Kisschase

By Rhoda Baxter

A collection of twenty-minute short stories by contemporary women's fiction author Rhoda Baxter. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rhoda Baxter
• Release date: Sep 17, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386071051

Rhoda Baxter

Rhoda writes contemporary women’s fiction with a hint of geek. Back in the early 2000s, when she commuted into London every day, Rhoda read romance novels and wished there were more stories about women who were not obsessed with shoes. Besides which, where were all the nice men - the sort that rely on wit and charm rather than money and biceps? Rhoda now writes the sort of books she wanted to read. She's lucky enough to have several books published by a traditional publisher (thank you Choc Lit!). Her books have been nominated for prizes and her articles have appeared on various websites, including USA Today. In real life, she has a DPhil in microbiolgy, so if her pen name sounds vaguely bacterial, you can guess why. You can find her wittering on about cake and science or making bad puns on her website (www.rhodabaxter.com), or on Facebook or Twitter (@rhodabaxter). Or, if you like, you can email her at [e-mail]. Please do say hello if you’re passing.

Book preview

Perfect

Ginny followed her friend Louise across the baking hot square to where the fountain sprayed icy-looking droplets into the air. Her feet felt like they were on fire and she could feel the heat pressing down on her head. She wanted nothing more than to sit down. Unfortunately, the only places left to sit at the lip of the fountain were directly in the spray. Ginny was so hot, she didn’t care. She propped her Primark bags under her feet, away from the worst of the spray, and sank down, gasping as the cold spray hit her bare arms.

I’m boiling, said Lou, turning her face into the spray.

Ginny looked at the tell-tale redness on her arms. I should have worn suncream.

Louise, clad in a light cotton dress, looked considerably cooler than she did

A gust of wind made the spray billow around them, scattering the light into fragmented rainbows, then settled down, leaving them lightly damp in the baking sun. Ginny turned and looked over at the fountain. It was a slightly odd seeing a marble Neptune in the middle of a Yorkshire city. The fountain itself was in reasonable condition, but Neptune had an air of weariness about him, as though he’d had the green slime scrubbed off him too many times. In the pool below, copper coins gleamed in the sunlight.

I wonder why people throw coins into this, Ginny mused.

Lou shrugged. It’s the closest thing we’ve got to a wishing fountain around here.

Ginny studied the worn Neptune. His features were surprisingly sharp. I threw some money into the Trevi Fountain about ten years ago. When I was on a school trip to Rome.

Oh yeah? What did you wish for? Lou dug out her phone and started checking messages.

What do you think? A gorgeous Italian man called Mario who would whisk me off my feet. Ginny smiled at the memory. She’d been about 16 at the time. Mario was going to have black hair, dreamy brown eyes, the body of a god and the soul of an artist. Of course, he was also brilliant and rich too. She sighed. It never came true. Not then. Not ever.

How much did you put in?

What? She turned back to face her friend.

How much did you put into the fountain?

I dunno. About fifty cents.

"Well there you go then. What do you expect for less than