Hello and welcome to Romance Recipes where I am happy to introduce you to a new author and a new recipe! Two of my favorite things! Today I am bringing you author, Tracy Brogan, and her recipe for Carl’s Sloe Gin Fizz along with an introduction to her latest release, The Best Medicine. Please join me in welcoming Tracy and savor her recipe for Carl’s Sloe Gin Fizz as you read about her new book!
There is a character in THE BEST MEDICINE who loves to recommend a sloe gin fizz. He was originally just a one-time character but I enjoyed him so much, I decided he should show up in my next Bell Harbor book, too! LOVE ME SWEET comes out in February. In the meantime, enjoy Carl’s Sloe Gin Fizz
- Ingredients: 2 oz sloe gin
- 1 oz freshly squeezed lemon juice
- 1 tsp superfine sugar Club soda
- Method: Shake the sloe gin, lemon juice and sugar vigorously with ice. Strain into an ice-filled Collins glass, and top with club soda or seltzer
Everyone in Bell Harbor thinks career-minded plastic surgeon Evelyn Rhoades needs a husband. Everyone, that is, except for Evelyn…sort of. Even if she did want a husband (which she doesn’t…most of the time), she’d never let something as intangible as fate determine who she marries. No, if she’s going to find someone to spend her life with, she’ll do it scientifically: with a carefully crafted list of criteria and an Internet dating site.
But when intoxicated, law-breaking Tyler Connelly crashes into her life by way of a stolen Jet Ski, unruly emotions defy common sense. Sure, he’s sexy, charming, and determined to win Evelyn’s affection, but all evidence points to him being the worst possible choice. He’s too young for her. Too irresponsible. Too underemployed. And, oh yeah, he’s her patient.
But Tyler knows firsthand how the best-laid plans can crumble under the weight of destiny. Now all he needs to do is to teach Evelyn that, in matters of the heart, love often supersedes logic.
Birthday parties are like pelvic exams—uncomfortable, awkward, and a little too personal, but an unavoidable yearly nuisance—like a pap smear, only with presents. So I should have known I couldn’t tiptoe past this day with both my secret, and my dignity, intact.
There I was, just minding my own business, looking for a cup of coffee in the Surgery Center staff lounge, when suddenly they pounced, silently and with no warning. The air around me morphed into a shimmering tsunami of pink metallic confetti. Throaty laughter filled my ears. Warm bodies surged forward, pressing me into the corner. More sparkles flew, clinging to my face like sparkly shrapnel.
There was no escape.
I was a victim of the Birthday Ninja Glitter-Bomb Squad.
Because today was no ordinary day. It was, in fact, my birthday. A birthday I wasn’t happy about. A birthday I wanted to ignore. A birthday that punted me from the eighteen-to-thirty-four bracket into the thirty-five-to-death category. Now I was trapped inside the ninjas’ rainbow-bright web.
“Happy birthday, Dr. Rhoades!”
Another cloud of confetti descended, and quasi-benevolent good wishes blended with giggles as the lounge filled with my physician partners and our office staff. Delle, our rotund receptionist, bustled forward importantly and placed a candle-laden cake on the table in the center of the room. She smiled wide, triumphant.
They all did. The whole herd of them beamed at me, expectation glowing in their eyes. They looked jubilant, the way people do when they want you to be overcome with delight . . . which I was not.
It wasn’t that I didn’t appreciate their efforts. I’m just not a big-celebration, look-at-me kind of woman. Having all that attention directed my way for something no more notable than aging seems silly. Like getting the green participation ribbon for field day. I hadn’t worked to earn this. I was being rewarded simply for showing up.
“Well, did we surprise you?” Delle demanded. She nudged thick glasses against the bridge of her nose with a pudgy thumb. She had different frames for each day of the week. These were teal. It must be Tuesday.
I hoped the open flames of all those candles might set off the smoke alarms, forcing us to vacate the building. But no such luck.I had no choice but to take one for the team. I plastered on my fake happy birthday face.
“Gosh, you guys. Yes. Wow. You really did surprise me. I had no idea anyone even knew it was my birthday.” My surprise was genuine, but I also did a pretty commendable job at sounding pleased. Score one for me.
“Dr. Pullman told us. You should thank her.” Delle pointed at the tall brunette with the two-hundred-dollar haircut and ridiculously impractical high-heeled shoes.
I swung my gaze toward Hilary Pullman, the one person in town who knew unequivocally I didn’t want a fuss made today. She was my professional colleague, my most trusted confidante, and until ten seconds ago, my closest friend. We’d met during our plastic surgery residency and bonded over the trials and tribulations of being a woman in medicine. Nothing quite cements a friendship like sharing a post-call toothbrush before morning rounds.
Hilary picked up a spatula from the table with her graceful fingers and handed it to me, handle first.
“Happy birthday, Evie. I know this isn’t as sharp as what you’re used to, but here you go. Don’t stab me with it.” She winked playfully.
I took it and glared at her, but she was immune to my annoyance. It wasn’t that she didn’t notice. She just didn’t care. Hilary thought her role in our friendship was to taunt me, and cajole me out of my comfort zone. Somewhere along the line, she’d decided it was her job to loosen me up. But I didn’t need loosening up. I liked myself just the way I was. Most of the time.
Delle clasped her hands in front of her massive double-Ds. “Well, make a wish, Dr. Rhoades. Blow out the candle.”
I smiled, trying so valiantly to make it seem legit it almost felt as if it were. Their intentions were good, after all. I cleared my throat and took a breath. “Thank you, everyone. This is really very sweet. These past few months here in Bell Harbor have been wonderful, and you’ve all made me feel right at home. I can’t think of anything else I need to wish for.”
“How about a husband?” Delle called out, giggling again, and nodding at the others, perspiration gleaming against her dark forehead.
That was one disadvantage of moving to such a small community. Everyone in town knew I lived alone I was perpetually single. That fact weighed heavily on everyone’s mind. Everyone’s except mine, that is. I still had plenty of time to find a husband.
Assuming I even wanted one.
Which I didn’t.
Most of the time.
Buy the Book:
Tracy Brogan writes bestselling fun and funny contemporary stories about ordinary people finding extraordinary love, and lush historical romance full of royal intrigues, damsels causing distress, and the occasional man in a kilt. She’s a two-time Golden Quill winner and was nominated by Romance Writers of America for a prestigious RITA award for Best First Book for her debut novel, CRAZY LITTLE THING.
Giving stuff away makes me happy!!! So anyone who leaves a comment on this blog, or pops over to my author pages and says, “Romance Recipes sent me!” will be entered into a drawing for a bag of Brogan swag, including a signed copy of THE BEST MEDICINE! I’ll announce the winner on Monday, June 9th!
Thank you for joining us for another Romance Recipes! I hope you’ll stop by next week to meet another author, try a new recipe and pick up a new book!