QSFer Alex Washoe has a new FF time travel fantasy romance out: Sweet Paladin.
Celebrity chef Holly Milan ditched her TV career and Michelin Star restaurant (along with her rich New York boyfriend) to run a pay-what-you-can diner in Seattle’s Fremont district. She devotes her energies to feeding the local homeless camp, but no matter how much she bakes, it never feels like enough to feed the world’s hunger.
Akachi of Asphodel is a twelfth-century knight of the Order of Sophia, whose home was destroyed by Crusaders. Crying out for help from the Goddess, she awakens to find herself in a strange new world of wondrous technology and unforeseen dangers.
The moment they meet, their powerful attraction is obvious. But they soon begin to discover a deeper bond – one that was forged on the day they were born and could be destined to re-write the history of the world.
Get It At Amazon
Excerpt
As we finished handing out pies, I turned back toward Joseph’s tarp and noticed a woman standing near the edge of the camp. She was tall, powerfully built, with very dark black skin. Well defined muscles — which I have to admit always gets my attention — dressed in a tight-fitting white sweatshirt and jeans. A golden, threadbare scarf was wrapped around her head, covering her hair.
She saw me looking and met my gaze directly, neither hostile nor welcoming. The moment went on a beat too long and I suddenly felt embarrassed. My cheeks warmed under the drizzle. No way to extricate myself now that wasn’t awkward, so I walked over and introduced myself.
“Hi, I’m Holly.” I didn’t offer my hand, waiting to see how she responded. She didn’t offer hers either. “I uh … I run the Clockworks Diner over on North 35th street.”
I couldn’t be be sure how much she understood. But she regarded me directly, no shyness or embarrassment. Up close, now, I could see that her eyes were rich brown.
“I am Akachi.”
She spoke hesitantly, like someone feeling their way in an unfamiliar language. I couldn’t place her accent at all. I should probably admit that I’m terrible with languages. My mother speaks many, I speak one.
Now that I started this I had no idea where to go. Only that I found her interesting. I wanted to know more about her. But one thing I’d learned in the last year was that people opened up when they wanted to, and the chipper little blond chick poking her snub nose into their business wasn’t always appreciated.
“That’s a beautiful name,” I said. It was true, but it was also a silly comment. A rote kind of thing people say when they meet someone from somewhere else. But it was safer than “you’re beautiful” — which was also true. “There’s food over here, pot pies, cinnamon rolls.”
Again, I wasn’t sure how much she understood, but she followed my gesture toward Joseph’s tarp. The breeze carried the scent of the food, which was going fast.
“Are you hungry?”
“Others need it more.”
She said that so matter-of-fact, as if it were just a comment on the weather. It was obviously true. She was young, around my age I’d guess, and fit. Did I mention how fit she was? A lot of the people in this camp were neither. But it still ruffled the mother hen in me.
“That’s not really an answer. I asked if you’re hungry.”
She looked back down at me. And it really was “down” because I’m not tall. My mother’s D&D group got endless amusement out of comparing me to a gnome — which isn’t funny after the first few hundred times. It seemed like Akachi was parsing what I’d said. Finally she smiled, which created deep, shadowed dimples in her cheeks.
“Yes. I am hungry. I can wait.”
“OK. That was an answer.” I smiled back. I couldn’t help but smile back. “But you can come by the diner any time. It’s pay what you can. No one is turned away, ever.” That was the standard spiel, but I felt I had to add something more. “I would like it if you stopped by sometime.”
She said, “Yes.”
I wasn’t sure if that was agreement, or just acknowledgment of what I said, or just her trying to be polite in a language she barely spoke. And it pretty much punctuated our conversation.
I nodded like an idiot and smiled more, spinning around and hurrying back toward Joseph’s tarp. Why was I suddenly all middle school awkward? That didn’t happen to me often.
The food was almost gone. I thanked the guys and Joseph for their help. I usually gave my porters a small tip, in addition to food, but Joseph refused to accept anything.
“I guess we’ll see you tomorrow,” he said.
“As always.” I pulled up my hood, and then gave in to my curiosity. “Joseph, do you know that woman?”
He followed my glance. “Akachi? Yes, I’ve met her. She’s new. Staying at the shelter, but always ready to help out.”
“Do you know where she’s from?”
He pursed his lips. “Not exactly. But very far away, I’m sure.”
“Right.” That didn’t really help. “See you tomorrow,” I said again.
I trudged back to the diner, lost in thought.
Author Bio
Alex Washoe (they/them) is a nonbinary writer, game designer, and full-time pet parent living in Seattle, WA. In previous incarnations, they have been a bookseller, a wildlife rehab care assistant, a dog walker at a companion animal shelter, a public speaker, an amateur stand-up comedian, and many other less interesting things. Alex is prone to sudden, seemingly random enthusiasms — the list currently includes birdwatching, baking, running, hair dye … and of course writing. Writing is always job one.
| Author Facebook | https://www.facebook.com/groups/137504775114771 |