Sara Wilkinson
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swilkinsonwrites.bsky.social
Sara Wilkinson
@swilkinsonwrites.bsky.social
440 followers 400 following 250 posts
✨Contemporary romance author currently querying
✨Baker and lover of all things chocolate
✨Rugby lover and former second row
✨MSU Grad
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swilkinsonwrites.bsky.social
'Activity' from 'Stubborn Dreams and Bottled Love'
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“Shit, Matt.” Nat slid to his side and grabbed his face between her palms as she looked him over. “I didn’t think you’d—” Matt patted her arm, unable to speak with her hands on his cheeks. The pressure, yes, but also the softness, the coldness despite their activity. She turned his head this way and that as she peered in his eyes and examined his nose. “How does it look?” Matt’s voice nasally as if he had a head cold. “Swollen. How does it feel?” “Swollen but not broken. I think. I haven’t broken anything before so I’m going strictly on painfulness.” Nat’s guffaw was one of the sweetest sounds he’d heard in recent memory. “I’m so, so sorry, Matt.” “It’s my fault for putting my face between the ball and the net.”
January 21, 2026 at 3:00 PM
swilkinsonwrites.bsky.social
Only one instance of 'troll' in 'Stubborn Dreams and Bottled Love' but it comes just after last weeks snips where Matt brings his new GF to meet Nat.
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That tear nearly undid him. As did her sweetness with her neighbor’s daughter and her kindness and honesty with Ashley. He hadn’t realized the toll trolls took from her every game and almost jumped over the pub’s table and pulled Nat into his arms, damn Leslie and damn Nat’s thick skull. But Nat burned him too many times. Raised his hopes only to dash them with a no. Now he had Leslie. A woman who said yes. Yes, to coming here. Yes, to him. To them. Was he ready to lose this sure thing for a woman that led him by the nose, no, wrong body part, for nearly a decade. Okay, not that long, though it felt like it some days.
January 20, 2026 at 5:09 PM
swilkinsonwrites.bsky.social
'Drain'ed from 'Love on the Vine'
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Big heart. Ha. Big stupid heart that too easily filled only to be drained when the person responsible vanished. After so many disappointments, why couldn’t she learn the lesson? But here she sat. Enthralled by a handsome superstar superhero who would skip out of her life and back into his world in a day. Two tops. Becca was a big-hearted idiot for entertaining hope of being more than a footnote, if even that, in Ian’s future memoir. “What are you thinking, Bee?” And then there was that. His oh, so casual use of that moniker. A wonderful sound in his husky, uplifting voice that hurt like hell as it conjured memories of her uncle, her childhood before her aunt’s coldness. Before Becca understood the full truth of her birth and its consequences.
January 19, 2026 at 6:33 PM
swilkinsonwrites.bsky.social
'Remain' from 'Love on the Vine'
Ian calls Becca out of the blue, but she stupidly ends the conversation too soon.
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The screen went dark and Becca stared at her reflection. Focusing on whatever strange connection allowed Ian to read her mind in the hopes he’d call back. Without luck. Apparently, such a connection only worked one way since the phone remained stubbornly silent. Why hadn’t she kept him on the line a while longer? Fear. That’s why. Fear of strengthening a connection with this demi-god only to have him realize her unworthiness and push her away. No point prolonging something destined to end as quickly as it began, assuming something had begun between them. Sammy returned a few minutes later, leaning his long torso against the door jamb with a mischievous smile brightening his hazel, oblong shaped eyes. “Who’s Oliver?” “An…acquaintance.” “That’s it? Seems like more.” Becca hid her burning face in her glass and gulped the remaining Bee Heavenly wine.
January 18, 2026 at 6:00 PM
swilkinsonwrites.bsky.social
'Brain' from 'Love on the Vine'
Becca finds letters that puts into question the real reason for her father's estrangement
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It was too much. Becca pushed from the island and stepped outside onto the deck slippery with recently fallen snow. The cold air cooled her raging brain. Whatever anger she retained against her father, and, in fairness, it lessened daily, shifted to her aunt. Clearly, she hadn’t wanted a relationship between Becca and her father, not the other way around. But why? Fear? It jumped from the page. Her uncle’s words hinted of Becca leaving, of her father wanting her back once they grew close. Even so, her uncle seemed open to the idea of visits, a relationship, why not her aunt? Especially when she grew so cold, seemingly like she no longer wanted anything to do with Becca or even have her under the same roof.
January 16, 2026 at 3:18 PM
swilkinsonwrites.bsky.social
'Manager' from 'Love on the Vine'
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Probably for the same reason he hadn’t proposed immediately. Instead, he kept the ring in his sock drawer and stared at it each morning. Unsure what exactly held him back, but inherently knowing he couldn’t propose. Not yet. Serendipitously seeing as he learned of her affair with her manager a week later. A three-month affair. A quarter of their time together. He put the ring in his wall safe and hadn’t looked at it since. “If you’d told me, I would’ve been more forthcoming. But I hadn’t realized it reached that level. You were in love, but not in love.” Heidi held out her hand, pinky finger extended. “Friends?”
January 15, 2026 at 4:11 PM
swilkinsonwrites.bsky.social
'Current' from 'Stubborn Dreams and Bottled Love'
Nat meeting Matt's new girlfriend for the first time
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“How did you meet?” Though sweet in nature, Leslie’s question dripped with bitterness. Nat’s lips lifted in what she could only describe as plotting Grinch face as Matt’s smile fell. His hands knotted on the table as his eyes pleaded with Nat for mercy. “It’s stupid really. Matt rescued me from a sticky situation at a party and walked me home.” Nat hadn’t realized she’d spare Matt until the words fell from her lips. As much as she despised the current situation, she couldn’t sabotage Matt’s chance at happiness, completeness. She loved him too much. “Two weeks later we realized we had a class together. We’ve been friends ever since.” Leslie’s eyebrows shot up at the word friend, but she left it be. Nat wasn’t stupid. She guessed Leslie would give Matt the third degree, if she hadn’t already, later. What would, had Matt said? What would Nat say in the same situation?
January 14, 2026 at 3:57 PM
swilkinsonwrites.bsky.social
Haven't been to Bronners in years. I should go next time I'm in MI, I'm in IA now. And I was just in NJ for Christmas. My spouse is from there. What a small, small world
January 14, 2026 at 12:50 AM
swilkinsonwrites.bsky.social
Wow. That's a lot of Spartans. I'm the only one though my spouse and immediate in-laws all attended MSU. Funny enough, my parents now live about an hour north of Midland. I'm originally from Grand Rapids myself. Are you a current/former Michigander too?
January 13, 2026 at 11:35 PM
swilkinsonwrites.bsky.social
Go White! I am indeed a Spartan despite my parents being diehard U of M fans 😱 and always love meeting fellow Spartans or family of Spartans in this case 😁
January 13, 2026 at 9:11 PM
swilkinsonwrites.bsky.social
Thank you. That just made my day 🎉
January 13, 2026 at 6:56 PM
swilkinsonwrites.bsky.social
'Reflex'es from 'Stubborn Dreams and Bottled Love'
Nat stating why she and Matt can never let their guard down again.
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Matt allowed her a minute of freedom before following. Despite the spaciousness of the kitchen, Matt leaned against the counter directly across and within arm’s reach, all but blocking the exit given his long arms and quick reflexes. “Nat.” One simple word caused an avalanche of emotions. Desire and sadness most of all. “Matt.” Clearly her use of his name didn’t have the same effect. If it did, he hid it better. Whereas she feared her reaction was writ large on her face, in her body language. Nat huffed and set the ice pack on the counter beside Matt’s hand before leaning against the far counter with her arms over her chest. More out of protectiveness against her growing feelings than fear of Matt’s actions. “Fine. Let’s talk about why it can never happen again.”
January 13, 2026 at 4:01 PM
swilkinsonwrites.bsky.social
Had to jump back to an old WIP 'Finding Fiona' for 'tentacle' when Fiona remembers throwing an octopus on the ice at a hockey game (any Red Wings fans?)
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Fiona smiled as she remembered the sliminess. The salty sea, fishy odor. The movement of her arm as she pulled back and the eight-legged creature slid from her hand. The wave of its tentacles as it shot forward and splat on the ice alongside three others. Her dad clapped wildly beside her as she held up her wet palms. The roar of the crowd pulsed around them as they geared up for the final game of the Stanley Cup. Yes, she threw an octopus on the ice. At her dad’s urging. At his wide, gaped tooth smile egging her on before beaming proudly once the deed was done. God, she missed him. Especially around this time of year. The start of the Red Wings hockey season, yes, though she hadn’t been much of a fan since his passing. Not that she’d ever stop being a fan. It was in her blood. And her dad would return from the grave and haunt her steps if she ever, ever contemplated wearing another team’s colors. Even touched another team’s jersey unless to jinx it somehow.
January 12, 2026 at 4:14 PM
swilkinsonwrites.bsky.social
Too true 😁 I hadn't thought about that. That will definitely help my stress level on Tuesday. Thanks!
January 12, 2026 at 3:01 AM
swilkinsonwrites.bsky.social
'Climb' from 'Love on the Vine'
Ian is torn between doing what his manager wants to save his career and following his heart.
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But again, he hated Michel’s mean side. Besides, he hadn’t a clue as to the woman’s identity and whether she felt the same flash. Even if she did, was that the best move for his career? Ian teetered on a precipice, it seemed. One false move and he’d tumble back down the gorge he recently climbed out of with Michel’s help and years of hard work. Coffee with Sabrina, however calculating, was the safer step. “I’ll invite her to coffee if, and only if, we meet naturally and have a connection. I’m not cold calling someone I’ve met twice, at best.” “Fair enough.” Ian all but heard the wheels of Michel’s mind shifting into gear. Plotting and scheming some random, casual way for Ian and Sabrina to meet. Michel was nothing if not resourceful. Devious even.
January 11, 2026 at 4:59 PM
swilkinsonwrites.bsky.social
'Fifth' from 'Love on the Vine'
Continuing yesterday's snip: Becca discovering a trove of pics and letters in her estranged father's study
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“I’ve seen this picture before.” Sammy held up a photo of Becca with pigtails and braces visible through her parted lips. Fifth grade. Maybe sixth. “I think I even asked mom about it, but she hadn’t answered.” Becca resisted the urge to snatch the photo back and hide it away so no one, Ian if she were honest, would ever see it again. Instead, she picked up another, earlier photo. The same handwriting graced the back. Her uncle’s hand, not her aunt’s. Odd. She assumed her father hadn’t wanted a connection, so why had Uncle Phil sent these photos? And why Uncle Phil rather than Aunt Gail, sister to Becca’s mom? Did this explain her aunt’s coldness? Doubtful. The pictures were dated well before Aunt Gail’s hugs and kisses and warmth turned into begrudging interest and tolerance and coldness.
January 10, 2026 at 4:22 PM
swilkinsonwrites.bsky.social
Lots of choices for 'table' in 'Love on the Vine'.
Becca braving her late estranged father's study.
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Cookie and mug in hand, Becca moved to the doorway of her father’s study. She rarely entered this room despite its cozy fireplace surrounded by cushy, wing-back chairs and shelves filled with all manner of books behind the large, dark wood desk. This room was the epitome of her father. Every corner, every surface filled in some missing piece as to his personality. From the hint of his cologne to the forgotten sweater hanging over a chair arm to the half-finished book on the small coffee table. After a deep breath, Becca entered the stuffy room. She settled in the chair with the sweater, closed her eyes, and imagined her father sitting in the same spot. What did he think about while sitting here? The winery, Sammy, her mom… Her. Becca’s eyes snapped open. This game was too real, and the stakes too high. If he had thought of her, the simmering regret would boil over. If he hadn’t, the hurt would refreeze her thawing heart.
January 9, 2026 at 10:21 PM