Author Staci Troilo -- Mainstream~Romance~Mystery~Suspense

Writer. Editor. Mom. Daughter. Sister. Friend. Dog owner. Award-winning author and recipe creator. Conservative Catholic with an avid interest in the supernatural. Think all that doesn't go together? Then you have to get to know me better.

Kiss My Lips!

No, that’s not an offer. Sorry.

I’m hosting a cover reveal for fellow author Stella Eromonsere-Ajanaku. Many of you know my next novel is about a dysfunctional family. Wait until you read Stella’s teaser… she’s no stranger to drama, either.

Title: Kiss My Lips

(Holiday Series #2) Will one kiss seal their love?

Author: Stella Eromonsere-Ajanaku

Series: Holiday Series

Genre: Romance/Contemporary/Multicultural/Interracial

ISBN: 978-1502776549 (Paperback)

Release Date: Wednesday 29th October 2014

Cover Artist: Love Bites And Silk

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Blurb

Accepting Logan’s marriage proposal was the most exciting event of Lorna’s life. But deciding in what country to marry her fiancé proved to be more than a tearful ordeal. When Lorna’s dad announced unexpected news, the wedding wheels spun in a different direction.

With other family members stirring conflict, would there be a wedding? Or would their shared kiss deepen their desire?

Teaser

An hour after the doctor assured them Lorna would be fine, Logan and aunt Nneka remained by her bedside.

“My brother is the biggest fool I have ever known,” Lorna’s aunt complained, regret etched in her eyes, as her arms rubbed her temple. “I can’t believe he had no tact or kindness in his bone. How can he break such news, one after another without warning?” she lamented on a huge sigh.

She paused but Logan kept mute. If he was as reckless as his future father-in-law, he would have knocked off the man’s two front teeth.

“He wasn’t always this clueless, Logan,” auntie was saying, shaking her gently graying head. “Oh no, I think Marie has changed him. I hope to God, he knows what he’s getting himself into.”

Logan bit back the retort on the tip of his tongue.

“You haven’t said anything, Logan,” the older woman noted, watching his shoulder muscle flex and tighten.

“I’m beyond enraged, aunt Nneka. It is best I keep sealed lips before I regret my words. The only request I want to make is to plead with you to tell her dad to stay out of Lorna’s way for now.” His tone was soft but his eyes narrowed and his jaw compressed.

He saw the older woman’s mouth tighten at the sides but she nodded.

“I know he’s her father and nothing can change that,” he said stiffly, as if accepting the truth Kanu was a permanent feature in his fiancé’s life was painful. “But causing her so much pain to the point she collapses is reprehensible. I have tried to restrain my tongue, but right now, I want to punch his head.”

Lorna’s aunt approached him and touched his arm. He stiffened and she looked up at him. “Look at me, Logan,” she said in a placating tone.

Turning round, he looked at her. His rage wasn’t directed at her but he was in no mood for mind games.

Connect with Stella

Giveaway – How to enter

Leave a comment. Every reader who leaves a comment on the blog gets one free eBook of Stolen Valentine Kiss (Holiday Series # 1).

You get any other eBook from Flirty & Feisty Romance Novels.

Flirty & Feisty Romance

Our promise…is to deliver an intensely emotional experience you’ll never forget.

Is Time Passing You By?

Seth birthday — My son on his 16th birthday. Hard to believe a whole year has passed already.

Today is my son’s birthday. His seventeenth birthday.

How the heck did that happen?

I remember waiting for my due date. Waiting after my due date. Waiting three extra weeks for him to arrive. I had bonded with him long before he was ready to appear, and when he finally did, he was rushed to the NICU and I didn’t get to hold him anyway. Not for two days.

But when they wheeled me out of surgery, they took me to him. And when I said hello to him, he lifted his head and looked right at me. The nurses were stunned; they said babies don’t do that. But I knew from the moment I conceived him that he was special.

Just yesterday he was cradled in my arms. Except yesterday is apparently seventeen years ago. My yesterday is seventeen years of bottles and diapers, then toys and books, and then sporting events and academic awards.

Yes, my son is special.

So even though I won’t get to see him much today (he goes straight from school to his varsity game and won’t get home until late), I’m making his favorite foods to commemorate the day. Homemade stuffed pizza and cheesecake. You only turn seventeen once, even if you aren’t home for it. Might as well mark the occasion. (And trust me, even at midnight, he’ll eat pizza and cake!)

See, next year is the last year he’ll be home for his birthday. When he’s nineteen, he’ll be away at college, and I’m pretty sure his aspirations are going to take him far away from here. I don’t have much time.

Yesterday flew by, and tomorrow will be here before I know it.

It’s so easy to get lost in the mundane minutia of everyday life. Take the time to make each day special. (click to tweet that)

So happiest seventeenth birthday to my beloved son. May each future year be even more wonderful than the last.

For Writers:
Do your characters get lost in their day-to-day activities? It wouldn’t make for a compelling read if they did. But it’s not too realistic if they are constantly in flux, either. Try to strike a reasonable balance. Their character arc will be much more believable if we meet them when their lives are routine, but then watch them grow into people who break out of the mold.

For Everyone:
Are you stuck in work-rut? Do you do the same things, day after day? It’s time to stop and smell the cake. (Trust me, it smells AMAZING.) Appreciate life. Actually live, rather than exist. Life is all the better when it’s lived with purpose.

What the Subject Experts Say:

Is Your Writing Like Angel Food Cake?

Honestly, you can’t make these things up. Today is National Angel Food Cake Day.

If you’ve been following my blog for a while, you know that I love to bake. Italians show love through their food, and the old saying, “The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach,” was probably said by someone’s nonna after winning her man with homemade cannoli.

I’ve made countless desserts in my life. More cakes than you can fathom. I’ve even decorated dozens of them for birthday parties.

But I’ve never made an angel food cake. Never.

Don’t get me wrong, I love angel food cake. I’m especially fond of it soaked in raspberry Jell‑O and topped with whipped cream (maybe cut into cubes and mixed with fruit, too). But I’ve never baked one. I don’t have a pan, and every grocery store sells them ready made. Not quite as good as homemade angel food cake, but it’s hard to pass up the convenience.

Angel food cake originated in the United States and became popular in the late nineteenth century. It gets its name from its texture. It’s an incredibly airy cake (not at all like a dense pound cake) that is made by whipping egg whites and folding them into the rest of the ingredients. It’s then baked in an ungreased tube pan (the lack of greasing helps the cake cling to the sides of the pan and rise tall). Because of its white color and light texture, angel food cake was called the “food of the angels.”

I don’t know if angels eat, but if they do, I could see why they’d like this cake.

And why am I telling you all this?

Because it’s interesting, in a not-so-fascinating kind of way.

How did a cake get a whole day devoted to it? Why October 10? Who decided to make the first cake in an ungreased pan (madness!)? Why don’t people frost this cake?

No one seems to know.

But two things struck me about this day. One, angel food cake is a lot like writing. And two, angel food cake day is actually a life-lesson we can all benefit from. Don’t believe me? Read on.

For Writers:
Indulge me for a bit.

Angel food cake is difficult to make and is only successful if a specific formula is followed.

Egg whites have to be whipped into meringue.
Stabilizer has to be added for structure.
The proper pan must be used for lift.
The cake has to be cooled upside down so it doesn’t fall.

And isn’t a novel the same?

Plots have to be whipped into shape.
The three-act structure gives it stability.
Fully-developed characters carry the story.
It will all fall apart if the ending isn’t crafted properly.

Writers, take the time to make your novels a masterpiece instead of a hastily slapped-together work that might not rise to your readers’ expectations.

For Everyone:
The story of angel food cake and its achieving a national holiday is a lesson we can all learn from. Most of us won’t leave our history behind. We won’t be written about on Wikipedia and our biographies will be lost to the masses.

But like the cake, even though our histories are lost, our legacies will live on.

Through our family, our friends, our work.

Are we going to stand out from the crowd, elite and exceptional?

Or are we going to blend in to all the others, uninspiring and easily ignored?

I want my legacy to be the stuff angels crave. And that will only happen if I rise to the occasion and be the best I can be.

What about you? Are you an angel cake or a dry scone? Let’s discuss (but grab a cup of coffee and a piece of angel food cake first!).

Laci and Del: Hallow-Why-Me?

It’s the first Friday of the month. Time for another installment of short fiction. You can, at any time, find this work or any of the First Friday Fiction Features (#FFFF), by going to the My Work tab, clicking on Freebies, and selecting the story you wish to read.

Remember that 2014 is the year I’m trying serial work. This is part 10 of 12.

Laci and Del: Hallow-Why-Me?

The first thing Laci did when the cast came off was recoil in horror that anyone would see her with that much hair on her leg. Calling it stubble was like calling the Grand Canyon a small valley. That was full blown hair. Braid-able hair.

Almost, anyway.

Then she didn’t care. She could finally scratch all the itches she’d suffered through for eight weeks. It was pure heaven. Until the itching was gone and she was back to sasquatch-city. She yanked her pant leg down, checked out of the office, and went straight home to shave.

That was pure heaven.

With newly silken legs and unencumbered foot, she was finally able to try on her Halloween costume. One of Del’s coworkers was throwing a movie-themed party, and they decided to go as Sandy and Danny from Grease. She felt kind of foolish in the blonde wig. Some brunettes could pull off blonde, but she definitely wasn’t one of them. And the curls! But it suited the costume. And boy was she delighted to see that the pants fit.

Well, if you want to call skin-tight fitting.

She had been looking forward to this party for weeks. Tensions between her and Del had been getting worse; their relationship had grown quite strained. They’d spent less and less time together, and when they were alone, they never discussed the job-shaped elephant in the room. Every time one of them brought up the subject, the other changed the topic or found a reason to leave. It seemed neither was really ready to have that discussion.

On Halloween, she didn’t have to be Laci. She got to be Sandy, and stepping into someone else’s shoes for the night sounded wonderful.

Even if those shoes were red, high-heeled, open-toe pumps on a wooden platform.

She briefly wondered if her broken bone was ready for that kind of torture, then proceeded to practice walking in them. They kind of hurt her feet, but she was used to street shoes. One night wouldn’t kill her.

Laci took her time getting ready, and was just smearing on lip gloss when the doorbell rang. She rushed through her apartment, only rolling her ankle once, and flung open the door.

Del was a knockout, dressed all in black, right down to his shoes. Except for the signature white socks. He even had something rolled in his sleeve to look like a pack of cigarettes, and he held a leather jacket over his shoulder. His hair was greased back into a ducktail and a few locks flopped forward onto his forehead in a similar curled fashion to how Travolta wore his. Laci harbored a not-so-secret love affair with the movie and a slightly more secret crush on Danny Zuko, so it was no wonder her heart fluttered when she opened her door.

Del was even sexier than Danny.

He looked her over and smiled.

She said, “Tell me about it, stud.” And they left for the party.

Joe’s apartment was in the South Side, and the subway ride there garnered them some strange looks. But Laci didn’t think anything could dim her spirits. Her cast was off, she was with her gorgeous boyfriend, and she was going to a party. A few strange looks were nothing. Most people just smiled or ignored them, anyway.

When they finally arrived, she headed straight for the bar, stopping only briefly to say hello to a few acquaintances. She didn’t know many of the people Del worked with, but she’d know them all better once she had a drink and started chatting with them. She was through with her first beer when she noticed the karaoke machine in the living room. She had finished the second when people starting singing duets. Most were cringe-worthy, but that was the fun of it. Snacking on pretzels and making small talk with Abby, Del’s secretary, she was startled to see someone dragging Del to the microphone.

Abby said, “Don’t make me drag you, too. Just go.” And she nodded toward the living room.

“What?”

“Someone signed you and Del up to sing, and looking at the screen, I can see why.”

Laci glanced at the TV screen, where the lyrics were displayed for everyone to see. They were expected to sing “Summer Nights.” She laughed, slid off her stool, and tottered toward the living room.

Del was still trying to get out of it, but someone started the music and he shrugged and started singing.

Laci joined in and had a blast. She loved every song in Grease, and seeing Del singing to her dressed like that made her whole month.

Until she started paying attention to the words.

By the end of the song, she was trying so hard not to burst into tears that she barely made a sound. Luckily Danny’s voice was stronger than Sandy’s, and Del overpowering her just seemed like part of the performance.

Everyone broke into applause and called for a second song, but Laci was a wreck. While Del got stuck singing “Greased Lightning,” she maneuvered as carefully as she could through the throng of people and stepped onto the patio for some fresh—if not freezing—air.

Del’s boss was just stubbing out a cigarette butt and nodded his greeting to her. “That was some performance.”

“Oh.” What did one say to a comment like that, anyway? “You could hear us from out here?”

“Can’t you hear Del?”

She stood and listened to the noises around her. In addition to the cars and some occasional raucous laughter from the pub-crawlers down the street, she could hear Del singing. “Yes, I suppose so.”

He lit another cigarette and took a long drag, the end glowing bright orange in the darkness of the patio. “You know, I thought Del would be in California by now.”

Laci didn’t answer. She kind of thought, on some level, that Del would have left already, too.

“He could do great things out there. It’s the next logical step in his career. He’s already a year behind.”

She could feel her cheeks burn. “No one’s stopping him.”

He tipped his head up and blew a stream of smoke into the dark sky. It hovered for a second like a specter, then dissipated into the night. “Oh, someone’s stopping him. Just like that same someone did the last time.”

She looked at her feet and suppressed a shiver. “I never told him not to go.”

“You never told him to go, either. I don’t know what you’re playing at, but this is a man’s career at stake.”

“You aren’t worried about Del. You’re worried about your company.”

“The two aren’t mutually exclusive, Laci.” He stubbed out his cigarette and headed for the door. He nodded at Del who was just stepping outside, and made his way back to the party.

Del walked over to Laci and put his leather jacket around her. “I wondered where you ran off to. There was a request for “Hopelessly Devoted to You,” but you were already gone.”

“I couldn’t have sung that right now if I tried.”

He scoffed. “You probably know that song better than Olivia Newton John. Of course you could.”

She shook her head and swallowed past the lump in her throat. “No. Not tonight.”

“Too drunk?”

She knew he knew what was wrong, but this time she wasn’t going to let him change the topic. “Del, we have to talk.”

“Not here. Let’s just go inside and get something to eat.”

Her fairytale was over. Clock struck midnight, carriage a pumpkin, clothes back to rags. There was no escaping her life. Costume or not, she was still Laci and he was still Del. And no matter how much she wanted it all, she wasn’t being asked to try on that glass slipper.

“Del, listen.”

“No.”

“Del…”

“I’m not doing this here, Laci. And I’m not doing it now.”

“Then I will. I can’t keep seeing you. Not when there’s so much involved, and so much unresolved.”

“So we’ll resolve it. Later.”

“I’m resolving it now. Your company needs you. And California is something you want. I can’t stand in the way of that. Certainly not twice.”

“If that’s really how you feel, then come with me.”

“I can’t. I tried before. I can’t. I love it here. This is my home. This is where my family is.”

“And you can’t leave all that to be with me?”

She shook her head, and the tears ran down her face. “It’s just too much.”

“Then I’ll stay. For you.”

“And resent me for it five years from now, when we’re married and have kids?”

“You think about that?” he asked.

“What?”

“Marrying me. Having kids.”

“Of course I do. I love you. I’ve loved you for years.”

“Then I’m staying. I want that, too.”

“I love you too much to ruin your life like that,” she said, then gave him his jacket. “Please, don’t follow me. I can’t keep arguing with you.”

“Laci—”

She heard him calling her as she wove through the crowd and out the door. On her way to the subway, she thought she heard him behind her, but it was just someone in a clown costume. Creepy, but not as scary for her to face as Del would have been at that moment.

She managed not to cry until she opened her apartment door and slunk to the floor. She kicked of those wicked shoes and thought about Sandy and Danny, Cinderella and her prince.

Why didn’t she get a happily-ever-after?

Fall, ’Fest, and Family

It’s been a busy week. I had a short story published (Swallowing Memories) and a character interview with Royce Keller of Type and Cross went live on a multi-national site. You can check them both out by clicking on the links.

But it hasn’t just been a great week. It’s a wonderful time of year. Just this week alone saw the beginning of autumn, the start of Oktoberfest, and for me, the second week of visits from family.

Fall is my favorite time of year. The oppressive heat of summer gives way to the warm days and cool nights of autumn. Football starts. Hockey is right on its heels. Tennis is much more bearable. Pumpkins and gourds abound, and lighter fare is exchanged for soups, stews, and mulled ciders. We can retire the t-shirts and break out the sweaters. Leaves change and color the landscape with brilliant reds and fiery oranges. Who doesn’t love enjoying the day and then snuggling up at night? Yes, fall began this week, and I was happy to welcome it.

Oktoberfest also began this week. Being that my father’s family hails from Germany, this is a holiday I try to embrace and celebrate with my family. But it’s September, you say. It can’t be Oktoberfest. Well, sorry; you’re wrong.

The first Oktoberfest was in October. It was a celebration of a royal wedding.[1] The tradition of a large party continued, but the start date has been moved to late September so the weather would be more agreeable. Oktoberfest still ends in October, though.[2] The festivities in Germany are large and joyous, and ironically, not called Oktoberfest at all. The locals simply call it Wisen because of the fairgrounds, or large fields, where the tents are set up (Theresienwiese).[3]

Traditional Oktoberfest celebrations include rides, games, a lot of beer (only six breweries are approved to sell beer at the Wisen), and huge quantities of German food. Attendants can feast on “traditional food such as Hendl (roast chicken), Schweinebraten (roast pork), Schweinshaxe (grilled ham hock), Steckerlfisch (grilled fish on a stick), Würstl (sausages) along with Brezen (pretzel), Knödel (potato or bread dumplings), Käsespätzle (cheese noodles), Reiberdatschi (potato pancakes), Sauerkraut or Rotkohl/Blaukraut (red cabbage) along with such Bavarian delicacies as Obatzda (a spiced cheese-butter spread) and Weisswurst (a white sausage).”[4]

As for my family? From now through October 5, we’ll be eating some of that traditional fare. The kids won’t get any beer, but we’ll all eat bratwurst, potato pancakes, schnitzel, and strudel. What can I say? I’m mostly Italian; we connect with our roots—as well as our loved ones—through food.

And speaking of loved ones, I’m coming to the end of two weeks of family visits. Our family is 1000 miles from here, and we don’t get to see them often. Both sets of grandparents wanted to see the kids perform in their fall sports, so both sets came down here, one right after the other. It was wonderful seeing them again, but it would have been nice if the visits could have been spaced out instead of back-to-back. Still, I wouldn’t trade that time for anything in the world. Of course we ate family favorites (everyone should experience my mother-in-law’s famous apple pie), played games, went to see the kids in tennis and football, but mostly just enjoyed the time together talking, reminiscing, laughing. These memories are the ones we’ll carry with us.

For Writers:
There are a lot of holidays and events to mark in autumn. Have you considered incorporating seasonal activities into your WIPs to enrich them? It’s the details that bring fiction to life. Sure, you can say, “It was autumn in Pittsburgh.” But isn’t it much better to describe the crisp air, the crunch of leaves underfoot, the end of the baseball season and the start of football and hockey? You never have to mention the time of year at all if the details bring the setting to life. And your writing will be stronger for it.

For Everyone:
I don’t know if you see family often or almost never, like us. But I do hope you enjoy them while you can. Maybe you can use the new season and current activities to rekindle an old family tradition or add a new one. Let’s talk about autumn and family. Leave a comment below.

^{[1] http://www.oktoberfest.de/en/article/About+the+Oktoberfest/About+the+Oktoberfest/Dates+and+General+FAQs/751/2/}

^{[2] http://www.oktoberfest.de/en/article/About+the+Oktoberfest/About+the+Oktoberfest/Dates+and+General+FAQs/751/2/}

^{[3] http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Oktoberfest}

^{[4] http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Oktoberfest}

Peace

This Sunday is International Day of Peace. The United Nations created this holiday in 1981, and in 2002, they declared it a permanent holiday. Every year, on September 21, the UN urges peace for all people and the cessation of hostilities across the globe.

Some people love the UN, some people hate it, but regardless of your opinions and your politics, this seems like a holiday we can all get behind.

I don’t have control over national military groups; I can’t halt attacks or call a cease-fire. What I can do, however, is try to promote peace where I am.

I can be more tolerant of people on the road.
I can communicate calmly and rationally instead of with sarcasm and hostility.
I can pray that all people around the globe find peace and that the violence permanently ends.

Recommendations from the UN:

Visit the United Nations in New York City.
Plant a peace tree.
Attend a peace rally.
Light a candle at dusk in support of world peace.
Practice peaceful resolution and problem-solving skills in your daily interpersonal interactions.

“It is not enough to teach children how to read, write and count. Education has to cultivate mutual respect for others and the world in which we live, and help people forge more just, inclusive and peaceful societies.” – UN Secretary General Ban Ki-moon on the 100-day countdown message to the International Day of Peace.

For Writers:
Fiction surges forward when we introduce conflict, stagnates when everything is harmonious. However, the quest for peace can be filled with strife, making the peaceful resolution (or climax) that much more satisfying.

Don’t let your fiction flounder because everyone is calm, rational, and diplomatic. Instead, introduce several problems, so that when they are all conquered the resolution and subsequent peace has the impact you’re hoping for.

For Everyone:
No one lives perpetually in a state of serenity and calm. But it’s something we can all strive toward. I hope you all have a peaceful International Day of Peace.

Hopefully someday peace won’t just be a day we commemorate, but it will be a way of life. (click to tweet that)

How do you think you’ll celebrate Peace Day? Do you have any suggestions? Let’s talk about it here.

Compassion, Team Spirit, and Laziness Do Not Mix

I attended my son’s season opener last week. Both schools had been looking forward to this game since they met last year—even though the two schools aren’t in the same division anymore (our school just moved up one), it’s our biggest rivalry. It also happens to be the district just a few miles up the road, so these kids know each other well.

I was saddened to hear that one of our opponent’s coaches had died earlier that week from a battle with cancer. Coach Green. I knew it was going to put a damper on an otherwise high-energy game, but I was powerless to change that.

Before the game, my daughter informed me that we were having a white out. That means everyone on our side of the field was supposed to wear white to support our school. The other team, whose colors are black and gold, was having a green out in memory of their departed coach. Despite our white out, however, everyone was asked to wear green somewhere as a sign of our respect. Most of the crowd complied. Along with our white shirts were green hats, green ribbons, green bandanas, green face paint… Anything to show our sympathies for their loss.

I was touched at the show of solidarity. These schools aren’t friendly rivals, they’re bitter rivals. And it warmed my heart to know those differences could be put aside in the face of a tragedy.

And then I saw the banner for our kids to run through upon entering the field.

Put Grove in the Grave.

With an RIP tombstone on it.

I was shocked. Horrified. Embarrassed.

I’m sure that banner was made before our school learned about Coach Green. At least, I hope so. What I didn’t understand was why it wasn’t changed.

Were we too short of funds to make another one?

Were we too short on time?

Too proud of the creativity of the slogan to change it?

Just too lazy to bother?

Or were we completely oblivious to how painful that sign would be to anyone who knew the coach?

I’m not sure why that sign was used in the game. I don’t even know if I care. But I do know it was wildly inappropriate and totally undid any bridge-building we had done by wearing green. And it didn’t have to be that way.

School spirit is a good thing. Compassion is a wonderful thing. But when mixed with laziness or complacency or hubris, it’s a terrible combination. It would be better to show none of these things than all of them. (click to tweet this sentiment)

For Writers:
It’s so easy to write characters who are flat, uninspired, one-dimensional. Characters who are stereotypes and clichés because we forget to add in other emotions and reactions. We’re cautioned against that all the time. We typically are told to consider motivation and give our characters unexpected character traits to make them seem more realistic.

The solution IS NOT to add two such diametrically opposed traits that they completely conflict with each other. Which is the real emotion? The real motivation?

How are we supposed to get to know a character when his actions are 180 degrees from what is logical?

Be careful when you develop your characters. A situation like the one above could be used to show a passive-aggressive personality, or to show someone’s thoughtlessness. But most often, it will just confuse your readers.

Remember, reality doesn’t always make good fiction. (click to tweet that)

For Everyone:
I like to believe that people are inherently kind and good (like the wearing of the green was supposed to show). I know people can be mean, but in this case I’d like to think it was just oversight that caused the faux pas. Maybe we could all be a little more considerate, though, and a little more careful.

I know after seeing that banner, I made a resolution to think things through better.

So what do you think? Why was that the banner at the game? Why do your characters do the things they do? Let’s talk about it.

Laci and Del: Belabored Day

Remember that 2014 is the year I’m trying serial work. This is part 9 of 12.

Laci and Del: Belabored Day

Laci finished tossing the pasta salad together and looked out the patio door. Del was lounging on a deck chair, listening to classic rock and working on his tan. She sighed, but didn’t go to him.

Instead of spending Labor Day with family picnics, they’d decided to go away for the weekend and rented a place right on Lake Erie. She wasn’t sure what avoiding family was going to solve, other than delaying the inevitable. The subject of moving had come up at Del’s birthday, and he’d stormed off.

They hadn’t discussed it since.

The situation needed to be resolved. But what if she brought it up and he left again? She’d be stranded there. Not a bad place to be stranded, but still, it wasn’t something she wanted to experience.

She put the salad in the refrigerator and started mixing the fudge frosting for the chocolate chip brownies she’d baked. Double chocolate was good, so triple chocolate had to be better, right? Brownies never seemed complete to her unless they were frosted. She wasn’t sure how long she whipped the butter, but she stopped when she noticed the mixer getting hot. The butter was creamier than she’d ever seen and almost white. Setting the appliance aside, she dug around for a wooden spoon to finish mixing the frosting.

She needed to stop dwelling on the conversation-that-wasn’t and start paying attention to what she was doing. Before she did irreparable damage to their rental unit. Or herself.

Del came inside just as she completed icing the brownies. As usual, he swiped his finger through the finished product instead of through the remaining frosting in the bowl. “Mmm,” he said. “That’s good.”

Laci repaired the damage he’d done and swatted his hand away when he reached toward the pan again. “Oh no. One swipe per pan. If you want more, take it from the bowl.” She handed it to him and put the brownies under a cake dome.

“I won’t say no to the rest of the bowl. And where are the mixer beaters? I’ll lick them, too.”

She turned toward the sink so she didn’t have to meet his gaze. “I didn’t use the mixer for anything other than the butter. I don’t have beaters for you.”

“Why’d you do that?”

“You’re awfully demanding for a man who’s getting a treat.” She started washing dishes, pleased with her efforts at changing the subject. Even if she should just get it over with and talk to him about moving.

“This mixer’s hot.” He yanked the plug out of the wall. “Must be a problem with the outlet. Or the motor. Better not use this again while we’re here.”

“No problem. I’m done with everything. The rest is up to you.”

“Yeah, grilling steaks is so difficult.”

She smiled and took the bowl from him so she could finish cleaning up.

“So, we have all afternoon. What do you think? Swim? Rent a boat? Stay in?”

Laci glanced at him. He waggled his eyebrows and grinned.

“I don’t want to spend more money. Let’s just take our towels down to the beach and enjoy the view.”

He shrugged. “Your call.”

Laci walked into the bedroom to change into her swimsuit. She walked over to her luggage, a large hard suitcase her grandmother had given her. She claimed she’d never use the set again and didn’t want it to go to waste. Laci ran her finger over the initials by the handle. BCM—Brigid Cathleen Milligan. She smiled and grabbed the handle. When she lifted it, the handle pulled off and the luggage fell on her foot. “Ow!” The impact took her breath away.

Del came rushing in. “What happened? Are you okay?” He frowned when he saw the broken luggage. “You wouldn’t share my bag or use one of the new bags you bought me. And now look. You’re probably going to have a big bruise on your foot from your crappy luggage falling on you.”

“It’s not crappy. It’s antique. And it has sentimental value.” Her foot was killing her. The last thing she wanted to do was argue. Yes, she loved the luggage set because it had been her grandmother’s. But she had refused to use Del’s luggage, not because of sentiment, but because of the argument they’d had when she gave it to him. It was petty, sure, and now she was paying for it. She tried to walk away, but she couldn’t put any weight on her foot. She yelped and collapsed on the edge of the bed.

He sighed. “Let me see.” He stooped beside her and lifted her foot.

Del had hardly touched her foot when she winced and pulled it back. She had painted her toenails a lovely violet color, and her foot was starting to match the polish. The swelling was already making her flipflop too tight.

“It’s already bruising and swelling. This might be more than a minor injury. You may have broken it. Looks like we’re headed to the hospital.”

She blinked back tears when she put her foot down. “No. Don’t be silly. The ERs are always so crowded on holidays, and I’ll be walking off the pain in another minute.”

He stood and crossed his arms. “Really? Let’s see.”

“I said in a minute. Or two.”

“I could give you days and you won’t be walking on that. Let’s go.” He offered her his hand.

“Del, I really don’t think—”

He cut her off by picking her up. She squirmed and kicked her good foot, but to no avail.

“Better keep your legs down. You don’t want to smack the sore foot off a door or wall.” He carried her through the beach house, out the door, and down to the car.

She fumed and stared out the window.

They were at a hospital in about fifteen minutes, and Del dropped her off at the ER doors before going to park. She hadn’t made much progress getting inside when he caught up to her and half supported/half carried her to the registration desk. The nurse gave her a clipboard of forms to fill out, and Del took them to the last two seats together in the lobby.

“I told you it would be crowded.”

“And I told you that your foot needed to be checked.”

She sighed and filled out the forms. Del took them up to the desk for her. When he came back, he said, “She said it’s going to be a while. There are more serious cases ahead of you.”

“This isn’t the way I planned on spending our vacation.”

“If you’d just used my bag, this wouldn’t have happened.”

Pain, frustration, irritation… all warred in her until her frayed temper snapped. “Why on earth would you think I’d use your luggage? I bought you that set thinking it would be a nice gift, and you basically threw it back in my face.”

“I did not.”

“You did. You left without spending your birthday with me, and you didn’t take the luggage with you. It sat at my house for a week before I finally brought it to you.”

“I wasn’t rejecting the gift. I was angry at the message behind it.”

“What message? That I love you and wanted you to have it?” That was a lie. The message was that she wanted him to travel but not move away. She just hadn’t told him that yet.

“No. That you made up my mind for me and were sending me away. Without you. It’s basically breakup luggage.”

She jumped up and searing pain shot through her foot and up her leg. Gasping, she sat back down.

“Where did you think you were going to go?”

“I don’t know, but I’m not having this conversation with you. Not now. Not here in a hospital ER where everyone can listen to our business.” She glanced around. People in the waiting room, staff behind the window… they were all staring at her and Del.

“But it won’t be our business much longer, will it? Pretty soon, it’s just going to be me, alone again. No you. No couple.”

A nurse came over with a wheelchair. “Miss Marks? We’re ready for you now.”

“That was fast,” Del said. He helped Laci into the chair.

The nurse glanced around, then whispered so only the two of them could hear her. “Sometimes when there’s a disturbance out here, it’s just easier to change the order and take a patient early.” She started pushing Laci through the waiting area.

Del followed, and the nurse turned around to speak to him. “We’ve got it from here. Please have a seat. We’ll keep you updated.”

“Lace…”

“Just listen to her, Del. I’m sure I won’t be too long.” He frowned, but sat back down. She knew she’d be hearing more about that later. But that argument beat the other one they were having.

When the nurse got Laci situated behind a curtain, she started asking a lot of questions. And not about her foot. Laci would have laughed, the whole thing was so ludicrous, but she was in too much pain. Instead, she assured the nurse that she wasn’t in an abusive relationship and Del was actually a wonderful man. And no, he didn’t hurt her. Her own stubbornness and clumsiness was to blame.

Once the nurse was satisfied that Laci was in no danger from Del, she asked the necessary medical questions and a doctor came to see her. A long trip to the x-ray department and back, and the doctor was telling her she was lucky. She had broken her foot, but only one bone, and it was a clean break. Given the way the accident happened, she could have had many rough breaks, with chips and fragments, that would have required surgery.

Yay. Lucky her.

After her foot was set and she had crutches, she was led back out to the lobby.

Del was pacing up and down the hall. He rushed to her when she came out. “They said they’d keep me posted, but they didn’t tell me a thing.”

She continued hobbling down the hall toward the door. “Well, obviously it’s broken. But it’s not bad. He said it was a clean break, so I don’t need surgery.”

They walked outside, and he stopped her at the curb. She looked up at him, and he placed both hands on her face and gave her a tender kiss. “I was worried.”

“I’ll be okay.”

He rested his forehead on hers, and she just breathed him in. This was her Del, this was her heart, her home. She couldn’t bear to lose him.

He pushed away. “Stay here. I’ll get the car.”

“I need to learn to use these. I’ll come with you.”

“I said stay!” Rather than starting yet another argument, she waited while he loped across the parking lot. He was back in no time and got out to help her.

Once they were on their way back to the beach house, she said, “You really don’t need to treat me so delicately. I’m okay.”

He sighed. “Are you okay enough to continue our discussion about the move?”

Her stomach clenched. “No. I’m not that okay yet.”

The tick in his jaw said more than any of his words would or could. “We’ll table it for now. But we’re talking soon. We can’t let this stuff fester between us. It’s already gone unsaid for too long.”

She looked out the window at the surf. Her foot ached, but not as much as her heart. She leaned her head on the window. She didn’t want things left unresolved, but she was frightened of the resolution. What if instead of staying, he chose his career over her?