In Celebration of Women's History Month

The hand that rocks the cradle is the hand that rules the world. ~William Ross Wallace, 1819-1881

On Thursday night I attended a program at my church celebrating the remarkable healing power of women. It was just what I needed with The Alien doing her best to drag me down. I was able to stave her off with healthy eating and exercise the first two days, but on the third day she totally kicked my butt. I managed to stay awake until my son came home from school, then crashed for a nap. The phone rang, and I opened my eyes, saw it was light outside and thought it was already the next day and I must have slept in. Nope. It was dinner time. So I pulled myself together, got something to eat, and went to church.

First we had a wonderful slide presentation made up of women and girls from all over the world. Mothers, grandmothers, daughters, siblings, and friends, showing them working, helping, healing, praying, celebrating, caring for others in a hundred different ways, and expressing every emotion under the sun from unbridled joy to shock to tenderness to grief. Women are such beautiful, complex creatures, and it breaks my heart sometimes to know how often we are mistreated, misunderstood, discounted, and demeaned the world over.

But it also makes me proud to see how we persevere, especially in cultures and institutions that believe we have nothing of value to offer, other than backbreaking work or child-rearing. What those who would devalue us fail to see is that raising our future generations is the most important job there is. Unfortunately, those of us who are busy rocking the cradles are often either too conditioned or exhausted to see that as well.

Since this is women’s history month, I urge you to check out this site and see for yourself some of the inspiring contributions women have made over the years despite having to fight for those accomplishments every step of the way. In honor of this, last night I tried to watch Iron Jawed Angels, about the women’s suffrage movement and their determination to attain the right to vote. Unfortunately, the CD was cracked, so I didn’t get too far. But I got far enough to hear that a vote is a voice.

To think that women died for the right to vote is mind-boggling. Please check out the reviews here, and make the time to watch it yourself. It will make you think twice about staying home on Election day.

After the slide show, the speakers shared stories about remarkable women they had known, and we were reminded of how each of us has many things to offer, in the areas of—just to name a few--health, education, business, politics, community service, spirituality, justice, compassion, caretaking, and healing. How each of us has special gifts and talents, and the use of those gifts and talents in service to others causes ripples through the lives of those we serve, like dropping a pebble into a pond of water.

We were then each given a pebble to carry, to remind us to make ripples.

Make some ripples today. Let your voice be heard. Offer a helping hand or a word of encouragement to someone who needs it. Speak out against injustice. Stand up for something you believe in. Stand up for yourself. (Sometimes serving yourself is the best way to serve others--otherwise you’re just enabling them.) Offer the gift of healing touch to someone in pain. Offer the gift of forgiveness to someone who can’t forgive themself.

There are so many ways you can make a difference. Even the smallest act of courage or kindness can ripple on to infinity.

Guess Who's Coming to Dinner?

For several weeks now, I've been wanting to write another post about PMDD. Well, wanting isn’t really the word, but it’s been on my mind. The problem is, when you’re having an episode of PMDD, almost every thought you have is negative, so you don’t want to do it then, you'll just depress everyone with your negativity, and when you’re not having an episode of PMDD, PMDD is the last thing you want to think about. It’s like a bad dream you just want to forget.

But I had an episode yesterday, which reminded me of my intention to write about it. I’ve been lucky lately. This time last year, the episodes were coming regularly and lasting for what felt like forever. Weeks at a time. I spent the summer and fall changing my diet and seeing doctors and reading anything I could on the subject. I learned enough to make the episodes not last so long, and for a few months, they stopped altogether. What a blessing that was. But I also learned that each case is individual and what works for me might or might not work for someone else, so there’s no way I can sit here and tell you what you can do to ease your symptoms.

That’s the problem with PMDD. It affects every woman who has it differently, and even if you have two women with the exact same symptoms, the treatment for them won’t be the same. Mine, I found, was a fundamental nutritional issue. I had been trying to lose my pre-menopausal weight, and almost every diet plan out there says to cut down on carbs. Well, that won’t work for me. PMDD is caused by a drop in your serotonin level in the brain, and what do you need to keep that serotonin level up? Carbs!

So just about every diet out there is impossible for me. This used to frustrate me. Now I simply enjoy my carbs, knowing they are keeping me from experiencing a dip in my serotonin levels and therefore a day (or week) devoid of productivity. I do everything I can to make sure they’re whole-grain, healthy carbs, and that makes a huge difference in how I feel, but I can’t do without carbs altogether, and I can’t stick to the 15g of carbs per meal or whatever it is they recommend for losing weight.

The only way I’ll be able to lose weight is to exercise it off. So I’ve signed up for something at my Y called Walk 100 Miles in 100 Days. I don’t get there every day, but when I do, I walk two miles to keep on track. No weight loss yet, but I’ve walked 25 miles in three weeks, and my jeans are feeling a whole lot looser.

Anyway, yesterday I was in the throes of an episode of PMDD. It blew in like a bad storm around ten in the morning, and I struggled with it for the rest of the day. Wanting to weep for no reason, yawning and sighing constantly, craving carbs like crazy. I wasn’t hungry, I just wanted to EAT. The last thing I felt like doing was walking my two miles, but I made myself get out of the house and do it—and felt a whole lot better for it afterward. Prior to the walk, all I wanted to do was eat and sleep. Afterward, I felt more awake and alert, and was satisfied with just a salad. I did spend a great deal of time yesterday reading, but that was okay. Everyone deserves a break now and then.

Today I’m feeling much better, more optimistic and hopeful. Not that I wasn’t feeling optimistic and hopeful before. I’m naturally optimistic and hopeful. But yesterday, thanks to my PMDD, my natural optimism totally tanked. That’s what PMDD does to me. So you can imagine how, for years before I discovered what was happening—that my brain was experiencing a dip in my serotonin level due to my naturally fluctuating hormones—I simply thought I was going crazy. I mean, one day all is well in my world and I’m sailing along, as happy as can be, and the next—while nothing has changed in my situation or circumstances—suddenly everything is hopeless and pointless and I have no motivation or direction. It’s like some other being has come in and taken over my body. My body that just wants to eat and sleep all day. I call her The Alien.

So yesterday I didn’t give in. I knew what was happening and I wasn’t going to let her get the best of me. I would alter my activities, take it a little easier than usual, but continue to eat normally and get my exercise in, even though both were the last thing I felt like doing.

And today, because I didn’t give in to that Eeyore cloud of hopelessness and despair, I’m back on track again. Because once you give in, the hopelessness feeds upon itself, and the bad food choices you make (going for the sugar or caffeine) only mess with your body chemistry more, sending you on a roller coaster ride of insulin surges and emotions that leave you exhausted, mind, body, and soul.

Today, thanks to the moderation I practiced yesterday, life looks good again.

But it’s not easy to separate yourself from whatever unhealthy messages your serotonin-deprived brain is sending you. It takes a lot of energy and willpower. I’ve been saying willpower doesn’t work with PMDD, but to some extent it does. Sure, your body craves carbs—so give it some good ones. Sure, your body craves sleep—so take it easy and rest. But you don’t have to give in altogether and keep the cycle going. You can nip it in the bud by taking time out to take care of yourself, so that you’re better able to take care of all the other people and things in your life that need taking care of.

And now, I’m off to take care of those things. Got people coming over for dinner tonight and I need to get the house ready :). Fortunately, they are people who are well acquainted with my PMDD, so if by evening my energy is flagging, they will understand and we’ll have a great time anyway. They'll know it's not personal. All I have to do is open the door and say, “She’s back,” and they will know what/who I’m talking about. My PMDD. Aka The Alien.

I thank God for bringing such good friends into my life.

For those of you who have never heard of PMDD, the core symptoms are:

Markedly depressed mood, feelings of hopelessness, or self-deprecating thoughts
Marked anxiety, tension feelings of being “keyed up” or “on edge”
Marked affective lability, e.g., feeling suddenly sad or tearful, or increased sensitivity to rejection Persistent and marked anger or irritability or increased interpersonal conflicts

Other symptoms of PMDD

Decreased interest in usual activities, e.g., work, school, friends, hobbies
Difficulty concentrating
Marked fatigue
Marked change in appetite, overeating or cravings for specific foods
Hypersomnia or insomnia
Feeling overwhelmed or out of control
Physical symptoms, including headaches, breast tenderness and/or swelling, joint and/or muscle pain, a sensation of “bloating,” and weight gain

Taking Time Out To Read, Rest, Relax, and Laugh

Today I want to write about the importance of getting away and treating yourself as a break to your overstressed life. Over the weekend I attended Deanna Adams' annual Women’s Writers Retreat at a lovely Victorian bed and breakfast in Willoughby, Ohio, The Homestead House, where each room was decorated with comfort and serenity in mind. They came with names…the Sanctuary, the Fine Arts Room, The Victorian Rose, the Speakeasy, the Railroad. Mine was the Railroad room, and boasted a train motif and a genuine pot-bellied stove. Others had canopied beds, gas fireplaces, claw-footed tubs, and heart-shaped Jacuzzis.

About twenty women attended the retreat, some driving in for the speaker sessions, and others staying in the B&B. The sessions included tips on public speaking, inspiration for your writing, including on-the-spot creativity exercises, and how to fill your writing with suspense, as in how to keep your reader wondering what’s going to happen next.

The atmosphere was casual and relaxed, with an assortment of wine available each evening. Oh, and chocolate. Plenty of chocolate. Some of us staying in the B&B attended the sessions wearing slippers, while the cold wind and snow blew endlessly outside. But inside we were having pizza and salad, and sharing stories and offering tips to each other on how to craft and market a better story, article, or essay. One woman had also taken up beading, and invited us to her room to show us what she'd been working on over the past three years. More than a few of us, I suspect, returned downstairs in awe of her creativity, and wearing a sparkly little souvenir of the weekend.

When the evening ended, we retreated to our rooms to relax and refresh our minds and bodies after the stressful drive to get there during one of the worst snowstorms of the season. In the morning we were treated to a four-course gourmet breakfast before launching into the day’s program, which included a roundtable discussion of our work and feedback on any problems we might be having in our writing.

I didn’t know any of the women at the retreat. Had never met any of them before, including my roommate, who generously offered to share her room with me so I wouldn’t have to stay at a hotel down the road. But conversation flowed. At tables and in artfully arranged sitting areas and in our various rooms—being the curious lot that we are, everyone had to go and check out everyone else’s room--we talked writing and editing and marketing and promotion and exchanged tidbits about our families and the endless amount of balance it takes to juggle all the roles we fulfill: wife, mother, daughter, sister, aunt, family caretaker and often breadwinner, in addition to being a writer.

What impressed me most about the group was the enormous amount of creativity and determination that existed in that one room alone. At the end of the second evening, we had an open mic session, which is best described as karaoke for writers. Whoever wanted to could step up to the podium and share something they had written with the others. We heard humor, irony, drama, history, angst, and pain. So much pain. I’d say most writers are drawn to writing as a means to express their innermost emotions. It’s a gift we have, that allows us to share our joys and our sorrows, our triumphs and tragedies, and in doing so inspire others to have hope, carry on, or even take up the pen themselves.

As I looked around the room at this marvelous pool of talent, I found it sad that women in our society are still treated as second class citizens with little to offer outside of our sexuality. In that room I witnessed kindness, compassion, creativity, courage, inspiration, intelligence, wit, and grace, and a kind of enduring strength that made me feel blessed beyond belief for the opportunity to meet and get to know these amazing women, most of whom I will probably never see again.

But for that brief moment in time we all came together, united in one goal, to improve our craft and share our love of writing with someone outside of our families, who quite often don’t understand the need to write and resent the time it takes away from our roles as listed above.

I think every woman, whether you’re a writer or not, needs a getaway weekend like that now and then, to help you to appreciate who you are and what you have to offer the world, and to help the people in your life who depend on you appreciate you a little more in your absence. I know when I get back my family is always happy to see me, and they wouldn’t have that eye-opening opportunity to miss me if I didn’t disappear every now and then for a few days of mental and emotional recharging.

Also, just to have a little fun. At the end of the second evening, those of us staying in the B&B decided to trundle through the snow-filled night into town and visit one of four drinking establishments available—including a wine shop, an Irish pub, and a martini bar. We chose the martini bar, where we each ordered a generous-sized martini from a menu of almost 40 varieties of martinis and, being responsible drinkers, a sampling of appetizers to go with it. Amid toasts and laughter, we shared pumpkin ravioli, fruit and cheese and crackers, bruschetta, and toasted pita bread with blue cheese buffalo chicken dip. For my martini, I settled on something called a Campfiretini, which was made up of Bailey’s Irish Cream, vodka, Godiva chocolate and toasted marshmallow syrup.

It was supposed to taste like S’mores. Instead it tasted like Bailey’s, which was no hardship :).

I didn’t even feel the effects, but knew better than to order a second one. All I know is I laughed and laughed, and at the seemingly dumbest things, just because it felt so good to be out and in the company of so many women I admired. Strong, independent women, with wit and intelligence and the ability to turn any story into one that had us hooting. Then we walked back to the B&B, still laughing and joking, and retired to our special rooms again, where my roommate and I stayed up a while longer, talking and getting to know one another.

The following morning breakfast was light—only three courses—but enough to keep me from getting hungry again until well past dinner time. More invaluable advice on how to make our writing shine followed, and then it was time to load up our bags, dig our cars out of the snow, hug everyone goodbye and head home, filled with renewed energy and inspiration and a determination to see our writing goals achieved.

I made a lot of professional contacts over the weekend, but also made some new friends. Friends I hope to see again and again as we return each year to be renewed and refreshed by good food, good wine, good conversation, good speakers, good writing, the soft glow of a gas fireplace and the warm hum of a Jacuzzi.

And maybe another one of those Campfiretinis :).

Monthly Giveaway Winners Announced!

I need a place holder here, so I'm going to take care of a little housekeeping. The winners of an autographed copy of your choice of Thin Ice, Jake's Return, and Ashton's Secret for December and January are:

December - Jodi
January - K.M. Daughters

Congratulations! All you have to do for a chance to win is comment on any blog. At the end of the month, I count up the comments for that month, and ask my son to choose a number. I then count down to that comment and voila! Pick a winner.

Can You Spare A Moment in Time?

I think we’ve all received that email at one time or another where a young boy who has been teased and tormented at school finally clears out his locker and plans to go home and kill himself, but on the way he drops his books and someone stops to help him pick them up, someone who becomes a friend, and in that moment changes his plans and his life. (If you haven't read it yet, here's one link, and then another, kindly supplied by the hosts of Zen Moments, who stumbled across this post--Thank You!) There are others, such as the story of a cab driver who picked up an elderly woman on her way to a hospice and ended up driving her around town for hours without charging her so that she could relive her favorite memories one last time. Then there are the Christmas stories about single mothers with no money to buy presents for their children, and yet many presents arrive.

Last but not least is the story of Teddy Stoddard, which has inspired many, but according to Snopes, is a fictional story of a young boy who taught his teacher a life lesson she will never forget.

The themes that all these stories have running through them are kindness and compassion, something we could all use a little more of in our lives. Whether they are true or not, they are meant to make us stop for a moment and think about the things we say and do—or don’t say and do--and realize the possible impact we can have on the people around us, from our closest family members to the clerks and cashiers we meet in passing in the drive-throughs, checkout lines, and toll booths of our lives.

I’ve had several moments in my life that either gave me hope, courage, or the willpower and determination to continue. One that stands out in my mind is rather gross, but unforgettable. I was pregnant with my only child, a high risk pregnancy, and I had started bleeding, and was terrified I would lose the baby. I called a friend about something else and in the course of the conversation, broke down with my fear. Quite nonchalantly, she said to me, “Oh, you’d be surprised at how much you can bleed and still keep the baby.” She then went on to tell me of her experience, which had been much worse than mine was.

Still, I held onto her words like a lifeline until I delivered a healthy baby boy.

I’ve since gone back and thanked the woman for getting me through that terrifying time, and she doesn’t even remember our conversation. It was just an off the cuff remark she made to reassure me and she didn’t give it a second thought.

Which just goes to show that you never know how your words or actions will affect the lives of others.

I’ve had people come back to me, and tell me things that I said to them that gave them new hope and determination for a situation they were facing. Things I don’t remember saying, but made all the difference in the world to them…and for that I am glad.

Any moment can be one that you or someone you’ve encountered remembers for a lifetime, a little jewel in the sandstorm of life, for you to take out and remember and appreciate when the going gets tough. Most of those moments are rooted in random acts of kindness. I’m not saying you need to join the World Kindness Movement, or any other kindness organization, but simply encouraging you to take time in your day to smile at someone who might not receive a smile otherwise, open doors for men and women alike, especially the elderly and mothers with young children, say please and thank you to clerks and other attendants, or stop and listen, really listen, to a child.

We all want to matter to someone, we all want to count. We all want to be seen and heard in ways large and small. All it takes to acknowledge that special person in your life, a friend, acquaintance, or even a complete stranger, is a moment of your time.

There is no greater gift on this day we celebrate love and romance, or any day, than You.

As a special Valentine’s Treat, leave a comment with a life-changing moment for you here for a chance to win an autographed copy of Thin Ice and an even bigger prize--a 5-ARC (advanced reading copy) package from the Classic Romance Revival authors who are participating in today’s Moment in Time Blog Carnival. The winner will be drawn from visitors commenting on the most blogs.

To qualify for the grand prize, you need to register for the contest. Please visit the Classic Romance Revival blog to find details of all the participating blogs and to register.

Feeding the World - One Bowl at a Time

Most of the poverty and misery in the world is due to bad government, lack of democracy, weak states, internal strife, and so on. ~Billionaire philanthropist George Soros

Well, we’ve gone from 9 degrees last Saturday to a balmy 21 degrees today, but only if the sun comes out. And only if you’re somewhere inside, snug and warm and well-fed. Otherwise, it’s bitter cold and gray and dismal.
There was an article in the paper this week….I don’t get the paper, but I read the headlines as I’m going in and out of the post office or grocery store. Hunger “Alarming” it says. I make a mental note to borrow a copy from someone later.
As luck would have it, my son comes home with that very same paper. A teacher offered his extras that day, and for some reason, my son was motivated to take one. This sort of thing happens to me all the time. Ask and you shall receive. I decide I need something and somehow it shows up in my life. Like the day I bought my soup stock pot.
My soup project is going twice as well as hoped. From just that one post, I had two donations for ingredients, thank you Gail and Ellie, which is enough to make three more soups. During a chance conversation with another woman, who as it happens also cooks for the homeless, I came home with a huge ham bone with lots of meat still on it, and 5 pounds of potatoes. Another friend, who loves to use coupons, says she can get me name brand vegetables for 30 cents a package, and rice and beans for next to nothing.
So today I’m making soup again. My third batch in just over 30 days. First I made this spicy Italian vegetable, with leftover broth from a pot roast. The second time I was in the mood for split pea and ham with lentils. So were a lot of people, because the first store I went to was completely out of split peas.
That one turned out awesome, if I may say so myself. I had two bowls, and made a spare pot for my lunches during the week. Today, Superbowl Sunday, it’s ham and potato. I boiled the ham for stock yesterday, took the bone out and cut off the meat, and set the broth in the garage to cool. Today I’ll scoop off the fat and add the potatoes and make soup. Since the ham and potatoes were donated, all it will cost me is some time and a gallon of milk.
An unprecedented number of people in the Erie area need emergency food. According to the article in the paper, “There has been a 40 percent increase in the number of people seeking emergency food assistance compared to four years ago, with nearly 22,000 of those being children.”
Children. Children are going hungry in this country.
There’s no excuse for it.
Nearly 70 percent of the people served by our local food pantry, Second Harvest, live below the federal poverty line, and nearly one third of the clients served by the agency have been unemployed for two years or less. Nearly one in four residents in Erie lives below the poverty level.
According to the study, 34 percent of people served by Second Harvest reported frequently having to choose between paying for food and paying for utilities. Eleven percent said they were homeless, a population that has more than doubled in Erie in the past 18 months.
In December, Second Harvest locally distributed nearly 758,000 pounds of emergency food, the largest one-month total since the agency’s inception in 1982.
The article goes on to state that more than 37 million people in the United States, including 14 million children, received emergency food in 2009 through the network of agencies served by Feeding America, the nation’s largest hunger relief organization. That’s a 46 percent surge compared to Feeding America’s previous food study in 2006.
And according to their study, the rise in the region’s needy is likely to continue this year and beyond.
Meanwhile, according to the same paper, the auto show rolls into town and casino table games are coming to Pennsylvania.
Just what we need to put food on the table.

Guest Author, Linda Poitevin

Today's guest is Linda Poitevin, fellow Rose and part of the Goddess Fish Promotions blog tour. Linda's latest release is A Fairy Tale for Gwyn, the story of a disillusioned single mother who unexpectedly finds love with a very determined and special man. Please join us as she talks about what it's like to be a mom, and how she uses that experience in her writing. Welcome, Linda!

Out of the Mouths (and minds) of Babes…
As the mom of three girls (identical twins and a later sibling), I felt uniquely qualified to include four-year-old twins and a seven-year-old girl in A Fairy Tale for Gwyn – and I had huge fun doing so. My own kids are now pretty much grown (the oldest are nearly nineteen and the youngest is fifteen and a half), but I still clearly remember the challenges of little ones…and their occasional precociousness.
While none of the incidents that occur in A Fairy Tale for Gwyn actually happened in our house, we did have our share of “moments” – and of priceless memories. I’ll never forget the time we bought an antique piano (at a garage sale, of all places) and had it delivered to our home. When it arrived, our then five-year-old girls began banging enthusiastically on the keys and I warned that the piano wouldn’t play beautiful music anymore if they continued treating it that way. Lovers of classical music at that point, they both stopped immediately and one, looking horrified, asked, “You mean it’ll play rock and roll instead?”
And then there was the time our youngest was in grade one and was refusing (very politely) to do the worksheets given to her by her teacher. I explained that her job was to do as the teacher asked; she agreed and the problem appeared to be resolved. Fast forward two weeks: I picked up my daughter after school one day and a substitute teacher greeted me at the door with the news that dear daughter had again refused to do her work. I reminded my daughter of our agreement and she looked up at me in complete innocence. “But, Mommy,” she said, “that’s not my teacher.”
Incidents like those definitely inspired the more interesting challenges my heroine, Gwyn, faces with her own children, Maggie, Nicholas, and Katie, as well as those tender moments we all treasure. I’d love to hear about one of your memorable moments with a child, too – whether the child is your own, your neighbor’s, or your sister’s. And if you’re a writer, have you used that experience in a story?

Blurb

Gwyn Jacobs doesn’t believe in happy-ever-after.

Ever since her ex-husband walked out four years ago, abandoning her with a toddler and infant twins, Gwyn has been mother, father, and bread-winner all rolled into one. Her own scarred heart and failed marriage aside, she is determined not to open up her children’s lives to the possibility of another heartbreak...until her very own fairy tale falls into her lap -- and the hero won’t take no for an answer!

Excerpt

“I think you should,” he said.
Gwyn reached for the handrail and gripped it until the ache in her knuckles remained her only link to reality. She thought she should, too, but decided to make sure they were thinking about the same thing. “Should what?”
“Know why else I’m leaving.”
She gulped for air. She absolutely didn’t want to know, she told herself, because it was for the best, and reasons didn’t matter. They couldn’t matter. But when she tried to deny him, she managed only a thread of a whisper, a single word. “Why?”
Strong, heated fingers closed over hers, slid against them, twined with them.
“Because if I don’t leave now, I won’t leave at all.” Gareth’s thumb stroked her wrist, playing havoc with her pulse. “Because, besides missing my plane and breaking my contract, I’d still be here in the morning when your kids woke up, and you’d hate both of us if that happened. And because I respect you, and them, too much to do that to you.”
Gwyn squeezed her eyes shut and tried to focus on his words rather than his touch. Respect…kids…she felt certain the words should have some importance, but she couldn’t seem to get past the warm, pulsing ache spreading through her body.
Gareth’s voice swore in her ear. He’d moved closer. Close enough that his scent filled her senses to overflowing, and his hair brushed her cheek when she moved her head, and…
“You’re not helping,” he muttered.
Her eyes fluttered open. “Wh-what?”
“I said, you’re not helping,” he grated.
With a shock, Gwyn realized that he hadn’t been the one to move, and that her own feet had somehow shuffled forward, bringing her to teeter on the edge of her stair, her free hand resting against his shoulder for balance. Her face flamed. She dropped her hand and stepped back.
“I’m sorry.”
Gareth’s clenched jaw made his smile look somewhat tight. “Don’t be. I’m just a bit rusty at this honorable thing. Which brings us to the next discussion.”
Gwyn would have liked to retreat a few more steps before she tried to discuss anything with him, but he still held her hand captive. And with his thumb continuing to travel its hypnotic path over her wrist, she couldn’t muster the will to pull away. She cleared her throat. “What discussion would that be?”
“The one where we decide what we do now. You see, much as I’m enjoying Goldfish soup and doing chicken pox dot-to-dots, I’m afraid those pursuits still fall under the heading of friendship.” He lifted her hand in his, turned it over in his grasp, and traced a finger across her palm. “I meant what I said about wanting more than that from you, Gwyn, and I don’t know how long honor will hold out.”
Nothing on earth could have persuaded her to meet his gaze at that moment.
Gareth lifted his other hand to push a strand of hair away from her face. “Come away with me.”
Except maybe that.

Linda Poitevin lives just outside Canada’s capital, Ottawa, with her husband, three daughters, and a varied collection of animals. In her spare time, she gardens (organically), cans and freezes the family’s winter fruit and vegetable supply, knits (basically), crochets (better), and starts way more projects than she ever finishes. (Fortunately that doesn’t hold true of her books!) She loves spending time with her family, having coffee with friends, walking by the river and watching thunderstorms…in about that order.