“She gave up on her career for her family, and he gave up on his family for his career. On the verge of giving up dating forever, these two opposites connect, but when their life philosophies clash, they must learn the lessons the other offers if they want to follow their deepest dreams and have it all.”
From the Publisher: “Sheridan Jeane’s newest novel, Slow Simmer, is a fun, feel-good romcom novel that will keep readers turning the page until the end. Available now, Slow Simmer reveals Jeane’s love of Pittsburgh, its film industry, and superhero nerd culture. It’s full of characters who jump off the page and is set in the local community of Sewickley.”
More info About the Author: “Sheridan Jeane writes both contemporary and historical romances. Her six exciting Victorian-era novels are filled with spies, intrigue, and tender, sensual moments. Her contemporary romantic comedies focus on strong heroines and the men who woo them… by cooking for them!”
How did you get the idea to set your new novel, Slow Simmer, in and around Pittsburgh?
I was born in Dayton, Ohio, lived in eastern Pennsylvania for a while, and moved to Sewickley in 2008. I immediately fell in love with my new community. It’s such a warm, close-knit community. I wanted to capture the best parts of it on the page and populate my perfected version of the town with a fun cast of characters.
What is are the best and worst parts of being an author?
The best part, hands down, is brainstorming a new story and writing the first draft. That’s the most creative part of the process. Although editing the second and third drafts (and sometimes the fourth or fifth draft) can be frustrating, I still prefer it to the worst part… spreading the word about my new book. I’m an introvert and having to go out into the world and talk about my books zaps me of energy, even when I do it from the comfort of my computer.
How does Pittsburgh feature in your books?
My new series is called The Way to a Woman’s Heart. All my new books are set in and around Sewickley and Pittsburgh. For example, in Slow Simmer, my characters take a tour of Pittsburgh to visit sites where various movies were filmed. The second book in my series, Here’s the Scoop, includes a shopping trip to the Strip District.
The third book in the series, From Bitter to Sweet, is primarily set in Sewickley, but the fourth through sixth books also include Moon, Mount Washington, and the Mexican War Streets. Each of my books captures things that are unique about those neighborhoods.
What books are on your nightstand?
I’m primarily an audiobook reader. I find that when I try to read a print book, I keep stopping and editing paragraphs in my head—the curse of being a writer. It’s very distracting. Since audiobooks won’t let me do that, I prefer reading them. I love all sorts of novels. I just finished reading The Vibrant Years by Sonali Dev (they’re turning it into a movie!) and I just loaded Lucy Score’s next book The Things We Hide from the Light onto my phone. I also signed up for Brandon Sanderson‘s Kickstarter last year, and he just released the second book in his four-book series, so I’m excited to start reading that as well.
What else have you written, and what’s next for you?
I’ve published a standalone historical romance, Gambling on a Scoundrel as well as five historical romances in my Secrets and Seduction series: Lady Cecilia is Cordially Disinvited for Christmas, It Takes a Spy, Lady Catherine’s Secret, Once Upon a Spy, and My Lady, My Spy.
I’m launching The Way to a Woman’s Heart rom-com series by releasing my Coming Home book trilogy. Slow Simmer, Here’s the Scoop, and From Bitter to Sweet. Next year I’ll be releasing my Destination Wedding trilogy in the same world. Those books are: Too Much on My Plate, Say Cheese, and Turkish Delight. Perhaps you noticed that all the titles from my new series are food related. That’s because all the men are taking cooking classes together, and they all end up using those cooking skills to woo the women they love.
Slow Simmer, Chapter 1
No Parade
Ford
I yawned and stretched, making my back crack. I’d been up since 4 A.M. to make it to the airport for my flight from Los Angeles to Pittsburgh. My body told me it was almost midnight, even though the clock in my rental car said quarter to nine.
Other than some obligatory holiday visits, I hadn’t spent much time back home since high school. What can I say? I tend to be a workaholic. It comes naturally. I’m a lot like my dad that way.
Wasn’t that my real reason for coming home though? Guilt about that emotional distance from my family? Dad in particular? A couple of weeks ago, my sister and brothers started hammering me with texts.
Hailey: Something is off with Dad. None of us can get him to talk. It’s your turn.
Max: I’m panicking here. Dad’s losing interest in Ross Film Productions. This isn’t good.
Sean: You need to check in with Dad. Something’s wrong, and you were always his favorite. Talk to him. Even better? Go see him.
Me: I’m on it.
Of course, I’d ignored the part about coming home. A conversation should handle it. Dad and I had never had trouble talking. Easy enough, right?
Not exactly. Maybe it had been too long since we’d had a real heart-to-heart, but when I’d called, Dad had avoided any personal questions and kept changing the subject. He’d only wanted to discuss the film his production company was shooting in Italy. I finally realized my sister and brothers were right. If I wanted answers, I’d have to talk with Dad face-to-face.
I decided to suck it up and spend a few weeks back in my hometown. I needed to choose my next film, and Dad usually had good advice. In fact, spending some time away from Hollywood would probably do me some good.
That was before I’d been ditched by Dad on my first night back.
Well, maybe ditched was too strong a word, but I couldn’t think of a better one. After I landed, I saw the text from him saying his flight back from Italy had been delayed. He’d be back tomorrow.
Right now, I just wanted some dinner and a bed.
I stepped out of my car in the restaurant’s parking lot, and the peaceful silence took me by surprise. Here, a stone’s throw from the Ohio River, the only sounds filling the night came from the light breeze blowing through the trees, and water lapping against the riverbank.
I was so hungry, my stomach gnawed at my insides. A formal-looking restaurant glowed through the second-floor windows, but the bar on the ground floor looked more appealing.
As I pulled open the restaurant door, I glanced down at my phone to check for messages. I glimpsed a pair of red Converse high-tops directly in my path an instant before I plowed into the woman wearing them.
I grabbed hold of her elbow to steady her as I glanced up and met her startled brown eyes. She was cute with her brown hair pulled back into a ponytail. The vibrant blue tips of her hair caught my attention. I also took note of her jeans, nicely proportioned body, and snug-fitting red, white, and blue Wonder Woman t-shirt. It was a good look on her. Her easygoing comic book style didn’t seem typical for the preppy little town of Sewickley, but maybe things had changed more than I’d realized since I’d been gone.
She staggered back. Her takeout bag slipped from her arm, and I barely managed to keep it from falling
“Sorry.” I tucked my phone away as I passed the bag back to her. “My fault.” I flashed my well-honed Hollywood smile.
This woman immediately pegged my smile for what it was—nothing more than an attempt to placate her. She clutched the delicious-smelling bag of food to her chest and scowled, a sour expression tightening her pretty mouth. “Walking while texting? What, are you twelve?” Her warm body slid past me as she headed toward the parking lot.
Harsh, but deserved. “Can I make it up to you? Maybe buy you a drink?”
Whirling around to face me, she narrowed her eyes. “Do you actually expect that line to work?”
Before I could reply, she held up her hand to stop me.
“Don’t answer. I’m not interested.” With that, she tossed her blue-tipped hair, turned, and strode away, her ponytail swishing like I didn’t stand a chance.
I’m clearly losing my touch.
I let the door swing shut as I turned to face the restaurant’s vacant hostess station. According to the chalkboard sign, the kitchen would be open for another twenty minutes, so I scanned tonight’s house specials.
Ribeye. That would hit the spot. I bypassed the stairs leading to the second-floor restaurant and entered the bar.
My gaze immediately focused on the striking view of the Ohio River through the large, garage-door-sized windows at the far end of the room. The full moon reflected off the rippling water. Lamplights glowed on the bridge in the distance, completing the picturesque scene.
I claimed a vacant barstool with a view of the riverscape and inhaled the irresistible aroma of grilled steak. A dark-haired, broad-shouldered man pushed through a door behind the bar, but he halted the moment he laid eyes on me. “Ford Ross? Is that you?”
I jerked my head back in surprise. “Conner? Conner Gillette? What the hell? You work here? It’s great to see you.” I stood and held out my hand.
He reached across the bar and pumped it up and down. “I don’t just work here. I’m half-owner.” He flashed the same easygoing smile I remembered, his short brown hair still stuck straight up in the front. “Congratulations, man. I saw you won best director at Sundance. That’s amazing. I watched your acceptance speech on YouTube.”
I sat back down, a pleased grin splitting my face. What can I say? I’m damned proud of that award. “Thanks, man. It was an amazing night.”
“You in town for long?”
I relaxed in my seat and rested an arm on the bar. “Not sure yet. A few weeks at the least.” It really all depended on how things went with my dad.
I ran my hand through my too-long, light brown hair, my fingers catching in the slight wave I’d inherited from my mom. It was a sure indicator that I needed a cut. The wave annoyed me when I let it get this long, but I was bad about getting a haircut when I wasn’t filming. The makeup and hair crew always kept it neat and trim—one of the perks that came with being a director.
“I’m surprised you’re in town,” Conner said, leaning onto the bar to face me. “With that win, I’d have thought you’d be busy landing a film with a major studio.”
“There’s this thing called a cell phone,” I lifted mine from the bar and waggled it from side to side. “You should get one. It lets you talk to people even when you’re on the other side of the country.”
“Smart ass, eh? So you’re a hot commodity?”
“What can I say? Everybody loves a winner.” And they avoided losers like they had leprosy. “All I need to do now is figure out which film I want to tackle next. It’s getting down to decision time. I need to pick something soon.”
Conner seemed to remember himself. “Did you just stop by for a drink, or did you want something to eat? The kitchen closes soon.”
“I want your ribeye special, medium-rare, and that amber ale you have on draft.”
“You should get the truffle fries too. They’re beyond belief.”
“Load me up.”
Conner knocked his knuckles on the bar, served my beer, and then disappeared through the swinging kitchen door, presumably to put in my order.
I took in the rest of the room with a director’s eye for a set. The huge open windows, the stage in the corner with a door behind it so the band could load in without disturbing the patrons, the many tables… this place was clearly set up as a music venue. Conner had spent years traveling with his band, and it showed in the room’s layout.
A minute later, Conner reappeared, but this time he came around to my side of the bar to sit next to me. “What brings you to town?”
A guilty conscience? I glanced down, not wanting to tell him I was worried about my dad. That was family business, and I didn’t want to invade Dad’s privacy. “It’s been a long time since I’ve taken any real time off. The Sundance win messed with my head. It changed a lot of things for me and put me in the public eye. I need some time to think.”
I was surprised to hear myself say that. Was it true? Was I feeling overwhelmed? Strange how avoiding one truth made me blurt out another one. “Dad’s flight back from Italy was delayed. He won’t be back until tomorrow, so I’m staying with my sister.”
Conner relaxed against the back of his barstool and took me in. “Italy? Nice. Vacation?”
I let out a laugh. “Never. He’s working. I don’t know the last time he took a vacation. His production company is filming there. My sister offered to put me up in her guest room since Dad isn’t here, but she’s out with her family right now. She suggested I stop by here to grab dinner before coming to her place, but she didn’t mention you owned it.”
I’d always assumed Conner and his band would hit it big. The guy had a stellar voice and could play guitar like he’d sold his soul to the devil. Seeing him running a restaurant seemed wrong somehow, but maybe I didn’t know him as well as I thought I did. Besides, people change. Priorities change. Life does that to all of us. I’d married Chelsea, and then she’d driven that point home when she’d walked out the day after our second Christmas together. Nothing lasts forever. Especially not relationships.
“We opened Not a Yacht Club a year ago. Things are going great, knock-on-wood.” Conner rapped his knuckles against the glossy bar top. “As you can see, Tuesdays tend to be pretty quiet, but if you come back later in the week, we’ll be packed.”
“Love the name… Not a Yacht Club. Back when we were in high school, I remember you saying you weren’t the yacht club or country club type.”
“You remember that?” Conner asked, looking pleased. “Yeah. I thought a bar and music venue would be a nice alternative the posh country clubs around here.”
I raised an eyebrow. “That doesn’t track. I saw your upstairs restaurant through the windows from the parking lot. White tablecloths. Great view of the river. Looks pretty posh to me.”
Conner flashed a grin. “Thanks. We have all our bases covered here. I thought it would be funny if we added a kayak rental place. A kayak is as far from a yacht as you can get and still be a boat.”
A let out a chuckle. “Wouldn’t that clash with that high-end restaurant of yours?”
He shrugged. “Maybe. Or maybe I can figure out how to make it a classy kayak rental place.”
I liked the idea. “This town’s the place for something as offbeat as that. Who’s your partner?”
The kitchen door swung open and a tall, brawny, dark-haired man in chef’s whites appeared. Conner gestured toward him. “You remember Dante, right?”
“Dante Bastiano?” I jerked my head back in surprise. “Mi amico! What the hell are you doing here? I thought you still lived on the West Coast.” We’d been friends since the day we’d started first grade at Middlebridge Academy and swapped cookies during lunch, but we’d lost touch over the past few years. A pang of guilt pierced me. When was the last time I’d called him? I couldn’t even remember. “If I’d realized you were the chef, I would have ordered one of your Italian dishes. Your mom’s lasagna is still the best I’ve ever tasted.”
“Thanks, man. I’ll let her know you said so.” Dante’s pale gray eyes flashed with good humor as he rounded the bar to greet me. “Moved back here a couple of years ago. Good to see you, Ford. Congrats on Sundance.” Dante’s scarred hand—a chef’s hand—engulfed mine in a firm shake.
“Thanks. You two are business partners? How’d that happen?”
Conner shifted on his barstool to face me. “It all came down to timing and luck. We got to talking one day, and when we realized we had similar ideas about opening a new restaurant here, we decided to partner. The rest is history. As the chef, Dante handles everything food-related, and I take care of everything else. It works since I can’t cook worth a damn.”
“You should know how to cook if you’re gonna run a restaurant.” Dante sounded annoyed.
Conner shrugged. “So you keep telling me—and I keep ignoring you.”
A man in jeans and a collared shirt with a “Gillette Construction” logo on the chest strode in from the parking lot and dropped onto the stool next to Conner. He looked like Conner, even down to the close-cropped hair. He had to be Kincaid, Conner’s younger brother. It had been years since I’d seen the kid. Well, not a kid anymore.
Kincaid clasped his hands together in supplication and shot Dante a pleading look. “I know it’s past nine,” Kincaid said. “Tell me it isn’t too late to grab dinner.”
Dante scowled. “My assistant is already closing things down in there. I’ll have him throw another ribeye on the grill next to the one I’m cooking for Ford, but you need to grovel.”
“Thanks, man,” Kincaid said. He glanced at me and gave me a nod, but I don’t think he recognized me.
“Either get here before nine or learn to feed yourself,” Dante said as he headed back into the kitchen.
Conner shifted on his barstool to face his brother. “Didn’t your girlfriend sign you two up for a weekly couples’ cooking class? Why aren’t you there tonight?”
Kincaid shrugged. “She cancelled after last week’s lesson. They wanted her to cut up raw chicken.”
“Is she vegetarian?” I asked.
“No. Touching raw meat grosses her out. She has a weak stomach. You should’ve seen the way she reacted when I came home with stitches on my hand after I tore it open at a construction site. She can’t stomach the sight of blood.”
“Bro.” Conner raised one eyebrow. “Can you say, high maintenance? Why’d you let her move in with you when her roommate kicked her out? You should have told her to stay with her parents.” He made an irritated sound. “Didn’t you also tell me she never cleans up after herself in the kitchen or bathroom? I know you’re a neat freak. You gotta be beat by the time you get home from work each day. Being her maid must suck. She’s making you her bitch.”
“Fuck you,” Kincaid tossed back. “At least I have a girlfriend.”
Conner snorted. “If she was my only choice, I’d take being alone. That woman’s too much work.”
I kept my mouth shut, but I agreed with Conner. After Chelsea and I had divorced, I’d dated too many women who only wanted to take, take, take without putting any effort into the relationship. They liked the limelight and attending parties with celebrities, but I could never tell if they genuinely liked me. Being single was preferable to being with someone who only wanted to be with me because of what I could do for her ego or her career.
As Kincaid’s expression began to darken with anger, I gestured toward the “Gillette Construction” logo on his shirt. “You’re in construction. Maybe you can help me. I own a house here in town that I normally rent out. It’s currently empty and needs some work. Plus, my sister says the lower level of my dad’s house needs to be updated. You interested in those sorts of projects?”
Kincaid’s attention was entirely on me now, but his face was still tight with suppressed annoyance. “What are you planning?”
I didn’t really know, since I hadn’t checked in on my house, let alone seen my dad’s place, so I hedged. “What’s your specialty?”
The tight line of Kincaid’s mouth eased. “Mostly home renovations, repairs, and additions. I have a great paint crew, too, if that’s all you need.” He fished a card from his pocket and abruptly reached in front of Conner, knocking the back of his hand against his brother’s chest before he handed it to me. His irritation with Conner might have lessened, but it wasn’t entirely gone. “Gillette Construction. I’m Kincaid Gillette. This asshole is my brother. You new to town?”
“I grew up here. Conner and I were friends back in high school. You and I met years ago.”
Kincaid peered at me more closely, but then shook his head. “Sorry. Should I remember you?”
“Probably not. The last time I saw you was at Conner’s graduation party,” I said.
“I don’t think he ever came to our house,” Conner added.
I searched my memory, but realized he was right.
“Ford went to Middlebridge Academy,” Conner added. “Us public-school kids didn’t mix much with the private-school ones back then.” He gave a tight smile. “I guess they still don’t.”
“Must be it,” I mumbled. I hated that line of demarcation that ran through so many of the relationships in this town—the public-school versus private-school one.
An uncomfortable silence sat between us. When it began to stretch thin, I felt an urgent need to break it. “Can we schedule a time for you to stop by my place and do an estimate?”
“Absolutely. I’m wrapping up a big project right now.” He pulled his phone from his pocket and flipped through his calendar. “How does tomorrow afternoon work for you? I could meet you at around three.”
“Sounds good.” I rattled off my address.
Dante came through the kitchen door and set the two ribeye steaks in front of me and Kincaid with a flourish.
“Thanks, man.” I cut into it and took a bite. As the flavors hit my tastebuds, I let out a satisfied sigh.
“Wait till you try the truffle fries,” Kincaid told me as he took a forkful of salad.
I did and my eyes nearly rolled back in my head from the gastronomic pleasure.
“Like it?” Dante asked, grinning.
“The steak is amazing, but these fries are stellar.” I lifted a forkful of truffle fries in a mock-toast. “Any chance I can get you to feed me daily while I’m in town? You really should take pity on me, or I’ll be reduced to living off my sister’s leftovers, fast food, and takeout.”
Conner went behind the bar and poured himself a glass of water. “A lot of places around here deliver. Plus, I’m a connoisseur of frozen pizzas. I’ll give you my recommendations.”
Dante shook his head despairingly. “You shouldn’t be eating that frozen crap. You own a restaurant. Show some pride, man.”
Kincaid laughed. “Conner couldn’t cook if his life depended on it.”
Conner shrugged. “That’s why Dante’s the chef and I handle everything else.”
“Good plan, since your cooking is a danger,” Kincaid said. “You even set Mom’s kitchen on fire.”
Conner scowled. “I was ten. Give me a break.”
Dante’s expression hardened. “You two morons need to knock it off. I’ve had enough of listening to you moan about your cooking skills—or lack thereof. You’re grown-ass men. You should know how to feed yourselves, and I’m going to teach you. I’m starting a class.”
Conner stared at him with confusion, but then as comprehension dawned, his expression turned to one of mock horror. “You expect me to learn to cook? No. Not that.” He crossed his hands over his chest, as though he’d suffered a mortal battle wound. “Anything but that.”
Kincaid shook his head. “I tried that cooking class with Heather. It was kind of a letdown.”
Dante jutted out his chin. “That’s because I wasn’t running it. With a weekly class, I can teach you the basics in a couple of months. The place is closed Monday nights. We’ll do it then.”
“Do what?” Conner asked, narrowing his eyes.
“Have a cooking class,” Dante said impatiently.
Kincaid cocked his head. “Will it be just for men? No women?”
Dante hesitated, then gave a firm nod. “Well, we can focus on men, since it looks like my first students will all be men. We start Monday. Be here.” He pinned me with his gaze. “That means you, too, Hollywood.”
Both the invitation and the way Dante immediately started ordering me around took me by surprise. This evening had certainly been a change from my life in Hollywood. I’d almost forgotten what it was like to be with people who weren’t intimidated by me. I kind of liked it.
“I won’t be around long, but what the hell… I’ll give it a shot. Maybe I can get my dad to come, too.” It could be a fun way to reconnect with him, but I had my doubts that he’d agree. Based on the fact that he’d already foisted me off onto Hailey as her houseguest, I was pretty sure he wasn’t going to make forging that connection easy for me.
This excerpt of Slow Simmer is published here courtesy of the author and publisher and should not be reprinted without permission.
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