This Is How To Be A Success At #Promo by Margo Hoornstra

Wow! Kazow! I’ve done it! At long last, I’ve FINALLY done it! I’ve really, really done it!

I’ve solved the what works and what doesn’t promotional conundrum that has so many romance authors, even authors in general, stumped.

Yay!!

April Fool!!

I know! I know! It’s three weeks past April First. Sorry. Just couldn’t resist.

Okay, so maybe I haven't completely solved the elusive promo puzzle. No silver bullet information to impart here. What I have done, though, is to obtain some insight into the problem. And, maybe, just maybe, gotten a peek at some kind of solution.

The end of last month and beginning of this, I set up a couple of Sponsored Product ad campaigns on Amazon for the two self-published titles I have out there.

Saturday In Serendipity

and

 For Money Or Love

Our own Alison Henderson had used them, I was told, with some success. Another of our own, Jannine Gallant had used them too. Why not me?

First, I needed to understand what, exactly a Sponsored Product ad was. (Bringing traffic to the buy page of MY product as the result of being on the buy page of others.) Not an easy concept for me to grasp, I’m afraid. Once I had that mastered though, I started by listing upwards of 75 keywords, in this case names of other authors with books similar to mine, AND established track records, ie high numbers of good reviews. Next was to set my daily cost limit at a conservative $5.00 and my bid limit (still not exactly sure what that is) at $.25 per and I was off.

Initially, things began to look very, very good. Impressions were coming in at about 4,000 a day for SIS and 2,000 a day for FMOL. Sixteen clicks on each in the first ten days! My exposure on KU (Kindle Unlimited) and KOLL (Kindle Owners Lending Library) was growing. People were actually reading my books! I sold a copy.

My other books, traditionally published through The Wild Rose Press 

On The Surface 

Only If You Dare

and

Night Stars and Mourning Doves 

were selling. Minimally, but selling.

Then, without warning, the newness of it all began to fade. Impressions dwindled to about half of what they had been after only two weeks. Currently, Saturday In Serendipity averages 400 a day, For Money Or Love a mere 100.

Nonetheless, there is movement. There is visibility. There are sales.

My plan is to hang in there for another month or two and see what happens. Though I don’t have exact royalty figures for any of the titles right now, I do know I have made more than I’ve spent.

And isn’t that what advertising is all about anyway? In that sense, this current campaign of mine is a success.

Go figure.

My days to blog here are the 11^th and 23^rd. For more about me and the stories I write, please visit my WEBSITE

Why Am I A Pantser? Blame It On My Kids by Margo Hoornstra

My first born was due on this day. Not this actual day, day here and now. On April 11^th a few—okay, more than a few—years ago. He was born the middle of March. Maybe the early arrival wasn’t totally his fault. Freshly released from the United States Army (my husband’s service, not mine) we hopped on a plane to bring us home to Michigan from Arizona. I was huge at the time, even needed an extender seat belt, but they let me fly. My water broke about six hours after we landed.

A new baby and no jobs, no home of our own, certainly no well stocked nursery to bring him home to. Nada. Zilch. Nothing. All of our worldly possessions were on a semi-truck somewhere in transit. No preparation allowed for this baby’s arrival—at all. We stayed with my parents for about a month. Ultimately found jobs and a place to live.

The twins were due the end of January. They arrived the week before Christmas. Another preparation prospect down the tubes. Although we were admittedly more established by this time with a home of our own, steady jobs, income and the like, if not for an ultra-sound ordered two weeks before, I’d have continued to expect one baby instead of two.

My Christmas shopping wasn’t finished either. Never was that year.

Only my second child, a girl, kept it pretty close to term. Even went over by a few days, if memory serves. She’s the only child who allowed me to plan. The others forced me to figuratively think on the fly. To make sure I provided for their needs no matter what I had going on at the moment.

It’s sort of the same with the characters we create and the situations we put them in. As writers, it’s our job to attend to their immediate needs. Get them out of one sticky situation and into another. Because that’s basically how we pantsers operate.

The pantser process worked for me in the two books I wrote for the Dearly Beloved series of The Wild Rose Press.

The idea for Night Stars and Mourning Doves—a second chance romance—came to me when my husband fell out of a tree he was trimming and accidentally took a Mourning Dove’s nest down with him. No babies yet, thank goodness, and she eventually rebuilt.

 

 

My first book contracted on spec, Only If You Dare, was supposed to be a courtroom tale of big business versus the little guy. Except, that’s not exactly what I wrote. The final product did turn out to center around a courtroom, but with no little guys in sight. The story was about a multi-decorated war veteran, now a judge, who suffers from Post-Traumatic Stress and the woman counselor who helps him reclaim his life.

 

If not for three of those four little darlings coming into my life willy-nilly like they did, I very easily could have turned out to be a straight and linear plotter.

 

How about you? What's your writing style and why?

My days to blog here are the 11^th and 23^rd.

I can also be found at:

 

WEBSITE  FaceBook  TWITTER  GOODREADS  AMAZON AUTHOR PAGE

 

 

 

 

Learn, Live and Hope: That's What I'm Trying To Do by Margo Hoornstra

 

Learn from yesterday, live for today, hope for tomorrow. The important thing is to not stop questioning – Albert Einstein

 

Is questioning the same as second guessing? If so, then I am all over the above quote. In my life in general, but more so in my writing life.

 

Case in point. These two covers.

 

 

 

 

 

Both stories are part of the same series -- Dearly Beloved --. Both have basically the same heat level, both involve characters with baggage; loss, abuse, parents with children trying to move on. Struggles for happiness.

 

Would you know that from looking at the covers? How about by reading the blurbs?

Night Stars and Mourning Doves

 

Elyse Monroe may be her sister's maid of honor, but that doesn't mean she has to follow the bride's example and fall in love. Battle-scarred and weary from previous relationships, she has no desire to take a chance on another--no matter how many hints her little sister drops about the best man. Devastating life events have taken a toll on Eric Matthews. After losing his wife and unborn daughter, he's come home to heal. Serving as best man at his kid brother's wedding is the only relationship he cares to contemplate--no matter how attractive the maid of honor. Thrown together again and again by wedding duties, Elyse and Eric reluctantly agree to explore a possible relationship--only to have their casual date turn into a glorious night of passion. Can two hearts, convinced a happily ever after will never happen, recognize love when it finds them?

 

Only If You Dare

 

All the pleasure and none of the pain, that's what Cynthia Buckingham wants in a relationship these days. A one-night stand with Jonah Colt seems to fit that bill perfectly. Newly divorced, she's too busy planning her daughter's wedding for any serious involvement. Besides, her true passion is helping victims of PTSD reclaim their lives. Waking up after spending the night with a woman he barely knows, Jonah is stunned to realize sex for the sake of sex isn't enough for him anymore. A veteran of more military battles than he cares to count, he wants to forget it all and focus on peaceful civilian life. Except flashbacks won't allow it. Falling for Cynthia makes Jonah regret his weakened state, but he'd rather hide the truth than face it. When she sets aside everything she believes in to help him heal, can he accept her help--and her love?

 

The cover for Night Stars and Mourning Doves was created for me from my artwork sheet. Thinking I had learned something along the lines of ‘sex sells’ when the time in my life came to create the cover for Only If You Dare, I chose the picture, hoping to get that book noticed more.

 

 

I’m not sure it did.

 

So what do you think? Which cover do you think is more noticeable? And why?

 

My days to blog here are the 11^th and 23^rd. For more about me and my stories, please visit my website

He's Just Not That Into You; Kind of Says It All by Margo Hoornstra

He's Just Not That Into You. Though I've never seen the movie, I have a feeling it's about boy meets girl, boy loses girl, and boy really isn't all that broken up about it.

Doing a little research, I discovered this is another movie based on a book, a self help book of the same name. The basic premise is that men will do whatever they can, move mountains if they have to, to be with the woman they love. If that's not who you're with, if he makes excuses to avoid seeing you like, 'my dog barfed on the carpet and I have to clean it up right now or it will stain' -  yeah, what guy thinks that way - well, He's Just Not That Into You. Many men, in fact, consider love a verb rather than a noun.

Night Stars and Mourning Doves and Only If You Dare my most recent releases in the Dearly Beloved series from The Wild Rose Press, have heroes with the latter mindset. They turn themselves inside out trying to avoid commitment.

Take Eric Matthews from Night Stars and Mourning Doves

Devastating life events have taken a toll on Eric Matthews. After losing his wife and unborn daughter, he's come home to heal. Serving as best man at his kid brother's wedding is the only relationship he cares to contemplate--no matter how attractive the maid of honor.

Here's an excerpt:

As his father left through the front door, Eric walked into the kitchen on his way to the back entrance. Jay sat at one end of the oval shaped oak table wearing his favorite T-shirt, the red one with a cartoon inspired race car on its front. His grandmother bustled nearby.

“Let me do that,” Eric told her. “You sit and I’ll bring you a cup of coffee or something.”

She waved a spoon in a shooing motion. “Don’t be silly. What else would I do?”

“I don’t know. You must be busy with Chris getting married in a few weeks.”

“Those arrangements are coming along just fine with very little help from me. Anyway, you know what they say. The only job the mother of the groom has is to wear beige and keep her mouth shut.”

“I’ve met Angela. She certainly doesn’t seem like the bridezilla type.”

In fact, in Eric’s mind the woman his younger brother had chosen to spend his life with had all the qualities he’d once sought in a wife.

“She’s as far from being that as any bride can get. And I’m kidding about the mother of the groom stuff.”

“What’s it like working with her mother?”

“I wouldn’t know. Since there is no mother of the bride. Just a sister who flew in recently from somewhere out west, Los Angeles, I think.”

He collected his cross-trainers and sat down at the other end of the table from Jay. “Angela has a sister?”

In place of answering, she addressed her grandson. “Do you want cereal for breakfast, sweetheart?”

“Yeah.”

Eric lifted his head to stare across the table. “Not, yeah, yes. And yes, what?”

The boy looked at him then his grandma. “Yes, please.”

“Nice work,” Eric said and returned to tightening laces.

His mother set a bowl of cereal down in front of Jay then pushed the child’s chair closer to the table. “Angela had us over for dinner to meet her one day last month.” She poured milk on the cereal and set down the spoon she’d been holding. “Orange juice or apple, sweetheart?”

“Apple.” He glanced at both adults. “Please.”

“The sister moved to town shortly after Chris and Angela became engaged, though Angela says there’s no connection between the two events.”

Eric began to tie his second shoe. “What’s her name? The sister.” He had no clue why he wanted details. Curiosity about the family his brother was about to join maybe.

“Elyse. She’s very nice.” For the first time since his arrival in the kitchen, she straightened to look him square in the eye. “Someone you might like to meet, even get to know.”

He stood, too, then couldn’t back up fast enough. His thighs hit the chair he just vacated and knocked it sideways. “I’m sure I’ll meet her eventually.”

Getting to know her, or any woman just now, was flat out of the question. On the off chance he decided someday to care about someone again—which he seriously doubted would ever happen—the pursuit would be on his terms and no one else’s.

 

 

Then there's Jonah Colt from Only If You Dare

Waking up after spending the night with a woman he barely knows, Jonah is stunned to realize sex for the sake of sex isn't enough for him anymore. A veteran of more military battles than he cares to count, he wants to forget it all and focus on peaceful civilian life. Except flashbacks won't allow it.

Jonah's excerpt follows:

It had never been his intention to deceive her. Jonah Colt never set out to do much more than have a good time when someone like Cynthia Buckingham literally fell into his life.

Alone in his living room on a Saturday, kicked back in the dark brown leather recliner, he’d sat for so long he hadn’t noticed the room growing darker as late afternoon gave way to early evening.

A million dollar view through floor to ceiling windows had been a major selling point when he bought the top floor condo five years ago. But when was the last time he’d actually slowed down long enough to enjoy it?

The shades were drawn on a sight that was only worth seeing in the day time anyway. A man made forest was to the right, complete with squirrels, birds and other indigenous critters. And to the left, a precisely trimmed and pruned golf course stretched along the edge of the city. Also man made. Another one of the original attractions when he bought the place, thinking he’d like to learn to play. Then finding out, after a year of lessons, the pace of the sport bored him to tears.

He didn’t like golf because he didn’t like golf. Period. Not because he was losing interest in life or in any other damned way becoming depressed or antisocial. Nor was he embarking on any excessive behaviors involving liquor, sex or drugs.

What could he say? Two out of three wasn’t bad.

The last swallow of the two fingers of high end vodka he’d indulged in gave off a subtle heat as the thick liquid slid down his throat and trickled into an empty stomach.

As he moved to put his glass on the table, it slipped sideways on a clatter. With his legs pushed down to bring the chair upright, he steadied the tumbler to set it firmly on its base. Then snatched it up as he stood to walk out to the kitchen where he opened the dishwasher, dumped the glass onto the top shelf then slammed the door.

There. Evidence disposed of.

Yes, sir, two very reluctant heroes. Wait until their respective heroines get a hold of them.

My days to blog at Roses of Prose are the 11th and 23rd. For more about me and my stories, please visit my WEBSITE

Opposites Are Okay; But How About A Menage a Trois? by Margo Hoornstra

At times, as an author, I feel more like someone who suffers from multiple personality syndrome - or whatever the proper terminology may be.

I'm sure my writer friends can relate.

In addition to juggling the many facets of life - work, family, recreation, responsibilities - we authors have more duties added to the mix. A regular threesome, in fact.

In my case, it looks something like this.

Promoting the book that's out: Only If You Dare

She had no business stoking a fire she never should have started in the first place.

Shopping the book that's finished: Stolen Trust

A parolee hides her past from a bounty hunter set on revenge.

Writing the book that's rattling around in my head: Money Becomes Her.

This is actually a series and, full disclosure here, the brainchild of CP Jannine Gallant about how the lives of four women friends are impacted when they win the lottery.

Here are the set-ups in planned order of appearance.

A computer nerd has a mad crush on her older boss. He, in turn, can't survive (his business that is) without her.

A young widow with children learns to live, and love, again.

A flamboyant matchmaker with a heart of gold runs into an undercover cop with attitude.

A kindergarten teacher leaves Mr. Right for Mr. So Terribly Wrong.

So there you have it. One person version of Menage A Trois.

For more about me and my books and short stories, please visit my WEBSITE

A Lot To Love, Plenty To Hate by Margo Hoornstra

I live in the upper Midwest. As I write this it's snowing - again - still - forever, it seems. Near white out conditions in fact.


According to those who know such things, we are already way above our usual snowfall totals for an entire year. With much more to come before Spring.


If that furry little guy from Pennsylvania is to be believed. 


I'm beginning to HATE Winter. Which is odd for me since usually I LOVE Winter. Gliding and spinning on razor sharp ice skates. The swoosh, swoosh rhythm of cross country skis.


By its Nature - pun intended - Winter begs to be described.



 A blast of Arctic air rolling into the streets.


The first breath on an icy morning, nostrils flash frozen.


Frigid air crackles, snow creaks underfoot.


Freezing rain traps trees and bushes in tombs of ice.

Fingers gone numb.


Wind pelting, eyes watering.    

 Slick roads. Cars slide sideways.


Iced over puddles.

Mittens, scarves, hats and boots.


Warm lips kiss a chilled cheek.


Engine heated air flows into a newly started car.


Seasoned wood sizzling in the grate.


Extra blankets on the bed.


A loved one snuggled close.




Okay, so maybe Winter does offer some instances to LOVE.


Relatives in Arizona brag about abundant sunshine, temperatures in the eighties.


Oh, good. Something else to HATE. Not them, of course, just when they do that.


Happy Spring, Everyone! Eventually!


Margo


My days to blog here are the 11th and 23th. Please check out my WEBSITE

Two of my latest titles, Only If You Dare and Night Stars and Mourning Doves have recently been released from the DEARLY BELOVED series.





These novellas, along with some short stories there for free, are available on my AUTHOR PAGE at The Wild Rose Press.

Love It; Hate It; Can't Live Without It by Margo Hoornstra

 

Ah the writing life. For me, it fits right in with our theme for this month – Love and Hate.

 

LOVE the initial blank page of a new work in progress. All the endless possibilities for characters, and settings and plot lines.

 

HATE all that darned white space staring back, mocking even, when those pesky characters and settings and plot lines fail to materialize.

 

LOVE when the ideas finally start to flow. When all of those marvelous goals, motivations and conflicts begin to gel.

 

HATE when the goal waivers, the motivation stalls and the conflict isn’t.

 

LOVE when characters figure out what they really want and decide they will do anything and everything to succeed.

 

HATE when story arcs that held such promise turn out to be trite and implausible. When characters refuse to cooperate and reveal who they are.

 

LOVE when an air tight and believable storyline emerges, when characters and their individual traits and mannerisms come together in a realistic way complete with snappy dialogue that moves the story forward.

 

HATE when it turns out the characters, with all of their traits, mannerisms and snappy dialogue move the story all right. In the wrong direction.

 

LOVE when characters come into their own, when the storyline, with all of its plot twists and turns, heads in a rush of author inspiration toward the satisfying conclusion.

 

HATE saying good-bye to characters who have been around so long they are now old friends, putting THE END to the settings and story that gave them life.

 

LOVE the initial blank page of a new work in progress. All the endless possibilities for characters, and settings and plot lines.

Speaking of loving the beginnings of new works then hating the saying good-bye to old ones, tomorrow, I say hello again to my latest release from The Wild Rose Press entitled Only If You Dare

 

 



All of the pleasures and none of the pain, that's what Cynthia Buckingham wants in a relationship these days. Multi-decorated veteran turned judge Jonah Colt has other plans for her.

My days to blog here at the Roses of Prose are the 11th and 23rd

Please visit my website at: www.margohoornstra.com

Forward and Backward - For My Two Dearly Beloved Books, It Was The Other Way Around by Margo Hoornstra

Have you ever planned a wedding? It can be fun. It can be stressful. It's never dull.

My two most recent books Night Stars and Mourning Doves and Only If You Dare are part of the Dearly Beloved series from the Last Rose Of Summer line of The Wild Rose Press. All of the books had to revolve around a wedding, of course. What made this different, the hero and heroine could be anyone at all connected with the event.

There was one other requirement. Those two words - Dearly Beloved - needed to appear somewhere in the book. Since I wrote two books for the series, just for fun I made Dearly Beloved the last two words in my first book Night Stars and Mourning Doves and the first two words in my last book Only If You Dare.

First the blurbs, then the excerpts:

Two pasts riddled with grief come together to make one happy future.

Elyse Monroe may be her sister's maid of honor, but that doesn't mean she has to follow the bride's example and fall in love. Battle-scarred and weary from previous relationships, she has no desire to take a chance on another--no matter how many hints her little sister drops about the best man. Devastating life events have taken a toll on Eric Matthews. After losing his wife and unborn daughter, he's come home to heal. Serving as best man at his kid brother's wedding is the only relationship he cares to contemplate--no matter how attractive the maid of honor. Thrown together again and again by wedding duties, Elyse and Eric reluctantly agree to explore a possible relationship--only to have their casual date turn into a glorious night of passion. Can two hearts, convinced a happily ever after will never happen, recognize love when it finds them?

Now the excerpt:

As it had from the very first time Elyse saw it, the beauty of Angela’s wedding dress truly took her breath away. A gorgeous collection of white beads, fine lace and elegant satin, its style too was off the shoulder and flowing. The floor length skirt draped in gentle folds to join a train in back of more beads, lace and satin. At Elyse’s suggestion, the gown was fitted where necessary to remind her groom of the woman beneath.

With all members of the wedding party assembled at the altar, Elyse couldn’t help but let her gaze fall on Eric. Then a little hand touched hers and she looked down to see Jay had come to stand beside her. Accepting the small fingers into her palm with a welcoming squeeze, an indescribable sense of warmth poured inside to wrap around her heart.

Glancing across the aisle, she met Eric’s loving gaze with her own and silently vowed to never let him go. Another surge of love rose up in her to overflowing and, at that exact moment, the ceremony began.

“Dearly Beloved—”

She had no business stoking a fire she never should have started in the first place.

 

All the pleasures and none of the pain, that's what Cynthia Buckingham wants in a relationship these days. A one-night stand with Jonah Colt seems to fit that bill perfectly. Newly divorced, she's too busy planning her daughter's wedding for any serious involvement. Besides, her true passion is helping victims of PTSD reclaim their lives.
Waking up after spending the night with a woman he barely knows, Jonah is stunned to realize sex for the sake of sex isn't enough for him anymore. A veteran of more military battles than he cares to count, he wants to forget it all and focus on peaceful civilian life. Except flashbacks won't allow it. Falling for Cynthia makes Jonah regret his weakened state, but he'd rather hide the truth than face it. When she sets aside everything she believes in to help him heal, can he accept her help--and her love?

Now the excerpt:

“Dearly Beloved...”

Cynthia Buckingham shifted to a more comfortable position on the well-worn wooden bench and did her best to ignore the wedding ceremony taking place in the next room. Confined to the mausoleum-like walls of a municipal courthouse, what type of nitwit public servant conducted a common civil proceeding as if officiating at St. Paul’s Cathedral?

Easy there. Tone it down a touch, a voice inside her head advised. You’re acting like an out of control bitch. Chin lifted at the internal rebuke, she executed a subtle eye roll then sniffed lightly before volleying a sharp comeback.

It’s not my fault I’m in a nasty mood.

She had darned good reason for being irritated, dammit. After being unfairly deprived of her personal liberty, forced to travel all the way downtown then—and this was the very worst—held against her will in an incredibly ugly, poorly decorated, cold and impersonal building.

For jury duty.


As they say, happy writing...and reading!


www.margohoornstra.com (Under construction)


www.margohoornstra.blogspot.com

Stake Out For Love by Margo Hoornstra

Part Three

He lowered his head on a sigh. Because everything they shared felt so right from day one, he’d committed to her body, mind and soul. Until she’d decided she didn’t want him any longer. For financial reasons, he stayed in the apartment. She moved in with one of her sisters. Her true feelings were never clearer than at their little yours or mine sort-out session. Part of the divorce process, dividing up any and all joint possessions.
 

That she was okay with giving away their mutual Christmas ornament, the guitar playing mouse, sealed it for him. The fact their first purchase as a couple held no emotional value for her said a lot. He’d always been a closet sentimentalist. No way would he ever admit to it, but when she was distracted with something else, he’d slipped the tree decoration inside one of his old hiking boots. What could he say? The silly figurine still held a special place for him. On the dresser in his bedroom—their old bedroom. Not that there was a chance she’d even think of setting foot in any bedroom he inhabited ever again.

Another tortured sigh would attract the bored teenager’s attention as he scrubbed counters and put away dishes. Shifting in his chair, Tony shut his eyes and allowed an internal shudder to suffice. Being without Holly, the raw reality of his loss, froze the blood in his veins. A small glacier may as well have replaced his heart. At this rate, walking back out into the below freezing temperature would seem like a warm-up.

Picking up one of the cups, he raised it to his lips as he glanced outside. Funny. From here, he had a better view of the tree they’d been assigned to watch than from the squad car. Probably because he didn’t have the distraction of Holly sitting beside him.

As more memories tried to fight their way into his mind, he brought his attention back to the tree. Glittering lights reflected off glimmering ornaments. He had to admit the entire effect was pretty remarkable. No wonder the Community Beautification Committee members were angry. Green, blue, red, yellow, and white sparkles shimmied up, down and around its branches. Most of which remained intact.

The last time he’d seen their tree, his and Holly’s, it wasn’t nearly as spectacular. Leaning in the corner of their apartment—its many internal lights dark, the box of decorations tucked underneath it. Certainly no brightly wrapped presents. Drab and alone.

Just like me without Holly.

She hadn’t wanted the tree either. He did recall his bullshit explanation for keeping it. “Save me the trouble of buying one every year.”

The tree was an artificial behemoth they’d gotten on a whim when they went to the store for groceries. The floor model. For some reason, tying it to the roof of his car had been a snap. As was unloading the eight foot tall mass of plush, artificial needles pre-strung with lights.

Getting the thing into the stairwell and up three flights was another story. Given the fun they’d had, he wouldn’t have traded one second of the clumsy effort. The elevator had been out of order, as usual.

He was at the bottom pushing, while she was at the top pulling. Twice, as they wrestled the monstrosity up the stairs, either she yanked so hard or he pushed the same way and momentum landed her flat on her back.

A smile tilted his lips at the memory.

By the time they reached the door to their apartment, they were both laughing so hard they could barely stand up. When she leaned into him for support, his arms came around her waist, and she’d lifted her face to his.

He’d kissed the tip of her nose, then one cheek and the other. By the time he got around to kissing her mouth, their laughter was a thing of the past.

Then all he could think about was getting her inside. Not until the next morning did they realize they’d left the tree out in the hall all night.

“Excuse me, sir.” The young clerk’s tentative voice broke into his thoughts. “Here’re your muffins.”

“Thanks.”

He pushed through the door and into the alley, taking the coffee she hadn’t ordered and the muffins she probably didn’t want with him.

Fat flakes of snow landed on him and the ground with a distinct plop plop plop. Keeping time with his plodding footsteps.

When they first got married, he assumed children would quickly follow. Procreation was the way of the world for a guy with five brothers, two sisters and scores of aunts, uncles and cousins. More recently, nieces and nephews. As far as he was concerned, kids were a no brainer.

Holly didn’t automatically agree. Which made no sense. She’d be a fantastic mother. He knew for a fact she was a fantastic wife.

Past tense.

He stopped short as he neared the partially hidden squad car. No brainer, hell. More like him being brainless. Too stupid to give her side, the views she tried to explain, more consideration.

She didn’t even look up as he climbed behind the wheel. His breath was coming in short, sudden bursts. Exertion from his walk. Yeah right.

“I bought cranberry muffins.” He held up the bag when she finally turned toward him. “Maybe you’ll want some later.”

Still, she didn’t really look at him. “That was nice. Thank you.”

“Coffee too.” He set the cardboard carrier with the two Styrofoam cups on the console between the seats.

“I turned the wipers on so I could see out the windshield.”

“That’s good.”

Their back and forth motion was a constant flap, flap, flap. The snow falling on the roof, a continual plop, plop, plop. Rising above it all, the labored thud, thud, thud of a newly wakened heart.

“What did I miss?” Other than your beautiful face? Your presence beside me? The body I so long to make love to.

“What?” She glanced his way and the lack of emotion on her face tore at his heart. “Not much. Dispatch called another unit to yet another domestic.” She rested her head against the seat back. “What is it with people tonight? Don’t they know we’re all supposed to make an effort to get along together on Christmas Eve?”

It was now or never if he stood any chance of getting back the love of his life.

“Maybe it’s more difficult for people to get along during the holidays. Heightened expectations and all that.”

“I suppose.”

Keeping his hands to himself was darned near more of a challenge than he was up to right now. “Holly, I—”

He wasn’t sure she’d heard him as she turned to stare out the side window.

“Well, look at that.”

“Look at what?”

Careful to not tip over the hot coffees, he leaned in slow. The subtle scent of the perfume she always wore drifted over him. He couldn’t ignore the sweet invitation to move a little closer. The curve of her uniform clad shoulder gave way to the skin exposed at the side of her neck, just below her earlobe. A place he used to love to explore with his lips. A tiny pulse flickered under the skin.

“There’re your vandals.”

Dragging his gaze away from her, he resisted the urge to rest his chin on her shoulder, then had to smile. “Well, I’ll be darned.”

Four squirrels, adolescents judging by their size, scampered toward the Christmas tree to disappear inside it. First the lower branches began to shake, then the middle, and finally the top. Ornaments jiggled, quivered and eventually fell to the ground. The oddly synchronized movements ran up the tree then down a couple of times more before four brown, furry bodies shot back to where they’d come from.

“What do you know about that?” Glancing behind her as she spoke, her lips nearly collided with his.

Mouth open, she pulled back, while Tony didn’t move a muscle. A millimeter of space. That was all he had to close between them, and his lips would cover hers. Pausing to swallow, his gaze captured hers and held.

She looked away and reached for the radio. “Shall we call the Chief?”

His hand came over hers. “In a minute. There’s something I want—” He blew out a breath. “—need to say to you first.” When she didn’t tell him to go to hell, he went on. “I think I know where we went wrong, Holly. You and me.”

She pressed her lips together but didn’t turn away.

He sat back in the seat but held fast to her hand. “I think we got hung up not so much on different values as different perspectives. We both want the same things. We just differ on the best way to get there.” He went on before she had a chance to answer. “I was wrong, and I’m so very, very sorry.”

For the first time in a long, long time, she came up with a weak smile. “It’s my fault too. Not just yours. I’m sorry too.”

They talked over each other in a flurry of offered compromises until Tony couldn’t take it any longer.

“Enough!” When she stopped speaking, he gazed at her across the squad car’s front seat. “It’s killing me to not reach over to take you in my arms.” His voice lowered. “Hold on tight and never let go.”

She let out a tiny laugh. “Me too. Imagine the calls they’d get at the station at the sight of two cops in the front seat of a squad car making out.”

Head rested back, he cast over a loving glance. “That’s one visual I could definitely get used to.”

He squeezed her hand. When she squeezed his back, a warm tingle shot up his arm and over his collar bone where it picked up his small and shriveled heart and put it back in place to grow.

She gave him a huge smile. “This is the only place I’d want to spend Christmas. Together with you.”

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Merry Christmas!