The Year of Thorns and Honey

By Amy Willoughby-Burle

Nina is a photographer who really appreciates control. She likes to set up just the right shot with the perfect composition, but life is not always as pretty as her pictures. The lighting is off, the timing is wrong, and the subjects just won’t do like she wants them to.

She’s engaged to her ex-husband, her teenage daughter is testing all the boundaries, and her childhood memories have a For-Sale sign on them. She’s also keeping a secret about the chance of a lifetime, but what she’ll have to give up to get it might not be worth it. Just when she thinks she’s got it all figured out, an important someone resurfaces and forces her to take a hard look at what she really wants and why.

Life can be as prickly as it is sweet. Will Nina be able to let go of the perfect picture she had in her head and let her heart find the sweetness that life has to offer.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AllyPress
• Release date: Sep 15, 2020
• ISBN: 9781953290038

Amy Willoughby-Burle

Amy Willoughby-Burle grew up in the small coastal town of Kure Beach, North Carolina. She studied writing at East Carolina University and is now a writer and teacher living in Asheville, North Carolina, with her husband and four children. She writes about the mystery and wonder of everyday life. Her contemporary fiction focuses on the themes of second chances, redemption, and finding the beauty in the world around us. Sara Gruen says of The Lemonade Year, “When life gives you lemons, read this book. It’s a delicious glass of humor, heart, and hope.” Amy is also the author of a collection of short stories entitled Out Across the Nowhere and a contributor to a number of anthologies.“I write about the mystery and wonder of everyday life. My inspirational, contemporary fiction aims to illuminate the universal and the unique qualities that make us a mystery to each other as well as a comfort. I like to explore what lies beneath the surface of our actions and what rests deep within out hearts. My fiction centers around human relationships–for the better and the worse and every adventure in between. You don’t have to have an explosive past or be from some exotic land to be interesting. Everyone’s life is full of fireworks and magic moments, trials and triumphs, hopes and heartaches. Your life is amazing. I write about us–you and me–and the everyday extraordinary lives we all live.”“I was raised in the small coastal town of Kure Beach, North Carolina where I was never without the sound of the ocean in my ear at night and the wonder of what’s out there to lead me through my day. I graduated from East Carolina University where I was fortunate to study under some of the best and most generous writing teachers and authors around. Life lead me on some wild adventures and I’m grateful for the lessons I learned along the way. I spent several years in my husband’s home state of Missouri before getting homesick for North Carolina. I now live in the mountains near Asheville with my very gracious husband and four children. I am blessed to teach writing classes to students grades K-12 at Elevate Life and Art in downtown Asheville. I love my day job!”woman wearing white top“I aim to bring glory to God through my writing, creating mainstream style fiction that recognizes Christ in our world and in our lives. I don’t write “religious fiction,” you won’t get a sermon or a lesson on scripture and my characters don’t always do the right thing (who does?) but my faith seeps into my character’s lives and I hope they will notice. I hope you will notice Him too.”“God didn’t give me the desire to understand algebra or the knowledge of exactly when and where to use a semi-colon, and I’m not that great of a speller, but He did give me a wild imagination, the ability to string words together and the desire to tell stories. I hope I can do Him proud.Eventually, you ask yourself, ‘Why am I doing any of this?’ Once you figure out the answer, the rest of it falls into place.”

Book preview

the

year of

thorns and

Honey

Amy Willoughby-Burle

Copyright © 2020 by Amy Willoughby-Burle

Published by Ally Press

Smashwords Ebook Edition

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

Print ISBN: 978-1-953290-01-4

Ebook ISBN: 978-1-953290-03-8

For all the readers of The Lemonade Year who so

enthusiastically asked So, what happens next?

With much love and appreciation, this book is for you.

Contents

Acknowledgements

January

1

2

February

3

April

4

May

5

6

7

8

June

9

10

July

11

12

13

14

15

August

16

17

18

19

20

September

21

October

22

23

24

November

25

December

26

27

Discussion Questions

Acknowledgements

I am honored to write another book about these loveable and quirky characters. It’s their story, but it’s ours as well—yours and mine. I love to write about everyday people living the extraordinary gift of everyday life. It’s a mysterious, magical, and miraculous thing. To those who are back for book two, thank you for wanting to read more about these characters. I suppose my first acknowledgment, then, is to you, my readers. I am humbled to even be able to say that. Thank you for asking for more of their story. Thank you for wanting Oliver to return, for hoping that Nina and Jack got back together, for falling in love with Lola and rooting for Ray. This really is a book for you. And to those who are new to these folks, I hope you love them as much as I do. I hope their stories uplift you all.

Thank you to my fantastic agent, Julie Gwinn, for tirelessly working on placing my fiction and finding a way to bring this story to life. Thank you, Julie, for always having the right words of wisdom, for coming up with new ideas when old drafts have failed to land, and for always assuring me and encouraging me. I am blessed to have you on my side.

Thank you to all the booksellers and books clubs who sold and recommended The Lemonade Year, which made this book possible as well. Thank you to my awesome street team who is always there for me, even if I’ve disappeared into the chaos of life for a while. Y’all are truly a blessing and inspiration to me. Thank you to my fellow writers who have read, listened, and urged me forward.

Thank you to the Ally Press team for making this book happen. Thank you, Tamara, for a gorgeous cover that I love so much. Thank you, Brian, for knowing all things formatting so that I don’t have to. And thank you everyone else at Ally who had a hand in making this book possible.

Thank you, of course, to my family. My husband and my children. What would any of it matter without you. To my own quirky childhood family, my parents and my brother and sister, thank you for being a safe place no matter what. And again, this book is not about you all. Then again, maybe it is, if about means the story of how one woman loved her family more than anything else in the world. I am blessed beyond measure to call you all my own.

Thank you to all my friends and family, colleagues, students, even strangers on the street. We are all rolling around this life together, and I appreciate you all for the large and small ways you’ve made my world what it is.

And, saving the most important for last. Thank you to my savior, my lord, Jesus Christ. Thank you for the many blessings in my life. Thank you for listening to my rambling, my calls for help, my shouts of praise, and most especially, thank you for listening to my heart when my words and often my actions fail. I hope that this interest you’ve given me in writing made-up stories succeeds in revealing the truth of your love. That’s the real reason for it anyway.

With love and gratitude,

Amy

January

1

It’s just like me to force roses into bloom—more like me to find my finger pricked while pruning them. A bright red dot of blood blooms on my thumb, while outside, a gray sky parts to release an unexpected snow. It’s 10:00am on New Year’s Day, and already I’m looking for a loophole to get out my resolutions.

Be more positive. Drink less coffee.

Oh well.

I push open the curtains that cover the glass doorway to my balcony, so that I can get a good look at the white nuisance falling from the sky. I don’t like snow, so sue me.

Them: Isn’t it magical? Doesn’t it make you feel like all the world is aglow?

Me: No.

I check the sliding glass door just to make sure it’s locked, as if the snow has fingers and might slip them around the handle from the outside and slide the door open to let its cold self in. Safely on the inside, I turn the terracotta pot that contains my latest project—roses, orangey red ones whose actual name I have forgotten—around so that the sun can find the other side of the bush. Only, there is no sun. I reach into the plant to pluck a withered petal and am pricked again.

I give up. New resolutions: Drink all the coffee. Wallow in negativity.

Done.

Still, there are blooms on the bush, and that says something. On the way to the coffee pot, I put my thumb to my lips and taste the tang of metal. I shiver, having forgotten to turn the heat up last night and the air in the condo is still and cold. My bare feet rebel against the tiled floor of the kitchen.

What’s the difference between a resolution and an empty promise anyway? And how does the changing of a single second from one year to the next produce significant change? I mean, I’m still wearing my pajamas, and I can technically say that I haven’t combed my hair since last year. Yes, that does it. Pressure off. No need to pretend to become a better version of myself overnight.

I slink around, silent and careful not to wake the sleeping bear in the other room—my seventeen year old daughter, Cassie. She went out with friends last night, and I let her stay past curfew. I heard her come in just after midnight. This new chapter of teendom is not something I like. More space, more responsibility, more sheer terror. She’s growing up and out the door and I’m trying hard not to cling to her shirttail as she goes. I could swear that even her bedroom is getting closer to the front door. I’ve counted the steps from one doorframe to the other. One of these days, I know I’m going to recount and find that it’s a smaller number somehow.

I accidentally bang closed a cabinet and look toward her bedroom to see if the slumbering bear has arisen. Nothing.

The coffee perks, and I check the clock. My sister, Lola, and her fiancé, Chris, are flying in from Peru today. It’s been a year since I’ve seen them. A year. Lola and I used to talk every day, and if more than two or three went by that we didn’t see each other, it was a fluke. The silver lining of the childhood brain injury she still deals with was that she and I grew close in a way we might never have. I was her navigation system back then. Her life GPS.

Wear this, it matches.

Don’t mix that, it won’t taste good.

Our house is the third one on the left after the stop sign.

The stop sign is the red one. Your left hand makes an L. That’s left.

I exhale remembering those days so long ago. She’s much better now, having figured out a way not only to manage her lingering memory issues, but to be amazing at the same time. Still, I understand that she needed this time away from life as she knows it. Maybe even the time away from me. Online, I have watched her wings go from gossamer to gold. She and Chris left after the holidays just over a year ago on a mission trip. It was a step of epic proportions for Lola. In Peru, Lola and Chris have spent the year repairing communities and filling them with art. Lola’s light is shining bright enough to see it, even from my dim little spot in the universe. I bet she’s causing a glare so bright from inside the plane that air traffic control is reporting a disturbance in the field.

Disturbance.

I think about that word as a negative thing, but isn’t it. At heart, it’s a radical change of the status quo. I could use a little of that myself. I think the status quo has become a crutch. My ex-husband, Jack, and I have been re-dating for a year now. Is that a thing? I’m re-dating my ex-husband. We’re taking it slow, which was my idea.

I check the clock again, anxious-thirty. Cassie really should be up by now.

Cassie, I call across the living room, aiming my voice at her closed door. I take my coffee and head back to my own bedroom, stopping by her door to knock and call out again. There’s coffee. We need to head out soon to get Aunt Lola and Chris.

I knock again just to make a little noise and then head to my room. The flight doesn’t come in for another couple of hours, but soon is a word that teenagers don’t quite understand. Besides, I want to hear about her party last night. A supervised gathering in the community room of our condo complex seemed a safe soiree. I promised not to pop in and I didn’t. Cassie’s new boyfriend was in attendance along with her usual group of girls, and she seemed happy to have them all at her place. It’s been a rough couple of years between the two of us and any victory—even one I have relatively little to do with—is a blessing.

When I come back out into the living room, there is still no sign of Cassie. I sigh and knock one more time on her door. At getting no answer, I open the door to discover why. She’s not there. I step into the room as if I just don’t see her. Nope, not here. I check the bathroom with no luck. I walk back to the kitchen and look around for her even though I can clearly see that she isn’t there. I all but open a cabinet trying to find her.

Cassie, I call out, knowing I won’t get an answer.

I rush to the parking garage to look for her truck—a barely running piece of metal that used to belong to my father and is now Cassie’s pride and freedom. Her spot is empty.

A frustrating mix of anger and fear rise up in my throat. If my life was one of those television shows where mother and daughter shared a unique bond of friendship and respect, I might imagine that she was at the bakery picking up raspberry Danishes and freshly brewed coffee.

My life is not one of those shows, and this is not the first time that Cassie has not been where she was supposed to be. As angry as I am, my mind also spins across the myriad of freakish accidents that could have befallen her. I know she came home, but I don’t know when she went back out or why. I want to cut straight to the chase and call the police, but I force myself to be a bit more sensible. I go back to the condo and call Jack.

Is she there? I reply to his hello.

Cassie? he asks, the confusion in his voice cutting across the phone signal.

Of course, Cassie. Who else would be there? I ask, wondering. I look in her room one more time just in case I’m wrong. I’m not.

No one else would be here, he says, indignation nipping at my ear. Of course.

How is your ‘of course’ an actual ‘of course’? I ask. I don’t know what you’re doing over there.

Don’t start, he says. And yes, you do. I’m doing nothing over here. I’m waiting for you.

Jack and I have a deadline. A decision to make. A date to set. Except that I’m stalling. We decided to date again for a year and then see where we stood. I feel like our divorce was a mistake, but I’m not sure that getting married again is the way to fix it.

So, she’s there? I ask, choosing the easier conversation and pouring myself another cup of coffee because I can’t remember where I put the first one.

Of course, he says again. Did you want her to go home to an empty house? Someone needs to be responsible for her if she’s going to be out late with her friends.

And it hits me.

Excellent work, kiddo, you’ve played us again.

The party she attended was in my building, I say, leaning against the kitchen counter and setting my mug down indignantly. Where I was all night, not going out because I wanted to be here when Cassie came up.

You didn’t go out with Carol and the girls?

No, I say. You didn’t go out either? She said you were going out with Bruce. That’s why I didn’t invite you over here.

Nope, Jack says, and I think reality is setting in on him, too. Been right here. No New Year’s Eve bashes for me.

We both sigh into the phone.

Where did you think Cassie was? I ask.

She said she was at the movies, Jack says and suddenly we’re on the same page. "It was 80’s night and they were watching a double header of Back to the Future and Gremlins."

And did you check to see if such an event was happening somewhere? I ask, immediately regretting my insinuation that I am a better parent when I could have just let us work together on this.

No, he says, his voice giving away that he wishes I hadn’t implied that either. Did you check to see that she was actually at the party in your building?

No, I say conceding. I want to remain indignant, but he has a point. Because we’re trusting her.

Are we?

Not anymore. I take my coffee and go to sit on the couch where I find my first cup on the coffee table.

Do you want to talk to her, he asks. I can lie and say it’s her boyfriend on the phone.

I smile, even though he can’t see me. I like when he does this, when we’re a team. I appreciate that he’s taking the high road and bringing us back in sync. I hear him call for her and in just a moment she’s one the phone.

Care to explain? I ask, putting my feet up on the coffee table.

She sighs and then launches into what I assume is her prepared speech.

You said to come home by 12:30 and I was home by 12:30. Her voice is a little too sassy for the situation.

I hear Jack in the background. And you were here by 1am. No way, kiddo, and you know it.

Cassie sighs loudly into the phone. So, what do you want me to do? she asks.

I have no desire to play games with a teenager at the moment. They are quick on their feet and prepared for everything. Except for nothing. I don’t give her the satisfaction. We’ll play this game on my terms later.

We’re supposed to meet Aunt Lola and Chris at the airport in an hour. Get over here.

I’ll meet you there, she says.

Again, comes Jack’s voice in the background. You’ll do whatever your mother just told you to do.

I know being the bad guy is hard for Jack. He wants everything to be back like it was, and although he doesn’t own up to it, he’s afraid that he’ll turn Cassie away if he’s too much like me.

I hear rustling around and I know she’s handing the phone back to Jack. I hear him clear his throat and then he speaks.

Do you still want me to meet you at Lola’s? Is that squatter gone?

A fellow artist and acquaintance of Lola’s has been living at her house this past year, keeping things going and watching over the place. Lola’s house was vandalized a little over a year ago, and even though her neighborhood is considered safe, she felt better with someone there.

She was paying rent, you know? I say to Jack.

I’ll throw her out and try to get all the graffiti cleaned off the walls, he says.

He’s kidding. He’s funny like that. It should be so easy for me to dive back in with him. It really should be.

Cassie comes into the condo already talking. It’s not like I was out all night. You heard Dad say that I was at his house by one, right?

I don’t answer. I just get my purse and turn off the lights. She keeps going.

I did go to the party downstairs, and I did come home by 12:30. She says, tightening the band on her ponytail and swishing her chestnut colored locks back and forth as if none of this is important.

The flight is on time, I say, making my own move. We need to get going.

She looks at me like I’m speaking another language. Her hand goes to her slender hips as she waits for me to say something else.

I can play this game all day, sweetheart, light of my life, joy of my being. When did you get taller than me? Anyway, your move.

I was going to ask you about going to Dad’s, but you were asleep, she says, going for broke.

Nope.

I motion for her to go out the door in front of me.

So, what’s my punishment this time? she asks as if I just love to punish her for things. I don’t get to leave the house for twenty years?

That’s more of a punishment for me. I say nothing. I just close the door behind us and press the down button on the elevator.

I know, she says. I don’t get to drive anywhere for two weeks.

She thinks she’s catching me in a loophole with that one—a friend could still come get her even if she’s grounded from driving. The elevator door opens, and we get in.

You take away my phone? She asks.

The door closes, and we head down.

You tell me I can’t go to Dad’s?

The door opens in the parking garage. I press the unlock on my keychain and the car beeps.

I don’t get to go to teen swim for a month?

Now, that’s something I can live with.

Sure, I say. Why not? If that’s the punishment you think you deserve for this, that’s fine with me.

I’m not choosing to be punished, she says, her head bobbing back and forth.

Yes, you are. I bob my head just a little, too.

I get in the car, and she follows suit.

Dad wasn’t mad at me, she says, buckling her seatbelt.

I sigh. Here we go. She wants me to get in an argument with her that pits Jack and me against each other. I guess she thinks we never compare notes. I already know that he’s not happy with her about this incident, but I also know that I’m the one who is having to deal with it, and that makes me angry with him, and I really didn’t get up this morning hoping to be angry with anyone. This is not how I planned to spend my day.

I’m not doing this today, Cassie.

What? she asks. Acknowledging my feelings.

I give up.

Yeah, I know.

So far it’s shaping up to be a good year.

At the airport, the flight is heading in on time, and Cassie and I wait for Lola and Chris at baggage claim. They’ve taken at least three different planes to get home, and I know they’ve got to be exhausted. We’re not there long at all before I hear Lola’s squeal of happiness followed by an excited exclamation in what I assume to be Spanish. She doesn’t slow down or stop talking as she approaches me, and I stumble back against the ferocity of her embrace. I catch the words bueno and tu and something that sounds like mustache, but I’m probably hearing that wrong.

I’m happy to see you, too, I answer, not really sure what she said, but it’s true anyway.

She jumps up and down and hugs Cassie as well. Chris offers his hand for me to shake, but I hug him instead. He looks different with longer hair and a little scruff on his face. Chris used to be an actor. Well, I suppose he still is, but he’s on a much needed hiatus from a very successful string of goofy insurance commercials. A hard character to live down.

Tell me everything, I say after Lola and I hug again and stop squealing at each other. Lola launches into a story, and I hold up my hand. Tell me in English.

Good luck, Chris says, raising his eyebrows. She’s been talking in Spanish since we got back together, and I can’t understand a word she’s saying.

What do you mean? Cassie breaks in, her voice fluttery. Since you got back together? You broke up?

No, Lola says, and I think she’s going to stop with the Spanish, but I’m wrong. nos alojamos en casas distintas.

Ciudades, Chris says, correcting something I don’t understand in the first place. If only it was separate houses. She means cities. For the last six months we weren’t even staying in the same city.

I thought you couldn’t understand her, I say, ribbing him

I mostly just pick up a word or two, he says and winks at Lola. She’s not always saying what she means. Luckily, I know what she means no matter the language.

That’s sweet.

The bags start dropping down onto the belt and Chris grabs most of everything so that Lola doesn’t have to sort out what’s what. She reaches to get a bag from him, but he won’t let her take anything.

I’ve got them, he says. It’s been a long trip. You should be resting.

I’m forgetful, not fragile, she says, but smiles at him. Still, if you want to carry the bag, who am I to stop you, she says and as we walk out the automatic doors that lead outside, Lola gasps. Snow, she exclaims in English. It’s so beautiful. I know you hate it, Nina, but it’s so perfect. It’s like summer right now in Peru. She holds her hands up to catch the cold flakes.

I had been happy that the snow had stopped falling by the time Cassie and I got to the airport. Now, I was happy that it had begun again and had covered the ground so that Lola was able to enjoy it. I glance over at her face, sublime in its appreciation of the thing I hate. I let my eyes try to see the whiteness the way she does. The clean cover of light that blankets the landscape. I don’t quite see it, but I try..

In the parking lot of the small airport, I pop open the trunk and Chris drops everything inside. I wonder about the time that they were apart and who found themselves more anxious about it, Lola or Chris.

Escopeta, Lola yells and jumps in the front seat before Cassie can get there.

Cassie stops short and takes out her phone, asking what the word that Lola just says means. Shotgun, the phone says. Chris puts his hand over his face and shakes his head.

Lola agrees to take a rest on the Spanish long enough to tell us about the trip. It turns out Lola and Chris really didn’t see that much of each other, even when they were in the same city. He was on the building crew and she was on beautification.

Singles had to stay in separate housing, she says. It wasn’t that bad, right Chris?

It was worse than bad, he says.

I can’t wait to go back, Lola says, oblivious to Chris’s obvious alternate feelings on the subject. This fall they’re opening a new school, and I’d love to be there for that.

This fall? Chris says as if this is the first he’s heard of it. Of this year?

Yeah, you remember them talking about that, Lola says turning around in the seat to face him.

Not a word, he says, and when I glance at him in the rearview mirror, he shakes his head and rubs at his eyes. I’m looking forward to being home for a while. A long while.

Not too long, Lola says, and turns around forward in the seat, looking out the front window. We’ll forget the language and have to start over.

I’ve forgotten it already, he says. We might as well just stay here.

He’s just kidding, Lola says and rolls down the window letting the cold in. He loved it there.

I’m not so sure. After a few more stories about building houses and getting lost in the jungle, we’re at Lola’s place. As we get out of the car, Jack opens the front door to greet us.

His chestnut colored hair, the same shade as Cassie’s, is longer than he usually wears it. When he runs his hand through it like he always does, it sticks up a little higher than usual. He’s been spending his free time at the gym and it shows from underneath the t-shirt he’s wearing. He rushes out to grab a bag or two from the trunk. The snow has started to fall pretty hard.

It’s freezing out, I say, noticing the way the snow lands on his arm and then melts away. Aren’t you cold.

Wait until you get inside, he says and raises his eyebrows.

Inside it’s a sauna. Why do you have the heat up so high?

He eyes me and I realize that it’s broken somehow. That artist friend left a note saying she had to leave early because the heat wouldn’t stop running.

Did you flip the breaker? I ask, sweat already forming on my brow.

I did a bunch of things, he said, opening up the kitchen window--the only one still closed it seemed. None of them made anything better. I did get it to turn off all together, but it’s still pretty hot. I’ve called someone, but in the meantime, feel free to disrobe.

He winks at me, and I slap him on the shoulder.

It’s time, you know? he says.

Excuse me? I look to see if anyone—namely Cassie—is listening to him. Chris is fiddling with the breaker box and Cassie and Lola are looking at the gifts that Lola brought for everyone. That’s a bit forward, I whisper.

Not that, he says and laughs.

He goes down on one knee.

Oh, no. This is worse. I can’t do this. I can’t say yes, and I’m not going to be able to say no.

Jack opens up a little black box with a brand new ring in it.

Don’t look at the ring. Don’t look at his biceps in that t-shirt. Do not, under any circumstances look into his eyes.

Will you? he asks.

I look around, but no one is in the room anymore. Get up before Cassie sees you, I say, yanking on his arm.

Are you saying no, he asks, his forehead wrinkled with confusion. I did my year, Nina. I waited. We took it slow.

You make it sound like you were in prison. I glance around nervously.

Wasn’t I?

Get up. I tug on his arm, but he’s unmovable.

Say yes, he says, his voice pleading.

I turn to see Cassie looking at us with excitement and yet trepidation across her brow. Jack keeps his eyes on me.

Nina?

Mom? Cassie is looking at me like I’m the answer to everything. All I have to do is say yes and she will forgive me for everything she thinks I’ve done and for all the things I actually did do.

Oh dear.

You’re still grounded from swim for a month, I say to her and she screams with excitement. I pluck the ring from the box and slide it on.

Is that an official yes? Jack asks, standing up. I feel like I need to hear the word.

Si, I say.

Jack steps in close, puts one hand on my waist and just looks at me. I look up at him and am about to speak, but before I can say anything, he pulls me to him and kisses me, pushing whatever words I was about to say back in.

Gross, I hear Cassie say, but she doesn’t really seem all that upset.

Jack waves his hand at her and pulls away from me for a moment. Go away, kid, I’m kissing your mother.

He is a good kisser. This shouldn’t be so difficult.

When we pull away from the second kiss, I lay my head against his chest. I can hear his heart beating fast like a fragile bird.

2

The diamond on my finger and the water in my ice glass join forces with the sunlight streaming in the cake shop window to toss a little rainbow prism across the stark white of my napkin. Across the tasting table from me, Jack is eating a slice of lemon pound cake with lavender and vanilla icing.

I think you’re just supposed to take a taste of it, I say, turning the ring around on my finger so that the light display stops. Like at a winery.

Jack shakes his head. "I don’t understand those either. How can I really tell anything from that tiny taste? I say fill that glass up and

Reviews for The Year of Thorns and Honey

[eccl-3 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

The Year of Thorns and Honey, by Amy Willoughby-Burle follows her previous book of The Lemonade year. While this is a past of a series that follows after the first book, this is also a great stand alone story. It is well written and the characters and events are well described so I was not lost while reading this story first.Nina is a food photographer with a teen age daughter that is working on restoring the relationship with her ex. Nina is hoping to win a contest so she can focus on her career and what she wants. If she wins, she will be forced to chose between the prize and her family. This is also taking place while her mother is focusing on moving on out of their family home. She finds the one person she can talk to is the new priest in town, who also happens to be an old boyfriend.What a great story. There are so many things going on in this story all at the same time. This is so realistic in the life of person Nina's age. She's trying to grow her career, raise a teen and keep up with the changes in her family. I feel so much for all that Nina is going through. I enjoyed the parts of how the new priest is now someone that many members of the family are turning to. This is a great story of second chances and learning to accept the changes that life gives us as well as the importance of communication.I voluntarily reviewed a complimentary copy of this book which I received from the author. All views expressed are only my honest opinion.