Release Day | He Melted Us

So… two days ago He Melted Us was re-released. I wrote posts for Holly’s blog and Nell’s blog, and I have checked off having written a post for my blog… turns out I never wrote anything. Yesterday morning, I thought how strange that I haven’t seen any notifications from the blog – not strange at all since I haven’t posted anything here. 

I could’ve written something right away when I noticed I’d messed up, but Nell was coming for a visit, so I figured it was best to let her post have that day. One more day wouldn’t make much of a difference. 

He Melted Us is once again on the shelves, yay! It’s a crazy little tale about Delron and Phillipe and their love lock on Pont des Art.  

The lock goes missing, and Delron has this crazy idea about their relationship being doomed because of it. It’s doomed because of how Delron acts, not the lock, but he doesn’t see it. So instead, he’s on a quest to get the lock back.  

I laughed a lot while writing it, but it is quite insane. 

He Melted Us Paris


Delron leaned against one of the two stone pillars by the gate of École des Beaux-Arts. On each pillar a carve-stone human head was seated, looking out over the city. 

He needed to get into the courtyard. He didn’t think it would be a problem, there were already a few cars parked in there, but his heart was beating fast. Is it theft if I steal back the lock that was stolen from me? 

With a deep breath, he walked in between the two stone pillars. He crossed the cobblestone courtyard and tried to look like he belonged. He should have thought about what art students wear. Jeans and a cotton shirt probably wouldn’t help him blend in. He should’ve put on a turtleneck and a beret or something. Too late now. 

He stopped by the large arched door in the centre of the building. It was the only door that looked like a proper entrance, but he didn’t know if the students used it. He didn’t want to barge right in if it would make him look suspicious. In the end he went in anyway. 

The air was cool inside the building. Delron hardly dared to breathe. His footsteps echoed as he went. A woman hurried down the corridor without paying him any attention, and he let out a sigh of relief. Maybe they wouldn’t question why he was here. Maybe people came in here all the time. 

Before he knew it, he was standing in la Cour Vitrée, the glassed-over courtyard in le Palais des Études. He didn’t know if the students were anywhere near, or where their studios were, but he figured they would be somewhere close by. 

The impressive room, so much larger than he’d envisaged, took his breath away. The glass ceiling and the blue pillars that held it up made him stop to stare. The room—if you could call an indoor courtyard a room—was lined with white marble sculptures. Even on the second floor, he could see sculptures through arches in the walls. The room reminded him of a church—a shrine of art. 

He spent a few minutes there. Even though he knew nothing about art, it was hard to move on, but he was on a mission. The love of his life was more important than glass ceilings and marble sculptures. 

Sneaking around was not easy, especially not when he was trying to look like he knew where he was going. Delron wandered the buildings of marble floors and pillars, not knowing in which direction he was supposed to go or in which building to start. 

Sometimes he got lost in the ceiling paintings or a sculpture that caught his attention. But as he turned a corner in one of the side buildings, he knew he was close. He could feel it in his gut—their lock was here. In one of the rooms lining the corridor, he would find his happiness, his future, his love. He would walk out of here, and he and Phillipe would be able to continue their lives as if nothing had happened. 

Eager, he hurried to the first open door he could see. He heard voices coming from inside. 

He glanced into the room. The smell was one he remembered from art lessons in school, paint and something else—a cleaning agent, perhaps. He breathed in. He’d always liked art class, not that he was any good, but it was nice to get away from the usual reading and writing stuff. 

He took in the room—the large windows made it pleasantly light. There were students standing in a ring. Everyone had an easel in front of them and a paintbrush in hand. This was not a sculpture studio. 

The teacher looked up, her hair bun so tight it must hurt. “May I help you?” She did nothing to hide the annoyance in her tone, and her nasal voice grated on Del’s nerves. He smiled and shook his head before hurrying along. Shit, I’ve been spotted. 


He hurried down the corridor, searching for a door to open or a turn he could take. The sound of her heels masked the soft murmur of the students. 


Delron ran. Shit! I haven’t even found the right studio yet. 

If only he could find where he should go, then he could come back later and fetch the lock. 

He dodged into the classroom. It opened without any problem—thank God! He closed the door and turned around to see what kind of room he’d ended up in. 

About thirty pairs of curious eyes turned his way. The room looked much like an ordinary classroom. A middle-aged man was standing by the whiteboard, marker in hand. 

Sorry to interrupt.” Delron panted as he searched for something to say. “You don’t happen to have a marker pen? I seem to have lost mine.” He straightened his back and tried to look like a professor of some sort. 

Of course.” The man smiled and handed Delron the pen he held in his hand before he reached for a new one on the desk. 

Thank you so much, you’ve saved me.” Who knew, maybe he had. 

Delron left the classroom, still afraid of running into the woman from the studio, but he tried not to let it show. 

He went back the way he’d come. There were so many doors he hadn’t tried. A few of them had signs stating their purpose, while others hadn’t. He stopped outside one that said ‘Studio IV’ and put his ear against the cool surface of the wooden door—not a sound. Excitement grew in his chest. The room was empty, he would be able to go in there, take the lock, and go back home. He smiled as he thought about how he would give Phillipe the lock. He might say he didn’t care, but Delron knew that wasn’t true—it couldn’t be. Maybe he should cook something romantic or take him out to a restaurant. He would put the lock in a box, have it gift-wrapped. Then he would seduce Phil; it had been a long time. 

He tried the door handle—locked. This wasn’t part of the plan. He tried it again with a little more force, rattled the door. Fucking door! 

He took a step back, aimed for a spot right below the lock, and kicked with all his force. He’d seen it loads of times in movies, the door always flew open—a few wooden splinters as a result, but he would be out of there before anyone noticed. All he needed was to get in, grab his lock, and go. 

The impact as his foot hit the wood was much more forceful than he’d anticipated. He lost his balance, tried to regain it by waving his arms, and fell backwards. His head bounced on the marble floor, and the world went black. 


hemeltedusAll Delron Chastain wants is to live his life with Phillipe, but when their love lock is stolen from Pont des Art, their relationship is in jeopardy. Without the lock holding them together, Delron is convinced they’ll crash and burn. The only way he can save their relationship is to find the stolen lock, and that is what he plans to do, no matter what.

Phillipe Lebeau loves Delron, but a padlock is simply a piece of metal, and Delron not seeing that is driving him insane. The lock has nothing to do with them. Their life was great until the night the lock was stolen, and Del’s crazy behaviour makes Phillipe question if he’s ever really known him.

Delron’s search leads him through an art-filled Paris. Will recovering the symbol of their love be enough to soothe the mistrust his quest has planted in Phillipe? Phillipe believed he’d spend the rest of his life with Del. But who can live with anyone willing to break the law simply to find an old rusty padlock?

Buy links:

Gay Romance: 16,930 words

JMS Books :: Amazon ::


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