Mug Shot: Blue and White Mug

So, yesterday was my anniversary, so I wanted to post something wedding related. This mug might seem like an odd choice for that. There's nothing obviously wedding-y about it.  I mean, other than the fact that it does remind me, somewhat of a mug I received as a wedding present. So, huh. I wonder if that's the connection?

It's also blue and white and ever since I wrote Going to the Chapel, I've associated blue and white with weddings. See, the book was originally set in the Sapphire Falls Kindle world, and I leaned REALLY heavily into that color scheme. Even when I moved the book to Oberon, I kept most of it. Here, an excerpt so you can see what I mean. 

Gabby purred as she pulled the truck to a stop. She glanced at me again, and her smile went from bright to brilliant; I felt a thrill of delight, until I realized the reason for it wasn't my easy capitulation, it was the fact that she was home. 

I turned to look around me. We were parked in front of yet another picturesque farmhouse, complete with wraparound porch and white picket fence. This one was white, with blue trim and shutters. Blue and white Lilies of the Nile skirted the foundation. Blue morning glory vines twined along the fence. White wicker baskets overflowing with periwinkle and lobelia hung from the eaves of the porch. "I see someone likes blue." 

Gabby nodded. "It’s my mom’s favorite color."

The blue-and-white color theme was not confined to the house. Now that I knew what I was looking for, I saw hints everywhere. In the English Sheepdog dozing on the porch swing; mostly white with bluish-gray patches. In the flock of mop-headed chickens pecking at the lawn—oddly reminiscent of the dog, with similar plumage in matching shades. Even the drive where we were parked, with its blue-gray gravel, and its border of whitewashed rocks fit the picture.  It was an impressive achievement, in a slightly over-the-top, borderline obsessive kind of way. Not that I'd ever say so. 

Listen, just 'cause my family's dysfunctional, doesn't mean I don't know better than to criticize someone else's. 

I’d have had to be an idiot not to notice the eager expression Gabby’d been wearing ever since we'd arrived in Oberon. While, intellectually, I knew she loved acting, that she loved the life she'd built for herself in the city, that she loved me, I still found myself starting to worry. How much work was it going to take to drag her out of here next week? Just because I’d never been here before, didn’t mean I hadn’t heard the familiar adage. Oberon, they say, is a hard place to get to—and a harder place to leave. I’d only been here a few hours, and I was already concerned.

"Let's go see where everyone is," Gabby said as she jumped from the truck.  I started to follow, but just then a man came striding around the corner of the house to greet her.  He was tall and lean, with the kind of weathered skin and corded muscles that you only get from spending most of your life working out-of-doors.  I'd pegged him as Gabby's father even before she turned and waved impatiently for me to join them.

Gabby's dad, Mick, looked every inch the aging hippy farmer Gabby had described him as being. His hair was long, just starting to go gray, and the bandana on his head was clearly there for functionality, not as a fashion statement—despite it being blue and white, like everything else around here.

He had a firm handshake, a steely gaze, and a smile that would probably have been a whole lot warmer if I were someone else. But I was the stranger who would shortly be marrying his daughter, the bastard who'd gotten her pregnant. I suspected it would be a long time before he forgave me for either of those offenses.  And, until he did, I figured my chances of getting a genuine smile out of the man were slim to no-fucking-way.

"Did I tell you that Derek teaches yoga?" Gabby asked, threading her fingers with mine and leaning against my shoulder. I was intensely aware of her tit pressed tight against my bicep, and not in a good way, given that her father was looking on. I felt like she was claiming me for her own, marking me as hers, all of which I'd normally be in favor of. But, right now, with the hostile vibe already rolling in waves off her old man? Not so much.  "That's how we met."

"So you've said," Mick replied dryly. I didn't miss the way his face hardened as his gaze latched onto all the places where Gabby's body and mine connected. It was all I could do not to push her away. Something told me that would be worse. 

"My dad's been practicing yoga for years," Gabby informed me, seemingly oblivious to the tension.

"Very cool." I smiled at Mick. "What style do you prefer? Sivananda?  Kripalu?" I was expecting him to be into something like that, something old skool and classic. Maybe a little Bikram in the winter. 

What I wasn't expecting was, "Goat." 

"Daddy!" Gabby scowled at him. 

"What? You've never heard of goat yoga? Look it up sometime, if you don't believe me." Mick gazed at me challengingly as he added, "Sometimes the chickens join in too."

"I think I saw something about that online." Of course, I'd assumed it was a joke, but maybe I was wrong? "I'd be interested in seeing that in action while I'm here. We don't get much of a call for it in Los Angeles." 

"Their loss."

"I guess so." 

Mick continued to size me up as I shook hands with Gabby's brothers, Micah and Rafe, who had joined us by then, along with her sister, Arielle. Both the boys took after their dad, and it was obvious Gabby had inherited her height and long legs from him as well. Arielle was a shorter, curvier version of her sister, with eyes that were lighter and a tinge more green—aquamarine to Gabby's sapphire. While Gabby's brothers seemed friendly enough, Arielle looked about as happy to see me as her father did—which is to say, not much at all.

"Where's Mom?" Gabby asked once the introductions had all been made. 

Mick nodded behind him. "Oh, Alice is down the rabbit hole, as usual.  Why don't you take Derek down there and introduce him? Meanwhile, your brothers and I can get your camper set up. Oh, and hey, while you're at it, why don't you see if you can't convince your mother to knock off early for the day? Tell her I've already got the grill fired up, and everything's ready to go. I can start dinner as soon as she's back. 

Gabby nodded. "Sounds good. Thanks, Daddy." Then she tugged on my hand and we headed off down a small footpath lined with a variety of bushes and flowering shrubs—jasmine, lavender, rosemary, ceanothus—still with the blue and white. 

Going To The Chapel

Crossover Book 1.0

In Waiting For The Big One, Gabby and Derek went from being friends to being lovers. Now, they're waiting for their "big day". But will it be the wedding of their dreams? Or a bride's worst nightmare?

A quick trip to Gabby's hometown turns into the wedding from hell when Gabby and Derek are plagued by hailstorms, lost reservations, voracious goats, angry bees and enough family drama to fill a barn.

Guess it's true what they say, "The course of true love never did run smooth." But can the happy couple hold it all together, or will their Big Day turn into a Big Mess?

https://books2read.com/b/GoingChapel

New Release! Nice Day for a Wine Wedding: A Pour Decisions Wedding Story

Nice Day for a Wine Wedding: A Pour Decisions Romance 

PG Forte

books2read.com/WineWedding

There are a lot of reasons people choose to elope. We’ve already figured out most of them.

 Clay

How hard could it be to plan a simple wedding? If recent experience has taught me anything, the answer is very. Once Legs’ Uncle Geno got involved things started spiraling out of control. We really should’ve eloped.

 Allegra

I’m not saying Clay’s wrong about Geno, but it was his family who turned our rehearsal dinner into a circus. But we’re not eloping. We’re going to work out the problems and have the wedding of our dreams. Assuming we both show up for it.

Mug Shot: Yoga Mug

So, this mug is at the yoga studio where I go to workout. And, yes actually, we do typically sip hot tea rather than water...especially in the winter, and when it's a yin or restorative, or a yoga nidra class. 

Yesterday was the International Day of Yoga, so I've got yet another yoga-themed scene. This is from the third book in the LA Love Lessons series, Let Me Count the Ways. 

 

This book is getting a little dated--at least three actors mentioned in the book are dead now. *sob* But I still love this book. Maybe I'll do an annotated version?

Claire

 

Yoga is not easy, so the Bhagavad Gita warns, for those whose minds are not subdued. But I can tell you, it’s pretty damn hard for any of us. Especially after forty.

I suppose I shouldn’t say such things. After all, Yoga did save my life. I turned to it in much the same way Tina turned to Buddhism after Ike. Married to a cruel, emotionally distant man, my career, my health, my looks, my self-esteem had all hit the skids. Yoga offered me a way out, a way back. It offered sanity, peace of mind, discipline, and the courage I needed to pick myself up and turn my life around.

That’s why I used the money I got in my divorce settlement to open The Body Electric. I wanted to give something back, to share the blessings I’d received, to support myself by working at something I could still believe in. Still, as the Gita says, it’s not easy. Of course, the same can be said of pretty much anything; business, relationships, life itself. There are days, and today was definitely one of them, when it all seems damn near impossible.

Standing in front of the floor-to-ceiling smoked glass that lined one entire wall of my second-floor office, I watched the class working out in the studio below me. A dozen and a half youthful beauties—mostly female—twisted their bodies into pretzels. Willingly. Eagerly. Effortlessly.

The first two were something I could completely understand and totally empathize with, given that their instructor was Derek Novello. Derek has some of the most beautiful musculature I’ve ever seen. And I’ve seen a lot. What woman wouldn’t be eager to give her all for a piece of that? But the effortless part—now, that’s where they had me beat. That’s what had me feeling every last year of my age today.

How many years, you wonder? Well, sorry to disappoint you, but there are some things I just don’t share. Age is nothing but a number, you know, and a girl’s entitled to keep a few secrets.

Derek is the most popular teacher we have here, which is saying rather a lot. Especially when you consider that his classes are also among the hardest we offer. He’s tough enough to challenge the men to push themselves to their limits, charming enough to make the women want to melt—into those same willing pretzels I’ve mentioned.

Tireless, talented, passionate, intense. Derek brings everything he has to his teaching. For almost five months, he brought most of it to our lovemaking, too. All but his heart. That, I suppose, was par for the course, and frankly I wasn’t expecting anything more. These older woman/younger man things rarely last long and are almost never about love. I knew the moment it was over. Probably before he did. I could tell right away that Derek’s heart had been lost to a pretty blonde pretzel.

Still, I really can’t complain. I’ve been dumped before, but never so discreetly. To the casual observer I’m sure it appeared that I’d tired of him, rather than the other way around. I think even the pretzel was confused. And, in the months since our affair ended, I’d discovered another reason to be thankful. I no longer have to take even one of his classes. I can’t tell you what a relief that’s been!

At least I still look fit, I thought, taking a step back so that I could see my reflection in the glass. I sucked in my tummy, tucked in my buns, pivoted from side to side. “Not bad,” I murmured as I thrust back my shoulders and studied my breasts, wondering how much longer I could get away without having them lifted. “But you’re not what you used to be, that’s for sure.” Still, things could be worse, and no doubt they will be, in time.

“Nonsense,” a male voice insisted from somewhere behind me. “You’re as beautiful as ever.”

I spun around, startled to find Mike Sherman watching from the doorway—which just goes to show you the kind of funk I’d been in all day. I’d totally forgotten his standing, bi-monthly appointment to go over the books, three p.m. every other Thursday.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, his face flaming. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”

“Don’t be silly.” Calling on all my training to hide my own embarrassment, I rolled my eyes and grimaced slightly. “Actors, you know.” I waved my hand in a negligent gesture as I seated myself—not in my chair but on the edge of my desk—where my crossed legs would appear to their best advantage. “We’re always so focused on appearances.” And ain’t that the truth?

“Well, you have to be, don’t you? The same way singers have to take care of their voices.” He looked so sincere as he said it too. As if he really might mean it.

“What a nice way of putting it.” I beamed at him as he crossed the room to his own desk. “How are things with you, Mike? How’s your day going?”

He didn’t answer right away. A small smile played over his lips as he slid his briefcase beneath the desk and seated himself. Then he glanced up at me, his eyes twinkling. “It’s always a good day when I know I’m going to see you, Claire. Don’t you know that?”

“Flatterer.” Laughing, I leaned forward a little, just enough to flash some cleavage in his direction. Call it a reward, if you will. “You have all the right answers today, don’t you?”

If they ever make a movie of my life, no doubt they’ll get someone like Danny DeVito to play the part of Mike, which will be a shame. Don’t get me wrong, I think Danny is a fine actor and he’s got the bald head, the soulful brown eyes and the teddy bear physique the part calls for. He’ll do a fine job of catching the nervous, slightly awkward exuberance Mike exhibited when we first met. But there’s so much more to the role than that.

For starters, Mike is big. Brian Denehy big. With Denehy’s surprising gracefulness—when he’s not acting all nervous. Mike, I mean. Then there’s his impeccably trimmed beard, the wicked twinkle in his eye and his rare and wondrous smile, all of which bring Sean Connery to mind.

But, even though Sean would be a dream to work with, if I were casting for the part I’d go for something different. I’d pick someone like a young James Earl Jones, for example. For his eyes and his smile and his size. For his astonishing ability to shift from fearful to fierce, from stern to boyish, from gentle to regal to commanding to jovial—or back again, or all at once. But, more than anything else, for his voice. For that deep, dark, delicious river of sound that could never be anything but male and can’t help but leave you wondering, why all the fuss about Tenors?

“It doesn’t count as flattery if it’s fact,” Mike replied in that lovely, low rumble of his.

“Oh, fact, is it?” I couldn’t help but smile as I recalled my recent conversation with Dave, my lawyer, over tapas and drinks. Dave had been pleased I’d taken his advice and gone to see Mike, but he’d seemed shocked by the deal we’d worked out...

“He’s handling it himself?” Dave asked, looking up from his seared tuna, clearly having trouble coming to grips with the idea. “Didn’t he assign you to one of the people who works for him? You don’t have to bring your paperwork there? He just shows up at your office—himself—every month?”

“No, twice a month,” I corrected, nibbling at the celery stalk that had come in my michelada. “Why? Isn’t that what you told me to do—to hire someone reputable? Someone I could trust? You said he was the best.”

“I know I did, but, damn it, Claire, he doesn’t even do that for me anymore, and I was one of his very first clients! How much is he charging you, anyway?”

Surprised, I told him.

“Oh, hell, no,” Dave replied, sounding almost insulted. “That’s nothing!”

I sipped my drink and refrained from pointing out that, in my current financial state, it hadn’t seemed quite like nothing to me. Then again, neither had Dave’s fees. You get what you pay for, I suppose.

Dave’s gaze had turned speculative. If he were anyone else, I know exactly what he’d have been thinking—that I must be giving Mike some additional form of compensation. Entirely too many people still confuse the terms ‘actress’ and ‘prostitute’.

“He’s a fan, Dave,” I tried to explain. “It’s not that uncommon.” Although, these days, I’m afraid it really is.

But Dave had his own ideas. “You know what I think it is? He probably knows your business is too small to afford his usual rates yet. Probably he figures he can afford to give you a break because he’s banking on the fact he can use your name to attract other Hollywood types.”

“Well, that would be foolish,” I sighed. I knew just how far my name would take him in Hollywood, even if Dave didn’t. It wouldn’t even take him as far as it takes me. Which is close to nowhere anymore. “Maybe he’s just being nice.”

“Nice is no way to stay in business,” Dave grumbled, which only made me laugh because Dave is one of the nicest people I know. “He probably doesn’t want to pay one of his employees to work on an account he’s not making any money on. I bet that’s why he’s doing it himself.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” I murmured. One thing I’ve learned over the years is that there’s no arguing with a man who’s made up his mind about something. So why bother trying? Reason and logic are no match for sheer, pig-headed, male determination. And, when it turns out you were right all along, that’ll just prove to him that you’re a bitch. Directors are especially good at making that connection.

“It is,” Mike insisted now. “Absolutely fact.”

And I wasn’t about to argue with him, either. Not just because he’s a man. Not just because I didn’t want him to re-think the great deal he was giving me, or assign my account to someone else. No, I had an even better reason than those.

Mike’s a fan, no matter that Dave doesn’t see it that way, and you never, ever argue with your fans. That’s rule number one of being a celebrity. Fans are the lifeblood of our business. They’re why we do what we do. They’re the customer. They’re always right. And you never want to run the risk of their turning into Kathy Bates.

Let Me Count The Ways

LA Love Lessons 3.0

She's thinking fling, he's thinking forever.

Sexy former film star Claire Calhoun is used to having her pick of studly young men. Now that she and Derek have called it quits, however, the actress-turned-entrepreneur is feeling vulnerable. After one mojito too many at a party one night, she decides it would be fun to try something new-in this case, Mike Sherman, her staid accountant and long-time fan.

Claire has been Mike's fantasy since the first time he saw her bare it all for the camera. Now that she's in his bed he'll do whatever's necessary to keep her there. But he's not a stalker, right? He's just a devoted fan.

​https://books2read.com/b/count-the-ways

What I'm Reading: Contracts and Cats (Toni Binns)

Occasionally, I need to take a break from the type of book I'm writing, and read something completely different. I've been writing a romcom wedding story (and getting ready to pivot into erotic fantasy land) and this book (series, because I'm on book two right now) was a welcome respite--being totally different from either of those genres. 

It's also pretty cute. And it's set in a magical bookstore--who doesn't love those?

Contracts and Cats: A Cozy Slice-of-Life Fantasy (Meow: Magical Emporium of Wares Book 1)

Toni Binns

Discover the secrets of the bookstore and join Sable's extraordinary journey – pick up your copy of Meow: Magical Emporium of Wares today

Welcome to the Magical Emporium of Wares, a bookshop that appears only to those who need to find it. 

When Sable answers a too-good-to-be-true job posting—cozy bookshop, perfect espresso machine, adorable black cat, and an apartment upstairs—she thought she'd finally caught a break from her crushing student loans.

But the ink on the deal is barely dry when Sable realizes that the contract is very literal. She cannot leave. Also, her new feline companion talks, the bookstore itself is a sentient enigma with an excellent espresso machine, and magic isn’t just for storybooks–it’s woven into her new reality.

Bound to the shop as the mystical Cat's voice and hands in the human world, the bookstore's true purpose begins to unfold, and Sable must choose. Will she embrace the impossible magic blooming around her, or cling to the mundane life she thought she wanted, risking the fate of the shop and its curious inhabitants?

If you love the heartwarming charm of found family, the gentle unraveling of an enchanting mystery, and the quiet wonder of magic woven into everyday life, then this is your next favorite read.

Mug Shot: Workout Mug

What I love most about this mug is the way it matches so much of my yoga/workout gear. Other than that, it's ceramic with a cool textured design. It's a good size with a tightly fitting silicone top. I'm posting this in honor of International Day of Yoga--coming up next Sunday. 

Speaking of yoga, here's a yoga-themed excerpt from Waiting for the Big One (book one in the LA Love Lessons series):

Power Yoga with Derek Novello was never an easy class, but with Derek calling the shots, getting whipped into shape was almost a pleasure. I hurried up the walkway toward the two-story Hollywood Deco building, smiling in anticipation, enjoying the trickle of the fountain in the courtyard, the tinkle of the wind chimes in the topiary, the sweet scent of sandalwood.

“You’re late,” a voice growled the minute I set foot inside the deserted anteroom.

I froze for an instant, heart pounding in my chest, as I recognized Derek’s dark-chocolate voice. Then I turned, making one of those slow, graceful pivots I’d been practicing.

Derek has the kind of chiseled features the camera loves. Even now, with his thick, black brows drawn into a frown that had them almost meeting over the bridge of his classically perfect nose, his face was sensual, expressive, intense.

He was looking yummier than ever today, with his two-hundred-push-ups-every-morning-before-breakfast arms folded across a tight black tank, putting all those lovely muscles on an in-your-face display. The black workout pants he wore, on the other hand, were disappointingly loose, at least in front. But experience had taught me that when he turned around...ooh, baby. They’d likely mold to his glutes in a way that would make my own pants grow damp.

Was I in a rush for him to turn around? Uh-uh. ‘Cause he’s also got the fiercest brown eyes, the most delicious looking lips and, oh, I thought with a tinge of sadness, if only we weren’t friends.

“Traffic,” I explained, trying to rein in my runaway lust, trying to resist the urge to run my fingers through the dark waves of his short hair. I’d always made it a policy never to mix sex and friendship. It was something Derek knew full well, though he continued to tempt me. “You wouldn’t believe all the cars on the road today.”

“So? There’s always traffic, that’s no excuse. Besides, you only live twelve blocks away. You jog, you hike, you exercise—give me a break, Gabe. Are you really going to tell me you couldn’t walk that far? You could get here on time if you wanted to.”

I sighed, feeling even more regretful. The truth is he looks even sexier when he gets worked up, and since he’s a Scorpio, that happens a lot. “Don’t be silly, Derek. This is LA—no one walks here.”

Derek rolled his eyes. “Go get dressed.”

Sexy or not, I hate it when anyone’s annoyed with me. It’s a Pisces thing. We want everyone to be happy. Luckily, I knew just how to make Derek’s day. 

“I’m sorry, Sensei,” I murmured in my breathiest, most contrite sounding voice. I dropped my chin, laced my fingers together, and peeked up at him adoringly, like the blondest damned geisha you’ve ever seen. “Won’t you please forgive me? I promise it’ll never happen again.”

A muscle twitched at the corner of Derek’s mouth, showing me how hard he was trying not to smile. “It better not. You know the rules. Don’t expect me to make exceptions for you just because we’re friends.”

Well, that was ridiculous. Scorpios always make exceptions for their friends. That’s still the best way to tell when they’ve written you off. But as I bit my lip and took a step closer, I knew that wasn’t the case with us—yet. There was a hot, hungry look in Derek’s eyes, though he was still pretending to be indifferent to my act. ‘Course that all went to hell in an eye-popping, jaw-dropping hurry when I flashed him the twins.

“Damn,” he muttered, blinking appreciatively as I tugged my top back into place. I gave him a wink, then turned on my heel, and marched off toward the lockers.

“You still have a few minutes before class starts, Der,” I called over my shoulder. “You might want to use the time to rearrange that package of yours. It’s bulging.”

Waiting For The Big One

LA Love Lessons 1.0

One girl, two guys and a quest for ultimate satisfaction.

Aspiring actress Gabby Browne refuses to consider her best friend, and personal trainer, Derek Novello for the role of soul mate fearing sex will ruin their beautiful friendship. When she meets Zach, she's convinced that he could be The One. Too bad Derek isn't willing to share-leaving Gabby forced to choose between two sexy co-stars.

An early morning earthquake provides Gabby with the impetus she needs to stop waiting for the stars to align and finally cast her leading man.

https://books2read.com/b/the-big-one

What Am I Reading: A Monster Calls (Patrick Ness)

I'm pretty sure this is meant to be a YA book, which is fine with me. I've loved me some YA since back before I WAS YA. (See last week's post about Owl In Love) This book was recommended to me by the same friend who recommended Kathryn Moon's books to me. Anyway, I enjoyed this book a lot and I was ecstatic to learn that it's also a movie--with Sigorney Weaver in the role of Conor's grandmother. 

At first, I was surprised that I hadn't heard about it sooner, but then I realized that it came out in 2016, which was NOT a good year for me and especially not a good year for movies about someone losing a parent. OMG. Just thinking about watching it back then makes me slightly sick. But I think I'll risk seeing it now. Or now-ish. Definitely not while I'm actively trying to write a fluffy little romcom. Must preserve that romcom mindset.

A Monster Calls

Patrick Ness

https://www.amazon.com/Monster-Calls-Inspired-idea-Siobhan-ebook/dp/B00D460VJ2

At seven minutes past midnight, thirteen-year-old Conor wakes to find a monster outside his bedroom window. But it isn’t the monster Conor’s been expecting-- he’s been expecting the one from his nightmare, the nightmare he’s had nearly every night since his mother started her treatments. The monster in his backyard is different. It’s ancient. And wild. And it wants something from Conor. Something terrible and dangerous. It wants the truth. From the final idea of award-winning author Siobhan Dowd-- whose premature death from cancer prevented her from writing it herself-- Patrick Ness has spun a haunting and darkly funny novel of mischief, loss, and monsters both real and imagined.

Mug Shot: Pelican State Mug

So, I love pelicans. I love the way an entire squadron will glide across the sky. They're freaking majestic. I've been enamored of them ever since my docent days at the Berkeley Marina--a very long time ago. But I did not know until recently that they were the Louisiana state bird.