When it seemed like everyone around Anthony Fender was reaching a goal or falling in love, he blamed an early midlife crisis for throwing him far outside of his comfort zone. Nashville was a long way from New York and his everyday life that’d lost all color lately.
Hopefully, this vacation would reenergize him, and maybe a cooking class with celebrity chef August King could end Anthony’s reign as the only Italian in Brooklyn who couldn’t boil water. But when he met August and his much younger husband Camden, every plan and all rational thought flew out the window. Their dynamic grabbed hold of Anthony and reeled him in before he even heard the magic word.
“Daddy.”
You’re invited to a barbecue with August King!
As the Franklin Food Festival is right around the corner, August wishes to extend the invitation to join him for a barbecue on Friday night. Perhaps you’ve traveled a long way to Nashville and don’t feel like hunting down a place to grab dinner, or maybe you’re tired after enjoying the first day of the festival. Either way, you’re very welcome to stop by Littlefield Ranch for a small, casual barbecue.
When: 8 p.m.
Who: The participants of the August King Cooking Class (Spouses are welcome.)
Click the link below to RSVP, and we need your response by 11 a.m. on Friday.
We look forward to seeing you!
Best regards,
Clara Pierce
Discomfort tightened in my gut, and I briefly wondered what the fuck I was doing. All this started with a “Why not?” that I was now questioning a shitload. I wasn’t the type to enter contests and giveaways. I hadn’t considered actually winning. There’d been a post by a famous chef asking his followers what they’d last had for dinner, and I’d obviously seen the information for the giveaway. I remembered also thinking, “Huh, that’s the weekend before the music festival.” Then I’d entered my response with a shrug and a “Why not? Let’s see what happens.”
Well, this happened.
This shit was happening.
“Are you gonna tell me why you look like you wanna puke?” Nicky asked blandly.
I didn’t wanna puke. I didn’t know what I wanted. For fucking real? Me, at a barbecue with August King?
As if the cooking class weren’t weird enough.
I’m often awkwardly silent or, if the topic interests me, a chronic rambler. In other words, I can discuss writing forever and ever. Fiction, in particular. The love story—while a huge draw and constantly present—is secondary for me, because there’s so much more to writing romance fiction than just making two (or more) people fall in love and have hot sex.
There’s a world to build, characters to develop, interests to create, and a topic or two to research thoroughly.
Every book is a challenge for me, an opportunity to learn something new, and a puzzle to piece together. I want my characters to come to life, and the only way I know to do that is to give them substance—passions, history, goals, quirks, and strong opinions—and to let them evolve.
I want my men and women to be relatable. That means allowing room for everyday problems and, for lack of a better word, flaws. My characters will never be perfect.
Wait…this was supposed to be about me, not my writing.
I'm a writey person who loves to write. Always wanderlusting, twitterpating, kinking, cooking, baking, and geeking. There’s time for hockey and family, too. But mostly, I just love to write.
Sounds interesting.
ReplyDeleteSounds really good
ReplyDeleteNever too early for a midlife crisis!
ReplyDelete