Jenn McKinlay: Per usual, I have a few too many irons in the fire but if I didn't what would I do with myself? I have learned to embrace the chaos. Okay, it's more like I have it in a choke hold so it doesn't avalanche on me, but that works, too.
So here's what's cooking: I have the copyedits for ONE FOR THE BOOKS coming any day. But let me just show you the cover because OMG, I love it so much!
Also, I'm writing promo pieces for PUMPKIN SPICE PERIL which arrives in April. The paperback is on super sale right now - just sayin'.
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April 28, 2020
In addition to the above, I'm prepping the excerpts, Q & A's, and blog tours for PARIS IS ALWAYS A GOOD IDEA. So exciting!!! |
Aaaaaand I'm writing the first draft of WAIT FOR IT my second single title women's fiction book, slated to come out in July 2021. All of this is happening during and between arriving home from the SW FL Book Festival and dashing back out to Left Coast Crime in San Diego, which is where I am now.
To answer your question, yes, I drink a LOT of coffee! Since I'm working on WAIT FOR IT, here's an early peek at a scene from chapter one. Our heroine, Annabelle Martin, is celebrating her un-anniversary with her first (yes, I said first) ex-husband Jeremy after turning down a job offer from a friend. When she realizes Jeremy has a completely different agenda unfolding, she has to make a pre-emptive strike:
THE hostess led us through the rows of tables, to one tucked beside a tall window. To my surprise, it was strewn with pink rose petals and a bottle of champagne was in a bucket with two glasses already poured and waiting for us. I gave Jeremy side eye.
“You went all out this year,” I said.
He shrugged. “It seems like a special un-anniversary, doesn’t it?”
His pale green eyes met mine and I felt a prickle of alarm. Had I missed something? Had I forgotten something? What did he mean by “special”? My heart started to pound in my chest like warning shots being fired. I could feel my flight or fight, okay, mostly flight response kick in.
Jeremy and I had celebrated our un-anniversary at the Top of the Hub, since he moved to Boston three years ago. It was always low-key and fun right up until last year, when, in a bout of deep loneliness, I invited him to spend the night. He’d been “spending the night”, if you get my drift, a couple of times a month ever since.
I knew my friend Sophie was right that the relationship wasn’t doing either one of us any good but like glazed donuts or cigarettes or three-day long video game playing binges, I didn’t want to give it up because then I’d have to go out there and find a real relationship, which felt like entirely too much work.
He pulled out my chair out and I slid into my seat. I felt out of step, like I was clapping on the down beat, and couldn’t quite get the rhythm of the room. I noticed that people at surrounding tables were covertly watching us. This was bad.
The hostess put our menus on the corner of the table and stepped back. She was younger than me by a couple of years. She had that fresh faced enthusiasm that could only be found on a person who hadn’t been paying their own rent for very long.
She glanced between us and then with a soft squeak, she stepped back, turned on her heel and hurried away. The unease inside of me began speaking in tongues.
Jeremy picked up the two champagne glasses and handed me one. I debated downing it, sensing that liquid courage was going to be required. He lifted his in a toast. I wished he’d sit down. It felt as if he was looming over me.
“Annabelle, you’re my best friend,” he said. Oh, dear, this sounded like the opening of a speech. That couldn’t be good. Usually we just said, “Look at us,”, clinked glasses and down the hatch the beverage went. We didn’t do speeches.
“And you’re mine,” I said. I lifted my glass, indicating the toast was over. But he didn’t get the message. In fact, he looked as if he was just warming up.
“I know,” he said. “Despite the fact that we got married too young and you had that episode with what’s his name, we’re still each other’s plus one.”
“By episode, you mean my marriage to Greg?” I asked. I blinked innocently.
He made a face as if a fly had just flown into his mouth. He waved his hand dismissively and continued on.
“Yeah, even then I always felt like we were meant to be together, you know.”
I didn’t know. I had thought we were done except for the friendship and fringe benefits. The cold feeling in the pit of my stomach began to harden into a block of ice. If he was headed where I feared, we were not going to come out of this as friends, never mind with benefits.
“I always believed we’d grow old together and end up on a porch somewhere in matching rocking chairs,” he said. His smile was sweet when he tilted his head and stared into my eyes. He was going to propose. I could see it coming as if it had the bright blaze of a meteor breaking through the atmosphere.
I had to stop him. I didn’t want to marry him again and I didn’t really believe he wanted to marry me. It would ruin everything if he asked because I’d have to say no and he’d be so terribly hurt. He did bruise easily like an overly ripe peach. I jumped to my feet, clinked my glass with his and said, “Are you about to congratulate me?”
He paused. He looked confused. I forged ahead, taking advantage of his surprise.
“Sophie told you, didn’t she?” I asked.
“Sophie?” He shook his head. “Told me what?”
“She offered me a job as creative director for her company, and I accepted,” I said. “Isn’t it amazing? I’m moving to Phoenix. Promise you’ll come and visit.”
His mouth hung open for a moment, he cleared his throat and said, “Actually, I didn’t know. This was—”
“So incredibly thoughtful of you,” I said. My voice was high pitched, a little manic, and my smile brittle. I felt as if I were throwing a drowning man a life preserver and he was refusing to take it. “Here’s to new beginnings!” I cried, hoping he’d get with the program and let go of his misguided plan to propose. “Bottoms up.”
His eyes went wide as I put my glass to my lips and upended the champagne into my mouth. The stress of the moment had me chugging the fizzy beverage, hoping to ease the tension, instead something hard hit the back of my throat and got lodged in my windpipe. Just like that, I couldn’t breathe. I dropped my glass and clutched the front of my neck, trying to get some air. I made horrible gasping noises and staggered. Everything went gray and I started to see spots.
“Annabelle!” Jeremy cried. “Oh, my god, you’re choking on the ring!”
Ring?I would have asked for more details but instead, I blacked out.
Want to read some more? Well, you're going to have to WAIT FOR IT! Yeah, that joke is never going to get old. LOL!
So, tell me, Reds and Readers, have you ever gotten an unwanted proposal? How'd you get out of it?
