Let’s Get 50 Reviews for Just One More Minute!

jomm_50reviewsblitz_12012016I’m still unplugged to focus on my health, but I also don’t want to lose momentum with my career. It’s a double-edged sword. What I’ve decided is, while I won’t be checking Twitter/Facebook/etc, I’ll still post bookish things using HootSuite. And I’ll continue with my marketing plan for Just One More Minute.

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The next thing on my list is a 50 reviews blitz for this month, meaning I’d really like to get the book to 50 reviews or more on Amazon. Why? Because word on the indie author street is, once a book has 50-60 reviews, Amazon starts suggesting it in emails to their customers—hence more eyeballs on my little book. Since I can’t afford a NetGalley or even a co-op, I’ve had to get creative to get those reviews. For my last few releases, I’ve been offering incentives, AKA… presents.

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Here’s how it works.

Every time we reach a new milestone, I’ll give you, my readers, some kind of Just One More Minute bonus or giveaway. In the past, I’ve done this in multiples of five, but this time I’d like to try something different.

Right now, Just One More Minute has 4 reviews on Amazon. This is a great start! When we get to…

  • 15 reviews posted to Amazon: I’ll do a live reading on my Facebook author page
  • 25 reviews posted to Amazon: I’ll post a giveaway on my Facebook author page for a signed paperback copy of Just One More Minute*
  • 30 reviews posted to Amazon: I’ll post a raw chapter to my blog from Any Other Love, the companion novel starring Charlotte and Amarie (release date TBA)
  • 40 reviews posted to Amazon: I’ll post a bonus chapter to my blog, starring Rowan and Matt spending a day at the beach
  • 50 reviews posted to Amazon: I’ll post a giveaway on my Facebook author page for a signed poster of the Just One More Minute cover, a signed paperback, and other awesome swag*
  • 60+ reviews posted to Amazon: I’ll post a giveaway on my Facebook author page for my complete ebook library

I know we can at least reach 50 reviews by the end of December!

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So how can you help?

If you’ve already read Just One More Minute, great! Please go post a review on Amazon (and any other site, like Goodreads). Your review can be as simple as a couple sentences saying whether you liked the book.

If you haven’t purchased a copy yet, you can buy your copy here. After you read it, post your honest review on Amazon and any other site.

If you can’t purchase a copy but would still like to help, email me at elizabethbaronebooks@gmail.com and tell me which format you need. If you’re reading on a Kindle, please include your Kindle email address (and make sure you’ve added my email address to your approved senders list). I’ll send you a free review copy!

Please note that at this time, I’m unable to process emails quickly; I’m currently checking my inbox every Monday (though sometimes I sneak on in the middle of the week), to save my hands and wrists. Just be patient with me, pretty please. 😘

I know with your help, we can totally do this.

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*U.S. residents only

Bottoms Up! (Plaquenil, Day 1)

My new Christmas cactus, and my pillbox full of Plaquenil (December 1st, 2016).
My new Christmas cactus, and my pillbox full of Plaquenil (December 1st, 2016).

My goal for my rheumatology appointment this morning was to walk out with some kind of progress. Any progress. I just wanted to move toward getting my life back. That’s all I’ve wanted for the past decade.

On Thanksgiving, a week before my followup appointment with my rheumatologist, I’m so miserable I consider going to the ER instead of family dinner. Every joint in my body is stiff and agonizingly sore. The pain keeps me awake at night. I’m so stiff, my husband has to help me get dressed. I’m 28 years old and I was raised by strong women; I’m used to doing everything myself. I feel powerless. Mike feels useless. We go to Thanksgiving dinner under a blanket of defeat.

My sister-in-law is having her own health troubles. I want to help her and be there for her, but I’m nearly incapacitated. My mother-in-law takes her to the ER, and I stay behind with the guys to finish and eat dinner. While I’m taking my plate to the sink, my left ankle goes out.

It’s so sore, I can’t bear weight on it. I swallow back tears; surrounded by a bunch of tough guys, I don’t want to cry like a little girl. A well-meaning family member gives me a Percocet to get me through the rest of the day. It helps, but it’s strong; by the time I get to my grandmother’s, I’m in a haze and I hate it. My body doesn’t have to fight off pain anymore, so I can finally rest, but I struggle to stay awake during dinner.

My aunt brings me home early, and the second I get home, I start vomiting. I’m not used to medicine like Percocet. It’s too strong. I throw up for hours, on my aching hands and knees on the bathroom floor in front of the toilet. The pain comes roaring back, and I have to limp-run to the bathroom every half hour. By some miracle I make it to the toilet every time.

By the time Mike gets home from work, I’m dehydrated and exhausted. I probably should go to the ER, but I’m disoriented. Mike brings me ginger ale and I struggle to keep it down. I curl into a ball in bed and hope the morning brings relief.

I stop vomiting, but the pain and stiffness keep me in a haze of hopelessness.

I decide to unplug from the internet so that I can focus on my health, as well as work that I’ve fallen behind on.

It’s two nights before my rheumatology appointment, and I can’t sleep. My body is exhausted by pain, fatigue, and stress, but my mind is wired with anxiety. I’m worried that once again my appointment will end in disappointment, that I’ll once more feel brushed off, that I’ll still feel like I’m just spinning my wheels.

I try everything I can think of to fall asleep.

Cleaning, to work off that anxious energy. I do dishes, soak kitchen towels in bleach in a bucket, and fill my sink to soak cutting boards in bleach. I consider sweeping and mopping, but my body isn’t up to it. I’m tired all the way down to my bones. Even with pain medicine, my joint pain is agonizing.

In bed, I play Bejeweled on my iPhone to quiet my mind, and watch ASMR videos to help me drift off, but it’s useless.

I toss and turn all night, unable to get my body comfortable, unable to shut off my worries.

One day before my appointment, I wake up anxious. I want to tackle my To Do list; I have a lot of work to do but it will also help me get my mind off my pain and anxiety. Everything that can go wrong does. I spend hours trying to fix my antivirus; its firewall is blocking my internet. All I want to do is work off my anxiety, which grows by the second because I can’t fix my computer and I’m falling even more behind on my To Do list.

By the time I solve the issue, my fingers and wrists are so stiff and sore, I barely get any writing or any other work done. Instead of cooking the chicken parmesan dinner I’d planned, I make ramen and binge Buffy the Vampire Slayer on Netflix. I need a hero.

After dinner, I spend hours writing up a seven-page document for my rheumatologist. I define my goals, outline my medical history (completely healthy before this illness set in), list my symptoms and trouble joints, describe treatments I’ve tried, tally activities that are affected by my chronic arthralgia, stiffness, and fatigue, catalog various labs that have popped up over the past nine years. My hope is that, by laying all this out for my rheumatologist, he can piece together whatever it is that’s wrong. Going through the document makes me realize how very bad this disease actually is.

Before I got sick, I played on a city softball team. I was the catcher. I had to stop playing because I couldn’t move fast enough to make bases or catch balls.

Before I got sick, I worked multiple jobs and at one point even had my own web design business. I had to leave the workforce because, sitting or standing, my body couldn’t handle the demands.

After I got sick, I went back to school to become an elementary school teacher. I was seeing my first rheumatologist, Dr. Greco, and the medication I was on had nasty side effects. The pain and fatigue pulled me further and further behind on my studies; both my grades and GPA plummeted. My fellow students either ignored or made fun of me. A girl who I thought was my friend ditched me on our way to an exam, and started treating me badly. The stress of being sick and trying to get through school was too much on my body. I withdrew and never went back.

Those are only three of the things I’ve lost.

I print out two copies of the document—one for me and one for Dr. S—and prepare to go into battle the next morning. Once again, I’m fighting to get my life back. I’m fighting to advocate for myself, to be heard. To not be erased.

Right as I’m about to lie down, my hypoglycemia flares and my blood sugar plummets. Tramadol wears off and the pain comes roaring back up to a 9/10. I make more ramen. Midnight comes and passes. I lie down again and calm myself with ASMR videos and one of the same threes audiobooks I listen to every night. Eventually, I fall asleep, but the pain wakes me intermittently. I can’t get comfortable.

My mind starts to run through scenarios: what I’ll say to Dr. S, the kinds of questions I want to ask, the what-ifs. Usually I just sit with my anxiety, let the feelings in, and examine them. But I have to get to sleep so I can be fresh and on my game in the morning. I slam down steel shutters, bottling up my worries. But they leak in anyway.

Between the pain and anxiety, I barely rest.

The morning of my appointment, I wake up over two hours before I’m supposed to be there. The plan is to have enough time to sit and let my joints un-stiffen. Of course, nothing goes according to plan.

My alarm goes off but I’m foggy and my bones scream for more sleep. I set it for another half hour and drift off immediately. It seems like only minutes later my alarm goes off again.

I have to get up, or I won’t have enough time.

Even though I’m too nervous to eat, I make oatmeal and coffee. I eat half my bowl and drink a third of my coffee. My mouth is so dry. I take my morning medication—vitamin D and one of my two daily Tramadol—and slowly dress, do my makeup and hair, and gather my papers and planner. Mike is off from work, so he drives me. A few days before, I asked him to come into the exam room with me and fight for me, to back me up on everything I’m saying—to explain how he has to help me do simple things like get dressed, to parrot what I tell the rheumatologist. It’s a proven fact that doctors take men more seriously. Mike is skeptical, but agrees to help me advocate for myself.

I leave our apartment armed with my seven-page document and husband. The only weapon I’ve ever had are my words. On the drive over, I mentally repeat affirmations: I am strong, I will accomplish my goal of progress, I am beautiful, I can do this. I lift my chin while fending off doubts.

I’m still worried that my rheumatologist will brush me off again.

In the exam room, he gets right down to business. He remembers our phone conversation where I all but begged him to help me, to listen to me, to sleuth this out with me. He starts off by reviewing my last labs and our phone conversation about trying Plaquenil. I’d intended to start off by asking him if we could go over the last decade, but didn’t want to interrupt him. He sees my papers, though, and asks if I have something for him. I pass over his copy.

I explain that I thought it might be helpful if we reviewed everything. He seems surprised and impressed. So we do. He asks questions. I give him answers, referring to my document when the fatigue and brain fog set in and I can’t remember. We talk about how I have flareups and remissions, about how the stiffness and intense pain lasts hours in the morning and then I have a small window midday when it calms down, how I’ve taken Prednisone in the past and it helped kick my flareup both times.

Dr. S says he definitely doesn’t think this is Fibromyalgia, because of the stiffness. But he also explains that usually with Lupus, there are other markers. I only have the anti-dsDNA, so it’s difficult to diagnose. But there’s definitely something autoimmune going on. I tell him about how Dr. Greco, my first rheumatologist, explained to me that I’m on the very bottom of the bell curve; something is definitely brewing, but I’m right on the edge and it’s hard to tell what just yet. Dr. S says that’s exactly what he thinks, and that he wants to monitor how this progresses.

But he also doesn’t want me to be in so much pain, and to be unable to perform daily activities. I tell him that’s all I’ve wanted for the last nine years—to get some of my life back.

He decides to start me on Plaquenil, cautioning me that it could take up to six months for me to notice any difference. We both have to be patient, he says. He suggests I keep a diary: rate the pain, list activities I’m having a hard time doing, etc. That way we can track how well Plaquenil is working. I now take 200mg of Plaquenil, twice a day—400mg in total. On this, I can expect very low side effects; he said maybe one day of diarrhea. It’s nothing like Sulfasalazine—no headaches or metallic taste, and no liver and kidney damage.

He’s also got me on Prednisone for a few weeks, to help kick the flareup while Plaquenil starts working, since we know it’s worked in the past. I’m taking 10mg of Prednisone every morning. It’s a low dose, so I can expect less intense side effects. In the past it’s made me dizzy and sweaty, and made my heart race and kept me up all night. I’m to take it first thing in the morning, to lower the chance of it keeping me awake.

I thank him profusely. Along with this new DMARD, he’s given me hope.

Mike and I go to our favorite sushi restaurant to celebrate. They have a lunch special and I owe him money for the printer ink he bought me the other day. We reconnect over sushi and when I get my fortune, I’m delighted.

“You have had a good start,” it says. “Work harder!” This is heartening.

We head over to the pharmacy next. I go in without my wallet, because I’m only there to pick up my prescriptions and my insurance completely covers them, but when I walk in, there’s a display full of live Christmas cactuses. Their pink blooms are beautiful, and they remind me of my Biz Noni—who always had one. I can’t walk out of there without one. They’re only $3.99, but with my savings card I end up saving a dollar.

I walk out with all kinds of new hope in my hands, hands that can’t hold much these days but are so open to catch whatever tools life wants to give me to fight. Like I told my rheumatologist, I’ll do just about anything to feel better. I just need someone to give me a chance.

In the car, on the way home, I take my first dose.

Prednisone still tastes awful going down. I’d forgotten how bad it tastes. But the Plaquenil has no taste and, unlike the SSZ, it doesn’t leave a film on my hands.

It tastes like hope.


If you’d like to help, I currently have a GoFundMe open to help my husband and I catch up on our bills. You can donate here. If you prefer, you can donate through PayPal. Or you can purchase any of my books, which not only supports me but also my writing! Paperbacks coming in 2017.

Just One More Minute: Chapter 4

Just One More Minute, by Elizabeth Barone

Matt pushed open the door to Elli’s and slipped inside. Usually, on a Monday morning, they opened much earlier. That morning, though, he’d attended Katherine’s funeral, and now he had only a few minutes to himself before the post-burial reception.

He was still trying to sift through his feelings. He’d spent the night before and part of that morning before the funeral prepping for the gathering. Mostly, though, he’d tried to figure out how he felt about Katherine leaving Elli’s to him.

He had no idea how to run a business. Since hiring him, Katherine spent less and less time in the kitchen, and more time on the administrative end. She’d taught him how to make mini cheesecakes and perfect bread for sandwiches, but she’d never showed him how to order ingredients or balance Elli’s bank account. After all, he was only a baker—and not even a trained or safety-certified one, at that. He’d been lucky to get the job at all.

Walking through the dining area, he straightened tablecloths and double checked that every setting had flatware. Realistically, there was nothing else for him to do, but standing around and waiting would only put him more on edge. He leaned against a wall and loosened his tie. The suit he’d worn to Katherine’s funeral had been his father’s. It felt more than weird to wear his dad’s clothing, but his own suit hadn’t fit in years. Daniel Sr.’s suit fit him like a glove—more testament to just how much had changed.

It made sense that he was thinking so much about his dad, he mused as he gave the room a final once over. What wasn’t fair was that he’d lost two people in almost exactly the same way. The familiar burning sensation ripped through him, his chest growing tight. Clenching his fists, he turned toward the wall, meaning to hammer one against the cool, smooth surface.

The bells on the door jingled. He turned, eyes widening in surprise as Rowan stepped inside. He should’ve had a few more minutes to himself before everyone arrived.

“I ditched the procession,” she explained. “Took a shortcut.”

A smile tugged at his lips. He would’ve done the same, in her shoes. He started to say so, then stopped. After their last conversation, he should probably say something to smooth things over. There wasn’t anything he could say, though. She was right. He shouldn’t have kept Katherine’s secret. Though it seemed not to bother the rest of Katherine’s family, it had definitely hurt Rowan. If they were going to work together, they were going to have to find a way to put it behind them.

“So what did you make?” she asked, crossing the front end and glancing around.

Or maybe he didn’t need to say anything. Maybe they just needed to keep moving forward. “A bunch of sandwich platters.”

Her eyebrows lifted. “No cheesecake?”

Matt smiled. “Do I look like I want Katherine to come haunt my dreams?” He motioned for her to follow him, and led her to the walk-in cooler. Opening the door, he pointed to a cart stocked full of Katherine’s favorite recipe, Elli’s famous mini cheesecakes. He gestured to another cart. “And some of the staples.” He mentally ran through his checklist: cannoli, cupcakes, and cookies. Combined, they made up Elli’s top-selling items—what Katherine referred to as the Super Cs.

Rowan stepped past him into the cooler. She lifted the lid of a tray of cookies and stole a peanut butter blossom. Taking a bite, she gave him an approving nod. “She’d be proud.”

“Thanks,” he said softly. Taking a deep breath, he surged forward. He wasn’t going to get another chance. “Look, about last night—”

She held up her hands. “I was totally out of line.”

“No,” he said firmly. “You were right. It wasn’t fair of us to keep you out.”

Hugging herself, she looked away. “I probably deserved it.”

Matt frowned. “You? No way. Katherine loved you.” He drew her out of the walk-in and shut the door behind him. “Why would you say that?”

Her lips parted, and the front door opened.

His shoulders slumped. It was show time. Giving her shoulder a squeeze, he moved past her into the front end. He recognized all of the faces from the funeral, except for his mother’s. She’d probably decided that she’d had enough. Still, he wished she’d come to Elli’s. It would ease his nerves to have an ally. Then again, his mother hadn’t been anyone he could rely on in years. His job was to take care of her, not the other way around.

Steeling himself, he let habit take over. He guided people into seats and rolled out the carts. He spent an hour alone hopping from table to table, serving coffee and replacing finished goodies. It wasn’t until he stopped to brew more coffee that he realized he was exhausted. He wished Katherine had hired some more help before she died.

Tears pricked his eyes. He blinked them away angrily. He shouldn’t feel guilty for thinking that. It was the truth. He needed help. If he and Rowan actually took over Elli’s together, the first thing he was going to suggest would be to hire a couple of high school kids for the afternoons and weekends.

Rowan.

He glanced around, but didn’t see her anywhere. Moving toward the front, he peered through the double windows. Her car was still parked outside. He rubbed at his cheeks, freshly shaved that morning but rapidly becoming more stubbly as the day dragged on.

He made his rounds again, refilling cups of coffee. Then he filled two mugs and slipped into the hall.

First he checked the office. It sat dark and empty. His shoulders relaxed. Maybe she’d just gone to the bathroom. But no, he hadn’t seen her since she first came in. Something told him that she was hiding. Suddenly he realized that Noah Ellis and the rest of Rowan’s family hadn’t come. He shook his head. They were strange people, he mused. Just like he wished his mother had come, he was sure Rowan could use her family’s support.

After determining that she definitely wasn’t in the walk-in cooler or freezer, he found her in the much warmer store room. She sat on an upside down milk crate in a corner, her elbows resting on her knees. Tears streamed down her cheeks. When she saw him, she buried her face in her hands.

“Go away.”

Matt hesitated. He was by no means an expert on women, but he didn’t think she actually wanted to be alone. Maybe she just didn’t want to be around him, he mused. If he left her, though, there was no one else. He pulled up another milk crate and squatted in front of her. “Thought you could use this.” He held out a mug of coffee.

Lifting her hands, she peeked out at him. The redness in her eyes made them startlingly blue. It was probably totally wrong for him to think so, but she was so pretty when she cried.

“Wanna talk about it?” he asked in a low voice.

She accepted the coffee and sipped slowly. After a few moments, she shrugged. “What’s there to talk about?” Her eyes remained on the floor, though.

Taking a sip of his own coffee, Matt watched her. Maybe it was because he’d already let her down, but he felt compelled to cheer her up. He supposed it was the “fix it” male genes in his DNA at work. Stretching out a hand, he lifted her chin until their eyes met. “Your parents didn’t come.”

She snorted. “Of course they didn’t. They’ve made their appearances. It was time for them to go back into their dark living room and spark up, maybe snort up a couple of Percs while they’re at it.”

His eyebrows lifted. Stifling the urge to comment, he took her hand in his. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” she said, but she squeezed his hand back. “It was dumb of me to hope they’d changed.” Sighing, she glanced away, withdrawing her hand.

“So they’ve always been like that?” He was starting to understand exactly why Katherine didn’t get along with her brother.

“Aunt Katherine told me it’s family tradition. Their parents were the same way. She used to say she and I were the ones who broke the cycle.” Rowan’s lips twisted wryly. “Not really, though.”

He tilted his head. “Why do you say that?”

“She didn’t have kids, and I won’t, either.” She set the coffee mug down and started dabbing at her face with a tissue.

Unable to help himself, he blurted, “Why not?”

“Because it would be totally unfair to subject them to this.” Rowan pulled her hair up into a messy bun at the top of her head.

He watched her, mesmerized. The scent of her hair floated to him, a subtle hint of coconut. “This?”

She rolled her eyes at him. “My family.”

“You could always cut off all ties with them.” He thought of his own mother and little brother. He couldn’t imagine never speaking to them again. Then again, his and Rowan’s families were very different.

“They would love that. I’ve always been such a disappointment.” She reached for her coffee.

“You’re not a disappointment to me,” he said before he could stop himself. Immediately he wished he hadn’t said anything. The tops of his ears burned. It was such a cheesy, rom com thing to say. Her face darkened and she looked away. He bit his lip, perplexed. He felt embarrassed, but she seemed almost angry. Running a hand through his curls, he tried to figure out how to save the conversation. If it could be saved. He cleared his throat. “So, Elli’s. What are we gonna do?”

Exhaling through her nose, she continued avoiding looking at him. “Good question.”

“You live in New Jersey, right?” He took a sip of coffee.

“That’s half the problem right there. I have a job. I have friends, sort of.” She muttered that last comment under her breath. His heart twisted in his chest. She really had no one left in the world.

He needed to convince her to run Elli’s with him. It was the only way he could keep a roof over Danny’s and their mother’s heads. By doing so, though, he would be tearing Rowan from the only thing she really had. It was selfish, but he didn’t have much of a choice. He doubted she would be moved by his situation. Still, he hated the thought of suggesting she leave her life behind and move back into close proximity with her family.

He ran his fingers back and forth over the stubble on his chin. Anything he said to convince her would be manipulative, and he didn’t want to be that guy. With barely a high school education, though, he’d never be able to find such a good job. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to look her straight in the eye. “Katherine trusted us to take care of this place.”

Rowan nodded. “I know. I can’t bear the thought of letting her down, but I don’t think I can do this.” Dropping her gaze, she drained the remains of her coffee. “I guess we could sell it, split the profit.”

His gut clenched. The money might take care of his family for a little while, but eventually he’d need to find something. “She’d hate that,” he said, struggling to keep his voice even.

“She would,” Rowan agreed. She sighed. “Maybe I could run the place remotely, like a long distance relationship.” Her cheeks reddened and she stared at a spot on the floor far away from him.

His eyebrows furrowed. Something teased at the back of his mind, then slipped away the second he tried to chase it.

“But I’d burn out really quickly. I’m a waitress and a blogger,” she explained.

“Oh, the dessert blog?” He grinned. “Katherine said you’d invented some of the recipes we use.”

She nodded. Tapping her chin, she finally looked at him. “Maybe you could run most of it and I’d just take less profit?”

Matt felt the corner of his mouth twitch. “I have no idea what I’m doing. I’d run the place into the ground.” The only solution was for her to stay. She had to see it. He gritted his teeth together, silently imploring her to figure it out.

“What if I teach you? I’m here for another day. It can’t be that hard.” She frowned, glancing toward the hall and Katherine’s office. “She taught me a lot of what she does. I’m sure her lawyer could fill in the blanks after I’m gone. He’s a business lawyer.” She shrugged.

Absorbing her words, he stared into his empty mug. He didn’t think he could just wing it. Make the recipes, sure. He’d been baking for Katherine for two years. Keeping the lights on and making sure they had enough on hand was a totally different story.

He needed Rowan. She’d gone to business school and she was a baker. She’d worked with Katherine for four years. No one in the world was more qualified. Actually, he surmised, he was lucky she wasn’t fighting him for the place.

“I don’t know,” he said slowly. His mind whirled. He needed to come up with a much better argument than that. She knew all of this, though. He needed to give her a reason to stay.

If things were different and she didn’t hate him for whatever reason, he could probably seduce her into staying. He smirked. He’d never had any trouble snagging girlfriends in school. His mother still chided him all the time for the phone calls she’d gotten, when he was in kindergarten, about him trying to kiss girls on the playground. And in high school he’d been somewhat of a player. He’d never taken any of it seriously, but he still occasionally got emails from his exes, offering to “Netflix and chill” next time they were home from college.

He wondered if he could actively seduce a woman who hated him.

Then again, she didn’t hate him entirely, he realized. That magnetic attraction he’d felt—she had to have felt it too. It would explain her rapidly alternating warm and cool attitudes toward him.

“Give me two weeks,” he blurted.

She raised an eyebrow at him. “I’m leaving after tomorrow. I only asked for a couple days off—”

“I’m sure your boss will understand. Tell him you’ve got family business to take care of.” He stood and, taking her hands, pulled her to her feet. Though he had to duck his head a bit, he leveled his gaze with hers. He willed his eyes to smolder, to do whatever sexy trick they’d been doing his whole life. He wasn’t completely sure he could do it on command.

She yanked her hands away. “Excuse me?” Putting her hands on her hips, she cocked her head at him. Her eyes glinted, burning into his.

He fought the urge to kiss her.

“Spend two weeks with me. You’re going to love working with me. I can juggle balls of dough and I make a mean cupcake.” He brushed a stray curl off his forehead. “So? What do you say? Do you accept my challenge?”

Rowan stared at him. Several heartbeats passed before she answered. Tilting her head back, she lifted her chin. “Cocky, aren’t we?” she asked quietly. Pain flickered in her eyes. His hands twitched. He wanted to take her face in his hands and kiss the hurt away.

His pulse quickened in his throat. “More like confidence,” he whispered, not breaking eye contact. For a moment, he had a vision of hoisting her up onto the stainless steel table and kissing her until the moon rose in the sky. Screw the crowd of people in the front end. Forget the fact that he needed to convince her to stay. He wanted her to stay.

From the way she looked back at him, she might not even resist.

She looked away abruptly. Turning her back, she picked up her mug. “I don’t know about you, but I’m beat. How about we revisit this tomorrow?”

His shoulders slumped. Maybe he should have just kissed her. So far he was doing an awful job of convincing her. Then again, she hadn’t said no. “Sure,” he said with a sigh. “What time?”

Rowan crossed the room, pausing in the doorway. “You guys still come in early to start baking for the day, right?” He nodded. “I’ll see you at five, then.” She turned to go.

“Wait.” He had no idea how long they’d been in the store room and whether anyone had noticed their absence. “If we walk out of here together, people will probably think . . .” His ears and the nape of his neck burned. He cleared his throat. “I’m sure you don’t need your name in any more people’s mouths. Wait. I just realized how that sounded.” He held a hand up. “I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant.”

She stared at him, an amused expression crossing her features. He noticed that the slight dimple in her chin deepened when she smiled. If he remembered correctly, she hated her chin. The cleft was subtle, though, and he thought it was more endearing than anything else.

She laughed softly. “What makes you think we’re walking out together?” With those parting words, she turned on her heel and left him in the store room, gaping after her.


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Until Further Notice

via Unsplash
via Unsplash

My dear readers,

I’m going to be say this flat out: I need a break. I’m dealing with a nasty flareup of my autoimmune disease, which means every single one of my joints is in agonizing pain and stiffness and I’m beyond exhausted. Every day I fall farther and farther behind on my work load. I’ve been struggling to catch up on bills with freelance work and a GoFundMe. It’s almost December, which means I’m supposed to start my yearly inventory soon (updating covers, interior formatting, pricing, etc). The holidays are officially here, so my personal life is naturally more hectic. And pretty soon I’ll be starting pain management, which occupies a lot of time during the first month or so; hopefully I’ll also be starting Plaquenil or some other kind of DMARD.

Every aspect of my life is completely off track—including my marriage, due to my declining health and the resulting financial stress we’re under—and I desperately need to play catchup.

I feel like I’m spinning my wheels, and I feel tremendously overwhelmed. Not only am I too stiff to get right out of bed every morning, but I also immediately feel panicked because there is so much I need to get done in a given day and my body just won’t cooperate. Even simple things like doing dishes have become a serious challenge. It’s not a good feeling.

love social media. I love blogging and I love sending newsletters and I love tweeting and I love doing Facebook takeovers. Most importantly, I love chatting with you. But if I’m ever going to catch up on my work and get my personal life in order, something is going to have to go.

So I’m going to go dark for a while.

I really hope this doesn’t hurt your feelings. But I’ll be using my time away to:

  • finish up some projects
  • update covers and pricing
  • rearrange my catalog
  • get my health in order
  • reconnect with my dear husband
  • spend time with my family

You won’t be completely cut off from me. I’ll be scheduling social media posts in Hoot Suite; I just won’t be able to respond individually or check DMs and messages. I’ll be releasing a special holiday novella starring Rowan and Matt from Just One More Minute. I’ll be checking my email every Monday; you can write to me at elizabethbaronebooks@gmail.com. And I’ll be sending out a holiday newsletter sometime in December with all my current happenings. (I may also be occasionally blogging, but nowhere near as much as I’ve been.) You might see some titles go unavailable on Amazon, etc for short periods of time while I’m updating, but please don’t worry. I’m just doing inventory to prepare for a rocking 2017.

And just to throw this out there, I’m not getting divorced or anything like that. Mike and I have just both been really stressed and I think we need to spend more time together to reconnect. We’re just as sickeningly in love as ever, if not very frazzled and overwhelmed.

I know I keep using that word but trust me, it doesn’t even begin to describe the state of Liz Land right now.

In the end, this will be the best thing for everyone. You’ll get things you’ve been long waiting for—like the rest of the Comes in Threes series—and I’ll (hopefully) get a diagnosis and start treatment. Not that my health hinges on the time I spend on social media; I just need to rearrange my priorities so I can focus on the most important things.

I hope this makes sense and I hope you understand.

I love you dearly, and I’ll see you in the new year!

Elizabeth Barone

A Year in the Life, Round Two!

1280_gilmore_girls_revival_fallMy sister and I finished up the Gilmore Girls revival tonight—er, last night?—with “Summer” and “Fall.” While the first half of the revival was göööd, the second half was… lacking. The following review is mostly spoiler-free, and contains some complaining from the perspective of a storyteller and longtime fan.

When “Summer” started, there was still no sign of Jess or Dean, and Rory was still really lost. Lorelai and Emily were working through some things. During a town meeting, Taylor announced that they’d be putting on a musical. This musical took up entirely too much time. It was awful. We got it already, okay? Everyone else seemed to enjoy it, except Lorelai. The musical didn’t really seem to fulfill any purpose other than filler. I actually considered fast-forwarding, which I’ve never done while watching Gilmore Girls. Ever.

There were still funny parts, of course, but the whole thing just seemed to lose direction. I didn’t even mind that all three generations weren’t on the best of terms, because that’s been a theme throughout this show. What bothered me was the long segments that did nothing to move the story forward. Between the never-ending musical and the caricature of a dream sequence that was actually the return of the Life and Death Brigade, I was bored and frustrated. Lauren said she felt the same. We actually paused during the musical to make some tea. I wish I’d just let it keep playing, because literally nothing new happened.

In “Fall,” things finally started coming together in the second half. But they seemed rushed. It was almost as if ASP really didn’t know which direction she wanted to go in. I know the cast members all have other commitments, so it’s not that I’m bummed Dean had two minutes of screen time and Jess had only a few more. Both Rory and Lorelai felt very out of character to me. The things Rory was doing just weren’t her. And Lorelai’s quest in “Fall” was so bizarre. That’s not how Lorelai handles things.

It all just seemed like filler.

And, without giving anything away, the ending felt very anticlimactic and left me with no closure. That’s what this whole thing was supposed to be about. There were three things I was left wanting after the abrupt end of the original series:

  • a Luke and Lorelai wedding
  • to know that Rory had her life together
  • a real match for Rory

I didn’t feel like I got any of those things. If they’d canned the 30-minute musical, we could’ve had more than an elopement montage and a thrown-together ending with zero resolution.

Even more frustrating, the ending left us with more questions than answers. I was very disappointed and, like Lauren said, almost wish they hadn’t even bothered. Though I will say I’m glad things were finally resolved between Lorelai and Emily. Even that felt rushed, though.

The four words—I won’t give them away, I promise—were pretty much what I suspected. But they just left another cliffhanger for dedicated fans to tumble off of.

In a nutshell, the first half was great and the second half was rushed. I’m deeply disappointed. If by some chance they do more, I won’t be watching. I feel punk’d.

Have you seen the Gilmore Girls revival? What did you think? Leave your thoughts in the comments below!

PS: I’m thinking of doing a live stream in Romance Readers Anonymous where we can talk about our feels. First I’ll survey the group and find out how many of us have seen it, that way I don’t accidentally spoil anything!

A Year in the Life with Barone’s Belles

I made this for the reader group I co-run, Romance Readers Anonymous. Jess or bust!
I made this for the reader group I co-run, Romance Readers Anonymous. Jess or bust!

Technically I’m supposed to be unplugged for the weekend, but I couldn’t resist sneaking on and sharing some of my thoughts on the Gilmore Girls reunion on Netflix: A Year in the Lifespoiler-free, of course!

I grew up on Gilmore Girls with my mom and sister. Those nights are some of my best memories. No matter what was happening in my life, I always had my girls and the Gilmores. We also got my Noni hooked on it, and even my dad watched with us sometimes. (He was convinced from the very beginning that Luke and Lorelai were meant to be.) So when I heard about the reunion, I knew I’d have to binge it with at least two of the women who have always been my rock. We’d originally planned on trying to do it on launch day, making it an all-day fest—complete with coffee and Chinese! But I screwed up the date and my mom ended up having to work.

Then I found out Noni and Aunt Wendy wanted in, making it a three-generation celebration! We did some planning and decided to watch the first half tonight and the rest tomorrow (and maybe Sunday, if we need to). And of course, we had Chinese (though not coffee because it was already late in the day and I am one of those people who believe you can’t sleep after drinking it, haha.) I have a lot of thoughts and feels, but I’ll keep it spoiler-free, because I don’t want the wrath of Taylor sicced on me. 😜

Side note: I call my reader group Barone’s Belles*, because I’m Barone and my kick-ass main characters are my belles—plus my strong and beautiful readers are my belles (and beaus sometimes), too. After I told my family about the group, Noni started calling us her Barone’s Belles. So it’s an extra special name now. I was super excited to get to spend time with these ladies, because life is life-y and we don’t often all get to gather.

We watched “Winter” and “Spring” back to back.

First of all, this reunion is funny. Like, Gilmore Girls was always funny. Rewatching it again recently, I thought it was even funnier than I’d remembered. But Amy Sherman- and Daniel Palladino really brought it for this—as well as the entire cast.

And it’s so pretty! The set is gorgeous and even though some things are different, it’s definitely my Stars Hollow. Even the way it was shot and everything… Just beautiful!

I teared up when “Winter” kicked off, because hearing the rewind of the original series and  knowing we were about to see the reunion just made my heart squeeze. As each cast member made their appearance, I got so excited. It was like seeing old friends.

Now, this isn’t a spoiler if you’ve watched the trailers, so I think it’s okay to mention. All three Gilmore women are going through a rough time. It’s so painful to see Emily grieving Richard, and it’s hard watching Lorelai struggle with her worries, but I think it’s hardest for me to watch Rory feeling so lost. Rory has always been something of a role model for me. She’s always been so confident, and to see her struggling with her confidence is both heartbreaking and relatable. I’ve been feeling a bit lost myself, lately.

But I know Rory will find her place and come back swinging, because that’s my girl. (And so will I, because if Rory can overcome Wookies and bitchy CEOs, I can handle my stuff, too.)

I really want to gush and squee over the details, but I don’t want to give anything away. So if you want to leave a comment, keep it spoiler-free for those of us who haven’t watched yet. (I can tell you right now, I won’t be checking anything internet-y until I’ve seen all four episodes because I will cut a bitch**.)

Oh, and speaking of episodes… Netflix is calling this “Season 1.” While I kinda think that’s just because it’s how they do things, part of me is hoping it’s because there’ll be more. But even if there isn’t, I’m so, so, so happy that we got this reunion—and we finally get to hear those four words.

Which of Rory’s exes are you rooting for? All five of us are Team Jess, and so is my dear CP Molli Moran, but I know my dear work wife J.C. Hannigan is staunchly Team Logan. 🙃  Tell me who you’re hoping Rory ends up with in the comments!


*If you’d like to join my reader group, click here and request to join. I or someone else will approve you ASAP! I post behind-the-scenes tidbits while I’m writing, Belles-only excerpts, early cover reveals, and more! I also co-run Romance Readers Anonymous with Molli, J.C., and the lovely Rebecca Paula.

**I don’t actually think spoilers are a big deal. I mean, am I going to avoid going out into public for fear of spoilers? No! I think people who get angry about them are overreacting a bit. But something like this, something we’ve waited ten years for… I think it’s decent to maintain the surprises for everyone else. Thankfully I have Netflix so I don’t have to wait—THANK YOU SANDY!—but I’d be a little miffed if I went on Twitter and all the details were immediately in my face. Not everyone has the luxury of extras right now, and I understand that all too well. As far as everything else… Well, I’m married to the king of blabbing TV and movie spoilers, so I’ve learned to deal. I actually call him Spoiler Alert sometimes. 😂 He knows better than to spoil certain things for me, though. 🔪😈😉

10 Questions with Brandon Seifert, Creator of Witch Doctor

Brandon Seifert
Brandon Seifert

I was updating my Textbroker account when I came across this interview I did with Brandon Seifert sometime in 2011—before I’d really even launched my career! I’d long lost the original interview back when my old website blew up (RIP my love 😭), so I was thrilled to find that I’d cross-posted it on Textbroker as a sample. I’d like to do more interviews with creatives, so I figured this would be a great way to kick things off!


Witch Doctor: Volume 1, by Brandon Seifert and Lukas Ketner
Witch Doctor: Volume 1, by Brandon Seifert and Lukas Ketner

Nothing makes me happier than knowing that an author read my review of their book… except for an author agreeing to let me interview them. I thought that you had to have some kind of shiny to be able to interview writers, but it’s always been one of my dreams for this little blog. When I asked Witch Doctor writer Brandon Seifert for an email interview, I figured the worst that could happen was he’d tell me sorry, he was too busy, and he would never know I didn’t have said shiny. I pretty much bounced around the house when he said yes.

Brandon is just as cool as his comic. Seriously; he’s a Joss Whedon fan.

This is the part where I’m supposed to say that I sat down with him at a coffee shop or book store or something, but we actually talked on Twitter and Gmail, and I have no way of knowing whether he was sitting (but I was).

HOW DID YOU AND LUKAS COME UP WITH THE IDEA FOR WITCH DOCTOR? IN #0, YOU KIND OF HINT THAT IT WAS A SPONTANEOUS THING, BUT DID EITHER OF YOU HAVE THE IDEA FLOATING AROUND IN YOUR HEAD BEFORE YOU DECIDED TO WORK TOGETHER?

I had the basic idea for WITCH DOCTOR — jerk doctor who approaches the supernatural with a clinical eye — back in 2002 or so. I’d been thinking about the “occult doctor” kind of characters in supernatural fiction, and wondered why I’d never seen one played like an actual doctor?

When Lukas and I started talking about doing a comic together back in 2007, I started going through my notes — and I found that idea. I immediately started getting more ideas based on it, but the one that really made it all come together was having all the monsters be based on diseases and real biology. Back in 2002 I’d been thinking that some of the monsters would be based on diseases — but no, that was wrong. They all needed to be.

WHICH CHARACTER DID YOU CREATE FIRST, AND WHO OR WHAT INSPIRED THAT CHARACTER?

Like I said, the first character in the project was Dr. Morrow — but I had Penny Dreadful’s name and ideas for her visuals and stuff before anything else. As far as her inspiration goes, I felt like a doctor protagonist needed a nurse sidekick. Penny isn’t much of a nurse these days, and there’s very little of my original ideas for her still present in her visuals — but much of the core of the character is the same.

OF THE THREE, PENNY IS THE MOST MYSTERIOUS CHARACTER, BUT ALL THREE ARE PRETTY INTRIGUING. (I’M DYING TO KNOW HOW ERIC THE PARAMEDIC GOT MIXED UP IN ALL OF THIS!) WILL WE SEE SOME BACKSTORY ON ANY OF THEM IN THE FOUR-ISSUE MINISERIES?

Of the three main characters, the one we delve into the most in the first miniseries is Penny Dreadful — because like you said, she’s the most mysterious! Early on we’re presenting her pretty much as a cipher, but that changes by the end of the miniseries.

Eric’s also got an interesting backstory, and it’s not what you’d expect. Unfortunately we didn’t end up having room to do more than hint at his past before Morrow. I’m hoping we’ll get to tell the story of how he first met Morrow and Penny soon!

WITCH DOCTOR IS HEAVILY INSPIRED BY PARANORMAL LORE, WITH A TWIST. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE CLASSIC MYTHICAL CREATURE?

Oh, man — that’s an awesome question!

Huh. Damn. It’s also not something I’ve got a ready answer for!

I’ve done a whole lot of research into folklore and mythology for this project, so a lot of my favorites are things most people probably haven’t heard of. There’s different folklore traditions in different parts of the world that appear in related cultures under different names and with somewhat different traits. Like in the Caribbean and parts of South America, there’s this kind of witch that takes off her skin at night and turns into a ball of light or fire, and feeds off people’s blood or life energy. They’re called Loogaroo in Haiti, Soucouyants in the Dominican Republic and Trinidad and Tobago — and in West Africa, where the idea comes from, they’re called Obayifo. I love those, so I’ll go with that.

IN #0, DR. MORROW ATTEMPTS TO DISSECT VAMPIRES TO SEE IF HE CAN FIND A CURE. WHAT INSPIRED YOUR PARASITIC VAMPIRE?

Honestly, I feel like it was something I came up with back in high school. In high school I was really into role-playing games, but rather than playing them, I mostly came up with new ideas for them and wrote my own supplements. I could swear I came up with some version of a vampire that was basically a corpse animated by a bloodfeeding parasite, pretty much like the WITCH DOCTOR version. The funny thing is, it took me a while into the development of WITCH DOCTOR before I remembered that’s when I first had the idea, it wasn’t some new idea I’d come up with! As far as the direction inspiration, I’m really, really tired of “vampire viruses” in fiction. I wanted to see another infectious take on vampires, without it being a virus.

I WAS CHECKING OUT THE PROMO ART ON THE SITE FROM BEFORE WITCH DOCTOR GOT PICKED UP BY IMAGE/SKYBOUND, AND I HAVE TO SAY, I’M SAD THAT I CAN’T GET MY HANDS ON “FIRST INCISION.” WILL WE EVER SEE THIS STORY OR PIECES OF IT IN THE FUTURE?

Ah, you actually have! WITCH DOCTOR: FIRST INCISION was the first self-published story Lukas and I did together — and when we got picked up by Skybound, we ended up cannibalizing it for WITCH DOCTOR #0. It’s basically the same story as WITCH DOCTOR #0, except the writing and the art isn’t as good, there’s no drama (it’s just the doctor getting his way for 11 pages, and then there’s a fight! I was young and very, very new at fiction writing), and its heavily overwritten! But enough about it worked for us to catch Robert’s eye, so I shouldn’t knock it too hard.

YOUR BIO SAYS THAT YOU’RE A JOURNALIST BY DAY. DID YOU ALWAYS KNOW YOU WERE GOING TO WRITE COMICS, OR DID YOU HAVE ANOTHER PLAN IN MIND?

When I started journalism, I thought that was what I was going to do. But while I like writing articles, I don’t really read magazines or newspapers much — whereas I LOVE comics.

I wanted to write comics back when I was a kid, and when I got into comics again in college that immediately kicked back in. But the comics industry has such a reputation for being hard to get into, I let that discourage me. I didn’t think there was any chance I’d be able to write comics. It wasn’t until I met Lukas and found out he wanted to do comics but needed a portfolio piece, that was when I decided to finally give it a try.

(I’m also no longer a journalist. It didn’t pay the bills — like, any of them. So for the last two years I’ve been a security guard.)

WHICH WRITERS INSPIRE YOU THE MOST?

In comics, Warren Ellis, Matt Fraction, Kieron Gillen. In prose fiction, Douglas Adams, Neal Stephenson, Neil Gaiman, Charles Stross. In film and TV, Joss Whedon and Stephen Moffat.

WHO DO YOU THINK WOULD BE MOST LIKELY TO WIN IN A FIGHT AGAINST LOOGAROO/SOUCOUYANT/OBAYIFO — VINCENT, ERIC, OR PENNY?

Ha! Well, since we’ve got plans to include the Loogaroo/Soucouyant/Obayifo in future stories, that would be telling. (But generally, it’s a good idea to bet on Penny.)

WHAT ADVICE WOULD YOU GIVE TO ASPIRING WRITERS, ESPECIALLY THOSE LOOKING TO BREAK INTO THE COMIC INDUSTRY?

Honestly, with writing, or comics, or whatever, there’s one thing: You aren’t going to get to do your trade professionally without doing it unprofessionally first. And I mean “unprofessionally” in the sense of “in an amateur” capacity — without getting paid for it — and in the sense of “doing it in a crappy manner.” If you want to do it, you have to go do it. You can’t just sit and wait until someone gives you the OK to get started. In our self-publishing days, Lukas and I got a lot of attention from a handful of publishers — and it was because we were out there, making comics soup-to-nuts, complete with online promotion and hand-selling at cons. If you want to break into comics, you need to make comics, and you need to put them out there. It’s the only way to get noticed, and the only want to hone your craft.

Follow Brandon on Twitter, @BrandonTSeifert, and check out his website at brandon-seifert.com.


Which creators would you like to see me interview? I’m especially interested in marginalized or indie creators who otherwise don’t get a lot of exposure. Let me know in the comments below!

You should also totally check out Brandon’s Witch Doctor, available as a two-book graphic novel series.

They Don’t Know What to Do with Me

photo-on-11-22-16-at-10-29-pm-2TL;DR: My primary doctor’s office doesn’t know what to do with me. Basically none of my doctors do.


Today I went to see my primary for a followup. In October I was told that I now have to come in every time I need a refill for my Tramadol (opioid painkiller that I’ve been taking for my joint pain for about five years). I also got a bit of a lecture on opioid addiction, which I know they have to do but, yeah. This after I had to jump through hoops to get the refill in the first place.

Anyway, I’d scheduled today’s visit when I got my refill in October, but I also wanted to come in to show them my swollen thumbs. Every time I try to take a picture of them, it doesn’t show up on my crappy iPhone 4 camera, but both of them are swollen at the joint. Late last year, my rheumatologist Dr. Memet said I have enthesitis-related arthritis, which means my tendons are inflamed where they connect to my joints. This explains why my inflammation markers in my labs are always negative. After that, she diagnosed me with Reactive Arthritis, but when she left the practice, my new rheumatologist canned my diagnosis—until my anti-dsDNA came back positive. Right now we’re looking at possible Lupus.

I see Dr. S (my rheumatologist) on December 1st, but in the meantime really wanted my flareup and swollen thumbs on record. (My PCP and rheum are both in the same medical group, so they use the same patient portal.) My appointment was with the APRN at my primary doctor’s office. I went in with a two-page list of concerns, plus pictures of where I have joint pain in my chest. (Fun fact: There are joints everywhere. Everywhere.)

To be fair, the APRN was nice and she listened. But… she admitted she doesn’t want to mess with me because “there’s so much going on.”

I showed her my thumbs and we discussed my other trouble joints. I also asked her about Tramadol. A friend with a slipped disc is in pain management and her specialist explained that Tramadol doesn’t work for pain unless you stay on top of it. Meaning, if you take a dose at the end of the day when the pain is already high, like I do, it ain’t gonna touch it. I’ve long suspected this, so it was nice to actually “hear” a doctor confirm it. I asked my APRN if there was any way I could split up my 100mg dose throughout the day. She instead urged me to go to pain management.

I have… doubts about pain management. For one, I’ve heard a lot of horror stories. And… I don’t want anything stronger than Tramadol pushed on me. I’ve tried Percocet and other things and, yeah, they worked really well for the pain, but they knocked me out or made me super loopy. Either way, I couldn’t function. I like functioning. I have writing to do.

Another concern I have is that very few pain management clinics in the state take my (state) insurance. My friend has the same insurance and had a lot of trouble finding a place. She ended up with a clinic an hour away. I can’t swing that because Mike works full-time and we only have the one car. Family members have offered me rides to appointments but honestly I feel bad about asking them to take me that far, especially when pain management wants patients to come in often.

Maybe this sounds like excuses.

Anyway, I expressed all my concerns to my APRN and she said there was one in Southbury. Alas, they don’t take my insurance—but she did find one closer to me than an hour away. Just not as close as Southbury. 😂

Honestly, at this point, I didn’t feel like I had much of a choice. My rheumatologist has suggested pain management before (after grilling me about my Tramadol prescription), and last time I saw the APRN she wasn’t too crazy about me and Tramadol, either. It seems like more and more doctors just don’t want to mess with painkillers. Which is a shame, because when used correctly, they’re extremely beneficial to chronic pain patients. Plus Tramadol is honestly the baby aspirin of the painkiller family. No one is going to pursue it to get high. But I digress.

So, I’m going to pain management. Hold me.

To be fair, my friend had the same fears at first, but she really likes her clinic now. They’ve got her Tramadol dose to a point where it’s helping, and she’ll be having surgery for her neck soon. She’s very happy with the care she’s getting, so hopefully this will be a blessing in disguise.

I also talked to my APRN about my GI symptoms. They’re… pesky. And embarrassing, so I’ve never mentioned them here before. Nor have I discussed them in-depth with my doctors. But I bit the bullet and flat out told her. She said it sounds like IBS, which I’ve been wondering. The kicker is, when I asked what we can do about it, she said she doesn’t want to mess with my body because “there’s so much going on.” And laughed.

I was not amused.

Honestly, I just feel like I’m always being passed on. No one wants to help me. They’re either too busy or don’t have the expertise, so they hand me off. And nothing ever gets taken care of.

This has been going on for almost 10 years.

I had to fight for a cortisone injection in my toe. I eventually got it, but I had to jump through hoops. Cortisone injections are standard procedure for patients with arthritis. My grandmother gets them all the time. I’m pretty sure my dad got a couple in his problem hand (he has tendon issues). But when I walk in, it’s always “You’re too young for all these problems.” Like it’s somehow my fault, or like I’m making it up.

I eventually got the shot, and you know what? It worked like a charm. It wore off, and when I mentioned so to my APRN last time and said I need another one, she said I’m too young and laughed. Like this is all one big cute joke.

Why, today, I couldn’t start Prednisone to fight the inflammation, or at least get cortisone shots in my thumbs, is beyond me. I was flat out told they would only treat my IBS when it’s flaring—even though I said I have symptoms all the time—because they don’t know what to do with me.

They never do.

Just One More Minute: Chapter 3

Just One More Minute, by Elizabeth Barone

Rowan only had a millisecond to recover before the next guest took her hand and murmured an “I’m sorry for your loss.” Blinking, she gave the woman a nod. Presumably she was a friend of Katherine’s, maybe from high school. She glanced over the woman’s shoulder, looking for any sign of him.

There.

He disappeared through the entrance. She pressed a hand to her chest, heart pounding against her breastbone. Pain twisted her soul. She hadn’t seen him in over six years, but she was sure he was the same guy. Tears filled her eyes. The entire evening had officially gone to hell.

Breaking formation, she darted toward the nearest bathroom. No one would follow her. Her family was too stoned to notice, and all of the guests would chalk it up to grief. They had no idea.

She barred herself inside a stall just as the tears broke loose, spilling down her cheeks. Knees buckling, she sank onto the toilet seat. Years had passed, yet he could still evoke the same feelings in her. She curled her hands into fists. She’d thought she was over him. The revelation that he was also the same person who’d stolen her job—well, it was all too much.

Closing her eyes, an involuntary memory took hold. His warm lips on hers, the tall shelves curtaining them from view. Her hushed giggle. The susurrus of voices on the other side of the library. Her heart beating wildly in her chest as the cutest boy in school kissed her—her very first kiss.

Rowan’s eyes opened. She pressed shaking fingers to her lips. She could still taste him, even after all those years. It was ridiculous. She knew. They’d been kids in middle school, barely teenagers. Clearly it’d meant nothing to him, because he’d disappeared soon after—not even a text or Facebook message. In fact, he’d deleted himself off the internet entirely. Not a trace of that boy had remained. Until now.

A bitter laugh escaped her lips. If she’d taken the time to visit the bakery in the last couple of years, she would have known sooner.

That kiss had meant everything to her. It was a culmination of years of shy glances, months of quick smiles, weeks of flirting in class. She’d been convinced that, after the kiss, he would ask her to be his girlfriend or at least invite her to the dance. But he’d turned away, almost coldly, and left the library. And then she’d never seen him again.

She’d had a few boyfriends in high school, but none of them even compared to what she’d felt for Matthew Hayes.

It was stupid. She’d been twelve years old. It was time to move on. But the pounding in her chest and the tears burning her eyes said differently. The heart was an entirely different organ than the brain.

She shook her head at herself. Seven years later, and her body still reacted to him. It was a deep, ingrained magnetism. Every cell of her longed to be wrapped in his arms, connected to him. She yanked a length of toilet paper from the dispenser and dabbed at her eyes.

He’d disappeared without a trace and stolen her job. Her heart was a traitor.

Rowan eased out of the stall and went to the mirror to assess the damage. Her eyes were red and swollen. That was to be expected. Her mascara, however, was a complete mess. It ran in tracks down her cheeks and left dark smudges. She’d have to fix it.

She winced. She’d have to go outside, and he was out there.

For the first time in her life, she wished she carried a purse just like every other normal woman.

Mopping up the mess as quickly as she could, she kept an eye on the door for intruders. The babble of voices outside was a steady stream. She had no idea how long she’d been standing in that line before Matthew Hayes showed his face, but the wake had to be at least halfway over.

His face.

Her heartbeat stuttered. Those brown curls still fell into his green eyes. Her traitorous fingers had wanted to brush them back. Though they’d been kids the last time she saw him, she would recognize those eyes anywhere.

His face had matured, growing only more handsome with age. She had detected a hint of cheekbones that her fingertips desperately wanted to trace. And he’d grown into his nose. It was narrow and straight, Grecian. It suited him. Then there was the light beard that swept across his jaw and upper lip. He was tan and muscular, his arms strong enough to hold her up while their mouths crashed together, tongues intertwining—

Rowan clamped her thighs together, her cheeks red.

She needed to stop.

She needed to go fix her damn mascara.

Shaking the thoughts away, she lifted her chin and marched out of the bathroom. No one even noticed her. Katherine’s mourners stood in clusters or occupied the seats, speaking in hushed tones. Probably they had moved past reminiscing and were now catching up.

Her own family still stood at the front of the room, receiving a thinning stream of guests. None of them appeared to miss her.

It was just as well.

She sifted through the crowd with relative ease. An usher with kind eyes held the door open for her and she emerged into the summer evening.

Glancing around, she breathed a sigh of relief. He’d left. Or at least, she didn’t see him anywhere.

She walked straight to her car, keeping her eye on the prize. She’d left the door unlocked and her keyring hidden in the console. Slipping inside, she shut the door behind her and cranked the AC on. Then she retrieved her makeup bag from the same console and got to work.

As she touched up her mascara in her handheld mirror, movement behind her car caught her eye. She glanced up into the rearview mirror. Two figures moved in a grassy area directly behind where she’d parked. She didn’t recognize the smaller one, but she would recognize Matt’s build anywhere. She sighed.

So he hadn’t left.

Glancing at the digital display on the dashboard, she breathed a sigh of relief. The wake was almost over. Avoiding him for the next forty-five minutes shouldn’t be too hard.

Replacing her makeup bag, she shut off the car. She hid the keys again and climbed out. She paused just to adjust her dress. It kept riding up along her thighs. She hadn’t owned anything funeral appropriate until that morning. After talking with her aunt’s lawyer, she’d called Sean at the diner, and explained the situation. Then she’d gone home, packed a bag for a few days, and immediately left for Connecticut.

She’d met the lawyer at her aunt’s house. He gave her the keys, patted her arm, and left her to privacy. She respected that he hadn’t hovered around trying to comfort her. The only thing he’d said about her aunt was that she’d passed away peacefully in the hospital. Katherine hadn’t died at home. Still, it’d been weird to be in her house without her. And Rowan would have to return shortly. She had no desire to spend any more time with her parents and siblings.

“Ms. Ellis,” a rich, smooth voice said, interrupting her thoughts.

She jumped, but recovered when she realized the lawyer Damien Ward stood a few feet from her. “Hi,” she said, voice cracking. She bit her lip, wishing she’d grabbed a cup of water before rushing outside.

“I was hoping I could speak to you privately,” the attorney said.

Right to business. She sighed. She supposed she’d have to deal with it sooner or later. She’d mentioned to him that while she appreciated the house, she had responsibilities in New Jersey. Sort of. He’d told her they would discuss it later. With a wry smile, she guessed “later” had come.

She followed him back inside and into a private room several doors down from the viewing room her aunt currently rested in. The lighting was dim and the shades were drawn. Cool air swirled about her arms and bare legs. Rowan tucked herself into a seat and the attorney sat down behind a desk.

“It’s not my office,” he said, almost apologetically. “The Albini family was close with my parents, so they let me have the run of the place.” He winked.

Rowan smiled politely.

“Well, I’ve got to admit, Katherine was a bossy lady,” he said.

She smirked. That was true.

“She told me that I was to take care of all this right away. She didn’t want to waste any time. Ya’ll know how she was.” Damien smiled, shaking his head.

Rowan’s brow furrowed. He’d said ya’ll. She suddenly realized that she wasn’t the only one in the room with the attorney. Her heart dropped into her stomach. Matt occupied a chair in the corner, partially hidden by the shadows. She suppressed the urge to howl in frustration.

“What is this?” she asked, seething. Surprisingly, her voice sounded calm.

Damien motioned for Matt to join them. “Why don’t you scoot on up here?”

Matt obliged. He didn’t, she noticed, so much as look at her.

“The Ellis Cafe and Bakery,” the lawyer said, “also known as Elli’s.” He smiled, straight white teeth contrasting the deep brown of his skin.

When Rowan was still in high school, Katherine had finally given in and ordered a new sign. The local sign company took weeks to deliver it, and when they finally did, it hadn’t taken long for Katherine and Rowan to realize that the graphic designer had added an apostrophe.

Katherine had laughed, though, and the name Elli’s stuck. She’d never gotten around to officially changing her business’s name, but it became something of an inside joke.

Matt, apparently, knew nothing about it. Good. Rowan smirked.

Damien leaned forward. The dim lighting caught in his gray hair. Suddenly Rowan wondered just how old he was. Wrinkles mapped his face, and his hands were gnarled and wizened. “I’m sure you’re both wondering what’s going to happen to Elli’s now,” the lawyer continued.

She stole a glance at Matt. He sat with his square hands gripping the arms of the chair, his gaze intent on the lawyer. He seemed more invested than she was. She bit her lip, trying to sort her feelings. It wasn’t that she didn’t care, she decided. It was just that the bakery was an old chapter in her life.

She’d moved on.

Still, she could still hear her aunt’s voice, echoing from the summer before she’d started high school. “Do you want to help me out at the bakery?” Rowan had nodded. “If you finish high school,” Katherine had promised, “I’ll give you a job as a baker.”

Her aunt’s lawyer cleared his throat. He opened a folder in front of him that Rowan hadn’t noticed. “This is Katherine’s will. She didn’t have many last wishes, but the ones she did have, she was very clear about. The house,” he said, nodding to Rowan.

She shifted in her seat. “Yes, about that—”

He went on as if he hadn’t heard her. “She left Elli’s to the both of you.”

“The thing is,” Rowan said, “I live in New Jersey. My job is there. I can’t take care of her house—” She froze. “Wait. What?”

Damien nodded. “She wants you two to carry on Elli’s. She was so afraid that without her, the bakery would close. This isn’t just her last wish. It’s her legacy.”

Rowan struggled to find her voice. “Elli’s? I can’t run a bakery.”

“Nonsense.” The lawyer smiled kindly at her. “You have a degree in business. You spent all four years of high school helping out. You know that place almost better than anyone else.”

Rowan shook her head.

Next to her, Matt stirred. She stole a glance at him. His large eyebrows slanted, eyes wide. “Why me?” he said in a low voice.

Damien cocked his head. “Katherine wouldn’t leave you out in the cold, son. She knew how important Elli’s is to you.”

“Okay, but I live in New Jersey,” Rowan interrupted. Confusion, awe, and shock swirled through her. Her hands smoothed the skirt of her dress almost compulsively. It made no sense. Her aunt hadn’t so much as mentioned any further involvement in the bakery after Rowan learned she’d given the job to someone else. Katherine had been completely offhand about the whole thing. It’d felt impersonal, as if Rowan had applied for the job with a stranger. Never had her aunt said anything like “But in case I die, you’ll be the one to inherit the place.”

Katherine’s lawyer raised his hands, palms out. “Hey, I’m just the messenger. It’s up to you to decide what you want to do.”

Rowan frowned. She wasn’t so sure that she could just walk away. Even if her aunt’s actions two years earlier had completely baffled her, she still loved Katherine. And Elli’s. She owed it to her aunt to at least try. Out of the corner of her eye, she glanced at Matt.

She couldn’t work with him, though. Maybe she was being petty, but working with the guy who’d broken her heart twice would be like scraping her wounds open every single day. She’d never get over him.

Matt turned to her abruptly. Those green eyes searched hers.”So I guess this makes us partners, huh?” Something flickered in his eyes. Relief, she guessed. It puzzled her even more. He remembered her. She knew it. It made no sense for him to feel relieved, though.

Standing up, she shoved her chair back. No. She couldn’t do it. She needed time to figure things out. Maybe she could give her half of Elli’s to him. Or they could sell the place. She didn’t care. Legs wobbling, she darted out of the office and into the hall. People filtered out of the viewing room. She joined them and burst outside.

Feeling numb, she lurched toward her car.

“Wait,” a voice called. His voice.

Against her will, she stopped and turned around. One of her eyebrows lifted like a political debate moderator. She put her hand on her hip.

“We should probably talk about this.” He rubbed at the back of his neck.

“There’s nothing to say.” She crossed the last few feet to her car. Instead of climbing in, though, she leaned against its side. Despite the heat of the night, she hugged herself.

Matt joined her. His arm nearly brushed hers. Electricity crackled between them. She drew her arm away. “That guy’s pretty pushy, huh?” He chuckled.

“About as pushy as Aunt Katherine,” she agreed. She stole a glance at him. He gazed back at her. She swallowed hard and tore her eyes away.

“So what do you want to do?” he asked softly.

Shaking her head, she watched people trickling out of the funeral home. They got into their cars and headed home. She wished she was doing the same. Home, for the time being, was Katherine’s house, though. She hugged herself tighter. The thought of spending the night in one of the last places her aunt had been alive pressed down on her. She didn’t want to be alone, she realized. If New Jersey wasn’t so far, she would call one of her friends. Not that she really had anyone who would be willing to drive to Connecticut on such short notice. All of her New Jersey relationships were more like acquaintances, really. Drinking buddies at best. The realization and the sudden loneliness that came with it pressed in on her. Her eyes darted to Matt involuntarily. Heat blazed across her cheeks. She looked away.

“We’re having the reception at Elli’s,” he offered.

She had to admit that he was trying. Maybe he felt bad about how he’d treated her. Maybe she should give him a chance. “I know.” She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Are you ready?” The question could be interpreted in several ways, she mused.

He laughed. “For the reception? More or less. I did the prep before I closed up today.” He ducked his head. Curls fell into his eyes. “But the funeral . . . No, I don’t think I’ll ever be ready.”

She knew what he meant. “I didn’t even know she was sick,” she whispered.

His arm brushed hers as he turned to look at her. With a touch as light as a butterfly’s, he stroked her cheek. “She didn’t want anyone to worry.” His hand dropped to his side and he looked away.

Her skin glowed, aching for his touch again. Then his words caught up to her. She rounded on him. “You knew?” Of all people, Katherine had told him. Not her or even her father.

“Only by chance.” Matt looked off into the darkness.

“Why? Why would she tell you?” Rowan put her hands on her hips. She tried to see things from her aunt’s point of view, to understand why Katherine would hire a stranger over her own niece, why she would tell him before her own family. Granted, Katherine was about as close to the rest of the family as Rowan was. But she and Katherine had always had a special relationship. Never once during any of their occasional phone calls had her aunt even hinted at being sick.

“She didn’t.” A pained expression crossed his face. “I guessed.”

“But why didn’t she tell me?” Rowan pulled at a strand of her hair. “I would’ve come. I could’ve helped her.”

“There isn’t anything you could’ve done,” Matt said gently. He touched her shoulder.

Her nerves tingled as their skin met, the sensation zipping through her body like lightning. Suddenly she wanted more of his skin on hers. Closing her eyes, she forced herself to focus. Thoughts tumbled through her mind, conflicting feelings tearing at her heart. A thought slipped into her head. Opening her eyes slowly, she studied him through slitted lids. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

He stepped back, as if she’d slapped him. “I—” He shook his head. “She asked me not to say anything.”

“So you knew and you chose not to tell her family?” Tears blurred Rowan’s eyes. “I mean, I can understand not telling my father.” She thrusted the word out as if she was spitting. “But me? What did I ever do to her? To you?”

Matt fell silent. He shook his head.

Of course he didn’t have an answer, she mused. All these years later, he still avoided conflict. He hadn’t changed at all, and she needed to remember that. Wrenching her car door open, she climbed inside, forcing Matt several steps away. Gunning the engine, she peeled out of the parking lot without looking back.


JUST ONE MORE MINUTE
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A down-on-her-luck waitress inherits a bakery with the man who stole her dream job—and broke her heart.

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November has been a complete jerk so far. October too, if I’m being honest. But where last month I was able to keep up with everything, I’ve fallen completely behind this month. 🙈 Needless to say, between release day jitters, life-y things, the election, and chronic pain, I’m a blob of anxiety. Usually, pre-release, I sit down and write up an organized marketing plan, complete with deadlines. I kept up with everything until just about two weeks ago. I’ve barely promoted the Facebook release party and I’m honestly really bummed about that. Only Thursday night did I remember to email everyone who signed up for ARCs to remind them to post their reviews. Le sigh.

But the show goes on. That’s what we do. We pick ourselves up, find our place, and keep marching forward—even if we need to take frequent breaks for rest.

The theme of Just One More Minute, in a nutshell, is that life blows up. It’s not pretty. Plans change. But there are always people around us who help us get back on our feet, and we always find more strength within ourselves. There’s always a chance to start over.

My inner strength reserves are kinda shot at the moment, but I’d like to give a shout out to, in no particular order: my husband Mike, my work wife and fellow author J.C. Hannigan, my crit partner and fellow author Molli Moran, and my best friend Sandy. I also want to thank my family for doing really nice things like showing up with groceries and helping wrestle my air conditioner out of my super scary 100+-year-old windows. And a major thank you to everyone who’s helped via my GoFundMe page. Thank you also to Sarah J., who read an ARC of Just One More Minute and told me it was the one bright spot in an otherwise crappy week. Honorable mention goes to Michelle H., a lovely reader and soon-to-be-published author who has lifted my spirits several times this week just by chatting with me on Facebook.

Even when life gets sassy, there are a lot of things to be grateful for.

My fingers, hands, and wrists are especially stiff and achy, so I’m just gonna end this with the Just One More Minute blurb and some buy links.

Happy release day to me—and to you, my lovely readers!


Just One More Minute, by Elizabeth BaroneA down-on-her-luck waitress inherits a bakery with the man who stole her dream job—and broke her heart.

Rowan left Connecticut to escape her indifferent family the second she graduated high school, but when her loving aunt dies, she drops everything to return for the funeral. All Rowan wants is to say her goodbyes and get back to her life—until her aunt’s lawyer tells her that she’s inherited Elli’s Bakery, the last straw that sent her running to New Jersey.

Even worse, her brand new business partner is Matt—the guy who stole her dream job at Elli’s and crushed her heart. Is she really supposed to just forgive him and run Elli’s by his side?

For Matt, Elli’s has been a safe haven, a way to take care of his heartsick mom and fatherless little brother. When the woman who took him in passes away, Matt has no idea what he’s going to do next. Until Rowan returns to their small town and becomes his new business partner. But after everything that went down between them, it’s clear that Rowan resents him.

Digging up the past will only be painful, and Matt needs to keep the bakery in business. Can Matt convince Rowan to stick around long enough to work things out between them?

Just One More Minute is a standalone small town bakery romance.

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I’ve decided to leave the book at $0.99 just a bit longer, so grab your copy now!

Still not convinced? Read the first two chapters here.