From the First: Philadelphia Power, #4

By Susan Scott Shelley and Chantal Mer

A headlong crash brings hockey player Malcolm Stewart and community theater producer Kingston James together, and saves the fate of a Nutcracker performance.

 

Amid the bustle and glitter of the holiday season, their blossoming relationship takes center stage. But cautious hearts wonder, can it last beyond the final curtain call?

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From the First was originally part of the Pucking Around holiday anthology. No new content has been added. This is a novella of 14k words.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Susan Scott Shelley
• Release date: Jan 3, 2024
• ISBN: 9781960707123

Book preview

Chapter One

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Kingston

Cars honking, people shouting, engines wailing in the distance, sounds of the city provide the backbeat to my boots pounding the pavement. Keeping one eye on my phone screen, I stride along Spruce Street, dodging pedestrians. Finally, the video call engages.

My co-producer and director, Greer, fills the screen. Hey Kingston. You got Sheena’s message?

Yep. A broken leg in three places. There’s no way she’ll be able to dance across the stage in one month. We need to find a replacement STAT. Chilly air sweeps across my face and seeps through my coat. Thanksgiving is a week away. This time of year is always hectic with rehearsals for the Christmas shows, and the last thing we need is another headache to deal with.

Bits of the Nutcracker set are visible behind Greer as he crosses the stage. Rehearsals for the walk-on guests start in two weeks. Who can we get on short notice?

Four lanes of traffic hold me up at Broad Street. A glance to my right gives me City Hall. A glance to my left gives me theaters where I’ve spent most of my life. I’m on my way to meet my brother about those extra costumes. I’ll brainstorm local celebs with him. He has a lot of connections now.

What about his boyfriend? I know Calder said no when we asked, but maybe he’d change his mind?

The light turns green. I wait for the tail end of a bus to pass then jog across the street. Only a few more blocks to go. I’ll ask. If not him, maybe one of the other Power players will say yes.

Pro hockey players would be a huge draw. When I get home tonight, I’ll ask Storm if he can think of anyone else. Greer’s meteorologist partner, a local celebrity himself, is first up in the guest appearance role of cannon doll during the show’s opening performance.

Sounds good. I’ll text if I get a yes before then. I end the call, spy a text from Riggs, and tap on it as I round the corner onto 17th Street.

A huge weight barrels into me, stealing my breath and knocking my phone from my hand. My head falls forward and collides with something hard. Pain blooms in my forehead. Something tangles around my legs, tightening like rope. I get an eyeful of a gray wool coat, and the rope tugs, pulling me off my feet. My stomach drops. Flailing my arms for balance doesn’t stop my fall.

Unforgiving concrete collides with my rear. The cold ground seeps through my jeans. Breathless, I come face to face with an extremely attractive man sprawled on the ground in front of me. The rope is actually a leash, attached to a cute white Terrier in a blue coat.

What the… His gaze flies to the dog, and then to me. There’s power in his stare, a swirling intensity I feel in my core.

I’m mortified. Apologies swirl through my muddied thoughts, mixing with the pull I feel toward this man, and berating myself for being so stupid. I could have seriously injured him or myself. The loosened leash slips off my legs. I snatch my phone off the ground, stow it in my pocket, and heave myself into a crouch. I’m so sorry. I was looking at my phone.

Waving away my apology with his own phone, he smiles and winds the leash around his arm, drawing the Terrier to his side. The dog climbs onto his lap and licks his face. I was too. I’d say we share mutual blame. Are you okay?

I’m fine. Aside from the throbbing in my head, I’m not dizzy and don’t think I have a concussion. I stand, leaning on the brick wall beside me, and extend my hand to help him up. Are you?

Gloves prevent me from feeling his skin, but he has a firm grip, and standing fully upright, he’s a few inches taller than me. I’d place him around six foot one or two. Bulkier than me. He also smells amazing, a rich scent that reminds me of grasses and something wild.

His full lips curve as his gaze travels over my face. No harm done.

Good. I should let go. But for the first time in a long time, the air is crackling with promise, and this man is the source.

His dog yips and pulls on the leash. He shakes his head as though clearing it and releases my hand. Excuse me. We’re late for our appointment with the dog groomer.

Disappointment draping over me