For the past six months, I’ve gotten pretty serious about improving my health and fitness.
At first, I aimed for the oft-touted 10,000 steps a day. And usually failed.
Then I started with dumbbells, which I very much enjoy. Seeing and feeling the results, moving from 2 lbs to 3 lbs to 5 to 8 to 10 motivates me to keep going.
And fills me with pride.
I now aim for a combination of steps and dumbbells. Just recently I added a mini trampoline (noodle legs anyone?) and belly dancing.
Yes, belly dancing.
If I didn’t have arthritis in my feet, I’d join a stripper pole class. Alas, no high heels for me. In any case, I’m not known for my gracefulness. The bruise on my hip from spinning off the stairs and crash-landing on the ceramics attests to this truth.
I’ve never been so happy for my extra padding.
Belly dancing, however, has enthralled me for years. A belly dancer, based on one I saw perform with my husband at a big, fat, Greek wedding years ago, made it into my first book, Live Again.
The sensuality of it leaves me in awe of women’s bodies.
Of my body.
Stumbling across an online class on YT, with nobody around to see me shake my moneymaker, I gave it a go.
And loved it.
The instructor, Portia, swings those hips shamelessly.
“Bam, Bam, Bam,” she cries, and my body answers.
Connect to your womb, allow yourself to be heavy, sink into your heels, into the earth, feel.
Feel.
Arms delicately stretched to the side, chest lifted, chin up, back straight.
Feet grounded, belly tucked tight, glutes engaged with every pop of round hips.
Feel.
Feel what it is to have a woman’s body.
Soft.
Earthy.
Grounded.
Sensual.
It’s glorious.
My husband slipped into the room (uninvited! lol) and watched me today.
A month ago, I would have turned the video off.
Today?
I settled into my heels, allowed myself to be heavy, my feet grounded. I lifted my chest and my chin, held my arms out to the side away from my body, fell into my body, and danced.
Confident in my right to move my woman’s body, curves and jiggles only adding to the magic.
Reveling in the empowerment of connecting to my own body, my own femininity.
That innate earthiness and sensuality belongs to all of us no matter our age, our size, or our lack of smooth moves.
If you’re curious, I encourage you to tap into it.
And feel.
***I’m not in any way affiliated with Portia @bellymotions. Take care to use your own judgement before you start shaking what your mama gave ya!***
On to the book stuff!
Thank you to everyone who helped make The Next Of Us and The Locksmith’s Promise a success!
I’m busy working on the second book in the Promise Duet, and I’m excited to share the (UNEDITED AND SUBJECT TO CHANGE!) prologue and chapter one below!
Prologue
Jenny
I sat on the couch across from her with my face buried in my hands.
Reciting the whole, sorry affair had reduced me to a quivering, blubbery mess. Perched on the edge of the seat cushion, I worked to steady my breathing and find my calm. I worked even harder to repress the memories of what that couch had witnessed over the years.
I shuddered at the thought and fished a tissue out of my pocket.
Threadbare and worn thin, it had been on its last legs for a decade or more. At least it stuck around longer than any of the men in her life.
How cruel could they be?
After this past week, I no longer believed there was a limit.
I still didn’t know why I was here, but the longer I cried, the more convinced I became it was a waste of hope.
It was rare that she and I spoke, rarer still that I visited.
Today, she had summoned me.
I almost hadn’t come.
But there’s a fierce need in the heart of every child that’s near impossible to kill; a deep longing for their mother’s healing touch.
If there was ever a time I needed it, it was now.
I blew out a long, slow breath as I wiped the tears from my face.
Because it didn’t appear to be coming.
“Look at me, Jenny,” she demanded, her voice raspy.
I tipped my head up and took her in.
Is this my future?
Contemplating me, she narrowed her eyes.
After so much time had passed, it was odd to sit across from her in the hell that used to be my whole world.
The lines framing her once pretty mouth, stained from the bleed of her signature hot pink lipstick, deepened as she dragged on her cigarette. Tipping her chin up, she blew the smoke out above her head and dangled the cigarette between two fingers.
I’d seen the pictures of her when she was young, how beautiful she was.
How happy.
I could even remember, if I concentrated, a time when she had nursed hope.
She studied me now just as surely as I studied her. And I wondered, did she find me as wanting?
“There are girls they marry and girls they fuck,” she stated.
I blinked at her use of profanity. If there’d been one thing she’d drummed into my head as a child, it was that ladies do not curse.
That word ensured her my full attention.
Easing her slight frame from the easy chair, she dropped her gaze and bent to crush the burning tip of her cigarette into the overflowing ashtray on the side table.
How long had it been since she’d emptied it?
That distasteful job had once been mine.
Straightening to her full height, she turned narrowed, angry eyes on me and continued, “I’ll let you guess which one we are.”
My jaw dropped.
We.
As if we were the same, she and I.
Cut from the same cloth.
The apple that falls not nearly far enough from the tree.
Like I hadn’t a hope of escaping the life she’d led.
She winced, her eyes flashing with what I suspected was pity before growing hard once more. Without another word, she turned and walked away from me.
I didn’t take my eyes off her back until she closed her bedroom door.
Living just beyond the docks, the town of Moose Lake on one side of us, miles of farmland on the other, Mom worked at one of the local farms.
For as long as I could remember, our lives and her income revolved around rain.
I hope the rain holds off.
If only it would rain.
There’s been too much rain this year.
We need to pray for rain.
As if the heavens gave a shit what happened here on earth.
She hadn’t changed since I left, not really.
But I had.
I thought about the paint swatches I picked up on the weekend, the corkboard of dreams hanging on my bedroom wall, the rich smell of yeast and the fragrance of vanilla, cinnamon and the punch of soft, sourdough beneath my fists.
She didn’t want me to be better.
She wasn’t praying for rain.
I promise, as soon as it rains, I’ll come see you.
Standing, I gathered my purse under my arm and took one last look around.
I’d make my own damn rain.
Chapter One
Jenny
I arrived early.
Walked in alone.
And chose a table.
I’d never done that, not once in the entire time I’d lived in Moose Lake had I ever walked into The Loose Moose and taken a table by myself.
I settled in as far from the door as I could, sheltered by the dimmer light at the back of the bar. There would be no escaping the gossip, but I could cut down the size of the audience by taking myself off centre stage.
The Loose Moose’s claim to fame were their burgers and the massive set of moose antlers mounted over the massive fireplace that confirmed its early status as a hunting lodge.
A few chairs and a large comfortable couch that were almost never unoccupied hung out next to the hearth.
At some point The Loose Moose served as a diner, two walls demolished to accommodate the addition of a full kitchen and dining room. By the time the long, sleek, mahogany bar was added to the mix, it was too far gone to reel it into any kind of style.
A hodgepodge of additions reflecting each period of its storied history, The Loose Moose was an atmosphere rather than a distinct aesthetic.
After stuffing my mittens into my pockets, I hung my coat over the back of my seat and sat down.
My hands shook while I mentally berated myself for agreeing to meet the man who still haunted my dreams after all these years.
Deacon Raine.
I was twenty-six to his twenty-one when I met him at the farmer’s market where he had subbed in at the last minute for his family farm.
Tall and leanly muscled with black silky hair falling over his forehead, dark eyes twinkling with curiosity and mischief, his silver tongue kept me at his booth for close to an hour.
Five years younger, raised in a family as traditional as a family could get, loved by both his parents, and given every possible advantage including a fully funded university education, we were polar opposites.
The fervor with which he pursued me took me by surprise.
He swept me up in a romantic daydream, but I owned the blame for everything that came next. I knew better than to believe in Cinderella dreams.
And here I was again, falling all over myself as soon as he snapped his fingers.
I consoled myself with the fact that he had once again taken me by surprise, this time by showing up at the bakery just as I locked up when I didn’t even know he was back in town.
It wasn’t the first time he’d been back, but it was the first time I’d seen him.
Thank God.
Because the last time, the grapevine was all ablaze that their hometown hero brought his wife.
Mesmerized by the harsh changes in the face I’d so loved, I missed most of what he said. Before I knew what hit me, I’d agreed to meet him for dinner at The Loose Moose.
It was our only option because I wasn’t about to let him into my safe space.
That was mine, mine and Ansel’s.
I contemplated spewing out the whole story right there on the sidewalk in the cold, bright light of the day, but I couldn’t do it.
I’d waited so long to redeem myself.
I folded my hands on the table in front of me, feeling the weight of far too many eyes.
Most everyone knew bits and pieces of my story, some knew the truth.
Only Ansel knew all of it.
Chin tipped down, eyes closed, I worked to slow my breathing, readying myself for a confrontation I’d long since lost hope in ever having.
When the chair across from me scraped across the floor, my head snapped up. At the sight of Deacon’s icy expression, I hissed in a sharp breath.
He looked nothing like the boy I’d loved.
He hadn’t seemed angry when he’d asked me to meet him a few short hours ago. I wouldn’t have agreed if he’d been in such a mood.
My peace was important to me.
Not even unloading the truth was worth giving up a mere ounce of it.
I swallowed my trepidation. “What’s wrong?”
Looming over me, I realized just how much he’d filled out in the years we’d been apart. Thickly muscled where he used to be whip-lean, broader across the shoulders, and he had the heavily muscled thighs of a soldier now instead of the runner he used to be.
He slid his large frame into the chair across from me and levelled me with a cold, hard stare that pressed against my battered heart like a bruise. “I shouldn’t be wasting my time here,” he stated.
I shrugged, my cheeks heating. “Then leave.”
His lip curled as he scoffed. “If fucking only.”
The tiny flame of hope he ignited in my heart when he showed up at Buns and Biscuits sputtered out.
I fought the well of tears building up in my eyes. “Why are you here, Deacon?”
I stumbled over the syllables of his name; one I hadn’t spoken aloud since he left me.
“Because I’ve never been able to get you out of my head,” he stated bluntly. “You’re like a fucking poison in my veins.”
I moved to stand, my hands shaking as my shattered heart quaked in my chest. “I didn’t come here to fight with you.”
“Fuck,” he snarled, rising with me. “Jenny, I’m sorry. I told myself I’d hear you out if only to put the past to rest.”
As he rubbed a calloused hand over the heavy shadow covering his sharp jaw, my old crew walked in.
I should have taken this possibility into account when I suggested we meet here.
Instead of walking out like I desperately wanted to, I dropped back into my seat and ducked my head as Miller, Eric, John, and their respective wives barreled in. When, so wrapped up in their laughter, we escaped their notice, I breathed a huge sigh of relief.
“Seeing you this afternoon brought it all back,” he admitted.
My gaze skittered frantically over the table in front of me as I wracked my brain for an escape route.
Thank God Baxter wasn’t with them. My eyes widened at the thought. That was a confrontation I didn’t need tonight.
Or ever.
“Jenny?”
I blew out a slow breath, my heart racing. “You’re not the only one who was hurt,” I stated quietly, shifting my chair to the right to use his large body as a visual barricade. “But I’m the only one who didn’t do anything wrong.”
His eyebrows crashed together at my words.
He opened his mouth to retort, but he snapped it shut when our waitress stopped to take our order.
Deacon glanced up at me. “The usual?”
I nodded, struck dumb that he remembered.
As he gave our order, the front door opened, admitting first Maggie, then Baxter.
I fixed my eyes to Deacon’s face as my stomach plummeted to my feet.
This was my worst nightmare.
Thankfully, Deacon sat with his broad back to the whole group. I needed time to clear up the whole mess before he realized they were there.
I clasped my hands in front of me, readying myself to tell him what happened when Miller’s sharp whistle drew Deacon’s attention and slashed my hope to ribbons.
I smiled, my lips trembling, and waved away Miller’s invitation for me to join them. He obviously didn’t know who I was with.
Or maybe he was as tired as I was of carrying this shit around and wanted it out in the open.
Even if it meant bloodshed.
Deacon twisted in his seat to see who whistled, his broad, muscled back going rigid as he locked gazes with Baxter.
Hostility emanated from his big body as he half rose from his seat, the first real sign of warmth since he sat down.
But it wasn’t the kind of heat I craved from him.
I slapped my hand over his muscled forearm, whispering fiercely. “Sit down, Deacon. Please. Baxter didn’t do anything wrong either.”
His heat pulsed against my palm, warming me like nothing else ever did.
Or ever could.
He returned his fierce attention to me, his eyes hard, jaw unyielding. “He did nothing wrong?”
“Not a damn thing.” I cocked an eyebrow and withdrew my hand. “If you’d returned my calls back then, you’d know that.”
He shook his head, his eyes narrowing though his voice remained cold and hard. “The evidence was pretty damning, Jenny.”
“I’m not saying it wasn’t,” I replied evenly. “And if you’re still not willing to listen to the truth, you should leave right now.”
I worked to maintain an aura of calm though I was anything but. My insides roiled like a butter churn while my heart thudded in my throat.
He dipped his chin briefly. “I’m listening.”
I inhaled and gave him the Cole’s notes. “Baxter’s father drugged me, stripped me, and put me in Baxter’s bed.”
Deacon stared back at me, face blank. I saw the exact moment my words registered. His face darkened like thunder, the ice in his eyes giving way to rage.
“He did the same to Baxter.”
I hesitated to give more detail, but I was tired, so tired of carrying everything on my own.
“But first he tied him to a chair and pressed his burning cigar into his back over and over.”
“Fucking hell,” Deacon muttered, roughly rubbing his hand over his jaw.
Gritting his teeth until the muscle in his jaw popped, he shook his head. “I can’t believe I left—” He cut himself off.
God, how I’d prayed Deacon would come rescue me.
I blinked the pain away.
“And the whole time that was happening?” I continued softly so no one could possibly overhear. “Baxter threatened his father with death if he dared lay a hand on me though he could barely speak or even hold his head up.”
“Did you press charges?” he demanded. Fury rolled off him in waves though he still studied me with narrowed, suspicious eyes. “Does he still live here?”
Whether he chose to believe me or not, at least I spoke my piece.
“I didn’t press charges because Bax nearly killed his father when the shit hit the fan with Maggie.”
“I am going to kill him myself,” he stated, the hinge of his jaw fluttering as he stared into space as if the plan unrolled in his head even now.
“He’s dead,” I stated baldly.
Deacon’s dark eyes refocussed on my face. “What did Baxter almost killing his father have to do with you?”
“That was the deal I made.”
“Why?” he barked. “Why would you do that?”
Always questioning.
Always suspicious of my friendship with Baxter.
My body trembled like the last leaf clinging to the naked limbs of autumn. “Because friends don’t abandon one another.”
Deacon stilled, his body poised like that of a predator waiting to pounce. He jerked his head back toward the table behind us. “Do they know everything?”
I winced. “Not yet.”
“Why the hell not?”
I met his gaze and held it. “They’re not ready to listen. And it’s not easy approaching someone when they believe the worst of you.”
A sliver of regret flashed in his eyes, cracking the shutter open for a fraction of a second.
It wasn’t nearly enough.
This was not the man I remembered, the boy I loved.
Life had hardened this man beyond recognition, and I was a woman who needed softness.
I almost wished I hadn’t agreed to meet with him.
I almost wished he hadn’t had the opportunity to smash the image I carried of him in my heart of hearts.
“I think we’ve said all that needs to be said,” I murmured.
Telling him the rest wouldn’t serve either of us, but meeting with him had stirred it all up, sending a warning ripple over the false surface of my calm.
I had to get out of there before I broke down.
Because while Deacon had changed, filling out to become the man he was today, I was still in love with the boy I knew back then.
And there was not a single sign of him.
“I’m going to take my food to go,” I stated quietly.
Not that I would be able to eat it.
He sat back in his chair and studied my face until I looked away. “I’m retiring.”
My eyes snapped back to meet his. “You’re too young to retire.”
“I’ve done my ten years of service.” He watched me from beneath hooded lids. “I’m moving home in a few months.”
I gripped the edges of the table as I leaned toward him. “Why?”
He couldn’t come back here, not now. Not when I couldn’t yet leave.
His eyes wandered over my face. “My father’s sick.”
I searched his eyes, but shuttered down tight, they gave away nothing. “I’m sorry to hear that,” I answered though I could not have cared less.
My next question burst out of me before I had a chance to reel it in. “Are you going to work on the farm?”
That was the last thing I needed.
Finding out he got married half killed me, and his divorce brough me no relief.
Watching him settle down here and choose one of the women his family approved of might finish the job.
Children?
I winced at the sharp stab of pain induced by the thought alone.
“Perhaps in the short term,” he answered evenly. “But you know that was never in my plan.”
“I remember,” I whispered.
How often had we lain side by side on our bed, voicing dreams of the future?
Back when we had one.
Back when I still believed in him.
“Besides,” he continued, “my brothers seem to have everything well in hand.”
“So, it’s temporary,” I blurted, hoping for a spark of light in the nightmare that was my life.
His gaze remained steady on my face. “That depends on whether there’s any reason to stay.”
I stared back at him, my breath sawing in and out, the past serrating the edge of my lungs with every pass.
“I won’t do anything to hurt you, Jenny,” he murmured, reaching across the table.
I snatched my hands away from the table like it burned me and leaned back. Schooling my features, I offered him a minuscule smile. “You can’t.”
Can’t what?
Can’t be here?
Can’t settle down and have a family?
Can’t hurt me?
That last one was the only one I was sure of.
I wouldn’t survive it.
Not again.
Pushing my chair back abruptly, I grabbed my coat and folded it over my arm. “There’s nothing left of the girl you remember. I’ve moved on, so have you, and the past is long dead.”
I was spinning, his swinging moods giving me whiplash.
He sat back in his chair and watched me quietly. “I wouldn’t be too sure about that.”
No longer angry, with that determined look on his face, he was a much larger threat to my well-being.
I stepped away from the table and swung my coat around my shoulders.
“I don’t expect anything from you. Not after everything that happened. Not yet,” he added.
I backed away from the table, spun on my heel, and high-tailed it for the door.
I don’t know what I’d hoped for when he first showed up, but sitting there with him made one thing crystal clear.
I was not in any way equipped to handle another ride with Deacon Raine.
I left the same way I came; alone.
A brisk ten minutes later, I burst through the front door to my soft, cozy apartment, shed my coat and boots, and buried myself in the well-used corner of my couch.
Rich colour, plush pillows, and the softest of blankets welcomed me home, soothing the raw nerve endings of my memories.
I lit my lavender candle and sat back, working to settle the quaking in my veins.
Here, I could be soft.
Here, I could let down my guard.
Home held no expectations, judgements, or regrets.
A sharp rap on my door shattered my illusion of peace.
I jolted forward, blinking hard and hoping against hope whoever it was would go away.
The second knock brought me to my feet.
I ran across the floor on my tiptoes and peered through the peephole.
Deacon stood on the other side.
My breath came fast and broken.
You can’t be here, Deacon.
Not here.
Not in my safe place.
“I know you’re here, Jenny. Your footprints are all over the stairs. I just wanted to bring your dinner. I’ll leave it here on the step and go.”
He lifted his palm.
A soft thud sounded against the door.
I splayed my fingers over the other side, unable to look away from a face that somehow seemed more familiar than it had half an hour earlier.
As if he could see me, he raised his gaze to the peephole. “I’ll check in with you when I come back in a few months. Take care of yourself, baby.”
Baby?
When my lungs began to burn, I realized I’d been holding my breath.
I expelled it all in one loud whoosh as he turned and jogged down the stairs.
Watching his retreating back, my patience ran out.
Baxter and Maggie may not yet be ready to hear the truth, but I was ready to let go of the past.
And maybe, just maybe, move on from Moose Lake.
The Promise Of Rain is a standalone, small town, spicy second chance romance. It is book two in the Promise Duet. If you haven’t yet read The Locksmith’s Promise, get it here:
And, if you have Kindle KU, my friend, author Amanda Glaeser has a spicy, fire fighter, forced proximity, enemies to lovers that’s on its way out. Grab it now and read at your leisure!
That’s it for me, for now.
Live Messy, Love Madly,
Devin xo