Monday's Mysterious Mayhem: Sunset Lake by John Inman

Summary:
Reverend Brian Lucas has a secret his congregation in the Nine Mile Methodist Church knows nothing about, and he’d really like to keep it that way. But even his earth-shattering secret takes a backseat to what else is happening in his tiny hometown.

Murders usually do that.

Brian's “close friend,” Sam, is urging a resolution to their little problem, but Brian's brother, Boyd, the County Sheriff, is more caught up in chasing down a homicidal maniac who is slaughtering little old ladies.

When Brian's secret and Boyd's mystery run into each other head on, and Boyd's fifteen-year-old son, Jesse, gets involved, all hell breaks loose. Then a fourth death comes to terrify the town, and it is Brian who begins to see what is taking place in their little corner of the Corn Belt. But even for a Methodist minister, it will take more than prayer to set it right.

Audiobook Review January 2021:

There really isn't anything I can add to my original review as to the greatness of this story.  Brian, Sam, Boyd, Jesse, and even Mrs. Shanahan(Sam's aunt) are just as interesting the second time around as they were originally.  Knowing what was coming and who did what didn't lessen the edge of your seat creepy factor either.  Let's face it, the who, what, where, and why are the meat and potatoes of a good mystery and sometimes once you know the answers they can be not as fun anymore but not with Sunset Lake.  "Fun" may seem an odd term for this kind of tale but when done right, I find mysteries are my favorite genre of choice to enjoy and John Inman has done it right.  As for the narration, I've never listened to a book read by Randal Shaffer but he was quite perfect for this tale of the macabre and I can see this being a re-read/listen for years to come.

Original ebook Review August 2019:
A closeted reverend, his BFF(aka longterm secret boyfriend), the BFF's elderly aunt, the reverend's teenage nephew and his BFF are spending the summer preparing for the opening of the new church camp.  Throw in the minister's brother the cop and it sounds like the opening of a bad joke but Sunset Lake is no joke.  John Inman has once again showed his knack for death and danger with this incredibly well written murder mystery that may not be as creepy as some of his tales but it has it's fair share of gruesomeness to keep the reader leery of what awaits them on the next page.

Brian, the closeted minister, and Sam, the BFF/secret lover, are definitely a well suited item.  I can understand why Brian is closeted and weary about being himself.  Personally I don't think he gives his family enough credit but it isn't just his family, his biggest fear is his congregation and the church hierarchy and the possibility of them taking the church from him.  I'm not a gay man so I can't speak from experience but I'd like to think if I was in Brian's place and my congregation couldn't accept me for who I am then I don't think I'd want to be their minister.  The truth is for Brian it really comes down to being ready and only he can make that decision, which Inman really helps you see that through the minister's inner monologue.

As for Sam, I don't know as I could be as patient as he has been but what I loved most about this was the author didn't go the cliché route in having Sam pressure Brian to come out.   Some authors go the way of an ultimatum for the sake of the drama element but Mr. Inman did not and that made Sunset Lake even more entertaining for me.  Now that's not to say Sam is happy and content to be the secret lover but he understands Brian needs to be honest with himself, his family, and his parishioners at his own pace.  Just how long Sam is willing to wait is something you'll have to read for yourself😉 but I will say that the lack of an ultimatum made for a welcome change.

Now let's talk murder.  WOW!  DOUBLE WOW! and WOW AGAIN!  When evil comes to the little community of Nine Mile, it really comes full force, perhaps not in quantity but the quality of the evil is definitely not for the faint of heart.  That's not to say Sunset Lake is the book equivalent of an 80s slasher flick but it's not pretty either😉.  I obviously won't say who did it but I will say I was wrong in my guessing and theories up until about 5 or 6 pages before the reveal.   Sunset Lake will keep you wondering, keep you intrigued, and keep you on the edge of your seat from beginning to end.

In my reading experience a limited number of authors, no matter how good they are, are true storytellers.  What the difference is you ask?  Well in my mind a storyteller not only pens a great read but puts you in it, makes the reader feel as if you are right there witnessing everything, if you turn left on the street corner on your way to the post office you'll run into character A, you'll see character B drive by when you step out to get the mail, and you'll do everything you can to avoid character C when you spot them coming out of the cafe😉.  Sunset Lake is a perfect example of why John Inman is a storyteller and though it may seem kind of a creepy story to feel you are right there in the middle of, it definitely adds an extra layer of amazing-ness and "Oh crap I didn't see that coming".   This is not a new release for the author but it did just recently come to my attention so if you are like me and missed it four years ago, be sure to give it a look-see because it is definitely a creepy romantic gem worthy of your time and money.

RATING:

Chapter One
HERE IN Nine Mile, kinship still shapes daily life. Familial bonds are strong, and the ties of friendship are lifelong and rarely broken. We seem to possess the tattered remnants of a pioneer culture, with all the spirit and cohesiveness that entails, and at the same time, we find ourselves coexisting with satellite dishes and microwave ovens and shiny computer-driven automobiles that beep and boop and flash annoying little lights at us every time we do something stupid.

The people here are good, most of them. Kind, simple country folks. Many are farmers, and like good farmers everywhere, they have an undying, tongue-in-cheek faith in the ability of God or government, or both, to somehow mangle the next harvest and render it worthless.

In reality, these people haven’t changed as much as they might think they have. Their accessories have, certainly, but not the people themselves. Like the pioneers before them, their hearts are strong with reverence for country, family, friends, and church. And the land, of course. With citizens such as these, it is always the land that comes first. Always.

Put simply, they are nice, decent people. On the whole.

Exceptions, of course, can always be found.

And on this, the last day of her life, Grace Nuggett would meet one of those exceptions face-to-face.

It wasn’t the sort of day one would choose for the last day of life if one’s options were open. The rain had not yet come pelting down, but by the look of that dismal gunmetal sky above our heads, I figured it was only a matter of time before it did. From the occasional grumble of distant thunder, it seemed a safe bet Someone up there agreed with me.

Being the only Methodist minister in Nine Mile, and knowing full well the farmers were scanning the sky for the least little promise of rain to ease the long drought they had been enduring (God did it to them this time, since they couldn’t very well blame the government for the weather), I should have sent up a grateful prayer of thanks that the withered crops in the fields would finally get some much-needed moisture. But in reality, all I did was lean against the outside wall of my church, cross my arms, stare balefully at the sky, and sigh. If I were a farmer in need of sunshine, I would have had the pleasure of blaming God for this outrage, but being a preacher in need of sunshine in the middle of a drought, I didn’t quite dare. Not that I wasn’t tempted.

After two long months with nary a hint of moisture in the air, today, of all days, the sky had finally decided to open up. Sam had warned me, of course. He always does. About everything.

Sam is my go-to guy for all things mechanical, since I’m about as useful as a box of sick hamsters. Sam is also my best friend. We have known each other since we were kids growing up in this one-horse town. Looking at us, one would think we were polar opposites. Sam stands about five foot six, and I’m six four. Sam is well built, and I’m a beanpole. His hair is reddish blond while mine is black. The only thing we truly have in common, other than friendship, is the fact that we are both single. Which, of course, opens up a whole new can of worms since every woman at the church is constantly trying to set us up with a female relative or two. Or three. But so far Sam and I have held on to our bachelorhood with tooth and claw.

But that’s another story altogether.

“Give the farmers a break, Brian,” Sam told me. His voice was a booming, sonorous echo because he had his head buried in the church’s old upright piano. He had his head stuck in the piano because he was trying to tune the thing himself since the church couldn’t afford to pay an actual piano tuner to do the job.

I didn’t say anything, but it sounded to me like he was getting questionable results as far as the tuning went. His words, however, would later prove to be right on key.

“Set the date for the annual basket dinner,” he said. “That’s the only way the poor farmers’ll get any rain, and you know it.”

He must have heard my derisive snort, for he poked his head out of the piano and gave me a glare. A dust ball the size of a mouse was stuck in his hair. “Just wait. You’ll see. And while you’re waiting, hand me that velvet hammer. The one in the toolbox.”

I handed him the hammer, and here I was, two weeks later, propped against the side of the church like a tired wooden Indian, the back of my neck heating up, remembering how I had scoffed at Sam’s prediction.

Well, to make a long story short, I did see. All too well. As I watched, the good ladies of my congregation, with their starched Sunday dresses flapping like flags about their legs, tried rather unsuccessfully to place tablecloths and napkins atop the plank-covered trestles arranged in rows beneath the elm trees at the edge of the churchyard. Unsuccessfully because as soon as someone neatly spread a tablecloth, the wind would come along and flip it into the grass. Or happily toss the napkins into the air. Or simply poof the poor lady’s skirt up around her ears until she was forced to drop everything in an attempt to maintain her dignity, and the moment she did, the wind would take everything—tablecloth, napkins, paper plates and cups—and gleefully scatter them to hell and back.

At my back, through the walls of the old church, I heard the sweet voices of the Methodist choir practicing, yet again, one of the hymns they had chosen for this occasion. Behind the emphatic lead of the ancient upright piano—which still wasn’t tuned right, dammit—I heard the choir sing the old familiar lyrics I grew up with.


Shall we gather at the ri-i-iver,

The beautiful, the beautiful r-i-i-iver.


Before the verse was finished, a particularly energetic gust of wind rattled the elm branches, and rain began to splatter the sidewalk at my feet and plunk against the tall windows of the church. Then something a bit more insistent began plunking at the window beside me, and I turned to see Sam tapping at the glass from inside the chapel and pointing to the ladies out there beneath the trees as they frantically gathered up the tumbling paraphernalia of our ill-timed basket dinner. With squeals of laughter, they began scurrying, light-footed, through the wet grass toward the church to seek shelter from the quickening rain.

As luck would have it, the food was already in the basement.

“Just in case,” Sam had said earlier, with a wary eye on that ugly sky overhead as the ladies began arriving with dishes upon pots upon containers of every sort, filled with heaven knows what but all smelling so wonderful it sent saliva dribbling off the end of my chin as if the gaskets in my mouth had dissolved from the sheer splendor of it all.

As my nephew Jesse, fifteen years old and looking uncomfortably spit shined on this summer afternoon, and his friend Kyle, looking equally clean and miserable, ran past me to help the ladies do what they had to do, I realized it might not be a bad idea if I helped them a bit myself. They weren’t paying me to prop up the church. I was supposed to be the man in charge.

Before I could set off to assist the ladies of Nine Mile, a loud crack of thunder made me jump straight up into the air and bang my head on the underside of the electric meter nailed to the side of the church.

One of the ladies squealed in mock terror as she ran for the door, trailing a tablecloth over her head to protect her hair from the rain. Manly enough not to squeal, or so I hoped, I caught one last glimpse of Sam’s laughing face in the window as I sprinted for the door myself. Rather than mowing the good woman down in my haste to escape the now cascading sheets of rain, it seemed a bit more gallant to grab her arm and lead her safely, but hurriedly, up the church steps and into the vestibule. There we shook ourselves off like a couple of wet dogs and laughed at the silliness of the situation.

Never one to miss an opportunity to embarrass me, as old friends always seem to do, Sam gave me a good-natured ribbing as I stood in the vestibule, dripping. “Good Lord, Brian! It’s raining cats and dogs out there. Let’s have a picnic, shall we?”

Sam’s aunt Mrs. Shanahan, a rotund lady of eighty-some years with blue finger-waved hair that rolled across the top of her head like a corrugated tin roof, and possessing a voice that could crack obsidian, came to my rescue. Not. Mrs. Shanahan and I were adversaries from way back. She used to chase me out of her scuppernong arbor back in my youthful, barefoot days, and she had been chasing me one way or another ever since.

“Now, Sam. Mustn’t pick at the poor man just because he chose the worst day we’ve had in six months to hold our annual basket dinner. We’ll get by. We always do. Old Reverend Morton, now. He knew how to pick ’em. Always chose the prettiest day of the year. I asked him once how he managed to do that year after year, and he said he asked God to set the date for him. Now, there was a man of faith!”

He was also a pompous old windbag who inevitably smelled of garlic and cheap aftershave, I thought, rather uncharitably, I suppose, for a Methodist minister. Especially when referring to the man of God who had preceded me at my post for nigh on fifteen years. But it was true nevertheless. Reverend Morton was the dullest man to set foot on this planet since the conception of time, and if he ever spoke directly to God, and God actually deigned to answer, then I was a Kurdish camel driver on the road to popedom.

“But never mind,” Mrs. Shanahan yammered on, giving Sam a wink and me a snarl. “We’ll eat inside. Lord knows we haven’t had to do that for ages. Kind of defeats the purpose of an outdoor basket dinner, don’t you know. But what the hey? The food’s good. That’s what counts. Right, Jesse?”

A hand the size of a thirty-dollar pot roast came out of nowhere and slapped Jesse on the back. I could hear the boy’s teeth rattle from the impact. The poor kid looked vaguely appalled at being thusly singled out for an opinion, but he carried it off well enough. “Suppose so,” he mumbled to no one in particular. At the same time, he rolled his shoulder around to get some circulation back into it. “I like the rain.”

Mrs. Shanahan enthusiastically pounded his back again, this time nearly driving the boy to his knees, which elicited a snicker from his friend Kyle. She appeared oblivious to her own strength. “Of course you do, Jesse!” her voice boomed out. “You and everybody else within shouting distance come from good American farm stock. Ain’t a farmer been hatched yet that don’t like the rain. In decent doses, that is.”

The woman stuck her great arm through mine and dragged me toward the basement steps. “Come on, Reverend. Let’s get the tables set up downstairs. Gotta work before we eat, you know.”

Sam stood on the sidelines, watching this exchange with laughing eyes and a heart, I’m sure, that soared with happiness. Nothing amused him more than my own embarrassment. If you get to really know Sam, sooner or later he’ll tell you about the time I peed my pants in first grade. But let’s not get into that.

I was still being dragged along in Mrs. Shanahan’s wake when a sudden burst of lightning made her tighten her grip on my arm and hasten her step. She came to life like Frankenstein’s monster, I pleasantly conjectured, rather happy with my choice of metaphor, and at the same time, I wondered how the woman could so unfailingly steer my mind into such unchristian corridors. It was a talent at which she positively excelled.

Sam made a face as if he knew what I was thinking, which he probably did. He grabbed Jesse and Kyle around their necks and dragged them down the basement steps behind me. As we headed underground, the sound of thunder receded, to be replaced by the confused babble of a hundred happy voices all jabbering at once in delirious abandon.

The church basement was large, thank heavens, but still every corner was filled. Colorful print dresses were interspersed only occasionally with the more somber shirt and tie. It was a weekday, after all, and most of the farmers were in their fields, or had been until the rain started. Only their wives could afford the luxury of a day off. But even they had earned it. The array of supper dishes and cake plates and aluminum pots and pans of every shape and size confirmed that fact. Food was everywhere. The air was alive with the smell of it. These ladies hadn’t simply popped out of bed that morning and dressed for church. Most of them had been up half the night preparing dishes they could be proud of. Dishes, they hoped, that would pucker their neighbors’ hearts with envy.

Basically, they were showing off. But Lord, theirs was a vanity of which I fully approved.

It didn’t take us long, with all hands chipping in, to arrange the food on tables along the basement wall.

It was a mouth-watering assortment, to be sure. Meats first, then came the casseroles and veggies, and after that the delicacies I loved the best. Homemade pickles, wilted lettuce swimming in sugar and bacon grease (hellish in cholesterol but heavenly on the palate), tiny ears of young corn dabbed with freshly churned butter, garden fresh radishes and peppers dipped in vinegar, and a dozen other trifles.

After that, as you greedily meandered down the line of tables, you came to the breads and biscuits: Freshly baked sourdough that had been tenderly raised—covered with a dishcloth and placed in the sun for warmth—transforming it from an unappetizing wad of pale dough to one of God’s greatest gifts to man, next only to the sacred act of sex itself. Chunks of home-baked bread the size of concrete blocks that you pulled apart with your hands. Round slabs of cornbread baked in cast-iron skillets and sliced in triangles, pie-fashion. Muffins of every shape and flavor—apple, blueberry, carrot, gooseberry, hickory nut, pumpkin, zucchini, and some that were unrecognizable but delicious just the same.

After the muffins, as you neared the apex of this fattening runway, you came to the desserts. Pies of every flavor, with delicate designs carved into the crusts. An angel food cake standing a foot high if it was an inch and topped with strawberries from someone’s garden. Freshly picked cherries buried in coconut and whipped cream, cookies piled high on platters, a dozen different kinds, and at the end my personal favorite: a peach cobbler, baked, I knew, by Mrs. Shanahan, who with those pot-roast-size hands of hers could pull culinary wonders from her oven.

Guilt over calories consumed would come later. For now, everyone dedicated themselves, heart and soul, to the business at hand. We milled around like cows on a hillside, chewing our cuds, eyes half-closed in delirious bliss, as if this were the sole purpose for our existence. To eat. We did it with unbridled enthusiasm, occasionally exclaiming over a particularly delightful discovery and calling out to ask who made it. When the culprit was found, it was usually a stocky housewife with sunburned cheeks and eyes that crinkled at the corners from squinting in a truck garden for hours on end beneath a blazing summer sun. Hearing the compliments, a blush of pride from all the praise accorded her would raise the pink glow of those sunburned cheeks to a happy, fiery red. Then, to ease herself humbly from the spotlight, she would cry out in praise of some delicacy or other, and in so doing, pass the torch to someone else.

It was all very civilized and Christian. These people were, after all, friends. Many of them had known each other, like Sam and I, since birth. They understood that praise, like butter, must be spread around. One brief moment of glory was enough for anyone, but once your moment ended, lend it to someone else. Otherwise, the next time praise was being flung about like candy at a parade, you might find none of it flying in your direction. They were friends, yes, but they were friends who never forgot a kindness or a slight.

After a time, the clatter of forks on plates diminished, and snippets of conversations could be heard that didn’t always refer to the food at hand. The feeding frenzy was winding down.

I sat back, sandwiched as I was between Sam and Mrs. Shanahan, gorged like a tick about to pop. Casually, so as not to be unduly noticed, I loosened my belt a notch. Sam looked about as miserable as I did, although he was still chomping on a fistful of oatmeal cookies.

I tried not to puke watching him, and while I gave my glutted body a much-needed rest, I let my attention roam around the room as I studied the faces of my flock.

These were the people who worshipped in my church, who suffered through my sermons, who sometimes came to me with their problems. We seemed a cozy, friendly group, sitting there huddled together with our bellies full while the summer storm howled outside.

The farmers should be happy, I reflected, watching the rain slap against the little ground-level windows placed high along the basement walls. They had certainly needed this rain, even if I had not. But what the hey, rain or not, the annual basket dinner appeared to be a raging success. Perhaps the rain had brought us closer together, here in this crowded basement room, than we would have felt underneath the elms outside with the endless summer sky overhead.

Gradually, for lack of anything better to do and too stuffed to do it even if there had been, I tuned in to the voices around me.

Mrs. Shanahan’s, of course, was the first to pierce my awareness. She leaned across me and Sam to speak to Aggie Snyder, who was one of the farm wives and who, at the moment, was about as pregnant as a human being can be. Mrs. Shanahan blithely ignored Sam and me as if we were a couple of fence posts someone had had the audacity to sink into the ground smack in front of her face.

“Lordy, Aggie, I feel as full as you look! And this girdle is cutting me in two. ‘Comfortable support for a lovelier you,’ the box said. That’s a laugh!”

They come in boxes? I asked myself. Like stereos? In the meantime, Sam choked on a cookie.

Like Mrs. Shanahan, Aggie leaned over Sam and me as if we didn’t exist. “I don’t know why you bother wearing those silly things. I really don’t. You have a lovely, full figure. If you’re trying to catch a man,” she teased, “it will take more than a girdle.”

“Yes,” Sam whispered in my ear, “a bazooka,” causing us both to break into giggles.

Mrs. Shanahan cackled as happily as we did. “A man? I’ve had a man, and let me tell you, they ain’t all they’re cracked up to be. I married Mr. Shanahan fifty-seven years ago. He hung around for two months, bailed out one morning after breakfast, and I haven’t seen him since. The laziest creature that ever walked the face of the earth! Wouldn’t milk the cows ’cause he said it pained his knees. Wouldn’t hang my new kitchen curtains ’cause he said it pained his neck, don’t you know, reaching his arms way up over his head like that. That man had more pains than a window factory!”

She leaned in even closer to Aggie Snyder, pushing my back to the wall with her head a mere inch and a half from my lap. “A man, you say! What on earth would I do with a man?”

And what, I wondered as I studied those intricate blue waves that seemed to undulate across the top of her head with a life of their own, would he possibly do with you?

Author Bio:
John has been writing fiction for as long as he can remember. Born on a small farm in Indiana, he now resides in San Diego, California where he spends his time gardening, pampering his pets, hiking and biking the trails and canyons of San Diego, and of course, writing. He and his partner share a passion for theater, books, film, and the continuing fight for marriage equality. If you would like to know more about John, check out his website.

John Inman

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EMAIL: John492@att.net 

Randal Shaffer(Narrator)

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Week at a Glance: 1/18/21 - 1/24/21

Monday's Mysterious Mayhem, Musical Melody, & Mystical Magic: Best of 2020

Best Reads of 2020 Part 4

🎧Audiobooks🎧: Best Listens of 2020

Best Reads of 2020 Part 5

⏳🎭🍾👨‍❤️‍💋‍👨 Time Capusle 2020 👨‍❤️‍💋‍👨🍾🎭⏳

📘🎥Friday's Film Adaptation🎥📘: The Private Practice of Michael Shayne by Brett Halliday

📚💖👻💙👨‍❤️‍👨💚🎅💖📚Bests of 2020 📚💖👻💙👨‍❤️‍👨💚🎅💖📚

Saturday's Series Spotlight: Bake Sale Bachelors Part 2

Sunday's Sport Stats: Head in the Game by Jeff Adams

Sunday's Sport Stats: Head in the Game by Jeff Adams

Summary:

Pro hockey defenseman Roger Jacobson’s game is slipping. His contract is up for renewal and his fourteen-year career hangs in the balance. Desperate to find a way out of his professional slump, Roger returns to his hometown to work with his old coach and assist with a summer hockey camp.

When Dylan Barker skates into his life, he’s a romantic distraction that Roger couldn’t have anticipated. The handsome graduate student also happens to be his mentor’s son.

Can the love of a younger man mend Roger’s broken spirit and get his head back in the game?

"Head in the Game" is a m/m hockey romance novella with a low-angst story featuring a May/December relationship. It previously appeared in the 2017 charity anthology "Changing on the Fly: The Second Period."

From Chapter 2

Dylan Barker loved the game. Loved being on the ice.

His father was a huge reason for that. The game hadn’t been forced on him, though. As soon as he asked for skates, when he was three, he got them. In high school, he’d gotten good-natured ribbing from his Panthers teammates because his dad was the coach. Coach B treated everyone the same so Dylan had never gotten off easy. His passion had never waned in the years following.

The campers were starting to come onto the ice for warm-ups. Dylan had been out for an hour or so. He was at the rink even before his dad to skate, shoot pucks, and enjoy the morning. Some people went to the gym; he gravitated toward the rink. He spent many mornings working on speed, endurance, and puck handling.

So why was he getting ready to go to grad school instead of going pro? He fielded that question a lot. It wasn’t where his heart was. As much as he loved playing, he didn’t want that to be his job. Besides hockey, his other passion was teaching, likely acquired from his parents. Mom was a history professor while Dad coached and ran the high school’s Phys Ed department.

There’d been many talks with Dad on the pros and cons of going pro and teaching later. But even while he played for University of Maine’s Black Bears during college, it was working with young people that made him happiest. Helping them learn to skate and play the game he loved was the best job ever.

This summer was going to be perfect. Dylan was coaching alongside Dad for the first time. He’d always attended summer camp as a player through high school. The past four years he hadn’t been able to get home because he’d spent the summers in Orono working with youth camps.

Those jobs paid off because Dad asked him to take over as head coach of the under ten group. It was fortuitous the previous coach moved to Ohio for a new job. Things were clicking into place better than expected. He was going to be an offensive coach for the Panthers this fall too. It wasn’t a full-time job because he needed to focus on grad school, but the job would help limit his student loan debt.

As he stick-handled, some of the kids opted to skate alongside for impromptu passing drills. Others tried to emulate what he was doing as he passed the puck from his stick to his skates and back.

The hulking guy who stepped on the ice next caused Dylan to lose the puck between his skates. The longish brown hair, lightly scruffed cheeks, and an expression that was an odd mix of happy and sad drew his attention. Dylan stopped against the boards and watched as the newcomer talked with a couple of the older campers. It didn’t hurt that the rest of the guy was solidly built. Even in the sweatshirt he wore, it was clear the guy had bulk. It was an easy guess he was a defenseman.

Recognition shot through him like a lightning bolt. That was Roger Jacobson. He’d seen the name on the coaching roster and was glad that one of Dad’s NHL stars was here this year. How was this guy not featured in the Hot Hockey Players group that Dylan was part of on Facebook? He might have to fix that personally.

Author Bio:

Jeff Adams has written stories since he was in middle school and became a published author in 2009 when his first short stories were published. He writes both gay romance and LGBTQ+ young adult fiction…and there’s usually a hockey player at the center of the story.

Jeff lives in central California with his husband of more than twenty years, Will. Some of his favorite things include the musical "Rent" and, the Detroit Red Wings and Pittsburgh Penguins hockey teams, and the reality TV competition "So You Think You Can Dance." He, of course, loves to read, but there isn’t enough space to list his favorite books.

Jeff and Will are also podcasters. The "Big Gay Fiction Podcast" is a weekly show devoted to gay romance as well as pop culture. New episodes come out every Monday at BigGayFictionPodcast.com. The "Big Gay Author Podcast" chronicles their journey to become full time authors. New episodes drop Saturdays at BigGayAuthorPodcast.com.

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📚👬💖👻💙🐺💛🎅💚🎃💜💀💖👬📚

Now that January is nearly over we've reached the end of the Best of 2020 posts here at Padme's Library.  In case you missed any you will find links to all of the posts here.  Be sure and have a look at some of my bests, it was difficult to narrow it down, there were just so many lovely and entertaining books, novellas, and short stories that graced my Kindle but I was finally able to put the lists together.  Hope you agree and maybe you will find something new to add to your 2021 TBR list. As a special bonus, if you are still hungry for holiday tales I included the link to my Happy Holidays at a Glance post and for those who have had enough holiday sweets than I also included the link to my Happy Halloween Spookyness at a Glance post.

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Part 1  /  Part 2  /  Part 3  /  Part 4  /  Part 5

1/11/20: Monday's Memorial Moment & Morning's Menu

1/18/20: Monday's Mysterious Mayhem, Musical Melody, & Mystical Magic

1/8/20: 📘🎥Friday's Film Adaptation🎥📘: Best of 2020 Part 1

1/15/20: 📘🎥Friday's Film Adaptation🎥📘: Best of 2020 Part 2

1/9/20: Saturday's Series Spotlight: Best of 2020 Part 1

1/16/20: Saturday's Series Spotlight: Best of 2020 Part 2

1/10/20: Sunday's Short Stack

1/17/20: Sunday's Safe Word Shelf & Sports Stats

1/20/20: 🎧Audiobooks🎧: Best Listens of 2020

1/22/20: ⏳🎭🍾👨‍❤️‍💋‍👨 Time Capusle 2020 👨‍❤️‍💋‍👨🍾🎭⏳

1/10/21: ⛄🎄🎅💗🎅🎄⛄Holiday Season Hi-Jinx 2020 at a Glance⛄🎄🎅💗🎅🎄⛄

11/1/20: 👻🎃👻 Happy Halloween 👻🎃👻 Spookyness & Mayhem: October 2020 at a Glance

Saturday's Series Spotlight: Bake Sale Bachelors Season One Part 2

Apple Pie Pair by Jena Wade #4

Summary:

Tony wants nothing more than to be a good dad to his two kids. Purchasing an apple orchard and moving his kids out of the city and into the country life seemed like the best way to do that. He didn’t let himself think about the connection he’d made with the omega from the bachelor auction, until that omega landed on his doorstep as the travel writer doing a feature article on his orchard.

Jerry has never been good at relationships. His career comes first, it always has, and now he finally has a job that he has always dreamed of. He wasn’t going to let an attraction to the alpha he bought at the bachelor auction stop him from living his dream.

After one wonderful night together, the two parted as friends, knowing a relationship would go nowhere. They never envisioned that four months later, Jerry would be at Tony’s apple orchard to do an article for work. They really never thought that their one night together would have lasting consequences.

***

Apple Pie Pair is a sweet mpreg romance featuring a career driven omega, a devoted alpha father, and an accidental pregnancy.

Meat Pie Match by Lorelei M Hart #5

Summary:

The best pies are made with a lot of love…

Widowed Alpha Travis, owner of Dellburn’s butcher shop, Meat, has no desire to find love again. He already met and lost his one true love and has no desire to feel that pain again, but when Carin comes calling, he knows he needs to help with her fundraising event by donating the meat for the dinner. He won’t bid on any of the pies—he’s firm on that. The last thing he needs is a date with a bachelor.

Omega Aaron loves his job teaching at Dellburn Elementary. Knowing he makes a difference in the lives and futures of his students is his calling—or at least it is now. At one time he wanted nothing more than to be a father, his plans crushed when his alpha of four years admitted he never wanted children and never would. When his students tell him about their outdoor time at the community center being limited to just a corner of the pavement, he knows he must do something to help. He might have sworn off dating, but what could one date hurt if it could help the children?

When Travis gives in and bids on the most unusual pie at the fundraiser, he doesn’t expect to win. But he does—and his meat-pie prize becomes a total meat-cute when Aaron sets up a date to learn how to bake the pie...and more than the oven heats up.

Meat Pie Match is a super sweet with knotty heat mm non-shifter mpreg romance featuring a butcher who has the best meat in town, a teacher willing to go above and beyond for his students, a grandfather who isn’t quite willing to share all his baking secrets, a bossy one eared rabbit, and more than a pie in the omega's oven. 

Cherry Pie Charm by Leyla Hunt #6

Summary:

Pop my cherry pie!

Alpha Easton's life seems complete and stable. He has a satisfying career as a lawyer, fighting for the 'little guy', and he's perfectly happy spending his free time with friends with the occasional fling thrown in. Nevertheless, he agrees to attend a pie and bachelor auction with his buddy, Christopher, because it's for a great cause. Everything changes when he wins a date with a shy, inexperienced omega and he realizes that perhaps, he was missing something. He's also thrown for a loop when an abused client shows up on his doorstep, child in tow, begging for shelter.

Omega Noah feels down on his luck. He's finished art college, but seems to have no reasonable prospects, and feels like he's a huge disappointment to his alpha father. On top of everything, he's romantically inexperienced and doubts he'll ever meet his one and only alpha. His overachieving, younger sister Janice has an idea. She signs him up to participate in the pie and bachelor auction, with the prize being an overnight spa date with Noah. He grumbles and his social anxiety rears its ugly head, but he agrees to go. It'll be fun, his sister says. What's the worst that can happen?

Lemon Meringue Love by Summer Chase #7

Summary:

The secret to a happy ending for these two cutie pies... is love.

Getting dumped just before a trip to an adults-only resort in Mexico is not what omega Sasha expected. With a broken heart, he goes to a bake sale to cheer himself up -- until he meets an alpha named Eliot by the lemon meringue pie. Eliot just so happens to be one of the bachelors up for auction, including a vacation to the very same time as Sasha’s ex.

So Sasha concocts a plan to make his ex jealous -- by winning the auction and going with Eliot.

Alpha Eliot is a lawyer who gave up on love a long time ago. He’s found joy in raising his daughter Emma and finding his place in the world. Yet, he’s excited to be going on an exclusive vacation with the hot omega that won his auction.

Except Eliot’s mother will no longer be able to watch Emma, forcing him to bring his daughter to a resort that doesn’t allow kids.

With an omega and an alpha hiding two big secrets, sparks fly between them on this vacation, and they bring back the best souvenir of all -- a baby on the way.

Can these two overcome their differences to find love?

Lemon Meringue Love is a super sweet with knotty heat mm non-shifter mpreg romance featuring a broken-hearted omega, a lawyer who’s a charmer, a three-year-old who notices more than the adults, and an ending as sweet as lemon meringue pie. 

Apple Pie Pair by Jena Wade #4

Chapter One 

Tony 

I shoved off my coat and hung it in the mudroom where the boys and I kept most of the outdoor gear that we wore for our chores in the orchard every morning. I navigated around boxes piled up throughout the hallway. I was still getting used to the layout of the new house that my family and I had moved into just a few months prior. Sooner or later, I’d have to finish unpacking. 

A non-stop to do list ran through my mind. I needed to research methods for keeping bugs off the trees. I needed to research how best to prune the apple trees. And I needed to add vinegar to the grocery list. Then again, perhaps it would be best to buy in bulk. Did vinegar come in a fifty-gallon drum? Was that possible? 

There was so much to do, so little time. I loved every minute of it. 

Six months ago, I’d given up on city life. Instead of spending sunup till sundown working for a corporate office that could care less about me and my family, stealing all my time away from my kids, I decided to buy an old apple orchard.

People thought I was crazy. My co-workers, the other families at my kids’ school. They all told me I was insane. 

Only my mom, my cousin, and his omega were supportive in this endeavor. The boys were too, but they had a case of hero-worship when it came to their alpha dad. Being seven and nine, they still thought I was cool. We hadn’t ventured into the period of childhood where parents were lame and didn’t understand anything. 

My cousin had helped me with the investment I’d needed to get the orchard up and running again. With any luck, I’d have them paid back within the first five years. 

“Tony, is that you?” my mom called from the kitchen. 

“Yeah, who else would it be?” 

She chuckled. “I had no idea if you’d hired any help for this place yet.” 

“No,” I said as I kicked off my boots and walked into the kitchen. 

The number one rule with Mom was no shoes in the house. And even though I lived on my own now, just me and my two boys, I still followed that rule. 

“I’m not sure we’re going to have the funds for that quite yet. Maybe when picking time gets closer, but for now, I’m going to handle it on my own. I’ll put the boys to work, too. So far they seem to be enjoying it.” Though I knew any day now it would get old for them. They were good kids, but their attention span was short, and I wanted them to enjoy being kids, not working day in and day out on the orchard. 

I grabbed the pot of coffee from the coffee maker and poured myself a cup. I took a long sip of the hot liquid. “Cinnamon? And apples?” I said. “I smell apples.” 

Mom chuckled again. “You own an apple orchard; don’t you always smell apples? You haven’t forgotten about that auction tonight, right?” 

I rolled my eyes. “How could I forget? You’re here because you’re watching the boys while I’m gone. I’m still not sure why I agreed to this.” 

My cousin had done a similar auction for the community center in November, and in doing so he’d found his forever omega. The two were now living blissfully happy on his ranch and Theo was expecting their first child. I didn’t think the same thing would happen to me, but it couldn’t hurt to try. 

Although I doubted anyone wanted an alpha who was knocking on forty, with two young boys, and an old apple orchard. 

“I have the pie baked,” Mom said. She pushed a container over to me. 

I really wanted to open it and take a slice because Mom’s apple pie was just as good as her Christmas sugar cookies. Maybe even better. 

“What’s the auction for again?” I asked.

“The Community Center needs a playground. And I couldn’t offer up your cousin again, so you’re the lucky one this time. Maybe you’ll find the same fate that he did.” 

“I wish, Mom. But I’ve kind of undertaken a lot this year, moving, a new business venture, the kids are getting older and their needs are changing. I don’t exactly have a lot of time to find myself an omega.” 

“Well, lucky for you, we carved out this weekend for that very possibility.” 

I rolled my eyes. “Lightning’s not going to strike twice. Sounds great, but I doubt that’s going to happen to me. Baron got lucky. There aren’t many omegas like Theo out there.” 

“You’ve been single for too long, Tony.” 

I took a drink of my coffee and turned away. Was it really called single if your omega died in a car accident? Technically, I was a widower. I didn’t mean to be single. I’d thought I was going to be with the boy’s omega father forever. But Max had thought he could continue to live the same old college life after we’d gotten married and had two kids, which is how he found himself in a car accident, wrapped around a tree with a blood-alcohol level that was through the roof. Had the accident not killed him, he likely would have died from alcohol poisoning.

I checked my watch. “Shit, I better get going. It’s a four-hour drive to the hotel.” When I got there, I’d need to shower and get dressed. Somehow, Mom had found where my suit was packed and had it dry cleaned for the event. 

My mom grabbed my arm, stopping me before I could leave the room. “Try to have fun tonight.” 

“I will, Mom.” I always did enjoy these sorts of events. It’s the one thing I missed about the city. I loved the country life, but it did feel a little lonely sometimes. If I wasn’t diligent about leaving the orchard every few days, the only people I’d talk to were the boys. I loved them dearly, but I could only talk about superheroes and elementary school math problems for so long before I lost my mind. 

I kissed my mom’s cheek and gave her a hug. “Thank you, Mom. Don’t let those boys sleep in too late, all right? Just because it’s Saturday doesn’t mean they get to be in bed all day.” 

“Oh, I’ve got plenty of activities planned for them today and tomorrow. Don’t feel like you have to rush home after your date either. I can get them off to school on Monday if you need me to.” 

“We’ll see, Mom. We’ll see.”

Meat Pie Match by Lorelei M Hart #5

Chapter One 

Aaron Lewis 

You need to get out more. 

Do something for you. 

You are more than your job. 

“I’m happy with my life.” I mumbled my pat response each and every time my grandfather brought up my very single status. Not that he was there to hear it. No, he was back home hanging with his menagerie, and I was driving to the community center to sign up for a class to appease him. 

I didn’t even care what class, just something so I could tell him I was getting out more and doing something for me. I wasn’t though. I was doing something for him, which was pretty freaking counterproductive if you asked me. 

What Gramps didn’t understand was I loved my job, and putting in the hours I did wasn’t hiding in my career—it was thriving in it. I loved teaching. Every time a student had an aha moment or stepped outside their comfort zone and soared or created something they never thought possible—that was everything. 

The parking lot at the center was packed, which made my heart happy. After the fire, there were mumblings in town that it would never be rebuilt, not fully anyway. They thought once routines were broken and people found other childcare or places to work out they wouldn’t come back. They underestimated the community the center had created. 

I drove around back when I found no spots in the normal lot and slammed on my brakes. Kids. So many kids playing in the lot. How was that even safe? There were all congregated in the back corner, and it took me a second to notice the cones surrounding them, warding off drivers. I slowly took my foot off the brake and found the nearest spot. 

“Mr. Lewis!” The voices began before I even got fully out of the car. “Mr. Lewis!” 

I smiled and waved at the children playing, recognizing most of them, and walked over. 

“Hey, guys.” I stopped outside the cones, unsure what the after-school program’s rules were about that. “Having fun?” 

“Naw,” sighed Kyle. “Not really. It’s boring out here.” Looking around, I could see why. They had a few boxes of sidewalk chalk and some jump ropes, not much else. 

“You can draw a picture,” I suggested. “You can draw some of those box people you like.” 

“I did.” He pointed behind him where an enormous mural bloomed on the pavement. “We did that Monday and that one Tuesday and that one Wednesday.” He pointed to one after another. “Not really wanting to draw anymore. I want to climb.” 

“And I want to swing,” piped up Robert. 

“And I want to play soccer,” added Laney. 

“Children, leave Mr. Lewis alone.” Ms. Megan, the after-school program director shooed them away. My grandfather thought I lived my job. Ms. Megan worked at the school as a paraprofessional all morning and then came here to run up an entire program. She was the epitome of letting her job be her identity. 

“Sorry about them. They are just bored.” 

“Don’t let them hear you say that,” I teased. I’d overheard Ms. Megan telling the kids more than once that only boring people get bored. 

“Right?” She half laughed. “But seriously, this is the entirety of their play area out here.” She swished her arm to indicate the small area of blacktop. “The playground got messed up during the rebuild, and they still haven’t raised enough to construct a new one.” 

“I thought they were just waiting for better weather.” A pit grew in my stomach. “How close are they?” 

Kids needed a safe place to play. Fresh air and running weren’t frivolous. They were a necessity. 

“Not sure.” She lowered her voice so the kids tearing by wouldn’t overhear. “But the daycare is facing some possible licensing issues if they don’t figure it out soon.” I hadn’t even thought about that angle. So many people in town relied on the daycare. The town came together to support them after the fire and raised a ton of money selling cookies. Sounded like they didn’t quite raise enough. 

She turned from me. “Michael, we keep our hands and feet to ourselves.” She patted my arm. “Gotta go.” And half jogged over to the boys who were doing I didn’t even know what. She had a gift for seeing mischief a second ahead of it actually occurring. 

“Bye?” I called then walked around the building and inside. 

“Mr. Lewis.” The greeter at the information desk, a former student, waved. Gah, I was getting old. Sure, she was still in high school, but when I was her teacher, I was teaching her to tie her shoes and add single digits. “Welcome to Dellburn Community Center.” 

“Madeline, how long have you been working here?” I stepped up to the help desk. 

“I just started after the reopening.” She beamed up at me. “Are you here for kickboxing?” 

Kickboxing? Me? There was no way that would end well…ever. 

“I don’t know what I am here for, but I’m pretty sure that’s not it.” She looked up at me, perplexed. “I was thinking about taking a class. Trying something new is always fun.” 

She handed me the booklet of classes, and I sat at one of the small tables in the lobby and perused them. 

Dancing? Nope. No fun without a partner. 

Cooking? That was a possibility. I was a decent cook. Decentish anyway. 

Furniture refinishing? It sounded amazing for someone who had a piece of furniture they wanted to redo, which I did not. 

I continued with the list. There were a ton of sports-related activities, a handful of musical ones, and two pages of computer-based courses. I hadn’t realized how much they offered. The variety for such a small town blew my mind. 

“Aaron.” Carin, the director, startled me from my booklet. “What brings you here? I haven’t seen you since last year’s spring musical.” Had it been that long? Maybe I had been working too hard. 

“I’m about to change that. I’m thinking of taking a class.” I tapped the booklet. “Still deciding what.” 

“What about the pie class?” She flipped the pages and put her finger on the description. “It means you get to eat yummy pie.” 

“I do like pie, but I am a pretty kick-butt piemaker already.” It was one of the things I’d done with my grandfather every Thanksgiving since I was a small child. 

“I’ll sign you up for the bake sale, then.” She whipped out a steno pad and started writing. “Do you know what kind of pie? I mean it doesn’t matter, but it would be nice not having seventy-two apple pies.” 

“Bake sale? Like the one you had in December?” They hadn’t just been selling cookies—no, they were auctioning off dates, and I very much didn’t need a date. 

She nodded. 

“I think I will pass.” I felt awful about it. Maybe I could write a check. It wouldn’t be huge, but it didn’t need to be if everyone pitched in, right? 

“I’m going to be frank with you.” She sat on the chair across from me. “Licensing is up our backside to get the enclosed playgrounds done…playgrounds with an S. We need one for the infants and toddlers, one for the preschool, and one for the after-school care. If we lose our license, all the hard work we have put into this place would be for nothing.” 

“I don’t know. Can’t the guys from last time bake again? I saw you raised a lot of money.” 

“The thing is, more than half of them are couples now.” She rolled her eyes. “All ridiculously happy and such.” 

“I could write a check?” I did some calculation in my head. If I gave a few hundred dollars, it wouldn’t drain my emergency fund down to nothing so as long as nothing major needed fixing or repairing… 

“A thousand-dollar check? Because that is an average of how much the cookies brought in.” 

A thousand dollars. A stupid date brought in a thousand dollars? I mean, sure, I knew that selling sex could bring that kind of money, but these were wholesome dates. Even factoring in generosity, I assumed a hundred or two max. 

“Okay,” I all but whispered. If I could bring in a thousand dollars by baking a pie and taking someone on a date, then how could I refuse? The center was in need—my students were in need. It was the least I could do. 

I mean, it was one date. Right?

Cherry Pie Charm by Leyla Hunt #6

Chapter 1 

Easton  

“Hey, Mom. What are you cooking?”  

“Nothing fancy, but I think it’s one of your favorites—penne capri.” She gave me a smile and turned back to slicing mushrooms.  

Our voices echoed in the spacious kitchen of my parents’ home. My parents were well off, you could say, thanks to my dad’s long career as a lawyer and more recently, a judge.  

I took a jug of orange juice from the fridge and poured myself a glass.  

“Mmm, sounds fantastic. Too bad I can’t stick around for dinner.”  

“Oh? Why not, Easton? You’ve been doing a great job of avoiding our family meals lately.” Mom turned to me with a frown. Her hair was cut stylishly short and was a brilliant silver. It suited her personality perfectly.

“I’m going to this thing tonight.” I was being vague on purpose. In an attempt to distract her, I poured her a glass of juice and handed it to her. There was no need for her to know about the bachelor auction I’d be attending. Not that there was anything wrong with it in principle—it was for a good cause—but I knew she’d get all excited and convince herself that I’d meet my mate at the event, which wasn’t my intention at all.  

“What thing? You can’t stay? Daniel will be here any minute with his husband and kids.”  

I struggled not to grimace. My brother’s presence was even more reason for me to get the hell out of there. I loved my brother, because flesh and blood and all that, but could only take him in small doses, and when our dad was around, the atmosphere could get downright toxic for me.  

Daniel was the prodigal son. He’d always been the more ambitious of the two of us—at least when it came to financial rewards. We’d both become lawyers, but while he became partner at a prestigious Chicago firm, I was content to practice in our hometown of Dellburn, Wisconsin, taking on all sorts of cases ranging from employment disputes to landlord-tenant issues, and I ensured that one-quarter of my cases were pro-bono files.  

I had a strong belief that access to law and justice was a fundamental right. You could have all the legal protections in the world, but they were useless if they were inaccessible due to high legal fees.

I was proud of my work, but knew my family thought I was wasting too much time on the little guy. Daniel, on the other hand, was making cash hand over fist by acting for some of the biggest corporations in the country. His hourly rate was astronomical, and he never had to chase clients for payment. Firms had whole departments devoted to that. Needless to say, there were several rungs between us on the economic ladder.  

I was glad that I’d be at the bachelor auction later tonight. Dinner at home would have consisted of Dad and Daniel discussing all their important cases and files, with the occasional question thrown at me about my own work, and with Mom casting sympathetic looks my way.  

I asked Mom about her job at the hospital. She was a nurse in the local hospital’s psychiatric unit and it was tough and thankless work. I knew she needed an outlet from time to time, someone to talk to about her pent-up stress.  

“So, where are you going tonight? Is it a secret? Maybe a hot date?” Mom grinned at me.   

She was eager for me to settle down because she thought a mate would complete me. Little did she know that I had little interest in mating. My physical needs could be met by any number of willing and eager omegas in town, but I had no desire to give my heart to anyone. Not yet. Nevertheless, I’d agreed to tag along to this auction with my buddy Christopher, who was constantly on the hunt for a mate, new friends, or a warm body. He was the happy-go-lucky type.

According to him, it was a bachelor-slash-pie auction, with proceeds going to the erection of a new playground on the grounds of the newly reconstructed community center, which had burnt to the ground back in September last year. It was for a good cause, and I loved pie, so the decision to go had been an easy one to make.  

I contemplated how much info to share with Mom. On the one hand, it would cheer her up, and I hated hiding anything from her. On the other, I was sure to face a barrage of questions afterward, with the possibility of her sharing my plans with Dad and Daniel. And that would suck major balls.  

I leaned against the kitchen counter and casually told her about the auction, trying to sound as nonchalant about it as possible. Her reaction was just what I expected.  

Her eyes widened, her blue irises sparkling under the pot lights.  

“A bachelor auction? That sounds fantastic, honey. Who knows, maybe you’ll meet your omega there.”  

I chuckled. “Relax, Mom. I’ll donate or throw in a bid for jokes, but I don’t plan on meeting anyone at an auction.”  

“Why do you say it like that?” She frowned without missing a beat, pouring a healthy stream of olive oil into her pan. “It’s a perfectly respectable way to meet a man, and it sounds fun.”  

I shrugged, looking for a way to change the subject. The doorbell rang, answering my prayers.

“Well, I must get going! Thanks for the chat, Mom! And give my love to Dad. Tell him I was sorry to miss him.”  

She pursed her lips in disappointment for a moment, but quickly smiled as she accompanied me to the front door.  

“Have fun, sweetie. And don’t forget to update me tomorrow, you hear?”  

I pulled on my boots and put on my coat. Despite it being March fourteenth, spring felt like a lifetime away, and a beautiful layer of snow still covered the lawns of Dellburn.  

“Bye, Mom,” I said. “And don’t tell everyone about tonight’s plans, okay?” I raised my brows for emphasis.  

“Don’t worry, my lips are sealed.”  

I swung the door open and was greeted by the sight of Daniel and his perfect family. My mood lightened as my eyes fell on his kids, a six-year-old girl and a three-year-old boy, their cheeks pink from the chill in the air  

“Hey, princess! And there’s my little guy!” I said, squatting down to hug each of them in turn. I loved these two. Little Patrick always had a mischievous glint in his blue eyes, while Lexie was more serious. They were the most adorable kids I knew. The only downside to not having met anyone yet was that I didn’t have kids of my own, and seeing my nephew and niece was a reminder of that gaping hole in my life.  

“Easton, nice to see you,” said Daniel, extending his hand, which I shook.

“Nice to see you, too. How are you, John?” I asked, addressing his omega mate. I’d always liked John, and at times I was fonder of him than of Daniel, even when they weren’t getting along.  

Those two had somewhat of a tumultuous relationship but seemed to carry on unscathed and obviously loved each other. Thankfully, they were mature enough not to bicker in front of the kids.  

We made small talk in the doorway and after a high-five to each kid, I was off. The early evening was noticeably chilly, prompting me to curse under my breath. I loved winter and snow and hot chocolate and all that, but enough was enough. It had been a long winter and I was ready for spring, damn it.  

*****

At home, I took a quick shower and got dressed as I waited for my buddy Christopher to arrive. I groaned as I sat on my bed and leaned down to pull on my socks, making a mental note to get back into the gym as soon as possible. I was in pretty good shape, but I was also stiff as a board, and obviously needed a couple of sessions of yoga or pilates or whatever it was people did to get all limber.  

My room was spacious and airy. I wasn’t as well off as my brother, but I managed to afford a decent sized house. It was a three-bedroom, detached, chalet-style home, with a pool in the backyard and a small sauna in the basement. My brain tingled at just the thought of the sauna. I looked forward to it at the end of a long week, because there was nothing like sitting back and letting heat envelop your entire body, feeling all the stresses and thoughts of the day melt away into nothingness.  

There was no time for that tonight, though, because the auction was going to start in half an hour, and it was a ten-minute drive from home.  

My cell rang and I strolled over to my dresser to answer—after screening, of course. Some clients had a habit of calling at all hours, even on the weekend, and I did my best to discourage such behavior, even if that meant ignoring a call now and then. I told every client that if they had an urgent matter, they could call the firm’s after-hours number, and one of us—Karen, Jake, or I—would answer the phone. I’d set up a special cell just for that purpose. This weekend was Jake’s turn, the most junior lawyer at the firm. Karen, another attorney, has been with us since almost the very beginning, and she was more like a sister than an employee or colleague.  

“Hey, Chris. Where are you?”  

“On my way. I’ll be about ten minutes. Do you need me to pick something up? A bottle of wine? A six pack, maybe?”  

I grinned. You could always count on Chris for a decent pre-drinking session.  

“A pinot grigio would hit the spot just about now.”  

A slight buzz would probably help liven me up for this event. I glanced in the mirror and, satisfied with my appearance, I went downstairs to the kitchen and poured a cup of coffee. After smothering it with some whipped cream, I took a quick sip. I was a coffee junkie, there was no doubt about it. It didn’t matter what time of day it was. I could even drink it at night, with no ill effects on my sleep. It was a beautiful thing.  

When Chris arrived, I opened the bottle while he got comfortable on the couch. I knew him so well that he didn’t even need to open his mouth—I knew exactly what he was thinking. I grinned as I brought him his glass and sat down next to him.  

“Don’t say it...” I started.  

“What?” He chuckled, taking a sip. “What shouldn’t I say? That I hope you meet someone? Come, on...it wouldn’t be the end of the world, would it? Maybe just for some fun?” He wiggled his eyebrows and laughed.  

“I meet guys all the time and have plenty of fun. I don’t need anything serious. I like my personal life simple and straightforward. Feelings complicate things.”  

“Relax, man. I’m not saying you have to settle down tomorrow, but I am saying keep an open mind. By the way, you look great.”  

I grunted my thanks. “You’re fine to drive, right?” I asked him, glancing at his glass of wine.  

“Yeah. This is my first one.”  

“All right, let’s go. I’m starving. Remind me—what are we bidding on?” I knew he’d explained it all at least once, but I could be a total flake at times.  

“Pies. And dates.”

My stomach growled. I loved pies. Fruity pies, meat pies, all kinds of pies. I’d never met a pie I didn’t like.  

“Sounds good. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

Lemon Meringue Love by Summer Chase #7

1 

Sasha 

"That bastard broke up with me! Over text!" 

I stare down at my phone in disbelief, at the message that my boyfriend had, apparently, written in haste. No, ex-boyfriend. The asshole. 

- hey babe. dont think its going to work out. i think we shld see other peeple. 

Aside from omitting the apostrophes or not even bothering to capitalize words, he couldn't even have bothered to spell “should” and "people" correctly. 

Not going to work out? But we were having a great time. We'd been together for four months, enjoying each other's company and going on dates a couple of times each week. I didn't know that there had been anything missing in our relationship. 

That there was something he wasn't happy with. Something that had to do with me.

Tears spring in my eyes, and I clamp my jaw shut, trying to stem the flow. Except, of course, when something happens like this out of nowhere, my emotions really don't know how to handle this turn of events. 

And my twin brother can pick up on that. An omega like me, Christian has always been the more stable of us. And if there's one person who can come to my rescue, it's Christian. 

He comes behind the couch that I'm perched upon and peers over my shoulder. "What the hell?" he mutters. "Call him. Maybe it's a mistake." 

I glance over at him in disbelief. "A muh-mistake?" My voice wavers, and I'm seconds away from flat-out bawling. "A text like that?" 

He frowns and gives a helpless shrug. "I don't know. But I do know it's shitty to break up with you over text. You deserve more than that. Hell, I'll have his balls in a necklace if this isn't some cruel joke." 

I let out something that's between a laugh and sob. The idea of Christian — who is the spitting image of me, except he's far better dressed and has longer hair — wearing James's ball on a golden chain around his neck is...well, it's something. 

He smiles that I've at least somewhat laughed. 

I hit CALL on my phone and put it to my ear. 

It rings once. 

And then it goes to voicemail. 

I pull the phone away, and look at it as James's voice recording comes through the speaker, cheerfully telling me to leave a voicemail and he'll get back to me.

"He declined the call," I say. My heart pounds in my chest, making me feel like it'll punch through my sternum. 

"Try again," Christian prompts. 

I'm about to, but then another text comes in. 

-cant talk babe 

"What?" I exclaim. If I were strong enough, I would have crushed my phone in my hands. As it is, I'm just whiteknuckled and feel the first tear fall down my face. 

-but what about our trip? I text back. James and I are supposed to go to Mexico in two weeks' time at an all-inclusive adults-only resort off the Pacific Coast. He had surprised me with the tickets a month ago, which was something that felt a little new and too early for me, but I said yes. 

I thought James was serious about me at that point. 

-u really want to go? comes back James's reply. 

I can't type my response fast enough before he comes back with another. 

-look, i paid for the tix & its over for us. its best if we went our seperate ways. 

"Dammit, the asshole can't even spell 'separate' correctly," I grit as more tears fall down my face. 

Again, my thumbs can't type fast enough, and another message comes in. 

-besides, i already told someone else he could go. 

Every blood vessel in my body goes cold at reading that. That a new, random person could go. Not that another couple could go. No, that another man was going — with the alpha that up until now I had been dating.

"He's been cheating on you," Christian mutters, reflecting my very same thoughts. "That asshole has been cheating on you!" 

"I..." I bite my lip and look out the window at the sunset. "I had no idea." 

I toss my phone aside and put my head in my hands. 

Don't cry, Sasha, I tell myself. Don't you dare cry. 

Of course, it's too late, and I'm already bawling. 

"Hey," Christian says, stepping over the back of the couch to sit next to me. He puts an arm around my shoulders. "He was an asshole and obviously didn't treat you right." 

That only makes me cry harder. Because I thought he had been treating me right. We were having such a good time, and I truly like him. Liked him. Crap, I don't even know what to think now. 

Christian — because I don't deserve a brother like him — gets up and goes to the kitchen, reappearing with two spoons and a gallon of ice cream that I'd been keeping in the fridge, just nibbling off it. I guess I didn't know that I would need it for an occasion like this. 

Christian holds up the two spoons and raises an eyebrow. "Are you up for a rom com or for a sob fest of a movie? Or something else entirely?" 

I take one of the spoons from him, sniffling as I do so. "Horror movie. I want to see people tripping when they run away from the monster."

Christian snickers and turns on the tv, searching for the latest B-movie. Finding one, we curl up on the sofa and watch. I cry at some points. I lean onto Christian for support — just like I've done for him in the past. 

A broken heart sucks. And even when I fall asleep, I can't escape bad dreams. In them, I see James with some other man on his arm, only when I try talking to him, his words come back as text messages that I have to read. And while I'm broken up over what happened, he seems unperturbed. Business as usual. 

I hate nightmares. "Hey, Sleeping Beauty, get up." 

Through my sleep, I feel someone slapping at my feet. 

I open my eyes. I've managed to fall asleep on the sofa, cradling the empty gallon of ice cream like it's a lifeline. Christian stands over me, wearing a nice, button-down shirt and slacks. Damn, if I ever put that much effort into my appearance, I would be a good-looking omega. Instead, I'm too busy with my computer programming to really care. 

No wonder James left me. 

I sniffle again, and my nose is stopped up. 

Christian gives me a lopsided smile that's meant to be encouraging, but I know better. He has some sort of crazy idea in mind, and that usually involves me in some uncomfortable situation. 

"What?" I croak.

He slaps my bare feet again. "Get ready. You had enough ice cream last night, I figured you could use some pie. And possibly a date." 

I frown. "What?" 

The lopsided smile turns wicked. "You're going with me to Bachelor Bake Sale." 

I groan and turn away from him. "I don't want to, Christian." 

He sits on the sofa, and faces me, taking my hands. "You're coming along, Sasha," he says seriously. "Let’s get you out of the house. There are some good-looking bachelors there to get your mind off that loser. Besides," he shrugs, "it's for a good cause. The kids at the community center need a new playground." 

My twin knows exactly what to say to get me to do something. While kids are the farthest thing from my mind right now, he knows that I have a soft spot for kiddos. 

I groan and sit up. "I don't have anything to wear." 

And his wicked smile turns Grinch-like. "You're in luck, because I know one styling omega who has your exact measurements. Although," he looks concerned for a moment, "after that gallon of ice cream, you may be a little rounder in the middle than I am." 

I throw a pillow at him, and he ducks and laughs. Guess I'm going to some weird bake sale.

Saturday Series Spotlight

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Jena Wade

Jena began writing in January of 2013 as a New Year's Resolution--and so far she has stuck to it!

She lives in Michigan. By day she works as a web developer, and at night she writes. Born and raised on a farm, she spends most of her free time outdoors, playing in the garden, or riding her horses. She also helps run the family dairy farm.

Lorelei M. Hart

Lorelei M. Hart is the cowriting team of USA Today Bestselling Authors Kate Richards and Ever Coming. Friends for years, the duo decided to come together and write one of their favorite guilty pleasures: Mpreg. There is something that just does it for them about smexy men who love each other enough to start a family together in a world where they can do it the old-fashioned way ;).

Leyla Hunt

Leyla writes sweet and sexy mpreg. Her alphas are strong and protective, but sweet. Her omegas are lovable and know how to bring their alphas to their knees. And their babies are adorable!

Step into a new world by reading a Leyla Hunt book!

Summer Chase

Summer Chase loves naughty boys, and she loves them even more when they turn out to be nice guys, too. She's the pen name for a New York Times bestselling author who wanted to have another name like a superhero.

Jena Wade

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Apple Pie Pair by Jena Wade #4

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Meat Pie Match by Lorelei M Hart #5

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Cherry Pie Charm by Leyla Hunt #6

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Lemon Meringue Love by Summer Chase #7

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