Sunday, April 20, 2025
🐰Hoppy Easter 2025🐰
Marshmallow Spiced Omega by Susi Hawke
Summary:Hollydale Omegas #7
The best gifts in life will sometimes catch you by surprise.
Luke is a YouTuber known for his popular Omega Manny Diary videos. After a brief-yet-secret fling with his boss Ian’s best friend, he finds himself left with an even larger secret: Grazer’s baby.
Grazer had a lot of fun with Luke, but he’d been upfront with him from the beginning. He’d always preferred to chase silver foxes—not young, fertile pups.
Nearly two years after their last hot night together, Grazer returns to Hollydale, fresh from a year of guarding the toddler of a celebrity. He’s at loose ends, not to mention lonely, and wondering if maybe he’d been too brash when writing off love and fatherhood in the past.
When Grazer runs into Luke and discovers his life-altering secret, can they find a way to forgive the mistakes of the past and grab their second chance at romance?
Return to Hollydale for this second chance, secret baby romance where May learns to be the December in an age gap relationship. This is the seventh book of The Hollydale Omegas series. This book is about 34k and most likely contains an HEA. 18+ readers only please! And yes, this book contains M/PREG, adults adulting in sexy grown-up ways, and way more than an occasional use of potty mouth language.
I've featured many of the author's Hollydale Omegas series entries on my blog for different holiday themes but this is only the third I've actually had the opportunity to read. I loved it.
There is so many ways or plot paths the author could have taken and I'm sure each would be just as good but I'm glad the author chose this one. I know that sounds ambiguous but I don't want to spoil anything for anyone, who like me is relatively new to this series. Just know it's so good.
Luke and Grazer have a past where each was potentially in a different place in their lives and what they wanted next. When a baby enters into the picture, those places in their lives may change or perhaps it just helps things become clearer. Okay, again I'm being coy but I won't spoil it. I wanted to wrap Luke in huge Mama Bear hugs and at first I didn't expect to like Grazer but sometimes we don't know what makes a character tick until we see some inner monologue that definitely can effect our perception of previous actions.
Anywho, I may have been light on any story points here as I'm a spoil-free zone kind of person but what I will simply say is I absolutely LOVED Marshmallow Spiced Omega! I may have picked it up because I was looking for Easter/spring themed stories but I'm just glad I did. Such a delightfully fun gem and I doubt it'll be 3+ years before I dive back in to Hollydale Omegas.
Summary:
Laurel Holidays Spring Romance
On a small maple farm in Pennsylvania a man seeking forgiveness is going to find much more than he hoped for.
They say the only place to go from the bottom is up. Frank Fitzgerald Jr. has learned how fast a man can fall from grace. A mere two years ago he was insanely wealthy and the next in line to inherit a multi-million dollar company. Now he’s standing on a dirt road in some hayseed backwoods town with one bag of possessions and a shiny new sobriety coin in his pocket. Not only did he tumble from a lofty perch, he crashed and burned in epic fashion, landing right on his pride and breaking it into tiny bits that he fears he may never be able to glue back together, no matter what his sponsor says.
Knowing he had to start over clean—both spiritually and physically—he goes to his younger brother Decker for help. Their first conversation isn’t pretty. Frank knows he has a lifetime of slights to make amends for. Amazingly, his brother and his husband open up their barn to Frank for free lodging while he sorts out his life. Part of that life is a new job which he finds at the Stallard Maple Farm just across the pond from the farm rescue his brother now calls home. While Frank works among the maples he finds himself drawn to the eldest Stallard sibling, Maalik. A friendship forms when he discovers that Maalik has his own demons to contend with. Frank is soon feeling things for Maalik he has never felt for anyone before, especially a man, but he’s willing to test those wild new feelings even if they scare the sap out of him.
The Easter Redemption is a slow burn, bi-awakening, small town romance with two men working to better themselves, goofy farm critters, stately trees, a tiny welcoming community, family lost and found, and a sweet as syrup happy ending.
Another lovely tale from VL Locey and her Laurel Holidays series, I haven't read them all but each one I have experienced, entertained from beginning to end and Easter Redemption was no different. The author wrote this story nearly 2 years ago and I'm not sure how it went unnoticed that long, especially factoring in the Easter element which I don't think is explored nearly enough in fiction.
Having been raised on a farm, I loved seeing how the farm and animals play a part in Frank's starting over and dealing with his recovery. I say "animals" but it really is down to little Hugo the pig Frank unofficially adopts as his own, or perhaps I should say Hugo is the one who adopted Frank😉. However you look at it, the connection Frank develops with the little guy is special and the scene where a name is chosen made me laugh at loud. I had a pet pig when I was about 5 while she grew before taking her to the stockyard and I named her Holly for my favorite doll, Holly Hobby. The relationship Frank has with Hugo brought all those happy memories back.
Some authors might have taken a dark turn putting Frank and Maalik together as they are both recovering and starting over(though in different places in their respective journeys) but the author didn't go there. Don't get me wrong, had she taken this story on that route, it would have been equally entertaining but it was nice to see a starting over story without a high level of over the top negative baggage. That statement makes it sound as if the men had it easy, that there journey of healing was all unicorns and rainbows, it certainly wasn't but the author didn't throw in every cliche speed bump and in doing so the reader is more able to connect, relate, and empathize with all those involved.
The Easter Redemption is an entertaining and enjoyable blend of drama, humor, friendship, family, healing, and romance. Simply put, this spring holiday story is just such a delight. I look forward to going back and catching up on the author's Laurel Holidays Xmas stories.
9 Willow Street by Nell Iris
Summary:9 Willow Street #1
Heartbroken after the death of his beloved Nana, Hannes, the family outsider, finally allows himself to grieve. The legal battle over Nana’s quirky old house -- the only place he’s ever felt accepted and loved -- is over, and he moves in and finds a sense of peace.
... And a rabbit.
An adorable bunny with a huge personality moves in, too, and refuses to leave. Hannes instantly falls in love with the sweet animal who helps heal his heart. But one morning, Hannes’ view of the world changes when the rabbit transforms into a man. A man named Mattis.
After the initial shock, Hannes and Mattis discover a connection between them that runs deeper than it seems. Will their newfound feelings survive unraveling secrets and meddling families, and grow into something real? Something deep and everlasting?
... And a rabbit.
An adorable bunny with a huge personality moves in, too, and refuses to leave. Hannes instantly falls in love with the sweet animal who helps heal his heart. But one morning, Hannes’ view of the world changes when the rabbit transforms into a man. A man named Mattis.
After the initial shock, Hannes and Mattis discover a connection between them that runs deeper than it seems. Will their newfound feelings survive unraveling secrets and meddling families, and grow into something real? Something deep and everlasting?
Original Review July 2019:
This is one of those stories that just kind of sneaks up on you. I imagine in the publishing world just about every animal has been told in shifter stories but I can honestly say I have never read a rabbit shifter tale. 9 Willow Street is a fun, romantic, and sexy quick read. By "quick" I don't mean it lacks substance, because this newest Nell Iris novella may be shorter than most shifter tales it is certainly not lacking in story.
One thing I want to point out that I loved was that Hannes is missing his great grandmother, very rarely do we see characters that even mention having a "great"-grandmother let alone a loving relationship with one. I realize that not everyone has the opportunity to get to know there great grandparents, I was lucky enough to know one of mine, not just know her but to have a relationship with her. I just turned 20 when my Great Grandmother Alta passed away in 1993, she was just shy of her 92nd birthday and I have always felt blessed to have known her. So that element in itself in 9 Willow Street made this novella special and really spoke to me.
As for Hannes, you just want to wrap him up and give him a giant Mama Bear Hug and tell him everything is going to be okay and then in hops a little white rabbit with odd markings and you almost feel as if his great grandmother sent the little guy. I won't say too much more, but Mio is a special little rabbit, not your typical garden variety that likes to eat your flowers, he's a cuddler and is exactly what Hannes needs.
That's all I'm going to say about the story other than, as it is a novella, 9 Willow Street may be short on quantity but it is long on quality and well worth the read. You will want to smack a couple of people but mostly you just want to smile, laugh, and believe. When I think of paranormal shifter tales, high drama and even violence tends to come to mind but you won't find that here. Oh, there is drama but not really angsty. What you do find is true joy, true love, that will entertain from beginning to end.
This is one of those stories that just kind of sneaks up on you. I imagine in the publishing world just about every animal has been told in shifter stories but I can honestly say I have never read a rabbit shifter tale. 9 Willow Street is a fun, romantic, and sexy quick read. By "quick" I don't mean it lacks substance, because this newest Nell Iris novella may be shorter than most shifter tales it is certainly not lacking in story.
One thing I want to point out that I loved was that Hannes is missing his great grandmother, very rarely do we see characters that even mention having a "great"-grandmother let alone a loving relationship with one. I realize that not everyone has the opportunity to get to know there great grandparents, I was lucky enough to know one of mine, not just know her but to have a relationship with her. I just turned 20 when my Great Grandmother Alta passed away in 1993, she was just shy of her 92nd birthday and I have always felt blessed to have known her. So that element in itself in 9 Willow Street made this novella special and really spoke to me.
As for Hannes, you just want to wrap him up and give him a giant Mama Bear Hug and tell him everything is going to be okay and then in hops a little white rabbit with odd markings and you almost feel as if his great grandmother sent the little guy. I won't say too much more, but Mio is a special little rabbit, not your typical garden variety that likes to eat your flowers, he's a cuddler and is exactly what Hannes needs.
That's all I'm going to say about the story other than, as it is a novella, 9 Willow Street may be short on quantity but it is long on quality and well worth the read. You will want to smack a couple of people but mostly you just want to smile, laugh, and believe. When I think of paranormal shifter tales, high drama and even violence tends to come to mind but you won't find that here. Oh, there is drama but not really angsty. What you do find is true joy, true love, that will entertain from beginning to end.
Summary:
Four-Legged Cupid #6
I have always been a family guy, even if I'm still working on starting mine.
I’ve got brothers everywhere, and even a twin. A little sister, niblings, the whole nine yards. What I don’t have is a guy of my own.
I want what most of my sibs have—a partner. Someone to come home to. Heck, I would totally settle for a pet.
Finding out my recluse neighbour has been keeping rabbits in an unused shed at the back of my plant nursery, though—not exactly what I had in mind. Still, it’s a place to start.
Franko doesn’t talk much. He doesn’t smile. He doesn’t make friends. He’s huge and built like—well, let’s just say he’s the definition of the strong silent type.
When he needs to raise funds for vet care, I suggest a community egg hunt at my nursery, featuring his bunnies, the beautiful hand-painted wooden eggs he makes, and way more social interaction than he’s comfortable with.
He only agrees for the sake of the rabbits.
And I totally only suggested it for the sake of the little hopping humpers.
Totally.
Hopefully I'll have time to come back later and add to this review as I just finished the book this morning. What I will say is I was thoroughly entertained from beginning to end. Again I was looking for Easter/Spring themed stories for the holiday, unfortunately there isn't enough in my book for the "smaller" holidays, I'm glad I found Hoppy Egg Hunting. Sweet, fun, heart-filled, and just the right dash of drama to make it an all around pleasant read that will put a smile on your face and warm your heart.
I haven't read the other entries in the author's Four-Legged Cupid series so I can't speak to how it relates to other characters but there wasn't any gaps I felt I was missing having started with #6.
I've featured Jaime Samms stories on my blog before but this is the first I've had the opportunity to read. New-to-me authors can be an iffy situation for some but I always love a good adrenaline rush when it comes to the "are they going to be good" author question and this author was definitely a loud "YES!". I look forward to checking out the author's backlist and more in the future.
The Accidental Baker by Clare London
Summary:The Accidental Baker #1
Donnie Watson's baking disasters are legendary, but this Easter, his mismatched chocolate eggs bring accidental but astonishing results to four downhearted gay men. The chocolate sweets spill onto the pavement of a small parade of local shops—and go on a matchmaking tour like no other! From a bankrupt and betrayed baker, to a homeless but hopeful man, to a conceited bar owner in need of a reality check, and finally to the hapless but caring Donnie himself.
After all, Love means you can have chocolate too!
Original Review April 2019:
You may be asking yourself how can a short book have four romances that the reader can connect to and bond with? Well, however she managed it Clare London's The Accidental Baker does exactly that. This Easter short is fun, sweet, adorable, romantic, with plenty of heart, brought together by misshapen holiday chocolates.I won't delve into each pairing but I will say that there is something special about each one that makes them not only stand apart but makes them memorable and easily connectable to the reader. They are just so "everyday", you may not meet people like these guys every day but they certainly could be around every corner, in the house next door, outside the grocery store as you're going in and for me they are people you want to know.
Who knows, if we're real nice maybe Miss London will let us know how the men of The Accidental Baker are and what they are doing for Halloween and Christmas😉😉.
RATING:
Marshmallow Spiced Omega by Susi Hawke
Chapter 1
Luke
“Do you want some more of the Lucky Ballz, Luke? Or would you prefer one of our Fluffy Ballz instead?” Tom held up a plate of pretty pastel green ballz that had been rolled in edible, gold glitter, but the stomach cramps I’d been having were getting worse.
“No, I’d better not. But maybe I could take some to go? I know those mint flavored ballz won’t be around much longer, now that Saint Patrick’s Day has passed. Although, I can’t deny the Fluffy Ballz are pretty good too.”
I looked regretfully at the Easter-themed dark chocolate-coated marshmallow ballz, each decorated a different pastel glitter. It was amazing how much care they put into their ballz here.
“It’s cool, Luke. That just leaves more for me and Scott.”
Braden grinned and popped a pair of ballz into his mouth. He began clowning around for his daughter, Shannon, by stuffing one into each cheek so that he bore a strong resemblance to a hamster. At only a year old, the little one clapped and giggled as if he were the funniest thing on earth.
“So, is today the day when you finally tell us who the baby daddy is, Luke?” Tom asked as he settled down at our table with a tray of iced coffees. Decaf for me, of course, since pregnant people are denied caffeine. Reason number thirty-seven I was ready to be done with this already.
I huffed out a sigh. It had been a long nine months of my friends all asking this question that I had no interest in answering. My former bosses, Ian and Cecil, had finally given up with it, but Tom? Not so much.
“Trust me, Tom. I’m the only father this baby is going to have, so his name is unimportant. He didn’t want to have kids, he was quite clear about it when we were hooking up. This was my accident, not his. Apparently, I suck at math or figuring out my heat cycle. Either way... here we are and here he isn’t. Besides, I’m the Omega Manny. I’ve got this, okay? I have to... I’m the only parent this little one is going to need. Does that cover it for you?”
Tom nodded reluctantly and changed the subject, thank fuck. “Okay, doll. So... Tell me again how you guys met Scott here?”
“Scott is my across-the-hall neighbor at my new apartment. I thought I told you that? Sorry, preggo brain. But, yeah. Neighbor. And when we discovered we both make our living on YouTube, it was an instant connection.”
I gave a half smile at Scott, trying not to wince as another spasm rocked my gut. Holy hell. Was I about to get diarrhea in the middle of the Sweet Ballz candy shoppe? Or was my bladder so full that the baby was crowded and trying to kick it out of the way?
“Really? I had no clue people really made money that way until Luke started that popular Omega Manny channel. Then I met Braden here with his gaming. What do you do, cutie?”
Tom smiled at my newest friend with genuine interest. I wasn’t surprised. Tom had an amazing head for business and was always interested in hearing about other people’s success.
“I’m the Outdoor Omega.” Scott explained. “I take videos of some of my hikes, camping trips, and other wilderness themed sports. I did one really cool shoot when I was climbing Mt. Rainier last year. There were a few gnarly moments, let me tell you.”
Tom shuddered dramatically at Scott’s words and held up a hand. “Thanks, but no thanks, babe. Tom’s idea of roughing it is staying in a three-star hotel while his hot alpha daddy takes the chitlins out to sleep in that canvas contraption in the woods. We meet up during the day for funzies, then Tom goes back to his so-so room to sleep. Everyone is happy, and Tom doesn’t miss out on the s’mores and smoked wieners. Win-win all around.”
Scott and Braden were laughing at Tom, but I couldn’t join in. The pain was getting so bad now, I felt a bead of sweat breaking out along my brow.
“Tom,” I gasped. “Could I use your employee bathroom? Please?”
“Of course! Come on, I’ll take you right back,” Tom looked concerned when he took a good look at me.
It took every ounce of strength I had to stand up, and once I did, fluid gushed down my thigh. Oh, fuck! Did I just crap my pants? Or, piss myself in public? I looked down in a panic but couldn’t see over my belly.
Then another pain hit me, and I doubled over, grabbing at the table to keep from falling over. That’s when I saw the small puddle of translucent fluid between my feet.
Braden passed Shannon to Tom and rushed around the table to help me. “Tom, I think you’d better call an ambulance. Luke’s water just broke, and I’m not sure if we should drive him, he looks like he could deliver any second.”
Tom rolled his eyes, his phone already in hand as he stood there and balanced Shannon on his hip. “No shit, Braden. Trust an alpha to state the obvious.”
I laughed through my pain when Shannon chirped see, see, see, as if trying to say shit. Tom glanced at her guiltily before talking into his phone. Scott came over and took Shannon from Tom, tickling her belly and grinning at Braden.
“Dude-bro, you’re going to get in so much trouble with the little mister if he figures out what his angel is trying to say when you get home.” Scott chuckled and kissed the top of her head. “That’s why Uncle Scotty likes to play with other people’s kids and not try to have one of my own. All that policing of the language? My kid’s first word would probably be the F-bomb.”
Braden eased me back down into my seat. “Naw, bro. It’s cool. I’ll just sic Greg on Tom if he figures it out. No way am I taking that blame.”
Tom stayed on the phone with the 911 operator until the ambulance pulled up outside a few short minutes later. I guess it was a good time of day to go into labor, given how fast they arrived.
Tom and Scott assured me they’d be right behind me on the way to the hospital, but Braden had to reluctantly bow out since he had the baby with him. I hadn’t thought I’d need anyone with me for the labor. After all, I was going to do the whole dad thing alone anyway. Might as well start out that way, right?
But now? I was beyond grateful to have my friends here. I hadn’t planned on the pain being this intense, and I was starting to freak out. I gripped Braden’s arm, before the EMTs could carry me out on the gurney.
“Braden, promise if I don’t make it through, you and Greg will still take her for me?”
The alpha pushed my hair back and smiled gently. “You’re going to be just fine, Luke. But yeah, if anything should happen, Greg has the guardianship papers you gave us as back-up. But they’re completely unnecessary. Trust me, bro. You’ll be okay. Greg and I will be up to see you and the baby as soon as I can find a sitter. Now get out of here, before the candy isn’t the only special kind of ballz on display up in here.”
I tried to smile, but only managed a grimace. A fresh contraction hit and I clenched my jaw to keep from screaming and scaring Shannon who was still chanting see, see, see in the background somewhere.
The nice thing about getting there in an ambulance was not having to sit in the waiting room until they brought me back. They took one look at me and rushed into movement. I was being wheeled toward the delivery room when I heard Tom’s strident voice and the sound of running feet.
“Hold on! Don’t take Luke away without his labor coaches extraordinaire!”
I kind of tuned out at that point, delirious with pain. When I tuned in again, I was sitting up in bed with Tom standing on one side of me wiping my sweaty face while Scott was sitting behind me and rubbing my back. My feet were up in stirrups, and Dr. Green was massaging me in places I didn’t care to think about.
“What’s happening?” I rasped out in confusion. “Am I dreaming?”
“No, doll. You’ve been given the good stuff. Just bear with us, you’re almost done,” Tom encouraged with a toothy grin.
The mother of all painful fucking contractions hit then. Dr. Greene was saying something in her calm voice, but I had no time for that shit. I bellowed up at the ceiling instead.
“Fucking Grazer! What the fuck kind of a cockamamy-ass name is that, anyway? Wherever you are, I fucking hate you and your perfectly curved, banana looking cock! You can go fuck yourself with it, Grazer! Do you hear me?”
I vaguely heard Scott chuckling behind me. “Breathe, babe. I’m pretty sure the entire town heard you. Trust me, if that Grazer guy is anywhere within the city limits, he heard you too.”
A lifetime, and several bone crushing pushes later, I heard a cry as my daughter heralded her entrance to the world. Dr. Greene laid her on my chest, then proceeded to cut the cord with Tom’s help before going back to finish things with the afterbirth.
“What’s her name,” Scott asked softly from over my left shoulder.
“Samantha Grace,” I answered without hesitation. “I plan to call her Sammy.”
The nurse came just then to take her away so they could clean her up and do all the newborn tests and measurements. The minute she was gone, my arms felt empty. Tom’s voice distracted me before I could focus on my loss, though.
“You know, if I recall correctly, Ian’s good buddy Grayson is called Grazer. I don’t suppose you met him while you were working for them? Yeah, I’m sure you did... in fact, I’d swear we were at more than one get together with both of you present at some point or other. Hmm. Grazer... Yeah, that’s kind of a unique name. He’s a unique guy too. A hot alpha-daddy type, not total sex-on-a-stick like my own hot alpha-daddy, but still not at all hard on the eyes.”
I froze, as I slowly remembered what I’d stupidly shouted during that one ridiculously painful contraction. Shit. There should be a warning given about that possibility happening.
“Yeah, well... If I said his name during labor, it must have been the meds talking. You know how it is when you’re out of your mind with pain.”
Tom looked at me with one elegantly raised brow, but merely shrugged. “If you say so.”
This shit was making me nervous. “Please don’t say anything, Tom. Really... I need you to forget that you heard anything.”
Tom looked divided for a moment, then shrugged again. “You know what? No worries. Tom is absolutely not about outing people for their secrets. But... you should really think about telling him, doll. It’s the right thing to do.”
I shook my head. “The time for telling him was nine months ago. It’s kinda late now. Besides. He told me he likes to be on the other side of the May to December type thing when we went out. Although with us it’s more of a May to August at best, but... what are you gonna do, right? He told me silver foxes are more his speed than fertile pups like me. With his job and travels, he can’t risk it anyway, because he’d never be there. We didn’t have condoms that last time, and I calculated my heat cycle and figured I was safe, you know? But then he left on a new security gig, and I got pregnant. I was scared to ask Ian how to contact him. I mean, we only went out on a handful of secret dates over the three-month period before he left for the new job. Ian and Cecil had no idea we’d even been dating.”
Tom sighed. “The longer you wait the worse it will get when he finds out, I need you to realize that, Luke.”
Scott eased out from behind me when the nurse came back with Sammy. He paused to lean over to admire her as he spoke his thoughts. “Unless he never does? I mean, Luke doesn’t work for Ian and Cecil anymore. If the dude didn’t want to be a parent anyway, why tell him? Luke agreed to a few dates and a little fun, not a lifetime commitment with him.”
Tom’s hands went to his hip as he stared Scott down. “No. Uncool, Scott. Neither of them asked for Sammy-girl, yet here she is. And he has a right to know she exists. Whether he wants to be a part of her life or not, he deserves the courtesy of having a choice. And Sammy is going to have questions in a few years. Trust me on that one. Kids have way too many questions anyway. You’ll regret this, Luke.”
I took a deep breath and looked into my daughter’s perfect face, then shook my head again, decisively this time. “I’ll think about it another time, Tom. I never intended on not telling him—I just don’t know where to begin at this point.”
Tom looked like he wanted to say more, but Cecil and Ian showed up right then. Before he slipped out of the room, Tom paused and gave me a long look, then smiled wistfully at Sammy.
The Easter Redemption by VL Locey
Chapter One
“Thank you, sir,” I shouted to be heard over the booming exhaust system on the rusty red Studebaker pickup.
The old man in the John Deere ball cap yelled something at me then sped off, speeding in this instance being a roaring twenty miles per hour. A black ball of choking exhaust exploded out of the rotted muffler. There I stood in the middle of a dirt road, my old Yale duffel bag on my shoulder, hacking up a lung. Thankfully there was a soft breeze moving past and it lifted the fumes away. I stared at the lone mailbox sitting on the right hand side of the road and had to smile a little. The black box sat atop half an old telephone pole, which was about as rural as one could get, you’d think. But no, someone—and I suspected I knew who that someone was—had painted little farm animals on the sides of the battered postal box.
I stood in the spring sun, chilled in my thin jacket, staring at the black mailbox as if it held some ancient secrets. I even went so far as to open it and stare inside. The damn thing was cavernous. The flag a little weak. There were bills inside waiting to be picked up by the mailman. Mailperson. Postal carrier. Ugh. Being PC was tiring. Life was so much easier when I was cranked up on coke and plastered on Jim Beam. I could just be a raging asshole and everyone was willing to accept it because I was ripped. And since I had been high on something since I was in boarding school, I’d had lots of practice being a raging asshole. Which meant lots of amends to make. Starting with the most important one.
“You’re stalling,” I said, closed the box, and turned to face the long dirt drive that would lead me to Happy Laurel Farm. Hefting my duffel higher on my shoulder, I took a few steps, pausing at the foot of the drive to cock my head and listen. There was no traffic noise. The only sounds were the soft rustle of a cool wind moving through trees about to bud and the distant blats and moos of farm animals.
Farm animals. I still could not wrap my head around the fact my younger brother, Decker, lived on a farm. If ever there was a man who was not cut out for farm life it was my baby brother. He was the picture of urban gay chic. Or had been. I’d not seen or spoken to him for close to two years. Fifteen or so months to be precise. A lot had gone down in that time. My brother had left the family business, punched my father in the face—Christ, I wish I had been there to see that—and had moved out here to Hick Town, Pennsylvania, to settle down with a vegan liberal. Of all the things. Father had been outraged. Mother had been mildly upset and so had gone out to get a new lover on the side. Which was how she handled things. Sex and booze to numb the misery of a life unfulfilled.
Sound familiar, Frank?
Oh yeah, it really did. The only difference was that Mother had enough sense to keep her addictions well-hidden whereas I kind of made a splash with mine. Maybe splash was the wrong word. More like I did an Icarus and flew so high and close to the sun that my wings melted and I crashed back to earth with such a resounding thud that the tremors were felt from Pittsburgh all the way to a certain resort in Florida where my father had been playing golf and whoring. Oh, sorry, not whoring. Spending time with clients.
“Whatever,” I mumbled then began the walk up the driveway. Fencing ran along the drive, and several muddy goats came waddling to the woven wire fence to gape at me with their funny goat eyes. They were all colors and incredibly fat. None of them seemed to like me, which was pretty judgmental on their part but, to be fair, I had enjoyed chevon a few times. My lower back and thighs ached. I’d walked for I didn’t know how long to reach the end of this road. Then my cell service died off. I mean, what the hell was wrong with this county? How could there be places in America that didn’t have cell phone service? What the hell was the government spending money on if not for infrastructure?
Since when do you care about internet service for the rural folk?
“Point to you,” I mumbled to my inner Frank. Sometimes I really hated my inner Frank. He made me drink. No lie. Of course that was just one of many reasons I soaked in a bottle or sniffed up anything able to be sniffed. Monty, my sponsor, had told me I shouldn’t hate that inner voice as it was my conscience trying to tell me to wake the fuck up. Which, yeah, it was probably that. I’d spent over thirty-five years trying to bury that little shitty whisper inside my head because facing the truth it spoke was simply too damned painful.
A big black goat trotted up to the fence and made rude noises at me. The spring winds carried a funky musky smell. A stink that had not been there before the big black goat had arrived to flop his lips at me.
I paused, took a step closer, and stood on this side of the fence, a half-melted bank of snow keeping me from getting any closer.
“You don’t scare me. I grew up in the Fitzgerald mansion.” I folded my arms over my chest and waited for the goat to reply. He blatted and gave me another round of rubber lips. Then it hit me I was having a conversation with a goat. A. Goat. “Oh, how the mighty have fallen,” I sighed to no-one in particular before stalking back up the drive, my sight touching on the abundance of trees everywhere. Not just pines either. All kinds of trees and big blue skies. What I knew about trees could fit into a thimble. Mr. Willings had taught us trees made oxygen so that was good. And yeah, that was about all I knew about trees.
My feet ached. They were cold and wet. The walk from the bus depot outside Miller’s Lake had been rough on a body that only knew how to laze around and get glazed like a damn donut. My stomach rumbled at the thought of a doughnut. I’d not eaten since last night when the bus from Charlotte had pulled into Philly and we’d had to change companies. Seemed the big bus lines didn’t travel this far into the boonies so I’d had to hop a smaller bus after a quick stop at a gas station. I’d dropped the last ten bucks to my name to buy a bottle of water and a questionable tuna sandwich that had a blurred best before date on the back. I’d not shit myself on the ride from the City of Brotherly Love to the tiny drop-off by a lake in town, so all was good on that front.
The back of my neck was sweaty despite the chill in the air. March was iffy still on the east coast. Spring was trying to force its way to the fore but winter wasn’t sure if it was done being a cold-hearted bitch yet. There were signs of both seasons everywhere. Snow plowed up along the drive for instance while a patch of purple crocus pushed through the lingering frost to brighten the otherwise wet and sloppy ground.
Coming up on the barn, I felt a flutter in my stomach that had nothing to do with a lack of food. Decker was somewhere around here with his new husband, Acosta Melios, the owner of the rescue. I’d not been kind to my brother the last time we had spoken. After stopping dead in the center of the drive I stared at the old barn. Red chickens were out in the yard, digging in the mud. A big ginger rooster crowed, the sound carrying down the valley and bouncing off the thawing mountains. It really was quite nice here. I situated my duffel bag nervously, wondering if I’d be greeted by a loving family member or a shotgun. It could go either way. Rural folks were known to have guns for hunting and shooting bears. I threw a fast look around at all the woodland surrounding me. Shit. I’d not thought about bears as I’d been wandering along country roads with no means of self-defense besides half a stale tuna sandwich. I should hang onto that. I could use it as a means to distract the bear or clobber it over the head, although the bread was too soggy to make a good bludgeon.
“You lost, friend?” a man called from the door of the barn, shaking me from my bear concerns.
I blinked and took a slow step forward. This man had longish hair, a lean face, and was eying me with careful concern. I’d seen him on the rescue website standing with my brother, arm-in-arm, with a goat in a racing harness or some sort of contraption. They’d both appeared to be crazy in love and I’d felt a tiny thrum of pleasure knowing my brother was happy. God knows I’d not done much to bring him any joy.
Amends, Frankie. We’re here to make amends and find a better life. A clean life.
There were times my inner Frank was okay. Like right now. One day at a time. Right. I could do this.
“No, I’m at the right place. I’m looking for Decker?” That made him tense up just a bit. “Decker Fitzgerald? Well, I guess he’s not using that last name anymore not that I blame him.”
“What do you want with him?” my brother-in-law asked, folding his arms across a green and blue checkered flannel shirt.
I mulled that over before speaking. Something that rehab and AA had been quite helpful in teaching me. Actions and words matter so think before speaking or doing. I bit back the snarky answer that popped to life on my tongue. It was a tacky quip so it really didn’t need to see the light of day. I shoved my hands into my front pockets to find my hard-earned tokens. Rubbing them when I felt anxious helped me center. Centering. Also a new thing rehab and group meetings had taught me. You’d think a man with an Ivy League education would be super smart, but nope.
“I’m his brother,” I called as I held my ground.
A tractor sat by the barn; some big cart thing backed into the second floor. The smell of animals was growing richer the closer I got to the building.
“I know who you are,” Acosta shouted back, his legs now braced for a scuffle maybe? Yeah, probably. I sighed but held my ground.
“I’d like to talk to him if I could,” I yelled as a cat and duck walked past, the duck giving me a dark look. Who knew ducks could glare?
“I’m not sure that you really should,” Acosta called, his tone firm. “From what I hear you’ve been nothing but a rotten bastard to my husband for most of his life.”
“Yeah, I have been,” I replied, fingers moving over my tokens so quickly they were starting to warm from the friction. “And I want to make amends. I need to. It’s part of the journey.”
Acosta eyeballed me just like that big black goat had. He began shaking his head when Decker walked out of the barn, cradling a tiny baby goat.
“I never thought I’d see you again,” Decker said, the little brown goat in his arms trying to suckle on his chin. It was really pretty cute and I wasn’t an animal person. “Why are you here, Frank?”
That was a long and heavy tale to tell. One that required a good stiff…ginger ale.
“Because I’m working a twelve-step program and making amends to those I have wronged is the ninth step,” I replied candidly. No point in trying to gild the lily. The whole world had seen my descent from the heavens. Might as well let my brother in on my plummet. Decker, Acosta, and the baby goat were staring at me, weighing my words. I blew out a breath. “I know my addictions and actions had a bad effect on you. I have a list in my bag of things that I want to apologize for, if you’ll let me?”
Decker shared a look with his husband. I waited, trembling inside, praying my brother would be the better man and let me talk with him. Just for an hour. Then I’d leave if that was what he wanted.
“Follow me to the cabin. It’s time for Prissy’s bottle,” Decker said then walked off, following a muddy path leading away from the barn.
I let out a huge breath. Acosta glowered at me as I shuffled along behind my brother. I kept my eyes on Decker’s stiff back as we made our way to their home while I rehearsed my speech in my head. The list of apologies in my duffel was as long as my arm.
9 Willow Street by Nell Iris
Next morning, I wake up early. It’s still dark outside, and I’m not sure what woke me up -- a quick glance at the ancient mechanical clock radio on the bedside table tells me it’s almost two hours until my alarm will go off, so I close my eyes again, willing myself to go back to sleep.
My eyelids are heavy, and I melt into the mattress as my mind drifts. I must already be dreaming because I can smell coffee; strong and bitter and fruity, and it’s making my mouth water. The scent grows more intense and I hum. I’ve never had a dream this life-like before.
My eyes flutter open and I rub a palm over my face, but the coffee aroma doesn’t disappear even though I’m clearly awake. Knitting my eyebrows together, I turn on the light.
And there, on the bedside table, stands my favorite cup -- the one Nana hand-painted with my name and wood anemones, my favorite flower -- full of hot, steaming coffee.
“What the ...?” I push myself up to seated and stare at the thing as though it’s a huge disgusting cockroach.
... and from the corner of my eye, I notice someone sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall under the window.
I gasp, scrambling backward until I almost fall off the bed. When my feet hit the floor, I put as much distance between me and the stranger as I can. My legs wobble and my hands tingle as I press my back against the wardrobe door.
“Who are you? How did you get in here?” I say, voice breathy and hesitant. I wouldn’t scare a mouse in my state. My gaze flits between the intruder and the door.
Can I make a run for it?
My heart is galloping in my chest, and I shake my head, trying to clear it and make sure I’m properly awake, but he’s still there. He’s real, not a figment of my imagination.
As I look closer at the man, who’s not saying anything, just sits there as though he’s trying to be as unthreatening as possible, I realize he’s vaguely familiar.
I definitely recognize the Bob Dylan T-shirt he’s wearing. “Are you wearing my clothes?”
He nods, making his huge white-blond curls bounce around his head. The tip of his nose twitches and his forget-me-not colored eyes are big and guarded.
It’s the eyes that does it.
“Wait! You’re that guy. The one the Nymans were here looking for.” I bite my lip as I search my brain for the name of the missing man. “Mattis?”
“Yes.”
I jump when he speaks, making my head slam against the wardrobe, and I wince.
“Don’t be afraid, I won’t hurt you, I promise.”
I scowl at him, inching myself closer to the door, hoping he won’t try and stop me when I get close enough to bolt.
Why, oh why, did I make that stupid rule for myself to never bring my phone to bed? If I’d had it, I could’ve hidden in the closet and called 911.
“I made you coffee, Hannes. Please don’t run, I need to talk to you.”
“How do you know my name?” My voice is nowhere near as demanding as I want it to be. Instead, it sounds more like a plea and cracks.
Slowly, he rises to his feet in one fluid motion, keeping his gaze on me and his voice soft. “I know many things about you.”
“How?” I’m pretty close to the door now. Just a few steps and I’ll be out.
“Please don’t run. Sit, drink your coffee, and I’ll tell you.”
I shake my head. “Why should I? How do I know you’re not here to kill me or something?”
He cocks his head and his nose twitches faster. “’Don’t be afraid. I know I probably look big and scary to someone as small as you, but I promise I’m nice. I won’t hurt you.’”
I freeze as he quotes my own words back to me, the ones I said to Mio that day I found him in the kitchen. “How?” I whisper.
My eyelids are heavy, and I melt into the mattress as my mind drifts. I must already be dreaming because I can smell coffee; strong and bitter and fruity, and it’s making my mouth water. The scent grows more intense and I hum. I’ve never had a dream this life-like before.
My eyes flutter open and I rub a palm over my face, but the coffee aroma doesn’t disappear even though I’m clearly awake. Knitting my eyebrows together, I turn on the light.
And there, on the bedside table, stands my favorite cup -- the one Nana hand-painted with my name and wood anemones, my favorite flower -- full of hot, steaming coffee.
“What the ...?” I push myself up to seated and stare at the thing as though it’s a huge disgusting cockroach.
... and from the corner of my eye, I notice someone sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall under the window.
I gasp, scrambling backward until I almost fall off the bed. When my feet hit the floor, I put as much distance between me and the stranger as I can. My legs wobble and my hands tingle as I press my back against the wardrobe door.
“Who are you? How did you get in here?” I say, voice breathy and hesitant. I wouldn’t scare a mouse in my state. My gaze flits between the intruder and the door.
Can I make a run for it?
My heart is galloping in my chest, and I shake my head, trying to clear it and make sure I’m properly awake, but he’s still there. He’s real, not a figment of my imagination.
As I look closer at the man, who’s not saying anything, just sits there as though he’s trying to be as unthreatening as possible, I realize he’s vaguely familiar.
I definitely recognize the Bob Dylan T-shirt he’s wearing. “Are you wearing my clothes?”
He nods, making his huge white-blond curls bounce around his head. The tip of his nose twitches and his forget-me-not colored eyes are big and guarded.
It’s the eyes that does it.
“Wait! You’re that guy. The one the Nymans were here looking for.” I bite my lip as I search my brain for the name of the missing man. “Mattis?”
“Yes.”
I jump when he speaks, making my head slam against the wardrobe, and I wince.
“Don’t be afraid, I won’t hurt you, I promise.”
I scowl at him, inching myself closer to the door, hoping he won’t try and stop me when I get close enough to bolt.
Why, oh why, did I make that stupid rule for myself to never bring my phone to bed? If I’d had it, I could’ve hidden in the closet and called 911.
“I made you coffee, Hannes. Please don’t run, I need to talk to you.”
“How do you know my name?” My voice is nowhere near as demanding as I want it to be. Instead, it sounds more like a plea and cracks.
Slowly, he rises to his feet in one fluid motion, keeping his gaze on me and his voice soft. “I know many things about you.”
“How?” I’m pretty close to the door now. Just a few steps and I’ll be out.
“Please don’t run. Sit, drink your coffee, and I’ll tell you.”
I shake my head. “Why should I? How do I know you’re not here to kill me or something?”
He cocks his head and his nose twitches faster. “’Don’t be afraid. I know I probably look big and scary to someone as small as you, but I promise I’m nice. I won’t hurt you.’”
I freeze as he quotes my own words back to me, the ones I said to Mio that day I found him in the kitchen. “How?” I whisper.
Hoppy Egg Hunting by Jaime Samms
Warren slipped and slid his way—mostly on his ass—towards the bottom of the slope that ended at the skating pond on the edge of his property. While logically he knew he was headed feet-first to the barrier of huge logs and boulders that lined the pond along the bottom of the hill, he still panicked. Imagining himself skidding right through the thin edge of the ice, under the water to end up beneath the thicker wedge of ice still floating in the centre of the pond, made his sphincter clench, his heart pound, and his scalp sweat.
He clutched at a passing branch that broke off in his hand. Tossing it aside, he grabbed for a sapling that bent, ripped through his mittened grip, then sprang away, out of reach. He tried a low-slung spruce bough, but the sharp spine-like needles pierced his woolen mitts and he instinctively let go again.
“Fuck!”
There was nothing left to grab. The log pile approached fast, and now he really did worry he had too much momentum and would end up slamming into it, and they wouldn’t catch his weight.
“Shit, shit, shit!”
He flailed and something—someone—grabbed his wrist, holding fast in an impossibly tight grip, swinging him around in his descent while simultaneously hauling him up off his back.
He slammed into a chest and two beefy arms encircled him like a giant iron vice.
“Ooof!” All his breath whooshed out on impact.
His rescuer didn’t even budge at the force of him slamming into his chest. Warren was not a small man. His weight and momentum would have landed him and any of his also-not-small-brothers in a heap in the wet snow.
Not this guy. He just stood there, holding Warren until he got his breath back, not seeming to care that Warren’s face was smushed against the front of his heavy canvas work coat.
“Erm.” Warren huffed and patted the man’s chest. The coat was thick, probably layered with a sweater under it, and still, the solidity of the body underneath was impressive. A patch of denim neatly stitched to the coat shoulder near the seam caught his attention, and he absently brushed at it. “Thanks.”
That got a grunt, and the man took a step back so Warren could look up at his face.
“Jesus,” Warren whispered, tipping his head back. “Where’d you come from?”
The man was nearly a head taller than Warren’s own six feet three inches. He was broader, too, with a round, beard-covered face, pink cheeks, and full lips. A red toque sat crookedly on his head, black wavy hair peeking from beneath, as if the effort of Warren’s rescue had knocked the hat askew. Cavernously deep and warm brown eyes regarded Warren.
He stumbled because yeah, he could fall into eyes like that.
The man braced him, a hand on each bicep. “You hurt?” he asked. His voice was soft, quiet, like the breezeless still of a forest after heavy snow.
“No,” Warren breathed. “Thanks to you.”
The man smiled, and it was like the sun came out in that quiet forest glade. “Good.”
Warren wasn’t hurt, but he was having the devil of a time breathing, and he was certain his heart had decided to just fall over and expire in his chest. Goosebumps crept up his back and over his scalp.
He couldn’t look away.
The man pointed to the log wall along the pond’s edge. “The wood’s punky. They need replacing.”
Warren followed his gesture to the logs. “That’s disconcerting.”
He got a nod, but sadly, no gently rumbled words this time.
“Your timing was excellent, then.”
Another nod.
Warren eased a step back and the man let his hands fall away.
Unfortunate, because they were huge, solid, and the strength in them comforting.
With some reluctance, Warren’s heart thumped back to its regular cadence. Perhaps it was tired after the wild rabbiting it had done while he careened down the hill. Whatever the reason, it definitely was not behaving normally.
“I, um…” He held out a hand, realized his mittens were sodden with slushy mud, and yanked the right one off. “I’m Warren. Sharpe. Warren Sharpe.”
The man removed his outer shell mitt to shake Warren’s hand, skin-to-skin contact interrupted by the barrier of a thin wool glove beneath, each finger-tip mended with neat stitches in various shades of brown and grey yarn against the red of the gloves. “Franko Corsi.”
Warren gulped. “It’s good to meet you, Franko. Thanks for saving my ass.”
Franko huffed and gave a tiny shrug. “It’s a good ass.”
Warren blinked at him, almost as breathless as the moment he’d slammed into the man’s body. “Uh. Thanks?” he wheezed.
Abruptly, Franko spun and stomped away through the snow, quickly disappearing around the thickets lining the pond’s far end and screening it from the neighbouring property.
The Accidental Baker by Clare London
Donnie descended the stairs to the front of the building, Henry on his heels. He grabbed the handle of the door out to the street with difficulty, steadying himself against the wall and wriggling the bags of food farther up his arm. “Henry? You could be more helpful. I need to move some stuff in the back of my car to fit all this in.”
“Is that the time?” Henry made a big show of looking at his phone, not that he hadn’t been glued to it all the time he’d been drinking Donnie’s coffee and casting aspersions on Donnie’s baking. “I must be off, sweetheart, I’ll be late for lunch time opening. I can’t trust Debbie and Stuart to clean properly to the back of the shelves, and I have a new guy still on probation behind the bar.”
Henry nudged up behind him, apparently trying to push past Donnie and be first out into the street.
“Henry, back the hell off, will you?”
There was a sudden squash as they jammed shoulders in the narrow doorway. Donnie gave a yelp as he felt the tray of chocolate goodies start to slip from under his arm. “Help!”
“What?”
The tray tilted, stuck at waist level between them as they stood wedged in place. Donnie wriggled, Henry panted and pushed.
“Catch hold of it!” Donnie moaned.
“Catch hold of what?”
Then Henry wrenched his way free, stepped out into the street, and the whole tray fell to the ground with a crash.
“Oh noooo!” Donnie wailed.
“I have to rush, sweetheart.” Henry was backing away, barely looking. Had he even realised what had happened? “You’ll manage!”
Donnie ignored him. He dropped immediately to his knees to survey the damage. A lot of the chocolates had broken—though he wasn’t entirely sure they weren’t that shape to start with—but much worse, oh my fucking God! A handful had bounced out of the tray and were rolling across the pavement towards the shops.
He reached for the nearest escapees. Luckily there were few shoppers around to tread on him or his eggs, but panic tightened his chest. The chocolates weren’t round like tennis balls, so why the hell did they bound away so quickly? The odd shapes seemed to have their own, innate mischief—they rolled erratically, like a rugby ball would bounce at an angle, like a sheet of paper would dart in the wind away from your foot no matter how quickly you stamped. He grabbed for a rabbit that was rolling toward the pedestrian crossing, then at the last minute its trajectory faltered, it wobbled, then set off again at right angles in the direction of the bakery. And Donnie, off balance and in a blind fright, crashed face down onto the pavement, his palm closing over thin air. “Oof!”
“Oh my God. Are you hurt?”
A shadow loomed over him. Had Henry returned to help out? No, the shadow was larger than his friend, and the cologne wasn’t as overpowering. Donnie sat up with an effort. His palms were scraped and bleeding and both his knees hurt. He felt that unique embarrassment of falling like a child when you were actually twenty years past toddler-hood and should have known better. “I’m okay. Sort of, thanks.”
The man who’d spoken hunched down beside him. Yes, definitely not Henry, who would have been flapping about getting dirt on his designer trousers from the ill-swept pavement. “Just sit there for a moment., It’s a shock when you fall. Do you feel dizzy?” He was older than Donnie, stocky and broad shouldered, with silver in his hair, worried eyes, and glasses balanced crookedly on his nose as if he’d bent one of the arms. Donnie did that a lot with sunglasses.
At the corner of Donnie’s eye, silver foil glinted in the morning sunlight.
“Fuck. My eggs!” Now he sounded like a manic chicken. “I’ve got to catch them!”
“Um.” The guy looked somewhere between bemused and scared. “Sure. I mean, let me help you. Do you mean these?” He shifted the fallen tray to Donnie’s side, then looking quickly from side to side, he rescued a chick that had almost rolled into the gutter. “That’s all I can see. I think you caught the rest.”
Donnie did a quick inventory check, which was pretty pointless when he couldn’t remember how many he’d started with. “I don’t know.” He wasn’t going to cry, was he? “They’ll all be broken now.”
“Well. Let’s not panic.” The guy tapped an egg gingerly with the tip of his finger. “This one seems to have got off unscathed.”
And as they both stared, the foil peeled away, a slow, ugly split crawled from its tip to its base, and it broke apart in at least eight pieces.
“Okay. So, not that one, then.”
“None of them! None of them. This is a disaster!” They weren’t much to start with, were they? Sitting on the pavement with his creations all jumbled up in the tray, Donnie could see quite how pathetic the mis-shapes were.
“Hey, don’t worry,” the man said softly. He had one of those nice voices, the ones that could go soft without sounding like he was talking to a baby. “Baking accidents happen.”
Donnie opened his mouth, then clamped it shut again. How did he explain that every fucking baking project he ever did was an accident?
“Thanks anyway.” He had to be brave. After all, kids, we’ll always have the sweet potato frisbees. He struggled his way to his feet. At the last minute, the man caught his arm and helped with a confident, very steady hand. Donnie had rarely felt less like either of those in his life.
“Can I offer you a cup of tea? You should sit still for a while.”
Donnie’s head felt too big and too slow as he shook it. “I have to drive these over to—”
“And definitely not drive straight away. Look, just for a few minutes, until you’ve recovered. You don’t have to go far—I’m your neighbour actually.”
The nice man smiled self-consciously. The skin around his eyes crinkled in a sexy way that gave Donnie more comfort than he’d found all morning. “You’re a hairdresser?” The guy’s hair was cut too severely, hiding most of that attractive grey, and it looked like he’d maybe trimmed his beard in the dark because there was a tiny bald patch on the left side…
The man laughed, loud enough for Donnie to smile in return, and surely, no, definitely too loud for public politeness, according to Henry’s social rules. “No way, I don’t think Emma would have me. I’m the new vet. Surgery doesn’t open until twelve today, so you can sit in the quiet while I look after you.” He blushed, very appealingly. “Sorry, is that too weird? I’m not trying to force myself on you, just wanted to help.”
“No, not weird at all.”
Forcing himself? Far from it. Donnie felt an irresistible urge to be forced upon by this cute man, no problem. He felt slightly dizzy in the face of that blush. Surely you couldn’t get concussion from a blow to the knees?
And he let the man take his hand.
I'm a happily married mom of one snarky teenage boy, and three grown "kids of my heart." As a reader and big romance fan myself, I love sharing the stories of the different people who live in my imagination. My stories are filled with humor, a few tears, and the underlying message to not give up hope, even in the darkest of times, because life can change on a dime when you least expect it. This theme comes from a lifetime of lessons learned on my own hard journey through the pains of poverty, the loss of more loved ones than I'd care to count, and the struggles of living through chronic illnesses. Life can be hard, but it can also be good! Through it all I've found that love, laughter, and family can make all the difference, and that's what I try to bring to every tale I tell.
**Taken from the author's FB Page June 15, 2022**
It is with a heavy heart that we're making this post. On June 14th, 2022, Susi/Susan Hawke passed away.
Susi loved her readers, fellow authors, and writing community with every ounce of her heart, and we are all better for having her in our lives.
V.L. Locey loves worn jeans, yoga, belly laughs, walking, reading and writing lusty tales, Greek mythology, the New York Rangers, comic books, and coffee.
(Not necessarily in that order.)
She shares her life with her husband, her daughter, one dog, two cats, a flock of assorted domestic fowl, and two Jersey steers.
When not writing spicy romances, she enjoys spending her day with her menagerie in the rolling hills of Pennsylvania with a cup of fresh java in hand.
Nell Iris writes gay romance, prefers sweet over angsty, short over long, and quirky characters over alpha males. She published her first book in 2017.
Nell is an author with a day job that steals too much time from her writing, her reading, her gardening, and her crocheting. She’s an introverted tea drinker who loves her family, her books, and her home in the Swedish countryside.
Jaime SammsLost. Broken. Found…loved. Romance for all.
Jaime is a plaid-hearted Canadian who spends the long cold winters writing stories about love between
men and the too-short summers digging in the garden. There are dust bunnies in the corners of her
house—which she blames on a husky named Kai.
There are dishes on the counter—which is clearly because teenagers! There is hot coffee in the pot and the occasional meal to keep her from starving—because her husband is remarkable and patient.
A multi-published author whose work has been translated into French, Italian and German, Jaime delights in the intricate dance of words that leads her through tales of the lost and broken-hearted men she writes about, to the love stories that find and mend them.
And when the muse is being stubborn, she also makes pretty things with yarn and fabric scraps because in her world, no heart is too broken to love, and nothing is too worn or tired it can’t be upcycled into something beautiful. All it takes is determination and the ability to see life a little bit left of centre.
Clare LondonClare London took her pen name from the city where she lives, loves, and writes. A lone, brave female in a frenetic, testosterone-fuelled family home, she juggles her writing with her other day job as an accountant.
She’s written in many genres and across many settings, with award-winning novels and short stories published both online and in print. She says she likes variety in her writing while friends say she’s just fickle, but as long as both theories spawn good fiction, she’s happy. Most of her work features male/male romance and drama with a healthy serving of physical passion, as she enjoys both reading and writing about strong, sympathetic, and sexy characters.
Clare currently has several novels sulking at that tricky chapter-three stage and plenty of other projects in mind… she just has to find out where she left them in that frenetic, testosterone-fuelled family home.
Clare loves to hear from readers, and you can contact her on all her social media.
Susi/Susan Hawke
VL Locey
EMAIL: vicki@vllocey.com
Nell Iris
WEBSITE / NEWSLETTER / KOBO
EMAIL: contact@nelliris.com
Jaime Samms
WEBSITE / NEWSLETTER / RIPTIDE
KOBO / iTUNES / AUDIBLE / GOOGLE PLAY
EMAIL: jaime.samms@gmail.com
Clare London
Marshmallow Spiced Omega by Susi Hawke
The Easter Redemption by VL Locey
9 Willow Street by Nell Iris
Hoppy Egg Hunting by Jaime Samms
The Accidental Baker by Clare London
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