Christmas Cookies at the Cat Café A Furrever Friends Sweet Romance By Kris Bock

Christmas Cookies at the Cat Café

A Furrever Friends Sweet Romance 

By Kris Bock 

Buy Link

Book Blurb:

Christmas isn’t the same since Diane’s kids grew up and her husband died – so when her high school sweetheart comes back to town, maybe it’s time for some cozy new holiday traditions. 

Diane had a great marriage and a wonderful life. Now she’s a widow at 53, and her grown children are encouraging her to slow down and do less – but she wants more. She starts planning for a new career by arranging a photo shoot at the cat café her daughters run. Unfortunately, the cats won’t cooperate. 

Rick loved Diane in high school, but he chose to travel the world while she settled down with another man. Now he’s back for a visit, but he’s not planning to stay – even if Diane still tugs at him. He’ll help her get what she wants from life, and then he’ll say goodbye. 

Rick temps Diane to quit her job, sell her house, and travel. But she can’t leave the people she loves so dearly, the family that might still need her just a little bit. Diane tempts Rick to end his wandering ways, but he can’t simply step into the hole left by her husband’s death. As the weeks pass from Thanksgiving to Christmas, the holiday season brings out complicated emotions. 

Can Diane and Rick find a way to make a new life together while holding onto the best parts of the past? They'll need more than attraction and affection. They might even need a Christmas miracle. 

The Furrever Friends Sweet Romance series features the workers and customers at a small-town cat café, and the adorable cats and kittens looking for their forever homes. Each book is a complete story with a happy ending for one couple (and maybe more than one rescued cat). 

Excerpt:

The cat did not want to wear a hat. 

   “Come on, Miles, it’s for your own good,” Diane muttered. “I’m not trying to insult your feline dignity. I’m trying to find you a forever home. Wouldn’t that be nice?” 

   Once again, Diane got the cat settled on a table against the autumn backdrop. Miles seemed perfectly content to sit there and watch the proceedings. But as soon as Diane tried to put the sunflower hat on the cat’s head, he dropped and flailed as if touched by flaming thorns rather than soft felt. Miles wrestled with the hat as Diane rushed to wake up her cell phone. Maybe she could get something cute, with the cat chewing a sunflower petal. 

   Diane aimed the camera. The hat sailed to the floor. 

   Miles leapt off the table, streaked across the room, climbed one of the cat trees, and calmly perched on a platform staring out the window, pointedly ignoring her. 

   “That Cat in the Hat book is nonsense,” Diane said. “I used to get a diaper on a squirming baby in under a minute. You’d think I could get one cat to wear a lousy hat or at least pose nicely.” 

   Diane slumped into a chair and sighed. This had seemed like such a good idea. Many animal rescues reported higher adoption rates after professional photo shoots. Instead of posting pictures of the dirty, matted, cringing creatures they first brought in, they waited until the dog or cat had been groomed and any health issues addressed. They gave the animal time to relax and get used to being around people. Then they took a nice studio portrait of the calm cat or grinning dog.  

   It was basic psychology. It wasn’t that people didn’t care about the animals that suffered the most; they simply wanted to envision their future with a happy, loving pet. Great photos helped potential adopters see what was possible. 

   A series of holiday photo shoots should have been winners. Make the cats extra cute, and they might clear the shelter before New Year’s Day. 

   The cats didn’t seem to appreciate her brilliant idea. 

   She picked up her coffee, which was now lukewarm, and took a sip as she studied the room. She’d already attempted to take pictures of five of their residents, and the rest were getting skittish as they picked up on their companions’ nervousness. Maybe she should quit for the day. She still had to put the paintings back on the walls and clean up her supplies. 

   But getting three of the paintings propped up where she wanted to photograph the cats had been tricky. She hated to waste the morning entirely. She looked around for one more candidate.  

   A tapping came at the window. Diane turned toward it, but with the glare, she could only make out a bulky silhouette. She got the impression of a man with broad shoulders, but with the heavy winter coats everyone was wearing after the cold snap earlier in the week, she couldn’t say for sure. It didn’t look like either of her daughter’s husbands, and they both had keys anyway. 

   She crossed to the window. Would she be able to convey the message that the café didn’t open for another sixteen minutes? 

   As she neared the window, she caught the glare at a different angle. She still couldn’t see the person clearly, but a jolt of recognition hit her like a punch to the gut. 

   She did know this man. Had known him for a long time, or at least had known him well long ago. But she couldn’t yet name him, as her mind hadn’t caught up to what her gut knew. 

   The bright winter sunlight lit up a pom-pom on top of a jaunty knit cap in rainbow colors. It took a certain type of man to wear a hat like that in public, and the prickle of recognition deepened. 

   She shifted and bobbed her head, trying to get a clear view. He leaned closer to the window, grinned, and waved. 

   The breath left her lungs. Of course. Rick. How many years had it been since she’d last seen him? They’d been closest in high school, bonding in a photography class and dating for almost two years, until he graduated a year ahead of her. He’d been her first love. But that was thirty years ago – no, more like thirty-five. When he graduated, he left to see the world. He hadn’t asked her to wait for him. He probably knew then his journeys would take him years to complete, maybe a lifetime. Still, she had waited, optimistically, for six months. 

   Then she met Patrick. They fell in love. They shared the same dreams: family, a home, work in the small town where they’d grown up. They’d had two beautiful daughters and a good life until he died suddenly, far too young. They were coming up on the second anniversary of his death. 

   Memories crashed over her. The grief, the loss, the affection for both men. The dreams lived and the dreams never explored. 

   She gave herself a little shake and blinked to clear her eyes. Diane was good at holding back all the messy feelings and only showing the world what she wanted people to see. She could think about everything later. For now, one thought jumped to the front of her mind. 

   Rick was a professional photographer. He’d had photo essays in National Geographic – people, wildlife. If anyone could help her figure out how to corral a few playful house cats, it was Rick. 

   She smiled, waved back, and went to answer the door. 

Author Bio:

Kris Bock writes romance, mystery, and suspense. Her Furrever Friends Sweet Romance series features the employees and customers at a cat café. Watch as they fall in love with each other and shelter cats. Get a free 30-page story set in the world of the Furrever Friends cat café when you sign up for Kris Bock’s Romance and Mystery newsletter. You’ll also get a printable copy of “22 recipes from the cat café” and a free Accidental Detective mystery short story with bonus material. 

In the Accidental Billionaire Cowboys series, a Texas ranching family wins a billion-dollar lottery. Can they build new dreams and find love amidst the chaos? In the Reluctantly Psychic Mystery series, a quirky loner who can read the history of any object with her touch gets drawn into mysteries at the museum of oddities where she works. In the Accidental Detective humorous mystery series, a witty journalist solves mysteries in Arizona and tackles the challenges of turning fifty. Learn more at KrisBock.com.  

 Kris also writes a series with her brother, scriptwriter Douglas J Eboch, who wrote the original screenplay for the movie Sweet Home Alabama. The Felony Melanie series follows the crazy antics of Melanie, Jake, and their friends a decade before the events of the movie. Find the books on Amazon US or All E-book retailers. 

Website 
Universal Amazon link 
GoodReads Author Page 
BookBub 
Kris on BlueSky  

 

Murder at the Water Wheel by Ruben D. Gonzales

Murder at the Water Wheel

Book Four of the Black Mountain Mystery Series

by Ruben D. Gonzales

Amazon Link

Book Blurb:

When Liz’s latest fiancé turns up dead in the pond of Black Mountain’s new Historic Water Wheel tourist trap, it turns the town upside down. With a promising holiday season approaching and small businesses up and down Main Street depending on the sales, Mayor Franklyn Shaw asks Emma to look into the case of her ex-sister-in-law, so business, including the Shaw’s businesses, will get back to normal and people’s jobs will be saved. Although hesitant to add the task to her already busy photography business and publishing the biweekly Black Mountain Post, Emma decides to look into the case when Liz’s former boyfriend is arrested for the murder. Will Emma’s ancestral gift of aura reading be enough to solve the case or will an innocent man take the blame and a murderer go free? 

Excerpt:

Chapter One 

Saturday at Dawn

Like most people, I enjoy a good wedding. Especially when it is someone else’s. But when my big brother’s widow told me that she and Trent Cochran planned to get married in the fall, I thought it was a bit premature. I mean, Becky had only just started seeing the guy. Did she even know Trent? I mean, really know him. Can any of us say we really know a person? 

Now, I admit he was good looking, in a tall, dark, and lean way, but getting married? Wow! 

“So, what happened to Drew Carter,” I asked when I saw her after I heard her wedding plans, trying to remember if Becky had told me why she ended it with her former boyfriend. “I thought you and Drew were hot for each other. He’s such a nice guy.” 

“Drew’s nice, Emma,” she told me then, “but he doesn’t have ambition. He’s just happy to be working at the lumber mill for fifteen dollars an hour. I need someone with more ambition. You know, I have my boys to worry about. Trent has more ambition.” 

“What about Eddie Jordan,” I had asked about another nice guy she saw after my big brother, her husband, was murdered. We all grew up with Eddie and now he coached at the Black Mountain High School. 

“All Eddie wanted to do was play games. He wasn’t serious about anything if it didn’t involve sports.” 

Of course, all that ambition or seriousness doesn’t do you any good if you end up dead the morning of your wedding. 

Becky’s opinion aside, I always had mix feelings about Trent, especially his dark orange aura. The color of an aura I associate with people who can’t make commitments. 

I’ve always been able to see a person’s aura. When I was young I thought everyone could. It wasn’t until my grandmother, Louise Looking Bird, explained that my aura reading ability was handed down to me by my Cherokee ancestors. A special gift that not just everyone had. 

I use my aura reading gift in my portrait photography. I found I got the best results if I clicked the shutter at the moment of a subject’s aura’s rightest moment. My old editor praised my work saying, my shots captured the real essence of people, and their likeness was so real it was as if the subject was only caught between breaths. 

So, the wedding plan went forward and the morning after the big rehearsal dinner Trent Cochran threw at the Shaw Winery, I donned my heavy parka, grabbed my camera, and clenching my teeth, I went for a walk with my dog, Blue. The old pro photographers I used to work with always said never go anywhere without your camera because you never know what you might see. 

The first freeze of the season swooped down the mountain in the morning catching the small mountain town in a surprise early winter of ice and cold. The kind of cold you meet with strong hot coffee and double layers of clothes. Since I was out so early, I thought I’d take a few photos of the sunrise over the frozen town. 

My dog, Blue, never feels the cold like people, so pulled on her leash dragging me along, happy to be outside. I got Blue as a gift for solving a murder two years ago and we started a rough get acquainted period but came out the other end better for our trial. We’ve settled into kind of a mother - teenage daughter type of life together, in the little mountain town of Black Mountain I moved back to after swearing I never would. Except in this relationship, Blue was more the mother and me more the daughter. 

We walked along a tributary of the Swannanoa River, right before a wide bend that flows at the northern edge of town. In the old days, like a hundred and fifty years ago, before electricity, the river’s powerful flow turned a big water wheel at the mill. It drove the saw that cut the lumber and crushed the grain that made the Shaw family the richest in the Valley of the Three Forks. 

Although I’m part Shaw, I’ve tended to shy away from the recognition because they are a greedy bunch. The Shaw family owns just about everything in town including the bank, general store, real estate company, and the renovated historic water wheel where they sell tourist souvenirs, mountain crafts, wine from their vineyard, and baked goods from the community women who make the best pies in the state. 

In a major irony, it appeared that I inherited the same business genetic make-up that drove the founding fathers of the Shaw clan. I returned to my childhood home to open my own business, a photography studio. A good many people, mostly men, laughed at my choice of an enterprise since these days everyone carries a phone camera and thinks of themselves as the next Ansel Adams. But through a varied menu of services and products I’ve managed to survive in the business world, thank you very much. 

At the bend in the river, where Main Street straightens out, Blue and I approached a trio of County Sheriff cruisers, lights flashing in the early morning light, and several red trucks and a vehicle from the volunteer rescue squad. A big crowd started to form in front of the historic water wheel complex. Not one to miss an opportunity to capture a moment, I clicked off several shots of the flashing lights reflecting off the water, with the mill a dark shadow looming over the scene. 

“What’s going on?” I asked Shelby Shaw when I saw her in front of the mill. Shelby is the mayor’s wife and the manager of the mill. As she stood outside the yellow taped off area, I shot a profile of her with the mill in the background. Even in the morning her aura brimmed out in a dark gold, a sign of people having trouble.  

“I can’t believe it,” she moaned. 

“What?” 

“I found Trent Cochran, down in the water wheel pond,” she said. “Looks like he’s dead.” 

Author Bio:

I was born and raised in East LA. After college I spent two years with the Peace Corps teaching elementary school in a small African village by day and reading and writing by candlelight at night. Before I retired from full time work, I was Director of Development for the City of Winston-Salem, NC and spent many seasons traveling throughout the small towns in the Blue Ridge Mountains. Now I write full time and teach part-time with the local community college system.  

My first novel of historical fiction was, The Cottage on the Bay, published by Moonshine Cove Publishing and came out in 2018 and my second book, Murder on Black Mountain, the first in a mystery series, came out in 2020 from Fire Star Press. The second book in my Black Mountain Mystery series came out in 2022 by Indigo Sea Press, the third book in the series came out in June 2023, and the fourth book in the series released in August 2025. I have a recent mystery book, Cabana Bay, published with The Wild Rose Press released on May 14, 2025, and an action/adventure book released on September 22, 2025.  

 

Favorite Writing Tools on the Frontier by Caroline Clemmons

 I write using a desktop computer now.  In fact, I like to listen to classical music while I write. On the frontier, writing wasn’t as simple as popping open a laptop! Historians and fiction writers know that the tools of the trade shaped how stories, records, and letters were created in the Old West. Let’s explore the everyday implements that kept the West in touch and paved the way for modern storytellers. 

Quill Pens and Reed Pens 

In the 1800s, quill pens—made from large bird feathers—were the most common writing tool before steel nib pens became mainstream. Quills needed regular cutting and dipping, but their fine lines suited everything from ledgers to heartfelt letters. Reed pens, used earlier, fell out of favor but are still worth a mention for their influence on writing’s evolution. 

Metal Nib Pens 

By the mid-nineteenth century, steel-nibbed dip pens had mostly replaced quills. These pens offered better durability, were less expensive, and were easier to use for people living far from trading posts or towns with stationers. A steel pen, a bottle of ink, and a steady hand—those were the tools of many a frontier correspondent. 

Pencils—Yes, Even Mechanical! 

Pencils were surprisingly common in the Old West—both the classic wooden type and early mechanical pencils! Easier to use on the go, they required no ink or sharpening on the spot (especially the mechanical kind). Soldiers and travelers preferred graphite for convenience and legibility, keeping stubs in pockets for everything from making notes to sketching a map.  Plus, letters written in pencil didn’t smear if they got wet, an important plus for travelers who might get caught in a rainstorm or have to ford a river or creek. 

Ink and Inkwells 

Powdered or liquid ink, usually black or dark blue, paired with a small glass or ceramic inkwell was a standard desk accessory. Ink was precious on the frontier; spilling it meant a delay in correspondence until the next shipment arrived—sometimes by stagecoach or telegraph delivery wagons. 

Paper and Notebooks 

Paper could be scarce and valuable on the frontier, with folks often using scraps, ledger books, or folded sheets for letters. Some writers reused envelopes or stitched their own paper together into makeshift notebooks, especially in Army regiments or remote settlements. 

Why This Matters for Western Readers

For today’s historical and romance readers, seeing the right details in a romance when the heroine pens a letter to her beau adds depth and authenticity to the characters and their world. Next time the heroine pens a secret letter or the cowboy tallies supplies, you’ll know just what’s lying on their desk—or tucked into their pocket. 

What writing or communication details do you love seeing in Old West stories? Share your favorites in the comments! 

The Roomate Agreement by A. Akinosho

 

 

One apartment.

One fake boyfriend.

One agreement waiting to be broken.

The Roommate Agreement

The Agreement Series Book 3

by A. Akinosho

Genre: Billionaire Fake Dating Romance

One apartment. One fake boyfriend. One agreement waiting to be broken.

Makayla:
I’m tired of my dad playing matchmaker.
As a music teacher juggling life with sickle cell disease, I don’t have time—or energy—for forced dinner dates with “eligible men.”
So, I come up with a plan: find a fake boyfriend, let him move in, and make it believable.
Daniel was never supposed to say yes.
He’s a grumpy, emotionally walled-off lawyer who hates chaos and clings to solitude.
But now he’s in my apartment—tall, brooding, infuriatingly neat—and fitting into my world way too easily.
I don’t believe in love. Not when life has taught me it rarely sticks around.
But something about him feels dangerously real.

Daniel:
Something about her captured my attention the moment I met her.
I knew I was in trouble.
Controlled and always alone—that’s who I’ve been.
But I said yes before I could stop myself.
Because moving into her tea-scented, music-filled home was the only way I could be close to her.
She’s sunshine and sharp edges. She hums while stirring honey into her cup and smiles through pain like it’s nothing.
This was supposed to be pretend.
But with every stolen glance and late-night conversation, the line between real and fake keeps slipping.
She doesn’t believe in love.
I never thought it was possible.
But living with her is rewriting everything I thought I knew—
And walking away might not be an option.

 

Amazon * Bookbub * Goodreads

**Don’t miss the other books in the series!**

The Handshake Agreement

The Agreement Series Book 1

He promised her the world, Then abandoned her at the altar.

Amazon * Bookbub * Goodreads

  

The Marriage Agreement

The Agreement Series Book 2

The best laid plans sometimes crumble, but fate has the perfect detour.

Amazon * Bookbub * Goodreads

A. Akinosho lives in her own little nest in Illinois. An avid reader and enjoy reading thrillers, suspense and romance novels (partial to romance genre). When, She’s not reading or keeping up with life. She enjoys writing and creating twist to stories. She loves writing about diverse characters, friendship and overcoming challenges through, what is perceived as a weakness.

 

Website * Facebook * X * Instagram * Bookbub * Amazon * Goodreads

Follow the tour HERE for special content and a $20 giveaway!

Enter The Roommate Agreement Giveaway

Falling On Southport by M.J. Slater

Falling On Southport

by M.J. Slater

Amazon.com: Falling on Southport eBook : Slater, M. J. : Books

Falling on Southport by M J Slater, Paperback | Barnes & Noble®

Falling on Southport by M. J. Slater on Apple Books

Book Blurb:

Perfect marriage. Prestigious family. Political privilege. Abigail Lethican’s world unravels when her husband admits to infidelity. Reeling from his betrayal, she follows him—only to become the prime suspect when he turns up dead. With her trial looming and the media circling, she finds an unexpected ally in her handsome and enigmatic neighbor. As they search for the truth, Abigail discovers her husband's polished facade concealed a maze of dangerous secrets. Sometimes, the deadliest lies hide in plain sight.

Excerpt:

My grandfather stood erect. His powerful form was equally matched against Jim’s. My grandmother sat in her wheelchair. She was immaculately coiffed with the cardigan of her twin sweater set arranged over her petite shoulders, but her expressionless face remained intent on the wall in front of her.  

“Hello, Grandfather!” Bounding down the stairs, I leaped down, hugging him hard and breathing in his scent. “It’s so good to see you.” I kneeled and took my grandmother’s hand in my own. “Hello, Grandmother, I’m your granddaughter, Abigail.”  

My grandmother looked up and smiled. “That’s so nice. You know, you have such a nice face, dear. Maybe you can help me. Do you know when they serve lunch on this flight?”  

My mother stepped in and wheeled her mother to the kitchen. “Yes, ma’am, lunch is being served right now. Allow me to take you to your seat.”  

“She’s getting worse,” I said to no one in particular. “Yes, she is. The doctor is not very positive about her progress. The nature of Alzheimer’s, you know,” Grandfather said, looking up at Jim and clapping him on the shoulder. “I’ve been talking to your fella here, Abigail, and I approve. He has a fine head on his shoulders. I’d better go check on your grandmother and maybe sneak a canapé or two.”  

Alone now, I looked at Jim and smiled. “So you’ve met Grandfather. What do you think?”  

“I mean, he’s great. I feel giddy. It’s crazy that the senator is your grandfather. He’s been behind every major piece of legislation for forty years.”  

“Well, he’s still just Grandfather to me. I’m glad you got a chance to meet him. He means a lot to me.”  

Devin walked in, slightly unstable. “Aha, I see you’ve met the esteemed senator and worshiped at his alter no doubt.” Miraculously the words were not slurred. Jim’s fist clenched. “I just introduced myself. You know, you should consider yourself lucky to have such a great man in the family. My grandfather was best known for his moonshine.” He paused. “Then again, maybe you would have had more in common with him than you do the senator.”  

Devin’s face grew dark and his chest puffed up, the rage rolling off of him toward Jim. I cut in between them, immediately hit by the smell of alcohol on my brother’s breath. “Relax! Cut it out. This is not the place to start one of your childish fights. Also, you stink of booze. It’s not even two in the afternoon. Keep it together. Dad is going to kill you. Maybe you should go have some coffee. Or let’s all go get something to eat in the kitchen. Mom made deviled eggs. You both like those. Maybe you could bond over that.”  

Devin’s hostility toward Jim set off alarm bells in my head. He was a born curmudgeon, but his new predilection for plain cruelty was off-putting. “Just ignore him,” I whispered in Jim’s ear as we headed toward the kitchen door. “Apparently, he and Dad had a big fight. He’s just upset and taking it out on you.”  

“That’s no excuse for it. If he wasn’t your brother, I would have taken a swing at him.” 

Author Bio:

M. J. Slater is a native Chicagoan. After attending the University of Chicago, she spent 15 years in finance. She loves film noir, yoga, and walking along Lake Michigan with her dog. She lives in the suburbs with her husband and two girls.