Learning to Hula                                          
August 2006
Harlequin Next
ISBN 0-373-88105-3

Being Strong Is a State of Mind…

Everyone in town thinks Holly DeJong has handled her husband’s death well, including her. Until the day she spots a cupcake display at Smiley’s General Store and lets loose. Holly’s husband is dead…because he cheated on her. He didn’t have just one Kitty Cupcake on the side; he had boxes of them!

| Awards | Reviews | Excerpt |

Awards:

     2006 Single Titles Cata-Romance Reviewers' Choice Award Nominee

Reviews

4 Stars RT Bookclub  Review to be posted soon.

4 1/2 Stars - CataRomance SingleTitles.com
Category contemporary
Sensuality Rating:  Sensuous

Teaser:   LEARNING TO HULA by the prolific writer Lisa Childs is heartfelt and heartening.
Review:   Holly DeJong lost her husband of seventeen years to a cupcake, many cupcakes actually, which caused his heart attack and deprived his family of his jovial wit and bad jokes. She did all the right things, took her family for grief counseling and went through the steps of grieving and was feeling ok, that is until she saw the display of Kitty Cupcakes at Smiley’s store. Holly totally lost it and stomped every last one of those cupcakes flat! But after that scene, Holly knew that she was going to make it. Her children, on the other hand, still resented her for getting rid of their father’s things and held on to their grief. How can Holly help them?
     Holly has the help and support of her mother and two sisters to lean on but she soon finds out that they have issues of their own. Her mother has a secret, one sister is leaving her husband and the other is having troubles with her melded family. Holly has also been offered help by Deputy Nathan Westmorland, who does something to her libido and infuriates her at the same time. But she is a determined woman and she aims for that final step of grieving…happiness.
     Talented Lisa Childs takes a most delicate subject and presents it in a real next door neighbor way. Her heroine, Holly, transformed from a fragile unsure person to a strong, ready for life woman before my eyes. Holly’s struggle with rebuilding her life was made real with a touch of humor and Ms. Childs captured it perfectly. For a heart warming story with a chuckle, be sure to get your copy of LEARNING TO HULA.

Reviewer Donna Zapf
Posted July 23, 2006
http://www.singletitles.com/reviews?type=&id=140
 

NovelTalk
Contemporary

Review:  Holly DeJong has been widowed for six months, and until she massacres the Kitty Cupcake display at Smiley's General Store, everyone believed she had her
grief under control. However, these aren't just ordinary cupcakes; in Holly's mind they are killers, because her late husband could not resist eating them in
spite of his promises to cut them out of his diet. She hadn't realized how great his obsession was with the goodies until she picked up some things left in his
office, and along with a truly tacky hula-girl lamp he had promised to get rid of, were boxes of Kitty Cupcakes. But the attack is actually the beginning of
Holly's healing process, and she realizes she has let life run on without her. Her children, Claire and Robbie, have been left on their own to grieve, and they
desperately need her. Instead of anger over Rob's death, she learns to celebrate his life-- the love, the laughter, and the way that man could hula!

LEARNING TO HULA is one of the sweetest, funniest, and moving stories that this reviewer has had the pleasure to read in a long time. Lisa Childs does a
superb job of creating real characters, enhancing their strengths and flaws, which make them lovable. Problems are unraveled and lessons on living are
taught in this wonderful, poignantly humorous tale. This book comes highly recommended for readers of all ages.

Reviewed by Betty Cox
Posted on: 7/25/2006.
NovelTalk.com

More Coming soon!

Excerpt

Staring at the wine bottles on the alcohol wall of Smiley’s store, I consider giving Pam the lamp as a housewarming gift instead. I’ve already been to all the other sections of Smiley’s General store, and general covers a lot: groceries, clothing, house wares, hardware and party supplies. Yet, I haven’t found a single appropriate thing for tonight. 

I might as well go with inappropriate.

The truth is that I don’t really feel like giving her a house-warming gift at all, but she’s throwing herself a party.

     Maybe bringing alcohol is a good idea.  Even though she’ll use it to toast her new life, I get to drink it, too. I suspect I’m going to need it. 

So now I switch from trying to figure out what she’d like.  Keith hadn’t managed that in twenty-five years, so I’m not going to figure it out in twenty minutes. I concentrate on finding my favorite labels.

     Whenever he worked late, Rob would bring home a bottle of Lambrusco to mellow me. I should have figured, it’s probably the sweetest wine. Despite claiming it was for me, he’d drink most of it. 

     I’d always ask him, “Is this for me?”

     He’d grin and reply, “Yes, I’m going to get you drunk so I can have my way with you.”

     I’d laugh and point out that he’d never had to get me drunk for that. 

My hand’s shaking as I reach for the bottle of Lambrusco.  All this shaking today. Maybe it has nothing to do with the closing or stage, maybe I just had too much caffeine this morning. But then I remember that I drink decaf. Unlike Rob, I don’t cheat on my health.

My fingers miss the bottle; I’m not tall enough, and that irritates me. My eleven-year-old daughter is already taller than me. I take after my petite mother in more than widowhood.

Off balance from the reach, I stumble back a few steps. My hip brushes against the display behind me, tumbling some cardboard boxes onto Smiley’s freshly waxed vinyl floor. I spin around to catch more before I cause an avalanche.

Startled, I see what’s in my hands -- the familiar boxes that I’ve found stashed all over the house and Rob’s office. The bright yellow packaging has a cellophane window in the middle displaying the heavily frosted, chocolate buttercream-filled cupcakes in their individual packages. Above the window, a little black kitten sits in the corner of the box, licking frosting from its whiskers. These are Kitty Cupcakes.

     More like killer Kitty Cupcakes.

     This time the anger rushes in so fast I can’t stop it. It roars in my ears and burns my face.  My hands aren’t shaking anymore as I toss the boxes onto the floor. 

Kitty’s staring up at me from the corner of her green eyes as I lift my foot and smash my heel right through the cellophane window. Frosting and bits of chocolate cake cling to my shoe as I lift it, then slam it down again into another box. I spread my arms, toppling the entire display and standing in the middle of it jumping up and down like I’m having one of the tantrums my daughter, Claire, used to throw when she was two.

     Words are tumbling from my lips but I can’t hear them for the roaring of blood in my ears. But they, and my actions, are drawing other shoppers to the end of the aisle. 

Even though I can’t hear myself, I catch a little girl’s horrified whisper to her mother: “Mommy, why is that woman killing Kitty?”

     The mother covers the child’s eyes as if she’s stumbled into a strip joint. I’m not naked, but suddenly I feel that way. 

The anger ebbs. I move to step away from the pile of crumpled boxes, but my heel slips, either on the waxed floor, or the spilled frosting, and I go down.

     The small crowd at the end of the aisle murmurs, “Ahh!” I try to scramble up, but go down again to their “Ohhs.” 

Frosting coats my fingers, and I glance down at the smart, little suit I wore to the closing. Brown frosting clings to the black-and-white-houndstooth print like mud kicked up from the tires of a stuck truck. 

I’m sure there’s some in my hair, too, since locks of it are sticking to my face. I push it back, forgetting my hands are coated, and leave more across my cheek.

     Even though the crowd is quiet, I can hear laughter. Maybe it’s coming from above; Rob would love this. Or maybe it’s bubbling up inside me. Either way, it feels good, and I start smiling, probably looking like even more of a lunatic to the spectators gathered like gawkers at a traffic accident.

     Someone gets brave enough to approach me, as a hand extends to help me up.  I reach for it with my sticky fingers and glance up with an apologetic grimace. 

A face similar to mine stares down at me, blue eyes as wide and horrified as the little girl who watched me kill Kitty. Emma’s fair skin tinted with the red blush of embarrassment, not for herself.

     Before she can do more than get me to my feet, Smiley rushes up, rubber-soled shoes squeaking against the vinyl tiles.  White brows lift high above his sharp eyes as he takes in the cupcake massacre. He asks the question burning in my sister’s blue eyes. “What the hell happened here?”

     Emma’s faster on her feet than I am at the moment. Must be from dealing with all the teenagers she has, her own and step.  “Smiley, don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.” She’s already taking her wallet from her purse. 

     Like Claire has done to me so many times, I tug on Emma’s sleeve, but I point to the alcohol wall. “Get a bottle of Lambrusco, too.  I couldn’t reach it.”

     Then I walk away, head high, frosting covered heels slipping. The shocked crowd parts as I near the end of the party aisle and walk out of Smiley’s. 

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