Right. I don’t even know how to start this because it’s all weird. And I am all about the weird. I mean weird is what I do best, so me not being able to make sense of weird…is just…weird.
My brain is supposed to be filled with jam tart ratios, dangerous muffin blueprints, and whatever new way Stubby has discovered to emotionally manipulate me into sharing my ham and cheese sandwich.
It is not supposed to be filled with… this.
The Hoodie Incident.
We were in the greenhouse shed, which is normally my safe space, aka where I stash questionable pastry experiments and a half-built custard launcher. Granger shows up looking all “serious sheriff’s son” as usual, but this time… he’s wearing a hoodie.
Not just any hoodie. A NEW baby blue one. that made his caramel eyes , more caramelly…
Soft-looking and gloriously oversized. And worst of all, the sleeves were pushed up.
Well, if you read The Case of the Clocwork catastrophe, you knooow what this does to me.
Hormone Marlowe (whom I didn’t even know existed five minutes ago) leapt out of nowhere like, “Oh hello, this is interesting, let’s stare.”
Meanwhile, Normal Marlowe was screaming, “WHY ARE WE STARING? LOOK AWAY! THIS IS NOT JAM-TART-RELATED CONTENT!”
Stubby noticed. He gave me the judgement look—you know, the one that says “I see you, you traitor, and I will be telling the council.”
I tried to carry on like nothing was happening, except my brain kept doing weird things.
Like: Would that hoodie be comfy to steal? Would he notice? Would I care? Is this how crime starts? Will it smell like him?
And then he reached for a spanner on the bench and I swear, his arm muscles did something.
I don’t know what, but it was something.
Hormone Marlowe: “Wow, look at that. Maybe you should hand him a tart. A special tart. The tart of destiny.”
Normal Marlowe: “NO. WE ARE NOT WEAPONISING PASTRY FOR FLIRTING.”
Stubby: low growl of disapproval
I’ve decided this is clearly a medical anomaly brought on by overexposure to pastry fumes and proximity to tall people.
It will pass.
Probably.
In the meantime, I am putting Rhydian’s hoodies on the Do Not Mentally Catalogue list and banning my brain from thinking about his arms.
…
Okay but seriously, that hoodie looked really warm.
PS: Stubby is now guarding my tarts like a jealous chaperone. I think he suspects I’d use them as a bribe. Which is ridiculous.
(Unless I could get him to take the hoodie off first.)
Conquering Bad Writing Days: A Writer’s Guide – Or Not
There are good writing days. The kind where words roll like butter off a hot knife, metaphors practically pirouette onto the page, and you finish a scene so perfect you want to frame it, kiss it, and whisper: “Yes, I am in fact, an author goddess.” And then there are days like… today. The days…
Of Slime, Farts, and Finding the Right Book
Maybe there are parents out there who also need a quick read for bedtime. Or a lazy Sunday afternoon story to share between snacks and inevitable spills. Whatever gets the laughter rolling. Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that silly stories can sometimes be the very best ones.
“Stubby vs Moira – Book 3 Battle of Teenage Hormones”
STUBBY:Absolutely not. No. I will chew the manuscript. I will. Don’t test me, woman. MOIRA:Oh come on, Stubby. It was one scene. One little, emotionally charged, slow-burn, hand-grazing moment! Plus, there’s no paper to chew.” Moira’s smile was wicked, even if it was aimed at a fictional character. STUBBY:He touched her hand, Moira. Like a…
Moira Rand Books 
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