Bram Stoker Award–nominated horror author Rachel Bolton crafts chilling short stories that probe the powerful intersection of horror and feminism. Through unsettling atmospheres and sharp insight, she explores how fear, identity, and womanhood collide—revealing the darker truths that lurk beneath the surface.
Can you talk about your latest book or story and what readers might find appealing about it?
My latest story is “Moonglow,” it will be appearing in an anthology later this year. Protagonist Alice loves to lie and she is very good at it. She’s smugly faking a pregnancy at her workplace. Alice is terrible but she has become one of my most favorite characters. She has a great voice.
Did I mention “Moonglow” has some fun body horror?
What’s a book you can’t stop recommending?
I’m a bookseller, so I am constantly recommending books. I’m often suggesting Our Wives Under the Sea by Julia Armfield, Herculine by Grace Byron, The Echo Wife by Sarah Gailey, and White is for Witching by Helen Oyeyemi.
These are all very different books within the speculative/horror genre. Each one deeply affected me both as a reader and a writer. There were moments where I needed to pause to appreciate the writing, emotionally and stylistically. Can you explain your writing process? What inspires you?
I am a believer in Octavia E. Butler’s advice on the importance of habit as a writer. This is the third year where I am tracking both my word count and editing time. This is both a boon and problem. I love that I can see how much I’ve gotten done, but then I am judgemental about the quantity of my work. I feel I never do enough.
I settle in at my computer, pop my headphones on, and get lost for a bit in the story. I consider myself a “Planster.” Outlines are helpful guides, but it’s good to let the characters and plot develop in ways you hadn’t expected. I’ve had characters override my storytelling choices a few times.
Is there a snack or drink that gets you into a writing mindset?
I love a hot cup of tea at my side. If I’m being honest, there are several empty seltzer cans on my desk right now.
Are there any horror tropes you especially love in books or films?
My two great horror subgenre loves are body horror and psychological horror. If they meet, all the better. A great example of that would be Rose Glass’ Saint Maud. The ending still haunts me. I’m a big fan of women with unusual desires, and Julia Ducorneau did that twice with Raw and Titane. Sisterly cannibalism and car fucking!
Above all, I appreciate writers who are willing to take an idea to extremes. Half measures don’t create good books or movies. A great literary example of that is Gretchen Felker-Martin’s Black Flame. That book is so damn good.
Who’s your favorite final girl?
My beloved Ellen Ripley. Sigourney Weaver looks so much like my mom! My mom would also kick some alien ass. I love Ripley for her drive to survive, her compassion, and how she doesn’t tolerate idiots. “They can bill me!”
Are you currently working on anything new?
I’m currently working on a novel about a woman whose wife gets absorbed into their home, now her body is their house. The wife is incredibly happy about this, the protagonist, privately, is not. Problems ensue. Body horror and psychological horror come together here. I’m having a lot of fun as I get to know these two ladies.
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Holly Knightley is a compelling horror writer, known for crafting dark, gripping tales that always deliver unexpected, sinister twists.
Can you talk about your latest book and what readers might find appealing about it?
My short story, Piggy, just came out on Feb 15th! It was an average day when Alley Faye found a five-dollar bill on the ground with a message: Here piggy, piggy, piggy. Greed is a sin, and you just let me in. This quick 38-page read will keep readers on their toes until the last page. This story has true crime vibes with a stalker who has a thing for the story of ‘The Three Little Pigs.’
What’s a book you can’t stop recommending?
We are talking women in horror, and I would be remiss not to say ‘Frankenstein’ by Mary Shelley. It is one of my favorite books, if not my favorite. Shelley explores themes of morality while giving her readers one amazing monster story where who is the ‘real’ monster is always in question. There is a reason this story still haunts readers today, it is simply brilliant.
Can you explain your writing process? What inspires you?
Most of my stories are inspired by my real-life experiences or moments that have made me pause. You know, that feeling that you get when something unsettles you? I explore why things make me feel the way I do, often using the supernatural to tell the story. My process usually goes the same. Something makes me pause to think and my brain whispers the story to me. If I have the time, I will outline the entire story the moment it pops into my head. If not, I will at least get down the vibe and characters and come back to it later.
Is there a snack or drink that gets you into a writing mindset?
Coke Zero. I am totally addicted to it and can’t start my day without it. I have a can in the morning, sometimes two—that’s when I know it’s going to be a good writing day.
Are there any horror tropes you especially love in books or films?
I love the haunted house trope. Nothing scares me more than a haunted house. When I was a child, I always thought: Just leave. As an adult, I realize you can’t just leave, which has made this trope and genre scarier for me. Throw in an unreliable narrator and buried secrets, and I’m hooked.
Who’s your favorite final girl?
This is a hard question, there are so many great final girls, but I am going with Ellen Ripley, Sigourney Weaver’s character from ‘Alien’. She’s badass and hot as Hell.
Are you currently working on anything new?
Yes, I have a new haunted house mystery thriller coming out July 16th entitled Cadbury House. This is such a fun mashup between the haunted house trope and haunted object trope. The story is pure chaos, in the very best way, and I can’t wait for it to be read!
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Juliette’s isolation is drawn from my own sense of disconnect as a teenager living in Sicily. Early readers of This Fever Called Living have noted how jarring it feels to encounter modern technology in a setting that seems steeped in history. The truth is, living in Sicily felt just as contradictory. You had modern conveniences like cell phones and the internet, but step outside, and you were surrounded by ancient ruins. Every town seemed like a remnant of whichever empire had once claimed it. This jarring mix was intentional, just as the repetition is. I often find certain phrases looping in my mind, or a song on repeat for hours. Repetition becomes a kind of self-soothing mechanism, a way of coping with the noise of the world.
The passage of time in the novella is intentionally ambiguous. In the present, everything unfolds between January and February, stretching into early March. The past, however, is set in the summer of 1998. As a teenager, time moved in strange ways—winters felt endless, while summers seemed to slip by in a blink. Time itself felt hazy and distorted, and I wanted to capture that sense of unraveling in Juliette’s journey.
This Fever Called Living is a fever dream drenched in tragedy.
The novella comes out March 3.
The Plot Summary:
A dark retelling/mashup of Carmilla and The Fall of the House of Usher.
Palermo, Sicily 1999.
Juliette suffers from a rare illness that keeps her hidden from the sun. Her winter days at Villa Astrid are filled with isolation and gnawing hunger, haunted by fragmented memories of a summer she can’t quite piece together.
Then Elenoire arrives.
Mysterious and magnetic, Elenoire captivates Juliette in a way that’s both thrilling and terrifying. There’s something dangerous about her, something Juliette can’t name. She knows she should keep her distance, yet all she can think about is kissing her.
Meanwhile, young women are turning up dead across Palermo. Whispers of a serial killer spread through the city, but Juliette suspects that something darker is at play. Something not entirely human.
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Viggy Parr Hampton has carved out a prominent place in the horror world. With her spine-chilling books and the popular podcast Horror Humor Hunger, she’s become a go-to expert on everything from horror history to the darkest, most unsettling facts. Now, with her latest release, A Veritable Household Pet, she’s ready to haunt our nightmares in a whole new way.
Can you talk about your latest book and what readers might find appealing about it?
My latest book, A Veritable Household Pet, is horror of a different stripe than usual. Darla Gregory receives a transorbital lobotomy at the age of eleven, and she is never the same. The book follows her life in the aftermath of the surgery, as well as the life of her older sister Ellie, who acts as her caretaker and the reluctant scribe for her story, injecting her views where relevant. A Veritable Household Pet explores a suite of very real terrors, rooted in true history: medical malpractice, family trauma, toxic relationships, mental illness, caregiver fatigue, misogyny, the loss of autonomy and identity, and so much more. It’s my favorite book yet, because it will make readers feel for the characters incredibly deeply.
You always do so much research for your books, what’s something you found out when researching that was surprising or horrifying?
One of the most horrifying pieces of information I came across directly inspired the title of the book. While doing my research on lobotomies, I kept finding before and after photos of patients. In the before photos, the patients would invariably look unkempt and unwell, and in the after photos, while they looked well-groomed and might even be smiling, their eyes looked completely vacant. One such before and after photo even had a caption that said the post-lobotomy patient was ‘a veritable household pet.’ The way these patients were treated as infantilized, docile creatures is both heartbreaking and horrifying in equal measure.
What’s a book you can’t stop recommending?
My Lobotomy by Howard Dully is the memoir of a man who received a lobotomy at the age of 12. It was a pivotal source for my research, but it’s also one of the most fascinating books I’ve ever read in its own right. I will never stop recommending this one!
Can you explain your writing process? What inspires you?
Every time I sit down to start a new novel, I think: Wait a minute, what am I doing? Every novel feels like its own microcosm, but here’s my general process. First, I spend a few months (or even longer) letting the ideas build up and marinate. I keep a notebook with bits and pieces of ideas, and when those ideas start to outgrow the pages, I move them to a document in my writing processor of choice, Scrivener. Then, I make note of any research I’ll need to do—books to read, movies to watch, podcasts to listen to, etc. After I’ve done enough research that I feel ready—or, if the characters start knocking on the proverbial door too hard, whichever comes first—I’ll start writing. I’ve been a plotter in the past, but now I’m a certified pantser.
In terms of inspiration, I pull things from everywhere—articles I’ve read, stories I’ve heard, history I’ve researched, places I’ve been. All of my books have some thread of truth or history running through them, which I think makes them that much punchier.
Is there a snack or drink that gets you into a writing mindset?
Lately I’ve been really loving having a cup of hot green tea next to me. It’s relaxing, and it helps signal my brain that it’s time to get down to business.
Are there any horror tropes you especially love in books or films?
I love two things: an unreliable, complicated narrator and an unhappy ending! It’s horror, after all—I don’t want to come away from it smiling!
Are you currently working on anything new?
My fifth novel, Ripped Up the Middle in Two, will publish in late July, and I’m currently getting that one in shape. It’s a creature feature motherhood horror about a postpartum mom who thinks there’s an evil fairy in the woods that wants to steal her baby. I’m also about to start work on my sixth novel, which will be a time travel-spin on the haunted house story.
A Veritable Household Pet is now available at Amazon and Barnes and Noble websites.
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If you love stories but struggle to find time to sit down with a book, audiobooks are about to become your best friend. They’re convenient, cozy, and honestly kind of magical. Whether you’re commuting, cleaning, walking, or just lying on the couch pretending to “rest your eyes,” audiobooks let you enjoy books anytime, anywhere.
Here’s why audiobooks deserve a permanent spot in your daily routine.
You Can Read While Doing… Literally Anything
Folding laundry? Driving? Cooking dinner? Audiobooks turn everyday tasks into mini adventures. Suddenly, errands feel less boring and more “main character energy.” You’ll be amazed at how quickly you get through books without ever cracking one open.
They Make Stories Come Alive
A great narrator can elevate a book to a whole new level. Different voices, accents, emotion—it’s basically a private performance just for you. Some stories honestly feel better in audio form (yes, we said it).
Perfect for Busy Schedules
Audiobooks fit seamlessly into even the busiest lives. You don’t need to block out quiet time or carry a physical book around. Just pop in your headphones and press play—storytime is officially flexible.
Easy on the Eyes
Screen fatigue is real, and audiobooks are a refreshing break. No staring, no scrolling, no squinting—just close your eyes and listen. It’s relaxing and productive, which feels like winning.
They Help You Read More (Without the Pressure)
Audiobooks remove the pressure of “keeping up” with reading. You can go at your own pace, rewind if you miss something, or speed things up when you’re hooked. Before you know it, you’ve finished way more books than usual—and it feels effortless.
Perfect for Every Mood
Feel like something light and fun? Queue up a rom-com. Want motivation? Try a personal growth listen. Need comfort? A familiar narrator can feel like a cozy conversation. There’s truly an audiobook for every mood and moment.
Final Chapter
Audiobooks aren’t cheating—they’re just reading with a glow-up. They make books more accessible, more fun, and way easier to fit into real life. So grab your headphones, press play, and let the story come to you. 🎧📖✨
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Not to die, but to save—seeking cures for those everyone else has given up on.
But a summons from the King interrupts her quiet, herb-obsessed life. His daughter, Snow, is dying, and he hopes Anja’s unorthodox methods can save her.
Aided by a taciturn guard, a narcissistic cat, and a passion for the scientific method, Anja rushes to treat Snow, but nothing seems to work. That is, until she finds a secret world, hidden inside a magic mirror. This dark realm may hold the key to what is making Snow sick.
Or it might be the thing that kills them all.
GRADE: C
REVIEW:
I’m not usually a fan of fantasy, but I’ve enjoyed every T. Kingfisher book I’ve read so far, so I decided to give this one a try. It also helped that it was marketed as a Snow White retelling—and I’m a total sucker for fairytale retellings.
The good: Some readers felt the protagonist, Anja, had too much internal monologue, but I didn’t mind it at all. I found her engaging, and it never felt annoying to me. I also absolutely loved the character of Grayling, who easily became a standout.
The not-so-good: Action-wise, it felt like not much really happened. The mystery surrounding the king’s daughter’s illness wasn’t especially compelling, and I couldn’t help feeling there was a lot of missed potential—particularly when it came to the mirror realm, which could have been explored much more deeply.
Overall: I really enjoyed Jennifer Pickens’ narration of the audiobook, and I think her performance helped make the story feel more engaging than it might have otherwise. Still, from a plot standpoint, the book didn’t quite live up to my expectations.
*Thank you so much to NetGalley & MacMillan Audio for the audiobook copy of this book in exchange for an honest review!
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If your “to be read” pile is slowly taking over your nightstand, desk, and every flat surface in your home, it might be time for a TBR book cart. Not only is it a practical way to organize your next reads, but it also turns your books into a little reading experience—one that feels intentional, aesthetic, and motivating instead of overwhelming.
Here’s how to start a TBR book cart and make it something you’re excited to use.
1. Choose Your Cart (Style Over Perfection)
First things first: you need a cart. A three-tier rolling cart is the classic choice, but anything with shelves works—bar carts, small bookcases, or even a sturdy crate setup. Don’t stress about finding the “perfect” one. The goal is function and fun, not Pinterest pressure.
Pick something that fits your space and your vibe. Minimalist? Go neutral. Maximalist reader? Bright colors, please.
2. Curate, Don’t Overload
The secret to a successful TBR cart is curation. Instead of dumping every unread book you own onto it, choose a manageable number you’re genuinely excited about. Think of your cart as your current reading season, not your entire backlog.
A good rule of thumb:
5–10 novels
1–2 non-fiction books
1 “mood read” wildcard
This keeps your cart inspiring rather than intimidating.
3. Organize by Vibes
This is where the fun really starts. Instead of organizing by author or genre, try organizing by mood:
Cozy reads
Dark academia
Short and fast-paced
Emotional damage (you know the ones)
You can also dedicate each tier to a theme or reading goal. It turns choosing your next book into a mini ritual instead of a stressful decision.
4. Add Bookish Extras
Your TBR cart doesn’t have to be just books. Make it a reading station by adding:
Bookmarks
Highlighters or tabs
A reading journal or notebook
Cozy socks or a small candle (unlit, of course)
These little touches make the cart feel personal and encourage you to actually pick up a book.
5. Rotate Regularly
To keep things fresh, rotate your cart every month or season. Swap out books you’re no longer in the mood for and add new ones you’re excited about. This helps prevent reading slumps and gives you permission to DNF or postpone books without guilt.
Your TBR is not a chore—it’s a menu.
6. Make It a Reading Ritual
Finally, turn your TBR cart into part of your reading routine. When you finish a book, choose the next one from the cart. When you’re feeling stuck, browse it like you’re in your own tiny bookstore.
The more intentional you make it, the more fun reading becomes.
A TBR book cart isn’t about reading faster or conquering your backlog—it’s about creating a space that celebrates your love of books. Make it cozy. Make it chaotic. Make it yours. 📚✨
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Evander has lived like a ghost in the forgotten corners of the Hazelthorn estate ever since he was taken in by his reclusive billionaire guardian, Byron Lennox-Hall, when he was a child. For his safety, Evander has been given three ironclad rules to follow:
He can never leave the estate. He can never go into the gardens. And most importantly, he can neveragain be left alone with Byron’s charming, underachieving grandson, Laurie.
That last rule has been in place ever since Laurie tried to kill Evander seven years ago, and yet somehow Evander is still obsessed with him.
When Byron suddenly dies, Evander inherits Hazelthorn’s immense gothic mansion and acres of sprawling grounds, along with the entirety of the Lennox-Hall family’s vast wealth. But Evander’s sure his guardian was murdered, and Laurie may be the only one who can help him find the killer before they come for Evander next.
Perhaps even more concerning is how the overgrown garden is refusing to stay behind its walls, slipping its vines and spores deeper into the house with each passing day. As the family’s dark secrets unravel alongside the growing horror of their terribly alive, bloodthirsty garden, Evander needs to find out what he’s really inheriting before the garden demands to be fed once more.
GRADE: B+
REVIEW:
I experienced Hazelthorn as an audiobook, and narrator Michael Crouch did an excellent job bringing the story to life. His performance captured the gothic, moody atmosphere perfectly, and his character voices were distinct and engaging throughout.
I’ll admit that I didn’t really like the main character, Evander. While I understood the reasons behind his intense anxiety, his inner monologue often felt repetitive and grating. I was also not especially drawn in by the book’s opening, which initially presents itself as a murder mystery—an element that turned out to be far less interesting than the story’s true strengths.
What I did love was the writing itself. Drews’s prose is lush and atmospheric, vividly capturing the emotional pain endured by both Evander and Laurie. The concept of the deadly garden was fascinating, and I appreciated how its existence affected not just the main characters but everyone around them. Although the villains fell into the familiar trope of cruel, wealthy antagonists, it didn’t detract much from my enjoyment.
Overall, I liked the ending and found the book memorable for its mood and writing style. I’m definitely looking forward to reading more from this author.
*Thank you so much to NetGalley & Recorded Books for the audiobook copy of this book in exchange for an honest review!
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Margaret’s rare autoimmune condition has destroyed her life, leaving her isolated and in pain. It has no cure, but she’s making do as best she can—until she’s offered a fully paid-for spot in an experimental medical trial at Graceview Memorial.
The conditions are simple, if grueling: she will live at the hospital as a full-time patient, subjecting herself to the near-total destruction of her immune system and its subsequent regeneration. The trial will essentially kill most of, but not all of her. But as the treatment progresses and her body begins to fail, she stumbles upon something sinister living and spreading within the hospital.
Unsure of what’s real and what is just medication-induced delusion, Margaret struggles to find a way out as her body and mind succumb further to the darkness lurking throughout Graceview’s halls.
GRADE: B-
REVIEW:
The Graceview Patient was marketed as Invasion of the Body Snatchers meets Misery, and since I love both, I went in expecting this to be right up my alley. And in many ways, it was. That said, experiencing it as an audiobook added an extra layer of surreal intensity—especially since it’s narrated by Xe Sands, who also read Spread Me. Her voice turned an already disorienting story into a full-blown fever dream.
Meg has lived for years with a rare autoimmune disease that has slowly stripped away her relationships, her career, and any sense of normalcy. When she’s offered a spot in an experimental medical trial—one that will completely destroy her immune system before rebuilding it—she agrees. After all, she feels she has nothing left to lose (and getting paid doesn’t hurt). But as the treatment progresses, unsettling things start happening, and Meg begins to suspect that the experiment isn’t quite what she was told. Something else may be using her body as its test subject.
This is a deeply trippy, slow-burn descent into medical horror. If you enjoy unsettling atmosphere, creeping paranoia, and stories that blur the line between reality and hallucination, this one’s worth your time. Just be warned: if you’re not into slow burns, it may feel overly repetitive or too dreamlike to fully click.
*Thank you so much to NetGalley & Dreamscape Media for the audiobook copy of this book in exchange for an honest review!
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VOICEOVER: ‘Maple Gold is here for endings and new beginnings . . .’
The scene opens with a young woman, Greta, standing on the pavement, waving as a car pulls away. She’s holding a small cardboard box.
GRETA (WHISPERING): ‘Bye Mum.’
She turns to face a pretty white house, straightens her back and smiles bravely. She’s ready to enter a new phase of her life—moving into her first home.
The front door is ajar, and she enters a hallway, then a sitting room. We can see there are more, bigger boxes sitting around the place, sealed and ready to unpack.
VOICEOVER: ‘It’s here for the good times and the even better ones . . .’
Greta looks apprehensive but takes a moment to take in her new surroundings. She switches on the kettle and opens a cupboard, disappointed to find it empty.
She spies her name written on the side of the box she carried in and opens it. Inside is her old teddy bear and a jar of Maple Gold coffee, a gift from her mum. Greta takes the jar out, becoming misty-eyed as she makes herself a cup of coffee. Wrapping her fingers around the cup helps her to feel more at home.
The doorbell rings, and she opens the door to find a group of her new neighbors gathered outside. They present Greta with flowers and another jar of coffee as a welcome present. It’s Maple Gold, of course.
They all laugh, and she invites them inside for coffee.
A CAPPELLA GROUP (SINGING): ‘You’re always at home with Maple Gold.’
Chapter 1
Present Day
GRETA PERKS LOVED three things in life more than anything—her family, the thrill of performing, and a fine cup of coffee. When she could combine all three, it was as satisfying as a frothy cappuccino on a cold day. But recently, a happy home life and sparkling career seemed to be slipping through her fingers.
‘I wish you could stay longer,’ she said, glancing between her husband, Jim, and their daughter, Lottie, as coffee cups clattered in the background. ‘Tonight’s important to me.’
She’d volunteered to be the guest speaker at Brewtique’s monthly Coffee Lover’s Night Out, talking about her acting career. It had been a while since she’d last performed in public, and her nerves were jumping around like frogs in a pond.
Jim offered her a smile. ‘I wish we could, too. But I promised Lottie I’d get her back to school.’ He passed Greta a shopping bag like it was a peace offering. ‘Just brought a few things you might need . . .’
‘Talent show rehearsal,’ Lottie muttered, not looking up from her phone. ‘Total waste of time.’
Greta and Jim shared a glance, a silent understanding of the challenges of raising a fifteen-year-old together while living apart.
‘A talent show? Sounds fun.’ Greta gave Lottie’s arm a quick reassuring rub. ‘What are you doing? A show tune, or a monologue? Perhaps even a Shakespeare sonnet?’
Lottie shrugged a disinterested shoulder.
Greta’s spirits dipped a little. ‘Well, whatever you do, I bet you’ll be great,’ she said.
‘We’ll grab a burger afterward, then I’ll drop her back at your place.’ Jim opened his mouth slightly, as if wanting to say something more. ‘Stay safe returning to your car tonight, okay?’
Greta nodded, hoping for a word of encouragement, perhaps a ‘good luck,’ ‘break a leg,’ or even a quick hug. But Lottie was already heading toward the door.
Jim’s fingers lightly brushed Greta’s arm, but didn’t linger.
Then he turned and followed their daughter outside.
Through the window, Greta watched as her family dashed across the road without her. She smiled brightly and waved, even though her stomach was twisting.
‘Drop her back at your place.’ The words stung like a paper cut.
She and Jim were over four months into a trial separation, with just a few weeks left until their self-imposed New Year’s Eve deadline. At that point they’d agreed to make a final call on the future of their marriage.
It didn’t seem as clear-cut as Greta had hoped. What had once felt like a simple decision—to try to rebuild their marriage or let it go—now felt tangled with uncertainty. After almost twenty years together, was she still in love with Jim? Was he still in love with her?
Greta peeked inside the bag, her mood lifting when she saw Jim had brought her herbal throat lozenges, a new notebook, and a spare pen.
Outside, the wet, grey pavement was the same color as the inky November sky, and she suddenly craved a rich mocha.
Greta turned to face the room. In half an hour, the place would hopefully be buzzing with people. She was determined to deliver an entertaining talk, even if it wasn’t exactly her kind of coffee shop.
She preferred cozy spaces where she could curl up with a good book, sipping coffee from mugs the size of plant pots. The type of place that served homemade rocky road and had a corner dedicated to board games.
Brewtique, on the other hand, had industrial-style light- bulbs and blackboards showcasing quirky concoctions, such as rhubarb and custard lattes. A pink neon coffee cup on the wall cast an eerie pink glow on her face. The spindly branches of a Christmas tree on the counter looked like they’d been pecked by crows.
Her long-time agent, Nora, had applauded Greta for spotting Brewtique’s Facebook post asking for local speakers. ‘Putting yourself forward shows brilliant initiative, darling. Well-done,’ Nora had gushed. ‘You never know who might be in the audience. Any exposure could help give your career a little boost. Plus, it’s a great way to plug your acting classes.’
A boost? Greta knew her career needed a defibrillator. If one human year equals seven dog years, the same rule definitely applied to actors out of the spotlight. She felt like her career had been on pause for too long, and she was ready to hit Play again.
Greta missed the camaraderie on set, filming the iconic Maple Gold coffee commercials she’d starred in with Jim and Lot- tie a decade ago. Nothing compared to the soar of her senses when the director called, ‘Action,’ and everything clicked into place. She longed to find that spark again, not just for herself, but in the hope of pulling her family back together again.
If Greta was honest, she also missed the attention. Champagne on ice in a silver bucket, fans queuing around the block for her autograph, and the occasional limousine whisking her to grand events had been cherries on top of the cake. Those memories felt almost unreal now, as if they belonged to someone else.
The students she’d coached since then seemed to enjoy her acting classes, but it wasn’t the same. Guiding nervous amateurs through voice projection techniques or stage presence didn’t give her the same buzz as stepping in front of a camera or an audience. Hopefully, tonight would rekindle some of that feeling, proof she still had something to offer.
The sound of dropped cutlery pulled her out of her thoughts. Greta turned to see Brewtique’s owner, Josie, rushing around, a dusting of flour in her hair. Meanwhile, her young pink-haired assistant, Maisie, dawdled in a corner, glued to her phone.
‘Need a hand with anything?’ Greta called out.
‘Oh gosh, no.’ Josie shook her head frantically. ‘You’re the talent. I’m just running a bit late with everything . . .’
‘Are you sure? I’ve already prepped for my talk.’
Josie bit her lip, tempted. ‘Well . . . setting up the refreshment table would be helpful, while I get changed. I’ve just popped fresh brownies in the oven. Maisie knows to keep an eye on them.’ She gave Greta a pointed look. ‘She’s new here.’
‘Sure,’ Greta said, catching her drift. ‘Leave it to me.’
Greta set out coffee cups with vigor, arranged cookies on plates, and laid out napkins. Her pulse quickened when she saw the time. ‘Maisie!’ she called out. ‘We need to hurry. There’s only fifteen minutes left until showtime.’
The young woman barely raised her eyes. ‘Didn’t your family once star in some coffee ads or something?’ she asked. ‘One day, I’ll get discovered like that. Want to see my latest TikTok audition?’ She held out her phone.
‘Yes, we starred in them.’ Greta briskly polished a spoon on her apron. ‘I’ll look at your clip later. Now, please check all the glasses. Some of these are scratched, and Josie said you’re in charge of the brownies…’
When Josie reappeared wearing fresh clothes, she glanced out of the window and sighed. ‘Looks like we’ve got a smaller crowd than usual.’
‘How many are you expecting?’ Greta asked, joining her. ‘Six or seven. I’ve just checked my messages and had quite a few cancellations. Christmas is coming, and it’s the Strictly Salsa final on TV tonight.’
Greta chewed her lip. Disappointment was part of an actor’s life—the rejections, the scathing reviews, and the occasional inappropriate behavior from a director she’d once respected. She hadn’t expected a theatre-sized crowd, but six?
‘An intimate gathering,’ she said with a nod. ‘I’ll make it work.’
Josie welcomed the guests inside. When they were settled down around tables with coffee and cake, she launched into her introduction.
‘Welcome to the monthly Brewtique Coffee Lover’s Night Out. We’ve been fortunate to hear some incredible stories from our speakers this year—conquering Mount Everest, training guide dogs for the blind, and a brain surgeon who worked in war-torn countries. And tonight we’ve got the former star of the Maple Gold coffee commercials. Let’s bid a warm welcome to our special guest, Greta Perks.’
No pressure, Greta thought, smiling brightly as she stepped forward.
‘G . . . good evening, everyone,’ she started, feeling woefully out of practice. ‘Thanks for coming.
‘I’m going to tell you a story about how I became the face of the Maple Gold coffee commercials. Yes, for ten years, I was the lady who made you believe coffee could make your life perfect.’
A few chuckles rang out, and Greta soon found her flow. She paced up and down, commanding the little coffee shop as if starring in a West End theatre production.
‘Did you know that Maple Gold was born in 1950, as a humble roastery in the back streets of London? Over the years, it became a household name, beloved for its delicious blends and vintage appeal.’ She leaned in, as if sharing a secret. ‘And who wouldn’t want to live in Mapleville, the idyllic town from the commercials? The sun always shone, the grass was emerald green, and the whole town thrived on cups of Maple Gold.’
She took out her phone and played the jingle.
When you wake at sunrise,
and open your eyes.
You’re ready to start your day, the Maple Gold way.
You’re always at home with Maple Gold.
From the faraway looks on a few faces, it seemed like nostalgia was working.
‘I locked eyes with my love interest, Jim, when he painted my garden fence in the commercial, and things went a bit further off-camera,’ Greta said with a wink. ‘We got married and then had Lottie, our own little star. We were such a happy family, on-screen and off . . .’
She paused as a twinge of sadness crept in, like how bitter- ness stays on the tongue after an espresso. A screech of metal chair legs against wooden floorboards made her flinch.
A woman in the audience called out, uninvited. ‘Are you guys still working?’
Greta blinked, the question taking her by surprise. ‘Yes, everything’s going wonderfully,’ she said, feeling guilty at embellishing the truth. ‘Jim’s still gracing the stage and screen,
Lottie’s currently rehearsing for a school Christmas talent show, and as for me . . . well . . . I run some excellent acting classes, if anyone is interested?’
A few seconds of silence followed before more questions flew at her like arrows.
‘How’s Lottie?’
‘Where’s Jim?’
‘How do you feel about Maple Gold replacing you with a different family?’
‘Does Lottie resent you putting her on-screen at such a young age?’
‘Those are some great, um, deep questions,’ Greta said with a swallow. She grabbed her notes, hurriedly trying to recover her thread. ‘I think my talk will cover most of them . . . Now, where was I?’
Then, suddenly, the shrill scream of the smoke alarm pierced the moment. Greta jumped and spun around to see smoke billowing from the oven.
Josie shouted out over the bleeping alarm. ‘Maisie. Did you forget about the brownies?’
Maisie’s head snapped up, her eyes widening when she noticed the grey clouds. ‘Oops.’
A flurry of activity broke out.
Maisie darted behind the counter and yanked open the oven door, waving her arms as the grey smoke curled out. ‘It’s fine. Totally under control.’
Josie grabbed her oven gloves and pulled out the tray. The burnt brownies looked like steaming lumps of coal, and she tossed them into the sink.
Greta rushed over to help, spinning on the tap so the brownies spat and sizzled. She threw open the front door to let in some fresh air, then grabbed a tea towel and wafted it in front of the smoke alarm until it stopped. ‘Is everyone okay?’ she called out.
An elderly couple had already put on their coats and scuttled outside. The remaining four guests had drifted toward the buffet table, their focus now on cake rather than conversation. Greta followed them, trying to salvage what was left of the evening.
One man wrapped cake into a napkin and slipped it into his pocket. A couple of women wearing matching blue anoraks conversed loudly.
‘I didn’t recognize Greta at first, did you? She’s put on quite a bit of weight,’ one said.
‘I know. Age isn’t kind to some ladies,’ her friend replied. ‘Ahem.’ Greta stood beside them and picked up a cookie.
‘I’m forty-five and proud of it,’ she said, biting it into it. ‘Worth every extra pound, don’t you think?’
The women paused with their cakes suspended mid-air, before nodding sheepishly.
Greta attempted to spark interest in her acting classes, but the attention was elsewhere, mostly on the kitchen, which looked like it had been trampled by a herd of buffalo.
She joined Josie at the door, wearily bidding goodnight to the guests as they filtered out.
‘Sorry everything didn’t go to plan. I can’t thank you enough,’ Josie said. She handed Greta a brown envelope containing her small fee. ‘I’m not sure I’m cut out to run a coffee shop . . .’
Greta mustered a tired smile. After tonight, she felt the same way about performing in public.
She said goodnight, then called Lottie while trudging to her car, leaving a message on her voicemail. ‘Hi, sweetheart. I’ll be home soon. Hope your rehearsal went well.’
Rain pelted down, and Greta hunched her shoulders against the cold. The streets were empty and quiet, and icy droplets snaked down her neck, making her shiver. In the dark, she noticed a hunched figure approaching, and Jim’s warning about staying safe echoed in her mind. She tried to swerve, but the person bumped her arm.
Startled, Greta dropped her car keys and stooped to pick them up. When she looked up, a woman in a long, dark coat stood over her. Her face was part hidden by a voluminous hood, and long tendrils of her damp white hair hung down. With a quick muttered apology, the stranger handed a piece of paper to Greta and hurried across the road.
As she stood up, Greta’s heart thudded in her chest. Under the dim street lamp, she uncurled her fingers and glanced at the flyer. It was probably just a pizza menu, but the vintage-style design caught her eye. It featured an illustration of a white rabbit and the words ‘Looking for the Perfect Blend?’ Beneath it was an image of a jar with the label ‘Drink Me.’
She gripped the flyer tighter, unsure what it was even promoting. A strange feeling of curiosity rippled through her body. Looking for the perfect blend? In her life, she most certainly was.
She climbed into her car and tossed the flyer onto the passenger seat. Sitting there for a moment, she flopped her head against the steering wheel as the evening’s events raced through her mind. Was she ever going to get her life back on track?
With a deep sigh, Greta turned the key in the ignition and waited for the engine to rumble to life. The light from the street lamps twinkled orange in the raindrops on the wind- screen, and she released the handbrake.
It was probably just a trick of the light, but as Greta pulled off the car park, she could have sworn the white rabbit on the flyer gave her a wink.
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