Roasted
By
Susannah Shannon
©2016 by Blushing Books® and Susannah Shannon
All rights reserved.
No part of the book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
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Shannon, Susannah
Roasted
eBook ISBN: 978-1-68259-367-7
Cover Design by ABCD Graphics & Design
This book is intended for adults only. Spanking and other sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only, intended for adults. Nothing in this book should be interpreted as Blushing Books' or the Author's advocating any non-consensual spanking activity or the spanking of minors.
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Table of Contents:
Chapter 1 - Blueberry Variety Wackiness
Chapter 2 - My Friend Jack
Chapter 3 - A Fish Tale
Chapter 4 - Mr. Nelson
Chapter 5 - Come On Baby Light My Fire
Chapter 6 - A Hike to Remember
Chapter 7 - You Can't Find Good Help Anymore
Chapter 8 - The Warning
Chapter 9 - Afterglow
Chapter 10 - The Doctor Will See You Now
Chapter 11 - Missing
Chapter 12 - A Favor for Hazel
Chapter 13 - The Coven
Chapter 14 - Trekking Home
Chapter 15 - The Lupine Charade
Chapter 16 - Revelations
Chapter 17 - Homecoming
Archives
About Susannah Shannon
Ebook Offer
Blushing Books Newsletter
About Blushing Books
Chapter 1 - Blueberry Variety Wackiness
When is a Blueberry not a Blueberry?
Blog Post-CassCooks.com
It's that time of year again when I sing the praises of your local farmers market. I mean it people, if you don't support your local farmers, they won't be there when you get tired of cookie cutter, under ripe, "more pretty looks-than-flavor" produce. One of the great things about visiting the farmers market is that you get to try varieties that you never ever see in supermarkets. You can find vegetables in unfamiliar colors—purple carrots anyone?—with delectable tastes. Everyone knows about REAL tomatoes, but seriously a melon that actually ripened in the sun is ambrosia. There are probably varieties local to you that are totally worth seeking out. Once you do a little culinary exploration, new opportunities will just appear before you. Case in point, my BFF Jen and I happened to be at my local market this morning as it was wrapping up. We had gone to get bouquets of basil and some interesting squashes. But cooking, like life itself, is a labyrinth, my dearies. Most of the time you go in for one thing and end up with another… The nose-ringed purveyor at one of the stands offered me a box of the biggest blueberries I have ever seen. Any labelling had long since fallen off. They were huge and a deep sultry navy blue. When I popped one in my mouth, the flavor was tart and intense. I swear you could taste the sun beaming onto their thick blue skins. The deliciousness was marred by the grit of the seeds between my molars. I've never had blue berries with such obvious seeds. Seeds aside, they were more than worth the trouble because they tasted like summer incarnate. I gave them a quick simmer with a handful of sugar and a strip of lemon rind. A quick blitz in the blender and a trip through my wire strainer and I had the most luscious blueberry syrup. EVER. Should you happen upon any of these unnamed behemoths I have some suggestions for you:
Over pancakes. Booyah.
Vanilla ice cream
And most importantly—Muddle a mint leaf in a cocktail glass—I believe we both know where this is headed… ice… splash in our blue syrup of extreme yumminess and top up with rum. If you are inclined to garnish, and I am, add a lime wheel. Blueberry mojitos for all... You can thank me later.
Life should be delicious-Cass
PS: If you have any idea what variety these plump darlings are, please share.
PPS: This syrup will stain anything it touches, says someone who ruined a new white button down blouse because she is a klutz, wear an apron.
To:[email protected]
From:[email protected]
Dear Miss Harper, I think you ended up with huckleberries, not blueberries. They look alike, although hucks are bigger. Huckleberries tend to have an intense flavor and at least ten big seeds per berry. I'll have to try the mojitos. I'm having guests tonight and the ladies will love those—I'm a beer man myself. I emailed you instead of posting this to comments because you might want to check your cooking times on the venison fajitas recipe from October 10. Deer is ve
ry lean, and if overcooked, turns into boot leather. Otherwise the recipe looked great.
Love your blog, Killian Nelson
www.trenchoutfitters.com
Cassie padded away from her laptop to stir the celery and onions that were sautéing in butter. She was prepping for a blog series on stuffing, the one benefit of having been dumped by Stephen the carbophobic fuckwit, and thought about the wording of her reply.
"Dear Mr. Nelson, Thanks for the information about huckleberries. All of the recipes on the blog are tested and double tested. Game is highly variable so it's always a good idea to check internal temps instead of relying solely on time—which is why, Mister-know-it-all, I listed a time and a temperature. Are you sure you aren't related to Steph the carbophobic fuckwit? Can't imagine you get a lot of ladies visiting.
Bite me, Cass"
She didn't send that of course. The blog was popular, but Cassandra Harper was in no position to toss readers away. She wrote a lot about searching out specific varieties of produce, so a whole new fruit could be a bit of a coup. She reined it in and went with:
To [email protected]
From [email protected]
Mr. Nelson, thanks for the email, interesting about the huckleberries. I had no idea that they were even a real berry… I just think of that blue cartoon dog. Do you farm them? I took a quick look and didn't find any huckleberry farms local to me, I'd like to do some posts about them. Hope your guests enjoy the mojitos.
Cass
She got back to her stuffing. She prided herself on having new content at least five times a week. She had lain in bed crying for two weeks after the end of her engagement to her business partner, so now the pressure was on. She needed to get recipes tested and posted. She was still recovering from the shellacking her finances had taken when the wedding had been called off.
It had taken her a whole day at the stove but she had drawn some solid conclusions about stuffing. She was pro butter and anti-oyster. It was nearly two in the morning when she got the final load of dishes in the dishwasher. She was re-rereading THE email that had changed her life when a notification popped up in the corner of her lap top. Against her better judgment and self-respect, she allowed herself to hope that it was some sort of retraction from Stephen. No soap.
To [email protected]
From [email protected]
Dear Ms Harper, I don't think anyone farms Huckleberries. I'm in Southeast Alaska and they grow wild here. Not just people like 'em. They're ripe right now. Your mojitos have made me famous. Thanks, Killian
Trench outfitters.com
He'd included a picture of an enormous bear standing on its hind legs mouth agape gobbling berries from a tall bush. It was an extraordinary photo. The bear was standing in a rushing stream and droplets of water glistened on its flanks. Its lips were distorted into a comical grimace as it lunged after the delicate, deeply hued berries. How close was the photographer to that bear? The caption read "Bear Tours-Slick Trench Outfitters". She couldn't help herself, she responded:
[email protected]
From [email protected]
Mr. Nelson, Most Awesome picture EVER. Not exactly sure what Slick Trench Outfitters is. Is it a nature tourism company? Where is Slick Trench?
Cass
She had hit send before she actually read her message. Oh sweet Jesus. "Where is Slick Trench?" She remembered why she'd switched to food writing from actual journalism. He responded so quickly it made her head spin. A nice change.
She opened it up to find, "Mr. Nelson was my dad. I'm just Killian. Yes, we do bear and whale watching tours. Maybe we should offer a huckleberry tour. We're in Southeastern Alaska." He'd included a link.
She clicked on it and was immediately treated to a gallery of gorgeous wildlife pictures. The wildlife wasn't the only good looking thing. Slick Trench Outfitters was a family business. The Nelsons were a handsome family. She scrolled along the gallery until she found Killian. Not what she was usually drawn to. She liked muscly, manly man types. Stephen spent hours in the gym every day sculpting each part of his body. Killian had a rangy build, short dark hair and a neatly trimmed beard. He appeared in assorted outerwear, boating, hiking and lounging in front of campfires. He didn't look like he spent a lot of time inside. Not her type at all. Although apparently he was a foodie. The Facebook page had almost as many yummy looking meals on it as it had terrifying wild animals. She sent a message, "Looks like you can cook as well as bar tend! Glad you all liked the mojitos, cheers."
She washed her face and slipped into some pajama bottoms and a tank top. She lingered in front of the mirror. She'd never thought of herself as fat. Not modelsque, certainly. But pretty, or so she'd believed… Curvy... Hips and thighs not lean, exactly. Okay, so more round than athletic. Her skin was milky pale, the collateral damage of being a redhead. It wasn't the currently trendy body type, but she enjoyed her womanly figure. She had thought that Steph agreed with her, until she and everyone else knew that he didn't.
She hadn't slept well in weeks. She was bleary eyed and yet couldn't power down enough to rest. Compulsively, she checked her email one last time before she tried to sleep. She instantly regretted it.
From Stephen:
Tons of positive feedback about the giant blueberry post. 200 comments, which is great. BUT remember that our niche is low carb and nutrient dense. I can't believe you keep forgetting that. It's too bad that things didn't work out between us personally, but let's remember all the other good things we have together. Mimi thinks we should stick with paleo- so suggestions for pancake and ice cream toppings aren't going to work. She is able to keep her body fat extremely low by cutting out carbs. It works. Met with the accountants and since we haven't used the money we set aside for work related travel, we need to spend it before the fiscal year is over. Tomorrow Mimi and I will buy tickets to Paris. We thought we'd go to taste wine. She wants to get into writing for the blog anyway. Maybe you should increase your cardio. The comments are full of people wanting to see some new pictures of you. Steph
Previously she had thought that his signature of "Steph" had been cosmopolitan in a European royalty sort of way. Now, she could kick herself for falling in love with a man who didn't even notice when he was using a girl's name. "We" didn't do anything, she thought. My recipes, my blog, my success—which I pretended was both of ours. And then you repay me by publicly cancelling our wedding because you think I'm fat. And then you bring that stupid two- bit ex-model around. Cass was trying to move on. Bloody difficult when she still worked with her ex and he was determined to include his new gal pal. Who was apparently meeting with the accountants and planning on writing about champagne for the blog that was called "Cass Cooks". The irony made her want to kick something. Hard. Were they planning on renaming the blog "Cass, and anyone else currently sleeping with Steph the carbophobic fuckwit, cooks"? Fuck them. They were both idiots. She tried to send a scathing reply and only got as far as:
"You suck, she's a moron and wine is full of carbs." Her sobs nearly suffocated her.
She was tired of crying. Even Jen, the most stalwart best friend in the world was getting tired of her mopeyness. Jen was right; it was time to do something.
She had no idea what. She had fallen in love with Stephen's assertiveness. She was the cook; he was the businessman. He was sexy and demanding and she had spent years trying to please him. She had followed his lead and he had betrayed her. No way was he emptying the Cass Cooks coffers to go sample cote de Rhône with a 100 pound twenty-year-old who would probably add Splenda to it. She didn't know how to begin googling "taking revenge on a faithless fiancée and business partner". She logged unto Facebook to see if Jen might be awake—that new baby had her up all hours. She wasn't. Cass was about to cave on her resolve to shed no more tears when a message popped up. "Your recipes make it easy. I always give credit where it's due. Killian. "
She took action. "I suddenly have an immediate opening in my schedule. Could you really show me the wild h
uckleberries?"
The message bubble had barely disappeared when an answer appeared. "Absolutely. How soon can you get here? You'll need to take the ferry from Juneau, we have one guest cabin that's available, we didn't book it because it needed to be painted, but we got that done yesterday. If you'll mention us in your blog, we'll waive our fees. Just get yourself here. Delighted to have you—you're our favorite food writer."
She didn't even pause to call Jen. Five clicks later and she had a flight booked. She booked the next available which would leave in five hours. She wanted to be long gone before the "paleo wine" twins knew anything about it. She'd done it. She'd spent the money and she was going to square her shoulders and go, fallout be damned. No turning back now. She paused long enough to google "Slick Trench Alaska weather". Before she could lose momentum, her bag was packed. She had jeans and tee's and a rain jacket. She didn't have anything like hiking boots as there was little need of them in Chicago. Screw it. She could buy those in Juneau.
Before the sun was up she was on her way to Alaska.
Chapter 2 - My Friend Jack
It was a long flight to Juneau and she had plenty of time to rethink her spur of the moment decision making.
Roasted (The Cass Chronicles Book 1) Page 1
