Melt My Heart (A Warrior Wolves Holiday Novella) Chapter Three by Christine DePetrillo

                                                                       

                                                                       

Chapter Three

   “You mean a room for you to stay in, lass. By yourself.” Flynn’s cheeks flamed almost as red as that crop of hair atop his head, and Brooke had never seen anything quite that adorable. A light dusting of red whiskers covered his jaw, encircling a set of lips that grew sexier each time he called her lass. Couple that Irish accent with the warm brown eyes that stared back at her and Flynn Callister might just be the hottest guy she’d seen in a long time.

And where had he gotten those arm and chest muscles? Her body still remembered how he’d plucked her from the snow bank with ease and held her against that solid torso of his. The hot cocoa was warming her nicely, but not half as well as looking at Flynn was.

“I will check with Gran and get you a room.” He disappeared and came back a few minutes later, waving a keycard at her. His blush was gone, but Brooke couldn’t forget that his mind had traveled down the path of him thinking she’d wanted to see his room.

Maybe that wasn’t so ridiculous. She hadn’t been with anyone since Mr. Can-We-See-Other-People. She definitely had a little pent up… energy.  

“Thanks,” she said as she put down her cocoa and took the keycard.

“Aye. No problem.” He arrowed a thumb toward the window where snow still fell. “Do you have bags you’d like brought in?”

“You wouldn’t mind getting them?” The thought of going out there again made a shiver ripple through her.

“Not at all.” He winked. “I’m not from Texas.”

“Snow is no match for you?” Judging by the over six-foot height of him and the broadness of his shoulders, she’d bet not much was a match for him. “Where are you from?”

“Ireland, originally, but I’ve lived in Vermont for a few months now. I’ve almost earned my membership card.”

“What brings a guy like you from Ireland to Vermont?” What makes a guy like you pant like a dog? Brooke clasped her hands in front of her, focusing on the feel of the keycard between her palms instead of wondering what Flynn looked like shirtless.

“Music. I’m in a band and our lead singer decided to move here after she met her soul mate. So the rest of us moved here too.”

So he believes in soul mates. Good to know. “What’s the band’s name?” She should have figured he was in a band. He had that sexy musician air about him.

“Hendrake.”

Brooke’s mouth dropped open. “Hendrake! Wait a minute!” She jumped to her feet and immediately regretted it as her back rebelled. “Flynn Callister. Oh my God, you’re the drummer!”

Flynn’s cheeks pinked again and he dropped his gaze to his boots. “Aye, that’s me.” Man, he did bashful well.

Really well.

“Holy cow! You guys have a great sound. So different than that other junk on the radio that’s all the same. After I heard Hendrake, I downloaded a bunch of your songs. I run a nightclub in Texas and sometimes before opening—when I’m alone and have free reign over the club’s sound system—I play Hendrake. Your drums sound amazing on those speakers.” She was gushing. She had to stop. Like now. “The drums are my favorite part.” Seriously. She needed to shut up.   

A slow grin slid across Flynn’s lips. “The drums are my favorite part too. Emma and the guys should be back right before Christmas. We’re doing a holiday concert for Canville Children’s Home which helped us get our big break.” He backed out of the room. “I’ll be right back with your bags.”

Brooke reminded herself to stay right where she was. Clearly the man thought she was a nutball. Why couldn’t her mouth have stayed frozen so she could have kept her fangirling to herself? She swigged the last of her hot cocoa and by the time Flynn reappeared with her bags, she was feeling… toasty.

For a number of reasons.

“Thank you for going out there.” She walked toward him—slowly so as not to aggravate her back—and brushed snow off his shoulders. Stop touching him! She let her arms drop to her sides. “Sorry.”

“Beautiful lasses never have to apologize for brushing snow off me.” He set one of her bags down as he sent her a smile. “Give me your keycard and I’ll bring these up for you.”

“I probably should turn in as well,” she said, massaging her lower back with one hand. “That’s the only way this will settle down.”

“Does it hurt a great deal?” He led them to the stairs, which Brooke assumed led to the guest rooms.

“Not as much as it first did. Those magic pills are already doing their thing.” A massage from a hot Irish drummer was probably the best remedy though. Biting her lip, she followed him up the stairs, enjoying the back view of him as much as the front. “I’ll have to call my family and say I can’t make it to the ski lodge on time because I can’t drive.”

Flynn stopped in front of a door and turned to face her. “I… I could drive you to the ski lodge tomorrow. If you’d like. I could get Gran to give us some of her famous snickerdoodles for the trip.”

Brooke put her hand to her heart. “I can’t refuse a man who promises me snickerdoodles, but are you sure you don’t mind driving me?”

“Not at all. I welcome the chance to get to know you, lass.”

She never refused a man with an Irish accent, drummer’s biceps, and snickerdoodles. “Then I will accept your very generous offer. You’ll be saving my Christmas.”

Flynn pushed the keycard into the lock and opened the door. After letting her pass first, he brought in her bags and set them in the room’s small closet. “I hope you’ll enjoy your stay.”

“I already am.”

He reached out a hand and traced her jaw with his index finger. Somehow she felt that touch absolutely everywhere. “Good night, lass.” He headed for the stairs.

Brooke had to grip the door frame to keep from throwing her arms around him and planting a kiss on those tempting lips. Didn’t Gran believe in decorating with mistletoe? Where was a sprig when you needed one?

“Flynn?”

He turned around, his hand on the banister to the stairs. “Aye?”

“Do you ski?”

Grinning, he came back to her door and took her hand. He dropped a light kiss on the back of it that was somehow both gentlemanly and sexy as hell. “Only with lasses from Texas.”

“I probably won’t be skiing with this back,” Brooke said, “but I will need someone to cuddle with by the fire.” She looked down at their still joined hands, not wanting to let go just yet. “You look as if you would be a good cuddler.”

“Actually…” He tugged her into an embrace—one that didn’t feel like a stranger’s. “I’m an expert.”

Apparently Flynn Callister would be saving more than her Christmas. He’d be melting her heart too.

Come back tomorrow for a holiday tale from Rolynn Anderson! Happy Holidays!

Want more of the Warrior Wolves Series? Check it out HERE!

Toodles,

Chris

www.christinedepetrillo.weebly.com 

Melt My Heart (A Warrior Wolves Holiday Novella) Chapter Two by Christine DePetrillo

Chapter Two

Flynn Callister burst into the main sitting room at Deer Creek Inn and set the womansicle he’d pulled from the front yard onto the couch. He pulled his jacket from her shoulders then unzipped her own coat. Tossing them to the floor, he grabbed the thick quilt on the back of the couch and draped it around the lass. Next he pulled his phone out of his back pocket.

“I’m calling 911,” he said, though he wasn’t sure if the woman was with it enough to understand him. Her cheeks were so red from the biting cold, her lips nearly blue, and her clothes were soaked. “Gran!”

Aideen Rhodes, owner of Deer Creek Inn and grandmother to Flynn’s friend and bandmate, Emma, came into the sitting room. As soon as she saw the woman on her couch, her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, dear, what’s happened?”

“I found her outside. She must have fallen trying to get to the front door. She might be hur—” He stopped when the 911 operator answered. After explaining the situation, he hung up. “An ambulance is on the way, but do you have some dry clothes. She drenched and freezing.”

“Of course.” Gran scurried from the room and Flynn turned his attention back to the woman.

“Hey.” He kneeled beside the couch and used his index finger to move aside strands of wet, golden hair. “Can you hear me?”

The woman nodded, but it appeared to sap her energy to do so. Poor lass. How long had she’d been out there? Just how hurt was she? Who was she?

“I’m Flynn Callister and we’ll get you all warmed up, aye. Don’t worry.”

Good thing he’d come to the inn tonight. Every other member of their Celtic rock band, Hendrake, was in a relationship and Emma, Torrin, and Blaithin had taken their mates on romantic getaways as Christmas presents. They’d, of course, invited him to come along, but what was more pathetic than being the seventh wheel? So he’d elected to stay behind and help Emma’s grandmother run the inn for the week before Christmas. In exchange, Gran had promised to make him all the snickerdoodles he could eat.

Which was an unholy number.

When he’d heard the howling earlier, he’d opened the front door, concerned that wild animals were getting a bit too close to the inn. He’d been prepared to fire off a couple of warning shots with Gran’s rifle, but then he’d thought he’d heard a voice out there in the blizzard.

Thank heavens he’d checked it out. This lass could have died out there tonight.

Gran bustled back into the sitting room and shooed him out so she could help the woman change her clothes. When he was allowed back in, the lass was sitting up and looking… hot. She made the gray sweats Gran had given her look like something a supermodel would wear.

That golden hair, though still wet, fell around her shoulders in long waves. She was petite, all her features delicate and feminine. Rich green eyes searched the sitting room before settling on Flynn and making something magnetic inside him pull him farther into the room. Closer to the couch.

Closer to her.

“I… I’m Brooke Myers,” she said after clearing her throat. There was a slight southern twang to her words that enchanted Flynn. “Are you the one who pulled me out of the snow?”

Flynn nodded, too caught up in her to form words.

“Well, thank you. Thank you so much. I was about two seconds from becoming a permanent ice sculpture.” She coughed, a wince scrunching up her face.

“Are you hurt?” He navigated himself to the coffee table in front of the couch where Gran was already standing.

“Her back,” Gran said. “Wrenched it trying to get out of the snow bank. I’m so sorry, lass. Usually everything is cleared, but the snow was falling too quickly to stay ahead of it and I wasn’t expecting any new guests tonight.”

Brooke held up a hand. “I totally understand. I didn’t expect to be a guest. I’m supposed to be at a ski lodge an hour from here with my family.” Her gaze shot to Flynn. “I’m meeting my parents and siblings for Christmas.”

Not a boyfriend or husband? Good to know, and had she wanted him to have that information?

The doorbell rang and Gran went to answer it while Flynn lowered to sit on the edge of the coffee table. “Can I get you something to drink?” He was glad that question came out and not do you want to run away with me?

“Something hot would be wonderful,” Brooke said in a soft, scratchy voice. A rather sexy voice. “I’m so cold.”

“Aye. Coming right up.” Flynn met Gran and two EMTs in the foyer. “Aside from hurting her back and being out in the cold, she appears to be okay.”

“We’ll check her out,” one of the EMTs said.

“Help me get her something to drink, Gran?” Flynn angled his head toward the inn’s kitchen.

“I know just the thing.” Gran led the way and moved around the kitchen as if she could do so with her eyes closed. “What a way for a lass to start her holiday.”  

A dozen other ways Flynn could start Brooke’s holiday flashed through his mind as he leaned against the threshold and watched Gran. As he let a few of those scenarios play out in his mind, he grew heated beneath his flannel shirt and jeans. How could he let his mind wander into that territory? The woman had suffered a frightening ordeal being stuck outside and hurting her back during a blizzard. She didn’t need some guy trying to put the moves on her.

Does she? She had pointed out that the family she was meeting included her parents and siblings. Not a significant other. Why would she specify if she wasn’t interested?

Flynn was totally ready for some excitement. He’d grown so tired of being the only one not in a relationship. Emma had Kole, Blaithin had Vix, and Torrin had Kari. And while he could have hooked up with any number of lasses at Hendrake concerts, eager to score with the band’s drummer, that wasn’t what he was looking for in his life right now. At thirty-four years old, he wanted something like his friends had. Something real. Something more. Something with the potential for forever.

A loud snap in front of his face made him blink and focus on Gran standing in front of him. She held up a mug with steam curling from the hot cocoa it contained.

“Earth to Flynn.” She smiled. “Can you take this to our guest?”

“Aye.” He took the mug and carefully made his way toward the sitting room. With a quick peek around the doorway to make sure he wasn’t interrupting an examination, he entered and set the cocoa on the coffee table.

One of the EMTs shook a bottle of pills at him. “She’s pulled a muscle in her back. Some of these, coupled with rest, and she’ll be as good as new. No signs of frostbite, but she does need some warming up.”

“Which you’re already on top of with the cocoa,” the other EMT said.

But that’s not the only way to warm up a lass…

Flynn shook that thought from his head as he accepted the bottle of pills from the EMT.

“She shouldn’t drive or operate any heavy machinery while she’s on these,” the first EMT said.

“Darn.” Flynn shot her a quick smile. “I was going to have her snowblow out there.” He gestured out the window where the storm was still raging.

Brooke offered him a grin that made her entire face radiant. “Snowblowing is not on my resume. I’m from Texas.”

Picturing her dressed as a cowgirl made Flynn have to bite back a groan. What was wrong with him tonight? He’d pulled one gorgeous woman from the snow and his hormones were all high-fiving each other, ready to get into the game.

He thanked the EMTs and walked them out. When he returned to the sitting room, Brooke had her hands wrapped around the mug. He wiggled the pill bottle. “Want some of these?”

“Yes, please.” She held out her hand and he shook two pills into her palm. After taking them, she looked up at Flynn. “Please tell me you have a room here.”

He certainly did.

Come back tomorrow for the last part of Melt My Heart!

Want more of the Warrior Wolves Series? Check it out HERE!

Toodles,

Chris

www.christinedepetrillo.weebly.com 

Melt My Heart (A Warrior Wolves Holiday Novella) Chapter One by Christine DePetrillo

Chapter One

She peered through the snow-spattered windshield at the neon sign and hoped like hell there was room at the inn. Had Brooke Myers known a snowstorm of epic proportions was due to hit the area, she would have delayed her trip to Vermont. Of course, traveling north in December was no doubt guaranteed to include snow, but not one meteorologist had predicted these blizzard conditions before she’d left sunny Texas. Her flight into Burlington had been on schedule, but by the time she’d rented a car, the snow had started to fall.

By. The. Ton.

She still had another hour’s drive to meet her parents at the ski lodge. Continuing at this point in the dark and terrible weather, however, was just asking for trouble. If she could shack up here at… at…

“Deer Creek Inn,” she read after squinting at the sign her headlights illuminated. She couldn’t see much of the inn through the white sheet of falling snow, but she’d stay anywhere right now to not have to drive any longer.

Assuming there was an available room.

“There has to be.” Brooke hit the gas and slid into the first empty parking space she found. How many people decided to spend the holidays in the frigid woods of Vermont? Most people were smarter than that. Most people packed their bags and went to a tropical location in the middle of winter. Most people she knew anyway.

That was why she was so surprised when her parents announced a skiing holiday excursion for this Christmas. Normally the Myers family convened somewhere exotic, somewhere south to celebrate. Brooke’s father would simply send airline tickets and resort reservations to his four children scattered about the United States, and it was expected that everyone would show up at the destination, full of yuletide spirit. Brooke was still searching for that spirit. Hopefully it’d show up before she had to actually see her parents.

The last time they’d all been together had been at her sister’s wedding this past summer. Her younger sister’s wedding, where her family had done their best to hound her about when she’d be getting married. Brooke had assured them an engagement was just around the corner because surely her serious boyfriend of three years was about the pop the question. She’d been right too.

About the wrong question.

“Can we see other people, Brooke?” he’d asked on her birthday.

She’d been just about to dive into the huge hunk of chocolate cake the waiter had brought over to their table at their favorite restaurant. “What?”

Needless to say she hadn’t been back to that restaurant since. A shame really. That cake was to die for.  

Puffing out a breath now, she zipped up the winter coat she’d had to buy specifically for this trip. She pulled on a pair of gloves and eyed the front door of the inn. Why did it have to be so far away? The parking lot wasn’t plowed and the walkway wasn’t shoveled. With snow falling this fast, Brooke understood why, but her boots were in the trunk somewhere, buried under all the junk she’d packed.

I’ll just have to make a run for it.

She was at least wearing sneakers and if she stayed in the car any longer, she wouldn’t have to worry about getting a room at the inn because she’d be frozen to the driver’s seat.

With a quick thought of warm Texas sunshine, Brooke opened the car door and hopped out of the small rental sedan that had no business driving down snowy Vermont roads. She pulled the hood of her jacket up and took off for the front door of the inn. Heavy, wet snow sloshed into her sneakers, but she kept moving and made it across the parking lot. A laugh bubbled out of her as she thought about her colleagues back at the Silver Saddle nightclub in Texas. They were accustomed to seeing her manage and sing at the club she’d started from scratch herself. If they’d caught even a glimpse of her bundled up and darting through snow in the dark, desperate for cover, they’d fall over in hysterics. Wait until she got back home and told them this tale.

Brooke stepped onto what she assumed was the walkway, but it was hard to tell with all the snow. Everything looked the same bluish white in the floodlights shining from the inn’s porch roof. She trudged forward, putting her arm out to shield her face from the wind and snow.

Which was why she didn’t see that she’d veered off the walkway a bit. Not until she took her next step and her left leg sunk into snow up to her thigh. The rest of her body got thrown off balance and she fell, face first, into the bank. She struggled against the snow’s hold on her and something low in her back wrenched the wrong way.

The blizzard wind swallowed her holler. Brooke tried to break free, but the pain in her back radiated throughout her body each time she moved her limbs. She had to get up though. Had to get out of the freezing snow and into that inn. Had to have someone massage the throbbing ache in her back, in her head, in her…

Brooke’s heart beat wildly as she snapped awake. Crap. She’d passed out from the pain and from imagining all the ways she could die if she didn’t get free. How long had she been out here? Long enough that her strength was at zero and parts of her body had gone numb. She got her hand into her jacket pocket only to remember she’d left her cell phone in the car because she’d been using it to listen to an audio book on the drive.

This would only happen to me. All her family members were probably nestled by a roaring fire at the ski lodge by now. Too bad her family would have to remember this Christmas as The One When Brooke Froze to Death.

A low howl sounded from the dark woods bordering the inn. It sounded like something… big. Brooke pulled the sides of her hood tighter around her face as a second howl echoed the first.

Great. Not only did she have to worry about freezing to death, she also had to try not to look like prey.

More howls erupted from the white-washed shadows, sounding more and more like an entire pack of… dogs? They had to be some mighty huge dogs to let loose howls like these. Did Vermont have wolves? Were they active in the winter?

Did they eat nightclub owners from Texas?

When the next howl vibrated from the trees, the front door of the inn opened, spilling golden light onto the porch. A silhouette filled the doorway and Brooke called out, “Help!” Her voice cut in and out though, and the silhouette disappeared as the door closed. Brooke’s shoulders sagged and fresh pain zinged down her spine.

A moment later the door opened again and the silhouette came onto the porch. It was slightly larger and Brooke realized the person had donned a jacket.

“Hello?” a deep male voice called above the wind. “Is someone out there?”

“Yes!” Brooke’s voice was barely a rasp. She’d already been outside in the cold too long. She couldn’t yell any louder.

The silhouette came down the front steps but was looking toward the other side of the walkway. She had to do something to get noticed or this would definitely be her last Christmas.

Using what little strength she had left, she grabbed two glovefuls of snow—though her back protested at the movement—and packed them together into a tight ball. She took aim and sailed that snowball right into the silhouette’s back where it exploded.

The silhouette flinched and turned around, his gaze connecting with hers. “Oh my God!”

Brooke fell forward just as the silhouette reached her. Strong arms caught her before she hit the snow. A second later, a warm jacket was wrapped around her shoulders and she was lifted out of the bank completely.

A wail of pain escaped her throat as she was jostled.

“You’re going to be okay, lass,” a soothing male voice with just a touch of an Irish accent said. “Let’s get you inside.”

              No sweeter words had ever hit Brooke’s ears. 

Come back tomorrow for the second part of Melt My Heart!

Want more of the Warrior Wolves Series? Check it out HERE!

Toodles,

Chris

www.christinedepetrillo.weebly.com 

A Selection of Poems by Christine DePetrillo

I often write poems when I'm experiencing writer's block. I'd like to share some with you today. Enjoy!

Here are two serious, nature-inspired ones:

LEAVES

Summer green

         fades,

autumn red

         flares,

to orange

yellow,

brown,

blankets the

         ground

awaiting the

         arctic veil

of

snow.

Fading sun

graying sky

frosty crispness

quiet hush

leafless trees

dark twigs

wait like soldiers

                  for the icy assault

flakes fall

frozen bullets

covering all in

         white

                  folds

                           of

                                  snow.

****

REFLECTION

Silent soldiers

standing tall in the ranks

needled arms raised

against the ambushing

sun

Autumn marches in

spraying its yellow, orange, brown

ammunition on the

vulnerable

Only the strong emerge

unscathed

true green

evergreen

Quiet river

remembers the battle

reflecting the victory

of the

pines

****

And here are two silly, food-inspired ones:

OH, THAT CRANBERRY SAUCE!

Wiggly

jiggly

red

sloppy

floppy

round

Sliding

off my

plate

headed

for  the

ground

Slipping

through

my fingers

landing

in a

mound

Grandma

steps

right in it

and it

doesn’t make

a sound

Sticky

icky

blob

three days later

when it’s

found.

****

SQUASHED

It’s orange.

It’s bumpy.

Mom’s is

Always lumpy.

It’s squash.

Serve it cold

Or serve it warm.

Either way

It’s got no form.

It’s squash.

Eat it now.

Don’t delay.

Best to get it

Out of the way.

It’s squash.

Take a drink.

Wash it down.

I’ll try my best

To hide my frown.

It’s squash.

Time for dessert.

Oh me, oh my

Cut me a slice

Of that apple pie.

Oh no…

it’s SQUASH!

Be sure to check here after Thanksgiving and into December for The Roses of Prose Annual Holiday stories! Free holiday cheer! Also, join the Facebook reader group I co-host with author Amanda Torrey at Small Town Hearts. We have a blast over there and we want you to be a part of it all!

Toodles,
Chris
www.christinedepetrillo.weebly.com

What Do You Prefer and a Chance to Win! by Christine DePetrillo

A few fall this-or-that questions for you today. Answer them and I'll randomly select someone to receive one $10 Amazon gift e-card to celebrate Autumn. (If you are the winner, a valid email address will need to be provided so prize can be sent. Random winner selected by Thursday, November 8th, 11:59 PM EST.)

Do you prefer:

1. Leaf peeping or a hay ride?

2. Apple picking or a fall craft show?

3. Pumpkin pie or apple pie?

4. Cider or beer?

5. Chillin' by a firepit or bike riding?

6. Christmas music before Thanksgiving or after Thanksgiving?

7. Decorating with real pumpkins or fake ones?

8. Scare crows away or let 'em stay?

9. Hot chocolate or tea?

10. Autumn-themed books or movies?

Just post your preferences in the comments and be entered to win. Feel free to share this post with your friends so they can join in on the fun!

Be sure to check back here after Thanksgiving and into December for The Roses of Prose Annual Holiday stories! Free holiday cheer! Also join the Facebook reader group I co-host with author Amanda Torrey - Small Town Hearts. We have a blast over there!

Toodles,
Chris
www.christinedepetrillo.weebly.com

A Halloween Treat #2 by Christine DePetrillo

I hope you've still been good, people. If you have, Halloween treat #2 is Abra Cadaver, a paranormal romance novella.

Blurb:
Holly Brimmer never expected to be brought back from the dead. After a fatal car crash, a mysterious stranger gives her a second chance at life—but it comes with a price. To stay alive she must pay it forward, accomplish an important deed, thus making her mark in the world. Until she does, her savior is bound to her. Now she has a backyard full of dead bodies and one unwanted houseguest.

Keane Malson kills bad guys to keep the innocent alive, but he’s still a monster. Cursed by a witch moments before an honorable death on the battlefield, he’s lived thousands of years, roaming from place to place with no end in sight. It’s a lonely life…until he meets Holly.

When a wanted man targets Holly, Keane will do anything to protect her, even if it’s the last thing he ever does.

Excerpt:
Holly Brimmer stared at the dead body resting in the grass in her backyard. She knew it wasn’t truly human, but shit, it sure looked like a real person. This one was actually good-looking. His rusty brown hair was only slightly matted with dried, greenish blood. 

Must not have put up too much of a struggle. 

His skin wasn’t that post-life purplish color yet either. He still appeared fresh, as if he might pop open his eyes and say, “Just kidding! I’m not dead.” 

But that wasn’t going to happen. 

This fellow had definitely taken his last twirl on the carousel of life. She inhaled the summer-heated air and exhaled slowly. How did I end up here? 

“I don’t know why you insist on burying them, Holly. Demons only last eighteen hours after death, and I like to burn the bodies before then anyway.” 

The mere sound of his voice tensed every muscle in her already stress-beaten body. If she could take back one horrible decision, Keane Malson would be it. 

Keane leaned on the threshold of the back porch door. If he stood up straight, his head nearly hit the top. For a man of his size, he moved like a butterfly—absolutely no sound whatsoever. The snake tattoo circling his left bicep twitched as he folded his arms across his chest. Holly loved snakes, but that one slithering in black ink across his pale flesh confused her. She wanted to stay away from it and inspect it more closely at the same time. 

Stay away from it, Holly. Snakes bite and Keane probably does, too.

Pick up Abra Cadaver today and see how sexy monsters can be! 

Happy Halloween, Pumpkins!

Toodles,
Chris
www.christinedepetrillo.weebly.com 

A Halloween Treat #1 by Christine DePetrillo

Happy October, ghouls and goblins!

You've been good, right? You deserve a treat, don't you?

Of course you do. 

This month, I'm highlighting two of my more Halloween-appropriate stories. First up in this post is More Than Candy Corn, a Maple Leaf Series Halloween novella. 

Blurb:

Sienna Faye makes her living designing toys for her father's Boston company, Faye Toys. Working for her father brings many pressures, some in the form of a video gaming heir he wants her to marry because it would be "good for business." Attending Super Con in St. Martin right before Halloween is just the escape she needs to hide and avoid telling her father she won't use marriage as a merger. The conference also gives her an excuse to have some fun in a fairy costume. 

Max Devon writes and illustrates graphic novels for his rabid teen readers. He loves his work, but every woman he's been with so far has trashed his career, telling him he'll never grow up if he always surrounds himself with superhero figurines and other nonsense. They just don't understand where inspiration comes from. Super Con is his chance to take a break from women or, if he takes his brother's advice, it could be a place to "just get laid," no strings attached. 

When Sienna stops at Max's booth at Super Con, the connection is instant. But if Sienna brings Max home, her father will flip. If Max lets Sienna into his heart, she could stomp all over it. Is a magical time in St. Martin enough to change everything for them both?

Mini-Excerpt:

“You and Christie are good friends, right?” Max asked.

“The best. Since kindergarten. But what made you conclude that?”

Sienna turned to face Max. He’d taken his hood off when they’d gone to meet Phil, and that chin-length blond hair gave him a rock star flavor that had her imagining things again.

“She said she liked me.” He made the statement as if that explained everything.

“So?”

“So, that was her giving you the okay to like me.” Max stood and held a hand out to Sienna.

She took his hand and let him pull her to the dance floor. “I don’t need her okay to like you.”

Max drew her in close, one arm wrapping around her back, the other bent and holding her hand between their bodies. “Oh, so you do like me?”

Pick up More Than Candy Corn for only $1.99 and enjoy a treat in the form of Max Devon, a new book boyfriend for you.

What's your favorite Halloween candy? Mine is Reese's Peanut Butter Cups!

Toodles,
Chris
www.christinedepetrillo.weebly.com

Name Calling by Christine DePetrillo

What’s in a name? Well, for me, sometimes naming characters is a bit like trying on clothes. I gather as many names as I can carry, haul them into the dressing room, try them on, angle this way and that way in front of the mirror, ask a trusted buddy for her opinion, discard ones that don’t fit, and whittle down the possibilities until one has been selected. It’s important to get a character’s name right. A reader has to travel with that character for hundreds of pages. An improperly named character can mean the difference between an enjoyable read and an I’m-not-going-to-finish-this-book read.

I often call potential names out loud in voices portraying the varying moods found in my stories. I need to know a name is going to sound great even if another character is screaming it in rage. I try out the names while I’m talking to my characters. You might hear me say, “Well, you know, Patrick…” just to see if his name flows nicely in the context of a conversation. If it doesn’t, I’ll try another until I get the right vibe. Meanwhile, The Husband wonders who all these men are.

And what about a shortened form of a name? David to Dave, Michael to Mike, Steven to Steve. Who will use the shortened forms? Parents, friends, lovers? Are there shortened forms you as the author just won’t tolerate? Richard to Dick? Is it going to completely emasculate your Alpha hero, Ralph, if someone calls him Ralphie? These are all considerations to keep in mind when naming a character.

Once a first name is selected, the hunt for last names can be challenging. I’m Italian and live in a predominantly Italian neighborhood. Most of the people I know are Italian. The urge to make every last name sound like something out of The Godfather or Goodfellas or have it end in a vowel is always there. To help vary it up, I began collecting possible last names in my writer’s notebook. One fun source has been the names of towns along I-91 as I travel from Rhode Island to Vermont on the weekends. In Kisses to Remember, the hero, Holden Lancaster, has a first and last name that are towns on that route. His heroine, Johanna Ware, sports a last name that came from a highway sign. In Firefly Mountain, the last names of Claremont, Barre, and Thetford all came from this town method as well. This name collection system has really helped me branch out of the parmesan-encrusted bowl of gravy I had been stuck in with names. The whole world isn’t Italian or Irish or whatever ethnicity in which you’ve been held hostage.

                                     

Sometimes names have just come to me when characters are introducing themselves in my mind. I’ll be walking my dog, and out of nowhere, a voice will say in my head, “Hi, I’m Detective Daxton Wilder, and you should write my story.” Umm, okay, Dax. I’ll get right on that. And suddenly, no other name is right for him. He. Is. Daxton Wilder. Down to the core. I can try calling him something else, but he won’t listen. If he doesn’t listen, his story doesn’t get written, and that makes us both cranky.

Names are sometimes derived from something that describes the character. For example, in my young adult book, Run With Me, about a tree spirit, I chose the last name Everleaf for the hero, Jobah. It has a tribal, earthy feel that is perfect for his story and who he is. The heroine, Olivia Bradford, received what I’d call an upper middle class name. She lives in a respectable suburb, attends a nice school, is on the track team, has two brainiac parents. The last name Bradford was found with my town method mentioned earlier, and it sounded professional with the word doctor in front of it for her parents. 

I’ve also heard names of real people that I’ve simply fallen in love with like Salem Grimm. Fantastic! I’m going to use that someday. Everywhere I go, I check out employee nametags. I’ve come across some great names like Avaline, Gretah, and Doone. Unusual spellings of names can be fun too. Carissa can be Kharissa. Or Kevin can be Kevyn. Play around with names.

Naming characters is a blast, and I do think that those names can help determine who that character is going to be in a story. Treat your readers to some solid, creative names that will enhance their reading experience and have them remembering your characters long after the last page has been read.

Toodles,

Chris

www.christinedepetrillo.weebly.com