Justin won this bunny for me at a carnival a few years ago. He was my co-worker, even younger than Brandon, and he was crazy about me, but I fell in love with Brandon and a life of domesticity. Justin may have been capable of winning prizes and attention, but Brandon took care of me and Dixie from the moment he moved in across the street.
Of course, accidentally flashing him while walking Dixie might have contributed to his instant attraction, but it was my ineptitude in home maintenance and dog wrangling that charmed him. Brandon is a sucker for a damsel in distress.
Justin left our mutual employer, Bella Donna Press, shortly after my rejection, but not because of it. We remained friends, but he was lured away with a better offer back in his home town of Philadelphia. After an absence of almost two years, he’s back as the Chief Information Officer—at twenty-eight years old. Justin is a brilliant Princeton IT grad, and Bella Donna’s new management lured him back with all sorts of money and promises. If Diamond wasn’t as dull as her namesake is brilliant, I would set the two of them up and solve a bunch of problems.
I place the bunny in the box and begin playing with the babies, and at least an hour later, Brandon and Diamond emerge from the basement studio, laughing.
“I absolutely must make it to the next show. That asshole ex of mine better be available.” She covers her mouth and giggles. Doesn’t she realize soon the babies will be repeating everything we say?
Brandon laughs. “Tatiana can always watch Ruby if Diamond wants to come out with us. Right, Honey?”
“Absolutely, just let us know when you’d like to come. The band schedule is on the website.” Is he trying to piss me off or he is truly this clueless? “Ruby’s coat is in the kitchen, laying over a chair.”
“Oh, I thought they could stay awhile and we could have—” Brandon stops when he sees the look in my eyes.
“We should get going, anyway. Thanks for keeping an eye on Ruby, Claire. You’re such a good mom.” She takes Ruby’s hand and Brandon helps her put the little pink coat on the pony tailed tot.
I stay where I am as Diamond says goodbye. Aidan breaks free to play with his blocks. The dogs follow their guests to the door, and Brandon returns with an annoyed expression.
“Claire, what’s wrong with you today? Why were you so rude to Diamond?” His beautiful bright blue eyes show genuine bewilderment, as if he truly does not see the woman across the street is hot for him.
“Are you kidding?” I stand up and kiss him. “Never mind. I just thought it would be nice to spend the day alone together, since we don’t have as much privacy now, with Tatiana here all the time.”
Brandon seems to think I’m trying to seduce him, which I am. He helps to settle Aidan down for his nap. I am trying the bees with honey approach, even though my stinger is on alert.
Later on, afternoon sex prompts a short nap in our bed, and Brandon’s phone buzzes repeatedly on the end table. Aidan is still asleep, but the phone won’t wake him in his room across the hall.
I rub Brandon’s chest gently as I wake up close to him in our king size bed. “Hey, are you gonna answer that?”
He rolls over and pulls me closer. “What?” He rubs his eyes. “I am beat from last night, and from my little woman’s loving.” He kisses my head, but I’m distracted by the incessant buzzing. Someone wants to get in touch with him urgently.
I lean over his body and grab the phone, stealing a glance at the display. Zoe.
Instead of announcing the caller, I hand it to him. He takes it and begins to scroll through his messages. “Zoe wants to come over tomorrow and work on the vocals for the new songs.” Brandon looks at me and says, “Is that okay? We won’t be all day.”
I smile and respond, “That’s fine. I was planning on meeting Rachel at the mall with her kids anyway.”
Aidan starts crying and I jump up to retrieve him from his crib. Brandon makes no move to get up, drifting back to sleep. In all fairness, performing is tiring, and he was up later than me. He was more hyped up after the show. Jane kept Aidan across the street, and I was eager to pick him up, carry him back to his crib, and get some rest.
“Hi, Pumpkin.” I affectionately lift my son out of his crib and hug him tightly. He is perfect in every way. His beautiful black hair and dark blue eyes remind me of my sister, Jackie, whose coloration is the opposite of mine. Aidan looks like he could be Jackie’s child. Even though he’s adopted, he resembles the family a bit. It will be interesting to see if Jackie’s baby looks the same.
My younger sister is now married and expecting her first child. She lives in Northern Virginia, and neither of us have time to make the two hour drive as often as we would like. She met her new husband, Chet, while volunteering at the homeless shelter. Chet actually runs the homeless shelter, and is extremely left wing. And a Buddhist. As if that isn’t enough to give my mother a coronary, they got married at the homeless shelter, without telling anyone, and their wedding picture is a selfie with various shelter residents in the background. Jackie knows how to rile up my mother, but at least it takes her attention away from critiquing my decisions.
My wistful smirk fades into a sigh as I carry Aidan downstairs to feed him a late lunch. We are off our schedule, but who cares? It’s a holiday.
“Daddy’s sleeping, Aidan, but we can eat without him.” The two continuously hungry wieners dance at my feet, hoping for a scrap of our lunch.
So now Zoe is coming over tomorrow. Bringing on a new female vocalist was part of Brandon’s plan to launch the band into genuine success. At least Zoe is friendly towards me, and she doesn’t seem all that amazed by Brandon. She’s in her early twenties, and looks like the stereotypical rocker chick with dark sunglasses, leather, and lots of black.
I trust Brandon, but I knew being married to a man eight years my junior would make me feel insecure at times. I just wish we were on the same page about the attention of other women, like Diamond and even our nanny.
Speaking of being on the same page, I may have been the one who wanted a second wiener dog, but Duncan is not as much work as another baby. Brandon has been pushing me to adopt another child soon, claiming that it’s best for the kids to be close in age, and it would be good to complete our family before I turn forty, which is another year and a month away, but apparently looming large as a deadline. I guess he thinks forty is the year I will shrivel up, and my inevitable incontinence will eat up our diaper budget.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Writing and publishing one book was a dream come true. Sharing my first novel, There Are No Men, with people all over the world, has been exciting and gratifying. I am deeply touched by the attention my work has received, and the new friendships that have formed through the shared love of the written word…and a good laugh.
Afraid of Her Shadow was inspired by personal experiences, but is not autobiographical. My journey has been very different than Rebecca’s, however the themes of loss and finding new love touch many lives…eventually virtually all of us. It is my hope that Rebecca and Steve will not only entertain their audience, but serve as examples of human frailty and resiliency in times of loss and confusion, and the hope and promise of a happily ever after for everyone.
So many people to thank again…Marketing There Are No Men led me to a fabulous and supportive Facebook group, Chick Lit Chat HQ. To say these ladies, and a few gentlemen, know their stuff and aren’t afraid to share it, is putting it mildly. All levels of experience and success can be found in this group, but the one common theme is encouragement of fellow authors. I can’t even count the number of things I have learned from this group, and I am awed every day by the knowledge and kindness of its members. I know I am missing important people but I would like to especially thank Whitney Dineen, Tracie Banister, Becky Monson, Rich Amooi and Karan Eleni…for your endless advice and support. Writing is a solitary business, but you all make it a virtual party.
Beta readers continue to play a crucial role in my work. Special thanks to Betsy Flynn, Aleshia Mercat
ante, Cheryl Wittman, Teresa Grimes, Lynn Davis, Whitney Dineen, Brenda White, Katrina Lakey, and Katrina Danon. Taking time out of your busy lives to offer your valued input strengthens my work and warms my heart.
Garrett Cook’s editing skills and storytelling instincts have once again helped craft a stronger tale. He knows what works in fiction and he communicates his ideas and suggestions in ways that are both inspirational and practical. Mr. Cook is a fine partner, indeed.
Noreen and Megan are poets, but I am not. Special thanks to Victoria Ficco for providing beautiful and haunting song lyrics, which were tweaked to become the poetry of these characters. Victoria is a talented singer and aspiring songwriter.
My talented and loving son, Nick Rissmeyer, has redesigned the cover for There Are No Men, as well as the cover for Afraid of Her Shadow. His eye for design, as well as his ability to capture the essence of a story in images, make him the perfect visual partner for my words. I love you, Nick, and I am very proud of you!
Special thanks to my (now officially) stepdaughter, Jaime, for her support, not only of my work, but more importantly of my role as her father’s new wife. Blending families is not always easy, and I appreciate Jaime’s acceptance and love as her father and I embark on our married journey.
Jim. On June 13th, 2015 I married Jim. I still can’t believe I found my own “happily ever after.” I could write pages of thanks to Jim, but I think a passage from our wedding vows says it all. The minister asked him if he would take me as his wife and do the following…To honor, and tenderly care for her, to cherish and encourage her fulfillment as an individual through all the changes in your lives? Without Jim’s encouragement and safe home base, I don’t know that I would have had the courage and determination to find my voice, and to fulfill myself as an individual. I thank him and love him for living these vows with me, long before the day he said “I do.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
My name is Carol, and I’m addicted to Romance.
I grew up in the Hudson Valley area of New York, surrounded by “city folk,” like my Manhattanite mom and Bronx-native Dad, who taught me to be sweet on the outside, yet tough on the inside.
As a result, I’m often gifted sassy labels like “firecracker” or “feisty,” which I choose to take as a compliment, due to my Irish/Eastern European heritage.
My romantic history is as real (and complicated) as that of the heroines in my novels. I’ve been divorced, relocated, plunged fearlessly into the turbulent waters of online dating—only to retreat, yelping, at the occasionally shocking climate before bravely renewing my efforts—until finally, I grabbed hold of happiness and refused to let go.
While I did eventually find my “HEA” in the form of a real life relationship, I also fell in love with writing, and it’s a romance I can’t get enough of.
That’s why I can’t help chasing after that thrill of first love, of never-ending passion, of self-discovery, of romance—even if that chase leads me to (and sometimes over) the edge.
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