The Friday night social scene in Heaven N.H. wasn’t the eclectic, happening, busy one she’d grown used to while living in Manhattan. She and her ex had routinely made Friday a date night when his work schedule allowed and they’d attended many a packed jazz bar or bistro over the years. Mood lighting, expensive décor and a drink menu that boasted thousand dollar bottles of wine and champagne had been the norm, along with cocktails going for upwards of twenty-five dollars a glass.
The Love Shack, Heaven’s own answer to the bar scene, was a wooden, rustic, brightly lit establishment with butcher block tables covered in gingham tablecloths and where the most expensive bottle of wine topped out at sixteen dollars. The costliest cocktail served was a four dollar cranberry Cosmo that was heavy on the Ocean Spray and light on the vodka and Cointreau.
Jasmine scanned the bar where Olivia told her her date would be waiting. There were three men scattered down along the rail. Two she recognized from high school and one guy whose face she couldn’t see because his back was to her. When he turned she realized immediately this was not the man she was due to have drinks with.First there was no way this guy was 36 years old. Her mother would have called him Gramps.Clue number two was the wedding band on the hand holding his beer. It was so tight, the skin surrounding it swollen, his knuckle hair squeezed around it, indicating it had been there for decades.Nope. This wasn’t her guy. A cursory glance around the place showed most of the tables were taken with couples.Her date had yet to arrive.
“Hey, Jazz,” the bartender and owner, Kick Loomis said from his perch drying beer glasses behind the bar.
“You squattin’ or sittin’, sweetheart?”She’d been in the place enough times in her life to know he meant was she going to sit at the bar or take a table.
Jasmine was self-conscious enough she didn’t want to be seated on a bar stool, sitting alone while waiting for her date, especially when one of the guys she’d gone to school with tossed her an inquiring eye and a raised eyebrow. She didn’t want to get into a how-you-doing-what-you-been-up-to-since-high school chat. If her memory served, and it always did, the guy had been one of the football heroes of Heaven High back in the day. Those glory days were long gone and she had no desire to listen to him dredge them up.
She spotted an empty table in the corner and nodded toward it.
“I’ll send Raylynn over with a menu.”
She nodded and as she was about to head for it felt a tap on her arm.
“Excuse me. Jasmine?”
She turned at the sound of her name, spoken in a deep, soft voice blessed with a charming accent and found herself face to face with the gorgeous guy she’d spotted in her mom’s office. The one Sharmaine had been sucked on to like a tick
.Good Lord, he was even better looking up close and personal than he’d been, seated, and ten feet away from her. Stunning blue eyes, the color of freshly laid Robin’s eggs topped a face with high cut cheeks and a jaw forged from granite. Midnight hair curled around his ears and caressed the nape of his neck. Layered waves fell across his head in a chaos of perfection.
She’d been right about his height. Most men she could stare straight in the eyes due to her own long legs. But she had to tilt her head back a bit to look into this man’s striking ones.“You are Jasmine, aye?” Even his voice was gorgeous, the song of Ireland singing through it.
She nodded, her own voice deciding now would be a good time to leave on vacation. And when his smile took a slow stroll from one corner of his full, thick lips to the other, showing perfect, straight white teeth, the tips of her fingertips began to tingle like she’d fallen asleep on them and spent the night with them cuddled beneath the weight of her body.
He-of-the-handsome-face stuck out his hand and declared, “Good. Olivia said to meet you here. Donovan Boyd, but everyone calls me Van. Lovely to meet you.”
Jasmine knew she should shake his hand. It was the polite thing to do, wasn’t it? For some reason, her brain wasn’t sending any signals down her arm to lift it up to his outstretched one.
Donovan, or Van, kept his hand out, his smile in place, and ticked his head to the left a hair. A clap of booming laughter rang out from somewhere behind her and finally propelled the gears in her brain to start turning again.
After a head shake where she actually heard her brains rattle, she extended her hand and slipped it into his.
Gobble, gobble . . . Do you hear that? It’s the international calling for booklovers, courtesy of the persnickety turkey. It’s time to fill up your e-reader and/or device with spectacular books (e-copy and audiobooks) and this giveaway is a great place to start. N. N. Light’s Book Heaven has gathered new releases as well as wonderful backlist books in one giveaway. There are also a few Amazon gift cards up for grabs. The list is long and personally, I’d love to win myself but alas, I can’t. So, I’ll just live vicariously through the lucky winners. If there’s a particular book or prize you’d like to win, be sure to say which prize you want when you enter via Rafflecopter. Enter below and good luck!
I love sharing my short stories with you all and Kindle Vella has made it so easy. My newest series, DEATH BETWEEN THE PAGES is all about retribution, revenge, and taking back your life after a tragic incident.
Here’s a little snipper to whet your mystery reading appetite:
An early evening Mass was in session when Halley entered the church and found an empty pew halfway up to the altar.
She heard his voice before she saw him. She’d never forgotten that voice. It had a rugged, robust timbre that resonated throughout the church, bouncing off the stone pillars and sailing to every parishioner’s soul. It commanded, demanded, rapt attention. Halley knew the strength behind the voice; the seduction of words meeting air, splicing together to make heads and hearts swim. She remembered how that voice had affected her.
And she remembered what the person behind the voice had done to her.
Then she saw him. He was much the same as her memory allowed. Older, of course, but with age, more appealing physically than before. Gray streaks shot out from
his temples, worming their way behind his ears. His eyes hadn’t changed at all. Ice blue orbs shaded by the blackest of lashes. Eyes that saw into your very core. Eyes that could twinkle with the merriment one moment and ignite with the flames of desire the next.
Halley had been witness to both extremes.
As she knelt and made the sign of the cross, a sudden qualm of doubt at her mission and its ultimate goal fired through her. Just as quickly, reason overtook doubt. She had to do what had been planned; complete what had been started. Hers wasn’t the only life in the balance here. There were the others to consider. They had put their faith, their trust, and their hopes in her. She would not let them down.
You all know by now I Iove my Wild Rose Press sistahs and I love introducing you all to new writers I think you’ll enjoy. Today is no exception to that premise.
Meet Susie Black. Susie is new to the Rose Garden and her debut cozy humorous mystery, DEATH BY SAMPLE SIZE is out now and getting fab reviews. Susie was kind enough to stop by recently, answer my grilling questions, and then we discussed her beloved grandmother and a forgotten art: letter writing. She also gave me a little excerpt to share from her book and I think you’ll agree that once you read it, you’ll want to get this book!
First, here’s our interview:
Susie Black: The Writer Questions
What drives you to write?
Coming from a sales background, I am a student of human nature, a people watcher, and a born storyteller. During the course of my ladies’ apparel sales career, I have kept a daily journal that chronicles the quirky, interesting, and sometimes challenging characters I come in contact with, as well as the crazy situations I’ve gotten myself into and out of. My journal is the foundation of all I write.
What genre(s) of Romance do your write, and why?
I actually write in the humorous cozy mystery genre, but unrequited or ill-fated romance is usually one of the motives for the murder in my plots.
What genre(s) of Romance do you read, and why?
I read romantic mysteries. I lean towards whodunits, but like them spiced up with some romance that usually drives the plot.
What’s your writing schedule? Do you write every day?
Honestly, I do not have a writing schedule. If I had only specific days and hours when I could write, then I would. I set my own schedules and find that writing when the urge to write hits instead of checking the calendar or clock to see if it is writing time, makes for a writing atmosphere that is much more creativefor me.
Give us a glimpse of the surroundings where you write. Separate room? In the kitchen? At the dining room table?
Most of the time I write in my office at my computer adjacent to a window that overlooks a golf course. I have also been known to write on my laptop while sitting on the deck of my houseboat.
6. Are you the kind of writer who needs total quiet to compose, or are you able to filter out the typical sounds of the day and use your tunnel-vision?
I am used to white noise around the house, so I am able to filter out the typical sounds of the day. Also, I have a hearing problem, so in this case, it is a benefit as I simply do not hear a lot of noise.
Do you listen to music while you write, and if so, what kind? If not, why not?
It depends. If I am working on a chapter that I have a good idea of how to write, then I listen to either cool jazz or oldies in the background. If I am working on a new section or one that is challenging, then no, I prefer as few distractions as possible, so no music for me to sing along to.
How did you come up with the plotline/idea for your current WIP?
The plotline/idea for my current WIP came from an incident I had with an unscrupulous buyer that I used poetic license to take to a much more dramatic level.
Which comes first for you – character or plot? And why?
I am a people person, so for me, the characters always come first. My characters always drive the plot, never the reverse.
What 3 words describe you, the writer?
Funny. Honest. Passionate.
Susie, the Gal…
Tell us one unusual thing about yourself – not related to writing!
I eat each item on the plate separately and completely before I go to the next item and I eat my least favorite item on the plate first.
Who was your first love and what age were you?
My first love was Dean Schneider. We were five years old.
If you could relive one day, which one would it be? Think GROUNDHOG DAY, the movie for this one – you’ll have to live it over and over and….
My Wedding Day
What’s one thing you love about your significant other?
He makes me laugh every, single day.
If you had to give up one necessary-can’t-live-without-it item, what would it be?
What three words describe you, the person? Honorable, Trustworthy, Sassy
If you could sing a song with Jimmy Fallon, what would it be?
“I won’t grow up” from Peter Pan
If you could hang out with any literary character from any book penned at any time line, who would it by, why, and what would you do together?
Nancy Drew because she got me interested in mysteries. We would solve a mystery together.
I love the Actor’s Studio show on Bravo, so this is my version of it:
Favorite sound: Waves breaking on the seashore
Least favorite sound: Fingernail scratches across a chalkboard
Best song every written: People, by Barbra Streisand
Worst song ever written: Woolly Bully by Sam the Sham and the Pharaohs
Favorite actor and actress: Favorite actor: Jack Lemon Favorite Actress: Meryl Streep
Who would you want to be for 1 day and why? ( It can be anyone living or dead): Fearless Golda Meir because she was one of the first female heads of state in a major country and did what was necessary to defend Israel.
What turns you on? Love
What turns you off? Narrow minds
Give me the worst 5 words ever heard on a first date ( here’s mine: “Is that your real hair?”): “I’m sorry, but I’ve got to be at work really early tomorrow.”
What’s your version of a perfect day? My husband, son, and I are together enjoying one another’s company.
And now, A little on that forgotten letter-writing art form:
In this modern time of smart phones that do almost everything including talking for you, it is hard to believe, but back in the early days, telephones were difficult to use, often unreliable, and expensive to own. Not every family, including mine, could afford the luxury of having one.
Like many families, once my Nana’s siblings grew up and left home, they scattered across the country. Nana knew the importance of keeping her family together no matter how many miles separated them. Since a phone was not an option, as the oldest child, Nana was chosen to write letters to family members living far from home. With the same level of dedication as the postman; come rain, sleet, or snow, war or peace, prosperous times or the depths of a national depression, my blind-as-a bat without her coke bottle-thick glasses Nana sat every Monday night at her dining room table and wrote a letter to each of her siblings. Her letters sewed the thread that kept our close-knit tribe connected.
When I was in my sophomore year of college my family moved from Los Angeles to Miami. Despite their valiant attempts to persuade me to join them, I wasn’t interested in relocating to “God’s waiting room,” and remained out west. The good news was that Nana added me to her list of weekly letter-writing recipients. Lonesome for my family, Nana’s weekly letter was an eagerly-anticipated lifeline to my family’s heart and soul. For all of us, that letter was the glue that kept our family bound together no matter how far from home one of us wandered.
The designated town crier, Nana’s letters were more like a newsletter. A date with her friends at the movies? After reading her letter, I was in the seat next to her. She reported who went, what they wore, if they were late or early; where they sat, if they had a snack, what the snack was, editorials on how much the snacks and the movie tickets cost, and every detail of the movie that was so complete, the recipient of her letter could write a decent review based on Nana’s commentary. If she described what an attendee was wearing, I could close my eyes and picture the outfit perfectly. Her descriptions were so detailed and rich, that if she was describing a meal, I could smell the wafting aroma and taste the food.
Out of sentimentality or maybe a sixth sense that someday I’d need them, I kept every one of those letters. Like Nana, they were strong-willed and hearty; surviving dogs, a child, countless moves, several major earthquakes and a devastating house fire. I had no formal creative writing training when I decided to write my first manuscript. I had a story to tell, but no clue how to tell it. I instinctively pulled the carefully wrapped packets of letters out of the storage box and re-read every one of them. I could picture Nana at the dining room table writing the letters. I heard her voice inside my head speaking to me. My long-gone, full-service Nana had given me all the tools I needed. I re-packed the letters, started to write, and thanks to Nana, I never stopped.
In a detached society that values cheaper and faster, we are insulated from direct contact with one another more each day. E-mail and texting replaced a phone call, and Zoom is the new version of a face to face meeting. We don’t need brick and mortar to build walls anymore. Modern technology has certainly had an impact on society mores and improved many aspects of our lives. Regrettably, technology was also a death knell for several means of personalized communication. Nana would have been horrified that a quaint, old fashioned skill like letter-writing disappeared. My debut humorous cozy mystery Death by Sample Size is out now. Thanks to Nana, my story has been told in a distinctive voice that comes through loud and clear.
Peggy here: I lovelovelove writing letters – and receiving them!!
Everyone wanted her dead…but who actually killed her?
The last thing swimwear sales exec Holly Schlivnik expected was to discover ruthless buying office big wig Bunny Frank’s corpse trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey with a bikini stuffed down her throat. When Holly’s colleague is arrested for Bunny’s murder, the wise-cracking, irreverent amateur sleuth jumps into action to find the real killer. Nothing turns out the way Holly thinks it will as she matches wits with a wily killer hellbent on revenge.
When the elevator doors opened, I had to stop myself short not to step on her. There was Bunny Frank-the buying office big shot-lying diagonally across the car. Her legs were splayed out and her back was propped against the corner. Her sightless eyes were wide open and her arms reached out in a come-to-me baby pose. She was trussed up with shipping tape like a dressed Thanksgiving turkey ready for the oven with a bikini stuffed in her mouth. A Gotham Swimwear hangtag drooped off her lower lip like a toe tag gone lost. Naturally, I burst out laughing.
Before you label me incredibly weird or stone-cold, let me say genetics aren’t all they’re cracked up to be. If you’re lucky you inherit your Aunt Bertha’s sexy long legs or your father’s ability to add a bazillion dollar order in his head and get the total correct to the last penny. Without even breaking into a sweat, it’s easy to spout at least a million fabulous traits inheritable by the luck of the draw. Did I get those sexy long legs or the ability to add more than two plus two without a calculator? Noooooooooo. Lucky me. I inherited my Nana’s fear of death we overcompensated for with the nervous habit of laughing. A hysterical reaction? Think Bozo the clown eulogizing your favorite aunt.
I craned my neck like a tortoise and checked around. Then I clamped a fist over my mouth. Cripes, how could I possibly explain my guffaws with Bunny lying there? The disappointment was simultaneously mixed with relief when there was no one else in the parking lot. Where was security when you needed them?
I toed the elevator door open and bent over Bunny. I’d seen enough CSI episodes to know not to touch her. She was stiff as a board and I attributed the bluish tinge of her skin to the bikini crammed down her throat. I was no doctor, but I didn’t need an MD after my name to make this diagnosis. Bunny Frank was dead as the proverbial doorknob.
It was no surprise Bunny Frank had finally pushed someone beyond their limits. The only surprise was it had taken so long. The question wasn’t who wanted Bunny Frank dead. The question was who didn’t?
Born in the Big Apple, Susie Black now calls sunny Southern California home. Like the protagonist in her Holly Swimsuit Mystery Series, Susie is a successful apparel sales executive. Susie began telling stories as soon as she learned to talk. Now she’s telling all the stories from her garment industry experiences in humorous mysteries.
She reads, writes, and speaks Spanish, albeit with an accent that sounds like Mildred from Michigan went on a Mexican vacation and is trying to fit in with the locals. Since life without pizza and ice cream as her core food groups wouldn’t be worth living, she’s a dedicated walker to keep her girlish figure. A voracious reader, she’s also an avid stamp collector. Susie lives with a highly intelligent man and has one incredibly brainy but smart-aleck adult son who inexplicably blames his sarcasm on an inherited genetic defect.
Just behind my college graduation, wedding day, and the birth of my son, June 9th was truly one of the most amazing days of my entire life. My debut cozy mystery Death by Sample Size was released for publication. I am humbled, honored, and proud to be able to say that now I am officially a published author! A life-long dream has come true, a hard-fought-for goal has been accomplished.
One of my favorite Romance Gems sistahs, Bonnie Edwards, has an addition to the great LAST CHANCE BEACH series, out now. FAKE ME.
Here’s a little about it and a few words from Bonnie, herself:
Is the setting for Fake Me real or fictitious?
Last Chance Beach is only real in the mind of our readers. I say “our” because several authors have got together to create wonderful romances set on this island. Our stories are eclectic, and there’s something for everyone’s preference. Fake Me is fun and light and starts a trilogy I have planned for Last Chance Beach firmly rooted in Farren’s “Singles Fest.” If you read these Last Chance Beach romances, you’ll see cameos from other characters, familiar locations and all the charm of a small beach town.
International real estate broker Grady O’Hara, unkempt, miserable, and nursing his battered heart, is holed up in the Landseer Motel in Last Chance Beach. A first-class grump, Grady’s appalled that enthusiastic sprite, Farren Parks wants him to open his motel to single parents looking for love. He suspects his sister has sent Farren to lure him into a romance. Again. The last one ended in disaster.
Farren expects him to tolerate children laughing. No! Crowds of happy families? No!
He does not want a second chance at life. Or love.
Unless Farren agrees to fake date him to fake out his matchmaking sister…
Grady soon plays handyman, painter, and business advisor to Farren’s fledgling business, Singles Fest. The happy squeals of children in the pool doesn’t grate on his nerves as he expected. He sees parents making romantic connections that stir his heart.
But an old flame of Farren’s has arrived and Grady wakes up to another looming loss if Farren gives her first love a second chance. The rival has brought his adorable kids to the motel. A rival who’s clearly looking for a new wife…
“So long for now. Farren, call me later, okay?”
“Okay,” she promised with a roll of her eyes. She went pink in the cheeks as if there were a hidden female message in the simple request.
As Eva picked her way through the tables away from them, Grady pounced. “Why the eye-roll?”
“She assumes we’re here on a date.” She lifted one smooth shoulder and dropped it.
“That’s a good thing. It’s what we want.”
She brightened. “That’s right. It’s exactly what we want. Except Eva doesn’t gossip.”
“When you talk to her later, confirm that we’re seeing each other.” He reconsidered. “Or, that lunch was more than work. That might be the better way to go.”
“So, you’re giving me lessons in fake dating now?”
“Fake me, baby,” he blurted, to get a laugh.
The server set their frosted glasses of beer on the table and raised her eyebrows at his comment. He glared at her. “I said ‘fake me,’ not the word you think you heard.”
Farren burst out laughing.
The server grinned. “Whatever. It’s pretty clear what you meant.” She pivoted and tossed Farren a saucy smile before stepping away.
“Now, that, will get us noticed,” Farren said as her shoulders rolled through her full-throated bout of laughter. “Good job, Grady.” She leaned low across the table toward him deepening the shadow between her breasts. “For sure Delphine will hear about this. ‘Fake me, baby.’ Too funny.”
He frowned. It was the wrong impression for his sister. He wanted to show her that he’d woken from his recent stasis, not that he was ready to ravish unsuspecting innocents, like Farren.
He took a sip of beer to wet his dry throat and tried not to think about that other F word.
Bonnie Edwards has been writing all her life, starting with a poem about Santa suffering with gout. She was seven, Santa was a thousandteen years old. Delighted with writing, she went on to write family sagas, humorous contemporary romance, romantic suspense, erotic paranormal ghost romances and more.
She may jump around within romance, but all her stories come with a tear, a laugh, and a happy ending. Published by Kensington Books, Harlequin Books, Carina Press, and Robinson (UK) Bonnie’s stories stretch from short stories to novellas and novels. Now, she’s happy to be publishing her work herself.
With over 35 titles to her credit, she has been translated into several languages and sold books worldwide. Aside from standalone romances, she has 4 ongoing romance series, Tales of Perdition, The Brantons, and Love at Christmas. Contemporary family sagas find a home in Return to Welcome. She’s hard at work on a new series releasing in August 2021. Learn about more exciting releases and get a free romance by subscribing to her newsletter, Bonnie’s Newsy Bits
WIld Rose Press sistah, AMBER DAULTON, has a new addition to the Deerbourne Inn series and today’s the release day!!! Check this out: Isn’t the cover gorgeous?? ( And hot, LOL!)
Reuniting with the man who broke her heart has never felt so right.
Divorced dad Birley Haynes is too busy raising his children and running his family’s music academy to start a relationship. Then Harmony Holdich, his high school sweetheart, returns home to Willow Springs, Vermont for Christmas and falls into his bed. She brings light and fun back into his life, but he can’t brush aside the threatening incidents around his workplace.
Harmony hadn’t expected a complication like Birley, especially so soon after the death of her unfaithful husband. With her life a mess, she plans to move across the country and start over. All she can offer him is a fling, but her heart yearns for more.
When the threats rise, how will Birley keep his children safe and convince Harmony to give love another chance?
He sighed heavily. Snapping at her wouldn’t convince her to stick around. “Have you thought about me over the years?”
Her bottom lip trembled, then she sucked it between her teeth. “Of course I have. High school was a long time ago, and our dreams clashed. You wanted a laidback life, even though you cut loose with Susannah in college. I wanted big-city living, and I got it. I like it.”
“So a rich-ass condo means that much to you? You want a new job slaving away five or six days a week for some major corporation until you’re exhausted?” He silently cursed. Not only did he slave away at his job, he was growing more tired of it by the day.
Good job, man. Way to control your temper.
In the back of his mind, he’d always believed he and Harmony would find one another again. Susannah and Claude didn’t compute. How crazy was that? Did he marry someone so different from himself because, subconsciously, he didn’t want the relationship to work?
A frown creased her brow. “I don’t need or want expensive things, but I like to work, to feel useful. My dream home is a little yellow bungalow with a big yard in a suburb.” She rocked in the chair as though she longed to jump up and run out the door. “I don’t want to argue. Let’s finish eating and hit the slopes.” She polished off her chips in a handful of loud crunches.
“What did you expect?” His throat constricted. “We’ve never hashed this stuff out since Susannah and Claude were always stuck up our asses. It’s time we deal with it.”
She scowled, then finished her grinder.
Birley gritted his teeth. Why had he been so stupid all those years ago? He’d wanted her to attend the University of Vermont with him, but she balked at another lengthy stint in school. He never should’ve walked off, leaving her crying on the porch of her parents’ house. She wanted time to think about her future—they’d only graduated from high school that morning—but her refusal didn’t mean she’d stopped loving him.
Too bad he hadn’t realized the truth at the time. She’d hurt his pride and broken his heart. Nothing mattered but hurting her in return. They avoided each other for the rest of the summer, then he headed off to the university.
God, how he’d missed her. She’d continued to work for her uncle while earning her accounting degree at a local community college and later moved to New Jersey for her job. Any chance of repairing their relationship had left with her, but by then, he was with Susannah.
Birley ate the rest of his sandwich, which slid down his gullet like cardboard. “No matter what you decide, I’m happy you’re home now.” The hope in his chest deflated. He stood and tugged on his gloves. “Let’s hit one of the blue squares. You okay with that?”
She nodded and followed him up. After they threw away their trash, they left the lodge.
Amber Daulton is the author of the romantic-suspense series Arresting Onyx and several standalone novellas. Her books are published through The Wild Rose Press, Books to Go Now, and Daulton Publishing, and are available in ebook, print on demand, audio, and foreign language formats.
She lives in North Carolina with her husband and demanding cats.
Well, I’ve been teasing about it for about 2 weeks now!!!
I’m so excited to show you the youngest O’Dowd sister Maureen’s cover for BAKED WITH LOVE...ta da!!!!
OMG isn’t it gorgeous!!!
Graphic designer and artist Diana Carlile has done it again. She’s designed all 3 of the covers for this series and each one is more beautiful than the last!
Here’s a little about BAKED WITH LOVE, which gets released on 12.9.2020, just in time for your Holiday shopping!
Innkeeper Maureen O’Dowd lives to cook and bake, spoils her family and friends, and is an expert at keeping secrets, especially about the man who’s held her heart for years.
Police Chief Lucas Alexander is dealing with an aging father and a moody teenage son, and he’s in love with a woman who only wants to be friends.
How can these two fiercely private people reveal their feelings for one another without destroying the friendship they already have? And if they’re successful, will another secret, if revealed, drive a wedge between Maureen and Lucas that can never be repaired?
I truly can not wait to see what readers think about these two and the twisted way they get to their HEA.
If you haven’t read the other two books in the series yet, let me make this easy….
I have many Writer friends who are helping me reveal the cover today so I’m off to thank them and help them promote their blog posts about BAKED WITH LOVE.
*** Be sure to check tomorrow’s blog post ( 11.12.2020) because I’ve got something very special planned for this holiday season for you! You won’t want to miss it because it’s going to make your holiday gift giving sosososo much easier this year!
And check out this amazeballs Book trailer Nancy Fraser produced for the book: