Hello, February. An
extra day in the month probably won't make much difference, right? Eh, January
already felt like an entire year, so here's hoping February doesn't.
Another slow week
for television viewing, but not a bad one. I finished up season three of Riverdale and, whew, what an ending.
Talk about jamming a crap-ton of stuff into forty-three minutes. That said,
wow. I'm still processing all the crazypants. I'm very glad I can start season
four this week. I'll be dreading the first episode but can't wait to see what
happens from here. Hopefully something utterly horrible for Hiram is on the
horizon but I doubt it. Sigh.
Midsomer Murders had a good opener for series twenty-one.
One down and three to go. Then I have to find another show to start. I have a
few on my list to check out.
Caught another
episode of Peak Practice. I went back
to the first season again. I'll watch another of the final season this week.
Watched another
full arc of Classic Who and have one
more set before starting the last season with Three. Looking forward to Sarah
Jane episodes.
That's pretty much
it for television this week. Tonight's post is from Same Time Next Year, a
novella that got a start with a writing community prompt.
Here's the
mini-blurb:
After commiserating over failed hook-ups, Tessa Gem and Hart
Cantley make a date for the following year at the same time, but they have no
idea their fae collective will be at war when they meet again.
And a preview snippet…
Hart Cantley entered
the diner side of the roadhouse just before six am when the first fingers of
early light started thrusting in the sky.
He made his way to
the counter. "Can I order a full pot of coffee?" The waitress gave a
nod and picked up a carafe pouring the hot liquid into a thermos style pitcher.
Hart snagged a mug
and settled into a corner booth. He could go for something stronger—the
twenty-four hour bar only a short trip through the roadhouse lobby—but drinking
into a stupor wouldn't change what happened. A time machine, maybe, but not
alcohol.
Hart snorted.
"God, what an idiot."
His phone pinged with
a message.
"What
the hell, bro? Where did you go last night?"
His brother's text
stirred the dying memory of the previous evening back to life. A hot blonde
with killer curves, a round ass, and a sex-on-steroids voice.
Hart texted Joppy
back. "Don't ask. You'll hear all
about it soon enough."
Hart blamed a
two-month undercover stint with celibate monks for his big misstep—thinking
with his dick instead of his brain. A rare occurrence, thank the everlasting
universe. He poured a mug of coffee and barely got a sip in before his phone
pinged again.
"Dude,
you just stepped into a big steaming pile."
Well, fuck. Didn't
take long for her mouth to run wild. Not that he didn't expect this exact
scenario. Any moment, he'd get a call or text from him mom—the reigning drama
queen—and be expected to make promises he had no intention of keeping to settle
her down.
His luck? She'd ask
for his firstborn child to raise "the right way" since she'd failed
so miserably with him.
He rolled his eyes.
"Whatever, Mom."
And now he'd started
talking to thin air.
He received another
text. "Mom's on the warpath. Lay low
for a while."
Hart responded back. "Yeah, going radio silent. Later,
bro." He turned his phone off and tucked it into his pocket.
What a mess he'd
landed into. He needed to find a nice, uncomplicated woman to spend time with.
Hell… she didn't even have to be free from challenges as long as she had zero
potential to become a member of his family.
Something his
soon-to-be-married-for-the-fourth-time mother made damned difficult.
I love writing
Tessa and Hart. Their vibe is fun and snarky and I'm always smiling when I
write their scenes.
That's it for this
week.
Cheers!
Skye
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