The Chef and The Ghost of Bartholomew Addison Jenkins by Aletta Thorne
Blurb
Autumn, 1982. MTV is new, poodle perms are the rage, and
life just might be getting better for Alma Kobel. Her ugly divorce
is final at last. Her new job as chef at Bright Day School’s gorgeous old
estate is actually fun. But the place is haunted—and so is Alma’s
apartment. Bartholomew Addison Jenkins’ ghost has been invisibly watching her
for months. When he materializes one night, Alma discovers Bart—as
he likes to be called—has talents she couldn’t have imagined…and a horrifying past.
What happens if you have a one-nighter with a ghost? And what
happens if one night is all you want—and you end up ghosting him? Some
spirits don’t like taking “no” for an answer.
Buy Link:
http://www.evernightpublishing.com/the-chef-and-the-ghost-of-bartholomew-addison-jenkins-by-aletta-thorne/
Buy Link:
http://www.evernightpublishing.com/the-chef-and-the-ghost-of-bartholomew-addison-jenkins-by-aletta-thorne/
Excerpt
“You’ll turn
over the record. Oh, because you…”
“I do like to keep up. Who poured you
wine from the … refrigerator? Although, I don’t understand why people of your
age prefer it so icy.”
Alma followed Bart into the living room, still wondering why things didn’t seem odder than they were. She remembered the Casper the Friendly
Ghost cartoons she’d seen as a little girl. This ghost was acting—well, perhaps
a bit more flirty than friendly. He only glowed a bit as they walked through
the dim hallway that connected her rooms. You can hardly even tell he’s
translucent. What had he seen of her,
though? She was glad her frustrating night with Sid had been at his place.
As Bart bent over the turntable and flipped the record, the reading
lamp by her couch highlighted the silver buttons of his coat. She curled up on
the couch and put her wine glass on the glass-covered orange crate she’d turned into a coffee table.
Bart sat beside her, suspiciously close. He put an arm over the back
of the couch, and Alma shook her head again. That’s
the old sneaky-arm trick—like a high school kid. It’s kind of cute. She
pulled her legs up under herself, and they quietly listened to the music.
“You’re right,” she said after a few minutes. “‘Fountains’
is really good, too. I almost never listen to that side.”
Bart made a quiet harrumphing noise.
Do ghosts
clear their throats? Apparently so.
“Dear
lady,” he said. “Although I do try not to snoop, as you would say, I have
indeed observed your solitude. Let me assure you, your life will soon be
happier.” He slid even closer to her.
Okay. Now the
ghost is absolutely coming on to me. This is really happening. Oh, hell—why
not? He’s not bad—for a dead guy.
“Um, Bart?” she said. His eyes really were a
startling color—almost bronze… “You can’t actually be…”
Bart set his fingertips on her cheeks, looked into her eyes, and
sighed. Then he smiled. “You think this is a ridiculous situation. It’s
not ridiculous,” he said. “Not at all. Allow me to demonstrate … with
your permission, m’lady.”
Somehow, that was funny, and
Alma giggled. “Granted.”
Bart’s hands were impossibly soft and gentle—and
his touch had some of the same fire-and-ice buzz that she’d felt before in the
kitchen when he’d tried to get her attention. He guided her lips to his, and
gave her what would have been a tiny peck—from anyone else. It shot a bolt of
fire straight through her.
“Oh,” she said. It took a
minute to get her breath.
Author Bio
Aletta Thorne believes in ghosts. In her “normal” life, she is a choral singer,
a poet, a sometimes DJ, and a writer about things non-supernatural. But she’s happiest in front of a glowing
screen, giving voice to whoever it is that got her two cats all riled up at
three AM. Yes, her house is the oldest
one on her street. And of course, it’s
quite seriously haunted (even scared the ghost investigator who came to check
it out).
