This was a comment on a hot chocolate recipe reposted to Reddit. She thinks no one knows it’s her.
Tag Archives: Josephine Berendt
Passive-Aggressive
Cookies are important
Red Pawns
Fleeing Thoughts
Black Friday
Did everyone get enough pie yesterday? I hope so. And if not, settle in with a slice, because I have a treat for you: An interview with Grant Black, president and CEO of Black Industries, billionaire, and vampire.
Covenhouse Christmas (part 5)
Someday, maybe, we’d get used to each other. I didn’t want to leave. I know you’ll think that was the best option – I had my settlement, all the millions of dollars and millions more in property that he’d given me just for being his child, and I could have gone anywhere, done anything, and never worried about a thing. Yes. All that’s true.
But I wanted him. I needed something to anchor me to the world, to remind me to be at least a semi-decent person. Grant did that for me. He’d come from nothing, been made in a time when nothing was expected from him, and he’d done all this. Black Industries, the covenhouse, the survival of a hundred and fifty years in a coffin. He’s the most amazing man I think I shall ever meet, not merely that I have already met.
Covenhouse Christmas (part 4)
Simmons stood in the middle of the south parlor, bags at his feet and on the sofas, pulling lights out of their boxes.
“Madam.” He sounded grateful. “You have a plan for all of this?”
“Of course. Tree in the corner.” I pointed to the right of the fireplace on the east wall. “Lights on the tree, around the front doors, and around the roofline. Net lights on the junipers outside. Wreath on the door.”
Covenhouse Christmas (part 3)
Did I ever. I spent almost three hundred dollars at Target on ornaments, tree lights, a stand, a skirt, and a lighted wreath for the front door. Then we went to the live tree stand up the road and spent another hundred-seventy-five on a ten-foot blue spruce. I was very glad I’d brought Jim, after all: How would a tiny little thing like me manage to get a ten-foot tree in the truck? Or, rather, out of it? Every man on that lot asked me twice if I’d need any help when I got home. I left fifty dollars in the tip jar. Flattery will get you pretty damn far with me.
Covenhouse Christmas (part 2)
The cab smelled like blood and soap. Mostly blood. I hadn’t realized it had been so long since I fed, and I was kicking myself for agreeing to take Jim with me. An hour’s drive to Denver, a trip to Target, a trip to the tree stand, an hour back…. It was excruciating. I had to distract myself. “So, how long have you been working – ” For me? At the covenhouse? – “under Simmons?”
“Couple months.” I felt his eyes on me, assessing. “Heard you were away with Mr. Black.”
I nodded.