A Northern Tour: Following in Jane Austen's Footsteps

I've made no secret about the fact that I've always loved Jane Austen. I enjoyed reading her work, even though in today's market her writing would be considered a bit stilted. Different times and different style. Regardless, her wit and observations of life in Regency era are accurate. I also enjoyed some of the screen adaptations of her work. And while I have read a few Austen fanfiction stories they're not the first thing I reach for when I'm in the mood to read an historical. 

I've grown up enjoying Rengencies (I have my favorite authors) and I'll be first to admit we've been flooded with Regency stories in the past few years so it really takes something extraordinary in the storyline to pique my interest enough  to read another one. Yet there is a whole segment of readers that adore anything Regency and Austen Regency in particular.

Since I have several friends who write Austen fanfiction they do realize I mean no disrespect when I ask, What is the fascination with the Darcy's? What makes an author want to devote most their writing life to continuing their view the Darcy's story and future? 

My guest today is Jane Odiwe and she hails from England. She also writes Austen Regencies featuring the characters of Jane Austen's world. So I asked her the same question. What draws you to Austen's characters. What's the fascination, as an author? She takes us on a bit of a tour to help us see the whys.

Thank you, Sia, for inviting me onto your blog. I’m so pleased to be able to talk to you about Mr. Darcy’s Secret. 

Writers of Austen continuations, like me, are compelled to carry on with the lives of her characters, inventing new stories. Can we have too much Pride and Prejudice? I don't think so - I loved writing Mr. Darcy’s Secret, and part of the fun is doing research.

My sister and I headed up north to Derbyshire as I was writing my book, in search of Pemberley and Lambton. Jane Austen made up these names, but many people think that Bakewell was the inspiration for Lambton, where Lizzy Bennet stays with her aunt and uncle Gardiner when travelling through the Peak District and where she starts to see Mr. Darcy (or Pemberley) in a different light. I wanted to include scenes from Lambton in my own book, and to my surprise my sister booked us in to stay in an old coaching inn at Bakewell, The Rutland Arms, where they have a room which they claim Jane Austen stayed in. I don't know whether the evidence for this is very strong, but it's a lovely idea.

The inn is very old; from our window we had a lovely view of Bakewell, and the sitting room conjured up images of days long ago. We travelled in late November; I remember sparkling, frosty days, blue skies and mists in the valley - and sitting by a roaring fire when inside - perfect!

Not far away, one of the fascinating places we visited was the Red House Stables Working Carriage Museum. It was in the middle of winter and as we were the only people there that afternoon, we were able to really explore the place and completely monopolise one of the lovely staff who told us all about the adventures they'd had working in lots of television and film. I was especially interested to hear that some of the carriages had been used for the 1996 adaptation of Pride and Prejudice, starring Jennifer Ehle and Colin Firth.

We certainly had a lovely time on our ‘northern tour’, sampling the delights of the landscape and the famous Bakewell Pudding!

Mr. Darcy's Secret

One dark secret can completely ruin a bright future...


After capturing the heart of the most eligible bachelor in England, Elizabeth Bennet believes her happiness is complete-until the day she unearths a stash of anonymous, passionate love letters that may be Darcy's, and she realizes just how little she knows about the guarded, mysterious man she married... Excerpt

Buy: Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Chapters Indigo 

###

Jane Odiwe is the author of Mr. Darcy's Secret, Willoughby's Return, and Lydia Bennet's Story. She lives in High Barnet, North London, and Bath, England, with her husband, three children, and two cats.


In 2003, her obsession with all things Austen really took off when she wrote and illustrated a little book, 'Effusions of Fancy, consisting of annotated sketches from the life of Jane Austen in a style entirely new,' which is a light hearted celebration of Jane Austen's early life, in letters and paintings. In 2007, Jane was thrilled to be asked if Sony Pictures could use her Jane Austen illustrations in a short film; a biography feature about the author on The Jane Austen Book Club DVD.

It was a short step to writing her first novel, Lydia Bennet's Story, a sequel to Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice. Her lifelong dream of becoming a published author came true when Sourcebooks editor, Deb Werksman, rang her one cold, December evening asking to meet her in London the next day to discuss publication. Sourcebooks published Lydia Bennet's Story in October 2008.

Mr Willoughby's Return, a Sequel to Sense and Sensibility, was published in autumn 2009. Mr Darcy's Secret is to be published in February 2011, and Jane is contributing to a short story anthology, Jane Austen Made Me Do It, to be published by Ballantine Books, autumn 2011. 

WRITING WITH CATS

My guest says she started writing when she was seven about an abandoned puppy. At nine, Anjali created a “series of mysteries and adventures with preposterous premises and impossible plots.”

It appears the desire to write has remained a constant in her life and she has graduated to writing both adult fiction and YA. Including her latest, Haunting Jasmine.

Please welcome Anjali Banerjee to Over Coffee.

She has also brought her Muses: Luna, Simon, Teddy, Cheyenne and Ruby. Aren't they gorgeous. All writers need cats, lol!

Luna

Help.

I’m stuck in a dark house during a storm-induced power outage – surrounded by cats. As I lie under the covers, trying to stay warm, typing this blog entry on a lightweight netbook computer with an emergency flashlight propped on the keyboard, my eighteen-pound tabby cat, Luna, is climbing onto my chest. She keeps licking my hand and trying to burrow under my armpit. Our smaller ragdoll cat, Cheyenne, just jumped onto the windowsill, scrambled for a foothold, and fell to the floor. Our sleek black kitten, Ruby, sleeps in a basket on the bureau. Oops, not any more. She leaped down onto the bed, then to the floor and sauntered off. Simon, a rather large, orange and white male tabby, has left through a secure tunnel into a safe outdoor enclosure, where he makes believe that he’s defending a vast territory.



Teddy

 I hear Teddy, our fluffy Maine coon kitty, scraping the litterbox to cover his latest fragrant droppings. I have to decide whether to interrupt my writing process and scoop the litterbox, or endure the pungent scent of cat poo while I work.

I choose to scoop. Be right back.

Yes, I live and work in a circus of cats – five, to be exact. They graciously allow my husband and me to live in this small rambler in the woods on the Olympic Peninsula in Washington State. We’re charged with feeding the fur people, loving them, brushing them, clipping their claws, providing them with fresh running water and clean litterboxes, and generally catering to their every whim. Occasionally, they allow me to work and write so that I might make a living and continue to, um, feed them.

It’s not easy.

This morning, while I raced to complete a project on deadline, Luna threw up a hairball on the bedcovers. Decision time again. Clean hairball or keep on working? I chose to clean up the hairball.



Cheyenne

 Then Cheyenne hissed at Ruby, and Ruby skidded down the hall and crashed into the wall. I had to comfort her. Teddy climbed onto my keyboard and batted around a pen or two.

So I moved my laptop to another room, thinking I might get a little peace, but no… as the computer was booting up, I walked away for a few moments. Mistake. When I returned, Ruby was sitting in front of the keyboard, her innocent gaze focused on a blue screen. In only a few seconds, she had managed to crash my computer. I somehow got it working again after three reboots.

If cats are so difficult, why do I live with them?



Ruby and Anjali


Luna has settled down next to my leg. She’s a warm, purring ball of fluff - loyal, sweet, loving fluff with affectionate green eyes. She never cares what I look like or what mood I’m in. She just wants to be close and to be loved. And Ruby, my little intelligent gem of a black cat, curls up next to me and gazes into my eyes with the wise soul of an ancient goddess. The cats make me laugh with their antics, and they give unconditional love while asking little in return, relatively speaking. Cats know how to meditate, to eat when they’re hungry, sleep when they’re tired, and play when they feel playful – they experience the world in a pure, joyful way.

They are also my muses. They find ways to sneak into my books. In my children’s novel, Seaglass Summer, a young girl learns that her idealistic dream to become a veterinarian can bring sadness – when an old kitty passes away – as well as satisfaction. In my novel for adults, Invisible Lives, my heroine tests the quality of a man by his reaction to her cats.

In my new release, Haunting Jasmine, Jasmine Mistry, an overworked L.A. businesswoman, agrees to run her aunt’s bookstore on a rainy Pacific Northwest island while her aunt is away in India. Little does Jasmine know that the bookstore, in a cluttered Victorian mansion, is haunted by the ghosts of dead authors, who help her to slow down, reinvent her life, fall in love with a mysterious stranger… and adopt two shelter cats, of course.

In my current novel in progress, a cat graduates from cameo role to central character, helping a young widow emerge from her isolation and find love -- on the same Pacific Northwest island.

After all, what would a story be without cats?

But how does one balance the good and the difficult – the at once loving, muse-like qualities and disruptive tendencies of cats? My husband helps, when he’s home. We provide outdoor enclosures - play areas for the cats - and toys, cat beds and condos. When we adopted Ruby as a kitten, we also adopted a male kitten, Teddy, of roughly the same age. The two kittens bonded, sleeping together and playing together. I write while the cats are resting, or I close my office door.

Sometimes, though, I simply have to leave the house. I write in a friend’s office, or I go to a café. It’s always a balancing act - a little of this, a little of that. But isn’t that what life is all about?

As I close this blog entry, my husband and two cats are asleep here on the bed, allowing me to write. The wind is howling, and the power is still out. The battery is about to run down on this netbook computer, so I’d better shut down for now.

Haunting Jasmine

Divorcée Jasmine Mistry is intent on restarting her life when she gets the chance to do just that. A call from the past brings her home to Shelter Island, a green dot in the middle of Puget Sound, to run her beloved aunt's bookstore. The familiarity is heartening – the rocky beaches, pewter skies, country boutiques, and above all, Auntie’s Bookstore, nestled in a quaint Queen Anne Victorian, and believed, not incidentally, to be haunted.


With that knowledge, Jasmine embarks on a mystical journey, urged along by her quirky family, guided by the highly emotional spirits of long-dead authors, and moved to heal her broken heart when she falls unexpectedly in love with an enigmatic young stranger. He knows about blurring the lines between truth and fantasy. In redefining the meaning of everlasting love, he urges Jasmine to reinvent herself in a place she calls home. All she has to do is close her eyes and say yes.  Excerpt

Buy: Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Books a Million

Anjali Banerjee was born in India, raised in Canada and California and received degrees from the University of California, Berkeley. Her books have received accolades in many review journals and newspapers. The Philadelphia Inquirer called her young adult novel, Maya Running (Wendy Lamb Books/Random House) "beautiful and complex" and "pleasingly accessible." The Seattle Times praised Anjali's novel for adults, Imaginary Men (Downtown Press/Pocket Books) as "a romantic comedy equal to Bend it Like Beckham."
 
Anjali loves hiking, reading, watching movies, supporting local animal welfare organizations, feeding birds, and playing piano. She lives in the Pacific Northwest, in a cottage in the woods, with her husband and five rescued cats.

You can find Anjali: Facbeook and Website



Sweet Simon



Photo Credits: Carol Ann Morris -Author bio picture, Anjali and Ruby, and Teddy. Reprinted with permission.

MONDAY'S MUSINGS: Adventurous Odds And Ends

Magic happens when you open a book...

This is going to be a quick post. Mainly because the brain just isn’t up to anything particularly entertaining and I think Theraflu, on the whole, isn’t conducive to clarity of thought. Or at least mine isn’t. Hmmm, maybe I should have added some bourbon or a good scotch…Nah, I’d probably fall asleep over my keyboard, or start babbling in a foreign language. But then given my week that might not be such a bad thing.

I’ve read a few really good books and will be posting some reviews soon. Some four and five star reads too. Like the laugh out loud Linda Wisdom story, Demons are a Girls Best Friend, or the fabulous love story from Olivia Cunning, Rock Hard. Elaine Coffman gave me a real treat with The Return Of The Black Douglas and I had a grand time visiting renaissance Scotland. Didn’t want to come home, either.

I also have some other *adventures* lined up to go on as well. And isn’t it a grand thing to have books take one to different points of history and introduce you to the culture and the people of the time. I love a well done, richly detailed historical and I’ll be visiting Renaissance Italy, with The Second Duchess, Elizabeth Loupas, and going back in time to visit North America of the early 1400’s, with The Dawn Country Michael and Kathleen O’Neal Gear—love their stories. Both Elizabeth and the Gears will be guests later next month.

Wednesday, you’ll want to stop by and visit a bit with Anjali Banerjee—and her darling cats. I’ll be sharing an excerpt of her latest adult fiction, Haunting of Jasmine. Friday, Jane Odiwe will be visiting with some discovered letters, which harbor some dark secrets in Mr. Darcy’s life— Mr. Darcy's Secret.

Your turn.

Where have you *been* recently via a good book? Any fun books you’d recommend?

WRITER ON THE RUN

You’ve probably heard, Paul McCartney’s song, BAND ON THE RUN, at some point in your life. There is a certain sense of urgency to get out of where ever they are to freedom. To escape.

Much like my guest today, Jenyfer Matthews.

 You’ll remember the last time she visited (The Reluctant Trailblazer), she was living in Cairo, Egypt the past five years and living abroad for the past ten years. Anyone who has watched the news of late knows of the unrest and change of regimes happening in Egypt. Jenyfer shares some thoughts and observations on her Blog. Scary times to live in a foreign county and especially as an American.


Evacuation is never fun. It’s fraught with a sense of urgency and danger, worry over those in your family and pets, hard choices of those things to take and those to leave, a list of things to remember, and all this with a deadline over your head.


Jenyfer shares what it was like to have to condense the life of a family into four suitcases and run.



There’s a common game: what would you grab if your house was on fire and you only had five minutes to get out? I had a little more time, but recently had such an experience in real life when my family was evacuated from Cairo, Egypt with very little notice.

A friend called me from the US State Department and told me to go to the airport as soon as I could - and that we should be prepared for only one checked bag each, no carry-ons. We had lived abroad for a decade, five of which were in Cairo. I had to decide in a hurry what was important enough to fit into four suitcases.

I backed up my laptop on to an external hard-drive to preserve precious photos of our children and our travels and also my manuscripts. I packed nearly all of my jewelry, making sure that I got the special items from my late MIL, mother, and grandmothers on both sides. I packed the negatives from the baby pictures as well as the journals I’ve been keeping for each child from the time they were toddlers. All that in addition to a selection of warm clothes for each family member – wherever we were to end up, it was likely to be cold.

Most things we have accumulated I dismissed without thought – clothes can be replaced as can dishes and knick-knacks. I would miss the tea set and the Buddha statues I had purchased on trips to Cambodia as well as paintings and tapestries collected over the years, but they were not a priority – neither were our beautiful carpets. The only items that caused me more than a few pangs at leaving were the many quilts that I’ve made over the last decade. Anyone who crafts understands that you put your heart as well as time into each item. I can only hope that my house doesn’t literally burn down and that they can be recovered in time.

I packed every scrap of currency we had, spare change from several trips, as well as an accordion file full of vital documents, including birth certificates and vaccination records. I also made a few mistakes in my haste – such as packing both of my son’s toothbrushes but none for my daughter and my e-reader but no charger. (I boarded a plane for the first time in a decade with no reading material at all, not that I could concentrate to read) I did not bring a rubber band for my hair and ended up pulling it back with a couple of Silly Bandz donated by my daughter. Some choices were purely sentimental. I left behind a beautiful red patent leather purse my husband bought me as a gift on a trip to Italy but brought along a pair of leather sandals that I wore when I left the United States for the United Arab Emirates in 1999 and that came on many travels with me, including my first visit to Egypt as a tourist. I won’t wear them anytime in the coming months, but it seemed wrong to leave them behind now. I took a black evening bag and a set of cut glass salt and pepper shakers that belonged to my grandmother but left behind a heavy wool cape given to me by a dear friend which would have been infinitely more useful but would have taken up too much space.

How do you condense the life of a family into four suitcases?

I feel like the heroine of one of my own novels at the moment – unexpectedly losing nearly everything and having to rebuilt their life when they least expect it. I hope that for the majority of you such a scenario remains a party game, but is interesting to notice how quickly the “stuff” you have accumulated over time becomes meaningless when you have to prioritize and choose.

• What would you save if you only had 24 hours and one suitcase per family member?

ONE CRAZY SUMMER BLURB:

Summer Donahue is not Ben Martin’s type of woman. Ben is conservative, thoughtful and the model of self-control. Summer is whimsical, spontaneous and just a bit flaky. So why, when she breezed into his office like a tropical storm, was he so instantly and inexplicably attracted to her?

Summer consulted Ben to have her business’s taxes done. But when it comes to light that Summer’s ex-husband and ex-accountant Malcolm has embezzled most of her liquid assets and put her on the brink of bankruptcy, Ben throws aside all of his iron-clad rules about getting personally involved with his clients. Summer and Ben go to Mexico to find her ex and save her business. But in the process Ben loses more to Summer than his personal credo — he loses his heart as well. Excerpt

“Fans of Jennifer Crusie will love Jenyfer Matthews’ fresh, fun voice. ONE CRAZY SUMMER is contemporary romance at its best.” Gemma Halliday

Buy: Amazon, Smashwords

Jenyfer Matthews writes books for fun. She is an American currently living in Cairo, Egypt. Aside from writing, she's married, a mom of two under ten, a decent (if reluctant) cook, an encyclopedia of random scientific / medical facts, a wine lover (but not a snob!), and a Capricorn. She loves to travel, spend time with good friends, and laugh at life's surprises. View of life - definitely half full.

You can visit her blog, Writing News & Disconnected Thoughts and her Website. You can find her available books and the excerpts,  here.

STORIES ARE LIKE PUPPIES

It’s my pleasure to have, Deborah Coonts, visiting with us Over Coffee. She describes her writing as “sexy, wry, romantic, and slightly naughty mixed with a little murder and mayhem—shaken, not stirred—then illuminated by the bright lights of Las Vegas.”

She is an overnight success—by way of 15 years of bad writing and learning her craft. Sounds familiar. :-)

So how did she find her voice and style? What made this story worth publishing where her other stories weren’t. Deborah shares a bit about her journey to publication.



For a long time I wanted to be Sandra Brown. Okay, I didn’t actually want to be her, I just wanted to trade jobs with her… and paychecks…and, well, maybe wardrobes, but that’s all, I swear. But, have you seen her husband? He was the sports guy on Channel Eight when I was growing up---serious crush. Sandra was the weather girl. The weather girl and the sports guy, it’s great isn’t it? I couldn’t write it as well.

As it turns out, I can’t write like Sandra Brown either.

Oh I tried. My first romantic suspense effort was an international intrigue mish-mash of long-winded backstory, a plot with more black holes than a Star Trek movie, purple prose and nauseating descriptions. Absolute drivel. I’m pretty sure I’ve destroyed every copy. I’d rather find myself naked on the Internet than have anyone read that thing.

My second effort was a bit better—something about a small town Colorado lawyer, single parent with a small son. Curiously, I was a small town Colorado lawyer on my own with a small son. To say the whole story bored me is a gross understatement. Writing it was like Groundhog Day. Didn’t I just do this? Didn’t my son just say that? My life wasn’t nearly exciting enough to live it over and over.

But, I had no more stories. Nada. Nothing. Zip. Zilch. The well was dry.

Briefly I thought of resorting to mind-altering substances to jump-start my muse. We all know about those creative personalities, don’t we? But as a tax lawyer, creativity was a go-straight-to-jail card. And that whole single-parent thing didn’t mesh too well with a life spent in an alcohol-induced haze. So I did what everybody in that position does: I took a job doing something I had absolutely no idea how to do and for which I was peculiarly unqualified.

I became a humor columnist for a national magazine.

I know, what was I thinking? I can’t tell you how many times during those years I asked myself just that. But, I kept churning out columns that were EXACTLY 1100 words. And I learned. I learned to write tight. I learned what was funny. Actually, I learned more from being scolded when readers thought what I wrote WASN’T funny AT ALL. I learned I am way more hambone than I ever imagined. And I rediscovered my infatuation with a good belly laugh. I’d forgotten. But, I still didn’t have a story.

Until I threw everything out the window.

Every rule I’d been told about writing novels, every suggestion, the whole write-what-you-know-thing, the wanting-to-be-Sandra-Brown thing, which was an example of the write-what-you-read thing, all of it, out the window. I opened my heart…and nothing but the wind blew through. Oh, I felt lighter, unfettered, a veritable ball of iconoclastic optimism, a renegade writer waiting to be told what to do. Yup, still hadn’t quite gotten the point.

One summer afternoon, I was sitting on a bench at the Grand Lake Lodge on the west side of Rocky Mountain National Park. The sun balanced on the mountain range to the west. The air was still. I could hear the hummingbirds zinging by. The day had quieted. Even the boats on the lake bobbed at anchor, their engines silenced. I shut my eyes and leaned by head back, luxuriating in the warmth of the fading sun. Softly, a voice whispered through my brain. The voice belonged to a young lady named Lucky O’Toole and she wanted to tell me her story. I smiled as she talked and I imagined her world—a huge resort/casino on the Las Vegas strip. I imagined her history—a mother who ran a brothel, of course. Hey, it’s Sin City, right? And her best friend—a straight female impersonator who just wants to get the girl. Would he have trouble? How would women perceive him? How would Lucky respond to a guy with better legs than hers?

Just like a puppy picks it’s owner, MY story found me.

The minute I began listening and taking notes, I became the author equivalent to the Whoopi Goldberg character in Ghost—listen to one character and all of a sudden there were hundreds shouting to be heard. All of them were like puppies wanting to run in any direction other than the one I wanted, peeing on my foot when I’m not listening, refusing to budge until I give a little and go where they want to take me. They’ve taught me to trust my instincts, go with the flow. Since that day, it’s been my sincere delight to be able to herd them into a novel, then a sequel, and a third. Now, a fourth is coming together.

You know what’s funny about the whole thing? I had written the first line to what became WANNA GET LUCKY? five years before Lucky whispered in my ear. It was there all along, but I hadn’t listened… hadn’t found the courage to listen. I mean, humorous first-person stories are devilishly difficult. What kind of nut tackles that right out of the box?

This kind of nut, as it turns out. It turns out I’m not Sandra Brown; I’m me. Who knew?


Are you trying to be someone else? What story is in your heart, but you are afraid to write?

LUCKY STIFF (Hardcover 368 pages)


Lucky O’Toole—head of Customer Relations at premier megaresort the Babylon—thinks its just another night in Las Vegas. A tractor-trailer has spilled its load of millions of honeybees, blocking not only the Strip but the entrance to her hotel…The district attorney for Clark County—apparently the odd man out of a threesome on the twelfth floor—is hiding in the buff in one of the hotel’s laundry rooms…And Numbers Neidermeyer—one of Las Vegas’s less-than-savory oddsmakers—is throwing some major attitude at Las Vegas’ ace private investigator, the beautiful Jeremy Whitlock.


The next day, Lucky discovers Ms. Neidermeyer had been tossed into the shark tank at the Mandalay Bay Resort as a snack for the Tiger shark. When the police show up with a hastily prepared search warrant, applied for by the district attorney himself, and Jeremy lands in the hot seat, Lucky realizes her previous night was far from routine.


Amid the chaos of fight weekend, the Babylon’s hiring of a new, eccentric French chef, and her madam mother’s scheme to auction off a young woman’s virginity, Lucky is drawn into a deadly game that will end only when she discovers who made fish food out of Numbers Neidermeyer.


Lucky O’Toole and fabulous Las Vegas—life doesn’t get any better. Excerpt

Buy: Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Books-A-Million

~*~*~*~

 

My mother tells me I was born a long time ago, but I'm not so sure--my mother can't be trusted. I do know that I was raised in Texas on barbeque, Mexican food and beer. I currently live in Las Vegas where family and friends tell me I can't get into too much trouble. Silly people. I have owned my own business, been a tax lawyer and a flight instructor, and have survived a teenager. And now, I make stuff up for a living.

Each day I sit in the front window at my favorite Panera and play with my imaginary friends. My SO is a psychologist and he tells me that many of his colleagues would consider me an annuity. I can live with that. Thankfully, he can too.

I write a mystery series set in Las Vegas--funny, sexy and romantic. I've been told they are comedic thrillers--sounds like an oxymoron to me, but you get the drift. The first in the series, WANNA GET LUCKY?, came out May 2010. The second, LUCKY STIFF, will be available February 15th, 2011. With the third, SO DAMN LUCKY, to follow.
 
You can find Deb: Facebook, Twitter, and her Website
 

A JOYOUS HEART

~Jill Lynn Anderson~

Ross brushed his hand down the length of his silk tie, thinking how appropriate its smooth texture was for the occasion.

He heard his front door open. David, he knew. Only his older brother would have the audacity to walk into his house uninvited.

“Yo.” David gave Ross the once over. “Thought you had casual day Fridays.”

“I’m not going to work. I’m flying to Denver.”

“Ah.” David grinned. “Finally going to meet the mysterious Stephanie.”

“She’s not a mystery.” Ross smiled. “And I’m more than meeting her.” He pulled the ring box out of his pocket. “I’m proposing.”

David’s eyes widened. “Marriage?”
“Is there really any other kind of proposal?” Ross’s smile brightened. “Yes, marriage.”


“Are you out of your mind?” David rushed toward him, arms flapping in agitation. “You haven’t even met her in person.”


Ross shrugged. “Don’t have to. I love her. She’s the one.”


“Ross, people don’t fall in love over the phone!”


Ross let out a grieved sigh. His friend Carlos had the same reaction to the news. Ross refused to justify his actions to Carlos, but David was his brother. And he’d become Stephanie’s brother-in-law if she accepted his proposal.

Ross fought to keep annoyance out of his voice. “How many times have you told me you married Linda because she’s your best friend?”


David fell onto the couch as if weighted by bewilderment. “Ross, this is crazy.”

“Answer my question,” Ross demanded. “How many times?”

“I don’t know. A dozen.”

“More like dozens. My point is Stephanie’s my best friend.”


“And you know this from talking to her on the phone?” he groaned. “Come on.”

“Yes! We’ve talked every day for a year. For hours every night.”


“Over the phone, though!”

“Yes, but so what? I don’t see what difference that makes. I know I’ve shared more of myself with her than with any other woman. I know I’m in love.”

Ross put his hand on his chest to feel the joyous beat of his heart. “I feel it here.”

 “Indigestion. Dude, chew some antacids.” David’s chuckle broke the tension between them.


Ross smiled. “No, it’s love.”

“Okay,” David said, calmer. “But why the rush to propose? Why not meet and make sure you’re compatible? Get to know each other?”

“I already know we’re compatible, and I already know everything about her. I know she’s brilliant. I know she’s compassionate. I know she’s independent. I know she laughs at ‘knock knock’ jokes. I know she cries at the opera. I know she loves her dog. I know--”

“Fair enough, but, bro, what if she’s… ” David gulped. “What if she’s fat? What if she’s toothless? What if--?”

“Looks don’t matter.”


David cocked an accusing eyebrow. “To you? Since when?”


Ross had to admit David had him there. Blessed with good looks, Ross’s handsome face had attracted a good many fashion models, and he’d once dated a beauty pageant contestant. When she was named first-runner up rather than winner, Ross lost interest. Such conceit he once had. But that was then, this was now. His love for Stephanie had made him a different man. A better man. He knew it without doubt, but he’d miss his plane if he explained it in detail to David. “Trust me, our looks don’t matter to each other.”


David shook his head, doubt still etched in his face. “Then if I can’t talk you out of this, I hope she’s sensible enough to say no.”

Ross’s heart thumped. David had pinpointed Ross’s one fear. Ross didn’t care if David thought he was crazy, but he cared if Stephanie did. He hadn’t told her he was coming. He wanted to surprise her. What if she thought his actions irrational?


Ross calmed himself on the plane by replaying all their phone conversations in his head. She worked at the same brokerage firm as his friend, and when Ross dialed the wrong extension one day Stephanie answered. Something about her voice enchanted Ross. The way she enunciated words so properly. The calm, yet not overly soft, tone of her voice. The way he could tell she was smiling. And, mostly, the joyous beat of his heart each time they spoke. I feel it here. Ross placed his hand over his heart.


Once in Denver, Ross rented a car and drove directly to a florist so he could present Stephanie with a bouquet of her favorite flowers--peonies. He held the pink bundle to his nose and knew instantly why Stephanie held such affection for them. Ross smiled and whispered to himself. “Say yes, Stephanie, and I promise I’ll fill each of your days with flowers.”


Mustering all the courage his twenty-seven years had awarded, he walked into the brokerage firm.


“Hello.” The receptionist smiled and nodded toward the bouquet. “I don’t suppose those are for me?”

Ross grinned. “No, sorry.”

The receptionist inhaled. “They smell heavenly. Who’s the lucky woman?”


“Stephanie. Stephanie Raymond.”


“Oh my gosh.” She jumped to her feet. “Are you her Ross?”


Ross smiled. Her Ross. He liked the sound of that. “Yes.”


“Oh, she’s going to be thrilled. I’ll call her out.” She dialed. “Stephanie. There’s a client out here for you.” She winked at Ross.


Tears touched Ross’s eyes as Stephanie approached. She looked as lovely as Ross imagined she would. Strawberry-blonde curls graced a heart-shaped face. A soft smile played on kissable lips. Thin, but with sensual curves, her gait was steady and sure--as aided by the seeing-eye dog Ross knew was ever-present at her left side. Ross wanted nothing more than to be the companion at her right.


Her smile brightened. “Ross? Is it you?” She held out her hand.


Ross grasped her hand, knew by the loving touch of her fingers she would say yes. “How did you know it was me? The smell of the peonies?”


She placed her hand over her heart. “No, I feel it here.”


Ross pulled her into his embrace. His love. His life. His Stephanie.

Jill Lynn Anderson has published several short stories. Jill writes mainstream and romance fiction in a little office in her petite home located in an itsy-bitsy Pennsylvania town. To compensate for all the smallness, she thinks and dreams BIG.   You can also find Jill on FaceBook

HEART GIFT

~Beth Hill~

Jeffrey stood in front of her house, stretching his neck to see over the freshly painted fence.

She was in there. Belinda. Belinda Allison Palmer.

He knew, because he’d followed her home. From half a block behind and on the other side of the street. He’d watched her skip with Patty. Watched as she played with Mrs. Tenney’s Golden Retriever. Thor had tumbled in the high grass while Belinda laughed and laughed.

And sparkled.

Her hair sparkled in the bright sunshine, so shiny that Jeffrey wanted to close his eyes, but didn’t. No, he liked that sparkle and shine. It made him feel sparkly himself, on the inside. He’d never felt sparkly before.

Belinda’s wrist sparkled too. Jeffrey grinned, knowing he’d made that happen, given Belinda a sparkly wrist. Well…given her a bracelet. She’d put it on and shown it to everyone at school, including the principal.

TJ had laughed at him, called him a sissy girl lover. Jeffrey’d wanted to hit him. But Belinda had pulled him away and pressed her lips to his ear. She’d whispered thank you so softly that Jeffrey had to screw his eyes closed to hear. With closed eyes, he’d still seen her face, soft and pretty. He could trace the pattern of freckles on her cheeks. And he knew that her eyes were just as sparkly as the fake—no, faux, Mom called them faux—diamonds that circled her wrist. Something inside Belinda brightened everything around her. And Jeffrey wanted that bright heat on him. ’Cause when Belinda looked at someone that way she had, fire shooting from her eyes, then that person would never be plain and normal. No, he would be alive and full of fizz. And strong. Jeffrey was strong when Belinda smiled at him.

Jeffrey leaned into the fence. He’d followed her home to see if she’d take the bracelet off or play with it or throw it away or…

Mrs. Palmer came out with Belinda, hugging her. The two of them sat on the porch swing—it squeaked as they rocked. He scooched down to peek through the fence slats.

She was twisting her arm around, showing off his present! Jeffrey’s chest relaxed, his smile growing wide. Her mom liked it. But more importantly, Belinda liked it. Enough to show her mom. Enough to wear it home. Enough to be excited about a gift one of her friends had called silly.

He didn’t care about her friend or TJ or anyone else. He’d found a way to get Belinda to smile at him that sparkly way. And he planned to make her smile every day.

Forever.

Jeffrey popped up when he heard the door slam. Mrs. Palmer was gone, and Belinda’s hand was on the screen door. She was looking down, away from the sidewalk where Jeffrey stood. He pushed himself higher. What was she doing? She lifted her eyes without warning, meeting his. Then she smiled. And Jeffrey lost his heart.

#

“Hey, Bel? Where’s that bracelet I got you when we were in elementary school? You used to keep it in some old box. What happened to it?”

Belinda straightened from her contortions under the kitchen table and settled her butt on the floor. Why did that man insist on asking questions when she was screwed into the most awkward positions? Scrubbing bubblegum off the underside of the table—ask a question. Head poked up the chimney, arguing with the flue—ask a question. Riding him like a cowgirl on an annual rodeo—ask her a dozen questions!

She pulled on his leg to help herself stand. And then stared into his eyes. Those beautiful, get-lost-forever-in-them eyes. Hell, she didn’t know why he always bugged her when she was busy, but she certainly knew why she put up with it. It was those eyes. And the mouth. The mouth that made promises that both his body and his love had carried through on.

She shivered. The kids were with Mom tonight. They had the entire house—two stories and basement—to play in. And when Jeffrey was in the mood to play, she had a whole lotta fun. She wondered what he’d planned. But unlike him, she didn’t ask. She’d rather be surprised. She felt a tightening in her chest when she thought about the surprise she’d arranged for him. What if he didn’t like it?

Belinda jumped when he pinched her nearly numb butt. “You listening to me, Belinda?”

“Um… Thinking. I know I had it… Last year. I’m not sure…”
“Honey, did you let Jenny play with it? She could’ve broken or lost it. Damn, Bel, you know there are things the kids shouldn’t get into. What were you thinking?”

Thinking she was getting her daughter into trouble for no reason. What had she been thinking? Jeffrey was sentimental. That bracelet tied them in a way she had never been able to understand. Three strands of glittering beads, repaired half a dozen times, spoke love and commitment and something soul-deep for Jeffrey. As if they were a testament to their devotion.

She wiped away his frown with a caress. No, her surprise couldn’t wait for candlelight and a sexy dress, soft music and perfume.

“Sit.” She pushed him onto one of the kitchen chairs.

“It’s okay, Bel. I wasn’t mad. It’s just—”

“Hush. My turn.” She watched him, one eyebrow lifted. He covered his mouth and slumped into the chair.

Belinda stepped through the maze that was the kitchen floor—Legos and dump trucks and candy wrappers. She sighed. This was certainly not the most romantic Valentine’s Day, no matter how diligently she’d planned.

She reached into the cabinet that held her cookbooks, recipe boxes, and baking supplies. Pulled out an old, tin box. She returned to Jeffrey, knowing he’d watched her. She’d have to reward him for not asking what she was up to.

“I know how you feel about the bracelet.” She sank to her knees, resting one palm on his leg. “How it says love for you. And because that love has always been so deep and safe and freeing, I wanted to share it.” She felt his thigh jump under her hand. “Not give it away. Share. With those created by that love.”

She lifted the tin to his lap and opened it. She drew out the three velvet pouches that had been stuffed within.

“I had the bracelet taken apart—so each of them would have part of the original. And I asked the jeweler to make three identical bracelets based on that first one. For the kids, Jeffrey.” She looked up at him, throat tight, hands shaking. Would he understand what she’d done? Or think she’d destroyed something precious? “One for Jenny, so she’d know the love her parents had, and when she’s older, the passion as well.” She rose higher, gripping his knees. “And one each for the boys. So that maybe one day they’ll give a girl a gift, a gift that tells her how very cherished she is by a special boy.” Her throat closed up. “I’m so sorry. I wanted to show our children love, and instead I’ve ruined your favorite memory.” Hot tears blurred her vision.

Jeffrey yanked Belinda closer, lifting her until her head was nestled next to his heart.

“God, Belinda, you show them that every day. We show them love. It’s in your hands when you soothe them and when you caress me. It’s in your voice when you correct their mistakes.” He tightened his arms. “It’s in your eyes, when they sparkle. God, honey, when they sparkle with life and joy and that thing that makes you… My heart. My life.” He cradled her face, stared into her eyes. “You are love in every movement you make, every word you speak.” He kissed her once softly and then with passion. When they finally broke the kiss, he rested his forehead against hers.

“I’m overwhelmed by what you’ve done with the bracelet. It’s a symbol, a powerful symbol, but it’s not our love. We haven’t broken that apart. You’ve only made it stronger.”

He slid her off his lap before standing himself.

“Wait here.”

He stepped down the hall and into the garage. When he returned, he carried a jeweler’s box. “I should have done this long ago. You are worth so much more than shiny beads and string.” He eased open the box. “More than diamonds too, but I wanted—”

Belinda threw herself at him and wrapped her arms around his neck.

There, highlighted on a bed of black velvet, sat a triple-strand bracelet of diamonds and sapphires.

“They’re sparkly.” She twisted until she could see the box and then reached out a shaking hand. “They’re so sparkly.”

“I told the guy I needed something that shined as bright as my wife.” He grinned. “This was the best he could do.”

And that was all right. Because what could ever match the brilliance of their love?

Or the fire of their hearts?

Beth is an editor and a fiction writer (contemporary romance and medieval adventure). Her undergraduate degree is in psychology, her MBA in human resources. Beth trained as a flight attendant; worked in dinner theatre; managed a dance studio, a framing store, and multitudes of volunteers as a church administrator. These experiences, as well as many others, have given her a broad base for both her editing and her own writing.
Beth Hill writes fiction and loves words. She thinks that being a writer is the most satisfying and best job, hobby, career, and/or addiction one can pursue.

You can reach Beth at her website, A Novel Edit or her blog, The Editor's Blog