Issac Jordan's POV- A Love Like the Sun

Bonus chapter & in's and out's as an author for the New Year

[POV chapter from Issac Jordan, the MMC in my romance novel A Love Like the Sun. Trigger warnings: grief around Holidays, death of a parent]

<3 <3 <3

What I Remember

9 Years ago. Snow Crab Legs

Fresh from Pacific Seafood Market in Providence. Shrimp, scallops, muscles, potatoes and corn. All inside of tin foil pans lining the kitchen table. My best friend Laniah and I would place bowls of hot butter in between while her parents prepared the food. The Thompon’s invited me over to eat every New Year’s Eve. We’d watch the ball drop together and then the four of us would dance. Dennis grabbed Vanessa first, spinning her in circles on their living room rug. Laniah and I pretended like it wasn’t fun when they forced us to join in. And then Dennis would tell us all to make a wish for the year ahead. It was one of my favorite traditions with them.

But the first holiday season after Dennis died was different. Vanessa spent most of it in bed. Laniah’s eyes were always red rimmed, she was quieter than usual, and I was sad that there was no Christmas tree to help them take down because they never put one up.

We were only sixteen, listening to music on the radio in Laniah’s bedroom, and I tried not to watch as she laid on her stomach to write in her journal. Her brows were furrowed, mouth set in a straight line, but it was the way she was starting to fill out her jeans that felt inappropriate to notice. And I’d been noticing a lot of things like that about her lately.

She caught me, asked, “Why are you staring?”

“Because I think your head is getting bigger,” I said, “and your chicken scratch a tiny bit better.”

She laughed and threw her pen at me. I caught it and rolled the cap between my fingers, said, “Are you writing goals for the New Year or something?”

Her eyes flicked back to her page, and she whispered, “Wishes.”

The word made me ache for things we’d never have again. I missed her father too.

“Tell me some of them,” I said.

She rolled over on her back and I pried my eyes from the slice of her stomach showing. Smooth skin I’d seen plenty of times and never felt the desire to touch until then.

“I can't,” she said. “You know they won’t come true.”

I know she said it like that because the year before there were four of us wishing for the same miracle, and it never happened.

“Alright,” I said, purposely sounding like a brat the way she did sometimes. “Fine.”

“Alright. Fine,” she repeated, and then she was smiling.

Seeing her mouth move in that direction made me want to see it again and again. I felt starved of those smiles and thought maybe I’d taken them for granted when she used to give them so freely before. I stood up from the bed and grabbed my coat from the chair. “Come on, Ni,” I said.

“Where are you trying to drag me in this cold weather?” she asked.

“To the seafood market. It’s New Year's Eve,” I said.

Her face twisted. “We’re not doing that this year, Issac,” she said.

A knot grew in my throat, but I pressed on. “He’d be disappointed if we didn’t.”

It was the first time I mentioned her dad this way. I didn’t know how she’d react. She could’ve very well cussed me out and told me to leave her alone. It was an awkward few seconds, and I was afraid she might say that. But then she chewed her lip. “We don’t have money,” she said.

I smiled. Real big. “Speak for yourself. I just got my first paycheck.”

I was working at Burger King, and besides buying some new canvases, I still had the rest of my money. I thought she would argue with me, but she got out of bed and threw her sneakers on. Pulled on a coat and a cute hat with a fluffy ball at the end that I loved to flick.

She waved her hand at the door. “Alright then, Big head, lead the way.”

“You can’t call me what I call you,” I said.

“Whatever, Big head,” she shot back, and we bothered each other like that the whole way to the Market. It was only 34 degrees out, a two mile walk there, but somehow the energy between us felt like the few good days we had that summer. Talking shit while sitting in the grass under the sun. Something had been shifting for me for a while. I had feelings for her that I could barely contain. I was dreaming about her, wishing she was close whenever we were far. Before we found out her dad was sick, I was certain she was feeling some things for me too. But I wasn’t as certain anymore, and I wouldn’t cross any lines. Not with her. As we walked though, she kept bumping into my body with hers like we were magnets and it was the natural thing to do. And I thought maybe the year would bring new beginnings… or whatever people liked to say about it.

A couple of hours later, we were in the kitchen, our elbows occasionally touching while we cooked. I wondered if her skin sizzled the way mine did whenever that happened. If feelings shot up her spine too. It was the happiest I’d seen her in months, and I kept thinking crazy things. Hug her. Pull her close. I wonder if her lips are as soft as they look. Maybe I should try to find out. But she was my best friend and I told myself all that mattered was to keep her smiling. Not to let my hormones potentially fuck that up.

So, when her mom came into the kitchen, still in her pajamas from the day before, and said, “What the hell is all of this?” Laniah’s frown made my heart drop.

I was the one to speak, knowing Laniah had a tough time with confrontation. With telling people her feelings. Knowing how strange things had been with her mom the past couple of years while they were caring for her dad. “I don’t have anyone else to celebrate the New Year with,” I said. “You know how it is over there.”

I meant across the street where I lived with my foster parents. I always felt bad that the other kids had to suffer the holiday season with them while I was here. Even though the Thompson’s were missing one, and it didn’t feel the same anymore, their house still felt like home.

Vanessa Thompson squinted her eyes, knowing I was giving her the guilt trip. But then she heaved out a breath and said, “Make sure you boil the potatoes right.”

After we were done with everything, Laniah disappeared into her mom’s bedroom to help her get ready. I couldn’t recall the last time I heard them laughing like that together, but I was happy on the couch listening to it. I was drawing a picture of me and Laniah walking to the Market when her mom’s door cracked open and she tried to get a peek. I quickly closed my book and argued that I don’t peek at her journal. She cut her eyes at me and dragged me to the kitchen.

Vanessa complimented us on the seafood, was impressed by the rice we made on the side, and wondered out loud when the hell we learned to cook like that. Something that looked like hurt passed over Laniah’s face. She’d been the one taking care of the house and making sure we were all fed while her mom grieved. But at that moment, I wasn’t sure Vanessa ever ate any of the dishes Laniah left at her door.

While we waited for the ball to drop, I tried my hardest to break the stretches of silence, but nothing stuck until I said: “In history class, we’ve been learning about different traditions from around the world to bring in the new year.”

Vanessa was pushing around her corn on the cob with a fork. “What kind of traditions?”

“Smashing plates, jumping off chairs, eating grapes,” I said. “In the Philippines, they bang pots and pans to scare away bad spirits.”

In hindsight, that might’ve been the wrong thing to say. At the mention of spirits, Vanessa’s eyes started to well up, her chin got wobbly. I don’t know if she was wondering what happened to Dennis’s spirit after he died, if maybe she called on him when she was alone, but never got an answer. I cleared my throat and tried to recover the conversation, but Vanessa wouldn’t look at either of us.

“I’m tired,” she said. “I think I’ll let you two finish in here and go get some rest.”

“Mom,” Laniah said, voice firm and soft at the same time. “Please stay.”

My best friend was hardly ever vulnerable like that, and I think it gave her mom the strength to be vulnerable too. “We had traditions,” Vanessa said. “But I don’t feel like dancing without him.”

“We don’t have to dance,” Laniah said, and I could hear the tears thick in her throat too. She picked up a crab leg. “What if at exactly 11:59, we crack a leg and make a wish?” I held my breath at that moment, wanting to step in to keep Laniah from being hurt, but knowing I should let the two of them figure it out. When Laniah was met with more silence, she sighed. “That sounded stupid. I’m sorry.”

Color kissed her cheeks, and I almost opened my mouth to tell her it didn’t. But Vanessa beat me to it. She was crying freely now. Not bothering to wipe at her cheeks. And I was relieved that she said: “No, baby. It doesn’t sound stupid at all.”

That night, it felt like Dennis was with us while we added something to the tradition. And before we cracked our crab legs, Laniah reached for my hand under the table. Her fingers fit mine perfectly, I was warm everywhere when she squeezed, and I almost wished for something even more selfish.

But when I cracked my crab leg, I looked at the two women in front of me and made a wish for them to be close the way they used to be.

End Chapter <3

Ok. Hi! Hello :)

Please be easy on me. This is unedited. No one has even read it, so you might be the first! I hope it tugged on your heart a little. It made me ugly cry. I love these two so much, and I missed them. Apologies if you’ve read A Love Like the Sun and were expecting some super spicy adult scenes lol, but this thought brings me to my author for the new year—

{ Outs:

Being hard on myself after being perceived.

Holding onto what isn’t working with my writing (IRL too).

Writing things that don’t speak to my soul

Feeling guilty when I don’t have the energy/ cant reply on social media.

Comparing my trad pub author journey to the journey of my peers.

Feeling shame & embarrassment for promoting my books (Working on this)

Pushing my body & mind past their limits when I’m tired

[ In’s:

Blogging. I realized this form of writing makes me so happy and I want to lean into it.

Writing Fanfiction & Poetry like I used to.

Carving out time for other interests of mine (photography, crocheting, gaming etc.).

Building on my confidence as an author and a human too.

Being less scared of trying new things and writing outside of comfort genres.

Celebrating “small” wins as an author and soaking in sweet moments before they pass.

Allowing myself to be a bit more vulnerable in my writing as well as in real life.

Prioritizing my health and protecting my well being.

Remembering that the well won’t run out. As Maya Angelou said, “You can’t use up creativity. The more you use, the more you have.”

My next novel with Penguin won’t be out until 2026, so I’m keeping that quote close to my chest. I plan to self publish something in 2025 & I’m aiming to write bonus chapters like this too. I have so many ideas for Issac Jordan’s POV chapters already and I think they’d be fun to write. I might start a Patreon for this type of serialized work, and/or offer it on Substack as one of the paid tiers. Let me know in the comments if you’d be interested, or if you have tips for me. But either way, I’ll be dropping occasional bonus content and snippets for all of you like this.

Wishing good things for you this upcoming year!!!

Xx

Riss