Four seasons, four stories, one connection - finding love.
Two men who hate Valentine's Day discover they might have been wrong.
A Paralympic swimmer gets an unusual incentive to win gold.
Love and lust flourish under desert skies, but nature's cruel.
Shakespeare's Twelfth Night gets a new twist.
Stories Included:
Horns and Halos (representing spring)
Tumble Turn (summer)
Sand (autumn)
What you Will (winter)
I won't review each of the four stories individually instead this will be for the collection as a whole. Love in Every Season is a delightful collection of four tales of romance and friendship set within multiple sub-genres. So whether you like contemporary, historical, holiday, and even a touch of steampunk there really is something for everyone. If you have read any of these before then here is your chance to relive the magic and if they are new, it's never too late to experience them for the first time. Personally, I read What You Will about four years ago so I've included my original review for that but the other three were brand-spanking new to my eyes. Frankly, if I wasn't already a Charlie Cochrane fan than these would have spurred me on to read more of her work. It may sound cliche but Love in Every Season is such an interesting mix of settings that there really is something for everyone.
What You Will
Original Review January 2015:
A very interesting and intriguing holiday tale to add to any collection. As Obi-Wan Kenobi says in Star Wars, "Who's the more foolish? The fool or the fool who follows him." It's a perfect quote that sums the story up in my opinion and sometimes by short-changing the nature of those around us we make ourselves even more foolish.
RATING:
Horns and Halos
Jamie didn’t think he had a guardian angel. If he did, the so-and-so had been noticeably slacking on the job over the last few years, especially regarding hitching him up with a decent bloke. So, the fact that he’d been put on the same practice interview panel as Alex—therefore could legitimately spend the next day and a half of the course working alongside him—must just have been good luck.
Or maybe bad. Two days of trying not to make it obvious that he fancied the pants off the bloke. Why did nice things always seem to come on the horns of a dilemma?
Chatting over coffee break was fine, the whole of his table having congregated together, the six of them looking a bit nervous at what they’d let themselves in for. Inevitably the conversation had drifted off into matters February the fourteenth-related, at which point Jamie had tried to look interested, although he’d dreaded the seemingly inevitable, “What surprise have you got lined up for your girlfriend?”
“I can’t stand all this Valentine’s nonsense,” one of the blokes in the group said He was the one Jamie had nicknamed Mr. Daft Ideas—although not to his face—because of the answers he’d come up with for the quiz.
“What does your wife think of that?” Sandra, the panel leader—elected because she’d smiled and nodded at the wrong time—asked.
“The same as me,” the bloke replied, as if there couldn’t be any other answer. “It’s just another way of conning people out of their money.”
“I’d agree with you on that.” Alex broke his biscuit—a custard cream, Jamie noted, with approval—made as if to dunk it then clearly thought better of the manoeuvre. As though he was weighing up every word and every movement. “And it always seems so cruel.”
Jamie sipped his coffee, intrigued. Something about the day clearly made Alex feel uncomfortable, maybe at a deeper level than the obvious, I never got any cards when I was a spotty teenager.
“Oh, Jamie, you’ll have to be the one to stand up for your gender,” Sandra said, tapping the table with an elegant, pink painted nail. “Surely you’ve got a romantic streak in you.”
“I have,” Jamie said, looking anywhere except at Alex, “although I’m not sure Valentine’s Day really has much to do with romance. Sorry to be a disappointment, but…” He shrugged.
“You’ll be in trouble with your—”
Sandra was interrupted by Bossyboots insisting they reconvene. Never had Jamie so welcomed being called back into class and so avoid having to explain why he couldn’t be in trouble with his wife or girlfriend, as he didn’t have one and never would. Out of the frying pan into the fire, though, because his group had to get their heads down over some hot school improvement plans and person specs, and maybe his and Alex’s heads would be a bit too close for comfort.
Tumble Turn
The bar wasn’t as bad as I thought it was going to be. I’d imagined something overpriced (even for London 2012) and up itself, but it proved to be far enough from the Aquatics Centre to have escaped the crowds and the hype. Jenny was there to meet us, Matty having texted her earlier; she seemed a nice girl, not quite the stuck-up tart I’d expected. Hell—I was getting as bad as Mrs. White at sticking labels on people without any evidence. I liked Jenny, and not just for the fact that she kept Matty happy while I talked to Nick. After half an hour, Nick went to get his round in and Matty slipped away to relieve the pressure on his bladder, so I had the opportunity to pump Jenny.
Before I could get up my courage, she turned to me with a big grin. “I don’t believe in beating around the bush, so based on what Matty’s told me, I’ll be blunt. Nick’s gay. And he’s available. I leave the rest to you.” She tapped my hand with her index finger. “Only don’t hurt him, right? Or else I’ll break every bone in your body, Matty’s pal or not.”
She smiled again, like she’d just said something sweet, and immediately changed the subject to what Matty had been like at school. I think I answered most of her questions in a manner that sufficiently emphasized her boyfriend’s good points—he did have them—while taking the rip out of him. That’s the sort of thing friends are supposed to do.
I carried on after he returned, partly because it was fun to see him trying to talk his way out of some of the crap I dumped him in, like that story about him spying on the girls’ changing rooms at school. And it didn’t hurt taking centre stage with Nick there, especially now I knew I wasn’t wasting my time trying to impress him. A nagging little voice in the back of my head tried to suggest that Matty had organised the whole thing, just like I’d suspected, maybe even getting his mum to liaise with my mum about which events I was attending. Although given the initial rush for tickets he’d have had to be clairvoyant and set it all up the spring of the year before. Maybe that was taking the conspiracy theory too far.
By the time we finished that round and Matty had been sufficiently made fun of, it was getting late, too late for a lad who had to get his backside to a training camp the next day, so I started to make “goodbye” noises.
“You can’t go yet.” Matty—who might just have had a touch too much of the falling down water—made a grab for my arm.
“Leave him be.” Nick came to my rescue with another one of his dazzling smiles. “This boy’s got a busy few weeks ahead. He doesn’t need any beauty sleep, but he’s got to keep that body of his in peak condition.” He got up. “I’ll walk you to your car.”
“I’m getting the tube home. I’ve got all my gear at my parents’ house.”
“Then I’ll walk you to the station.” He offered me his hand, to pull me up out of my seat. “I’ll go straight home afterwards, Jenny.” We made the usual pleasantries, Matty promising that it wouldn’t be so long in between us meeting up next time, after which we managed to get away.
I walked as slowly as I could, just to eke the time out as much as possible, although I must have overdone it, getting to the point Nick where stopped and asked if I was alright.
“I’m fine,” I snapped, immediately regretting how sharp I’d sounded. “Sorry. I just didn’t want you thinking I have to walk this slow. You know, because of it.”
“It?”
“The cerebral palsy. I’m not a fucking cripple.”
“I know you’re not.” He moved a step closer, grabbing my jacket and drawing me face to face with him, just a beery breath apart. “I meant what I said about you not needing any beauty sleep. You can’t improve on perfection.” He leaned in, sharing the most romantic kiss I’ve ever been lucky enough to receive. I don’t know what swept me off my feet more—the kiss or the words.
Jamie didn’t think he had a guardian angel. If he did, the so-and-so had been noticeably slacking on the job over the last few years, especially regarding hitching him up with a decent bloke. So, the fact that he’d been put on the same practice interview panel as Alex—therefore could legitimately spend the next day and a half of the course working alongside him—must just have been good luck.
Or maybe bad. Two days of trying not to make it obvious that he fancied the pants off the bloke. Why did nice things always seem to come on the horns of a dilemma?
Chatting over coffee break was fine, the whole of his table having congregated together, the six of them looking a bit nervous at what they’d let themselves in for. Inevitably the conversation had drifted off into matters February the fourteenth-related, at which point Jamie had tried to look interested, although he’d dreaded the seemingly inevitable, “What surprise have you got lined up for your girlfriend?”
“I can’t stand all this Valentine’s nonsense,” one of the blokes in the group said He was the one Jamie had nicknamed Mr. Daft Ideas—although not to his face—because of the answers he’d come up with for the quiz.
“What does your wife think of that?” Sandra, the panel leader—elected because she’d smiled and nodded at the wrong time—asked.
“The same as me,” the bloke replied, as if there couldn’t be any other answer. “It’s just another way of conning people out of their money.”
“I’d agree with you on that.” Alex broke his biscuit—a custard cream, Jamie noted, with approval—made as if to dunk it then clearly thought better of the manoeuvre. As though he was weighing up every word and every movement. “And it always seems so cruel.”
Jamie sipped his coffee, intrigued. Something about the day clearly made Alex feel uncomfortable, maybe at a deeper level than the obvious, I never got any cards when I was a spotty teenager.
“Oh, Jamie, you’ll have to be the one to stand up for your gender,” Sandra said, tapping the table with an elegant, pink painted nail. “Surely you’ve got a romantic streak in you.”
“I have,” Jamie said, looking anywhere except at Alex, “although I’m not sure Valentine’s Day really has much to do with romance. Sorry to be a disappointment, but…” He shrugged.
“You’ll be in trouble with your—”
Sandra was interrupted by Bossyboots insisting they reconvene. Never had Jamie so welcomed being called back into class and so avoid having to explain why he couldn’t be in trouble with his wife or girlfriend, as he didn’t have one and never would. Out of the frying pan into the fire, though, because his group had to get their heads down over some hot school improvement plans and person specs, and maybe his and Alex’s heads would be a bit too close for comfort.
Tumble Turn
The bar wasn’t as bad as I thought it was going to be. I’d imagined something overpriced (even for London 2012) and up itself, but it proved to be far enough from the Aquatics Centre to have escaped the crowds and the hype. Jenny was there to meet us, Matty having texted her earlier; she seemed a nice girl, not quite the stuck-up tart I’d expected. Hell—I was getting as bad as Mrs. White at sticking labels on people without any evidence. I liked Jenny, and not just for the fact that she kept Matty happy while I talked to Nick. After half an hour, Nick went to get his round in and Matty slipped away to relieve the pressure on his bladder, so I had the opportunity to pump Jenny.
Before I could get up my courage, she turned to me with a big grin. “I don’t believe in beating around the bush, so based on what Matty’s told me, I’ll be blunt. Nick’s gay. And he’s available. I leave the rest to you.” She tapped my hand with her index finger. “Only don’t hurt him, right? Or else I’ll break every bone in your body, Matty’s pal or not.”
She smiled again, like she’d just said something sweet, and immediately changed the subject to what Matty had been like at school. I think I answered most of her questions in a manner that sufficiently emphasized her boyfriend’s good points—he did have them—while taking the rip out of him. That’s the sort of thing friends are supposed to do.
I carried on after he returned, partly because it was fun to see him trying to talk his way out of some of the crap I dumped him in, like that story about him spying on the girls’ changing rooms at school. And it didn’t hurt taking centre stage with Nick there, especially now I knew I wasn’t wasting my time trying to impress him. A nagging little voice in the back of my head tried to suggest that Matty had organised the whole thing, just like I’d suspected, maybe even getting his mum to liaise with my mum about which events I was attending. Although given the initial rush for tickets he’d have had to be clairvoyant and set it all up the spring of the year before. Maybe that was taking the conspiracy theory too far.
By the time we finished that round and Matty had been sufficiently made fun of, it was getting late, too late for a lad who had to get his backside to a training camp the next day, so I started to make “goodbye” noises.
“You can’t go yet.” Matty—who might just have had a touch too much of the falling down water—made a grab for my arm.
“Leave him be.” Nick came to my rescue with another one of his dazzling smiles. “This boy’s got a busy few weeks ahead. He doesn’t need any beauty sleep, but he’s got to keep that body of his in peak condition.” He got up. “I’ll walk you to your car.”
“I’m getting the tube home. I’ve got all my gear at my parents’ house.”
“Then I’ll walk you to the station.” He offered me his hand, to pull me up out of my seat. “I’ll go straight home afterwards, Jenny.” We made the usual pleasantries, Matty promising that it wouldn’t be so long in between us meeting up next time, after which we managed to get away.
I walked as slowly as I could, just to eke the time out as much as possible, although I must have overdone it, getting to the point Nick where stopped and asked if I was alright.
“I’m fine,” I snapped, immediately regretting how sharp I’d sounded. “Sorry. I just didn’t want you thinking I have to walk this slow. You know, because of it.”
“It?”
“The cerebral palsy. I’m not a fucking cripple.”
“I know you’re not.” He moved a step closer, grabbing my jacket and drawing me face to face with him, just a beery breath apart. “I meant what I said about you not needing any beauty sleep. You can’t improve on perfection.” He leaned in, sharing the most romantic kiss I’ve ever been lucky enough to receive. I don’t know what swept me off my feet more—the kiss or the words.
Author Bio:
As Charlie Cochrane couldn't be trusted to do any of her jobs of choice - like managing a rugby team - she writes. Her favourite genre is gay fiction, predominantly historical romances/mysteries, but she's making an increasing number of forays into the modern day. She's even been known to write about gay werewolves - albeit highly respectable ones.
Her Cambridge Fellows series of Edwardian romantic mysteries were instrumental in seeing her named Speak Its Name Author of the Year 2009. She’s a member of both the Romantic Novelists’ Association and International Thriller Writers Inc.
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EMAIL: cochrane.charlie2@googlemail.com
