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    Falling for Archie
    Falling for Archie
    Falling for Archie
    Ebook78 pages1 hour

    Falling for Archie

    By Hollis Shiloh

    4.5/5

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    About this ebook

    Harris writes instruction manuals for a living and is self-conscious at the best of times.  He's not pleased when he manages to break a leg—but he's even less pleased when a pushy friend sends someone to help him around the house while it heals.  

    When the young man in question rides up on a motorcycle, Harris expects the worst.  

    He certainly never plans to fall in love.  But Archie—short, clumsy, and utterly gorgeous—doesn't make it easy.

    A contemporary sweet gay romance or m/m romance.

    Length:  approx. 76 pages or 19,000 words

    Heat level:  Low

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherSpare Words Press
    Release dateMar 31, 2018
    ISBN9781386928164
    Falling for Archie

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    4.5/5

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    • 5/5
      Short and sweet, like Archie. I wasn’t sure where this was going when it started with the description of Lionel Grimsby.

    Book preview

    Falling for Archie - Hollis Shiloh

    Table of Contents

    Falling for Archie

    Falling for Archie

    Epilogue

    About the author

    Copyright 2013 Hollis Shiloh.  All rights reserved.  Do not reproduce without written permission from the author.  All characters and events are fictitious, and any similarity to real people or events is coincidental.  ~  Cover designed by Spare Words Press

    Falling for Archie

    by Hollis Shiloh

    Lionel Grimsby, also known as Grim, was a large man who talked louder than anybody else.  When he left the room, one felt as though there was more oxygen and room and that furniture was the right size, instead of everything being too small.

    Harris Lark had known Lionel since they were boys together at a rich, snobby private school, both outcast and each other's only friend.  Lionel had been loud, brash, overweight, and irritating; he was still all of those things.  Harris had been pedantic, awkward, and gifted but hopelessly muddled, and he still was all of those things.  Even as an adult, Lionel was nearly his only friend.

    Despite having the world's safest job (writing owner's manuals, generally for small appliances), Harris had managed to break his leg last week.  He'd been cleaning the leaves from his gutter and fell. 

    Grim came over the first day to help, but his job kept him busy, and frankly, he was a terrible nurse.  When he said, I'll get you someone to help you while you recover, Harris Lark groaned and protested.  He knew Grim meant it only for the best, much as the intrusion irritated him; he also knew Grim wouldn't be dissuaded.

    Sure enough, by the next day, instead of hobbling around on his crutches at his home alone, or dealing with Grim, he had to hobble around on his crutches and deal with an unwanted stranger.

    It started with the arrival of a motorcycle louder than hell.  Harris grimaced, hoping it would go past.

    It didn't.

    He held his breath, pressing nails into his palms.  It would be just like Grim to send him some punk on a bike.  Probably a greasy-haired, sullen little jerk.  Some joke, Grimmy.  Lionel would never think about how awkward it would make Harris feel, having to deal with someone so outside his own experience; he'd only pat himself on the back for a job well done.  "You like motorcycles, Harris.  I don't see what the problem is."  Harris could almost hear him saying it now.

    The engine stopped.  Footsteps walked quickly and precisely towards his door, and then hesitated.  Finally, someone knocked. 

    Harris waited till the person had knocked again, then grimaced and hauled himself to his crutches.  His leg and foot still twinged unpleasantly if he jarred them.

    It's the world's least heroic injury, he'd complained to Grim when feeling low and out of sorts.

    I wouldn't say that.  I once saw a man who'd broken his middle finger—you know—  He gestured, and a passing nurse dropped her bedpan.  Fortunately, it was empty.  It was a dare, continued Grim, blithely unaware, as he always was, of the destruction that rained down around him.  And then he had to walk around with a cast, giving everyone the finger till it healed.  Grim grinned, relishing that idea.  Harris had rolled his eyes.

    Now, he took his time walking to the door, thinking of that man.  It would be a good excuse to be quite rude, actually.  He used the key and opened the door carefully.  He always kept his doors locked, even though he lived at the end of a safe, quiet lane and there was really no need.  He liked to keep things neat and tidy, just as they ought to be, and that included locking doors.

    He pulled the heavy door open, struggling with his crutches.  They made everything so much harder, even this.

    Hello.  The young man at the door was almost a head shorter, even hunched as Harris was over the crutches. 

    The young man smiled a bright, nervous smile.  He stood with his legs far apart, his hands clasped behind his back, and he bounced a little on his black cowboy boots.  He wore a motorcyclist's leather trousers and leather jacket, and he was grubby with oil stains.  Pushed up on his head, riding goggles had left clean white circles round his eyes.

    Past him, Harris glimpsed the smooth lines of a rather ancient motorcycle, a beautiful beast, but difficult to maintain.  He knew from its manual. 

    The young man was standing as tall as he could.  He pulled off one of his leather gloves and held a hand out, still smiling a bit nervously.  I'm Archie Freestone.  Sorry about the noise.  I hope I'm not too late for the interview?

    Interview, said Harris stupidly.

    Yes, Lionel Grimsby said specifically you had to approve me.  I hope I'm not too late.

    And did Lionel say what your duties would be?  Harris found himself trying not to notice the young man's soft-looking skin and full lips.  He had no business noticing that.  What the hell was Lionel thinking, sending him this youth?

    The young man shrugged.  Helping round the house, gardening, doing the dishes and cooking.

    How old are you? Harris found himself asking, feeling older and feebler yet with his crutches and his ever-so-slight-but-no-denying-it-was-there beer gut.

    Twenty-eight, said Archie, standing straighter indignantly.  I'm really not as young as I look!

    But he did look young—young and gorgeous.  His eyes were big and chocolate-brown, his hair the color of light brown sugar.  It was flyaway and soft-looking: the choppy, unruly touchable-looking hair of a fashionable young man, in contrast

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