Hi guys, we have Hank Fielder popping in today with the cover to his upcoming release Make Someone Happy, we have a great intro from Hank and a brilliant excerpt, so check out the post and enjoy! <3 ~Pixie~

Make Someone Happy

Hank Fielder

Massage therapist Joe Wells is in a little over his head with his first job at the posh Magic Touch Sports Spa. He’s also secretly falling for his friendly, sexy coworker, the top-notch masseur Andre Swift.  All the clients clamor for Andre, and so far none have taken to Joe. 

On the verge of being fired, Joe saves the life of a mysterious kitten belonging to a white witch, who grants him a wish: a magic touch that could save his job and maybe even win him Andre’s love and respect. As Joe’s stock at the spa rises to crazy and barely manageable levels of success, demand for Andre’s services drops off. Will Joe lose Andre to an out-of-control spell?  Or worse—Andre’s love might prove to be only a result of the magic, just like Joe’s sudden talent.   

Hank Fielder!

One of the most exciting moments for an author is seeing his or her new book cover for the first time.  I’m thrilled to be able to now share with you the beautiful cover that artist Paul Richmond and Dreamspinner Press have created for “Make Someone Happy.” 

This is my third book with Dreamspinner Press, and I couldn’t be happier.  Knowing readers are soon going to discover a story so close to my heart is such a blast.  I hope you like the cover as much as I do, and with gratitude I invite you to join me on a journey into the magic of romance, good humor, steamy surprises and true love.  Visit me at my blog: authorhankfielder.blogspot.com

Best wishes,

Hank

Excerpt

DO YOU believe in magic?

There was a time when Joe Wells would not have asked that question of anyone, much less himself. Not seriously, anyway.

He didn’t believe in the magic in songs about starry nights or in wishing on sea-blue birthday-cake candles or in tossing silver coins into leafy, vine-covered enchanted fountains in the hopes of finding true love.

That all changed when he got to know Andre Swift, and then his whole life and everything he wanted depended on him believing.

It started one fire-orange autumn afternoon, on a cloudless day that seemed like every other day, but wasn’t. It began with an angry customer; but grumpy, demanding customers weren’t anything new where Joe worked.

“Where’s the magic?” Clement Tisdale, a wealthy, big-bellied investment banker with athletic pretensions, sarcastically complained. He stood in a kind of comic wrestler’s stance in the soft recessed-lighting glimmer of the stylish reception lounge of the posh Magic Touch Sports Spa. “Isn’t this supposed to be a magical place? I didn’t feel any magic in this guy’s massage.” He pointed at Joe.

Joe exchanged a quick, wary glance with wide-eyed Billie, who stood behind the reception desk, trying to look busy.

“I’ve fallen down stairs that made my back feel better than this guy’s crummy technique,” said Clem.

Joe cringed as his bespectacled boss, Fred Marden, nodded and took the verbal abuse from Mr. Tisdale. It had been Fred’s idea to use the words “magic touch” as a metaphor for the top-notch but clearly earthbound experiences he hoped to provide his spa customers, and it must have stung to have his little flight of fancy thrown in his face like this.

“Joe has been a Sports Pro here for only three months,” Fred offered calmly. “He’s young, still learning the ropes.”

“The ropes” included using a lot of in-house jargon. For example, the massage therapists were called “Sports Pros.” Massages were whimsically called “Magic Touch Sessions.” Customers were referred to as “Gold through Platinum-level Guests.” Getting your toenails clipped, sanded, and buffed was called a “Sports Pedicure,” and a haircut and shave was called “Smart-groom Pro Essentials.” But getting fired from the spa was still called “getting fired.” And that’s what Joe was afraid of.

Joe wanted to succeed at this job more than anything, but he was finding it wasn’t going to be easy. This wasn’t the first time he’d disappointed a customer, unfortunately. Getting fired would be a disaster for him. Among other things, such as financial stability, working here meant being close to Andre every single day, and being parted from Andre was as unthinkable as being parted from his livelihood—worse, even.

He knew he was really in the hot seat this time. Clem Tisdale was powerful. It would take some real magic to get Joe out of this mess. But as far as he could tell, this spa was about as far from magical as it got in Milwaukee, where he’d moved after graduating from massage therapy school in Omaha in the early part of spring.

Joe knew he didn’t have the “magic touch,” but he doubted anyone else did either. Not really. That was just whimsical marketing. Except, just maybe, when it came to Andre Swift. Maybe there really was a kind of magic in Andre’s technique. He had something special going on. Everyone loved him.

Especially Joe. But so far Joe had kept his feelings for Andre a secret. Joe didn’t want to jeopardize their budding friendship with a declaration of something greater, which might be rejected. He was biding his time, and he was also afraid. Massages weren’t the only experiences for which Joe exhibited a bright shade of green. Joe had never really been in love before.

“I asked specifically for Andre Swift,” Tisdale barked. “He’s my regular masseur and you know it, Fred. I didn’t ask for some dumb amateur.”

“Clem, I apologize, again, and you are completely comped for this massage,” said Fred. “No charge. The problem is, Andre is fully booked all month. He’s my most popular Pro, and we try to do our best with drop-ins without appointments.” Fred was actually sweating a little now. Powerful clients intimidated him.

“I’m Platinum-level,” Tisdale said.

“I know that, Clem.”

Hearing his name, Andre peeked through the reception room door that led back to the warren of private, softly illuminated massage rooms. Joe always loved to see Andre, but it was embarrassing to see him now when he was getting chewed out by a customer.

Andre was dressed in summery pastel blue-green-and-white plaid shorts and a soft white polo shirt that showed off his pectoral muscles in a way that made Joe weak in the knees. Andre also had tremendous strength in his hands and phenomenal arms, shapely legs, and a perfectly round butt. His wavy black hair and deep brown sparkling eyes added much to the package that was topped off by the sweetest personality Joe had ever encountered.

“You better book me with Andre pronto to undo the damage caused by this guy,” Tisdale said, giving Joe a rancid look and pulling on his creamy leather jacket. He snapped his sunglasses onto his sunburned nose. “Christ, my neck hurts worse now than when I came in.” He turned and exited through the smoky door to the parking lot and his black Lexus.

Joe braced himself for Fred’s wrath, but Fred just looked weary and shook his head. Joe glanced at Andre, who gave him a stoic and sympathetic expression, and sort of pursed his lips.

“Joe, Tisdale was your only scheduled appointment today,” said Fred. “What is it exactly that you’re doing to my clients that makes them dislike something as simple as a massage? Word is getting around that you stink at this work and no one is booking with you.”

“I don’t understand it either,” Joe said, feeling a blush rising in his face. “I did fine in massage therapy school. I’m working hard to improve my technique.”

“This isn’t school. This is real life.”

“I’m awfully sorry, Fred.”

Fred looked over at Andre. “Andre, when’s your next appointment?”

Andre looked at his chunky black diver’s watch. “In fifteen minutes. My previous client is getting dressed. I’m booked through to nine o’clock. But if I can help in some way….”

“Maybe you can figure out what Joe is doing wrong, Andre. I’m a club manager, not a massage therapist. You two schedule some time off the clock and figure out how to fix this, or I’m afraid Joe is gonna have to go.”

“I’ll fix it—I promise I will,” Joe said.

“Meantime, I’m paying you. Grab a mop and start cleaning up the showers, assist with the towels and laundry, clean sheets, and all that. Make yourself useful.”

“Thank you, Fred!” Joe chirped.

“That’s what I get for hiring another kid just for his good looks,” Fred muttered to himself as he scanned his iPad.

Joe didn’t feel exactly flattered by that line. He followed Andre into the back, where the spa opened up impressively. Soothing musical tones floated over waves of subtle aromatherapy scents of sandalwood, cedar, and lavender. The bustling hair and nail salon was also tucked away back here amid the steel red-and-black features, designed to dazzle the luxury-minded high-rolling customers. Track lighting directed subtle spotlights in the windowless corridors and unguent-laden lounge stations; exotic flowering plants in ceramic and reclaimed-wood fixtures shone in the light of a chainmail-clad blazing fire pit. A mirrored bar, stocked with mineral water, fresh juices, and ice in custom cut-crystal glassware, also offered an assortment of colorful fruit and vegetables piled high. Sleek onyx fountains in geometric shapes babbled and splashed, and great puffs of steam floated from the hot mineral plunge baths and the black-tiled shower and open-entrance locker room at the far end of the stylish suite.

“Don’t worry too much, Joe,” Andre said. “The clients here just don’t know you yet and they’re used to their regular masseurs. Your technique will be fine. We’ll go over some basics and that should satisfy Fred.”

Joe felt the familiar warmth that flooded all through him when he was close to Andre. “Thanks,” he said cheerfully. He was feeling a little better. And it thrilled him that Andre, who could have been competitive and dismissive, was instead a salt-of-the-earth guy if there ever was one. Andre wanted to help Joe because he was the kind of guy who just naturally helped everyone.

Like the time a few weeks ago when he volunteered at the neighborhood street fair and ended up comforting a little girl who’d been separated from her mother in the crowd. Andre instinctively stepped up and saved the day, reuniting the child with her scared and grateful mom, who called him a hero.

Or the time a homeless man wandered into the spa and started ranting. Fred wanted to call in the National Guard, but Andre calmly talked to the guy, walked him down the street to a McDonald’s, and bought him a meal. Joe was so impressed with the way Andre handled himself, showing what the term “gentleman” actually meant.

Andre was the find of the century, the bomb, the ideal guy, Mr. Right, and the total package, perfect even when he laughed in a goofy sort of way or (as had happened once when Joe offered him a bite of his Snickers) he bit off more than half of what was offered him. And it was just killing Joe that he didn’t know how to let Andre in on how much he cared for him.

What if Andre were to reject him or laugh—or pity him? Joe would feel like such an ass facing Andre every day at work if that happened. Assuming he kept the job—an assumption he wasn’t in a position to make.

Joe understood too that not being able to express himself very well, to communicate effectively, was probably at the heart of his problem with the customers. It was one thing to understand that you can really be kind of awkward at times. It was another thing to turn that around and develop some cool—or was it more warmth he needed? Whatever it was, he knew he just had to get what was good inside of him outside where other people could see it! Especially,crucially, Andre.

“I’ll see you at closing time,” Andre said, and he walked down the carpeted corridor to his next client. With those powerful shoulders and arms of his, it was no wonder Andre gave such good massages. The combination of strength and gentleness made for a “magic touch” that was in fact entirely and wonderfully natural.

About Hank

Hank Fielder is from Wisconsin and has lived in London and California, in big cities and in the rural countryside.  His MM romance novels include “Emerald Idol” and “When We Picked Apples Last Autumn,” also available from Dreamspinner Press.  He loves baseball, music, old movies, great stories and long walks.  He counts his blessings every night before bed.

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