Showing posts with label Grayson Thane. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Grayson Thane. Show all posts

Mar 14, 2019

"Danny Boy" πŸ’š







"How about 'Danny Boy'?"
Maggie rolled her eyes. 
"Count on a Yank to ask for it. 
A Brit wrote that tune, outlander."


Born in Ice





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"What a pity that it is often the favourite repertoire of drunks on late-night trains!"


Danny Boy: mystery remains over a haunting tune





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Phin only shook his head as he climbed the stairs. 
"I should've known you wouldn't remember. You were too busy drinking Irish
 and singing 'Danny Boy.'"
"I did not sing 'Danny Boy.'" Please, God.
"Can't say for sure. All those Irish tunes sound the same to me." 


High Noon






Dec 12, 2018

Winter Driving: How to Survive






Damn snow. Gabe downshifted to second gear, slowed the Jeep
 to fifteen miles an hour, swore and strained his eyes. 
Through the frantic swing of the wipers on the windshield 
all that could be seen was a wall of white. 
No winter wonderland. 


Gabriel's Angel





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By HopsonRoad - Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, 
https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=54631963






Winter adds an extra level of danger when a car breaks down.






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He was hungry, soaked to the skin, and afraid he would run out of
gas-petrol-before he found anything remotely like an inn or village.
In his mind he went over the map. Visualizing was a talent he'd
been born with, and he could, with little effort, reproduce every line
of the careful map his hostess had sent him.
The trouble was, it was pitch dark, the rain washed over his
windshield like a roaring river, and the wind was buffeting his car
on this godforsaken excuse for a road as if the Mercedes was a
Tinkertoy.
He wished violently for coffee.
When the road forked, Gray took his chances and guided the car
to the left. If he didn't find the inn or something like in it another ten
miles, he'd sleep in the damn car and try again in the morning.



Born in Ice



Mar 16, 2016

Tomorrow's Saint Patrick's Day!!!

He stopped in the kitchen doorway, and his grin spread from ear to ear. 

There she was, up to her

wrists in bread dough, her hair scooped up, her nose dusted with flour.



Born in Ice


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My Happy Dish: Mrs. Frings' Irish Soda Bread

from Sweet Paul Staffer, Paul Vitale



"This Irish Soda Bread is a treasured recipe from my dear friend's mother, Mrs. Frings.  
I make it every year for St. Patrick's Day!  I just know you're going to want to add it to your repertoire as well!"





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After she'd poured a cup, Shannon stood awkwardly, wondering what to do next. 
"You bake your own bread?"
"I do, yes. It's a soothing process. You'll have toast at least. There's a hunk of yesterday's still in
the drawer."
"A little later. I was thinking I might drive around a bit, see the cliffs or something."
"Oh, sure you'll want to see the sights." 
Competently Brianna patted the dough into a ball and
turned it into a large bowl.



Born in Shame

Feb 18, 2016

What your Sleep Position Says About Your Relationship

An elbow in the ribs brought Brianna groggily out of sleep. Her first view of the morning after a
night of love was floor. If Gray took up another inch of the bed, she'd be on it.

It took her only seconds, and a shiver in the chilly morning air, to realize she hadn't even the
stingiest corner of sheet or blanket covering her.

Gray, on the other hand, was cozily wrapped beside her, like a contented moth in a cocoon.

Sprawled over the mattress, he slept like the dead. She wished she could have said his snuggled
position, and the elbow lodged near her kidney, was lover-like, but it smacked plainly of greed. Her
tentative pushes and tugs didn't budge him.

So that was the way of it, she thought. The man was obviously unaccustomed to sharing.

Born in Ice

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Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons


Because your subconscious mind controls the way you sleep with your partner, sleep body language can be an amazingly accurate way to assess what's going on in your relationship -
even if you can't or don't articulate those things while you're awake.



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She awoke with the winter sun slanted over her face.
She awoke warm.
Sometime in the night he’d spooned her, and now she lay snugged back up against him, wrapped close. Cozy, she thought, rested and relaxed.
He’d wanted her to sleep, so she’d slept. 
Wasn’t it funny how he managed to get his way without demanding, without pushing?


Vision in White