E. D. Parr - String of Pearls - New release

Thank you for inviting me to your blog today with new release MM romance,

String of Pearls

The story is set in the same SciFi fantasy city as last year’s release, The Dreamboat.

Indigo Vaughn, the warlock head of security, features in the story along with a new cast of characters. When I wrote The Dreamboat, I already had the new characters in my head along with their story. Tobias Mars and Dante Pepper, the elite space pilots for the royal court, very nearly made an appearance in The Dreamboat, but because that story is about Indigo at last finding love, I decided they needed their own story.

Once upon a time Dante and Tobias were close to becoming lovers, but Dante met Viridian and fell in love. Tobias has yet to meet his love when String of Pearls, opens. He’s a man of high integrity, handsome, caring, but also longing for love and sex. String of Pearls is his love story.

Blurb

Handsome, elite space pilot, Tobias Mars is completing a special mission, when on a water planet, recently ravaged by space pirates, he discovers Dreft Hann hiding and injured in the sand dunes.

There’s instant attraction between the two men, but honorable Tobias believes the fact Dreft is in his care precludes him from showing his growing love for the young man. What’s worse is his shocking discovery of Dreft’s real identity. Even so, Tobias can’t deny his feelings for Dreft.

When head of royal security, powerful warlock, Indigo Vaughn discovers Dreft’s secret, he anticipates trouble.

As beautiful Dreft falls in love with Tobias and dreams of joining the elite pilot squad, trouble is brewing from someone in Dreft’s past.

Will love finally win with so many obstacles in Tobias and Dreft’s path?

Warning, the book contains MM sex, MMM sex, gay anal sex, MM oral sex

BUY the book

On special new release discount price only on the Evernight Publishing website

https://www.evernightpublishing.com/string-of-pearls-by-e-d-parr/

https://www.bookstrand.com/string-of-pearls-mm

https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/string-of-pearls-e-d-parr/1129854008

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/906343

https://www.amazon.com/String-Pearls-D-Parr-ebook/dp/B07KFM3YFG

Amazon http://mybook.to/StringofPearls

Read an excerpt

Tobias Mars gazed at Dreft lying on top of the bed in room ten of the infirmary. Hari’s treatment had worked wonders and not only on Dreft’s wounds. Hari had cleaned Dreft up. His hair, now a dirt-free glossy hazelnut brown was brushed back to show off the handsome planes of his face. Hari had replaced Dreft’s strange boy-like clothes with the infirmary’s grey cotton pants and t-shirt. The man was, as his colleague, Dante, put it, deliciously pretty. For a fleeting moment, Tobias wondered what it would be like to kiss those perfect lips and hold that muscular body to his own. He shook the thought away.

Dreft opened his eyes and a shy smile spread on his mouth. As Tobias neared him, he shuffled up the bed to sit. “Thank you so much for helping me, sir.”

Tobias pulled a chair beside the bed and sat. “My name’s Tobias, Tobias Mars—no need to call me sir. How are you feeling?”

The handsome man’s eyes held gratitude. “I’m so much better. Thank you. I noticed the insignia on your jacket, sir.”

Tobias grinned as his fingers went to trace the gold and blue embroidered crest. “I’m one of the queen’s pilot explorers. I guess you could call us the elite unit. All the same, call me Tobias. I’d like that.”

“I’ve heard that you have to be aristocracy to be chosen for the unit. Is that true?”

A little frown creased between Tobias’s eyes. “Have you? Where’d you hear that?” A spike of worry prevented him from answering with the truth. His intense security training from the warlock, Indigo Vaughn, threw a question into his mind. Could Dreft be a rival court’s spy or even assassin?

“Sorry. I mean no harm. I heard a lot of things during my years as a slave.” Dreft’s voice held anxiety. His blue eyes clouded.

Witnessing Dreft’s unease, a wave of kindness softened Tobias’s look and tone. “How long were you a slave?” He remembered Hari’s description of the scars on Dreft’s back.

Sadness passed in Dreft’s eyes. “Five years—I’ve been a slave since I was stolen from my home when I was eighteen. I, I’d become desperate, hence the leap from the ship when we cruised reasonably low to take water from the lake on the planet where you rescued me.” His voice cracked a little.

Tobias watched fear replace the sadness in the young man’s eyes. He wanted to lighten the mood. “Hey, are you hungry? I bet Hari hasn’t given you breakfast and I’ve not eaten yet. Do you feel up to a little walk? My home isn’t far. I have loads of food—fruit, pancakes, savory pastries, and coffee. What do you say?”

Dreft gave him the most endearing look. “I’m very hungry.”

Tobias stood and pushed the chair away from the bed. He held out his arm for Dreft to take and helped him stand. “Hang on. You have no shoes.” Tobias left Dreft perched on the side of the bed. He went to the closet inset at the end of the wall and brought back a pair of felt slip-ons for Dreft.

Dreft pushed his feet into them. “Thank you. I think the medicA threw away what I was wearing.”

“Hari is the best medicA available. I trust him implicitly, but he’s a hygiene fanatic. He probably burned what you were dressed in.” Tobias laughed. “Can you manage or will you take my arm. It’s a gesture of support.”

Dreft’s gaze raked Tobias’s face and he smiled softly. “I know the clothes you found me in probably gave you the impression I’m a pirate’s plaything. I’d like to explain—”

“You don’t need to—” Tobias hurried to assure Dreft.

“I want to.” He held Tobias’s arm.

“After you’ve eaten, then.” Tobias led the way from the room, along the corridor and out of the infirmary door. His villa was two doors down from Dante’s and he walked slowly favoring Dreft’s halting steps.

“I’m limping but Hari said my legs were only bruised under the abrasions. Sorry. I didn’t expect them to hurt so much. My ribs don’t and they were broken.”

“Hari fixed your ribs and administered slow release pain reliever at the site. He fixed your abrasions somewhat, but it’s good to heal naturally where possible. He wants you to rest.” A smile sprang to Tobias’s lips. “If he sees us, he’ll probably say to me, ‘Sir, you got Dreft Hann up too soon.’”

©E.D. Parr, Evernight Publishing, 2018

Find E.D. Parr

Evernight Publishing  Twitter  Amazon page  Blog  G+  Facebook @parrbooks

In the Eye of the Wind - coming soon - a teaser

So, I promised book news, and here's the first bit, which I have shared through FB and IG etc, but not on my blog, and it's that my novel In the Eye of the Wind has been accepted for publication and will come out some time in January 2019.

This was a ridiculously fun story to write. It came out of nowhere when I was sketching D. Kovalev as an elf, and completely f*cked up his left eye. I became so irate that I blacked it out with a black patch, and I was blown backwards out of the water (metaphorically) by the obnoxiously sexy elf-pirate that ensued. Plot bunnies hopped away in all directions, but I was deeply entangled and my Victorian story (more about that soon) and I didn't want to start a new project.
My resolution lasted exactly 12 hours, after which I was swallowed into this short story... I had no idea where it was going, but it was to be light and short.
Except that D. Kovalev himself provided such an intriguingly dark interpretation to the original sketch that the whole thing sped off out of control in a whole new direction, acquiring a far more complex story arc than I had anticipated. How do you combine the idea of fun-filled Mediterranean pirate world with an elvish character possessed by a blood-thirsty, demonic "otherness"?
Well, as it turns out, it all fell in quite nicely with my old fantasy novel Spellbreakers, of which it became part sequel, part spin-off.

It was a fantastic romp into a world of beautiful ships, bantering pirates, scheming queens and the shadow of old black magic, and a much needed holiday from the more "serious" stories I have been writing lately.

It also ran to 92k words. So much for a light short story. Ahem.

Here's my sexy elf-pirate, Rikko'.

Blurb:

Born in the northern wastes of Kaleva in the middle of a devastating war between light and darkness, Rikko’ has found his way south to the warm shores of the Circled Sea, the first elver to ever turn pirate.

Forbidden by the rules of the Andalouan court to pursue such an ungentlemanly career,  Gael can only dream of ever becoming a doctor, and his medical studies remain unfinished until his aunt the Queen sends him on a covert mission to the pirate city of Beyas’kahl.

And here, after one night with Rikko’, all his loyalties are put to the test.

Queen Amata has reigned for three decades, and she always used her men cunningly. But even the best player can miscalculate, and her blunder places Gael first in slavery, then in a naval battle, and finally, worst of all, face to face with Rikko’s darkest and deadliest side.

Prologue (unedited): 

The midwives had gathered in the house at sunset, when the waters broke. The armed men had come too, and waited outside, except for Eikki, the father, who would have to do the deed, afterwards.

The men thought that it should have been done long ago, months ago, before it came to this monstrous screaming and the unnatural, accursed thing that was happening in there. They were uneasy. Men are always uneasy around a birth, but this was different. One of them, Juoni, had a wife in there, Anneli, one of the midwives, and he fidgeted near the door, fingering the hilt of his dagger, half in a mind to go in, and put an end to it all, whether or not the birth was over. No living woman should be in the presence of such evil, his wife least of all.

But The Elders had spoken. It had been agreed that the child should be born.

Inside, the mother was thrashing in the childbed, soon to be her deathbed. Her hands and feet were strapped to the sides of the frame, and her eyes had turned back into her head and gleamed like pale blind eggshells in the light of the fire. The midwives were silent. There was no point soothing or urging her on, as is normal at such times, or telling her to push, to hold, to breathe, not to throw her head around so. She was beyond their reach. Never had been such a birth, the mother screaming, screaming, screaming, barely muffled by the gag—because she was gagged, she had to be, lest she bites her attendants—and the midwives mute, standing back, waiting. All they could do was hoping the child would come anyway, of its own accord, and that the mother would not kill him on the way. That, and that the child would be … normal.

It had been hours already, and the woman, what was left of her, was becoming weak, too weak to scream in her gag, or fight her bonds. Her body was doing what a mother’s body should, but sluggishly, fitfully, without her will having anything to do with it.

“It’s coming, I think,” said Anneli in a dog-tired whisper.

It was almost dawn. The women, the living ones, stirred, approached, prodded and probed, inside and out, shivering at the touch of that tainted flesh, feeling for the little life inside. Was it alive? Was it alive?

When it came forth finally, in a great gush a dark blood—it looked like ink in the firelight—it was blue-grey and lifeless, and it had to be drawn out from that grey body with irons, like a knife out of a wound, but babies can be like that sometimes, when the mother has been ill, or has fought so badly. Anneli lifted it, him actually—it was a boy—wiped the little nose, slapped him and chafed him.

“Breathe! Breathe!” she said again and again, chafing, slapping. “Breathe!”

She didn’t want him to be dead. He must be alive, for the sake of the poor father, if nothing else. “Breathe!”

 And finally the tiny thing coughed, and a mewling cry came from him.

“Stay with me now. There, there, stay with me, my sweet…”

Anneli washed him in the warm water that waited by the fire, and rubbed his little limbs (each of them perfectly formed and pink now) and carefully opened his eyelids. A lustrous pale green eye in each. He was small, smaller than the littlest elf-child, but flawless, beautiful.

“He is … normal. A living child. Weak, but living. The taint is not on him,” she said, her voice breaking with emotion, as she cradled him and rocked him, poor orphan.

Eikki, the father, put his face in his hands. “Thank the gods,” he whispered. “May I hold him? Please?”

The women looked at him, all of them, except his wife.

“Do what you need first. For mercy, Eikki. Do it. She’s already gone, you know that.”

Eikki sighed, and walked to the childbed, like a man in sleep-walk. He looked at his wife’s unrecognizable face. She had been beautiful once, the light of his life. Now her flesh had melted from her bones. It had been hard to feed her. Her silvery hair had been sheared from her head. It had been impossible to brush it.

“Do it, Eikki,” said a voice from the door. The men had come in. They were there to make sure he did it. It was agreed.

He took his knife from the sheath, and looked at his wife one last time, and then he plunged the blade in her soulless heart. She didn’t even cry. There was just a sound like wind through dried leaves…

Juoni looked at the child and spit on the fire, as men did in those parts to ward off the Evil Eye.

“That should be killed too,” he said.

“Why?” said the midwife, protectively. “He hasn’t been touched. He’s one of us. There’s few enough of us as it is.”
“How can you know? There’s never been a child born of … of one of them. You don’t know if it shows. You cannot tell.”

“We will watch him. We will watch him close. You will not kill him though, not like this. Not a baby.”

She crouched about the child protectively, like a wild cat.

“It would be a mercy, Anni. You know it would be. There’s not a woman in the whole of Kaleva, the Elverlaen, or the Near Vaelta’a that will nurse him.”

“I’ll feed him,” said Eikki. “I’ll feed him. Goat milk will do. It’s been done before. He’s all that is left of her. Let me have him.”

They gave him the child in his towel, and he held him close and rocked him. Tears streamed down his face, but he smiled a little. Poor little thing, that he should come into the world like this, at such a time. He should see one smile at least, on his birthday. Tears fell off the father’s chin and onto his little mouth. The little lips stirred, licked, sucked. It should have been milk, thought Eikki. It should have been milk, not salt-water, the first thing he tasted.

“What will you call him?” said Anneli.

“Lasse. Lasse. That is the name she wanted… if it was a boy.”

“Lasse,” repeated the midwife, stroking the child’s pale head. He was fair, like his mother had been, one of the white northern race, one of the very last. “Lasse Eikkissen. May you find your way home, always.”

IN THE EYE OF THE WIND

coming

January 2019 

New Release - Blind Spot - Jessie Pinkham

I am always delighted to Have Jessie Pinkham on the blog. Her stories are beautiful and her guest posts always thoughtful and interesting! So read on to learn more about her newest release, Blind Spot, which just came out with Evernight Publishing.

My interest in friends-to-lovers stories starts with my own, as Mr. P and I were friends for two years before we started seeing each other romantically. Or, if you ask him, we spent two years going on a series of “non-date dates.” These are defined as spending time together when one person realizes it is basically a date, and the other (that would be me, I’m afraid) does not.
There’s a certain universality about the fears that come with moving a friendship to romance. What if it goes badly? You have this person in your life who means a great deal to you, and you know full well how often relationships end, so the odds are against your happily ever after. When I finally realized my interest in him went beyond the platonic, I was terrified.
What really tipped the balance for me was the recognition that we wouldn’t be able to maintain the status quo forever. A woman would come along and snap him up, because he’s quite the catch, and our friendship would inevitably suffer as his priorities shifted. Remaining friends wasn’t a guarantee he’d always be in my life. From that perspective, taking the leap to ask him out was, if not easy, slightly less terrifying. (Fun fact: he later told me he sat through my introductory spiel thinking, “Okay, get all this out so I can say yes already.”)
When I set out to write a friends-to-lovers story, then, the idea that you can’t end-proof a friendship was solidly in my mind. Ben is nothing like me. For one thing, I regrettably do not have a sixth sense for true love. Just as I did, though, he eventually has to wrestle with the fact that he could very well lose this man who means so much to him, with or without taking a risk on dating.
I had a lot of fun writing Ben’s supernatural ability, or as Isaiah calls it, cupidar. At the end of the day, though, Ben is just like so many of us who are trying to find a promise of happiness in a world that offers no such thing.

Blurb
Ben has a sixth sense for love. He can instantly pick out partners who will be together for life, like a modern Cupid. Unfortunately, his gift has a serious limitation: he can’t use it on himself.

Emotionally scarred by his parents’ acrimonious divorce, he doesn’t trust love he can’t sense. This drives him to bury his feelings for Isaiah, his friend with benefits, because he can’t stand the thought of losing him to a bad breakup. Then he finds out Isaiah is in love with him.

He’s used to dealing with guaranteed happily ever afters. Now he has to decide which is more important: the promise of forever, or the man he wants to spend it with.

Excerpt in Indented Format
He wished his grandfather was still alive to meet Isaiah, because then Pops would’ve been able to tell him if they were a match. Now all he could do was hope his cousin sobered up or by some miracle he found another person with his gift. Maybe he should see if there was a secret message board for this kind of talent.
After all, Cupid couldn’t shoot himself. Ben was his own blind spot, so he had no way of knowing if he and Isaiah were destined to make a great couple or not. It was disconcerting beyond all measure to look at other people and simply know, and yet have no clue whatsoever about himself. This explained his chronic singledom.
In the meantime, he and Isaiah were fantastic friends who sometimes hit the sheets together. It could’ve been a lot worse, and Ben tried not to dwell on any lingering dissatisfaction with his life. He wasn’t setting himself up for a protracted, messy breakup, and in his experience, avoiding such a trauma was worth not acting on a long shot.
Couples who weren’t a perfect fit broke up all the time. Friends, statistically speaking, stuck around much longer, and having Isaiah in his life was infinitely better than not, so friendship was a better choice.
They didn’t finish the pizza. Sex wasn’t as fun if the blood was going to your stomach instead of your cock due to stuffing yourself beforehand. When the leftovers were in the fridge Isaiah said, “I don’t want to think right now.”
He sometimes preferred to let Ben make the decisions so he could turn his brain off, and that suited Ben just fine, not least because it was an action he could take to make his friend feel better and escape shitty reality for a while. The sexiness didn’t hurt, either.
“I can be persuaded to take care of the thinking.”
“Yeah, your dick is reliable that way.”
This wasn’t just Ben’s dick, though it was admittedly signaling enthusiasm for the prospect. He wanted to give Isaiah happiness even more than he wanted to get off, and he also had an inkling that his priority here suggested he might need to reevaluate his stance on risk aversion at some point.
If only there was a way to know. The more these thoughts about Isaiah niggled at him, the more annoyed he got that he could, at least in theory, discern ideal partners for everyone else in the world and meanwhile be blind and deaf to his own man. But there was no way to find out, not at present anyway, and Isaiah was there asking for him to make the evening a sexy diversion, so that was exactly what he intended to do.
****
As expected, the condoms and lube were already on Isaiah’s nightstand, just waiting to be put to good use. Ben looked at them and briefly debated suggesting a bit of kissing before they got going. Then he rejected the idea. They didn’t kiss, as a general rule, and Isaiah didn’t need him changing the game today.
Instead he pulled Isaiah’s shirt over his head. There should be some kind of rule against covering up such a good-looking chest. Isaiah was all smooth brown skin and toned muscles, with no pesky hair obscuring the view.
“Always so hot,” he said. After all, everyone liked to hear something nice when they were having a bad day, and this was completely true.
Isaiah was getting better about accepting such compliments. You’d think by thirty-one a guy would believe it when someone told him he was hot, but he always compared himself to his gym rat brothers with their Mr. Universe abs and bulging pecs. Said brothers looked at ice cream like you were offering them arsenic. Ben much preferred Isaiah’s regular-guy hotness and willingness to join him for dessert as opposed to lecturing on the evils of refined sugar.
This time Isaiah smiled like he actually believed Ben. “You’re not too bad yourself.” Then he unbuckled his belt with a sultry gaze aimed at Ben’s crotch.
Ben appreciated the sound of a belt buckle being undone. There was so much potential in the situation, so many delightful permutations of fun to be had all wrapped up in glorious anticipation. Ever since he’d let this information slip, Isaiah had been working his belt to maximum advantage. Ben had no complaints.
He got a move on as far as his own disrobing went. Seeing Isaiah drop his pants was a good incentive there, and Ben unbuttoned his shirt as fast as possible. He had entirely too many clothes on.

Excerpt in Web Formatting
He wished his grandfather was still alive to meet Isaiah, because then Pops would’ve been able to tell him if they were a match. Now all he could do was hope his cousin sobered up or by some miracle he found another person with his gift. Maybe he should see if there was a secret message board for this kind of talent.

After all, Cupid couldn’t shoot himself. Ben was his own blind spot, so he had no way of knowing if he and Isaiah were destined to make a great couple or not. It was disconcerting beyond all measure to look at other people and simply know, and yet have no clue whatsoever about himself. This explained his chronic singledom.

In the meantime, he and Isaiah were fantastic friends who sometimes hit the sheets together. It could’ve been a lot worse, and Ben tried not to dwell on any lingering dissatisfaction with his life. He wasn’t setting himself up for a protracted, messy breakup, and in his experience, avoiding such a trauma was worth not acting on a long shot.

Couples who weren’t a perfect fit broke up all the time. Friends, statistically speaking, stuck around much longer, and having Isaiah in his life was infinitely better than not, so friendship was a better choice.

They didn’t finish the pizza. Sex wasn’t as fun if the blood was going to your stomach instead of your cock due to stuffing yourself beforehand. When the leftovers were in the fridge Isaiah said, “I don’t want to think right now.”

He sometimes preferred to let Ben make the decisions so he could turn his brain off, and that suited Ben just fine, not least because it was an action he could take to make his friend feel better and escape shitty reality for a while. The sexiness didn’t hurt, either.

“I can be persuaded to take care of the thinking.”

“Yeah, your dick is reliable that way.”

This wasn’t just Ben’s dick, though it was admittedly signaling enthusiasm for the prospect. He wanted to give Isaiah happiness even more than he wanted to get off, and he also had an inkling that his priority here suggested he might need to reevaluate his stance on risk aversion at some point.

If only there was a way to know. The more these thoughts about Isaiah niggled at him, the more annoyed he got that he could, at least in theory, discern ideal partners for everyone else in the world and meanwhile be blind and deaf to his own man. But there was no way to find out, not at present anyway, and Isaiah was there asking for him to make the evening a sexy diversion, so that was exactly what he intended to do.

****
As expected, the condoms and lube were already on Isaiah’s nightstand, just waiting to be put to good use. Ben looked at them and briefly debated suggesting a bit of kissing before they got going. Then he rejected the idea. They didn’t kiss, as a general rule, and Isaiah didn’t need him changing the game today.

Instead he pulled Isaiah’s shirt over his head. There should be some kind of rule against covering up such a good-looking chest. Isaiah was all smooth brown skin and toned muscles, with no pesky hair obscuring the view.

“Always so hot,” he said. After all, everyone liked to hear something nice when they were having a bad day, and this was completely true.

Isaiah was getting better about accepting such compliments. You’d think by thirty-one a guy would believe it when someone told him he was hot, but he always compared himself to his gym rat brothers with their Mr. Universe abs and bulging pecs. Said brothers looked at ice cream like you were offering them arsenic. Ben much preferred Isaiah’s regular-guy hotness and willingness to join him for dessert as opposed to lecturing on the evils of refined sugar.

This time Isaiah smiled like he actually believed Ben. “You’re not too bad yourself.” Then he unbuckled his belt with a sultry gaze aimed at Ben’s crotch.

Ben appreciated the sound of a belt buckle being undone. There was so much potential in the situation, so many delightful permutations of fun to be had all wrapped up in glorious anticipation. Ever since he’d let this information slip, Isaiah had been working his belt to maximum advantage. Ben had no complaints.

He got a move on as far as his own disrobing went. Seeing Isaiah drop his pants was a good incentive there, and Ben unbuttoned his shirt as fast as possible. He had entirely too many clothes on.

Buy Links
Evernight
Amazon (universal)
Bookstrand
Barnes & Noble
Smashwords

Social Links:
Website
Facebook
Goodreads

News of all kinds-and Transgender Awareness Week

I have been long absent from my blog due to slow connection and laptop trouble, but I am back, and I have big NEWS!
First, there's two (TWO!!) novels of mine coming out early next year with Evernight. I am tremendously excited!

Then there is another novel in the works. And a short story that I must write really quick. I am terrible at writing to a deadline, so please, send me good vibes.

I will post more detailed info about all this in the next days!

Today, I want to draw your attention to my guest post on the Evernight Blog, about Transgender stories, written for Trans Awareness week.

I hope you will drop by and have a read!

Talk more soon!!

Halloween Goodness - The Ghost of Her Ex - with drinks!

From time to time you come across a book so delightful that it makes you smile just seeing the cover, even after a long time. Last year, about this time of the year in fact, Aletta Thorne published one such book, The Chef and the Ghost of Bartholomew Addison Jenkins. 
That is why I was so ridiculously happy when  this new story was announced, and the moment it was published, I pounced! Not surprisingly, it's an editor's pick!

"I love this story. It's a good reminder that you are not done living until you are dead. And even then…"

Today I have Aletta here in the Lair to tell us about  Hemingway's Daiquiri recipe; this deliciously sinful pink grapefruit concoction appears (temptingly) in the book, and it seems a wonderful drink to go with it!

Just because she’s sixty-three, cynical, and a church musician, Emily Rauch is hardly done with life—or love. Now that she’s traded in her old barn of a place for a tiny house in the hills, Emily’s ready for a new start. Throw in one enormous pipe organ, two ghosts, a pot dealer named Santa Claus, the reappearance of Emily’s bad-boy college squeeze, and a blizzard ... what could possibly go wrong?

The Hemingway Daiquiri: It Gets The Job Done

Meet Father Christopher Heaton: a tall sixty-something widower who runs marathons.  He’s a bit beardy, but quite muscular…and an old hippie who’s seen something of the world.  His job at St. Elizabeth’s Episcopal church in the lovely Hudson River town of Clabberton, NY, requires him to be beyond reproach.  After all, church ladies are watching!

Most of the time, Father Chris is very very good.

But sometimes, he needs to mix a subtle but potent cocktail for a certain church musician…and that’s when he turns to THE HEMINGWAY DAIQUIRI.  Like Chris himself, it’s more dangerous than it seems!

Papa Hemingway drank this cocktail in Cuba, often ordering doubles of it because he liked it so much.  Two things to note if you’re going to follow in his footsteps: one is that this drink is best with pink grapefruit juice, freshly squeezed.  Look for Indian River grapefruits in the market.  Secondly,  you’ll need to find a bottle of maraschino liqueur.  Father Chris prefers the Luxardo brand, which comes in a pretty green bottle in a basket.  Maraschino is actually not terribly sweet, and fun to play with if you enjoy mixing drinks. 

THE HEMINGWAY DAIQUIRI  (This is one serving.  Multiply as you need to!)

2 ounces silver rum (Father Chris likes Mount Gay.)

3/4 ounce lime juice, freshly squeezed

1/2 ounce (or a bit more) pink grapefruit juice, freshly squeezed

1/2 ounce maraschino liqueur

Half a lime wheel, for garnish

Chill your cocktail glasses by filling them with water and ice cubes and then dumping it out, or do as Father Chris does: just leave them in the freezer when you’re not using them.  Put all the ingredients except the lime wheel in a cocktail shaker with lots of ice cubes.  Shake until the shaker feels almost too cold to hold—at least thirty seconds.  Strain into a cocktail glass.  Float the half lime wheel on the top of the drink—or perch it on the edge of the glass. 

Cheers! 

Well, I am off looking for grapefruit, see you!! :)

Here is an excerpt from the book:

“You are a woman of … appetites, Em. You like to eat and drink and…”

“…and fuck.” Emily shocked herself by saying that. Dropping an f-bomb when you were just randomly turning the air blue was one thing. But this was no fuckity-fuck-fuck. This meant actually doing the deed…

But she hadn’t shocked Al. “Indeed. And fuck.” He nodded, his lips tight. “I left you in the lurch.”

Emily sighed. “Yup. Yup. Guess you did. But we talked that stuff to death two decades ago. Shit, Al! It’s just … just … I don’t know what it is. Alexa, play Widor organ music.”

“I don’t know any songs by Widor,” said Alexa.

“Alexa, argh!” Emily made neck-choking gestures toward the black cylinder on her counter.

“Bee-boop,” said Alexa. Her illuminated blue ring danced and turned itself off.

“I know our lovely and talented daughter meant well with that thing,” said Al. “But The Echo sucks at classical music unless you get lucky. Works better just to ask for radio stations.”

“You’re too good at that. Do you haunt many Echo owners?”

“Just Gordon.” Al laughed ruefully. “That young fella of his bought an Alexa for him. Alexa, play WQXR.”

“Playing WQXR.” Alexa provided them with the middle of Respighi’s “Ancient Airs and Dances.”

“Not bad,” said Emily. “No static. It barely comes in up here on the FM. And they’re a public station now, so no more pre-need funeral ads, I guess. God, funerals!”

“Yeah. That. I gather you had a spectacularly bad day…”

“Do you get special ghost email about that or something? Ghost Facebook?”

Al’s laugh, again, was rueful. “Hard to explain. It doesn’t work like that. I never really thought of you as a femme fatale, Em.”

“I wasn’t the one who fatale-ed him! I honestly didn’t intend to have anything else to do with him! Or not much else, anyway. Look, I was being a sex-positive, independent woman caring for her own needs. He went home to his girlfriend, tried for a little more of the old slap and tickle … and crumped.”

“And now you’re playing his funeral. And he came to the organ loft today to bother you.”

Emily began to laugh, too—a bit too hard. There was nothing else left to do. “Oh, fuckity fuck!”

“What?”

Then there were tears in her eyes again. She laughed until she ran out of air. “I never even unblocked him on my phone. I never even friended him on … Facebook! It was supposed to be a nothing. A one-off. A…”

“I sort of remember Brad. He was at the reception when you played in Brooklyn, right? Was he a good organist?”

Emily wiped her eyes. “He was terrific. But loud and flashy—at least when we were kids. A show-off. I don’t think I’ve actually listened to him play since before I met you. He loved boat races as much as he loved music. Not to mention chasing women. I used to regard that as a challenge when I was in school: break the womanizing horn-dog’s heart and win the Battle of the Sexes. Ah, Al, we’re so nuts when we’re young.”

Al took Emily’s hands. “‘Nuts’ is harsh. I think we’re young when we’re young. You know?”

“I do know.”

“Em, I’ll tell you this… Brad’s going to be … around. Womanizer or no, he probably liked you a lot more than you thought. I get that. Plus, he doesn’t know he’s dead, right?”

“He seems a bit unclear about that. He’s got to know I’m practicing for his funeral. You never seemed unsure about being…”

“Being dead. I had lots of warning. I was sick for a long time.”

Emily nodded. “That sucked. You sure didn’t deserve it.”

Al pecked her cheek with his usual hurried and dry kiss. “No one deserves it. Your friend clearly has unfinished business,” he said. And then he disappeared.

→→→ Find The Ghost on Amazon ,

or at Evernight! ←←←

About Aletta...

Aletta Thorne believes in ghosts.  In her “normal” life, she is a choral singer, a poet, a sometimes DJ, and a writer about things non-supernatural.  But she’s happiest in front of a glowing screen, giving voice to whoever it is that got her two cats all riled up at three AM.  Yes, her house is the oldest one on her street.  And of course, it’s quite seriously haunted (even scared the ghost investigator who came to check it out).  Aletta is also the author of The Chef and the Ghost of Bartholomew Addison Jenkins.