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Author Christina Hovland

Hey there! This is Chloe hiding under my desk. Chloe is very sorry that she had to use the little doggy room around 1 a.m. She's even sorrier that she met a skunk that DID NOT want to be her friend. She's even more sorry that she decided to bark at the not-her-friend skunk.
And she's sorriest yet because she had to have THREE baths with the special shampoo to get her smelling better.
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I'm very tired because Mr. Hovland and I were up at 1 a.m. de-skunking our dog (and then our house) because she came back inside before anyone could stop her. She left a wafting trail of ick the whole way. So if you wanted to buy a book, today is a good day. I'll put your purchase toward restocking my hydrogen peroxide and baking soda. You can find my ebooks here —>
Christina's Ebooks
AND I have some signed special editions I was going to really sell in this newsletter, but instead I'll just show you what they look like. I don't have a lot of them, but I do have a few copies and they're yours if you want them. (They were not skunked and were never around Chloe post-skunking. They smell great!) Here's a picture:
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Going Down on One Knee Special Edition - Blue Edges
Going Down on One Knee Special Edition - Standard Edges
Blow Me Away Special Edition - Purple Edges
I have some Going Down on One Knee with the blue edges and some without. All of the Blow Me Away copies have the purple edges. Thanks for being awesome. I'm off to take a nap with Chloe. (Aside: Lucy, Mayonnaise and Azzie are totally fine. They did not try to befriend the skunk.) (Aside, aside... the skunk is fine. He ran off.) xoxo, Christina
P.S. Has your dog ever been skunked? Tell me I'm not alone here.
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Hey there!

Counting Down the Final Hours

I've got two sales going on right now. For ALL of my readers, I have a BOGO sale on single eBooks in my store! Buy any eBook, grab the second at no additional cost. (Don't worry, the discount will show up in your cart once both books are added. If not, holla, and we'll get you sorted.)
Shop eBook Sale Now
And for my US-based readers who LOVE special editions: this weekend ONLY you can buy Accidentally Ever After for over 45% Off PLUS Free Shipping! That's TWO married-in-Vegas books in a gorgeous SIGNED hardback edition!
Have a fabulous Monday!
xoxo, Christina
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Hey there!

It was Labor Day weekend I was... uh ... 45...

That's a solid Tim McGraw reference there. But, alas, I am not 17 buying a Coke and some gasoline today. Nope. I'm now 45 buying a cappuccino and my teen's gasoline. Times change. 🤷‍♀️ This year Labor Day is something of a calendar reset for me. I'm looking forward to autumn and actually enjoying the rain Colorado is finally getting. I'm writing and momming and doing all the things. All the things, including offering you some LABOR DAY WEEKEND sales! I've got two going on right now. For ALL of my readers, I have a BOGO sale on single eBooks in my store! Buy any eBook, grab the second at no additional cost. (Don't worry, the discount will show up in your cart once both books are added. If not, holla, and we'll get you sorted.)
Shop eBook Sale Now
And for my US-based readers who LOVE special editions: this weekend ONLY you can buy Accidentally Ever After for over 45% Off PLUS Free Shipping! That's TWO married-in-Vegas books in a gorgeous SIGNED hardback edition!
Wherever you are this weekend, I hope you have a fantastic drama-free holiday.
xoxo, Christina
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Hey there!
I have a few signed copies of books that are always on my bookshelf. These books mean the world to me.
The first signed copy I ever got was from Alicia Appleman-Jurman. She visited our middle school in the late 1900s (see what I did there). The next signed copy I got was in college when Jimmy Carter came to visit our campus. (I also served him his soup course at dinner, but that's a story for another day.) My books are not like these historical books written by people who have done extraordinary things. My books are like an ice cream sundae. With extra cherries and some whipped cream. 😉 That's why I was surprised when readers started asking me to sign copies for them. It's become one of my favorite things to do.
This week I had big box day at my house because the Call Him Daddy paperbacks are here! I've been signing them until my signature has stopped looking like a signature.
All four books—Trouble with Travis, Gavin Gets It, You Don't Know Jack, and It Doesn't Have to Be This Hard. Four single parents, four swoon-worthy disasters, and every book stands completely alone. Signed, the whole set, $58.99. They'd run you $79.96 one at a time, so that's 25% off plus my signature.
Never met the Frank family? Here's how the trouble starts:
"Not like that." Rachel Gibson shook her head even though her client couldn't see her. "Don't be afraid. You can't mess it up. Do it just like I showed you. Once it's aligned, then slip it right in. Boom. Done."
(She's teaching a client graphic design. Obviously. What did you think was happening?)
Grab the Signed Bundle -->
P.S. More of an ebook reader? (I know exactly who you are, and I love you.) The same four books live in the Call Him Daddy ebook bundle instant BookFunnel delivery, zero waiting.
xoxo, Christina
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Hey {{ first name }},
Remember how I mentioned those discreet new rockstar "outfits" last week? IT'S TIME.
Brand-new discreet covers for all five Mile High Rocked books. These are for everyone who wants to read about Linx's leather pants at work, on the plane, or in the school pickup line without having a single conversation his manchest cover.
Elegant on the outside. Absolute goodness on the inside.
All five: Played by the Rockstar, Knocked Up by the Rockstar, Married to the Rockstar, Tapped by the Rockstar, and Reckless with the Rockstar.
Every copy you buy from my store is signed by yours truly.
$59.99 for the set PLUS I always throw in bonus goodies and swag. (This set would run you $84.95 bought one at a time.)
And here's the thing: I only have a handful of signed sets ready to go. This is a tiny first batch, so if you've been wanting the whole Dimefront crew on your shelf, now's your chance.
Never met the Dimefront boys? Here's how it starts:
Neon beer signs totally signaled a new beginning. Sure, a girl might not think it possible, but Rebecca—Becca—Forrester was out to prove they could. Then Linx entered Brek's Bar. Becca choked on nothing but air.
Linx. Walked. Through. The. Door.
Bassist for Dimefront. Hot as all hell. Heartbreak in leather pants when he took the stage.
👉 Keep reading Chapter One below or grab a signed set right here.
xoxo, Christina P.S. If the signed discreet sets are gone by the time you get there, the ebook, audiobook, regular paperback, and one very extra hardback omnibus all live on that same page.

Played by the Rockstar Chapter 1

Becca
Neon beer signs totally signaled a new beginning. Sure, a girl might not think it possible, but Rebecca—Becca—Forrester was out to prove they could. The scent of hops and bourbon paired with the blast of music through the speakers and constant hum of life in the background at Brek’s Bar in Denver, Colorado. Outside, the snow had turned to a slushy mess. Inside, the bar warmed her like she’d taken a shot of top-shelf whiskey.
Oh yes, this joint was the perfect place for a fresh start that did not involve anyone else or the baggage they dragged along with them.
“Why do you want to wait tables here?” Brek asked, giving a dose of emphasis on here. “I’d have thought you’d prefer some place with tablecloths.”
Becca laughed. Brek was as biker as biker got—long hair, leather, and an abundance of tattoos. His wife was…not. She was a financial planner, and Becca’s friend.
Becca shook her head. She definitely didn’t want to wait tables anywhere else. “I’m looking for the diviest dive I can find.”
The idea to wait tables was a complete one-eighty from her recent past as a certified behavioral counselor, but she wouldn’t go back. Not yet. Especially not when she was having a perfectly lovely time at the local go-to spot for great music in Denver, hanging with her friends, and harassing Brek into hiring her as a part-time waitress while she took a life break.
“Diviest dive? Well, I guess this is your place.” Brek flashed her a smile.
“Exactly.” Becca tucked a lock of her thick, brown hair behind her ear, where it belonged but never stayed. “Until I figure out what comes next for me.”
“You can live the dream right here with me.” Brek patted the bar top like it was a living, breathing thing. Something he adored.
Sigh. Someday she wanted someone to look at her like Brek looked at his wife and his bar top.
Not now. She was on a break from all of that—the relationships, the responsibility, everything—but, someday, the adoration thing would be fun to have, too.
He’d created the perfect dive bar atmosphere—neon lights on the dark wood over the bar with his name lit up in blue. The wood paneling covering the walls was new enough to make the place look well-kept but beat up enough that it didn’t look like he had tried too hard. Aesthetically, nothing matched. Yet everything still worked together. The place was definitely Instagram-worthy.
The darkened room hopped in preparation for the band to take the stage. A vibe she loved pulsed through the air. That feeling right before music blasts and the lights come to life. Yep. This was exactly what she wanted for her present life: loud music and the familiar faces of the bar’s regulars, with no further obligation for the mental or physical well-being for those around her.
Also, the best bands played at Brek’s Bar. Sometimes, because he had the connections, Brek brought in huge names. Like huuuge. Waiting tables here was perfect for a recovering groupie on hiatus from life.
“You can start next weekend?” Brek asked.
“Next weekend would be perfection.” Becca glanced at her friends, mingling across the room.
Then Linx entered Brek’s Bar. Becca choked on nothing but air.
Linx. Walked. Through. The. Door.
Bassist for Dimefront. Hot as all hell. Heartbreak in leather pants when he took the stage.
She, on the other hand, was only hot when she wore a sweater. Definitely not heartbreak in any kind of clothing. Unless… Could a woman be heartbreak in yoga pants? She was sure that wasn’t possible. She shook the thought from her head as he moved her direction.
Her mouth didn’t just go dry; her entire body froze in time.
Tonight, he’d ditched the leather and wore shredded blue jeans instead. Lanky, with ridiculously long dark hair, stubble that was a half day away from being a full beard, and all the charisma of a man who could get tens of thousands of screaming fans on their feet with one chord on his guitar. He scanned the room like he owned the joint.
Brek may have owned the bar, but Linx owned the room.
“Looks like my current assignment is here,” Brek said, offhand with a touch of growl.
“Linx is your assignment?” Okay, she tried to resist sliding her gaze back to Linx, but she failed. Every woman in the house got the Linx grin as he continued his slow saunter through the room.
“I’m his babysitter…” Brek said, glowering in Linx’s general direction.
Crumpet crap-ola. Her blood seemed a whole lot thicker and her skin a whole lot thinner when he sauntered toward Brek… and her. The blue neon halo was a nice touch. Well done, universe. Well done, indeed.
She sighed because…. Linx.
All eyes were on him. Every woman in the room got a solid eye canoodle as he strutted right up to where she stood across from Brek. His eye canoodle could likely get a girl pregnant. She sucked in a breath and braced for her turn.
Linx moved less than an arms-length away, and her heart stuttered like he’d asked her to remove her panties. Surely, he wouldn’t recognize her. It’d been years since they partied in the same circles.
She held her breath because she couldn’t take the risk of his scent. Not because she had any special superpowers that involved scented rock stars—that she was aware of—but she knew he smelled amazing. Rock star heaven and concerts and something musky, like oak trees in the rain.
“Do you want me to wait for the drinks, or do you want to send them over when they’re done?” Becca asked Brek, ignoring the fact that Linx was right-freaking-there doing some kind of intense handshake thing with him.
“You should definitely wait,” Linx said, blasting her out of her knickers with that smile of his.
Yes, she often thought in British slang that she’d picked up one summer on a European Dimefront tour. She really took to their language choices. Refined, but still rather raunchy.
Like her. Rather, who she wanted to be.
She slid her gaze up the length of Linx—long and lithe. Not beefcake, but definitely built. He had more of a runner’s build. Muscle and sinew, but not overdone.
He leaned against the bar top, a look of pure happiness on his face. This wasn’t a cat’s-got-his-cream smile. This was a cat’s-about-to-play-with-his-dinner-before-devouring grin.
“Becca, this is Cedric,” Brek said, slinging drinks like a pro.
Cedric?
Right. Sure, yes, she knew that was his given name. Cedric Sebastian, wasn’t it? Last name was Lincoln, and all the original members of the band took a nickname that had an x at the end. Together, they made a triple-x, which they found hysterical, as pointed out in multiple Rolling Stone articles.
“Becca,” Linx—er, Cedric—stretched her name across his tongue and played it like an instrument.
He held his hand out to her. What to do? What to do?
She could touch him. She should touch him. He was expecting her to touch him.
Do something already, Becca.
She was overthinking this way too much. So she gave him a solid handshake.
The way he squeezed her palm was nearly erotic. For no good reason, either. It was just a handshake. He didn’t make any lewd gestures or anything.
Still, the bar seemed to zip to a pinprick and focus on Linx.
“Becca is a friend of Velma’s.” Brek tossed Linx a look like her dad used to give her when he thought she was going to use very poor decision-making skills.
Becca extracted her hand from Linx’s grasp. She noted how he kept the touch for as long as she’d allow.
“I like Velma.” Linx grabbed a pretzel from the bowl on the bar and flipped it into his mouth.
“I do, too.” Brek continued working. “That’s why I’m making it clear to you that Becca is a friend of Velma’s. Which means stop looking at her like that.”
“Like what?” Linx held up his hands.
“Like you want to make her Denver,” Brek said with a growl.
What the heck did that mean?
Linx popped another pretzel into his mouth. Somehow, he chewed, smirked, and smoldered, all at the same time.
“She’s not Denver. Denver is Denver. Becca is Becca.”
Brek crossed his arms. “You and I need to discuss what you’re allowed to do and not do while you’re visiting.”
Linx held his palm to his heart and wobbled dramatically. “I am offended.”
For the record, he didn’t sound offended.
“It’s not visiting if I bought a house. That makes it my home,” Linx said to Brek.
He bought a house in Denver? Huh.
Perhaps Becca wasn’t the only one in the midst of reconsidering life choices.
“You bought a house in Denver?” Brek asked. “I thought it was a vacation rental.”
“It was,” Linx said with a shrug.
“The landlord was being a total dick about Gibson, so I made him an offer.” Linx did the pretzel thing again.
“Who’s Gibson?” Becca asked.
Not that she had any real reason to be part of the conversation, but Linx hadn’t asked her to leave.
“His cat,” Brek said, arms still crossed.
“He’s more than a cat.” Now Linx crossed his arms. “So what if I bought one little house so he has a place to live?”
Brek shook his head. “Whatever, man. You do you.”
“That’s my plan.” Linx slid his gaze to Becca. “Unless Becca wants to sit here and have a drink with me? Then we can see what happens.”
Linx gave her a charisma-soaked smile.
Ah. There it was, her eye canoodle. She felt that stare deep down in her soul.
Yeah. Total player.
A player who went through sex partners like they were potato chips. This was according to his bandmate, Bax, and general female knowledge when meeting a player of his magnitude.
Back when she’d followed Dimefront concerts she’d had her eye on Linx. Something about him was like a magnet, pulling her in his direction. She had wanted him. Full. Stop.
But Linx was bad news for her. He rocked a total love ‘em and leave ‘em vibe. The kind that made a girl like Becca—someone who tended to see only the good in people and, therefore, fall for the wrong men—step away. He had just the right amount of baggage for her to want to unpack. And he was exactly the type of guy to pick up those suitcases and leave town right after she committed to the unpacking.
So she kept far away from his wandering gaze, preferring to observe him in his natural rock star habitat, and not let her heart, or body, get involved.
Brek handed a bottle of Coors to Linx.
“I’ve actually…” Becca jerked her head toward her group of friends. “Got to get back.”
“That’s a drag.” Linx shrugged and gave Becca an extra-long, excessively thorough glance.
She shouldn’t have done it. But she did. Yes, she totally canoodled him back.
“Becca?” Brek’s voice cut through whatever the heck was going on between the two of them.
Brek had, of course, known Becca during her groupie days. Back then, he’d managed Dimefront and she’d been a Ten, the pet name they called their groupies. The Grateful Dead had Deadheads, Justin Bieber had his Beliebers, and Dimefront had their Tens. She’d spent a summer being Queen of the Tens.
This was not something she shared regularly. With anyone. No one else in her real life knew. Not even her best friends. That summer had been her first attempt at a life vacation. And it’d worked. Lucky for her, Brek didn’t, and she was quoting here, “Broadcast shit that wasn’t his to tell.”
She let out a long breath and turned to Brek. He glanced pointedly to the order he’d prepared.
“Thanks.” She snatched the remaining drinks and—and this was the hard part—she walked away without looking back at Linx and his neon halo. Ready to keep reading? Grab your copy of Played by the Rockstar now!
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Hey there! I had a bunch of video classes to sit through today, and I need a project for my hands so my brain will focus. (I know. It's weird. But it's me.)
So. Sometimes I get books that are too damaged to sell even in my Slightly Imperfect section. Nope, these books came with printing errors so bad they're genuinely unreadable. I'm talking wonky pages. Upside-down chapters. These books never had a chance.
Enter: lotsa how-to videos. And scissors.
I chopped up those poor unreadable copies and gave them a new life as book flowers. AREN'T THEY SO PRETTY? No readable books were harmed. Promise. Only the ones that were already beyond saving.
Soon I'll be adding more blind date books to the store, decorated with these pretty little guys. Which brings me to a very important question you can settle for me:
xoxo, Christina
P.S. Speaking of paperbacks with stories to tell... I have more signed-paperback news coming very soon. Let's just say the Mile High Rocked crew got some brand-new, very discreet outfits, and I've got a stack of them here waiting for my Sharpie. 👀
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Sunday Funday!

Hey there! On this episode of What-Did-Christina-Do-Today?, I'm not sure how I feel about doing... absolutely nothing. To celebrate my Do Nothing Day, I'm doing something and sending you this email. (Counterintuitive, but here we are.) I decided to share with you the first chapter of Blow Me Away. It's the book where we first really meet Babushka and she truly takes the stage. I think it's time for a re-read of this one today on my Do Nothing Day. What did you do today?
Blow Me Away Christina Hovland Chapter 1
Jase Dvornakov’s abs made Heather Reese seriously reconsider swearing off men.
Almost.
Gawking at the smokin’-hot florist while he had his own private dance party for one wasn’t Heather’s thing. She was a woman in control of her own destiny. That’s what she tried to tell herself, anyway. Still, she stared through his storefront window in the posh Cherry Creek neighborhood of Denver, Colorado. Her feet remained cemented on the sidewalk, a burst of her breath fogged against his window, and she memorized every move shirtless Jase made—instead of opening the stupid door to step inside.
His hips thrust, shoulders rolled, and…who was she kidding? She couldn’t look away. If he was going to put it all out there, she might as well appreciate the view. The man had moves. She’d give him that.
It was like watching one of her favorite game shows: Which door was she going to pick?
Shops along their street were barely starting to open; it was too early for a dance party at her friendly neighborhood flower shop. Apparently, Jase—her neighbor—didn’t agree.
She shook the foamy haze from her brain.
Sweet Goddess of Gold’s Gym, this man distracted her. She opened door number one and stepped through, stumbling over her feet only a little.
“Hey, Jase.” As soon as the words slipped past her lips, she knew they couldn’t be heard over the music blaring through the shop.
She cleared her throat and shifted in her pink Heather’s Cookie & Co. embroidered polo shirt, hopeful the man dancing across the concrete floor would pause long enough to toss a glance her way.
Not because she wanted him to glance her way but because she needed his attention. So she could give him his poster.
Advertising the senior “senior” prom for the nursing home where she volunteered.
Nothing more.
He didn’t. Instead, he continued gyrating his hips and stuffing lilies into a wreath with a gold banner that read, In Loving Memory, Phyllis.
“Jase?” she called, raising her voice over the music.
Okay, that got his attention. He finally glanced her way, paused mid–posy thrust, and a wicked smile crept across his lips. “Heather. Hey.”
Her blood heated from his gaze, tingling as it swished through her veins.
Oh, for pity’s sake. Her body begged her to grin back, say hey to him, and get her out of the drought that had become her dating life.
She told her body to hush. She had spent months detoxing from men and their unkept promises. Men and their unwillingness to fit her into their lives.
Okay, maybe not all men, just the ones she’d dated.
There was absolutely no need to jump back in and take another hit just because Jase said, “Heather. Hey.” All sexy-like.
Two quick strides brought Jase to the cash register. He flicked a switch and the music zipped to a stop.
Heather gripped the stack of posters in her hands. Her brainchild. A prom for the senior citizens at a nearby retirement home. Something to get them up and moving and having a good time. Also, another distraction to prevent her from breaking her no-men rule. “Sorry. I can come back later, if you’d rather.”
She inhaled a long breath of floral-scented air and tacked on a smile.
“Don’t be sorry.” He scrawled something on a notepad. “Now’s good. I just lost track of time. Didn’t hear you come in.”
“That would explain the dancing, and the lack of clothing.” She gestured to his bare pecs and quickly glanced away to the assortment of potted cactus plants dotted along the windowsill.
“Oh, ah, right. I got distracted. I work best when I’m in the zone.” He yanked a thin white T-shirt from under the counter and tugged it over his head.
There, much better. Sort of.
“So…” She set the stack of posters on the countertop and tapped her fingertip against the top one. “I brought you a poster for your window.”
He studied her handiwork and flicked the end of a pen against his palm in time with the beat of the now turned-off music.
“Prom, huh? Fun.” He dropped the pen, rubbed his hands together, and locked his gaze to hers in a way that made her insides purr in anticipation.
What are “things you shouldn’t do” for five hundred, Alex.
No men for you, Heather. Eye on the…well, the poster, in this instance.
“This is at the retirement home up the street?” he asked.
“You know it?” Of course he knew it, it’s not like their street was that big.
“Yeah, I know it.” He lifted a corner of his lips, just the one corner. Damn, that was sexy. Elvis sexy.
“I volunteer there, and they’ve lost a lot of residents lately. Some passed away. Some moved. So I had this idea to help drum up new business. A way to showcase the place for new seniors.” Okay, she should get to the other reason she’d stopped by. “I was…ah…also hoping you might be willing to help out with flowers? It’ll be a fun opportunity for us to get to know each other better.”
He stilled when she mentioned getting to know each other better.
“I mean, not like that. You know. For everyone to get to know each other better. You as a business owner to get to know some of the residents. And they can get to know each other. Not for…” Us, she finished in her head.
“Dean said you’re single.” Jase squinted his espresso-colored eyes in that way guys tended to do right before they dropped a mammoth pickup-line bomb. He’d never looked at her like that before, but she’d witnessed his pick-up line game before. It was strong. “You and your guy broke up.”
Dean was her friend Claire’s husband. Jase was friends with the significant others of her two best friends. Which meant they ran in the same circle, saw each other regularly. She’d chatted with him. Danced with him at their friends’ weddings. All that time, she’d been seeing Logan, so she had ignored any of the chemistry between her and Jase.
Logan. Ugh. They had broken up. But that had nothing to do with anything.
The lies she told herself were sometimes mammoth.
She’d been 100 percent into Logan. Certain that they were heading to a chapel with a white dress and forever bells. She’d been epically wrong.
“Logan and I broke up a while ago, actually. Why?”
“You look hungry,” Jase announced.
“Don’t do it, Jase.” She shook her head.
Oh, he acted so innocent, but she knew better. Knew what was coming.
“Do what?” he asked.
“Give me whatever line you were about to throw at me.”
His eyes danced. “What line?”
“You know what line.”
“Fine. Your loss.” He didn’t wink. He didn’t have to. He paused a beat. “You want to hear it, don’t you?”
She tilted toward him, just a touch. “I already ate. I’m not hungry.”
An English-muffin-sandwich thing about twenty minutes ago.
He leaned forward, elbows on the counter, and flashed another grin. “I’m thinking you look hungry because you’re the girl I’m about to ask to dinner tonight.”
A sigh escaped her lungs. Cue the horrible pickup line. She’d called that one. Still, this was new. Jase had never asked her out before. He was a flirt, but he was an equal-opportunity flirt. She’d never read more into it.
“In that case, you look like the guy I’m about to turn down.” She bit her tongue to prevent it from turning that no into a yes and toyed with the edge of the stack of posters.
The flash of teeth against his lips nearly undid her. Nearly. “I’ve been waiting for you to ditch your boyfriend.”
Well, she wasn’t the one who’d done the ditching, but he didn’t need to know that.
He straightened, standing at his full height. She hadn’t noticed quite how tall he was before. Tall and built and…nope. That assessment about summed him up.
Heather didn’t date cocky guys. Not anymore.
She had dated her fair share of players in the past. Mark, Ben, Craig…they all had a great time with her until they were ready to move on. She was nothing but a good-time-girl to them. Then she had started seeing Logan. Who she thought wasn’t a player. She’d gotten in too deep, and it had turned out he was the king of players. He’d played her, anyway. She had been certain they were in the kind of relationship that lasted. But what she’d thought was a relationship with potential was tossed aside after the newness wore off. He’d gone off to find his next conquest.
It ended. She swore off men.
And opened a cookie shop. As one does.
“Heather?” Jase stuck tape on the corners of the top poster.
“Hmm?” Her eyes met his again, because she refused to show weakness.
“You catching that?” he asked, his focus returning to the poster and the tape.
“Catching what?”
Poster in hand, he moved to the front window and pressed it against the glass, smoothing it before turning back to her. “Catching the little buzz we have going on between us.”
“A little… The thing is…” C’mon, Heather, be strong. You are the cookie lady now. You don’t date. You are all you need. That’s what the podcast she’d been listening to said to her over and over again. Mantra in hand, she slapped on her I’m-in-charge-here-buddy mask. “It would never work between us.”
The edges of his lips ticked up ever so slightly. “You can’t know that.”
Oh, she knew.
He sauntered toward her.
Unwilling to back down, she stepped toward him. Expression firm, she said, “I can already see exactly how this whole thing would play out if we let it. You’d start with a horrible pickup line.”
“Guilty.” His hands fell to the belt loops of his jeans.
Her palm itched to press against the front of his tee, but she refrained. “Then I’d counter with a witty response. This time, my reply would be even better. Funny, intelligent…everything.”
“Now, that I’d like to hear.” Nothing but a foot of crackling air sizzled between them.
“Trust me, if I had said it, it would have been epic. You can’t repeat something like that. It has to happen in the moment.” She shook her head, the sleek ponytail she’d carefully arranged earlier brushing against the collar of her jacket.
“That right there is why we wouldn’t have worked out. I mean, you couldn’t even come up with a snappier reply.” He crossed his arms, the little veins of his muscled forearms flexing with the motion.
“Oh, I would’ve. It would’ve been the best response in the history of pickup line replies.”
“I don’t believe you.” The glimmer in his eyes lit up his entire face.
He was enjoying this exchange entirely too much.
Control. She needed the power back. “Trust would’ve always been one of your issues in our relationship.”
“Maybe you just couldn’t be honest with me about how you felt. That’s probably why we would have always argued.” He raised his eyebrows in a clear ultimatum.
Challenge accepted.
She stepped the tiniest bit closer to him. “Let’s say you threw out that awful line again. The one about taking me out.”
“I’m with you so far.” He glanced down to the floor in clear acknowledgment of her movement forward, but he held his ground.
“We’d banter for a good bit—”
His face sparked with humor. “Sounds about right.”
“Both of us would get that tingly feeling of attraction. You know the one.” So maybe she made her voice a little breathier than usual. Sue her.
His mouth parted, the exaggerated fullness of his lower lip apparent. “You have a tingly feeling?”
She shook her head and raised a hand. Not touching his chest like she desperately wanted to, but getting within millimeters. “That’s not the important part. Eventually, you would convince me to go on a date.”
“I’d take you to this great taco stand. I love tacos.”
“Despite that, I’d probably let you take me out again. And again,” she said, not willing to acknowledge the way she wanted to nip at his lip with her teeth.
He nodded. “I’m digging this relationship so far.”
“Eventually, you’d ask me to move in. I’d say no. You’d pressure me, even though I wouldn’t be ready.”
“What can I say? I wouldn’t want to spend a night away from you. No use paying for two apartments.”
She shrugged, dropping her hand. “I’d cave, and we’d finally move in together—”
“Do we get to hook up first? Don’t skip that part.” This time he moved forward, just a smidge.
She stayed put. She refused to back up first. “Of course. It would be awful. Sorry Speed Racer, but I need more than three minutes of go time.”
“That’s not what you’d say after you screamed my name.” He leaned forward, the whisper of his words brushing against her ear.
God, there wasn’t but a breath of space between them. She was all turned-on Heather, ready to throw her why-have-a-man-when-you-can-have-cookies resolve away.
His breath smelled of cinnamon candy and coffee, turning her knees effectively to melted butter.
No, she stopped herself. Back to the fictional breakup at hand.
Cookies were just fine for her. Better, even.
“Then we would be horribly irresponsible one night and, surprise, it’s a boy!” She waved her hands and grinned.
He frowned. “I’d never be that irresponsible.”
“It would happen. And then you’d insist we get married in a huge production I’d totally resent.” Now, she stepped to the counter to grab the rest of the posters.
“C’mon, baby. I’d tell you we could keep it small.”
She held the posters against her front like weak card-stock armor. “It wouldn’t matter, you’d be all kinds of grumpy when you stopped getting your full three minutes on top. Before you could say ‘honeymoon,’ we’d hate each other. The divorce would be sweet relief for everyone involved, and we’d never speak again.” She flashed him a goodbye smile. “Aren’t you glad we aren’t doing that?”
He followed her to the door, opening it for her. “That’s tragic. But we could still have an affair every once in a while, right? Let’s move straight to that. Avoid all the other stuff.”
Every alarm bell in her head rang out. He’s a player. He’s not a cookie. He’s a player. He’s not a cookie.
She patted the anchor tattoo inked on his bicep. “Sorry, sweetie. I think it’s best we let the breakup stick. I’ll see you—”
“Jase, thank goodness you’re here,” a female voice called from behind her. “I have a ribbon emergency.”
Jase tore his gaze from Heather’s, stripping nerves she hadn’t realized he’d exposed.
A perky cheerleader-type with a button nose breezed past Heather into the shop holding a floor-length formal gown. “Cassidy changed her mind about prom. She’s wearing green, so we need to match the ribbon to this dress instead of the purple one I brought in before.”
Time to go. Heather moved out the door but glanced over her shoulder at Jase. “So, you’ll help out with the prom thing?”
The dark intensity of his gaze held her in place. “Absolutely.”
Perfect.
“And, Heather?” He flashed a grin, and the fuzzy Jase-induced haze filtered over her vision again. “Sorry I broke your heart.”
Crap.
“You’ve got that wrong, bud. I did the breaking up.”
“See, that’s why it never worked. You always have to be right. Even when you’re wrong.”
Heather opened her mouth, but the now wide-eyed, green-dress-wielding customer caught her attention.
“Should I come back?” the woman asked.
“Nope. He’s all yours.” Heather hustled outside into the cool morning air before either of them could say anything more.
© 2019 Christina Hovland - All Rights Reserved.
xoxo, Christina
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(Photo Credit Bryan Douglas)
(Photo Credit Bryan Douglas)
Hey there! The saga continues with: TRAVEL NOTES FROM NEW YORK CHRISSIE (Not really, I'm from Colorado): Part 3
With the blessings of the angels and a fae called Cookie, we continued on our journey. I called American Airlines a few more times to see if, perhaps, a different agent could fix the downgrade issue.
They all said no, but not to worry, we'd likely get a refund.
Um... Likely?
There simply were no more seats out of the main cabin on the British Airways flight they'd transferred us to.
Not one to take no for an answer, I figured once we got to the gate I'd give it one last go.
My sister told me that she'd never seen anyone get told no so many times and still keep asking. But there's one thing my dad always said about me, and it was, "Damn, you're persistent."
That's when I met Treska.
I freaking love Treska at British Airways in Boston. If you ever meet her, she's not warm and fuzzy *at all*. She sugarcoats nothing.
But she gets crap done.
Here's my theory--if anyone with a "ka" in their name wants to fight for you? Let them. They're serious.
I'm looking at the Erikas and the Karies and the Mirkas out there. All of them are badasses who will fight against airline downgrades.
Treska assured me there were still open seats in all cabins, and since I'd paid for the upgrade already, she would handle it.
Friends. When I tell you she worked a solid couple of hours to solve this, I am not exaggerating. (The one time a long layover worked in our favor.)
And while she did her thing, she placed us in the First Class lounge for our troubles.
(Thank you, Cookie, for whatever good words you put in with Treska. For real, thank you.)
And, so, two days in and we were finally off American soil.
Which was--after ten hours of flight--when we arrived in England... just in time for the Fae Ball to be halfway done.
I was TIRED. My sister was TIRED. Mom went right to bed.
But... Fae Ball? I bought a dress for it. I schlepped tiaras over the ocean and through TSA!
What to do... what to do?
Welp, we decided to toss on our tiaras and at least enjoy the event until exhaustion finally took over completely.
It. Was. Amazing.
I met Talia and Bryan and all the other authors I would get to know over the coming days. I ate mushy peas for the first time. (That's actually what they're called.) I began my tea addiction.
Sigh.
Pure fatigued fae magic. xoxo, Christina
P.S. Prefer to listen to my stories? I got you! The Ultimate Romance Audio Package is 8 of my books, professionally human-narrated, in one bundle. →
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Hey there!
This email is going to a very small group of readers who already have the entire Ultimate Romance Book Bundle.
You already own all of Mile High. The rockstars. Brek and friends. So here's what I made for exactly this moment: Call Him Daddy.
These are later in life heroines who have seen some stuff, met Mr. Wrong, and are ready for their Mr. Right.
The series is waiting for you and you'll notice some cameos from my other characters. (As tends to happen in these books, they pop in to say hello.)
xoxo, Christina P.S. You own the books so you're already in the club! There's no jacket, but we do have stickers with the monthly reader challenge! Be sure to check it out.
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An image added to the post.
Photo of Mr. Lego Pilot and makeupless, very tired, moi. Hey there!
Here's the next installment of the saga that was my trip to England... After the whole bit with the cowboy blood (you can read about that here), I marched to the OneWorld Lounge and escaped the madness of random body fluids on public airport transport.
With my mom and sister, we all sat down for a pre-flight snack and waited the two-plus hours for our flight to board.
And then... just as boarding was to start...
The flight was canceled. *poof*
Not just rescheduled. Totally canceled. (Maintenance issues.)
Apparently, my airplane pilot dad used to say, "Better to be on the ground, wishing you were up there, than up there wishing you were down here."
Things got a little nutty while a full plane of people worked to reschedule flights.
Not going to lie. There were moments where I questioned if our trip to England was meant to end in... Dallas.
But we sallied forth and got our flight rescheduled. They were ready to fix us up at the Motel 6 (I'm being so for real right now) and then the next day we'd fly to Boston. There we would wait four hours, and then fly to London. There we would wait another four hours. And then on to a flight to Manchester where we'd meet with our driver Bash for the hour drive to the hotel.
My well-planned, minimum-connection quick trip dissolved in a puddle of "maintenance needed."
The thing is, I have an American Express for just this type of situation. So we headed to a Marriott for the night.
(There's a side story here: eyeing my sister. It involved an Uber trip all around Dallas before finding the correct Marriott. That's a story for another day.)
By the time we made it to our hotel room, we were all totally and utterly exhausted and it was, technically, the next day.
We slept for a bit, and when we woke up, our plane tickets had been downgraded sometime in the night.
We were SERIOUSLY ready to talk to the gate agents about just canceling the whole shebang and schlepping back to Grand Junction.
But.
When we arrived at the front desk to hop on the airport shuttle we were met with a man I am convinced was either:
1. A fae from the English countryside sent to our aid 2. An angel from Touched By An Angel (Remember? In the 1990s?)
His name was, and I am not kidding, *Cookie.*
He wore an old-time English stocking cap. (We never saw his ears... and it was HOT in Dallas.)
He also accepted tips via Zelle. Which is only odd because... wouldn't cash be more normal?
Anyhoo... we popped onto the shuttle and he chatted to us in his English accent.
"Where are you headed off to?" he asked. "England." "I'm from England! Where will you be headed there?" He got super excited. "A small town called Accrington." "I went to university in Accrington!" "What's in Accrington that's fun to do?" I asked. "Absolutely nothing," he said all cheerful.
This was not even just a ME hallucination. My mom and sister had the same exact experience!
He then proceeded to sell the proper English breakfast--toast and beans with sausage, tomato, and black pudding--with such a fierce love that I actually wanted to try beans on toast. He convinced us that it was, likely, the most amazing cuisine on the planet.
At that point we realized we were meant to continue our journey.
If Cookie hadn't been clear enough, there was a guy right off the shuttle stop with a quote on his t-shirt that said something like "Just keep going!"
And that, my friend, was the beginning of Day 2...
xoxo,
Christina
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