Spotlight – Becoming Family

19 Friday Aug 2022

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Contemporary romance for fans of Jill Shalvis and Lori Foster, returning to the characters of the Dogwood County series, Book 3 follows Tabitha Steele as she plans to have her best year ever.

Becoming Family

Dogwood County series

by Elysia Whisler

ISBN: 9780778386469

Publication Date: August 16, 2022

Publisher: MIRA Books

Blurb:

On her thirtieth birthday, Tabitha realizes she hasn’t much to show for her life since she left military service. Tabitha makes a hasty vow that she will make this the best year of her life, which is a tall order considering her mish-mash of unfulfilling jobs, her stagnant social life, and the crippling PTSD she has to overcome on a near-daily basis. But she thinks she can do it with the help of her beloved service dog, Trinity.

Chris Hobbs, the playful and wild-hearted bad boy of the Semper Fit gym, is Tabitha’s complete opposite. Which is why, despite his habit of dating any woman who bats an eye at him, he’s always steered clear of Tabitha, even though they’ve formed a tight friendship. Especially because of that.

BookShop: https://bookshop.org/books/becoming-family-9780778386469/9780778386469  

Harlequin: https://www.harlequin.com/shop/books/9780778386469_becoming-family.html 

Barnes & Noble:https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/becoming-family-elysia-whisler/1140304086?ean=9780778386469 

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Becoming-Family-Novel-Dogwood-County/dp/0778386465/ref=sr_1_3?crid=10IFRJHYTD09R&keywords=becoming+family&qid=1659626577&sprefix=becoming+family%2Caps%2C55&sr=8-3 

Books-A-Million: https://www.booksamillion.com/p/Becoming-Family/Elysia-Whisler/9780778386469?id=8292090795540 

Powell’s:https://www.powells.com/book/becoming-family-9780778386469

*****

Excerpt:

ONE

Tabitha’s radar was lit before the woman even entered the store. The way she whipped into the parking space, killed the engine at a crooked angle and jangled the bell over the shop door like it was being throttled. Tabitha had just taken a bite of the Really Big Cookie—a birthday indulgence bought at the community college cafeteria—when the woman marched right up to the front counter and, without so much as hello, slapped down some pictures. “My father’s old Harley has been sitting in the barn for decades,” she declared, out of breath. “And I’m determined to get it going.”

Tabitha closed up her Journal of Invincibility—I am not afraid; I was born to do this. ~Joan of Arc—and tucked it behind the counter, like a mother protecting her young. The woman went on for a bit, while Tabitha tried to chew and swallow her treat. When she was done ranting, she stood there in silence. Eventually, she shook her head. “Don’t you know anything about motorcycles?” Big-breasted, big-hipped, big personality, big, brassy red hair, the customer rested her elbow on the counter and leaned against it, settling in.

“Not much, no.” A hunk of cookie fell from Tabitha’s lips and landed on the front of her Triple M Classics employee T-shirt. She hastily brushed it away and gestured to the shelves that lined the rear of the shop. “I just ring up the merchandise. Keep tabs on the floor when the mechanics are in the back.” She closed her eyes and rubbed her temples, but that just prompted images from school this morning, which she didn’t want in her head. Still, with her eyes closed, Tabitha sensed that this wasn’t really about the motorcycle. The woman was upset, possibly grieving. The motorcycle meant something to her and she wanted quick answers because she was searching for a way to ease her pain. Tabitha opened her eyes again, looked past the woman and settled her gaze on Trinity, the little black rescue pit bull who always made her feel better.

“Then get the mechanic. Or, better yet, get the owner. Where’s Delaney Monroe?”

“She’s on an errand.” Tabitha kept her gaze on Trinity, who lay near the stairs that led to Delaney’s apartment. She was catching some zees in the dog bed intended for Delaney’s dog, Wyatt. For about the third time that day Tabitha thought, What am I doing here? I’m not cut out for this.

“Delaney Monroe is who I came to see,” the woman pressed. “I heard she’s an expert on classic bikes. If you work in a bike shop, you should know about bikes. I don’t have time for this.” She straightened up and planted her hands on her hips.

“Delaney’s out. Maybe I can help.”

Tabitha turned to the sound of Nora’s raspy voice.

“I’m Nora. One of the mechanics.” Delaney’s mom had come out of the back room, wiping grease from her fingers with a shop rag. She had a cigarette tucked behind her ear, right where her temples were starting to gray. The rest of her hair was silky black and tied back in a ponytail. Nora was a small woman with a slight build, but the way she carried herself, she might as well have been six feet tall. She wore blue jeans and the same Triple M Classics T-shirt and she locked her fearless, almond-shaped eyes into the irritated gaze of the customer. “Whatcha got?” She nodded at the photographs.

The woman pushed them across the countertop. “This has been in my father’s barn for ages. He recently passed and I’m not sure if it’s worth fixing up.”

Nora went silent while she leafed through the pictures. “An old Harley Panhead,” she murmured. “Sweet. Do you know the year? Looks like a ’49.”

“Yes. How did you know that?”

Tabitha felt a shift in the air as the woman’s demeanor changed, her anger melting away, relief softening her shoulders and her scrunched-up mouth. Crisis averted.

“The window on a Panhead is only ’48 to ’65. The emblem on the gas tank in this shot tells me it’s a ’49.” Nora tapped the top photo with her grease-stained finger.

The woman stuck out her hand, a huge grin on her face. “Nelly Washington. Nice to meet you.”

“Nora.” Nora glanced at Nelly’s hand but didn’t touch her. “My girl owns this place.”

“I’ve heard good things.”

“Damn straight you heard good things. My girl’s the best.”

Nelly gave off a deep belly laugh and used the humor as an excuse to withdraw her unrequited handshake. “Can she fix it up? Make it run?”

Like a cowgirl walking into a saloon in an old Western, Delaney pushed open the shop door at that moment. The bell jangled as she strode inside, motorcycle boots thunking over the floor, helmet in her gloved hand. Delaney was taller than her mother by several inches, had the same slender build and dark hair, but in a pixie cut. Wyatt, the wandering white pit bull with the brown eye patch, trotted in next to her, still wearing his Doggles. Delaney slipped the eye protection off her motorcycle-riding companion. Wyatt spotted Trinity on his dog bed and raced over to play. He leaned on his front paws, butt in the air, tail wagging, then jumped backward and spun. When that didn’t work, he danced all around her, flipping his head and poking his muzzle in the air. Trinity, unmoved, looked to Tabitha for instruction.

“Break, Trinity,” Tabitha said, and the dogs were soon twining necks like ponies.

Nora waved at her daughter and shrugged at Nelly. “You’ll need to bring the bike in. See what’s up. Is it dry?”

“Been in the shed. Covered up.” Nelly’s gaze went to Delaney as she neared.

“She means did you drain the carburetor and gas tank,” Delaney clarified, settling her helmet on the counter. “Before you stored it.”

“Oh.” Nelly’s face went straight. “I don’t know, actually. My father is the one who stored it. Once his arthritis got too bad for him to ride.”

“That’ll make a difference,” Delaney continued, like she’d been in on the conversation from the beginning. “That, and how straight the bike was when it was put up.” She glanced at the photos. “A ’49 Panhead. Cool. Bring it in. We’ll take a look.”

“I will definitely do that. Thank you. My father recently passed away. He used to take me on rides on that bike when I was a little girl.” Nelly’s voice grew faraway, wistful. “We’d go to the general store and he’d buy me a grape soda. I loved feeling the wind in my hair.” Nelly waved a hand. “This was before helmet laws. Anyway.” The reminiscent look in Nelly’s eyes slid away and she sniffed deeply. “Are you Delaney?”

“Yes, ma’am. Don’t worry. I’ve never met a Panhead I can’t get going.”

Tabitha stuffed the rest of the cookie in her mouth and tried to sneak away, her lack of motorcycle knowledge no longer an issue. Her shift was over, she was exhausted and she was ready to go home.

“Get back here, Steele.” Delaney grasped the hem of Tabitha’s shirt and pulled her back gently. “You need to take down this lady’s information. The more you listen, the more you’ll learn. Pretty soon you’ll know a Harley Panhead on sight.” Delaney nodded at Tabitha. “She’s still learning.”

“She seems like a nice young lady.” Nelly was all smiles now, like their earlier interaction had never happened.

After Tabitha filled out a capture sheet with Nelly Washington’s information, and the woman had left the shop in an entirely different mood than the one she’d barged in with, Delaney turned to her and said, “What’s going on, Steele? You look ready to lie on the floor and call your dog for Smoosh Time.”

Smoosh Time was Delaney’s slang for the deep pressure therapy Trinity was trained to provide if Tabitha was having a panic attack. It was affectionate rather than sarcastic. Unused to affection, Tabitha liked it and had taken to calling the therapy Smoosh Time herself. Smoosh Time actually sounded really good about now. But Trinity was still on break, chasing Wyatt around the perimeter of the shop. “It’s been a long day.”

“Massage school getting you down?”

“Old Nelly was kinda rough on her,” Nora offered. She slipped the cigarette from behind her ear and stuck it between her lips.

“That’s why she’s learning as much as she can.” Delaney tapped the capture sheet. “That’s all you can do, Steele. I don’t expect you to become a mechanic, unless you want to, but you soak in everything you can while you’re here.” She glanced at her mother. “Don’t you dare light that in here, Nora.”

Nora pulled it from her lips and rolled her eyes. “I’m not. It’s just a prop, okay?”

“How many days has it been?” After some hemming and hawing Delaney clarified, “For real.”

“Half a day,” Nora admitted. “I’d gone two days and then I caved this morning. It’s so hard not to smoke after I eat. Maybe I need to stop eating.”

Delaney shook her head. “You gotta be tough, Nora. Like Tabitha here.”

“I’m not tough.” Tabitha had been enjoying watching the mother-daughter pair interact, despite how rough her day had been so far. They made her wonder what her relationship with her birth mother would’ve been like, if she’d known her. Tabitha’s relationship with Auntie El—the woman who’d raised her and the only mother Tabitha had ever known—was as old-fashioned as it got. Yes, ma’am, No, ma’am, please and thank you, respect your elders and all boundaries clearly drawn and rarely crossed. There was none of this role reversal or sarcastic banter. Life certainly hadn’t been easy, and Tabitha had been handed absolutely nothing. If that didn’t make her tough, nothing would. “Tough is just not my nature.”

Sensitive was Tabitha’s nature, for good or bad. The armor she lacked had never been very useful, not until she joined the navy and her main job in Afghanistan was to protect her chaplain from harm. She’d been pretty good at smelling trouble, hearing things nobody else heard, seeing things nobody else saw. Some had even jokingly called her Radar, after the character from M*A*S*H. It made her good at her job, despite the fact that she hadn’t been able to prevent the IED that had got her chaplain hurt, and despite the fact that the skill was kind of useless, and often counterintuitive, in everyday life.

“You’re tough-ish, Tabitha,” Nora agreed. “Which means you got potential. Just gotta stand up for yourself with lippy women like Nelly.”

“Spill it, Steele.” Delaney shot her mother a silencing look. “What’s going on?”

“You were right, Sarge,” Tabitha admitted. She hadn’t planned on discussing her day, but there was just something about Delaney, the woman she’d met at Camp Leatherneck years ago. The woman who’d helped her keep her head straight during that awful day when an IED had taken out her convoy. “It’s massage school.”

“What about it?”

“It’s the student exchanges.” Tabitha drew a deep breath. “We have to swap with our classmates once a week to practice the strokes we learn in class. At first, I was doing really well. Everyone loved my massages and said that I just had that magic touch. But then…well… I’m doing something wrong. I’m not…massaging right.” Tabitha bit down on her lower lip.

“How can you not massage right?” Nora spoke around the unlit cigarette dangling from her lips. “Aren’t you just squirting lotion on each other? How hard can that be?”

“No. We’re not just squirting lotion. It’s a lot more than that.” Tabitha was used to Nora’s directness at this point, and did her best to not let Delaney’s mother get under her skin. “You have to learn all the bones and muscles and physiology. Plus all the strokes. There’s a lot of science. You have to learn about how the body moves and how everything works together. And then you have to massage in such a way that you’re helping people. And right now, I’m not helping anyone.” Just like she hadn’t been able to help Nelly Washington with her Panhead. Tabitha wasn’t helping anyone, anywhere.

She was an impostor in every aspect of her own life.

Nora pulled a Zippo from her pocket and flipped it open. “How do you know?” She ran her thumb over the wheel, making a clicking sound with the lighting mechanism without actually bringing the flame to life.

“I’m…” Tabitha sighed and faced the blank expressions of the women. “I’m giving the men erections.”

A round of silence passed.

“I’ve done it three times now, to three different men. So it’s not like a one-off. I’m doing something wrong.”

“Man,” Delaney said, shaking her head. “It’s always the quiet ones.”

Wyatt gave off a loud woof and everyone burst into laughter.

“Well.” Nora stuck the cigarette behind her ear and jammed the lighter in the front pocket of her jeans. “Au contraire, but I bet those men think you’re doing something right.”

“We’re definitely not supposed to get erections,” Tabitha insisted. All three men had reacted differently. Todd—young, indifferent, thought massage therapy would be an easy career field—had pretended it didn’t happen. Frank—in his forties, quiet, deliberate—had been embarrassed and would no longer make eye contact with Tabitha in class. Corbin—a loud twentysomething who called everyone dude—had eyed his own erection with detached interest and announced, “You’re doing something wrong, dude.”

Delaney shook her head. “Men are just like that. The wind blows and their dicks get hard. I wouldn’t be so down on yourself.”

“I already struggle with the science. Like right now we’re learning all the bones, with all their divots and ridges and stuff. It’s excruciating and not coming easily to me,” Tabitha said. “And now I’m screwing up the massages. I’m starting to think I’m just not cut out for it.” Just like I’m not cut out for this bike shop, she didn’t add. She already knew Delaney had given her the job out of pity. No need to shine a spotlight.

“Sounds like the bones are coming easily to you,” Nora muttered as she collected today’s paperwork from the counter and started to file it away. “You’ll be the most requested massage girl in the county. I don’t see what the big problem is.”

Delaney stifled a laugh. “Don’t listen to her. Ask Red about it later. We have the Halloween party, remember?”

The party. Tabitha died a little inside. “Right. The party. Tonight.” But Delaney was right. Tonight she could ask Constance, “Red” for short, the famous massager of humans and dogs alike, about the erections. See what advice she had to give. She’d been the one to talk Tabitha into massage school in the first place, claiming Tabitha had a gift for connecting with people. She was connecting, all right. Just not in the way she meant to.

Delaney grinned and slapped her on the shoulder. “Go home and get some Smoosh Time with your dog, Steele. Rest up. We’ll figure out the boners later.”

Excerpted from Becoming Family by Elysia Whisler.
Copyright © 2022 by Elysia Whisler.
Published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

*****

Author Info:

Elysia Whisler is the author of RESCUE YOU and other coming titles in the Dogwood County series. She was raised in Texas, Italy, Alaska, Mississippi, Nebraska, Hawai’i and Virginia, in true military fashion. Her nomadic life made storytelling a compulsion from a young age. Her work as a massage therapist and a CrossFit trainer informs her stories. She lives in Virginia with her family, including her large brood of cat and dog rescues, who vastly outnumber the humans.

Author Website: https://www.elysiawhisler.com/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/ElysiaWhisler/

Twitter: https://twitter.com/ElysiaWhisler

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/elysiawhisler/ 

Goodreads: https://tinyurl.com/rpukw53

*****

Spotlight – Saving Gavin

17 Wednesday Aug 2022

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Saving Gavin

Oakside Military Heroes series

by Kaci Rose

Genre: Contemporary Military Romance

Blurb:

I let her go before I enlisted. I left my heart with her.

Now I’m home for good – my world has changed, my sight gone.

Not only do I have to be with her every day as I learn to navigate the world around me, but I have to come face to face with my regrets.

She deserves more than me.

I need her.

I want her.

Will she want me again — the damaged version of the man who broke her heart?

This is a steamy military romance and the first book in my Oakside Military Heroes series. Each book can be read as a standalone but as always better together. Follow these strong possessive heroes as they find their forever girls.

Amazon * Apple * B&N * Google * Kobo * Books2Read * Goodreads

*****

Author Info:

Kaci runs on coffee, chocolate, and Oreos. She loves her book boyfriends with tattoos, muscles, beards, and a little dirty.

Kaci loves romance books and has been jotting down ideas since she was in high school and is now putting the ideas down on paper. She believes in satisfying, happily ever afters with a lot of steam on the way. 

She was born and raised in Southwest Florida but is wholeheartedly a mountain girl. She has been reading as many books as she could get her hands on since grade school and loves to travel when she gets the chance. 

Website * Facebook * Twitter * Instagram * Bookbub * Amazon * Goodreads * TikTok

*****

Giveaway:

$20 Amazon 

Follow the tour HERE for special content and a giveaway!

Spotlight – The Hidden Love

15 Monday Aug 2022

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In the HIDDEN LOVE by RJ Gray, Shannon Callaway’s life became the ultimate challenge the instant her best friend passed away, leaving her to raise a child that wasn’t hers. For Kade Harding it all boils down to deciding if his future is a civilian life he wasn’t expecting, or returning to his unit and leaving his new family behind. Fans of military romances will enjoy this sexy, must-read second chance romance from the Meet Cute Book Club Series.

The Hidden Love

Meet Cute Book Club Series

by RJ Gray

Blurb:

“Oh, God! Did I just fall right into my dead best friend’s ex-boyfriend, secret baby daddy, incredibly sexy, Navy SEAL’s arms?” – Sounds like a line right out of one of my book club’s romance novels. 

Except it’s not. It’s real life. My real life.

Grieving the loss of my best friend, and suddenly taking on raising her son, I’m faced with a whole new set of challenges. That includes breaking the news to my brother’s best friend, Kade, that Danny is his son. 

As if that’s not enough for one woman to handle. Kade is even hotter than I remember, and navigating all the details of Annabelle’s death and Danny’s future brings us closer than ever, in more ways than one. 

And my girls in from book club? They’re all for me finding my happily ever after with the sexy as sin man in uniform. 

But Kade has even more on the line without worrying about a relationship. Will he choose a family and life outside of the military, or will he return to his unit and leave it all behind?

Add to Goodreads!

Read Now! 

*****

Excerpt:

“Turns out, I wasn’t ready for the meeting after all,” she said in a whisper.

“With the lawyer? Wasn’t it supposed to be a pretty routine meeting?” Mila asked.

“If only. I don’t even know how to process everything…”

“Why don’t you start at the beginning and I’ll try to help?” Mila suggested.

“Well, you know I’m Danny’s godmother. When Annabelle and Doug asked me to be his godmother, they also asked if I would take custody of Danny if anything happened to them, and I readily agreed. Annabelle, as you know, has no blood family to speak of. My family was the closest thing she had to kin. Doug…” Shannon paused, it wasn’t nice to speak ill of the dead, but did that carry over to his family? She’d tread lightly. “He shrouded his family in a veil of mystery from day one. Even after a decade, I didn’t know them very well. His parents live out of state and they don’t visit too often.”

“He definitely kept to himself,” Mila agreed.

“Taking all the necessary legal precautions, they decided I would be Danny’s guardian if anything happened to them. Of course, the possibility of something happening to both of them at the same time was slim and none of us thought it would ever come down to that… Yet, here we are.” 

“Yes, here we are. They couldn’t have chosen a better guardian. You’ve been like a second mom to Danny since the day he was born,” Mila said gently.

“More like the cool aunt,” Shannon countered with a laugh.

“I guess I don’t understand the confusion here? Isn’t this what the lawyer confirmed?” Mila asked. 

“Not exactly. Besides the exorbitant amount of money left behind for Danny’s care, which my mind is having a hard time wrapping around… Where did this money come from?” Shannon asked.

“Life insurance?” Mila suggested.

“No. I mean, they both had life insurance policies, but we haven’t even applied for those yet. This is a fund they’d set up for Danny in case something happened. It’s… bizarre. It’s almost like they knew they were going to die.” Shannon’s skin pricked.

“You can’t predict being hit by a drunk driver, though,” Mila said.

“I know. There’s little about their deaths that makes sense. I’m sure my lack of sleep isn’t helping. Anyway, believe it or not, there’s more. So much more. What I am about to tell you is an absolute secret and you can’t tell anyone. Promise?”

“Not even the girls in our book club?” Mila asked.

“Not even them, not yet. I’ll tell them at the next meeting. Hopefully, by then, I’ll have had time to process all of this.”

“Whatever it is you’re about to tell me must be important. I promise,” Mila said.

“Do you remember Kade Harding from high school?”

“Of course. He’s like some super high-speed Army Ranger or something now, right?” 

“Navy SEAL.”

“Wow. Impressive. I remember him being an immature little brat in middle school. Snapping the girls’ bras and pushing his weight around,” Mila said. Back then, Mila ran with a different crowd than Shannon and Annabelle. 

“Yeah, he definitely grew up. He’s no longer twelve.” She chuckled, remembering him as a child. He pulled her pigtails a time or two. “Anyway, do you remember how he and Annabelle were high school sweethearts?” Shannon asked.

“Yeah. We all thought they’d get married and have a couple of kids running around and show up at our twentieth reunion looking exactly as they did in high school with their perfect genes. But they broke up right after he left town for the military, right?” Mila answered. 

“Something like that.” After Kade finished the grueling process of becoming a Navy SEAL, he deployed for the first time. He lost one of his close friends during that deployment. Kade came back a different person. In one year’s time, he matured more than most of the men she knew did in ten years.

Deciding he couldn’t put Annabelle through the heartbreak of losing him to death, Kade broke up with her. Shannon held Annabelle as she cried, reading the letter he’d sent her. She’d thought he’d been a coward, ending things with her best friend via a letter. It wasn’t until he called to talk with Blaze and unloaded the details on her that she understood his reasoning, even if she didn’t agree with it. She still told him it was a punk thing to do, sending a letter instead of delivering the news in person, or at the very least, over the phone. 

The irony. 

Shannon acted just as cowardly, sending him an email requesting he return home instead of calling him. 

“What’s Kade have to do with your meeting with the lawyer?”

“Ten years ago, he came home on leave to bury his grandfather. Doug and Annabelle got into a huge fight. They weren’t married yet. In fact, they were on a short relationship break. It’s not like she cheated on him or anything when she and Kade had sex–”

“Wait. What?” Mila asked, shocked. “Ten years ago?”

“Yeah, ten years ago. Kade is Danny’s biological father.”

Copyright 2022 @ RJ Gray

*****

Author Info:

RJ Gray is a USA TODAY, Amazon & International Bestselling author of Explosively Hot Romance. Writing military romance comes second nature to RJ. After serving in the military herself, she married her very own hero, an active duty Army EOD technician. In the last seventeen years, they’ve lived in Illinois, DC, Missouri, Alabama, Florida, Washington State, Colorado, Virginia and Hawaii. Recently, RJ moved to the great state of South Carolina with her husband, two young sons, their rescue pup, and two adopted kittens. RJ lives an active life. When not writing, her hobbies include whipping up delicious meals, capturing life’s beauty with her camera and attending her children’s multiple sporting events. Find out more about RJ by following her on social media or dropping her an email. 

Facebook | Pinterest | Instagram | Goodreads | BookBub | Twitter | Amazon | Website | Newsletter

*****

About The Meet Cute Book Club Series

Escape with the Meet Cute Book Club where meet-cutes don’t only happen between the pages of romance novels and members find their own happily ever afters. 

Eight single women bound by their love of books take a monthly break from real life to lose themselves in the chapters of romantic fiction. From friends to lovers to fake relationships and more, each story features a brand new couple and their journey to find love from an amazing lineup of authors including Louise Lennox, Tracy Broemmer, A.M. Williams, Mel Walker, RJ Gray, Rebecca Wilder, Julie Archer, and Kate Stacy. 

These eight standalone romances are packed with meet-cutes, heat, and of course a happily ever after!

This promotional event is brought to you by The Indie Pen PR

Review – Matchmaking a Single Dad

12 Friday Aug 2022

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She drives him crazy and he’s falling crazy in love.

Matchmaking a Single Dad, a hilarious, hot single dad romantic comedy from New York Times bestselling author Denise Grover Swank and USA Today bestselling author Angela Casella writing as Angela Denise, is out now!

Matchmaking a Single Dad

Highland Hills #2

by Angela Denise

Blurb:

They’re all wrong for each other…but sometimes two wrongs do make a right.

Cole

The only woman I need in my life is my eight-year-old daughter, Jane. As a widowed brewery owner, I don’t have the time or inclination for anything more serious than a one night stand. Running the brewery is a big job, and being a parent is a bigger one, especially since my in-laws keep trying to prove I’m an unfit guardian.

But there’s no denying Holly Mayberry drives me crazy with her sassy mouth and attitude. I’ve known her most of my life, but I’ve always done a good job of evading her. Until now. She’s teaching Jane’s after-school computer program, and fate keeps throwing us together. 

Holly and I are like oil and water, no good for each other. I need to stop thinking about her, so I agree to beta test a new dating app—one that Holly designed, although she’s the last person I’d tell.

My match and I can only DM each other for thirty days. No photos. No real names. No personal information until the end. 

If I wanted more with a woman, Cherry Bomb checks all the boxes…so why can’t I stop thinking about Holly?

Holly

Cole Garrison is a jerk. Or so I’ve told myself for years. The truth is, he’s a DILF and a half, and bickering with him is better than kissing someone else.

Hopefully, the guy I’m chatting up on my dating app will help me forget him…and take his place in my dirty daydreams.

Download your copy today on Amazon or Free in Kindle Unlimited!

Amazon: https://amzn.to/3b1ECIW
Amazon Worldwide: https://mybook.to/MMsingledad
Add to Goodreads: https://bit.ly/3b5aMDw

*****

Excerpt:

The door opens, and the teacher sponsoring Tech Time, Mrs. Applebaum, comes in, followed by a boy and three little girls. Four. That’s not so bad. That’s two each for Mikey and me. I give him a we can do this look, but his expression has soured like milk left out too long. Mrs. Applebaum takes care of getting the kids into the room, which is its own brand of chaos, and then she claps her hands, her expression changing from frazzled to upbeat, and says, “There. Now I’ll leave them in your capable hands.”

“Wait,” Mikey says with alarm, rocking on his feet, “you’re not staying?”

“Oh, I’m sure you’re quite capable of holding down the fort. I’ll check in with you toward the end.”

“Are you sure—” I start, but I’m cut off by the closing of the door.

“Hi, I’m Eloise,” one of the kids says. She’s a little girl in a button-up shirt with pearl buttons that go up so high I’m surprised it’s not choking her.

Oh, yeah. Introductions. “I’m Holly,” I say, gesturing broadly to Mikey, “and this is Mikey. Why don’t you all pick computer stations?”

“Aren’t we supposed to call you Miss Holly and Mr. Mikey? Or by your last names?” Eloise asks as the kids get seated.

They’ve barely had time to introduce themselves before the door bursts open, revealing a newly harried looking Mrs. Applebaum, followed by none other than Cole Garrison himself and his small, dark-haired daughter, Jane.

“No,” I say reflexively.

“No, what?” Jane asks. “Hey, Dad, that’s the woman you always argue with.”

It’s my turn for murder eyes, only I make them at Cole. Cole, who only got better with age, damn him. His wavy dark hair has been joined by a short, trimmed dark beard that perfectly frames his lips, as if saying, “please kiss here.” Those eyes are as puppy doggish as ever, and now he’s both tall and broad, the kind of man any woman would welcome in her bed. To her detriment. Because he’s still a jerk.

I’ve had a somewhat recent refresher course on his jerkitude, actually. Before I left for New York, I made the monumental mistake of trying to be nice to him, and it’s a tactic I’m not about to reprise.

“Will you be joining us, Jane?” I ask, my tone tight.

Cole mustn’t know the no-swearing-in-a-school rule either, because he curses under his breath. “I didn’t know you were teaching this class,” he says to me. “Maybe this was a bad idea.”

“Excuse me,” I say. “I’m very qualified to teach a bunch of eight-year-olds Scratch.”

“What’s Scratch?” Jane asks. “Is it gambling?”

“No,” Mrs. Applebaum blurts, looking horrified. “I mean. It’s not, is it?”

“It’s basic coding,” I say, glancing back at the other kids. “I’m going to teach y’all to make your own games. Doesn’t that sound fun?”

Please God, let them say yes.

There are a few enthusiastic nods, although Eloise instantly raises her hand again. Sighing, I nod at her. “Yes, Eloise?”

“Will there be a test?”

“No,” I say, “but we’ll be giving a presentation to the rest of the school before Christmas break.”

“Sounds like a test,” Jane mutters.

There’s probably no getting rid of her, and it’s not her fault that I have an issue with her father, so I say, “Why don’t you take a seat?”

She does, choosing the open seat near Mikey.

Cole scratches the back of his neck, looking at her. I guess Mrs. Applebaum is satisfied to have done her part, because she nods and says, “All right. That’s settled then. I’m going to my classroom. I’ll be back at the end of class.”

Does she have a flask in there or something? She seems suspiciously eager to get back to her desk.

“Can I talk to you for a second?” Cole asks. It takes me a second to realize he’s addressing me.

I gesture toward the children. Mikey is regarding them with escalating terror, probably because if I step out, he’ll be left in charge. “Not a great time, to state the obvious.” “Why are you doing that?” Jane asks Mikey, who’s tapping the side of her monitor agitatedly. “Do you have a nervous tic, or is there something wrong with the screen? If there’s something wrong with the screen, you probably shouldn’t have let me sit here.”

He mutters something about this being just like middle school.

“It’ll only take a second,” Cole says, his eyes burning into me. Despite myself, I feel a not unpleasant sense of awareness.

“Fine,” I say begrudgingly. “Mikey, get them to turn on their computers and draw up the program.” It’ll be easier for him to step up if there’s a concrete task to focus on.

I step out into the hall, and Cole takes several steps back, as if he feels the need to constantly keep a minimum distance between us. Fine by me. “What is it?” I ask tersely, shutting the door.

For a second, he just looks at me, and I’m about to lose patience when he finally says, “I know you don’t like me, Holly. But don’t take it out on my daughter.”

He might as well have punched me in the gut.

“Is that what you think of me? You think I’d be a creep to a little girl because she has the misfortune of being related to you? If anything, I’ll be nicer to her to make up for it.”

His expression suggests my shot has landed too, and I’m glad, but only temporarily.

The corner of his lips tip up in a self-deprecating smile that lacks any mirth. “You’re hardly the only person to think it’s her misfortune. I had to say it.”

“Did you?” I ask, tilting my head.

He takes a slight step toward me, as if preparing to tell me off, then says, “Goodbye, Holly.”

In my mind, I think of another day, of a young boy, still on his way toward becoming a man, saying, “I’ll be seeing you, Holly Mayberry.”

How the hell has it come to this?

I watch him go, partly because I want to make sure he really leaves and partly because he does, damn him, have a fine butt. No harm in looking, ladies.

*****

Review:

I highly recommend anything written under the Angela Denise name. The characters are always interesting, things are never boring, and there’s a good mixture of humor and heat. Matchmaking the Single Dad holds true. The daughter is adorable, the heroine is sassy, and the hero is hunky – all combining to make a fun, and funny, read.

Holly and Cole have been picking at each other for years. Of course, we know it’s because they are perfect for each other but misunderstandings and missteps over the years have led them to this point. A place where spending time together because of Cole’s daughter means that they are going to have to address their feelings for each other. It’s definitely not smooth sailing – both of them are stubborn to say the least – but with the help of friends and family maybe they can finally find that HEA they’ve been waiting for.

Witty banter, tender moments, a spunky 7 year old, and a good amount steam kept me turning the pages and coming back for more. I can’t wait to see what comes next for the Mayberry siblings 🙂

(Part of a series but pretty easily stands on its own.)

*****

Author Info:

About New York Times bestselling author Denise Grover Swank and USA Today bestselling author Angela Casella writing as Angela Denise

ANGELA DENISE is the pen name for the writing duo Angela Casella and Denise Grover Swank.

ANGELA CASELLA loves writing romcoms, particularly with the lovely Denise Grover Swank. She lives in Asheville, NC with her husband, daughter, and two geriatric dogs. Her hobbies include herding her daughter toward less dangerous activities, stress baking, and marathon watching TV shows.

DENISE GROVER SWANK is a New York Times, Wall Street Journal, and USA Today bestselling author and has sold over three million books. She indie published her first book, a romance mystery, Twenty-Eight and a Half Wishes, in 2011. She has since published over fifty novels, multiple novellas and short stories as an indie and with five publishers. She is published in seven languages. She is a single mother to six children and four dogs and hasn’t lost her sanity. Or so she leads you to believe.

Connect with Angela Denise
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Website: www.angelacasella.com

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Stay up to date with Denise, join her newsletter: https://bit.ly/3gLPtnu 
Website: https://bit.ly/3hRjcNl

*****

Spotlight – Mr. Perfect on Paper

08 Monday Aug 2022

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From the author of the buzzy THE MATZAH BALL, a pitch-perfect romcom about a matchmaker who finds her own search for love thrust into the spotlight after her bubbe outs her list for “The Perfect Jewish Husband” on live television.

Mr. Perfect on Paper

by Jean Meltzer

ISBN: 9780778386162

Publication Date: August 9, 2022

Publisher: MIRA Books

Blurb:

Dara Rabinowitz knows a lot about love. As a third-generation schadchan, or matchmaker, she’s funneled her grandmother’s wisdom into the world’s most successful Jewish dating app, J-Mate. Yet, despite being the catalyst for countless Jewish marriages, Dara has never been successful at finding love. Oh, she’s got plenty of excuses—like running a three-hundred person technology company and visiting her beloved bubbe every day. But the real reason Dara hasn’t been on a date in three years is much simpler. Though she desperately wants to meet her bashert, and stand beneath the huppah, she is frozen by social anxiety.

All that single dad Chris Steadfast wants to do is give his daughter stability. But with the ratings for the TV news show he anchors in the gutter, and the network threatening cancellation, Chris’s career – like his life with Lacey in Manhattan — is on the chopping block.

When her bubbe outs Dara’s list for “The Perfect Jewish Husband” when they’re guests on Chris’s live show, Chris sees an opportunity to both find Dara her perfect match, and boost the ratings of his show. But finding Mr. Perfect on Paper may mean giving up on the charming—and totally not Jewish—reporter following Dara’s nationwide hunt…

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*****

Excerpt:

1

“Now,” Dara said, glancing down at her watch. “If you don’t mind, we’re on a tight schedule here. I need to get out of here before the coming of Moshiach.”

With that, the entire room jumped into action. Dara took a seat at her vanity. Bobbi laid out the makeup palettes, flipping on two nearby lights to mimic the high-intensity light-ing of a studio. Simi took the clip out of her hair, allowing Dara’s thick black corkscrews to fall free around her shoulders.

Naveah moved to the center of the room, by the built-in island that housed an impressive array of shoes, and began unzipping the plastic packaging. Hanging the outfits up on a mobile rack, she worked hard to carefully display each item.

“Okay, we have three looks for you to choose from this morning.”

Dara analyzed her choices. There was an elegant pleated skirt and tight cashmere sweater. It was Jewy, which went with her brand, but possibly too Jewish for a nationally syndicated televised event that needed to appeal to a broad audience. She glanced over to her next choice, a pair of smart silk pants and a floral blouse. Finally, there was the casual tech look. A pair of tight blue jeans, Converse sneakers and a Patagonia vest.

“Number two,” Dara said.

“Fabulous,” Naveah swooned, hanging it up on the room divider screen.

Dara stepped behind the screen, tossed off her robe and changed into the outfit. After a few moments, she returned to the center of the room, taking her usual place in front of the full-length mirror to analyze the final look.

The black silk pants, cinched at the ankles, gave her more curves than usual. The dramatic blouse, made from the most luxurious of fabrics, was imprinted with stunning large white orchids. It achieved the right type of look for her interview. Professional yet feminine. Assertive without feeling aggressive. It was all the things she needed to accomplish as a powerful female executive—often held to a different standard than her male counterparts.

“What do you think?” Naveah asked, looking over her shoulder.

“It’s perfect.”

Everyone applauded. Dara sat back down at the vanity. Simi ran her fingers through her curls, while the rest of her staff gathered round, peering down at her with tablets and makeup brushes in hand.

“And what’s the look we’re going for today?” Cameron asked.

“Professional,” Dara instructed.

“Got it,” Cameron said, moving to pick out a pair of maroon heels. “A pop of color to go with all that black and white!”

“And the hair?” Simi asked.

“Just put it up.” She smiled. “A stylish bun, nothing too sexy.”

Bobbi and Simi began working on her hair and makeup. 

Meanwhile, Naveah pulled up a chair and turned on her tablet. “Now, I know you’re taking this afternoon off to be with your grandmother, so what do you need me to work on in your absence?”

“I sent you a list this morning.”

Naveah tapped on her screen. Moments later, she had the to-do list that Dara had sent her at four o’clock in the morning. “‘Grocery,’” Naveah said, reading the items aloud, “‘laundry, check with caterers for Yom Kippur breakfast, confirm travel for all executives attending October J-Mate sales conference, confirm all of Miriam’s oncology and radiation therapy appointments for September…’”

Dara was always making lists. Always trying to figure out how to turn her chaotic and extremely busy life into some-thing manageable and organized. In truth, her to-do lists, like her obsessive planning, helped her control her anxiety.

She was certain that her nonstop list-making drove every-one she worked with—including Naveah—straight-up meshugana. Janet had even once jokingly referred to Dara as the Good List Dybukk, a dislocated soul who appeared without warning and sprinkled to-dos on every person who crossed her path. Fortunately, as Dara paid her staff extremely well for their efforts, they kept the majority of their criticisms to themselves.

Dara heard the familiar refrain of an incoming Skype call. “Got it!” Naveah said, snapping at Cameron to grab Dara’s phone. “It’s Janet.”

Dara waved Simi away from her face. She asked everyone to give her a minute, and her entourage left the room. Dara waited for the door to shut firmly behind them before continuing.

“Good morning!” Janet beamed from her home office in Colorado.

“What time is it there?” Dara asked.

“Early.” Janet laughed. “You got the whole crew with you today, huh?”

“You know it,” Dara said, glancing at her half-done makeup in the mirror.

Just as Dara’s generalized anxiety disorder was well-known among those she worked with, so, too, was the fact that she genuinely despised all types of public appearances. Alas, that didn’t stop her from doing them. She had learned early on that selling herself on television, in interviews and on Instagram was a necessary evil. Everybody wanted a face, a real person to support, behind the brand. Over the years, Dara had de-vised all sorts of systems for handling her anxiety regarding these appearances.

“And how are you feeling this morning?” Janet asked, get-ting right to the point.

“Oh, you know me,” Dara said. “I’m only nervous for the three days before and the six days after…so in terms of the actual interview, I imagine it will go just fine.”

Janet laughed. “You’re going to do great, Dara.”

In truth, she always did great. She was a perfectionist, after all. She always had a plan and always said all the right things. She smiled in all the right places. She was never caught off guard, and therefore, never floundered. Though the glam squad and to-do lists may have seemed overkill to some, her obsessive-compulsive tendencies worked. Her business was thriving. Her reputation in tech, and the Jewish world, was flourishing, too.

“Like we already discussed,” Janet continued, “there shouldn’t be any surprises, okay? Everything has been worked out between our publicity people and their producers. You want to run through the script one more time?”

“No,” Dara said, firmly. “I got this.”

Janet nodded. “Then I hope you have a blast with your bubbe today.”

The camera shut off. Dara put her phone away, catching sight of her reflection in the mirror. Her hair had been ar-ranged into a sophisticated bun. Her angular features had been softened with light contouring. On the surface, she was the picture of poise and finesse. And yet, her hands were shaking.

She cracked her knuckles, took a sip of tea. She knew it was ridiculous, being this nervous about going on Good News New York, a show that nobody even watched…but she couldn’t help herself.

Dara watched it.

Religiously.

It was a habit of hers to keep the television running in the background while she worked. She liked the noise, the hum of familiar voices. It helped her anxiety. She especially liked the deliciously handsome head anchor of Good News, Christopher Steadfast, and the easygoing way he ended every episode with the words, “I’ll be waiting for you.”

Unfortunately, it had a weird time slot. Midafternoon, during the week, squeezed between the morning talk shows and the soap operas. Plus, it was an oddity in the world of live broadcasting in that it only focused on positive stories. Good news and human interest tales, like the two kids who donated proceeds of a lemonade stand to a homeless shelter, and Bucky, the vegan golden retriever.

Dara adored the segments on Bucky. She watched all of them, often on repeat, staying up late into the night, scrolling through all his reposted videos on the Good News New York Facebook fan page. In fact, the only reason she had even suggested going on Good News New York to begin with was for a chance at meeting the King of Aww himself. Though she was far too mired in her own busy schedule (and anxiety) to ever own a pet herself, she had adopted the quirky golden retriever in her heart.

As for Christopher Steadfast, it could never happen. And the reason it could never happen was right there in his name. Christopher Steadfast was not Jewish. As such, and thanks to a very clear rabbinic prohibition against interfaith marriage, she regarded the man the same way she would some beautiful non-Jewish Fabergé egg you passed by in a museum. Some-thing to gaze upon and admire…but never, ever touch.

She couldn’t believe she would be meeting him today. The dog, obviously.

Not the man.

She had no interest at all in some sexy Southern heartthrob with a voice that could melt schmaltz and the pectoral muscles of a Norse god.

Dara shook the thought away. Then, as her own ema, or mother, had taught her, she focused all her energy on dealing with practicalities.

She had Simi and Bobbi come back to the room, finish her hair and makeup. She did one final run-through of her sched-ule with Naveah. She had Cameron and Alexa double-check her bags at the front door, packing up her phone and tablet. Eventually, with well wishes and air kisses, Naveah and the entourage departed for the day. Normally, she would have someone from her staff accompany her to her events. But today, she wanted to focus on spending time with her grandmother.

Dara found herself alone in her apartment once more. She glanced down at her watch. She still had fifteen minutes left before she needed to head out to her bubbe’s. Fifteen minutes. It was a long time to sit around staring at the concrete walls of her apartment. Quiet was dangerous for Dara. It left her open to obsessing.

She moved to fill the space. She brushed her teeth again. Double-checked the bedroom, making sure the bed was made and everything was neat and tidy. She turned off her computer monitors and all the lights. She unplugged her coffee maker and double-checked the third bedroom for any hair straighteners or curling irons left plugged in. She made sure all the knobs on the oven were turned off, and that the patchouli candle was blown out. She pulled out her phone and snapped a photograph of both. Just in case her brain started obsessively worrying that she had left something on by mistake, and she was single-handedly responsible for burning down all of Hoboken.

Dara landed at the front door. Her eyes wandered down to her red high heels. She hated wearing heels in the city. Not for any practical reason, or because they gave her blisters. But because in case of emergency, the zombie apocalypse or an-other mass casualty event, she was worried about having to traverse sixty city blocks—or, God forbid, a bridge—to get back home.

She debated her options. She could pack her heels and wear sneakers for the commute, but that would require yet another bag for the simple day trip into Manhattan.

She hated that it had to be that way. That she couldn’t just be judged on who she was and what she created. Sadly, Dara was a realist. A huge part of her success in life had been understanding how the world works, and the way people inter-act with each other. Whether she agreed with it or not, first impressions were important. Like a shidduch sheet, or a profile on J-Mate, everybody went to the photo first.

Otherwise, she looked perfect. The house looked perfect, too. Perfection was the layer of armor she wore to protect her-self from the swings and swipes of an uncertain world.

She reminded herself of the positive. She was going to be spending the day with her beloved bubbe. They would be making important memories together. Necessary memories. Any anxiety she felt—any sense that something terrible was about to happen—was simply the neurons in her brain misfiring. Her feelings could not be trusted.

Forcing her shoulders back, and her chest upward, she projected confidence. And then, slinging her messenger bag over one arm, she grabbed that box of black-and-white cookies from the kitchen counter and headed out.


Excerpted from Mr. Perfect on Paper by Jean Meltzer,
Copyright © 2022 by Jean Meltzer.
Published by MIRA Books

*****

Author Info:

Author Jean Meltzer studied dramatic writing at NYU Tisch, and served as creative director at Tapestry International, garnering numerous awards for her work in television, including a daytime Emmy. Like her protagonist, Jean is also a chronically-ill and disabled Jewish woman. She is an outspoken advocate for ME/CFS (Chronic Fatigue Syndrome), has attended visibility actions in Washington DC, meeting with members of Senate and Congress to raise funds for ME/CFS. She inspires 9,000 followers on WW Connect to live their best life, come out of the chronic illness closet, and embrace the hashtag #chronicallyfabulous. Also, while she was raised in what would be considered a secular home, she grew up kosher and attended Hebrew School. She spent five years in Rabbinical School. She is the author of The Matzah Ball and Mr. Perfect on Paper.

Author Website

Facebook: @JeanMeltzerAuthor

Instagram: @JeanMeltzer

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*****

Spotlight – The Second First Chance

05 Friday Aug 2022

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For fans of Katherine Center’s THINGS YOU SAVE IN A FIRE and Jill Santopolo’s THE LIGHT WE LOST, THE SECOND FIRST CHANCE is a deeply emotional romance about two neighboring families, the Voras and the Desais, who experience a devastating fire and the fallout it creates in their lives–particularly for Dhillon Vora and Riya Desai, who struggle to admit their feelings for one another.

The Second First Chance

by Mona Shroff

ISBN: 9781335453464

Publication Date: August 2, 2022

Publisher: HQN Books

Blurb:

On one terrible night, everything changed.

Riya Desai has struggled to move beyond the devastating fire that claimed the life of her brother, Samir, and set her on a path she never anticipated. Determined to keep other families from experiencing the loss that hers did, she’s become a firefighter herself, but it hasn’t been an easy road. The other firefighters are her fire hall are overwhelmingly white–and entirely male. As a rookie and as the only woman at the station, she has to keep proving herself, over and over, in a way her male colleagues never have to. Oh, and her other problem? Her family thinks she’s a paramedic–they have no idea she’s a firefighter, and she knows they won’t be happy about her running into fires instead of away from them.

Dhillon Vora is a healer. After the fire that killed his father, he becomes a vet, his faithful dog Lucky–who survived the fire at the Voras’ and Desais’ townhouses–behind his side. On a visit to the fire hall across from his clinic, he is dumbfounded to find the girl next door, Riya Desai. Riya has become a firefighter? Dhillon is livid. And–though he can’t really admit it–kind of impressed. Even though he knows, deep down, that he’s never stopped loving Riya, he isn’t sure he’s ready to have her in his life again. Especially if he has to worry constantly about her safety.

THE SECOND FIRST CHANCE is not only a deeply moving tale of two people learning to love each other again, but an uplifting story of two families overcoming tragedy with hope, love, and the unbreakable bonds that keep us shining together even through our darkest hours.

BookShop: https://bookshop.org/books/the-second-first-chance-9781335453464/9781335453464 

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Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Second-First-Chance-Mona-Shroff/dp/1335453466/ref=sr_1_1?crid=2EL4CA8YYCBWV&keywords=second+first+chance&qid=1658167467&sprefix=second+first+chance%2Caps%2C69&sr=8-1 

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Powell’s:https://www.powells.com/book/the-second-first-chance-9781335453464

*****

Excerpt:

DHILLON

A dark brown Lab-pit mix puppy raised its head to look at Dhillon as he entered the exam room. Dhillon’s joy was instant, which was why he loved his job. His nurse, Shelly, was right behind him with the brief introduction.

“Dr. Vora, this is Scout. She is being brought in by today Firefighter Ian Walsh. Scout was found abandoned at one of their scenes and is currently under the care of the Howard County Fire Department.”

It was at the word firefighter that Dhillon tensed. He made eye contact with the man and extended his hand, anxiety flooding through his system, increasing his heart rate and beading sweat on his upper lip.

Shelly threw him a worried look. He ignored her.

“Good morning. I’m Dr. Vora.” Dhillon found his voice but focused on the leashed puppy as the man’s walkie-talkie emitted an irritating squeal. “Everything okay?” Dhillon nodded at the walkie-talkie. “We can reschedule if you have to go.” 

The Lab-pit puppy twitched her ears and raised her head at the squawk. Shelly made a cooing sound and went over to pet their patient. Any remaining anxiety Dhillon might have had melted away as he took in the befuddled pup. The firefighter didn’t even look at the puppy.

“Nah. It’s all good. I’m supposed to get the pup tended to, so let’s just do it.” The firefighter shook his hand.

Dhillon nodded to Shelly as she moved from the dog’s side to the computer so she could enter the information they had so far. He got down on the ground where the puppy had lain down. fallen asleep. “She looks like my Lucky.”

“You mean that older dog out front? With the scarring?”

“Mmm-hmm.” Dhillon picked up Scout and let her climb into his lap. He played with her a moment. He held a small treat out and watched her track it as he moved it from side to side. She lifted her mouth to grab it, but Dhillon made her wait another second before letting her have the treat and a scratch cuddle under her chin. Best part of being a veterinarian. He glanced at Walsh, who watched him with a scowl. “Lucky was caught in a house fire.” Dhillon tried to keep his voice neutral. It wasn’t this man’s fault that Lucky was burned. He stood, bringing Scout with him.

Her coat looked almost pure black, and her big brown eyes reminded Dhillon of Lucky’s when he’d been a puppy. For a moment, Dhillon was dragged back to the day he brought Lucky home from the SPCA. Best day of his life. Well, maybe second best.

“The vet at the time was the previous owner of this practice. He did excellent work. Shelly here used to work with him. That scarring barely reflects how bad his injuries were.”

Dhillon laid Scout on the rickety old exam table which stood in the middle of the room. Nice shiny coat, alert and playful. “How old is she?” 

“Uh…maybe ten weeks. I’m not entirely sure. We just got her. Our station’s new recruit found her on scene, no collar, nothing. She hasn’t even been chipped yet, as far as we know. We’re keeping her at the firehouse for now until we find her a home.” Ian shook his head and pursed his lips.

“Why not take her to the SPCA? They can help find her a home.”

Ian shook his head. “Our new recruit insists that’s not necessary. She thinks someone’s going to claim the little thing.” He shrugged. “My experience says not likely.”

Dhillon turned to Scout, the sight of the puppy putting a grin on his face again. “I know someone who’d say the same thing.” Or used to know, anyway. Sadness flitted through him for an instant before it was replaced with resignation. He’d given up his chance to keep knowing her long ago.

Dhillon scratched the puppy’s belly. “I can chip her today.” He held out a small treat and softly said, “Sit.” Scout flipped over and sat on the table. He rewarded her with the treat.

He looked in Scout’s ears and checked her teeth and paws, dictating his assessment to Shelly as he went along. The puppy looked cared for, healthy. Maybe three months old. Obviously, the guys at the firehouse had cared for her. “Does she eat well?”

Ian shrugged. “We have her dog food, but a lot of the guys spoil her, slipping her a bit of meatball, steak, hot dog. Not me, though. You can believe that.”

“Can any of you take her home?”

Ian shook his head. “But there’s always someone at the station because we do twenty-four- and forty-eight-hour shifts. She works out with us. The new recruit is teaching her to sit, stay, come. Even to go fetch gear. Like that’s practical.” Ian shrugged, as if taking care of a dog was really not his idea of firefighter work. “You know anyone who would want her?” 

Dhillon had a thought flash through his mind. Nah. She was likely too busy, and honestly, she might even have a dog already for all he knew. Running into her occasionally outside the house didn’t really give him much information about her life. “No. But I can keep an eye out.” He continued with his examination, prepping Scout’s shots as Shelly held her.

“Are you Indian?” Ian asked.

Dhillon sighed, knowing the reason for this question. Ian knew someone who was Indian. “Yes. Well, my parents are from India, but I was born here.” Dhillon barely afforded Ian a glance. He approached Scout and administered the shot. Scout gave a small yelp.

“It’s okay, sweetie,” Dhillon cooed softly. “Just one more.”

“Just asking because the new recruit—who’s all about this dog—she’s Indian.”

She? Dhillon snapped his attention back to Ian and could not refrain from raising an eyebrow. Interesting. An Indian woman firefighter? Didn’t see that every day.

“Maybe you know her?”

Dhillon did his best to not roll his eyes as he focused on administering the second shot, but a sigh escaped all the same, as did a small hmph from Shelly. Just because he and this firefighter were both Indian didn’t mean they knew each other. “I doubt it.” He ran a gentle hand over Scout’s head and body as if to soothe away her discomfort.

If someone he knew was a firefighter—male or female—he’d already know.

Scout turned a full circle, sniffing, then promptly peed on the table.

Ian scowled at the puppy and stepped back. Shelly made a move to grab the paper towels, but Dhillon was closer. He shared a look with Shelly as he cleaned up the mess. “Potty training can take some time. Helps if she has a crate, where she feels safe.”

Ian shook his head and put out his hands. “I saw a crate in the bunk area. Desai would know.”

Dhillon’s heart skipped a beat. “Desai?” It couldn’t be. Desai was a common-enough Indian last name. Could be anybody.

Right?

He stared at Ian, who continued, completely unaware of Dhillon’s rising panic, as blood pounded through his body, his heart rate increased. “The new recruit. Who wanted this dog. The Indian girl. Riya Desai.”

Of all the names Ian could have said, that was the absolute last one he wanted to hear.

It couldn’t be her. The Riya he knew would never run into a fire. As far as he knew, she had the same reaction to anything fire-related that he did: panic and anxiety.

But then again, he didn’t really know anything about her, did he? They never really talked anymore, outside of uncomfortable pleasantries when they were forced together. Riya avoided him, and he avoided Riya.

Dhillon’s heart hammered in his chest, and the blood drained from his head. He fought to maintain professional composure as he continued his examination of Scout. “It’s a common name.” Dhillon tried to sound casual, as if he really believed his own words. He needed to believe them.

“Brown skin, dark brown eyes.”

Really? That was his description? Dhillon took a breath so he wouldn’t lay into this guy. He fought fires, after all. Saved people.

Some people.

“She’s a paramedic, too. Which helps because we have to do EMT training.”

Dhillon’s stomach plummeted, and his head spun. It was his Riya. Dhillon clenched his jaw. Well, it was the Riya Desai that he knew.

She’d never been his.

He should have picked up on it when Ian said she was teaching Scout to get gear. It was exactly what she had taught Lucky to do when they were young teenagers. Go get their backpacks or books or whatever they had forgotten. Lucky would do it, too. For her. Even though Lucky was really his dog.

What the fuck was she doing going into fires? She’d never bring back what they’d lost.

Ian was still talking. “Between you and me? She’s hot. She has the sexiest mole just below her ear, and she is stacked.” Ian put his hands in front of his chest to indicate large breasts, and Dhillon saw red.

“You know, I actually do know her.” He stared Ian down. “She grew up next door to me. So you’ll want to shut up now.” He didn’t usually talk to patients this way, but this guy was asking for it, and technically Scout was his patient. And she seemed fine with it.

“Oh, dude, sorry. I didn’t know she’d be like a sister to you.”

“She’s not a sister to me. Just a neighbor.” Dhillon had spent too much time imagining kissing that mole to look at Riya like a sister. “Either way, isn’t she your colleague? Maybe show a little respect?”

Ian waved him off. “Whatever, she won’t last long. Doubt if she can do the job.”

Oh, she could do the job. Riya and Dhillon may not be best friends anymore, but one thing he did know was that Riya Desai was fantastic at whatever she put her mind to. If she was the rookie in the department, that meant she’d made it through the academy. Since she made it through the academy, Dhillon knew she had put her mind to becoming a firefighter a long time ago.

Dhillon finished up with little Scout and—reluctantly—handed her back to Ian. “Scout will need another set of shots in one month.” His mouth moved as if by rote as he doled out instructions, but his mind was spinning.

What the fuck had Riya gotten herself into now?

Excerpted from The Second First Chance by Mona Shroff.
Copyright © 2022 by Mona Shroff.
Published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

*****

Author Info:

Mona is obsessed with everything romantic, so she writes romantic stories by night, even though she’s an optometrist by day. If she’s not writing, she’s making chocolate truffles, riding her bike, or reading, and is just as likely to be drinking wine or gin & tonic with friends and family. She’s blessed with an amazing daughter and loving son who have both gone to college. Mona lives in Maryland with her romance-loving husband.

Author Website: http://monadshroff.com/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/monashroffauthor/

Twitter: https://mobile.twitter.com/monashroffwrite

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/monashroffauthor/?hl=en

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/19073532.Mona_Shroff

*****

Spotlight – Long Past Summer

04 Thursday Aug 2022

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With the Southern charm of SWEET HOME ALABAMA and the emotional complexity of IN FIVE YEARS, LONG PAST SUMMER is a sparkling second-chance romance from debut author Noué Kirwan, written from the author’s own perspective in the Black community.

Long Past Summer

by Noué Kirwan

ISBN: 9781335448828

Publication Date: August 2, 2022

Publisher: HQN Books

Blurb:

It’s hard to move on from a broken heart—and harder to move on from a broken friendship.

Mikaela Marchand is living the polished life she always planned for: a successful New York lawyer, with a promotion in her sights and a devoted boyfriend by her side. She’s come a long way from the meek teen she was growing up in small town Georgia, but the memory of her adolescence isn’t far—in fact, it’s splashed across a massive billboard in Times Square. An old photograph of Mikaela and her former best friend, Julie, has landed on the cover of a high-profile fashion magazine advertised all over the city. And when Julie files a lawsuit, Mikaela is caught in the middle as defense lawyer for the magazine.

Not only will she have to face Julie for the first time in years, Mikaela’s forced to work closely with the photographer in question: the former love of her life–and Julie’s ex-husband–Cameron Murphy. Mikaela needs to win the case to get her promotion–and as a junior partner, she has no margin for error. But unresolved feelings still exist between Cam and Mikaela, and jealousy always made Julie play dirty…

With flashbacks to summers of first loves and fragile friendships, Long Past Summer looks at the delicate and powerful thread that binds and breaks friends and flames.

BookShop: https://bookshop.org/books/long-past-summer-9781335448828/9781335448828 

Harlequin: https://www.harlequin.com/shop/books/9781335448828_long-past-summer.html 

Barnes & Noble:https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/long-past-summer-nou-kirwan/1140508909?ean=9781335448828 

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Long-Past-Summer-Nou%C3%A9-Kirwan/dp/1335448829/ref=sr_1_1?crid=1ZPMIC384YTRY&keywords=long+past+summer&qid=1658170657&sprefix=long+past+summer%2Caps%2C90&sr=8-1 

Books-A-Million: https://www.booksamillion.com/p/Long-Past-Summer/Nou-Kirwan/9781335448828?id=8292090795540 

Powell’s:https://www.powells.com/book/long-past-summer-9781335448828

*****

Excerpt:

one

NOW

Mikaela took a deep, cleansing breath and rolled her shoulders back.

Breathe, she chided herself. She hadn’t even darkened the doorstep yet; a heart attack in advance of that seemed premature.

One of the doors to the gallery stood open in invitation, but it was the frigid air escaping from inside that was actually more enticing. It was unseasonably hot. A freak heat wave had made it a blazing, makeup-melting, fire-hydrant-opening, egg-sizzling-out-on-the-sidewalk day in New York City, in only early May. Still, Mikaela wouldn’t reward herself with the tempting relief offered inside. Instead, she just stood on the bottom step for yet another moment, lingering as the various city dwellers went about their business. Another typical Saturday afternoon along a cobblestoned street in Soho.

Despite its swank location, this art gallery was more nondescript than any of the other storefronts that lined the street, rather anonymously tucked in between several ultra-high-end fashion boutiques. Its entrance, an open doorway like an ominous black hole, sat among a sea of gleaming white and vibrantly colored doors. In the single large plate-glass window hung a poster advertising a photographer’s retrospective and the gallery’s address. Adorning the poster was a small reproduction of a picture that even now bedeviled Mikaela from no less than a magazine cover, a thirty-foot sign in Times Square and numerous subway station advertisements across the City. But now, looking at the size of the relatively unremarkable gallery, she guessed most of the exhibit’s undoubtedly extravagant budget must have gone to the rent on this place and the marketing for that poster alone.

The gallery itself was lo-fi, unassuming and minuscule, judging from her spot well outside of it. Mikaela pushed her sunglasses up off her face and peered through the dim doorway, head angling this way and that like an owl. Her feet remained rooted in place, fear-induced moisture popping out on her brow and nose, sweating through her carefully applied war paint. The problem was the sun made it hard to make out what further surprises might lie in wait for her on the other side of the door.

“It’s okay,” a voice said, startling Mikaela from behind.

Mikaela spun around. A young woman with a bright smile and a nearly white-blonde ponytail stood on the sidewalk below. She squinted without the benefit of her sunglasses, which hung neatly tucked in between her breasts on her floral ditsy-print sundress. One open blue eye appraised Mikaela, top to bottom.

“We’re open. They’re just putting the final finishing touches on everything but it’s all in there.” She took a step up onto the old wooden stairs then paused, waiting to see if Mikaela would choose to enter.

Rather, Mikaela stepped aside to let her pass with two large iced coffees in her hands.

Indecision still gnawed at her nerves.

“Is the photographer in?” Mikaela gave a courteous smile as the young woman continued past.

“Yup, should be. This is for him.” She raised one of the coffee cups. “He tries to come in for at least a couple of hours every day—he’ll probably be coming in more often leading up to the opening.”

Mikaela nodded as they changed places, backing down the steps as the young woman ascended. They continued to regard each other: the young woman with mild curiosity, Mikaela with acute wariness.

The young woman paused again at the top, just in the threshold. “Do you want me to get him?” She turned to the photo in the window then back to Mikaela. The beginnings of a smile curving the corners of her mouth. “Or tell him you stopped by? Miss…?”

For a split second, Mikaela saw the omnipresent photo in the window the way any stranger might.

Two girls on a swimmer’s platform on a summer day.

“Oh no, that’s not necessary.” Mikaela stood on the cobblestones again, heart thumping, resolve faltering. Not only the full glare of the sun but also her own discomfort burned her up, urging her retreat. She shielded her face with a palm, partially from shame, and hurried down the street.

She was half a long block away the first time she heard her name. She hadn’t heard his voice in over fifteen years, but she recognized it, quickening her steps.

“Mikaela!” he bellowed again over the ambient noises of the street.

It was still distant but closer.

Mikaela hazarded a quick glance over her shoulder. A figure made his way toward her, dodging pedestrians as he moved. Mikaela stepped into the street, raising her arm, waving her hand.

A passing yellow cab pulled over. She yanked open the door.

“Please drive,” she commanded. “I’ll tell you where to go in a second. Just pull off, okay?”

The cabbie eyed her through the rearview mirror then glanced farther down the street before understanding her hurry and doing as she requested.

A full minute later, he spoke, turning off the small bumpy street and merging into traffic on the smoother avenue. “Where to, miss?”

“Downtown Brooklyn, please.” Mikaela sighed. She swallowed through the lump forming in her throat trying to sort why his voice had upset her.

She had always imagined she would instinctively know if Cameron was in her city. Or that maybe they could walk past each other, simply another two strangers in a city of eight million. But today proved, for her, that wasn’t possible.

He is Cameron Murphy and I am Mikaela Marchand and as long as we remain who we are, that will always be a patently ridiculous idea.

Mikaela pressed the button lowering the window nearest her, sinking into her seat. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath of the thick, pungent city air that blew into her face as her cab sped down the windy expressway along Manhattan’s East River.

two

THEN

November 2001

“Here.”

A female sheriff’s deputy handed Mikaela a moist towelette. Mikaela took it and wiped the black ink off her fingers.

“We’ve called your parents, who said they’d be here soon, but we haven’t finished processing you yet.” The deputy raised an arm and waved over an extremely tall young man in a dress shirt and khakis. “As soon as we’re done with this, someone’ll take you to stand in front of the judge and then your folks can spring you.”

Mikaela nodded, meticulously removing every drop of ink from her fingertips.

“Stay here. Cam’ll finish up with you,” she instructed gruffly before switching places with the young man and walking away.

Mikaela and the photographer stood staring at one another for a moment before he leaned forward and whispered, “Judge came in special to arraign y’all. Your parents must be pretty important, huh?”

“Not mine, hers.” Mikaela nodded down the hall in the direction of her best friend, Julie. Julie leaned against the high-top intake counter chatting with the desk sergeant and another deputy. “Her daddy’s a judge too, but Georgia Supreme.”

“Oh, so a real muckety-muck then?” He reached into a tub on a nearby desk and handed her several more wipes.

“I suppose.” Mikaela eyed the stack of wet wipes in her hands.

The young man mimed wiping his own face in a circular motion.

“I gotta take your mug shot,” he explained.

“You? Aren’t you a little young to be a deputy?”

“I’m not… A deputy, I mean. Just takin’ the pictures. Grade two, office support. But I can’t photograph purple-faced perps.”

“Oh.” Mikaela obediently scrubbed at her face, yet every towelette came back with more purple paint. After the fifth one, she stopped.

“Can I please just wash my face in the bathroom?”

The photographer shrugged and directed her down the hall.

Inside the restroom, Mikaela made for the sink and the large mirror above it. She had a hard time, right then, remembering why she had been so obsessed with this “senior prank” for so many years. Although Mikaela could admit, up until she’d had breakfast that morning, she’d still been so excited. Even as she and Julie applied their purple-and-gold face paint, and Mikaela’s little sister, Vanessa, affixed two glittery wigs of opposing colors onto their heads, they’d all giggled with an almost frothy enthusiasm.

“Trust me—no one will ever forget this!” Julie had promised, pulling Mikaela up the vaguely damp football tunnel to the thundering beat of the Harmon Spartans’ fight song—and also Mikaela’s heart.

“Yeah, ’cause we’ll be laughingstocks.”

“We’ll be legends!”

Arm in arm, they’d marched toward the light as the shaggy foil tips of the itchy wig tickled Mikaela’s face.

And as usually happened, Mikaela could feel Julie’s seemingly limitless enthusiasm for high jinks begin to permeate the layers of her own innate reserve.

But now, standing under the harsh fluorescents of the police station bathroom, Mikaela just ripped off the moronic gold tinsel wig and ruffled her short brown hair trapped beneath it. It sprung wild, thick and curly from her scalp, freed from the loose plaits she’d had it in earlier. She took a deep breath and regarded herself, still covered in purple greasepaint. Was it worth it?

She knew that was going to be her father’s first question for her and she didn’t have an answer. Julie had been right—no one in this town would ever look at her the same again. Especially not after the two consecutive cartwheels and back handsprings she’d done on the fifty-yard line while school security chased Julie around the end zone during halftime at their high school’s final football game of the season. At the time, more than half of the stands roared in appreciation. Mikaela stifled a little smirk remembering it.

Of course, that was probably because most of the Tri-County area now knew her better than her own gynecologist did.

But the truth was, for those two hundred and eleven seconds, it had been utterly wonderful. Mikaela let loose and was completely herself, joyful and free and brimming with the most intense hopefulness and excitement about what lay ahead after graduation. Not only for herself but every single young person there. In fact, it had been three and half of the finest minutes of her life.

That is until sheriff’s deputies tackled her to the ground and dragged her off the field in handcuffs. Now, Mikaela stood in the mirror wearing only an extra-large Spartans T-shirt, her pink Keds, the remnants of particularly noxious paint on her face and a slightly lopsided Afro. She was a mess.

“Pull it together,” Mikaela said to the grotesque, mocking face in the mirror.

She pressed the dispenser until there was a mound of soap in her palm. Then, using paper towels to scrub, she washed most of the face paint off in three cycles. Her face was tender from the effort by the time she emerged from the ladies’ room.

“I was just about to come in there lookin’ for you,” the young man said as she stepped out. He stood in front of the door, facing it like a sentry.

“Sorry, it was a lot of paint.”

“Yeah, no kidding. I had no idea what you looked like under all that stuff.” He guided her back toward the intake area.

She glared up at him with lingering suspicion. “And what, were you taking bets?”

Mikaela had always been sensitive about her looks. A month from eighteen, she was still knobby kneed and gangly, with barely a B-cup. The only sizable things on her remained her hips and an ass that kept her from being one long, unbroken straight line from the back of her head to the back of her heels.

“Takin’ bets on what? That you weren’t a Purple People Eater?” He chuckled. “No, I just wondered. Step over there.” He pointed to a plain wall notched with height markings, in front of which stood a camera tripod. “Take this.” He handed her a placard to hold.

“I didn’t know you guys really did this.” She examined the slate with her name, the date and booking ID on it.

“We do.”

Mikaela was not this person. Not a person who got arrested. She was not prepared to forever be identified as one.

“You misspelled my name. Tell me, is it like a parking ticket? You mess it up, and I get to go free?”

“I wish.” He smirked. “You’re funny. What’s misspelled?” He walked up to her looking over her shoulder for the error.

Mikaela could tell what soap he liked to use and the fact that he’d brushed his teeth or eaten something cinnamony recently. She considered that as his eyes met hers briefly. This close, there were flecks of green in the blue of his irises.

“Um, it—it’s actually k with an a before e in my first name. M-i-k-a-e-l-a.”

“Well, Mikaela with a k-a-e, I’m Cameron.” He underlined a small name tag on his crisp white shirt with a flourish of his hand before reaching for the placard.

Their fingers brushed as he took it from her, whisking it back to the booking desk as she stood waiting. She chewed on her nails, staring for a moment at the bulletin board on the far wall. A collection of real-life FBI wanted posters lined it. She paid particular attention to the mug shots and shook her head at the realization that she was about to have one of those too.

A wolf whistle pulled Mikaela’s attention to Julie, standing down the hall. She laughed, galloping around the hall on an imaginary horse until one of the officers made her stop.

Cameron came back from around the desk to hand Mikaela the placard.

“Let’s try that again,” he said.

Julie made a face, mouthing the words “He’s hot” and fanning herself while his back was turned.

Mikaela attempted to hold in a snicker. Cameron looked over his shoulder but saw nothing. “What?” He smiled, trying to read her expression.

Mikaela’s stomach tensed, the kaleidoscope of butterflies that resided in there all suddenly banking hard left as his eyes searched her face for a clue. She shook her head, looking down for somewhere to put her eyes. Her fingers ran over the placard’s velvety felt board and sharp white plastic letters.

“Are you ready?” Cameron asked.

“Seems the real question is—” she cocked her head “—are you?” The second the words were out of her mouth she wondered where they’d come from.

His eyes widened and he chuckled again.

Embarrassed, Mikaela nodded, averting her eyes and stepping back to the wall.

Excerpted from Long Past Summer by Noué Kirwan.
Copyright © 2022 by Noué Kirwan.
Published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

*****

Author Info:

Noué Kirwan is a Bronx, NY native, raised between there and the Bay Area of Northern California. A graduate of the University of Massachusetts at Amherst, she currently, and for many years, has lived in Harlem, New York. When she’s not consuming copious amounts of media–binging TV shows, devouring movies, hoarding comic books and inhaling romance novels–she’s writing herself, dreaming up lives for formidable women and the men who love them.

Author Website: https://nouekirwan.com/

Twitter: https://twitter.com/NoueKirwan

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/nouekirwan/ 

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/21993475.Nou_Kirwan?from_search=true&from_srp=true

*****

Spotlight – The Right Guy

01 Monday Aug 2022

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In THE RIGHT GUY by Mel Walker, Hunter Farro is looking for a fresh start on his own, but after a kiss with a stranger, his plans derail when he finds himself in a fake relationship. Hunter’s secret relationship with Catherine March isn’t the only thing he is hiding behind, and when the truth comes out, he will risk everything important to him, including Catherine. Fans of Sealed by Laura Pavlov will delight in this sweet must-read fake relationship, small-town romance from the Meet Cute Book Club Series.

The Right Guy

by Mel Walker

Blurb:

Catherine March is what many would call an unparalleled success. With tons of friends from coast to coast and outstanding success as the manager of a premier event space in the state, she has overachieved in every aspect of her life except one – finding a partner. Finding the right partner. 

Returning to her hometown for a friend’s wedding she is confronted by her ex, the man who predicted she’ll always be alone. And to make matters worse, he’s trotting his replacement all around town.

Faced with a tough choice, Catherine decides the solution to her problem is to find the perfect fake boyfriend for the week. 

But being an overachiever has its own set of challenges, even her fake relationship appears real to everyone, including herself.

New city, new job, new challenges.

Hunter Faro is far from home and he’s looking to stand on his own without the assistance of his powerful family. 

It sounded simple enough. That is until a stranger kisses him and ropes him into being her pretend boyfriend for her friend’s wedding

She is a beautiful distraction and he has his reasons for agreeing but as the charade grows he realizes the danger. The fake relationship isn’t the only secret he is hiding behind and if the truth comes out everything he’s worked for may disappear.

If you love small towns, fake relationship stories, moments that will tug at your heartstrings, and a swoon-worthy happy ending, then you’ll love this sweet romance. 

Add to Goodreads!

Read Now!

*****

Excerpt:

Home is where you go to find peace, but not today. My shaking hands and the throbbing in my chests only confirm my fears – disaster awaits.

My Uber flies down Market Street and I duck down to hide as we roll by Mr. Paul’s Ice Cream shop as if I’m expecting the ghost of boyfriend past to be sitting at our favorite booth sipping on a black and white milk shake staring out the window on alert. 

I sit on my hands but still fail. I form tight fists, squeezing to the point that I feel the pain of my nails digging hard into my palm. This trip is different. He knows I’m coming home; he knows my schedule; there will be no avoiding him this time.

I don’t trust myself to even think his name, let alone speak it out loud. The fear of his name on my lips activating some horror movie spell, conjuring him in front of me, a smug smirk on his face and a condescending attitude on his shoulder. 

I’m only two hours removed from the pep talk from my former college classmate and good friend, Shannon, but I don’t hesitate to dial her. Anything to pull me out of the anxiety hole I’m slipping down.  

“Catherine!” she answers on the first ring, surprise in her tone, “don’t tell me you left something here at the Inn.” 

I shake my head, knowing she can’t see me. “No. At least I don’t think so.” Her question merely pulls me from one rabbit hole to another. I’ve spent the last three days with Shannon and the rest of the women in our book club back in our college town of Abbot Ridge, North Carolina. Three amazing days of kinship, reconnecting and refilling my cup with positivity. Nearly all of it evaporating when I stepped on the plane and flew cross-country back to my hometown. “I’m almost to my parent’s home and I wanted to hear you tell me once again that everything will work out?”

“Ok,” she whispers, and I imagine Shannon pulling on the sleeves of her bohemian top with more colors than Joseph’s Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat. It’s early afternoon and all of her bed-and-breakfast patrons should have either checked out or have left to enjoy the charm that is Abbot Ridge. I picture her sitting in her favorite rocking chair with a cup of herbal tea nearby. “It’s been too long since you’ve gone back home. You miss your family. You love your family and they love you. That’s all that matters. Palmer Easton is ancient history.” 

I squeeze my eyes tight with the mention of my ex. The man whose heart I broke and who now seems to be on a mission to make my life a living hell. 

“You are the kick ass hero in this story.” Shannon pulls me back to the present, her voice filled with love and admiration, the two things my heart needs the most right now. “You only have to see him once for a few hours with lots of other people around to act as a buffer. You’re going to be just fine. And when you leave town again, he’ll be the one wishing he had made different life choices.” 

I know she’s right, but it’s nice to hear it out loud. Logic and fear aren’t exactly great bedfellows. “Thank you. In every other area of my life, I have no doubts, but anytime I come home to Mesa my nerves are on edge, fearing I’m going to run into Palmer.” My tongue clicks against my teeth, “only this time it’s one hundred percent guaranteed that we’ll cross paths.” 

I think back six months to the arrival of the wedding invitation from my childhood friend, Ava. The hand written note slipped into the invite. Don’t you dare say no. She knows my history with Palmer, everyone does. Mesa, Arizona, may be home to nearly half a million people these days, but in many ways it’s still a small town. 

“And I’m one hundred percent sure you’re gonna shine. Do I need to fly out there?” Shannon asks and for a second, I consider it. I RSVP’d with a plus one six months ago, figuring I had all the time in the world to find a date. The last thing I wanted to do was show up to the wedding and sit at the singles table subjecting myself to even more barbs and slings from Palmer. His parting words to me after I left him were that I would never find happiness or another man. I found out too late that Palmer and the high road never intercepted. 

Copyright 2022 @ Mel Walker

*****

Author Info:

Mel Walker is a rare bird, the male romance author. Specializing in heartfelt small-town romance, he enjoys telling compelling romances with all the feels. A native New Yorker and life-long frustrated NY Mets fan, he enjoys long walks, bike rides, and taking in the energy of the city. 

Facebook | Reader Group | Instagram | Goodreads | BookBub | TikTok | Amazon | Website | Newsletter

*****

Escape with the Meet Cute Book Club where meet-cutes don’t only happen between the pages of romance novels and members find their own happily ever afters. 

Eight single women bound by their love of books take a monthly break from real life to lose themselves in the chapters of romantic fiction. From friends to lovers to fake relationships and more, each story features a brand new couple and their journey to find love from an amazing lineup of authors including Louise Lennox, Tracy Broemmer, A.M. Williams, Mel Walker, RJ Gray, Rebecca Wilder, Julie Archer, and Kate Stacy. 

These eight standalone romances are packed with meet-cutes, heat, and of course a happily ever after!
This promotional event is brought to you by The Indie Pen PR

Spotlight – Bayou Sweetheart

29 Friday Jul 2022

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Sparks fly in Louisiana’s Butterfly Bayou when a Hollywood starlet falls for a local deputy in a new small-town contemporary romance from New York Times bestselling author Lexi Blake.

Bayou Sweetheart

A Butterfly Bayou Novel

by Lexi Blake

Blurb:

He’s looking for love but he never expected her.

After leaving the military, Major Blanchard moved to Papillon, Louisiana, to be with his aging father, where he’s taken a deputy position with the sheriff’s department. Now that he’s settling into life on the bayou, he’s trying out the dating scene. Every single woman in town seems to be pining after the handsome newcomer. But so far, nothing’s worked out, and he’s had some spectacularly bad dates. Major’s getting ready to give up on love when a new lady roars into town to film a movie and turns his world upside down.

Actress Brynn Pearson is trying to make a successful transition from child star to leading lady. Now that she’s landed her first lead in a major film, nothing can stop her. She’s committed to focusing solely on her work, so romance is the last thing she needs—too bad she can’t get her mind off the dreamy deputy who’s working security for the film. He’s gorgeous, and something about him makes her feel safe. As Brynn’s feelings for Major deepen, she starts to wonder if maybe there’s more to life than her career.

When a family crisis throws Major’s life into a tailspin, he turns to Brynn for support, and hopes the relationship growing between them will shine brighter than Hollywood lights.

Amazon: https://amzn.to/3vGM9oK

Amazon Worldwide: http://mybook.to/BayouSweet

Amazon Paperback: https://amzn.to/3Kjlq5T

Nook: https://bit.ly/35mkBdL

Barnes and Noble Paperback: https://bit.ly/3tr6tHV

Apple Books: https://apple.co/3vCye3d

Kobo: https://bit.ly/3tvE83e

Google Play: https://bit.ly/34ayfQn

Amazon Paperback: https://amzn.to/3blTCyn 

Nook Paperback: https://bit.ly/3OO4iI1

Add Bayou Sweetheart to Goodreads: https://bit.ly/36UOlyD

*****

Excerpt:

“Are you still driving Harry’s truck? I only ask so I can have an idea of how many people are going to call the station about the pretty blond car thief.”

Brynn winced. “Sorry. I didn’t think it would be a big deal. And no. Harry had an emergency. Apparently his mother-in-law had some plumbing problems and he went out to help. I called a car service.”

“We have a car service?” Major asked and then winced. “Please tell me Greg Bonham isn’t still trying to make Guber happen.”

She snorted. “Yes. I heard all about his plan to create a fleet of golf carts.”

“That’s not road legal. You are not calling him to take you back.” He groaned, though it sounded like a sexy growl. “I’ll drive you home, and I’ll have a talk with Greg because putting twinkle lights all over a golf cart does not make it safe. So, where’s your buddy this evening?”

“Duke?” She didn’t have another buddy. She had acquaintances. She had coworkers. She had fans. She didn’t have buddies beyond her dog. She suddenly realized how sad that was.

“Yes. I miss his royal disdain.”

“Disdain?”

A brow rose over Major’s eyes. “That dog does not like me. And he didn’t like Dolly, either, which is a mistake on his part because she is delightful.”

Brynn chuckled. “That’s not what you were saying when she was wrapped around your shoulders.”

“Well, we’ve moved on and she’s delightful again. She never met a stranger, and I think she was hurt by Duke’s rejection of her love.”

Oh, this was an infinitely more dangerous man than the one she’d met before. Was he flirting with her? If he was, it was working, because she was ready to throw out everything she’d learned about him earlier in the day. “Duke takes his time warming up to people, but once he gets used to you, you’ll find him delightful, too. He’s back at the B and B. When I’m not able to take him with me, he usually stays with an assistant. In this case, he’s hanging out with Shep. What has you in a good mood? Did you get to ticket a bunch of people?”

He put a hand on his chest. “I do not enjoy ticketing people, Brynn. Especially not people around here. They’re mouthy and very creative in finding an excuse for not using their blinker when they turn. By the way, speaking of ticketing people, you have a lead foot. That is not going to do you well here. The boss is always on the lookout to upgrade the station house’s appliances, and the money from driving offenses goes straight into his budget. He’s got two small children at home now. He wants an espresso machine. He kind of needs it to keep functioning.”

Ah, the joys of small-town life. “Thank you for the warning. How about I gift him one and maybe you gently look the other way?”

That jawline of his straightened, and he turned on his serious stare. “Ma’am, are you trying to bribe an officer of the law?”

That cop voice got to her. She suddenly understood why people role-played. She’d always thought it was dumb, but now she could see how Deputy Major doing a slow search of her body could be sexy. In a playful way, of course. A consenting way.

Was she thinking about hopping into bed with him?

*****

Author Info:

New York Times bestselling author Lexi Blake lives in North Texas with her husband and three kids. Since starting her publishing journey in 2010, she’s sold over three million copies of her books. She began writing at a young age, concentrating on plays and journalism. It wasn’t until she started writing romance that she found success. She likes to find humor in the strangest places and believes in happy endings.

Amazon: https://amzn.to/3vTyQyb

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Website: https://www.lexiblake.net

~

Spotlight – Ruthless

28 Thursday Jul 2022

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Ruthless

An Immortal Enemies Novel

by Gena Showalter

Blurb:

Forbidden. Powerful. Ruthless.

Micah the Unwilling, fae King of the Forgotten, can tame even the most violent of beasts. Forged on the battlefield, this iron-willed warrior considers his soldiers his family, and he will stop at nothing to reclaim their dispossessed land. Gearing for war with a sadistic enemy, he is disciplined and focused—until a feral beauty he encountered long ago wanders into his camp.

Viori de Aoibheall wields a terrifying ability to sing monsters to life. Having spent her childhood in a forest, raising herself and her frightening creations—the only friends she’s ever known—she’s ill prepared for the scarred royal and his fearsome brutality. Not to mention the ferocity of their connection and the carnality of his touch. But the real problem? Her brother is Micah’s greatest foe. And though the sensual king makes her burn, she must stop him, whatever the cost.

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*****

Excerpt:

CHAPTER ONE

Not quite present day

Fifteen-year-old Micah spun slowly, his jaw slack. What is this place? Spears of lightning forked across a dark sky heavy with darker clouds. Glowing silvery orbs hung from tree branches, illuminating a forest clearing he wished he hadn’t discovered. The eeriness of it all boggled the mind.

From the outside, thick white fog had enveloped the interlocking trees set in a wide circle. From the inside, however, he had an unobstructed view of the dried blood that stained the bark—and the faces carved within. Fierce expressions projected everything from dread to malice, and he shuddered.

Someone had gone to great trouble to make the gnarled giants resemble belua. Monsters of unimaginable strength, somehow birthed from the elements themselves. Able to live and breathe and walk among fae.

Micah tightened his grip on a makeshift dagger—a twig he’d sharpened with his teeth and what remained of his nails.

Beady eyes seemed to track his every movement as he trod deeper into the clearing. A large, moss-covered stone with a wide base and a flat top occupied the center of the ring. An altar?

A chilled breeze blustered past, rousing goose bumps on his skin. Scanning… The vibrant moss provided the only foliage here. There were no animals or insects. No other life whatsoever.

Death reigned here.

A crack of thunder boomed, punctuating his thought, and he almost jumped out of his skin. The next lightning bolt charged the atmosphere; electric currents pricked his spine. Micah dragged in the scent of ash and… What was that? Sweetness itself? A unique fragrance brimming with all the glories of the Summer Court. Sunshine, flowers and citrus.

His mouth watered, and his empty stomach protested. When had he last eaten?

Twig at the ready, he approached the stone and gathered a fistful of moss. The first bite proved bitter, the second more so. But as the greenery settled in his stomach, some of his pains faded; he only desired more.

He shoveled another fistful into his mouth, then another and another, unable to slow himself. For over a year, he’d wandered the wastelands of Astaria alone. Originally, he’d traveled with his guardian. A great warrior named Erwen. A great man, period. He’d found baby Micah inside a basket, and saved him from being eaten by trolls.

He bit his tongue, tasting blood. Erwen had died in battle with a belua. A massive snow beast in the Winterlands.

Micah had expected to perish alongside his guardian. A part of him had hoped to die. How he’d loved Erwen, his sole companion—the only person willing to be near him.

Like his guardian, Micah was a chimera. A rare fae born with dual glamaras that were constantly at odds. The clash created a negative force field around them. Unwanted by fae and humans alike. Feared by everyone. Known for scarring—outward evidence of weakness and a badge of shame.

Chilly wind rattled branches. Lightning peppered the sky, spotlighting— Micah froze, his breath hitched. Were their limbs untangling? Had the one to his left narrowed its eyes?

An illusion?

Genuine belua? Had he stumbled into a nest?

He dropped the newest handful of moss, preparing to bolt. But, from the corner of his eye, he perceived an array of color. Smooth gold. Vivid pink. Gleaming scarlet. He meant to glance, nothing more. A quick peek to ensure no one sneaked up on him. Instead, he stared and reared back, his eyes going wide.

Was he seeing what he thought he was seeing? Surely not. And yet…

Maybe.

Heart jumping, he lurched closer to the stone. Sucked in a breath. A girl. A fae. Exquisite. She slept upon the slab, seemingly growing from the surface. Or from the forest itself.

Lightning flashed, there and gone, showcasing a smattering of freckles, pink cheeks and cherry lips that were bowed in the center. Other details hit him, throwing him for loop after loop. They might be the same age. Flawless skin the color of sunlight, vibrant with life. Delicate features usually only found on royalty. A plain gown too short and tight to cover the abundance of shapely curves.

Who was she? Why was she here? What color were her eyes?

Excitement arced through Micah. Would she mind being friends with a chimera?

A rolling rumble precipitated the first splatter of rain. Cold droplets splashed his cheeks, and he grinned. Let the liquid soak him. What did he care? He’d uncovered a treasure of unsurpassed value.

The rain deluged her, too, her gown becoming transparent. Trembling suddenly more pronounced, he reached out to brush droplets from her cheek.

A rustle sounded behind him, and he wheeled around, ready to defend his prize. Too late. A tree loomed before him, and the truth hit, hard.

“Belua!” Hiding in plain sight.

A fat branch slammed into his head. He flew across the clearing, dropping his makeshift weapon when he crashed into another tree.

His lungs emptied. So dizzy. No time to recover. Another branch flung him in the opposite direction.

Ribs broke on impact, and agony seared him. Before he could rise, roots coiled around his ankle and attempted to eject him from the clearing. He clawed at the ground, determined to hold his position and shield the girl. Dirt and blood coated his tongue.

Bark scraped his spine. Limbs stabbed into different bones. Wheezing, fighting the urge to vomit, Micah rolled out of the way.

A limb pierced a vital organ, and an agonized scream burst from him. The pain! Then, suddenly, he was airborne, soaring across the expanse. When he landed, a world of darkness crackled open its jaw and swallowed him whole.

As Micah healed, he realized a startling truth. The monsters safeguarded the girl. They hadn’t attacked until he uncovered her. More than that, they hadn’t struck to kill him. Otherwise, he would be dead.

Why they guarded her—why they had shown him mercy—he didn’t know. But he wondered. Was little Red on that stone slab of her own volition or a captive?

There was one way to find out…

Micah returned to the clearing—to her—with a firm goal in mind. Befriend these belua. If he could join them, protect the girl until she awoke…

Was this a betrayal to Erwen and everything he’d stood for? Surely not. His guardian had lived by four rules.

Do no harm to the innocent. Protect what’s yours. Always do what’s right. Never be without a backup plan.

The sleeping beauty was vulnerable and in need of another fae. Just in case the trees held her against her will.

What better path to travel than keeping her safe?

Micah advanced on the creatures cautiously, both hands lifted. “You had every right to eject me,” he told them. In their minds, he’d committed a terrible offense. Touching a female without her willing consent. Or theirs. Now, he hoped to prove the innocence of his intentions. “I did your fair lady wrong. Allow me to present her with a gift of apology. And respect.” He revealed a red crystal he’d dug from the earth bright and early this morning. “So much respect.”

A prolonged hesitation followed his words, anticipation stealing his breath. Finally, the trees opened a doorway for him.

Giddy but remaining vigilant, he entered slowly, placed the present on a step leading to the altar and backed away. Rather than exit, he faced the largest of the bunch. “I mean her no harm, and I won’t touch her again. If you’ll let me, I’ll help you with her protection.”

He wasn’t immediately impaled, a good sign. Micah set up camp. As one week blended into another, the trees relaxed around him. As their tension faded, bright leaves budded, creating a vibrant paradise.

For the first time in Micah’s life, provision without price abounded. Various species of flowers, fruits and nuts flourished without cease, dropping from overburdened limbs.

Nourishment rained all hours. In offering or apology, he didn’t know which.

Morning and evening, he thanked his companions for the bounty. Never had Micah enjoyed such delicious meals. But…when will she awaken?

Fresh moss covered the girl, protecting her from sun, wind and rain. Her sweet scent magnified daily, coating the air; he considered every inhalation a precious gift.

How did she sleep so deeply? And why? For how long? Why did belua continue to protect her, no matter how much time passed?

Did she crave a friend? If the beautiful fae with freckles sought a fellow fae companion, shouldn’t he oblige her?

Longing gripped Micah. But you aren’t a fae, are you? Not exactly. He shifted in the bed he’d constructed with twigs and fallen hanks of moss. He just…he wanted to belong to someone. To be welcomed. Maybe even admired.

What did such affection even feel like? And what was the beauty’s name? Would she like his offerings? There were many.

Anytime a troll or centaur neared the clearing, Micah departed the ring to end the threat. He collected supplies left by the dead, amassing a treasure trove of weapons, dried meats, clothing, maps, coins and jewels. All for her. Well, mostly for her. He’d kept some of the clothing for himself, exchanging a filthy, tattered tunic and ripped leathers for higher quality garments. Even a cloak to help him hide the scars left by the tree attack.

Would she like him?

As he gathered an array of fruit for breakfast, he stole glances at her. For the first time, much of the moss withered, baring her fully. Morning sunlight lent her golden skin an otherworldly glow. Silken locks of auburn hair gleamed.

Curling black lashes cast spiky shadows over pinkened cheeks. Plump red lips with a bowed center and a stubborn chin added to her captivating allure.

The girl— Wait. Had that cherry mouth parted? Micah froze, every cell buzzing. Even the trees stilled, as if time suspended. Then…

A soft moan left her. The first sound she’d made since his arrival. Then she stretched her arms over her head.

He dropped the bundle in his arms, pink-and-red fruit thudding to the ground, rolling away. Startled by the noise, the girl jolted upright, auburn locks tumbling around her delicate shoulders. She blinked to orient herself.

His mind raced with a thousand thought fragments. Even more beautiful… jade eyes, brighter than the leaves…gown soon to tear apart at the seams…friend… Mine?

She turned, maneuvering her legs over the side of the bed. Standing. Stretching. As graceful as a swan he’d once spied in the Summer Court.

Micah stood in awe, utterly transfixed.

As if sensing him at last, she looked his way and gasped. Her mouth floundered open and closed, fright overtaking her expression.

He hurried to offer a reassurance. “I mean you no—”

A high-pierced scream burst from her. The most horrifying sound he’d ever heard. Sharp pains stabbed his brain, hot blood dripping from his ears. He slapped his palms over the blood-soaked shells, but it didn’t help.

The trees snapped to attention. In an instant, leaves wilted. Fruit dried up. The belua army lunged at him, and this time, they attacked to kill, stabbing and pummeling full force. Pain wracked him, each injury teaching him a new lesson in agony.

Deserve this. He’d foolishly shown favor to an enemy. Had thought to become friends with vessels of evil.

But the girl…

Will come back for her. The trees wouldn’t harm her. Even now, they kept her out of harm’s way. If she required freedom, Micah would free her. But first, he must survive.

He escaped the clearing, crawling out of range before collapsing in a beam of sunlight, eating dirt. Then the darkness came…

Excerpted from Ruthless by Gena Showalter.
Copyright © 2022 by Gena Showalter.
Published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

*****

Author Info:

Gena Showalter is the New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author of over seventy books, including the acclaimed Lords of the Underworld series, the Gods of War series, the White Rabbit Chronicles, and the Forest of Good and Evil series. She writes sizzling paranormal romance, heartwarming contemporary romance, and unputdownable young adult novels, and lives in Oklahoma City with her family and menagerie of dogs. Visit her at GenaShowalter.com.

Author Website: https://genashowalter.com/

Facebook: Gena Showalter

Twitter: @genashowalter

Instagram: @genashowalter

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*****