Title: Wild Ginger in the Rhubarb
Author: Eule Grey
Publisher: NineStar Press
Release Date: 08/13/2024
Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex
Pairing: Female/Female
Length: 23600
Genre: Contemporary, contemporary, romance, lesbian/sapphic, butch/femme, detective, gin-maker, bikes/bike shop, siblings, first love, secrets, family drama, sweet, steamy, summer fete, flip-flop love, synaesthesia
Add to Goodreads
Description
The rules for ex-undercover cops are clear: No girlfriend, no sex, no snuggles—too risky for everyone concerned. After a year of spying on gangsters, tough Charlie couldn’t agree more. She doesn’t want a girlfriend or a relationship; she only needs power tools and a job in her brother’s bike shop.
Still, it’s difficult to leave the past behind. Charlie feels bad about betraying the gangster’s trust. Guilt comes with the job. So what? When a gorgeous gin artist becomes a neighbour, wanting to help is natural. Fix the fridge—yeah. Sexual attraction? Nope. Girlfriend? Double nope. All that matters is following the rules: No girlfriend, no sex, no sharing. Repeat.
Rose loves summer flowers, gin, pretty clothes, and butch lesbians. Owning a cocktail shop is a dream come true, even if the responsibility is tricky for one person to bear. If only she had friends and family! A caring friend would be extremely welcome to fix the fridge and put up the shelves. It’s strange how Charlie smells of wild ginger and Rose of sweet rhubarb, like an award-winning gin.
Rose has secrets, too, about the past. She doesn’t intend to cuddle up with Charlie. It’s just that the heart wants what the heart wants. Repeat, repeat, repeat.
One thing is certain… When wild ginger gets in the rhubarb, nothing can stop it.
Wild Ginger in the Rhubarb
Eule Grey © 2024
All Rights Reserved
Inside the bike shop, Charlie’s nerves got the better of her. She gave the bikes a once-over. Oli laughed at her nervousness, patting and pinching her cheeks playfully. “I swear! How did you ever become a top undercover detective? Will you stop fidgeting? What are you worried about? It’s just a ride in the woods with a friendly girl. Talk to me, sis.” He removed the Allen key from Charlie’s grasp and hurled it across the room so she was forced to face him.
Regardless, Charlie checked the tyres for about the fiftieth time. Talk? Her brain had turned to syrup. She could easily throw up. Would she remember to breathe? Certainly, she wouldn’t be able to pedal. What if she made an umbrella of herself again? Ugh. “I’m fine. It’s just—it’s been a while. I’m not meant to date so soon after a case. There’re rules!” She remembered plonking Rose down on the ground like a sack of potatoes rather than hugging her like she’d wanted to. Ugh.
Oli never gave up. “Fuck the rules. How long has it been since your last girlfriend, exactly?”
It had been five years since she’d spent time with another woman away from work.
“Don’t know. Leave me alone. Not a date anyway.” Being an undercover detective meant discipline. At a moment’s notice, Charlie had needed to up and go—across the ocean, accompanied only by her gun. A relationship had been a luxury she couldn’t afford. According to her training manual, she should wait at least six months after concluding a case before getting romantically involved. Rules were rules. What did Oli know?
She decided to call off the bike session. Rose would understand, and anyway, the younger woman would be better off without the attention of an ex-undercover detective who could offer nothing but nightmares and an elusive smell of rhubarb.
She turned to Oli to explain. He caught her hands and squeezed. By his sad, knowing smile, he’d clearly guessed some of Charlie’s doubts.
“Don’t even,” he said. “You’ve told Rose you’ll take her cycling, and so you will. Our reputation as bike trainers depends on it. Don’t let us down, sis. And stop being a wuss! I know it’s hard to take a chance, but Rose is worth it.”
Charlie tried to interrupt and explain about her training. “But wait? No—”
Oli placed a hand across her lips to halt the rest of the clumsy sentence. “Ssh. You’ve forgotten how to be you. Remember when you laughed? Read books? Dated? You’ve aged more than you should. It’s got to stop. You never used to be so boring or sad.”
Oli’s truths went straight to Charlie’s gut. She tried to answer, but instead, tears pricked the backs of her eyelids. Ugh. Oli was right. Somewhere among the gangs, Charlie had lost touch with herself, with the woman she used to be.
Oli’s knowing face said it all. “You know I’m right. Want a fight?” He slowly leaned across, picked up the hosepipe Charlie had used to wash the bikes, and aimed the water jet at her. Then he was off.
A forceful spray hit Charlie. She yelled and was instantly transported back to when she was a kid. She leapt up with an aggrieved shout, traversed several bikes, and chased him around the shop, scattering tools, bikes, helmets, wheels, and clothing. It was fantastic. Charlie forgot about her nerves and the gang; she forgot everything except her irritating, much-loved little brother, who knew her better than anyone.
She caught him by the door. “Little shit! Look what you’ve done to my top—it’s soaking! Now, you must be punished.” Charlie tickled him until he screamed for mercy, trapped, arms above his head, tears of laughter on his cheeks. They’d spent much time chasing and teasing as children, sometimes trashing the house. Theirs was a noisy, physical relationship where affection often appeared through scraps.
Rose appeared abruptly on the shop floor, dressed in the tiniest pair of shorts that hid little of her delectable, peachy bottom. “Whatever has he done? Should I call the police?” She looked between Oli and Charlie with a horrified expression.
There was no way to explain that they had been only playing, so Charlie didn’t try. A wave of disappointment threatened to engulf her. How could she consider a relationship with a girl who didn’t have a sense of humour?
She rolled off her brother and helped him up. “It’s not as bad as it looks. Honest. He started it.” The voice of her twelve-year-old self explained to their mum why she’d tied Oli up to stop him from deflating her bike tyres. Her mum had replied that, as an older sister, Charlie should have known better.
Oli caught her eyes and sniggered. Clearly, he remembered too. “All torturers say the same. What’s a few broken bones? Rose—if you only knew my life as her brother. Charlie’s a monster. She used to steal from my piggy bank.” He adopted a limp, pulling an exaggerated, pained expression like when they were kids. Oli had always been good at playing the victim.
Charlie couldn’t resist. She aimed a pretend kick at his bum as he passed, figuring she’d already ruined the day with Rose anyway.
She couldn’t have been more wrong.
Rose placed her hands on her hips and glared witheringly at Oli. “This is serious, young man. Don’t you know what a crime it is to waste water? I’m going to have to report you to the environmental police. There’s a hosepipe ban.” She lifted the hose and then slowly and deliberately switched it off.
When Oli wasn’t looking, Rose winked at Charlie.
Charlie died of happiness. Fuck the training manual and the rules. She’d take Rose biking and have a great time, maybe even ask her on a proper date afterwards.
For once, Oli was out of words. His bottom lip hit the ground. His eyes went wounded puppy. “Police? But. It was only a joke.”
Rose held his gaze for a whole minute before erupting into a delicious giggly laugh that filled Charlie to the brim. “I’ve got a brother too. We have to stick together.” She held out a hand to Charlie and squeezed. Oli looked between them, laughed, and then disappeared to get dry.
Charlie readied the bikes amid a heady cloud of rhubarb, peach, apricot, and excitement. Of course, she couldn’t transmit her feelings in words, but it was enough to have Rose close.
Purchase
NineStar Press | Books2Read
Amazon
Eule Grey has settled, for now, in the north UK. She’s worked in education, justice, youth work, and even tried her hand at butter-spreading in a sandwich factory. Sadly, she wasn’t much good at any of them!
She writes novels, novellas, poetry, and a messy combination of all three. Nothing about Eule is tidy but she rocks a boogie on a Saturday night!
For now, Eule is she/her or they/them. Eule has not yet arrived at a pronoun that feels right.
Website | Facebook | Twitter
One lucky winner will receive a $50.00 NineStar Press Gift Code!
