👴⏳Throwback Thursday's Time Machine(Grandparents Day Week)⏳👵: His Grandfather's Watch by NR Walker

Summary:

It was just an ordinary day for Alex Harper at Harper's Antiquities, until Callum Winters walked in with a watch.

"It was my Grandfather's. I was hoping you could tell me something about it."

A love story of two couples, generations apart.

***Second Edition. Earlier edition released in 2012. No additional content has been added.***

Original Review July 2015:
This novella may be a short quick read but it is more powerful than many full length novels I have read.  I was sitting in my front yard under the shade of my maple tree and was so glad I had sunglasses on because otherwise I probably would have scared the children playing across the street when the tears started running.    The blend of contemporary and historical is perfect for the emotional buildup for the story the watch represents.

The historical part of the watch's tale touched my heart a bit more but I am a bit of a history buff so stories of the past usually do.  As my mother's 24/7 caregiver for the past 20 years, when Callum said "My life hasn't been about me in a long time" really struck a chord because in those 10 words she summed up what every caregiver lives not to mention the kind of man Callum is and the fact that Alex understands it also goes a long way in describing his character as well.

I rarely give novellas a full 5 bookmark rating just because my heart prefers full length stories but this is such a powerful emotional ride that nothing short of the full 5 is fitting.

Re-Read Review September 2018:
I really can't think of a single thing to add to my original review that would express how wonderful this novella is other than, it's shortness may be in the number of pages but not in the quality of the story.  His Grandfather's Watch had me even more teary-eyed now than it did when I first read it three years ago.  It is rare that you get two heart felt love stories in a novella but that is exactly what this little gem brings to the table.

I chose to re-read this now in honor of Grandparents Day but whenever you decide to pick it up you won't regret it and I highly recommend reading this one because not only will you be entertained but you might also learn a thing or two about understanding your family's past.  I know I can honestly say that had I not already been deeply invested in my family genealogy this story would have had me itching to discover my family's past.

RATING:

Chapter One
Sitting in the back room at my desk, with a dismantled 1901 Newman's clock, I heard the bell that chimed every time a customer walked through the door. My dad was behind the counter, and I heard him greet the customer, making small talk, discussing whatever antique it was they'd brought with them.

It's what we did.

My father's love of all things antique grew into this business, Harper's Antiquities. Dad was the expert and Mom did the research, but they both traveled, scouring the globe for their life's passion. My brother Scott did antique furniture restoration, but it wasn't something I ever saw myself doing. Then I started helping out when I was a kid at school, and I found a love of clocks.

It’s my specialty.

I could hear Dad talking to the customer, but didn't pay them any mind until I heard my name.

"Alex?"

Putting down the part in my hand, I walked through to the showroom where I found my father and the customer he was talking to. Very different from my pale skin, black hair and grayish eyes, he was a good looking guy, similar age to me, but with sandy brown, kinda longish hair, tanned skin and blue eyes. He was holding a pocket watch in his hand.

"This is my son, Alex," Dad explained. "He's the expert on watches like yours."

I extended my hand in professional courtesy. "Hello."

"Callum Winters," he said by way of greeting, putting the watch on the counter before shaking my hand. There was an accent, Southern I thought, but I wasn't sure.

Dad waited for us to let go of each other's hands, then he looked at me and smiled. "Callum was just telling me he'd like to know more about this watch."

I looked at the silver watch casing and fob chain, then at its owner. I reached my hand toward the watch, but before I touched it, I asked, "May I?"

"Sure," he nodded.

Picking it up, I could tell a few things from a visual inspection. "This casing was a popular design in the 1940's," I told him. Gently, I opened the casing to reveal the quartz face. "The dial is Hamilton, but I won't know dates or maker for certain, unless I take the back off and look at the movement."

"Could you do that?" he asked. His accent was definitely southern. "I was hoping to know as much about it as I could."

I smiled. "Sure. I'll need to grab some details, and I should be able to look at it in about two days. Then I can tell you everything I know."

Callum nodded. "That'd be great." We looked at each other for a little too long, and I couldn't help but wonder if this cute, Southern man was gay.

Dad seemed to think so, because with a cheeky smirk, he handed me the register log, looked between us and not-so subtly said, "Callum, I'll leave you in Alex's very capable hands." He pointed behind us, "I have... stuff... I need to do out the back."

Callum politely thanked him, and I considered kicking my father in the shins. We were behind the counter, so it's not like Callum would have seen me do it. But Dad must have picked up on the look I gave him, because he smiled, turned quickly and disappeared through the door.

I grabbed a pen, handed Callum the register and asked him to fill in his details. I picked up the watch, turning it over in my hands. It was a nice piece, and I couldn't help but ask, "What do you know about the watch?"

He looked up from the paperwork. "Um, it was my grandfather's. That's about all I know."

He handed me the completed form, and I told him as procedure, I required some ID. Taking out his wallet, he handed me his driver's licence. His Texas driver's licence.

"I just moved here," he said. "I've got my change of address receipt here somewhere."

He started looking through his wallet, and I stopped him. "No, its fine. I just need to sight photo ID, that's all."

He smiled kindly and nodded. "So, two days?"

"Yeah. I'm half way through another job. Then I can look at this, and I'll give you a call when I'm done," I told him. "Is there anything in particular you're looking for?"

He shrugged one shoulder and shook his head. "No, not really. Just dates, make, model... to be honest, I'm not really sure."

As I was putting the watch and paperwork in a paper envelope, I asked him, "Would you like a valuation?"

"No," he said simply. "Monetary value isn't important."

He thanked me, I told him I'd be in touch and he left. When I walked back into the workshop, Dad grinned at me. "He was a nice young man," he said.

"Mom!" I yelled to the upstairs office, where my mother would have undoubtedly had her head in a catalogue. "Dad's trying to set me up again."

She yelled back, "Was he cute?"

Oh for crying out loud.

He was actually, but that's not the point. Dad chuckled at me.
Ignoring him, I sat the pocket watch on my desk and turned my attention back to the clock I was working on.

I managed to ignore both my parents and their comments about cute, brown-haired watch owners until they got bored and left me alone. And I managed to push the thoughts of the pocket watch and its handsome Texan owner out of my mind until it was time to go home.

*****

I arrived back at work a little before nine in the morning and headed straight for my desk, which was more like a workstation, when the paper sleeve holding the pocket watch caught my eye.
I picked it up and took the watch out, feeling the cool, heavy weight of it in my hand. I didn't hear my dad come up behind me, and his voice startled me. "How's Mr. Yeo's clock coming along?"

"Oh, shit! You scared me," I said with a laugh, clutching my heart. Then looking back to the clock I had half done, I told him, "Um, it should be ready by lunchtime tomorrow."

He nodded thoughtfully. "I think you should do the watch instead."
I looked at the pocket watch I was still holding. "Why?"

"Because Mr. Yeo is a collector," he replied with a shrug. "To him that clock is just something else he acquired. Even old Mr. Yeo will tell you that. But this," he pointed to the watch in my hand, "this means something."

Dad smiled at me. "Mr. Yeo can wait a day or two. He won't mind. I'll even phone him myself."

"Are you sure?" I asked.

He nodded. "He wants me to go with him to look at an 18th Century hand-carved Italian rococo centre table he'd seen at an auction house anyway, so I need to speak to him."

"Okay," I agreed. Within twenty minutes, I had Mr. Yeo's clock itemized and put away and the silver pocket watch in front of me.

I made my usual notes as I proceeded detailing. There was nothing remarkable about it, until I removed the back casing.

Because what I found hidden in the back of the pocket watch was unlike anything I'd encountered before.

I took out the client form with Callum Winters' details on it and picked up the phone. "Callum Winters? It's Alex, from Harper Antiquities. I'm calling about your watch."

"Yes?" he answered, unsure.

"Can you come into the store?" I asked. "There's something you need to see."

NR Walker
N.R. Walker is an Australian author, who loves her genre of gay romance. She loves writing and spends far too much time doing it, but wouldn't have it any other way.

She is many things; a mother, a wife, a sister, a writer. She has pretty, pretty boys who she gives them life with words.

She likes it when they do dirty, dirty things...but likes it even more when they fall in love. She used to think having people in her head talking to her was weird, until one day she happened across other writers who told her it was normal.

She’s been writing ever since...

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August Book of the Month: Blood and Sand by Jordan L Hawk

Summary:

The Pride #3

War has come to the streets of Chicago…

Sam Cunningham didn’t set out to work for a gangster, but his job as Mickey Sullivan’s hexmaster seems safe enough…until a gang war puts a target on both of their backs.

Cheetah-shifter Alistair Gatti is desperate to keep his family’s speakeasy up and running. But with a brutal assassin killing off the city’s bootleggers, his options are growing slimmer with every passing day.

Their one chance to remain safe and keep The Pride afloat lies in the form of an ancient hex looted from an Egyptian tomb. If Sam wants to escape Sullivan’s grasp, he needs to recreate the hex and get it to work.

But in a gang war fought by magic as well as guns, the odds are in no one’s favor, and the streets of Chicago will soon run red with blood.

Absolutely delicious! I've loved Jordan L Hawk's work since I first ventured into Widdershins waybackwhen and each new book from the author's many series I've dived into, just gets better and better. The Pride's third entry, Blood and Sand is a perfect example of that.

I won't spoil anything so details will be vague, if you follow my reviews then you are well aware of my no spoiler motto😉. I will say you need to read the series in order, technically you don't really have to read the author's Hexworld series that The Pride connects to but I personally would recommend doing so. It's not a case of plot points or characters crossing over so much as I felt I had a better, more deeper understanding and appreciation of the witch/familiar dynamic and the blending of magic and fact that went into the author's world building, but that's just my take on it.  

Back to Blood and Sand. We see Sam and Allister pick up pretty much where Lion's Tail, book 2, left off. Their relationship is both stronger and weaker due to Sam's employer and its interesting to see that scale trying to balance out. Don't get me wrong, love for each other is never in question. Since reading the second book, I lost my mother and can certainly understand Sam's pull towards what he wants to do(no spoilers #sorrynotsorry) even though the reason behind it is on the complete opposite end of the emotional spectrum.

It's the above eluded to point that I feel earns B&S a "dark elements" label. I've certainly read darker books but there is an ambiguous moral line Sam contemplates that puts it in the dark column, some readers might not quite see it the same but I wanted to put that out there.

There isn't a single thing in this story that is just page filler, every scene, every interaction, every hex, every drink is needed and furthers the story along fluently. I don't know if the author has anymore stories in this series planned, the ending could go either way, but if more come I will definitely read them and if not, I'll enjoy what there is for years to come in revisits.

RATING:

1

Alistair stared down at the dead bootlegger and wished he’d stayed home.

The man—Charlie O’Keefe—sprawled on his back on the deck of his yacht, which was currently tied up at a little marina not too far from Towertown. A single gunshot marked the center of his forehead. Fortunately, the back of his head was against the deck, hiding at least some of the carnage of the much larger exit wound.

Not an unfamiliar sight, Alistair having served on the front lines in France. Though in the war, few casualties were shot at such close range, at least judging from the powder burns on O’Keefe’s skin.

“Must’ve got the jump on him,” Doris observed from where she stood a few feet behind him on the deck. Philip didn’t say anything; he’d taken on snow leopard form and leapt to the bridge’s roof to better survey the area. “There’s no sign of a struggle. He still had a drink in his hand when he went down.”

Indeed, a battered flask lay in O’Keefe’s fingers, liquor pooling beneath it. His assassin had walked right up and shot him in the face. Someone he knew, then.

Whoever had done it, it was bad news for them. O’Keefe was meant to be their new source for booze, since their last bootlegger died in a fiery airplane crash.

So much for that.

“Check below,” Alistair said. “See if the cargo is still intact.”

“Aye-aye, captain.” Doris saluted him; he returned it with his middle finger.

She went below in tiger shape, ready in case of an ambush. Alistair didn’t think she’d find any trouble, though; aside from the gentle slap of waves against the hull, the marina was utterly silent. Autumnal chill had set in, the wind over the lake promising winter, and the best days for pleasure sailing were behind.

He went into cheetah shape to take advantage of his nose. The world took on new dimensions around him, smelling of blood and brains, oil and fuel, salt and algae, snow leopard and tiger, and…

A human, probably a man. And…ink? Did the assassin have a leaky fountain pen?

Either way, it wasn’t going to help him figure out who had put O’Keefe on ice. A rival? A personal grudge? A gang boss who didn’t want the competition?

He hoped it wasn’t the latter, because the only gang in the area was headed by Mickey Sullivan. Who Alistair’s lover—and witch—worked for.

Sullivan wasn’t usually so aggressive when it came to small-time rumrunners. But between the death of his only child and an ongoing war with Isabella Fabiano and her gang, maybe his patience had run short.

“Booze is still here,” Doris called.

Alistair shifted form so he could talk. “Grab the hooch, then we get out of here before anyone else shows up.”

Philip sprang down to the deck and took on human shape. “Just steal it?”

“Not like he’s going to miss it.” Alistair turned his back on O’Keefe’s body, its eyes fixed lifelessly on the clouds above.

Philip shrugged. “We should check to see if it’s tainted.”

“We’ll do it back at The Pride. I don’t want to spend any more time than we have to here. The killer might have friends who are on their way to pick up the liquor right now.”

Philip swore, but it got him moving. The living space below had been converted to a cargo hold filled with crates of illicit liquor. They hauled the crates out, Doris lifting them easily by herself, Philip and Alistair panting and cursing to move them together. As soon as the truck was full, they shut the hatch behind them, leaving what remained.

As they crammed back into the truck, Philip said, “This load won’t get us through the end of the month, Alistair. With O’Keefe bumped off, we need to find a new supplier fast.”

Alistair ground his teeth in frustration. Running a speakeasy in Chicago was good business, but not exactly the most stable way to make a living. They were getting squeezed left and right, and pretty soon their only choice was going to be between serving whatever panther piss Sullivan sold them or packing it all in.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said as Doris steered the truck away from the dock, its lights off so as not to attract attention. “We’ll come up with something. We always do.”

* * *

Sam took off his hat and held it tightly in his hands as he walked through the front door of The Silvervine. He’d been in some equally fancy joints since he came to Chicago, but that fact didn’t seem to be helping his nerves tonight.

The cabaret was in full swing, a constant flow of men and women in fashionable clothes coming in, and a smaller stream departing. Just inside the door, two hosts guided diners to their tables. Sam cleared his throat when his turn came. “I’m here to meet Mr. Sullivan? Sam Cunningham.”

The man didn’t bat an eye at the mention of Sullivan—but then, according to Alistair, the gangster owned the place, even though his name wasn’t on the paperwork. “Of course, Mr. Cunningham. Right this way.”

Sam followed him, trying not to gawk. He’d been in Chicago for a little over six months now, but its nightlife still had the power to dazzle him. Back in Gatesville, where he’d spent most of his life, the town would have already rolled up the sidewalks for the night. Most folk would be in bed by now, or else listening to the radio if they couldn’t sleep.

Here, the evening was just getting started.

The Silvervine was decorated in rose and gold, with red velvet covering the walls. Tables surrounded a dance floor where customers did the Charleston to the accompaniment of an eight-piece orchestra. More diners watched from a second-floor balcony. Waiters threaded their way through the tables, carrying drinks—none filled more than halfway to allow for illicit alcohol to be added—and plates of spaghetti, linguini, and steak.

After pausing at the coat check, the host led him through the dining room to an arch on the far side. A velvet curtain hung in the arch to shield the occupants in the room beyond from curious eyes.

It was another dining room, this one much smaller than the main hall, with fewer tables and only a four-piece orchestra. The dance floor was mainly unoccupied, though a pair of women drunkenly swayed together, laughing hysterically at their own lack of coordination. Sam followed the host up a set of stairs to the balcony above.

Sullivan sat at one of the three tables, his right-hand man Leonard Turner at his elbow. The other tables were occupied by men and women Sam recognized as members of Sullivan’s gang whom he’d met over the summer. Several of them called greetings when he entered, and a few leaned back in their seats to shake his hand as he passed.

Heat crept up his neck at the attention, even as he tried to smile and return all the greetings. He barely knew them, but apparently that didn’t matter. The important thing was he was Sullivan’s, just like they were.

“Glad you could make it, kid,” Sullivan said, pulling back the empty chair at his table. “Have a seat; have a seat.” To the host, he added, “Get the man a Canada Dry, would you? Fill it to the top. And another scotch and soda for Lenny here.”

“Thanks.” Sam’s palms sweated as he sat down, and he wiped them on his knees beneath the table. He wasn’t used to any of this—when he took the job as Sullivan’s hexmaster, he’d assumed he’d be spending his days working in the lab and his nights at home with Alistair or at The Pride.

And for the most part, he did. But his promotion had unexpectedly put him in the upper echelons of the gang, which meant the other members wanted to get to know him. Most of the time he was able to politely dodge invitations to dinner or drinks, but when Sullivan summoned him, he had no choice but to attend.

“How are you doing?” Sullivan asked him. “All healed up?”

The man who’d formerly held Sam’s job, Vic Nagorski, had shot him in a misguided attempt to force Sam to help him with a hex, one that could heal any wound—but only at the cost of someone else’s life. Fortunately, ordinary doctors and hexes had been able to save him, though he was only now really able to move without pain again.

They hadn’t saved his mother, though.

“Once a failure, always a failure,” whispered his father’s voice in his head.

“Good as new,” he told Sullivan. “How is Mrs. Sullivan?”

A look of sorrow flitted across Sullivan’s face, there and gone in an instant. He’d aged since his only child’s death, his hair grown out so darker roots showed, more lines around his eyes. “She’s visiting her mother in New York for a bit. I’ll pass along your greetings.”

A waiter came with their drinks, then took their orders. Sam got the steak, since he’d never mastered the knack of twirling spaghetti on a fork, and didn’t want to look like a fool in front of his employer. Once the server was gone again, Sullivan said, “How are things going at the hexworks?”

Sam wasn’t sure why he’d been invited to this dinner, when Sullivan could have summoned him to his office at any time. But being asked to talk about hexes put him on surer footing, and he sat up straighter.

“Good! We’re fully up and running now—one of the scriptoriums wasn’t working out, it was too dark, but we figured out how to amplify the hexlights without needing more magic to run them, so that’s taken care of.”

Vic had burned the old hexworks to the ground, which meant the entire operation had to move to a new location. Sullivan acquired a building that once housed a Lithuanian-language newspaper, now out of business, and Sam had been helping to convert it to a hexworks ever since.

“Excellent, excellent.” Sullivan took a sip of his drink, which looked like a gin and tonic. While working at The Pride, Sam had learned more than he ever wanted to know about cocktails. “And you’ve figured out the counter to that look-away hex, I believe.”

“We have.” Sam had to restrain himself from going into details; most folks didn’t particularly care about how hexes worked, so long as they did. “It’s ready to be copied now.”

Sullivan beamed at him. “Well done. You’ve earned a bonus.”

Turner slipped a hand inside his suit coat and came out with a thick envelope, which he passed over to Sam. Sam’s throat constricted—he wanted to protest, say it hadn’t been anything, really. He was already being paid more than he’d ever dreamed and certainly didn’t need a bonus.

But it wasn’t just him now. Luke and Glenda, his teammates in the lab, deserved acknowledgement for their hard work.

Silently pledging to split the entire sum between the two, he accepted the envelope and put it in his own coat, beside his hexmaking kit. “Thanks, Mr. Sullivan. That’s very generous of you.”

Sullivan smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. “I take care of my people.” His eyes went past Sam, and he sat back. “And here’s that dinner.”

Talk turned to inconsequential things while they ate. Turner regaled them with a story about an excursion to Milwaukee in which he’d encountered a pair of contortionists, and soon had Sullivan and Sam both choking on their laughter. When they’d first met, Sam had thought Turner severe—and he could be, especially when carrying out Sullivan’s orders. But he had a lighter side to him, always ready with a preposterous anecdote or amusing joke.

After dessert—chocolate ice cream with shavings of chocolate sprinkled on top—a steady stream of the other gang members came by for a quick word with their boss. Sullivan and Turner lit cigars; Sam demurred, to Turner’s amusement.

“Maybe we should call you Choirboy,” he said with a wink. “You don’t smoke, you don’t drink, you’re going steady with that cat when you could be working your way through Bughouse Square—you’ve got to have some vice.”

Sam’s face heated, but Sullivan only laughed. “A smart man keeps his vices under wraps,” he said, pointing his cigar at Turner.

“Still waters run deep, I guess.” Turner clapped Sam on the shoulder.

The teasing wasn’t mean-spirited, which was a change from Sam’s former life back in Gatesville. There, it was meant to set him apart; here, it was a signal he belonged. “Deep as a puddle,” he replied, and got a chuckle out of Turner.

Sullivan checked his watch, then rose to his feet. Turner and Sam did the same, as did another of the gang, Eddie Bellinowski. “Bring around the car, would you?” Sullivan asked Bellinowski, who nodded and hurried away down the stairs.

Assuming Sullivan’s departure meant he was free to go as well, Sam trailed along after him and Turner. At the coat check, Sullivan retrieved a fur coat that looked too hot for the fallish weather but probably had a hex on it to keep its wearer comfortable. He made quite a sight as they strolled toward the glass doors at the front of the cabaret: fur coat, diamond tie pin, tailored suit, and shining shoes.

At the door, Sullivan paused and turned toward Sam. “Always a pleasure to⁠—”

The front of the building exploded inward in a shower of fire and glass.

A group of cat-shifters run a speakeasy amidst

the magic and violence of 1920s Chicago.

The Pride takes place in the same universe as the Hexworld books.

Saturday's Series Spotlight

Hexworld

Part 1  /  Part 2

Monday's Mystical Magic

Hexhunter

Saturday's Series Spotlight

The Pride

Part 1

August 2026 Book of the Month

Blood and Sand

Jordan L Hawk

Jordan L. Hawk is a trans author from North Carolina. Childhood tales of mountain ghosts and mysterious creatures gave him a life-long love of things that go bump in the night. When he isn’t writing, he brews his own beer and tries to keep the cats from destroying the house. His best-selling Whyborne & Griffin series (beginning with Widdershins) can be found in print, ebook, and audiobook.

If you want to contact Jordan, just click on the links below or send an email.

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Blood & Sand #3

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Hexworld

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The 13th Hex #.5

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A Christmas Hex #2.5

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Wild Wild Hex #3.5

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The Pride

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👴Monday Mpreg Mania(Grandparents Day Week)👵: Maple Sugar Mix-Up by Kallie Frost

Summary:

Season Three #5

An alpha no omega would want…

Jace has no desire to date; after all, what good is an alpha who can barely afford to take care of himself, let alone a mate? Maybe someday – when he gets his finances under control – he’ll find that special omega.

Despite his money troubles, Jace wants to give back to the hospital, but all he can do is supply something for the bake sale auction. In order to avoid an awkward cheap date with an omega, he agrees to make his popular maple sugar candy, but only under the condition that his friend bids for the item. Jace helps and doesn’t have to go on a date; problem solved. But he never expected someone to outbid his friend…

An omega who can do it alone…

Omega Ashton is thrilled to donate to the hospital that saved him and his daughter. When he sees the maple sugar candy – just like his grandmother used to make – he has to have it, luckily, money is no object; the only downside is the unwanted date that comes with it.

Ashton is so over alphaholes who date him for his money but also feel threatened by it. Worse than the ones who break his heart are the ones he trusts enough to introduce to his daughter, only to have them leave too. No more. Ashton is finished with dating.

Once on the date, however, Ashton and Jace can’t deny the chemistry between them. But will Jace’s insecurity over his financial situation be an all too familiar red flag for Ashton? Throw in some unexpected ice and a broken ankle and you have a recipe for a love story sweeter than candy.

Maple Sugar Mix-Up is an M/M mpreg romance in the Bake Sale Bachelors series. Each one can be read as a standalone. In this book you’ll find an alpha learning he’s worth more than what’s in his bank account, an omega doing his best as a single dad, and the surprise baby who brings them together. If you love books that are sweet with heat and full of characters who you’ll laugh and love with, get Maple Sugar Mix-Up today.

Original Review February 2024:

I'm still fairly new to the omegaverse so my experience is limited for comparisons but I've loved everything so far and Maple Sugar Mix-Up is no different. Perhaps a bit different as Kallie Frost is also a new-to-me author so in a way Maple is doubly fresh and exciting.

One thing that was completely new to me(and again limited experience here😉) was the role reversal of  financial and status structure in this novella. Completely polar opposites of what one tends to think of when dealing with alpha/omega pairings.  I can understand Ashton and Jace's hesitancies due to the whole station-in-life labeling.  The emotions behind Ashton and Jace's scenario adds a lovely hint of realism to an already entertaining and delicious blend of fiction and fantasy.

Maple Sugar Mix-Up is a delightful novella that warms the heart, soothes your soul, and put a giggle or two on your face.  

**Blogger Note:  Unfortunately I only had time to read this entry but it lead me to place the entire season on my #TBRList.**

RATING:

Chapter One

Jace

The flyer caught my eye and I stopped to study it. A bake sale auction to benefit the children's wing of the hospital! Well, that sounded like a great cause.

While I was reading it my friend and co-worker – if you could consider our very different jobs as co-working – walked by.

“Hey Jace,” he said. “Gonna make something?”

“I think so, Paul,” I said, glancing at the flyer again.

“What are you going to do for the date?”

I double-checked the date of the auction. “It’s on February 14th,” I said.

Paul chucked. “No, the date.”

I looked at him in confusion.

“Read the fine print,” he suggested.

I turned back to the flyer. Sure enough, there was something I had missed; the auction wasn't just for baked goods, it was for a date with the baker.

“Oh,” I said in disappointment. Count me out of this one. “Nevermind.”

I readjusted the way I was carrying my armload of medical files and stepped away from the bulletin board. It was a shame. I didn't have any spare change lying around to give to the hospital, but they were doing great things in the children's wing and I would have loved to be able to support them somehow. Baking would have been a good way to contribute.

“You’re single, aren’t you?” asked Paul.

“By choice,” I said.

“It’s just a date,” he laughed. “Not a commitment.”

“I know…” I took one more look at the flyer.

Sure, it wasn’t a commitment, but as the alpha hosting the date I’d be expected to pay and I sure as hell didn’t have that kind of money. Even if I did have enough to scrape together for a date, there weren’t a lot of omegas who would be very happy with an alpha who could barely afford a night out. It was an alpha’s duty to care for his omega, not to mention their future family.

I hated to admit it, but I could hardly take care of myself. There were days where I ate all three meals in the hospital cafeteria because I couldn’t afford groceries. What omega would want a guy like me?

“You know I can’t afford a fancy date,” I muttered.

Paul may have known, but I was still embarrassed, especially since he had a sweet scholarship that paid for his med school tuition and I knew what he was making now as a doctor.

“It doesn’t say it has to be fancy,” Paul pointed out. “Do something cheap.”

I looked at him skeptically. “Did you see where it’s being held? It’s like the fanciest place in town. Any omega there bidding on a date is not going to be impressed with something cheap. They’re all way out of my league.”

“You're so old fashioned,” Paul snorted. “There are plenty of omegas out there who earn more than their alphas.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” I grumbled, shaking my stack of medical files in his direction. “You’re already happily married to a stay-at-home-omega.”

“I didn’t go traditional by choice; we fell in love and that’s just how it worked out,” said Paul. “Believe me, Jace, when you meet the right omega, he isn’t going to care how much money you have.”

He was right; I knew that, I really did. But my parents had been strictly traditional when it came to alpha and omega roles. The idea that I would be the one providing for my omega had been drummed into me since I was old enough to know what an omega was.

My parents would have been absolutely mortified if I even considered being with an omega who was financially above my station. Then again, they would also have been mortified by my current living conditions, which were well below the standards they would have set for an alpha. On the bright side, they weren't around anymore to know.

And on the other side of that, their untimely deaths had come with a lot of unforeseen financial complications that left me scrambling to make ends meet before they were even in the ground.

“I should get back to work,” I said, adjusting my pile one more time.

“I’ll bid on you,” Paul said just as I started off.

“What?” I asked, turning back in confusion.

Paul laughed and pointed to the flyer. “I was going to donate anyway. Allie isn’t big on baking and I think she’d be pretty jealous if I tried to set up a date with an omega for myself… so, you bake something, put it on the auction table, and I’ll bid on it. Then we both get to contribute and you don’t have to go on a date.”

“You don’t have to do that to make me feel better.”

“I guarantee I'll spend more bidding on whatever you make than I would just flat out donate. Hell, I’ll keep a number in mind and if I end up bidding less, I’ll donate the remainder anyway. And if it costs me more, everyone wins.”

I did want to do my part and help out. And there weren’t many other ways I could contribute, short of kicking ass as a receptionist.

“Tell you what,” I said, not quite believing I was agreeing. “You promise to place the winning bid and I’ll do it.”

“Deal,” said Paul. I heard a beep and he pulled out his phone and checked it. “Gotta run.”

“Later, Doc.”

~~~***~~~

Before I knew it, the day of the auction arrived and I headed over with my chosen treat: maple candy.

As soon as I saw some of the fancy selections, I knew I had made the right choice. My maple candy was plain and boring; exactly what I needed to avoid people bidding on it. The only decoration, if you could call it that, was the ivy leaf shape mold I used. My grandmother had spend years wasting time with a maple leaf mold that only made six at a time. When she found an eighteen-piece mold, she was so excited she didn’t realize it was ivy and not maple leaves. Her baking partner, and best friend, had loved them, so they turned it into their own little inside joke and kept using them. The pan had been passed down to me and I was happy to keep using it.

I smiled fondly at the memory of standing over the stove with Grandma Sophia; eager to lick the spoon when she was done. She always brought a jug of fresh maple syrup when she came to visit and we made the maple candy together.

“And this is?” asked the woman checking me in.

“Maple candy,” I said.

She arched an eyebrow at me, then wrote it down. I wondered if everything else had a fancy name. Good, one less thing to attract an omega.

“What’s your designation?”

“Alpha.”

“And the date?” she asked.

“Um… It’s February…” I started to pull out my phone to check.

“No,” she said, stifling a laugh. “The date for the auction.” She jabbed her pen toward one of the cards on a fancy basket.

I leaned over to read it.

Roasted Almond Toffee Chocolates. Dinner at the Opera House.

Crap. I racked my brains, trying to think of a date that would be that would be unappealing. Not to mention cheap. If, for some reason, Paul couldn’t bid or something I needed a date I’d have to actually be able to follow through with.

I thought immediately of my favorite coffee shop. It had free refills, as long as you were drinking black, and tons of used books to peruse. They were rarely crowded and almost never kicked you out before closing to make room. Better yet, when I knew the barista – and I usually did – they’d refill my coffee even if I had something a little fancier and a free unsold baked good or two before closing.

“Coffee and sandwiches at the Mill Street Coffee Shop,” I said. “Tomorrow night.”

Short notice was good too, to minimize bidding.

“The Mill Street Coffee Shop…” she echoed. “And… then?”

“That’s it,” I said, forcing my smile to stay fixed.

“Okay…”

“When they call yours, you go up on stage for the bidding,” she started to say.

“I’m not staying,” I said quickly. “I uh… have to work.”

“Right,” she muttered. “And I need your contact information so the omega can contact you for the date details.”

I sighed and gave her the information, then pushed out through the well-dressed crowd. With any luck Paul would place a decent bid and make this all worth it; I’d contribute to the Children’s Hospital and I had an excuse to make Grandma’s maple candy.

I headed back to my crummy apartment and, with nothing better to do, decided to read some old favorite, comfort books. Since I was thinking of my grandmother, I grabbed a mystery novel by Victoria Peppers. Although I had never been fortunate enough to meet her, she had been my grandmother’s best friend – the same one she baked maple candy with, in fact. They were so close that Victoria had even given her some of her manuscripts, long before she was published.

Grandma Sophia used to read them to me and passed her love of mystery books on. Not only did I devour them, but I also tried my hand at writing them. Of course, none of my crappy stories would ever see the light of day, especially the ones that borrowed Victoria Peppers’ sleuths and settings. Okay, so maybe I didn’t write books, so much as fanfiction.

Nevertheless, I still read every Victoria Peppers mystery as it came out, even though she had passed some years ago and her daughter had taken over writing them. In my opinion, they were just as good as the originals.

Tonight, however, I chose one of the old classics Victoria had written by herself; one my grandmother had loved.

Once I was settled in and reading, with some extra maple candy to snack on, I almost forgot about the auction.

Then my phone rang.

It was an unfamiliar number, but I answered anyway in case it was the hospital; it wasn’t uncommon to get called in to help with busy shifts. With all of the ice and snow we had been seeing an increase in patients.

“Hello?”

“Hi, is this Jace Wagner?”

“Yes,” I said.

“I’m Ashton Basque. I won your maple candy and was calling to uh…”

My stomach dropped out from under me. “I’m sorry, what?” I said.

“I bid on your maple candy at the auction. For the children’s hospital? I won and was told to contact you to arrange the date.”

I clenched the phone and sucked in a sharp breath. No, no, no. This wasn’t supposed to happen!

“It’s tomorrow night. Um, at eight. At the Mill Street Coffee Shop. It’s in the—”

“I know where it is.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow then,” I said reluctantly.

“See you then.” There was something flat and wholly unenthusiastic about his voice.

I hung up and nearly chucked my phone across my small apartment. “Are you kidding me?!” I spat instead.

I quickly dial Paul's number.

“Dr. Sullyfield.”

“Paul, what the hell?!” I demanded.

“Sorry?”

“An omega just called me! He said he won my maple candy and wanted to set up the date.”

“Oh,” Paul groaned. “I was gonna call you, I guess he's on the ball.”

“On the ball?” I snorted. “What happened?!”

“He outbid me.”

“You promised!”

“I know,” Paul groaned. “It was just…”

“Tell me this wasn’t some complicated scheme to rope me into a date,” I growled.

“No, no. He was a former patient and he really wanted the maple candy and… Look, I’m sorry, really. It’s just one date. He’s sweet.”

“Thanks a lot,” I muttered.

“One date. It won’t be the end of the world.”

“Yeah, yeah. See you at work.”

I hung up with a groan. Who was this omega? I had the plainest candy and the cheapest, most boring date, and he bid on it anyway?

Not to say an evening in a quiet coffee shop wasn’t an ideal date in my opinion, but I didn't think it would have been that appealing to most people. This was going to be nothing short of embarrassing.

With a sign, I sagged down onto my couch, trying to avoid the spots where the uncomfortable springs poked up. I tried to remind myself that Paul was right; it was just one date. One night and then done. With that in mind, I sought out the last couple pieces of maple candy and munched on them to make myself feel better.

Saturday Series Spotlight

Season One

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Season Three(Valentine's Edition)

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Kallie Frost

Kallie is the pseudonym of a USA Today Bestselling Author who normally writes young adult fantasy and dabbles in paranormal romance. She loves animals of all kinds, so she loves reading and writing books with shifter themes. Her favorite time to write is late at night when her husband and kids are asleep and everything is quiet. During the day she can be found chasing her boys, baking, and talking to herself.

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