Monday, March 25, 2024

Mug Shot Monday: Waffle House Mug



 Going from the absolutely sublime (my Sift Dessert Bar travel mug) to the somewhat ridiculous...today's mug is from Waffle House. 

Okay, so here's a funny thing. For about a decade now I've believed that I went to Waffle House when I was in Nashville. But this past week I went to an actual Waffle House and I now have NO IDEA what restaurant I had breakfast in in Nashville, but I'm pretty sure it wasn't Waffle House because I distinctly remember eating Fried Green Tomatoes there and I don't think that's EVER been on Waffle House's menu. 

I'll be traveling to Nashville again in May so maybe I can resolve the mystery then. In the meantime...

I love diner-style mugs. I used to have several in my collection, but I might have lost some (or all) of them during one of my periodic mug purges. 

So I love this mug because of the sturdiness of its china, the nostalgia evoked by its shape (I'm a Jersey Girl. Diners are in our blood!) for its logo, which just perfect with its red-yellow-and-black classic simplicity; and for its durability. No worries about chipping this baby--how would you even do that? 

On our most recent trip, my 6 year old grandson discovered Waffle House--specifically their egg and bacon biscuit sandwiches--our lives may never be the same again. Especially because we then came home to the news that they're opening a Waffle House half a mile from our house. 

Here's an excerpt from Love, From A to Z. It's not a diner but it is breakfast. 

***unfortunately, like Sift, the restaurant in question--Gladstone's in Malibu--is not what it once was. It's under new management since I wrote this book and no longer has a daily breakfast menu. Sob.***






Love, From A To Z

LA Love Lessons 2.0

 https://books2read.com/b/A-2-Z


When April's memory goes missing, not all her millions can buy it back.

 

Zach Harris was sure the girl he'd picked up in the bar last night said her name was Angel. Too bad she didn't tell him anything more about herself, because this morning, she can't remember anything-not even her name!

 

What poor-little-rich-girl April Valenzuela views as a problem, however, Zach sees as a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity; a chance for her to discover who she really is. Not her name or her address, but the important stuff. Her personality. Her likes and dislikes. Her preferences-in and out of bed.


Excerpt: 

This early in the day, Malibu Beach was deserted; a flat expanse of golden sand under a pale, blue sky. I stared through the window of Gladstone’s restaurant, where Zach had taken me for breakfast, watching the waves roll in—ceaseless, never ending, like the questions in my mind—until his voice recalled me. “You figure out what you want to eat yet?”

Reluctantly, I turned away from the window and gazed at my menu, once more scanning disinterestedly through the list of breakfast items. “No. I don’t know what I want. I don’t know what I like. I can’t even tell if I’ve eaten any of these things, or just heard about them.” And I wasn’t sure I cared. I had serious doubts about Zach’s contention that I’d feel better after I ate something. Could a full stomach really compensate for an empty head?

“Order the pancakes,” he suggested, smiling sweetly. “You can’t go wrong with that, right? I mean, nobody doesn’t like pancakes.”

“Okay,” I agreed, trying hard not to sound ungracious, trying even harder to hide my resentment over the fact that he could still smile and make jokes and be so cheerfully good humored at a time like this.

Our waitress returned with the drinks Zach had ordered when we first sat down: coffee for both of us, plus a large glass of orange juice for him.

“Are you sure you don’t want any juice?” he asked now, as if we hadn’t just had this conversation five minutes earlier. I shook my head.

As he ordered our meal, pancakes for me, something called a Hangtown Fry for himself, I picked up my coffee cup and sniffed the aroma, trying to determine if it was familiar.

Of course it’s familiar, I realized after no more than a few seconds. I’d been smelling it for the past fifteen minutes, ever since we first stepped foot in the restaurant; I just hadn’t known what it was. Sighing, I returned the cup to the table.

“Anything?” There was a trace of sympathy in Zach’s voice.

I shrugged a little. “Not really.”

“Try tasting it.”

I lifted the cup to my lips. It was hotter than I’d expected, with a dark, bitter edge, a mellow undertone and a hint of something not quite sweet. “It’s okay.”

“Want some whipped cream to go with it? Sugar? How about some of these little chocolate chips they got here? Maybe you’ll like it better that way.”

I shook my head. “No, it’s fine.” I wasn’t all that interested in the coffee. I had much bigger things to worry about.

“Look, this doesn’t have to be so bad, you know.”

“You think not? Maybe you should try it.”

“I kind of wish I could,” he said, and I could tell by the wistful look on his face that he really meant it. “It’s gotta be like...well, like being a virgin all over again. Everything is brand new. You’ve got the whole world to discover.”

“I don’t want the whole world. At the moment, I’d be happy just to discover what my name is.”

Zach sighed. “I already told you that, didn’t I? Your name’s Angel.”

“Well, that’s not very helpful, is it?” One name? One name was useless. Worse than useless, really, since this was LA where entirely too many people used stage names. For all I knew, I was one of them. “I just wish there was something I could do.”

“Like what? We’ve been through this already. You didn’t want to go to the hospital, which, hey, I completely understand.”

“No.” I shook my head. “No hospitals.” What could they do for me in a hospital? There was nothing physically wrong with me, so far as I could tell. And the thought of getting trapped there—with no way to leave, and nowhere to go—was almost more frightening than anything else I could imagine.

“And, like I said, there’s no sense in going to the police yet, since if anyone’s going to file a missing person’s report, they’ll have to wait twenty-four hours before they do it. Plus, it’s a weekend, which means there’s a good chance you won’t even be missed until Monday.”

I nodded my head and sipped more coffee, disguising the vague sense of uneasiness that gripped me every time Zach made that particular point. It couldn’t be normal, not to be missed for days on end. Why was he so anxious for me to believe that it was?

“Besides, like I keep telling you, it’s probably just temporary, anyway. You had a lot to drink last night. You hit your head. You’ll probably wake up tomorrow morning remembering everything.”

“I hope so,” I murmured, clinging to the idea. And, if it turned out he was right, and I’d brought this on myself; if this amnesia was the result of nothing more than a night of too much partying? Then I was never going to take so much as a sip of anything alcoholic, ever again. “We’re still going to check out that bar, though, right? The one where you say we met? Just in case I left my purse there, or my cousin left a message, or something?”

Zach nodded. “Sure. We’ll swing by Zephyr right after breakfast. It won’t be open yet, but they know me there. They’ll let us in and we can take a look around. Who knows, maybe just being there’ll be enough to bring your memory back?”

I sighed. “That would be nice.” But I sure wasn’t counting on it.

Our food arrived, accompanied by a hot blast of fragrance. I sniffed the air appreciatively. Everything smelled so good and I could feel a rumbling anticipation in my stomach. Perhaps Zach was right, after all. Maybe eating really would make me feel better.

I was digging into my pancakes when he stopped me. “Hold on,” he said, picking up the little plastic tub that had accompanied my meal. “Can’t forget the syrup, right?” His eyes were twinkling as he poured it over the contents of my plate. “There. Now try it.”

I slid the first forkful into my mouth and felt my eyes widen in surprise as the soft, melting sweetness, the warm, creamy flavor hit my tongue.

“Good?” Zach asked, eyeing me curiously.

My mouth full, I nodded; and forked up another bite.

“Want to try some of mine?”

I glanced at his plate. According to the menu, his dish was a classic: oysters sautéed with bacon, onion and scrambled eggs. Which meant precisely nothing to me. “I don’t know. How does it taste? Is it good?”

“Well, I think so. Here. Let’s see what you think of oysters.” He leaned across the table. The little blob at the end of his fork looked gray and unappealing, but I opened my mouth obligingly, just the same. One taste, however, and I immediately wished I hadn’t been so trusting.

“Omigod,” I mumbled, clasping my hand to my mouth. I don’t know what I’d expected, but it wasn’t this. The taste was dark—much darker than the coffee—intense, slightly salty, I swallowed it fast and then drank more coffee to wash it down.

“So? D’you like it?”

I shook my head. “Mm-mm.” Sure, there was something faintly intriguing about the flavor, but it was much too strong.

“Oh.” Zach looked vaguely crestfallen. “Probably more of an acquired taste, I guess. We’ll work on that later. Here, try some of this melon.”

This time, a bright, orange square glistened on the end of his fork, I gazed at it doubtfully. “No, thanks. I think I’ll stick to pancakes.”

“Aw, c’mon,” Zach urged. “Give it a try. What’s life without a few risks?”

“Safe,” I answered, taking another bite, hoping to deflect him. No such luck.

One of those hard to resist grins lit up his face. “C’mon, I promise, you’re in no danger from this cantaloupe. Unless you’re a diabetic, of course, in which case those pancakes you’re eating will probably kill you.”

Startled, I stopped eating and stared at him. “What?”

He shook his head. “Don’t worry. You’re not diabetic. You wouldn’t have been out drinking last night, if you were.”

I sighed in relief. “Don’t scare me like that.” He was still holding his fork out to me, and it was clear he had no intentions of backing down. “You don’t take no for an answer, do you?”

That put the grin back on his face in a hurry. “Not if I can help it.”

“Okay, fine. Let me have it.”

Again he slid his fork into my open mouth. Melon was... nice, I decided. Not as nice as pancakes, but juicy, faintly sweet, vaguely musky. “Does all your food taste like you?” I asked, the words popping out of my mouth before I thought about how they’d sound.

Now it was Zach who looked startled. “Like me?”

I could feel my cheeks burning. “Well, no, not-not like you, exactly, but... you know...sort of...” Sort of like that tantalizing drop I’d licked off the tip of his penis this morning. Even the oyster, while too intense on its own, and not at all what I’d been expecting had had a salty, tangy musk to it that was almost... arousing.

“Interesting thought,” Zach murmured, folding his arms on the table and gazing at me curiously.

The gravelly tone of his voice made my mouth go dry. Avoiding his eyes, I lunged for the coffee.

“So, I guess maybe the next thing we ought to do is to try and find some foods that taste like you.” Leaning in close, he lowered his voice even more as he continued. “Of course, that’ll mean going back to my place so I can get a real good taste of you first, won’t it? You know, so I’ll know exactly what flavor I’m looking for.”

Oh, boy. I’d asked for that, hadn’t I? Swallowing hard, I raised my gaze to his face. His smile was wicked. His eyes smoldered. I was in sooo much trouble.

“Well?”

“Maybe.” Just the thought of his tongue sliding along my slit, teasing my lips apart, licking into me made my pussy wet all over again. I clamped my thighs together, but that only added to the hot, fluttering pressure. My clit throbbed as I imagined his hands prying my legs apart, his lips closing in on the tender nub, nibbling gently...

“Can I get you folks anything else?” our waitress asked, placing the check on the table.

Zach sat back slowly, his eyes still on my face. “I’m good. How about you?”

“Nothing else for me, thanks,” I mumbled as, cheeks aflame, I dropped my gaze and dug back into my pancakes. From the corner of my eye, I watched Zach take his wallet from his pocket and place a credit card on top of the check and all the lust I was feeling dissolved in an instant as it occurred to me just how much I’d been taking for granted. Especially from someone I had only met the night before.

What was he up to, buying me breakfast, driving me around, giving me a place to stay? Was it just sex he wanted from me? Or was he after something else?

My appetite gone, I pushed my plate away. “Why are you doing this?”

Zach looked up in surprise. “Doing what?”

“All this.” I gestured at the table. “Buying me breakfast and... well, everything, really.”

He looked at me curiously. “What’s the matter? Haven’t you ever been on a date before? No, wait.” He put up a hand to stop my reply. “Don’t answer that. I know: You can’t remember.”

“No, I can’t. But what’s dating got to do with it?”

He sipped his coffee, then smiled. “It’s simple. I’m sure you get asked out a lot. And I’ll bet that, most of the time, whoever the lucky guy is, he pays. So, why should I be any different? Besides, what else do you expect me to do? Let you starve? You don’t have any money, remember?”

I shook my head. “I’m not just talking about that. I mean, you must have had plans for the day, didn’t you? And now...” I broke off when the waitress returned with Zach’s credit card, and then I waited, impatiently, as he studied his receipt and added the tip.

“Sure I had plans,” he answered at last, scrawling his name across the sales slip. “What I’d planned on doing was to spend some time with you. I thought we could hang out for a few hours, get to know each other better, have some fun. After the way you tried to run out on me this morning, I figure it’s lucky for me that you did lose your memory. Otherwise, I’d have been eating breakfast alone right now, and then I’d have to think up some other way to spend the day.”

“But, it’s not just today we’re talking about either,” I pointed out, as anxiety set in again. “It’s tomorrow, too, probably. And...and what if you’re right? What if no one even notices I’m gone until Monday? Or even later? How long can I...”

“You worry too much.” Reaching across the table, Zach took hold of my hand. “It’s only been a few hours. Why are you worrying about what’s going to happen on Monday? Let’s just take things one day at a time, okay? Things will work out.”

“How can you be so certain?”

“Same way I can tell you’ve probably been on lots of dates.” He squeezed my hand reassuringly. “Trust me. You’re not the kind of person who’d go unnoticed for long. Someone out there is going to miss you real soon, you’ll see. And when they do, you’ll get found. And then you’ll be back home in no time Now why don’t we just forget about the amnesia, for the time being, and pretend that we’d both planned on spending the weekend together. Let Monday worry about itself. All right?”

I nodded. “Okay.” What choice did I have other than to go along with whatever he wanted? Like it or not, he was the one calling the shots, a state of affairs that didn’t sit well with me, not at all.

“Good.” He gave my hand a final squeeze, took a last sip of coffee and then slid from the booth. “Come on, let’s get out of here. Let’s go to Zephyr and see if we can’t find something there that’ll spark your memory.”

https://books2read.com/b/A-2-Z

Monday, March 18, 2024

Mug Shot Monday: Sift Travel Mug





I've been on a bit of an exercise kick lately, and ended up buying an exercise bike-slash-desk. And, no, I haven't used it as a desk yet, but it's getting quite the workout as a bike. 

One of my favorite features is the built-in cup holder. And sure, coffee is probably NOT what you want to be drinking while exercising (unless you're crazy like me) but here's another of my travel mugs. This one is ceramic which I love but to be honest I'd rather have something less breakable in my car. In my house, OTOH? It's perfect. 

EDITED TO ADD: Gah! I just learned that Sift is closing! Why??? They were THE BEST!  I did luck into figuring out the secret to what made their Stud Muffin cupcakes so good. But their Champagne buttercream--that's gonna take some work. I'm so sad to hear this news.  

This mug is from Sift Dessert Bar--my very favorite cupcake bakery ever. My favorites are their pink champagne cupcake and (when they have it) their savory Stud Muffin cupcake (with beer, bacon, and salted caramel flavors) which is OMG. So good!.   

Sift is located in Napa and the background picture is one I took of the road to Sonoma.  So that seemed to fit. 

I'm using the same picture on the cover of Going Up the Country one of the Oberon/LA Love Lessons crossover books--most of which are still in the future. I'm pretty sure I shot the picture that appears on the cover of Going to the Chapel (which IS available!) on the same day. That shot is from behind what was then the restaurant that is currently called  Lou's Luncheonette. I shot it way back when it was still the Fremont Diner and was one of the very few places in the Bay Area where I could go for shrimp and grits (even if they were a tad spicy).

Here's an excerpt from Going to the Chapel just because...

Blurb: IWaiting 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?

***A different version of this book was previously released as part of the Sapphire Falls Kindle World program.***

Derek

Oberon was turning out to be exactly what I’d expected, lots of charm and whimsy and small-town friendliness; in other words, the town was a lot like Gabby herself. I could totally see her growing up in a place like this, which is not to suggest she doesn’t fit in in Los Angeles, because she definitely does. Most people there are transplants anyway, people drawn in by the weather, or the industry, or the “laid-back lifestyle” that may just be the biggest myth of all. Given how much it costs to live there, you’d best believe we’re driven to succeed. 

But, all the same, I do believe the environment you’re raised in can have a big impact on how you turn out. I'd never met anyone who’s more nuts about animals than Gabby is. When she told me that she’d grown up on a farm, it made all the sense in the world.  

I, on the other hand, am the product of a more urban upbringing. Today was only the second time in my life that I’d ever even been on a farm. Considering that the first time had been during a grade-school field trip, I’m not even sure that counts.

I'd say the impact my early environment had on my life is fairly obvious.  I started attending city-run classes in kickboxing and karate as a kid, when I got tired of being bullied. You can clean that up, if you’d like, say I was interested in self-defense. But the truth is I wasn’t looking to avoid fights as much as I was searching for something that would give me an edge. I know my counselors were hoping it would provide me with a way to channel my aggression, but it really didn’t help all that much. For that I would have to turn to yoga. Now I work as a personal trainer and exercise instructor—a natural extension of those early interests.  But I have no idea what path my life might have taken had I grown up somewhere else. 

We arrived at Gabby's family's farm at about four in the afternoon.  A large metal sign hanging from the front gate proclaimed it to be the Quick Browne Goat Farm. "So who's Quick?" I asked.

Gabby shot me a puzzled look. "What are you talking about?"

"On the sign." I pointed behind us. Browne was the family name, and the goat part was also obvious, but Quick?

Gabby smiled. "Oh, I don't know. The goats, I guess. You know that sentence they make you memorize when you learn touch typing: 'the quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog'?"

"I've heard of it, sure."

"It's like that. "

Puzzled, I turned in my seat to stare at her. "It's 'like that' how?"

"Well, I mean, we've always had some of the laziest sheepdogs you've ever seen. I'm sure they've been jumped over a time or two."

"By foxes?"

"No." Gabby eyed me strangely. "By goats. It's a goat farm, remember?"

I probably should have given up at that point. I've gotten into these kinds of conversations with her before. They never end well. "Okay, but then where do the foxes come in?" 

"They don't."

"But..."

"Look, the whole point of that sentence is that it uses all the letters of the alphabet, right? They had to use fox. Goat wouldn't have worked at all in that context."

"Obviously."

"Okay, and so what should also be obvious is that it wouldn't make any sense to call this the Quick Browne Fox Farm. Right?"

None of it made sense; that was the problem. And I was just about to say so when she hit me with that smile.

Now, here's something you might not know about my Gabe. She has one of the greatest smiles in the whole damn world. It's fucking radiant. It's the kind of smile that makes men stupid. If you haven't seen it, you'll just have to take my word on that. I knew I was in trouble the very first time she flashed it my way. I'd never before been covetous of a facial expression, but in that moment, I desperately wanted to keep her smiling at me—and only at me—just like that, forever.  

I know it's only a matter of time before her career takes off, because I can't be the only one who feels that way.

"Well?" Gabby prompted. "Would it?" 

But her smile had done its usual good work. My train of thought had so thoroughly jumped its tracks that my brain was the mental equivalent of a heap of twisted steel. "Uh...what were we talking about again?" 

Gabby shot me a mock glare. "The Quick Browne Fox Farm. Remember?"

"Oh, right." Now, I'm all for sticking to my guns, but I also know when I'm beat. "Yeah, you're right. That's crazy. That wouldn't work at all."

"Exactly," 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. 

Monday, March 11, 2024

Mug Shot Monday: Costa Rica Mug


 


I picked up this mug on my recent vacation in Costa Rica. That's the view from the first house we stayed at. I have MISSED the Pacific Coast SO MUCH. It was great to be back. I found this mug at the airport as I was leaving (literally minutes before I boarded the plane). It's big and bright and has a tree frog on the other side. 

Long ago, in another lifetime, I had an idea for a children's book that was set in a tropical rainforest and had a tree frog as a main character. It might be time to resurrect that idea. 


Monday, March 4, 2024

Mug Shot Monday: Vacation Mug

 



So I'm in Costa Rica this week, on vacation. And while this isn't "my" mug, it is the mug I'm drinking my coffee from, and this is the view I'm enjoying while I do it. 

Yeah, not much more to say about that--being as I'm on vacation and all--but I've been enjoying the great food, great weather, great company, great scenery, etc. 

Hope you're having a great week, too!