One impulse, one decision, one gamble can change your life forever. A stranger opens your door. You exchange a glance across a busy room. You answer a wrong number. And suddenly your life is entwined with someone else's. Your paths have crossed, and you are connected to another human being. What if that person stays in your life? What if that relationship is still important to you in ten, twenty, fifty years? You could meet that person today.
Luckily for Patrick Dunne, he takes a chance, and for once, it pays off.
Life hasn't been easy for Patrick. After years of destructive behavior, he fi- nally pulls himself together only to have his world destroyed again. Now he's dealing with the anxiety. The anger. The guilt. Only his passion for cooking is keeping him from drowning.
With his supportive younger brother, Colin, the Irish natives own Ristorante Fratelli, a chic Italian bistro. It has the makings of one of Denver's best res- taurants—or so says local blogger and critic, Greta Levine—as long as head chef, Patrick Dunne, can control his temper. After an insulting and patroniz- ing encounter, Greta writes a review admonishing his behavior, sending Pat- rick into a final spiral.
But a wrong number saves him. Fueled by the anonymity, they begin tex- ting, deliberately avoiding details of their "real" lives. A deep bond grows, and against all odds, they become each other's saving grace. Until he discov- ers his mystery lady's true identity...
Rounded out by a cast of lovable—and delightfully flawed—supporting characters, Devil's Food chronicles the connections we, as humans, crave and sometimes overlook.
Devil’s Food debuted as a Holiday Fiction Bestseller on Amazon.
GRETA WAS
ABSORBED IN a romance novel, tears brimming as the hero professed his eternal
love, when she was jolted back to reality by a terse knock on the door. She cursed under her breath and tossed her
Kindle aside. She’d never get that
moment back. She detested interruptions
while she was reading, especially at the best part.
Fueled by irritation, Greta pulled the door open without bothering to
look through the peephole. She sucked in
a panicked breath when she was met by the intrusive cobalt eyes of Patrick
Dunne. Her survival instincts pulsed
with alarm, and she tried to slam the door in defense. But a powerful shoulder braced against it,
jarring her body with the unexpected collision.
“You are not welcome here,” she fumed as she futilely threw herself
against the door.
“I’m not welcome?” His voice
was indignant. “You’re the one who just
dragged me through the mud, lady. And I
see you are too much of a coward to face me.
You can print trash about me when you’re hiding behind your computer,
but when you have to own up to it, you’re not so brave, are you?”
Greta wasn’t about to take his shit again. She flung the door open, and Patrick stumbled
into the entryway, nearly falling face down on the tiled floor. “I did not invite you in,” Greta screeched. After regaining his balance, Patrick met her
glare with equal contempt and returned to the other side of the threshold. “As for standing behind what I wrote, I
absolutely do. Everything I said was
true, and I don’t regret it for a minute.
But, Mr. Dunne, you don’t seem to learn from your mistakes. Here you are insulting me again, only this
time you came to my home. Have you no
shame?”
“Believe it or not, Ms. Levine,” he spat her name, “I did not come
here to insult you. I came to tell you that
what you did today could ruin not only me but my brother, who is innocent in
all this. When people read what you
said, they aren’t going to come to Fratelli’s to make their own judgment. They’re just going to assume that you know
what you’re talking about. And who the
hell are you to tell people what to do anyway?”
His temper was rising, and Greta wasn’t sure what he might do. She started to back away from the looming
figure, but he lunged at her, wrapping strong hands around her biceps and
holding her firmly in place. Her heart
beat like a drum in her chest, and she tried to wipe the look of fear from her
face. “You have no right to play with
people’s lives like this. You might have
destroyed us today. Do you get that?”
Greta held his stare with one just as cold. “All I did was write what happened. You are responsible for the rest. If people stop going to Fratelli’s, it’s
because your ego was bruised and you couldn’t
keep your mouth shut. If your restaurant
goes out of business and your brother loses everything, that’s on you.
You have no one to blame but yourself.”
She ended with an emphatic nod, proud that she hadn’t crumbled under
pressure.
The grip on her arms loosened, and Greta watched as his eyes filled
with anguish. His head dropped abruptly,
and she thought for a moment that he might collapse on her. Feeling a pang of compassion, she reached out
to steady him, and he jumped at the touch.
As if realizing for the first time that he was restraining her, he
pulled away, his eyes cloudy and disoriented.
He stumbled backward, pushing through the door to the stairwell. Greta watched him go, shoulders slumped and
threatening presence replaced by a broken, tormented soul.
I wanted to be an actress for a long time until I realized it wasn't so much the acting that I loved but the storytelling. (But don't get me wrong, if someone offered me a dream role in a movie, I'd take it.) So I've lovingly returned to my childhood pastime of writing, only now my novels come to life on my computer screen rather than being scrawled in a spiral notebook. And thank goodness for that, or it'd take me a year to finish the editing process.
I'm active in our local theatre scene (on the management side now). I love traveling, playing games, gardening, and checking items off my bucket list--last accomplishment: learn to sew; next up: milk a cow. If you asked my friends to describe me, I think they'd say I am a little quirky and an old soul.
I live north of Denver with my very supportive husband. He is vital to my writing process--serving as web designer, sounding board, walking thesaurus, and reality check.
www.BooksByHeatherCleveland.com
heatherlcleveland@gmail.com
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