Most readers probably think romance authors glide around the kitchen in slinky outfits and stilettoes, sipping fine wine and thinking about passionate things while they cook up fabulous gourmet meals. Not at my house. I’m a lousy cook, the last in a long line of lousy cooks. I say ‘last’ because my daughter, bless her heart, has broken the cycle. She’s a fabulous cook. Probably because she uses those recipe things. How boring is that? Not too, if you want to eat without gagging, I suppose.