Hello Reader,

I've been trying to write this newsletter for days, but January decided to reward my two weekends of binge writing with flu. I'm not even sure I could accurately account for the last two weeks.

But I do have good news.

Today, I marked Rockstar Regret as officially done. 🎉

Which means you get presents.

I finally wrote the blurb. AND I can share chapter one.

With my unexpected downtime, I've been thinking about my new years resolutions. One of the things at the top of my list is celebrating every achievement. Which includes releases.

It reminded me of when my friends in Malta forced me to let them do a reading of Daring Ceri. I laughed so hard rewatching this. I completely forgot I had these videos and I figured you'd love to see it too. Enjoy James Veitch reading as Ceri - complete with accents.

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Of course, just because Rockstar Regret is done doesn't mean I stop. I'm already knee deep in Formula One working on The Perfect Formula. That's your title hint. Want to take a guess what tropes you'll find in my first sports romance? Hit reply and cast your guess.

Happy Reading!

Morgana x

Nick Davies was my best friend, my partner-in-crime. But that was before everything fell apart

Before our best friend’s death shattered the world we shared. Before Nick left without looking back.

Now he’s back. Except he’s not just Nick anymore. Now he’s Nick Davies, the tattooed, untouchable drummer for Lovers Knot, with a million-dollar smile, and an air of untouchable charm.

But none of that erases the boy who broke my heart — or the tension that sparks every time our eyes meet.

Thanks to a meddling matchmaker, we’re trapped together in a farmhouse, surrounded by memories of our dead best friend while the village floods. He says he wants to fix things, but some things can’t be fixed. And I’m not sure I’m ready to face what’s been left unsaid for so long.

Chapter One

Cerys

Meinir Davies was like a well-aged Caerphilly — sharp, a bit crumbly, and impossible to ignore. If I could box her up and ship her off to a fancy London cheese shop, I would.

No, really, I would...

Oh, who am I kidding? She owned the land my cheeses called home, and worse, she was my late boyfriend’s mother.

But bloody hell, some days she made me want to tear my hair out and run screaming into the hills of the Brecon Beacons. And today? She’d outdone herself. I swear, that woman could try the patience of a saint — or a stubborn Welsh cheesemaker, which might be the tougher test.

The meddling pain in my ass had topped herself today. I never thought she’d manage to strike getting me to socialise outside the farmer’s market off the list, but she’d done it. Probably been plotting this longer than it takes to age a decent Cheddar, the crafty old goat.

I just wanted to do my job, get the next batch of Snowdonia Blue into the ageing room, pack some orders, and maybe clock out before the sunset for the first time in a bloody year.

But no, Meins hadn’t agreed with those plans and had twisted my arm into lunch with that knowing look of hers. The one that made me feel like a naughty schoolgirl caught sneaking extra bara brith.

Had she spilled the beans on who she’d invited to lunch, I might have put up more of a fight.

Might have rubbed my fingers raw testing cheese textures to avoid it. Might have mysteriously developed a case of cheese cave fever. Anything to avoid... this.

But I hadn’t, and now I stood in her old farmhouse kitchen, staring at the one man who could still make my heart do a jig worthy of the Eisteddfod with just a look.

Nick bloody Lewis.

I’d rather face a cranky ram than deal with this. At least the ram would be honest about wanting to knock me on my ass.

Nick stared back at me — or more at the spot to the right of my shoulder — appearing just as shocked as I felt, his blue eyes wide and darting between me and Meinir. The kitchen suddenly felt as stuffy as my ageing room in midsummer.

Christ, is the room shrinking?

“Cerys,” he said, his deliciously gruff voice curling around my name exactly as it had in school. Only then I’d been his best friend, doing everything I could to pretend that he couldn’t make me shiver with just a word.

Now? Now I was doing everything I could not to show how much it still affected me. Stupid, traitorous body.

His gaze skittered around the kitchen, bouncing from Meins to the kettle boiling on the stove and back. “I... didn’t know you’d be here.”

“That makes two of us,” I said, my voice sharper than a well-honed cheese knife. I turned to the mischievous meddler, who was busying herself with the kettle, a suspiciously innocent expression on her face. “Meins, a word?”

But before I could drag her into the pantry for a proper Welsh telling-off, Nick cleared his throat. “Look, I should go. This was obviously a mistake—”

“Oh no, Nicky,” Meinir said, her voice soft but with that edge I knew all too well. The one that could guilt a saint into eating another slice of cake. “You’ve only just got back from tour. Surely you can spare me an hour for lunch? I’ve made your favourite shepherd’s pie and there’s bara brith for dessert. Please stay. It’s been ages since we’ve all sat down together. Gareth would want that, don’t you think?”

Low blow, Meins.

I watched his resolve crumble. Though really, no one would be surprised. The woman was more tenacious than a choir director at the Eisteddfod.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Right, of course. Sorry.”

Before I could make my own escape — maybe I could fake a cheese emergency? Runaway Camembert? — she turned to me, her eyes twinkling like she’d just won Star Baker on the Great British Bake Off. “And you, Cerys bach. That cheese of yours can wait an hour. It won’t kill you to take a break and eat your lunch sitting down for once.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but Meins was already pushing us both towards the table. This was going to be a long, awkward lunch. And if I survived it without lobbing a wheel of cheese at someone’s head, it’d be a miracle.

Preferably a nice, heavy wheel of Caerphilly.

At Nick’s stupidly handsome face.

I glared at the placemat. “I’d rather be elbow-deep in curds and whey right now.”

Nick snorted. “Some things never change, do they, Evans?”

I shot him a look that could curdle milk. “And some people never learn when to keep their mouths shut, do they, Nicky?”

His jaw clenched, a muscle ticking in his cheek. His eyes, those impossibly blue eyes that used to make my teenage heart flutter, darkened. “Right. Because you’re the expert on knowing when to stop talking.”

I bristled, my fingers itching for that wheel of cheese. Why hadn’t I thought to bring one in from my workshop? But before I could unleash a retort that would make a sailor blush, Meinir swooped in, her voice saccharine sweet.

“Now, now, you two. Let’s not bicker. The pie is ready, and I’ve made a pot of tea. Shall we sit?”

I glanced at Nick, catching his eye for a brief moment. The silent communication we’d perfected years ago hadn’t faded, it seemed. His slight eye roll matched my barely concealed sigh. We were both trapped in Meinir’s web of good intentions and nostalgia.

“Fine,” I muttered, dropping into a chair at the worn wooden table. Might as well get this over with.

​Read the rest here.

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Bookish News

Kings of Screen Leaving Kindle Unlimited

It was a good 6 month test, but that test is done. On March 10th, the Kings of Screen series will return to Apple Books, Kobo, Barnes & Noble, Google Play Books, Everand and more. I'll send reminders closer to the time, but if you were planning to read the series in Kindle Unlimited, download them before March 10th.