Carl Accolla

You are reacting to a few chapters ahead, but yes - James. What did you think of this chapter?

That's fair. He’s definitely not coping as well as he thinks he is. Tiny spoiler from Chapter 8, because I’ve just edited it and accidentally fallen in love with James: - James looked at him, caught for half a second, then ruined it on purpose. “Before you get too nice and make it weird—” He stood and reached for the bag in the overhead rack. “I’ve got something for you.” The aisle was narrow, and James had to stand half in Harry’s seat to get at the bag, one hand braced above him as he tugged it loose. His hoodie lifted with the stretch: the white band of his Calvin underwear, the flat line of his stomach, the faint blond line of hair disappearing beneath the waistband. Harry looked because it was there, too close to miss. James glanced down at him. “You taking this,” he said, holding the bag out, “or are you too busy?”

Friday arrived like a dare. Not cruel, only inevitable—the kind of morning that didn’t argue, only waited. The week had collapsed into Slack threads and lukewarm coffee, blurring into one long grey scroll. He thought of Sam’s laugh from Monday. The way she hadn’t asked if he was okay, only known. It helped. Not enough. Not yet. He picked up his phone and started typing a message to Nathan. Harry: Looking forward to catching up properly over Christmas. He stared at it for a second,

Wow

Interesting start. Not my usual sort of read, but I’m curious where this goes.

Oh Chad. You absolute idiot. I was rooting for you.

Thank you! I'm so glad you're enjoying Harry. I wanted him to have a sense of humour, even when life isn't being particularly kind to him. And you're absolutely right to pick up on the mention of the friend he hasn't spoken to in years—that wasn't thrown in by accident. Thanks again for reading and for such an encouraging comment. Carl

That’s a fair question. Harry has become very practised at letting small failures become the furniture of his life — pans, boxes, avoidance, all of it — but I agree the story has to earn that rather than just ask you to accept it. Thanks for the thoughtful comment.

My 30 years in offices has certainly given me lots to work with! Harry too, of course.

Yes, I think reverse is right. Mitty makes ordinary life grand so he can escape it; Harry makes everything smaller and funnier so he can survive it.

The internal memo landed around two: sterile, somehow both condescending and bleak. Subject: Tone Consistency in Email Sign-Offs. He stared at it for a full minute, half-tempted to print it and eat it, just to feel like he’d won something. He resisted—barely. His attention went to Lewis’s empty desk instead. The afternoon had dragged itself into meetings, ignored Slack pings, and one ten-minute fantasy about uninstalling Slack and calling it a wellness initiative. It was always th

A rich array of unavailable men, which is basically Harry’s core demographic.

Thank you for the comment and feedback. Glad to hear you think it's well written.

Harry trusted Thursdays. They didn’t lie—they just turned up tired, grey, inevitable, and never pretended otherwise. Mondays were cruel. They dressed themselves up as fresh starts, whispering promises they had no intention of keeping. October made everything worse. At first the Edinburgh light looked cinematic—long shadows, hard at the edges—but by noon it flattened into nothing. He wasn’t in the mood for a Monday pretending kindness. Sundays weren’t much better. He’d learnt that a few week

Thank you!

Thanks so much!

Thanks, nearly gave up! Would love you to keep reading.

Harry told people he’d moved to Edinburgh for work. He didn’t mention the silence, or the fight, or the fact that he’d stood in the middle of a living room that used to feel like home and said, “I can’t do this any more,” even though he still wasn’t sure what “this” meant. He needed a change. A reset. Somewhere colder, lonelier, quieter, where he could disappear into the crowd and become no one in particular. Edinburgh delivered. He’d chosen it deliberately: too far for casual visits f

Harry Ellis knows how to make loneliness look like independence. He has friends who love him, a dry sense of humour built for deflection, and a life arranged carefully enough to keep wanting at a safe distance. But winter brings familiar desks, Friday drinks, old damage and new almosts, until every kindness feels dangerous, every glance a risk, and every missed chance like proof of what he has always feared. Funny, intimate and quietly bruising, Salt and Stone is a slow-burn novel about friendship, shame, desire, and the fragile hope of being chosen.