Tuesday, January 21, 2020


Rocks and Flowers in a Box by Cynthia Hilston - Book Blitz

Rocks and Flowers in a Box (Lorna & Tristan Series #2)

The wedding bells for Lorna and Tristan Blake toll doom right as the honeymoon begins with an unexpected turn in Tristan’s health. While World War II winds down, Lorna receives a letter from the War Department informing her that the brother she thought killed in action is still alive. She is overjoyed, but his return will dredge up a devastating secret about their parents’ tragic death –a secret that could destroy her new marriage and threaten her husband’s physical and mental well-being. What unfolds is balancing act of keeping the faith and shattering the pieces of the life she’s worked so hard to put back together.

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Ch. 8 

Context: After days of tension and little communication between them, Lorna comes home after work to find Tristan baking, as a way of apologizing.

When I returned home, Tristan was in the kitchen, wearing an apron covered with flour, the white extending up his arms. He turned to me and had the look of a kid caught stealing from the cookie jar.
Bemused, I asked, “What on earth are you doing?”
“Oh, this?” He chuckled, gesturing toward a bowl. “Baking, of course.”
If I had a mirror, I was sure I would have witnessed my eyebrows disappearing into my hairline. “You, bake?” I hung my purse on the hook next to the door and approached the aftermath of a tornado named Tristan and a bowl of flour. “I’m not sure who won. You certainly showed that flour who’s boss, but it looks like it put up quite the fight.”
Tristan shrugged. “I was hoping to surprise you.”
“It’s like Christmas in here, dear.”
He groaned. “I just wanted to...do something nice for you. And I wanted cookies. You had the car, and I didn’t feel like taking the bus. I hate buses.”
“You could have walked, surely?”
“Yeah...I hadn’t thought of that.”
“Are you losing brain material because you spend so much time in your head, too much time writing?”
“I’m sorry about how I acted the other night...how I’ve been since then.” He untied the apron and sighed, then ran his hands under the water.
When he was clean, I took his hand, checked the oven—no cookies, and made sure it was off, then led Tristan into the living room. “You don’t have to feel obligated to bake or cook or whatever to apologize. Just talk to me.”
He gazed at me with those intense blue eyes. I would lose myself in them if I didn’t blink. “I consider John a friend, but seeing him act like that…” He trailed off.
“I know. I wanted to talk about it, yet I didn’t want to push you to open up because I don’t want to cause you stress.”
“That’s the last thing you’d do. I cause myself more stress by keeping my thoughts and feelings inside. I guess I’m still working on trying to share them with someone who cares. I could tell you a hundred times a day how lucky I am to have you, but I’m not sure if I believe it.”
“Believe it?”
“That you’re real. That this, all of this, is real.” He gestured at the room.
Tristan spent hours creating fictional worlds and had lived a solitary life for years. He knew more about the inside of his head than the outside world, or so it seemed. Maybe he didn’t trust the world, but… “You trust me, right?”
“Of course. On my life.”
I placed my hand over his heart. “Then trust me that we’re meant for each other, that we can see through anything, but we’ve got to be a team.”
He nodded, taking my hand and kissing it. “I promise. I swear it, my darling.”
“Good. Now, let’s clean up the kitchen. I’m glad you didn’t try to bake, because you really might have burned the house down.”

Author Bio – Cynthia Hilston is a thirty-something-year-old stay-at-home mom of three young kids, happily married. Writing has always been like another child to her. After twenty years of waltzing in the world of fan fiction, she finally stepped away to do her debut dance with original works of fiction. Visit her website at www.cynthiahilston.com for more information.

In her spare time - what spare time? - she devours books, watches Doctor Who and Game of Thrones, pets her orange kitty, looks at the stars, and dreams of what other stories she wishes to tell.

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