Chocolate has been my great love for as long as I can remember. When I was a little girl, every Sunday morning, my dad would walk my brother and I down to the small convenience store at the end of our street. We called it The Corner Store. My dad would get the newspaper and we’d be allowed to pick out any candy bar in the place. Any. Candy Bar. In the place. Heaven on earth for a six-year old.

Funny, I don’t remember having a favorite, apparently I was an equal opportunity candy lover, but my brother liked the 100,000 bar and the plain Chunky. Eventually, we moved away from The Corner Store, but my commitment to chocolate lived on.

My love of the sweet stuff even shows up in my debut novel, Breaking the Bachelor. The heroine, NYC matchmaker, Jane Wright, has a small candy addiction. Okay, maybe it’s not so small considering she uses it as a substitute for sex. As you can imagine, it’s a poor substitute. And yes, she’s in denial. But her ex, hotter-than-hot bartender, Charlie Goodman will do his best to show her the truth: logic and statistics can deny passion all day long, but when it comes right down to it, nothing that trumps emotions and a round or two of good old-fashioned chemistry.

Here’s the blurb direct from Entangled Publishing:

Matchmaker Jane Wright just made a bet—she’ll find the “perfect” match for Manhattan’s hottest confirmed bachelor, sexy-as-sin bartender Charlie Goodman—Jane’s ex-lover—or lose her company. Charlie doesn’t want to see Jane’s business fail. He just wants a little revenge. Determined to prove that chemistry always beats compatibility algorithms, he plans to drive Jane crazy with desire, then walk away. And Charlie’s plan is working. So well that he hasn’t even noticed that he’s Cupid’s next target…

For me, writing a debut novel was a lot like riding the Coney Island Cyclone, a wild combination of excitement, joy and flat-out fear. And all those emotions continue as I get ready to release this baby into the world. Naturally, I will be indulging in some chocolate. Kit Kats. Hershey bars. Anything from Trader Joes. And when I am really desperate, I’ll turn to the world’s best sugar fix that require only two easily available ingredients: Oreos and peanut butter. If you haven’t tried it yet, you should! Twist, slather, and enjoy!  (Even better with the right partner 😉 ) Drop a comment to let me know your favorite. um, sweet treat!

Imagine a rooftop bar, twinkling white lights, a metal bucket of ice-cold Rolling Rock, and me, a hapless young actress in town performing a four week run of The Glass Menagerie, walking through a crowd of unfamiliar twenty-something’s toward The One. Granted, I didn’t know he was The One as I strolled toward the spot where he was debating the merits of dating with my BFF. But hell, I was never all that smart. In fact, it took two to get the match made, but I knew that night under the early autumn sky in a bar uptown that I could talk to this guy…forever. He was hilarious, self-deprecating…and yes, hot. The dating trifecta. Or maybe I’m just a sucker for a cool, rooftop bar.

In the years between our meet-cute and our eventual wedding, there were happy hours and late-night diners, Jimmy Buffett concerts, faux grass skirts and invitation-only Sumo wrestling events (don’t ask). There were also separations of distance, work-related trips to LA, successful and not-so-successful auditions, and one relentlessly impossible ex. Eventually, we got our shit together and got married in a sweet church in the town where we grew up. Today, we celebrate a big anniversary, and the other night he made me laugh so hard, I peed my pants. Guess that means, he’s still The One.

What’s your story? Do you believe in love at first sight? Or are you more a friends-to-lovers person? Let me know. How-did-you-meet stories are my favorites.

Last year my husband and I bought a one-hundred year old house. We expected the problems that come with that kind of home and we got ‘em all…the dying furnace, the unreliable appliances, and yes, God help us…the plumbing. What we didn’t expect to come along with our new purchase was a ghost.

But according to my seven-year old, we have one. Apparently, it’s purple and it tackles him late at night. While I am pretty damned sure, the kid is just trying to stay up later, this is a toughie for me because I’m a believer in all things ghostly. Yes, I’m the one who drags her husband on ghost tours around the country…San Francisco, Williamsburg…next week, we’ll be scouting for the Undead in Savannah. And while I’ve never actually seen a ghost on one of these tours, I still wonder if I should carry my portable proton-pack accelerator system. ‘Cause you never know.

But as I explained to my son, not all ghosts are scary poltergeists. Trust me, I won’t be wandering off into the bright, white light emanating from my television screen any time soon, but I have experienced a run-in with a gentle, ghostly spirit that changed my life. For reals.

In my early twenties, I moved in with my grandmother who was dying of cancer. She’d had a long struggle, much of it on her own, but she was a tough Italian broad and not willing to go out without a fight. While she sat in the hospital bed we’d ordered for a small, first floor room, I’d pull up a chair and we’d watch Matlock, eat Haagen Daz and flaunt our matching light-up troll rings. Anything to make life seem less dire. Sometimes the morphine might cause her to see a vision that needed to be chased away and I was happy to do battle with whatever creature popped into that small room. Of course, there were doctor appointments, laundry and home-health care workers, but we tried to make everything else feel…fun. Time is short. Together, we made every moment as full of love as possible.

Shortly after her death, I was sleeping in my corner bedroom upstairs, and her spirit came to me in a dream. I’ll never forget her wide gray eyes focusing on me as she whispered a secret into the air around me. I woke up unable to breathe, certain in the knowledge that my grandmother had come to say goodbye. The secret she told me…in her ghostly, unspoken way…gave me hope during a time in my life when I was struggling, and I will always believe she came that night to reassure me, to tell me everything was going to be okay. My own personal, prescient ghost.

Of course, tonight, I’ll be doling out candy to faux-specters and vampires, enjoying each one of their scary, shining faces as they choose between a glow-in-the-dark bag of Cheetos and a snack-sized Snickers. I don’t think any of them will whisper secrets to me or tackle me in a haze of purple, but each one will remind me, there’s still lots of reason to be a believer.

What do you think? Are you a ghost-hunter? Ever had an otherworldly experience? Or is it all about the candy, and if so, what kind of sweet will you be stealing from your kid’s treat or treat bag tonight?