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At least my bikinis were black.
“You’re cousins are expecting you, Kosta.” Raynie said, when our food arrived at the big table. “They know you’ll be inCrítiand they want you to stay with them. And remember your Pappou’s goddaughter and her children and grandchildren. And don’t forget the olive oil. I need at least two liters. I’ll give you the address for the place you can get the crowns for Soula’s wedding, and the candles for the baptisms, and…”
I closed my eyes and held in a groan. “Did your mom just re-plan our entire honeymoon?”
“Probably. This is why you don’t tell your cousins when you take your honeymoon in Greece.”
I looked sharply at Gus. “You get two days with cousins. And we are staying in hotels.”
“Yes, Crow.”
“I’d planned on spending two weeks naked from the waist up on a very secluded beach.”
He groaned. “No cousins, then.”
“No cousins. I want you alone so I can gape at your wide-open collar and lust after your suprasternal notch.”
“Hmm… I feel like that would be sexy if I knew what you said.”
“Just wait ’til I get your collar off.”
“We don’t have to wait for Greece for that.” Gus kissed me on the temple.
“I wasn’t planning on it.”
Thank you so much for taking your time to readThe Bones of Love. This is the last book in the Smythe Mortuary family saga, but something tells me this won't be the last time you're seeing Soula, Bethany, and Decca.
Please turn the page after the acknowledgments for a glimpse into the next Last Responders romance.
And as always, please consider leaving a review forThe Bones of Love. Reviews are one of the best ways to help indie authors, and even a few simple lines are always appreciated!
The Background
I wanted to writea romcom about a mortician.
Having had a lifelong special interest in death and deathcare, I thought I could write without researching first. I’d already read everything out there, so I thought I could jump in, and it would be so easy.
When I started to write it, though, I could only think of the most horrifically sad situations. Or a comedy-of-errors where caskets were dropped and bodies fell out. None of that was a book I wanted to write. I didn’t want to bog down the reader in sadness. I absolutely didn’t want to further malign the profession by mocking it or portraying morticians as incompetent.
But then Soula stepped in, and she started telling me the story of her house.
Then Bethany showed up out of nowhere, and I recognized her right away. Then Decca. Then Waylon, and Raynie, and George, Jim, and Gus. And it was like I was suddenly being introduced to these people I’d known forever.
(Maybe this is why I believe in instalove).
Thecompart of the romcom was lost, the book expanded into a series about more than just morticians, and the Smythe Mortuary family saga was born.
At the time,Morgue to Lovewas the hardest book I’d written. Some parts of Soula are a lot like me, and I didn’t want to put myself into a book, so I denied her voice for months. Finally, I decided deadlines trumped my own desire, and I let her talk. By then, George was firmly inserting himself into the scenes, and I knew I had to write his story.
Undertaking Lovethen became the hardest book I’d ever written. I try todosomething with each book. To learn and stretch myself as a writer.Undertakingwas all about keeping you in his emotions. But I’m like Soula. Emotions are hard for me. I feel them deeply, but not in an orderly fashion that comes out fluently on the page.
At the end ofUndertaking Love, and well into the beginning of Bones, Decca and Gus still weren’t talking to me. I couldn’t find their story. I knew what their situation would entail. I’d gone through the what-if process duringMorgue, which went something like this:
Soula should have a brother in seminary.
Ooh, she should have another brother who’s a total player.
No wait. They should be the same guy!
