http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8RWudSDzYJ8

Did You Know?

I don’t know how many you of have seen the movie THE PROPOSAL but I would like to take a moment, here and now, to tell you, in no uncertain terms, that publishing is NOTHING like that. Glamorous? Nope. Fancy offices? Nah uh. An author who doesn’t want be on Oprah? Not a chance!

I may get in trouble for this but I’m going to let you, oh dearly beloved Avon Romance Blog readers, in on the dark and sordid side of Romance Publishing.

Did you know that editors don’t just get to spend the day sitting back on tufted couches reading and editing and munching on bonbons? Usually we do most of that stuff at home–well, the reading and editing part at least. The bonbon munching is optional.

Did you know that, in fact, we spend most of the day answering email, answering the phone, and mailing insane numbers of packages? I took this picture the other day. I had completely blocked the doorway to my office! Each time an author’s book is published in a foreign country, we get copies! And, someone has to make sure they get to the authors! That’s where the editors come in.

Did you know that we use Post-It® Notes like they’re going out of style? When I’ve finished editing a book, one side always looks like it’s wearing a grass skirt! My favorite part of the editing process is when I have finished my second go-through and pulled all of the Post-Its®. Though I often find them stuck to other papers for days after!

Did you know that to send the pictures to my computer, so that I could share my pain with you, I had to go stand in a far corner of Carrie’s office and hold my cell phone next to the window? Glamorous, indeed!

Did you know that no one who looks like Ryan Reynolds works at Avon?

Are there any deep dark publishing secrets you’re dying to have debunked? Let me know!

On The Imminent Demise of Vampires — And My Personal Campaign To Subdue The Flesh-Eating Meath-Breathed Hero

There’s been lots of underground rumblings in romanceland lately that vampires are dying, if not dead.

Well, of course, they’re quite dead, in one literal sense already.  I read a post somewhere today — I don’t for the life of me think I could track down the URL because it was littered amongst the hysteria that is trailing behind the Twilight New Moon release, and that just gives me a massive headache whenever I get within fifty feet of it…but I digress — I read a post today that the modern romance heroine most generally is committing necrophilia in the strict technical interpretation of the word.

Ugh.  There’s a romantic thought.

But put that up against werewolves.  Isn’t the modern heroine committing, well, bestiality, when she cozies up to her Alpha pack mate?

Yeah…it’s easier to just turn a blind eye to the practical interpretations, isn’t it?

On my blog for the last few months, I’ve had a long running very polite discussion with various authors over the pros and cons of vampires vs. werewolves as I’ve tried to discern the fascination readers and authors have had with the flesh-eaters and meaty-breathed, and confess that revelation is still aluding me.

I am still on the side of the vampires.

Dead or dying they might be, but I continue to write vampire stories as I love ‘em to pieces and still find they hold utter fascination for me.  There’s still a ton of worlds and stories for me to explore and pass on to readers, and from the feedback I’m getting from readers on the first book of my Destiny’s Trinities series, it doesn’t sound like vampires are quite ready to disintegrate just yet.

I think they just need to move into the modern world.  That’s why I write erotic urban fantasies.  A vampire in low-rise Nudie designer jeans and aviator sunglasses, watching his prey from the shadows of an alleyway….  Pure menace, pure bad boy.  And nowhere near dead. 

__________

Mia’s Return by Teal Ceagh

The second of my Destiny’s Trinities series, Mia’s Return, came out on November 25, and the third, and final installment, Sera’s Gift, comes out on December 9.  They’re so close together, I’m doing a double-header tour.

____________

Alex has a past he’d rather no one learns about…until Mia returns.

(This is the second book in the series.  The first is Beth’s Acceptance which is now available.)

Now Available.  To buy this book, click here.

ISBN 9781419925351

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Reviews

“Having read the first book I had some expectations of the second that were fulfilled in spades. I adored the tenacity with which Mia sought and found her man, the vivid scenes Ms. Ceagh painted so descriptively, but it was the bonding of the males that intrigued me the most. I must say this was a nicely rounded tale full of some very steamy lovemaking (notice I didn’t label it sex?) and I’m anxious to get the next installment as well as curious to see who the next victims are.”

–Witchgiggles – Alternative Read.com

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Outline

Ten years ago Alexander hungered for Mia Menendez and for a single day they had indulged that passion before tragedy struck. Now Mia is back, but she thinks Alexander died ten years ago, and no man has been able to stir her heart since. The truth could kill her.

Wyatt Whitacker, demon hunter, hates Alexander and all his kind.  But one look at Mia and her pulse-stopping curves and his scarred, angry heart begins to melt and his body to rouse in ways he’s long forgotten.

The bonding has begun…

_______

Excerpt

He considered running down the fire escape stairs to the foyer and avoiding the congestion in the elevators. At this time of day it would take forever. The stairs wouldn’t tax him in the slightest. But it might draw attention to him. So he patiently waited for the elevator and stepped on with a dozen others and moved to the side to give them room.

The elevator stopped on the next floor, with more people getting on but by then his animal instinct was crowding him, making the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He was being watched. His heart thundered.

He made no sudden moves. Instead, as people pushed onto the elevator, he turned so his back was to the side wall of the car, giving him an excuse to look at everyone if he brought his head up.

He lifted his head and looked around.

She was standing on the other side of the car, almost completely obscured by the other riders because she was only just over five foot.

Mia. Shamira Menendez of San Diego, California.

His first aching thought was, You’re so fucking beautiful, Mia.

Then reality caught him in the chest. Mia was staring at him because she thought he was dead. She thought he died ten years ago, in San Diego.

And now she was watching him with tears in her eyes and all he could think about was his swelling cock and his exploding heart and how much he wanted to take up where he had left off…bending her over the counter, sliding his cock into her pussy and making her scream his name.

“Are you all right, sir?”

He tore his gaze away from Mia. “Excuse me?” he said hoarsely. He looked down at the gray-haired lady next to him.

“Your breathing is all funny,” she said. “Are you claustrophobic?”

Others were looking at him now. Becoming the center of attention was never a good thing for a vampire. Zack had drilled that into him. Seaveth was even more of a sergeant about it, now vampires were assimilating into human society. He swallowed. “I’m fine,” he said.

But he wasn’t. He looked at Mia. She was still watching. She knew it was him. There was no way to deny it. No escape. No bluff he could use to fool her. The knowledge gleamed in her eyes.

“Give him room, please,” she said. “Everyone, stand back a bit.” She was stepping closer, taking charge.

They all shuffled back, clearing eighteen inches. Mia squeezed between them and stepped into the space. “Take a deep breath,” she told him, her voice low.

He couldn’t tear his gaze from her face. The tears in her eyes pooled and one fell down her cheek. Just one. But she didn’t wipe it, or show any sign of emotion. Cool, calm, controlled. “We’re nearly there,” she added, speaking for the others in the car, maintaining the illusion of a claustrophobe in full panic mode. She knew as well as he did it was nothing of the sort.

As the doors opened, the others stood back, letting them exit first. She grabbed his lapels and hauled him from the car. He let her, for he stood a foot higher than her and outweighed her by nearly a hundred pounds. But her scent alone was wreathing his head and making his senses reel. Something with vanilla and…grapefruit? He could feel his incisors trying to descend and his mouth filling with vampire saliva to deaden her flesh so she wouldn’t feel the first piercing of his teeth. His cock was pounding with the agonizing need to slam her against the walls of the foyer and fuck her senseless.

He was almost hyperventilating with the dilemma.

Her hand rested on his chest. God, he could feel her heat through her hand. He swallowed.

“You’re supposed to be dead,” she whispered. No hello. No attempt to confirm who he was. She was that sure of him despite ten years.

He couldn’t afford to answer her, to even start the conversation. Instead, he stared at her, soaking up details. She had been eighteen when he left and even at that age, infinitely dangerous to his pulse. Now she was a mature woman and beyond dangerous. He could feel it in his heart, his mind, his cock. His whole body was responding to her like a nuclear magnet. She wore her dark hair down to her shoulder blades but styled in some mysterious fashion that just brushed over one eye and framed her high cheekbones and pointed chin. Her black eyes, still gleaming with tears, with their arched strong brows, were staring at him, giving him no quarter. They never had. And her lips…full, the top one like a cupid’s bow. He had dreamed about kissing those lips and woken sweating in his lonely bed all those years ago when he could sweat. Those lips still looked sweet, the teeth behind them white and beckoning.

Mia was wearing a dress. He had no way to describe it, except to say it wrapped her in roses and made the most of her figure. And she had a figure. Even at eighteen she’d had a figure. He had lusted after it. And in ten years, it had changed very little. Her breasts had not sagged. Her hips had not spread. And her waist was still as tiny as ever. It was that tiny waist he had grabbed as he bent her over the counter…

He realized his heart was thundering in his ears. With her hand on his chest, she must surely feel it too.

She was frowning, staring at him. “You haven’t changed,” she said. “Not at all.” And she stepped back, her hand falling away.

Alexander realized she had seen, then, he had not aged. This was one of the reasons that Zachariah and Diego had insisted he move to New York once Zack had made him.

Mia took another step backward and he could see her doing the mental math.

“Mia,” he began and stopped, mentally cursing. He’d just confirmed he was who she thought he was. Until that moment there had remained the possibility of pretending she’d made an embarrassing mistake. It would have killed him to do it but it would have been a way out. That chance was gone now. He closed his eyes. What a fucking disaster. He opened them again and took a last look at her. Beautiful Mia. She was starting to realize there was something dreadfully wrong. Horror was creeping into her expression. He needed to leave before she began to look at him like the monster he was.

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Sera’s Gift by Teal Ceagh

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Letting go is sometimes the only gift love has left to give.

Release date:  December 9, 2009

ISBN 9781419925511
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Outline

Sera arrives in New York to help Lindál, but a vampeen attack brings her face to face with two men and changes her life forever.

Diego Savage lives up to his name.  Cynical, rebellious and a womanizer, he doesn’t believe in the trinities at all. Only a handful of people know the truth about his scarred heart and terrible past, and it would take a miracle for him to change.  A miracle, or someone like Sera with her special gift.

Blake Harvey, dedicated NYC police lieutenant, takes one look at the tall, supple woman with the crystal blue eyes and glowing skin and knows his life is about to change in ways he can’t even define, but his body is already responding to with a power that is hard to deny.

The bonding has begun…

—-

“Lieutenant!”

Blake jumped and realized he’d fallen asleep in his chair, the same moment he realized it was morning already. He glanced around at his office door. Anna Maria had her head around the door, looking at him. “You clocking off?” he said, glancing at his watch. Six a.m. Her night shift was over.

“You okay, boss?” she asked.

“Long night,” he said, trying to make it sound like he did this all the time. He stood up, stretching carefully, feeling the bones in his neck.

“’Kay. Night, boss.” She let the door shut itself.

He looked out the window. Daylight was trying to break through thunderclouds outside his windows. A soggy, fetid, miserable August day that matched his mood. He glanced at the three in-trays on his desk, all of them overloaded. They stood next to his computer, which was another two hundred and sixty gigabytes of hell screaming at him for attention.

What was happening in his city? Twelve years in the department and he no longer thought he understood New York and its denizens. He’d spent all night doing basic regression analysis. And the numbers frightened him. If things went on this way, New York would turn into an uncivilized all-out crime zone in about six weeks. The police department was slowly losing ground. It just didn’t have the numbers to cope. Rape and murder were the top two favorites, with decapitations being numero uno on the hit parade. But number three on the New York Times Best Seller List right now was Missing Persons. People were vanishing without trace in numbers higher than six hundred percent more than any time in the last three centuries…and that included two world wars, famines and plagues.

And the police couldn’t do a damn thing about it, except record particulars and wait. They were overtaxed by the murders and rapes already. A missing person was a lesser concern.

Blake pushed his hand through his hair. God, what a fucking nightmare.

The other lieutenants in the other departments across the boroughs made light of it. They were mostly older and had seen tough times before and while they all heard the same unsettling rumors about the cults, the gangs, the animalistic behavior, they were in denial. They didn’t want to look at the big picture.

The figures Blake had projected last night didn’t lie, though. Something was going on. But right now he couldn’t see what it was. Despite all the information flowing into his desk, it eluded him. Sometimes, like now when his energy was low, it felt like there was someone else out there manipulating the information that reached him, so that he couldn’t see the truth. Not all of it, anyway.

He bumped his forehead against the window and felt the chill spread across his flesh. It reminded him of how hot and tired he was. He’d been in these clothes for over twenty-four hours. He needed a break. So did his mind. He was slipping into paranoid delusions.

He picked up his jacket and logged off the computer. A few hours sleep, a shower and food, then he’d head back here. Things would look different, then. Maybe.

He clocked out and walked home to his apartment, feeling at odds with the day. Manhattan was just firing up for a busy day of commerce, while he was going home to sleep. He glanced up at the skyscrapers as he passed them. It all looked so innocent and normal.

Who’d’ve thought there was such a time bomb ticking away in her guts?

* * * * *

When Mia came bustling into the boardroom, Alexander felt his heart jump. Even after a year, she still managed to make him pause to catch his breath when she arrived after a small absence. She was here in his life. And she was never going away again.

He kept reminding himself to be thankful to whatever entity or force designed the trinities and chose him to be part of them. Him, Mia and Wyatt. How had he got so lucky? He was careful never to question that good fortune, but to grasp it with both hands and to work his ass off in service of the trinities and Seaveth, in gratitude.

Mia came up to him with the small smile she kept for him and Wyatt alone. “You’re brooding,” she said.

“Guilty.”

“I’ll shake you about it later,” she said. “Right now, we need to head to the keep for the assembly. The car is waiting.” She looked at the huge watch on her wrist. “And Wyatt still hasn’t shown up. Did he call you at all?”

“No call. No text. But he knows he has to be here. He’ll show, Mia. In a year, has he never not shown up for an assembly?”

“There’s always a first time,” she said darkly, thumbing through her Palm Pilot. She had become the staffing agency’s chief executive officer and completely indispensable, running both the private and public personas of the agency like clockwork and liaising with the Earthwing clan’s seniors and Seaveth’s portfolio with seamless efficiency.

Wyatt had returned to hunting but even there, Mia had left her mark, organizing and commercializing his ventures and bringing recruits to his doorstep. Now Wyatt’s hunting was an organized trade, with tools, equipment, partners and income. Wyatt had been stunned that demon hunting could raise revenue in a human world but Mia had shown him how to bring in profit for himself and make it attractive to other demon hunter and vampire investors and just like that, Wyatt had found himself an entrepreneur.

Mia glanced at her watch again. “Time to go. I’ve texted Wyatt and told him to go straight to the keep.” She chewed her lip. “I hope he’s okay.”

Alexander took her face in his hands. “He’ll be fine,” he said softly. “Stop it, Mia.” He kissed her to stop her fretting and slipped his tongue against her lips. He drew back when he tasted blood. “You just fed?”

She blushed. “Sorry, yes. I should have warned you.” This was one of the changes he’d had the hardest time accepting. As a result of the bonding, from time to time, Mia had to feed on blood, like a vampire. She ate normal food and excreted it like a human but every few months or so, like a vampire, she hungered for blood. Alexander had been devastated by the knowledge. Instead, Zachariah and the other vampires had taught Mia how to ingest the artificial blood developed by the clan.

At least she had no incisors. He was spared that.

Alexander hugged her, instead and let her go. “We were running late, I believe?” he reminded her.

“Damn, yes.” She straightened her business skirt back into place and threw him a dirty look. “I wish you would stop kissing me at work. You know I hate that.”

“While I can make you look like a cat on catnip, I’ll keep kissing you whenever you’re within reach,” Alexander growled softly as they hurried through the office to the elevator bank. The armored stretch limousine would be waiting for them in the lower basement. Max, the driver and one of the Earthwing clan, would have the engine running and his bolo tucked between the seat and the door, watching the street ramp. “Zack and Diego aren’t coming with us?” Alexander asked as they passed the other two partner offices without pausing.

Mia shook her head. “Zack is…he wanted to be with Seaveth today. Diego just didn’t show up this morning.” She frowned. Diego’s dedication to playing the role of a normal human was flaky, at best, despite the combined pressure Alexander and Zack tried to exert upon him. Diego had spent centuries unfettered. He was taking a longer time adjusting to Seaveth’s demands for assimilation than most. But they both knew he would be at the full assembly. Even he would not dare risk Seaveth’s wrath by missing that.

“He’ll come around,” Alexander assured her. “Diego is just…” He tried to find the right world.

“Savage,” Mia said succinctly. “I’ve heard the gossip. There’s a reason for his last name.”

“There is,” Alexander said flatly. “But whatever you’ve heard, it’s wrong.”

She glanced up at him, a furrow between her brows but she couldn’t ask him a more direct question for they had reached the foyer and were surrounded by strangers for the ride down to the basement.

In the elevator car, Alexander was swamped by memories of the day Mia had reappeared in his life, here in New York. She swiveled her head to look up at him and smiled and he knew she was thinking the same thing. She pressed closer to him in the crowded car.

She was getting many admiring glances from others in the car, who skimmed her high heels, smart skirt and jacket, silk shirt and shoulder-blade-length hair she refused to either cut or wear up in a bun despite the weather and the hourglass figure that the suit did nothing to hide.

She’s with me, Alexander thought. At last. And he curled his hand around her hip.

The car was empty by the time they reached the last basement and they looked out cautiously. The limousine was waiting as promised. Mia swapped her briefcase over to her left hand and they stepped out, heading for the limousine.

There was a rattle of metal to their right and Alexander turned, his animal instincts flaring. Max was already leaping from the driver’s seat, his bolo in his hand.

But Mia was faster. She had the gun pulled from the holster at the small of her back and out, ready to fire, before Alexander had completed his turn.

Her reactions were faster than his.

She dropped her briefcase and threw her arm out across Alexander’s path to prevent him from moving forward. “Stop. It’s Wyatt,” she said, putting the small caliber gun away again. She ran forward into the shadowy basement and was enfolded by the dark figure there. Alexander could not make out the details but she had been able to. This had been another of her changes. Not only were her reaction times faster than his, she could see and hear better than a vampire.

And Wyatt was stronger than one. She was leading him forward now but he did not look like the strong hunter who had gone off the day before to Quebec to hunt a gargoyle. He was hunched over, an arm to his stomach. Alexander felt his heart seize. He hurried forward.

“What happened?” He and Mia between them bundled Wyatt into the limousine. “The keep, Max.”

“Aye.” Max climbed in and got the long vehicle rolling with minimum fuss, pulling out into the traffic without delay.

Alexander was grateful for the smoked windows and air-conditioning. He and Mia stretched Wyatt on the seat. “What happened?” he repeated again as he tried to pull aside Wyatt’s shirt to see his stomach.

“Demon was working with the gargoyle. The damn things are ganging up together these days.” Wyatt rolled his head back.

“Why aren’t you healing?” Mia cried.

Alexander winced and leaned over to the back of the driver’s seat. “Sorry, family business, Max.” And he hit the button for the privacy screen, which slid up behind the driver’s seat, a blacked-out window of total privacy between them and Max. It was soundproof and bulletproof.

Alexander turned back to Wyatt and looked at the long crimson gashes on Wyatt’s stomach.

“You’re supposed to have vampire healing powers now,” Mia said, tears rolling down her face.

“He does,” Alexander said quietly, studying the wounds. “These were much worse, twelve hours ago.”

Wyatt swallowed and nodded. “A mate drove me down from Ontario through the night. I had trouble convincing him not to take me to hospital in Toronto but when I didn’t die on him right away and was still talking when we hit the New York border he was starting to put it together. He was happy to get rid of me, I think. I scared the crap out of him. And he hunts demons.” He tried to laugh and it turned into a series of coughs that looked painful. He finally took a deep breath and opened his eyes. “God it’s good to see you both.”

Mia threw herself on his chest and Alexander kissed his forehead. Wyatt held Mia to him and eyed Alexander. “I’m guessing the war ain’t over, if the ass-kicking I just took is any measure. No sign of the infamous third trinity?”

He shook his head.

“Fuck.” Wyatt sighed. “The elves are going to eat Seaveth for dinner at the assembly.”

For more information about Sera’s Gift, click here.

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So Many Books: A Confession

My To-Be-Read pile is growing out of control. More than a year ago, my husband and I moved out of our apartment and into our first home. When the movers came, they looked with dismay upon the dozens of “book boxes.” When I unpacked, I looked with dismay on how many of them were filled with unread books. I have unread ARCs from my first visit to BEA in 2006. Some of these books are out of print, and I’ve never touched them. I have unread books from my first visits to my local RWA chapters’ PAN booksignings. Some of these authors have since left the business.

That last bit is terrifying.

I started out with a single TBR shelf on my office bookshelf in my new office. It’s now taken over half the shelves on that particular piece of floor-to-ceiling furniture.

The rise of book review bloggers hasn’t helped. Over half of the book on my shelves are in my possession as a result of good reviews I’ve read online: The Clockwork Heart, Obernewtyn, The Flame and the Shadow, Sugar Rush, Palimpset (heck I even bought the Palimpset soundtrack!). Other are the professional hazards of being a writer and buying the books that are getting all the buzz in your particular genre: Intertwined, Bones of Faerie, Eon: Dragoneye Reborn, Ash, The Possibilities of Sainthood. I’ve made a concerted effort to attend more author events this year as well. Form those I’ve gleaned Bad to the Bone, King of the Screwups, Love you Hate You Miss You, Stargazer, The Seems, Ice, The Stone Child, and many more. (These last provide a special hell of guilt, as I’ve looked the author in the eye, and had them inscribe my name in their book.)

And don’t even talk to me about the books of personal friends. I still haven’t read my mentor’s latest in her series. My agent’s most recent ebook? Bought and sitting there in PDF format on my desktop (I don’t have an e-reader).

There are the books that friends have lent me (a biography of Abigail Adams, an editor friend’s pride and joy of a project), and the classics I somehow never read (why, hello there, Jane Eyre and Mrs. Dalloway — that last a particular source of guilt as Mrs. D was sent to me by a blog reader appalled I didn’t know her).

I need to take a week off to read all these books. Heck, I need to take a month. I need, perhaps, to go on a bit of a book-buying embargo until I can get my reading under control.

And yet, when will I have time to do that? It’s the end of October. I’m gearing up for NaNoWriMo. With my latest deadline off my plate, I’m looking forward to working on a project that’s been stewing on the backburner since February. And then another deadline, another project. And sometimes, it’s hard to read when I’m writing. Sometimes I need to be immersed in my world, my voice, not some other person’s writing, especially if their style is particularly strong or hypnotic (yes Lisa McMann and your sequel FADE, I’m looking at you).

And yet, all I want to do is read. I find nothing more inspiring than discovering a great new book — an extraordinary new book that reminds me why I got into this business int eh first place. That makes me think, wow, I wish I’d written that. That sends me back to my keyboard determined to create a thing of similar beauty and transformation.

What about you? What book (or books) on your TBR pile are making you feel most guilty right now? Go ahead and tell: confession is good for the soul. And how to you deal with the piles of unread books?

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Copyright

Gambling On Love

“Hey, Sexy! Wanna get naked with me?”
Rachel closed her eyes, the rim of her glass just touching her bottom lip. What the hell is wrong with the world when a girl can’t even have a Bloody Mary after work without some self-designated gift to women harassing her?
The jukebox clicked over and started playing There’s a Girl From Texas as she set her glass in the center of the Lone Star coaster and swiveled the bar stool, prepared to shoot a volley at the clod with the clumsy line.
Instead, the dark blue eyes and devilish grin that greeted her brought a slow, welcoming smile to her lips.
“Mac! What are you doing here? Claudia said you wouldn’t be in Galveston until next week.”
Reese “Mac” MacAllister caught Rachel’s concierge jacket before it slid from the back of her stool onto the floor. “Got the chance to get out of Dodge early, so here I am.” He squared the jacket’s shoulders over the stool’s yoke and settled onto the barstool next to her. “From the look on your face, I’m guessing that’s not a great way to pick up a woman.”
Rachel grimaced. “As pick-up lines go, it sucks. Believe me, you don’t want the women you’ll catch fishing with that kind of bait.”
“Once upon a time, I would have agreed with you, but I’m not the hunk I once was.”
Rachel couldn’t have agreed less. At thirty-four, he already had the beginning of laugh lines around his eyes. His chestnut brown hair fell over his forehead, and the ends that curled around his ears begged to be touched. She laced her fingers around her Bloody Mary to keep from reaching out.
Mac smiled playfully. “Couldn’t I just throw back whatever I catch in the morning?”
Could he be having trouble dating? Rachel dismissed that thought. She’d always found him intensely attractive.
And on her best day, way out of her league.
She was not going to make a fool of herself over her best friend’s brother. “You’re just trying to play on my sympathies.”
His eyebrows twitched suggestively. “Is it working?”
“Not even a little.”
“Damn. And here I thought you might do a friend a favor.”
“I suspect you’ve got plenty of women willing to do you that kind of favor.” Rachel unlaced her fingers and took a sip of her drink.
“Not as many as you might think,” Mac said without any self-pity.
The bartender slowed as he passed them on his way to the beer tap. “Hey, Mac. Glad you made it.”
Mac’s fist met Pete’s in a series of hand movements too complicated for Rachel to follow. “Chivas rocks, when you have a chance,” Mac said when they’d finished greeting each other.
When Pete moved down the bar, Mac leaned away to rake Rachel with his gaze. She took another sip of her Bloody Mary to camouflage a sudden attack of nerves. It couldn’t be though. She had no reason to feel that way around Mac. Without revealing a clue about what he was thinking, he leaned forward, caught her chin with his fingers, and tilted her head away from him, checking out her hair. She’d had it cut short. Halle Berry in Die Another Day short. As humid as Galveston got in the summer, Rachel hadn’t had any regrets. Until this moment.
Her neck felt naked and exposed. Goosebumps raced over her skin, lifting the hair on her body, and she fought the urge to hike her shoulders, as though she were a turtle retreating into her shell.
“I like your hair,” Mac said.
She glanced at him, trying to gauge whether he was sincere or just telling a polite lie. The warmth in his eyes reassured her.
“What made you cut it so short?”
She lifted her fingers self-consciously to the nape of her neck. “It just kept . . . getting in my way.”
His eyes tracked the motion of her fingers as she smoothed the dark hair above her neck.
“I was sorry to hear about you and Gloria,” she said, offering her condolences on Mac’s recent divorce, not letting on how stunned she’d been when she’d heard the news from his sister. Whenever Mac and Gloria had come down from Colorado, they’d always looked like one of those golden couples who just fit together.
Mac’s lips compressed as he shifted his gaze to the collection of autographed photos above the top of the backbar’s mirror-generations of them Texas cowboys who’d made good on the rodeo circuit. “Don’t be. We’ve just been going through the motions for a long time now. Probably my fault.”
Rachel took his terse commentary on his marriage as her clue to drop the subject. She sipped her Bloody Mary, searching for some other topic, but he continued, “I spent too much time at the bar. She’d come down sometimes, but when you’re running a tavern, especially one that’s making money, it’s not like you’re really spending time together.” He looked at her sideways as though gauging her reaction. Whatever he saw didn’t make him abandon the topic. “Then she started making friends with the customers. Marriages get real shaky real fast when all your wife’s friends are single.”
Rachel wasn’t sure she bought Mac’s matter-of-fact tone; twelve years was a long time to get over so quickly, and he was offering too many excuses. Not that it was any of her business.
“Doesn’t look like she cleaned you out,” she said, as Pete set Mac’s glass of high-end Scotch on the bar.
Mac nodded his thanks at Pete. “She wasn’t unreasonable.” He took a sip before adding, “At least, we didn’t have to worry about custody battles.”
They would have been great kids though, Rachel thought, plucking the olive from her drink. Gloria had centerfold-quality looks with the added bonus of brains, and Mac was six feet tall with broad shoulders and a wicked sense of humor.
More evidence that he was out of her reach. She stomped down on that thought. Aside from the minor issue that he was only in Galveston for a vacation, he was her best friend’s brother and would be off-limits even if she weren’t an ice queen.
A cynical laugh echoed inside Rachel’s head at the aptness of the spontaneously chosen image.
Frigid. That was what the last man she’d dated had called her.
“Does Claudia know you’re here already?”
“Called her when I hit the bridge. Figured we’d go to dinner. Would you like to join us?”
Oh, yeah. That was just what she needed. To sit like a dummy while Claudia and Mac caught up on people she didn’t know. Rachel shook her head. “I got next week’s schedule to do.” A task that promised to be extra challenging since her intern had just quit in tears after a particularly nasty hotel guest berated him.
“Boy, you live an exciting life,” Mac teased.
Rachel unhooked one foot from the foot rail and held it out in the narrow space between their stools, wiggling her nylon-encased toes. “After the day I’ve had, kicking off my shoes and soaking my feet’s about all the excitement I can stand.” Her shoes lay haphazardly beneath her stool.
“I could rub your feet for you.” The words, spoken soft and low, sounded like a lover’s offer.
Rachel’s spine tingled at the thought of his hands on her. She fought down her reaction and shot him a quizzical look. Mac had never shown an interest in her beyond a casual friendliness he would have shown any of his sister’s friends. Of course, she’d only seen him sporadically when he came to visit Claudia, and he’d been married the whole time.
“Is that a better line?”
“Barely.” Ah, of course. That wasn’t really disappointment she felt. That would be stupid. Not to mention futile. She wasn’t even sure he wasn’t pulling her chain with his claims of ineptitude. “What am I? Your guinea pig for pick-up lines?”
“Do you mind? Twelve years is a long time. I seem to have forgotten how to flirt.”
“It’ll come back to you.” Rachel turned her attention back to her drink.
“Maybe. I haven’t had much luck so far. Unless I can get a friend to go stomp on some woman’s foot, free foot rubs aren’t likely to be useful that early in the game.”
“Just point me at the woman you want,” Rachel offered.
“Really?” He looked as though he was trying to gauge her sincerity.
“What are friends for if they won’t do a little foot stomping?” She felt so virtuous, offering to throw herself on a live grenade for her buddy. Before Mac could offer his heartfelt gratitude, Claudia emerged from the short hallway at the end of the bar that led to her office.
“Mac! You made it!”
Mac slid off his bar stool to meet Claudia’s bear hug standing. Dark haired, with wide-set blue eyes like her brother’s, Claudia was only a few inches shorter than her brother. Mac looked helpless in her determined embrace.
“How’s everyone at home?” Without giving Mac a chance to answer, she held him at arm’s length. “Are you all checked in?”
“Everyone’s fine,” Mac said tolerantly. “Just like they were three days ago when I told you I was coming to visit, and yes, they gave me a nice suite overlooking valet parking. You ready for dinner?” He set Claudia aside to toss back the last of his Scotch. “I’m starving.”
“Bad news.” Claudia winced. “I can’t go to dinner with you. Jane just called in sick. I need to cover her shift.”
“Haven’t you got a backup bartender you can call?”
Claudia looked pointedly at Rachel. “I did, but Rachel’s brother made off with the last reliable bartender I hired.”
“It probably won’t get me off the hook that Mamma says they’re getting married,” Rachel offered.
“No!” Claudia’s tone echoed the astonishment Rachel had felt at the news. The two had only known each other a matter of weeks. “When?”
“The end of July.”
“That’s less than three weeks away! I never took Zach for such a fast mover.” Claudia chuckled. “It’s always the quiet ones.” She turned back to her brother. “I’m going to shoot the next one of her brothers who comes near one of my bartenders.”
Rachel doubted that would help if the attraction was strong enough. Her brothers were a determined lot.
“Since you feel that strongly about it,” Mac said, grinning at Pete, “I guess it’s a good thing Pete’s not my type. Being your brother probably wouldn’t get me an exemption.”
“Yes, it would.” Claudia draped an arm over her brother’s shoulder and looked steadily into his eyes as though to impress her seriousness on him. “If it were you, I wouldn’t shoot to kill.”
“Such a comfort,” Mac said dryly.
Rachel quelled the urge to snort. Mac would have to sin grievously for Claudia not to take his side in any dispute. If they’d ever fought the way Rachel and her brothers did, they’d stopped years ago. Rachel had heard more than once how Mac had driven across eight states in three days to rescue his sister from the abusive marriage she’d found herself in at twenty. Even before she found out years later that he’d missed his college finals and nearly had to repeat that term, Mac had become Claudia’s hero.
“Well, since you can’t have dinner with me and Rachel won’t, I guess I’ll be eating alone.”
“Rachel won’t have dinner with you?” Claudia turned to her friend. “Why not?”
“I’ve got schedules to do,” Rachel said, knowing Claudia was going to shoot down her excuse like a clay pigeon at a gun range.
“And I’ve got to work a bar shift,” Claudia said pointedly. “Since that’s your brother’s fault, the least you can do is keep my brother company over dinner.”
“Great,” Mac said. “Now my sister’s trying to get me dates.”
“It’s not a date, Mac,” his sister chided. “It’s just dinner.”
“In that case, I really do hate eating alone. Will you please let my sister guilt you into joining me? I’ll buy.”
“Be careful,” Rachel warned. “Buying me a meal almost qualifies as a date.” Even dinner as friends was more action than she’d had in nearly two years. It was just as well. Friendship was all she had to offer.
***
In his 1965 restored GMC pickup, Rachel hit the play button on the CD player, just to see what kind of music he listened to. The distinctive guitar riff of Lynyrd Skynard’s Sweet Home Alabama exploded from the speakers. Her hand collided with Mac’s as they both reached to turn it down.
“Sorry,” Mac said. “It never seems that loud when I’m alone.”
“That must be because of your obvious hearing loss,” Rachel said as she tried to rub the lingering feel of Mac’s touch from her skin, and with it, her heightened awareness of him.
Mac grinned, cupping a hand behind his ear. “Eh? What’s that you say?”
Rachel rolled her eyes. So he listened to rock music. At least it was Southern rock.
“You wanna swing by my place, so I can change?” Rachel asked.
Mac followed her directions, parking on the curb in front of her one bedroom cottage.
“I won’t be long,” Rachel said. “Do you want to come in?”
“Sure.” Mac got out of the truck and followed her up the walkway to the front door. As Rachel stuck the key in the lock, he turned to gaze out at the street. “It always amazes me to see palm trees here.”
“In Galveston, palm trees are just ordinary trees.” The humidity had risen and the lock was sticking again. Rachel bumped the door with her hip, promising herself she would pick up WD-40 on her next day off. Sure you will, her mental voice mocked. She’d been making that promise nightly for the last month. She bumped the door again and it swung open.
“Nice place,” Mac said as Rachel threw her keys on the kitchen drain board next to the door. “Small though.”
“With the hours I spend at the hotel, I don’t need much.”
“That’s good.” Mac looked around the kitchen-living room combo. “Because that’s what you’ve got. Did it come furnished?”
“Uh-huh.” The furniture was about ten years short of being nostalgia pieces, and Rachel had done little to cheer it up. The forest green and cream afghan her mother had knitted for her lay over the back of the couch. A professional photo of her parents taken on their thirtieth anniversary sat in a heavy silver frame on top of the TV she never watched. That was it.
Rachel had a twinge of self-consciousness over Mac seeing how she lived. Then she wondered why. If it wasn’t as nice as the home Gloria had made for him, at least it was tidy. And it wasn’t as if she was applying for a job as his housekeeper. Or anything else.
She dropped her purse on the easy chair next to the couch and wished she had a sweater handy to accompany it just to show how much she wasn’t interested in competing with Mac’s ex in the homemaking department. Deflated by her inability to demonstrate her defiance, she headed for her bedroom. Damn Galveston summers.
Rachel closed the curtain that passed for her bedroom door and dug out jeans and a tank top.
“What kind of food do you want?” Rachel called as she changed.
“Something I can’t get in Colorado,” Mac replied in a loud voice as though they were talking through a real door.
“How’s Fisherman’s Wharf sound?”
“Good. I like seafood.”
When she emerged, he was poking his nose behind the bi-fold doors that hid her small pantry and her washer and dryer stack. “Thinking of renting when I move out?” she asked, closing the doors while he was still looking, any residual discomfort disappearing in a wave of annoyance. He turned away and opened one of the kitchen cupboards, not even embarrassed about being caught nosing around.
“You ought to go grocery shopping once in a while. You might get hungry someday and want to eat. You don’t even have crackers.”
“Is that it? You’re looking for food?”
“Did I not mention I was starving?” His stomach growled as though to prove the point.
Rachel’s annoyance evaporated into laughter. “All right, I get the message. Let’s go.”
Located at pier 22, Fisherman’s Wharf had a prime location on Galveston’s waterfront. They paused near the door to look over the room. Lots of tourists, as Rachel expected. She caught the manager’s eye and nodded a greeting. The woman started toward them as Rachel had known she would. One of the fringe benefits of being a concierge in one of Galveston’s better hotels was that restaurants did everything they could to impress her, knowing it would result in recommendations to the hotel’s guests.
Unaware that Rachel had it covered, Mac stepped forward.  “We’d like a table for two.  A view of the water would be nice.”
The manager’s eyes caught hers. Rachel answered with a wry smile and a one shoulder shrug that said, “He’s a caveman. What can you gonna do?”
With an understanding nod, the manager led them to a table with a great view of the port. As they sat, she said, “I’ll send a waitress right over.”
Mac’s smile blazed, and the manager stopped, like a dear caught in the headlights of an oncoming semi. Aha! Rachel thought. She’d known his claim was phony. There wasn’t a damned thing wrong with the way he approached women.
Then he said, “The only thing your eyes haven’t told me is your name,” and Rachel wanted to crawl under the table. Instead, she accepted the sympathetic smile the manager flashed at her before walking away.
Ignore it, Rachel counseled herself as she unfurled her napkin. It’s not your problem.
A cute and perky waitress approached to take their order, and Rachel could almost see the gears grinding in Mac’s head, sorting through tacky lines. Unable to take her own advice, she reached across the table, laying her hand on his to get his attention then shook her head just enough to tell him not to do it. He cocked his head, lifting an eyebrow as though he didn’t know what she meant. She didn’t buy it for a second.
Not knowing what Mac’s vacation budget was like, Rachel ordered red snapper. She was obviously worried about nothing, she decided, when Mac ordered lobster and Chivas for himself and a Bloody Mary for her.
He cocked his eyebrow again when the waitress left with the menus.
“Aside from how bad your lines have been so far,” Rachel said, “you don’t make points flirting when you’re with another woman.”
“I wasn’t going to flirt with her,” he said in a tone of stunned innocence that was no more convincing than his earlier incomprehension.
He was more right than he knew. So far his come-ons were more harassing than flirtatious. Rachel couldn’t understand why he was trying so hard. Mac was more than good looking enough to attract women without saying a word. She tried to assess him as a stranger would. Tall, dark-haired, with sparkling blue eyes and a great body. His black T-shirt that declared:
Sex is Good
But Poker Lasts All Night
also revealed muscles more sharply defined than she remembered.
“Have you been working out?”
His reluctant smile revealed his pleasure that she’d noticed. “It’s too easy to go to seed when the most strenuous thing you do at work is hoist a few cases of beer and your idea of play is a good poker game.”
“That’s right!” she said, pointing at his shirt. “I’d forgotten about that pastime of yours.”
“That’s a kind way to describe it.” Mac’s lips thinned as though recalling some less benevolent descriptions.
“So poker was a sore spot.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I can see why if you were losing regularly.”
“Who said I lose?” He cocked an eyebrow, pretending to take offense.
“Don’t you?”
“Everyone does sometimes, but I win more often than not. And always when it counts.”
Rachel smiled to herself. Who would have guessed Mac was vain about his poker skills? “All right, so you were out playing cards when you should have been home with your wife.”
Mac raised his eyebrows so high his forehead crinkled. “Do you have any idea how many hours an actuary works?”
Rachel shook her head.
“Try eighty hours a week. On a good week.”
And he was willing to take the blame for their breakup? “I didn’t think Gloria was that driven.”
“Yeah. Well, you only saw her when I insisted we take a vacation.”
Rachel wasn’t sure if she heard resentment in his tone or not. His broken marriage really was too personal a topic. “So how long are you going to be in Galveston?”
“I don’t know. Until I get some things sorted out in my head, I guess. I don’t need to worry about the bar. Baby brother Justin’s taking the fall semester off from college, so I can take whatever time I need.”
“So you don’t know if that’s a week or a month,” Rachel said.
Mac shook his head.
It would be too easy, with her inborn need to fix things, to be sucked into Mac’s problems. She’d learned the hard way that people didn’t appreciate it when she turned the talents that made her so good at her job on them. They didn’t like it all. And they didn’t like her, either, for doing it. Rachel consciously choose to back away from the temptation. “Well, Claudia can help, I’m sure,”
“No, not Claudia. She’s got no objectivity. She’ll always take my side.” His tone and expression were both pensive. “Sides don’t matter anyway. I’m not looking to lay blame. I’m trying to look forward, not back.”
“That’s a mighty grownup attitude,” Rachel said in surprise. Not what she expected from someone just four months after his final divorce decree.
“I’m trying, but it’s weird, you know.” Mac’s gaze locked on the fork he was tapping against the tablecloth. He looked as though he needed to talk but, as with most men, the more serious the topic, the more difficult it was. “When you think you’ve got your life in order, but then it suddenly changes direction on you . . .” He heaved a deep sigh, then started again. “After twelve years, you’d think I’d miss Gloria, but . . .” His mouth tightened as though he was searching for the right words. “It’s the idea that my marriage failed that bothers me. A lot more than the fact of it.” He glanced up at her. “That probably doesn’t make much sense.”
“Not a lot, but then I’ve never been married.” And never would be. Rachel shoved down the regret that threatened to rear its head. More surprising was the envy she felt, and yes, resentment. She would gladly settle for just one chance to make a good marriage. Mac had blown his, but in all likelihood, he was going to get a second chance. Why was he more deserving than she?
Mac lifted his eyes and looked into hers. “My folks were married for thirty-seven years, and I just figured that’s how it would be for me. Instead I’m divorced and having a hard time adjusting to that image of myself.”
“So the cure is getting married again?” The resentment she’d felt grew a little.
Mac barked a laugh. “God, no! At least not right away. Not until I work through this. But I wouldn’t be averse to having a woman in my life. Or at least feeling like one would have me.”
“So you’re just looking for a good time?” Rachel asked. Which of course would mean a woman who wouldn’t shy away from a physical relationship.
That left her out.
She’d once hoped that she’d be able to overcome her aversion to being touched intimately, but it hadn’t worked. Not wanting to become known as Galveston’s Ice Queen, she’d quit trying.

Favorite Scene

Jake hated Rachel’s Mini Cooper. He always complained that his knees ended up around his ears, especially in the back seat. When he announced he was riding to the wedding in Mac’s truck, Rachel knew the battle was lost even before she began waging it. Just as with renegotiating the deal with Mac, they knew they held the advantage; she had to arrive at the ranch with Mac beside her or suffer her mother’s disappointment.
Friday afternoon, Rachel watched Mac’s truck pull up in front of her place. In the back, a blue tarp covered something too large and lumpy for a gift box. What had Jake gotten Zach and Maddie? Rachel steeled herself to come in second as she opened the door to put her suitcase on the front step. Jake was already halfway up the walk with Mac a few steps behind. Mac grabbed the suitcase as Jake took the cardboard box from her hands so she could lock her door. She bumped it with her hip to be sure the lock had caught and it wasn’t just sticking in the humidity. She still hadn’t WD-40′d it.
As Mac tucked her packages securely in the back, Rachel picked at the edge of the tarp. Jake slapped at her hand.
“What did you get them, Jake?” Rachel asked, hoping it wasn’t something great.
“Since they’re already raising Maddie’s nephew,” Jake said, “I figured they might like a chair to rock him in, and they can use it when their own kids come along.”
“Well, that’s just lovely,” Rachel said, wishing she’d been so inspired.
“What’d you get ‘em?” Jake asked.
Rachel felt the heat rise in her face and prepared to defend herself. “A fondue pot.”
Jake sputtered laughter. “They still make those?”
Rachel narrowed her eyes. “Yes. And what’s wrong with it? I like fondue.”
“Jeez, Rach, you like it because it doesn’t actually involve cooking,” Jake said. “And they went out of style, what? Thirty years ago? Before either of us was even born.”
“They’re making a comeback.”
Mac finished securing everything in the truck bed. “What’s making a comeback?” he asked as he reached for the driver’s door.
“Fondue,” Jake said, grinning ridiculously.
“Yeah, I heard something about that a while back. I think they were popular again for about thirty seconds,” Mac said.
“You two don’t know what you’re talking about,” Rachel huffed. “The way you’re acting you’d think I’d bought them a toaster.”
“You’re right,” Jake said, looking humbled as he held the passenger door open, so Rachel could slide onto the bench seat between him and Mac.
Rachel didn’t believe his sincerity for a second.
“They’ll probably get at least three toasters.” Jake slid in beside her. “But I’ll bet ain’t nobody but you gets them a fondue pot.”
Rachel glared at him. His stupid male superiority and the prospect of facing her mother with a ringer on her arm didn’t bestow her with confidence about her choice of gifts.
Mac and Jake talked over her head as though they were two buddies headed out on a road trip. Between them, Rachel tuned them and Mac’s Three Dog Night CD out until the gear shift knocked against her knee as Mac shifted into second.
He laid his hand on her knee and rubbed the offended joint.
She brusquely pushed his hand off. “Keep your hands to yourself, Bub.”
“But baby”-Mac’s saccharine tone should have sent up red flags-”you know I have needs.”
Rachel stared at him, openmouthed. “What?” She was so stunned, she didn’t even react when he put his hand back on her knee.
“Divorced men aren’t like other men, baby. We have expectations.” Mac’s eyes glittered as he slid his hand up the inside of her thigh.
Rachel lifted off the seat, bumping her head on the ceiling of the cab, all the while brushing at his hand as though someone had thrown a snake in her lap.
On her other side, Jake burst out laughing. Mac grinned, both hands back on the steering wheel.
“What’s going on here?” Rachel demanded, though she had the awful feeling she already knew.
“I’m sorry, Rach,” Jake said, still sputtering. “Mamma called last night. She wants me to I keep an eye on Mac and make sure he don’t take no liberties with you.”
“You’re supposed to chaperone me?” In spite of her outrage, Rachel wouldn’t dare say a word about it to her mother, but Jake-and Mac-were a different story.
“Stop the car, Mac.”
“What for?”
“I want to switch places with Jake.”
“Aw, Honey. Don’t you love me any more?”
“You’ve had your fun. Now stop the car.”
Mac sighed. “How about if I just promise to behave myself?”
“You’ve got it out of your system?”
“I think so.”
Rachel wasn’t sure she believed him. “What else did Mamma say?” she asked Jake.
“She was a real firestorm,” Jake said. “She wanted to know how long you been seeing Mac, how serious it is, all the normal stuff.”
“What did you tell her?”
“As little as possible since I don’t know what you’ve said. I wouldn’t even commit to how long y’all been seeing each other. I told her I just met him a few weeks ago, but for all I knew, you might’ve been keeping him under wraps before then.”
“Guess we’d better get our story straight before we get there, huh, baby doll?” Mac said.
“I thought you’d gotten it out of your system.”
“Just trying out pet names.”
“Let’s pretend we don’t have any, all right?” Rachel said sternly.
“Whatever you say.” Mac flashed his devilish grin at her. “After all, love slaves don’t argue.”
Rachel closed her eyes and gritted her teeth. It was going to be a long drive.

Packing Memories

We’re very busy here packing up all of our belongings as we prepare to move to a different floor in our office building. As so often happens when one packs up many years’ worth of stuff, one finds a lot of junk, but also some real treasures tucked away–and with them a bounty of memories.

Erika was packing up our Avon Romance library and she found some real gems in there. Then, the reminiscing started. And I, alas, have significantly more years of memories here than my colleagues.

I can remember back to Fabio’s heyday gracing our romance covers. It felt like he was on almost every one. And then I remember the day he came into the offices.

He was quite a physical presence, I have to say. Tall, chiseled, muscular, with that tell-tale mane of blond hair. And all the women were having their pictures taken with him. What did I do? Run and hide in the ladies room.

What favorite romance classics would you pull out from your keeper shelves? I might turn to Loretta Chase. Maybe LORD OF SCOUNDRELS? What’s better than a great reformed rake story?!

Dance of Joy

So…thank you for your kind and thoughtful comments to cheer me up about the puppy and my decision from my update, below. You can read my puppy update to hear the entire scoop…

So…my boyfriend called the shelter this morning at 10AM (even though we had decided not too because it would be too hard) and found out that the puppy was put on hold, which means, yes…HE WILL SOON BE ADOPTED! At first I told him, no, we can’t call! What if the news is really really bad? But, I felt a strange sense of peace, so I told him it was okay to call. He put me on three way calling and he called and spoke for me, which was super thoughtful. We were quite relieved to find out that the puppy is on hold and that he will be going to a happy home. See, the puppy finding a home was meant to be! Thanks for following my puppy saga with me. So you can join in with me and have a little happy dance. I did around my office…

Which made me think…what do you do when you are truly happy? I love to get a big grin on my face, jump in the air, and give the person (depending whom I am with) a big hug! I also love to eat sushi, watch a good movie, or laugh my head off when I am happy. So to celebrate this happiness, I found some photos on Flickr that symbolize my little dance of joy! I hope you have a joyful day too darlings!

Dance of Joy

So…thank you for your kind and thoughtful comments to cheer me up about the puppy and my decision from my update, below. You can read my puppy update to hear the entire scoop…

So…my boyfriend called the shelter this morning at 10AM (even though we had decided not too because it would be too hard) and found out that the puppy was put on hold, which means, yes…HE WILL SOON BE ADOPTED! At first I told him, no, we can’t call! What if the news is really really bad? But, I felt a strange sense of peace, so I told him it was okay to call. He put me on three way calling and he called and spoke for me, which was super thoughtful. We were quite relieved to find out that the puppy is on hold and that he will be going to a happy home. See, the puppy finding a home was meant to be! Thanks for following my puppy saga with me. So you can join in with me and have a little happy dance. I did around my office…

Which made me think…what do you do when you are truly happy? I love to get a big grin on my face, jump in the air, and give the person (depending whom I am with) a big hug! I also love to eat sushi, watch a good movie, or laugh my head off when I am happy. So to celebrate this happiness, I found some photos on Flickr that symbolize my little dance of joy! I hope you have a joyful day too darlings!

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