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View Full Version : Chat with Romantic Comedy Author Catherine Wade



Catherine Wade
July 5th, 2009, 12:58 PM
Hi all! My name is Catherine Wade and I write for Samhain Publishing. This is my first eloop chat, so be gentle. :scardey:

I'll be here today until 5 PM Eastern Time to provide excerpts, bonus scenes, and answer any questions you have. So don't be shy! Be sure to pop out and ask me anything. :gun_bandana:

I'll also be giving away an electronic copy of Let's Dish. To enter to win, just email me at cate@catherinewade.com with the subject line COFFEE TIME CHAT between now and 7 PM ET on Monday, July 6th. I'll come back in and announce the winner, and will email the winner directly, as well.

So pull up a seat and join me for an afternoon of fun and romance!

Cate
http://www.catherinewade.com

Catherine Wade
July 5th, 2009, 01:02 PM
Let's start with an excerpt, shall we? The opening scene from Let's Dish:

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Had to be. What else could account for the palpitations, the tingling all over, and the sudden urge to run in the opposite direction? Sure as hell couldn’t be seeing Kevin Best for the first time in umpteen years. Could it?
“Hi Maggie.”
“What the hell are you doing here, Kevin?” My pulse was racing and my palms were slick, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to let him see that.
He stood there the picture of innocence. His tall frame was hunched slightly, and his green eyes sparkled with humor. An unruly shock of sandy hair framed a handsome face, and I was annoyed as hell with myself for noticing every inch of him.
“Just wanted to buy a chocolate raspberry tart.” He leaned one elbow across my counter and put on that infernal grin. His voice was still smooth as silk, the Southern accent still lilting and calculatingly seductive.
I, however, was immune. “You know the recipe. You could’ve made that yourself. You didn’t crawl in here after all this time just for a tart.”
“Sure I did. I love your chocolate raspberry tart.”
The remnants of the breakfast crowd shot glances our direction. I had a feeling I’d gone pale, but hoped not. I stretched my frame as tall as I could, grateful the pastry case hid my knocking knees.
I folded my arms and glared at him. “Don’t stand there pretending you’re a customer. You want something.”
Kevin put his hands up in surrender. “I want a tart.” I tilted my head to the side and he got the message. “Okay, you got me.”
“I knew it!” I said in victory. “So what is it, then? Don’t tell me Fred Carpenter has gotten a hold of you and is trying this approach now? You can tell him sending in his minions won’t work, either.”
Kevin looked confused. “Who’s Fred Carpenter?”
“Don’t play innocent. Fred’s been trying to buy us out for ages, but we’re not selling. Period.”
Kevin nodded. “Okay. Good to know.”
“I’m not going to work for him, either. He tried that angle already, and it’s not flying any better.”
“Maggie, I don’t know Fred Carpenter. But if he wants you, he’s got good taste.”
I scowled. He seemed clueless, but I wasn’t sure I was buying it. “So if you’re not an industrial spy, why are you here?”
“You mean, other than to buy a tart?”
“Will you forget the damned tart?”
The jackass had the audacity to chuckle. “No, as a matter of fact, I won’t. But I do have another reason for being here. I wanted to let you know—before the rumor mill got going—well, you remember Angela Summerset?”
My temples throbbed. “Unfortunately.”
“We’re opening our own shop. Over on <st1:street w:st="on"><st1:address w:st="on">Colgate Street</st1:address></st1:street>. Nothing like this, of course.” He motioned around the small dining room with its tiny bistro tables and black-and-white checkerboard floor. He seemed to smile at each customer in turn, charming the room. They didn’t know him like I did. “This is inspired, Maggie. A coffee shop. And the name! Let’s Dish…catchy. So it looks like you’re doing well. Making good money?”
“Oodles.” I was lying my ass off, but Kevin didn’t need to know our bank account was so often in the red we’d nicknamed the checkbook Scarlet.
Kevin either didn’t know or didn’t care that his question had been out of line. “We’re just doing catering, for the most part. Some bakery items and a freezer section with some quick-cook entrees.”
“Fascinating.”
One side of Kevin’s mouth slid up into a half-smile, and I willed my belly to stop flip-flopping. “Anyway, our kitchen’s not quite up and running yet, and we wanted to celebrate with something special. Your chocolate raspberry tart is legendary, Maggie. I never figured out how you mix the butter into the crust so there are little chunks of it in the dough…” He stopped long enough to look me over. With my arms crossed and my expression calculated to match, I hoped to seem imposing. It must have worked at least a little, because he cleared his throat before continuing. “I had a craving, I was in the neighborhood, I thought I’d stop by.”
I stared at him a moment longer, but grabbed a box and opened the back of the display case. “Anything else?” I asked. Just like I would of any other customer.
“Maybe some of those sun-dried tomato pesto rolls. Those sound good with dinner tonight. Four of them, please.”
I cocked an eyebrow. “Four? Got company?”
He grinned. “Not yet. Want to come over?”
My nose wrinkled involuntarily. “I think not.” I made a production of sliding the glass aside to grab the rolls.
“You can bring Ted,” he said. “How is old Ted, anyway? Still a drag?”
Now one might think that was an innocent question, but it was as loaded as my father after a Packers game. And Kevin knew it.
“Fine,” I said. “I hear he’s fine. He might be fine. He might be dead. None of my business anymore, really.”
Kevin had the good grace to blush as his cocky grin faded. “Wow, Maggie. I…didn’t know. I wouldn’t have… I’m sorry. You couldn’t make it work, then?”
“No.” I felt like I’d swallowed a rubber ball and it was bouncing around my insides. “The divorce was finalized a few months ago.”
He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. I stood there with one fist dug into my hip, waiting to see what lame trash would come out of his mouth next. The humor in his eyes paled to a soft, sad expression. The rubber ball lodged and made my gut ache.
“Maggie, I never meant for this to happen.”
“Yeah, well, it did. Nothing anyone can do about it now.” I took a deep breath, realizing I was squeezing a pesto roll in one hand. I slipped it into the bag and placed it next to the boxed tart on the counter. “That’ll be twenty-two fifty.”
He handed me his money, but let his fingers linger on the bills near mine. “Maggie, if there’s ever anything I can do…”
“I think you’ve done enough.” I ripped the money out of his hand and dug for his change.
“Keep it.” He stopped, and seemed to be engaged in a mental wrestling match. “Mags, I really am sorry. I didn’t want to see you hurt.”
“Then maybe you should have kept your mouth shut.”
His brow furrowed. “You mean you would have rather…” He stopped, shaking his head. “Never mind. Thanks, Maggie.” He took his order, shot me an uneasy glance, and headed for the door.
“Thank you,” I said in a mocking, sing-song tone. “And be sure not to come again.” He paused on his way out the door, but let it swing shut without another word.
I let out the breath that I’d been holding since he’d walked in. My brain was reeling. Kevin Best was opening a new shop? The fact that he’d slunk back into town had been enough of a shock, but to open a shop? A [I]competing shop? Damn! After all this time, he was still hell bent on ruining my life. He’d just come up with a new angle.
I was pretty sure a stroke would have been better news.
Before the little bell above the door had stopped echoing around the dining room, the second third of our partnership walked in the door with her eyes still focused on the sidewalk behind her. The door snapped shut and she turned to face me. “Was that…”
“Kevin,” I finished for her.
Lyla’s jaw dropped. “No way! What the hell did he think he was doing coming in here?”
“Thank you! So I’m not the only one who thinks it’s weird for him to show up here out of the blue and tell me he’s opening a new store?”
Lyla’s eyes popped. “He’s what?”
“Here in Fallsview. Right under our noses.”
“Why that rat. After what he did to you?” She paused. “Although…”
“Oh no. Don’t even go there.” I turned away and grabbed my rag to polish the display cases.
She shrugged. “Well, you never know. It’s been a while since you and Ted split up, this might be your second chance.”
I let out half a chuckle. “Next thing you’ll be telling me people can change.”
“People can change. Just look at me.”
I scrubbed at a particularly stubborn smudge on the glass. “Minor miracles notwithstanding, a leopard can’t change his spots.”
She smiled, but it seemed a little patronizing. “Okay, Maggie. If you say so.” She looked around at the dwindling mob. “Looks like we had a good crowd today.”
“It’s getting better,” I agreed. “More every week.”
Lyla bobbed her head in approval. “Excellent. But you’re here by yourself?”
I nodded. “Armand’s at the farmer’s market.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
“God, no.” I threw my hands protectively across the display case. “Back away from the pastries, Lyla. Put away the cookbooks and nobody’ll get hurt.”
“Oh come on.” Lyla shrugged. “What? Just because one time I mix up salt and sugar—”
“One time? How about the egg shells in the banana bread? The cranberry juice in the piña colada pie?”
“Hey, that didn’t taste too bad.” I stared at her, and she put her hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay! But I can pour coffee! Geez!”
I laughed and rearranged the bagel basket. “That’s all right. The main rush is over, anyway. And I’m sure you came in to balance the books, not play waitress.”
“Server,” she corrected. “But yes, that was my intention. Taxes are due next month, insurance in two weeks, and I have to figure out which Peter to rob to pay Paul.”
I winced, a familiar twinge in the pit of my stomach. “Is it bad?”
Lyla tried to look encouraging, but we’d been friends long enough for me to know when she was faking. “It’s not hopeless or anything. Your instincts were right about adding the coffee shop on top of the catering. I think it’s nearly doubled our profits.”
“And double of nothing is…”
“Something,” she said, but the façade was starting to crack. “We talked about this, Maggie. All businesses lose money in the first few years. Did you really think you were going to be the exception?”
“No.” But deep inside I’d had hopes. “But losing money and going bankrupt are two different things.”
“Nobody said anything about going bankrupt.”
“We have to make this work, Lyla. If we lose the Dish, I’m doomed to spend the rest of my days living in my parents’ basement. I might as well adopt fifteen cats and start watching Star Trek reruns right now.”
“Don’t be so dramatic.” She headed back toward the office. “Let’s see what happens. For right now, you and my husband just cook the food and leave it to me to cook the books.”
“Hi, honey, I’m home,” a voice said from behind us. Armand came in the rear door, his arms loaded with canvas bags. He put down the bags on the island, gave Lyla a quick kiss, and waved at me with one finger. “I got blueberries, Mags. And some strawberries to put in the cream puffs for the D.A.R. dinner tonight. They look good. Really fresh.”
“Wonderful,” I said. “I’ll get started on the puffs right after breakfast.”
Armand motioned for Lyla to follow him behind the counter, and swept through the swinging door with a mysterious look on his face. “You’ll never believe what I heard through the grapevine.” He leaned in so only Lyla and I would hear. “Guess who’s back in town.”
“Kevin Best,” I said.
“And he’s opening a new shop.” Lyla, like me, had no problems with stealing Armand’s thunder.
Armand’s dark eyes crinkled around the edges. “How did you know? You wake up psychic this morning?”
“I wish,” I said. “He was just here. Ly got in on his grand exit.”
“He’s got guts showing up here.” Armand shook his head. “Last I heard he was trolling the cooking schools for someone to go into business with him.”
“Well, he found someone,” I said.
He nodded. “Angela Summerset, if you can imagine that pair together. Their place is called Best Dishes. Can you believe the size of his ego?”
“Duh,” Lyla said.
“Kevin’s a flash in the pan.” My tone was more confident than I was. “Pun intended. And Angela flunked out of the Culinary Institute. She’s a dilettante playing with her daddy’s credit card. No threat there.”
“Maybe not,” Lyla said, “but Kevin is serious competition. And competition is bad.”
“Not when it’s bad competition.”
Armand tilted his head, looking at me. “You know that’s not true. No matter how you feel about him, you know Kevin’s got talent.”
I shook my head, exhaustion washing over me and making my knees feel weak all over again. “Talent with food is one thing. People skills are another. And we all know how Kevin is with actual human beings.”
“But you said it yourself,” Lyla said. “Angela has money coming out her wah-hoo. They’ve got tons more capital to work with than we do.”
“Capital doesn’t mean quality,” I said, determined to sound sure of myself, whether I felt that way or not. “And Angela couldn’t bake herself out of a paper bag.”
Armand looked worried. “But Kevin—”
“Kevin, Kevin, Kevin!” I said, drawing a glance from Mrs. Foster and her sister at the corner table. I rubbed my eyes with the heels of my palms. “Listen, it won’t matter who opens a shop if we stand here gossiping all day instead of taking care of our own customers.”
Armand forced a smile. “Right. What can I do?”
“If I have to lift that coffee pot one more time, my arm is going to fall off.”
“I’m all over it.” He grabbed the coffee off the warmer.
“I’ll help, too,” Lyla said.
“Don’t touch the food!” Armand and I said in unison.
She rolled her eyes. “I’ll cover the cash register. Okay?”
Armand grinned at me, and I headed back into the kitchen, doing what little I could to try to save our business.

Catherine Wade
July 5th, 2009, 01:15 PM
And now, a bonus scene!

Kevin's Story:

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I pulled some local gigs for awhile, and even had a pretty good job as a sous chef in <st1:city w:st="on"><st1>Manhattan</st1></st1:city>. But I wanted the brass ring, and Mom’s old recipes weren’t gonna cut it if I wanted my own place. So I decided to go to the <st1><st1>Culinary</st1></st1><st1><st1> Academy</st1></st1>.


Plus, it was a great place to pick up chicks.



Case in point, the very first day there, these pretty young things were giggling at me. Okay, I’d been out in the world for a little while and I wasn’t exactly a spring chicken compared to these eighteen-year-olds, but they must have seen me as a father figure or something. And let me tell you, there were a few who had Friday night pastime potential.



But then [I]she walked down the hall.



She was tiny—the proper term is petite, but short covers it—with flame-red hair and freckles. On paper, that doesn’t sound attractive, but it was more than just the way she looked. She walked like she was ten feet tall. And her eyes—man, her eyes. They sparkled, even in the tacky fluorescent light. I had to get to know this one.



I’ve been around a couple blocks in my time. I have some go-to lines that work pretty well. So, in my most suave and debonair manner, I said, “Puff pastry?”


Puff pastry? Puff freaking pastry? This was my smooth line. What a bonehead.



“Excuse me?”



Good one, numbskull. “Um, I was asking if you’re signed up for the puff pastry class.”


She smiled. She looked like she thought I was nuts, but maybe I could make some time with her. Maybe.



“Yes. I am.”



Time to get a grip on my mojo again. “Good. Then I already know a friendly face here.” I stuck out my hand to shake hers, and that’s when I saw it—a wedding ring. Crap.



“I’m Kevin Best.”



“Maggie Taylor.”



God, even her name was cute.


“You from around here?” Obvious much? What the hell is wrong with me? “Sorry. That sounded like a pickup line. We’re in school, not a bar.”


She laughed, and those eyes twinkled. A little devilishly, actually. Man, she was something.


“That’s okay. I take it you’re not from around here.”


“<st1>South Texas</st1>,” I said. “By way of <st1:state w:st="on">Colorado</st1:state> and <st1><st1:state w:st="on">Florida</st1:state></st1>. But I was born in <st1><st1:city w:st="on">Birmingham</st1:city></st1>.”


“<st1><st1:state w:st="on">Alabama</st1:state></st1>?”



“That’s the one.” That’s me. King of the snappy comeback.



And why was I still acting like such a goober? She was married, for God’s sake. I had no shot in hell with this woman. And even if she weren’t, she was just some chick in my puff pastry class. Nothing spectacular. I’d made women much prettier than her swoon without tripping over my tongue. So why couldn’t I put together a coherent sentence?


I decided to get my act together and give up on the redhead. There were other fish in this little sea. But I couldn’t help watching her in class. She was amazing. Brilliant with food, and diligent, too. What she didn’t know, she learned, and what she hadn’t perfected, she practiced. She was way more together than the giggling cupcakes, even if she had a self-depreciating streak.



And then she became my partner.



It was obvious she wasn’t thrilled about it—even tried to get Chef Ratchett to reassign her. I knew it. I’d blown it with her on day one. Not that it mattered. Married.



How come I had to keep reminding myself of that?


But I thanked my lucky stars that day. Not only was she rapidly wriggling her way under my skin, she was the only other student in the class who showed any actual talent. Well, aside from the weird Cuban guy who kept claiming he was Hemingway’s long lost grandkid. And he was obviously a nut case.



We worked well together. Incredibly well, as a matter of fact. It was like she could read my thoughts—which was kind of scary, since I couldn’t keep my mind from wandering to what it would be like to have her in my bed.



But I wanted more from her than to get in her pants. Yeah, shocked the hell out of me, too, but Maggie was just so damned smart. Except when it came to that husband of hers. Something wasn’t right there. Something was off, and I was pretty sure she knew it deep down. If someone would just point it out to her…


But it was none of my business.



Working so closely together, we had no choice but to become friends. I was finally able to keep my mind out of the gutter and on my work long enough to do pretty well in class. Still, every time I saw Maggie, every time my hand brushed hers, every time I watched her concoct a new recipe, I was tempted. And every day I could see something wearing on her, pressing heavier and heavier on her shoulders. I didn’t know details—and didn’t dare ask—but I had a suspicion I knew who was at the root of the problem.



And then came that night I bartended for a buddy down at the Mermaid Club…


<o>
</o>

MelinaKantor
July 5th, 2009, 02:13 PM
Hi! Love the excerpt. I'm totally new to ebooks, just read my very first one. I have an iPhone. How can I read Let's Dish on that? I've used the Kindle app, but that's all I've got so far.

Catherine Wade
July 5th, 2009, 02:48 PM
Well, not too active today, but I think we're having some login trouble from what people are Tweeting to me, and I know it's the day after a holiday. However, some folks may be trickling in to read, so I will continue to occasionally post excerpts, etc. Right now, let me share some info about my September release Another Time Around:

http://catherinewade.files.wordpress.com/2009/06/anothertimearound72lg.jpg

Love haunts...

<link rel="File-List" href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CAcer%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsoht ml1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml"><!--><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><style> <!-- /* Font Definitions */ @font-face {font-family:"Bookman Old Style"; panose-1:2 5 6 4 5 5 5 2 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:647 0 0 0 159 0;} /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} @page Section1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;} </style> <![endif]--> Brin Maxwell once lived the ultimate rock-n-roll fantasy as the wife of the frontman for Hell’s Fury. It all ended in a flash—literally—with a lightning bolt that took Max’s life and left hers in suspended animation. <o></o>
<o>

</o> Two years later she’s ready to move on, but there’s a stumbling block: her sanity. Max’s ghost has decided to haunt her, and he’s got a bad habit of showing up at the most inconvenient moments. Like when she’s about to plant a long wet one on event planner David Lyle, the man she hopes will resurrect her love life.<o>

</o> <o></o>
David is real, solid, and makes her heart do the tango. He’s also curiously inept at his job—yet he has certain [I]other talents that leave her wondering just what he’s hiding in his shadowy past.<o></o><o></o>

Then there are the death threats. As they escalate from notes slipped under her door to full-scale, Kodak-moment terror, Brin realizes Max’s return is no coincidence. And that the only one she can turn to is David.<o></o><o></o>

The man with the skills to save her life—unless he’s there to take it…<o></o>

Catherine Wade
July 5th, 2009, 03:07 PM
Another Let's Dish excerpt:

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He smiled. Damn, I hate how he’s never intimidated by his surroundings, even when faced by a hormonal rhinoceros with a plate of lemonade and Oreos. “Are you going to put the tray down? Or did you want to stand there like a statue?”

“I’ll put it down when I’m damn good and ready.” I was tempted to stand there all day, but then I realized just how moronic I had to look standing there with a tray in my hand. I set it on the coffee table and scowled when Kevin chuckled. “I was ready.” Somehow, I don’t think it helped my case. “Now it’s your turn. You going to sit here grinning like the village idiot or are you going to tell me what you want?”

“Fair enough.” He swiped an Oreo. “I was worried about you after the fire. Wanted to make sure you weren’t hurt. Didn’t have smoke inhalation, or anything.”

“Yeah, right.”

“I’m serious.” Even I had to admit he looked sincere. “I know we’re competition now, Maggie, but I wouldn’t wish what happened to you on my worst enemy.”

“I thought I was your worst enemy.” Yeah, I was baiting him. I have no idea why. Must be hormones again.
His smug grin made my blood pressure soar. “Nah, you’re just my favorite sparring partner. What would I do without you yelling at me at least once a week? It makes me feel loved.”

“Oh please!” I groaned.

Kevin put up his hands in surrender. “Listen, I came with a peace offering.”

I raised an eyebrow. “A peace offering? This should be interesting.”

“Be nice. This is a legitimate offer.”

I wondered if I could sneak some of Dad’s blood pressure pills. “What kind of offer?”

“Don’t worry.” His expression didn’t exactly still my nerves.

“Not that I’m not considering more stimulating propositions, but today I’m talking business. I know you won’t be able to participate in the competition without a professional kitchen.”

[I]Stab me in the back again, why don’t you? “Nice for you then, isn’t it? So is the idea to slowly eliminate the competition one by one?”

“Oh no! You discovered my diabolical plan.” He laughed, but when I didn’t join in, he stopped and cleared his throat. “This competition isn’t going to be any fun without—well, actual competition.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about lending you my kitchen at Best Dishes to help you get ready for the contest.”

I’m not sure how long the silence drew out, but I couldn’t talk. My brain was too busy racing, trying to decide if I really heard what I thought I’d heard and, if I did, what the hell was he up to? “Huh?”

“I’m offering you the use of my kitchen. Hell, I think we can put the past behind us and share for a while, don’t you?”

“Huh?”

“While you’re at it, maybe you can fill some of the orders you’ve had to cancel. We might be tripping over one another a bit, but if you’re willing to work later in the day and at night, I think we can eliminate a lot of that.”

“Huh?” Believe it or not, my fifth grade teacher told me I would be revered for my intellect.

“So what do you say, Mags? You want to try burying the hatchet?”

I found my voice. “I’ll bury the hatchet, all right. Just as soon as I retrieve it from where you plunged it into my back!”

Kevin’s face grew weary. The whole spite thing was starting to wear on me, too. But you know how you just can’t give an inch without losing face? Well…

“Come on, Maggie. Unless you’ve got something else waiting in the wings, what choice do you really have? And don’t start in about how I stole your recipes, because I didn’t.”

“Having me in your kitchen would make it easier for you to steal my ideas, wouldn’t it?”

That damned grin reappeared. “I wouldn’t say I’d be having you in my kitchen. Not until you stop making death threats, anyway.”

I folded my arms. “Not funny.”

“It’s a little funny.” He wasn’t apologetic, but he took the high-beam smile down a notch. “Maggie, I’m serious about this. You’re an extremely talented chef, and you make me work harder to be better. I want you to challenge me in this competition.”

“Well, right now I’m challenging you to get out of my…parents’ house!”

Kevin’s expression grew serious. He hesitated and seemed to want to say more, but instead got out of the chair and headed toward the door. “All right. I’m going. But think this over, Maggie. It’s your funeral. Is losing everything worth keeping that hard shell of pride intact?”

He closed the front door behind him with a click. I was fuming, my cheeks hot and, I was certain, burning red.

“Damn it!” I said to the closed door. “I hate it when he’s right!”

Catherine Wade
July 5th, 2009, 03:29 PM
And now, the first scene from Another Time Around:

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Brin was reading the morning paper over her coffee and cornflakes, just like every Saturday for the last two years. This boring routine had kept her sane since that horrible morning she woke up to find her life turned upside down.


But boring would be a temporary condition.


She almost dismissed the quiet shooshing from the foyer. But she shuffled across the room, her fuzzy slippers catching on the seam between the kitchen and the foyer floors. In the middle of the marble tile, she saw it. A small envelope. Innocent enough. But it had obviously been slipped under the door.


[I]That’s odd. Hank had probably arranged for her to have another secret admirer—just the latest attempt to cheer her up. She picked up the envelope and turned it over in her hands. There was something different about this note. Something sinister—her name was pasted in unevenly cut letters like something out of a bad movie.


She slipped her finger under the seal, pulled out the paper, and unfolded it. The same letters inside spelled out the words in uneven, maniacal print.


You killed him. Now it’s your turn. Be ready to die.

<o></o>
Brin’s hands shook so hard she dropped the note. It caught the air and spiraled down, those terrible letters screaming out their message. Screaming out what she’d been telling herself for two years.


You killed him.<o></o>

Catherine Wade
July 5th, 2009, 03:57 PM
Another excerpt from Another Time Around:

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She was in love with him. That much she knew. He was unlike anyone she’d ever met before, forthright and irreverent. She loved that. David wasn’t about appearances. David was about telling it like it was.


Yes, she loved him, but the little game he was playing was the last straw for the new Brin. She was going to put it to him plainly. Either he knocked it off and told her what he felt or he could get lost. She was prepared for either. Losing him wouldn’t be the worst thing that had ever happened to her. Still, she was hoping that she’d be spending the night in his bed. A good roll in the sack right now would sure release some pent-up tension.


She waited impatiently for Lilli to take care of business, scanning her surroundings for signs of a vicious killer. In the hour she’d walked, she’d also considered just how risky it was to be out alone. And she’d forgotten the damned cell phone again. Once she was with David, she knew she’d be safe, but standing at a fire hydrant with a huge but useless dog was probably not the best idea.


The doorman let her in with a nod, and Brin felt a little better when the elevator doors closed. She leaned her head back against the metal wall and took a deep breath. She was safe now.


David’s hallway was empty, but she could hear a party in full swing as she passed his neighbor’s door. Good. Then they couldn’t hear her if she got a little loud.


She was surprising herself. Never had she been so brazen, so obvious in her motive, even to herself. But this was the new Brin and the new Brin was a whole different ball of wax. To put her plan in motion, she undid two buttons on her top and adjusted her cleavage. [I]I dare ya not to notice that.


When she rapped on the door, it slid open slightly. She wrinkled her brow. It hadn’t been latched. She meant only to crack the door an inch or two, but Lilli had other ideas. She barreled into the room at a lope, pulling Brin with her.


“David?” she called tentatively as she let Lilli go. “David, are you here?” All the lights were on, but David was nowhere to be found. “Hello?”


It seemed odd that a former policeman would leave his apartment unlocked—the door open and all the lights on. She heard a noise coming from upstairs, and went to investigate.


David’s bedroom was at the top of the stairs, and the king-sized bed called to her. She found the source of the noise as a TV news anchor chattered on about <st1><st1:country-region w:st="on">France</st1:country-region></st1>’s role in something or other. Looking out over the railing onto the rest of the apartment, she could see the place was empty.


Brin snapped off the TV and went back downstairs. Perhaps he had just popped out for a few moments and would return. How sexy would it be if he came home to Brin, wearing nothing but a smile, stretched out on his couch? She glanced in the bathroom mirror and inspected her body. Okay, maybe just an afghan thrown across her strategically to hide a few lumps and bumps.


She was hatching the plan when she realized the red light in the darkroom was on. The door was slightly ajar, but perhaps David was in there, so engrossed in his work that he hadn’t noticed her wandering around his apartment. It was worth a shot.


Tapping on the door with her nails, Brin slid it open. “Sexy, you in here? I have plans for you, hot stuff.”


She froze in the doorway...

Catherine Wade
July 5th, 2009, 04:30 PM
Well, it looks like the internet gods are against us today, friends, but not to worry. If you have any questions for me, I'll be sure to pop in here throughout the week to check in. Also, be sure to check out my website and blog:

http://www.catherinewade.com
http://catherinewade.wordpress.com (http://catherinewade.wordpress.com/)

Be sure to friend me on MySpace, Twitter, and Facebook:
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And don't forget to email me at cate@catherinewade.com for your chance to win Let's Dish in ebook format. Considering our issues today, I am going to extend the deadline to midnight eastern time on Wednesday, July 8th. Remember to put COFFEE TIME CHAT in your subject line to enter.

Catherine Wade
July 5th, 2009, 09:26 PM
HI have an iPhone. How can I read Let's Dish on that? I've used the Kindle app, but that's all I've got so far.

I Melina, and thanks so much for stopping by!

I believe you can read Samhain ebooks on the iPhone. Let's Dish is supposed to be available in Kindle edition any minute now, but isn't there quite yet.:right: However, the mobi version of it works on Kindle, so I think it would work on your iPhone.

Anya Khan
July 6th, 2009, 08:51 AM
I was so bummed when I realized I couldn't read from my phone while on the plane. Drats...
Thanks so much for the excerpts...loved em

Catherine Wade
July 6th, 2009, 11:02 AM
I was so bummed when I realized I couldn't read from my phone while on the plane. Drats...
Thanks so much for the excerpts...loved em

Thanks, Anya!

Oh, and just to clarify, the Mobi version you can use on Kindle and iPhone is the .prc version.

Thanks again, ladies for stopping by.


Cate