

If you enjoy May and Ethan’s love story,

look for the link to a free, follow-up short story at the end of this novel.

1967

Chapter 1

It was amazing how isolated a girl could feel, even when in the midst of total frivolity. So many voices, so much laughter and music. Then again, maybe that was only to be expected.  As much fun as these people were obviously having, she knew she wasn’t really cut out to be one of them.

May Shelby smiled nervously at the truly gorgeous guy who had been eyeing her for a while and clung to her untasted drink a little more tightly, as though it were some sort of lifeline.  Lord, was she ever out of place—a timid little Australian transplant to the American heartlands among the utterly carefree beautiful people; she laughed slightly.  Not that any of them were acting all that beautiful right now—but she supposed that could be the impression from the make-up more than anything else.  It was a little off-putting, to say the least.

She looked over to her friend, Carlotta, nervously. The woman’s currently leopard-spotted face smiled back at her, and May started a little, wondering if she looked as odd.  She certainly doubted that she could look even half so gorgeous and wild as her free-spirited friend.  No one could ever beat Carlotta for that.

As always, the woman had at least a half a dozen hangers-on, and May doubted it was because of her modeling work alone. Her friend’s parentage had given her immediate roots in Sweden, Panama, and Brazil and had resulted in looks which were as stunning as they were difficult to pin down ethnically. Her long, cinnamon hair currently fell in huge curls down the sides of her face, her light brown skin flawless, her dark eyes playful. She was everything a model couldn’t possibly have been even five years ago, but she had never cared two hoots for what anyone thought.

May tried to give her a pleading gaze, but the woman only returned the look—the one which made men fall to their knees in subservience and women steer well away—and then went back to her various conversations. Obviously, she wasn’t going to let May out of here anytime soon.

Sighing at her quiet dismissal, May retreated to a nearby wall, hoping to go unnoticed for a while.  Although she had had a few people come talk to her, she just wasn’t good at anything social—and the face paint wasn’t helping, was only making her more nervous, rather than less. 

She didn’t actually know what her face had been painted to resemble, but she rather hoped, at the moment, that it might be the shading of the paint on the wall behind her.  Never had she more wanted to be a wallflower.

Wishing to fade from view, she stared around her once more.  Boy, was she ever out of place.  What the hell had she been thinking when she had allowed Carlotta to talk her into this?  Come join the Summer of Love. Yeah, right.  More like the summer of stark-raving terror.  She could never be one of these open, carefree people at all.

She heard the music transition into some song whose chorus was Mama Told me Not to Come and smiled. She knew exactly how the singer felt. Wondering how the heck she had gotten herself into this didn’t even help, as it only ever led to one conclusion.

About six months ago, she had met Carlotta in one of the weirdest, wildest rides she had ever been on—well, up to that point, anyway.  She had been taking a cab in New York, was just going back to her dorm from her waitressing job, when this gorgeous, incredibly fashionably-dressed creature had slid into the same one; her fluorescent, polka dot micromini had taken out May’s vision for a second or two. Once it finally came back, she had seen the woman take one look at her, give her a grin, and had then told the cab driver the name of an exclusive, and rather wild, club.  When May had protested, she had just shrugged, patted her on the leg, said, C’mon, blondie—you look like you could use some fun, and had then basically kidnaped her for the next 24 hours. 

As disconcerting as it could sometimes be, the woman did know how to have a good time, even if May still didn’t see exactly what it was that Carlotta had seen in her. As she had discovered at some point that first day, Carlotta was a fairly popular runway model and had enough money, friends, and hangers-on to make most people jealous—but they had become good friends quickly.  Of course, with Carlotta around, trying to study or work was pretty difficult, but she had come to accept that long ago.  Her life had certainly never been boring since.

May smiled. Her mother would have hated her—if only for her sheer vivacity.

Shuddering a bit, May wondered over the relevance of the current song.  If her mother knew where she was right now, she’d have a fit.  To good old, ultra-conventional, totally-religious Rowena Shelby, New York City was the devil’s playground.  The woman had picked herself up out of a life of alcoholism through prayer and the church—and she was convinced that the slightest move toward anything like frivolity or fun was a sure road into the same kind of hell she had only just managed to escape.

Of course, to May, it seemed like her mother had traded in one sort of hell for fear of another, but it wasn’t her life to decide on.  Still, if Rowena had known that her one and only child was currently in San Francisco—with, as she would have put it, all the freaks and lunatics running around—she would . . . Well, whatever she would do, it wouldn’t be pretty.

It wasn’t as if May hadn’t known this place would be wild. That had been a given that even the media had been screaming.  Still, according to Carlotta, this was actually nothing to what the town had been like last year. In another year, she had said more than once, there would only be the parvenus left.  This, according to her, was the last gasp.

Despite all these dire warnings, her friend had dragged her here, convincing her that this was the place to be—on this one night, at least. Russell was reputedly the host of all hosts, his turreted house on the outskirts of town near-palatial—and the beautiful Cynthia had been said to be too good an artist, and too amazing a personality, to miss.  Thus, they had come, herself in her friend’s tow, yet again.

Once more, May looked around.  She really hated to admit that maybe Rowena’d been right. She was just way too much the innocent little girl for this.

It wasn’t like this thought was without pain.  As much as she knew it went totally against her very sheltered nature, she wished desperately that she could enjoy herself like all those who were currently reveling around her.  They all seemed so free, like they hadn’t a care or fear in the world—whereas she had nothing but.  She could’ve been the poster child for inhibitions—and, with this bunch, that made her about as much of an outcast as it was possible for anyone to be in such an open, accommodating group.

She looked back up and, not entirely intentionally, over to the rather too beautiful man who had been staring at her for half the night. 

Wow.  He was hard to get past.  His face was painted even more beautifully than the rest of the people around her; it was hard to describe in full, but it made him look like something beautiful and natural, like a lion maybe.  His auburn hair fell to his shoulder in loose, natural waves, and she felt a terrible yearning to run her fingers through it. When he smiled at her tenderly, even as the green of his eyes flashed with a deep jungle fire, her gaze quickly refocused on the floor. 

Don’t even think it, May.  He is way too gorgeous for the likes of you.

Besides, if he was as comfortable here as he looked, then he was in a whole different place than she was.  Anyway, he seemed to be in deep conversation with a dark, lovely woman, one whose painted-on pattern of gold lace only made her all the more stunning.  Even if he were fool enough to leave the beauty, there was no way she’d have anything to say to him at all.

Swallowing heavily, she tried to refocus; her gaze went, instead, to the beautiful woman who was currently involved in painting yet another willing subject.  This particular walking canvas, though, was stark naked and being painted from head-to-toe, as were a couple of the other more daring—or maybe just more exhibitionistic—people in the room.

May refocused quickly, blushing. How Cynthia could be wearing overalls and still be too lovely to bear, May didn’t know. The woman’s Asian features were soft and natural, even if her attitude and speech had been pure California girl. The woman’s dark, wickedly-alluring eyes smiled up at her subject, her long, midnight-dark hair curled up in a bun, as she put on another layer of paint.

May looked away. Although they were right out in the open, the scene just seemed too intimate to her.  After all, she was the sort of person who had to go into the bathroom to be able to change her clothes if her roommate were in.  Even having Cynthia’s large, gorgeous eyes assessing her, as she had painted whatever this was on her face, had nearly been too much.  She just wasn’t used to this much intimacy at all.

Feeling the eyes of the stunning man on her once more, she was drawn to look up at him, swallowing heavily before glancing away.  Lord.  The man had a fire in his gaze, seemed to be stroking her with it. It was way too intimate to survive.

If only I knew how to, I might be much happier.

May took a sip of her drink for one of the first times, trying to give herself something to do, looking down into its blue depths.  It was pretty good.  Shrugging slightly, she took another.

As her mind ran back, her smile at these bright souls around her faded.  It wasn’t like she had always been this shy—but her ever-protective, judgmental mother had long ago put an end to any gregarious instincts.

As she shook her head slightly, her mind wandered over all the old horror once more.  When she was young, she had been a tomboy, had hung out with all the neighborhood kids. But it was the visions which had seen an end to that. 

Just reading the glow of light which people seemed to radiate had all seemed so natural to her at first. But her mother had quickly disabused her of any thoughts of her own innocence.  According to her, her newfound talent was the devil’s work, showed how much of her father she still had in her.  It didn’t help, either, that she had told a few people about what she had seen before she had realized her own oddity—and their reactions had convinced her never to mention the visions again.

In the end, her mother had forced her into as much Bible study as May could bear and had moved them far away to America, forbidding her to even mention such demonic works again.  And May, of course, had obeyed.

Even all these years later, she had no idea how to process her cowed acquiescence, supposed she had just known when she was beaten—had even wondered whether her mother weren’t right.  She had done her damnedest to try to repress the lights, then, until she could see nothing but the dullest and saddest sort of reality. Her eyesight had faded a little and the world had lost much of its beauty and wonder that day, but she supposed that was inevitable.  Life was probably meant to be dismal, at best.

As these old pains battered her once again, she felt all the old sadness welling.  For much of her youth, she had been the dutiful daughter, had tried her best to conform to her mother’s strict standards.  Still, when Rowena had announced that she had found a husband for May when May wasn’t yet out of high school—a precocious, whiny slimeball who was half an inch away from being permanently disowned by his family, all while putting on the front of the perfect youth minister with her mother—it had been the final straw.

She had begun applying to colleges and for scholarships as far away from home as she could—and had had the good fortune to end up at Columbia University.  She still had no idea how she had gotten so lucky.

Of course, she had had her moments of doubt since her move. New York wasn’t the friendliest of cities.  Still, she had managed, had found a boyfriend, briefly, and a friend or two; the smile returned.  And then Carlotta had swept into her life—and everything had changed completely.

Trying to let these thoughts go, she took another sip of her drink, wondering how the heck she was going to make it through the rest of the night. She had, at least, liked most of the people she had met, even if they had just given her small but sincere smiles.

Russell had been pretty nice to her, too, when Carlotta had introduced them, but he had long ago disappeared with a lascivious look in his eye after an older redhead who was giving him come-hither smiles.  Some creep who had introduced himself as Ruben had also tried to chat her up, but he wasn’t exactly a comforting presence.  He reminded her of some sort of reptile, had tried to convince her to take some clear tablet or something from him—but, to put it mildly, she hadn’t been interested. 

Other than them, and the fact that Cynthia had dragged her over to be painted, chatting with her happily—gaily ignoring anything which sounded like a protest—there hadn’t been many takers, as far as conversation went, not that she had really tried to start any herself; she looked back over to the gorgeous man.  If she were only a little braver, maybe she could go over there and convince him to give up the warm-eyed, raven-haired woman who now seemed to be clinging to his arm.  Maybe she could just go over and conquer her would-be rival with a smile.

She snorted slightly.  Yeah, right.  And then maybe you’ll grow wings and dub yourself a jet plane.  Her eyes gazed along the lovely man, as she sighed.  But, oh, she could wish.

May wasn’t the only one longing to be with someone else. Ethan Janvier let out a very quiet sigh, as he took another drink and tried to pay attention to what his companion was rattling on about.

Lord, how he hated this. Cynthia and Lawrence, his friends since childhood, had dragged him along to this thing, saying it would be fun, and had then promptly dumped him with the job of looking after Lily.

The girl was apparently one of Cynthia’s youngest cousin’s best friend’s sister . . . or something. He’d gotten a little lost in their explanations and hadn’t quite cared enough to catch up since.

While she was very sweet, and was clearly enjoying her first big night out, she wasn’t anyone he really wanted to spend hours alone with. Every time she started to talk, some part of his brain seemed to shut down.  They just had nothing in common.

His traitorous eyes wandered back over to the absolutely gorgeous blonde across the room. Something in the way her eyes quietly assessed let him know that she saw far more than most. Just that made him yearn to go talk to her.

He couldn’t make out her face too clearly, but the way Cynthia had painted her, she looked like a tigress. It brought out something he wasn’t certain he would have noticed immediately, otherwise, not the way she was standing there so timidly. 

He could see little of her face, then, but her eyes were gorgeous, piercing, held oceans of knowledge and life; he sighed again, wistfully.  Now, if he could only find some way to quietly extricate himself from his much-too-young companion . . .

This thought tormented Ethan for at least a half hour, as he tried to plaster a smile on his face, all while his gaze constantly devoured beautiful, sad woman across the room.  He had no idea why she was alone, or why she seemed so lonely. 

He had seen her earlier tonight being chatted up by that jerk, Ruben, who was no doubt trying to send her on a little trip, in hopes of making it with her while she was high.

Creep. 

The angel was too smart for him, though. It disturbed him how proud he had felt when she had turned Ruben down.  Now, all she needed was someone to give her some company.

His release only came when Lily was finally approached by some other man, a new friend of Lawrence’s, apparently. Moving away as quickly and politely as he could, Ethan let out a relieved sigh.  Now, he could go find the angel and see what made her so sad.

Just as he was about to act on this plan, he discovered the flaw, his heart lurching.

The angel had flown, had disappeared completely. Only her glass was left, abandoned on the floor.

He practically spun in a circle, trying to catch a glimpse of her—beginning to wonder whether he had only imagined her earlier—when he spotted a flash of blonde hair disappearing out the front door.  Yes.  Now, he could meet her at last. 

Abandoning his own glass on a table, he followed—and found her, as she was wandering slowly around the lawn in the front of the house, her hands clutching her head, as though she feared it might fall off.  She was letting out small whimpering sounds, hyperventilating, her eyes wide. She didn’t even see him approach.

His heart lurched again.  What on earth has happened to her?

May couldn’t have answered this question to save her life, couldn’t have told how she had gotten there—or even where she was.  All she knew was that nothing made sense; nothing was clear.  She felt as if every thought, emotion, and sensation was unbearably sharp, one she was experiencing for the very first time.  She had never been even half so frightened before.

It had begun without any warning. As she had been timidly looking around the room, sipping her drink, she had suddenly been gripped by a terror so intense she hadn’t realized she wasn’t screaming.  Suddenly, one of her thoughts hadn’t been a thought anymore. It had turned into something fuzzy and round and had rolled off the edge of her mind. Before she had known it, her consciousness had been melting, was beginning to gather around her feet in balls of violet jelly. 

When she had looked up, all those colors of her youth were back, everyone in the room enclosed in them—the slimy Ruben even surrounded by some terrifying combination of dirty green, black, and red.

Ethan reached out a hand and softly touched her shoulder, but the beautiful woman let out a short scream of terror and jumped back.  Her eyes were so wide, her horror obvious; her mouth opened, but nothing came out. 

His heart started screaming, despite all logic, desperate to help her.  What had happened to leave her like this?

He approached slowly, his voice soothing.  From seeing her at the party, she hadn’t seemed to be the type to just randomly freak out—and, heaven only knew, she seemed as confused by it as anyone. 

It’s all right.  I’m a friend.  He put his hand back on her shoulder gently.

The words didn’t register.  Nothing did.  Her thoughts were now shriveling up, before bursting open again, sparks of winged light flying forth. 

F-friend? she stuttered.

He could see that she was only repeating his word back to him without any clear comprehension to go with it—saw and finally understood. 

Ruben—the bastard. 

He continued to speak calmly, trying to find the truth.  Did you take anything that someone offered you? 

Although it took her several long seconds, her eyes still wide, she finally shook her head awkwardly. She continued to hold onto it as though it would fall away.

He was just pondering what might have happened to her—how she might have been slipped something without knowing it—when a clammy, soul-deep fear gripped him. He heard his last thought roll around his mind for a long, drawn out moment before simply ceasing to exist.  Then, he knew. 

Crap, he murmured, closing his eyes. 

He had been here before.  The punch had been laced—and they were both stuck with its results for however long it might last. 

One last, solid thought came to him, before the rest turned strange—his heart aching for the girl once more.  This was a really hideous way for anyone to trip for the first time.

May looked up at the impossibly-perfect, shining man before her and reached out toward him tentatively.  In ways she could never have fully comprehended or described, her thoughts were still disappearing and slipping away.  There was too much of her everywhere, her soul and mind part of the trees and the grass and the house and the sky, and some sense of instinct moved her toward the vibrantly-shining man, let her know that he would get her through this—that they had always gotten each other through everything before.  She needed to take what he could give her this time.

Something inside of him felt her touch, felt the imprint of her fingers in his soul, as he swayed slightly.  He could feel her and himself, knew they were part of each other, part of everything around them. Her beauty shone in the trees and the sky and his mind. And he had to be accepted by her again to be real.

They held each other for maybe a thousand years, as the pulse of life grew and flowed around and through them. When they finally looked at each other, everything was different, everything changed.  Every sense and understanding was entirely new. 

And every one was wonderful.

May leaned back, looked up to the man in her arms, and her heartbeat began to sound throughout the world. 

It was him. He was here at last.  All her life she had been searching, wondering where he had gone, and now he had finally found her once more.

Ethan’s world was a whirl of color and light.  Unlike any previous trip, though, the light was far more intense, had a perfect focus. 

His heartbeat shook him through.  Dear God.  It was her. 

At last.

Both of them were stunned, the air from their lungs mingling in delight; they breathed the same moan.  After all these years of emptiness, they had finally found each other again.

She reached out to touch his skin, her fingers tasting it—the slightly salt-tinged sweetness her soul remembered, her fingertips sighing at the brush of his stubble.  She would know his face, his skin, his scent in any lifetime—knew it now, despite the fact that he appeared to be half-animal in this one. 

Ah well.  Maybe he had always been that way, indeed. 

She smiled, her words making perfect sense to her.  I missed you.

It was too much.  The world was shimmering, and he knew she saw it—was a combination of orange,