Torquere Press will be releasing an anthology of wedding stories on June 24th, called Going to the Chapel. It will contain my story “Apples & Gin.”

Country singer Sawyer Shaw loves photographer Noah Kingston and is tired of hiding it. He’s kept his sexuality hidden for the sake of his career and his family, but over the past ten years Sawyer has come to realize what matters most to him is Noah and his happiness, and Sawyer is ready not only to make it public but also to make it permanent.

The first excerpt, where they meet, is here.

When Noah had taken enough rolls of film to satisfy himself David held out his hand for the camera and said, “Your turn,” and Noah only put up a token protest. This was David for you: he loved taking pictures of the people who took pictures of him. He talked about collecting them in a book someday, but given everything else he had on his plate Noah didn’t think it would come about any time in the next ten years.

He handed over the camera and took David’s place on the sandy stone stairs that lead down into what had once been an inner sanctum, obeying when David said, “Off with the shirt, too, mister.” Noah lounged back against the stone, feeling loose in his muscles, warm in his skin, and closed his eyes as David snapped the shutter over and over.

“What are you thinking about?” David asked him softly.

“Nothing,” Noah said. “Well. Decisions I’ve made and their consequences.”

“Good decisions?” Snap snap snap.

“I thought so at the time.” He opened his eyes and looked into the camera, and David whistled.

“Do that again. You’re hot when you’re serious.”

“Aren’t I hot all the time?” He smiled.

“You used to just be pretty,” David said, and the camera captured nearly every second of Noah smiling and pushing his hair out of his face. “And I say that as both your old friend and the guy who likes looking at you shirtless.”

“As your old friend, I appreciate it, and as the guy who’s currently shirtless, I doubly appreciate it. Particularly since I’m not aging as gracefully as you are.” Noah pulled up his legs and wrapped his arms around his knees, looking into the camera. No coy gazing off at nothing for him.

“Moisturizer,” said David.

“Botox,” Noah said, smiling, and David had to stop photographing to laugh again.

“You’ve gotten hotter as you’ve gotten older, and I’ve got the pictures to prove it.”

“Me in Izod shirts and with bad Eighties hair.”

“Like I said,” David said, “you’ve gotten better.”

“Thank you.” Noah leaned back on his hands. “Tell me something. When you decided to come out, everybody knew. You didn’t hold it back from anybody: your agent, the public, everyone knew. Right?”

“That’s right.” David knelt in front of him, the camera whirring, and Noah didn’t point out he was probably getting really good pictures of his pores.

“How long did you think about it before you did it?”

“A few years. My family knew, of course, and most of my friends. But telling the world — that was hard.”

“Yeah,” Noah said.

“This is about the kid, right? I heard about the tabloid article.”

“It’s always about the kid.” He looked out at the ocean beyond the cliff’s edge. “There’s not much I don’t do for the kid.”

David put the camera down for a moment. “Look, Noah. If he’s ready and you’re ready, then do it. He won’t be doing himself any favors by denying it and you’ll both be happier in the long run. And you can tell him I said so.”

“Yeah,” Noah said quietly and lowered his head, and David photographed him as he thought.