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About a half-mile down the beach she was surprised to see an old-fashioned amusement park—a Ferris wheel and great red-and-white towers of a wooden roller coaster jutted up into the clear sky, and other brightly colored buildings hinted of summer fun. "It's heaven," Oliver said. "Let's stay here forever." "It's heaven," she whispered, watching the tiny figure of the cop far off down the beach. This place felt far apart from the harsh world outside. It was as if here was a place she could start over, be whoever she wanted to be, dream any dream and make it come true. She briefly considered what it would be like to live permanently in a little cottage, in a cute village surrounded by sand and sea and cotton candy, with the chance to just be herself and have nothing to hide.
She unlocked the gate, then turned to face him. "Thank you for your help, Captain Ryan. I can handle it from here." "I'd better see you inside safely." She wondered at what point his obvious impression that she was incompetent would make her either lose her temper—or fall all over him in relief. But since she knew he was right about her, she just shrugged and went through the gate, Oliver and the man trailing behind her.
As soon as the house came into view she realized her prayers for a quick sale had not been answered. She stopped in her tracks. It was a monstrosity. No. That wasn't the word. At least a monstrosity would have adequate square footage. This was... it was indescribable. It was tiny—all of two and a half stories high and still probably smaller than her one-bedroom condo had been. It had obviously been built without a blueprint. It was crooked. She didn't see a straight line anywhere in sight. The roofline was pitched at an angle that defied gravity, with one side climbing toward the sky at a steep slope, and the other side swooping down practically to the ground. "The roof...," she muttered. "Cat slide," Captain Ryan said. "That's what they call that steep, one-sided pitch," he explained to Oliver. Oliver stood, as wide-eyed as she herself must appear, trying to take it all in. "Yeah," he muttered. "A cat would slide right off, huh?"
"The Honeymoon Cottage was the first Stockdale," Captain Ryan said. She didn't have time to ask him what the heck a "stockdale" was, because she was busy walking around the front of the cottage, trying to make sense of it. The walls appeared to be made of stucco in a charming shade of cream-and-mildew, interspersed with huge, rough-hewn beams of what she imagined was ancient redwood. The beams appeared to be barely holding up the walls. Iron sconces framed the door. And the door, a round-topped slab of redwood, obviously hand-carved by a carpenter who didn't own a level, stood proudly off-center in the front wall, flanked by not only the gargoyle-shaped sconces, but also by heavy-framed, diamond-paned windows that arched into unbelievable shapes never imagined by the folks at Home Depot. "Oh, no," she muttered.
"Haven't you been to the Honeymoon Cottage before?" he asked. "Stop calling it that!" she snapped. "Honeymoon cottage—like it's some cozy little getaway for a newlywed couple. Divorce cottage, more like it. One look and the marriage broke up." "The house then. You haven't seen the house." "House? This isn't a house. It's—it's—" She was at a loss. A complete loss. All her plans for a quick sale and a getaway to a new life were shot in this one, first glimpse of— "—It looks like it was built by a drunken leprechaun," she finally said. Unexpectedly, the taciturn captain chuckled. "I think that's the best description of a Stockdale cottage I've ever heard." He pushed open the door, which wasn't even locked. Why would it be? Who would want to break in? The iron hinges on the door gave way with a creak straight out of an old horror movie. He ushered them inside. "We might as well see the rest." She went in. It was a mess. The walls were as crooked inside as they had appeared from the outside, the diamond-pane windows were missing glass in several spots, and there was ample evidence that something—she prayed it wasn't raccoons—had taken up residence in the middle of the living room floor. "I think it's neat," said Oliver. He ran over to the fireplace. "See all the different pictures!" He started tracing out patterns in the ceramic tiles framing the fireplace. "This one's a squirrel!" Numb, Camilla followed him over to the fireplace. He was right. It was beautiful. Under the grime and slime, the fireplace was covered in handmade embossed tiles. There were trees and starfish and suns, all in rich browns and golds and greens—many greens, from pale moss to deep forest. More and more came to light with every sweep of Oliver's hands against the dirty surface. It smelled of mold.
"This cottage is worth a lot of money," the man behind her said. "Why?" she said sarcastically. "You get a lot of drunken leprechauns around here needing housing?" "You don't know? It's a Stockdale. Built by Jefferson Stockdale. The architect." "Using the term loosely," she muttered. "The village is littered with them. People come from all over the place just to see them. Postcards, walking tours, they even filmed an old TV series here years ago. You know—about that old lady who solved mysteries." "I don't think this place is on the tourist maps." "Not now. But a little repair, a little spit and polish—" She pulled at a loose tile on the hearth and it came off in a cascade of decayed grout and mouse droppings. "—Okay, a lot of spit and polish. But this place is full of history. If you own it, you're sitting on a gold mine." He was talking a lot. The silent captain had become very chatty all of a sudden. "How do you know?" He froze, as if he realized he was revealing too much, and then said, "Um, I know somebody who inherited one." "How nice for them," she said. Then the words "gold mine" sunk in. "You think I can get a good price for it? The real estate agent told me it just needed a bit of fixing up." He looked around the room. "Your real estate agent is an optimist. I imagine it'll take some money to hire the team of specialists...." "I'm doing the work myself. Yes," she added at his skeptical look. "I have experience with—well, not with this sort of house, but with normal houses." He looked down at her from his six-foot-two. "Really?" "Yes, really. My father did construction." When he wasn't in jail. She looked him in the eye, glad she hadn't said that last part aloud. "I am capable of taking care of myself, Captain Knight." "I don't doubt you," he said, but she didn't believe him. She went to the front door, and held it open. He still stood in the middle of the room, as if he wanted to say something more. "Thank you for your help, Captain." She looked at him pointedly and he finally came over to where she stood. Again she felt that surge of adrenalin as he invaded her personal space.
She had no room to step back, with the redwood door behind her and the tree of a man only a foot in front of her. He stood there for another few seconds while she held her breath. Some insane part of her wanted to ask him to stay: Don't go. It's all too much for me. I want you to help. But luckily her mind was stronger than that idiotic thought. She stood silently and finally he stepped through the door and walked up the path to the street. She watched him go. At last he was out of her life. But long after the gate creaked shut, and the SUV's engine roared to life, and the sound of the tires crunching on the gravel faded in the distance, she still stood there, her thumb rubbing over the gold embossed badge on the business card. "What's for dinner?" Oliver's voice cut into her swirling thoughts. She realized her face was damp with evening fog, and the sun was almost completely gone. It would be dark soon, and she didn't even know if the place had working lights. She turned to Oliver. "Macaroni and cheese for dinner. Assuming there's a stove. Let's find out." She held out her hand to him and they went to find the kitchen.
~~~~
As soon as I read the description of this tiny house, I could hear the song in my head: "There was a crooked man, who..." and I was hooked to know more about what would happen in this tiny crooked home... Lee has a fascinating way of building each of her main characters, who readers will naturally assume that they will come together sooner or later, LOL. The antagonism had started on Camilla's part as soon as they met, even though it was the situation and the fact that Ryan was a cop that had been called by a shop owner who thought there was a potential sale of stolen property going on... Yeah, it's going to be that type of tense relationship between two of the nicest people--you can tell by their actions--that you might want to meet.
But both of them had a past that they didn't want to share, especially when one was a cop...
It was rather a strange entrance into Pajaro Bay. She was out of gas, needed money quickly to get more, while swearing she had just filled the car with gas 50 miles before. She also had a young boy with her but no father. And, further, when they got to her new home, she admitted she had never seen it nor knew what type of house, and condition, it was in. Having to sleep on the floor was just the beginning of the new life they needed to adjust to!
The last thing he needed was a woman wearing freckles and a halo, a little boy who loved trucks, a glimpse of goodness and honesty that was impossible for him to ever know again. It was a vision of something beyond this empty, echoing life. Something he had forgotten even existed. And now these innocents walked into his life and tempted him to see goodness and forget the horrors that lurked just beneath the surface.
At least until she sold the cottage... and with that money reclaim her identity as far as a profession goes. Ryan has him own back story and had already submitted his resignation... Which, after meeting Camilla and finding himself attracted to her, has already put him in a quandary as he soon realizes that the feeling seems to be mutual and both are unwilling to consider the alternative to their respective plans...
Enough of that. But even as she scolded herself she had to smile. She was feeling so much better after a good sleep that even the thought of the overbearing cop couldn't dampen her spirits. Oddly, crashing in a sleeping bag on the floor of this tiny cottage had given her the best night's sleep she'd had in weeks. Outside the diamond-pane windows, the sea had whispered all night, and the fog had cocooned Oliver and her from the outside world. All had felt warm and cozy inside. She'd finally gotten the deep restful sleep she had so desperately needed. It was as if the cottage was holding them safe in its arms. Nice feeling, even if it was merely a result of exhaustion and stress.
I don't want to share too much about the details other than to say that a serial killer is involved. Also involved is an ongoing con man activity that results in Ryan finally concluding that he needed to begin a full-scale investigation. In the meantime, he got permission to provide ongoing security at the cottage, where their relationship continued to bloom.
The young boy is a very special character, because he has his own secrets of the past. But he is now loved and wanted and as the story goes on, Camilla made an internal commitment to ensure that Oliver becomes confident that she will not disappear like his father did... That decision also provided a new strength in her decisions about her past and future.
There was something about the way she looked at him. She wasn't going to take life's problems lying down. She was facing her troubles with that cute little button nose up and a stubborn set to her jaw. There was something admirable about her. The awareness that she was alone in the world, without a penny to her name, but she wasn't going to stop trying until she found a way out of the mess in which she found herself. He wished he had her faith that everything would work out, if one only kept trying.
This is such a delightful, heartwarming story, with an underlying note to readers that, no matter what has happened in your life, there is still a chance to survive and return joy to your future... The characters are wonderfully created, giving readers a chance to both boo-hiss and rejoice of the people in the Pajaro Bay community. With a surprise and shocking climatic event! Highly recommended!
My heart will heal because I love myself more than I ever loved him.
Even though I have my own studio, Candid Moments, and a very successful career, Corey only sees my photography as a hobby. That’s an argument I curve every time.
“Make sure she looks good.” “Are you assuming that I wouldn’t do that naturally?” I ask with my lips pursed. While shaking his head, he says, “Nah. You got this. Like I said, worth every penny.” “Every,” I utter as he walks off. When my light’s adjusted, we begin. Halani is a natural and the shoot is a breeze. It takes longer than expected because the journalist kept interrupting. So, it’s after four when I leave my studio. I race home and storm inside of my bathroom as soon as I enter my condo. I’m too excited for this date with Denim. If I wasn’t in my late twenties, I would describe my entire mood as giddy, like a teenager. Honestly, I don’t care what we do or where we head tonight. I’m just elated to see him again. Although Denim and I were forced together because of two selfish cheating pieces--the resulting connection is organic, honest, and electrifying. He has single handedly restored my faith in men. He is proof positive that real ones do exist and they know how to properly treat a woman. After switching his flight to my airline, he upgraded my ticket to first class and we flew comfortably together back to Crescent Falls. When he escorted me to my door and wrapped his muscular arms around me, I wanted to beg him to come in. I had no desire for him to go. My body instinctively molds to his and I’m already addicted to his mouth and hands. Unadulterated chemistry and attraction are rare and when they are with a sexy, educated, and solicitous, fine ass, Black man, it’s practically a miracle. I’m lucky because that miracle happened to me. While in my shower, I take a mental tour of my closet and decide on my chocolate denim skirt set and brown, distressed, over-the-knee, heeled boots. By the time he rings my bell, my skin is thoroughly hydrated with my Brown Sugar Bae Rich Aunty body oil, my hair is bone straight and luxurious, and I’m dressed, looking sexy as hell. As soon as I open the door, a smile spreads across my face. His chocolate skin and the color burgundy are a match made in melanin heaven. He looks sexy as hell in a burgundy and black turtleneck, burgundy jeans with specks of black, and burgundy Air Force ones. His single platinum chain and watch only accentuate his handsome look. Without saying a word, he steps to me, wraps his arms around me, then kisses me like it’s our first kiss. The moment he releases my mouth, I moan. Damn. “You look amazing,” his baritone sings and I blush. “So do you. Where are we going this evening? I would hate to waste all of this sexiness standing in my doorway.” “Our first destination is a surprise but the last one is your choice. Just know, at that location... His words flow through my ears, travel down my body, then land in the very spot he’s promising to place his head. This man! “Then that better be right here at your place,” I say. “Again, lady’s choice.” His hand swipes across my ass then he grabs it before releasing me from his hold. “Let’s go. We have a reservation.” We leave my place, take the elevators downstairs, then get into his ride. During the entire ride, his right hand rests on my thigh and I practically drool over his sexy side profile. Although he is close-lipped about our first location, I start to get a clue when he hops on the Parkway. However, when he takes the Garden Street exit, butterflies fill my stomach, pun intended. We are going to the Butterfly Garden.
He listens. “Denim! My favorite spot,” I gush when he pulls up to valet. “I promised this would be our first date.” “You are going to love it here.” Excitedly, I practically jump out when the valet opens my door. Denim meets me and we walk up to the main entrance. The Butterfly Garden is a beautiful, indoor, dome-shaped glass structure that houses an array of butterflies, flowers, and plants. Patrons are free to tour and explore the garden year-round. The back entrance of the garden has a stoned path that leads to the Bella House, a historical home converted to an event space and upscale restaurant. There’s a huge iron butterfly, colored by beautiful flowers at the entrance of the garden and wrought iron benches with butterfly shaped backs are stationed throughout the garden for patrons to sit and enjoy nature in its glorious state. Even during the winter months, the garden is vibrant and full of color. As soon as we enter, I walk him over to the digital display board. The curators constantly update it with the current species inhabiting the garden. A black butterfly with yellow and blue on the tip of his wings fills the screen followed by its name, Mourning Cloak. According to the screen, it’s one of the few butterflies that spends their winters as adults. “I’ve never seen a black butterfly,” he utters. “You will tonight,” I say, beaming. I really love this garden. Butterflies are so amazing and the species and variations of them provide an almost unlimited supply of beauty. The second butterfly appears on the screen and this one is just as colorful. It’s golden and black, resembling a bee. Just like the Mourning Cloak, this Angel-Wings also spends its winter as an adult. When the screen changes again and it’s back to Mourning Cloak, we walk through the garden. A few times, I catch the awe in his hazel eyes as he marvels at the pretty creatures fluttering around the garden. At the back entrance, we check in at the hostess stand then walk across the path of sea glass stepping stones. Each stepping stone has a unique butterfly design. This date is already perfect and we haven’t even sat down for dinner. The restaurant has three dining rooms and he has reserved a table in the Metamorphosis. It’s the butterfly-themed room. One thousand species of butterflies have been hand painted on the walls and ceiling. It’s truly amazing. I only have one regret and that’s leaving my camera at home. The moment we are seated, a sommelier approaches the table with wine glasses and a bottle of the Metamorphosis Room house selection, Butterfly Effect Blend. As he explains the wine and pours our samples, two waitresses and what looks like a chef approaches. We both taste the wine and agree to a glass. After the sommelier pours the wine, the chef and waitresses approach. “Good Evening, Dr. Morris. I’m Chef Roland Piqueen. I will be preparing the tasting menu for your enjoyment tonight,” he says and I’m impressed. Denim pulled out all of the stops. He clearly put a lot of thought into this date. “First up is this delicious artichoke soup with winter truffles and tiny brioche crisps on top. Bon Appetit.” The chef walks off and the two servers place the small soup bowls in front of us. They also tip over our other glasses on the table and fill them with ice water. It appears we each have a waitress. The moment they walk off, I grab his hand. Truly appreciative, I squeeze it, then express my sincerest gratitude. “Denim, this is absolutely…everything. Thank you. Listening to me when I speak and following through with what you said means a lot. This night is beautiful.” “Not as beautiful as you,” he says before raising our intertwined hands and kissing the back of mine. “I’m just glad that you like this.” “I love it and the chef and his tasting menu is…hell, chef’s kiss,” I say and we both laugh. “But hey, sorry,” he says and my eyebrows furrow. Nothing about tonight warrants an apology. “Sorry for what?” I ask. “Not telling you to get your camera. I’ll remind you next time.” The fact that he even thought about my camera widens the smile on my face. He acknowledges and shows interest in my passion. How can I not adore this man already? “I can live in the moment with you tonight. No camera needed,” I admit.
~~~~
The plot is not unusual, but the characters involved are... Two couples who have been involved for months are attending a reunion. Corey is the graduate while Jamila is his guest... Readers will begin to form their own opinions about these two being involved shortly after starting to read...
The second couple is Maddox and Denim, who have been together for 12 months...Maddox is the coordinator for the reunion and readers will quickly begin to wonder whether she brought Denim along for his muscle--only... Ok, it doesn't take long, to have the plot entirely switch... Because Maddox and Corey are caught by the other two in a private room almost immediately... Like, they couldn't even wait? Duh!
Now I can also share that Jamila had already kinda met Denim as they were passing each other and Denim was certainly worth of being eye candy for her to follow a few seconds... If you know what I mean...
A smile creeps across her face then she shakes her head. “For your momma and because I’m pretty pathetic and homeless right now in this shitty ass town, I will but can I see your license?” “My license?” “Yes, please,” she insists with her hand held out. “My name is Denim.” “Okay. Your license please, Denim.” After pulling my wallet from my pocket, I produce my driver’s license and place it in her awaiting hand. She examines it. “Crescent Falls? I definitely know where this is and so do my Manor cousins,” she says, smirking. The Manor neighborhood is notorious in Crescent Falls. She knows my town. “Are you from Crescent Falls?” I ask. “Born and raised in The Manor but currently reside in The Millennium,” she says proudly. CFers will represent and I love that about us. “I’m Jamila, by the way.” “Nice to meet you, Jamila. You good now?” She presses her phone dramatically, then looks up to me. “License sent. Now, I’m good. And for the record, I do have a taser and mace.” “Calm down, killer. You won’t have to use either on me. Scouts’ honor, I am a gentleman and I’m my momma’s son.” While eyeing me suspiciously, she asks, “Were you even a boy scout?” After pressing the up button on the elevator, I mumble, “Hell no.”
We don't really know if it was an actual switch of partners... What we do know is that once Jamila and Denim caught the other two, they promptly concluded their connections... Both planned to immediately go back home. But a snow storm interfered. And a shortage of rooms resulted in Jamila having to accept Denim's invitation to share the small suite which included a couch, bed, and kitchenet... Soon, however, you will discover the Jamila you will soon get to know, when she immediately asks to see Denim's license--proof of identify! LOL Hey, She'd been dating Corey for 18 months and only that day learned that Corey was a nickname and not his full name! Caution? Thy name is now Jamila... and she was not in the mood to be fooled again!
The thing is, Denim is just the opposite of Corey in all ways that were important to Jamila. If you begin to feel like Jamila has just met Prince Charming, you just might be right... For this certainly appears to become a "happily-ever-after" merger being negotiated, of course, starting that first night of betrayal that both of them had suffered through together...
His hand grazes the side of my face then lands under my chin. After lifting my head, he locks his mesmerizing eyes with mine. The lust and desire in his eyes match mine because I want this. I want him. “What else are you ready for?” he utters in a deep, sexy timbre. “You,” I admit honestly.
This story is short, sweet, and sexy... The POV moves between Jamila and Denim, so you learn what each is thinking as we read...
Fate or some other fxxxed up thing brought us together and I don’t know why but I do know I’m glad it did. She’s unlike any woman I’ve been with, definitely a stark contrast to Maddox. Even when I invested in her business, Maddox wasn’t as passionate about it as Jamila is about her photos. Her eyes don’t sparkle with excitement like Jamila’s.
BTW, no music was involved in this book, so all videos are of my choice and my memory of songs that seemed appropriate to the storyline... Yeah, oldies but goodies, don't you think? Both Denim and Jamila seemed to know immediately that they had wasted months with somebody else, but, fate seemed to have brought the right match for each... exactly at the right time....
Because Santa Claus is so small, the Warriors consist of players from here and from three neighboring towns: Mariah Hill, Lincoln City, and Buffaloville. Because they are rivals in high school, it’s important to always bring them together as a team on this field. A divisive team never truly wins.
“Find some Christmas cheer, play Boyz II Men’s ‘Let it Snow’ on repeat, and write the book,” I tell her. What other options do I have? Frustrated, I add, “I need to call my ride. I’m headed back to the airport.”
“I don’t know why I’m here, love. I couldn’t sleep, so I decided to run and ended up here,” I admit, then sigh. Mya and I were always one hundred with each other. So, I’m not going to start lying now. “That’s not true,” I retract. “I ended up here because I didn’t dream about you last night, and that shit freaked me out. I never want to stop thinking about us or what we had. “I miss you—a lot. I’m not supposed to live without you, but I’m trying. It’s hard, though. I still can’t spend too much time in the house. Again, I am trying. I try every day to do what you wanted: live, be happy, and find love again,” I say, repeating her final wish for me. She told me those words daily. “The last part is the hardest,” I admit. “It threatens what we had, and I don’t like that. How can I find something that I gave all to you?” The sound of a lawn mower interrupts my words. I glance around and see two groundskeepers on riding mowers. One approaches me, riding in the row in front of me. He kills the engine. “Sorry, sir. I didn’t see you. I can come back later,” he apologizes. “You’re good. I’m heading out,” I tell him because I’ll return on Christmas Day and bring tulips. “See you on Friday, love,” I say to Mya, then nod at the groundsman.
My head tilts down, and her face lifts up. Our eyes meet. I think I’m losing my mind because everything in me wants to kiss her. I mean, I really want to possess her lips with mine, and this pull is definitely a first. I haven’t felt this strong of a pull to any woman since my wife. “My bad,” I utter, then drop my hands. “You don’t have to,” she starts, but she suddenly stops, then turns around. She steps back to the chair and grabs a bag of marshmallows. “So, how do I do this?” she asks. Crystal stands, then steps closer to Saira. She grabs two sticks. “The only thing that goes on the fire are the marshmallows,” she begins. “You got to get it good and hot.” “And melty,” Devyn adds. She stands too, and the three women work together to make the s’mores. “Baby, I’m about to go get me a drink,” Keith yells out. “You want something?” “If there’s some more hot chocolate in the carafe, then a cup of that with my Kahlua. It’s in the refrigerator,” Devyn replies as she places two large marshmallows on a stick. “That sounds good and warming. Can you get me one of those too?” Saira says. “Me three,” Crystal adds. “Aye. Y’all Negroes come with me. I ain’t got that many damn hands,” Keith huffs. I definitely need a damn drink. I’m all off of my square around Saira. I’m doing stuff that I usually don’t do. I was all up in her space, uninvited, rubbing her arms. What the fxxx! “Let’s go,” I say, then start trekking to the cabin. I need to put some distance between us so that I can clear my mind. Halfway to the cabin, I realize that I’m walking solo. “Damn, Negro!” Keith yells. “Slow the fxxx down,” he says. In my haste to get away from Saira, I’m power walking, and Keith and Mike are steps behind me. So, I stop and wait for them to catch up. “You good, man?” he asks. “Yeah.” “You sure? The way you just took off without us, ion think so,” he says seriously. “Miami got you shook?” he asks. “A little,” I sigh. “Shit! I don’t know. I’m not supposed to be,” I start, then stop. While shaking my head, my mind drifts to Mya. A heavy wave of guilt rushes my entire body. “I’m drawn to her, and I don’t know what to do,” I admit out loud. “What the hell you mean? Shoot your shot, Negro,” he barks, and my eyebrows furrow. I sigh again. Picking up on my hesitation, he takes a step back, then says, “Oh. Right. My bad. This is different. She’s different. You’re really feeling her?” “I am.” “Then the same advice applies, man. It’s time, and it’s okay,” he says. I met Keith right after Mya died. When I finally joined the SCFD, he was the first person I talked to at the firehouse. He was adjusting to the small town, and I was adjusting to my new life without her. We bonded quickly, and he was a good friend on those hard days when I needed one. “Coach, she’s feeling you. We can all see that,” Mike adds. “Man, Ray Charles can see that shit.” Keith slaps my back. “Don’t overthink it,” he adds. “Bet. You’re right,” I say. “I always am,” he jibes. “Now, can we go get my Yak and kill this girl talk?”
We start back to the cabin. When we enter, Mike heads to the bathroom, and Keith and I stay in the kitchen. After washing our hands, he checks on the hot chocolate, and I grab the Kahlua and my bottle of 1942 out of the fridge. Mike starts talking as soon as he walks into the kitchen. “Crystal just texted. She said to bring the whole bottle of Kahlua.” I slide the bottle over to him, then search the cabinets for cups. I find the to-go coffee cups with lids and grab the pack. “Is there any hot chocolate in the carafe?” I ask Keith. “It’s half full,” he answers. “You might as well grab it too,” I suggest. “Bet.” With our arms full, we trek back to the fire. The ladies are sitting in the chairs, which are now closer to the fire. I rejoin Saira. Keith hands Devyn the carafe, and I open the pack of cups and distribute them. When I pour my Don Julio into my cup, Saira holds her cup in front of me. “Can I have a splash, please? I think I want that in my hot chocolate instead.” I put the spout over her cup. “Tell me when,” I say, then start to slowly pour it. She taps her cup on the bottle. “That’s enough,” she utters, and I raise my bottle upright. After closing it, I put the bottle on the ground next to our chair. Then I reach for her cup, and she hands it to me. I pass it to Crystal, and she fills it with hot chocolate. As soon as it’s back in Saira’s hands, she sips it and smiles. “You got enough tequila?” I ask her. She nods her head as she sips in response. My eyes travel the length of her, admiring all that is her again. That’s when I notice that the ingredients for the s’mores are gone. Even though I didn’t want any, I ask teasingly, “Where’s my s’more?” She stops drinking from her cup, but her lips stay glued to the rim of it. With raised eyebrows, she utters, “I didn’t know you wanted some. After making one, we gave the rest of the stuff to them.” She tips her head over to the others around the other fire. “Did you like it at least?” After placing her cup on the arm of the chair, she responds. “It was okay.” All the excitement that she had when we got the ingredients has faded. “I don’t know what I was expecting, but that wasn’t it,” she shrugs. Her beautiful eyes drift up to my face. “Did you really want one?” “No. I’m good,” I say, and her face quickly relaxes. Then her lip does the little curl thing. Damn, she’s so pretty.
~~~~
Folks, it's been a long time since I got excited about a purely romance story... I don't know why this one did it for me. Perhaps that, from my older age, I've noticed that our black neighbors are deeply involved within their own community. I've always assumed is was because of the racism that so many have voiced against them by my race... But this story revealed a depth of love between man and woman which I've not seen before. You're right, I'm not a fan of romance books... I need a mystery or a problem to solve in most books to keep me happy. But...I have to say, the characters in this book were so finely drawn, that I was pulled into the story just because of each of those characters!
It was kinda interesting, too, that the title, A Novel Christmas was a perfect choice for the plotline... You see, the main character, Saira, is an author who has received a "slight" warning from her publishing company that they'd like to see her write books geared to the holidays as well as what she was writing. Saira had purposely avoided that for her own reasons, but her agent made it quite clear that there was no longer a choice... She was to write a Christmas story--or else!
Saira was not happy, but if she had to do it, she figured she better find some way to actually get into the holiday spirit... She realized she needed atmosphere to do that... So she started searching for towns that naturally emphasized Christmas and found a small town called Santa Claus! Checked out possible accommodations and without any further delay, was on her way...
The only concern she had about the town was whether or not there were any black people living there. If not, she wasn't sure how to get past that to get to know the town... But that turned out not to be a problem since a young sista caught her attention and immediately headed for her as she arrived... And
immediately bought what she was selling for the local Fire Department... A Christmas calendar... And the cover--and Mr. December was... a gorgeous man... so immediately, I had an image... based upon what I'd read so far... Shemar is known for many TV shows, but this picture showed the kind of serious man who you will meet. He is a widower whose wife had died from cancer 3 years ago... He had been devastated, but had been coaxed into becoming a voluntary fireman and had begun to come out of the shell he had placed around himself...
Saire was to be the first woman for whom Dorian has developed an interest... and he was having a difficult time, often finding himself feeling guilty for these new feelings...
The book goes back and forth for first person between Dorian and Saire... Readers will experience both the excitement...and the frustration... of each of them as they don't know how to relate to each other... Saire only has a week to be in town... Yet, the pull toward each other forces intimacy, simply because it turned out that Saire had rented a side of a duplex...from... yes... Dorian!
Readers will enjoy the fun Saire displays as snow comes to town... Saire had never seen snow that accumulated in inches! So she was gung-ho to build snowmen, make snow angels...and all the things that come with winter weather... But she quickly learned that her body had become attuned to Florida's temperature where she lived, and was freezing most of the time... The fireman knew that when she brought lighter fluid to use on her fireplace, he would have to be watching her and teaching her a lot of stuff just to make sure she didn't burn the duplex down. LOL!
So was this to be love at first sight? NOT! Saire had been burnt before and still not over how she had been treated. She was not willing to fall in love and have her heart broken again... Dorian was still taking flowers to his wife's grave weekly, to spend time with her, telling her about his life now--by the way, he'd become a coach as well! What is that old saying? The heart's going to do what the heart wants to do... And they soon became a couple attending all the festivities happening in a town call Santa Claus as Christmas drew near... And there was really no way they could ignore how both were feeling...
“Then amuse me, beautiful. If I was in your book, how would you write me?” he challenges. He may be the athlete, but I’m competitive as well. So, when challenged, I gladly accept. I sip my hot chocolate, then lean back in the booth. My eyes inspect him again as I gather my thoughts. When my words come together, I begin.
“Sitting in this diner, I can barely finish my drink because I’m mesmerized by him, all of him. His deep amber eyes and flawless ebony skin captured my attention first. His manly, sexy, spicy essence trapped me next. However, his chiseled chin and beautiful smile took me over the top. He’s sexy, handsome, and fine. How can I forget the chiseled arms and strong, muscular legs that are all apparent even though he’s fully dressed? I can’t. I won’t. He’s etched in my brain, scribbled in my thoughts, and imprinted on my soul. He’s a landlord, coach, firefighter, and to me, a hero. He kept me from setting myself on fire, and he rescued me from the brink of death at the hands of deadly creatures. He’s everything, but if I must simplify him, I can just call him . . . Dorian.”
“Damn,” he utters.
While smiling and internally patting myself on the back, my mind temporarily drifts to Marle, my publisher. Forget her! I still got it!
~
But soon it was time for Saire to leave and write the book she was committed to before the publisher's deadline... Time...went...on... But, the ending allowed me to add this to my, last, perhaps, 2025 Personal Favorite!
GABixlerReviews
With a personal Christmas Thanks to Charity Shane' for her Lovely Story...
Chile, you ain't never gonna call Glenda a gossip evah again! Who're ya to speak nasty words just because I'm a hateful person... But have I hated on you, girl? No! I just hated on my daughter's choice of men... Can I be at fault when sayin' "I told ya so!" to her at least a hundred times a day since they been hitched? Ya know what, I just can't stand the man who lies about always working for the good of mankind? Yep, that's what I said, mankind! "Cause he never did care about women, even when my angel ran after him all those years ago, yappin' about marrying him someday... I tell you, I ain't no gossip just cause I repeat what that blond racist pig said about grabbin' women anywhichway he wants...Heck chile, my Angel hasn't been grabbed anywhere since that doctor started worrying about his patients and the poor and the corporation leaders who don't pay no taxes like we poor folk... No wonder she went out to become one of those "LA Women Married to Doctors," turnin' to clothes, jewels and all things costin' big bucks since he decided to spend all his time with those drunks brought in after knife 'n gun fights... Now that ain't gossip, chile, that's honest truth with a small "t" cause I save the big "T"when I yak about what that boss of mine says about anybody and everybody... He's the biggest liar of Truth I ever seen, ya betcha!
And chile, don't pretend I ain't the narrator of your story, as well as a worried mother wantin' her chile to have her cake and eat it too, even if she chose not to get preggers as long as she wasn't gettin' much of anythin' except lots of money to soften her burden... Do you know anybody better to break in on a tender moment or a catfight with a little nonsense and gossip, oops...not gossip, but merely disinfo! as I've learned to say speaking of the orange man...
~~~
I have to add a note...I so enjoyed Carol's reference to "me" Glenda as someone Madea-like that I just had to share the above...of course talking about the book, but as Glenda the gossip... I have to admit, that I enjoyed getting into the character...LOL Have you every become a different character than the one you are? Hope you enjoyed my Madea...
(Fitting In Carol's, and a few of mine, playlist as breaks)
Some of you may remember the book/movie Love Story. If you do, you may feel that same emotional pull of the story as Maxine meets her soulmate... But that will not be the whole plot readers will find in Maxine by Carol D. Mitchell... I read this book in one sitting and quickly added it to my personal favorites for 2024--and it has little to do with the fact that my name was included in the book. LOL... Well, maybe it helped... I've been reading Mitchell's books since her first...do take the time to do a search for reviews on her other books...
For, you see, as you will learn from the beginning of this post, Glenda is describe as Madea-like and a gossip about anybody she dislikes... And that includes her daughter's husband...and anybody else that gets in her way... By the way, included in this book is a narrator who sets the upcoming scene for readers... It, too, is often humorous, so enjoy a sample below...
Okay, y’all fasten your seatbelts reason being it’s about to hit the fan with Doctor Brad Montgomery and his ride-or-die Angela. If dreams are made in heaven, this marriage was made in hell. Let me give you a jump start on their past, then, honey, we will be there for the landing! Check this out.
She was the girl he grew up with in Hunters Point who was supposed to make a difference for a conservative good guy like Doctor Brad Montgomery, but after a decade of marriage, she turned out to be a bitch from hell. Angela’s mama did not like the idea of her marrying a medical doctor who spent hours upon hours in the hospital emergency room. When they were kids, Angela’s mother, Glenda, set the two of them up for marriage before they were in grammar school. “Angela, Richard’s fast. But Brad’s sneaky. He’s the quiet type, the worse kind you should set your sight on but he’s going to do something great one day, and raise you out this Hood” she said. Sure enough, from junior high to high school, Brad only dated Angela. From the time they were younguns holding hands at the shipyards, they were always cool until they married, and, honey, that’s when all hell broke loose.
For two-decades, ole nosey Glenda held nothing back when Angela began having problems in her marriage with Board-certified Doctor Brad Montgomery. “I told you before the wedding that man was too cerebral for you Angela, but your ass don’t listen to nobody,” her mother said. The former Hunter’s Point gossip made good when she traded one husband in for another, got a job with the state, and moved out of the Hood to a swank four-bedroom home in Concord, California.
Now, Glenda, who ran two of her adult children out of state, sat out to ruin her daughter’s marriage. “Mama, we have known each other too long since grade school. I never knew if I married him he would close up on me like this and never be home,” Angela yelled to her mother. “Ten years is a long time to be married to somebody Angela. When he was in medical school, you stuck to that man like glue, only to realize that person wasn’t right for you. I have never seen you so unhappy. You planned your whole life around being with that one man. You know what you have to do. I have been hearing about how unhappy you are, and I am tired of hearing about it now. You flew to Clovis to live with him while he was in medical school, because all you wanted to be was a doctor’s wife. Now, you can’t stand him. I honestly believe you should leave this doctor and marry a regular person who has time to be there for you. Anyone who is smart and returns to medical school after fifteen years of schooling to do two more years for a specialty is crazy. Doctor Brad Montgomery has a few screws missing in the brain,” Angela’s mother said.
~~~
Chile, that session at Glenda’s house in Concord got so hot, Glenda called a divorce attorney. Now, Angela was going to take all this shit home to an unsuspecting husband who despised her mama! You don’t want to miss this! Because honey, this is the last straw for Angela Montgomery.
~~~
The Good doctor has had enough! “Mama, that’s not what you said in Hunter’s Point, when he saved Richard from being a drug addict like his mom.
“Oohee. Ain’t we glad that boy was at the Montgomery’s house when his mama died on them drugs,” you said. Brad was quiet then; he’s quiet now, and a lot of it has to do with how much his parents fought when he was a kid. Cops at his house every night? It ran that child crazy. I do believe Angela, one day all of that is going to take a dangerous toll on Brad,” said Glenda. “Mama that’s his personality. He keeps things inside. I love him, mama. Giving him divorce papers from your attorney is going to be so hard to do, considering he’s the man responsible for all my firsts in life. I thought he was the one. To have been friends all of our lives and then to be in this marriage feeling empty, I am afraid of what the future holds for me,” Angela ended. “Baby, I am more afraid of what the future holds for him,” ended Glenda...
~~~
Three children had grown up together. Two boys and Angela... The boys were Brad and Richard who were close friends even if they were almost the opposite in personalities... Brad and Angela had started dating and carried their relationship through to marriage...
When Richard's mother died from an overdose, his uncle decided to bring him to live with him and, as that rich uncle in the family, had offered to include his friend Brad as well. Both boys were so excited. They had both decided that they wanted to become doctors and when the uncle learned this, he agreed to financially support both of them... Years passed both were now working at the same hospital, still close friends... Only one difference...
While Brad had always been a one-woman kind of man, Richard was a player, which was quite easy to be, of course. When a good-looking man also is a doctor, there were many ladies (and mothers) who thought marriage to him would be great... But there was only one thing that Richard looked for--hittin' that bod...and another one, and then one more... and even Maxine's girlfriend! Which is a no-no, right?!
But Richard held a secret deep within him, he was falling in love with Maxine. Richard and Maxine had become friends when his uncle helped Maxine get started in a cosmetics enterprise. She worked hard and made it big, making even more money than either Brad or Richard as doctors... The thing is that Maxine has been such a close friend while they were working to get her started, that she also quickly realized that Richard liked having many women and felt little need to settle down... So, whenever Richard had tried to make a play, she would laugh and let him know that she just would remain his best friend...
In the meantime, Brad's wife, Angela, had divorced him and was already remarried with two kids... So Brad and Richard got together after work since he was single now and enjoyed watching all the ladies who called out or walked by the most attractive and eligible doctors around... Until the time Richard decided he would be noble and see if Maxine might be interested in meeting Brad...
You know folks, every time that something becomes a problem, it seems that it is because there is such an inability for many of us to say exactly what needs to be said...until it is too late... And that is what happens in this extraordinary book that will both shock you as well as teach you so much about just how people don't really know how to say what they need to say...
On the other hand, Maxine has found her soulmate, but which one is it--Brad or Richard... because there's a lot more happening in this book and tragedy is a major part, along with an everlasting love story... and Maxine has fallen in love...forever... Wow! If you love to cry along with a fantastic love story, also enjoy situational humor, surprises and a narrator who won't stop till Madea holds her hand over her mouth... This is a very special and memorable book and I highly recommend you check it out!
Wow! I've just binge-read all three books in the trilogy, For Every Love. Actually, I read each book and immediately wanted to download the next one...and the next... But I wanted to spotlight that these three novels have also been captured in a set! Your Choice!
Soundtrack, If You Will ♥ I’m not the only author who often has a theme song or two that accompanies my writing. The music for each one of my stories is usually an original composition, heard exclusively via my remarkable humming (please hold your applause). But for Love Unfeigned, I, full of nostalgia, reached back for the smooth sounds of some standard and classic jazz I became familiar with during my childhood. Here are the songs that most inspired the romance between Lorraine and Isaiah. Taking a listen definitely brings the mood(s) of the story to another degree of life…
“Dancing on the Ceiling” ♥ Admittedly made me a little teary–twice–as I wrote about Lorraine’s “Boy.” Performed by the legendary Ella Fitzgerald.
Girls mostly played with girls, and boys mostly played with boys. Even being as girly as I was, with my dolls and flowery tea sets at home, I wasn’t one you would usually find in a big group of other girls during recess at school. However, I did play with a girl in my third grade class, Sara, more than I did with anyone else. Auburn-haired, heavily-freckled, faithful Sara could be trusted for jump rope, for plenty of laughter, and for the trading of a fair share of secrets. I regarded her as my best friend, and whenever one of us did happen to be found in a larger bunch of girls on the playground, the other was sure to be there. Unless, of course, she or I was absent from school that day. Nevertheless, I wasn’t opposed to playing with boys every so often. They proved to be the best competition for me at wall ball. I was hailed as the best girl Wall Baller in all of third grade, and when I started running out of boys my age to beat, a classmate suggested that I should try to play with some of the bigger kids. I considered it, looking to Sara to see if she thought it was a good idea. When she only shrugged, I told her, “I’ll do it tomorrow, if you come with me.” I was nervous the first time Sara and I went to get in a different wall ball line with fourth and fifth graders. Earl, my fourth grade virtual twin, poked his kinkily-curled raven head out of the front of the line to smile at me. “What’re you doing over here, Raindrop?” he called down the line. “I’m here to play, Early,” I called back. “And I’m here to watch,” Sara piped up, eager to justify her young presence in this older crowd. A boy I recognized to be from Earl’s class shook his head. “She can’t play with us. We’ll kill her.” He pointed back at me with his thumb. “Earl, man, get your sister.” “Nobody’s gonna kill her,” my brother asserted. “If she wants to play, she can play. She’s pretty good, anyway.” “Psh.” The boy looked back at me with a mischievous grin, which was gleaming with braces on his teeth. “Maybe pretty good for an itty-bitty.” I judged that I wasn’t much smaller than the boy talking, and I obviously wasn’t much younger, but I felt disproportionately embarrassed because I thought the boy was cute. I had a thing for braces. I wasn’t sure which side of chance I was on when I actually got the opportunity to contend against him at the wall, but I played what might have been my scrappiest round of wall ball up to that point in my playground career, the bright beads on my many, swinging black braids clicking soundly together as I ran, jumped, and pounded at that bouncy yellow sphere with a resolute fist. I didn’t defeat every kid I faced that day, but I did win the respect of the entire line by beating Braces Boy. “Well, Lori, you shut him up, at least,” Sara congratulated me once I was out of the game, when I’d been trumped by my last opponent. I looked over to see that Braces Boy had abandoned the wall ball line to go join a group of kids over at one of the tetherball rings. I felt vindicated, silently agreeing with Sara as I got back in line, but it wasn’t many days later that I found out Sara and I hadn’t been completely right. That Friday after school, I was out along the side of the driveway of my house, squatting in a patch of soil, rocks, and plants to watch the activity of my favorite colony of ants there when Earl arrived back home from a neighborhood trip he’d taken on his bike. Pulling into the driveway with him, also on a bike, was Braces Boy. “Hey, Itty-Bitty,” Braces greeted me. “What’re you doing over there in the dirt?” “She’s babysitting her ants,” Earl told him as they dismounted their bikes to lean them against the driveway fence. I rose from my squatting position. “I’m not ‘in’ the dirt,” I informed Braces Boy. I was ridiculously glad to see him and was just as determined not to show him so. “And don’t call me Itty-Bitty.” Braces grinned. “Touchy. Mad that I let you win in wall ball at school?” “You didn’t let me win, I hammered you,” I said, wiping my hands across my jeans and stepping out of the soil patch. “Hammered me, my foot,” Braces guffawed, his hands going into the pockets of his own jeans. “I wouldn’t be caught dead trying hard against a lil’ third grade chick. What do I look like?” What did he look like? I wasn’t about to tell him that he looked like the very glory of boyhood, standing there: dark brown hair that avoided being a mess but didn’t appear to care more than it had to, with a shock of it falling over his forehead; skin, somewhere between the colors of almond butter and cinnamon, that was thoroughly acquainted with the sun’s rays; thick, dark eyebrows; and that irresistible sparkle of metal in his mouth, impishly flaunting itself now, for my benefit. That is, I wasn’t about to tell him how cute he looked. I shrugged. “Well. If trying looks stupider than losing, then it is a good thing you lost.” Earl broke out laughing at that. “I didn’t lose,” Braces argued the point. “I let you win.” “Aw, give it up,” Earl chided his buddy, giving Braces a push on the shoulder. “You said you were thirsty. Let’s get some juice and get out of here.” Earl and Braces turned and headed into the house, and I was again squatting by the ant colony...
~~~
With these latest reads by Nadine C. Keels, she is now proclaimed to be on my favorite author list! With all the chaos going on these days, I've needed to turn to Christian fiction to regain strength and belief in God's love for all of us. Keels has done it well with this trilogy that includes tragedy, rejection, renewal, and just plain fun to close out the trilogy.
Love Unfeigned begins in the early years of our two main characters. In my past readings, there has not been too many books that begins the narrative in their childhoods. Whether the author remembered her early life--or whether or not I have forgotten most of mine, or because of my life with a single parent, I had no relationships to those drawn by this prolific, caring author. For me, coming from a small town where there were not so many students in our schools, I enjoyed the experience of watching the relationships at that early age.
Lorraine and Isiah are the two main characters who begin and continue some type of relationship into higher grades in school and then ultimately are physically split due to their choices for higher ed. I was "wondering" through most of the book as each chapter was titled "Me." I immediately started wondering...why... And then, my anticipation began for something to happen. I must say that I need to just stop at this point. I've already said too much, but readers will discover a mystery within this book. One that can only be solved by one person. And it's not the reader!
Proceeding on to the next book will start with the relationship between Lorraine and another high school classmate...
~ “With You on My Mind” ♥ It’s amazing how we can sing such songs with a smile, but, alas, we do. *Sigh.* More Nat King Cole and oh-so-needful tenor saxophones to help, well, tell it right. ~
The sound of a human body banging into a row of lockers and the resulting barrage of laughter somewhere down the hall from the school commons made me grimace. With fleeting annoyance, I rehearsed to myself how stupid the whole concept of Freshman Day was. The stupidity would only compound when its participants would carry on in the school’s central areas, where faculty members were more likely to see it all and break it up. Still, my annoyance disappeared as my focus was absorbed back into the book in my hands. Midmorning break between classes gave a guy like me just enough time to get a meaningful portion of a chapter in, and I’d rather not waste that limited time minding other guys’ business. Even now, as a high school sophomore, the first Friday of the school year wasn’t any special day for me, aside from how I would Thank God It was Friday as much as anybody would. The fact that it was designated as the first Freshman Day of the year by tradition didn’t change my life any, except for the additional noise the day brought along with it. There wasn’t one freshman or another I was interested in hunting down and beating up any more than any sophomores last year had been interested in hunting me down. Freshman Day was a time for popular ninth grade males and incoming frosh athletes to run away scared from popular and athletic males in tenth grade (and from a few semi-popular and unexceptional athletes in the junior class who didn’t quite understand that they should’ve retired from Freshman Day involvement and looked that much cornier still chasing down youngbloods to roughen up). No sophomore idols or jocks on the prowl for younger meat would’ve cared anything about a skinny-ish, baby-faced, ultra studious-type dude whom nobody who was anybody had heard much of. Names like mine and those of my friends weren’t really heard until they were announced at the school’s quarterly academic awards assemblies. While most students found those assemblies boring, some of the folks who hadn’t cared before would take note of the names and/or faces of classmates walking up to the stage in the auditorium to accept their awards. Those names and/or faces would be duly filed away in the minds of students who wanted to know which people might have the best homework assignments to copy from. Not that I resented it when classmates who hadn’t finished their work asked to copy off of mine. It didn’t exactly do my ego damage to know when other people knew there was something I was good at, and the cooler a guy truly was, the cooler he took it when I’d turn down his request to see my work before the start of class. So, no, Freshman Day didn’t entail special activity for me or for the others with me in our row of three guys and three girls lining one wall of the commons during break, using the time for extra reading or studying. We would save our talking for lunchtime, and besides the jotting of notes or the flipping of pages, the only real movement that would happen along our row in the commons would be the passing down of a communal bag of potato chips or crackers or something. It went without saying that at least one of us always brought along a snack to share with the group. On this first Friday of my sophomore year, I barely looked up to receive an open bag of cheese puffs from Dennis, who’d been my main sidekick since he and I met each other back in middle school. I wouldn’t have looked up again after the Freshman Day commotion that went tearing in and out of the commons at that moment if the noise hadn’t been accompanied by the muffled sound of a female yelp. My eyes jumped upward to peer into the crowd of students milling around, some of them apparently laughing about the stampede that had flown past, others just talking and laughing in general. Scanning toward the direction I thought I’d heard the yelp from, it took me a minute to identify who must’ve been its issuer: a girl standing alone, pushing herself away from the wall she’d likely been shoved against. She had an open cup of chocolate pudding in her hand, and some pudding was smeared over her mouth and cheek. I sucked my teeth. “Idiots,” I muttered, handing the cheese puffs back to Dennis. “What?” Dennis inquired, adjusting the glasses on his face as he looked up from his own reading. “They pushed her” was the only explanation I gave as I shut my book, hoisted my backpack by the straps over my shoulders, and made my way through the throng over to the girl in the pudding predicament. “Good morning. I’m sorry,” I greeted her with an apology to get her attention, and her eyes widened when she turned and realized I was talking to her. “I’m sorry.” Her eyes whipped up and down over me, perhaps to determine if I’d been a part of the passing commotion or not. “Sorry for what?” she asked. I recognized her, a girl new to the school who was the only other sophomore in my chemistry class, a class that was otherwise full of juniors. “Sorry they ran into you like that,” I clarified, briefly bending to the floor to pick up the plastic spoon I assumed she’d been about to use. “Folks need to watch where they’re going.” She held up her cup of pudding with an embarrassed but droll look. “My fault for trying to lick the lid. Wasn’t paying attention,” she declared, the lid in question sticking straight up where it was still partially attached to the cup. “Here,” I said, stowing my book under my arm and digging into a pocket of my jeans, finding it empty, and then digging into the opposite pocket. I pulled out a folded handkerchief, extending it to her. She gazed down at the handkerchief before looking back up at me. “Guys really carry those things around?” One of my shoulders rose and dropped. “I do.” She appeared skeptical, her eyes narrowing in thought. “I know I’ve seen you somewhere.” “Third period chemistry. I’m Arthur Simmons. You’ll have to remind me of your name, Miss…?” Her skepticism clearly deepened. “Miss?” I nodded. “Certainly not ‘Mrs.’ already,” I answered, then stopped to check, “Are you?” After blinking in disbelief at me, she finally replied, “Alexis. Alexis Prescott.” “Oh, right. Miss Alexis. Yeah, we’re in the same chemistry class. Here,” I repeated, jiggling the handkerchief. She slowly shook her head, releasing a nervous giggle without a smile as she waved my offer away with her free hand. “Oh, that’s all right. I don’t want to get it dirty. I’ll go clean up in the restroom.” It was my turn for my eyes to whip up and down over her, noting the light brown skin of her plump face; her kinky chestnut curls wrangled into a frizzy puff of a low ponytail; and the dull, shapeless dress curtained over her pudgy body. They weren’t things I’d say about her, but I knew plenty of other kids around here would start asking each other if anyone else saw “the frumpy fat girl with food all over her face” if she didn’t hurry up and resolve this. I would know. I’d been taking both good-natured ribbing and enough mean-spirited guff from other kids about my looks ever since my adolescent arms and feet had first lengthened out way before the rest of my body had gotten the memo about a growth spurt. Even now, two weeks away from turning sixteen, not all of my lanky self had caught up with the rest of me yet. I took a step closer to Alexis, lowering my voice. “Well, sure, you can go rinse off the stickiness after, but you don’t have to walk all the way there like…” I slid the handkerchief into her hand. “Hang on to it if you want. I’ve got more.” She stared at me a second longer, and then she threw her shoulders back, making her backpack bounce behind her. “Hm.” She handed me her cup of pudding, saying, “Well. If you wouldn’t mind holding that for me then, sir,” and with a dramatic flourish, she flung my proffered square of cloth open and began dabbing it daintily over her mouth. “I thank thee, Mr. Arthur, for the lending of thy blessed kerchief to this damsel in distress.”
~~~
During the first book, although Lorraine and Isaiah had become close friends as a response to Isaiah and Lorraine's brother, Earl, being close. Isaiah had even started going to church with the family. When it came time for college decisions, since Earl and Isaiah were both a year ahead of Lorraine, Lorraine realized that there would also be a big change for her own life. After all, both boys were her only close friends, other than Sara, her best female friend. But while Lorraine was involved during that time (the first book), one young man had become so attracted to Lorraine that he could only see her as somebody he wanted in his life--even then as a life partner... So, while the first book is written from the point of view of Lorraine, the second is from the point of view of Arthur Simmons... Who is somewhat of a nerd, or, more a male student who is not involved in sports... You know him. I know him. He is one of those you come to know when he starts receiving academic awards... He's a nice guy who, on the first day back to school, sees a young girl who looks lost and stops to help her and make sure she begins to feel comfortable in her first time in a new location.
But while he was busy getting back into the routine, he was also listening for anybody who mentioned Lorraine--or maybe even catch a glimpse of her in the halls or at lunch. And when he'd gained enough courage, he began to ask Lorraine if he could call her... For a long time, she would never exactly say 'no" but just not at that time, mentioning she had just come out of an ongoing relationship.
This book mainly focuses on a group of students, all of who were readers, good at something and had grown up together from grade school. More specifically, Arthur was a major part of this group, but his limited interaction with Lorraine was separate and apart of how this group functioned, mostly going to events as a group, as opposed to individual dating... But because of interests and his first contact with Alexis, the lost freshman who he invited to sit with his group for lunch, Arthur began to spend time studying and interacting with Alexis more than the other girls in the group. So, even though there were insinuations by some of his friends, he still held out hope for getting with Lorraine...
~ “Too Young” ♥ Hey…there’s the proverbial “they” who tell you this and that about love–but, this time, really, who are “they”? Even more Nat King Cole, folks.
“Welp. We might as well, ’Telle.” With that suggestion directed her way and the accompanying hand held out to her, Chantelle Jackson let her gaze move from the proffered hand and up into the eyes of Dennis Lawson. Those brown eyes sparkled down at her from behind a pair of black-framed glasses. Eyes that were full of life and so much…fun. Chantelle resisted the niggling urge to let a sigh loose. Fun. Here she was, the maid of honor sitting at the now nearly empty head table at the Saturday evening wedding reception of two of her best friends. The halter neck, garnet red gown she had on was one of the most elegant garments that had ever graced her wide-shouldered, gently curved form, the flow of fabric accommodating her few extra pounds in such a way that she’d had no need for extra shapewear or the extra effort to avoid breathing all day. She’d recently forgone her usual abundance of long braids to wear only her thick, natural hair for a while, and today she wore a flower above her ear, adding a burst of color to her dark billow of hair. It was the closest she would come to wearing a tiara on this occasion, since she wasn’t the bride, but the blossom in her hair still made her feel queenly. That is, she’d felt queenly for most of the day. Queenly and vibrant and full of anticipation, going about her bridesmaid duties with a light step in her fine dress, on the lookout for the potential moment when she’d know that Dennis had taken notice. There he was, the best man at the wedding reception of two of their best friends, the jacket of his black tuxedo presently missing as he stood there in a garnet cummerbund and matching bowtie that flashed in red against the white of his shirt. His black hair was styled in a fresh buzz cut with a hint of waves on top. He looked smart and snazzy, the essence of his usual swagger there. Swagger he wore like no other geek-at-heart on the planet could. Chantelle had wanted this swaggering and smart geek-at-heart to take notice of her today, in a way he apparently hadn’t in any of the previous years of their decade-long friendship. Perhaps Chantelle had put too much trust in her hopeless yet hopeful romanticism, imagining that, regardless of the fact that Dennis had seen her all dressed up before, the special love in the air at the nuptials of Alexis Prescott—now Alexis Simmons—and Arthur Simmons would influence Dennis and finally give him ideas. Ideas that would lead to something more intimate than the fun in his eyes. But, nope. Couples had joined the bride and groom out on the floor to dance to the jazzy Christmas music from the live band playing in the reception hall, led by Arthur’s older brother, a vocalist who also played the guitar. (Leave it to Alexis and Arthur to choose a Yuletide theme for their spring wedding, a choice that only those two lovebirds fully understood. Yes, the new Mr. and Mrs. were their own kind of geeks too, bless their hearts.) Chantelle had done most of her hostessing, Dennis had delivered the main reception speech and proposed the toast, and the two of them were now free to join the others out on the floor, but there was no humble and gentlemanly “May I have this dance?” from Dennis. There wasn’t a dashing request tinged with longing, a “Would you do me the honor?” to the maid of honor. Instead, Dennis suggested that Chantelle dance with him because they were here, there was music, and other people were dancing, so, welp, the two of them might as well. At that moment, Chantelle no longer felt so queenly. She felt comfortable, like the effortless, trouble-free, comfortable choice to be Dennis’s dance partner at a party. Granted, her twinge of disappointment wasn’t a particularly comfortable one, but that wasn’t anyone’s business but her own. No use letting on. Chantelle remained seated at the table and smiled a mild challenge up at Dennis until she meant both the challenge and the smile. “Don’t know if I can manage it, best man. Been a long day. My puppies are yipping.” Dennis didn’t back away. “One hundred percent your fault.” He dropped his outstretched hand and surprised Chantelle by getting down, kneeling near her chair. Gasp! Dennis was getting down on one knee on an evening when so much love was in the air. As Chantelle certainly hadn’t imagined quite this far, she could hardly control the spinning of her wits for a second. But it was only a second, as the outdated language that scrambled through her imagination involved a gentleman asking for a lady’s hand, not a gentleman asking for a lady’s foot. Or, as Dennis ordered her more so than he asked her: “Gimme your foot.” Chantelle shifted her sitting position, scooting her yipping puppies away from him. “Beg your pardon?” “Your foot. Give it here. And give the other one here too, while you’re at it. Chop-chop.” Chantelle didn’t chop-chop. She took her time before scooting back in Dennis’s direction, and he waited until she tugged her skirt to lift the hem of her gown above her ankle and curiously lifted one of her feet a degree from the floor. Belying his brash bossiness, Dennis’s touch was tender as he began to remove one of Chantelle’s high-heeled shoes. “If you would opt for less torturous ways to decorate your feet than all of these restrictive straps attached to stilts that wreak havoc on your arches,” Dennis scolded, grinning as he did so, “your precious pups wouldn’t yip so much.” Chantelle wiggled her toes with the relief of it all once she was free from the painful prettiness of her shoes, and after Dennis stowed the heels away under the table, he stood back up, holding his hand out to Chantelle. She accepted it this time, staring down at their fingers coming together, Dennis’s skin a deeper brown than hers, although the sun would slow-toast her into a darker tone as spring moved into summer. “Humph. ‘We might as well,’” Chantelle repeated with a shake of her head once she and Dennis were out on the dance floor, gliding and swaying to the spirit of Christmas. “Sometimes I wonder if you’ve got a single romantic cell in that brain of yours.” “No need to wonder about my brain cells. I’ve got romance coming out of my ears.” Dennis nodded toward the newlyweds, over there in the center of the floor. “Those two wouldn’t have jumped the broom today if it wasn’t for me. You know I’m the one who told Arthur to go for it in the first place, last year. He would’ve let Lexi get away otherwise.” “Beg your pardon again, but I was the first one who said something about Arthur and Alexis getting together, back in high school. Remember? He resisted it then because he thought it was weird, the idea of dating a friend.” Chantelle’s voice slowly lowered as the end of her commentary slipped from her mouth. Dating a friend. “He wouldn’t have thought it was weird if he hadn’t been distracted by that other what’s-her-name at the time,” Dennis scoffed, as if he couldn’t very well recall what’s-her-name’s name. “Folks who date should be friends, if they can help it.” Chantelle’s eyebrows flew up. “You think so?” she blurted before her voice was ready, giving her words a wobble. If Dennis heard the wobble, he didn’t show it. “Absolutely.” He shrugged a nonchalant shoulder. “I mean, who’d want to date an enemy? It’s already a hassle going out with somebody you like. Why make it even harder on yourself by going out with somebody you can’t stand?” In spite of herself, Chantelle laughed. “Enemies become lovers all the time. Opposites attract, and all that. Besides, from where I’m standing, dating has never looked like much of a hassle for you, Romeo.” “Ah. That’s the mark of a master, Chantelephone. Masters of an art make it look easy to folks on the outside looking in.” Dennis pulled her nearer to him, until they were virtually cheek to cheek. “And don’t call me Romeo. He only got—like, what?—two seconds of bliss with his Juliet before everything tumbled downhill and crashed. That won’t be me.” “Oh, no, never you. Never the master.” A chortle bounced in Chantelle’s throat. “Now, I would pick apart what your deluded definition of ‘master’ must be in this case, but I prefer to save my breath about rational stuff for people with sense.” “Yeah? Well, if you’ve been saving your breath with me all these years, you’ve sure been doing a yakety-yak-yakkin’ job of it.” “Says you. But you’ve no idea how much breath I’ve saved, Jawbone.” Chantelle might have come up with more of a reply than that, but the feel of Dennis’s chin barely grazing her temple quieted her for a few heartbeats. She didn’t even flinch at the trace of stubble that had crept onto his clean-shaven face over the course of the day, as her increasing relaxation left no room for flinching. And regarding relaxation… “I’ve gotta say, though,” Chantelle spoke up, “you did quite a job today, keeping Arthur relaxed. Weddings look so dreamy in movies, but whenever I’m at the real thing, the bride floats and cries and/or smiles her way down the aisle, caught up in the happiest day of her life, while the groom is up there clenching his hands and sweating buckets, looking a nanosecond away from passing out. Arthur looked great, though. You must have fed him a steady stream of your bad jokes in the hours beforehand to keep him laughing—at you.” Dennis chuckled. “I can neither confirm nor deny that. But I think only a single guy knows just how daunting the prospect of taking on a whole, entire, real-life wife can be. So I reminded Arthur how careful a planner he is, that he wouldn’t have asked for Alexis if he wasn’t ready to take care of her. I told him not to forget that she’ll be taking care of him just as much.” He paused to spin Chantelle to the music before he gathered her back to him. “I’m sure you had a lot of encouraging yakety-yak for Lexi.” Chantelle smiled at that. “Any encouragement might have drifted right on past her. She was already in raptures, mostly just needed someone to keep her from sailing off on a glorious cloud with her veil on backwards.” That brought another chuckle from Dennis before he sent Chantelle into a second spin and then tucked her in close. Chantelle’s insides leapt. Oh, goodness. This man hadn’t any business being such a rhythmic and soulful dance companion for her if none of the romance coming out of his ears had anything to do with her. Chantelle’s eyelids lowered as she melted into the music and her dance companion’s familiarity, breathing in the scent of aquatic cologne blended with living Dennis. She’d partnered with him enough times since high school to be aware of how he’d subtly changed over the years. His transition from adolescence to manhood hadn’t turned him into a hulking mountain of muscle, but Chantelle was fine with not feeling like she was tucked against something that had been chiseled from a block of granite. Dennis was warm and emanating with verve. He wasn’t too wide for her to get her hold a good ways around him whenever they hugged, but the strength about him didn’t have to come in bulk for her to feel it, for her to know good and well that she was in the arms of a man. This man. The problem was, at some point after their high school days had ended to give way to their college days and beyond, moments like these and plenty of others Chantelle shared with Dennis had been contributing to her ever-intensifying notion that this man might be the only one for her. After high school, the two of them attended the same university in a big city an hour away from their hometown. Chantelle went out with her share of guys, and Dennis did his own dating around, but even while that was happening, Chantelle’s friendship with Dennis deepened in college. Chantelle liked to think that she and Dennis became a new “home” for each other during that phase of their lives. Sure, the two of them still poked and joked and jabbed at each other as much as they ever had, but there was far more to what had grown between them, only growing stronger after they’d graduated and come back to town, reuniting with people they knew and loved, people like Alexis and Arthur. Chantelle lifted her eyelids to peer thoughtfully over Dennis’s shoulder, through other dancing wedding guests and party members, and over at the bride and groom. Alexis and Arthur had officially become a couple a year ago, after their friendship had survived a period of separation. The hopeless and hopeful romantic in Chantelle had been hoping for those two friends of hers even at times when she hadn’t been at liberty to say so, and she’d been rooting aloud for them ever since they’d announced they were an item. The way they overcame serious personal obstacles to be together made them such an inspiration to Chantelle. This time, when the niggling urge came to her, she did let a sigh loose, though not too heavily, not wanting Dennis to ask what was the matter. Would Chantelle still be entertaining what she’d come to feel for Dennis if she hadn’t been watching Alexis and Arthur’s journey? Had something impressionable in Chantelle gotten the inclination to copy what was working out beautifully for two lovebirds who were close to her, even though Dennis had given no indication of a desire to pursue anything further than friendship with her? Dear Lord. Help. “Are your puppies all right?” Jarred out of her reflections, Chantelle couldn’t process Dennis’s question near her ear right away. She stalled. “What?” “I heard that sigh.” Dennis’s hand at her back gave her a reassuring pat. “We can go sit back down if this is painful.” A delicate smile tugged at Chantelle’s lips. Yes, this could indeed be painful. Talking and swaying with Dennis in an atmosphere of matrimonial celebration, springtime’s promise, and jazzy Yuletide warmth could be downright agonizing if she thought about it too hard. So she wasn’t going to think about it too hard. At least, she’d stop it for now and save the hard thinking for whenever she’d chronicle this night in her journal. “Hey,” she said. “You told me we might as well, didn’t you? Yes? Great. So you’re stuck with this.” She went so far as to snicker. “You’re in dawdle mode. Such wonderful live music in here, and you haven’t even dipped me yet.” Drawing back a little to look up into the sparkling eyes behind those black-framed glasses, Chantelle tightened her hold on her dance companion’s hand and shoulder, issuing a soft and saucy order. “Chop-chop, best man.” To his credit, Dennis didn’t challenge her or take his time. With an indulgent grin at her, he chop-chopped, and Chantelle basked in being so securely held and smoothly dipped into the spirit of Christmas.
~~~
The final book in the trilogy updates readers on the interaction of the group of Arthur's friends, minus Lorraine. (She was not a member of the small group of friends routinely interacting) As the two books end, the third begins with the time period when all of them have reached high school graduation or college. A number of those friends had moved away, got married or were now involved with new activities.
Arthur had found his partner and there were only two individuals remaining... I'm glad they were kept for the closing book. It is fun. it is frustrating. And it is a perfect example of friends becoming more than...
Chantelle and Dennis had always seemed to be the last chosen...for bowling, for dancing... They were the last two who would normally wind up dancing with each other... Now the pairing was even more visible. Arthur and Alexis were already dating and everybody else had left the area or were in committed relationships.
Dennis had always played the "ladies man" so that Chantelle had no reason to assume he cared for her...like...that... And Dennis had some problems with self-confidence, even though he played the clown and was often dating a lot, but the girls loved his company and none had ever seemed to go further... Perhaps it was because Dennis wasn't really trying... until now... And both Chantelle and Dennis realized that something just had to be done to move their lives forward...
Each of these books can be read separately. But I promise you that you, the reader, will not experience the full impact of the overall story being told by this excellent writer/author. Nadine has the capacity to consider the ramifications of all things related to the Christian life of her characters. And she makes it a part of the narrative.
As the cast of characters are growing up, they are in church, they are studying scripture and having assignments for youth study... So that, when each was considering their lives, the faith component was very much a part of everything. So, than, when tragedy strikes in book 1, everything that happened thereafter seems to flow from that story of Lorraine and Isiah.
And when Lorraine and Arthur had made their own analysis of their friendship, it allowed both to begin to consider their own options... Seriously, I figured that this was going to be a series of each being separated and moving on to find true love. But, even then, the author understands that isn't really how life is, is it? Friends in school? Sometimes they make it through into adult life. Most don't. And that's ok. Because we must all follow our own path...
But for teens, in particular, it is a very tough time. And it may be even worse these days as "texting" is the chosen method of communication. How, I wonder, do our children ever get to really know who and what their friends really are, related to, even, basic moral issues... Keels' choice to start the various relationships early in life allows her characters to learn about their, for instance, involvement in church as well as learning personal interests of each other and allowing each to share and receive important feedback on what their futures may encompass.
Me? I like this writer on a personal level. I've gotten to know her on line... But, it is through her books that I have formed a closer awareness of the writer. Nadine Keets talks the talk and writes the words, based upon her Christian faith and attention to how that affects all other parts of her, and others', lives. In doing so, she is fulfilling her desire to share what she knows and instill encouragement, courage, and love, even when joy is not a daily occurrence, or even an ongoing emotion.
Share her words with your teenagers. And read them yourself as parents so you may also understand what things may be affecting your children's lives! The Trilogy is Highly recommended...
In addition to the jazz, I must include some Georg Friedrich Händel, in honor of the Northwestern Philharmonic’s wonderful holiday performance at Larkspur Hall. (Were you there?) Ladies and gentlemen: the“Overture” of Handel’s Messiah.
