Spotlight & Giveaway: You Had Me at Chocolate by Amy Andrews

Today it is my pleasure to Welcome author Amy Andrews to HJ!

Hi Amy and welcome to HJ! We’re so excited to chat with you about your new release, You Had Me at Chocolate!

To start off, can you please tell us a little bit about this book?:

Celebrity chef
Small town librarian
Childhood pinkie-swear marriage pact
Friends to lovers
All the chocolate

Please share your favorite lines or quote(s) from this book:

As a twelve-year-old he’d been a gangly redhead with freckles, ears that stuck out, and a goofy kind of smile. He wasn’t gangly now. Nope, Jude had filled out well.

They could be friends. They could be lovers. But could they be ex-lovers and friends? That was the question.

She’d always assumed love, when it happened, would come in like a wrecking ball. Thank you, Miley Cyrus. She hadn’t realized it could launch a stealth attack. That it would tip-toe into her life and her heart and take over slowly and gently and surely until it built to the point of undeniable

What inspired this book?

I love that old “if we’re not married by the time we’re xyz age then let’s pledge to marry each other” trope. But, too often, it’s the heroine that comes looking to cash it in and I wanted to subvert that and have the hero turning up with the ring.

How did you ‘get to know’ your main characters? Did they ever surprise you?

Clementine appeared in the first book – All’s Fair In Love and Chocolate – so I knew her quite well. Getting to know Jude was a little harder but as soon as I had the paper crane motif and what it had meant all throughout his life and in his relationship with Clementine, he started to reveal himself.

What was your favorite scene to write?

I really love the scene where they’re reminiscing about the summer camp she had her braces and that leads to a conversation about kissing…

“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t believe half of what you see or read on the internet.” It was fair to say that about ninety percent of the stuff that had been written about him in tabloids and online was wrong.
“Hmm.” She eyed him suspiciously, her lips pursed. Which was very distracting. Silence grew between them for a beat or two before she bugged her eyes at him. “Well?”
His brows drew together. “Well what?”
“I’m still waiting to hear a compliment? Honestly—” She shook her head. “How did you get so many women?”
Jesus, just how many women did she think he’d been with? “Would you believe through their stomachs?”
She gave a quick snort laugh. “Not for a second.” And then they both laughed until it petered out and Clementine tapped her index finger on their joined hands. “Still waiting, Barlow.”
“Okay, okay.” He withdrew his hand with no protest from Clementine as he leaned in, pretending to inspect her face, his gaze roaming all over from the spring of curls to the fullness of her chipmunk cheeks to the tip or her nose and the pointy-ness of her chin. She grinned at him, clearly amused.
“Yep.” He nodded solemnly. “You’ve grown into your teeth.”
Her mouth gaped in surprise and then she hooted out a laugh. “Oh my god.” She shook her head at him. “That is not a compliment.”
“No seriously.” He sat back a little as if to do a fuller assessment but mostly just to put himself out of reach of temptation. “Those two years of braces were definitely worth it.”
“Well, that’s good to know. I hated them.”
“Yeah. I remember.” Clementine had shown up at their last camp with her newly applied braces. “You couldn’t stop lamenting in your letters that no boy would ever want to kiss you.”
Almost as soon as it was out, Jude wished he could take the K word back. Jesus. Don’t talk about kissing with Clementine, dickhead. And definitely do not think about kissing her, either. But it was easy in the dark with nothing but the crackle of the fire, to be lulled into reminiscing. The memories were fond and she was incredibly easy to talk to.
“That’s because Billy Marsh had told me that a girl with a mouthful of metal was too off-putting to kiss. I was fourteen, it was important.”
Jude remembered that letter. They’d continued to correspond on and off over the remainder of their high school years which had made not seeing her again after that last camp together a little easier.
He shook his head. “Billy Marsh was clearly an idiot.”
She smiled. “I’ll have you know that according to Billy Marsh, he was the stud of ninth grade.”
“Color me surprised.” Jude laughed. “I bet he’s bald with a paunch these days and didn’t do so well with the ladies outside of the gloried halls of high school.”
“He’s not bald. Although—” She squinted as if trying to recall what Billy dufus Marsh currently looked like. “He is thinning on top, now you come to mention it. And he did marry. Twice.” Her lips twitched. “He’s currently living with his mother.”
It would be very bad form to crow at that morsel of information so Jude did not. Outwardly. But on the inside, he was laughing hard. “I rest my case.”
“I remember you tried to reassure me in one of your letters that boys would still want to kiss me.”
“That’s because I knew how fourteen-year-old boy brains worked.” Hell, he’d have cut his mouth to ribbons if a girl with braces had been up for some first-base action.
“You would have kissed a girl with braces?”
“Are you kidding? I was a gangly redhead with giant ears, I would have kissed a girl who hadn’t brushed her teeth for a month.”
“Eww.” She laughed. “That is gross.”
Jude grinned. “That is teenage boys.”
Her laughter faded after a few beats and her gaze dropped to his mouth briefly and every cell in Jude’s body went on high alert.
“So why didn’t you ever try to kiss me?”

What was the most difficult scene to write?

Writing the scene where Jude finally realizes he’s in love with Clementine was hard because his feelings are so raw and he knows he can’t even tell her because it wouldn’t be fair to try and hold her back from her dreams.

Suddenly a burst of Beyoncé broke the air. “Oops, sorry. That’s Merridy’s ring tone. She’s one of my Contiki friends. They all got back yesterday. Do you mind if I take it?”
“Of course not.”
Rolling away from him, she groped in her bag on the bedside table then flopped onto her back as she answered. Jude bent his arm and shoved it under his head as he listened in the dark to her chat with her friend about her mom then quizzed her about the trip without so much as a trace of envy. Considering she’d missed out on an eight-week dream vacation to the Mediterranean, she’d be entitled to feel that way a little.
“Japan? When? How long?” Jude’s stomach tightened at the breathy little hitch to her voice. “Three weeks. In April? Um… yeah… I’d love to but I’m just not sure… Everything should be okay with Mom by then, fingers crossed, but my friend Sondra has some more feelers out for me in New York so I might actually be employed then. When would you need to know by?”
And that was the moment. Lying here, listening to her make plans that did not include him—when they’d spent the last two months practically in each other’s pockets—that was the moment he realized those feelings he’d analyzed a few minutes ago.
That was utter bullshit. What he’d been feeling wasn’t fucking gratitude. It was love. Jude’s heart almost punched through his ribs it was banging so damn hard at the revelation. Transcended friendship? Oh, Jesus… what an idiot.
He’d fallen in love with her.
This thing he was feeling, as he listened to her causally talk about leaving to go to New York and on vacation to Japan, was like an axe to his fucking heart. Like he was being peeled open. He was overwhelmed with how much he wanted to hold her, wrap her up, and never ever let her go. It boiled like a fever in his blood.
Yeah… not gratitude. Definitely not friendship, either. He loved her.
It rose up like a tide now, filling every nook and cranny in his body from his toes to the tips of his hair. Every cell, every vein, every single cavity. And all the empty spaces that had formed over the years that he’d filled with stuff hoping it would be enough.
Love coursed like a river—true and deep and sure.
And she was planning her life without him. Of course she was. And, with a hot, sinking feeling in his gut he knew he wasn’t going to wrap her up, he was going to have to sit back and wait and hope and be her goddamn friend, existing in that space, because she’d been on the cusp of all this when they’d reconnected and she deserved to have it all. He was finally living his dreams—what kind of an asshole would he be to begrudge her, hers?
If you loved something you set it free, right? Even if it killed him in the process.

Would you say this book showcases your writing style or is it a departure for you?

YHMAC is bang on the money for me and continues the chocolate and Christmas themes from the first book in the duo. It’s probably a little more of a slower burn than the first book as its friends to lovers.

What do you want people to take away from reading this book?

That making a marriage pact when you’re 12 is ill-advised 🙂 Even if it does work out well for Clem and Jude.

What are you currently working on? What other releases do you have planned?

I’m currently working on a medical romance that’s coming out next October with Harlequin and then its on to edits for Breaking All The Rules – Feb 2022 – before it goes off to the printer. I also have about 30k of the next Sydney Smoke book written.

Thanks for blogging at HJ!

Giveaway: An ebook copy of You Had Me at Chocolate & 3 Tule ebooks

To enter Giveaway: Please complete the Rafflecopter form and Post a comment to this Q: Jude is an ex celebrity chef. Do you have a favourite celebrity chef or a favourite television cooking show?

 
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Excerpt from You Had Me at Chocolate:

It hadn’t seemed like a particularly big deal to Jude Barlow, at the age of twelve, to pinkie promise to a marriage with fellow twelve-year-old Clem—Clementine—Jones if neither of them had found the one by the age of thirty. Marriage was a reasonably unsavory prospect given the terrible state of his parents’ union but, as thirty had seemed ancient and Clem had such pretty eyes and smiled a lot, it had been too far away to worry about.
And, even at twelve, Clem had possessed that quality that made a person believe everything would be okay, which had been sorely lacking in his life.
Sure, they only ever saw each other once a year at summer camp but her parents never seemed like they were only one argument away from a divorce so, she clearly knew what she was talking about. Except now he was approaching her house in Marietta, Montana—unannounced—with an origami crane in one hand and an engagement ring in the other, it was a big deal.
A big, fucking, hairy, bodacious deal.
Idiotic, some might say, but then he was severely jet-lagged after his four-day trek from the barren beauty of central Africa to the jagged peaks and big sky of Montana.
And, a promise was a promise. Despite the non-legally binding nature of the pinkie swear.
Plus… he needed her. Her sensible, rational calm. Her fondness for lists and planning. Her down-to-earth, girl next door-ness. Because he was done with a procession of parties and the revolving door of women who liked to go to parties. Who liked designer dresses, and flashy jewels, and getting their pictures taken. He was done with vanity. Theirs and his.
What he needed was Clem. Good, solid, dependable, book-nerd, Clem.
A real nip pervaded the night air on this last day in September as he took in her neat, low-set clapboard house on Third Street through gritty eyes. The low buzz of chatter, muffled laughter, and the background hum of music drifted out as he stood at the gate. There was obviously a party going on. Her birthday party he presumed given today was her big three-zero.
That had always been a possibility, of course, and he hesitated for a second. Maybe he should go back to the Graff and get some much-needed sleep? Maybe she wouldn’t want him to gate-crash her big night? But maybe, she was secretly waiting for him to come through the door and fulfil that promise from all those years ago?
Women liked grand gestures, right?
Mind—such as it currently was—made up, he opened the gate, ignoring the way his heart rate sped up as he strode down the path. This whole thing might be a little under-thought, but he wanted it suddenly with a desperate kind of intensity.
The laughter was louder as he took the two stairs to the porch and, before he could talk himself out of it, knocked on the door twice—loudly. He was about to knock a third time when it opened to reveal a woman with an ice-blonde bob, blunt bangs sitting just above eyebrow height, and a champagne glass in her hand. The house behind was crowded with people, the volume of their chatter and the music increasing considerably now the door was open.
“Lordy,” she said with a slight slur, looking him up and down and, evidently, finding much to be happy about, “please tell me someone ordered a strip-o-gram and you’re it.”
Jude blinked. Strippers did birthday parties in buttfuck Montana? “I’m afraid not.”
She sighed. “I didn’t think I could get that lucky.” Taking a sip of her champagne, her eyes narrowed. “Wait.” Jude steeled himself for the inevitable. “Oh my god.” She poked him in the chest. “You’re that Yes, Chef guy. Jude someone…”
He gave a small smile. Not even a year tucked away in sub-Sahara Africa and looking like hell after his tournament of travel, had dimmed his celebrity. “Barlow,” he supplied.
“Well.” She leaned her shoulder into the doorframe. “I take that back. This is my lucky night. Who needs a stripper when Jude Barlow is at the door?”
Jude laughed warily as he glanced over her shoulder at the partygoers, his palm sweating around the small, robin’s-egg blue box. “I’m assuming the birthday girl’s around somewhere?”
The woman narrowed her eyes again. “How do you know Clem?”
“We’re old friends.” When the woman crossed her arms like she had all the time in the world to stay right where she was, he elaborated. “We met in summer camp in third grade.”
She cocked an eyebrow, the tidbit sparking obvious interest. “Really? She never mentioned that to me.”
“It was a long time ago,” he dismissed. Because it had been. Although, had he been less exhausted, he might have been slightly miffed that she hadn’t bragged about him—even just a little.
“Did you bring a gift?” she asked, her slur making her sound a little belligerent.
He did if he was allowed to count the two-carat, princess-cut diamond ring he’d purchased on whim at the Tiffany store in Charles De Gaulle airport. Although, knowing Clementine, she’d probably go more gaga over the origami crane. “Yes.”
“Good.” The woman nodded. “She’s out back, follow me.”
She turned then with a swish of her long purple skirt and Jude followed. Barely any one looked at him as he passed, engrossed as they were in their conversations and that suited him just fine. He wasn’t tired anymore—he was nervous. Old Jude would have scoffed at the feeling, considered it a weakness instead of a normal reaction to uncertain events. The fact he hadn’t been nervous in a lot of years gave him hope that his attempts to reset the clock, to get his life back in balance, hadn’t been in vain.
The thud of his heart echoed in his ears obliterating the country music playing in the background as they approached the open back door and it was a relief to step out into the night after purple skirt. Jude inhaled the cooler air, his body too warm, his clothes too tight. His palm, closed around the box, was too damn sweaty.
He was really going to do this.
Purple skirt led him past groups of partygoers that had spilled out into the yard toward the glow of a fire blazing from a raised metal pit. People were huddled around it, drinking and laughing and chatting as his guide elbowed her way through the circle.
“Hey, Clem, visitor for you.”
Jude took a deep, cleansing breath as he, too, elbowed his way in to find her turning, her entire body gilded in light, an orange halo emblazoning the tips of her dark, springy curls. The breath he’d taken stilled somewhere between his throat and his lungs as the impact of seeing her again after all this time walloped him straight in the center of his chest. He hadn’t seen her since he was twelve but those years fell away and, in this moment, it was like they’d never parted.
She was still short and cute, her big amber eyes still glowed despite the light behind throwing her face into shadow, her chipmunk cheeks were still rosy. But she was definitely grown-up and wearing the hell out of a pair of skinny jeans and a sparkling top that shimmered like a disco ball thanks to the dance of the fire.
The girl next door was gone. Goodbye Clem, hello Clementine.
A frown drew her brows together as she walked closer and he held his breath again until her forehead smoothed out and a smile lifted the corners of her mouth. “Oh my god, Jude?” She grinned. “Is that you?”
Finding his breath for a second time, Jude grinned also—he couldn’t help it, she still had a very pretty smile. “It is.”
She practically levitated the rest of the way and was in his arms in the blink of an eye. There was no formality or shyness as she raised herself up on her tippy toes and landed a smacker on his cheek before linking her arms around his neck and pressing her forehead into the hollow of his throat.
It felt good. So fucking good. Her body aligned with his, her curls tickling his chin, her perfume weaving around him like a spell. How long had it been since a woman had hugged him out of sheer joy? Because she’d missed him?
How long had it been since a woman had hugged him without an agenda?
“You remembered my birthday,” she said as she eased back from him, seemingly oblivious to the curious glances from every single person in the backyard.
“How could I forget? It’s a day after mine.”
“That’s right,” she said. “We’re so old now!”
“The big three-zero.” Or one hundred in jet-lag years. “It’s all downhill from here, apparently.”
“Or maybe it’s just beginning?” she suggested, a teasing twinkle sparking in the syrupy-gold of her eyes.
Jude’s heartbeat spiked. Was she thinking about their pinkie-swear pact? Warmth flushed through his system at the thought. “Here.” He presented her with the origami he’d practically crushed in his sweaty hand. “For you.”
She eased away from him as she took it, her lips gently parting as her fingertips caressed the folded wings. Glancing at him, she smiled and he swore he could see her eyes misting over. “Did you actually finally learn how to do this or did you buy it already made?”
There was still a tease in her voice but it was husky now and it wrapped around him, around them, drawing them into a warm, intimate bubble—just the two of them. The nostalgia of an idyllic yesteryear reached right inside Jude’s chest and cradled his heart. “It was all me.”
He’d found a pad of origami sheets in an airport shop on his way to Africa which had triggered a memory of Clementine. He hadn’t thought about her in a long time so he’d bought it on a whim. And there hadn’t been a lot to do at night…
The intimate mood was broken very quickly, however, by purple skirt’s belligerent, “You got her a paper crane?” She was clearly unimpressed. “That’s your birthday present?”
“No.” Jude slid his eyes sideways taking in a very disapproving glower. “There’s more.”
To prove it, he took a step back and knelt down on one knee.
A collective gasp ran around every person witnessing the unfolding events, which dragged Clem’s attention from the origami to Jude. Her smile faded.
“Clem… Clementine.” Jude’s voice almost cracked and he cleared his throat as he tried to zone out the fascinated-horrified gawkers in his peripheral vision. “At the age of twelve you made me pinkie swear that we would get married if we were both still single at thirty and—” Jude cleared his throat again. “Here we are.”
He didn’t miss her frown as he unfurled his hand to reveal the Tiffany ring box. Nor did he miss the murmur that ran around the gathering.
“Jude?” She stared at him intently. “What are you doing?”
He opened the lid to reveal the ring and this time there were gasps as the firelight did its job, reflecting on the exquisitely cut facets, making it twinkle more brilliantly than the stars overhead.
“Oh. My. God.” Purple skirt gaped as she pressed her hand to her chest.
“I’m asking you to marry me, Clementine. I know we haven’t seen each other in a long time but I think we knew even back then that we’d make a good team and I know it seems a little… crazy but, I think we should do it.” He pushed the box across the small space separating them until it was only an inch from the tips of her fingers. “What do you say?”
For long moments, she did nothing, said nothing. Nobody said or did anything. The hush that had fallen over the yard was absolute. Even the party noise from inside seemed to fade as everyone stared at Clementine and waited. Jude’s pulse, though, was loud. It raced like a train, hurtling against his sternum, rattling along his ribs, and echoing through his ears.
When Clementine finally moved it was only a blink but that blink said a lot. That blink said everything.
It was a very loud blink.
“Let’s talk inside, shall we?” she said, through stiff lips. Then, turning on her heel, she marched through the stunned onlookers in the direction of the door.
Purple skirt winced at him as Jude rose to his feet feeling every one of those transit hours. He ignored her—he ignored all of them—as he, too, turned, and followed Clementine into the house.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
 
 

Book Info:

This Christmas, a childhood promise comes calling…

Clementine Hardy always wanted to be a librarian in her Marietta hometown. But at thirty, she fears she’s become too predictable—so she quits, books a European vacation, and accepts a research job in New York. Then on her birthday, a hunky piece of her past arrives, drops to bended knee, and proposes in front of half the town.

Bad boy celebrity chef Jude Harlow is done with the bright lights and late nights. He sells his Manhattan restaurant and volunteers in Africa to clear his head. A year later, he’s a new man with a new goal: find the girl from summer camp—the most practical woman he knows—and collect on the pinky promise they made when they were twelve.

Clem won’t marry a guy she hasn’t seen in nearly two decades, no matter how attractive or how talented he is in and out of her kitchen. But why does he have to look more delicious than the chocolate creations he concocts for the Graff Hotel? More delicious than anything in New York?

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Meet the Author:

Amy is an award-winning, USA Today best-selling Aussie author who has written sixty plus contemporary romances in both the traditional and digital markets. She’s sold two million books and been translated into over a dozen languages including manga.

Her books bring all the feels from sass, quirk and laughter to emotional grit to panty-melting heat. Yes, her books feature lots of sex and kissing. You probably shouldn’t try one if you think the sexy times belong behind closed doors – Amy rips the door right off the hinges.

She loves good books and great booze although she’ll take mediocre booze if there’s nothing else. She has two grown kids who have flown the coop for distant shores which is awesome because now she has a good reason to travel instead of because I want to.

At sixteen she met a guy she knew she was going to marry and she did. He’s the kind of guy who can start a fire with nothing but two stones, construct a dwelling from half a dozen tree branches and a ball of string, mend anything that’s broken with weird fixit juju and navigate home blindfolded with both arms tied behind his back but will also happily eat cornflakes for dinner when a deadline is looming. True hero material.

For many, many years she was a registered nurse. Which means she knows things. Anatomical things. And she’s not afraid to use them!

She lives on acreage on the outskirts of Brisbane with a gorgeous mountain view but secretly wishes it was the hillsides of Tuscany.
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