So, this is a mug I had made for my husband a verrrrry long time ago, when are kids were as pictured on the mug. It's faded considerably over the years. My daughter's skin was not yellow, her dress was pink, and my son was wearing a DARK green shirt.
Crazy right?
Oh, and also, the type in the picture below? Yeah, those were primary colors once upon a time.
Speaking of my son, he's a dad himself now, and his son is SUCH a mini-me that I'm not always sure whose photo I'm looking at.
So last week I posted about my love for enamel camp mugs--especially the blue speckled kind, so this week's mug should not be a surprise. I mean...other than the fact that it's actually ceramic and DOESN'T (usually) get too hot to handle.
This is (obviously) from Paso Robles, which is one of my favorite places that I've lived. It was like Oberon come to life--but with more wine. One of the houses we lived in there had been built for Frank and Jesse James' uncle. It backed onto an old growth forest, and was only three blocks from the downtown square. There was rumored to be a hidden tunnel in the basement, which we never did find. There were also FOUR fireplaces, two roof decks, a wraparound porch, a butler's pantry...GAH! I loved that house. Sadly, it was damaged in the earthquake that hit there twenty-something years ago and was rebuilt. Which is not the same at all.
I still miss that house.
By PG Forte
https://books2read.com/Que-Sera-Syrah
They may be keeping secrets and telling lies, but a little white wine never hurt anyone.
Allegra
It’s not every day that you inherit one-third of a winery. I should be on top of the world, floating on Cloud Wine, as they say. Instead, don’t you just know it? I’m about to make one of the biggest mistakes of my life. And that’s saying something. My family has always viewed me as something of a screw-up, not always fairly. But in this case? They’re not only dead right about me messing things up; they don’t even know the half of it. Yet.
Complicating my quest to redeem myself, earn my sisters’ respect, and help them turn our winery into a straight fire success, is my low-key relationship with Sheriff’s Deputy Clay Romero. Sure, there are risks involved in sleeping with the enemy, but ‘what’s meant to be will find a way,’ right? And whether Clay believes it or not, I know we’re fated. With a capital F.
Clay
We’re Capital F somethin’ all right; but I don’t think it’s fate. Ever since Legs (AKA Allegra Martinelli) blew back into town, I’ve been flirting with disaster. Literally. I doubt that woman’s ever met a rule that she didn’t want to at least bend. And, as luck would have it, it’s my job to try and stop her. I love my job, and I think I love her. But there’s not enough wine in Napa to convince me that I’ll be able to hang on to them both.
Legs keeps likening us to Romeo and Juliet. And as I keep trying to remind her; that kind of story tends not to end well. I’m sure there are exceptions, but are we gonna be one of them? I guess we’ll find out.
OR BUY THE SERIES:
https://books2read.com/Pour-Decisions
Meet the Martinelli sisters: Rosa, Bianca and Allegra. These partners in wine have just inherited a once-storied winery in the heart of Napa Valley. They’re living the dream, right?
Not so fast! Because, as it turns out, not everybody is happy for them. And that includes their Uncle Geno who’d assumed the property would come to him.
There are hoops to jump through, barrels to get over, and a mountain of regulations they'll have to scale. But these sisters are crushing it—and we don’t just mean the grapes. They’re making wine, falling in love, and working together to restore their inheritance to its former glory, one pour decision at a time.
By PG Forte
https://books2read.com/Que-Sera-Syrah
They may be keeping secrets and telling lies, but a little white wine never hurt anyone.
Allegra
It’s not every day that you inherit one-third of a winery. I should be on top of the world, floating on Cloud Wine, as they say. Instead, don’t you just know it? I’m about to make one of the biggest mistakes of my life. And that’s saying something. My family has always viewed me as something of a screw-up, not always fairly. But in this case? They’re not only dead right about me messing things up; they don’t even know the half of it. Yet.
Complicating my quest to redeem myself, earn my sisters’ respect, and help them turn our winery into a straight fire success, is my low-key relationship with Sheriff’s Deputy Clay Romero. Sure, there are risks involved in sleeping with the enemy, but ‘what’s meant to be will find a way,’ right? And whether Clay believes it or not, I know we’re fated. With a capital F.
Clay
We’re Capital F somethin’ all right; but I don’t think it’s fate. Ever since Legs (AKA Allegra Martinelli) blew back into town, I’ve been flirting with disaster. Literally. I doubt that woman’s ever met a rule that she didn’t want to at least bend. And, as luck would have it, it’s my job to try and stop her. I love my job, and I think I love her. But there’s not enough wine in Napa to convince me that I’ll be able to hang on to them both.
Legs keeps likening us to Romeo and Juliet. And as I keep trying to remind her; that kind of story tends not to end well. I’m sure there are exceptions, but are we gonna be one of them? I guess we’ll find out.
OR BUY THE SERIES:
https://books2read.com/Pour-Decisions
Meet the Martinelli sisters: Rosa, Bianca and Allegra. These partners in wine have just inherited a once-storied winery in the heart of Napa Valley. They’re living the dream, right?
Not so fast! Because, as it turns out, not everybody is happy for them. And that includes their Uncle Geno who’d assumed the property would come to him.
There are hoops to jump through, barrels to get over, and a mountain of regulations they'll have to scale. But these sisters are crushing it—and we don’t just mean the grapes. They’re making wine, falling in love, and working together to restore their inheritance to its former glory, one pour decision at a time.
https://books2read.com/u/38NroZ
Where there’s a wine, there’s a way.
Jansen
I’m trying to start over after a soul-crushing end to my hockey career and my marriage—so I buy a winery. I have no idea what I’m doing, but at least I have a reason to get out of bed in the morning. I hate asking for help, but when I meet the winemaker next door, I’m jacked to have an excuse to see her again. She’s gorgeous and full of life, with grape juice-stained hands, a sunburnt nose, and long legs in cut-off shorts. But Bianca’s not so eager to help a grumpy rich celebrity who thinks he can just buy a winery and become a winemaker.
Bianca
Holy crap, I’ve inherited part of the family winery. That should be a dream come true, but I left Napa to get away from my family baggage. I have no choice but to go home and help my sisters get through harvest season, but I’ll be making a quick exit back to my rising star wine career in Argentina. Meanwhile, our new neighbor is a tall, dark, and ripped temptation. He needs a winemaker, and I need a laboratory—so we make a business deal. But while we work together picking, crushing, and fermenting, the attraction between us is causing another chemical reaction. And with wine and with life, it’s not healthy to keep things bottled up…
OR BUY THE SERIES:
https://books2read.com/Pour-Decisions
Meet the Martinelli sisters: Rosa, Bianca and Allegra. These partners in wine have just inherited a once-storied winery in the heart of Napa Valley. They’re living the dream, right?
Not so fast! Because, as it turns out, not everybody is happy for them. And that includes their Uncle Geno who’d assumed the property would come to him.
There are hoops to jump through, barrels to get over, and a mountain of regulations they'll have to scale. But these sisters are crushing it—and we don’t just mean the grapes. They’re making wine, falling in love, and working together to restore their inheritance to its former glory, one pour decision at a time.
By Kate Davies
https://books2read.com/u/3JA8oP
Could this be a second chance worth savoring?
Rosa
Don’t get me wrong - I’m thrilled that Nonna left her winery to my sisters and me, but I’m terrified, too. With Allegra and Bianca both out of the country, the responsibility falls totally on me - and what if I’m not up to the challenge? Now my ex, Jake Wright, is offering to help out, but that’s terrifying in a different way. Working side by side is bringing all those old feelings back to the surface, and I’m falling for him all over again. But does our partnership have a future, or is heartbreak on the horizon?
Jake
I’ve been away from our hometown for ten long years. Now I’m back, and working with Rosa is both the best and worst thing that’s ever happened to me. We’re saving her family winery one day at a time - and giving in to the heat between us one night at a time, too. But I’m afraid this pairing has an expiration date…
OR BUY THE SERIES:
https://books2read.com/Pour-Decisions
Meet the Martinelli sisters: Rosa, Bianca and Allegra. These partners in wine have just inherited a once-storied winery in the heart of Napa Valley. They’re living the dream, right?
Not so fast! Because, as it turns out, not everybody is happy for them. And that includes their Uncle Geno who’d assumed the property would come to him.
There are hoops to jump through, barrels to get over, and a mountain of regulations they'll have to scale. But these sisters are crushing it—and we don’t just mean the grapes. They’re making wine, falling in love, and working together to restore their inheritance to its former glory, one pour decision at a time.
Every day is a good day for a vacay, but today more than most since I'll be heading out on a trip in a couple of days. And yes, there will be beaches!
I found this mug at Goodwill. I love the vintage look of it. It feels very eighties to me. Or maybe nineties? I don't know. Those were my Mommy Years. That whole period is rather a blur. ESPECIALLY from a fashion perspective.
I bought this mug recently. No particular reason. I just liked it. It's cute, and blingy, and BIG. My only complaint is that I'm left-handed and this is very much a right-handed mug. Assuming you want to actually see the P.
But such is life.
I'm not really a pink person, but this spoke to me.
When Jo returns with the dishes, I plate up two servings. “I have to get back to the restaurant anyway,” I say, gently brushing off Ms. Vi’s protests. “You know I’ve got that big dinner coming up; there’s a lot of work to do to get ready. Besides, I don’t want to leave y’all with nothing; you might get hungry later.” I’m tempted to say more, to tease Jo, who’s always had a legendary appetite. But she beats me to it.
“I dunno. That sounds pretty sus to me. Don’t they say that you should never trust a chef who won’t eat his own food?” she asks, batting her eyes innocently.
“No, I don’t believe I’ve heard that one,” I reply extending a plate out toward her and holding her gaze challengingly. “But, if you’re too afraid to eat, just say so.”
I’m proud of my restaurant and confident of the food we serve there, but I’m more than a little anxious as I watch Jo tuck into her meal. And I know how that sounds—as though I still have feelings for her that go beyond mere friendship, right?
But that’s not what it is. Jo’s opinion is important to me, yes. But there’s a valid reason for that. Most people will tell you what you want to hear. Which is nice and all, but you can’t fix a problem that you don’t know is there. And you won’t necessarily work as hard as you should to improve your craft if no one ever suggests that you might need to. I trust Jo’s judgment. I know she’ll tell me the unvarnished truth. And with so much on the line, that’s worth way more than pleasant platitudes.
Which is not to suggest that I don’t feel dismayed when Jo’s eyes go wide, and she claps a hand to her mouth and utters a startled, “mmph!”
“What?” I demand, scanning her plate to see which dish has elicited her reaction. I gave her a little bit of everything I’d brought—migas, biscuits and gravy, chicken fried chicken with pecan pancakes, Texas style eggs Benedict made with brisket and queso. All hill country classics made with locally grown-or-sourced ingredients and my own special twists. All solid dishes, or so I’d thought. “What’s wrong?”
“Bit her tongue, I imagine,” Vi suggests, without much emotion.
But Jo shakes her head at that. She holds up a finger and continues chewing for a moment longer then finally says, “Nothing’s wrong. Are you kidding? I just wasn’t expecting the massive foodgasm you just gave me.”
“Yeah?” I feel my spirits soar and I can’t keep from smiling. “It’s good? Really?”
“Fuck, yeah,” she replies—eliciting a gasp of outrage from her aunt. “No crumbs.”
“Jocelyn Marie! What did you just say?”
“Sorry, Auntie,” Jo replies. Then her gaze meets mine. “Seriously, Carter. It’s so good!”
She pauses for effect and then adds, “You should maybe think about opening a restaurant or something.”
by Jenny Schwartz
Book 1 of 3: Caldryn Parliament
https://www.amazon.com/Stars-Die-Caldryn-Parliament-Book-ebook/dp/B0DXMQQT8J/
Welcome to Caldryn Parliament. Golden Age mysteries in the Realm of science fiction and fantasy.
Recalled from the frontier, the new Warden of Caldryn Parliament is well aware she’s not a popular choice, but she never expected to portal into a murder scene.
Nor did she anticipate acquiring such a unique partner.
Now, Vanda Kavanagh must discover the truth of a politician’s death, unravel the mystery of her sabotaged wards, and survive her family.
***
Stars Die is a magic parliament mystery. If you've ever wished that Agatha Christie included magic or that Sherlock Holmes fought space pirates, this is the series for you!
My attempts to grind against him draw a rough chuckle from his throat. I’m close to unraveling, and I’m pretty sure he knows it.
He deepens the kiss. I dig my fingers harder into his shoulders and whimper with need. The taste of his mouth is intoxicatingly familiar. Memories from that night on the river come flooding back—the way he smelled and tasted, the sound of his voice, the heat of his skin. I’m shocked that I hadn’t instantly recognized him when he pulled me over. I’m sure jetlag had a lot to do with it, but if he hadn’t told me, would I ever have known? I’m not altogether certain.
And no, learning that he hadn’t connected the dots at first, either, doesn’t help. It seems like, were it not for the serendipitous circumstance of my having an out-of-date picture on my license, we would never have known. Which only fuels my sense of urgency. We came so close—too close!—to missing each other. I need him now!
I wrench my mouth away from his long enough to gasp, “Take me to bed. I want you naked.”
“Mmph,” he mumbles, his response lost as I seal his mouth once more. I assume we’re in agreement, however, since he immediately hefts me more fully into his arms, pivots away from the wall and lurches through his apartment until we reach his bedroom. There, he releases his hold on me.
I’m breathing hard and so is he. I sink onto the bed before my knees give out and then watch transfixed as he quickly toes out of his shoes, peels off his shirt, and begins to undo his pants.
He's lean and sleekly muscled. His chest is lightly furred, his abdomen is bisected by the narrow trail of dark hair that runs from his sternum to his groin. There’s so much yumminess, and I can’t stop myself from staring. Damn. My mouth is watering. My hands are itching. I want to lick him all over, touch him everywhere.
“What are you doing?” he asks, as his hands stall on the fly of his jeans.
Reluctantly, I raise my gaze to his face, only to find him eyeing me critically. “What?” I’m surprised into asking. Does he not like that I’m staring? He doesn’t seem like the shy type. “I wasn’t doing anything.”
“Exactly.”
“Huh?”
He gestures at me impatiently. “You, too: naked, now. Strip.”
“Oh. Right.” I can’t keep from grinning as I hurry to comply, kicking off my own shoes, pulling my dress off over my head, unclasping my bra. I love that he’s as eager as I am.
Or maybe even more eager. Because, before either of us have removed our underwear—black boxer briefs on his part, a lacy thong (as previously mentioned) on mine—he joins me on the bed. Rolling me into his arms, surrounding me with his heat. His lips find mine and we’re kissing again, hands roving everywhere, skimming over each other’s bodies, stoking the fires that—swear to God—feel like they’ve been smoldering for years.
