GENRE: Gay Romance
LENGTH: 2,608 words
RATING:

Andrew Frost-Hall is technically the Duke of Glendon, even though he thinks of himself as a botanist first. He also hates flying. Unfortunately, he’s on a plane right now, headed to a horticultural conference.

But handsome fellow passenger David provides a good distraction, especially when it turns out they’re headed to the same destination. Even better -- or worse -- David has read Andrew’s book ... and knows exactly who he is.

As Andrew and David discover a shared love of science and flowers, their coincidence of travel just might blossom into something more.

EXCERPT:

Andrew heard himself say, “Come in, please,” because English politeness was an inescapable instinct and because evidently his mouth issued invitations without telling him. It added, helpfully, “There’s a chair.”

And the man smiled -- he did have dimples, then, framing the kind of smile that belonged on movie stars and in artwork -- and came in and took the other small chair. He had long legs; the first-class suite opened up and made room. “Thanks.”

“Of course. Scotch? It’s very good, you can have this one, I haven’t actually drunk any of it yet but I had the same earlier, so --” The plane twitched. A small motion. Probably not serious. Probably.

He felt his nails dig into the armrest again.

“Hey.” Those blue eyes found Andrew’s own. Held him in place, a cradle, a certainty. “We’re okay. I’m not saying don’t worry, I know that doesn’t help much, I’m just saying it’s okay, for now. I’m here, you’re here, and we’ll be on the ground in forty minutes, right?”

Andrew made himself exhale. “Yes.” And he found, to his startlement, that it had helped. Not entirely, obviously. But the understanding, the phrasing, felt ... nice. Comfortable, when he needed comfort.

“So.” His new companion stretched out a leg, adjusting position. That was a distraction in and of itself, and Andrew was susceptible. “Why’re you headed to Amsterdam, on this Valentine’s weekend? Vacation, romance, sightseeing, work?”

“Oh.” It was indeed Valentine’s Day, that weekend: not immediately, but Sunday, the last conference day. Andrew had no one special and no plans, and had mostly managed to forget about the holiday, being preoccupied by greenhouses and stems and preparing his talk. “Er. Work, mostly -- I’ll try to find the time to do some sightseeing, but I’ll be at a conference, mostly. Tulips. Cross-breeding for sturdier stems and disease resistance. Giving a talk tomorrow evening. Sorry, I know it’s not terribly exciting -- what?”

“Nothing.” The man waved a hand. And scooted closer, at the edge of his seat, leaning in. “Tell me about your stems. That size increase also leads to larger blooms, doesn’t it, or have you found that there’s an upper limit?”

“Er,” Andrew said again, but the man really did seem to be interested and it was a good question, and he ended up explaining the chromosomal work they’d been doing with tetraploid varieties, and the corresponding integrity in the flowers themselves, for several minutes.

The plane wobbled again, once or twice. Andrew couldn’t precisely ignore it, but was mid-sentence in a description of molecular cytogenic techniques, and so deliberately focused on chromosome inheritance instead. His audience listened with every evidence of appreciation, and nodded at the right places, until Andrew realized he’d essentially given the twenty-minute version of his keynote talk and also drunk half of his scotch and forgot to clutch an armrest while explaining with hand-gestures.

He made himself stop the information overload, ears hot. “I’m so sorry.”

“What on earth for?” Those bright blue eyes were dancing. “I appreciate a good lecture about phylogenetic relationships. My name’s David, by the way. We should maybe know each other’s names if we’re going to talk about future breeding goals.”