tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14118948643120494262024-03-18T14:47:31.576-07:00JustJoshin Publishing, Inc.JOSH LANYON'S BLOGJosh Lanyonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11944091956589831656noreply@blogger.comBlogger840125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1411894864312049426.post-44022497935148423582024-03-01T09:58:00.000-08:002024-03-01T12:37:30.425-08:00NEW RELEASE: The Lemon Drop Kid<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCbiYxofp4kU5GBbBg2yX3AQPMjswrJKYnQOPzfpc-o5vte_eD9nS62o-6ZZWVo1sdo73eEXrqMkemzeOE9EAfLCpOzeElKg-z10_uiE3qKgBkInIZincafqhjga4uXdylZ6oixIOw81B-VQahcJvSztZ-NuTn7_29ErmyBaCK9QBUOaOGs-kpGIA1eyNG/s2250/Josh%20Lanyon.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2250" data-original-width="1410" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCbiYxofp4kU5GBbBg2yX3AQPMjswrJKYnQOPzfpc-o5vte_eD9nS62o-6ZZWVo1sdo73eEXrqMkemzeOE9EAfLCpOzeElKg-z10_uiE3qKgBkInIZincafqhjga4uXdylZ6oixIOw81B-VQahcJvSztZ-NuTn7_29ErmyBaCK9QBUOaOGs-kpGIA1eyNG/s320/Josh%20Lanyon.jpg" width="201" /></a></div><br /> I'd mentioned awhile-two years ago?--back that I was working on a Christmas short story called The <i>Lemon Drop Kid</i>. Welllll, the more I thought about that story and those characters, the more I realized 1 - Christmas story or not, I wanted to write it, and 2 - There was way too much story there for a short story.<p></p><p>Anyway, it's set at Christmas time, but I don't know that it's really a Christmas story. What I do know is, it's a bit of a departure for me. A little more emotional than of late? A little darker than of late, for sure. </p><p><u>BLURB</u></p><p></p><h2 style="text-align: center;">How The Cookie Crumbled</h2><p class="Style1"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><i>As sole heir to the Bredahl Cookies
and Cakes fortune, Casper led a comfortable, happy-go-lucky life. Some would
say, a charmed life.<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><i><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-indent: 0in;">Sure, there were challenges:
relentless pressure to join the family business, and his unrequited feelings
for former high school crush Raleigh Jackson. But yeah, a charmed existence,
compared to life after being arrested for murder and spending nearly a year in
Chippewa Falls County Jail, awaiting trial.</span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><i><o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><i><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-indent: 0in;">Exoneration, freedom, came at too
steep a price. To say Casper isn’t in the mood for the holidays, is putting it
mildly. In fact, the only thing he wants for Christmas is to see Detective Raleigh
Jackson, the man responsible for wrongly putting him behind bars, get his just
desserts.</span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><u> EXCERPT</u></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">As I stepped out of the wood line, I saw a black SUV parked
behind the Range Rover. The SUV bore the familiar—and now dreaded—red and white
insignia of Little Copenhagen Police Department.<o:p></o:p></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal">My heart stopped. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><i>I’m not doing anything wrong. I’m allowed to be here. <o:p></o:p></i></p><p class="MsoNormal">Before panic—and rage—could take over, I recognized the
tall, dark-haired figure peering through the driver’s window of my vehicle. No
uniform. A plainclothes officer. My heart kickstarted back into life, began to pound
in a painful mix of anger and hatred—made even more painful by my recognition
that even now, my instinctive reaction to seeing Raleigh was…delight.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Because I had loved him all my life. And as much as I hated
him now, the conditioned reflex of my blood and bones to the surprise of seeing
him was…<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Stupid. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Raleigh must have caught my approach out of the corner of
his eye because he straightened up, turned. He didn’t look surprised, but then
he’d have recognized the car.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">The snow made a squeaky-creak sound as the ice crystals
shifted beneath my boots. It seemed to take a very long time to cross that
clearing. Raleigh didn’t move. He was too far away for me to read his face, but
then it was always hard to read his face. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">I kept walking toward him, not saying anything, just looking
at him without any expression. You learn fast to hide your feelings in county. You
learn fast not to have feelings.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Raleigh stared gravely back—his eyes were the color of the
shadows on the snow. Maybe he was waiting for me to get closer than shouting
distance or maybe he was waiting for me to speak first. If so, he was going to
wait a long time.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">I was never willingly going to speak to him again.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Even as that thought formed, it was washed aside by the fury
now always bubbling beneath the surface. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">“Problem, Officer?” I sounded clipped because I was out of
breath. It’s funny how anger winds you.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Raleigh gave a short shake of his head. “Hi Casper. Just
making sure everything’s okay.” He dipped his head, drew a sharp breath. “Actually,
I’m glad I—”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">“Oh yeah,” I cut in. “Everything’s <i>fantastic</i>.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">His light gaze flickered. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">“But you’re a detective now. You probably could tell that just
from the way I parked.” I made a commiserating face. “Then again, you’re a
pretty shitty detective, so maybe not.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Raleigh’s expression changed, grew stony. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Funny—crazy—that I had kissed that straight line of a mouth.
That he had kissed me too. Not once, not twice, not by accident, not because we’d
been drinking. Many times. Many kisses. I regretted every single one. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Raleigh didn’t sound stony though as he stumbled through his
disjointed whatever-it-was-supposed-to-be. Explanation? It sure as hell wasn’t
an apology. “Look, Casper. I was doing
my job. You know I didn’t—you think it was easy for me?” <i><o:p></o:p></i></p><p class="MsoNormal">“Oh my God,” My parka crinkled in the chilly air as I put a
hand to my chest. “It must have been <i>terrible</i> for you. What am I
thinking? All those months you had to go on with your life and suffer through
getting a big fat promotion you knew fucking well you didn’t deserve. How can I
be so <i>selfish</i>?”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><i>“I thought you were guilty!”<o:p></o:p></i></p><p class="MsoNormal">It seemed to bounce off the distant snowy hills.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">And just like that I was calm again. Ice cold. “So you said
at the time.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Both times. The night he arrested me. And the day he came to
see me in jail to explain why, friends or no friends, he couldn’t overlook my
committing murder.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Raleigh was calmer too. Quieter. “Casper.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">“But like you said, nothing personal.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">“I <i>never</i> said it wasn’t personal. Of course, it was
personal. I—” He gave a disarming swallow in the middle of it. “I cared for
you. You know that.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">“No doubt there.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">“But if you were capable of murder—”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">“Except I wasn’t.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">He sounded sincere and kind, like the old once-upon-a-time-there-was-a-prince
Raleigh. “I know that now. We all know that now. And I’m glad you’ve been exonerated.
I can’t tell you how sorry I am for everything that happened.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">I smiled. “Worried about the lawsuit?”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">He stared.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">There wasn’t any lawsuit. Not yet anyway. My lawyer had
broached the idea; I figured he was disappointed he hadn’t been able to make
mincemeat of LCPD in court. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">I laughed. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">It wasn’t much of a laugh. It sounded like icicles falling. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">I think one of those icicles must have found its target,
because Raleigh seemed frozen. He continued to stare at me and then he snapped
out of it. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">His face was cold, his voice hard as he said, “Do your worst,
Caz. In the meantime, what are you doing parked out here in the middle of
nowhere?”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">I opened my mouth—the old Casper would have snapped back
with a smartass answer. But I was eleven months older and, if not wiser, much
more careful. It took a lot to make Raleigh angry, but he was angry now. I didn’t
want to push my luck. The idea of being arrested, jailed—for even five
minutes—was enough to fill me with panic.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">I understood how very fragile freedom was.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">“Looking for Freyja. She ran away two days ago.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">He didn’t say anything for a moment. Raleigh was as crazy
about dogs as me. That was one thing we’d always had in common. For another, I’d
got Freyja from Linda, Raleigh’s mom. Linda raised golden retrievers. Raleigh’s
dog Loki was from the same litter.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">He said neutrally, “She’s chipped. Did you try the animal
shelter and the vet clinics?”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">“I tried.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">“I’m sorry. I’ll keep an eye out for her.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">I nodded, shrugged. “Thanks. I know she’s gone. She wouldn’t
stay away this long.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Just one more thing I blamed him for, and he probably saw it
in my face.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">He nodded curtly. “Drive safely. It’s getting dark.” He
turned his back on me, not waiting for the response that he correctly assumed
wasn’t coming.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">I didn’t watch him walk away. I unlocked the Range Rover,
got inside, and started the engine—and nearly jumped out of my skin as someone
thumped on the driver’s side window. Hard.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Raleigh glared down at me.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">I fumbled to find the button to lower the window. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">As the window slid down, he said hotly, “You know, I wasn’t
the only one. <i>Everybody</i> thought you were guilty—”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">I said, matching his anger decibel for decibel, “You aren’t <i>everybody</i>,
Raleigh. You knew me. You were my—” My voice gave a humiliating crack, but I
got control. “You were supposed to be my friend.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p>
</o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">He was supposed to be a hell of a lot more than my friend. <o:p></o:p></p><p><br /></p><p>So far it's only listed on <a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0CWB2T8DN" target="_blank">Amazon</a> and <a href="https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1529274" target="_blank">Smashwords</a>. I'll try to get it up everywhere else today. </p><p><br /></p><p>(I guess there's still an issue with the book being searchable on Amazon's global sites, so here are some direct links to the obvious suspects)</p><p>https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0CWB2T8DN Amazon UK</p><p>https://www.amazon.fr/dp/B0CWB2T8DN France</p><p>https://www.amazon.de/dp/B0CWB2T8DN Amazon Germany</p><p>https://www.amazon.it/dp/B0CWB2T8DN Italy</p><p>https://www.amazon.ca/dp/B0CWB2T8DN Canada</p><p>https://www.amazon.com.au/dp/B0CWB2T8DN Australia</p><p><br /></p>Josh Lanyonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11944091956589831656noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1411894864312049426.post-51340930527670665392024-02-05T15:38:00.000-08:002024-02-05T15:38:37.188-08:00Now Open: CLOAK AND DAGGER (new JL Author Merch)<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr8Qn_DkHXEpPi2NDmo_L4htWf4QhCJh94Z5WvPYIN4HDlvCrfQTg6u1lVEdxzLkJC0pYlefueLtFjb4cVhyphenhyphenjW87hyXTeGU_jp4hlDzpC9qDH3tYFG3DHa5hh5qch9wFZIJi5rtQsr4BRd9tRZ0GNGqxw81Vf7ZxJcSnbLINq1Q5bKoROv79jQjufBXfuP/s5000/cloak%20and%20dagger%20logo.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="5000" data-original-width="5000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr8Qn_DkHXEpPi2NDmo_L4htWf4QhCJh94Z5WvPYIN4HDlvCrfQTg6u1lVEdxzLkJC0pYlefueLtFjb4cVhyphenhyphenjW87hyXTeGU_jp4hlDzpC9qDH3tYFG3DHa5hh5qch9wFZIJi5rtQsr4BRd9tRZ0GNGqxw81Vf7ZxJcSnbLINq1Q5bKoROv79jQjufBXfuP/s320/cloak%20and%20dagger%20logo.png" width="320" /></a></div><br />A funny thing happened on the way to creating merch for <a href="https://www.patreon.com/joshlanyon" target="_blank">my Patreon account...</a><p></p><p>The first funny thing was that I ended up creating an Etsy store. That one is still a puzzle. But, I mean, everyone needs a retirement plan, right? Okay, probably not Etsy. But still. Everyone needs a hobby. </p><p>So then, I finally got around to creating some Patreon-exclusive merch, but the problem was where and how to handle that merch. I didn't want to mix it into my Etsy store. I didn't want to have Patreon handle my merch given the issues Patreon has with super basic things like...search functionality and internal messaging. <i>Yeesh</i>. </p><p>Once upon a time I had--well, <i>I</i> didn't have it, but there was a Zazzle store to handle my author merch, but that store was run by my various and dear mods in order to fund the book launches and giveaways and celebrations. But I don't really do book launches anymore. </p><p>And of course, I've changed a lot of covers and written a lot of books since back in the day.</p><p>Anyway, that's a long way of saying I finally have a new author merch store. It's called<a href="https://cloak-and-dagger.printify.me/products" target="_blank"> Cloak and Dagger </a>after you-know-whose-place-of-business. 😉</p><p><br /></p>Josh Lanyonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11944091956589831656noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1411894864312049426.post-25197189360152589312023-12-30T09:36:00.000-08:002023-12-30T09:36:45.840-08:00New Release - A FUNNY THING HAPPENED... An Adrien English Christmas Story<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLtngLGPzebHc8VAKGvKNVTUXZZCdrDQrLIL15P0i6k8IuGCZV14R6oDpVxd52ATZCdIDGYYGlI47fZfBWVJ9fhYzlqhsXx9TNcgkZIiluOhe2-_mWsi6QeYQ99L6C14kDecvhXG6PHqDruOSdXd3x1T50OrNX0NNioouh7NfiIIY2oymVJXapE5n4FrTO/s2553/a%20FUNNY%20THING%20HAPPENED%20cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2553" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLtngLGPzebHc8VAKGvKNVTUXZZCdrDQrLIL15P0i6k8IuGCZV14R6oDpVxd52ATZCdIDGYYGlI47fZfBWVJ9fhYzlqhsXx9TNcgkZIiluOhe2-_mWsi6QeYQ99L6C14kDecvhXG6PHqDruOSdXd3x1T50OrNX0NNioouh7NfiIIY2oymVJXapE5n4FrTO/s320/a%20FUNNY%20THING%20HAPPENED%20cover.jpg" width="201" /></a></div><br />To make a long story short, I'm withdrawing the ebook edition of <i>Fatal Shadows: The Collector's Edition</i> from publication. <p></p><p>The idea was to make a very expensive (even in the paperback!) collector's item available in some form to everyone who loved the Adrien English Mysteries series, without regard to cost or geographic restrictions. And the ebook has been available for a year--and I'll leave it up through January 1st. </p><p>The idea of a digital "collector's edition" is just a bit NFT, isn't it? 😂🤣 But I'm glad we did it. I'm glad the ebook was made available to everyone.</p><p>The print editions will of course remain available.</p><p>What I am going to do though--in fact, I've already done it--is take that "final" AE coda in the collection (yes, THAT one) expand it a wee bit and publish it as a short story. Because that story seemed to be what a lot of readers were actually after anyway.</p><p>So that is now available as <i>A Funny Thing Happened</i>...</p><p>It's not even on my website yet, but you can purchase it through<a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0CR717V2L/" target="_blank"> Amazon</a> and <a href="https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1500656" target="_blank">Smashwords</a> and <a href="https://play.google.com/store/books/details?id=1YzrEAAAQBAJ&pli=1" target="_blank">Google Play</a>. It will be everywhere eventually, but I plan on taking a little time off during the "holidays," that doesn't involve me lying in bed with a Nyquil bottle in one hand, the TV remote in the other, to the background music of <i>Murder, She Wrote</i>. </p>Josh Lanyonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11944091956589831656noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1411894864312049426.post-52742296696226117092023-12-30T09:09:00.000-08:002023-12-30T09:48:22.728-08:00We've Got Winnahs! <p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOASm_uU9_-LM7DFTgb1dZlIuDMFLfuGoWpwCaXXrZV_nIUtoTx82HQb3j9IEyIOlACd4gGAVbLLyOYVj82qyAMVI_MHc6GEUNU8CRe9wC9L4iSgh7pTo1cVMJj1m-KRpotAioaqd6Cg0K6yKGg2FgOBso3aUU-66eMgVFLiaS2h4iplTACDYrHe25MSuN/s1024/last%20day%20of%20christmas%20vacation%201.png" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOASm_uU9_-LM7DFTgb1dZlIuDMFLfuGoWpwCaXXrZV_nIUtoTx82HQb3j9IEyIOlACd4gGAVbLLyOYVj82qyAMVI_MHc6GEUNU8CRe9wC9L4iSgh7pTo1cVMJj1m-KRpotAioaqd6Cg0K6yKGg2FgOBso3aUU-66eMgVFLiaS2h4iplTACDYrHe25MSuN/s320/last%20day%20of%20christmas%20vacation%201.png" width="320" /></a></div> Happy Holidays again! <p></p><p>As you may have guessed, I did have an unfortunate collision with the latest strain of Covid virus and that was pretty much all she wrote for Christmas. So, yes, I'll confine my comments to NOT THE BEST CHRISTMAS EVER. </p><p>I'm just hoping that when that last calendar page flips over at midnight on Sunday, that will be the end of what felt like a truly jinxed year. Not that it was all bad. Some really terrific things happened this year too, and it's better to focus on those, I know that, but I can't help feeling a little bit like...<i>what the what?! </i></p><p>Anyway, I have Advent Calendar winners to announce! </p><p>From Advent Calendar Day 6 - <span style="background-color: #cfe2f3;">The winner of the LGBTQAI Holiday Blanket is... Teresa F.</span></p><p><br />From Advent Calendar Day 10 - <span style="background-color: #d9d2e9;">There are still copies of HIDE AND SEEK available for download, but that giveaway <u>ends tomorrow night</u>!</span> </p><p>From Advent Calendar Day Day 14 - <span style="background-color: #fff2cc;">The three winners of The Thin Man-inspired ceramic mugs are Mr. Pinkerton, Sandra @ Waiting For Wentworth, and Karla!</span></p><p><span style="background-color: white;">I just want to add how much I enjoyed reading about everyone's family traditions. I was severely pressed for time this year and wasn't able to comment on the calendar, but I read every comment and I do truly appreciate everyone who took the time to read and engage!</span></p><p><span style="background-color: white;">And, finally, Advent Calendar Day 21 - </span><span style="background-color: #ead1dc;">Our three winners of ALL I WANT FOR CHRISTMAS are CathyR, Claudia, and Byron B.</span></p><p><span style="background-color: white;">Now, just a reminder, don't put your personal contact info here in the comments! Contact me through my website or Facebook or, if you're on Patreon, DM me there. I need physical addresses to ship these items to you. :-) </span></p><p><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white;">This concludes 2023's Advent Calendar. Thank you so much to everyone who took part, from the talented authors to the generous and supportive readers. I hope this little annual tradition brings a few extra smiles during your hectic holiday season. Thank you so much for being here--not just for the calendar, but for the books and my musings and all the rest of it. </span></p><p><span style="background-color: white;">Here's to 2024! </span></p>Josh Lanyonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11944091956589831656noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1411894864312049426.post-36118133919833283442023-12-25T00:30:00.000-08:002023-12-25T00:30:00.146-08:00Advent Calendar Day 25 - MERRY CHRISTMAS!<p> Merry Christmas to one and all. Wishing you every happiness this holiday season and best wishes for a splendid New Year!</p><p>I can't deny I'm looking forward to seeing the last of 2023, especially since it's final parting gift was to give me and the SO Covid. Well, the SO has it for sure. As of writing this post, I'm feeling okay. My throat's a bit sore, but that could just be...well, whatever. There's probably no slipping through its clutches, but I'm going to do my best to have a merry Christmas anyway. Although it's looking like it will be me and the dogs cuddling in front of the fire and having a midnight cocktail on Christmas Eve. </p><p>Anyway, thank you to all of you for your kindness and support this year! Thank you for your patience as well. It was not the year I planned, that's for sure. Right down to the final days. But so it goes. I hope you enjoyed this year's calendar and thank you so much to Byron, Natascha and Meg for their lovely contributions. </p><p>Oh! I'll figure out who won what next week and post it on the blog. </p><p><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: x-large;"><b>HAPPY HOLIDAYS!</b></span></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMZhzBLqwdbvrUrUgN-qrBUvfjqBWEicBNxoDd8KJQZz4GJKXQAToFxJz8JEsQ1DVmmxBbztEEG_H9s1PeYkcI1cVwtU1YCMtg7hENokMONWHYSzN5j7Fz0iROGOYik7K_0BkoHIjA0VCSjBiEbih8lH6mxE3WMOwhDxPDGdo5HDPy5WQfwFlq0f7IKckn/s4500/christmas%20illustration%201.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4500" data-original-width="4500" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMZhzBLqwdbvrUrUgN-qrBUvfjqBWEicBNxoDd8KJQZz4GJKXQAToFxJz8JEsQ1DVmmxBbztEEG_H9s1PeYkcI1cVwtU1YCMtg7hENokMONWHYSzN5j7Fz0iROGOYik7K_0BkoHIjA0VCSjBiEbih8lH6mxE3WMOwhDxPDGdo5HDPy5WQfwFlq0f7IKckn/w400-h400/christmas%20illustration%201.png" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Josh Lanyonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11944091956589831656noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1411894864312049426.post-44647517674188778882023-12-24T00:30:00.000-08:002023-12-24T00:30:00.141-08:00Christmas Coda--No. Wait.<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYq4o-VRWdOJ_6Tl3-QHZNqJL8c4B2lzDbyXcO0hrmXQM70fZ6OHCuYgYngckBJsmzJgUcOw2lPD36KpOGI_EOoImcUe9VXKtDzp-hishe2SFglMBBi7wSPNzfdJQB4a755C54RxOy3D7M1Nqrpzn7XEKRPixn7zzTn5QbFCpr6ANr2ksQ7I-pEnvSiT0-/s1024/jglwritesmystery_stenciled_pumpkin_fox_hare_and_tree_design_ill_3941cf50-a113-40b9-9e49-94e2a605568a.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYq4o-VRWdOJ_6Tl3-QHZNqJL8c4B2lzDbyXcO0hrmXQM70fZ6OHCuYgYngckBJsmzJgUcOw2lPD36KpOGI_EOoImcUe9VXKtDzp-hishe2SFglMBBi7wSPNzfdJQB4a755C54RxOy3D7M1Nqrpzn7XEKRPixn7zzTn5QbFCpr6ANr2ksQ7I-pEnvSiT0-/s320/jglwritesmystery_stenciled_pumpkin_fox_hare_and_tree_design_ill_3941cf50-a113-40b9-9e49-94e2a605568a.png" width="320" /></a></div><br />This morning's coda is actually a Halloween Coda for Cosmo Saville and John Galbraith of the <a href="https://joshlanyon.com/books/bedknobs-and-broomsticks-2/" target="_blank">Bedknobs and Broomsticks series. </a> That wasn't the original plan, but plans change as I am here to tell you. <p></p><p>Anyway, this coda follows the end of <i>Bell, Book and Scandal.</i></p><p><br /></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">When I got home, I found John peering inside the 19th
century wedding armoire carved with carved love birds, flowers, and acanthus
leaves, given to us by my great-aunt <a name="_Hlk13575712">Laure</a> d’Estrées.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“What are you doing?” I asked.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Ex-navy SEALS do not jump in surprise, but he definitely
gave a little start, before turning to face me. “I didn’t hear you come in.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“I tried something different and it worked.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">His dark brows drew together. “Oh…kay.” He was a little
perplexed, I could see that.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“I didn’t have to use kiddie Craft. I just thought of this
room and I was able to step into it.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">John said slowly, “You mean you materialized?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Close enough.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“That’s new.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I nodded. “Yes. Do you mind?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">He was still frowning as he reached me, but he said, “Of
course not. You live here too. You can enter rooms however you please.” <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“You don’t like magic though.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">He dipped his head to kiss me, murmured, “I make exceptions.”
He kissed me lightly, then drew back. His expression uncharacteristically
concerned. “You’re like ice, Cos. Are you all right? You’re so pale.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Oh yes.” I smiled and titled my head back to kiss him. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">But John rested his hands on my shoulders, examining me. “There
are twigs in your hair and you’ve got a scratch over your eye. Were you running
through the brush?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I laughed. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">His alarm increased. “Are you <i>on</i> something?” <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I laughed again, shook my head. “No.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Your pupils are huge.” Immediately, he was all business. “We
need to get you in bed and warm.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“That sounds wonderful.” I wrapped my arms around his neck.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">He kissed me, but it was almost absent-minded, as he efficiently
and swiftly undressed me. “What happened up there in those hills?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I only smiled.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Magic things. Wondrous things. Secret things.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">He said a little grimly, “You were drinking, that I can
tell.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Well, <i>yeah</i>.” I kept kissing him, and he kept kissing
me back in that quick, distracted way, and then he scooped me up and tumbled me
into our bed, building a nest of blankets and pillows around me. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I shoved the bedding away, tugging him down. “Make love to me,
my consort.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">John snorted. “That again.” But he lowered himself beside
me.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“It’s true though.” I stared at him, and I could see that
despite the hardness of his face, he was genuinely worried for me. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I smiled. “<i>Truly</i>, I’m fine, John. Just a little
chilled.” I teased, “And with your military background, <i>surely</i> you can
take care of that?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">He regarded me for moment, but apparently what he saw in my
face reassured him. He shook his head, said, “I know a trick or two…”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It was quite a bit later, when he muttered, “Did the bed
move?” <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I laughed shakily. “I don’t doubt it.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“No. I’m asking.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Hmm?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Because I thought it lifted a few inches at one point.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The words slowly sank in. I blinked back to wakefulness,
thinking it over.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“It’s possible. It’s a witch’s bed.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“That, I know. But it’s never tried to fly before.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“No, I mean, it was built for a witch. Originally crafted
for a witch. Not me.” <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The bed in question was a black and bronze Victorian antique
four-poster with a superbly cast brass plaque decoration in the shape of a
five-pointed star and one perfect crystal knob atop each tall and graceful
post.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I turned my head to study John’s face in the soft lamplight.
“That’s one of the things that’s so funny about your wanting this bed so much.
That star on the footboard is a witch’s star.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">He was silent and then finally he said, “I didn’t want the
bed for myself. I wanted it for Jinx.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“But that’s even funnier, really.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Given John’s feelings about Jinx “dabbling” in the occult.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">He wasn’t laughing though. He was still thinking it through.
<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I changed the subject, “Maybe you were dreaming?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“No, I don’t think so.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I didn’t think so either. In fact, I had wondered about the
bed for a while. Those crystal knobs were real crystal. The kind used for
scrying stones. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">John said suddenly, “It wasn’t the bed that I wanted. It was
you.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I grinned. “Now you’re rewriting history. You most
definitely did <i>not</i> want me.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">We had come a long way if I could laugh about that.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">John pushed back a little, reached over and brushed my hair
from eyes, holding my gaze with his own. “Of course I did. Whether I knew it or
not. Everyone needs a little magic in their lives.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj41zona__kEirPdG5N2fRVLA0jKmiAGC36cW4h0vAvVRgzslFugxVzJB3AFOzO8GyugSwjWeejNMA0xVgNeyWVdp_Fg4tNHQjW9W4zMJPNj3sFIqjttGflTniQVojeM05ZroiKkTiuD48e6wBrLl6Ui_26TDNwIjI7Tx_9R1QQx_9reh3IbLg6-Dxula1E/s1024/jglwritesmystery_it_is_night_time_in_a_luxurious_bedroom_brass__03bf58d4-0ac3-49b7-866d-05626c5eb7d3.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj41zona__kEirPdG5N2fRVLA0jKmiAGC36cW4h0vAvVRgzslFugxVzJB3AFOzO8GyugSwjWeejNMA0xVgNeyWVdp_Fg4tNHQjW9W4zMJPNj3sFIqjttGflTniQVojeM05ZroiKkTiuD48e6wBrLl6Ui_26TDNwIjI7Tx_9R1QQx_9reh3IbLg6-Dxula1E/s320/jglwritesmystery_it_is_night_time_in_a_luxurious_bedroom_brass__03bf58d4-0ac3-49b7-866d-05626c5eb7d3.png" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p><br /><p></p>Josh Lanyonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11944091956589831656noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1411894864312049426.post-45447077444387134642023-12-23T00:30:00.000-08:002023-12-23T00:30:00.134-08:00Christmas Coda 70 - Zach Davies and Flint Carey from PUZZLE FOR TWO<p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9CVYW2v837nzNDMIcHRZwQtcctU4S17NRiIJ0qkIhH-OLB4jVgSkAIJQ_Q0txvTFwIOLhsfId2eG5-CSK1bUEbwL0M5vJdHARWTM5T077EALU0gOqdWVlXqZ0og_HleP2PxW7Es1L-SrMufUUcGxLBTp-ikA1ajM23vM66jeKwTn0l4VrmKvr2wLwuAfq/s1024/jglwritesmystery_illustration_of_a_jigsaw_puzzle_forming_the_ch_c2262bbe-3cc4-41b8-a2e4-a63266870305.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9CVYW2v837nzNDMIcHRZwQtcctU4S17NRiIJ0qkIhH-OLB4jVgSkAIJQ_Q0txvTFwIOLhsfId2eG5-CSK1bUEbwL0M5vJdHARWTM5T077EALU0gOqdWVlXqZ0og_HleP2PxW7Es1L-SrMufUUcGxLBTp-ikA1ajM23vM66jeKwTn0l4VrmKvr2wLwuAfq/s320/jglwritesmystery_illustration_of_a_jigsaw_puzzle_forming_the_ch_c2262bbe-3cc4-41b8-a2e4-a63266870305.png" width="320" /></a></div><br /><a href="https://joshlanyon.com/books/puzzle-for-two/" target="_blank">Christmas Coda 70 – Zach and Flint from PUZZLE FOR TWO</a><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“God bless us, every one!” Brooke raised her plastic champagne
flute and downed the last mouthful of bubbly.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">They all laughed, but Zach couldn’t help opening his mouth
to remind her she still had to drive home after their office Christmas party
was over. He was forestalled by Flint’s light nudge—Flint was standing behind
him, methodically disposing of the last butter cookies Arlisse had baked for their
little get-together.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">This was their first official celebration as Security
Solutions, LLC, and there was plenty to toast to. The last two months had been busy,
even chaotic, as Carey Confidential merged operations with Davies Detective
Agency. While business couldn’t be said to be <i>booming</i>, it had definitely
picked up, and with two investigators—well, two-and-a-half, since Brooke was
now working part of the time as a trainee-investigator—they were able to take
on more complex cases.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Next month, Flint’s lease was up on his space in the Del
Sello Center, so they would be paying one less office lease. And with Arlisse
taking on office manager duties, Brooke was freed up to handle a lot of the
research and background checks in between her Criminal Justice courses.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Did you want this last cookie?” Flint inquired, hand
hovering over the solitary remaining butter cookie on the grease-soaked paper
lace doily. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Zach threw him a sardonic look. “No, no. You go on. You’ve
got to keep your strength up.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Ha.” Flint finished off the cookie, brushed the crumbs off
his hands. “I’ll remind you I didn’t have lunch.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Zach and Brooke exchanged knowing glances, then Brooke
exclaimed, “Oh my gosh! Is it that late?” She hopped off the reception desk and
grabbed her coat. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Where are you running off to like your hair’s on fire?”
Zach inquired.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“I’ve got a date with Devin.” Brooke’s tone was breezy as
she wrapped a long blue scarf printed with cherry blossoms in an elaborate
arrangement around her neck. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Zach frowned. “I thought you weren’t—<i>oww</i>!” He glared
at Flint.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Have fun, kiddo.” Flint wrapped his arm around Zach’s
shoulders, mostly in affection but partly in restraint. He gave Zach a little
squeeze for good measure.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“I plan to!” Halfway out the door, Brooke paused. “We’ll see
you guys Monday for Christmas dinner?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Of course,” Zach said.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Yep.” Flint was a lot more cheerful about it. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">He had briefly fallen out of favor with Mrs. Davies when she
realized his buying out her share of Davies Detective Agency did not mean he
was going to oust Zach from the PI biz and back into accounting. But she had
since forgiven him, and he was now, to Zach’s exasperation, the apple of her
eye. Something Flint was smugly aware of.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Great! Have fun you two crazy kids. Don’t do anything I
wouldn’t!”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“<i>Is</i> there anything you—” Zach began only to have Flint
give him another of those increasingly-less-subtle squeezes. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The glass door swung shut with the sweet chime of jingle
bells, and Brooke was gone, her slender shadow darting past the plate glass
windows as she hurried to her car.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Zach didn’t move out of the circle of Flint’s arm, but he
said shortly, “The guy’s married.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Separated. They’re getting divorced.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Zach groaned. “Like we don’t spend half our time following
around guys who claim to be separated from their wives?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“I know,” Flint said soothingly. “But McLaughlin really <i>is</i>
getting divorced. And he seems like a pretty decent—”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“He’s almost seven years older than her.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“<i>Uh oh</i>,” Flint said. “Is the age difference a deal
breaker? Because…”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Zach made a face and wrapped his arm around Flint’s waist. “That’s
different. We’re both adults. Anyway, you’re only five years—”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Brooke is an adult too,” Flint cut in.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Maybe technically.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“And I’ll tell you something else, she has to figure this
one out for herself. In fact, the more you kick, the more likely she is to dig
her heels in.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Zach scowled, met Flint’s green-gold gaze, and sighed. Flint’s
mouth curved into a slightly sympathetic grin. He turned Zach so that they stood
face-to-face.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">For a moment they just studied each other, half-smiling,
half-serious. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Alone at last,” Flint murmured, and swallowed Zach’s laugh
in a kiss.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_8jJl2TT0Yh9JOrMlHQ0LGrSfKNcf6NUVZJxMFIoUY_Dq8Dq8s4Ygf0zv7Fs9JC9AmcydRFX4BXmip7QmmX0oUKthy01XxqFwXPJRlrJV4AGKKzggdx6JlrtjB74RXOkhsuws8jEJf7gY8CXGRmkRXNIoGx8EGelfcWNR_f00Khe1Yimpj0xJGFkgzx6P/s1024/jglwritesmystery_illustration_of_half-empty_plastic_champagne_f_12a26e0b-7076-408e-b08b-e449ccfe4dbd.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_8jJl2TT0Yh9JOrMlHQ0LGrSfKNcf6NUVZJxMFIoUY_Dq8Dq8s4Ygf0zv7Fs9JC9AmcydRFX4BXmip7QmmX0oUKthy01XxqFwXPJRlrJV4AGKKzggdx6JlrtjB74RXOkhsuws8jEJf7gY8CXGRmkRXNIoGx8EGelfcWNR_f00Khe1Yimpj0xJGFkgzx6P/s320/jglwritesmystery_illustration_of_half-empty_plastic_champagne_f_12a26e0b-7076-408e-b08b-e449ccfe4dbd.png" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p> </p>Josh Lanyonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11944091956589831656noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1411894864312049426.post-13383271804544253812023-12-22T00:30:00.000-08:002023-12-22T00:30:00.140-08:00Christmas Coda 69 Adrien English and Jake Riordan<p><a href="https://joshlanyon.com/books/the-adrien-english-mysteries/the-adrien-english-mysteries-2/fatal-shadows-the-collectors-edition/" target="_blank"></a></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOQkN6gVBK0Ygs6egd7LQp_gKWqCDm-x9Alptn8uTLiZQdD6SXlX4dIKKqfZzcWLc1Xm5OeS_0JQtDxNX6KAIEtPsqNWAoEX-5nu252ULRpmIo618kHSa3f9EXexAT7bLWuCauvPetbCVJ1DF_834fNWpQnwTNvNd4TWJScYSlyYgKh9Ra2cho6AcBtPkR/s1024/jglwritesmystery_christmas_night_viewed_through_a_many-paned_ru_72ac28a8-4b5a-438f-aa08-eb97825d707d.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOQkN6gVBK0Ygs6egd7LQp_gKWqCDm-x9Alptn8uTLiZQdD6SXlX4dIKKqfZzcWLc1Xm5OeS_0JQtDxNX6KAIEtPsqNWAoEX-5nu252ULRpmIo618kHSa3f9EXexAT7bLWuCauvPetbCVJ1DF_834fNWpQnwTNvNd4TWJScYSlyYgKh9Ra2cho6AcBtPkR/s320/jglwritesmystery_christmas_night_viewed_through_a_many-paned_ru_72ac28a8-4b5a-438f-aa08-eb97825d707d.png" width="320" /></a></div><br /> Adrien and Jake from The Adrien English Mysteries.<p></p><p>This coda follows the events of "A Funny Thing Happened" (the little coda in <i>Fatal Shadows The Collector's Edition</i>). I hope to release the expanded short story version of that coda later this month. Fingers crossed! Anyway, you might want to skip this if you haven't read the coda/shortie.</p><p>Or not.</p><p><br /></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b>Christmas Coda 69 – Adrien and Jake<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i>“Married?”</i> Lisa squeaked.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">My mother is not a squeaky woman. I’m not sure I’d ever
heard that particular songbird note from her before.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I said quickly, “It’s not like it was planned or anything.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“But it <i>was</i> planned. The plan was that you were
waiting until we could all be together.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I glanced automatically at Jake. His tawny eyes gleamed in
the firelight. We were back at the ranch, as they say, sitting in front of the
fireplace, having a bottle of celebratory champagne, and test-driving the
unexpected delight of finding ourselves well and truly hitched. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Right. Well, that’s true. But the opportunity presented
itself—”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Darling, you got married <i>without</i> us. You do realize
that?” <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Jake made a sound that fell somewhere on the scale between
snort and scoff, and shook his head.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It was funny, but there was real hurt in Lisa’s voice and, of course,
I didn’t want to hurt her. But yeah, that comment did say a whole lot about
Lisa. And probably me as well.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“I do realize that,” I said patiently. “And you’re right, it
wasn’t the plan—”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Plans change,” Jake remarked.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I gave him a warning side eye. “But since we had this
opportunity—and after what we’ve all been through these last months, we didn’t
want to wait.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“You can’t just get married.” My mother spoke with sudden
dark suspicion. “One of you had to have the wedding rings with you. That makes it premeditated.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I felt a twinge of
guilt, which was ridiculous, I know. Especially since I hadn’t been the one
carrying our rings around in his breast pocket. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Well, you know what I mean.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“I…”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Jake put his hand out. “Let me talk to her.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I opened my mouth, but really, that was just too good to
pass up. I mean, how endearing. Not the part where he imagined he
was running interference for me. Though, yes, sweet. But I mean the part where he thought he would succeed
where so many had smashed to pieces on the reefs.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I handed my phone over and sat back to enjoy the show.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Hey, Lisa. It’s Jake. This is really my fault. Adrien was
just as surprised as—”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Oh?” Her tiny long-distance voice chirped, “Was he
unconscious? Did you marry my son against his will?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I laughed at his expression, leaned over, clicked settings, pressed
the speaker button.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“You have a very evil laugh,” my husband muttered.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i>My husband.<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“What? I didn’t catch that,” Lisa objected.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Me again. You’re on speaker now, Lisa. First, I’m sorry. I
know you wanted to be there. I <i>wanted</i> you there. Of course. But it
really did feel right. The moment presented itself and we both felt it was
right.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“We waited a hell of a long time for it.” Jake’s voice was
quiet; those words weren’t intended for her. They might not have been intended
for me.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Lisa said, “But you do understand why I wanted so much to
see my only ch—son married? Do you really feel that’s so unreasonable?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Jake looked at me and cocked an eyebrow. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Of course not,” I said. Then added unwisely, “Anyway, it
was just the wedding. We’re still going to have a little—”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Big,” Jake corrected.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Medium-sized reception with everyone who matters to us.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“The wedding is the important part!” <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I sighed. Jake took the phone back, said, “Lisa, you’re
making Adrien feel terrible on his wedding night.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“No, don’t,” I said.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">He gave me a quick serious look, and waited for Lisa’s response.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It took a couple of moments.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Adrien, darling, you know I don’t mean it. I do understand.
I just—I was a little disappointed, that’s all.” Her voice wobbled. “After all,
I was there at the very beginning.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Jake grinned silently, it was a kind of feral grin, but he
said quite kindly, “We know.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“But <i>of course</i> I’m very happy for both of you. You
know that, darling. You know that’s all I’ve ever wanted for you. To be happy,
I mean. And if it’s with Jake…”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Jake made a soft sound of amusement. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“I do know,” I said quickly. “And I’m <i>very</i> happy.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Jake said as solemnly as if we were reciting our vows all
over again, “Lisa, I give you my word I will love, honor, cherish, and protect
Adrien with all my heart till my dying breath.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I wiped the corners of my eye, glared at him.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">His face softened, he leaned in and kissed me. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">When we parted at last, Lisa was talking about setting dates
for the reception.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Okay-dokey,” I said. “We’ll talk when we get home.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">We said our goodbyes, then Jake refilled our champagne coupes,
raised his glass, which sparkled in the firelight.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Here’s to you, Mr. Riordan.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">We clinked glasses and I said, “And to <i>you</i>, Mr. English.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj39HCM4pW0zNP7ODRW7mejnkzk0N2MXrtwOt6gap2KhoCfnJFE5ldbCb7lXPXvSoMlLv-AqcB28lrkosEsMnKIwpxMw7l1wTsQr7hRfxcXBRuSaMs6QdGy24B7Jnx96lvD54OphyphenhyphenFtivr4HrwZHAeSFCOgLuhYA66-gwZ2fKgVEU0h7osc5Y5TGTbEu1j9/s1024/jglwritesmystery_two_champagne_coupes_sit_on_a_table_red_and_go_3ff342a4-9dc3-44b4-9249-4b33d61a7322.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj39HCM4pW0zNP7ODRW7mejnkzk0N2MXrtwOt6gap2KhoCfnJFE5ldbCb7lXPXvSoMlLv-AqcB28lrkosEsMnKIwpxMw7l1wTsQr7hRfxcXBRuSaMs6QdGy24B7Jnx96lvD54OphyphenhyphenFtivr4HrwZHAeSFCOgLuhYA66-gwZ2fKgVEU0h7osc5Y5TGTbEu1j9/w400-h400/jglwritesmystery_two_champagne_coupes_sit_on_a_table_red_and_go_3ff342a4-9dc3-44b4-9249-4b33d61a7322.png" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p><br /><p></p>Josh Lanyonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11944091956589831656noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1411894864312049426.post-81681449334431255772023-12-21T00:30:00.000-08:002023-12-21T00:30:00.144-08:00Advent Calendar Day 21 - A Giveaway! <p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwZPyqlDBzONlvXAZByh45Nxu1X5FArfSrZJ8OStxzuDAZQjOEsJK_sXjSyHiAvzv9Lw9x1q_eNuNeTXZzywkQO0OmWgzE3uXn0rCIUTRk2cJd8VPEZMzu6vF2zg3kyyJ4Jqd0VetYSFC_5WaVOSstCWk2DKbajnSjASo8gJN1VRzAUYAVWG9SDaMG9VTK/s260/all_i_want_for_christmas.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="260" data-original-width="175" height="260" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwZPyqlDBzONlvXAZByh45Nxu1X5FArfSrZJ8OStxzuDAZQjOEsJK_sXjSyHiAvzv9Lw9x1q_eNuNeTXZzywkQO0OmWgzE3uXn0rCIUTRk2cJd8VPEZMzu6vF2zg3kyyJ4Jqd0VetYSFC_5WaVOSstCWk2DKbajnSjASo8gJN1VRzAUYAVWG9SDaMG9VTK/s1600/all_i_want_for_christmas.jpg" width="175" /></a></div><br /><h1 style="text-align: left;">Happy Solstice!</h1><p></p><p>This giveaway has no geographic restrictions. Today I'm giving away 3 print copies of <a href="https://joshlanyon.com/books/all-i-want-for-christmas/" target="_blank">ALL I WANT FOR CHRISTMAS</a>.</p><p>In 2012 I began a holiday tradition of writing Christmas codas for some of my -- and your -- favorite stories. I ran the codas on my blog and left them up there for readers to enjoy all year round. Eventually readers began asking if the codas could be collected, formatted, and made available for purchase. </p><p><br /></p><p>I thought that was a fun idea, so I did that very thing. The codas were edited, some expanded a bit, formatted and collected in two digital collections along with a few recipes for cocktails and dishes that were either featured in the original works or added (IMHO) a final comment or insight into the era or the characters or their relationship.</p><p><br /></p><p>This print collection contains the two digital collections, meaning codas from 2012 - 2017. I've <i>just</i> about got enough codas to do a third digital collection, which I plan to put together after this year's holiday codas. At that point I believe I'll have written a holiday coda for nearly every one of my stories! </p><p><br /></p><p>Anyway, to win one of these three copies, just comment below on which of my character pairings are your favorite--and why that is. </p><div><br /></div>Josh Lanyonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11944091956589831656noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1411894864312049426.post-24361576253577350372023-12-20T00:30:00.000-08:002023-12-20T00:30:00.134-08:00Advent Calendar December 20<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDFlNHYbvPNZXUWDshkWeV_DPTu-iit5LL6XwM2Gez2LdvZJXfLvGRQhwzV4DTq2kcO4qUGxSBWUeJTyEMUEBt7Rn4dk6TGSALW-xdrYBo4g9ZDv5g5WtNkb-OPcloC5U9wiwkEKACa2k0Uk_ZpPL3BJVZ-ZlrjI7p8LzOWT79r0BQf8CBcFDiXqzW9DXZ/s3000/griffin%20statue.png" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="3000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDFlNHYbvPNZXUWDshkWeV_DPTu-iit5LL6XwM2Gez2LdvZJXfLvGRQhwzV4DTq2kcO4qUGxSBWUeJTyEMUEBt7Rn4dk6TGSALW-xdrYBo4g9ZDv5g5WtNkb-OPcloC5U9wiwkEKACa2k0Uk_ZpPL3BJVZ-ZlrjI7p8LzOWT79r0BQf8CBcFDiXqzW9DXZ/s320/griffin%20statue.png" width="320" /></a></div><br />The eighteenth day of Christmas! <div><br /></div><div>GULP.</div><div><br /></div><div>Thank heavens I finally (yesterday) finished all my Christmas shopping. I think. Not counting those last minute panics--the gardener! The mail person! The pool guy!</div><div><br /></div><div>Anyway.<br /><p></p><p>For your holiday enjoyment we have the second of Byron Beach's codas featuring Griff and Pierce from <i>Stranger on the Shore</i>. </p><p>As I mentioned last week (wait..was it last week? I'm losing track of time!) Anyway, this coda takes place a decade after the book ends. It's really lovely. I know you'll enjoy it!</p><p></p><h1 style="text-align: center;"><b><span face=""Segoe UI",sans-serif" style="color: #374151;"><br /></span></b></h1><h1 style="text-align: center;"><b><span face=""Segoe UI",sans-serif" style="color: #374151;"><br /></span></b></h1><h1 style="text-align: center;"><b><span face=""Segoe UI",sans-serif" style="color: #374151;"><br /></span></b></h1><h1 style="text-align: center;"><b><span face=""Segoe UI",sans-serif" style="color: #374151;">A Pirate Christmas Eve</span></b></h1>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span face=""Segoe UI",sans-serif" style="color: #374151;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: #374151; font-family: "Segoe UI",sans-serif;">"I
missed you, Louis Lane," Chloe sighed, using the nickname she'd fondly
given Griff. "You really didn’t have to pick me up, but I guess you wanted
to flaunt this...vintage beauty?"<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: #374151; font-family: "Segoe UI",sans-serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: #374151; font-family: "Segoe UI",sans-serif;">"Hey,
she's a classic," he defended, casting a sidelong glance at Chloe, who
raised an amused brow. “And you know I wanted to see your flawless beauty”
laughed Griff “But she is pretty sweet.
Nicky helped me polish her up just yesterday - all for you.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: #374151; font-family: "Segoe UI",sans-serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: #374151; font-family: "Segoe UI",sans-serif;">“God
you are so sexy when you get all blue collar, but don’t go giving my nephew
ideas about becoming a mechanic, because I know he wants to be either a pirate
or a lawyer – assuming there’s a difference.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: #374151; font-family: "Segoe UI",sans-serif;"><br />
Shaking his head, Griff expertly navigated his cherished '63 356B Porsche coupe,
in Irish racing green, onto the Highway, the subdued hum of the engine echoing
his current mood. Every bolt and weld of this car held memories from
discovering it in a dusty old barn out in Montauk while he was his research on
his second book to restoring it with loving precision.</span><o:p></o:p></p><p style="margin-bottom: 15.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 15.0pt;"><span style="color: #374151; font-family: "Segoe UI",sans-serif;">“OK, spill, how
on earth did YOU, get talked into a Pirate’s Christmas Eve party?” inquired Chloe
“I would have bet big that you’d never agree to this kinda thing ever again,
after the wedding debacle.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="margin-bottom: 15.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 15.0pt;"><span style="color: #374151; font-family: "Segoe UI",sans-serif;">“Uhhhh,
please don’t mention that day” groaned Griff<o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="margin-bottom: 15.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 15.0pt;"><span style="color: #374151; font-family: "Segoe UI",sans-serif;">“Hey, you
might have suffered, but that family photo is the best; it’s my screen saver”
Chloe cheerily answered “and I still laugh every time I see that look you have,
glaring at the camera, ready to deck the photographer – so priceless. Oh god,
and Pierce, looking like he’s about to panic, yet his mom and Jarrett are
smiling like Reagan has returned.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="margin-bottom: 15.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 15.0pt;"><span style="color: #374151; font-family: "Segoe UI",sans-serif;">“And, as I
remember, you look perfect in that pic.” Said Griff<o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="margin-bottom: 15.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 15.0pt;"><span style="color: #374151; font-family: "Segoe UI",sans-serif;">“I do don’t
I? That was a great dress, and even
better Mom and Marcus were fully plastered, and Muriel looked constipated, but
come to think of it, that’s how she always looks”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="margin-bottom: 15.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 15.0pt;"><span style="color: #374151; font-family: "Segoe UI",sans-serif;">”I do love
seeing Jarrett smiling, I miss him.” Griff said softly as Chloe put a hand on
his arm “Well, life is a learning experience, I figured out that despite mostly
being Superman, Pierce is powerless in the face of his mother. She has that
kryptonite vision that can bend him to her will.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="margin-bottom: 15.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 15.0pt;"><span style="color: #374151; font-family: "Segoe UI",sans-serif;">“Yeah, yeah
I get that, but that still doesn’t explain how Honey Mather talked you into
this Christmas Eve extravaganza – at your house?” Chloe said shaking her head
in mystery.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="margin-bottom: 15.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 15.0pt;"><span style="color: #374151; font-family: "Segoe UI",sans-serif;">Griff
sighed, “Kids change everything – She and Diana joined forces with Nicky, and
it was all over. I get that ‘<i>Daddy
please’</i> look and suddenly I have a Pirate ship with a 14-foot Christmas
tree mast in my living room and every child in Nick’s kindergarten coming over
for a Christmas Eve treasure hunt, oh and we must have something for the
parents, and gifts for everyone and ‘Just a small four-person jazz combo’ and
on and on...”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="margin-bottom: 15.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 15.0pt;"><span style="color: #374151; font-family: "Segoe UI",sans-serif;">Griff gripped
the wheel tighter and pressed down on the accelerator as Chloe started crying
from laughter.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="margin-bottom: 15.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 15.0pt;"><span style="color: #374151; font-family: "Segoe UI",sans-serif;">As he
reached for Chloe's luggage, a familiar, teasing tune emanated from inside her
carryall. The mischievous gleam in Chloe's eyes said it all. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="margin-bottom: 15.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 15.0pt;"><span style="color: #374151; font-family: "Segoe UI",sans-serif;">"Really?
Pirates of the Caribbean?"<o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="margin-bottom: 15.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 15.0pt;"><span style="color: #374151; font-family: "Segoe UI",sans-serif;">"Every
pirate deserves a sword," Chloe retorted with mock innocence.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="margin-bottom: 15.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 15.0pt;"><span style="color: #374151; font-family: "Segoe UI",sans-serif;">Griff
snorted. "Designed to drive his dads mad, no doubt." But he couldn't
help the fond shake of his head as she sashayed past with laughter on her lips.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="margin-bottom: 15.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 15.0pt;"><span style="color: #374151; font-family: "Segoe UI",sans-serif;">The house burst
with reunion upon their entry. "Chloe!" Nick's enthusiastic shout
drowned out the playacting roars of his pint-sized pirate friends. Before Griff
could properly react, he felt the little whirlwind that was Nick darted past
him, zeroing in on his beloved aunt. As he did, Griff looked to Pierce, who
silently acknowledged they were no match for Chloe's allure.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="margin-bottom: 15.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 15.0pt;"><span style="color: #374151; font-family: "Segoe UI",sans-serif;">Chloe, ever
the dramatic, swept Nick into her arms, leaning in with a whispered promise of
a "special gift." The resulting gleam in Nick's eyes, as the sword's
tune echoed again, had Griff murmuring to Pierce, "She's diabolically
genius."<o:p></o:p></span></p><p><span style="color: #374151; font-family: "Segoe UI",sans-serif;">The bubbling
hum of Nick’s excited chatter enveloped him. “I’m Captain Kringle, and we have
a Christmas ship! Everyone’s got eye patches, Aunt Chloe. And there’s an actual
parrot! And everyone got presents - <i>that Gramma bought so they are good</i>”
Nicky said with a side look at Griff
then continued in his explanation, “We have Christmas cookies in lots of
colors and cake and a log thing Auntie Diana brought and, and, and we are going
to have a battle and kidnappings and a huge treasure hunt, and Auntie Diana said
we can replay it all again on Christmas Day.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p><span style="color: #374151; font-family: "Segoe UI",sans-serif;">But amidst the
innocent exuberance, the word 'kidnapping' jarred Griff. True crime wasn’t just
a genre Griff dabbled in; he'd penned two bestsellers that dissected the
darkest recesses of the human psyche. Yet, that single word unraveled him,
rekindling old fears, that had been smoldering ever since Nick had turned four.
They smoked and flared, gradually building as Nick began leaving home in the
mornings for school. It was as though an old scar was being ripped fresh, the
familiar tension reawakening.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p><span style="color: #374151; font-family: "Segoe UI",sans-serif;">Feeling
Pierce's grounding presence — a gentle touch, the whisper of his breath by
Griff's ear. "Everything okay?" There was a layered concern in
Pierce’s soft query, a lifeline pulling Griff from his spiraling thoughts.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="margin-bottom: 15.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 15.0pt;"><span style="color: #374151; font-family: "Segoe UI",sans-serif;">Griff took a
moment, then relaxed subtly, leaning into Pierce’s embrace. Their bond,
fortified over the years, remained steadfast. To Griff, Pierce was always the
sanctuary amidst the storm.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="margin-bottom: 15.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 15.0pt;"><span style="color: #374151; font-family: "Segoe UI",sans-serif;">Nick’s
youthful enthusiasm acted as a counterpoint, pulling Griff back to the present.
"Daddy, it's going to be so epic!" The innocent in Nick's voice made
him feel all the chaos might be worthwhile. He ruffled Nick's hair, the gesture
carrying more weight than words. "I bet it is, buddy."<o:p></o:p></span></p><p><span style="color: #374151; font-family: "Segoe UI",sans-serif;">Taking in the
spectacle of their transformed home, Griff felt a wave of annoyance. The family
room, patio, and living area had transmuted into a curious blend of Christmas
and pirate wonderland. Family gatherings of such magnitude were not Griff’s
forte He'd imagined a simpler, humbler upbringing for Nick, away from the
spectacle of grandeur. But when Diana and her mother, Honey, kept telling Nicky
stories of Jarrett’s legendary Christmas Eve parties, and then painted a vivid
picture of what a Pirate’s Christmas Eve could be, and Griff knew resistance
was futile. Now, they were playing host to a boisterous mix of twenty children
and sixty adults, all decked in comically unique pirate-inspired Christmas
attire. The chorus of 'Yo ho yo ho' from Nick’s sword, was punctuated by a
horn, heralding the treasure hunt's beginning.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p><span style="color: #374151; font-family: "Segoe UI",sans-serif;">“It'll be a
week before everything’s back to its place,” Griff muttered under his breath.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p><span style="color: #374151; font-family: "Segoe UI",sans-serif;">Perceptive as
always, Pierce leaned in, whispering, "Arrr laddie, a couple of days and
the tide will recede. We’ll be sailin’ on smooth seas by Boxing day."<o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="margin-bottom: 15.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 15.0pt;"><span style="color: #374151; font-family: "Segoe UI",sans-serif;">Griff
smirked, nestling into Pierce’s hold. “Only Superman could convince me of that
right now,” he retorted playfully. But there was the truth in that jest.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="margin-bottom: 15.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 15.0pt;"><span style="color: #374151; font-family: "Segoe UI",sans-serif;"><br />
Pierce keeping to the pirate theme asked. “How about a drink me husband? A
little pirate grog to calm the stormy seas?”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="margin-bottom: 15.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 15.0pt;"><span style="color: #374151; font-family: "Segoe UI",sans-serif;">“A beer
would do the trick,” Griff replied, distracted by the flurry of children
fanning out across the yard, their little feet in search of buried treasure.
Pierce returned, handing him a chilled mug of Blue point Brewery’s Winter
Warmer. Griff looked around, taking in the boisterous environment, and
whispered, “Thanks,” planting a soft kiss on Pierce’s jaw.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p><span style="color: #374151; font-family: "Segoe UI",sans-serif;">As the
enthusiasm of the treasure hunt mounted, it was Nick at the forefront of the
marauding pack, wielding his singing sword like a seasoned buccaneer. As every
clue was revealed, a renewed wave of excitement rippled among the young
adventurers.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p><span style="color: #374151; font-family: "Segoe UI",sans-serif;">Chatting with
his mother-in-law, the ever-elegant Honoria 'Honey' Mather, Griff inquired, “So
what treasures await these young pirates?”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p><span style="color: #374151; font-family: "Segoe UI",sans-serif;">Honey beamed,
“I've got delightful chocolate doubloons, candy jewels, honeycomb pieces of
eight and these exquisite silver horns. They'll be over the moon.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p><span style="color: #374151; font-family: "Segoe UI",sans-serif;">“You have out
done yourself; Jarrett would be proud of this bounty fit for young buccaneers,”
Griff replied, chuckling.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p><span style="color: #374151; font-family: "Segoe UI",sans-serif;">As he took in
the scene, Griff observed clusters of tiny pirates pursuing their mission with
zeal. But amidst the frenzy, Nick's familiar grin was conspicuously absent.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p><span style="color: #374151; font-family: "Segoe UI",sans-serif;">“Nicky seems
to have made quite a few friends at the Country Day School. How's he liking
it?” Honey asked, pulling Griff’s attention back into the conversation.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p><span style="color: #374151; font-family: "Segoe UI",sans-serif;">As his gaze
darting around looking for Pierce, Griff answered, “He's makes friends easily
and is loving the activities. So far, it's just been half-days, but starting in
March, he'll attend three full days a week.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="margin-bottom: 15.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 15.0pt;"><span style="color: #374151; font-family: "Segoe UI",sans-serif;">Honey's
continued chatter became a mere hum in Griff's ears as anxiety began its
familiar ascent. Unable to spot their son among the bustling crowd, the din of
conversations faded. He turned, silently seeking out Pierce with a questioning,
worried glance. “Have you seen Nick?” he mouthed, barely concealing his rising
panic.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="margin-bottom: 15.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 15.0pt;"><span style="color: #374151; font-family: "Segoe UI",sans-serif;">Pierce’s
eyes softened. “Give me a sec, love,” he murmured, slipping through the patio
doors.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="margin-bottom: 15.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 15.0pt;"><span style="color: #374151; font-family: "Segoe UI",sans-serif;">The minutes
seemed to stretch, amplifying Griff’s anxiety. When Pierce finally returned, he
was carrying Nick’s sword, his expression was a puzzle Griff couldn't decipher.
“Diana and Chloe are scouring the gardens. I... I haven't spotted him yet. I
found this in the driveway.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="margin-bottom: 15.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 15.0pt;"><span style="color: #374151; font-family: "Segoe UI",sans-serif;">“He's gone,
Pierce!" Griff's voice broke, a pitch higher than he intended. Demons from
his own past were clawing back – the haunting memory of his own kidnapping
wrapping its cold fingers around him.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="margin-bottom: 15.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 15.0pt;"><span style="color: #374151; font-family: "Segoe UI",sans-serif;">Pierce's
voice was controlled, yet Griff could hear the fear. "We'll find him. We
will"<o:p></o:p></span></p><p><span style="color: #374151; font-family: "Segoe UI",sans-serif;">The ensuing
minutes were a whirlwind of frantic searching, with every corner and hideaway
of the property being scoured for any trace of Nick. Griff's heartbeat echoed
in a pounding parental dread. This couldn’t be real; someone was playing an
awful prank.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="margin-bottom: 15.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 15.0pt;"><span style="color: #374151; font-family: "Segoe UI",sans-serif;">Suddenly, a
muted commotion arose from the garage. Griff ran outside and peering through the
half open door there at the wheel of Griff’s beloved Porsche, Nick sat low in
the driver's seat, his youthful imagination having swapped pirate escapades for
visions of roaring racetracks.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="margin-bottom: 15.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 15.0pt;"><span style="color: #374151; font-family: "Segoe UI",sans-serif;">The weight
that lifted from Griff's chest was overwhelming. As he met Pierce's gaze, without
words, they pulled Nick and each other close. Amid the chaos, this was their
grounding moment; a realization that the love they shared, this bond, was the
true treasure.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="margin-bottom: 15.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 15.0pt;"><span style="color: #374151; font-family: "Segoe UI",sans-serif;"><br />
Pierce's voice floated through the dim bedroom, a gentle warmth, “Captain
Kringle crashed rather quickly tonight, didn’t he?” He moved closer, the
ambient light catching the sheen of his black silk boxers. A sight Griff had
seen countless times over the years, but it still made his heart race with
wonder.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="margin-bottom: 15.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 15.0pt;"><span style="color: #374151; font-family: "Segoe UI",sans-serif;">“It's been a
day of adventures,” Griff murmured, the edges of fatigue blurring his voice.
“Maybe next year we can go away for Christmas?
Just the three of us?”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="margin-bottom: 15.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 15.0pt;"><span style="color: #374151; font-family: "Segoe UI",sans-serif;">Pierce
cocked an eyebrow, playful challenge in his eyes. “As long as you are the one
who tells my mom, I am all for it. After
today you look as tired as I feel”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="margin-bottom: 15.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 15.0pt;"><span style="color: #374151; font-family: "Segoe UI",sans-serif;">Griff
chuckled, flicking back the duvet. “Come here, Superman. Looks like you’ve got one
more Gotham citizen needing rescue.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="margin-bottom: 15.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 15.0pt;"><span style="color: #374151; font-family: "Segoe UI",sans-serif;">As Pierce
slid into bed, he drew Griff close, his fingers sketching circles of comfort on
Griff's back. “You alright?”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="margin-bottom: 15.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 15.0pt;"><span style="color: #374151; font-family: "Segoe UI",sans-serif;">The exhaustion
in Griff's eyes spoke volumes. “I’m getting there.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="margin-bottom: 15.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 15.0pt;"><span style="color: #374151; font-family: "Segoe UI",sans-serif;">Pierce
looked into his eyes sensing what he was thinking, “That incident today... I
can't imagine what it triggered in you.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="margin-bottom: 15.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 15.0pt;"><span style="color: #374151; font-family: "Segoe UI",sans-serif;">Griff
swallowed, but in a resolute firm tone explained. “It’s not as though I am
plagued by fears, but the party, it was a lot, and it put me a bit on edge. But
ever since Nick turned four I started thinking about my parents; and then when
he started school - it’s like looking in
a mirror. The innocence, the fear of what might come."<o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="margin-bottom: 15.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 15.0pt;"><span style="color: #374151; font-family: "Segoe UI",sans-serif;">Pierce
sighed, his embrace tightening. “I wish I could shoulder that burden for you.
But know this, Griff – Nick is safe, he’s protected.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="margin-bottom: 15.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 15.0pt;"><span style="color: #374151; font-family: "Segoe UI",sans-serif;">Griff shook
his head. “It’s not really about safety, it’s more about pressure. Every damn
reporter spins a tale about the ‘lost Arlington heir.’ But none of them get it.
None of them see how many people were ripped apart by that story.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="margin-bottom: 15.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 15.0pt;"><span style="color: #374151; font-family: "Segoe UI",sans-serif;">Pierce
adjusted their position, so they were face to face. “Maybe it's time you tell
it. For you, for Nick. I know you put your
book aside years ago but someday you should lay claim to it, it’s your story!”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="margin-bottom: 15.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 15.0pt;"><span style="color: #374151; font-family: "Segoe UI",sans-serif;">Griff's
voice was soft. “But becoming a father has changed the story. I can feel the
anguish my parents must’ve felt losing their Brian. And not just them, I also
can see the heartbreak and fear Alice experienced.” He paused, inhaling deeply,
letting Pierce’s familiar scent soothe him. “But I am worried. I know how the
press works; I don’t want to activate the tabloids. Or laying us bare.” Looking
up a Pierce, Griff continued ‘This isn’t just my story, you and Nick are a part
of it too, I don’t want to do anything that could damage this, us, our family.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="margin-bottom: 15.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 15.0pt;"><span style="color: #374151; font-family: "Segoe UI",sans-serif;">Pierce
brushed a kiss on Griff's forehead, a gentle reassurance. “Your words are a
gift they are your power and your truth. I believe in you and I’m right here,
every step.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="margin-bottom: 15.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 15.0pt;"><span style="color: #374151; font-family: "Segoe UI",sans-serif;">Feeling the
weight of the day ebb, Griff nestled against Pierce. “Thank you, you and Nicky….
love...” he couldn’t finish.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="margin-bottom: 15.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 15.0pt;"><span style="color: #374151; font-family: "Segoe UI",sans-serif;">As his mouth
found Griff’s, Pierce softly voiced “Merry Christmas my love.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal">
</p><p style="margin-bottom: 15.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 15.0pt;"><span style="color: #374151; font-family: "Segoe UI",sans-serif;">Deep in the
night, comforted by Pierce’s heat, Griff felt a weight on chest lift, his
breath ease. Under the canopy of love and trust he realized he was ready.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 15.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 15.0pt; margin: 15pt 0in;"><span face=""Segoe UI",sans-serif" style="color: #374151;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiat1nd6lo0K_GDZ64CwuuP1neGLr-hegco17YtHlE54smAa6Gz1bCzX-k3HzWFzzRz63pU-zbDclUDZUGPeROBPfXpKwWN5u0jfjougYrDs1DW6FlMvxQMh5rQBBBEOJnD40zh8J4jbhut1TBIOe92XOD0TFff3fBaxu5946EOojD1Bg-v_rzRJtZe3lzo/s1024/jglwritesmystery_storybook_illustration_of_a_childs_toy_a_prete_23ff3034-fe5f-4aeb-b0b2-62d7c082ec98.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiat1nd6lo0K_GDZ64CwuuP1neGLr-hegco17YtHlE54smAa6Gz1bCzX-k3HzWFzzRz63pU-zbDclUDZUGPeROBPfXpKwWN5u0jfjougYrDs1DW6FlMvxQMh5rQBBBEOJnD40zh8J4jbhut1TBIOe92XOD0TFff3fBaxu5946EOojD1Bg-v_rzRJtZe3lzo/w400-h400/jglwritesmystery_storybook_illustration_of_a_childs_toy_a_prete_23ff3034-fe5f-4aeb-b0b2-62d7c082ec98.png" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p><br /><p></p></div>Josh Lanyonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11944091956589831656noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1411894864312049426.post-66842194719825501702023-12-19T00:30:00.000-08:002023-12-19T00:30:00.244-08:00Christmas Coda 68 - Barry and Mike from HALLOWEEN IS MURDER<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDnTg6rdG4YqaxsoK9ukPjkg4cCLDRi8ZJlvr0Beep-pyn7fVsISw2Hx5PzPUpS58M5Kodo9Qn3KQ5xESBNEchi80vJlKzSKsNb9PVHGtwOS5yMMEQYl6oRAbe93lPmIYnb0GlwWBe89aFTTFbKOmpJ5yJZ7Y6fVBvlowifSihHitIyT0jltJtcV_jckaB/s3864/iStock-858202878.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2576" data-original-width="3864" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDnTg6rdG4YqaxsoK9ukPjkg4cCLDRi8ZJlvr0Beep-pyn7fVsISw2Hx5PzPUpS58M5Kodo9Qn3KQ5xESBNEchi80vJlKzSKsNb9PVHGtwOS5yMMEQYl6oRAbe93lPmIYnb0GlwWBe89aFTTFbKOmpJ5yJZ7Y6fVBvlowifSihHitIyT0jltJtcV_jckaB/s320/iStock-858202878.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b><a href="https://joshlanyon.com/books/halloween-is-murder/" target="_blank">Christmas Coda 68 – Barry and Mike from Halloween isMurder</a><o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Krampus,” Barry repeated.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Right.” Mike’s pale green eyes were watchful. Maybe he
heard it in Barry’s voice. Heard that finally, <i>finally</i> Barry had had
enough.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">After three years of hunting monsters, who wouldn’t have had
enough?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Oh right. Mike. Mike hadn’t had enough. Mike, it seemed,
would never have enough.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Barry said shortly, “And that’s its real name? Krampus? Or
is that an alias?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Mike frowned. “I briefed you on all this.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Yep. He sure had. Here it was Christmas Eve, and they’d
spent half the evening talking about a pagan German Hel-spawn—literally, the
son of Hel, Norse God of the Underworld--nickname “claw.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">So much for the holly-jolly mood with which Barry had
started the day.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Pals around with Santa,” Barry said in a bored voice.
“Except his job is to punish the naughty kids.” <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Mike’s weathered, blunt features were always a little difficult
to interpret, but reading between the lines, he looked affronted. Or at least
as affronted as a monolithic slab can look. “What’s got into you, Fitzgerald?
We’re not talking about lumps of coal, you know.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Barry dropped his head in his hands and groaned. “<i>Mike</i>.
For the love of God.” He raised his face and stared into Mike’s astonished
eyes. “It’s <i>Christmas Eve</i>.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“I <i>know</i> it’s Christmas Eve,” Mike snapped. “That’s
the point. This is the one night of the year when we get our shot at him. Last
year we had the Delano job. The year before that, you insisted we had to stake
out the Ford place—”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Paying jobs, Mike. Commitments we made to real live people.
<i>Human</i> people.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Mike, relentless, as a gear shift stuck in drive, plowed on.
“And the year before that—”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">He stopped.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Barry glared at him, waiting for him to say it, almost willing
him to say it, because that really would be the end. If Mike regretted spending
that night, their first real night together, the sweetest, the happiest, the <i>best
</i>night of Barry’s entire life—if Mike regretted spending that night with
Barry instead of chasing monsters, then it really was the end.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">And maybe it would be easier that way. Easier than hanging
on, hoping that eventually, one day there would be time for <i>them</i>. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because after three
years, a nice fat bank account, and a whole hell of a lot of unbelievably weird
nights, it was pretty clear that day was not coming any time soon.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Barry understood. He really did. Mike was a man with a
mission. A mission and an obsession. Barry understood the mission and
sympathized with the obsession. But he didn’t share it. Either of them. Yes, he
was glad, even a little proud, to be able to take some of the credit for ridding
the world of yet another creature of the night. And some of these supernatural
capers paid well. Unbelievably well. Some, like tonight, were pro bono. Anyway,
the money wasn’t the point. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The point was…<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Well, it was hard to say what the point was. Not because
Barry couldn’t articulate it, but because he wasn’t sure anymore of how Mike
felt. About them. About <i>him</i>. Maybe for Mike it really was just about
having someone to hunt monsters with.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">As if reading Barry’s thoughts—part of his thoughts, Mike
said, “I don’t remember you kicking about the dough.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“The money’s good,” Barry agreed evenly. “The money’s great.
Money isn’t everything.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Mike snorted. “You don’t say, Socrates.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Barry felt himself turn as red as Rudoph’s schnoz. He opened
his mouth, but for once he wasn’t sure what to say. Sure, he was irritated and
disappointed, but that was any partnership. He, well, he loved Mike. And he’d
been riding along for the last three years thinking, assuming, Mike loved him
too. Not that Mike had ever said so. Not in so many words. He’d said things
that Barry took to mean the same thing. But sometimes, you needed to hear the
words. Even a tough guy—semi tough guy—like Barry sometimes would have liked to
hear the words. Needed to hear the words.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Before he could settle on a less embarrassing way to put
that into plain and simple syllables, Mike said shortly, crisply, “If you don’t
want to go tonight, just say so. We’re wasting time.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Barry’s head snapped back as if Mike had slapped him—that was
what it felt like, for sure—his eyes narrowed, and he said flatly, “No. I’m not
coming tonight. I’m going to my sister’s and celebrate Christmas Eve with my family,
the way we used to do.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Mike absorbed it. Nodded once. Curtly.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“You’re welcome to come too. Celebrate together.” If Barry
sounded stiff, it was because it was obvious that, after telling him that it
was a waste of time hearing him out, Mike was about going to decline his
invitation with all the graciousness of a sledge hammer.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Sure enough, Mike’s lip curled sardonically. “Thanks. I’ve
got a previous date.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Barry rose from behind the desk, saying bitterly, “You know,
Mike, it’s not like we’re ever going to run out of monsters.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Mike had tensed when Barry stood up, but he said coolly, “Sure.
See you the day after tomorrow, I guess?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“I guess so.” Barry didn’t even care that his voice shook
with all that dumb pointless emotion that Mike didn’t share, didn’t even
notice.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Mike stared at him stonily for a moment, then walked out of
the office. The door shut silently behind him.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwnYa1tOzppY2iS8Pojur8ME0UknAxHd7YNc7mNrJHtW91Ab8MGAj-_z9L7ehge2XHDgLw6XHERJ_lKAFh_3NPzLPSZZZdCWCHhJ6J9tDbe_mAj1hidUrUUpTv2wJ8Dee9eJua5inKMJyDK6tfJbv7MAgEOTVoBhEsDtkPOMz7E_jBUwgQfLBj1Nd2en44/s1024/jglwritesmystery_close_up_of_the_black_and_white_silhouettes_of_0a680c89-afb8-4d79-b170-ea6469d4f775.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwnYa1tOzppY2iS8Pojur8ME0UknAxHd7YNc7mNrJHtW91Ab8MGAj-_z9L7ehge2XHDgLw6XHERJ_lKAFh_3NPzLPSZZZdCWCHhJ6J9tDbe_mAj1hidUrUUpTv2wJ8Dee9eJua5inKMJyDK6tfJbv7MAgEOTVoBhEsDtkPOMz7E_jBUwgQfLBj1Nd2en44/s320/jglwritesmystery_close_up_of_the_black_and_white_silhouettes_of_0a680c89-afb8-4d79-b170-ea6469d4f775.png" width="320" /></a></div>Barry dropped down in his chair, rested his face in his hands,
worked through the last five minutes. He didn’t think he was in the wrong. But
at the same time, Mike had this…this calling. This slayer vocation heritage
thing that went back generations. It probably wasn’t fair to spring it on him the
way Barry had. He should’ve warned Mike earlier that he was, not wavering in
the mission, but that he wanted some kind of a life—a life with Mike—outside the
mission.<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Not that Mike had seemed particularly interested in that
part of the conversation.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Anyway, it didn’t matter because he couldn’t let Mike tackle
this Krampus guy alone. He’d give Mike tonight, and of course tomorrow they’d
be recovering from tonight, but maybe he could pitch the idea of taking some
time off for New Year’s. Or maybe even Valentine’s Day?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">His natural resilience reasserted itself, and Barry was on
his feet again. He grabbed his hat and coat and was out the door, flying down
the stairs after Mike. He was praying Mike hadn’t left without him; he didn’t
want to be traipsing all over Mt. Wilson on his own—but when he reached the
sidewalk outside their office building, he spotted Mike leaning against his Chevrolet,
arms folded like he was counting down the minutes.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">He straightened up when he spotted Barry. The hard white
moonlight illuminated his face, but it was like looking at a statue. The Colossus
of Rhodes maybe.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Barry reached him, said sourly, “I guess you think you know
me pretty well.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“I wasn’t waiting for you,” Mike said. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“No?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“I was thinking.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Barry’s brows shot up, but for once he kept the wisecracks
to himself. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“You’re right. We’re never going to run out of monsters.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Well, it’s not like we can’t give it our best shot,” Barry
said bracingly. Mike could be moody. He didn’t want him getting depressed about
his family legacy. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">As he studied Mike’s somber face, it came to him that it was
now or never. He drew in a breath, said the thing that had been weighing on him
for months. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Look. It’s just... It's six years we’ve known each other, Mike. I just want
some time for us. Business is good. The money is good. It just seems like maybe
there could be time to build something. For us. Together.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It got a little choppy at the end, because Mike was staring
at him like they hadn’t been properly introduced. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Finally, <i>finally</i>, Mike spoke.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Then you meant it?"</p><p class="MsoNormal">"Uh, yeah. Which part?"</p><p class="MsoNormal">"About celebrating together tonight?” If
it had been anyone else, Barry would have said there was a note of uncertainty
in Mike’s low voice.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Hell yes, I mean it. Of course you should be there. Aren’t
we…”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Are we?” Mike asked. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“<i>Aren’t</i> we?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">These two lunk heads probably could have gone on like that for another five
minutes, but Barry caught something out of the corner of his eye: a distant
bright light skimming through the stars and gliding over City Hall. What was that? A
plane? No, the trajectory was wrong. A slow-motion shooting star?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Hey, there goes Santa Claus,” he joked.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">But Mike continued to gaze at him in that dark, troubled way. “It’s
just that your mind always seemed to be on the job.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Because <i>your</i> mind was always on the job. And that
was okay when I was thinking we were working toward being able to have a life
together. A real life. Sleeping late on weekends and having barbecues in the
backyard and maybe going fishing sometimes.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“You never said any of this before.” Mike sound ever so
slightly accusing.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“I didn’t think I had to say it. And then I didn’t think the
time was right. I wasn’t sure you wanted to hear it.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Why wouldn’t I want to hear it? We’re together every night. Including the nights we're not working,”
Mike protested. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Yeah, but we’re not talking!”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Mike laughed. Barry laughed too, a little uncertainly.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Was it going to be okay after all? Did they both—<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Mike reached out, cupped the side of Barry’s face,
whispered, “You should have said. I thought you were getting tired of all of
it. Of me.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Barry shook his head. “No. No, I want <i>more</i> you. Less monsters. That’s
all. That’s all I ask.” He pulled Mike’s palm from his face, kissed it. “I love
you, Mike.” He smiled shakily, tried to kid, “And what would <i>you</i> like
for Christmas?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Mike pulled him into a bone crushing embrace, whispered
against Barry’s ear, “I love you. How do you not know? I always have. I always
will.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">High, high above, something sparkled and flashed across the
night sky before disappearing from sight, quick and bright as a twinkle in the
eye.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHbrH6ebSrcuDp82Ehiz9ixZeRZgmcakg-kwcnb0DCpz3cX07YjSk51gL_234d2NOuU_h3LB6vDWjiFJhIV-nMN3JVzus2dM3TtaYWZP83Uwuxz9jgDwK2athe5mLr28a79vLmPesY_2FBsykNIqOtWyNBY9Yad8mUsTaDr17U0-gmxcrR9I9XSE10B-jn/s1024/santa%20baby.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHbrH6ebSrcuDp82Ehiz9ixZeRZgmcakg-kwcnb0DCpz3cX07YjSk51gL_234d2NOuU_h3LB6vDWjiFJhIV-nMN3JVzus2dM3TtaYWZP83Uwuxz9jgDwK2athe5mLr28a79vLmPesY_2FBsykNIqOtWyNBY9Yad8mUsTaDr17U0-gmxcrR9I9XSE10B-jn/s320/santa%20baby.png" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p>Josh Lanyonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11944091956589831656noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1411894864312049426.post-19411495185466783602023-12-18T00:30:00.000-08:002023-12-18T00:30:00.173-08:00Advent Calendar Day 18<p> I get a little bit sentimental at Christmas. I don't know about you. I think it's natural once you're past the I-Can't-Wait-To-See-What-Santa-slash-My-Boyfriend-Got-Me age. </p><p>Anyway, just a sweet picture this morning.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO4tUfLergJeFOBZPoYURt38rt_ZwNkQfOsidN-VXndmbYnS0X1L_5FhBxmJ-d3nLbcEhV766QzxyXdY9qSoq9xOLaKOvRMeQTDLs89XVaOlneoEZbJ6vPjmibOCQC-11_qA-mxoBY56iwD1ArDkVZwYnMlsDfhETrTLJz-46IGWNxOeILpUXKcfJ75OBY/s6875/last%20chance%20art%20print.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="6875" data-original-width="6875" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO4tUfLergJeFOBZPoYURt38rt_ZwNkQfOsidN-VXndmbYnS0X1L_5FhBxmJ-d3nLbcEhV766QzxyXdY9qSoq9xOLaKOvRMeQTDLs89XVaOlneoEZbJ6vPjmibOCQC-11_qA-mxoBY56iwD1ArDkVZwYnMlsDfhETrTLJz-46IGWNxOeILpUXKcfJ75OBY/w400-h400/last%20chance%20art%20print.png" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>Josh Lanyonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11944091956589831656noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1411894864312049426.post-50297244807218100242023-12-17T00:30:00.000-08:002023-12-17T00:30:00.158-08:00Advent Calendar Day 17<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ0zxM65Ip9eTA7mEsKfoJCD49QTFT93Cer_brWGlNfEGrC3hZPbxYwisoU-c2kA8zSvLNCsNOIb79Mdgng-2mJGdmoVe22EEhrMMPJSTo_AkxaUEhHAM2Lk7H5CZrME8pee_L0L6_G6ypcW1kQYoM0ITt-K2OGi_dw7Ti28k1xs2hOvmas_VtmWsNg76j/s1024/jglwritesmystery_adorable_1920s_Christmas_illustration_of_two_e_7b8e7ab8-ef28-4e0d-a355-48b4e78ab123.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ0zxM65Ip9eTA7mEsKfoJCD49QTFT93Cer_brWGlNfEGrC3hZPbxYwisoU-c2kA8zSvLNCsNOIb79Mdgng-2mJGdmoVe22EEhrMMPJSTo_AkxaUEhHAM2Lk7H5CZrME8pee_L0L6_G6ypcW1kQYoM0ITt-K2OGi_dw7Ti28k1xs2hOvmas_VtmWsNg76j/s320/jglwritesmystery_adorable_1920s_Christmas_illustration_of_two_e_7b8e7ab8-ef28-4e0d-a355-48b4e78ab123.png" width="320" /></a></div>Is it just me or do those elves look pretty worried about something?<p></p><p>Okay, today's musical offering is an actual YouTube channel's playlist titled A GOOD FOUR HOURS OF <br />THE BEST CHRISTMAS SONGS. </p><p>Your mileage may vary. However, they do have some truly quirky oldies in there, and it's pretty festive vibe overall. Not a bad choice of background music while you do all your last minute wrapping/cleaning/cooking stuff. </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/tltjmXERB-c" width="320" youtube-src-id="tltjmXERB-c"></iframe></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Josh Lanyonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11944091956589831656noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1411894864312049426.post-67008570764259209682023-12-16T00:30:00.000-08:002023-12-16T00:30:00.247-08:00Advent Calendar Day 16<p> Hooray for Saturday! </p><p>I mean, it's been over thirty years since the weekend was actually relevant to my work schedule, but still. Somehow the weekend still feels special. And Monday still feels nervewracking. Some habits never die, I guess.</p><p>Anyway, today we have another cartoon for you. <i>Hector's Hectic Life</i> is brought to you from post war 1948. It has a very different vibe from our two earlier offerings, I think. Marlowe and Spenser found it too too <i>outre</i>, but what do they know? </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/LK2KTagNRVs" width="320" youtube-src-id="LK2KTagNRVs"></iframe></div><br /><p><br /></p>Josh Lanyonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11944091956589831656noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1411894864312049426.post-53971077371526046292023-12-15T00:30:00.001-08:002023-12-15T00:30:00.235-08:00Advent Calendar Day 15<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic3RQ889wZn4Oo1ANog_gMX7Vf1ZQ-RONEqPaNe47eV8pFJYbx-NCIyzDj3jfOs832eqJSz1BfUS5P1A2fqAT8pUU0ElqCmvPgXgU43F5XcetePcYPRzbcect6mCSY1wUBVC1ZXFTWV2-AtGCNiOxzDJuZRKxg8hnQvQ1PmcHH-pZByfzwAAIAkEkxjw91/s1024/jglwritesmystery_photo_of_coffee_and_donuts_served_at_a_confere_a0f5537d-9457-47fd-81d2-8ff98a8e75c3.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic3RQ889wZn4Oo1ANog_gMX7Vf1ZQ-RONEqPaNe47eV8pFJYbx-NCIyzDj3jfOs832eqJSz1BfUS5P1A2fqAT8pUU0ElqCmvPgXgU43F5XcetePcYPRzbcect6mCSY1wUBVC1ZXFTWV2-AtGCNiOxzDJuZRKxg8hnQvQ1PmcHH-pZByfzwAAIAkEkxjw91/s320/jglwritesmystery_photo_of_coffee_and_donuts_served_at_a_confere_a0f5537d-9457-47fd-81d2-8ff98a8e75c3.png" width="320" /></a></div><br />Yikes. Ten days until Christmas. TEN.<p></p><p>TEN. DAYS.</p><p>And then the New Year begins. </p><p>Please let it be a better, healthier, happier year than 2023. Please let me do more writing and less...everything else.</p><p>Anyway! We've got another very special treat from one of our longtime talented and generous friends and contributors. MEG PERRY IS BACK IN TOWN. In a manner of speaking. ;-) </p><p><br /></p><h1 style="text-align: left; text-indent: 22.5pt;"></h1><h1 style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b style="text-indent: 22.5pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 115%;">Of All the
People<br /></span></b><span style="text-indent: 22.5pt;"> </span></span></h1><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“I don’t want to go.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Adrien ignored him.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“I hate socializing.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Adrien gave him side-eye.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“It’s a fucking waste of time. I should be working on the
Adams case.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Adrien cleared his throat. “Did or did not Mary ask you to
attend in her place?”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“You know she did.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Does or does not Mary sign your paychecks?”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Oh, for fuck’s sake. You’re starting to sound like a
lawyer.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Just reminding you of the facts, sweetheart.” Adrien picked
up his wallet and keys. “I have to go. Natalie and Angus are both working
today, and someone has to be there to make them behave.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Jake sighed. “Fine. I’ll see you tonight.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Adrien kissed him. “Yes, you will. Try not to grump at
everyone today.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Only if you promise to not work through lunch.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Deal.” Adrien was out the door with a wave.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Jake waved back then went to finish dressing, muttering to
himself. “I fucking <i>hate </i>socializing.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The Los Angeles District of the California Association of
Licensed Investigators was holding its annual holiday mixer at the Radisson
Hotel in Chatsworth. Jake would never have chosen to attend if his boss, Mary
Brannigan, hadn’t essentially told him to go. He couldn’t imagine that it would
be worth his time. Why the hell did PIs have to network? Weren’t they all in
competition with each other?<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Not to mention, he was well aware that several of the local
PIs were LAPD alumni. He didn’t particularly want to interact with any of <i>them</i>, and he figured the feeling was
mutual.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The only good thing about this event was that it was close
to home.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">He picked up his name badge at the door and entered the vast
meeting room. The mixer seemed to be well under way. Tables were lined up along
three sides of the room, with every sort of brunch-style food imaginable. There
was a waffle station and an omelet station. Some of the attendees were seated
at the round tables scattered through the center of the room; some were
standing in groups and talking as they ate. Each table had a miniature
Christmas tree as a centerpiece; the serving tables were strung with red and
green plaid ribbon.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Jake got a cup of coffee and a donut and moved to the side,
his back to the wall, surveying the scene. He didn’t see anyone he knew, which
produced a mix of emotions. He was happy to stand here, eat a donut, then leave
without having to explain himself to anyone he’d known in his previous life.
But Mary would expect him to report back on who he’d met and what he’d learned.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">He was mulling over his choices - who was he going to
approach, and how - when he <i>did </i>see
someone he knew. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;"><i><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Two </span></i><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">someones.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">His immediate thought was, <i>What the hell are THEY doing here</i>?<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">He supposed he’d better go find out. At least it would give
him something to report back to Mary. He pushed away from the wall and headed
for their table.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Rob Jones spotted Jake Riordan as soon as Jake leaned
against the far wall. He’d heard that Jake had become a PI, after his
complicated exit from the LAPD, but he’d never expected to see him again. Rob
and Jake had briefly crossed paths a couple of times, while Rob was at
Hollywood Division and Jake was at North Hollywood, and their interactions
hadn’t been particularly pleasant.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">He saw the moment that Jake noticed them then headed toward
them. He thought, <i>Shit</i>. He said to
Kevin Brodie, “Incoming, your three o’clock.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Kevin glanced over and said, “Oh. Huh.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Across from Kevin, Jamilah Daly said, “Who’s that?”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Jake was getting close enough to be within hearing distance.
Rob said, “Tell you the whole story later.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Hm. Intriguing.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The three of them stood up as Jake approached.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Jake wasn’t sure what kind of reception he’d get. He knew
Rob Jones didn’t like him. Kevin Brodie was another matter altogether. He
didn’t recognize the woman with them, a tall Black woman, probably in her
forties, with short locs. Whoever she was, she’d definitely been a cop. She was
studying him with a mixture of curiosity and skepticism, her arms crossed.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Rob, Kevin, and the woman were all wearing matching polo
shirts. That detail was the last that Jake had time to process as he reached
the table.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Kevin held out his hand to Jake. “Hi, Jake, good to see you
again.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Jake shook his hand. “You, too. It’s been about a year,
hasn’t it?”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Yeah, that’s right. I saw you at that bookstore in
Pasadena.” Kevin moved his head slightly toward Rob. “You remember Rob Jones.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“I do.” Jake held out his hand. “Rob.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Rob shook his hand. “Jake.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Kevin said, “This is our partner, Jamilah Daly. Jamilah,
this is Jake Riordan, formerly of LAPD Homicide.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Ah.” Jamilah shook his hand. She had a firm grip. “Good to
meet you, Jake. Why don’t you join us?”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Jake hesitated for a second, then thought, <i>Sit down, you coward</i>. He pulled out the
remaining chair and sat. “Kevin, I thought you were working for the DA’s
office.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“I was, until June. After we quit, Jamilah and I joined Rob
to form a new PI agency. We opened the doors August first.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Jake squinted at Kevin’s shirt. “Angeles Investigations?
Where’s your office?”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Brentwood.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Jake blinked. “Nice.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“We like it.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“How’s it going?”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“We’re staying busy. We’ve solved two murders already.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Jake gritted his teeth. He hadn’t solved a murder since
Adrien “hired” him to figure out who killed Jay Stevens. He’d been a PI now for
a year and a half and hadn’t gotten near a murder investigation. He didn’t
expect he ever would again. And here were Kevin Brodie and Rob fucking Jones,
the two best homicide detectives the LAPD had ever produced, with an office in
Brentwood and two murders in five months. He said tightly, “Congratulations.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Rob must have been smirking inside, but it didn’t show on
his face. He said, “Thank you.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Jake thought, <i>Enough
with the dick measuring</i>. He asked Jamilah, “Were you with LAPD?”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“No, Irvine PD.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Ah. Who’s the chief down there now?”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Drew Gilbert. Do you know him?”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“I don’t think so.” Jake took a second look at the thin
ribbon of color beneath the Angeles Investigations logo on Jamilah’s polo shirt
and realized what he was seeing. “Wait a minute. Are you advertising yourselves
as an <i>LGBTQ </i>agency?”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Rob said mildly, “Yup. Except for Kevin, that’s what we are.
He’s our token straight.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Kevin and Jamilah both chuckled at that. Jake asked, “Does
that mean… Is that <i>working </i>for you?”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Jamilah said, “It sure is. I think every infidelity case in
the queer community is coming to us.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Jake was stunned. All the years of hiding, all the lies, all
the self-recrimination, <i>still </i>having
to tiptoe around his employers and his own family - and here was Rob fucking
Jones being out and proud and prospering as a result. He said weakly, “That’s
great. Really.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Kevin said, “There was a niche waiting to be filled.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Apparently.” Jake checked his watch. He didn’t think he
could take too much more of this kind of chat. But he’d definitely learned
something to take back to the office. “I need to go. Jamilah, I’m glad to meet
you. Kevin, Rob, good luck for your continued success.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Kevin said, “Thanks. If we can ever help you out, let us
know.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“I will.” Jake nodded goodbye and left. He made the effort
to stroll casually, even though internally he wanted to flee.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">He thought, <i>Rob
fucking Jones. Of all the people</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Jamilah watched Jake go then turned to Rob and Kevin. “Okay,
let me guess. He was a self-loathing closet case while he was with the LAPD.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Rob said, “Got it in one. While he was on the force, he made
life particularly uncomfortable for gay suspects and victims. Then he dumped
his wife, who was also a cop, for a man. The guy was a suspect in one of his
cases whom he’d been seeing <i>during </i>the
case. It blew up in his face and he quit the department.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“That’s sad.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Kevin said, “It is sad. He seems happier now, though.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Really? He didn’t seem particularly happy to me.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Rob said, “He’d rather be working homicides again, and it
didn’t thrill him to learn that we still are.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Jamilah shrugged. “Most PIs don’t. He must know that.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“I’m sure he does.” Rob pushed his plate back. “This is a
mixer. You two ready to go mix?”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Jamilah hopped to her feet. “Yes. I want to meet the other
women PIs that are here.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Kevin said, “Absolutely. Let’s go.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p>
</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Rob followed them into the crowd, thinking, <i>Jake fucking Riordan. Of all the people</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbkUZwbCSx1w-LhIehgs31_8LQhHUwlZPEc4Hza-Nq9dGUerrbQEssK6A7yjeZirAO2Rz9t3s1vSXyptfZnVweAPC-5MxpnEDFPpARNVR17nCQM_r74k-ZLw8oK_zEEBOp2ZrM2Nb6gxsxgQ-GY2IPiEdUcMhsAN_Qnn6Tj5igMdGULLHcxVyFPBFLtdTJ/s1024/that%20is%20one%20large%20bagel.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbkUZwbCSx1w-LhIehgs31_8LQhHUwlZPEc4Hza-Nq9dGUerrbQEssK6A7yjeZirAO2Rz9t3s1vSXyptfZnVweAPC-5MxpnEDFPpARNVR17nCQM_r74k-ZLw8oK_zEEBOp2ZrM2Nb6gxsxgQ-GY2IPiEdUcMhsAN_Qnn6Tj5igMdGULLHcxVyFPBFLtdTJ/s320/that%20is%20one%20large%20bagel.png" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span><p></p><p><br /></p>Josh Lanyonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11944091956589831656noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1411894864312049426.post-76380234529596779872023-12-14T00:30:00.000-08:002023-12-14T00:30:00.258-08:00Advent Calendar Day 14 - Another Giveaway<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1uN5c_V_dqvwBBw6Mh0AyIVN-qpO1XszoOn4ig09ooH7pPw-86JGNWhyfkfJ-dOVijiBkqE4s7RtRBVJFuxiRts4wgOapJ7PpWPCUp1Hy5GpWO62RsoCZNCDMXzUf5uDbguf46xpb46Mlk-oWNYV7KTf2ZiiizCR0CE43dI6-bmjsJOeLsQZg8YeFpUBT/s2160/thin%20man%2015%20oz%20with%20colored%20background%20no%20people%20mockup.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2160" data-original-width="1440" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1uN5c_V_dqvwBBw6Mh0AyIVN-qpO1XszoOn4ig09ooH7pPw-86JGNWhyfkfJ-dOVijiBkqE4s7RtRBVJFuxiRts4wgOapJ7PpWPCUp1Hy5GpWO62RsoCZNCDMXzUf5uDbguf46xpb46Mlk-oWNYV7KTf2ZiiizCR0CE43dI6-bmjsJOeLsQZg8YeFpUBT/s320/thin%20man%2015%20oz%20with%20colored%20background%20no%20people%20mockup.png" width="213" /></a></div><br />BRRRR. The high desert can be chilly this time of year. Although I have to admit, the days have been relatively warm overall. But the nights? BRRRR. Perfect weather for cuddling up with a good book or a good man. Or a good woman. Or even your favorite dog. Both mine are short-hair and are always chilly this time of year. I can't sit down that they're not snuggled next to me.<p></p><p>So those of you who have followed me for any length of time know that one of my holiday traditions is watching <i>The Thin Man</i> movies with my husband. Crime fiction brought us together and it has continued to be a link in the chain to that block of the cement tied around our waists.</p><p>HAHAHAHAHAAHA. I'M KIDDING.</p><p>Well, not about the holiday tradition part. We really do watch <i>The Thin Man</i> every Christmas Eve. Admittedly, now days we frequently fall asleep about halfway through, but that's more about Nick and Nora getting older versus any criticism of the film. The film--particularly the first film--holds up <i>very</i> well. Maybe better than the book itself, to be completely honest. </p><p>Anyway, our giveaway today is open to Canada, the UK, and Europe as well as the US. I'm giving away three 15 oz. Thin Man-inspired coffee (or tea or cocoa or soup or whatever you like) ceramic mugs from my <a href="https://www.etsy.com/shop/SleuthStreet" target="_blank">wee little shop on Etsy</a>. </p><p>All you have to do is share one of your favorite winter holiday traditions. It can be a tradition that you've shared before on the blog; that's okay. Nobody's keeping a list (let alone checking it twice).</p><p>One week from today, the Office Elf will stick her little hand into my cyber top hat and randomly pluck out three lucky winners. And I will list their names/handles in the comment section below.</p><p>(HEY, PLEASE DON'T POST YOUR ADDRESS IN THE COMMENT SECTION. Just a reminder. You'll privately email that info.)</p><p>I hope you're enjoying the Advent Calendar and that you're having a really lovely holiday season thus far! </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dx_bnclGBmRFUSqToYFBKNbynZWQyswrgHNlX8BB1OomsP2ilGIahWCBZuJW0p_GCGP_asNktLlmz9GpN9I-Q' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br /><p><br /></p>Josh Lanyonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11944091956589831656noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1411894864312049426.post-86102545216595027452023-12-13T00:30:00.000-08:002023-12-13T00:30:00.206-08:00Advent Calendar Day 13<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;">Today we are lucky enough to have an offering from the always delightful and talented Natasha Chesterbrook. I was doubly thrilled to see Natasha chose Cosmo and John from Bedknobs and Broomsticks for the holiday treatment. 😀😉 I especially love the POV she chose!</span></div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG30nnQD_Bfbjjwf4TlO46bZs1dlG2Vh3tmTk7Eb_HLiopIH-KSNsK-jhQoWbw8fCyKTl8AwIPQdyRJgSlhKO0YFQTwaeRmXCaXLedsBZB5jRVHlspVi8yAsCK1Kb5BxF-bLyQwJrJLBeMcHpkCnKMEUUiZ2aBxvJPCd_BVoDMtyjhHIXzjIJz2EXqDZeU/s1344/jglwritesmystery_charming_illustration_of_a_shelf_of_magical_bo_0702ed3f-93b9-42ec-9b78-ff87b573ad83.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1344" data-original-width="896" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG30nnQD_Bfbjjwf4TlO46bZs1dlG2Vh3tmTk7Eb_HLiopIH-KSNsK-jhQoWbw8fCyKTl8AwIPQdyRJgSlhKO0YFQTwaeRmXCaXLedsBZB5jRVHlspVi8yAsCK1Kb5BxF-bLyQwJrJLBeMcHpkCnKMEUUiZ2aBxvJPCd_BVoDMtyjhHIXzjIJz2EXqDZeU/s320/jglwritesmystery_charming_illustration_of_a_shelf_of_magical_bo_0702ed3f-93b9-42ec-9b78-ff87b573ad83.png" width="213" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p></p><h1 style="text-align: center;">Bedknobs and<br />
Broomsticks </h1><p align="center" class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: center;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Ow! Goddess above.” rubbing his knee Cosmo backs out of the
closet and scowls at me as if I’d tried to cause him bodily harm while sitting
perfectly still here in the hallway.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Pye, surely you remember where we put it?” he hisses.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Raising a paw, I ignore him and proceed to groom. Hiss at me
will you!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Life with Cosmo is always a bit chaotic but even hundred-year-old
familiars can get used to anything if their witch is … well, <i>their witch.<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I’ll admit there was a time in the last couple of years after
Cosmo had sworn off all magic that I thought I might have to move on. A witch’s
familiar is a link to the magical realm <i>and</i> their constant companion.
With his vow, I’d felt as useful as a chocolate teapot at an English tea.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">And his whirlwind romance and marriage to the mortal John –
or as I like to think of him, The Comish – seemed to seal my fate as unneeded,
even if I wasn’t unwanted. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">But then things took a turn. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">A series of seemingly never-ending adventures over the last
six months, both magical and mundane, happened including more than one attempt
on Cosmo’s life. In fact, one home invasion was thwarted by my own heroics. I
try not to boast.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Ha! Found it!” Cosmo’s exclamation of joy from the closet is
short-lived as it is quickly followed by a loud thump and the tinkling of
breaking glass. “Blessed be!” he wails. That must be the box of those hand-blown
glass Christmas ornaments he bought at an estate sale back in October.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">He’s determined to start the yuletide season with a bang – which
is exactly what it sounds like he’s just done. But why the fuss? One small
spell and the baubles will be good as new. Or better still, if he wants to
avoid The Comish’s disapproval, Bridget is more than willing to make the
repairs.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">***<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Cosmo holds up a glass tumbler, its pale green contents
swirling about inside. An ill-timed sneeze might have betrayed my opinion of
such a concoction, but he chooses to ignore me in favor of concentrating on
finding the perfect Yuletide elixir – or cocktail, in the mundane world. It
reeks of rum and desperation. My all too sensitive nose is having none of it. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Don’t be so picky. You’ll still get your special treat of
Tuna Tartare. This is just for John and me. I want it to be our new Christmas tradition.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">One sip later and he is pouring the remainder down the
drain. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEMOFzJKUL4yGQasPubZvVslTGoHLT6AXXQDaixJEiw3U4m7HSwEHnDIJmKKwJtV3hmVG_QEUiLBR514YTbnwSp9i85uDCAIT6goe27HtU7XgJQhbA0Jq4nhRJbFHnKl4NTHxqM4ioxKHsNVmmq8K7XUvE9If7XJMeWmJuctz4wclr6uEDqwM7OHPVIUj2/s1344/cosmo.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1344" data-original-width="896" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEMOFzJKUL4yGQasPubZvVslTGoHLT6AXXQDaixJEiw3U4m7HSwEHnDIJmKKwJtV3hmVG_QEUiLBR514YTbnwSp9i85uDCAIT6goe27HtU7XgJQhbA0Jq4nhRJbFHnKl4NTHxqM4ioxKHsNVmmq8K7XUvE9If7XJMeWmJuctz4wclr6uEDqwM7OHPVIUj2/s320/cosmo.png" width="213" /></a></div><br /><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">***<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I bat the ribbon curls across the floor enjoying how they
rolled and skittered away. I may have more than a century of magical experience
behind me, but one never gets too old for this kind of fun. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Ow!” Cosmo’s cry halts me in my tracks.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Around him lay the detritus of his endeavor to create the
perfect holiday wreath, a combination of evergreen branches, pinecones,
cinnamon sticks, dried fruit and garland. The glue gun is clearly his undoing.
He stands there holding his finger with a forlorn look on his face.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It’s the same one he wore after the disaster that was the
gingerbread house. Cosmo maybe a magnificent witch with a penchant for solving
mysteries but he will never be tapped to solve a housing crisis. Or a baking
crisis for that matter. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">***<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">We are in the guest room looking for the perfect hiding
place – well, one of us is anyway. Certainly, I know every nook and cranny of
this abode and can give Cosmo a list ranked in order by comfort and fit. However,
he isn’t looking to hide a Russian Blue cat but a large, gayly wrapped box. I don’t
see why all the bother. The Comish would hardly be the sort to peek before the
big night. That’s more Cosmo’s style.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Not that The Comish will be hiding romantic gestures in the
attic eaves. His idea of gift giving perfection is a pair of handmade Italian leather
boots, or a trip to Milan for a fitting of said boots. Practical, generous and
elegant.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Now Cosmo is standing on a stool in an attempt to reach a
high shelf above the wardrobe. Foreseeing the outcome long before it is met, I
do not stick around for the tears.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">***<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitWt6XRaP832q8riWM7io-l0WRS8luWUc-eoU_pycNKmbKlqP90t0OxowBFu-YfbBRyUBmggOuWQ-yDr6IkxgwZc9UvDFP7ft1JiacdnThl9ma5b6ueEyVs9HGoDVJn6u_hKI595t4gh6RCkTFwbW9IO_GNYKaWEPGj-CyBuiDeLmnLTGJsJGO4q4eZFE-/s1344/jglwritesmystery_charming_illustration_of_San_Francisco_plain_c_26e85ed9-0b76-4f30-bac8-e62f35350885.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1344" data-original-width="896" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitWt6XRaP832q8riWM7io-l0WRS8luWUc-eoU_pycNKmbKlqP90t0OxowBFu-YfbBRyUBmggOuWQ-yDr6IkxgwZc9UvDFP7ft1JiacdnThl9ma5b6ueEyVs9HGoDVJn6u_hKI595t4gh6RCkTFwbW9IO_GNYKaWEPGj-CyBuiDeLmnLTGJsJGO4q4eZFE-/s320/jglwritesmystery_charming_illustration_of_San_Francisco_plain_c_26e85ed9-0b76-4f30-bac8-e62f35350885.png" width="213" /></a></div><br />“What exactly were you thinking?” The Comish asks gently.<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">They sit on their gray velvet couch with Cosmo’s foot
resting in his lap and a towel full of ice pressed to a swollen ankle. Cosmo
fiddles with the bandage on his burnt finger.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Aren’t hideously ornate wreathes and hiding presents for Christmas
what everyone does?” Cosmo sounds lost.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The Comish sighed, “Well, maybe on TV but this is just you
and me. You could have just put my gift under the tree.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“I want our first Christmas to be perfect. To include all
those traditions you grew up with.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“We’re spending it together. It doesn’t get more perfect
than that. Anything else is just dressing.” <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It doesn’t sound in the least romantic but Cosmo melts like
always when given the Comish’s unvarnished but absolutely sincere truth. The
towel of ice slips to the floor but I doubt they notice what with the kissing
and all. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I leave them to it as I am sure the lump in my throat is only
a leftover bit of tuna. Yes, tuna. No doubt about it.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Joyeux noël!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p><br /><p></p>Josh Lanyonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11944091956589831656noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1411894864312049426.post-32993116792043096142023-12-12T00:30:00.000-08:002023-12-12T00:30:00.137-08:00Christmas Coda 67 - Skylar and Rory from 44.1644° North<p> </p><h3 style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://joshlanyon.com/books/44-1644-north/" target="_blank"></a><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://joshlanyon.com/books/44-1644-north/" target="_blank"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4fxEZgOwCsHEdCNmo-80-zLrAyxQgrIKACEAE9_hwE38ZqQ3sIJEl4-U4sOKkI9kt4kuQD8gSWP6MVtoOc3dS7qT4jCuQMh33xcctDXlp4EKfCSpN1vvmnobv9bE5U35kaSN74IpqltImncsBxXvhDOXS2yHeM-lSxcz3aJNiaS3jBn0gTOxmQbo4pBJZ/s1024/jglwritesmystery_snowy_Montana_scene_as_viewed_through_large__4f7893cd-8900-4086-b9bd-bce0b91ad7b5_1.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4fxEZgOwCsHEdCNmo-80-zLrAyxQgrIKACEAE9_hwE38ZqQ3sIJEl4-U4sOKkI9kt4kuQD8gSWP6MVtoOc3dS7qT4jCuQMh33xcctDXlp4EKfCSpN1vvmnobv9bE5U35kaSN74IpqltImncsBxXvhDOXS2yHeM-lSxcz3aJNiaS3jBn0gTOxmQbo4pBJZ/s320/jglwritesmystery_snowy_Montana_scene_as_viewed_through_large__4f7893cd-8900-4086-b9bd-bce0b91ad7b5_1.png" width="320" /></a></div><br />Christmas Coda 67 – Skylar and Rory from 44.1644° North</h3><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I couldn’t tell how the phone call was going until Rory repeated
blankly, “Four <i>days</i>?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Like he’d never heard of such a thing. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I tried to read his face. It was such a nice face: everything
exactly where it was supposed to be, from those keen gray eyes to really his
beautiful smile. He wasn’t smiling right now, though. He was frowning.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">And yet, from where I was sitting—which happened to be the other
queen-sized bed in Rory’s hotel room in Bozwin, Montana—it almost sounded as if
the answer to his question was <i>yes</i>.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Which seemed too much to hope for.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">And yet, I couldn’t help hoping…<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Long distance relationships are tough. How do you get to know each other, really <i>know</i> each other, from opposite sides of the country? Sure, there was Facetime and texts and even the quick occasional reunion at hotels and motels, but... </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Well, yes,” Rory said quickly. “I just didn’t think—” He caught
himself, said crisply, “Thank you, sir. I really appreciate it.” And then,
clearly in afterthought, “Merry Christmas.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I felt happiness light inside me like the shining star at
the top of a Christmas Tree.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Rory slowly put his phone down, stared at me, said, “I’ve
got four days off.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Four days. Four whole days. Breakfast, lunch and dinner together for four whole days. Not that I cared about food when there was so much more on the menu.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I grinned, moved from the extra bed to his, wrapped my arm
around his shoulder and squeezed. “See, you never know unless you ask.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Rory shook his head. “Jason must be staying with him.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Maybe they’re spending the holidays together too.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">We were going to spend the holidays together!</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Rory automatically shook his head as though that were impossible,
but then said slowly, “Yeah. You could be right.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Jason was Rory’s boss Sam’s, boyfriend. They were also
trying to make a long-distance relationship work. Although Sam, being the chief
of one of the FBI’s BAU units, was able to finagle more time for his
relationship than a mere field agent like Rory. It probably helped that Jason
was also in the FBI. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Rory turned his face to mine and we smiled into each other’s
eyes. “So, you’re staying too? Right? That was the deal.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Yep. I’m going to cancel my flight right now.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“And your family’s not going to mind that you’re changing
your holiday plans spur-of-the-moment?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“I assume I’ll be <i>greatly</i> missed.” I couldn’t stop smiling
at him. It was just… In almost an entire year we’d never managed to grab more
than forty-eight hours together at a time. The idea of four whole days—including
Christmas—was almost too much to believe. Four days of just us. It almost made
it better that we were in the middle of nowhere—well, that we were both
strangers in town. Everyday would be a little adventure we would share together.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“I’m sure you will.” Rory was serious.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">It was, well, we tended to keep things light when we were together because when time is limited, you're careful not to do anything that might upset the fragile equilibrium. But he said it so sincerely. The way he said it turned it into one of nicest things anyone had ever said to me</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I got equally serious. “I’m sure they’ll be very
happy for me. They know how much—well, they know.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Rory’s face slowly creased into smile. “What do they know?”
he asked softly.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">My laugh sounded nervous even to me. I said vaguely, airily,
“Oh, you know.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Rory nodded, leaned into me, found my mouth. He kissed me,
whispered, “Yes, I do.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Style1"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="Style1" style="text-align: center;">* * * * *<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“You're a closet romantic,” Jason teased. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUh-tLsO_rX-1O3JnSRpg8XRjRR2n1y1W9JG7sNLR6RNe_KalZ-udOOt6rciit6nEDrWAlMjQco8gCAQHi0Qhy9Dz1P9VNJsKwCUNUf6bRUpDpzPIwQUJbT0M5Px6l_rUZ9YsuTcRUu_MG38wLtJ7U0_qLrxOIRqmaTADBpusfbfDEAFNxMdkpAWu3ceYy/s1024/jglwritesmystery_Softly_lit_bedroom_scene_a_white_modern_slight_95b96af1-0a51-4ff4-aaed-3b6b3859697a.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUh-tLsO_rX-1O3JnSRpg8XRjRR2n1y1W9JG7sNLR6RNe_KalZ-udOOt6rciit6nEDrWAlMjQco8gCAQHi0Qhy9Dz1P9VNJsKwCUNUf6bRUpDpzPIwQUJbT0M5Px6l_rUZ9YsuTcRUu_MG38wLtJ7U0_qLrxOIRqmaTADBpusfbfDEAFNxMdkpAWu3ceYy/s320/jglwritesmystery_Softly_lit_bedroom_scene_a_white_modern_slight_95b96af1-0a51-4ff4-aaed-3b6b3859697a.png" width="320" /></a></div><br /><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">He was relaxing in bed, head comfortably propped on his crossed
arms, studying Sam’s profile as Sam set his cell on the nightstand. Sam
glanced up; his expression sardonic. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“You think that was sentiment? Giving Torr a couple of days
off? He’s more than due some PTO.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“I think it was a nice thing to do.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Sam grimaced, shook his head, and reclaimed his place in the
nest of pillows and bedclothes, reclaimed Jason, with a muscular arm wrapped around Jason's waist. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Jason considered the snow falling softly outside Sam’s
bedroom window. He was secretly hoping they might get snowed in together, although
that would require a Christmas miracle. He said thoughtfully, “I think Rory really likes the
professor.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Mm.” Sam sounded unenthused at the idea of anyone really liking
anyone.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Jason made a faint sound of amusement. Wry amusement, for
sure.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Sam said, “You’re always saying BAU isn’t for everyone, West.
Torr’s an excellent agent. When you find good people, you do what you can to keep them
happy.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i>“Ah.”</i><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Sam’s lashes lifted, he regarded Jason for a long moment. His
hard blue stare softened. His stern mouth twitched into a funny little smile.
He tipped Jason's chin up and kissed him. <o:p></o:p></p>Josh Lanyonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11944091956589831656noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1411894864312049426.post-86365099408611749582023-12-11T00:30:00.000-08:002023-12-11T00:30:00.214-08:00Advent Calendar Day 11 <p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRUjWEfDwzdlYYfTjN7fhme7eELOQkBpp9_n7zIbgwrRhypRtLAsLBvDMp3_ons69fUvl5fEbbaTRJhUshrA2tYjKYwVujS8APHZAyfpfmzxaKrGAmNoX3E1Cp4irb0b1DqlLwFL-nEySWclDByMoaNLt3x3s8hiolC0ktiCX_EjrkuHD-qXFDHP-U79th/s1024/jglwritesmystery_illustration_of_cute_forty-something_blond_man_ec862d49-9b1e-4f7c-a081-031ee0e771ca.png" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRUjWEfDwzdlYYfTjN7fhme7eELOQkBpp9_n7zIbgwrRhypRtLAsLBvDMp3_ons69fUvl5fEbbaTRJhUshrA2tYjKYwVujS8APHZAyfpfmzxaKrGAmNoX3E1Cp4irb0b1DqlLwFL-nEySWclDByMoaNLt3x3s8hiolC0ktiCX_EjrkuHD-qXFDHP-U79th/s320/jglwritesmystery_illustration_of_cute_forty-something_blond_man_ec862d49-9b1e-4f7c-a081-031ee0e771ca.png" width="320" /></a></div><br />I'm so happy to have our witty and talented friend Haldis back in the Advent Calendar this year! <p></p><p>Haldis wrote, "<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: helvetica; font-size: 16px;">Your question about which Christmas songs for which character on yesterday's advent post got my little brain whirling away singing at me, and it wouldn't shut up..."</span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: helvetica; font-size: 16px;">Guess what earworm of a song got her thinking? 😂</span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: helvetica; font-size: 16px;">Enjoy this delicious little peek into the lives of Kit Holmes and his better half... </span></p><h1 style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">All I Want for Christmas</span></h1>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">I
finished the final sentence of the latest chapter, saved the document, and sat
back with satisfaction. It took some doing, but I finally figured out how to
get poor Miss Butterwith and Mr. Pinkerton out of the corner I had backed them
into.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It felt good to be writing again.
Well, mentally and emotionally anyway. Physically, not so much, as my back
threatened to spasm. Maybe I could talk J.X. into giving me a message. Though
truth be told, he never needed much convincing,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Over the soft sound of Christmas
music, I could hear the clatter of dishes, so I figured J.X. was in the kitchen.
I left my office and was wandering down the hall when the volume of the music
went up. Considerably. <i>That</i> song was playing. You know the one.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">The
smell of sugar cookies hit me before I came around the corner, but that was
from the scented candle burning merrily on the table, not from any baking.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>J.X. was in the kitchen making a peanut butter
sandwich, bopping and swaying as he sang along. He resorted to humming as he
sucked some peanut butter off his thumb.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“mmm mmm mmm underneath the Christmas
tree. There is just one thing I need…”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>J.X. could move, no doubt about it.
And he had a rather nice singing voice. I leaned against the wall and just
enjoyed the show. There may even have been little hearts in my eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>And then J.X. looked up and saw me.
He gave me one of his mischievous grins that never failed to make my knees go
weak. He never paused in his singing as he danced over to me holding out his
hand. I took it and he spun me around once before pulling me in close. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I could feel his warm breath as he
whispered in my ear, “’All I want for Christmas is you’.” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Well damn, I thought, as Mariah hit
the high notes, I might just have a new favorite song.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrC79chVRgLIMgsM7agSQLtejZqAYarCZpHpJXiS_UOKQdFwVNYuL-6cLppO1Nld0W1vfo9HN1x1WbvNvz52RJw1g-kTw3ZhelDeI-m2fOM0-O6pJECud4QbuC8Cg0mQWGGXkqMleqviHXTI9mXXQS-LQ18mHexuF4rgsE4CHna2hTjKPH5_X8t9PVGT29/s1024/jglwritesmystery_illustration_of_a_glass_of_milk_and_a_peanutbu_64c6af13-5234-4b24-81d7-ff122fe91e12.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrC79chVRgLIMgsM7agSQLtejZqAYarCZpHpJXiS_UOKQdFwVNYuL-6cLppO1Nld0W1vfo9HN1x1WbvNvz52RJw1g-kTw3ZhelDeI-m2fOM0-O6pJECud4QbuC8Cg0mQWGGXkqMleqviHXTI9mXXQS-LQ18mHexuF4rgsE4CHna2hTjKPH5_X8t9PVGT29/s320/jglwritesmystery_illustration_of_a_glass_of_milk_and_a_peanutbu_64c6af13-5234-4b24-81d7-ff122fe91e12.png" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span><p></p>Josh Lanyonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11944091956589831656noreply@blogger.com23tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1411894864312049426.post-77454570166756898062023-12-10T00:30:00.000-08:002023-12-10T09:56:27.777-08:00Advent Calendar Day 10 - A Giveaway<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsEQZW5iQNzrbtp2PnfXRgDMu5m2k-Oy_NSbpcdEoCniFoJyit-tml0A_iGE44iT_gzwJ-eq_cUUcJAjyBL63Ixa8lAj7FZiLPPAPZHwPUaQ5YskQCl-YCv6yfDKwK7JcyB50VpyOBp02JqggfDvnsETnpaw6SJo_PfN188uSpfh4mDOp39VKH552ZgXp4/s1348/hide_and_seekmedium.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1348" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsEQZW5iQNzrbtp2PnfXRgDMu5m2k-Oy_NSbpcdEoCniFoJyit-tml0A_iGE44iT_gzwJ-eq_cUUcJAjyBL63Ixa8lAj7FZiLPPAPZHwPUaQ5YskQCl-YCv6yfDKwK7JcyB50VpyOBp02JqggfDvnsETnpaw6SJo_PfN188uSpfh4mDOp39VKH552ZgXp4/s320/hide_and_seekmedium.jpg" width="214" /></a></div><br />Good morning! Or, contrariwise, Good evening! <p></p><p>How is the holiday season going for you so far? The SO is currently sick, and I'm living in fear I'm going to catch it. Granted, I'm writing this on the 4th of December, so by now I might have caught his cold and even maybe recovered from it. Fingers crossed I don't catch it at all. </p><p>Anyway.</p><p>I have another giveaway! This one is without geographic restriction. It's aimed primarily at readers who are new to me (trying to get a little something for everyone in here). </p><p><a href="https://claims.prolificworks.com/free/Fjc6drxP" target="_blank">I'm giving away 50 downloads of <i>Hide and Seek. </i></a></p><p><u><b>Just click to download. You don't need a code and you're not signing up for anything.</b></u></p><p><i>Hide and Seek</i> is a standalone novel set during the Christmas season, though it's not really a Christmas story. I suspect I will once again not have time for a Christmas story this year, though I had one in mind. It's called <i>The Gumdrop Kid</i>, and one of these days I'm surely going to have the time to write it.</p><p>In the meantime, this is a first come, first serve giveaway. No password or signup required. </p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyAboRTJKvVffZXSRVW7eTdVl6f6vqGL3l8-mlqigdeq6kFUo3Lv1ihL4ZwDdNtLAYKb3MYJZmluhAUAxY2m19PKfIeG2FeF_jMtq70ks958njbjNOz2M0ngbxZ8XWRXrMYTfGJDz3O-V6C8fRHTDArz8PSj9rOcEp2mgGYzDjKsoHFNCUsgO0Kd8iYpTm/s1080/hide_and_seek%20TEASER%206.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyAboRTJKvVffZXSRVW7eTdVl6f6vqGL3l8-mlqigdeq6kFUo3Lv1ihL4ZwDdNtLAYKb3MYJZmluhAUAxY2m19PKfIeG2FeF_jMtq70ks958njbjNOz2M0ngbxZ8XWRXrMYTfGJDz3O-V6C8fRHTDArz8PSj9rOcEp2mgGYzDjKsoHFNCUsgO0Kd8iYpTm/s320/hide_and_seek%20TEASER%206.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Josh Lanyonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11944091956589831656noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1411894864312049426.post-74441450034514908782023-12-09T00:30:00.000-08:002023-12-09T00:30:00.138-08:00Advent Calendar Day 9<p> Another vintage holiday cartoon this morning! </p><p><i>Midnight in a Toy Shop</i>. (Sounds like a holiday mystery title.) Another black and white offering. This hoary little chestnut is from 1930! </p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/s_HyVrlo8k8" width="320" youtube-src-id="s_HyVrlo8k8"></iframe></div><br /><p><br /></p>Josh Lanyonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11944091956589831656noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1411894864312049426.post-44679769763250879222023-12-08T00:30:00.000-08:002023-12-08T00:30:00.151-08:00Advent Calendar Day 8<p> Here we are on Friday December 8th and the holiday season is in full swing. As of writing this, I have bought exactly two presents (for my neices) and I'm experiencing that unfamiliar thrill of terror because I usually have this mostly wrapped up by Thanksgiving weekend. </p><p>Well, maybe not wrapped, but purchased and on the way. GULP.</p><p>That's okay. It will all get done. I hope and believe. What about you? Are you ready? Because ready or not, here it comes. 😉</p><p>Anyway, how about another lovely pic to warm the cockles of your heart this winter's morning?</p><p>I love the pained silence of this one...</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5FOs3aIiL2LBkOfXhVjZKbKnoW4FXlpb3SX7uhxmv0b3qrkdVMLODvDOf9Tz7LFnJytD6-DHpCyG_DSaeZf4XZ27yFkznYW7FDqdbf4YtyUsdYKrRC6sfLaKMg3K0DmFQvGt_m5Em_O41Oi2iHVxnF2GnTkJ8snl-SGbB6Bj8UmUtwmnY8npkoGSDmVqI/s3750/the%20inarticulate%201950s.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3750" data-original-width="3750" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5FOs3aIiL2LBkOfXhVjZKbKnoW4FXlpb3SX7uhxmv0b3qrkdVMLODvDOf9Tz7LFnJytD6-DHpCyG_DSaeZf4XZ27yFkznYW7FDqdbf4YtyUsdYKrRC6sfLaKMg3K0DmFQvGt_m5Em_O41Oi2iHVxnF2GnTkJ8snl-SGbB6Bj8UmUtwmnY8npkoGSDmVqI/w400-h400/the%20inarticulate%201950s.png" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p> </p>Josh Lanyonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11944091956589831656noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1411894864312049426.post-26991776624182951672023-12-07T00:30:00.000-08:002023-12-07T00:30:00.259-08:00Advent Calendar Day 7<p>This morning I've got another song to share with you. </p><p>To be honest, this is probably the third time I've shared this particular song in the Advent Calendar. I just love it so much. It reminds me of back when my sisters and I were playing music all the time, traveling all over the state--all over the country, in fact--at all times of year. Of being young and in love and knowing the world is full of endless adventures and possibilities. If you've ever been in a band, you know the feelings described in this song. If you've never been in a band, never sang a note in your life, you know the feelings described in this song. </p><p>So, once again, not for the first time and probably not for the last, "Just Like Christmas" by Low.</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/IippcraBPKA" width="320" youtube-src-id="IippcraBPKA"></iframe></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><h1 style="text-align: center;">JUST LIKE CHRISTMAS</h1><p style="text-align: center;">… On our way from Stockholm,</p><p style="text-align: center;">It started to snow,</p><p style="text-align: center;">And you said it was like Christmas,</p><p style="text-align: center;">But you were wrong,</p><p style="text-align: center;">It wasn't like Christmas at all.</p><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;">… By the time we got to Oslo,</p><p style="text-align: center;">The snow was gone,</p><p style="text-align: center;">And we got lost,</p><p style="text-align: center;">The beds were small,</p><p style="text-align: center;">But we felt so young.</p><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;">… It was just like Christmas,</p><p style="text-align: center;">It was just like Christmas,</p><p style="text-align: center;">It was just like Christmas,</p><p style="text-align: center;">It was just like Christmas,</p><p style="text-align: center;">It was just like Christmas,</p><p style="text-align: center;">It was just like Christmas.</p><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;">… It was just like Christmas,</p><p style="text-align: center;">It was just like Christmas,</p><p style="text-align: center;">It was just like Christmas,</p><p style="text-align: center;">It was just like Christmas,</p><p style="text-align: center;">It was just like Christmas,</p><p style="text-align: center;">It was just like Christmas,</p><p style="text-align: center;">It was just like Christmas,</p><p style="text-align: center;">It was just like Christmas.</p><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Josh Lanyonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11944091956589831656noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1411894864312049426.post-46883259662425993332023-12-06T00:30:00.000-08:002023-12-06T00:30:00.128-08:00Advent Calendar Day 6 - A Giveaway!<p> GOOD MORNING! </p><p>Happy Wednesday. We're halfway through the week. What the what? </p><p>Today I thought I'd do a giveaway. This first giveaway will be <u>US only</u> because the price of shipping is kind of prohibitive.</p><p>Anyway, I'm giving away one large size version of our <a href="https://www.etsy.com/listing/1609424839/" target="_blank">LGBTQAI Holiday Winter Blanket</a>. It's basically a soft and light reading blanket, very nice for cuddling up in a chair and a good book. </p><p>(By the way, the mockup shows the design cut off, but it's not cut off in real life.) </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJSD_E2yoFdseVeH_vwHyPekjxIRhwSwg5i9BTuZX-w7n4upJMGUd6-zEEE1Py4iHlXHyXpGzD9DEvZHLIO4TIih8KJel3Lr39uwAHroiz16GZeBv1pCfs0hZL4ujNfQGPTLASSAxV_55-PitE-a4Ii8EPdH5dxtWnopqd0MOBDJgltBxaotWumCvs_khQ/s2304/niji%20blanket%20with%20blue%20trim%20mockup.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2304" data-original-width="2304" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJSD_E2yoFdseVeH_vwHyPekjxIRhwSwg5i9BTuZX-w7n4upJMGUd6-zEEE1Py4iHlXHyXpGzD9DEvZHLIO4TIih8KJel3Lr39uwAHroiz16GZeBv1pCfs0hZL4ujNfQGPTLASSAxV_55-PitE-a4Ii8EPdH5dxtWnopqd0MOBDJgltBxaotWumCvs_khQ/s320/niji%20blanket%20with%20blue%20trim%20mockup.png" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p>Anyway, what do you have to do to be in the running for this giveaway? Basically, comment below and share one thing you're <i>really</i> looking forward to this holiday season. We could all use some happy thoughts and positive forward thinking. That's it. In a week or so, I'll get the Office Elf to randomly draw a name for the comments below. </p><p>Good luck! I look forward to reading your plans for a holly jolly holiday season! </p><p><br /></p>Josh Lanyonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11944091956589831656noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1411894864312049426.post-42310897316495376462023-12-05T00:30:00.000-08:002023-12-05T00:30:00.157-08:00Advent Calendar Day 5<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijYKR8f6co5pB_gRHcW-8Kh5YExSQyy5Iqz62EVoBw2WUJK9YD__azrlI2iq3hxFzlKk5mHoSO0sih6NsPHXd3mAdVY-MsaDfFuOksTwLhbBJ0WlnS67LqAl-GmtccXXFVkN3EaFH56wNdpndbVUl0-UjAKNy0TbvaW-ZAfpbyfsUXrXUF62_59DWGyQ4Z/s1024/jglwritesmystery_illustration_of_delicious_room_service_tray_ro_88717103-7cb1-498d-b2d6-a0f1d4fa9f03.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijYKR8f6co5pB_gRHcW-8Kh5YExSQyy5Iqz62EVoBw2WUJK9YD__azrlI2iq3hxFzlKk5mHoSO0sih6NsPHXd3mAdVY-MsaDfFuOksTwLhbBJ0WlnS67LqAl-GmtccXXFVkN3EaFH56wNdpndbVUl0-UjAKNy0TbvaW-ZAfpbyfsUXrXUF62_59DWGyQ4Z/s320/jglwritesmystery_illustration_of_delicious_room_service_tray_ro_88717103-7cb1-498d-b2d6-a0f1d4fa9f03.png" width="320" /></a></div><br />Good morning! As promised, we have fiction to share from one of our generous and talented friends, Byron Beach. Those of you who belong to my Patreon will recognize Byron as the guy who posts all those interesting and insightful comments about the stories, as well as sharing snippets from his own work.<p></p><p>Today we have a quickie coda for Griff and Pierce from <i>Stranger on the Shore</i>. This is actually a prequel to a coda we're going to get <i>next </i>week.</p><p>Here's how Byron explains it:</p><div class="yiv8725165501ydpb97014b5yiv6758261676gmail_default" style="font-family: tahoma, sans-serif; font-size: small; outline: none !important;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #26282a;"><i>A Pirate's Christmas Eve</i> takes place ten years on. Griff and Pierce have a son named Nick ( after Nick Carraway - from Gatsby). It deals with Griff finally being able to start his book about the kidnapping. But to do this I felt the need to write a set up one, <i>Wisconsin Reunion</i>, this takes place one month after the events in the book and it is about Griff's feelings of giving up his old life and the impact of his new one. </span></div><div class="yiv8725165501ydpb97014b5yiv6758261676gmail_default" style="font-family: tahoma, sans-serif; font-size: small; outline: none !important;"><i><br /></i></div><div class="yiv8725165501ydpb97014b5yiv6758261676gmail_default" style="font-family: tahoma, sans-serif; font-size: small; outline: none !important;"><i>Wisconsin Reunion</i> takes place one month after the events in the book and it is about Griff's feelings of giving up his old life and the impact of his new one. </div><div class="yiv8725165501ydpb97014b5yiv6758261676gmail_default" style="font-family: tahoma, sans-serif; font-size: small; outline: none !important;"><br /></div><h1 style="font-family: tahoma, sans-serif; font-size: small; outline: none !important; text-align: center;">WISCONSIN REUNION</h1><div class="yiv8725165501ydpb97014b5yiv6758261676gmail_default" style="font-family: tahoma, sans-serif; font-size: small; outline: none !important; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="yiv8725165501ydpb97014b5yiv6758261676gmail_default" style="font-family: tahoma, sans-serif; font-size: small; outline: none !important; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="yiv8725165501ydpb97014b5yiv6758261676gmail_default" style="font-family: tahoma, sans-serif; font-size: small; outline: none !important;"><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Griff stood, lost in a quiet
contemplation of wealth and waiting. Did those with deeper pockets truly spend
fewer moments in idle anticipation, or was this languid drag of time universal?
The hum of activity at Dane County Airport painted a picture of mundane comings
and goings, and amid it all, he tried to pinpoint Pierce's potential flight.
Though Pierce had hinted at touching down around 11:30, the board displayed no
New York arrivals fitting that bill.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">He retrieved his phone, thumb
skimming their recent texts, looking for a flight reference. Yet he
consistently found himself sidetracked, captivated by the blend of playful and intimate
messages they'd exchanged. Like Pierce's light-hearted note on mastering the
art of blueberry pancakes in preparation for their shared Sunday mornings. He’d
chuckled at that text more times than he'd care to admit. And that snapshot of
a pale blue tie, patterned with sailboats and anchored with a gleaming oar tie
clip. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That pic was now was his
screensaver, a soft reminder of their bond.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Leaving Long Island behind a
month prior, Griff had sought a respite, asking the Arlingtons, and Pierce, for
room to breathe and recalibrate. They had understood, giving him the space, he
yearned for. But soon, the weight of longing nudged Griff to send a single
heart emoji, only to receive in return an image of Pierce's favored cologne
bottle. That simple exchange bridged the miles between them. And now, after
weeks and myriad messages, they were on the cusp of a long-awaited weekend
together.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Griff glanced again at the
arrival board, Would Pierce even appreciate the simplicity of Janesville? What
would he make of Griff's circle of friends? Alvin, his cousin and a ghost from
the past, flashed through Griff's thoughts. Their paths, and outcomes had
diverged so starkly when it came to the Arlingtons. Shaking his head, Griff
tried to shove the dark thoughts aside. He was just about to dial Diana when
the familiar and intoxicating scent of Pierce's cologne enveloped him. Before
he even saw him, a warm breath brushed his neck.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">"Hello, handsome
stranger."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">The ambiance momentarily
shifted, and in the next second, Pierce was there, embodying the elegance of a
bygone era, as though they were characters from a 1930s black-and-white film
meeting at a train station. Griff leaned in, nestling his face in the curve of
Pierce's neck, the familiar embrace evoking a swell of emotions.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Their lips met in a gentle, longing
kiss. Drawing back, the playful twinkle in Pierce’s eyes was evident. “Such a
reception,” he quipped.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Griff smirked, “Didn't want
to risk you getting lost. Imagine where you might have ended up.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Pierce shot him a teasing
look. “I had your bedroom in mind, to be honest.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">A light blush warmed Griff's
face. “Easy there. Luggage first, plans later.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Swinging his modest bag with
a flourish, Pierce’s grin grew. “I always pack with intent.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Navigating their way to the
car park, Griff felt a flicker of self-consciousness. Pierce had never been a
passenger in his vintage Karmann Ghia. Despite its meticulous engine rebuild,
it was, a bit dented and rough on the outside, a far cry from the sleek lines
of Pierce's Boxster. Yet, this car was Griff’s, an emblem of his identity, or
at least, the identity he once held dear.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">“Ready to indulge in some
bona fide Wisconsin delicacies?” Griff queried, hoping to divert his own
attention.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Pierce's lips curled into a
teasing smile. “My appetite is insatiable today.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Griff chuckled, yet he could
feel the weight of an impending conversation. He was purposefully evading the
topic of their accommodations. Much as he tried, Griff could not imagine
Pierce, with his polished leather bag and black silk boxers, in his studio
apartment, with its stunning view of the Janesville mall. Taking a steadying
breath, he shared, “I've reserved a room at the Edgewater in Madison. It's
central, and the view of Lake Mendota is breathtaking. Thought you’d like it.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Pierce gave him a thoughtful
glance. Instead of delving deeper, he offered, “If you're there, it's bound to
be special.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Once on the main
thoroughfare, the drive to Madison unfurled before Griff. A route he had
traveled innumerable times suddenly appeared fresher, every detail accentuated,
thanks to his new co-pilot.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Pierce’s penetrating gaze was
hard to miss. Meeting those amber eyes, Griff sensed an undercurrent of both
humor and inquiry. "Been keeping yourself engaged? How's the book shaping
up?" Pierce’s question, subtly touching on the Arlington mystery and
Griff's newfound heritage, hovered in the air.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Griff hesitated momentarily.
"I’ve been pulled into a different direction lately. I'm uncovering some
unsettling truths about the foster care system," he ventured, adeptly
sidestepping the topic that still felt raw. "There are allegations of fraud
and manipulation, especially in institutions that house numerous
children."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">The seriousness in Pierce's
demeanor was unmistakable. "It's a disturbing and I've heard all too
often. Vulnerable children, compromised by the very guardians meant to shield
them. It's grievous how these stories get buried."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Griff's expression softened
into a playful smirk. "You do have a knack for defying my perceptions,
huh?" he teased. Beneath their light-hearted exchange, Griff felt a bond, a
shared empathy for the less fortunate. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">“I thrive on defying your
expectations," Pierce said with a sly twinkle in his eyes, "and I
plan on keeping it that way for quite some time. But speaking of defying
expectations, this car of yours...”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">"What's wrong with my
car?"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Pierce chuckled softly,
letting his fingers trail over the dashboard. "Absolutely nothing. I
rather admire it. From the outside, it might seem a bit, um, seasoned, but its
performance? Absolutely athletic. The interiors, efficient, direct, honest and devoid
of any unnecessary pretense, much like its owner."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Griff shot Pierce a wry look,
"I've always believed in maintaining what's important."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Pierce's response was a
contemplative hum, his fingers now coming to rest on Griff's thigh. "So,
how's work been since you got back?"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Griff's grip on the wheel
tightened momentarily. "For the most part," he responded feeling a
hint of tension in his voice "Things have been... different. People treat
me like I've become a character from a story, not the colleague they've known
for years."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">"You had to expect some
change, right?" Pierce ventured.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">"I get it, I do. But
it's the silence that gets to me most. Friends tiptoe around the Brian thing,
never addressing it outright, yet there's this underlying assumption that I
should suddenly play the magnanimous heir or always have a solution ready. And
then there’s Marleen in finance. We used to exchange laughs, had this easy camaraderie.
But these days, she pores over every detail, questions every expense, insisting
on repeated documentation. It's as though she’s suddenly skeptical of every
move I make. She even held up my paycheck, demanding I use my 'true' name on a
W9 – as if my identity has become this big question mark. It's
exhausting."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Pierce, leaning slightly
closer, seeming to choose his words with care. "Griff, your return has
rewritten the story for everyone. It's unsettling terrain for all involved. But
if you ever need any help, especially with paperwork, just-"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">"I appreciate the
offer," Griff interrupted, softening his tone. "But I need to find my
way through this. On my own." Seeking a change of topic, he ventured,
"How about some food before we check in?"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">A playful glint returned to
Pierce's eyes. "Let’s drop my bag at the room and then get something to
eat. If we get settled in that room, I suspect we’ll find other...
diversions."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">As he pulled into the
circular entry of the Edgewater Hotel, Griff's chest tightened, and not just
from the splendor it represented. The hotel, grand as it was, embodied the
tug-of-war Griff felt inside. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">The hotel was elegant and the
nicest in Madison. He had been here often, but always to interview some
official and always on an expense account. But today, accompanying Pierce, it
was as if he was seeing it all anew. Every tiny imperfection, be it a slight
mark on a baseboard or flowers past their prime, seemed to stand out starkly.
He couldn't help but wonder, would Pierce view these details with a critical
eye? Would this setting seem less than luxurious to him?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">His apprehension deepened as
he handed his credit card to the receptionist. Those recent, unreimbursed
expenses weighed heavily on his mind. His worst fear materialized when the
clerk uttered, "I'm sorry, sir. Your card seems to have been declined."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Before the weight of
embarrassment fully settled, Pierce, ever the picture of poise, intervened.
"Let me handle this," he offered, laying his own card on the gleaming
counter. The card's significant weight and emblem signaled privileges Griff was
unaccustomed to. And then, the kicker: "Could we possibly upgrade to a
lakeview suite, if available?"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Though Pierce’s intention was
purely to ease the situation, Griff couldn’t help but feel a blow to his pride.
He wasn't prepared to lean into the Arlington privilege, an unchecked bounty
that didn't demand effort or accountability. Yet, as they moved toward the
elevator, Pierce's reassuring wink reminded Griff that the quality of their
room wasn’t what mattered in the grand scheme of things.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Stepping into the luxurious
suite, Griff's spirits plummeted as he spotted Pierce removing a thick bundle
of legal papers. The juxtaposition of the intimate setting with formal
documents made him feel suddenly trapped, caught between the pull of romance and
the tug of independence.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">“Now, Pierce? Really?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Pierce appeared genuinely
taken aback. “I assumed you’d want to get these out of the way?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Frustration clouded Griff's
mind, tension palpable in the air. Struggling to maintain composure, he
challenged, "Did you fly out here solely to pressure me into these
signatures? What's your actual agenda?"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Pierce's face betrayed a
flicker of hurt, possibly even regret. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">“Which hat are you wearing
today, Pierce? Lawyer or lover? Because you can't be both.” Griff’s heart
thudded, fiercely protective of the boundaries he was trying to establish.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Pierce, attempting to defuse
the tension, raised his hands in a placating gesture. "Griff, my only
reason for being here is you. I genuinely believed getting these documents
settled would offer you some closure."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Meeting Pierce's gaze, feeling
the depth of their shared history his heart started to race. "I need some
air," Griff murmured, turning quickly, and making his way toward the exit.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Pierce was quick on his
heels, their steps echoing in the Edgewater's opulent corridor. "Listen,
Griff, I'm here for you, not paperwork. You are the one I cherish."
Planting a gentle kiss on Griff’s lips, he playfully added, “How about a proper
lunch date? That's what decent boyfriends do, right? Admittedly, I'm still
getting the hang of it."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Griff's breathed, took a
moment wanting to make things work, "I guess we both could use a little boyfriend
practice."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">The streets of Madison
welcomed them with a radiant splash of sunlight, casting a warm glow on their
path. As the fresh air enveloped Griff, it seemed to whisk away the weight
bearing down on him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Wanting to open up and slowly
finding the words, Griff began, "Pierce, learning that I'm Brian
Arlington... it didn’t grant me clarity. Instead, it's cast a shadow over
everything I once knew. It's as if every memory has been tainted."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Pierce's gaze met Griff's.
"Your foundation has been shaken. I understand."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Interrupting, Griff pressed
on, "I grapple with identity every day. Is the name on my driver's license
a façade? Even considering a new name feels like I'm turning my back on my
history." He paused, taking a breath. "I don’t expect you to have all
the answers. In fact, I don’t want you to."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Pierce tightened his embrace
around Griff. "All I can offer is to stand by your side, in whatever
capacity you need." <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Returning the gesture with a
tender kiss, Griff smirked, "You’re scoring major boyfriend points,
Mather. Keep this up, and you might just find me permanently attached."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Pierce entwined his fingers
with Griff's, a sense of longing in his gaze. "I wish you'd come back with
me to Syosset, even if just for a day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
know Jarrett would love to see you. It would lift his spirits immensely."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Griff nodded seriously.
"I care about Jarrett and I do want to properly get to know my
grandfather," he affirmed. "It's just finding the time isn’t that
easy. I've already been off work for over a week; taking another so soon is not
feasible."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Pierce's eyes twinkled with a
golden hue, a fervent hope simmering in them. "What if we made it just a
flash visit,, even, say, tomorrow? We could share a leisurely lunch there. It's
about a 90-minute flight; you’d <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>back by
early evening."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Griff's eyes widened,
momentarily overwhelmed. "Tomorrow? Pierce, it's a bit whirlwind, don't
you think? Even assuming I could secure a flight on such short notice, it's
just too much to juggle at the moment."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">A bashful grin spread across
Pierce's face. "Actually, about the transportation..." he hesitated
before admitting, "I might have borrowed Jarrett's Gulfstream."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">A bubble of laughter escaped
Griff, the surrealism of the situation finally dawning on him. "So let me
get this straight: here I am, barely scraping by with maxed out credit cards
and a bank balance that wouldn't impress a squirrel, and now there's a private
jet at our disposal? Its….Its, well its absurd.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Pierce's laughter echoed
Griff's, a hearty sound that reverberated with genuine joy. "You are
singular Griff. The poorest rich man or the richest poor man I know, yet
unfailingly yourself through it all."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Griff straightened up, "Alright,
counselor, for this arrangement to work," he gestured grandly between them
as if encapsulating their shared universe, "I have some
stipulations."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Pierce raised an eyebrow in
jest, playing along. "By all means, let's draft a mutually beneficial
agreement."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">"First order of
business, I require an attorney whose scent doesn’t derail my thoughts whenever
they enter a room and does not have skin which I need to explore every inch of."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Pierce smirked, "The
attorney bit, I can find you someone else in my office. As for my resisting the
urge to explore you – that clause is void."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Griff, playfully rolling his
eyes, landed a swift peck on Pierce's lips. "Second, I'm game for visiting
Jarrett tomorrow, I truly miss him. However," he held up a finger,
"YOU are covering our exorbitant parking fees at Dane County Airport.
Their rates border on criminal."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">"I reckon that's well
within my designated boyfriend duties," Pierce quipped.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">"Thirdly," Griff
drew closer, his voice softening, "I love you." He sealed his words
with a gentle kiss on Pierce’s smiling mouth.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">"Fourth – If you ever
drag me to a country club luncheon with individuals named Bunny or Skyler and
they solely prattle on about yachting..."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Pierce raised his hands in
mock surrender, "In their defense, they occasionally delve into equestrian
discussions, but point taken."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">"And lastly," Griff
said earnestly, "Before any move to Long Island, I need to secure a job. I
need my work; there are stories out there begging to be told."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">As Pierce's embrace enveloped
him, his deep voice whispered reassuringly, "There's an abundance of news
outlets that would vie for your talent, and countless tales awaiting your
voice. But the only narrative that I care to hear is the one we're writing,
together."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Griff's smile radiated
genuine warmth, the weight on his heart significantly lighter. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">"On that note” said
Pierce, “let's make lunch quick. Because I have some... conditions of my own to
lay out once we get back to the hotel" <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">“We could do room service?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Pierce smiled, grabbed Griff
hand and ran.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeG3rjBi6NkDrgiF3REPCxRa7srMu-QsQsxOyl6nF6Ci_1vR49xHPYrAAPMqYK4K8uk1DLbyC3ooNQeJr4oZ8w34hJzy4Is5eQar2CxpwmDM6_yq-3lr1yxxSu7jkcO9DMktFeoE9cOZwvR5af8V2EqFh93oVxdvaW4cluUKrPfXU5nPh4-IJl6H0KZDcj/s1024/jglwritesmystery_elegant_illustration_of_king-sized_bed_in_a_fa_2d3097b7-edb5-4087-9d3a-4c33cfa6731a.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeG3rjBi6NkDrgiF3REPCxRa7srMu-QsQsxOyl6nF6Ci_1vR49xHPYrAAPMqYK4K8uk1DLbyC3ooNQeJr4oZ8w34hJzy4Is5eQar2CxpwmDM6_yq-3lr1yxxSu7jkcO9DMktFeoE9cOZwvR5af8V2EqFh93oVxdvaW4cluUKrPfXU5nPh4-IJl6H0KZDcj/w400-h400/jglwritesmystery_elegant_illustration_of_king-sized_bed_in_a_fa_2d3097b7-edb5-4087-9d3a-4c33cfa6731a.png" width="400" /></a></div><br /><o:p><br /></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><br clear="none" style="background-color: white; color: #26282a; outline: none !important;" /></div>Josh Lanyonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11944091956589831656noreply@blogger.com13