Synopsis

Ben Bennett treasures the cozy rhythm of his running his beloved bookstore, curling up with his sassy cat Ziggy, and putting up with his spirited sister Mal. He’s not exactly searching for love—despite the occasional swipe on Grindr—and he’s definitely not interested in anyone messing with his hard-won peace, even if he could use an extra set of hands around the shop. But everything changes the moment he crosses paths with Avery Fitzgerald, Mal’s new boyfriend’s infuriatingly handsome, ridiculously wealthy friend. Avery’s a business developer with a knack for getting under Ben’s skin—and when he buys the building next door, Ben’s world starts to unravel in ways he never expected.

As much as Ben tries to resist, Avery keeps finding new ways to weave himself into Ben’s life, challenging everything he thought he knew about love, business, and himself. In this modern, queer twist on Pride and Prejudice, sparks fly and hearts collide in a story that’s as cozy as it is unpredictable—a perfect exploration of love in a world that doesn’t always make room for it.

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This book will be released on 2/4/25; pre-order a copy today!

Excerpt

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single gay man approaching the age of forty will be destined to wander through Grindr and pride parades, searching for desperate hookups, knowing that their dating days are essentially over.

I was days away from my thirty-ninth birthday, and for some reason, thirty-nine felt so much worse than the idea of forty. Forty was an arrival; thirty-nine was a 364-day crawl to final doom.

Despite it being exactly 9:06 in the morning, my thumb hovered over one of the little half-naked icons in the app. I felt the familiar dread of both wanting to find a connection and knowing I’d have to swipe my way through digital personas to search for it. When the little bell over the front door of my store rang, I nearly dropped my phone. I didn’t even have to look up to know it signaled the arrival of Mallory. No customer would ever be in this early. I locked my phone with a click and looked up at her smiling face on the other side of the wooden countertop, hoping my ears didn’t look as red as they felt.

“Here,” she said as she approached, extending a coffee and ignoring my ears.

“Thank you.” I took the cup and cautiously eyed the name scrawled in Sharpie on the side: Ben. Under that, Mal had written: best brother ever. “What do you need?”

“Need?” she asked, batting her eyelashes. “Why are you accusing me of something the minute I walk in the door?”

“Mal,” I started, before taking a sip of the coffee, “you’re a terrible liar.” “Okay, listen, I just need you to come with me to this department mixer tonight.” A stray blonde curl tumbled across her face, and she used her free hand to tuck it behind her ear.

“Why?”

“It will be fun,” she insisted, moving to lean against the counter, pushing away a stack of books in the process. “The whole English department is going. You need more fun in your life.”

I raised an eyebrow, questioning whether or not that was supposed to convince me to go. Her bright blue eyes pleaded with me in various shades of hope.

“I just don’t fit in with your friends. They’re all bookish.” “You own a bookstore!” she cried, raising her hands to the shelves of books around us.

“Bookish in a ‘too smart for me to carry on a conversation’ way, not bookish in the ‘hey, why don’t you come spend money in my bookstore’ way. Why is this so important?” I asked as I turned around to snatch a box cutter from the other counter.

She said nothing, and when I swiveled back to see why, I could tell she was debating her words internally.

“What?” I asked, now giving her my full attention. “What is it? Is it a boy?”

“Well, no, that’s so high school,” she started. “But, kind of. The new British Lit professor I was telling you about will be there.”

“And?”

“And, I haven’t met him yet, but Kelly met him last week and said he was adorable.”

“Oh really?” I said with a hint of sarcasm.

“Stop teasing,” Mal said.

“I wasn’t teasing,” I lied.

“No, but you wanted to.”

Smiling, I turned back to my box of books. “So, what’s his name?” “Beck.”

“Like the musician?” I pulled a few books out and set them on the counter.

“Kelly said his full name is Charles Beckett, but he goes by Beck.” I stopped working for a moment to give her a stare. “Of course he does. Let me guess—tall, dark, and handsome?”

“That’s your type, not mine,” she shot back.

“Touché.”

“Just imagine if we liked the same type of guy.” Mal laughed. “Mother would be beside herself.”

“No need to ruin a good morning,” Mal offered.

I smiled in agreement but said nothing.

“Speaking of, she invited us to dinner at their house in two weeks. I said we’d be there.”

“I have plans,” I started, walking down one of the rows of books toward the back.

“No, you don’t!” Mal yelled. “I’ll come pick you up at 7:00, okay?” “Tonight or in two weeks?”

“Very funny!”

“What do I wear?” I yelled back from my intended shelf. “Something nice.”

I heard the doorbell ring overhead and shook my head when I realized I had so easily folded to her wishes. With only two years between us, I never had much luck telling my older sister no. I slid the book into its rightful place on the shelf.

About the Author

Samantha Ryan is a queer writer from Tulsa, OK. She has a chunky German Shepherd named Harley, an incredibly needy cat named Baxter, and half a dozen plants she can barely keep alive. PRIDE is her debut novel — previous works have appeared in Marrow Magazine, Fish Gather to Listen, Flash Fiction North, and IdleInk. Joyce Carol Oates once referred to her short story “Psychopompos” as “deftly rendered” and she will never let that go.

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