Are you there, blog? It's me, Melissa.

Are you there, blog? It’s me Melissa. Who else is fangirling over Judy Blume’s Are you There God? It’s me, Margaret being turned into a movie?? Like so many others out there, Judy Blume helped me blossom into a voracious reader and inspired me as an author. 😊 While Judy Blume isn’t a romance writer, Forever... by Judy Blume was my first tiptoe into the world of love stories (swoon).

            Ms. Blume is responsible for fueling my love of reading and inspiring me in my wee-Melissa days to be a writer. I read Are you There God? It’s me, Margaret when I was in sixth grade, which incidentally was when I wrote my first book for a Language Arts assignment. It was a fairy tale called The Three Giants about three giants (clever name), who are ostracized by a village of humans, because they are assumed to be “scary”. After three adorable advocating children befriend the giants they help the village see the giants as unscary and welcome them into the village. Gee…as the only blind girl in a school where I was severely bullied this story was my first channeling of all those feelings into story. Something I still do now. Side note, the book won a red ribbon (second place) at the county fair and may be in a box in my garage to never see the light of day!

            Fast forward to 2023, and I am now writing my fourth manuscript. Two are with editors and I will be sending out queries to literary agents by end of May/start of June and pitching at RWA in July and the third is in self-editing right now. I am a passionate reader and writer because of the foundational authors in my childhood and teen years. Besides Ms. Blume I can count the following as earlier inspiration to a young Melissa:

·       Little Women by Louisa May Alcott

·       The Babysitters Club by Ann M. Martin

·       Double Love (Sweet Valley High, #1) by Francine Pascal

·       Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen

I know there are so many more books and authors that were instrumental in stoking my fire for reading and in the long term led me to the path I am on now as a writer. I am so grateful for those writers and books in my past, present, and future reading life. Their stories are such a lovely gift. I only hope to share such a gift with you all very soon!

Pinkies up!

Crushing on You: Some of my Favorite Romance Writers

            I have a crush! In truth, I have MANY crushes. Yes, my husband knows all about them. As a writer I crush on many an author for their lyrical prose, poetic imagery, masterful wit, or ability to wring out every emotion from me in the hills and valleys of their story. As a reader I get crushes on some of the three-dimensional characters created by some of my favorite authors (aka crushes).

            I could spend hours listing my literary crushes and, frankly, who has the time. So, here are my top five and the book that clinched my scrawling their name on the cover of my notebook in glittery gel pen.

1.     The Undertaking of Hart and Mercy by Megan Bannen

a.     This genre-bending book has a rich cast of characters that jump off the page giving you all the feels. Hart and Mercy inhabit a world that is part-Western, part-Fantasy, and part-Zombie, but one hundred percent enthralling. This “not-quite enemies but not-quite chummy to lovers” story was one of my favorite books of 2022.

2.     Seven Days in June by Tia Williams

a.     This heartbreakingly and heartwarmingly beautiful story about first love and second chances will leave you sated but wanting more. Like all good romances, its more than just a love story about the couple. It explores issues of race, class, gender, and chronic disease.

3.     Behind the Scenes by Karelia Stetz-Waters

a.     There are two pugs named Muffin and Poundcake. Need I say more? This has been one of my early favs in 2023. This heartwarming and witty romance not only has a love story that steams off the page, but a cast of support characters that make you say, “I know that person” and want to read more about this world the author has created.

4.     The Fastest Way to Fall by Denise Williams

a.     This witty and swoony love story not only features one of the most adorable couplings of my fabulous fellow curvy sister-from-a-different-mister Britta and the diabetes-inducing and panty-dropping deliciously sweet Wes but offers a very real discussion about body image and the pressure placed on women, especially women of color, to mold into an image of what is beautiful that doesn’t embrace all types of beauty. (Yes, that was one run-on sentence! This is why nobody is crushing on me…YET.)

5.     Set on You (The Influencer, #1) by Amy Lea

a.     Ummm…a curvy social media influencer and a sexy firefighter? Has someone been sneaking around in my dreams Inception-style? Fess up, Amy Lea! This funny, heartwarming, and very steamy novel is the first of what has become one of my favorite series in the last year. Just like ALL of my literary crushes, this book not just offers the “Fan Yourself” moments we love as romance readers but delves into very real issues in a thoughtful and sensitive way.

This is just a snapshot of some of my MANY literary crushes I am currently nursing ,along with this cup of Chai tea sitting beside me. I love each of their style of writing for very different reasons, but the common theme weaving them together in a crush-worthy package is their ability to create characters that pull me into their story causing me to flip or tap to the next page or tack (fi you’re doing audio) to find out what happens next, to tear up with them, and to cheer on for them.

            Aa a fellow romance writer, I can only hope to create stories that my readers will fall in love with much like my list of crushes. If you haven’t checked these amazing crushes of mine, please do. Also, share your literary crush in the comments or via social media at @SteamingPlot81 (Twitter) or @melissa_whitneyauthor (Insta Gram).

            And remember nothing soothes a crusher’s heart like a steamy cup of tea!

            Pinkies Up!!

The GIft of Critique (Can I send it back?)

    Have you ever got a gift that you wanted to give back? Like that fuzzy sweater vest with a stack of books and an apple embossed on it that your grandma bought you for your thirteenth birthday, because vests were “cool”? Oh, grandma. We’ve all had that experience. There are gifts we want to exchange, ones we want to regift, ones we wish we could burn…etc. Just like critique.

     It is the toughest part about being a writer. Not the thinking of ideas. Not the writer’s block. It’s the critique. Now, some people thrive on it, but most writers do not. If they say they do, I smell someone boating down the river denial! This is why the review or query process of one’s works is the most nail-biting, chocolate-consuming, and curse word-inducing experience.

    I know it is for me. As a writer, I’ve spent a lot of time working on something. Weaving together all the words whirling around in me into what I hope is a good story. The stories I write are the babies that I have nurtured in my creative womb and pushed out into the world. So, it’s natural that I would be a little protective and emotional about them. However, despite what my mother may have thought about me, no baby is perfect. Babies poop, they are sticky, they whine, they put things in their mouth…etc. Just like our stories.

    Critique helps us guide our story (baby) into what it can become. Now, not all critique is value-added, but much is. Getting others to take a look at your work will only help you become a stronger writer. In the short time that I have been focused on my writing, I have found the critique from the editors I’ve worked with, the Read & Critique groups I’ve joined with other Romance Writers, my Beta Readers, fellow writers at conferences, and even that pesky literary agent, who will remain nameless, that made me (just for a minute) question my writing as a mere premature midlife crisis all helped develop me as a writer. Clearly I am still in development!

    Critique is a gift. We can choose to unwrap it, use it, toss it away, put it in a drawer, or hand it off to another person, but we should always accept it. Even if we don’t do anything with it. When someone takes the time to read your work and offer feedback, they are telling you that they believe in your ability and want to help support you on your journey. Even if their feedback doesn’t make sense to you, accept it in the spirit it was given to you. Just like I did with that hideous sweater from my grandma. That OG fugly sweater later came in handy for one of my high school’s homecoming dress up days, Nerd Day. If I hadn’t accepted that fantastically uncool sweater, I would have never been the Queen of the Nerds that day!

    So, here’s my gift to you. Embrace critique. You don’t have to use it. As well, the critique says nothing about you as a person or your talent. What it does say is that someone believes enough in you to offer you feedback so you can continue to bloom!

Pinkies up!

Better Together: Fidning Your Community as a Writer

            When you close your eyes and picture a writer, what do you see? Often there is an image of a lone writer typing away in a room with wall-to-wall bookshelves overflowing with well-loved books. A glass half-filled with melting ice and amber-colored liquid or, in my case, a giant cup of steaming tea, beside them. However, you visualize the writer, there is a perception of writing being a solo sport.

            This is both true and untrue. True that many aspects of writing are done solo, but the entire process is very much a team sport and is enhanced through partnership. I’ve written in my blog about the phenomenal experience of working with Beta Readers and Editors. Today, I’d like to talk about finding community as a writer. No matter how individualistic anything appears on the surface, the experience is always deepened when it’s shared with someone else or a group of someone elses.

            I learned this a few months into my writing journey. It all started with my friend Meghan aka the BEST BETA READER EVER. I had only shared with a few select people that I was writing a book. This was often met with the “Awe, isn’t’ that sweet” expression on their faces. The same expression that we give to children with lemonade stands. Which I get! What do you say to your blind friend who has spent the last fifteen years working in healthcare when they say, “I’m writing a Romance Novel”?  Meghan’s response was “Can I be your copy editor?” Blinking, I said, “Sure.”

            My experience with Meghan reinforced the importance of not doing this alone. Meghan would review my chapters and provide valuable feedback. As well, I could bounce ideas against her big old sexy brain as a reader for my first manuscript Finding Home. This led to me running things by her for the subsequent next two manuscripts In the Hello and In the Goodbye and Coming Home. I’m currently tossing ideas at her for Love is Dead, my work in progress (WIP) which is a Contemporary Romance with a paranormal hue. Needless to say, Meghan will be a permanent fixture it all the Acknowledgement Sections of my published books. For you writers that want to borrow Meghan, find your own Meghan…I’m NOT sharing. 😊

            My professional relationship with Meghan pushed me to search for community with writers. I joined several Facebook groups allowing me to discuss ideas and ask questions both of published and unpublished writers. As well, I joined a Read & Critique group for Romance Writers allowing me to share and discuss both my and their work. I formed a little writer’s support group with two friends, one who is an AMAZING nonfiction writer and one who is a WONDERFUL YA writer. That group allows us to share our work, brainstorm ideas, encourage each other in the cutthroat publishing business, and guide each other. I’ve also joined several organizations for Romance Writers, participated in the Southern California Writers Conference, and will be attending a conference for Romance Writers in the summer.

            All of this is enriching my world as a writer. Community opens up an array of resources, guidance, ideas, encouragement, and support that wouldn’t be available to me if I typed away alone with just my pugs to keep me company (all their ideas involve bones and belly rubs, which actually works in Romance). None of us our alone in this or anything as long as we reach out. Now, I realize the idea of the woman that writes about love stories gushing about the importance of relationship isn’t unique, but it’s important. We are all better together and that includes we writers!

            Remember a tea party isn’t a party without at least one other person to join, so reach out and find your community…whatever it is. If you want some tips or suggestions on developing your writer’s network or want to join mine, comment below or DM me on Insta Gram at Melissa_WhitneyAuthor.

Pinkies up!

The Barstool: A Writing Exercise

Hey! Sorry for the lackluster posting while I was on travel. I am back, though. Here’s a vignette inspired by the word “barstool” that I wrote while I was stuck in the airport Friday. Hope you enjoy!

Pinkies up!

The Barstool

By: Melissa Whitney

Lucy sipped her glass of chardonnay. Its buttery liquid flushing her cheeks. Such a lightweight. She placed the glass back on the bar, the cool condensation coating her fingers.

            Drinking alone wasn’t normal for Lucy, but nothing about this week had been normal. It was supposed to be just your average work trip. Fly to Chicago, spend a week surveying a small cohort of outpatient clinics, and fly back home to San Diego. It was all standard for her.

            Foolish! She sighed to herself, the pads of her fingers skating across the smooth glass.

Leaning against the hardback of the barstool, she closed her eyes. The living Tablo of Murphy’s Law that had been the last four days played uninterrupted in her mind. The cancelled flight, followed by the rebooking, subsequent delay of that new flight, and the landing in Chicago fifteen hours after she’d left her house for the airport. The baggage claim conveyor belt filled with everyone else’s bags, but hers. The unapologetic airline worker explaining that her suitcase was still in San Diego and wouldn’t arrive in Chicago ‘til the next day. The fire alarm going off at three a.m., in the hotel where she slept naked because there was no place to buy clothes and toiletries near her hotel at one a.m., when she’d finally arrived. The ten-hour days of staff grumbling as they reviewed documents with her and their muttered not-quite under their breath insults at each of her questions.

This week sucked. She let out a heavy breath. At least, tonight was her last night here. If there wasn’t a repeat of Monday, this time tomorrow she’d sit on the well-loved couch in her living room, a bowl of popcorn on her lap, and Uncle Fester, her six-year-old pug, curled beside her.

            “Is this seat taken?” a deep rumble of a voice asked.

            Lucy blinked. “Ah?” It was part question and part gapping as she took in the man standing beside her, a duffle flung over his shoulder and his large hands resting on the barstool beside her.

            The corners of his lips raised in a charming smile, disarming her shock. “Mind if I sit with you?” he asked, a glint of mischievous daring sparked in his eyes.

            A tiny flip somersaulted in her belly. “Sure,” she said.

            His tall, lean body slipped into the chair beside her, slinging his green duffle onto the back of the chair. The blended aroma of ocean and fresh citrus wafting off him coiled around them as they sat.

            “So, what brings you to Chicago?” His words closing her mouth just as she was about to say something.

            What is he doing? Lucy’s head cocked to the side. A beat passed before she answered, “Business. Tonight’s my last night here.” Her gaze turned to the rows of alcohol bottles lining the mirrored shelf above the bar. 

            “What do you do?” He waved to get the bartender’s attention.

            Lucy’s manicured fingers tapped on the smooth surface of the bar top. “Healthcare.”

“Healthcare. Impressive.” His brows ticked up. “You give off boss energy, so I’d imagine you’re something important.” The heat of his gaze trailed down her body replacing the wine flush with a creeping blush crawling up her neck.

“I do quality control,” she said, twisting towards him, her red pencil skirt inching to her midthigh. It tingled where she knew his stare landed. She tugged her skirt down.

Leaning against the bar, his toned forearms were on full display in his short sleeved pale gray button up shirt. “Quality control is very sexy,” he said, his voice reaching an even lower and more rumbly octave than what she thought was possible.

She snorted.

His grin deepened. “What, you don’t agree?”

The bartender appeared taking his drink order and buying her time to ponder his question. Of course, she didn’t agree. There was nothing attractive about the administrator that came in telling you all the things you weren’t doing right. The frowns of staff as she walked through the front door of each clinic this week solidified that. There was nothing sexy about quality control and nothing sexy about Lucy. The riding up pencil skirt aside, her boxy blazer hung on the back of her chair and boring white button up blouse with its tiny stain from where she’d dribbled her tea earlier today did not scream “sexy”.

He ordered an IPA. The foamy beer placed in front of him as the bartender walked away. Wrapping his hands around the pint glass, he swiveled in his chair facing her. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“Nobody finds the woman coming in and telling them everything they are doing is wrong, sexy.” She scrunched up her face.

“I do.” He arched his right brow. “The sexiness of a smart, confident woman guiding me in how to do things better is undeniable.”

What? A disbelieving smile popped on her face. Was this happening? Was he for real?

“You say that, but I’m sure if you had a woman like that you’d grumble and call her a nag.” She picked up her wine, sipping it before spinning back towards the bar.

Following her movement, he twisted facing forward. Their gazes meeting in the mirror in front of them.

Raising his glass, he halted midair, his smile slanted with defiance. “If I did do something as boneheaded as that, I’d like to think I’d realize how stupid I was and beg for forgiveness.”

She rolled her eyes. “So, what brings you to Chicago,” she inquired, deciding to play along with his little flirty game.

“Pleasure.”

Oh, dear! The langued pronunciation of his words vibrated through her. Lucy crossed and uncrossed her legs, trying to fight the sensation spreading through her.

“That’s nice,” she almost gulped, the breathy quality of her voice seeming to steal her ability to speak.

The wickedness in his smirk broadened. “Indeed.”

Lucy tucked her dark hair behind her ears, crimson kissing her cheeks. When was the last time someone had hit on her like this at a bar? When was the last time the warmth of someone’s stare swept over her like this? When was the last time her temperature rose like this just at the timbre of someone’s voice? Not since Justin and her had first started dating two years ago.

Lifting her glass to her lips, she finished her drink.

“May I buy you another?” he offered as she placed her now empty glass down.

Looking between his grinning face and her empty glass, she shook her head. “No. Sorry. I have a boyfriend, but thanks.”

“A boyfriend?” He leaned back in his chair, fingers threading through his thick chestnut hair. “That’s disappointing.”

“Well, I’m sure you’ll find a single lady here to buy a drink for.” She motioned to the almost empty bar. The only other patrons a table of three suited men sitting in the corner with draft beers on their able.

“That’s not what’s disappointing.” He turned again angling his body to face her, his heat enveloping her. “What’s disappointing is that you have a boyfriend and didn’t realize how sexy you are. Sounds like he’s failing you.”

She gapped.

He went on, “If I was with a woman like you, I’d never want her to question how sexy she is for one minute. I’d never want her to question how I felt about her for a minute.”

The gapping was accompanied by the actual hitching of breath. Lucy thought that was only something in bad romance novels, not real life. Men didn’t say these things. They didn’t do these things.

Placing cash on the bar to tip the bartender, she got up. “Thanks. I appreciate that.” She grabbed her blazer and purse.

He touched her arm halting her steps. “I hope he realizes how lucky he is.”

Her eyes flicked to where his palm rested on her arm, goosebumps peppering her skin at his touch. “I think he does,” she assured with a smile.

Saying good night, she strode through the bar. Glancing over her shoulder, she took one last look at him. His mossy green eyes met hers from across the room. After the week she’d had, she allowed that moment to wash over her. The sensation of being wanted left her buzzed or, perhaps, it was the chardonnay. Either way, her cheeks reddened.

Walking from the hotel bar, she headed to the fifth floor and to her room. Opening the door, she kicked off her unfashionable but sensible black pumps. Her bare feet sinking into the sumptuous brown carpet. Tossing her blazer and purse onto the small sofa, the ring tone of her cell filled the room.

“Justin,” she greeted, seeing his name flash on her phone’s screen.

“How’s your week going?” he asked.

“It’s just got better.” She grinned, looking at herself in the mirror. Somehow the white blouse with its lingering tea spots seemed to hug the curves of her breasts and that pencil skirt made her butt pop in just the right way.

“How so?” His tone was playful.

Her mouth opened, but her words ceased with a gentle rapt at her door. “Wait, someone’s at the door.” She shuffled to the door, opening it.

Those mossy green eyes and charming smile that had sat beside her in the bar faced her, his duffle slung over his shoulder and cell phone pressed to his ear. “Lucy.”

“Justin,” she said, her lips quirked up. Yup, it was going to be a good night.

 

 

 

 

What about the Beta?

 

So many romance writers love a good Alpha. Yes, please! I’ll own that I enjoy some sexy Alpha energy in the romances I read. While the Alphas are yummy, let us not forget how important the Betas are. Specifically, the Beta Readers of the world.

            What is a Beta Reader, you ask? It’s a great question and something I didn’t know about ‘til a few months ago. After joining several Facebook groups supporting romance writers and women writers, I learned the term. In short it is an individual or a team of individuals that read your manuscript prior to sending it off to an editor. Their feedback provides valuable analysis on the plot, characters, and story format. They read it not from an editor’s perspective, but from that of a reader. They identify points in which the story drags, plot points that drop or are inconsistent, critique dialogue, and offer insight into your characters.

            For my first book Finding Home I was blessed enough to have several Beta Readers including members of my all-romance book club The Elizabeth Bennet Book Club. They were able to give me some valuable input that I’ve incorporated into the edits I’m making with my goddess of an editor Gemma Brocato (have you read her stuff yet!!?).

            The Beta Reader experience truly came alive with my second manuscript In the Hello and In the Goodbye, a second-chance romance about Colm Gallagher, a special education teacher on the Autism Spectrum, and his little chatterbox Evie Johnson. For this novel, I reached beyond my in-network readers getting Beta Readers who had ZERO relationship with me. While friends and family can be wonderful in providing you feedback, they are invested in your happiness and may pull their punches (although, my OG Beta Reader who still reads all my stuff has sucker punched me a few times with her constructive critique, but I am a better writer for it and adore her!).

            The Beta Reader process is such a wonderful yet terrifying experience. It’s something all writers should experience. Have people outside your bubble read your work. Have them give you feedback. The Beta Reader for In the Hello and In the Goodbye provided a formal report helping me see what I did well in the book, where I needed to move things along, and areas to strengthen. It helped me tighten things up, making it a stronger story before engaging in a formal editing process.

            So, now that I’ve gone all Lady Gaga over my love of the Beta Reader process, I am sure you are wondering how does one get a Beta Reader? There are some professional Beta Readers or editors that will provide this service at cost for you. You can find them online or through various writer networks. One trick I found was joining a Beta Readers group on Facebook, where writers and editors exchange their reading services for free with one another. It’s very quid pro quo. I read yours, you read mine. The Beta Reader group I belong to on Facebook is for all genres, but if you belong to genre-specific groups, you can often find folks familiar with your genre that would be open to doing this.

            I can’t stress the importance of lots and lots and lots and lots (you get the point) of feedback in the writing process. As painful as it can be, it’s crucial in helping you craft a story that readers will want to read. Isn’t that the point of writing, after all? If you want to create a story that an audience will connect with, you need to have some of that audience participate in crafting the story.

            I would be lost in the darkness of solo creativity if it weren’t for my amazing army of Beta Readers. I am so grateful for those within my little bubble and outside that have agreed to support my writing journey with their time and feedback as a reader.

            Here’s to the Beta Readers of the world! We writers need you and we readers thank you. If you’re interested in serving as a Beta Reader for my forthcoming manuscripts, hit me up on IG at Melissa_WhitneyAuthor! I’m always open to adding to my roster to get even more feedback.

Pinkies Up!

 

The Hunt: A Writing Exercise

     As a special treat for Easter, today’s word was “hunt”. I used it to introduce Uncle Pete, who is an important character and pivotal relationship for Eleanor “Elle” Davidson in Finding Home. Everyone should have an Uncle Pete in their life. I know I do (although, he is an Uncle Mike). I hope you enjoy getting a chance to meet Pete and see a pintsize Elle. 😊

Pinkies Up!

The Hunt

By: Melissa Whiney

The still damp grass squished beneath Pete’s sneakers as he walked through the maze of egg hunting children and laughing parents. His two-year-old niece Eleanor’s little hand blanketed in his, as he guided her towards a bright pink egg. Its smooth plastic almost glittered in the sun. It was just an egg but looking down at Eleanor’s chipmunk-cheeked smile and bright hazel eyes it was suddenly the most important egg in the world. It would be the first time his niece would find an Easter Egg.

            At sixteen, he had experienced many first times for himself. Like three years ago, when he had had his first real kiss with Melanie Monroe, who became his first girlfriend and subsequent first breakup. There had been many more firsts for Pete, but nothing thrummed happiness through him like witnessing Eleanor’s firsts. Her first giggle, which he was convinced had happened when he played peek-a-boo at the hospital nursery window with his newborn niece. Her first taste of chocolate pudding, which he snuck her despite his sister telling him not to give her daughter any pudding. Her first steps, which happened on the shag carpet of his parents’ living room as Pete lounged on the floor with his niece. In Eleanor’s short two years, he cheered her on for all her firsts.

            “You got this!” he said, a goofy grin spread across his face as she stumbled towards the pink plastic egg.

            “Got it!” a sandy haired little boy chirped, scooping up the egg, and tossing it into his basket.

            Pete stood, dumbfounded. Eleanor’s little feet glued in place, her eyes darting between the little boy, a blue basket dangling from his left hand, and Pete who gapped. The little boy’s gray eyes looked at Eleanor and then back to another little boy with dark floppy hair.

            “Egg.” She pointed to the little boy’s basket.

            Pete wanted to rip the egg out of the basket and hand it to his niece, but the little boy did nothing wrong. Eleanor was still half a foot away when he reached the egg first. This was the dog-eat-dog world of the VFW’s Annual Easter Egg Hunt. Pete had lost countless eggs and stolen even more as a little boy.

            “There are more eggs to find,” Pete assured, squeezing Eleanor’s hand.

Her eyes remained fixed on that pink egg. The little boy, who was a year or so older than Pete’s niece, frowned looking between a sad faced Eleanor and his friend.

“Sorry.” The little boy plucked the egg out of his basket and held it out for Eleanor.

“Egg!” Eleanor squealed, taking the egg from the little boy. With a giggle she held it up to Pete.

“What do we say to the nice boy?” A warm smile fixed to Pete’s face. It may be cutthroat at the Easter Egg Hunt, but this was a nice boy and he liked that there were nice boys out there for his niece. All he wanted was a world full of nice for her.

“Thanks,” she said, her face lit with happiness.

The little boy grinned.

“Come on CJ, let’s go!” The other little boy dragged him away.

As the two boys scampered off, Pete continued his egg hunt with Eleanor. She may have that shiny pink egg in her basket, but that was the first egg given to her. There was still a mission to experience Eleanor finding her own egg. The idea of watching her zero in on a goal and achieve it seemed important to him. Not only did he want his niece to have a lifetime of niece, but a life full of reaching for things and getting them. A life of seeing what she wanted and taking it. All he wanted for her was everything. That was not too much to ask, was it?

“Purple!” Eleanor cried, glee seeming to vibrate through her as she waved frantically at a purple egg.

“Let’s get it,” Pete said, lifting her into his arms and running towards the egg. His gaze scanning around them to avoid trampling any children and to ensure nobody stole this egg. He could not count on another CJ to just give up their found egg.

Reaching the egg, he placed Eleanor on the grass. She trotted towards the egg that sat beside the root of a not-yet budding tree. Despite the above sunshine basking the morning in warmth, it was early April in Western, NY. The last snow had just melted. The bloom of spring was still weeks away.

“Egg!” she shrieked with joy, hoisting the egg into the air.

“Nice job!” he cheered holding her pink and purple basket in front of her. “Nothing but basket.” Prideful elation flooded every inch of him as she placed the egg into the basket.

Her big smile blasted as she lifted her arms in the air. “Uncle Pete!’

Placing the basket on the ground by his feet, he scooped her up into his arms. “That’s my girl,” he said, bending to grab the basket.

“So, she’s my competition,” a soft voice cooed causing Pete to turn around.

His heart stuttered as his gaze landed on Janet Michaels. Her long dark hair swept back in a braid revealing her sweet smile and big brown eyes. A bright yellow sweater swam on her petite frame, but fitted stonewash jeans accentuated her toned legs and small hips. These would things that he should not be noticing, while holding his niece. Things that made him feel like not being a nice boy.

Janet may not be his first kiss nor his first girlfriend, but she would be his last. His friends told him he was lovesick. His older sister rolled her eyes. His parents told him he was too young. He may be all those things, but above all he knew he was right. Just as he wanted Eleanor to have a lifetime of possibility, he wanted a lifetime with Janet.

“Janet!” Eleanor reached for her.

“I think you’re my completion,” he joked, handing Janet his niece.

“Come here squirt.” Janet took Eleanor, who nuzzled into her arms.

The three of them wandered through the VFW’s lawn. Eleanor’s little legs run towards different colored eggs hidden in the grass, beneath picnic tables, and beside trees. CJ appeared again, handing her another pink egg before running away with his little friend.

“I think he has a crush on Eleanor,” Janet said, pointing at CJ as he ran towards a man with a bowtie speckled with tiny pink bunnies.

Pete’s brow winkled. “She’s too young for that.”

“I don’t know.” Janet lifted Eleanor up pointing to CJ who chased another little boy. “Do you like that boy?”

Eleanor’s face was pink and then she buried it in Janet’s chest.

“She’s too young,” Pete protested with a scowl.

“They say we’re too young but when you know, you know,” Janet sassed, winking at him.

Pete shook his head. “Let’s wait ‘til I am sixty before we marry her off. Come here kiddo.” He reached for Eleanor.

“NO!” Eleanor whined, her arms wrapping tighter around Janet. “Aunt Janet,” she pouted.

Aunt Janet? Pete’s eyes grew wide. His gaze flicked to Janet expecting her to be horrified with her mouth slack at being sixteen and dubbed “Aunt”.

He was used to it. Amanda, his sister, had Eleanor when he was fourteen. He had been an uncle when most of his friends were simply brothers. He liked being an uncle way better than being a brother. Uncle meant responsibility. It meant taking care of someone. Not someone, but Eleanor. Before his niece, he was just Pete. Now, he was Uncle Pete. How would Janet react to Eleanor proclaiming her “Aunt Janet”?

“Guess I am your completion, after all,” Janet said, a self-impressed smirk etched on her face. “Don’t worry Eleanor, you can stay with Aunt Janet while Uncle Pete carries the basket.”

Eleanor looked up, her face bright with a happy grin.

“Let’s go find more eggs,” Janet said, turning and carrying Eleanor towards the crowd of children still hunting.

Aunt Janet and Uncle Pete. His lips tugged up with that thought. It was another first and he knew there would be a lifetime of more to come.