Dylan Roberts returns to the Wales of his birth a changed man after the violent death of his mate. Having turned his back on being a bounty hunter and sworn off love for life, all he wants now is revenge.
When he meets Aeron Lombardo, his new farmhand, Dylan resents the intense attraction that blossoms between them. But Aeron won’t stop pushing and soon things take a hot and sexy turn.
As passions rise, danger rears its ugly head. Now Dylan and Aeron must choose whether to separate or commit to one another totally. Will Dylan take the final step and claim his new mate?
“Turn around.” Dylan’s low voice echoed in the bathroom.
He did as instructed, skin goose bumping in the chill air. Thick fingers touched either side of his torso and gently pressed down into his lower back. “Does it hurt?”
He shook his head.
“Turn back around.”
He faced the front and watched as Dylan moved large hands over his torso, gentle but firm. He pressed a little more on the right hand side. “What about here? Hurt at all?”
“No.” He exhaled a shaky breath. No matter how much he told his dick not to take interest in the proceedings, he became more and more aroused at every touch.
Then Dylan did something so strange it snapped him out of his fog of desire. The man leaned in towards Aeron and sniffed him.
“Jesus.” Aeron took a step back, butting up against the sink behind him. “Did you just smell me?”
Skye Jones is an erotic romance author who likes to write about that moment when lust and love meet and head on.
Seattle-based baker Craig Oliver leads a life that is happily routine: baking cupcakes for an enormous family reunion, managing Sucre Coeur for its frequently absent owner, and closing out his day with a pint at the local pub. He has a kind heart, a knack for pastry, and a weakness for damaged people.
Habitual playboy Alex Scheff is looking to drown his sorrows, but instead discovers that he may have a weakness for Englishmen who carry cookies in their pockets. Can a seemingly incompatible pair find the recipe for love in a relationship they claim is casual?
With a wink, Craig pulls a ten-dollar bill out of his left coat pocket and a carefully bagged almond and raspberry-lemon croissant, Katie's all-time favorite baked good, out of the right. He passes them across the bar as if he's James Bond—a very cheeky and cheery sort of 007. “You know I'll always look out for you. Keep the change.”
Katie squeals and flops across the bar to squeeze him breathless, and her ponytail slaps him in the nose. She bounces off with her treat in hand and Craig shakes his head and pulls long black and red hairs from his face, as he does every time this happens. Katie really is his favorite bartender at The Order of the Garter, hell, his favorite bartender in Seattle and maybe even the world. Much too good to be working at a grotty little pub, fending off unsavory advances and spilled drinks four nights a week; that's why Craig will bring her any bakery treat she wants, anytime she wants it, until she finally wises up and gets the hell out of this place.
Time for another sip of this excellent, excellent stout: Craig reaches forward. It's a good Thursday.
Of course, that's when it takes quite the sharp turn, leaving every Seattle-pub-Thursday Craig's ever known in the dust.
“Well, aren't you a hit with the ladies,” comes a surly drawl from his left, startling Craig just as he's got his fingers around his glass. “Was that a croissant in your pocket, or were you actually happy to see her?”
“Both,” Craig replies, shifting around to lean on his elbow and survey the formerly silent pile of misery hunched over two stools down, the limp guy at the end of the bar Craig had spotted on his way in. He is not unconscious after all, much to Craig's surprise; judging by the row of empty shot glasses upside down in front of him and the distinct aroma of tequila emanating a good four-foot radius from his person, he should be. Craig winces and turns away as the fumes burn his nose.
“Baked goods. That's a new one. Never saw anyone use baking to hit on the ladies before.” Mr. Misery sways his head upright, pushes a wild flop of brown hair out of his eyes and swings around until he locates Craig. He blinks. “Does it work?”
Surprised by the color of the eyes meeting his—an unusual shade, gray, not blue-gray or blue, but the gray of a sky covered in early storm clouds—Craig answers without thinking. “I wouldn't know. I don't hit on girls. Katie's my friend, not my type.”
Today I’m very lucky to be interviewing Lissa Reed, author of Definitely, Maybe, Yours.
Hi Lissa, thank you for agreeing to this interview. Tell us a little about yourself, your background, and your current book.
I’m pleased to be here, thank you! I am of course a writer, but also a reader, a knitter, a cat owner, a cook…oh, and I work with banking software during the day to be able to afford everything else! I live in Texas, but I am from Louisiana, and I am a reformed Navy Brat. It took me a few years to realize I did not have to move every two to four years anymore…
Definitely, Maybe, Yours is the story of two men with big hearts—one of whom, Alex, keeps his very guarded, and the other of whom, Craig, who would give his to Alex in a heartbeat if he wasn’t afraid it would scare Alex off. It is also a story of friends and family and many delicious baked goods, so I would not read it if you’re hungry, I think.
1) Is there a character in your books that you can’t stand? (Antagonist for example) And what makes them someone you don’t like?
There is a character named Jeff in Definitely that I detest whole-heartedly. I can’t say much due to spoilers, but he deserves every inch of my disdain, he’s selfish and mocking and awful for a large part of his role in the book, and I can’t stand people like that.
2) Are there misconceptions people have about your genre?
Aren’t there always? Even I have been known to have doubts about romance even while I was writing it! I think the biggest misconception though is that romance is written by and for lonely, unimaginative women and that’s not the case at all. I mean quite apart from the fact that there are men involved too, there’s the fact that I’ve met the most amazing, funny, and intelligent women in the romance world, and, well. There is a reason it’s the biggest genre of books, isn’t there?
3) Is there message in your novel that you hope readers grasp?
That you are worth loving, no matter what someone may have said to make you think otherwise.
4) How has your writing evolved since your first book? (If this is your first book, how do you hope it evolves?)
I want to write books that stay with people for a long time, that make you want to re-read them. I don’t know if I am there with this one, it would be nice but if I am not, I’ll just try harder. I have many books on my bookshelves that are old friends and I would like to be part of someone else’s library in that regard.
5) One food you don’t care if you never eat it again.
Cilantro. I can only eat it in salsa, otherwise it tastes like soap and I can live without it quite happily. It would be nice if I could like it, but alas.
Lissa Reed is a writer of fiction, blogs and bawdy Renaissance song parodies. She traces her first interest in becoming a writer to the fourth grade, when her teacher gave her the gift of her first composition book. A former newspaper editor, Reed shifted her focus to romance and literary fiction early in her writing career. She lives in the Dallas-Fort Worth area and is currently working on her new novel, Certainly, Possibly, You—the sequel to Definitely, Maybe, Yours.
Even in a land of eternal twilight, secrets can’t stay hidden forever.
Seventeen-year-old Eyelet Elsworth is no stranger to living in the dark. She’s hidden her secret affliction all of her life—a life that would be in danger if superstitious townspeople ever guessed the truth. After her mother is accused and executed for a crime that she didn’t commit, the now-orphaned Eyelet has no choice but to track down the machine—her last hope for a cure. But Eyelet’s late father’s most prized invention, the Illuminator, has been missing since the day of the mysterious flash—a day that saw the sun wiped out over Brethren forever.
Alone and on the run, she finds the Illuminator—only to witness a young man hauling it away. Determined to follow the thief and recover the machine, she ventures into the deepest, darkest, most dangerous part of her twisted world.
I'm Jacqueline Garlick, author of young adult and new adult fiction. I love strong heroines, despise whiny sidekicks, and adore a good story about a triumphant underdog. (Don't you?)
I love to read, write, paint (walls and paper). I have a love/hate relationship with chocolate, grammar, and technology and would rather hang out with a dog, than a cat. I prefer creating things to cleaning things, and believe laughter is a one-stop-shop solution to all that ails you. You will always find a purple wall (or two) in my house (currently in my writing room), and there may or may not be a hidden passageway that leads to a mystery room. (Okay, so you won't find a hidden passageway, but a girl can dream, can't she?) Oh, and tea. There will always be tea.
My writing style has been described as edgy and rule-breaking, and by some--a touch Tim Burton-esque. Because of this, I am often referred to as the Quentin Tarantino of YA among writing friends.
In my former life, I was a teacher (both grade school and college-don't ask), but more recently I've been a graduate of Ellen Hopkin's Nevada Mentor Program and a student of James Scott Bell, Christopher Vogler and Don Maass. An excerpt from Lumière earned me the 2012 Don Maass Break Out Novel Intensive Scholarship.
Lumière--A Romantic Steampunk Fantasy--my debut novel, is the recipient of an indieBRAG Medallion!!! B.R.A.G. Medallion Honoree October 15, 2014) I am so proud! (LUMIERE by Jacqueline E. Garlick is a B.R.A.G.Medallion Honoree. This tells a reader that this book is well worth their time and money!) Book II of the ILLUMINATION PARADOX SERIES, is out January 26th, now on pre-order.
Also, check out my young adult contemporary romantic/mystery serial, IF ONLY, where reluctant telepathic sleuth Kyla Cooper must embrace her powers and risks all to solve the mystery of what happened to her boyfriend Denver Munro, becoming his voice of truth, before he has no voice at all...
Labeled a ‘Cursed’ woman of Eve from birth, Maddie has endured nothing but pain and repression at the hands of The Order’s most abusive elder, Moses. Now living with her sister in The Hangmen’s secluded compound, finally, Maddie, is free. Free from the suffocating faith she no longer believes in. Free from endless years of physical and mental torment.
Just… free…
At age twenty-one, the timid and shy Maddie is content to live within the confines of her new home—safe from the outside world, safe from harm and, strangely, protected by the Hangmen’s most volatile member; the heavily pierced and tattooed, Flame.
Flame.
The man who ceaselessly watches over her with his midnight dark and searing eyes. The man who protects her with a breath-taking intensity. And the man who stirs something deep within her numbed heart.
But when circumstances conspire for Flame to need HER help, Maddie bravely risks it all for the broken man who has captivated her fragile soul.
The Hangmen’s most infamous member, Flame, is ruled by one thing—anger. Plagued by haunting demons from his past, an all-consuming rage, and isolated by an abhorrent hatred of being touched, Flame's days are filled with suffocating darkness, pierced only by a single ray of light—Maddie. The shy, beautiful woman he cannot purge from his thoughts. The woman he has an overwhelming need to possess…
... the only person who has ever been able to touch him.
Flame’s mission in life is to protect Maddie, to keep her safe. Until a trigger from his troubled past sends him spiraling into madness, trapping him in the deepest recesses of his disturbed mind.
His Hangmen brothers fear that Flame is beyond saving.
His only hope of salvation: Maddie and her healing light.
Gathering my floor-length dress in my hands, I walked into the body of the church, rushing forward until the bright sun from the open entrance lit up the dark wooden floor.
“I won’t say it again. I need you to leave or I’ll call the police.” Pastor James was talking when I arrived at the large doors. The man from the choir immediately saw me and tapped her on her arm.
Pastor James turned round and paled. “Maddie, darlin’, stay in the church and call your sister, or even better, Mr. Nash.”
Her face betrayed her fear but her protests quickly turned to white noise in my ears as I reached the exit and saw, waiting below, at the edge of the busy road was him… Flame. He was pacing back and forth. As always, I counted his steps. Eleven to the right, eleven to the left.
As I drank in how he looked, I feared my legs would collapse. That confusing sensation of my stomach swooping hit me as my eyes focused on his leather-clad legs and the Hangmen cut partly covering his bare torso.
His strangely cut dark hair was in its usual state of disarray. His skin was pale and he had lost weight. I frowned. His muscles were twitching more than usual. His hands clenched into fists more than normal. His lips were muttering something inaudible from this distance, yet… he was still Flame. He was still the man who protected me. He was still the silent shadow that kept me safe.
The man I had missed with the most incredible fervor.
His friends, Viking and AK, stood off to the side. Viking, the enormous red haired brother, looked distressed as he talked to the dark-haired AK, and when he ran his hand through his hair, he turned and his attention locked on me.
Viking’s large chest deflated in what looked like relief and he said something to AK. AK looked toward me and threw a small tired wave.
But I did not have the time to spare for them. All I could concentrate on right now was Flame.
I winced as I caught sight of white gauze on the side of his neck. The gunshot graze. The bullet that should have hit me if he had not thrown himself in its path...
... to protect me.
Flame’s pace increased. I could see his hands shaking as his fists became impossibly tight. Then, with a corded neck, he began to scream. His croaked and rough voice made it to “MADD—” before his eyes whipped to the top of the stairs.
Where they collided with mine.
Flame’s bellowed call caught in his throat and his body came to an abrupt stop. He staggered on uneasy feet as though he was too tired to be standing. But that midnight stare remained. His hands stopped shaking, his wide bare chest pumped at a heady speed, yet a strange kind of calm seemed to flow over him.
I wanted to speak to him.
I wanted take his hand in mine and thank him. Thank him beyond words for saving my life.
But I could not. I did not have the courage.
Tillie Cole is a Northern girl through and through. She originates from a place called Teesside on that little but awesomely sunny (okay I exaggerate) Isle called Great Britain. She was brought up surrounded by her English rose mother — a farmer’s daughter, her crazy Scottish father, a savagely sarcastic sister and a multitude of rescue animals and horses.
Let me share some wisdom with you. There is evil in this world we cannot see, not because it is hidden from us, but because our minds refuse to accept its existence. But once we are able to get past what everyone says should not be, it becomes our responsibility to stop the evil we now see.
This insight wasn’t given to me until a year after I lost the most important person in my life: Bryce Rowan. Now, after another death at the same spot where he died—the overlook, where the mysterious lights dance amongst the trees—I begin to wonder if they were accidents after all.
Lucky for me, I’m not the only curious one in town. Cooper, a ghost hunter (aka chaser), and his sister Jada have moved to town and are starting to ask questions.
But the more we find out about this town and the people who live here, people who I have known my whole life, the more I begin to think there are those who would rather keep the evil secret, even if it means we will never be safe, and that more will die.
Gemini Brandy Nacole is a writer of urban fantasy books. She is the author of the Shadow World series and the Spiritual Discord series published by Ponahakeola Press. A reader from a young age, Brandy has always loved folklore and stories of beings that go bump in the night.
Brandy lives in Arkansas with her husband, three never stopping kids, two snooty cats, two very lazy bearded dragons, and one mellow turtle. She is a member of the Ozark Romance Authors in Springfield, Missouri. Whenever she’s not reading or writing, Brandy is spending her time outdoors wheeling, hiking, playing amateur photographer, and enjoying a good laugh.
Warning: This book is a paranormal m/m romance with some horror elements. It also crosses cowboy and vampire genres. If you don’t think cowboys look hot with fangs, you’re missing out.
Living in Montana and working the ranch is all Aaron wants to do for the rest of his life. Diagnosed as allergic to the sun thirteen years previous, every day is a struggle to get out of bed. Having to wear long-sleeved shirts, gloves, and even material to cover his face from the effects of the sun, just makes it all worse. Now, in his thirty-second year, he is sure this will be his last summer. While he hates it, he knows he needs to come to terms with the truth and put things in order for his younger cousins. Before he does so, he heads out for one night of pleasure before facing what’s coming.
Jaret loves excitement and new adventures. For over five hundred years, he has sought them out. In Montana on a whim, he comes across someone he doesn’t expect, someone who makes him feel things he does not understand and does not want to give up. In no time at all, he feels like he cannot live without Aaron. The only problem is Aaron doesn’t know who he is, what he is, nor that he isn’t going to die. Not on Jaret’s watch. With a plan to help the other man discover who he is in place, he only has one thing to worry about: whether an ancient enemy will come and destroy everything he now holds dear.
“You’re not going to die, Aaron.”
“You don’t know that. This sickness, ailment, curse…whatever the fuck it is. It’s gettin’ worse. And it’s changin’. Morphin’ into somethin’ scary. My nightmares lately have been horrible.”
“What kind of nightmares?” Of course, Jaret knew. They were the same kind all of them had during the change. Fire and ice as the body went through horrendous chills and soaring high fevers. They would only stop once the change was complete. For after that, there was no real sleep anymore.
“Bein’ caught on high mountains, pelted with snow. Of the forests here bright with orange fire. Of you—” His voice broke. “Callin’ out my name only I’m no longer here to respond.”
“Babe,” Jaret said in a soft voice, not understanding why but knowing he was closer to this drakyl than he had ever been to anyone. “We’re going to get you cured. Then you can come out with me at night. We’ll keep the place predator free while your cousins slave in the sun. How does that sound?”
A sad attempt at a laugh left the other man’s throat. “Promise me you won’t leave until I’m gone?”
Fury swept along Jaret’s veins. Anger at the sun, the fact the man next to him was terrified, and at Davis for not explaining to the poor man earlier what he was. But mostly, he was furious at himself for not telling Aaron the truth. Leaning in, he placed his nose against Aaron’s. “I promise you,” he said in a deep growl, “that you are not going to die, Aaron Drakyl. I won’t let it happen.”
Thianna loves to write strong stories with even stronger heroes. While all of her books have an erotic overtone, it is the story that is the most important to her. “The story should be able to stand on its own. The erotic elements are an add-on.”
She enjoys writing about couples with kink, paranormal couples, and straight out strangeness. But more on that later… You can find her at mm.thiannad.com.
When Isabelle Martin steps onto Sawyer Auto Repair’s parking lot, she can’t believe it’s come to this. After dropping out of a school she never really wanted to go to in the first place and dumping a boyfriend she never really loved to begin with, she thought coming home to Claremont, North Carolina would solve all her problems. Instead, she’s still reeling from her mom’s death six months earlier and trying, but failing to help her dad, who’s sunken deep into a whiskey-fueled depression. Working in the local, motorcycle club-owned, auto shop’s office is a last resort, but it’s the only option she has...even if it means working with Caleb Sawyer, the bad-boy biker with swagger to spare who used to drive her up the wall in high school. Caleb Sawyer is on the fast-track to a downward spiral. He used to think he had the world at his feet--all he has to do is be patient, earn his keep in the club and in the shop, and his legacy within the Iron Horsemen MC will be his for the taking when the time is right. But that just doesn’t mean anything without his old lady by his side, who wants to leave Claremont more than she wants to stay with him. When the bottom finally drops out, nothing prepares him for the impact and he deals with it the only way he knows how--with whiskey and women. Despite all that, being around Isabelle Martin, the girl whose feathers he ruffled so easily in high school, somehow brings him back to life. She doesn’t take any of his crap, but she calls him on it without judgment and without pity. Despite some initial animosity, Caleb and Isabelle quickly realize that the perceptions they had of each other in high school couldn’t be further from the truth. The more time they spend together, the closer they become and the more they gravitate towards each other. Both are at a crossroads, but stuck in reverse. Isabelle needs help; she just doesn’t know how to ask for it. Caleb needs a life preserver; he just doesn’t know where to find one. And ultimately, on the path to rediscovery and identity, all roads lead them to exactly what they need--each other. New adult/contemporary romance told in alternating points of view. Recommended for readers 18 and older. Book #1 in the Carry Your Heart series that follows Caleb and Isabelle’s journey spanning the course of eight years.
Caleb
“Coffee?” she gestured towards the empty cup to my right. When I nodded, my mouth too full of peanut buttery awesomeness, she poured me a cup with a smirk.
“Do I want to know why you’re out on the prowl tonight? Or...wait, if you just finished up with some random chick, I’m not sure I want to hear about it,” she crinkled her nose a little as she spoke and if I didn’t know her better, I would’ve thought her tone was a little harsh.
Good thing I did know her well enough to recognize sarcasm in her voice when I heard it.
“I’m trying this whole bein’ sober thing,” I grinned back at her. “Shocking, right?”
“Who knew you’d grow up to be so responsible?” she shot back and she bit her lip to keep from laughing.
“Gotta grow up sometime, I guess,” I replied good-naturedly.
“Well,” she smiled softly. “If it helps, I’m glad you’re not face down in a gutter somewhere.”
“I’d much rather be here with you, darlin’,” I winked.
She just rolled her eyes and tossed an empty sugar packet at me. I gestured down to the open notebook to her right and forced myself not to peek at, careful to respect her privacy and her space.
“Whatcha workin’ on over there?”
She looked back at me sharply and then her expression shifted from surprised to confused to tired and finally rested on forlorn. I didn’t have it in me tonight to even begin to understand what any of that meant or what my words had to do with anything. It was almost midnight and we should really be in bed.
Mind outta the gutter, Sawyer.
Separate. In different beds. Sleeping. Nothing else.
“Oh,” she answered finally. “Nothing all that important really. I was trying to figure out some stuff, but that didn’t work out too well.”
“Alright, so when do I get to commission something?”
She frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Well,” I shrugged as I shoveled another bite of pie into my mouth. “I figured you’re gonna be rich and famous someday, so I better get an Isabelle Martin original while I can still afford it.”
“Aw,” she called out in a sing-song voice. “You called me Isabelle.”
I wagged my fork at her. “Don’t get used to it.”
“Okay,” she leaned forward a little more. “So, say you were to actually commission something. What would you request?”
That one was easy.
“My bike. Definitely. I can already see her…”
Isabelle’s shoulders shook with laughter. “Wait a minute, wait a minute. Did you just refer to your motorcycle as a she?”
I blinked back her. “Uh. Yeah. That’s what she is. She’s beautiful and she’s perfect and if you so much as say a bad word about her, I’m gonna get up from this table right now and I won’t ever talk to you again.”
Her hand covered her mouth to muffle her laughter. “Whoa, buddy. Simmer down. I promise,” she made a cross sign over her heart, “I won’t say anything bad about her.”
All she got from me for that was an eye roll.
“I mean, you’ll really do it, right?”
She was still laughing. “Well, sure.”
“Do I still have to pay you?” I murmured in a low voice.
“Hmm...pay for the coffee and get me another piece of pie and I think we’re square.”
“Deal!” I thumped my fist on the table for good measure.
Isabelle just laughed with a wide grin on her face and for a moment, I felt frozen by how happy she looked. Beautiful.
If I could just get a little of that, feel a little of what she was feeling right now, maybe I could get one step closer to actually feeling like a normal human being. But then again, every time I was with her, it was easy to forget all that other shit and just laugh and talk and just be normal.
“So,” I cleared my throat. “What brings you here in the middle of the night other than the fact that you can’t sleep?”
She was quiet for a moment and when her eyes flicked back up to mine, my chest tightened at the pain radiating in them.
“I guess I just...well, I just really missed my mom tonight,” she murmured, staring into her coffee cup.
I nodded. That was a feeling I knew all too well. Something told me there was a little more going on, but didn’t see the point in pushing her. I didn’t want to overstep or make her any more upset than she already was but this? Feeling the sting, the heart-wrenching loss of losing a parent...this was something I might actually be able to help her with.
“You know,” I started cautiously. “It’s still hard for me walk into the clubhouse everyday and not wonder where he’d be--where I’d be--if my dad was still alive and kicking. Sometimes, when I’m on the lot, I can almost see him in the shop, workin’ on a truck or pickin’ me up to take me for a ride. I guess it doesn’t get any easier, but it helps to remember those things, you know? The little things, the good things, even if it sucks sometimes, because...I guess that’s all you have left, you know?”
Her eyes glimmered with something I couldn’t quite put my finger on and I wondered if maybe I’d said too much or maybe not enough. It was always hard to tell with her. Sometimes, I felt like I knew exactly what she was thinking and other times...
“That’s funny,” she shook her head with a sad smile. “Because sometimes when I walk past our kitchen counter I have these flashbacks of when I was five and I remember racing home everyday after kindergarten to watch Dirty Dancing. I know, great parenting, right?”
A grin tugged at my lips as I chuckled with her. It was good to hear her talk this way, especially since the only time she’d really spoken of her mom was the night I’d completely lost my shit in front of her, and I knew, from firsthand experience, that she probably needed to talk more about her mom than she did.
“So, this one day,” she continued softly. “I must have done something really bad--I mean really naughty--to make my mom this mad. I still have no idea what I did. Funny how that works, right? But I remember her being so mad she was just red all over--I mean furious with rage--and she takes my Dirty Dancing tape...you know the good ol’ VHS ones? And she takes the tape, lifts it over her head all dramatic, and then smashes it into the counter right in front of me.”
We were both shaking with laughter now.
“Oh, I cried and cried and cried. I couldn’t believe she actually did it! And I wouldn’t come out of my room for the rest of the night because I was so mad at her. So then the next day, when I finally came down for breakfast, there was a brand new Dirty Dancing tape there waiting for me on the kitchen counter.”
“Wow,” I chuckled. “She must have felt pretty shitty to get you another copy like that.”
“Yeah,” she nodded with a grin. “Well, of course, I had to promise never to do whatever it was I did again in order to get it and she promised never to smash my stuff again.”
I wiped my eyes from laughing so hard and shook my head. “I never pegged you for such a problem child.”
“What can I say?” she shrugged. “I’m just full of surprises.”
She didn’t know the fucking half of it.
K. Ryan is a former English teacher, who graduated from the University of Wisconsin-Stevens Point in 2009. In between ‘real life’ duties, she’s been writing the Carry Your Heart series quietly on the side for the last two years. When not writing, she’s either binge-watching something on Netflix, running, reading, or cheering on the Packers. She lives in the Green Bay area with her crazy-supportive boyfriend and the best decision of her adult life, a not-so-stray cat named Oliver.
