RELEASE TOUR - Baby, It's Cod Outside by Kat Cassidy
Length:
47,000 words
Series: Silver
Shoals #2
Prior Reading: Prior
reading NOT required
Genre: Small-town,
Holiday, Christmas,
Rom-Com
Tropes: Opposites
Attract, Hurt/Comfort, Fake Confidence/Hidden Vulnerability
Trigger/Content
Warnings: anxiety rep, on page panic attacks, loss from
cancer (family member, past)
Designer:
Kat Cassidy
https://getbook.at/SilverShoals2
With his CEO father away, Benjamin Whitaker III is left running the family empire. And, you know, trying not to implode from anxiety while he’s at it.
Local investigative reporter Jackson James smells something fishy going on at Whitaker Seafood, and it’s definitely not just the mackerel.
One’s trying to keep things clean and tidy. The other’s digging up some serious dirt.
This year, Silver Shoals
isn’t dreaming of a white Christmas. Just a low stress week, a front page
headline, and a way out of this very merry
fish-mess.
Baby, It’s Cod
Outside is a low heat, opposites attract, hurt/comfort,
small town MM holiday romance. It can be read as a standalone.
EXCERPT:
Ben’s parked outside the used
bookstore downtown, motor idling, the radioactive binder sitting in his lap.
Snowflakes drift lazily by the windshield. The scene is pretty and painfully
indifferent. He checks his watch again: 10:43 pm, still seventeen minutes
early. Because of course he is. Panic loves punctuality.
He
stares down his reflection in the mirror, telling himself that this is a person
about to take back control.
The reflection does not look
convinced.
Here, Ben’s anxiety helpfully starwipes to
another slide in the ongoing horror-powerpoint entitled ‘Absolute Worst
Outcomes of this Meeting’ that’s cycling in his brain: Jackson simply laughs at
him and tells him to stop wasting his time.
He’s mid-fantasy about reversing down the block when knuckles rap suddenly against his driver’s side window. Ben flinches hard enough to head-butt the visor.
Window down, cold air in, along with Jackson James: snow-flecked hair, eyes crinkling above a scarf wrapped high against the chill. “Evening. Are you planning on loitering out here all night, or just until someone calls the neighborhood watch?”
“I didn’t realize you were already here. Thanks again for meeting me, Mr. James. And, uh, sorry about the dating app thing. It was kind of a desperation move.”
“‘Desperation move,’ huh?” Jackson repeats with obvious delight. Ben silently blesses the scarf for obscuring Jackson’s too handsome face, even as another, less helpful part of him regrets missing out on seeing that smile in full. “Exactly how every guy dreams of being described.”
Ben’s laugh cracks like ice. “I didn’t mean it like that. Obviously. I just didn’t really have a lot of options. Not that you’re a last resort. I just meant you’re...special.” He closes his eyes, briefly debating jumping out and running directly into the ocean. “Specialized! I mean specialized. Your skillset.” His brain is begging his mouth to stop to little avail.
A faint snort escapes Jackson. “Keep digging, Fish Prince. At this rate, we’ll hit bedrock in no time.”
“I’m sorry. It’s been... a lot today.
I just meant you’re unattached. Er, professionally unattached. To Whitaker
Seafood.” He forces himself to slow down. “You’re not connected to any of this
and it seemed like yesterday… that you thought something was wrong. And it is.
Something is very wrong. So I thought... I don’t know, maybe you were the
person that could help.” He ducks his head, voice quieter now. “But if this was
dumb, I get it. I can go.”
Ben braces for rejection.
Instead, Jackson’s posture shifts,
some of the sharpness softening. “Hey. I’m not blowing you off,
alright?”
And then, almost too casually, just rough enough,
Jackson adds, “If anything, Mr. Whitaker, you’ve got my full attention.”
Ben
swears the temperature spikes. Jackson’s gaze tracks over him, slow,
deliberate, borderline indecent, before landing on the binder in his lap. Ben’s
fingers twitch, instinctively drawing it closer.
Jackson gestures toward the bookstore. “Maybe we should take this inside?” he says, low and easy, like it’s just a suggestion and that everything that happens next is in Ben’s hands. Like the faint possibility, of what, Ben isn’t even sure, doesn’t spark a confusing mix of panic and excitement in his stomach.
Jackson steps back to give Ben room, rubbing his gloved hands briskly. “Before I lose my best typing fingers to frostbite, preferably.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Kat Cassidy is a romance novelist. She’s a dreamer, a schemer and, above all else, a believer in true love. She lives in Canada with her husband, her kids, and her lovable mutt, and she likes loud guitars and strong IPAs.
https://katcassidyauthor.com/
https://www.instagram.com/katcassidyauthor/
https://bsky.app/profile/katcassidyauthor.bsky.social
https://www.facebook.com/groups/katcassubcribers
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