Cheri Allan writes upbeat contemporary romances from her home in rural New Hampshire.
Everyone Deserves an HEA: Racism & Bigotry in Romancelandia

Everyone Deserves an HEA: Racism & Bigotry in Romancelandia

Posted on by Cheri Allan

If you’ve been on social media the last few days, you’ll know Romancelandia is facing some hard truths. RWA, an organization whose very existence is founded on the genre of love, is failing our AOC and LGBTQ+ members profoundly. The Rita finalists again fail to reflect the diversity of RWA’s broader membership, and it’s no surprise. Years of anecdotal and data-driven evidence tells us that our signature contest is marred by racism and bigotry. Full stop.

As a white, cishet woman hailing from a predominantly white, conservative state, I struggle to own my biases and work to counteract them. I know I don’t always get it right. So, as the frustration and pain of those who have been shut out of this contest has hit online forums and social media, I’ve tried to keep my lips shut and my ears open. This isn’t about me, and yet it is about the ignorance and comfort of my white, cishet privilege. Because the awards have historically looked like me, it didn’t hit home until the last couple of years that that wasn’t true for all. For that, I apologize. I see how I have, by virtue of staying in a very comfortable and familiar lane, participated in a system and celebrated a contest that has caused immense hurt and held a large segment of our membership back from honest and fair competition.

When #RitasSoWhite #RITAGH and #weneeddiverseromance are trending, it’s past time to acknowledge that this contest fails to lift up the “best of the best.” Instead, it’s a reminder that we are failing to serve our whole membership as equals, as professionals, and as creatives deserving of recognition, support, and celebration. I do not want my annual dues going toward any activity which doesn’t serve to advocate for and nurture ALL its members. We either find a way to ensure that all members are fairly judged and equally included in all aspects of RWA, or we end the Rita and seek more inclusive ways of celebrating the successes of our members.

Love is love. I firmly believe that. And everyone deserves an HEA that looks and acts and loves like them. EVERYONE.

Adults Behaving Badly

Posted on by Cheri Allan

Today’s post is not full of rainbows and unicorns, so serve yourself some ice cream before digging in…

You see, like yours probably is, my news feed has been full of “adults behaving badly.” From plagiarists to digital piracy sites to the college admissions scandal, cheaters appear to be having their heyday and many peeps are rightfully up in arms.

For the record, aside from fudging my weight on my driver’s license, I have never cheated. I have, however, watched it happen. It’s been over thirty years, so I’m guessing it’s beyond the statute of limitations, but I SAW it happening, KNEW it was happening. Each time, the cheater looked me in the eye as if daring me to stop them. We were always in a room of our peers, but somehow I was the one expected to raise the alarm.

I never did.

Let’s be honest. Part of my silence was fear. No one likes a tattletale. Don’t shoot the messenger. You don’t rat on your friends. There’s a real social risk for those who choose to speak up and expose injustice and wrongdoing, and we as a society communicate that to others early and often. I was nothing if not a quick learner.

But, the other reason I didn’t say anything was, oddly enough, pity. I actually felt sorry for the cheaters. What was their home life like that they cared so little about personal integrity, felt so unseen they were driven to act out, or felt so disadvantaged that they needed to cheat to feel they’d gotten their due?

With the recent college admissions scandal, I’ve seen a lot of name-calling and blame-laying and, yes, some very righteous outrage. It ticks me off that those who are already ahead of the game in life feel they somehow deserve more for themselves and their offspring to the point where they will lie and cheat and pay obscene amounts of money so their kids can get into the best schools–when so many others struggle and scrimp only to be squeezed out of the race. It stings to have the myth of a meritocracy proven untrue. It makes playing by the rules feel like being punked. Those cheaters should PAY. Right?

But we know they don’t. Usually, like in high school, they get away with it. Sometimes they get caught, are publicly shamed, but usually, they graduate, get jobs, have families, and we never know whether they now and then feel a bit ashamed of that time they stole a glance at the test in the filing cabinet when the teacher was out of the room or bribed their kid’s way into college. It’s all one long, ugly continuum. The slippery-slope we’ve all been warned about.

It galls me that there will always be a fraction of the population that believes cheating is their right. And a part of me will always wonder if my silence allowed those early cheaters to live a life without consequence.

But, and this is the unpopular opinion I’m now going to voice, I’m having a hard time coming down with full vengeance on the kids here. I look at my own teens, at 19 and 16, and I know they aren’t fully cooked. Being a teen or young adult in today’s world is rough. Their school dress-codes sexualize them before they hit puberty, cell phones mean there is a permanent digital record of every teachable moment they might experience on their way to adulthood, and everything from politics to social media influencers suggests that success is measured as much by who you know as who you are. That is a level of stress most of us never had to navigate. But in the last week, I’ve seen the teens/young adults involved in the cheating scandal treated with more vicious outrage than the adults who committed the fraud, and it troubles me. It troubles me, because I’ve said and done some pretty thoughtless, privileged, hurtful things in my life, and thank heaven they only exist in the memories of those who were there to witness them. Hopefully their sting has faded and the hurt they may have caused is replaced with the goodwill of my words and actions in the years since.

Absolutely, all involved in this scandal should be held accountable as is appropriate, including expulsion. Both the administrators who were complicit and the families involved should suffer real professional, legal and personal consequences. Restitution should be made for those students whose slots were stolen. But, if we can’t expose the cheating without resorting to death threats and name-calling and scorched earth fury, we run the risk of losing the empathy, integrity, and general sense of fair play we’re fighting so hard to preserve.

In the end, it’s been a rough week with the time change and a head cold, and I mostly want to hide in bed and NOT DEAL. I also don’t want to face that when I think about this scandal, I have to own that I’ve played a part in a society that has habitually turned a blind eye to self-serving, privileged behavior and threatened those who expose it, and morality is rarely clean and crisp and distant. It’s right here in the room, playing out in real time in front of us, daring us to engage, and our response can be harsh or apathetic or empathetic or somewhere in between, because we’re human and trying, and while I haven’t cheated, I’m not without blame.

Why I Talk Politics When Everyone's Angry

Why I Talk Politics When Everyone’s Angry

Posted on by Cheri Allan

I was chatting with friends yesterday about discussing politics in today’s social climate. They wondered why I would want to given how ugly and contentious it often becomes. I told them that engaging on hot-topics helps me practice my tolerance–like any skill, it feels easier when exercised consistently. It gets me out of my own self-validating bubble and helps me understand others who, by and large, feel just as passionately about their point of view.

But, if these discussions rarely change anyone’s mind, why bother to “enter the fray” at all?

Years ago when I was but a fresh-faced college student, I stood waiting at a bus stop with a handful of others. An older woman ambled down the sidewalk. We all shifted to allow her room to pass, but at the moment she came abreast of me, she whirled toward me, cursing, flailing her arm angrily, and spat: “YOU GET OUT OF HERE! WE DON’T WANT ANY OF YOUR KIND AROUND HERE! YOU HEAR ME? GET OUT! GET OUT OF HERE!!!” I backed away at her continued abuse, darting glances at my fellow bus-stop crowd, because, obviously, I did not know this woman, she did not know me, and yet for some reason in her mind, I was THE ENEMY.

It may sound insignificant as stories go. How much harm could an elderly homeless woman do to a 19-year-old at a bus stop in broad daylight? The bus soon arrived, I climbed aboard, and we headed to campus.

But the tears came only when one of the handful of people who’d witnessed this exchange touched my arm and said, “She’s not right in the head. She didn’t mean that for you.” And I realized, that what I needed most in that bizarre, hate-filled, unfairly targeted moment was someone to acknowledge that they SAW and they recognized it was not right, and this wasn’t okay. What that woman gave me–even though she likely felt as powerless as I did to change the misdirected hate in that old woman’s mind–was the knowledge that I wasn’t alone, sometimes people are hurtful, and we don’t have to pretend it’s normal or okay.

Which is my long-winded way of saying that sometimes when I post or talk about hot-topic issues, it’s not that I believe I’ll change hearts and minds with my words, it’s because there may be someone out there who needs to know they have an ally. <3

To those friends, I say…

I SEE YOU.

YOU’RE NOT ALONE.

SOMETIMES PEOPLE ARE HURTFUL.

WE DON’T HAVE TO PRETEND IT’S OKAY.

 

Kindness, Karma and Why We Need Romance

Kindness, Karma and Why We Need Romance

Posted on by Cheri Allan

Do you believe in Karma? I asked my Sunday teens that very question this weekend. I expected some push-back–some “but bad things happen to good people” arguments against the idea that there exists some invisible fairness force in the universe that sends our actions back to us like a cosmic boomerang–but 100% of their hands went up. I asked them to defend their stance. I mean, one glance at the news tells us we don’t live in a world where lightning bolts smite evil-doers and hate-spewers mid-tweet. Nor do the Mother Theresa’s of the world all win Powerball in order to fund their charitable tendencies.

So, if the universe isn’t immediately slapping us up ‘side the head the moment we step out of line (which, frankly, could be useful in some cases, just sayin’), is Karma describing something more subtle about human nature? Years ago Dr. John Gottman conducted a study on newly married couples where researchers counted the number of negative versus positive comments the couples used with one another. Turns out the researchers could accurately predict which couples would later divorce based on the proportion of negative comments (even those that were deemed “jokes”). That negative energy those couples were sending out–even sarcastic comments that were “just kidding” jokes?–they were poisoning their relationships.

Is negativity poisoning our society? There’s a lot to be negative about. I get it. Oh, how I GET IT. We can’t scan social media or the news and not be exposed to someone’s contempt or outrage. Sometimes that outrage is warranted. Outrage can be a passionate desire and catalyst for action–to change things for the better, to protect the defenseless, to give voice to those who struggle to be heard. It’s okay to be angry. It’s not okay to be cruel.

I’m not a Pollyanna. I know full well there’s a lot of ugly in the world. I choose not to feed it. For all the times I enter into the fray of contentious discord? I’ve held myself back 100-fold. I’ve walked away, gotten a cup of coffee, pet the cats and asked myself whether I’m contributing to the problem or the solution. I write hopeful, humorous romance, because I genuinely believe that if negativity can poison our relationships with others, then kindness and hope, even humor, can cure us. Yes, it may take a lot of kindness, and immense self-control, not to recycle the negativity that others hurl our way, but I have a drawer full of smiley-face buttons, and I’m not afraid to use them.

I leave you with one last thought for today, a book recommendation, actually. It’s called I Like Your Buttons by Sarah Lamstein. It’s a children’s story about the power of kindness. And kittens. And how the many small, positive interactions we have with others make us all happier–and sometimes come full circle.

It’s about believing in the power of love, and isn’t that what romance is all about?

 

Let it go? Yeah, right.

Let it go? Yeah, right.

Posted on by Cheri Allan

So, a thing happened this weekend, and my feet have glued themselves in that mental space of rehashing the details, the frustration and the injustice of it all. (Be forewarned, I may use an excessive amount of italics, all-caps and/or exclamation marks today.) It’s a small thing in the grander scheme of things, and I want to move on and let this go, even though it affected me and my kid and, undoubtedly, others who have bigger stakes and more reasons to fight this fight. I even SAID I was letting it go last night as I poured a glass of well-deserved wine and toasted the end of a long day…

But here I am, vague-blogging about it (sorry, not sorry), clearly NOT letting it go, in fact still swirling the events and details and the rational proof around in my mind (I could make a spreadsheet SHOWING I’m right, people!) as if focusing on the problem must lead to the answer.

DH says I need to “let it go.” Frozen’s theme song springs to mind (you’re welcome for that earworm), but then I realize Elsa is actually singing about venting about what’s bottled up inside, so now I’m torn between feeling I need to be mature about the situation (sadly, not my first instinct) or taking the advice of a Disney princess, letting my frustration flag fly, and freezing the crap out of my enemies. But, do I really want to be the one that calls forth the second winter as satisfying as that sounds? Doesn’t doing so just freeze us all in that hard, cold place together?

If not that, what do I want to see happen? I want to be heard. I want an apology for being dismissed. I want amends made for those negatively affected. Will that happen? <shrug> Maybe. Maybe other voices will carry through, dust will settle, and the wrongs will be righted.

And maybe they won’t.

BLERGH. I tell my kids when they find themselves smacking against the same immovable obstacles in life to “be the water.” I tell them if they keep ramming into a problem or situation, it only hurts them and doesn’t change anything, but if we are the water? We flow around life’s obstacles, find the little outlets to get beyond them, wear other problems away little by little over time…

Be the water.

I think I need to take my own advice. (Thanks for letting me talk it out with you. You’re a good listener.) Elsa, my dear, freezing water only holds us in place. But rain? It makes things grow. So, now I’m thinking of the GOOD things about this situation–the people and things that went right and make me feel proud and thankful and excited about the future. These thoughts warm my heart. From that place of happiness, I can hope that kind and nurturing hearts will help those who need to grow–help them learn it’s okay to admit when you don’t have the answers, make a mistake, or are overwhelmed and need help. We’ve all been there. I also hope those of us who felt frustration will remember how hurtful it can feel when others refuse to listen, when they don’t take the time to hear our pain or confusion, so that we learn how to approach future scenarios with compassion and open minds.

Yeah, I want to be THAT water. The good kind. The warm spring rain kind. I don’t want to be an icicle, stuck in place. I want to be the kind of water that grows a d*mned flower! (Okay. Clearly this thawing out may take some time. Send kittens. And wine. I’m almost out.)

 

 

Withhold Fluids, Carry Change, and Other Travel Tips

Withhold Fluids, Carry Change, and Other Travel Tips

Posted on by Cheri Allan

As some of you know, I just returned from a rather epic trip to Europe. (Pinch me!)  It came with all the rich, delicious coffee, fruity wine, and smooth, frothy beer you might imagine. It also came with the shocking discovery that Europe has a Universal Pee Tax. Yes, you got it: Pay-As-You-Go Toilets (that pun just wrote itself, people).

Suddenly the lack of water consumption (you have to ASK for water) makes sense. What appear to be circular phone booths in London? Yeah, those are coin-operated Port-O-Potties on the street corner. There was NO WAY I was going to waltz into a corner pee booth in the middle of a busy intersection to announce my need to pee to passersby even if my eyeballs were swimming.

Thank God every city we visited was experiencing a heat wave, because I could count on sweating out at least some of my fluid intake, right? Too personal? Sorry, not sorry, because when you are a Frugal (a-hem *cheap!*) Yankee confronted with PAY toilets you begin to monitor and *discuss* your bathroom needs like an elderly aunt with incontinence issues. I’ve never thought about, planned for and talked about bathrooms more in my life.

The pay-as-you-go system reveals an entire, untapped industry (at least from this American’s perspective). The train station in Vienna is high-tech with coin-operated turnstiles that print a Pee Pass (a ticket showing you paid). McDonald’s toilets print a ticket that doubles as a coupon for that same amount which is, quite frankly, marketing genius. Near the Charles Bridge a girl stands at the base of a dingy staircase in the bowels of a nearby building making change for tourists who haven’t moderated their fluid intake. Then there is the toilet in the Prague subway where the toilet paper is kept OUTSIDE the bathroom stall. That’s right. You pay, are dispensed an amount for your needs, and let in. This raises obvious questions: What if I need more? Do I slide a coin under the door? Will the price per sheet go up, leaving me open for extortion? Needless to say, I held it and walked back into the sunshine, determined to sweat it out.

Europe IS an amazing and beautiful place, and you should visit if given half the chance. But if you are there and need to pee, I recommend Salzburg. Specifically the airport. The toilets are modern, shockingly clean and, most importantly, FREE.

I did not attend the #womensmarch yesterday. Here’s why…

Posted on by Cheri Allan

I did not attend the women’s march yesterday.
I am a romance author.
I like the color green.

From these facts about me, some of you probably feel you can stop reading. You know all you need to know to put me in a labeled box and walk away. I hope you won’t, because those statements are only a part of my truth.

Another truth about me: I’m an observer by nature. I tend to hang by the periphery, watch the players, assess the mood of the room, measure my words, and then speak. So I spent yesterday listening. I listened to speakers and demonstrators sharing their stories and reasons for participating and to the commentary that followed on social media. Some stories and messages resonated deeply with me. Others, quite honestly, didn’t. But I’m not here to cherry pick and discard those sound bites or placards that struck the wrong chord, because the broader message of the day–the fact that millions of demonstrators could demonstrate peacefully worldwide–speaks to the fact that even when we disagree on some matters, even when it’s hard to hear another’s truth because of how or what they say, we can be united behind each other as human beings. That, my friends, gave me hope.

You see, for  a long time, I have freely shared my daily frustrations and joys (and silly cat videos) with others on social media, but I’ve held back sharing my views on certain topics I feel deeply about for fear of causing offense. (Religion. Politics. The Coffee vs. Tea debate, to name a few.) But as I watched and listened both to the demonstrators and those chatting on social media yesterday, I realized a couple of things:

1.) I’ve been showing you my true self all along, and
2.) I am inordinately entertained by snarky internet memes.

I’m not sure why I felt the need to hold back on social media when my books were already showing you my world view. If you have read them, you know I find humor in human diversity and frailty, and I believe in the power of love. I don’t tolerate intolerance, and I enjoy the inherent irony in that statement. I give even my least likable characters motive and redeeming qualities, because I like to believe that even when I don’t like someone (it happens!) they aren’t rotten to the core. I write (spoiler alert) about everything from infidelity to teen pregnancy to gay marriage. My characters swear as much as they pray, drink and have sex as much as they pass judgment on others and stand on the moral high ground. They are imperfect people struggling to find love and purpose in an imperfect world.

I live in that world. You live in that world. But by attempting to sanitize the harsher or more uncomfortable truths from the ‘me’ I’ve chosen to share with others, I’ve gotten in my own way. And that was a mistake.

So today, I thank my fellow sisters (and brothers) who marched yesterday for giving me the courage to admit I am not always as neutral as Switzerland. Maybe that makes you uncomfortable. I think that’s a good thing. When we shy away from that which causes us discomfort, we’re often pulling back from a truth we’d prefer not to face. But you and I are alike, then, because I’m uncomfortable, too. I’m uncomfortable knowing that despite how safe and happy I feel in the comfort of my home writing this article, that human trafficking, drug addiction and racism still exist in this country. I’m uncomfortable with the fact that with parental consent, a thirteen-year-old child can be married in my state. I’m uncomfortable that rapists have parental rights in 22 states in this country. I’m uncomfortable that, as a white mother of a white son, I know privilege and safety other mothers, because of a fluke of our DNA, can never know. I’m uncomfortable self-censoring myself for the sake of ‘not making waves’ when I know my children are watching.

The truth is, I’m done hiding my discomfort. I’m tired of seeing complex problems and heartfelt concerns reduced to single issues, inflammatory sound bites, and name calling when respectful discourse could lead to real and lasting solutions. We need that discourse now more than ever, and I intend to be an active participant.

I may be an observer, but I am also a light, and I intend to shine that light for those who seek help and hope and, yes, humor for as long as I can. I will continue to write my stories, blueprints if you will, of how love and forgiveness and open-hearted listening can bring happiness and hope to an imperfect world, because that is the truth I believe in. You may believe I’m a rose-colored-glasses idealist with my head in the clouds, and that’s okay. That’s partly true, too.

And one last thing. A word about the color green. I love the color green, but if the whole wide world were nothing but green? I’d miss blue. And pink. And soft yellow. I’d miss rich brown and startling red. Do we really, honestly, want a world with no diversity? With no differing abilities and perspectives and faces? Green is comfortable and familiar, but I won’t thrive unless I’m challenged. (Also, if you and I were exactly alike, who would eat the edge pieces when we made brownies?)

No, I didn’t march yesterday, but I am so incredibly proud of those who did. I applaud those of you who had the courage to speak your truths and shine your lights in the world. You’ve demonstrated for me the importance of stepping out of the shadows, stepping out of my own comfort zone, and doing just that.

The Art of Giving Up

Posted on by Cheri Allan

[This blog post originally appeared as a guest post on Courtney J. Halls blog on 3/2/16. Click here to see the original content and comments.]

I feel a bit hypocritical, I’m just going to put that out there. Because even though I’ve always believed that couples who break up should considerstaying broken up (there was a reason things didn’t work out the first time, right?) I’ve gone and written not one but two couples into my latest contemporary romance, DEAL ME IN, that get back together. <facepalm>

Oh, I agree there’s a certain ‘against all odds’ romanticism about couples who finally get it right. Not to mention, the eternal optimist in me gets to win out over the stick-in-the-mud pragmatist. But, I’m forgiving myself for these particular happily-ever-afters, because not only is writing that happy ending part of my job description, it’s not as if these couples part on Tuesday and are having make-up sex by Sunday. No, for each, the dream of the perfect life together takes a while to take shape… and a llama or two… and that’s a good thing.

I mean, let’s face it, if we achieved our happily-ever-after dreams right out of the gate and with little effort, I’d be a celebrated ice dancer right now, married to Ryan Gosling and living in a castle. I think we both know that’s not how my story has played out.

I didn’t marry the first man I dated. Nor am I working at the first career I ever tried. After years of querying agents and attending critique groups and writing… and submitting to editors and attending conferences and writing… I decided it was okay to give up on the dream of being a mega publishing success right out of the starting gate. Or being published by the age of <cough> 35. Because, even though I’d given up on those particular dreams, I wasn’t giving up on me.

So I let go of those old dreams and made new ones that included hanging out with cool fellow authors <waves at Courtney!> and writing stories I’d like to read, and I stopped worrying about those old dreams I’d outgrown. (Although if anyone wants to offer me a movie contract or six-figure book deal, call me!)

I don’t think you want to give up on dreaming either. At the end of the Facebook party celebrating DEAL ME IN’s release, I asked this question: If you knew you wouldn’t fail, what would you try? Dozens of people started posting.Open a bakery. Get a nursing degree. Write a book. (Go figure.) And all I could think was: What’s stopping you? Is the risk of failure worse than never having tried at all? And if your stick-in-the-mud pragmatic side doesn’t see how the numbers all add up, can your eternal optimist see how you can keep the spark of your dream alive until they do?

We’ve all been guilty of rewriting our goals when things didn’t go as planned. (New Year’s resolutions, anyone?) But that doesn’t mean we should stop dreaming. Or stop moving toward what we most want. Me? I’d rather get a little creative in the way I give up, because as long as I don’t give up on me, I always have hope.

So if you want to get back together with your ex? I’ll try to see the good you see in him. In the meantime, I’ll be scanning real estate listings across the pond, because a girl can dream, right?

Tell me. What are your dreams? What can you do to keep the dream alive?

Speed Dating & Love at First Sight

Speed Dating & Love at First Sight

Posted on by Cheri Allan

[This blog post originally appeared as a guest post on Christie Craig’s blog on 2/23/16. Click here to see the original content and comments.]

I Love You

Thanks, Christie, for letting me stop by! So, show of hands: how many of you out there believe in love at first sight? Did it happen for you that way, or were you more of a slow burn?

Romance writer that I am, I did not fall madly in love with my husband the moment I clapped eyes on him. It was more of a shrug of my shoulders, ‘he’s okay’ sort of deal. In my own defense, his hair was too long, he wore a ratty old concert t-shirt, and he was a microbiology major. I mean, he worked with petri dishes, people. What could we possibly have in common? But then we started talking. There was a spark. He wore his lab coat… Two decades, two kids and a houseful of animals later, I’m glad I didn’t let my first impression stop me from getting to know him better.

I actually love when characters fall for each other awkwardly and unevenly over time. It’s all well and good to be attracted to one another, but I prefer stories where the characters don’t mesh too perfectly, where they have to smooth each other’s rough edges a bit before they fit. Grace and Jeff from my latest novel, Deal Me In, are like that. It takes time to find the balance between her free-spirited nature and his straight-forward pragmatism. As teens, they fell for each other hard and fast–and just as quickly crashed and burned. Would that still hold true if they hadn’t met so young? Let’s pretend, for a little bit, that their history together doesn’t exist. What if Grace and Jeff meet as adults… speed dating? What would that be like, and would they still fall for each other? Let’s find out…

Grace: Hi, I’m Grace.

Jeff: Jeff.

Grace: So, Jeff, what do you do for a living?

Jeff: I’m a police officer at Sugar Falls PD. You?

Grace: I own Currents, the gift shop downtown. I like to say I bring balance and inspiration to the ‘thinkers, dreamers and peace travelers of the world.’

Jeff: Huh. I’ve seen it. You should have the landlord install a motion-sensitive spotlight. That back alley isn’t well lit.
Grace: I’ll mention it to him. So… what’s your favorite color?

Jeff: That’s your next question?

Grace: Yes.

Jeff: Orange.

Grace: Orange?

Jeff: What’s wrong with orange? I never go hiking in the backwoods without it. I’m guessing you like pink.

Grace: Red.

Jeff: Red, huh? That’s not a very peaceful color.

Grace: Red is vibrant and full of life. Plus, I look good in red. Next question: what did you die of in your last life?

Jeff: What?

Grace: In your last life, how did you die?

Jeff: Murdered in my sleep by a crazy chick who believed in past lives?

Grace: Aw, you have a sense of humor! I like that. Me, I died of a broken heart.

Jeff: Of course you did. All right. Seeing as we’re asking the off-beat question now, how do you like your steak? Rare, medium or well done?

Grace: I’m a vegetarian. But speaking of food, I could really go for some chili rellenos from that Mexican place out by Route 6 right about now. I missed lunch.

Jeff: Mmm. Can’t beat their beef enchiladas. Okay, if you were an animal what would you be?

Grace: I was going to ask that!

Jeff: Just answer the question.

Grace: A butterfly.

Jeff <frowning >: Butterfly? It has a life span of a gnat and can’t fly in the rain. Why would you want to be a butterfly?

Grace: They’re beautiful, and imagine how it would feel to be a butterfly. Like being a kite, only better. What would you be?

Jeff: An eagle. Like my tattoo.

Grace <leaning forward>: You have a tattoo? Can I see it?

Jeff: Now?

Grace: Why not?

Jeff: Our time is almost up.

Grace: No, it’s not.

Jeff: Yeah, it is. Look at the clock.

Grace <waving a hand dismissively>: No. Our time is only beginning. My arms are tingly. It’s a sign.

Jeff: A sign? You’re a fruitcake, you know that?

Grace: We are so seeing each other again.

Jeff: That’s called stalking. There are laws against that.

Grace: It’s not stalking if we both want it.

Jeff: Who says we both want it?

Grace: The fact that you keep looking at my cleavage.

Jeff <clears throat>: That’s a stunning, ah, necklace.

Grace: Thank you. So, seven o’clock?

Jeff: For what?

Grace: Our date. Pick me up at my shop. I’ll wear red.

Jeff: Why?

Grace: It’s my favorite color. Haven’t you been paying attention? Ooh! And can we eat dessert first? I love the Silver Birch Inn’s cranberry-orange cheesecake.

Jeff: How did you know I was thinking of the Inn?

Grace <shrugging>: I just know things sometimes.

Jeff: Really? What am I thinking right now?

Grace: That you can’t wait for our first kiss.

(Jeff didn’t answer, because he had been thinking about that. That and cheesecake.)

Jeff to himself as he leaves: She’s hot but she’s got crazy written all over her. This is going nowhere.

Grace to herself as she leaves: I am so going to marry that man…

Want to see more of Deal Me In? Click here.