Hello, friends,
I have a few apologies to make: I ghosted you all on my regular Monday newsletter last week, and then I missed my Friday letter for my paid subs.
I don’t have any real excuse for Monday’s miss except that I was working on some other author stuff and got behind. And then later on Monday afternoon, we received the kind of news no parent wants to hear: our son was diagnosed with testicular cancer.
Most of you know that I tend to be transparent about my life. . . even though I do my best to respect the boundaries of my adult children (they’re ALL adults, btw!). I wasn’t going to share about David’s news, but here’s the truth: I might be a little MIA over the next few months. I might miss a few more newsletters. I might not be as active on the socials as I usually am.
And because I value you as my reader friends, I wanted you to know why that might happen.
I also wanted to take the opportunity to share some of my crash course lessons in this disease:
Testicular cancer is one of the most curable cancers, with most patients having a 99+% chance of complete cure. Not remission; CURE. This is the best news.
Catching it early is important, and as far as we can tell now, David did.
TC happens most often in males aged 12-27.
You might remember that Lance Armstrong was famously public about his battle with testicular cancer. His doctor (now retired) pioneered the cure for TC, is associated with David’s doctor, and he will be consulting on David’s case.
Five years ago, I was part of an anthology called Jingle Balls, which benefited testicular cancer research. My story in the book was originally titled Under the Mistletoe, but it’s now called Heat. You can buy it exclusively at my direct store right here.
Making that purchase and sharing it with your friends will go a long way to helping my family during this time. I appreciate it!
I’m also grateful for all of the prayers, good thoughts, and positive, peaceful energy you can send our way.
Authors often joke that when life takes an unexpected turn, we just yell, “PLOT TWIST!” and roll with it. Believe me when I say that 2025 has brought us a load of those little twists.
But we’re still here. And we’re going to keep on rolling with it.
(The granddogs are staying with us this week since both of their ‘parents’ are dealing with medical stuff. Look at those Winnie eyes . . .)
As far as I know, I will still be signing at Romantically Yours here in Orlando on August 22 and 23. If that changes, I’ll let you all know.
My friends write amazing books!
If you love small-town swoons and steam, you’ve come to the right place! Each month in 2025, I’ll share a tantalizing snippet of an author pal’s small-town romance. This month, we’re getting a sneak peek into Walker Rose’s Bourbon Lullaby (Bourbon Canyon Series).
The foster kid who used to read me stories when I was scared has grown into a reclusive, grumpy distillery CEO who doesn't remember me. And now I'm his new assistant.
His lips tightened further, if that was possible. “She’s out until her ten weeks of sick leave kick in.” He sucked in a sharp breath. “Leaving me in need of an assistant.”
Glad she was okay, I tapped my index finger against the back of my other hand. Anytime now. I was ready to face my humiliation. Then his meaning sank in, and I froze. “Me?”
“I understand we got off on a bad foot yesterday—”
I barked out a laugh. “You mean how being only two minutes early personally insulted you?”
His expression went arctic. “You seem to have a habit of interrupting.”
I didn’t miss the power shift between us. I wanted to learn about Myles, but I didn’t need this job. He needed an assistant, and he didn’t remember who I was. “I’m from a big family. It’s either talk or get run over.”
A ghost, a hint, a mirage of what could someday form a smile played over his lips. He was accepting my explanation? It was the truth, but he came off as a no-excuses kind of guy. “Right. Try to refrain in the office. I don’t like repeating myself. The pay and hours would be the same as what Mrs. Crane arranged with you.”
I nodded and crossed one leg over the other. His gaze clocked the movement, then rose back to mine. The air sizzled between us and heat seeped into my body, heading south at the worst possible time.