Tag: romance

Warm Wash

I love winter mornings.  They take their time, a slow and easy build to the day.  Summer and Spring mornings are too peppy for me.  They jump right into sunrise with a feisty brush of the moon.  I need time, a few more minutes with night before I have to say goodbye and good morning.…

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Shoe Shine

A few months ago, I posted my lament that many of the men in romance were…an odd combination of alpha and librarian that I did not recognize in any world, let alone the real one.  Alys, recommended that I read The Rosie Project and it’s wonderfully off center hero, Don.  I read it, loved it, and…

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Off the Rack

Why are most of the heroes in romance lately either billionaires, small town guys, bad boy alphas or not human?  What about the guy in the third cubicle on the left or the second chair violin player in the local symphony?  Those guys can be sexy too.  They have stories and deserve to kiss in the rain. The…

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Yellow Cardigan

Fogged windows, twists and turns. It started as a kiss, a taste, but a soft moan swept her ear and she knew. She wanted. His knee hit the gear shift, they laughed to tears. His eyes danced, and she knew. She loved.

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Plume Skirt

Ink. It is one thing to sit at a computer and type words on a screen.  I will admit that takes discipline and a mind for creating something out of nothing, but putting ink to paper seems like more to me. I know I tend to glamorize the past, but when Jane Austen sat down…

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Gloves and Scarf

She was beautiful, wrapped in winter, and he wondered if she would allow him the pleasure of watching her welcome spring. I get wordy and super romantic as fall moves into winter.  I’m not sure why, but something in me blooms when everything else is cold and dying.  There’s mystery and an urgency to winter…

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Breathable Material

He took her breath away. It has been written a million times.  I’ve written it myself.  Of course he’s not literal taking the air out of her lungs.  That would lead to gasping and a really ugly ordeal.  He’s making her feel like she can’t breath, either physically, or my favorite, without even touching her.…

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Gardening Gloves

My hands still smell like garlic. I washed them at least three times last night and again this morning, but as I type, I still catch a whiff.  I can’t cook, so I’m often relegated to prep work.  I really don’t chop well either, but sometimes I like to help out.  I minced garlic last…

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White Sheet

I’m lost, broken down the middle of my heart. I have playlists that I listen to while I write.  Sometimes I work in silence if I’m arguing with myself, but for the most part there’s music.  I listen to the gamut. This song is on my “Time to Write About Ache” playlist.  I really love…

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