Amber Jakeman's Blog, page 7

Bears in the garden

Visiting family in the US last month, in the foothills of the mountains that edge the great flat spread of LA, I came head to head with two wild bears. 

We’re not talking Winnie the Pooh or Paddington Bears, nor Goldilocks and the Three Bears, though, fondly tolerated by locals, these brown bears are known to enter houses in the area. 

Despite some familiar facial features, they were neither cute nor cuddly like children’s teddy bears, nor were they in a zoo.

They were real and far too close for comfort, sauntering down the driveway where we were staying. The larger one, a mamma bear, dark brown and very hairy would have been three metres (around nine feet) from rear claw to the tip of its damp snout, accompanied by its cub, a paler brown and measuring at least two metres (six feet).

Insulated from danger for so much of our lives, with our seat belts and shoes and dwellings and towns, where wilderness has been tamed for at least a hundred years, humans are still stalked by cancer and COVID and each other, but our wellbeing is protected in myriad ways, by immunisation, by police, by fire fighters, health care workers, insurers and governments.

My plan to re-enter the house after a walk stalled by wild bears, I reached for my phone and for once it could not help me. I waited and they disappeared, but where?

Image by Francesco di Tommaso

After a long 20 minutes, I approached with caution. Bigger, nimbler and far more powerful than me, brown bears can run up to 35 miles an hour. Awesome. Fearsome.

I slipped inside and peered out every window. Great climbers, they’d lobbed themselves over the fence and nonchalantly occupied the neighbour’s garden! From medieval times, gardens were meant to protect humans from the wild, to tame nature. Not these gardens. 

Eyes riveted to the beasts and heart on staccato, I felt a kind of fear not induced by the silver screen nor the pages of a book. Primeval fear. 

In the intense light and shade of the winter Californian sunlight, the bears were perfectly camouflaged until a vast head turned, swivelling from the base of the neck. The mouth opened to reveal teeth and slobbery red skin.

“My, what sharp teeth you have,” came fairy tale words. Terror is visceral, those moments before fight or flight.

Mamma bear stood up on its back legs, sniffing. Sniffing me? Bears recently ate a neighbor’s dog, though apparently they usually target trash or fast food.     

This time, they quit the garden. They lumbered up the driveway and back uphill to their mountain wilderness and left me, filled with wonder.

Review joy

On the subject of writing, I was thrilled to recently receive five-star reviews from two professional reviewers from different volumes in the House of Jewels series in one day!

Humble thanks to poet, lyricist and reviewer Cindy L Spear, who reviewed House of Clubs. Read Cindy’s here.

Deep thanks also to prolific reviewer Pauline Reid, who reviewed House of Hearts. Read Pauline’s review here (scroll down).

Writers need readers, and reviews help spread the word.

More free and affordable reads

Once again I’m honoured to team up with fellow writers to share our offerings.

There are some wonderful freebies in this Waves of Love Sweet & Clean Romance offer, organised by Megan Jacobs. (Spot “Diamonds” and feel free to share the link with friends and family.)

There are also some very reasonably priced sweet reads in this Snuggled Up with Sweet Romance offer, arranged by Angie Ellington. (Spot my “Diamonds” and “Hearts” in the mix, and again, please feel free to share the love.)

Shout-out to fellow Aussie indie author Emma Lombard whose historical fiction series centres on a heroine with sealegs.

You might also enjoy Doctor’s Orders by fellow new sweet romance writer Leigh Jenkins, billed as “a single dad matchmaker romance.”

Leigh writes: A family secret, a meddling grandmother, a handsome doctor and of course, a happy ending … what more could you want? Indeed!

And you can find the books of my House of Jewels series here.

Best wishes for 2022!

With the new year upon us I wish you every safety, joy, and all the very best.

Have you encountered any wild creatures lately? Feel free to email me at AmberJakemanSydney@gmail.com with details.

Fika and Fiction

Writing is a slow and solitary affair. We beaver away for hours, days, months and years, rejecting and selecting the “right” words as we seek to wrestle order from a chaotic universe, aiming to tame a skerrick of meaning or amusement for ourselves and others.

The task is voluntary and long, and the outcome unknown.

So, the chance to speak with other writers, particularly after lockdown and despite some wildly different genres, is an opportunity to cherish.

I must thank our Swedish friends for introducing us to the concept of “Fika” which roughly translates into “shared snack break.” Most importantly, it includes something sweet, along with other people.

Image courtesy Gaelle Marcel

Enter Carolina Totterman, an Australian with Scandinavian roots who decided to set up Cultivator, near North Sydney.

Enticed inside her shopfront by the basket for recycling batteries, “swap a plant cutting” jars, displays of bright cotton reels, swathes of fabric, and a large wooden table and chairs, I soon fell into conversation with her.

All thanks to Carolina Totterman, shown here in her inviting Cultivator space for creatives

Ten minutes later, Fika and Fiction was born, the opportunity for writers like me to stop and chat over chocolate cake once a month.

So far we’ve met twice, our numbers doubling and our genres now including espionage, memoir, women’s fiction and my own output—clean romance, or #uplit.

An hour and a half disappeared with the cake as we swapped notes on editing, publishing and resources. It was cathartic to discuss the highs and lows of our all-too-secret then all-too-public chosen art.

Image thanks to Nathan Dumla

It’s a book club with a difference, where nascent characters, plots and language are thrown back into the cauldron before we return to our solitary fray, fortified.

Image thanks to Roman Kraft

“Collaborative workshops and writers’ peer groups are good inventions,” writes Ursula K. Le Guin, in Steering the Craft, a 21st Century Guide to Sailing the Sea of Story.

“They put the writer in a community of people all working at the same art, the kind of group musicians and painters and dancers have always had.

“A good peer group offers mutual encouragement, amicable competition, stimulating discussion, practice in criticism, and support in difficulty.”

She also recommends online versions as alternatives to meeting face to face.

“Ultimately you write alone. And ultimately you and you alone can judge your work. The judgment that a work is complete—this is what I meant to do, and I stand by it—can only come from the writer.”

She goes on to write of the importance of self-criticism and how group criticism can assist with developing that skill.

I am grateful to Carolina and to my critique partners, and look forward to celebrating their writing wins with them over the years.

Welcome to new VIPs!

I’ve previously mentioned my delight at having readers in more than 40 countries! This month I warmly welcome readers from another five—Trinidad, Jamaica, Greece, Turkey and India.

Image courtesy Vladislav KlapiReview joy

I’m thrilled that New Zealand reviewer Pauline Reid gave House of Diamonds five stars in her BookBub review. (As you need to join BookBub to read it, see excerpts below.)

“I thoroughly enjoyed the story and I was loving all the descriptive words on each single piece of jewellery, extremely exquisitely done,” Pauline wrote.

“I absolutely adored the plotting skills and the angst between Stella and James Huntley. Plenty? Oh yes, there was plenty of angst and my eyes gleamed with anticipation of what sort of who har was going to happen next.

“I found this a very entertaining story, fast paced with loads of happenings to keep the reader occupied. This is what I call a “feel-good fiction” with uplifting endings, with light, sweet, modern love tales with wider themes including finding one’s path and sustainability.”

Big thanks to Pauline, and to everyone else who so generously shares their feedback in diverse ways.

On that note, shoutout to ItsSandrini and Andy H from the UK for their own lovely reviews! 

NB: Not sure about the whisky, but the book stars go down very well. Thank you! Paperbacks

A number of readers who prefer paperbacks have pointed out that Amazon lists the newly released House of Clubs (tracing the French adventures of stylish widow Cynthia Huntley), as “temporarily out of stock”.

Amazon tells me purchasers should buy it from the Amazon of their own country (Aussies from Amazon.com.au, US readers from Amazon.com etc). When I asked whether I had to include “buy” links to more than 40 countries on my website, I didn’t receive a reply.

Can I suggest that you go onto your own country’s Amazon website and simply type “Amber Jakeman” in the search bar?

As most of my readers so far are from the US and Australia, I include those links in my books page, along with the e-book links. Please email me if you’re still having trouble and would like me to post you a copy.

Happy reading!

Amber Jakeman’s House of Jewels series now includes House of Clubs, set in France

The masked audience

After what seemed like a year of lockdowns, what a treat it was to witness a live show at the intimate Ensemble Theatre in Kirribilli, Sydney!

In the front row, we were face to face with Australian musical theatre greats Todd McKenney and Nancye Hayes AM.

They were in fine shape in their black sparkles, belting out a number here and there.

As we wore masks for COVID safety, Todd remarked how difficult it was to perform with no idea whether the masks hid smiles or frowns.

He and Nancye shared stories about the highs and lows of performing in live theatre. Despite Todd’s rich years of experience, he confessed to stage fright the previous night, at his first show in 18 months.

They said cast and crew were never entirely sure what parts of a show were most appreciated by an audience; that each individual may take out something uniquely significant.

These entertainers’ bravery, generosity and big hearts were on show like never before, as former playhouse director Sandra Bates said afterwards.

Thank you

Writers are not unlike actors. We’re uncertain how our works will be received. We too perform for a masked audience!

As Todd and Nancye spoke with warmth and affection about the comments from strangers they’d received over the years, I thank those of you who have shared with me your encouraging feedback. You humble me. You are truly my VIPs. 

One dear reader pointed out to me thirty-three typos in House of Spades! My apologies! These have now been fixed.

I particularly thank poet, lyricist, feature writer, fiction writer and photographer Cindy L Spear for her extensive review of Book 3, House of Spades.

“House of Spades of the House of Jewels series (Volume 3) by Amber Jakeman exudes fire, warmth and earthy passion,” she writes.

“This time the story focuses on Stella’s mother, Flame, and the enchanting Byron Bay hinterland. The reader is whisked away to a calming country setting where birds are chirping among the heavy foliage. But the opening scene is dampened (pardon the pun) when Flame is caught in a heavy downpour…”

A number of other wonderful reviews of my books have popped up on Goodreads, a platform for readers and writers which I’m still exploring. If you’d like to follow me there, here is a link to my Goodreads author profile.

Looking for free and affordable ‘clean’ reads?

If you share this link with your friends, they will be able to download a free copy of House of Diamonds! You might find something else you enjoy there.

You’re also welcome to download this fun free read (The Changes Club Prequel, “a clean billionaire romance” by fellow sweet romance writer Amber M Adams). It’s unclear whether the billionaires are clean or the romance is clean. Probably all of the above!

House of Clubs reveals Cynthia’s story

One of the great surprises of writing fiction is how characters take up their places in the writer’s mind as if they’re real people.

Possibilities become plausibilities. Before we invite readers to take a look, the character invites the writer to take them seriously. The question becomes not “did this happen?” but “could this happen?”

So, the House of Jewels series is becoming a saga! I love the liberty to expand on minor characters and subplots, to tease out relationships, events, conflict and consequences in greater depth.

In House of Clubs, I am thrilled to bring you the story of Cynthia, as we ponder …

Who holds the key to her heart?

When stylish Australian widow Cynthia Huntley moves to France and begins to renovate a centuries-old property, she and handsome handyman Émile tussle over a “perfect” chandelier.

Cynthia lets the mysterious yet gallant Émile into her house, but will she let him into her heart? 

What is Émile fleeing? And what is worth seeking in life? 

As winter closes in, will Cynthia abandon her French adventure? Or can she and Émile claim love again later in life—together?

House of Clubs is volume four of my House of Jewels series of international heartwarmers featuring the extended Huntley family of jewellers. The books may be read in any order.

 

Buy House of Clubs paperbackBuy House of Clubs (e-book)

Find all my books.

Email me at AmberJakemanSydney@gmail.com to share your views.

Happy reading!

Hello, France; hello world!

As Australia cautiously reopens its border, many of us begin to dream again of travel. Yet armchair travel will doubtless remain popular.

The fantasy of living in France is not unusual. Note the popularity of Emily in Paris on Netflix and Melissa Fyfe’s recent story on a former Aussie politician and his fiancé who are doing up a French château. 

Those of you who’ve read any of my House of Jewels series may recall stylish Australian widow Cynthia Huntley, mother of James Huntley the Third, bad boy Will and Nicole.

(By the way, apparently House of Spades and House of Clubs are known as “seasoned romance,” as they feature “later in life” protagonists and “silver foxes”!) 

House of Clubs, to be released next month, will trace Cynthia’s journey as she fulfils her long-held dream of living in France.

As she renovates a corner property in a picturesque village in Provence, Cynthia doesn’t expect to fight over a chandelier.

Cynthia lets the gallant Émile into her house, but will she let him into her heart? And why does Émile disappear, just when she misses him most?

Come with me on Cynthia’s adventure for a taste of France when I share the links with you next month!

Provincial market tomato images courtesy @Vauclusedreamer on twitterImage thanks to Christian MackieReview gratitude

Though writers are wary of reviewers, in our online world, positive reviews help sell books. While I’ve heard that some new writers pay reviewers, this seems to me to defeat the purpose.

So, I’m very grateful to those of you who’ve found a moment to leave reviews on BookBub, Goodreads, and Amazon, on social media, or have mentioned my books to friends.

I’m particularly grateful to my latest reviewer Cindy L Spear who reviewed House of Hearts in depth earlier this month.

Cindy writes: “Book 2 House of Hearts of the House of Jewels series is just as captivating as Book 1 House of Diamonds but Amber takes us a little deeper into the life of the most famous and youngest of the Huntley Jewellery family. 

“In doing so, she knocks the lid off social practices gone awry: over-drinking and compulsive gambling. Despite the seriousness of the topic, House of Hearts still delivers a joyful feel good story… 

“House of Hearts is worth your time, handled well, full of questions and heart-felt answers… 

“It is a story of hope that makes you think long and hard about addiction, appearances, second chances and love in all its many seasonal phases. I highly recommend this novel. 4.5 Stars”

Meanwhile, I’m so glad Elvira and a mystery reader enjoyed House of Diamonds so much they gave me my first 5-star reviews on Amazon. Thank you!

I’m also super grateful to those of you who share your feedback to help me improve my books. I’ve written in the past about the value of this kind of constructive criticism, or literary tough love.

Please email me at amberjakemansydney@gmail.com if you’d like to become a beta reader, if you’d like to receive review copies of my books, or if you simply wish to point out a typo! 

A global readership!

It’s a thrill to know that my books are now read around the world. 

A few months ago when House of Spades was released, I announced new readers from Italy, Egypt, Spain, the US, Canada, South Africa, Germany, Australia, Nigeria, South Africa, the UK, Brazil, Belgium, Argentina, Barbados, the Philippines, Austria, France, Saint Kitts and Nevis, Luxemburg, Austria, Malta, the Netherlands, Zimbabwe, Ireland, India and Portugal.

Since then, I’ve welcomed new VIP readers from Bermuda, Dominican Republic, Malaysia, India, Uganda, Croatia, France, Russia, Norway, Philippines, Mexico, Sweden, Swaziland, Denmark and Kenya!

A long time ago I had the privilege of living with two generous host families for a year in Michigan, USA, as a Rotary International Exchange Student. That year, in addition to all the fine Americans I met, I made new exchange student friends from 19 other countries.

It was quite a party every time we gathered. We shared music and tales of our homelands, and had a ball. While much was made of the differences between our clothing, languages and customs, it was our similarities which really surprised us.  

Image courtesy Nick Fewings

It’s no secret that my heart broke a little in that era before social media, as I waved from the door of the airplane in mid-winter before taking off, bound for Australia. Returning home was a warm and welcome embrace with Aussie friends and family, yet I still think of all those friends from the US and around the globe I’m unlikely to see again.

Fortunately, words can unite us, wherever we may be in space or time. How extraordinary that my books are now read in more than 40 countries!

It’s a great joy to make these new connections with readers and fellow authors around the globe through my writing. 

On that note, Californian sweet romance author Laura Haley-McNeil has this recent release for sale in her “sweet romcom” Beaumont Brides series.

Thank you always for your interest in my books and your words of encouragement.

Explore my other blog posts.

Enjoy my books.

Email me at AmberJakemanSydney@gmail.com to share your views.

Visit www.amberjakeman.com

Follow me on Instagram @amberjakemanamber and Twitter @AmberJakeman and Facebook @AmberJakeman!

Happy reading!

The great em dash

In symphonies, we have rests and codas; in writing we have em dashes, paragraphs and fresh chapters. In pandemics? We’ve paused and mostly stayed at home.  

Here in Sydney, we’re racing towards our final days of a long lockdown—three and a half months or more—due to ease on 11 October. 

Will we ever see the Sydney Opera House so devoid of people ever again? We hope not!

Though we’re rightly haunted by the worst of it, the best of it was a pure gift.

Before COVID, I rushed through my allotted time in a blur of dates and commitments. In lockdown, I … stopped.

Busy days of writing still ate up whole weeks, but between the deadlines, life was so much quieter.

Parameters shrank to the walls of my apartment and the legislated five kilometre exercise radius (on foot or by boat).

Forced to pause, I remembered the value of simpler things. 

I rested.

Bright geraniums budded and blossomed on the verandah, birds sang and swooped in for a bath and a drink. When not chatting with precious friends and family, I photographed every vista of my daily walk. 

See more photos on Instagram @JakemanAmber

When not writing, I read. And read and read (okay, and maybe I watched a series or four on Netflix).

I gave thanks to the scientists and health care workers, to all who helped ensure our water and food still reached our tables, and to everyone who followed the rules and recommendations to keep us as safe as possible, despite so many challenges. (Keep up the good work. This horror story is not quite over …)

And as I watched the sun set and the sourdough rise, I also had time to think—to ask myself who would chase my dreams if I didn’t.

More gifts

With book shops shut and no chance to hold official launches (remember “parties”?) I was very fortunate to be able to reach out to new readers through some local papers.

It was a huge honour to be featured by both Coast Community News and the North Sydney Sun newspapers in recent weeks. Heartiest of thanks to Terry and Grahame and your teams!

Thank you, Coast Community News team!

 Read Amber’s sweet romance is a fiction jewel, from Coast Community News.

Thanks to the North Sydney Sun newspaper!

View McMahons Point author creates a world of rivalry and romance, on page 13 of the North Sydney Sun. My thanks to photographer Heather Kirk!

October deals and author swaps

Once again I’ve joined forces with other authors from around the world to share some of our free and affordable works.

Feel free to browse this “Tender Tuesday” sweet romance promo which is due to run from 5 to 9 October (even though the dates on the link may be different).

You might also enjoy the twist in this millionaire’s story from US clean romance writer Lottie Morgan. 

Thank you for your interest in my books and your words of encouragement.

Enjoy my books.

The equinox and escapism

From lockdown in our tiny harbourfront apartment, we watch the greatest show on earth—sunset—and think of everyone in our world still locked in battle with COVID.

The sun creeps closer to its mid-way position between Ball’s Head and Goat Island on Sydney Harbour. Time passes. The spring blossoms on my daily walk are more welcome than ever. 

Reading and writing also offer escape. For those of us who love the balm of an uplifting ending, in this newsletter I am delighted to share with you some links to some fun, free and affordable reading.

A note of clarification! While my own books are considered “sweet” rather than “spicy” there is a mind boggling array of “man chest” covers out there. (Seriously. That’s what they’re called! You’ll see why …)

Curl up on the couch with a sweet read

Let’s start at my end of the spectrum, where fellow “sweet” writer Sylvia Price, from Canada, is offering her book Songbird Cottage for free. 

“Set on Canada’s picturesque Cape Breton Island, this book is perfect for those who enjoy new beginnings and countryside landscapes,” Sylvia writes.

Another “sweet” writer, Angie Ellington from the US, is offering Dancing by the Moonlight, set in Connecticut, via Amazon.

“Recapturing a summer love swept out at sea thirteen years earlier can be as rough as a stormy sea,” writes Angie.

And another sweet author, Farrah Lee from Florida in the US, is offering her book Mail Order Valentine via Amazon.

Farrah’s blurb begins: “She’s running. He’ll do anything for his twin. They’re both in way over their heads.”

I take my hat off to the authors of all these ingenious romance plots. It’s an age old story, how one plus one equals … one! Yet there are infinite ways to tell it.  

And now for a line up of some steamier stuff
(you have been warned)

Click on this link for Slow Burn September free reads.

Did you manage to spot my sweetie among the sizzlers?

A lovely review!

I warmly thank author and musician Cindy L Spear for writing this beautiful review of House of Diamonds.

A number of other VIPs have very kindly done the same. Thank you!

If you enjoy reading my books, you might like to leave reviews (see links below) and/or mention them to friends.

House of Diamonds review links: BookBub, Goodreads, Amazon

House of Hearts review links: BookBub, Goodreads, Amazon

House of Spades review links: BookBub, Goodreads, Amazon

Thank you!

Along with heartfelt gratitude to all VIPs for your encouragement and support, I add special thanks to the team at Coast Community News for sharing my own “free sweet reads” offer earlier this month.

I cherish the memories of raising three small children while writing for the local newspaper. I’m indebted to the people I interviewed and to my friends and family still living on the coast for the wellspring of inspiration they’ve given me. Beaches and the bush crop up in many of my books.

Thanks to Coast Community News!

Still on the “free” theme, and swinging back to “sweet”—here is the start of my House of Jewels series, Volume III, House of Spades, set in Australia’s beautiful Byron Bay hinterland:

House of Spades by Amber JakemanHow it begins …

Flame Rhys held her umbrella closer as the rain banged down around her. She loved living in rainforest country, but it meant making friends with water, down her collar, into the tops of her red gumboots and up her sleeves.

Thank goodness for Becca and her generous heart, giving her a lift as far as the crossing. Not much further now.

Glad to be alive, Flame laughed as she stomped along the wet road, shiny as silver in the late afternoon. As great drops of water smashed down onto the umbrella from the limbs and leaves, Flame imagined the tree trunks pushing ever higher as they drank the rain, squeezed by the vines twisting tighter and thicker, reaching for the sky. A couple of king parrots shrieked past and she wished she, too, had bright green wings and could soar up through the canopy and fly across the valley and beyond, to see her grown-up girls. It had been too long.

The surrounding mountains disappeared, shrouded in cloud, as she inhaled deeply the fragrance of wet soil, replenisher of life. 

As she rounded the home corner, back to her caravan, she glanced up at the hermit’s old farmhouse at the top of the hill; the stranger was her closest neighbor.

She looked forward to boiling her kettle for hot tea with sugar, or maybe even a hot chocolate with the precious UHT milk? She hitched the backpack higher on her shoulders. It was heavy, full of fresh fruit and vegetables and more spirits for the stove.

If she cursed Grady again, it would spoil her day. Bitterness could grow heavier than storm clouds.  

“Greedy Grady, greedy Grady,” trudged her rubber-clad feet, one after the other. At least she still had the caravan, with its jaunty little spirit stove. Not long now and she’d enjoy that hot drink.

Down the last stretch of road she stomped, careful not to slide. Her fingers numb with wet and cold, she slipped open the gate latch, closed it again with care, and headed down the hill. Here, the ground was sodden with rain, the high grass and undergrowth laced with drips, tiny spider webs drooping with droplets. Not long now.

Her gumboots repaid her richly in the mud. Had someone driven down recently in something big? A tractor? The ruts were deeper than ever, like weals in the rich brown flesh of the earth.

Closer to home, the skies opened again. The drops beat down, atomizing through the umbrella, exploding on her world. The roar of the creek rose to a howl as she approached, but when she passed the stand of Sally Wattles, it was Flame’s turn to shriek. She looked right and left and right again, but there was no denying it.

Her caravan was gone, the place it had been, empty, like the socket of a missing tooth. So much for the chance to shrug off the heavy pack and peel off her wet clothes and steamy boots. So much for the simple pleasure of a hot drink.

A black leech waved around on the toe of her red boot, seeking flesh, and she rubbed it off with her other heel. 

A great sob lodged in the back of her throat. Her caravan, her haven, full of the only things she’d salvaged from all her years of moving—gone? 

Had her van been impounded? Police had taken one of her old unregistered cars once. Horror washed through her. Not that again! 

Or maybe Grady came back for it. Again, she cursed the moment she’d laid eyes on Grady. Why had she ignored the inner voice which had warned her against his too-blue eyes, his oh-so-smooth smile and that voice? A professional crooner, singing slow love songs dripping with honey … How could she have been so foolish! 

Or had someone else stolen it? Everything she owned was inside. If only she’d stuck to her resolve and sworn off men forever, she’d never be in this mess, sodden and homeless. 

Defeat dragged down her shoulders, already weary from the pack, but she forced up her chin, and heaved a huge sigh. Her only option was to turn around and trace those tracks in the mud, to see if they might lead her to her caravan—one step at a time. It was all she’d ever taken, for better or worse. 

Back at the road, her eyes traced the muddy trail, upwards. Above the steep paddock, in the gathering darkness, were other clues. Up at the hermit’s house, more lights shone than usual. Headlights? A tractor maybe? And behind it, a dark outline. Her caravan. But why? 

Fast following the relief, anger began to bubble, and by the time she reached her van, fury blazed, white hot and pulsing. 

Volume III of House of JewelsBuy House of Spades ebookBuy House of Spades paperbackFind my books

Sweet Amber marmalade

A thousand thanks to the VIPs who’ve shared reviews, specialised knowledge and encouragement as we head into week ten or so of lockdown in Sydney with maybe five more to come.

While it takes away so much, lockdown has offered precious time to create. The first draft of Book 4 (House of Clubs) is done, Book 5 (Full House) is taking shape, and I’m dreaming up a whole new series. 

One day I made sweet amber marmalade. It’s a simple recipe. Chop fresh citrus fruit. Add equal parts water and sugar. Boil and stir, then pour all that distilled sunshine and energy into boiled glass jars. 

The recipe for writing is hardly spectacular. Sit still. Think. Then flick the fingers over the keyboard for hours and hours and hours. Voila! Books!

Writing fiction is mysterious. From introspection, whole worlds emerge. Characters take on lives of their own.

Writing is private. Until there’s a reader, results remain hidden. Only when the reader begins to decode the first few words can the story come to life in their own minds. 

As authors, we are not the story; nor are we ourselves, though we discuss those imaginary worlds with enthusiasm, sometimes discovering far more in them than we ever intended! 

Lockdown has also offered time to read. I’ve been delighted to discover fresh books by favourite authors. Have you ever pounced on a fresh book from a beloved author when you thought you’d read them all? It’s like finding an old friend.

Meanwhile, I continue to reach out to find new readers. The Romance Writers of Australia Conference has been rescheduled to December, along with the Australian Romance Readers Association “Romantic Rendezvous” book signing. What an honour to reach the ARRA spotlight recently!

You can read the full interview here.

And I’ve joined this fresh international promo with fellow “clean and wholesome” and “sweet romance” authors, with thanks to Angie Ellington.

Happy reading!

Find books by Amber Jakeman.

Email me at AmberJakemanSydney@gmail.com to share your views.

You’re welcome to follow me on Instagram @jakemanamber and Twitter at https://twitter.com/AmberJakeman and Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/AmberJakemanAuthor!

View my other blogs.

Gratitude + House of Spades release

As we enter our seventh week of Stay at Home Orders in Greater Sydney …

I am grateful for the shining harbour with its jumping fish, sea eagles and visiting rainbow lorikeets.

I am grateful for new readers! Warmest of welcomes to my new VIPs from Egypt, Spain, the US, Canada, South Africa, Germany, Australia, Nigeria, South Africa, the UK, Brazil, Belgium, Argentina, South Africa, Barbados, the Philippines, Austria, France, Saint Kitts and Nevis, Luxemburg, Austria, Malta, the Netherlands, Zimbabwe, Ireland, India and Portugal!

I am grateful for the technology that keeps me connected with family, friends and fellow writers and readers.

I am grateful for healthcare workers, farmers and delivery teams keeping us safe and keeping food on our table. 

I am grateful for time to read, write and release the latest in my House of Jewels series, House of Spades!

Buy House of Spades ebookBuy House of Spades paperback

About House of Spades …

Can love blaze later in life?

Free spirit Flame Rhys has sworn off love, but try convincing her reclusive neighbor Ross Archer.

In Australia’s beautiful Byron Bay hinterland, serial single Flame calls Ross a “hermit” while he accuses her of trespassing.

When the fiery redhead roasts Ross for stealing her caravan, she accidentally rekindles the widower’s passion for life, for his land and for love.

But how can he convince her to stay with him, when every other lover has let her down?

And does Flame harbour a dark secret, as Ross’s daughters suspect?

It’s another fast-paced international heart-warmer featuring the romantic fortunes of the extended Huntley family of jewellers. My books may be read in any order.

I am grateful for unexpected gifts. Thank you, WestWords, for the opportunity to read from House of Diamonds. (Apologies for the poor sound quality. The westerly was wind roaring across the harbour, rattling my windows!)

I am grateful to join forces with other authors to find new readers. Thank you to author Charlotte Dinnis for organising this promo.

Deepest thanks to all my VIPs for your interest in my work, your reviews and your wonderful words of encouragement!

Happy reading!

Email me at AmberJakemanSydney@gmail.com to share your views.

Visit www.amberjakeman.com

Follow me on Instagram @jakemanamber and Twitter at https://twitter.com/AmberJakeman and Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/AmberJakemanAuthor!

View my other blogs.

Bluey part 2 plus fiction

You may be wondering about the fate of Bluey, the baby rainbow lorikeet who became trapped between the bricks of our apartment, four storeys up.

Review the true story of Bluey here.

When I rang WIRES this week, I was told he was released on 14 July “around the area” after growing to 122 grams.

One lorikeet looks much like another, but a couple of them jumped up and down on our veranda railing and made an extra racket that day. We like to think it was Bluey’s happy reunion with his flock.

All thanks to Bruce Barrett of the Handyman Van and WIRES that this beautiful wild bird is once again safe and free. Uplifting ending!

Joining forces with other authors

In other news, I’ve joined forces with other writers around the globe (the northern hemisphere is enjoying summer holiday reads!) to help publicise our books. You might see something which appeals in:

Spend the summer with new characters (clean fiction) here

Free Sweet Romance Book Giveaway here or

Sweet Summer Reads here.

I’m honoured my books have been selected for these line ups, and I thank the organisers.

And from 21 to 25 July, you have a chance to win House of Hearts for free, along with ten other newly released e-books in a giveaway “from the corner” (ie from other Australian and New Zealand authors).

Shout out to Janet Elizabeth Henderson for organising this one, which even features some “meet the author” videos, a first for me. We discuss when we write and where we find inspiration for our characters, and share some of our funniest mistakes! Thank you, Janet!

Enjoy Chapter 1 of House of Hearts

And now for some fiction. Did I share the first chapter of House of Hearts with you yet?

Enjoy!

House of Hearts Chapter 1

Lisa patted Rossco’s rough brown fur as he blinked at her and tried to lick her hand.

“See you tonight, old fella,” she said, as she opened her car door and slid in.

“January 4,” said the dashboard calendar. Eighteen months to the day since she’d fled west with just Rossco and a few boxes of possessions. Eighteen months of professional fulfilment. And a ton of personal guilt.

She must phone her parents again, remind them of how happy she was in her new life, how she hadn’t meant to hurt them. She didn’t blame them for what went on between Art and her. What hadn’t gone on, more like it.

Lisa loved this part of her commute. Once she’d left her peaceful Boulder City home and then the outskirts of Vegas, she passed the garish towers of Downtown and slipped into the lower-rise, older blocks, where the 1950s neon signs never failed to cheer her. She congratulated herself once more on her escape, on the fact she’d been able to study while Art had tended the samples in his lab and devoted himself to his research. She’d finished one degree after another, then found her dream job and perfect career – counselling.

As she pulled into the clinic, Lisa opened her glove compartment and put her name tag in her pocket. It still gave her a thrill.

Dr Lisa Bakker. Group Counsellor and Diversion Therapist. The Peters Clinic. She loved to encourage others to better understand themselves and their behaviour, to recognize and act on better choices, to grow and thrive.

With its palm trees and curved, 1930s style white facade, the front of the clinic and health retreat always made her heart lift. She parked next to Dr Peters’ “Reserved” sign. 

The receptionist’s parking spot was still vacant, the one dark moment of her morning. At 8.50am, unless Mindy had caught the bus or walked, she’d either be late or absent all day – again. Lisa would have to lodge an official complaint with Dr Peters.

She checked her hair and lipstick in the rear-vision mirror, flicked a dog hair off her slim grey skirt and entered the side door of the counsellors’ suites.

Normally, she loved this part of her day. She’d have a few moments alone in her consulting room to center herself and review her notes, but with Mindy AWOL again, she’d have to sort the clients’ folders herself. She’d end up running behind all day.

And with Dr Peters away in Europe for ten days, she had more appointments than ever. She’d asked her to stand in to welcome a couple of her new clients – the ones who’d join her group sessions later in the day.

She headed into reception, and sure enough, there was no Mindy. Nothing prepared. Lisa reached for the folders just as Dr Peters’ first new client arrived. She glanced at him again. Was there something familiar about him?

He sized her up with a cheeky half-smile.

Distractingly good-looking, he wore a tight white t-shirt and faded jeans. Eyes the color of faded denim. Nice teeth, chewing half of his bottom lip. Was he staring at her? At her legs?

Damn Mindy for not being here to do her job! Especially with this extra case load.

Lisa gathered up the folders – in a hurry now – and dropped them. They skidded all over the floor. Disaster.

In a flash, the man was down on his knees, scooping them up. Thank God. Her skirt was a bit tight for bending over. So, he was a gentleman. Why did that bother her?

“Thank you,” she said, accepting them and disappearing to her room to sort them as quickly as possible. She slipped on her white coat, positioned her name tag, glanced at the front of the top folder, and reappeared in reception.

“Will Huntley, please,” she said. Why was her heart beating so hard? Lisa smoothed her hands down the side of her jacket.

He stood, that grin in place, as if he knew he could make her blush.

“Welcome to The Peters Clinic,” Lisa said. She held out her hand, her smile professional. “I’m Dr Lisa Bakker, part of the team. Dr Peters has asked me to get things started for you. Follow me, please.”

…

On her way home at the end of the day, Lisa called in at the grocery store for fresh vegetables and pasta. Jilly, her old friend from grad school, in town to visit her mother, was coming for dinner and a talkfest. Wonderful, outspoken Jilly, Jilly who’d told her about Vegas, who’d shared her love of skyrunning with her back in college. Without Jilly, none of her new life would exist, this patch of sunlit color in a universe of gray.

When Jilly arrived, she didn’t waste a minute. She hugged Lisa, dumped her hot-pink handbag on the couch and followed her into the kitchen, where she washed her hands and helped prepare the meal.

“So, Lisa, hooked up lately?”

Good old Jilly, fast and fearless. Love-life front of mind. Maybe growing up with her mother had made her believe it was the only sensible topic of conversation. Scoping stepfathers, matchmaking, how to avoid her mother’s mistakes …

Lisa slid the chopped tomatoes into the steaming sauce as the silence stretched.

“Come on, Lisa,” Jilly said. “You’ve got to get out there. Eighteen months? And we both know it’s been longer than that. Look, Art never even gave you a love-life. If that’s why you left him, maybe you should have just stayed.”

Lisa stared at her old friend. No wonder that tech company had snapped her up for their human resources team. Jilly nipped any nonsense in the bud, called a spade a spade, and she was usually right. Jilly might be outspoken, but she was also wise. There was always some truth to what she said. Even if Lisa rightly accused Jilly of always having too many boyfriends, it wouldn’t change the fact that Lisa had never had enough.

She’d had a husband, instead – Art. Straight out of school. And how was she to have guessed that a fine family friend wasn’t necessarily good husband material? He’d been as disappointed with her as she’d been with him, no doubt, not that they’d ever spoken about that. In their eight years together, they hadn’t spoken about much at all.

Lisa sighed and twisted open the lid of a jar of tomato paste, then dumped the contents in the frypan.

“I don’t know,” she said. “There isn’t much time for romance, Jilly. I work flat out on with people all day, and when I come home, I go for a run and then I’m tired. Besides, Rossco gives me all the love I need right now.”

“Evidently. But I didn’t mean ‘love.’ I actually meant ‘sex.’ How’s your sex life?”

“Not everyone requires hot, uninhibited sex every night, Jilly.”

“Okay, but no sex? None at all? You don’t realize what you’re missing. It’s not natural. Physician, heal thyself.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Lisa said, hiding her face in the cutlery drawer, clattering and jangling as she searched for matching forks. It had been a while. Maybe since never, if she was honest. Had she ever had proper sex, sex you read about and heard about where your lover knows what they’re doing and cherishes every part of you and you’re both in ecstacy? Had she ever experienced sex beyond the rapid, embarassed fumbling in the dark which Art had attempted? Sex with Art had never improved, no matter how much she read up on what should be happening. In the end it had been easier just to avoid it all. 

“It doesn’t have to be about sex, even,” said Jilly, picking up on Lisa’s hesitation. “How about a simple date? Just one. Give yourself a chance. You know, we’re both twenty-eight. In fact, I’m willing to bet you’ve never been on a date. I just worked it out, Lisa! You married that old creep straight out of school.”

“Jilly!”

As the high school principal’s only child in a conservative small town, Lisa might as well have had “do not touch” tattooed on her forehead. Marrying Art straight after her high school graduation seemed the perfect solution at the time.

Born shy, with parents who wanted to protect her from the evils of the world, she’d grown up with fairy tales and books as her best friends, only to discover that “happy ever after” didn’t necessarily follow the white wedding.

Tertiary education broadened her mind and gave her the qualifications to make her own way professionally and financially. But it wasn’t possible to study “Perfect Relationship 101” or even “Elementary Dating.” Well, sure, eventually she learned about the Gottman Institute, but she’d committed to addiction therapy as her specialty by then, and her own love-life had never been a priority.

“Okay,” said Jilly. “All that’s in the past. You escaped. All I’m trying to tell you is that the sky won’t fall in if you go on a date or three. It’s not like you have to go out there and match up with Dream Lover or Mr Right straight away.”

Jilly helped herself to a stray piece of uncooked pasta and crunched on it.

“It’s just about having fun,” Jilly said. “Playing the field. Call it what you want. It’s all very cosy here. Now don’t get me wrong. I love the way you’ve decorated this place.” She waved her hand at Lisa’s blue-and-white kitchen. “And I couldn’t be happier that your career’s going so well. You’ve got a great job, by all accounts, and we all love Rossco, though he does need a bath, just between you and me…”

Lisa inspected the pasta and dumped it in the colander, steam rising in a cloud around her. Now her cheeks were pink for two reasons.

“Fun,” Lisa said. “Yeah, dating. I get it. I’ll think about it. Now, what about you, Jilly? Been on any dates? Had a night at home lately? That’d be new and different. I suspect you enjoy enough excitement for the two of us.” She selected two big bowls from her wooden dresser.

“In fact, Jilly, here’s a challenge. I’m willing to bet you’ve never been on an actual date, either. You just have to meet a man and he falls for you. They’re all putty in your hands. I’ve known you for seven years, and in all that time you’ve never once been on your own. Men adore you.”

Lisa pointed at her friend with the cutlery she’d selected. “One smile and they’re yours,” Lisa said. “It’s different for me. Men don’t go for me. Maybe they worry I’m analysing them all the time. Maybe I am!”

“Lisa, you’re gorgeous! You might be the world’s best addiction therapist, but you don’t even notice when men find you attractive. You’re a beautiful human being.”

“That’s so lovely of you to say, but not everyone wants to date a giant.”

“You are not a giant. Okay, you’re tall. So? Models are tall. You know what? I’m willing to bet that if a man looked at you like he wanted you, you wouldn’t even notice. Open your eyes. Let yourself thaw out a bit. You’re a long way from that conservative home town now.”

“Maybe.” Often it was easiest just to agree with Jilly. “So come on, how’s your new job? Your mom must love it now you’re only one state away. I love it. Thanks for the visit.”

…

Lisa brushed her hair as she got ready for bed. Had Jilly been right? There was no way Lisa wanted a life like Jilly’s. But a little bit of fun wouldn’t go astray, now that everything else was so stable in her life. The thought scared her. But did she really want to hide away forever?

And that bit about her not even realizing guys found her attractive? Maybe Jilly was right about that, too. Only that morning, there’d been that new client, Will Huntley, the handsome Australian. The way he’d scooped up those folders and handed them over. Chivalrous. Had he been giving her the eye? Had he been thinking of her in that way?

Brush mid-air, she stopped and studied herself in the mirror – caught herself smiling. Because he really had been looking at her. At her ankles, and then into her eyes, for just a second too long. Long enough to notice her blush.

She put down the brush and stared into her own eyes. Jilly was right. She was tall but she wasn’t exactly ugly. Why did the thought he might find her attractive please her so much? Because it did. A sudden thrill gave her cheeks a fresh, healthier glow, and her eyes sparkled.

And then in her consulting room, he’d been embarrassed to have mistaken her for the receptionist. She laughed, remembering how he’d done a double-take.

Earlier, in reception, he’d been so self-assured with her, so at ease in his own body. Arrogant, in a casual way. Lean and effortlessly handsome in that t-shirt, which sat tight over his pecs and biceps. Show-off.

She grabbed the brush again and swept it through her hair, finished the job, threw it on the dressing table, and jumped into bed.

In fact, for Will Huntley, being so handsome was a big part of his problem. Everything came too easily for people like that, and when the going got tough, they were lost, with alcohol and gambling a major temptation. It was why they ended up coming to therapists like her.

Lisa turned over and plumped her pillow. Well. Jilly might be sad to hear it, but there was no risk she’d ever get involved with Will Huntley. Bad-boy Will was strictly off limits. She was a professional. No clinic client could ever be dating material.

Her job was to focus on their minds and their behavior, not their bodies. Though his body had, in fact, been spectacularly distracting. And his eyes. They’d been so curious, so alive. And his smile. It seemed genuine. He’d laughed at his mistake about her role. She liked that in a person; a sense of humor.

And then he’d had the grace to admit he hadn’t been looking forward to the treatment. That he’d actually only agreed to it because of the food at the retreat, not because of the clinic’s reputation for helping people stop gambling. Cheeky.

So yes, he did have some appealing qualities, but that was literally no business of hers. Completely irrelevant.

Dating someone like Will Huntley would be ridiculous. Not only was he an addict, he was a client. So, even if they were attracted to each other, the American Psychological Society code of conduct forbade such relationships for two years after therapy ended. There. It was utterly impossible. Easy. She was a good girl. Professional. She’d never broken a rule in her life.

Rossco whined and nudged her knee, desperate for a last pat before he settled in his basket. She tickled his ears and had his tail wagging in no time, thumping against the side of the bed. She and Rossco were happy. Happy enough. Well, maybe she should take a risk now and then. Okay. Maybe one date. With somebody. One day.

Buy House of Hearts paperback (USA)Buy House of Hearts paperback (Australia)Buy House of Hearts ebook

Email me at AmberJakemanSydney@gmail.com to share your views.

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House of Diamonds (serialized)

Enjoy this excerpt from my novel, House of Diamonds, a sweet, sparkling modern love tale about duelling jewelers. Will they ever work out what to do with an engagement ring?

I’m serializing it with a new chapter each week. Sign up here or below to receive new chapters and join my VIP newsletter. Find out about Amber Jakeman and the House of Jewels series. Happy reading!

(Catch up on Chapter 1 here, then Chapter 2 here)Chapter 3Sign up for more chapters

She’d kept walking, past all the coffee shops, through all the streets of the CBD, down to Kings Park and down to the Swan River where a couple of black swans glided, serene. What had she done? She checked her watch without registering the time, felt the sun move overhead and then begin to set.

She sat as the rush hour traffic built and crawled and dissipated, as the chill of dusk descended.

Fury at Damian rose like poison. She replayed their every exchange; his special smiles and comments, the way he’d made her feel so needed. 

She’d had her eye on him since she’d first won the job, always tried to please him. Had he really just used her, without returning her love, year after year after year? What kind of a fool had she been?

After that Christmas kiss, there’d been their first business trip to Paris, the first time he’d suggested adjoining rooms. He’d taken her to a beautiful old restaurant in the Latin quarter. He’d let his fingers brush hers as they explored the menu, and then encouraged her to drink from his glass as well as her own as he discussed French wines with such authority, and they’d laughed like school children as they headed back out into the cold, onto those famous streets on a wet night, with the lights reflecting back at them from the slick pavement and the Seine diaphanous and magical as they walked together. She’d been unsteady on her feet and his strength beside her comforting, then exhilarating as he’d offered her his arm, then nestled her up against his warmth beneath his big coat, and she’d become aware of him in a new way.

There was no denying it. It was pure exhilaration to be needed by someone so powerful. But when did all Damian’s desires merge into her own? When had she lost herself? No more. Selfish Damian? He was the past. Her investment in him had not been repaid. Never would be. There was no future for them. She no longer had the heart for it.

Well after dark, she let herself back into her apartment and saw her weary, miserable self in the mirror. Who was Stella Rhys anyway, if she wasn’t Damian Beaumont’s support system?

She’d gone to bed then, for days. When Rita from Human Resources contacted her, she told her she was unwell and had resigned. 

“You should know Damian wants you back. He’s intimating there’s a payrise in it for you.”

“Damian’s good at intimating.” Stella liked Rita. Sensible Rita, in her forties. She’d been the first person she’d hired to build up human resources when she’d moved on to become Damain’s PA. Rita had been around the block.

“What would you like me to tell him?” She could tell Rita, couldn’t she? But what was the point? The whole office was probably talking about her anyway. What a fool she’d been, and the worst thing was that part of her was missing him, missing Damian.

“Tell him I’ll consider it,” she repeated, though she had no intention of doing so.

Why did the idea of returning to Exos not excite her? Hadn’t she been wanting an acknowledgement of her value to Damian for years? She just felt flat.

“Look. No. Tell him ‘no.’ Nothing personal towards you and the others, Rita. I’m going to miss you.”

“We’ll miss you, too. Big time. Get well soon.”

No sooner had she and Rita hung up than her mother rang. Christened Fiona, her red-headed mother renamed herself Flame as a teenager. Wild and free, she’d run off with a Swedish backpacker named Sven, had Jeannie, then moved in with a miner in Darwin when Sven returned to Sweden without her. 

Flame was still running, to and from one new man after another. This call was about her latest love, Grady, up on the NSW north coast, a musician she’d met at a bar.

“Beautiful up here, Stella. Really. Come and see it.”

“I’ve resigned mum.”

“Have you, dear? Good. You can come up then. Any time. Come up now.”

“Damian. The boss. It’s over.”

“Yes, dear? Yes. Well. Damian. Never liked the sound of that one, to be honest, dear, though I never wanted to tell you so. That mining company? Raping the earth. So what do I say? Good. Move on, dear. That’s what I always say. Plenty of good men around, though you’re probably not ready to hear it yet. He was your first real love, wasn’t he?”

“Maybe.” Had she loved Damian? Stella had done everything in her power to make him love her back. She had wanted him to be her first and only love. She’d been seeking a different path to her mother, who was always on to another relationship.

“But now I want to do something with my life, mum.”

“Of course you do. Do what you love, dear. Be happy. Look. Can’t talk now. Grady’s back. But don’t you worry. Everything’ll work out just fine. Always does. Take it from me. Talk to you later.”

Jeannie had been more understanding. She didn’t even say she’d tried to tell her that Damian never sounded like marriage material.

“There are plenty of men like that out there, Stella. It’s all about their egos. And their dicks, I’m sorry to say. So, are you alright? Will you get another job?”

“What do you think Damian’s going to say on my reference, Jeannie? Besides. I’m done with office jobs. It’s never been what I wanted to do with my life.”

“Well, I did wonder. Someone creative like you, Stell. Not everyone’s got real talent like you.”

Had Stella underestimated Damian? Flowers arrived the next day, all white, as Damian preferred them, in keeping with the company branding. “Please phone Damian at your earliest convenience.”

No. She would not phone him. She had no interest in any of that. Not any more. Not with Damian.

Instead, she’d skyped Jeannie.

“I just don’t know how I could have been so blind, Jeannie! Somehow I just convinced myself that after the boardroom led to the bedroom he’d want to marry me. He never said as much. But he let me think it. I know he did.”

“Don’t beat yourself up, Stell. I’m so relieved you’ve finally seen what I’ve been trying to tell you. Love’s blind, they say. So. You’ve fallen out of love. What matters now is you think about the future.”

Thank goodness Jeannie understood; busy, faithful Jeannie, always there for her, and for her own girls, Stella’s lovable nieces with their chubby cheeks and non-stop curiosity. Jeannie was jollying a grumbly Sienna on her lap while stopping Lucy from careering into the keyboard.

“So good to see you, Jeannie. Yes. Hello Lucy. Hello! How are you?”

“Howaa ooo?”

“Where’s your teddy, Lucy?” Lucy lurched away to search for it, giving the sisters a chance to chat.

Lucy came back into view, teddy aloft, chattering away in her own language.

“Hello, teddy. Yes. Hello! Lovely to see you.” Alarming brown fuzz took up half the screen, but Jeannie’s voice cut through.

“Ring me after seven, Stell. The girls will be in bed. Matt’s away again. He loves his new job. Such a great promotion. Australasia. But there’s so much travel!”

“Okay. Thanks, Jeannie. Bye bye, Lucy! Bye Sienna. She’s adorable, Jeannie. They both are. Speak tonight.”

Jeannie picked up the phone the moment Stella rang, on the dot of seven.

“Tell me, Stell. This crazy idea. What’s up?”

“My jewelry.”

“What about it? I love it. Always have. All of it. You’ve always had real talent. I used to be jealous of you, but now I’m just plain proud.”

“Do you think I could make a go of it? Sell it?”

“Of course you could! It’s unique. It’s quality.”

“But a lot of it’s so easy.”

“That’s just not true. People love your jewelry. It’s stylish. It’s affordable. It’s fun. I’ve always loved your stuff. You were upcycling before anyone even invented the word. I still wear those spoon bangles you made me in primary school! And the girls play with the old toothbrush ones now. Remember the old orange one? Sienna’s been using it as a teether! Didn’t you say you’d been experimenting with coffee pods? Got anything new there? I love to see what you’re up to. Of course you could make a go of it.”

“But I’m scared.”

“Scared?”

“You know, Jeannie. I never wanted to be like Flame, never quite making a go of it, drifting here and there with the scarves and tarot cards, jumping into one failing scheme after another with the next man. I’d hate that. I need certainty. I loved my regular wage, dammit. Damn Damian.”

“Listen to me, Stell. You’re not remotely like Flame. Unlike me, you don’t even look like her. Whatever you do, it will be done completely differently to the way mum does things. Come on. What’s your plan?”

“I’ve been working since I was sixteen, Jeannie. All those temp jobs, and then WestMine took me on and trained me up, and now four years with Exos, most of it starstruck by Mr Powerful, and I’ve done nothing else. Not really. No proper holidays. I ended up with no time to even make jewelry. I’m thirty and I backed the wrong horse. I feel futureless.”

“If anyone has a future, it’s you, Stell. You’re brilliant. Not only can you make jewelry, but you’ve got all those business skills as well. And you must have some savings by now.”

“Yeah, but they can’t last forever. I don’t want to be irresponsible.”

“What’s irresponsible about having a change, giving it a go? I’m excited for you! I know you don’t want to drift. Neither of us liked that way of life much. Flame’s way. That’s why I got my marketing degree, and I’m so lucky I met Matt, a steadier man than any of our step dads. But you don’t have to do markets. You could leave your stuff on consignment with other outlets or galleries, or …”

“You actually think I can do this?” Hope surged through Stella like wildfire. So many ideas crowded into her head, for new designs, ideas she’d been suppressing for years.

“I do. Totally. Make your plan, little sister.”

“A business plan. I can do that.”

Back came that buzz, that joy of anticipation, and the thrill of creation. 

Stella’s sense of meaning returned as she filled her mind and hands with materials and tools, creating beauty. Days flew by. 

Jeannie began ordering gifts for her friends, insisting Stella was doing her a favour. Soon Stella was busy dreaming up new designs and sourcing beads and wire and fastenings, and expanding her set of files and drills and other tools. Only the work in her hands mattered now, along with the vision in her mind and her will to transform the materials between her fingers into items of beauty. 

Stella loved working with the coffee pods. They were light and came in all kinds of burnished, earthy hues with an attractive sheen. Squashed flat, they became small flowers. They practically made themselves into earrings, necklaces and bracelets.

She spent a whole day visiting businesses in the CBD office towers, collecting them. Being back in those elevators made her feel trapped. Not for one moment did she regret her decision to leave Exos. She barely thought of the place any more.

Instead, she visited craft stores and bought up the spools of silver in all gauges she’d once coveted, and three more sets of pliers with different noses, wondrous things that transformed the wire into something new – intricate rings featuring celtic knots, cages for pearls and other objects, coiled and twisted earrings, many with one special bead or rhinestone to catch the light.

Working till her fingers became calloused, she created shining objects of beauty, one after another, multiple rings of all sizes, and variations of all of her favourite motifs. 

The joy of creation was so intense she didn’t want to think beyond the next item, but one day soon, she knew, she must.

The phone snapped her out of her reverie one evening.

“I hope you’ve enjoyed your little holiday, but it’s time you came back, Stella. We need you.”

Damian. Her heart leapt. Yes! No! She nearly hung up on him. He hadn’t even asked how she was.

She was speechless.

“So you can stop playing games. Did Rita tell you I’m offering a pay rise? Your pay was already generous, and I’m prepared to up it by $10k.”

She still had no idea what to say. If she’d been worth that much more money, why hadn’t he offered it sooner?

“We have nothing to say to each other, Damian Beaumont,” she said, keeping her voice steady. He’d always hated rejection. It was why he worked so hard at finding and keeping investors. She’d dented his pride by leaving. Tough. He’d get over it. 

“Oh. But we do, though.” He’d dropped his voice into that seductive tone that used to set her blood racing. She’d never said no to him. Not until that day she’d walked out. She could picture him, suit coat off, sleeves rolled up at the end of the day, tie hanging loose each side of his neck, top button undone.

“No.”

“Think about it.” He hung up before she could repeat her refusal.

It was upsetting. It was bullying. It was the Damian she’d refused to see. The MD who drove hard bargains. Well, she wasn’t for sale. Not any more. 

As she worked at her kitchen bench, cutting and twisting and welding and threading, realisation dawned on her. She put her phone on speaker and worked it through with Jeannie who was cooking a huge batch of baby food to freeze for Sienna.

“He was so bloody confident. Arrogant. What is it about people like that, Jeannie? We watched them, you and me. At every school we ever went to. Remember them? The ones who were born to rule? They even had the teachers conned. I don’t know what gave them the right to walk all over everyone else and tell us what to do, but they got away with it, again and again. You tried to tell me, Damian was kind of absorbing me, using me only for his own ends. But I have to tell you this, what I know now. So much of his success was because of my work. Even the staff I hired for him. Good people. They joined because they liked me.”

“Exactly what I’ve been saying, Stell.”

“Well of course they were really there for the pay. And to be fair, Damian took the risks, investing in the right companies, and convinced more investors to back his decisions. But they liked me, too. I was the one who was nice to them on the phone, who asked them about their families and pets and illnesses, who remembered their dietary requirements. God, Stella. I was a total expert on all of them. And while I was at it, I forgot who I was.”

“So all you need is the confidence to support your own business. I know you can do this.”

“And I’ve stopped straightening my hair, the way Damian wanted it. Neat and tidy. Total waste of time, that, straightening it every morning. You should see it, Jeannie. Pretty wild. Back how it always was when we were kids.”

“Can’t wait to see you!” 

Stella’s new plans made her feel more alive than ever, as if Exos was a life lived in limbo, and her real life only just beginning. 

What would life be like without that injection of money into her account every two weeks without fail? Did she even have the guts to do this? Too bad. Too late. That’s what happened when you walked out.

Everything would change. Back to powdered milk and oatmeal for breakfast. No more restaurant meals. Not even fast food. Mince meat and spaghetti; a huge pot of it, to last all week. But no more fish fingers. Ever. Stella laughed. They were Flame’s “go to” meal. Cooked in the microwave. All lined up like yellow fence posts. Never again.

Stella seized the nail clippers. She studied them before she consigned them to history – those long painted nails Damian loved – so sophisticated, and so constricting. She needed full use of her fingers. Goodbye expensive nail salon. 

Excitement became ambition. Hope became stock. Boxes of her creations became heavier. 

Fear still gnawed at her. Childhood with Flame had taught Stella how to survive without much money – but it also taught her she never wanted to go back there. Poverty scarred her and scared her. How could she ever find enough faith in her skills to trust in a future solely of her own making?

In her years as an admin assistant and PA, perfecting business plans for the boss, she’d learned a lot about budgets and strategic planning, if not about matters of the heart. The affair with the big boss, Damian? Total fail. But at least she’d learned enough about profit and loss to create a plan for this new venture – her own business. She even had a name for it – Stellar.

Elation dipped to despair. Without an income, how could she hope to pay her rent, her phone bill, or a grocery bill? She’d be no different from Flame, eking it out all her life, living from one meal to the next, always shifting house, half a step ahead of eviction.

She burned through her savings, Damian’s offer circling her consciousness like a shark. 

“Am I being irresponsible, Jeannie? Part of me thinks I should swallow my pride and go back to Damian and save up more money first, but …”

“Do not go back there!” Jeannie insisted. “Think of all the reasons you left. No. We can do this. Just take out your living costs. Come east! Come and live with Matt and me. I’m going insane home alone with the little ones, what with Matt travelling all the time. Power saving software. Everyone wants it! ‘Australasian manager’ sounds so fabulous and the money’s good. And it’s good for the planet. He loves it and I know he’s the right person for the job, but he’s almost always away! Do it. Come east. Go on. Please. Just give it a go. You’ve got nothing to lose. You keep telling me you’ll never sell enough to make a living. Well, how do you know? You keep wondering if people will actually buy your things. Well, find out! Get a stall like mum’s. Just run it while you work out what people want to buy. Call it the first step of your own business venture. You can hire stalls right near our place. Take a space in the Oxford Street mall. Think how much you’ll learn! Find out which designs sell best. Experiment with your pricing. See what happens, Stell. If you can make a go of it for six months, I’m sure you’ll be able to make a case at a bank to get funding to mass produce your designs or something. And if nothing else, you’ll enjoy a well-earned holiday and a bit of an adventure out east. And you’ll be keeping me company. Come on.”

It didn’t take much to convince her. 

Bing! Here came a selfie of Jeannie and the girls at Bondi Beach.

Bing! Another of them heading across the Sydney Harbour Bridge in the double stroller – glimpses of the city skyline, the parks and bays and beaches, and that great, big blue horizon out to sea. Why not?

How she wanted to hug those adorable nieces who were growing up so fast!

Yes. She would sell her jewels in Sydney, at least for the first six months. After that, the world! She’d progress from the stall, unlike Flame. She would show the world the beauty of her designs, sell them to other jewelers, and go on to design even more dazzling possibilities. Stella had big plans. She could do this.

Whole days disappeared as she refined her designs. She stockpiled creations and dreamt up new ones, bringing long-imagined designs into reality.  If ever she thought of Damian, another stab of fury propelled her to work faster. He’d taken Stella’s innocence and wasted years of her life, but he would no longer take her future. She’d finally broken free, and she would never, ever allow herself to fall in love with someone like him again. Bosses? Forget them. Stella was her own boss now.

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