Finding Joy: A Gay Romance Read online

  Finding Joy

  Adriana Herrera

  Contents

  Also by Adriana Herrera

  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

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Praise for Adriana Herrera

  “Sweet and thoughtful, and delightfully filthy, too.”

  —The New York Times

  "Compulsively Readable."

  —Publisher’s Weekly

  “Adriana Herrera positions herself as a fresh and vital new voice in romance.”

  —Entertainment Weekly

  “Adriana Herrera writes romance with teeth—you’ll laugh, you’ll cry, and you’ll be refreshed and inspired to fight even harder to create the vibrant, welcoming America in which her books are set.”

  —Suzanne Brockmann, New York Times bestselling author

  “Adriana Herrera writes family—all kinds of family—better than anyone else writing today”

  —Cat Sebastian, bestselling author of A Gentleman Never Keeps Score

  “Adriana Herrera is writing some of my favorite Afro-Latinx characters and giving us beautiful love stories along the way.”

  —Elizabeth Acevedo, National Book Award Winner for The Poet X

  Adriana Herrera won a 2019 Ripped Bodice Award for Excellence in Romantic Fiction for American Love Story

  Also by Adriana Herrera

  American Dreamer

  American Fairytale

  American Love Story

  American Sweethearts

  Mangos and Mistletoe

  He’s Come Undone

  Here To Stay (August 2020)

  American Christmas (November 2020)

  Don’t miss my next release!

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  or visit adrianaherreraromance.com

  Finding Joy

  Written and published by Adriana Herrera

  Cover Art by Leni Kauffman

  Cover Design by Cate Ashewood

  Edited by Mackenzie Walton

  Copyright © by Adriana Herrera

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author or publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is purely coincidental.

  To Addis Ababa, the New Flower, and Abyssinia—the homeland of my heart.

  Betam amaseganallo.

  “Wasn't that the definition of home?

  Not where you are from, but where you are wanted.”

  ― Abraham Verghese, Cutting for Stone

  Chapter 1

  Addis Ababa, Ethiopia

  January

  As soon as I stepped out of the airport, I felt it. The something in the air my mom always mentioned when she talked about Addis.

  I looked around the crowd waiting for the recent arrivals as I hefted my huge backpack, searching for a big white head of hair. “À la Don King” my mother had said when she described Tefare, my parents’ old driver from when they first lived here almost thirty years ago—who was picking me up tonight. I finally spotted a man with a mass of fluffy gray hair in the back, and walked over. I kept my eye on Tefare, who was scanning the crowd as he held up a sign that read MR. WALKER.

  I stepped up to him, extending my hand “Tefare. It’s me, Desta.”

  Immediately he threw his arms out and pulled me in for an elaborate hug. We bumped shoulders on either side and clapped each other’s backs for what felt like minutes.

  “Desta, you look just like your mama. How is my friend Fatima? Does she still make that delicious meat soup?”

  I smiled at the mention of sancocho; my mother told me that Tefare had been a devoted fan of the Dominican stew whenever she made it in the old days.

  I shook my head at his question as we walked together to the parking lot. “She doesn’t make it that much anymore. She’s vegan now. Only eats fasting food.”

  He gasped like I’d told him she’d given up eating altogether. “Only fasting food. No meat?”

  I grinned at the shock in his voice. “No meat,” I repeated as Tefare shook his head in silence, like the whole situation was too far gone to comment on.

  When we got to the car, he made a big show of taking the backpack from me and putting it in the trunk. “Let me help you with this, Desta. It’s too heavy for you.”

  I laughed because Tefare was not much taller than my five-foot-nine and had to be pushing seventy, but I let him win and handed him my massive backpack. Once we had my two bags securely in the back of the car, he pulled a hat out of his suit jacket pocket and perched it on his head. It was a 2004 Boston Red Sox World Series Championship hat, which looked exactly like the one my dad had been wearing the last time I saw him leaving for the airport on his way here.

  I pointed at his head, smiling. “I recognize that.”

  Tefare clicked his tongue at my words, the happy, open expression from before replaced with genuine sorrow. “Your papa gave it to me on that last trip. I was waiting for him just like I waited for you tonight, and the first thing he did was take the hat off his head and put it on my mine. He said, ‘Tefare, our guys finally won.’” Tefare’s smile was a wistful thing, and I realized that my time in Ethiopia would probably be filled with moments like this.

  “When your papa and mama first came here, there were only a couple of places where they could see the baseball games, and I would drive them there,” my father’s old friend explained, his eyes faraway, like he was recalling those times. “After a while he’d invite me to watch with them and taught me the rules. Paul made me a Red Sox fan for life.”

  Tefare and I stood there for a moment in the cold Addis night, lost in our memories of my father. Eventually he pushed off the side of the car where he’d been leaning and grunted, squeezing my shoulder. “I miss my friend.”

  I nodded, working on speaking through the knot in my throat. “We miss him too.” It was hard to know what else to say. The moment felt too big for platitudes, and I’d learned years ago that when it came to grief, words usually didn’t do much.

  Tefare tapped the top of the car, then waved toward the passenger side. “Eshi, Desta, let’s get you to the guest house.”

  I smiled when I heard him say eshi. It was like the equivalent of “okay” in Amharic and my dad would always tease me, saying it’d been my favorite word as a baby. “I’m ready. I’m tired of airports.”

  He stopped then and looked at me over the roof of the car, his expression mischievous. “Are you hungry?”

  I braced for what I knew was coming.

  “I don’t know if I can find any injera and ketchup for you right now.” He busted up laughing, and I smiled in return. My mom warned me to expect jokes from friends who knew us
from when we lived here. Apparently, I’d been notorious for my obsession with what could only be described as an unusual combination of Ethiopian sour flatbread and ketchup.

  I laughed at his delight. “I’m good. I like injera without ketchup these days. I ate on the plane, actually, so I’m fine.”

  I got in the car, listening to Tefare’s low and friendly laughter. Once inside, I looked around the interior; the thing had to be at least twenty years old. But other than it looking like the inside of an old oilcan, it ran great. We navigated the streets of Addis, and I stared out the window at what had been my home for the first few years of my life. My feelings about this place had always been bittersweet. It was where my parents said they lived their happiest years, and it was also the place where my father died.

  In three years of working for Aid USA, I’d travelled all over Africa, and somehow had managed to avoid an assignment to one of the biggest offices in the continent. I hadn’t sought out coming here. But after my love life went up in flames, a last minute opportunity to help wrap up an impact evaluation seemed like the perfect excuse to get out of DC for a while. And to hopefully do some soul-searching about where I was going with my life.

  Tefare looked over at me and smiled as thoughts swirled in my head. “So how does it feel to be in your first home? Are you happy to be back?”

  I met his eyes in the rearview mirror as I came up with a response. I couldn’t really say yeah, it should be a good way to put some distance between me and my asshole ex. I wasn’t about to get into a long story about my Big Gay Drama with Tefare.

  “It’s good to be here,” I said with a lot more certainty than I was feeling. “I’ve been nervous about the visit. I haven’t been here since I was little, and after Dad died, I wasn’t sure if I’d ever be able to come back.”

  No matter how much I’d prepared for it, this trip was a big deal, and a long time coming. I’d always found excuses to take other jobs when postings in Ethiopia came up, because deep down, I’d been scared of how being here would feel. Now that I was, there was a comfort and a familiarity I hadn’t expected.

  Tefare grunted as he turned onto a gravel street off the main road. “You had to come back here, Desta. Even if you left when you were only three, this was your first home. You took your first steps here, and your father loved this land. He died alone.” The hitch in Tefare’s breath was a reflection of my own reaction to his words. When he spoke again, he had that same bleak tone from before. “And that’s a pain in my heart still, but he was in a place he cherished, and that cherished him back.”

  I sighed, looking out of the window as we bumped along the dark road, strangely comforted to know the people who had known him here still cared this much about my dad. “He did love it here.”

  Tefare nodded as he slowed the car in front of a tall metal gate. He flicked the high beams on and off and stepped on the gas to alert the night guard that someone was outside. After a few seconds, a man came out and opened the gate for us.

  We drove in and parked right by a large yard. I looked over and saw there were flowers blooming on a crawling vine covering most of the fence that surrounded the property. The air was sweetened by their smell, and there was a light mist that kissed my skin as we made our way into the front of the building.

  Tefare waved a hand around as he pressed the buzzer on the door. “This is a nice guesthouse, only embassy people. I came by earlier today and gave them some food and water bottles for your room. I will be back tomorrow morning to take you to your office.”

  Just as I was about to thank him, an attendant came to open the door and ushered me inside. I turned to shake Tefare’s hand, but he pulled me in for a hug. “Eshi, Desta.”

  “Thank you for coming to get me so late. I appreciate it. I don’t have to be in the office until noon, so you can come for me at eleven. That way we’ll both get some sleep.”

  I watched Tefare slowly walk to the car, the scent of jasmine and the cold night air enveloping me. As I made my way inside I thought that in such a short time Addis already seemed to be getting under my skin.

  “Wow, is this normal?” I asked Tefare as we drove past another security checkpoint in our attempt to get into the U.S. Embassy, where I’d be working. It wasn’t exactly out of the ordinary to go through heavy security when visiting U.S. embassies around the world, but it was not easy to get used to either. This place was like a hybrid between a fortress and a very fancy suburb. The grounds were enormous. I was a little blown away as we drove through a small street lined with tall eucalyptus trees.

  “This may be one of the biggest embassies I’ve been in,” I said to Tefare as I swiveled my head, taking in all the houses and buildings.

  “Yes, this is one of the oldest embassies in Addis, from the time of King Menelik, more than a hundred years old.”

  I nodded as he turned onto a smaller road. “I think I knew that,” I mused, remembering my dad’s stories about an Ethiopian monarch granting old allies like the U.S. and Britain acres of land for their embassies.

  A while later we drove up to a set of buildings enclosed by rows of eucalyptus trees. “This is it, Desta.” Tefare pointed.

  After saying a quick goodbye, I exited the taxi and made my way toward the taller building with the sign that read Aid USA, hoping it was where I needed to go. As soon as I walked into the lobby, a lovely woman with an impressive mass of honey-colored curls and the most amazing cheekbones I’d ever seen showed me to my new boss’s office.

  From the moment I met her, I knew Bonnie Watts and I were going to hit it off. She was tall—a bit taller than me—with very curly white hair, which she kept on a messy bun on top of her head. Bonnie was wearing a flowy tunic over loose jeans and had gold Birkenstocks on her feet. The patented expat look, but she wore it well. She also had deep laugh lines and the most mischievous blue eyes.

  “You must be Desta,” she said as she stepped around her desk, her hand extended. “I’ll be the person you complain to for the next eight weeks.”

  I laughed while shaking her hand, a weird flutter in my stomach. Anticipation, I supposed. All of this felt big.

  Bonnie kept chatting around the friendly smile on her lips while I turned my head, taking the place in. “I can’t guarantee anything you’re supposed to accomplish here will actually get done, but I promise to take you out for beers when the shit hits the fan.”

  I laughed at that. “The most important part is covered then.”

  Her smile lifted into a full grin. “You got it. And seriously, thank you again for being willing to come on such a short notice. I know it was a big ask.”

  I could already tell she’d be a good boss. From my experience in this kind of work, a sense of humor went a long way.

  “You’re welcome. I’m glad to be here.” To my surprise, I really meant it.

  “Good man. I like you already.” In a way, she reminded me of my dad. Bonnie had that same ever-present adventurous streak, with a glint of trouble brewing just under the surface.

  “Desta, you’ll be in the cubicle next to Sam’s.” She lifted a hand to a row of cubes right in front of her office. “You’ll meet him tomorrow in Awassa.” The eye-rolling when she mentioned Sam was interesting. “He’s been there for a few days trying to meet some people and get some surveyors set up for you guys. He’s a bit of shithead—”

  Awesome.

  “—and he will most likely piss someone important off before this is all said and done. But he can run data like a wizard, and we’re hard up right now.”

  I did not like the sound of that, and I was sure Bonnie could tell. She waved a finger in my direction, as if trying to contain whatever was happening on my face. “Your job will be to run these surveys and to be kind to the local staff. Because they’ll be busting their asses to get us the data we need, and you’ll need to overcompensate for the fact that the guy running the numbers is an asshole.”

  I rolled my eyes and smiled at her directives. “You’re pretty good at giving
shitty orders in ways one can’t say no to.”

  She laughed as I fretted about Sam’s shithead ways. I could fake it ’til I made it with the best of them, but I had hard limits when it came to expats acting like assholes to the staff in the field offices.

  “I’m sure I’ll be able to handle him,” I assured her. I’d been around enough to not put up with bullshit from overzealous dude-bros trying to show off. “So how will I get to Awassa?” I asked, trying to get the more practical details in order. “Will I get a car to drive down there, or will I have a driver?” I knew me driving would probably involve a visit to a local government office to sort out a driving permit, and wanted to get it cleared up if that were the case.

  Bonnie flicked her hands like I was talking nonsense. “Oh no, you won’t be driving yourself.” She sounded like I’d suggested I was going to fly myself there. “You haven’t been here! There’s a learning curve, my friend. You’ll go down with Elias, the logistics coordinator for our project.” Her face lit up at the mention of the man, which I guess was a good sign. “Eli’s a star, one of my favorite people.” Her grin got wider with every word spoken about the magical Elias. “He was a driver for a few years before getting the coordinator job. He’ll get you there in one piece.”