#which was well written but the romance pay off was far far too chaste for me (which was expected!)

[agentnatesewell]

the maiden lane historical romance series was written in 1730s london?? oh my nate and suri historical romance plans are so back!!

[be11atrixthestrange]

Step 8: Navigating Arguments

Also, for all those asks for a Romione first time... this the chapter for you!

From 12 Fail-Safe Ways To Charm Hermione Granger

As your relationship deepens, expect disagreements to surface. All couples fight, but pay attention to the way you fight. Do your best to establish healthy and productive habits by focusing on your own feelings and actions, and never attack your partner's character. Remember that you're arguing with someone you love.

******

Ron and Hermione were no strangers to fighting, and ultimately, Ron was thankful for that. Their friendship was based on an argument— If Ron hadn't called her a nightmare back in their first year, she would never have ended up crying in the girls' bathroom. And if she hadn't been crying in the girls' bathroom, she wouldn't have needed saving from a Mountain Troll.

That was the argument that began their friendship, but there were many more that defined it. In the third year, he thought he'd never talk to her again because her cat definitely ate his rat. But as it turned out, Crookshanks was innocent, his rat was really a middle-aged killer, and he missed her so much that he would have forgiven her even without those valid reasons.

Their fight at the Yule Ball in their fourth year also stood out as a defining moment. Hermione still thought of that as the moment when he finally realized she was a girl, but she was wrong. That was the moment he knew that other people realized she was a girl, and he convinced himself he was entirely undeserving of her attention.

He still cringed when he remembered their estrangement during year six, which Hermione now referred to as 'The Lavender Days." It might have taken a canary attack, but that fight showed him that they ultimately felt the same way about each other. Dating someone else for five months might not have been the most efficient way of discovering that, but it ultimately worked..

They could fight like dragons, but they always resolved them, even back when they just called each other friends. Their fights didn't end when their relationship began, and it would have been naive to assume so.

They argued about where to spend holidays, and splitting their vacation time equally between the Burrow and Australia frequently required a spreadsheet and a third party. They argued about dirty dishes, and messy rooms, and what to make for dinner. They even rowed about muggle movies, and whether to watch a romantic comedy or an action film. Ron only doubled down on his opinion there, because he believed more men needed to admit their love for romance films.

Ginny and Harry jokingly referred to their bickering as foreplay. Despite his initial embarrassment at their observation, he knew there was some truth to it. Their arguments remained a constant feature of their relationship as they progressed from friends to lovers, but making up— that got much better.

Before, when they were just friends, making up meant a handshake, or a hug, or a promise that they could talk to one another again. Now, making up meant hours in the bedroom, under the covers, naked. He'd developed a certain pride in how many ways he could say "I'm sorry," without speaking a word, and she'd gotten quite good at convincing him that all was forgiven.

Today he was pretty confident that they could get through any fight, but it hadn't always been that way. The first few major arguments of their relationship didn't have a solution in sight, and it took time to figure out how to row with one another in a way that didn't deepen their divide. When long estrangements ceased to work, they had to figure out how to fight productively, which took time. Sharing his feedback on their relationship was risky, but Ron soon found out that with that risk, came a big reward.

******

Harry and Ron both moved into Grimmauld Place and started Auror training soon after Hermione and Ginny left for Hogwarts. The long, empty schedules of summer felt so far away when they were suddenly faced with twelve-hour training shifts. Ron jumped into training enthusiastically because it was something to do, and it filled his time enough to get his mind off of missing Hermione.

He looked forward to writing her lengthy letters once a week, describing his days in as much detail as he was authorized to give. It was no substitute for talking to her, but it was the closest thing he had, so he cherished that time. She wrote back too, and he tried to imagine what it would be like to be with her at Hogwarts, based on the details she provided in her letters.

Luckily, Ron didn't have to wait until the Christmas holidays in order to see her. Her birthday fell on the first Hogsmeade weekend of the year, and he was able to get a day off of Auror training to meet her. It was a weekend to remember— they started at the Three Broomsticks, and caught up over a few rounds of butterbeer. Ron learned of all the details about school life that she hadn't mentioned in her letters, and she surprised him by agreeing to take a few shots of firewhiskey. They inched closer to one another with each passing sip, and it wasn't long before Ron was grateful they'd picked a booth in the back of the bar, hidden from view.

He could have stayed there all day, with Hermione in his lap, tasting the alcohol on her breath, but eventually, Madam Rosmerta forced them to leave. Madam Rosmerta who? Ron could hardly remember why the barmaid had caught his attention for so many years at Hogwarts. Bloody mental, he was. Madam Rosmerta was far from his mind when he pulled Hermione into an empty alley behind the bar, slipped his hands behind her thighs, and picked her up. He pressed her back against the brick wall as she wrapped her legs around him, and he wondered how many more secret Hogsmeade snogging spots they'd never gotten the chance to discover.

School must have picked up in October, because her letters were shorter. He still enjoyed reading them, but even more, he wished he could be there to relieve some of her stress— preferably in an alley behind a bar. He did his best to fill in the gaps, kept his letters as long and detailed as possible, and hoped that they'd be able to catch up fully during their next Hogsmeade weekend.

It was the end of October when he saw her again. They had planned to meet at the same place. Unfortunately when he arrived at the Three Broomsticks, the private booth they had enjoyed last month was taken, so he set himself up in one nearby, and simply hoped Hermione would see him.

She came rushing in after Ron had already finished his first butterbeer, and apologized for her lateness. Although he was well aware of her tendency to lose track of time in the library, there was a part of him that felt slightly offended. He didn't want to spend his only day with Hermione brooding, so he ordered a few more rounds of drinks, and listened intently as Hermione filled him in on the details of the previous month. She spoke of her homework load, her Head Girl duties, and lamented her lack of free time to write to him. He slipped his arm around her, stroked her hair, and pushed aside the hurt from earlier. It wasn't long before she was leaning against him, stroking his thigh, and he turned to kiss her.

It wasn't as frenzied as last month. She never made it to his lap, and Madam Rosmerta didn't need to kick them out. When they strolled down the high street, and he tried to guide her into that empty alley, their empty alley, she resisted.

"I have to get back to the library, Ron."

She looked away when she said it, and Ron assumed it was so she didn't have to see his face fall. He sighed.

"That's ok," he said, and he wrapped her in his arms for another kiss before letting her go. It was shorter and more chaste than he wanted it to be, but he cherished the contact either way.

He continued to write to her after that weekend, and she continued to respond, but her letters grew shorter and shorter. It seemed she had written most of them in the library in between essays. Based on her rushed responses, school was overwhelming. She had taken on more NEWTS than anyone else, and it was all starting to catch up to her.

He wanted to believe that was the only reason behind her disappointingly concise letters, but his resentment was growing. He was busy too, and he still looked forward to spending hours writing to her, because had no one else he wanted to share his life with. An old insecurity began to resurface with every hastily written note— he knew it was mental, but maybe she had someone else to talk to, so writing him felt redundant.

Before their November Hogsmeade weekend, Ron booked a room at the Hog's Head. He knew better than to think she'd be able to spend the night with him, but it meant that she could see him two days in a row, and there'd be a place for her to really unwind, away from the prying eyes of anyone at the Three Broomsticks. They still met at the bar, in the same private booth as their first trip.

Even though he expected her to arrive late and slightly frenzied, he was still annoyed when she did. He offered her a butterbeer, partially hoping that she would catch his stiff tone, but she didn't even notice. Hermione started rambling on and on about her schoolwork, her Head Girl duties, and the stress she felt at school. He listened intently as she described her daily life in detail, and he couldn't help but wish she had included it all in her letters.

They left on their own when the pub closed, and no one had to kick them out. Hermione turned toward the road that would take her back to Hogwarts, and Ron reached for her hand.

"Don't go back yet," he said, pulling her back around to face him. "I got us a room."

He expected she'd need some convincing, and was prepared for it.

"Ron, I can't stay the night—"

"I wasn't expecting you to!" he assured her.. 'I just figured we could use some alone time. And then you can come back tomorrow." He tugged on her arm, trying to pull her into his arms, but she resisted.

"Ron, I can't—," she looked at him apologetically. "I don't have any free time tomorrow."

"It's a Sunday, what else have you got?" he was still holding onto her arm, half-heartedly trying to pull her into a hug, but she just stood still, unresponsive to his touch.

"I have a meeting with the prefects, four essays to finish, and I need to start revising for exams."

"That's a lot for a Sunday," said Ron, noting the hint of frustration in his voice.

"Well I scheduled everything on Sunday to make room to see you today, so yeah, it's busier than normal."

Her words felt like a punch in his stomach. "Well thank you for making room for me, Hermione, I'm sorry I'm hard to fit into your schedule."

"Ron," she said, sounding hurt. "You can't be mad about that."

"Well, I'm upset," he returned. Something, whether it be anger, frustration, or hurt was boiling up inside of him. "It kind of sounds like you don't want to be around me."

"That's not true!" she said. "I just wish you had told me."

"I wanted it to be a surprise."

"I hate surprises," she said. "If we had planned this out earlier, I might have been able to schedule around it." She had slipped out of his grasp and was now facing him with her arms crossed.

"Plan it out? You hardly write to me anymore. I have no fucking clue what's going on in your life, how am I supposed to know what your schedule looks like if you don't talk to me!"

She took a step back, looking affronted. "Ron I write to you every week."

"And you hardly say anything."

"Well I'm sorry my letters aren't detailed enough, I'm doing my best to keep up with yours."

Ron froze, playing her words over and over again in his head. She was making room for him. Doing her best to keep up with his letters. Adjusting her schedule to fit him in. All of it sounded like he was just another chore on Hermione's to-do list. A burden.

"Do you still want to be with me?" The words were out of his mouth before he could think to filter them.

She stared at him, her lip quivering. "Of course I do. Why would you say that?"

"It just sounds like I'm stressing you out," he shrugged. He felt his own face burning hot, and even though it felt like a regression of their relationship, he willed himself not to cry in front of her.

"It's not you—," she started.

"Is there someone else, Hermione?" He braced himself for her answer.

"No! How could you think that!" She was crying now. He wanted to run to her and wipe the tears from her face, but he willed himself to stay rooted to the spot.

"I just had to ask," he said, as he shoved his hands in his pockets.

Ron watched the image in his head of how he'd planned the night dissipate. He and Hermione were supposed to be enjoying a bottle of wine in their private hotel room right now. He'd hoped they'd spend this night reconnecting, both verbally and non verbally. He definitely hadn't planned for them to be standing five feet away from each other in a cold alley, arms crossed, and holding back tears.

"I really should go back," she finally said, avoiding his eye contact.

"Fine," he said, resisting the temptation to pull her into a hug, kiss her, and tell her he loved her. He knew she wouldn't respond with the level of enthusiasm that would make him feel any better.

"I'll see you at Christmas."

"I'll see you at Christmas," he responded stiffly. He waited until she walked away before he let his tears fall, and disapparated back to Grimmauld Place.

Ron approached letter-writing with far less enthusiasm after their fight in Hogsmeade, but was grateful for some correspondence, however flat it seemed. They wrote to each other simply to make plans for the Holidays. Hermione was planning to spend the first week of Christmas at Grimmauld Place with him, before spending the second half in Australia with her parents.

He was pleased to learn that he was still invited to visit her parents, but unfortunately, Auror training didn't leave him with a long enough break to join her. His anxiety to see her again was growing, but he had no idea what to expect from their reunion. They had a lot to discuss since their last Hogsmeade date. Although he was committed to a calm conversation, they didn't have the best track record when it came to rational discussions.

Luckily, any tension he felt quickly melted away when she arrived. He felt a wave of relief when she collapsed into his arms as soon as she saw him, almost knocking him over.

"Hi," she murmured into his shoulder.

"Hi," he said, chuckling. "I missed you."

"I missed you too." She held him at arm's length, and lovingly brushed some of his fringe away from his eyes.

Ron smiled and tightened his grip on her waist, tugging her closer. Their lips met, and she moved her hands from his shoulders to his hair, and at least for a few moments, they forgot about any potential arguments on their horizon.

The conversation didn't come up until later that night. When she slid under the covers with him and her head landed on his chest, he automatically turned toward her and tangled his fingers in her hair before kissing her firmly on the top of her head.

"I love you so much," he told her.

"I love you too," she said sincerely. The unexpected wave of relief he felt indicated a fear he hadn't yet recognized he had. "You know that, right?" she continued, now looking up at him.

Her head slid off his chest and they turned to face each other. "Yeah. I know that."

She turned her gaze to her hand, which was tracing the scars on Ron's arm. "What went wrong?"

He knew they couldn't avoid the conversation any longer, so he took a deep breath before answering. "I know you love me, I just didn't really feel that way over the past few months." He felt her stiffen in his arms, and he tensed too, preparing for an angry retort.

But it never came. Instead, Hermione's eyebrows furrowed and she propped herself up on her shoulder. "You don't?" she asked in a small voice.

At this point Ron was aware of his own insecurities, and knew full well that Hermione might call them out. There was a part of him that wanted to shove this conversation under the rug, because he thought he shouldn't be insecure, and it might come across as needy, and she might not find that attractive. But he also knew that this was simply how he felt, it was affecting them, and it was valid even if it didn't make sense to her. He took another deep breath, and spoke with a shaky voice. "I questioned it a lot over the last few months, to be honest."

Hermione's eyes watered with tears, but she didn't say anything. She gently nodded for him to continue.

Ron hadn't really prepared to elaborate, which he now realized was a mistake. He didn't have a solution for her, and he didn't have a reason to tell her that didn't sound like blame. But he had her attention, so he continued, hoping the fact that his words weren't perfectly curated didn't come back later to bite him. "We hardly spoke. Your letters were so short. I couldn't help but feel like you rushed them, which made me worry you thought writing to me was a chore. Then our Hogsmeade weekends didn't go as planned, and I just kind of spiraled into thinking that you didn't miss me, which made me worry that you didn't love me—"

"That's why you thought I had met someone else? I had no idea you felt that way," she said, cutting him off. She snaked her arms around his neck so she was pressed up against him. "I'm sorry, Ron."

"It's ok," said Ron, even though it wasn't.

"I was just so stressed with school, and I couldn't really spend time with you, so I did my best to focus on classes so I didn't miss you too much. I thought if I could just get through this year, then we could go back to how things were over the summer. And honestly, I did think of writing to you as a chore, because it was a horrible substitute for actually talking to you, and just made me miss you more. I dreaded it."

Ron's stomach sank when she said that. Writing to Hermione was his favorite part of the week, and the fact that she didn't feel the same way really stung.

They laid there silently for a while, as neither seemed to have much to say. What was there to say? He hated it when she didn't write, and she hated writing to him. It seemed like there wasn't a solution.

"What do you want me to do?" she eventually asked.

Ron winced. He didn't want to tell her she had to do anything. He just wanted it to be simple.

"Ron, I'm not good at this," she said.

"Not good at what?"

"All of it," she said, motioning around her like she was referring to the room they were in. "I'm not good at being a girlfriend. Reading your mind. Knowing how to make sure you know I love you. Writing it in a letter doesn't feel sincere to me."

"That's not true," he told her. "You're a good girlfriend." Although she had a point, something was missing, and there were many times this past fall when he had felt like he didn't even have a girlfriend. He didn't know if he could make it six more months like that, unless something changed. "I just hate how much happened this fall that I knew nothing about. I just want to know everything. Sorry if that sounds needy."

"So you want me to write to you more. Is it that simple?" she asked earnestly.

Ron groaned. "Hermione, it's not a want. I need you to write to me more."

She looked at him contemplatively. "If it means that much to you, I can do that."

"Really?"

She nodded. "I didn't know how it made you feel when I didn't write."

"Even though you hate writing to me?"

"Ron I don't hate writing to you. It just stresses me out and makes me sad," she turned to look him in the eyes. "But it's better than knowing you feel like this."

"Thank you," he said. He pulled her back in for another hug, this time turning to his back so she was on top of him. It wasn't a perfect solution, but it felt a lot better that she knew how he felt. "I love you."

"McGonagall did say," said Hermione thoughtfully, before she shook her head, evidently deciding against continuing that thought. "I love you too."

"What did she say?" asked Ron.

Hermione sighed. "She said I could use her floo in emergencies. But on second thought, I don't think she would consider needing to see my boyfriend an emergency."

"Can you ask her?"

"Ron—"

"Please."

Hermione sighed, then nodded. "I'll ask her. Because I love you."

Ron beamed at her, then captured her lips with his. A year ago, Ron had just returned to the horcrux hunt, and would never have dared to tell her he needed more from her. Back then, he was simply grateful she was speaking to him, and he figured he'd spend the rest of his life making up for leaving her. They really had come a long way, and maybe he had finally done enough to earn his keep.

Ron felt her snake her arms around his neck, which only made him want to kiss her more fervently, so he did. He pulled the hem of her shirt up and off her head, before tugging at his own, and tossing both to the side of the bed.

He smiled at the view before him. Some things he would never get used to. His lips crashed back into hers before he trailed kisses down her neck, dragging his hand from her breast to the buttons on her jeans. She helped him slide her jeans off until she was down to her knickers, and then shimmied his way back up to her smiling face for another kiss. He kept his lips on hers as he kicked his own trousers off, and when they broke apart, she moved her mouth to his neck. Ron felt her teeth gently bite down into the soft flesh of his neck and he groaned almost involuntarily.

"Fuck, Hermione."

He felt her hand slide down his body and slip inside his pants. She smiled approvingly at his very evident excitement to see her, and shifted lower on his body, trailing kisses down his stomach. Ron propped himself up on his elbows just in time to see her tug his erection free from his pants, and slide her mouth over the tip.

"Merlin," he heard himself say before he collapsed back on the bed in surrender, tangling one hand into her messy hair while the other gripped his bedsheets. His heart rate picked up when she dug her fingers into his thigh, and he knew she had to feel his pulse against her tongue. He quickly lost interest in controlling the volume of his voice, and it didn't take very long before he felt himself spill into her mouth and unleash a string of expletives when she swallowed.

He had barely recovered when she kissed her way back up his torso to his neck. She turned to her back, and tugged his arm so he shifted on top of her. "I love you," she whispered in his ear.

He pressed his lips to her neck, contemplating his many options for returning the favor. "Love you too."

He placed his forehead on hers to look her in the eye, and felt himself growing hard again when she bit her lip and looked at him shyly. "What do you want me to do for you?" he whispered, before leaning in for another brief kiss, gently tugging her lower lip with his teeth when he pulled away. "I'll do anything for you."

Hermione smiled sheepishly at him. "I did the charm."

Ron raised his eyebrows. "The charm?"

She nodded.

Ron felt his stomach tighten in nerves. At this point, they had pretty much done everything they could do without having sex. They'd been dancing around the topic for quite some time, so he had an inkling that it would come up over the holiday. But he stopped himself from getting too hopeful since things had been feeling off between them. "Are...are you sure?"

She nodded again. "Do you know your charm?"

"Yes," he said. "I know it."

"So, you should do it then," she said. "Unless you need more time to recover."

They both glanced down between them, where Ron's erection was awake and ready to go. Hermione chuckled.

"I don't think I need any more time." He shifted off of her and reached for his wand, before pointing it at himself and muttering the incantation that his brothers had embarrassingly made him memorize years ago.

Hermione hooked her fingers over the hem of his pants, and slid them down his legs. He stepped one leg out at a time, until he was completely starkers. Even though she had seen him naked many times before, he suddenly felt exposed. His face was red when he tugged at her knickers. She lifted her hips for him and he pulled them to her ankles, before she kicked them off and onto the floor where the rest of their clothes lay.

He steadied himself on top of her, shifting his hips between her legs. "One more time, you're sure?"

She nodded and opened her legs wider in answer.

Ron looked down and used his hand to rest himself at her opening. "Just tell me if you need me to stop, ok?"

"I will," she said.

He pressed forward, guiding himself slowly into her, watching her facial expressions for any sign of discomfort. When she looped her arm around his back and encouraged him closer, he pressed a little more firmly, and watched his erection start to disappear inside her.

He heard a sharp intake of breath and looked up to see she was wincing.

"Sorry!" he said, and he started to pull out, but she gripped his hips with her hand to stop him.

"No, stay," she said. "Just go slow."

Ron took a deep breath and pressed himself back in until she winced again and he stopped. "Is this ok?"

"Yes," she said, a little more high-pitched than normal.

"Ok," he answered, but he didn't move.

"You can go further."

"I don't want to hurt you," he said as he dropped a kiss to her lips.

"It's not that bad," she said sympathetically.

Ron chuckled. "That's what every guy wants to hear on their first time."

"That's not what I meant," laughed Hermione. She wrapped her legs around his lower back and pressed him the rest of the way, letting out another sharp exhale as their hips met. "Ok, let me get used to you."

Ron stayed perfectly still, save for his lips, which went immediately to her neck as he kissed her right below her jawbone. "Get used to me, huh?"

"Well yes," she said, running her fingernails up in circles on his back. "You're quite big."

"That's more like it," he said. He gently tugged some of the soft skin on her neck between his teeth, and could almost feel her rolling her eyes.

"Ok, you can move now," she said.

Ron propped himself back up on his forearms, and dropped another kiss to her lips, before he slowly started moving his hips back and forth, sliding in and out of her. "This ok?"

She nodded, and he continued. It wasn't smooth or graceful by any means, quite clumsy actually, and Ron was grateful for all the time they had spent in bed together before this moment. He was with the only person he trusted to share this awkward attempt at sex, and the self-consciousness he could have felt was far overshadowed by his gratitude for Hermione in that moment.

He watched her focused expression, which was distinctly different than the one he saw when she was about to let go, and he was relieved that he knew how to please her in other ways. He had a backup plan.

He steadied his hips to kiss her again. "I love you so fucking much," he said when he broke free. He knew he wouldn't last much longer, so he propped himself up on his arms again and picked up the pace of his hips. "Fuck, Hermione," he said as she tightened her legs around him and tugged on his hair, and soon enough he buried his face in her hair, muffling the sound of her name that escaped his lips.

He collapsed on top of her, and she untwined her legs from behind him. With one last kiss, he rolled off to his side, and turned to face her, smiling. "I love you too," she said. He ran a thumb across her cheek.

He smiled. "That was brilliant. For me."

She simply smiled.

"I'm sorry you didn't—"

"It's ok," she interrupted. "I didn't expect it the first time."

He slid his hand from her cheek to her breast. "We still have time," he said, eyebrows raised. She grinned and closed her eyes as dragged his fingers down her body, gently parting her legs for his fingers.

"We have our whole lives," she said. He smiled as she bit her lip, and he slipped his fingers between her thighs.

Our whole lives, he thought. He could deal with that.

[lexxikitty-blog1]

Whiskey Sunrise by Missouri Vaun Read: February 2016 Rating: 4.25 Stars

*I received this book from NetGalley and Bold Strokes Books in return for a fair review.*

This is the first book that I have read written by this author.

Before I get into the normal series of ‘this is what the book is about/this is what I think/etc’ comments, I need to tackle one specific issue head on immediately.  Actually, looking at the description, two specific issues.

<I><u>Nature of the book I was reading</i></u> - I’m not sure if it’s something that I thought I saw in the book description, something I saw elsewhere, or just the book cover, but I got the wrong impression going into this book.  And that impression was that the book involved two women who end up falling for each other.  All good there, which was a solid impression that is not changed by reading the book.  No, it was the part where I had this vague idea that one of them, Royal to be exact, was living as a man.  As in, calling herself a man.  She isn’t.  She’s living as a woman. Who happens to have short hair, drive fast, drink, chase women, and wear men’s clothing. But there’s no mistaking the issue – she’s doing this as a woman doing these things that defy convention.  Not as a woman pretending to be a man (this leads to another issue that I’ll either break out here or elsewhere).

Not a deal breaker or anything like that.  I had just confused myself for some reason.  In the end, this is one of the few books that I can outright, without any deep thinking on my part (or any need for anything but surface thinking) just call a butch/femme pairing.  Since Royal is living in the look of a 1940s butch woman (she’s just 1 year early), at least based on nonfiction I’ve read about lesbian history.  With Lovey Porter, the other woman in the book, living the part of the femme.  

I don’t wish to go to deep here, but I’ll continue this one extra inch.  The stereotypical butch of the time would wear men’s clothing, which may or may not have a female cut – depends on if they can get that type of clothing (a brief mention is made that Royal’s clothing has a male cut to them).  Specifically, in the 1940s, (yes I know this is 1939) that would involve some kind of suit and top hat.  I do not recall mention of Royal having a hat (though there is/was mention of hooks for men to hang their hats on), but otherwise the clothing she wore would be typical for men of her region.    

I’ll add one last historical note before moving on – while Royal is defying convention in 1939 rural Georgia by dressing as a man, if this book had been set one or two years later, in a city, then she’d have had a lot of company.  It was a great era for women to be able to openly wear pants and strut around – maybe not strut, but it’s easier to go off to work in factories in pants.

<i><u>Book Description</i></u> - first off, it’s both somewhat inaccurate and, oddly given that, gives too much information.  I do not wish to go too deep here.  There are more examples but I’ll just lift one from the description: ‘The back roads of Georgia had been perfect for the dissemination of the much sought after illegal elixir until the local Baptist minister, Abraham Porter, decided to make prohibition his mission, and Royal the target of his evangelical wrath.’  - (1) moonshine, wasn’t actually specifically illegal.  There’s a scene where this came up.  It was the part where the people running moonshine didn’t want to pay tax on it.  Moonshine in and of itself wasn’t illegal; it was running it without paying tax on it that was illegal.  (2) Abraham Porter?  That is not his name.   Lovey, Reverend Abraham’s daughter, married a fellow with the last name of Porter. She goes around town telling everyone that she’s Lovey Porter.   That does not suddenly make her father Abraham Porter.  No, he is Reverend Abraham Edwards.  Oddly, that isn’t what I had meant to focus on there; I just noticed the wrong name before I could get to what I wanted to get to.  Edwards wasn’t directly targeting Royal – he was targeting the Duval family as moonshiners.  

‘Lovey Porter, Abraham’s daughter, is the living embodiment of chaste beauty,’ – hmms. Calling a woman who has been married the ‘living embodiment of chaste’ seems wrong on so many levels.  Chaste?   Really?

<b>Setting</b> I normally leave this to second or third in the section rotation, but I figure I need to leap onto this immediately.   The year is 1939; the place is a rural town nearish to Atlanta Georgia.  The town is located in Dawson County (and I only recall that part because a guy named Joe Dawson was courting Lovey Porter).

There’s a nice good ‘backwoods’ vibe to everything.  There’s a vaguely magical flavor to everything, and no I don’t mean actual magic or that there’s fantasy involved.  Just there’s a certain disconnect, at times, from reality.  While at the same time, reality has a tendency to meanly reach in and make everything bloody.  I’m being purposely vague.

<b>Characters</b> There are more than two characters that inhabit this book, though only two have their points of view expressed.

<i><b><u>Lovey Porter</u></i></b>:  Lovey grew up in the locality this story takes place, but she went away, briefly, to get a college education, and then moved to Chicago with her husband.  Husband died in 1938.   Lovey returned to live in her father’s house.  She’s trying to figure out how to make her way in the world, feeling constrained and suffocating from convention – though she’s good at putting on the good/polite/dutiful daughter mask. <i><u>Connected people</u></i>:  Reverend Abraham Edwards (father to Lovey); Cal? (person who comes by occasionally to clean); various church members who occasionally thrust their way into the story. Briefly.  Joe Dawson (tall, well-muscled fella courting Lovey).

<i><b><u>Royal Duval</u></i></b> - a woman who loves to wear men’s clothing, drink, chase women, and drive fast cars, Royal works as something of a moonshine delivery driver – which occasionally involves driving fast and getting shot at. <i><u>Connected people</u></i>:  Duke Duval (current head of the moonshining family, though he’s on his last legs, so to speak); Wade Duval (son to Duke, uncle to Royal, and a mean asshole); Ned Duval (son of Wade’s; best friend to Royal); Royal Duval’s mother (I forget if her first name is given); Grace (friend of Royal’s who gets into trouble and ‘must be saved’; both Grace (and her family) and Cal represent the ‘colored’ part of rural Georgia).

<b>Plot</b> The book opens with Lovey feeling trapped in her house, so she goes for a late night stroll.  On the roads.  No one has driven past her father’s house in a good long while, so she figures its safe enough to walk out there.   Until she finds out it isn’t.

Royal is testing a new potential route to drive on her moonshine deliveries, one with a newly graded/whatevered road.  She roars up, slowing only so she can take a turn and . . . spots a figure in the roadway.  She attempts to avoid running over the figure and ends up rolling her car.

Lovey sees the car roar up, and flip.  She scrambles down to try to help the man in the car.  Whereupon a comment is made that there are no boys here, unless Lovey brought some.  Lovey helps Royal back to her place to patch her up.  And Lovey learns that some women wear men’s clothing.  

A relationship between Lovey and Royal develops – but it’s kind of hard, what with it being 1939 rural Georgia. And the Duval family and the Edwards family are kind of on opposite sides on certain matters (like how dry the county should be).  This here is where I insert something I thought of while reading the book.  There are aspects, obviously, involved when two women meet and get involved romantically.  Not putting that aside, I’d like to note that Royal could actually have been a man and there still would have been massive problems involved in having a male Royal date Lovey.  Issues that would need to be overcome/resolved regardless of gender.  Course, then you take that on, the gender thing, and it seems hopeless, eh?

The problems of two women courting, or whatever word you wish to use, in 1939, causes massive issues.  As does the ‘low character’ attached to the Duval name, at least as seen through the eyes of ‘good’ people like Abraham Edwards.  Massive massive issues.  Oh, and to help remind people that this is 1939 rural Georgia, there’s a few scenes here and there involving (1) blacks being treated badly; (2) women being treated poorly, as lower class citizens; one such event involving a black woman being felt up by some ‘good old white boys’.

<b>Romance</b> It’s 1939.  Two women find they have feelings for each other.  One, as far as she knew, is a straight woman (here I’ll note the whole genre/topic/theme of straight women in lesbian fiction actually makes a certain amount of sense – if worked right – in a 1939 book).  The other is a ‘player’.  Obviously . . . . obviously nothing.  The romance went a gentle, magical type direction.  And somewhat faster than I kind of expected.  

Still, problems pop up, what with it being 1939; one is the daughter of the local minister; the same one wanting to keep up appearances and so allows herself to be courted by a man (Joe Dawson).  So, yeah, there are problems making this romance ‘work’.  

Overall, though, the romance worked quite well.  Despite certain things here and there, seemed to flow naturally.

<b>Overall</b> One of my first, maybe first book updates noted how lovely the writing was in this book.  For the most part that kept up throughout the book.  Maybe not at whatever level it had to be to get me to actually make that comment initially, but still ‘lovely’.  

I liked the book.  It was an enjoyable read.  Showed the frustrations of attempting to be a woman in the early 20th century, a lesbian, and a resident of a small rural county in the south.  I’d recommend the book.

February 29 2016