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Kate Freiman

Kate Freiman is a USA-Today best-selling, multi-award-winning, RITA-nominated author of romantic fiction. Her novels have been translated into five languages. Although she wrote her Master’s thesis on the detective stories of the British “Golden Age,” Kate’s firmly grounded in the Romance genre. Her writing has been described as “…deals powerful emotions with a tender hand.” A thirty-plus year survivor of ovarian cancer, Kate lives in Toronto, Canada, with her human-rights lawyer husband, cats and dogs. When Kate isn’t writing, she’s probably reading, cooking, gardening, or riding her Morgan mare in a semblance of dressage. There is at least one significant critter in every one of Kate’s stories, often based on ones she’s known.

Where did the Idea for ‘Here To Stay’ Come From

Whether you’re an avid romance reader or writer I thought you’d enjoy discovering how the idea of “Here to Stay” came to me. This is the popular billionaire trope, but this also has the subject of amnesia. Some time ago, I boarded my Morgan mare, Belle, a forty-five minute drive north of Toronto. In winter, black ice sometimes formed on the highway. If you live in balmy areas where temperatures seldom drop below freezing, you may not know about black ice. This treacherous feature of northern climes forms when moisture… 

How ‘No Limit To Love’ Came To Be

How ‘No Limit To Love’ Came To Be A funny thing happened on the way to a contemporary romance novel: Here’s the story. I had an idea for a romance with a big-name hockey player, a record-setting forward, as the male protagonist. I named him Beau Scott, called Beau Brummel in the sports press because he was gorgeous and a sharp dresser. Beau had a best friend, a defenseman, called Bruiser McKay. Bruiser was everything Beau wasn’t: he was big-boned, a gentle giant, not handsome but compelling in his own… 

Our New Year’s Eve Tradition (2025) Part 2

The day before New Year’s Eve, I dug out our French tart pan with its removable bottom and made dessert: Tarte aux Pommes from Julia’s book, with an occasional glance at La Rousse. Not my first turn with this dish, so it didn’t take forever and the scent of the apples baking was ambrosia-like. A few days before that, I cavalierly added some lemon juice and sugar to some heavy cream, and to my delight—and surprise—it turned into a passable version of crème fraiche to garnish the tart. The penultimate… 

Our New Year’s Eve Tradition (2025) Part 1

Ever since our son moved out, over twenty years ago, we’ve had a special New Year’s Eve dinner tradition: We cook a special meal together. Some years we’ve skipped cooking in, to do something outside our home, like a dinner-and-show event, but most years, we pick a theme and create a meal. We’ve done Chinese themed meals, Italian themed meals, plain-old Canadian themed meals (hearty and comforting). But until 2025, we’d never done a French themed meal, so that’s what I decided we’d do. The men wisely decided that they’d… 

More Things that Don’t Make Sense to Me… Or Are Just Plain Wrong, Part 2

On our new house front and side entrances, we have those new-fangled doorbells that have cameras. They also have “repeaters,” gizmos that make sure the ringing doorbell can be heard on every floor. We can, on our smart phones (and on my smart watch, too) see who’s at the door and even, if we aren’t fumbling too much to find the app, talk to them. The bell is audible inside the house, and also outside, playing Westminster Chimes. So, why do some people feel the need to follow up making… 

Things That Don’t Make Sense to Me… Or Are Just Plain Wrong

Call me persnickety, but there are some things I’ve seen—a lot—in books that, as the title says, don’t make sense to me, or are just plain wrong. One of the most glaring things that doesn’t make sense is where people land when they do a pratt fall, or where they drop things or where they put things: the ground. Now, if these clumsy characters are in the garden, it’s okay to fall onto the ground. But seriously, unless a character lives in what the pioneers called a “soddy,” a house…