Home Again (Finding You Book 1) Read online

  Home Again

  Ana Ashley

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  About Ana

  Also Available

  Home Again - Finding You Book 1

  © 2020 by Ana Ashley

  First Edition: April 2020

  Previously published as Made in Portugal under the pen name Ana Newfolk.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopy, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  Home Again is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places events and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Cover design: Rhys, Ethereal Designs

  Editor: Alphabitz Editing

  Join Ana’s Facebook Group Café RoMMance for exclusive content, and to learn more about her latest books at www.anawritesmm.com!

  To everyone who has lived in a different country to the one they were born in. To everyone who has ever gone back.

  Home will always be where your heart is, I hope you find it.

  Rhys, thank you for encouraging me to give this series a little more of the love it deserves.

  Ana

  x

  Chapter One

  David

  Portugal, August, twelve years ago.

  All I could see from my current position, lying on my back on the beach towel with my eyes closed, was bright orange. I moved my eyes around under my eyelids, but it was the same all around, then there was a darker orange and brown for a moment until it was all bright orange again.

  The sun was warm on my face, and I could feel the skin on my arms and legs tingling from the heat. Maybe we should go for a swim to cool down. While my tanned skin was used to the sun, I still didn’t want to burn.

  My best friend Joel and I had spent most of the last six weeks on the beach. This particular spot was our favorite since it was the furthest away we could get from home on our own. Over the last two summers, our moms had allowed us to take the small train that carried people along the thirty kilometers of continuous beach. Those beaches were always a favorite with locals and tourists alike since it was just south of Lisbon on the other side of the river Tagus.

  We always chose the last stop, thinking it was unlikely we’d run into anyone we knew. Not that we did anything other than sunbathe and swim, but there was something about the freedom of pretending we were old enough to be here on our own.

  Joel lived in America, so at the beginning of his holidays here, we always met up with friends from school and others who lived near us, but after a while, we just ended up doing stuff on our own. By the end of his visits, we were virtually inseparable. It was as though we wanted to make as many memories to last the year until he would come back again. This was the cycle that we repeated summer after summer.

  I opened my eyes only a little bit, the bright sunlight making my eyes water until I focused on the light blue color of the sky. There were no clouds, just blue, and all I could hear around us were the seagulls squawking in the distance and a soft giggle right next to me.

  A face appeared in my line of sight, slightly blurry at first until my eyesight adjusted and zoned in on the sapphire deep blue eyes hovering over me. The same face, the same eyes that, beginning tomorrow, I would no longer see every day, at least for another year.

  “Don’t move!” Joel cried, putting a hand on my shoulder to hold me in place. His blond hair flopped into his eyes, sun-bleached and stuck together from the saltwater.

  “Why?” I asked.

  “Because I’m building a seashell made of seashells on you,” he said as though it was an entirely natural thing to do. I must have been asleep earlier because I didn’t remember feeling him place anything on me, and we both knew there wasn’t a chance of me staying still long enough for that to happen.

  I lifted my head slightly to see the shape of a seashell all over my flat stomach. The individual shell rings consisted of different color shells to make them distinct from each other. I was impressed.

  “Joel, I need to move. I’m burning,” I said, trying to keep still so the shells didn’t fall off.

  “But I haven’t finished yet.” Joel pouted like he used to do when we were little. His shiny blue eyes looked first at the shells and then at me, and a small, devilish smile appeared on his lips.

  I knew what he was thinking, and he would have to catch me first. In a split second, the shells were falling off me as I got up to escape the tickling attack I knew he was planning. Joel jumped up after me and chased me in circles on the sand, trying to catch me.

  “Let’s go in the water,” I said, out of breath.

  “Okay,” Joel agreed. “How long do we have until we have to get back?” he asked, looking in the direction of the bag where we kept our phones.

  “I think there’s enough time for a swim. We can walk for a bit while our shorts dry out and take the train back home at the next stop.”

  Joel

  New York, Present Day

  The summer afternoon sun was shining brightly through my kitchen window, bringing out the colors of the drawings I had stuck on the fridge door. I found myself standing there remembering the class earlier this week when I told my students about where I came from, that small country in the southwest of Europe that everybody likes to confuse with Spain called Portugal.

  "Mr. Peterson, what color is the sand in Portugal?"

  "Have they got palm trees?"

  "What about ice cream? Do they eat ice cream? Ice cream is my favorite. My mommy takes me to Dairy Queen and gets me a chocolate-dipped cone when I do all my homework."

  I’d asked my young students to draw a picture of something they liked about Portugal based on the photos I had shown them in class. What I got was an array of weird and wonderful drawings that only the imagination of six-year-olds could conjure. Sandy beaches, castles, palm trees, sharks, and even pirates.

  I loved teaching. It was a passion I knew I’d inherited from my dad, and looking at the work of my students made my heart swell with pride.

  The intercom buzzed, bringing me back to the present.

  What was I going to the fridge for? Oh yeah, food!

  Max was coming over to get the spare key to the apartment, and I was sure he’d be hungry after his shift at the hospital.

  "Time to get the coffee brewing,” I muttered to myself as I buzzed Max into the building.

  Max had been my best friend from the moment we met after literally bumping into each other during my first week in my new American school. A school that turned out to be so different from what I’d been used to in Portugal.

  Max's home life wasn't all that great, so he spent a lo
t of time at my house, becoming more of a family member than a friend. The only difference between us was that I loved reading and had a passion for languages, something else I got from my dad, while Max felt a pull toward medicine and helping people. When I started my Early Childhood studies, Max went to nursing college.

  Our made-up family of four was pretty much perfect in my eyes all the way up to the day of the tragic accident that took both my parents last Christmas. Six months later, it still hit me hard in the chest every time I thought of the day I was told that I would never see my parents again and, more than anything, wouldn't be able to hug them and feel like I belonged somewhere.

  "Hey, Joebug, what's up?" Max said, coming in and dropping his backpack in the hallway.

  I got stuff out of the fridge to make a couple of sandwiches and ignored his use of the nickname he’d given me in high school.

  "Ooh, is that chorizo in your hand, or are you happy to see me?" Max asked with a smirk and his eyebrows motioning up and down.

  "Do you want coffee?" I asked, ignoring him.

  "Hell, yeah. I feel like I've been put on the spin cycle of a washing machine and still came out dripping. I love my shifts in the ER, but, man, it’s hard work."

  "Any interesting patients today?" My mom had worked in the emergency room in the same hospital with Max, and she always used to share her funniest patient stories. It became a tradition on our weekly catch-ups and was something I always looked forward to.

  "This hot guy came in today with a kid who needed some stitches on his little finger. He looked so nervous, I thought he was going to faint at the sight of blood. Unfortunately, there was no need for mouth-to-mouth resuscitation." Max chuckled but then looked down and frowned.

  He’d met someone last Christmas, and it seemed like it was the real deal for my friend, but the day he came to tell me about the guy he’d met was the same day we got the news about my parents. Once I’d recovered from the shock and grief, I tried to bring up the subject, but he refused to talk about it. I suspected he was nursing a broken heart and was being stubborn about it.

  “You okay?” I asked. “Have you been on any dates recently?”

  “Of course I have.” The indignation in his voice was clear. “I’m young, good looking, and smart. I can get all the ass I want.”

  “You forgot to mention modest too.”

  I finished making the sandwiches as the coffee maker was spewing its last drops of coffee into the pot. I loved the smell of coffee; it always reminded me of my grandmother’s house in Portugal.

  I used to joke with my mom that the blood on her side of the family was fifty percent coffee. Of course, it had been a while since I’d walked into a house that had that familiar smell of a freshly made brew.

  "Are you all set for the trip?" Max asked before taking a bite of his sandwich and bringing us back to the reason for his visit.

  "Nearly. I'm all packed, and I've got the ashes with all the documentation." I looked down at my sandwich, well aware that wasn't what Max meant, but I was trying to avoid overthinking the reason for my trip.

  "Joel,” he said, making me look straight at him, “how do you feel about going back? I know you're trying to avoid talking about it, but I'm worried about you."

  "I'm not sure," I admitted. "I have amazing memories of my holidays in Portugal, and I'm looking forward to seeing my grandparents and my great-grandma again. I'm just nervous, I guess. What if they’re disappointed?"

  "What makes you think that? Joebug, you are the best person I know. You are fun, caring, and the kids at school idolize you. I'm sure your family will love you too."

  I sighed, almost convinced but still apprehensive. I hadn’t been back for so long.

  “I don’t know. I just never thought the next time I'd see my family would be to scatter the ashes of both my parents. Before school started last year, Mom and I had spoken about going back together and making a family vacation out of it. Now, it'll be just me."

  "Have you got any plans while you're out there and until I arrive?" Max asked with a wink. Trust him to change the subject to get me out of my mood.

  "Nah, I am sure stuff will happen, though.” Once again I looked at the wall next to the fridge where there was a photo of my parents and me at Westhampton Beach, taken when I was only fifteen.

  “They wanted their ashes scattered around the cliff behind the church where they got married. I was there once, and the place is beautiful. The landscape of the cliffs is striking; it’s no wonder they married there and chose it as their final resting place. I couldn't have picked a better place. Other than that, it's flexible. I might rent a car since I’m thinking I might like to travel a bit while I’m there.” I finished my sandwich and took a sip of coffee.

  "What do you think the gay scene is like out there?” He leaned closer. “Joebug, I'm counting on you to check it out before I get there. We’re both in need of a good vacation fling to relieve the stress of city life. We need walks on the beach, kisses at sunset, and lube—Lots. Of. Lube,” he said, punctuating each of his last words.

  I felt myself blush as a memory raced through me and hoped Max couldn't read my expression.

  My apartment was close to the hospital, so Max was taking advantage of the proximity to his workplace before joining me on the last leg of the vacation. I quickly grabbed the spare keys and handed them to him.

  "Here are the keys. Don’t destroy this place while I'm gone." I turned to Max for a quick hug. "I am looking forward to spending some time with you out there, you know. It's been a while since we had time off together, and I think we'll have fun."

  "We will totally rock the place, and who knows, maybe even have some summer lovin' fun," Max sang with excitement, heading for the door.

  Later, as I lay down on my bed, I looked at the ceiling and allowed the memory to come back to me.

  The last time I'd been to Portugal, I had just turned fourteen. It was the best summer I'd ever had, and probably the best since. I had time with my grandparents and cousins, enjoyed family barbecues, and spent endless days on the beach with my best friend, David.

  I hadn't thought of David in years, but the conversation with Max brought back some memories. With his brown eyes and dark hair, David was the complete opposite of my blond hair and blue eyes, but that was where the differences ended. Just like our mothers had been best friends, David and I’d grown up together and had been as close as two young boys could be. That was until my parents had decided to live in the States because of my paternal grandmother's failing health. The geographical distance became too much, the short time together over the summer not enough, and I wondered if one day we’d just naturally drift apart. It didn’t seem likely, especially after the day we shared our first kiss. A kiss that to this day was burned into my memory, if not my heart, and it had to happen twelve hours before I flew back to New York for the last time.

  With a big sigh, I prayed I’d survive this vacation, and as sleep overtook me, I dreamed of sunsets on the beach, goosebumps, and dark brown eyes.

  Chapter Two

  Joel

  My hands were clammy, and my heart was beating off tempo, but despite my initial anxiety, I found myself looking forward to going back to Portugal. I couldn’t wait for that moment when I stepped off the plane and the dry warmth of the summer weather would hit me. It would definitely make the long flight worthwhile.

  My family was expecting me, but I decided to make a stop before driving to my hometown. No doubt my grandmother would gather the immediate family for a welcome dinner, and I needed some time to myself. I wasn't sure I could face them before I had a chance to smell the ocean air and visit one of my favorite spots.

  I still remembered the semi-organized chaos of my family dinners in Portugal. I remembered the long table where my great-grandma would sit at one end, Grandma and Granddad at the other, and everybody else randomly gathered in between.

  As a child, I liked to sit between any two of my cousins. Being an only child, I wasn
't used to sibling confrontation, and my placement between my cousins served a dual purpose, deflecting fights and also pretending that I had brothers and sisters. Not that I minded being an only child. I was very close to my parents, and while the asked-for sibling never materialized, I did enjoy spending time with my cousins.

  I didn't realize I'd been lost in my thoughts until the flight attendant told me I could exit the airplane.

  I never particularly enjoyed the motions of going through customs and waiting for luggage at the airport, but then again, I didn't know anyone that did. I just wanted to get out of there, pick up the rental car, and head off to the beach.

  As soon as I had my stuff, I navigated the crowds of newly arrived travelers in the direction of the car rental counters. I identified the correct one where a bored-looking girl was staring at the computer. She looked up when I approached and immediately smiled at me, clearly happy to have something to do.

  “Good morning, how can I help?” she asked in strongly accented English.

  “Bom dia, I have a reservation,” I said, placing the car rental confirmation on the counter with my passport and driving license.

  “Oh, you’re Portuguese.” She looked surprised.

  “Yes, I’m half-Portuguese.”

  “Well, your accent is perfect.” She took my documents, continuing to make polite conversation, “So, are you in Portugal on holiday? Visiting family?”