Author! Author! JOANNA CHAMBERS

Back in the heyday of romance blogs, I stumbled across this very smart, witty, civilized pundit (which sounds better than yon sonsie lass) by the name of Tumperkin. Er...even then I knew that probably was not her real name, but then--well, anyway. Tumperkin not only shared my love for Georgette Heyer and crazy-ass Charlotte Lamb novels both, she had mastered the rare ability of being passionate and polite at the same time. I liked what she had to say.

And when she turned to writing fiction as Joanna Chambers, I liked what she had to say then as well. A lot.

As I was considering my first interviewee of the New Year, naturally my thoughts turned to Joanna. Who better to provide the first footing of 2017?

Share your favorite recipe for porridge. COME ON! You're Scottish. You must have a favorite recipe for porridge. What about mince and tatties? DON'T BE SO SECRETIVE.

JC - I am indeed Scottish! And my Scottish working class credentials are so spotless, it hurts. My dad, who is Keeper of the Family Tales, used to tell me that his grandmother (who had thirteen children) used to fill a drawer in the kitchen sideboard with porridge every morning and when it hardened, she would cut it into squares and the sons would take a square each down the pit. True! My recipe, however, creates a porridge so silky and creamy and soft it would have dribbled out of Marann’s drawer and landed in a puddle on the floor. It is this: put some rolled porridge oats in a pan with a splash of milk and loads of COLD water. Like, 4 times as much water as oats. Plus a generous sprinkling of sea salt. Then you put it on the very lowest possible heat for 30 mins and completely leave it alone. Don’t touch it. Don’t even look at it. After 30 mins it will be perfect. THEN sprinkle over a teaspoon of demerara sugar and, dribble some cream over - I swear it’s the most delicious thing you’ve ever tasted. The key thing is getting a good balance between sweet and salt.

 Do you believe the sins of the father shall be visited upon the sons? What about the sins of the mother?

JC - Let’s look at this from a writerly angle. 

 

This calls for an example. Let’s call the son in the following example, Adrien. Adrien’s mother—let’s call her Lisa—murders Adrien’s grandmother, resulting in Adrien unexpectedly inheriting his grandmother’s valuable ranch. Let’s say that Lisa is motivated by a hatred of people with golden-brown eyes - which Granny has. Adrien has nothing to do with plotting or carrying out the murder.

 

Question: Do we think the sins of Lisa should be visited on Adrien in the following scenarios? 

1. Adrien shares Lisa’s hatred of people with golden-brown eyes, was aware of her intention to murder his grandmother and did nothing to stop her
    
   Answer: In this case, surely the sins of Lisa should be visited upon Adrien to some extent? Adrien is not innocent here, even if his sin is on only one of omission, namely not acting to save Granny? (Although it may be that Adrien didn’t act because he was unable to do so, e.g by reason of grave illness, such as rheumatic fever). In a satisfying story, how would Adrien end up? Would him losing the ranch be enough to restore ‘order’ at the end of the story? If I was writing this, I’d burn the ranch to the ground and have Adrien make a moral choice to redeem himself.
    
2. Adrien does not share Lisa’s hatred of people with golden-brown eyes but again, he was aware of her intention to murder his grandmother and did nothing to stop her – this time because he wants the ranch
    
   Answer: In some ways, this feels worse than (a) from a moral perspective – but why should that be? Is there a moral distinction between someone who does (or fails to do) something out of a vile but genuinely held belief and someone who does (or fails to do) it for purely monetary gain? Hmmm. If I was writing this story, Adrien would probably be hounded by his grandmother’s ghost till he throws himself from the battlements—or whatever it is ranches have instead of battlements.

       c. Adrien does not share Lisa’s hatred of people with golden-brown eyes—indeed he has argued with her about the subject vociferously—and was also entirely unaware of her intention to murder his grandmother . 

Answer: In this case, Adrien is innocent - surely Lisa’s sins should not be visited upon him? Nevertheless, he is benefitting from the ranch as a direct result of murder. So, should Adrien pay? If I was writing this, I think Adrien would go to the ranch and meet a man with golden-brown eyes—let’s call him Jake—and together they would unravel of the mystery of how his grandmother died and then live in the house together happily ever after. (And it may even turn out that the murderer wasn’t Lisa anyway, but some… I don’t know… English dude called Guy or something).

 

Does that answer your question? I think, long story short, I got to Yes.

I-I'm still reeling after the revelation that Lisa English is a cold-blooded murderess. WHY AM I ALWAYS THE LAST TO KNOW?
Okay. Um, leaving the unexpectedly dark and twisted murderous inclinations of the English family for a moment...standalone versus series? What do you prefer as a writer? How about as a reader?

JC - As a writer? Well, there are pros and cons of both, I’m not sure I have a strong preference, though I do look back on the trilogy I wrote fondly—having said that, I tend to forget how difficult each book was to write, after some time has passed.

 As a reader, I don’t really have a preference, but I do think that series can bring additional satisfaction. I remember the first series books I ever loved were Enid Blyton’s all-girls boarding school books about Malory Towers. Every book featured friendship conflicts, a major sporting victory for Darrell (the MC), pranks on teachers, a midnight feast and a final crisis. And each book ended with a sense of resolution about that school year, with Darrell having generally become better at life/ a better person. At the end of the last book (sixth form) she leaves school and goes to university. I cannot express how much I loved these books. I loved them the way I love romance books. I loved the shape of them, and the elements. It didn’t matter that the shape and elements were predictable. In fact, that was a major part of why I loved them. It was very much about the execution and the anticipation of the inevitable pay-offs.

 I think for a series to be ‘more’ than a standalone for me, I want something bigger than the individual books. Something that builds through all the books—that might be a single relationship or it might be a story that unfolds and reaches its denouement in the final book.

Is it true that your day job is bounty hunter? Why not? That's a very cool job. You would be good at it.

JC - No, that is not true. Unless you’re talking about moist, tender coconut drenched in dark, silky chocolate? In that case, yes and I am, thank you.

Bonbons and bounty hunters. It sounds like a cozy mystery. What do you think is the most important thing to remember when creating fully realized main characters?

JC - This is the hardest thing about writing, for me, anyway. I think it’s actually really difficult to avoid just writing yourself into characters, especially when you’re writing a scene, and you’ve got some kind of flow going. It can be hard not to just reflect what your own reactions to events would be. It seems kind of obvious to say this but I think the most important thing to remember is that the character isn’t you. Judging by how often I read characters in novels who seem to act/ speak more like someone of the age/gender/demographic of the author rather than of the supposed character, I don’t think I’m the only one who experiences this.
Fashion magazines always ask this question: What is the one cosmetic or grooming tool you cannot live without? And do you have any idea why all these fashion models are always pretending the one tool they can't live without is their EYEBROW GROOMER? 

JC - The one cosmetic I would take to my desert island would be a very red lipstick– that is the best face decoration there is, an excellent enhancement to an expression of curled-lip disgust.

Oh! Excellent choice! Well played, madam! And speaking of hauteur, how do you deal with the criticism that is part and parcel of any job in the arts?

JC - I’m okay with it actually. My RL job is all about winners and losers and there’s a lot of post-morteming/  post-facto rationalisation/ arse-covering. So, with writing, it’s kind of weirdly restful to me that there’s just a range of opinions and some people will hate your book and some will love it and some will just be *meh* about it but no one gets ultimately proved *right*. I’d probably feel very differently if my writing was my sole or main source of income, but since it’s not, I get the luxury of not minding so much.


I'm not sure why this seemed to be a natural segue, but here we go. Have you ever broken a bone? Have you ever broken anyone else's bones? You must have because your day job is bounty hunter. Have any of your victims sued you?

JC - No, no and no! I have never broken a bone, either my own or someone else’s, although I am clumsy and suspect I may have chipped my coccyx more than once. 

Is there any genre you'd like to tackle but you're kinda sorta afraid?

JC - Hmmmm. Well, for the last year or two, my major reading preference has been contemporary US set books—I’m kind of obsessed with the idea of learning about another country purely through reading a single genre of fiction—or that’s my excuse anyway. Would I want to tackle one myself though? Nah. I’m most comfortable with UK early 19^th century and UK Contemporary at this point, but I have written one paranormal-fantasy story and am planning a pair of paranormals set in the 18^th century so that’ll shove me out of my comfort zone on two fronts.

Oh, you have to come and visit us! And by us, I mean everyone in the U.S. We'll show you how the other half lives. Enywho. What are the elements that make a Joanna Chambers book unique? What do you consider your strengths as a writer?

JC - Um… well, credibility is important to me. When I wrote my first novel (a het romance in which the heroine masqueraded as a man – as the hero’s valet) it was because I’d decided I really wanted to write a credible chick-in-pants romance. I’d read a rash of reader blogs talking about how they couldn’t suspend disbelief with chicks-in-pants stories but I’d also read real-life stories about women who did successfully masquerade as men at the time, so I had this whole thing in my head about meeting that challenge and how satisfying that would be.  At this point, I’m mostly known as an

author of historical MM and my ambition with these stories is to have a credible HEA for my characters. When I say a “credible HEA”, I mean two things: credible for the period but also credible as a romance HEA i.e. a proper soaring HEA rather than a limited one. Since I’m a long-term romance reader, I’ve got a lot views on what makes a good HEA and what the end of a romance book should *feel* like and I really didn’t want a limited, lesser version of that for my characters, but it does take a bit of doing.

Where did you and the Mister meet?

In a student union, on the dancefloor. We were shoe-gazing to some Indie song. We shuffled up to each other and the rest is history.

 What are you working on right now? What's coming out next?

JC - My next release, in April-ish 2017, will be a Victorian historical MM set in Cornwall called A Gathering Storm. It’s part of Riptide’s new Porthkennack line featuring a number of other authors (Alex Beecroft, Garrett Leigh, JL Merrow and Charlie Cochrane). My book is set in Victorian times and features an eccentric scientist who is trying to contact his dead brother with the help of a sceptical half-Romany land steward (!) Basically it’s about the twin Victorian obsessions of science and spiritualism.

Oh! I love it already!

 As for what I’m working on now. I’m writing a contemporary spy MM story with Carolyn Crane which I’m sort of super-excited about (hopefully out first half 2017) and a second Porthkennack book for Riptide – a contemporary this time which should be out in August 2017.

 Do you believe in extra-terrestrial life? What about angels?

JC - I’m a no, on angels. I think extra-terrestrials are possible, and probably statistically likely, but I can’t say I get terribly excited about the possibility.  I’m just not fundamentally that interested in the idea of aliens, maybe because I feel like I’ve got my hands full with humans. Humans are terrifying and glorious and I still haven’t got my head round them.

Tell us something surprising. Anything. Go on. Surprise us!

JC - When I was in Brownies (you would call them girl scouts? I was 7 or 8) I was unsuccessful in my bid to win my writer’s badge. 

 Still mortified about that.


LOL. And so you should be. ;-)


You can learn more about the Joanna at her website. AND you can find her on Facebook.

Advent Calendar Day 12

So did you all enjoy yesterday's fabulous coda? ;-D  No? But seriously there will be a coda in that spot shortly. I am now done with my holiday shopping. Round of applause please?

I caint heah you.

I CAINT HEAH YOU!

I am feeling happy today -- and even better, I am conscious and mindful that I am happy. In addition to finishing up the trial (and errors) that is Christmas and holiday shopping, I am starting a new non-fiction project next year (too early to discuss) and making other plans and devising strategies. This is that time of year. I'm on vacation but I'm not really on vacation. I have audio files to listen to, covers for translations to arrange, ads to run, etc. It never stops once you become your own publisher.

The other thing I did yesterday was sign up for two services that I think will improve the quality of life around Chez Lanyon. One is Farmbox Direct. And the other is Blue Apron. I think they will both result in us eating healthier and more delicious foods. I guess they probably are a little bit pricey but I look at it two ways: what is the point of working all the time, if we can't afford some quality of life improvements around this joint? And two, if we are eating smarter and healthier, it is worth every penny.

If you have your health, you have everything. One of my grandmothers used to always say that. When you're kid, it's highly amusing. As you get older, you realize there is something to it.

Anyway. That was yesterday. Today IT'S RAINING. It's pouring. My old man is snoring. I am happy. It is going to be a day of sitting in front of the fire and writing codas or listening to audio files. Haven't quite determined which yet. I have a birthday party to go to this evening. I am starting to unwind a little -- and there are still technically three weeks to go before I am back to work on Winter Kill.

 Today, I thought we could perhaps share our favorite holiday play lists.

Here's the one L.B., Harper, and Joanna (and me) came up with for the Comfort and Joy anthology. Do you have a Christmas or winter holiday play list? Do you have a favorite Christmas song?

PLAY LIST:
"It's beginning to look a lot my Christmas" by Michael Buble  (Joanna Chambers)
"Brothers and Sisters" by Twin Atlantic (Harper Fox)
"Nothing Like You and I" by the Perishers (LB Gregg
"Baby, It's Cold" by Dean Martin (Josh Lanyon)
"Tu Scendi Dalle Stelle" by Friar Alessandro (Josh)
"White Winter Hymnal" by Fleet Foxes (Joanna)
 "Stay for a While" by Nikhil Korula Band (Lisa)
The opening of Bach's Christmas Oratorio (Harper)


The giveaway today will be three print books from my print book catalog -- meaning one print book each to three lucky commenters. Remember you can contact me for your winnings through my website contact page.

You're still welcome to comment even if you already own everything in my catalog. I really do enjoy reading your comments. The one on holiday traditions and the impromptu storywriting were fantastic.

Advent Calendar - Day 7

Today I'm sharing opening snippets from the four stories in COMFORT AND JOY, the new holiday anthology I did with L.B. Gregg, Harper Fox and Joanna Chambers. And the giveaway is a copy of the anthology from a randomly selected comment below.

Remember the book can go to you or to a friend with your holiday compliments.

From Rest and Be Thankful by Joanna Chambers:

“You’re going to have to replace it, I’m afraid.”

Cam stared at the back of the plumber’s head, glad the man’s attention was still on the ancient boiler. Glad he wasn’t watching as Cam visibly swallowed against the hard lump that had materialised in his throat at this news.

“How much’ll that cost?” Cam asked.

He’d waited three days before he’d called Alan Glenn, a near neighbour and the only plumber for miles around, hoping beyond hope the heating might spontaneously come on again. It was only with this unexpected cold snap that he’d finally given in, worried by the prospect of burst pipes.

Alan looked at Cam over his shoulder. He was one of those men whose hair went white early, but his skin was smooth and unlined and his bushy eyebrows were black, making his age difficult to judge. Those startling eyebrows drew closer together as he totted up the cost in his head. “It’s an old system,” he said at last. “I reckon you’re looking at fourteen, fifteen hundred, all in.”

Cam pressed his lips together and gave a short nod. He’d been praying the problem would turn out to be something minor and cheap to fix. No such luck.

Luck wasn’t something he’d had much of lately.

 

 

From Out by Harper Fox:

 

My name is Cosmo Grant, and I have no pride left.

I’d been doing all right until yesterday. The run-up to Christmas always turns the big Edinburgh hotels into pressure cookers, backstage at least; front of house, we try to present a genial, welcoming face to our public, and here at the Royal Barlinney we succeed.

Recently that’s been due to my efforts, I can say without lack of modesty. I started as junior housekeeper five years ago, and I scrubbed as many toilets and made as many beds as any of the domestic staff under my shaky command. I learned by doing everyone’s job as well as my own. I cleaned miles and miles of carpets and Italian marble floors. Changed light bulbs, fixed leaky taps, once brought ambassadorial aid to a foreign princess fleeing a murderous regime. As well as my bilingual English and Gaelic—the latter just a frosting, ceud mìle fáilte to charm the Americans—I picked up enough French, German, Arabic and Italian to help out most of our visitors with most of their basic needs. I learned from the kitchens upwards all the workings of our vast flagship hotel, which sails above the city’s railway lines like an ocean liner lit up from within by a thousand crystal chandeliers.

And two years ago George Brace, the Barlinney’s manager, rewarded all that initiative by promoting me to housekeeper-in-chief. I think it nearly killed him.

 

 

 

From Waiting for Winter by L.B. Gregg:

 

The first words my ex said to me in six months were delivered sotto voce as I was minding my own business at Leunig’s crowded bar. The night was young, the restaurant was bright, and Winter Kendrick filled the entry with his massive shoulders and his giant presence and his unbelievably appealing two-day shadow. He didn’t speak to the hostess. He barged in like he owned the place—which he could have—and swept the room with his icy gaze. He was in a suit and tie, as if he remembered how much his corporate dick persona turned me on and had dressed accordingly. His sharp, pale eyes locked on target, and he brushed through the meat-market singles, practically swatting the riffraff out of his path in his single-minded pursuit of a sure thing.

Me.

“Let’s get out of here.”

Not exactly the heartwarming declaration of love or the long-awaited, well-deserved apology I needed. I almost laughed, because he was an overbearing prick, until I realized he expected me to jump up and follow him.

His approach had worked before, sure, but I kept my ass on the stool, elbows on the frigid Carrara marble, and lifted my drink. In a bistro like Leunig’s, playing it cool was as much a part of the scenery as the amber light and expansive wine list. I could be cool. “I see you left your manners in Berlin. That whole Me Tarzan act—”

“Is exactly what you like, don’t pretend otherwise.” Winter’s glittering gaze found mine in the mirror over the bar. Silver light threaded his recently shorn hair, and he was all hard jaw, crisp cotton, smooth silk tie, and knowing smile. He looked fucking hot, like moving on from our relationship had been kinder to him than it had to me. My mouth dried and I took another sip of scotch. A frown line pinched his perfect brow. “Since when do you like scotch?”

 

From Baby, it's Cold by Josh Lanyon:

 

“No,” Rocky said. “Oh hell no.”

“Merry Christmas to you too,” I said. “And for your information, this wasn’t my idea.”

“Where’s Poppy?” Rocky peered past me into the rain, looking for my grandfather, Fausto Poppa—of Poppa’s House. You’ve seen the program. Everyone’s seen the program. It’s America’s longest running cooking show. It’s been on the air longer than there’s been a Food Network.

I said tersely, “Poppy’s sick. He’s got the flu. Why else would I be here?”

Rocky drew himself up to his full height. Which is…my height, which is medium. Yes, he wears it better, although why assorted piercings and tattoos should make a guy look taller, I don’t know. What I did know was that his green eyes were level with mine—and it was very weird to be this close to him again.

 

 

 

 

 

Guess the Author - Round One

So we're going to have four rounds today of GUESS THE AUTHOR. Today's game is a little harder than yesterday's in that these lines are not likely to be in the excerpts you've seen so far.

Match the correct Author to the following lines. The first four people to come up with the correct match win their choice of ebook from any one of our backlists BARRING the new stories in this anthology. ;-)

1 - He couldn't wait to be out in the city again, was even looking forward to queuing for Gomorrah, sharing that weird buzz of anticipation with the other clubbers as they waited to be let in, taunted by the fat, driving beats that escaped every time the bouncers opened the doors to let someone in or out.

2 - He smiled and shook his head, a right jolly old elf. If I’d had an eject button on the dash, he’d have sailed straight into the trees.

3 - It was snowing. Every kid in X had by this time given up on a white Christmas, but here it came: a spiraling flurry of glitter, orange and silver and diamond blue as each spinning fragment caught the light.

4 - My eyes jerked open and I sat bolt upright. A dark, burly figure filled the driver’s window and a Fair Isle-gloved hand was banging on the glass.



Your possible choices are:
Josh Lanyon
Harper Fox
LB Gregg
Joanna Chambers

Answer in the comment section below.

You can only win once, but you can enter all four rounds. The next round is over at LB Gregg's house. Don't trip over the reindeer sleeping on her lawn.

NEW RELEASE - COMFORT AND JOY (holiday anthology)

Once upon a time, my dear pal LB Gregg and I came up with a plan to write a pair of spooky, funny Halloween stories -- a sort of mini-anthology -- and market them as a Fright Night Double Feature sort of thing. The stories turned out to be Mummy Dearest and Dudleytown. I won't go into the horror story of why that project didn't work out, but the desire to do something together stuck. And every year we've talked about doing something thematic and fun like...Catalina/Cowboy/Christmas...hmmm...yeah, what about Christmas?

And this year we actually decided to do it. Of course, us being us, we immediately started scheming and plotting to drag more pals into it. Because...the more, the merrier. Especially at Christmas. Harper Fox and Joanna Chambers were enlisted coz isn't that wonderful symmetry: two Americans and two Britishers? We are all about the symmetry.

And the eggnog.

I only bring this up because I have folks asking if I am going into the publishing business now, and the answer is a most emphatic not at this time. Probably never. But now and again it's fun to get together with friends and do stuff.

And the "stuff" we did this year is a winter holiday anthology called Comfort and Joy. Four heartful helpings of romance and seasoned -- er, season's -- greetings.

I'll be adding buy links within the next day or so, but meanwhile there are celebrations and parties going on and as usual lots of goodies are being given away, so even though the book is not out yet, I don't want you to miss out on the fun.

So here's what's happening over at Goodreads.

And more fun starting tomorrow over at my Facebook Fan Page.

Next week LB, Joanna, Harper and I will be coming up with some fun stuff too, so stay tuned to your Yule Log.

Meanwhile, the first four people who can accurately match the following first lines to the correct story will get an audio download code for any one of our audio books. Enter your guesses in the comment section below:

1 - “No,” Rocky said. “Oh hell no.”

2 - My name is Cosmo Grant, and I have no pride left.

3 - The first words my ex said to me in six months were delivered sotto voce as I was minding my own business at Leunig’s crowded bar.

4 - “You’re going to have to replace it, I’m afraid.”


And your story choices are:
Rest and Be Thankful, Out, Waiting for Winter, Baby it's Cold Outside

TASTE TEST - Baby, it's Cold

Coming this weekend. "Baby, it's Cold" is part of the Comfort and Joy anthology. Yes, you will be able to purchase it on its own, but this is a really heartwarming and delightful anthology with stories by L.B. Gregg, Harper Fox and Joanna Chambers (three of my very favorite authors), so if were you, I'd buy the whole thing.

Before you ask, no, it's not available for preorder. The book launches on Sunday (Santa willing and the crick don't rise).

I do have a little taste for you. ;-)


Talk about Kitchen Nightmares! TV Chef Rocky and Foodie Blogger Jesse have been pals forever, so it should have been the most natural thing in the world to kick their relationship up a notch. Instead, it turned out to be a disaster. But Christmas is the season of love, and someone’s cooking up a sweet surprise…

I was putting the bottle of champagne in the freezer when Rocky said from behind me, “What are you planning on cooking?”

I couldn’t quite hide my jump, but I managed to say calmly, “It’s a surprise.”

“Well, always with you. But what are you hoping to cook?”

“Steamed mussels in white wine and garlic.”

His green eyes lit up. They almost glowed.

“Someone knows what you like,” I said.

“It’s practically the Feast of the Seven Fishes.”

We grinned at each other and for a second it was like old times. “You know,” I said, “you’d have been welcome tonight. We were friends a lot longer than we were whatever we were. Mama was saying yesterday it won’t feel the same without you there on Christmas Eve.”

“Let alone without you there.” Rocky’s gaze was curious.

“That couldn’t be helped,” I said.

“Because of this mysterious romantic dinner Poppy was paid a fortune to cook.”

“Yep.”

Rocky snorted. He had changed his blue flannel shirt for one of red and white plaid, and he had shaved. He smelled of soap and aftershave. But then he believed he had company coming.

“Believe what you want to.” I turned away and began hunting for the bowls and pans and spoons I’d need. Rocky watched for a few seconds and I tried not to get self-conscious. I’d known him half my life, so it really didn’t make sense that he could make me nervous just by staring at me. But he could. In fact, that had been part of the problem between us. All those years of easy companionship had vanished like sugar in water once we’d tried to take our friendship to the next level. It had been a big disappointment to both of us, I think. We should have been great together. But somehow it had been worse than starting from scratch.

“So how’ve you been?” Rocky asked finally, going to the wine rack.

I shrugged. “Good. Busy.”

“I saw you won Saveur’s Readers’ Choice for best written blog. Congratulations.”

I glanced at him. “Thanks.”

Rocky studied the wine labels, selected a bottle, brought it to the counter. I moved away, filling a pan with water and turning up the stove burner.

Rocky poured a glass of white wine and leaned back against the counter studying me.

“We’re going to have sides? I’m impressed.”

“You’re getting it all. Starter to sweet. Okay? Poppy picked the menu.”

“So then he’s delirious?” Rocky’s expression grew earnest and concerned. “I had no idea he was so ill.”

I laughed, set a glass bowl over the pan of gently simmering water, and dropped in broken pieces of semi-sweet chocolate. I’d done some of the prep work at home so I wouldn’t run out of time or get distracted and forget some vital step. I’d figured Rocky would probably hover. Expecting a chef not to hover when you’re preparing a meal is like asking a boxer not to take a swing. I added the diced butter, a pinch of salt, and left the mixture to melt while I set about pressing sponge fingers into the walls and bottom of a deep earthenware dish. The dish—like practically every other piece of crockery in the place—was decorated with pine cones.

“Tiramisù?” Rocky asked.

I nodded. Did some more pressing. The sponge didn’t stick very well. I gave up and moved to the stove, gave the chocolate and butter a stir, checked on my coffee. I removed the pot, added sugar, swirled the mixture in the carafe. Some of the liquid spilled out the spout. Rocky opened his mouth, then closed it.

I remembered I had to add the Vin Santo and I hastily set the coffee aside to scramble for the wine—trying all the while to look like nearly forgetting the wine was all part of my master strategy.

I found the wine. Rocky watched without a word as I dived past him to grab the corkscrew.

I got the wine open, and splashed some of it into the melted chocolate. Rocky cleared his throat. I stirred the chocolate and wine, glanced up at him.

“I got it.” I grabbed the coffee pot and poured the hot, sweet coffee over the sponge which was once again beginning to peel from the walls of the dish. I pressed the soggy sponge back into place, managing not to yelp at just how fucking hot the coffee was.

Rocky began, “Are you sure you—”

“Nope. I got it.”

I snatched up a potholder and removed the glass bowl from the pan, drizzling chocolate all over the coffee-soaked sponge. Cautiously, I smoothed the chocolate out to the edges, trying not to tear the sponge to pieces. When I’d managed to cover the sponge with an even layer of chocolate, I set the dish aside to cool and wiped my forehead.

Finally the sponge was sticking to the walls of the dish, so that was something. I found the carton of eggs and snagged two small bowls. I cracked a couple of eggs.

Rocky made an amused sound. I looked up. “That you do with flair, I gotta say. Always.”

“Ha.” Me and Audrey Hepburn. But cracking an egg with one hand was one of my two party tricks. The other was flipping pancakes. Well, there was a third, but it had nothing to do with cooking.

I separated the eggs, whites in one bowl and yolks in another. I had Rocky’s full attention now. Well, I’d had his full attention from the start, but now I had his considering appraisal.

“Egg whites in tiramisù?” he asked.

“I know it’s not traditional, but this is the way my mama makes it.”

“I thought that might be her secret ingredient.”

“Unfortunately now I can’t let you leave this cabin alive.”

“With you cooking, my chances were only fifty-fifty anyway.”

“Okay,” I said. “Enough with the jokes about my cooking.” But it felt natural, comfortable, joking back and forth like we used to.

Rocky grinned back and swallowed a mouthful of wine.