tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1691133151709102682024-02-28T18:42:50.343-05:00Michelle's Book StopBook Reviews! Book News and More!Michelle Lindo-Ricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10802309295322211300noreply@blogger.comBlogger540125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-169113315170910268.post-7664178033214626592023-07-02T00:39:00.003-04:002023-08-26T22:58:06.610-04:00TWENTY-EIGHT DATES - Michelle Lindo-Rice - Sample Chapters<div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #0a0a0a; font-family: Poppins, Arial;"><span style="background-color: #fefefe;"><b><br />Seven Brides for Seven Brothers Book #3</b></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #0a0a0a; font-family: Poppins, Arial;"><span style="background-color: #fefefe;"><b><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Twenty-Eight-Dates-Seven-Brides-Brothers-ebook/dp/B0C8V1PKGZ/ref=sr_1_5?crid=312A84YI6TB7F&keywords=michelle+lindo+rice&qid=1688272461&s=books&sprefix=michelle+lindo+ric%2Cstripbooks%2C91&sr=1-5" target="_blank">Order Your Copy</a></b></span></span></div><h4 style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #0a0a0a; font-family: Poppins, Arial;"><span style="background-color: #fefefe;"><br /></span></span><span face=""Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #0f1111;">Not looking for a hero…<br /></span>But she found one!</h4><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFCKyscK71LLcfBVHp4KNLVNbdd0ULeCP8WP94r3EKBtRXR6alliV_RdraNm5uxORTMw9oJPqqC5ZHXhiN-M-125SM9ki6q5uDm0OKRn-zVvq5BblhR4aite37l8efPAsUfjmfKC7RY_bEESwJku8oGNIKIMZp_NN_bQ1qKH1YcZKJ2WPQ-6pi0jvFG6OL/s2650/9781335594570.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2650" data-original-width="1675" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFCKyscK71LLcfBVHp4KNLVNbdd0ULeCP8WP94r3EKBtRXR6alliV_RdraNm5uxORTMw9oJPqqC5ZHXhiN-M-125SM9ki6q5uDm0OKRn-zVvq5BblhR4aite37l8efPAsUfjmfKC7RY_bEESwJku8oGNIKIMZp_NN_bQ1qKH1YcZKJ2WPQ-6pi0jvFG6OL/s320/9781335594570.jpeg" width="202" /></a></div></div></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b style="color: #0a0a0a; font-family: Poppins, Arial; text-align: left;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Twenty-Eight-Dates-Seven-Brides-Brothers-ebook/dp/B0C8V1PKGZ/ref=sr_1_5?crid=312A84YI6TB7F&keywords=michelle+lindo+rice&qid=1688272461&s=books&sprefix=michelle+lindo+ric%2Cstripbooks%2C91&sr=1-5" target="_blank">Order Your Copy</a></b></div><span face=""Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #0f1111; font-size: 14px;">When pregnant widow Courtney Meadows steals away from her duplicitous in-laws in the dead of night, she has one goal: to protect her baby. An unexpected car breakdown miles away and a looming hurricane are the last things she needs! Enter a gruff knight in shining armor in Officer Brigg Hampton. Courtney’s compelled by the lawman’s compassion and integrity…and she has to admit he makes her pulse race in a way no one has since the tragic death of her firefighter husband. But can a woman as independent and wounded as Courtney let anyone else into her life again—especially another man courting danger in uniform? <br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /><br /></span><p></p><h2 style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Chapter One</h2><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">She could do this.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Courtney Meadows held back a yawn and snuck down the winding grand staircase of the mausoleum she had called home for the past year and five months. A place she would have stayed in if she hadn’t overhead her in-laws plotting against her.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">After her husband, Jet, died while on duty as a firefighter, Muriel and Robert Meadows had insisted she continued to live with them. Their house was considered a landmark in Druid Hills, Georgia, and with nine bedrooms and twelve bathrooms on the property, there was more than enough room for them to spread out. At least that had been Jet’s response when Courtney suggested they get a two-bedroom apartment or purchase a condo since they were newlyweds instead of living with his parents. He reasoned he wouldn’t be worried about her while he was at work since his parents would be there to care for her.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">As if she needed looking after. Courtney and her sister, Kaylin, had been taking care of themselves since they were children growing up together in foster care.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Remembering the single area of contention between her and Jet, Courtney gritted her teeth. He hadn’t wanted her to continue working as a mere waitress. Never mind that he had met her while she was busing tables and asked her out. They had married within eight weeks.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Since Jet lived with his parents, he banked most of his money, so Courtney could be a stay-at-home mom. When he broached the idea, Courtney suggested they wait on children and take a year to continue to get to know each other. But he had been insistent and here she was. Eight months pregnant.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Alone.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Sort of.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">She yawned again and patted her round stomach, acknowledging her constant companion. A son. A son with a pair of interfering grandparents.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Courtney had been in their floor-to-ceiling library earlier that day curled up behind the chaise longue, reading a book when Robert and Muriel entered the study. As she was about to show her face, she heard Muriel utter her name in a condescending tone. Courtney then tucked her legs close to her chest so she could listen in.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Of course, her phone began to vibrate from the pocket of her biking shorts. Courtney had pressed the ignore button and held her breath for a tense second, just knowing she would be discovered. But they continued their conversation.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Muriel stood a few feet away from her. “How long do I have to smile in Courtney’s face like it isn’t her fault that Jet died?”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Courtney covered her mouth to keep from gasping. And responding. And making them aware of her presence. She squeezed her legs tight, her pulse escalating. She yearned to confront them, but she made herself stay absolutely still.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Robert poured himself a drink. “Lower your voice, dear. Our lawyer said the easiest way to get her to sign the custody papers is to play nice.”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">“I can’t wait. Courtney isn’t ready to be anybody’s mom. She can barely take care of herself.” Muriel snorted. “I can’t wait to redecorate Ansel’s room.”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Courtney fought the urge to lash out. This was the same woman who had gushed to her that very morning how much she loved the gray walls and elephant theme. Courtney had spent hours choosing the furnishings and preparing the space for her son, Jayson—not Ansel.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">“All in due time, dear.”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Courtney folded her lips inside her mouth to keep from screaming at the calm certainty in Robert’s voice. Like it was a foregone conclusion that they would be raising her child. Not as long as she was alive and breathing.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Muriel narrowed her eyes. “It’s a pity we can’t declare her unfit.”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Robert rubbed the stubble on his chin. “Jet did say her mother had a mental illness…”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Hot tears sprung and rolled down her cheeks. She had told Jet that in confidence. Her mother had suffered from bipolar disorder and had self-medicated with illegal drugs, which was how Courtney and her older sister, Kaylin, had ended up in foster care at six and seven years old. The girls had learned to rely on no one but each other. And Courtney had remained independent until she had fallen in love with a dashing firefighter the color of midnight.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Never again would she allow herself to be swept off her feet by a man. Especially one in uniform.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Robert held out his arm. “Let me see what Todd thinks about that.” Todd Lansing was the family attorney and friend.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">With a nod, Muriel wrapped her arm around her husband. Courtney watched them depart the room.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The door clicked softly.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">From within, panic rang loudly.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Uncurling herself, Courtney pulled out her cell phone to check her personal bank account. She had kept it open against Jet’s wishes. Good thing too, because she was going to have to get out of this place. In the early morning. Because even though his parents had been generous, covering all her expenses, they hadn’t given her cash. Jet hadn’t gotten around to declaring her as his beneficiary, so Todd was working on getting all that straightened out through the courts.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Or so he said. Holding on to the chaise longue, Courtney wobbled to her feet.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Todd was on the Meadowses’ payroll. And if she were being honest, Courtney had been too grief-stricken to pay attention. It had taken every ounce of strength she had to get out of bed, to eat so that her baby had the necessary sustenance to survive. As long as Jet’s son was taken care of, Courtney hadn’t been concerned about anything else.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">She swallowed. She should have been.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Blinking away her tears, Courtney focused on the small screen. She had $237.41. If she took food from the pantry and used rest stops instead of a hotel, that should be more than enough to take her from Druid Hills, Georgia, to where Kaylin lived in Fort Lauderdale, Florida. Her sister worked on a cruise ship and was away at sea, but Courtney knew where Kaylin kept a spare key.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">All through dinner that evening, it took all her self-control not to show her hurt. Not to show how disgusted she was at their false concern. But she had done it. She had forced herself to eat a small portion of her lasagna, garden salad and garlic bread, nodding and smiling like she was clueless. She had even insisted that she take a picture with her in-laws under the guise that it was for her baby album. Courtney wanted to have photos to share with Jayson when he was an adult. He deserved to know his background, and she wouldn’t hold that information from him once he was old enough to understand. But that was years away. Right now, she had to focus on the day-to-day. Her and her baby’s survival.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">After dinner, Courtney had packed a lunch bag and stuffed a small duffle bag with a few outfits along with her laptop. Then she had donned a pair of black jeans, T-shirt and sneakers. Tucking her curls under a cap, Courtney waited until it was close to four in the morning, setting the alarm on her phone as a backup. Robert was a night owl. She wanted to be sure he was in bed before exiting this place for good.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">For a split second, now standing in the grand foyer, cell phone in hand, Courtney hesitated. She was close to the end of her term, and her eyelids were heavy with sleep. Maybe she should wait until she delivered before traveling. Then she stiffened. She wouldn’t put it pass the Meadowses to take her baby while she recuperated from giving birth. They had strong political clout, and to put it simply, she couldn’t trust them not to do something underhanded.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">No, it was best if she left for Florida in the wee hours of the morning. When they were sleeping. By the time they awakened, she would be long gone.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Feeling a twinge of guilt, she placed a hand over her pounding heart. Regardless of their nefarious intentions, the Meadowses had lost their only child. Courtney knew they cared about their grandchild. It would gut them to be excluded from Jayson’s life. But these were the same people who had no qualms about snatching him away from his own biological mother.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">She squared her shoulders and ambled toward the alarm by the front door. Her sneakers made squeaking sounds on the marble floor. With a slight tremor in her hands, she rested her cell on the entry table, keyed in the code and opened the front door, tensing at the chime. Slipping outside, she locked the door behind her and wiped her brow.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Whew.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The crickets and cicadas’ night song this first week of June was a crescendo in her ears. Remembering the tiny frogs that liked to hang like a garland on the side of the house, Courtney cringed, hunched her shoulders and trotted down the three front steps before dashing into the dark to the right. The muggy summer morning made her crave the cool central air of the house behind her.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Entering the garage, she beelined for her twenty-year-old sedan nestled in the corner, an eyesore compared to the five other premium vehicles inside. Robert had insisted she drive the Range Rover, and Courtney was glad she had begged them not to junk her trusty Kia. Despite the dings and scratches, it had been her ride for five years, her second vehicle now at thirty-one and the first she had paid for with her own money. Unlocking the passenger door, she placed her duffle and lunch bag on the seat before darting to the driver side.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">She adjusted her seat to accommodate her expanded tummy and started up the car. She tossed her cap off her head, her tendrils damp against her face, then took a moment to bask in the blast of the air conditioner before putting the car into gear.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Keeping the headlights off, Courtney crept down the gravel on the driveway, her pace slow, her heart thumping with the precision of a drummer boy. As soon as she turned out of their property, Courtney turned on the lights and accelerated.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Pumping her fists, she yelled, “We did it, Jayson!” A fierce kick made her stomach jump, and Courtney smiled. Patting her stomach, she said, “You feel it too, little guy, don’t you? Freedom. Wait until you’re out of there. Then we’re really going to celebrate.”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">With each mile, her worries melted away like an ice pop in the sun. Her neck muscles relaxed, and the tension oozed from her body. A tension she must have been carrying around for the past seven months following Jet’s death. She hadn’t realized how constricted she had been. How…constrained. Courtney straightened, anticipation injecting energy into her being. She was now wide awake. She couldn’t wait for the sunrise, for the first glimpse of a new day, a new beginning. A new life with her son.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><h2 style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Chapter Two</h2><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">On days like today, Brigg Harrington reminded himself he had become a police officer to help other youths as he had been helped as a teen. But he hadn’t been like these modern teens making bomb threats at the middle school near the ending of the school year. Brigg had been pulled from his post as a school resource officer at Love Creek High to assist with evacuating the nervous gaggle of students and teachers during the chaotic lunch hour. Thankfully, his captain had allocated the task of easing the minds of the worried parents to the superintendent and town mayor while dealing with the vicious Florida heat. The sun’s rays had seared his exposed skin with laser-like precision, and he regretted not wearing sunscreen.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Brigg had had to change out his wet, sweat-stained uniform for a clean one before working the rest of his shift doing traffic duty on highway patrol.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Exhaustion cloaked his body like a warm blanket. He took a sip of coffee, needing a shot of caffeine, although his fatigue was more mental than physical. Three thirteen-year-olds had been arrested. Brigg hadn’t relished putting handcuffs on their wrists and reading them their Miranda rights. It was a part of the job, but his heart had constricted when seeing the fear in the young men’s eyes and their tear-streaked faces. He wished he could have given them a stern warning, but the boys had actually placed two homemade bombs in the bathroom stalls as retaliation against their bullies. His stomach knotted remembering the change in the atmosphere when it had become evident this was no harmless prank. Brigg had been stupefied. He knew those boys and their families, had seen them waddling about in Pampers under the town sprinklers when they were toddlers, so he was beyond flabbergasted at their actions. The most Brigg had done during his senior year in high school was steal candy and chips from one of the two quick-stop stores in Love Creek, Florida. And that had been a major to-do.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The shop owner had called Brigg’s father, Patrick Harrington, plus there had been a police officer in the next aisle. A police officer who fortunately decided to mentor instead of punish. Beckett Sparks was almost a second father to him, a work father, because Patrick Harrington didn’t need a substitute. He was among the best there was.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Lightning flashed, followed by a crack of thunder and then heavy plops of rain. Within seconds, Brigg was in the middle of a downpour. He wasn’t worried though. Within in a matter of minutes, the rain could end and they could have clear blue skies. That was Florida weather for you. Squinting up at the skies, though, Brigg saw huge dark clouds. With all the commotion earlier in the day, he hadn’t thought to check the weather. Pulling up the weather app on his phone, Brigg’s eyes went wide. There was a tropical storm farther out, and most of the area was under a tornado watch. According to the app, it could be upgraded to a hurricane. June heralded the beginning of the Hurricane season, so it was a definite possibility. But he chose to focus on the key words: could be.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">He looked at the time and exhaled. Thirty minutes to go before the end of his shift at 6:00 p.m. He had felt every hour of this ten-hour workday.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Settling into the leather of his patrol vehicle, Brigg rubbed his jaw and yawned. Sleep was a siren fanning at his eyes. Twenty-eight minutes. Then he was off for three days. Seventy-two glorious hours of just him and three of his seven brothers—Caleb, Drake and Ethan—fishing and cutting it up on Hawk’s yacht.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Brigg hoped the weather turned and the weekend would bring nothing but sunshine. He could already smell the scent of the sea-foam, feel the lull of the vessel and see the shoals of fish while he and his brothers engaged in some good-natured ribbing. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">No women allowed.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It was supposed to be all seven of them lounging about, but two of his older brothers, Lynx and Axel, had honey-do lists now that one was married and one was engaged. Both had bowed out. Then Hawk, his eldest brother and NFL quarterback, started seeing someone and dropped out. The relationship was new and fresh, which meant Hawk was spending all his spare time with Stacey. But Hawk had left the keys, and his place would be stocked and staffed with a chef and housekeeping. Brigg smoothed his pants leg. It wouldn’t be the same without all seven of them though. Unlike Lynx or Axel, Brigg wasn’t getting married or engaged or doing long-term relationships like Hawk. As far as he was concerned, love was for suckers and he didn’t eat lollipops. Besides, he thoroughly enjoyed being a serial dater. When he had time to date.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Which was almost never.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">He was too tired. Yep, at the ripe old age of thirty, Brigg was tired of the dating scene. Or rather, the pretense. Because there were women out there who only cared about the number of zeroes in his bank account, his penis size and how long they could milk both. Ask him how he knew. That’s why he had stopped swiping right or left and had deleted the myriad dating apps. He couldn’t be bothered anymore.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">If he had to describe himself, he would say he was a no-nonsense by-the-book kind of guy. He liked his own company, though he had entered the world with a womb-mate. His fraternal twin, Caleb, lived nearby, and though they spent time together, growing up in a house with all those siblings made Brigg crave his solitude. That’s why he didn’t mind the hours he spent in a vehicle waiting for the unsuspecting speeding motorist. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Swiveling the mount to bring his laptop closer, Brigg pulled up his recorded statements from some of the other students at the middle school. After rereading them, Brigg submitted his paperwork, along with the digital photos he had taken while on the scene. There would be hundreds of others from other officers, but Brigg knew the importance of a single photo and a different angle. During his nine years on the force, he had seen where a tiny piece of evidence had acquitted or condemned. Plus, though tedious, it was good police work. He tapped the steering wheel.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Twelve minutes. Plus, the rain abated somewhat.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Just as he slammed the lid of the laptop, a call came in, and he was quick to answer when he saw who was on the line.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">“Hello, Cap,” he said, greeting his former mentor, now captain. He rarely called him by his first name, though Beckett had urged him to do so many times.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">“Just calling to check on you. Don’t know if you heard, but in the next town over, a young woman parked on the side of the road was hit by a semi. She’s in critical care at Love Creek Hospital. That’s how we heard about it.”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">“No. I didn’t hear. Is she…?”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">“It’s out of our hands, now.” Beckett’s voice sounded grim. “Be careful out there.”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Brigg’s heart squeezed when thinking of that woman’s family. “Thanks for looking out for me, sir. With this weather, I may not be going anywhere. If so, I’ll be working.”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">“All right, but you’re still taking that vacation when this all dies down. And Tara and Violet are looking forward to having you at dinner next week.” It had been months since Brigg had taken time off. His captain emphasized that an odd day here and there didn’t count and that it was important for him to relax and recoup.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">“I will.”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Brigg looked at his watch and smiled. Just as he started up the truck, a burgundy sedan shot past. He clocked it at seventeen miles above the speed limit. The last ten minutes of his shift too. Of course it wouldn’t go any other way. He sighed and moved to turn on the patrol lights when he heard a loud bang, and the unmistakable squeal of the tires.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Great. His seventy-two hours off would be about sixty-eight once he was finished here. That’s if he was lucky.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">He reminded himself his profession wasn’t just about making arrests or giving citations but included helping someone stranded on the side of the road during hurricane season. Even if that person had been going forty-two in a twenty-five-mile-per-hour zone. Brigg drove the few feet to where the vehicle had stopped, grabbed his raincoat and jumped out of his SUV right into deep mud.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">A huge crack of thunder was accompanied by even more rain.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">With a grunt, he wiped his boots and stomped over the car. The headlights were on, and the wipers swished back and forth, furiously fighting the torrent and failing. Brigg stood off to the side and rapped on the window careful to avoid the splatter of water from the wipers. The window rolled down with slow precision. He squared his shoulders and looked into the eyes of one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Lightning bolt.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">She had high cheekbones, a nose as cute as a button, and her skin appeared smooth and soft like cocoa butter. She had hair the color of copper stuffed under a baseball cap and a pair of hazel eyes framed with long lashes. But those pouty lips distracted him. They looked inviting and…kissable.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">For a second, Brigg was speechless. Her mouth was slightly ajar. Brigg took in her spiked lashes, wet from the rain or from crying? Immediately, he prayed it was because of the rain. That he could handle. Then her expression changed to quizzical while he reigned in thoughts akin to popcorn popping around in his brain.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">“Do you want my license and registration?” she asked, her voice sultry and low. Now she looked at him like he was addlebrained.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Brigg bent so she could hear him over the rain. Water from the wipers whipped him across the face, and he saw her cover her mouth, her pupils wide. The abrupt onslaught shocked him back to his senses. Jumping back, he folded his arms and yelled. “Turn off the windshield wipers.”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">With a jerky nod, she complied. “Sorry.” He could see her clenching her cheeks to keep from laughing. Normally, Brigg would crack up at his misfortune, but he didn’t find his internal reaction to her amusing. If he had to put a name to it, he would call it attraction, but his job superseded this unexpected case of…whimsy.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Frowning, Brigg stuck out his hand. “License and registration.” Once she handed them to him, he gestured for her to wait, though it was evident she wasn’t going anywhere, and stomped back to his vehicle.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Punching in her information in his laptop, Brigg waited for the results. He held her license in his palm. Her name was Courtney. Nice solid normal name. His eyes slid back to the screen, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Good to know he hadn’t been jolted by a convict or serial killer.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Then he raised an eyebrow. Her registration had lapsed over six months ago. That meant she had driven all the way from Druid Hills, Georgia, with expired tags. Brigg sighed. Technically, this was a misdemeanor, which could be sixty days in jail, plus a five-hundred-dollar fine. A quick scan showed she had no prior arrests or violations, so he decided to write her ticket instead. He opened the door to his vehicle.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Thankfully, the rain had eased to mere sprinkles and the sun peeked through the clouds. Since he wasn’t sure how long that reprieve would last, Brigg hurried back to her car. That’s when he saw the steam coming up from the hood. That’s right. On top of having to cite her for improper registration, Brigg would have to help sort out her defunct vehicle. He had hoped the loud bang had been the result of a flat tire, but it was evident there was much more going on. In weather like this, it could be hours before a tow truck arrived. For a brief second, he considered calling backup, but his replacement was a rookie.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">He’d better handle this himself.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">As a result, when Brigg’s eyes met hers a second time, the only thing his brain registered was annoyance. Deep annoyance.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><h2 style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Chapter Three</h2><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It was bad enough he had an imposing large frame, but now he was glaring at her as if she was an irritant. Courtney hurried to roll down her window.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">“Your registration lapsed months ago,” he said, handing her the slip of paper. Their fingers connected and she felt a minor electrical shock. Pulling her hand away, Courtney refused to look at the ticket, knowing it had an astronomical fine she had no idea how she would pay. In her defense, she hadn’t had cause to renew her tags. She had been driven anywhere she needed to go. He cocked his head. “Now, what’s going on with your car?”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">There he was pinning those deep chocolate brown eyes on her again. For some reason that got her heart racing.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Was he staring at her like he would anyone else, or was he staring at her vitiligo? She had similar depigmentation of skin on each side of her face, on her arms and hands. That was the question Courtney pondered the entire time the police officer spent in his vehicle running her license and tags. That and the fact that he was particularly good-looking, with skin the hue of sepia, a squared jaw and strong cheekbones. The officer had a tight lineup and fade with tight black, shiny coils.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">“I don’t know…” Her lips quivered. Goodness, she knew her hormones would have her balling in seconds if she didn’t take deep breaths. In two, three, four. Out two, three, four.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">“Is it the alternator? Or the pump?” he asked.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">“One minute it was fine and then…” She gulped. A fat tear drop began its descent and was promptly joined by others. Her shoulders shook. There was no stopping the flow. So she gave in, covered her face with her hands and had herself a good ugly cry.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">She heard the officer say, “Ma’am, please don’t cry,” which of course made her wail even harder. She tilted her head to face him.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">“I—I can’t help it,” she hiccupped. “Believe me, I would stop if I could. It’s just that…”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">He stalked toward his vehicle, and Courtney tried to reign in her emotions to no avail. All the stress of the past day was pouring as hard as the rain had been moments earlier. The officer returned with a handful of tissues. Thanking him, she stared straight ahead and wiped her face. If she looked at him and saw any level of sympathy, that might lead to an even greater crying fest. She hated having anyone feel sorry for her. But she sure did feel sorry for herself.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">“Is there someone you can call?” he asked once her tears subsided.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">“N-no. I forgot my cell phone.” Courtney had discovered that fact hours later. Even now, she could picture the device resting on the desk by the front door. She had put it there to enter the security code and, in her haste, hadn’t slipped it in her purse. Berating herself for that stupid mistake, Courtney had gripped the wheel and pressed down on the gas, willing herself not to turn around but to keep pressing forward.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">He gave her a speculative glance. “Where is it?”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Disliking the suspicious tone, she answered the question through gritted teeth. “Back in Georgia.” Then, because she couldn’t hold her sass, she said, “Forgetting a phone isn’t a crime. It’s a common mistake.”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">For a second, his jaw jutted, but he looked at his watch. “I’m almost off the clock, but I can call you a tow truck. You’re only about five miles from town, and I think I can convince Lenny to come get you.”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">She released a shaky breath. “I don’t have any money for repairs.”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Her eyes misted as the enormity of her situation sunk in. She was stranded with less than twenty dollars and no means of communication. Her heart began to pound. Most of the funds she had carried had been used to fuel this gas-guzzler. That had been an unexpected expense. Come to think of it, that should have tipped her off that something was wrong with her vehicle. Not that it would have changed her desperate escape plan.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Her stomach rumbled. And she was hungry, having eaten the remainder of her snacks an hour ago.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The officer cleared his throat. “What about a credit card?” She gave him her attention, noting the name on his badge on that broad chest read, Brigg Harrington. Her pride was as flat as the puddles in front of her. She had several credit cards. However, the Meadowses had canceled them, along with her phone.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">When she realized she left her phone, she had attempted to get another cheaper model, and that’s when she had learned her old number was no longer in service. Then she experienced an embarrassment at the store when she inserted the credit card to buy a new cell phone. At least she’d had enough in her own account to fill her tank for the last time. Pity that the car was now out of commission. Permanently.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">“That’s not an option for me right now.” Even if she had to walk to Fort Lauderdale—okay, now was not the time for that kind of a blanket statement. She couldn’t walk any serious distance in her condition. Especially since she was considered high risk, even though she was only thirty-one.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">He bunched his fists and lifted his eyes upward. She could feel the mixture of impatience and disbelief wafting from his persona. “Who travels like this in this day and time? And am I really supposed to believe that you have no one. No one that you can call?” She kept silent because his tone suggested he was releasing his frustration and not expecting an answer. Pointing at her, he commanded, “Wait here,” and stormed off.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It’s not like she could go anywhere. She placed her tongue between her teeth to keep from saying that to him. Somehow, she doubted he would welcome her sense of humor.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Still, she felt horrible she was keeping him from ending his shift on time. Yet, it wasn’t like she had planned this. She rubbed her tummy. She hadn’t planned any of the events of her life for the past year. Peering in the rearview, Courtney could see he was on his phone, most likely radioing for assistance.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It was now dark, and any second, the rain could start pouring again. Courtney was stuck, and she had no idea what to do. Taking off her cap, she allowed her hair to fall to her shoulders, wiping her now sweaty brow. She really wanted to step out of the vehicle but wasn’t sure if the cop would want her to do that.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And she wasn’t about to take any chances without any witnesses around. Not that he gave off a bad vibe or anything. Still.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The humid Florida weather made the air stifling and dense. Reaching in the back seat for her bag, she pulled out a maternity tank top, then pushed her seat back to swap her T-shirt damp from sweat and tears with the tank top. That’s when she noticed him standing there with his arms folded showing off well-shaped biceps. Waiting or watching? She couldn’t be sure.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">A blush crept up her body. “I was hot,” she explained, noting the rain had petered off again,</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">His tone remained professional. “The tow truck will be here soon. I’ll wait with you until it comes.”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">“Just impound it. I can’t afford to fix it.”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">He dipped his chin. “Lenny will work out something. Don’t worry about that now. The more pressing thing is you need a place to stay. There’s a town shelter, but it’s late, and with the weather, I can almost guarantee that it’s at capacity.”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Then why suggest it? Again, she kept that thought to herself. His matter-of-fact tone grated her nerves. “Officer, maybe you can cancel the tow truck and I can stay here in my car?” Even as she spoke the words, she knew that wasn’t feasible.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">“That’s not safe. Your car is a dark color and there are no streetlights. Parked as you are, you could get hit and seriously injured by a passing truck or car.” He gestured for her to come out of the vehicle. “We can try the next town over to see if they have boarding for the night.” His mannerisms suggested he couldn’t wait to be rid of her.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Resigned, she stuffed her hair back under her cap, snatched her bag then looked around for the baby bag. An image of the bag she had packed since month five resting by her bedroom door came into her mind. She groaned. She had meant to take it on her way out the door, but it was obvious she had forgotten. She sighed. Pregnancy brain was real. She gathered her other meager belongings and pushed the door open, giving it the usual shove. Then holding on to the door frame, she carefully maneuvered herself out of the sedan.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The cop’s eyes bulged. He pointed a finger and sputtered in an accusatory tone. “You’re pregnant?”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">“Yep,” she quipped, enjoying seeing the unflappable man appear caught off guard. “Good to see your observational skills are on par.” Oh boy, her sarcasm and wit tended to go in overdrive when she was scared or hungry or broke. Didn’t take much to loosen her tongue. She needed to dial it back though, considering this man was her source of rescue.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">“How far along are you?”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">“I’m eight months.”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">“Yet, you would have had me leave you here on the side of the road?”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Frustrated, she flailed her arms. “I don’t know what else to do. I’ve been driving for hours, and if this piece of crap had just held out for a little longer, I would have been in Fort Lauderdale with my sister.” Touching the car, she said, “I’m sorry. You’re not crap. I’m just frustrated.”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">An eyebrow rose. “I thought you said you had no one.”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">“Nothing gets by you, eh?” she shot back. “Well, for your information, I didn’t lie. My sister works for a cruise ship, and I’ve got about fourteen days or so before she returns.”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">He studied her for a beat before calling the town shelter. Hearing they had no space, he then called two others in two nearby towns. All stated he should try tomorrow. He pressed his lips together and ran a hand over his fade before groaning.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">There was a crack of thunder. She lifted her head, and a plop of rain landed on her nose. Another drop hit her forehead.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Placing his hands on both of his hips, he declared. “You can stay with me. Just for tonight.” He sounded ungracious making that generous offer, and for a second, Courtney was tempted to say no.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">“Don’t do me any favors, sir.”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">“Don’t give me any sass, ma’am.” Her mouth dropped. He was quick on the comeback. She would have laughed if her situation wasn’t so sorry. The rain began to come down, soaking her shirt and hair. “Get in my truck,” he said in a much milder tone.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">With a nod, she waded through the puddle, her sneakers dipping into mud. She opened the passenger door and dropped her belongings on the floor. No way was she riding in the rear. The last time Courtney had been inside a police vehicle, it had been with her sister as they were being taken away from their mother. Fighting back that terrible memory, Courtney climbed up into the front seat, eyeing him, daring him to tell her she couldn’t.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Fortunately for him—and her—he didn’t say a word.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b style="color: #0a0a0a; font-family: Poppins, Arial;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Twenty-Eight-Dates-Seven-Brides-Brothers-ebook/dp/B0C8V1PKGZ/ref=sr_1_5?crid=312A84YI6TB7F&keywords=michelle+lindo+rice&qid=1688272461&s=books&sprefix=michelle+lindo+ric%2Cstripbooks%2C91&sr=1-5" target="_blank">Order Your Copy</a></b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span face=""Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #0f1111; font-size: 14px; font-weight: 700;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Except from TWENTY-EIGHT DATES by Michelle Lindo-Rice. This material is protected by copyright.</div><div><br /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span face=""Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #0f1111; font-size: 14px; font-weight: 700;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span face=""Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #0f1111; font-size: 14px; font-weight: 700;">Seven Brides for Seven Brothers</span></div></div><p><span face=""Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #0f1111; font-size: 14px;">Book 1: </span><span class="a-text-italic" face=""Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #0f1111; font-size: 14px; font-style: italic;">Rivals at Love Creek</span><span face=""Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #0f1111; font-size: 14px;"><br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />Book 2: </span><span class="a-text-italic" face=""Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #0f1111; font-size: 14px; font-style: italic;">Cinderella's Last Stand</span><span face=""Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #0f1111; font-size: 14px;"><br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />Book 3: </span><span class="a-text-italic" face=""Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #0f1111; font-size: 14px; font-style: italic;">Twenty-Eight Dates</span></p>Michelle Lindo-Ricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10802309295322211300noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-169113315170910268.post-57091581314541822002023-07-02T00:27:00.004-04:002023-07-02T01:26:14.733-04:00THE BOOKSHOP SISTERHOOD - Michelle Lindo-Rice - Sample Chapters<p></p><h2 style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><em style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #0a0a0a; font-family: Poppins, Arial; font-size: 16px; font-weight: 400; line-height: inherit; text-align: start;"><strong style="box-sizing: inherit; line-height: inherit;">When life rewrites the story, only friendship will see them through.</strong></em></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><em style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #0a0a0a; font-family: Poppins, Arial; font-size: 16px; font-weight: 400; line-height: inherit; text-align: start;"><strong style="box-sizing: inherit; line-height: inherit;"><br /></strong></em></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKerh2oTV7LO7WCEExQCRESJol9DduTZlTSdIHqVlrg5JVhdVzHQqXMO8Foh9QTN2fjZ8Wx96jc_TySCi8NsAfF1eA2yUeuPQm4QVm3l-X543iOOp9cWH7-BQBIZAeE_b2Xu2Xev_hh0rvK2H6bpTT7y6cMxr0ZEvE6P-pCY9fldn_gQlphdupn6lqUVlC/s4000/image.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2667" data-original-width="4000" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKerh2oTV7LO7WCEExQCRESJol9DduTZlTSdIHqVlrg5JVhdVzHQqXMO8Foh9QTN2fjZ8Wx96jc_TySCi8NsAfF1eA2yUeuPQm4QVm3l-X543iOOp9cWH7-BQBIZAeE_b2Xu2Xev_hh0rvK2H6bpTT7y6cMxr0ZEvE6P-pCY9fldn_gQlphdupn6lqUVlC/s320/image.png" width="320" /></a></div><a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0C3MK6L6Y/ref=sr_1_1?crid=23ZEFGC0AV8W1&keywords=the+bookshop+sisterhood+michelle+lindo+rice&qid=1682558631&sprefix=the+bookshop+sisterhood+michelle+lindo+rice%2Caps%2C150&sr=8-1" target="_blank">Order Your Copy</a></h2><h2 style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span face=""Open Sans", sans-serif" style="background-color: white; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: small;">About the Book</span></span></h2><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span face=""Open Sans", sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #555555; font-size: 15px; text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span face=""Open Sans", sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #555555; font-size: 15px; text-align: left;">After years of hard work, four best friends—Celeste, Yasmeen, Toni and Leslie—are finally on the verge of opening the bookstore of their dreams. A place where their community can find solace with an intriguing new read, a comforting beverage and book-loving friends.</span><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #555555; font-family: Poppins, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;" /><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #555555; font-family: Poppins, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;" /><span face=""Open Sans", sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #555555; font-size: 15px; text-align: left;">But before they can cut the ribbon, their worlds are upended.</span><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #555555; font-family: Poppins, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;" /><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #555555; font-family: Poppins, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;" /><span face=""Open Sans", sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #555555; font-size: 15px; text-align: left;">Toni receives devastating news just months before her wedding, while Celeste’s struggling marriage threatens to collapse completely. Leslie learns a shocking secret about her family, and a lotto ticket changes Yasmeen’s life—but not for the better.</span><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #555555; font-family: Poppins, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;" /><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #555555; font-family: Poppins, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;" /><span face=""Open Sans", sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #555555; font-size: 15px; text-align: left;">As the bookstore’s grand opening fast approaches, the four women must lean on each other now more than ever to navigate their grief and uncertainty. And together, they’ll learn that sometimes, even life’s most unexpected plot twists can lead to beautiful new beginnings.</span></div><p></p><p><br /></p><h2 style="text-align: left;">Chapter 1</h2><p><i>Celeste</i></p><p>January 2</p><p>“This is going to be the best year of our lives,” Celeste Coleman said with forced cheeriness, tucking her long legs under her dining table. She lifted her coffee cup toward the other three women seated in her spacious eat-in kitchen.</p><p>Leslie and Toni propped their elbows on the table and held up their iced lattes.</p><p>Yasmeen was the last to raise her cup of peppermint tea. “I sure hope so.” Her foot rapped on the natural hardwood floors. She was convinced coffee wasn’t good for her skin, though Celeste had repeatedly told her it was rich in antioxidants. But Yasmeen’s dark skin was smooth, flawless, so Celeste stopped arguing and let her drink her tea.</p><p>It was Tuesday, a few minutes after 9:00 a.m. on the second day of the new year, and her friends had gathered in her home in Dover, Delaware, with two purposes in mind: to talk about their first read of the year, Just the Nicest Couple, and then plan the grand opening of their bookstore. The closest major bookstores were an hour away, and the friends believed they had a solid chance at launching a successful business selling what had bound their sisterhood for years: books. No matter what was going on in their lives, books were their therapy, their escapism, their companions—and pretty soon, they would share that love with other young girls. Celeste could hardly wait.</p><p>They had to decide on a name, their brand and a location.</p><p>The women tapped their cups gently.</p><p>Seeing Yasmeen’s slumped shoulders, Celeste’s heart squeezed. Yasmeen had been working two jobs at two nursing homes and had lost one of them just before the end of December. Now she was sleeping on her parents’ couch in their one-bedroom apartment. She eyed Yasmeen’s jeans, sweater and black kitten pumps from two seasons ago and kept her face devoid of any pity.</p><p>“It will be amazing. How can it not be? Four friends with off-the-chart skills starting a bookstore together can only be amazing,” Leslie chimed in, her green eyes sparkling. She patted her sleek blond bob out of habit, because not a single strand of hair was out of place. She wore a blue-and-red sweater set with black slacks—no-nonsense clothes for a no-nonsense, plus-size woman. Celeste was taken back to the first time she had met Leslie—a white woman attending a HBCU, who showed up to pledge in her sorority. The other sorority sisters had balked, tried to freeze her out, but Leslie had spunk, so Celeste had welcomed her to the sisterhood.</p><p>The fourth woman at the table rolled her eyes. “Yes, as long as we each play our parts—no slacking—everything will be alright,” Toni said, flashing her five-carat engagement ring and giving Yasmeen a pointed glance. Mirroring her icon, Tracee Ellis Ross, Toni had donned a Galvan sunshine-yellow dress with matching Louboutin heels. After leaving her advertising executive job to become a social media and book influencer, Toni had garnered hundreds of thousands of followers, who tracked her every move. Her bank account made her more than happy to share her life and her love of books with the world.</p><p>Celeste couldn’t understand the phenomenon that was vlogging, but Toni had doubled her six-figure salary by just sharing moments of her personal life and her book recommendations with her fans. Her success was why Toni would be their publicity manager to take their store nationwide. She was eager to hear Toni’s ideas.</p><p>Of course, Yasmeen wasn’t about to let that jab slide. “What’s that supposed to mean?” She popped gum in her mouth and pinned Toni with a glare. “I’m bringing my knowledge of books. I have been an avid reader for years and I have actually worked in a library, been around books. Granted, it was in high school and only lasted a few months but still…” She cleared her throat and sipped her tea. “It takes skill to keep on top of what’s trending in the book world. I know what’s hot right now and I know how to organize our bookstore. I might not have a degree, but I do bring something to the table.”</p><p>Celeste smiled. It was for that reason that Yasmeen would decide what books they needed to purchase for their main target audience: minorities and other underrepresented communities.</p><p>“Why did you make the assumption that I was talking to you?” Toni asked, drinking her coffee and peering over the mug.</p><p>Celeste could see the mischief in Toni’s eyes. She raised her brows, giving Toni a silent warning, but Toni batted her mink eyelash extensions, toyed with a section of her midlength chocolate locks, and ignored her.</p><p>“Because I know you.” Yasmeen’s head snapped back and forth, her thick, natural curls swaying with each movement. “You’ve been shading me every chance you get since you showed up.” They engaged in what felt like the thousandth stare down since the three women graduated high school together. First it had been just Celeste and Yasmeen, then when Toni came to town the last semester of high school, they had become inseparable, but Toni and Yasmeen had always butted heads.</p><p>Yasmeen was way too sensitive when it came to her lack of education—which admittedly tried Celeste’s patience—and Toni knew that.</p><p>“Ladies—notice I said ladies, not girls—let’s refocus,” Leslie said in a singsong voice, her Philadelphia accent strong.</p><p>Celeste smoothed her off-white pants suit, tugged on her pumpkin-colored tank and tapped her matching Blahniks. Often the peacekeeper—unless she was the one bickering with Yasmeen over their differing opinions on each other’s relationships—she knew from experience their meeting could go sideways if she didn’t jump in. Something she had never hesitated to do, until…</p><p>No. It was best not to think about that.</p><p>Keeping a calm voice, Celeste ignored her hammering heart and addressed the group. “Listen, it’s a new year. A chance for new beginnings for all of us. We need to be in solidarity if this venture is going to work. Wade has already predicted we’re going to fail because, and I’m quoting him, ‘we’re too catty to work together,’ so I for one need to prove him wrong.”</p><p>She pressed her thighs together to keep from squirming. Her hand was shaking and threatening to spill the contents of her mug, so Celeste placed the cup on the mat. Glancing around, she was relieved to see her friends hadn’t noticed. Bringing up her husband of fourteen years made her think about their marriage and the nonexistent intimacy between them over the past few months. That hadn’t been the case when she had gotten married at twenty years old, her third year of college. They had been…insatiable. Inseparable. Now it was like he couldn’t stand the sight of her. He didn’t say it, but his eyes didn’t lie. Oh, he wanted her. Very much. He just couldn’t stand her weakness.</p><p>She shook her head, blinking back tears as she scanned each woman at the table before looking out the sliding door that led to her backyard. If it weren’t for her friends, she wouldn’t have made it to another new year.</p><p>“What does he know?” Yasmeen said, giving Toni a light shove. “We bicker but the love is real. You mess with one of my girls, you mess with me.” She and Toni high-fived.</p><p>Pointing to the folders on each of their woven table mats, Leslie said, “Can we get back to the plans? We need to agree on the name and set the launch date.”</p><p>When Leslie had approached the four friends with the idea of going into business together the year before, Yasmeen had been enthusiastic but Celeste and Toni had declined. Celeste held a lucrative position as chief financial officer at a healthcare administration center, where she oversaw the financial management and expansion of several facilities. But then the carjacking happened. And her life changed. Her marriage changed. Her love for the job changed.</p><p>Then Leslie brought up the bookstore again. They’d flourished during the pandemic, and with streaming services making movies out of books, Celeste had reconsidered and so had Toni. It felt like it could be fun, something new and a risk worth taking. Celeste was not one for risks after almost losing her life, but she needed a fresh start. She planned to devote as much time as she could to getting the bookstore on solid footing. Shaking off the memory of the attack with a toss of her shoulder-length auburn bob, she reminded herself to take long, deep breaths. Remain calm. She was safe. Among friends.</p><p>Toni opened her folder. “Being the overachiever that I am, I prepared a slideshow to present my ideas on how to get us to another level, start some buzz, and I’m stoked for you all to see it.”</p><p>The women gestured for Toni to go ahead. Celeste wanted to say they should talk about the name or the finances first, but she didn’t want to dash her friend’s exuberance. Toni dipped into her large tote and retrieved her iPad mini.</p><p>“You sound like a woodpecker,” Yasmeen said, referring to Toni’s pointed nails clicking on the screen. It was a mystery how she could operate her smart devices with them, but Toni was a pro.</p><p>Celeste bit back a chuckle. She knew Yasmeen was in payback mode. She was probably still low-key upset with Toni’s barb from a few minutes ago. Thankfully, Toni didn’t retaliate. With a swoop of her arm, she turned the screen and they huddled to take a look.</p><p>“That’s you in your wedding dress,” Leslie said, scrunching her nose. “Didn’t I choose this one?” The friends had ventured with Toni to several bridal stores across several states. Toni had yet to ring the bell for the right one.</p><p>“Oh, my bad.” She squinted. “I think this was your choice but I haven’t decided.” She tapped her screen again and pulled up a PowerPoint, her light brown eyes sparkling. “I’ve been researching some bookstore websites and I’m excited about forming a larger in-person book club.” Before anyone could respond, she tilted her head. “By the way, Yasmeen, I would be honored if you’d design a one-of-a-kind bouquet ensemble for my big day.”</p><p>Outsiders might have found the shift odd, but toggling between conversational topics had always been part of their flow. At Toni’s sincere tone, the four women joined hands in the center of the table. It wasn’t often Toni got emotional.</p><p>“Aw, I would love to.” Yasmeen’s voice caught and she lowered her head. In one of her many gigs, Yasmeen had worked at a florist shop and had been really good at it, even though it wasn’t her passion. But she viewed them as great gifts, so each of the women had hand-crafted arrangements in their homes. “Do you have a date yet?”</p><p>“Actually, since Kent and I have a small circle of friends and family, we planned on doing something small. But then I thought about my fans, and the bookstore, and…” She paused and gave them each a look.</p><p>“You are not live on social media,” Celeste said. “Spit it out.”</p><p>“I thought we could get married at the bookstore. It would be a launch and a wedding,” she squealed, shaking her shoulders.</p><p>“Oh wow. What a great idea,” Yasmeen said. “That’s thousands of people tuning in to watch you get married, while putting our bookstore on the map.”</p><p>Toni bobbed her head. “Yes, plus instead of sending us gifts, I would ask them to buy books instead. You know any of the ones I recommend on my streams end up hitting the bestseller lists, which gives me even more followers. So this would be a win-win for all of us.” She cheered. “It was Kent’s idea, actually.”</p><p>“Kent?” Celeste gasped. “Sheer genius.”</p><p>“Yes, that man has been good for me in so many ways.”</p><p>“That is beyond dope,” Yasmeen said. “Cha-ching.”</p><p>Celeste chuckled and rolled her eyes.</p><p>“I’m so happy for you,” Leslie breathed out. “That man is so sprung I think if you asked him to jump off Niagara Falls, he would. He’d do anything for you.”</p><p>That was no exaggeration. From the moment Kent Hughes met Toni, he had been smitten. Celeste had witnessed the astute, sharp corporate attorney reduced to a gushing schoolboy because her friend batted her lashes.</p><p>“You’re his arm candy,” Celeste teased and Toni’s smile wavered for a fleeting second. Celeste’s brows furrowed. Was Toni offended by her choice of words? But Toni tossed her hair and struck a pose. Maybe she had imagined it…</p><p>“I’m envious of your well-shaped arms, Toni,” Leslie said, touching her own “mommy’s paunch,” as she dubbed her rounded belly—a remnant of her pregnancy and C-section twelve years prior. And sweets. Mostly sweets.</p><p>“Thank you. If you’re going to be fluff, you might as well be fit fluff,” Toni said, lifting both arms to show off her muscles.</p><p>Though she laughed, a sadness showed in Toni’s eyes, like she wanted to be…more. But then, one couldn’t take Toni seriously because she was such a hoot.</p><p>“I love the idea of a book club at the bookstore as well,” Celeste said, returning the conversation to business. “It’s brilliant, so thank you.” She looked at Leslie. “Since we’re each investing fifteen thousand dollars, we can put some funds into advertising and creating a buzz for our big day. I’ll also look into investing a portion into some stocks that will give us a quick turnaround.” Celeste was an expert at all things money.</p><p>Too bad she couldn’t say the same of her marriage.</p><p>Ugh. Think of something else, Celeste.</p><p>Yasmeen’s chin tucked into her chest. Celeste knew it was because her friend was self-conscious about not being able to contribute. Instead, Toni, Leslie and Celeste each had donated equal amounts toward her portion. Of course, Yasmeen had vowed to pay them back.</p><p>Leslie filled the silence. “I’ve already begun scouting for a location. I’ll let you guys know when I have a few suitable places for us to check out, and I’ll get us incorporated.”</p><p>Yasmeen lifted a hand. “I wanted to bring up the idea of us making this a bookstore-café combination.” </p><p>“I think we should focus on one thing before another,” Leslie countered, her tone firm.</p><p>“I like the idea of a café, but I’d have to do some research on that.” Toni made some quick notes. “My mind went to possible bug-and-rodent infestation.”</p><p>Yasmeen rolled her eyes. “I love being able to enjoy tea or cookies while I read.”</p><p>They all pinned their eyes on Celeste, waiting for her input. She tensed, resisting the urge to cringe into her seat. She counted to three before siding with Yasmeen. “It could be a great investment. I actually ran the numbers on bookstores with cafés and they’ve showed profit.”</p><p>“And don’t forget I was a barista.”</p><p>“Yeah, I think that was job number ten?” Toni chuckled. Then she gasped and snapped her fingers. “Maybe you could come up with a special blend. Something that makes our store stand apart. I could get behind that.”</p><p>“Ooh.” Yasmeen nodded. “I like that idea, but since I don’t drink coffee, I might do a tea blend or a refresher.”</p><p>“I’m feeling that,” Toni said, giving Yasmeen’s arm a squeeze.</p><p>Celeste nodded. “Alright. I guess we’re doing a bookstore-slash-café. We just need a name…”</p><p>“I think I might have a solution for that.” Toni clicked on her PowerPoint. “How about…Four Besties Books?” She bit her lower lip and gave them an expectant look.</p><p>Yasmeen held up a finger. “And beverages.”</p><p>Leslie’s mouth popped open and her eyes went bright. She mouthed the words several times before she squealed. “That’s it. That’s it. Besties, Books and Bevs.”</p><p>“It’s perfect.” Celeste breathed out and thumbed away a tear. This was really happening. “I think we have a name, guys.”</p><p>“You know what’s cool? The fact that we will have a Black-owned bookstore in our city,” Toni said.</p><p>Leslie pointed to her chest. “Um, white woman here.”</p><p>“Well, seventy-five percent of us are Black, so that makes it Black-owned,” Celeste said. “I did my research. And besides, you invited to the cookout, so make sure you bring your mac and cheese, because it’s off the charts.”</p><p>“You know it’s good too.” Leslie cackled.</p><p>They clinked their cups again, toasting to Besties, Books and Bevs.</p><p>“Good. Now that all that’s settled, can we choose our book for February?” Yasmeen asked.</p><p>“You just picked the book, Yas,” Celeste warned. “And you did in October and November. Someone else needs a chance. Let’s hear everyone’s book pitches.”</p><p>She pouted. “I have a really good one. Just hear me out. American Queen is—”</p><p>“Nope.” Toni raised a hand. “Save it. Don’t want to hear it. It’s my turn and I say we finally read Walking in My Joy: In These Streets.”</p><p>“Whatever. You only want to read it because it’s written by a celebrity,” Yasmeen griped.</p><p>“And?” Toni rolled her eyes. “Jenifer Lewis is a legend. Plus, she has style.”</p><p>“Actually, it’s my turn,” Leslie said. “Don’t you remember you chose the book in December? I think we should read I Will Never Leave You, by a new author, Kara A. Kennedy.”</p><p>Celeste rolled her eyes. “We just read a thriller though. How about Rochelle Weinstein? We didn't read When We Let Go last year. Or, we could choose another Marie Benedict book? She’s all about empowering and uplifting extraordinary women.”</p><p>“I agree,” Leslie said. “Marie’s books make great company at night when Aaron is off working and Nadya is in bed.”</p><p>“I guess if that floats your boat,” Toni joked.</p><p>Celeste gave her a playful shove. “You enjoyed her. Admit it. Plus you guys couldn’t stop raving about The First Ladies last year. Remember that? The one she wrote with Victoria Christopher Murray?”</p><p>“Oh yeah, didn’t they coauthor another book together?”</p><p>“Yes, The Personal Librarian,” Yasmeen chimed in. “The audiobook is amazing.”</p><p>This was how it was when they talked about books. The discussion could go on for hours. Toni continued, “My other book choices are Michelle Obama’s, Becoming, or Cicely Tyson’s Just as I Am, since it’s Black History Month.”</p><p>“I’ve read those already,” Yasmeen said.</p><p>“Read it again,” Celeste countered with a sigh. “You read almost everything we mention.”</p><p>“No. No. I got it. I got it.” Yasmeen’s eyes flashed. “I say we read Rhonda McKnight’s Bitter and Sweet. Or…since Valentine’s Day is coming up, we can pick a romance. By a Black author. Like Toni Shiloh’s The Love Script.”</p><p>“Ooh, I could get with that.” Toni rubbed her hands. “But FYI, Rhonda’s book won’t be out until June or so.”</p><p>“Wait, how about When No One is Watching, by Alyssa Cole? It’s a thriller and she’s a Black author,” Leslie suggested.</p><p>“It sounds like we have quite a list for the next few months,” Celeste said. “Why don’t we write them all down and pick one for each month?” The women recorded their choices on slim strips of paper and then plucked the name for February.</p><p>“When No One is Watching, it is,” Leslie yelled, doing a dance. They then chose the other books for the rest of the year.</p><p>“That took way longer than it needed to, but now that it’s done, I’ll put some plans together for our launch and my wedding,” Toni said, rubbing her hands together. “I think summer is the best time, like mid-July.”</p><p>Leslie nodded. “Summer works, but let’s push for late June, before people go off on holidays.”</p><p>Yasmeen nodded. “I agree.”</p><p>Celeste raised a brow at Toni. “Keep the launch party classy.”</p><p>Jangling the pearl bracelet that had been an heirloom from her mom, Leslie looked at her watch. “If there’s nothing else on the agenda, I need to tackle my to-do list if I’m going to get Nadya to her gymnastics class on time later this afternoon.”</p><p>“Take it easy on my goddaughter,” Celeste chided with a smile.</p><p>Leslie had completed her master’s degree in business management, and she ran her home like she did the multimillion-dollar industries she had dreamt of leading. Under her leadership, Celeste was confident their customer satisfaction would be unequalled. That was one of their goals.</p><p>“You mean our goddaughter,” Yasmeen corrected. “I’m pretty sure I was there when she screamed her way into the world.”</p><p>“Yes, but I was the only one who stayed in the delivery room,” Celeste said, her lips twitching.</p><p>The women began gathering their personal belongings and slipping into their coats.</p><p>“Whatever. We’re not going down that rabbit hole with you. I’ve got a doctor’s appointment,” Toni said, stretching.</p><p>“Doctor?” Celeste raised a brow.</p><p>“Just a routine visit.” Toni shrugged, not quite meeting her eyes.</p><p>“Well, I’ve got to fill out some job applications. Hopefully, somebody will call me,” Yasmeen said, touching her beautiful natural mane. At her depressed tone, Celeste gave Yasmeen’s hand a squeeze.</p><p>“So that’s it for now.” Celeste stood. “I have a facial and hair appointment here at the house so I can be ready for this work event Wade insists I attend.” Her stomach knotted at the thought of going out at night.</p><p>“Will you be okay?” Leslie asked, rubbing Celeste’s arm.</p><p>All Celeste could do was nod and swallow her fear. Or to use Wade’s words, her irrational fear.</p><p>The women hugged each other. Yasmeen wiggled her hips. “I’m real excited about this bookshop.” </p><p>“I am too,” Celeste answered, her heart light. “In a few months, we’re going to have a classy event to remember.”</p><p>“You best believe it.” Toni snapped her fingers. “People will be talking about our bookstore launch for months to come. No, make that years.”</p><p>“As long as our launch is smooth and well-organized, I’ll be happy,” Leslie added.</p><p>Toni pointed to Celeste, “You’ll bring the class.” Then to Yasmeen, “You’ll add the creativity.” And to Leslie, “You the coordination.” She pointed to herself. “And I’ll bring the crowd.”</p><p>Yasmeen gave her a look. “How long did it take you to come up with that?”</p><p>They all cracked up.</p><p>“I just did. I’m that good,” Toni said, which led to even more laughter among the friends.</p><p>Celeste looked at each of her sister friends, her heart overflowing with love. She broke out into a spontaneous jig and her girls joined her, shaking their booties and egging each other on.</p><p>“You know,” Celeste said, “there’s a warning that friends shouldn’t go into business together. But I am quite sure we’ll be the exception.”</p><h2 style="text-align: left;">Chapter 2</h2><p><i>Toni</i></p><p>January 2</p><p>Antoinette “Toni” Marshall would be the first to declare she had never been in love. Until now. For thirty-four years, she had avoided the L word. Now it blossomed within her like a flower bursting open in the sun. She was so in love that this man had the power to contort her heart like a pretzel. Not that she had voiced that aloud often. In fact, when Kent Hughes had declared his love for her, she had responded with a breathless “Ditto,” like Demi and Patrick from one of her favorite movie classics, Ghost.</p><p>Recalling it now as she navigated the U-turn to the gynecologist’s office, she chuckled. Kent had cracked up, too, before giving her a scorching kiss. Two reasons of possibly a hundred, no, make that 1,228, as to why she loved him. His sense of humor and positive attitude.</p><p>His optimism was the equalizer of her internalized trust issues.</p><p>She pulled into the closest space to the entrance of the building—yes, she was an unapologetic space hog—and opened the door to her Mustang, an engagement gift from Kent. He had insisted on the car even when she told him the five-carat pink diamond—her favorite color—had been enough and she had her own money to spend on grown-up toys.</p><p>Slapping on a pair of oversize shades, she exited the car and pulled down her dress, which had ridden up during the twelve-minute ride from Celeste’s house. Usually, she would pull out her selfie stick and post a quick story to Instagram, highlighting her whereabouts, but today’s visit was personal. Humming the timeless tune of “Endless Love,” her intended wedding processional song, she signed in at the reception desk for her ten-thirty appointment and then sat in one of the comfortable chairs, avoiding making eye contact with the other two women in the room. Maybe it hadn’t been such a good idea to wear yellow. Nothing unobtrusive about it.</p><p>But back to her thoughts… Thinking about her fiancé was one of her favorite pastimes, right up there with reading. She had also been known to doodle his name like she was a teenager enthralled with her first crush. Once, she had even written Kent’s name inside the front cover of Yasmeen’s book. In her defense, she hadn’t realized what she was doing until she was done. Yasmeen had been hot for days, and Toni had had to buy her a brand-new copy.</p><p>Yep. She hummed now. Doodled and hummed. Love made her steps light and gave her strut extra confidence—emphasis on the extra, because you best believe that she had plenty before. It made her hips move with the kind of swagger that comes from the security of knowing she was loved by a trustworthy man. A man who didn’t play games. A man who gave of himself boldly. And without condition. For that man, she had willingly agreed to wait for marriage to consummate their relationship. Kent had been inspired after reading The Wait by DeVon Franklin and Meagan Good. Without the pressure of premarital sex, they devoted their time to getting to know each other and being satisfied with long, sensual kisses and an abundance of hugs.</p><p>She could pinch herself, but she wasn’t about to damage her unblemished skin. She had to maintain picture-perfect status as always.</p><p>She sent Kent a text with kissing emojis. Within seconds he returned the same. Her honey was quick with it. And dedicated to her. No matter what he was doing or where he was, if he was awake, he responded. Like she was important. Like she mattered. Was it any wonder her heart had tripped with the inelegance of a model wearing ten-inch heels on a slippery runway?</p><p>And to think if Yasmeen hadn’t dragged her to speed dating (Toni had gotten ten thousand followers from just posting about it), she would have never met Kent. A moment she’d dubbed “random perfection.”</p><p>The physician’s assistant came to the waiting room door, clipboard in hand, and called a name Toni forgot within seconds. One of the women held the sides of her chair and stood belly first in an awkward but adorable way. Toni’s eyes went wide. She hadn’t realized the woman was pregnant. She took in the rounded abdomen from under her lashes and quashed the immediate pang. The flashback. The envy. The what-if…</p><p>No. She wouldn’t, couldn’t, go down that path.</p><p>Shoving that memory aside, Toni picked up an old edition of Essence magazine with a rapper-turned-actor gracing the cover. She admired how the performer had maintained his physique and youthful looks, before flipping through the pages. Then she tossed the magazine on top of the others, losing interest. She wasn’t one to dwell on an unattainable fantasy. Not when she had a man who made her want to be something she had once vowed never to become.</p><p>A mother.</p><p>The door creaked open, and she heard her name. Her purse tucked under her arm, she tossed her hair and followed the physician’s assistant to a room that had an ultrasound machine. “Okay, Ms. Marshall, I’m sure you know the drill,” the woman said in a cheery tone, as she pulled the protection paper to cover the exam table, “You can get undressed, just the bottom half, and have a seat on the chair. I grabbed two gowns so you can put one on facing toward your front and the other toward your back—it’s chilly in here. Is your bladder full?”</p><p>“Oh yeah. I drank so much water and coffee, I feel like a camel. Although, I suppose if I was a camel, I would be able to hold it, but I am ready to go.” Her voice sounded breathy, a sure sign of her nervousness. Breathe, Toni, breathe.</p><p>The other woman chuckled. “You’ll be glad to know that you’re next, so you’ll be able to use the restroom soon. I’ll be back in a few minutes to give you some privacy. The doctor won’t be long.” Placing the hospital gowns on the chair, she vacated the room.</p><p>Toni changed into the drab blue-grey gowns, her body shivering, more from nerves than the cool room, before sitting on the table, hating the feel of the crinkly paper. She had come in for her yearly pap smear the week before, but the doctor had ordered a transvaginal ultrasound when Toni stated she’d had irregular periods over the past six months. She stared at the posters of the female anatomy before she retrieved her cell phone to scroll through her social media accounts. She was curious to learn her fans’ reactions to her post that morning.</p><p>One in particular made her frown. Someone with the moniker @BLSTFRDAPST posted a comment in all caps.</p><p>I KNOW WHAT YOU DID. DON’T LET ME TELL.</p><p>Because of her social media presence, Toni was used to all sorts of hecklers. But something about this one caused dread to fall like boulders in her stomach. She’d first seen this username about a month ago when she shared her wedding plans and talked about how she wanted to have a baby right away. Her fans had posted all sorts of encouraging words, except for this @BLSTFRDAPST.</p><p>And here they were again. Her palms became sweaty and her heart moved faster than a gamer on a PlayStation release day. She fretted on her lower lip. This could be anyone. Or a certain someone… Her heart thundered. If this was who she thought it was, things could get ugly. He could damage the life she had built, slash her good-girl facade and expose her for the hypocrite she was. The only reason she had become a social influencer and plastered her face on social media was because she didn’t think this person could ever get to her again.</p><p>She took a screen shot. Hopefully, her sudden anxiety would be a simple overreaction. Before she could dwell on that eerie comment, the doctor entered the room with his assistant close behind.</p><p>They closed the door. Dr. Hadden greeted her, tapped her shoulder and then directed her to lie down. His assistant placed a blanket across her abdomen and the procedure begun. Staring up at the ceiling, Toni gritted her teeth and willed herself to relax. His assistant took picture after picture which made Toni look at the grayed image on the screen.</p><p>Suddenly, the physician’s assistant paused and gave the doctor a look. The doctor leaned forward, brows furrowed. He peered at the screen before taking over. Alarm punched her gut. That wasn’t a good sign.</p><p>Her heart thumped. “Do you see anything?” she squeaked out.</p><p>The doctor gave her a bland smile. “I need to study the pictures a little more. That’s all.”</p><p>No. That wasn’t all. She knew it. “What is it?” she asked, her tone insistent and shaky.</p><p>“Let me go study the labs and then we’ll talk.” His words were followed with a patronizing pat on her shoulder. Toni wanted to scream that she wasn’t a child and she needed the doctor to tell her what was going on now. But that would make her sound like a child throwing a tantrum. He addressed his assistant. “Once Ms. Marshall’s ready, you can bring her to my office.”</p><p>Oh no. Now she knew it wasn’t good. Her body trembled. She crossed her arms, blinking back the tears of fright. She wasn’t a crier, so her over-the-top reaction was surprising. While she used the restroom and dressed, her mind churned over scenarios on what the look on the doctor’s face could mean. Her legs felt wobbly and unbalanced in her heels, and she had to concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other as she followed the assistant to Dr. Hadden’s office.</p><p>She took in the deep chocolate armchairs, the solid desk, the bookshelf stuffed with medical books, the soothing water sounds playing in the background, and slipped into the chair across from him.</p><p>The doctor didn’t hesitate. “The ultrasound shows that your ovaries have shrunk. That’s a classic indicator of POI. Primary ovarian insufficiency. What this means is that your ovaries aren’t working the way they should to produce enough estrogen or release the eggs every month.” He pointed toward her. “This is why your periods have been irregular.”</p><p>Toni drew several deep breaths. “What are you saying?” Her mind hadn’t been able to process past the words “ovaries have shrunk.” She cupped her abdomen with the palm of her hand. “Spell it out for me, Doc, because I can be quite dramatic and I don’t want to be drawing conclusions and making assumptions, like the big C word.”</p><p>Leaning forward and clasping his hands, Dr. Hadden rushed to explain. “No, you don’t have cancer. I didn’t see any evidence of it in your lab work—”</p><p>She cut him off, released a small laugh and dabbed at her eyes. “Whew. Let me tell you, you had me worried there for a second. So, am I going to have to take estrogen pills? Because I don’t mind telling you since you’re bound by patient-doctor confidentiality I am ready to do whatever’s necessary to have a child. Not right away, though I know I’m probably considered ancient in gestational years. I want to enjoy married life for a bit. But after a year…” Dr. Hadden rubbed his eyes and gave her a grave look. She trailed off… “What is it? What aren’t you telling me?”</p><p>“I’m sorry, Ms. Marshall, but…” He paused before uttering four words that crushed her to the core. “You can’t have children.”</p><p>Her mouth dropped open. “That can’t be true.” She jumped to her feet and paced the small space. “I’m healthy. I eat right. This is so random.”</p><p>As if his assistant had timed it, she opened the door and ducked her head inside. She avoided Toni’s gaze but spoke in a calm, deferential tone. “Dr. Hadden, your next patient is here.” She backed out of the room, closing the door with a final click.</p><p>“I’m afraid the images confirmed it. You’re infertile.” His eyes held sympathy, and she spun away from him, hot, furious, disappointed tears rolling down her face. She sniffled and grabbed a tissue from the box strategically placed at the corner of his desk. How many women had received similar devastating news in this very room? How many tears did the walls hold secret? There was no way she was going to accept this. Toni would demand a second opinion.</p><p>Because if this were true, it would mean she wouldn’t be able to bless Kent with a child. Kent—the most perfect man, who wanted one thing from her.</p><p>It took every ounce of willpower she possessed to walk out of the doctor’s office with composure. She wanted to howl and scream and cry and rage, but she had to pretend. Pretend her heart wasn’t breaking. Pretend those four words hadn’t smashed her dreams of becoming a mother.</p><p>Slapping on her shades, Toni strutted outside with a tight grip on her purse and an even tighter smile. She wanted to go home and curl under the covers and hibernate with this pain for days. But she couldn’t.</p><p>Going home meant seeing Kent since they were supposed to meet up at her place. But she needed alone time to get her mind right before she saw him. Before she revealed that if he married her, he would never be a father. From the time they became engaged, he’d often talked about having a son like him or a daughter like her. That’s why he had purchased a house with five bedrooms. To fill it with children. To make a family. Kent had even ended a previous relationship because that woman hadn’t wanted kids.</p><p>Her case was different. She wanted children. Desperately. She just couldn’t have any. But would that matter, if the result was the same? She still couldn’t make Kent a father.</p><p>She sniffled. How she hated the thought of Kent putting on a front and pretending his heart wasn’t breaking, that choosing her hadn’t been yet another big disappointment in his life. Because that was the kind of man he was.</p><p>She was a failure. A disappointment. And her parents had already shown her what happened to those who disappoint. They got abandoned.</p><p>She couldn’t tell him.</p><p>She couldn’t even tell her friends. She wasn’t ready to voice her new truth. Not to herself or anyone else. Besides, why get everyone all riled up and emotional? Why bring them on this emotional roller coaster when it could all be for naught? Maybe this would be a fluke and she would get a better outcome at her second-opinion appointment. It was better she rode this one solo until she knew for sure.</p><p>As if on cue, she got a text from Kent.</p><p>How did everything go?</p><p>On instinct, she started to compose an honest response. They were best friends. They shared everything. Her heart pounded. Her mind pressed her to confess. But fear of losing him stopped her fingers from typing out the truth. Instead, she wrote four different words from the ones she had just heard. Four words that would change the paradigm of their relationship.</p><p>Everything is just fine.</p><h2 style="text-align: left;">Chapter 3</h2><p><i>Yasmeen</i></p><p>January 2</p><p>“I’ll meet you by the gas station,” Leslie whispered once they had stepped outside Celeste’s home. Then she scuttled toward her vehicle.</p><p>Yasmeen nodded before her eyes went wide. Drip. Drop. She could see the nasty gunk falling from her car onto Celeste’s immaculate pavement as she dashed down the driveway.</p><p>She knew she should have parked on the curb. But no, she just had to pull into Celeste’s driveway with her old clunker. Yasmeen Adams needed to listen to Yasmeen Adams. Now the newly paved driveway was ruined. She hopped in her car, hunched over her steering wheel and backed up onto the street. Leslie was already in her vehicle and Yasmeen had to follow her. She would call Celeste later and apologize.</p><p>That’s all she could do, because her account had a whopping $66.42 to feed herself and her parents over the next two weeks, which was why she had called Leslie for a ride so she could get to the meeting today.</p><p>But thank God for caring, intuitive friends. Leslie had told her to drive and offered to fill her tank. Though her friend would do more for her, that’s all Yasmeen would allow. Even now, she was mortified to accept this help but she had to get to work. She couldn’t lose another job. Tears rolled down her cheeks. She wiped her face. Her life was like a dark, slippery pit, and try as she might, she couldn’t get a good leg up to make her way out.</p><p>Her muffler made an obscene amount of noise in the otherwise quiet neighborhood, but she had to keep up with Leslie.</p><p>Peering through her rearview mirror, Yasmeen saw the people in the car behind her pointing and holding their noses. Her muffler released dark, blotchy puffs of air. The car next to her honked and gestured for her to roll down her passenger window. If she did, she would have to manually pull it back up, so at first she ignored them. But when they pressed her at the stoplight, she complied.</p><p>“You need to get that two-bit crap off the road!” the man yelled.</p><p>“Yeah, your car is only good for scraps. If that,” his partner bellowed before falling over in laughter.</p><p>Biting on her lower lip, Yasmeen resisted the urge to counter with the fact that they both could be related to Squidward from SpongeBob SquarePants, but her training as a certified nursing assistant refused to let her. Service without sass.</p><p>Some of her patients disrespected her while she fed or cleaned them, and she had to cater to them with a smile. They saw her as lower, inferior. And it wasn’t just them. Even some of the nurses behaved that way toward her. But Yasmeen didn’t mind. She needed the paycheck and she loved helping people. Besides, as her father would say, “love isn’t love if you only love the lovable.” The real test was loving the unlovable. Personally, she thought Michelle Obama said it best: “When they go low, we go high.”</p><p>Keeping her eyes on Leslie, who had stopped at the light ahead of her, she gave them a small wave and proceeded. She shivered from the cold, due to her now-open window and turned up the heat, which she had repaired just before losing her second job. Leslie turned into the local gas station and hopped out. She strutted over to Yasmeen and asked, “How do I open the tank?”</p><p>Yasmeen moved to open the door. “I’ll get it.”</p><p>Leslie waved her off. “Stay put.” She pressed on the latch, then slid her card in the card reader. Yasmeen watched her friend move with confidence, never once doubting or praying her card wouldn’t get declined. She was sure Leslie must be inhaling the fumes from her exhaust but her friend didn’t say a word. Her heart squeezed. Leslie placed the gas nozzle into the tank. Once it was going, she returned to the window.</p><p>Yasmeen put a hand over Leslie’s. “Thank you, again, friend.”</p><p>“It’s nothing.”</p><p>Not to Yasmeen, it wasn’t. This car was the means for her to remain employed for the next couple weeks.</p><p>Leslie switched topics. “I am so excited about this bookstore.” A sharp wind blew some of her hair into her mouth. She sputtered and used her finger to scoop it out before gagging. “Ugh. I tasted gas. I wasn’t thinking or I would’ve used my other hand. Do you have hand sanitizer?”</p><p>“Of course.” Yasmeen had bottles in every door. She held one out to Leslie, who poured a generous amount into her palm.</p><p>Rubbing her hands together, Leslie continued, “When you get a chance, email me your first book suggestions for the shop’s inventory.” She tilted her head. “I still can’t believe you read ten books over the past three days. I wish you had gotten a degree in library science or something. You could be a librarian now.”</p><p>Yasmeen froze and gripped the wheel. The praise flattened her spirit like a boulder on cotton. The familiar ache made her chest tighten.</p><p>Leslie gasped and placed a hand over her mouth. “Oh goodness, my love. You’ve got to forgive me. Sometimes I just blabber on and…”</p><p>“It’s okay,” she said in a small voice, patting her hair, her throat gripped with regret. She could do so much more if she didn’t struggle with heavy reading and test-taking. A fighter, Yasmeen overcame her reading difficulties through the use of audiobooks. She defiantly used that medium to read, read and read, especially since she had a Libby account from the library. (Did somebody say free books?) But the test-taking was another story. No matter how she tried or what she did, Yasmeen couldn’t pass the NCLEX-PN exam to become a licensed practicing nurse. She had taken the test three times and failed. That had ended her heart’s desire to become a nurse and had been the beginning of her deep-rooted self-disappointment.</p><p>Never mind that her father had become disabled, causing him to leave his job as a carpenter before entering into ministry full-time. A fulfilling but low-paying position, as most of the congregants were retired. Yasmeen generally tried to help her parents pay the utilities because his disability payments were just enough to pay the rent, but losing that second job hurt her contributions. Her Jamaican parents never complained because they were grateful for the opportunity to make a better life in America, but she knew she was a big disappointment to them, since she hadn’t become a nurse or a doctor. Instead, she was a community college and tech school dropout on their couch. They never criticized, but she felt their unexpressed pressure to succeed.</p><p>The gas pump clicked, sparing Leslie and Yasmeen any further awkward conversation. Leslie went to return the hose to its holster and get her receipt. She tried to apologize again but Yasmeen assured her that she was okay.</p><p>Even though she wasn’t.</p><p>Leslie dashed off to run more errands. Yasmeen sat by the pump, caught up in the memories of her past pain. It took years for Yasmeen to admit she might have a learning disability. But even though she researched strategies to help herself, she didn’t have the guts to get evaluated. To learn the truth. To see her shortcomings displayed in black-and-white.</p><p>Her stomach rumbled, reminding her that she had promised her parents to bring them something to eat from the dollar menu at the drive-through. All they had in the refrigerator was eggs, and that had been their dinner the night before. She started the car and dug in her purse for a fresh piece of gum, only to discover she was all out.</p><p>With a huge sigh, she turned off the car and headed into the store. The wind blew her curls in all kinds of directions but she wasn’t worried about it. She hoped the gas station had her Big Red cinnamon gum. As she shuffled inside and ambled toward the candy aisle, her phone rang.</p><p>Pookie came up on her screen—the nickname for her on-again, off-again boyfriend, Darryl—and she allowed the call to go to voicemail. She grabbed two packs of gum and made her way to the checkout queue. There were three people ahead of her and each one of them bought a lottery ticket. Apparently, the local lottery was a little over ten million dollars—10.5 million dollars to be exact. Her father’s words echoed in her head: “God disapproves of gambling.” She inched closer and chewed on her bottom lip while she considered. Spending a couple dollars on a lottery ticket would be a major sacrifice. It would mean foregoing her burger and drink at the drive-through.</p><p>Her body swayed back and forth, matching the indecisiveness of her mind. For some reason, before he left the store, the man in front of her addressed her. “Take a chance. Buy a ticket. You never know.” He held up his own ticket. “Today might be my lucky day.”</p><p>Her lips twisted. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from asking “But how much money do you have to spend to make the jackpot?” Yasmeen slid her gum across the counter and tapped her feet. Then, right before the cashier added up her total, she found herself saying, “Let me get a ticket.”</p><p>“What’s your number?”</p><p>Yasmeen didn’t know what to choose. She had made enough bad decisions to last both her and her parents’ lifetimes. Her devout Christian father, who was also a pastor, wouldn’t like this move. He would see it as taking the easy way out. Daddy was all about hard work. She swallowed; her forehead beaded with sweat. “I’ll let the machine decide.”</p><p>“Alright, bet.”</p><p>Yasmeen swiped her card, already regretting her spontaneous purchase. She tucked her ticket into her purse and skulked out of the store. The drive-through food made her mouth water, and she had to pop her gum in her mouth to ease her hunger.</p><p>When she arrived home, her parents greeted her with drawn faces. They were sitting side by side on the living room couch, which doubled as her bed.</p><p>“What happened?” Yasmeen dropped the bag of food on their small eat-in kitchen table, which boasted a plastic tablecloth from the dollar store.</p><p>“They turned off the electricity.” Her father’s shoulders slumped. Willie Adams was a proud man and to see him so despondent pierced her very core.</p><p>“They did that even though you’re asthmatic?” Yasmeen raged. “That’s inhumane. In a few hours, it’s going to be twenty-nine degrees outside.”</p><p>“They said they couldn’t give us another extension.” He released a sigh.</p><p>“We have candles,” her mother, Dixie, said. “I can read the Vanessa Miller book you got me from the library by the candlelight. I’m falling behind and I heard a lot about The Light on Halsey Street.” Dixie had instilled a love of reading into Yasmeen. Her mother tore through books with the speed of a snag in pantyhose. Now, though, the image of her mother striving to read in the dark made her heart hurt.</p><p>“I can renew it at the library, Mommy. It’s no problem. How much do we owe for the electric bill?” Helplessness wrapped around her psyche.</p><p>“Seven hundred dollars plus a connection fee of seventy-five dollars.”</p><p>Yasmeen knew she could call any of her girls and they would help her out, but she was so tired of being that friend. The one who was always begging for a bailout. The one who always had money problems. Yasmeen closed her eyes to keep in the tears threatening to spill. She was thirty-three years old and should be in a position to be an asset to her parents after all they had done for her. Instead, she was on their couch, mooching off their generosity. Adding to their burden.</p><p>Good thing she hadn’t bought herself anything, because her appetite deserted her. She prodded her parents to eat. “We can head to the library until closing.”</p><p>“Our God doesn’t sleep nor slumber. Day or night is the same to Him.” Her father’s quiet words did little to comfort her. Not when she knew the sun would leave in a few hours and darkness would descend.</p><p>Her cell phone shrilled again. Pookie was persistent and consistently broke. She strolled into the bathroom, the only place she could have a private conversation, and answered his call. Her ear welcomed the deep timbre of his voice, and her brain flashed an image, reminding her of his unnatural fineness. The man should be on a runway instead of running the streets.</p><p>“Hey, baby. I’ve been trying to reach you all day… I got a situation.”</p><p>“I got one too,” she shot back with major attitude. He didn’t even ask how she was doing.</p><p>“What’s going on with you?” he asked.</p><p>“Our lights are out.”</p><p>Darryl whistled. “What are you going to do?”</p><p>“I don’t know.” Of course, he wasn’t looking at it as a “we” problem. It was all up to her and—as he liked to call Leslie, Toni and Celeste—the Upper Crust Crew. She shook her head imagining what Celeste would have to say if she heard this. Yasmeen and Celeste had gotten into spats because Yasmeen refused to end things with Darryl. Well, Celeste was a fine one to talk when she couldn’t see she had a goldmine in Wade.</p><p>Sure enough, Darryl returned with, “You need to signal the Upper Crust Crew.”</p><p>“What’s the matter with you? You think this is an episode of Batman or Spiderman where I just need to put out a distress signal for them to throw money at me?”</p><p>“Ease up. You know they would help you but you’re too proud.”</p><p>That jab hit her heart. He was right. She did have a lot of pride. Just like her daddy. “Unlike you, who has none.”</p><p>“If I don’t ask for help, how will I get it?”</p><p>She couldn’t argue with that point. “I’ve got to go figure out what to do with my parents.”</p><p>“Listen, if you don’t hear from me, it’s because I might be incarcerated.”</p><p>Yasmeen almost dropped her phone. “What?” A light tap on the bathroom door made her jump. “Hang on a minute.” She pressed the mute button. “I’m coming out.”</p><p>“Okay. I have to go.”</p><p>She could hear her mother’s feet shuffling in front of the door and told Darryl she would call him back. Washing her hands out of habit, though she hadn’t used the restroom, Yasmeen wiped them on the towel and let her mother inside. Seeing the worry on her mother’s face made Yasmeen cave.</p><p>Darryl was right about her pride. She squared her shoulders and texted Celeste, hoping her friend wasn’t too busy with her nails to read the message. There was no way she was going to ask Toni after their unpleasant exchange earlier. Not that Toni wouldn’t give it, but Yasmeen didn’t want to deal with any snippy remarks. Celeste didn’t make Yasmeen grovel or ask why. Within seconds, twelve hundred dollars appeared in her cash-transfer app.</p><p>She fired off a thank-you text and promised to pay her back. Celeste sent her a thumbs-up emoji.</p><p>Don’t worry about it.</p><p>Yasmeen called the electric company and paid their outstanding balance. Fortunately, since their service had just been disconnected, the electric company was able to send someone to turn on the power. Then she used some of the extra cash to order pizza and pay their water and gas bills. She wasn’t about to take any chances.</p><p>Her parents rejoiced, thanking her profusely. Praising her, when she was a leech. They pulled out their board games and Uno cards while Yasmeen swallowed back tears. She hadn’t done anything meaningful to deserve their gratitude. Celeste was the real hero and she told them so. Holding on to her head, Yasmeen welcomed the relief of a problem averted. At least for today.</p><h2 style="text-align: left;">Chapter 4</h2><p><i>Leslie</i></p><p>January 2</p><p>Five minutes to spare for Leslie Bronwyn meant she was late, and she couldn’t abide being late. She pulled her luxury vehicle into the spot reserved for parent of the month, which she often was. Leslie was among the top volunteers and sponsors for Nadya’s gymnastics team. Through the mirror, she eyed her daughter in the back seat and smiled.</p><p>Nadya had grown an extra foot over the past six months and was almost Leslie’s height. She often wore her long blond hair parted down the middle, and unlike Leslie, she had blue eyes. Her slender brows, pert nose sprinkled with freckles, full lips and slender build had been the reason Nadya’s face had graced many of the gymnastics’ team brochures.</p><p>“You’ll be alright, honey.” Leslie turned to tap her twelve-year-old on the leg.</p><p>Nadya shook her head and looked out the window, massaging her temples, her bun tight against her scalp. Celeste had suggested Leslie use this edge control, that was ‘the truth.’ No matter how much Nadya moved, her hair remained in place.</p><p>“I don’t get why we couldn’t skip one day. I told you I wasn’t feeling well.” Her daughter whined.</p><p>Leslie thought about Siobhan, Nadya’s chief competition for first place. “We can’t fall behind. Missing one day could mean losing your chance at getting the lead floor routine at comps.”</p><p>“Yeah, cause that’s what’s most important.”</p><p>Ignoring her daughter’s crabby remark, Leslie opened her door and got out. She shivered under her down coat. The weather had dropped about ten degrees. She opened the passenger door, picked up her laptop bag and gestured to Nadya to hurry up.</p><p>With a dramatic sigh, Nadya scooted outside the vehicle. Leslie’s eyes narrowed. Nadya’s cheeks looked flushed. Maybe she should have stayed in… But Nadya had the potential to be the next Simone Biles, if her coach could be believed. And her daughter could be laid-back, which irritated Leslie to the highest degree. She hated to see wasted potential. Naw, she would give Nadya the push she needed. Nadya would thank her in about two decades or so. She was sure of it. For now, Leslie would be the villain. Shooing Nadya toward the entrance, Leslie hurried behind her, texting Aaron to find out if he was on his way.</p><p>His response came in just as she took her seat upstairs, slipping her coat on the back of the chair.</p><p>I might not make it. Can you record it?</p><p>Leslie clamped her jaw to keep from bellowing in frustration.</p><p>This is the third session you have missed. Nadya needs you here.</p><p>I need you. She released a plume of air and looked around to see Siobhan’s mom, Ruida, studying her.</p><p>Straightening in her chair, Leslie gave a wave and plastered a smile on her face. Then she zoomed in on her daughter stretching on the mat with the other girls. She squinted. Nadya seemed sluggish, but maybe her energy would pick up once they moved from floor exercises to the pommel horse.</p><p>The girls moved single file behind the instructor until they were by the balance beam. Leslie pulled up the camera app on her phone. She would wait until it was Nadya’s turn before she hit the video option. Leslie liked to record her daughter’s session so she could review Nadya’s performance and then provide her pointers on how she could improve. Having taken gymnastics herself as a child, until her late teens, Leslie knew all the jargon and what was needed to perform a well-executed move.</p><p>Nadya was last in line. Leslie studied each gymnast as they performed, noting that none were as good as her daughter. Under the surface, she was squealing, but on the outside, she strove to appear unbothered. She eased back into the chair and relaxed. Nadya was going to kill it. Picking up her cell phone, she tapped record.</p><p>Her daughter mounted the balance beam before swinging into a handstand. Leslie’s lips widened into a smile. Then her breath caught. Nadya’s entire body was shaking, her chest heaving, like she was exerting herself beyond control. Leslie’s heart rate accelerated and she stood. “C’mon, baby,” she whispered.</p><p>Nadya then slowly bent backward and placed her hands on the beam. Her hands shook and each move appeared to be labored, like Nadya was struggling to breathe, but she finished the flip. Leslie ended the recording and lowered the cell phone, her eyes planted on her offspring. Something was wrong. She was sure of it. All of a sudden, fear sprung like a well threatening to overflow and she scampered down the stairs to run across the gym, heedless of her spiky heels damaging the mat.</p><p>“Stop,” she yelled, waving her arms. “She’s got to stop.”</p><p>The coach gave her a stern reprimand but Leslie only cared about getting to Nadya’s side. Nadya lifted her head, cheeks red, frozen in position. For a beat. Then, with a determined grunt, she dismounted before swooping her arms in the air.</p><p>Leslie placed a hand over her mouth and looked around to see all eyes pinned on her, looking at her like she was bananas. All except Nadya, who refused to meet her gaze, her hands still in position.</p><p>“You’re going to pay for the holes in the mat,” the coach bit out, pointing toward the exit. “You need to return to the waiting area.”</p><p>Her shaky hands ran through her short strands. “I-I’m sorry. I—I thought that…”</p><p>“Thought what?” Coach put a hand on her hips. “Keep it up and I’ll have you banned from coming to any more practices.”</p><p>“Nadya… She looked like…” Leslie shook her head. “I overreacted. I’m sorry.” She backed up. “I’ll return to the observation area. I won’t be any trouble. I promise.”</p><p>But then Nadya’s eyes rolled to the back of her head. Her legs bent. And she crumbled.</p><p>All the air rushed to Leslie’s lungs. “Nadyaaaaaaaaaa…” She twisted her ankle in her haste to get to her daughter’s side but ignored the pain. All the other gymnasts and the coach surrounded her prostrate child. Leslie wasn’t having it. “Move the children away. Please. And call 9-1-1.” The coach, now appearing apologetic, did her bidding. Her heart thundered and her body felt weak, but Leslie couldn’t fall apart.</p><p>She heard a low groan and heaved a sigh of relief. That meant her daughter was alive. Alive meant hope. She dropped to her knees and called out, “Nadya? Nadya? Can you hear me?”</p><p>The owner of the gym came bounding across the floor, holding an emergency kit. She opened the rectangular box and held up an EpiPen. “Could she be having an allergic reaction?”</p><p>Leslie twisted the hem of her cardigan. Breathless, she replied, “No. No. Not that I know of…” All she could see was her daughter falling to the floor as she remembered ignoring how Nadya felt, because of her competitive nature.</p><p>“Did she eat anything new?”</p><p>Leslie’s lips trembled. “No. We had pasta in a creamy tomato sauce—her favorite—for lunch.”</p><p>The EMTs arrived and took over. Within minutes, Leslie was running behind them as they toted her daughter on a gurney. Nadya appeared lifeless. Leslie’s composure cracked. She called Aaron, but he didn’t answer, so she left a frantic message for him to call her back, before jumping into the ambulance. Leslie held her head in her hands, sobbing for most of the ride. She vacillated between calling for Nadya to wake up and praying for God to not take her baby from her. Then she texted her girls in the group chat to tell them what had happened and ask if one of them could pick up her vehicle.</p><p>Yasmeen was quick to volunteer. I’ll go. Keep us posted on Nadya.</p><p>Thx.</p><p>Her hands shook, but she texted Yasmeen separately to provide the code to enter her vehicle. Leslie kept a spare key under the mat of her driver’s seat in case she ever got locked out. Never had she imagined it would be needed for a reason such as this. As the ambulance swerved into the emergency entrance, Leslie couldn’t help but think how she had a backup plan for every aspect of her life. Except Nadya. She gulped. Her only child. Her miracle baby. The one thing in her life that was irreplaceable. Although her daughter didn’t seem to think Leslie felt that way.</p><p>Nadya was a daddy’s girl, and Leslie was alright with it because she was one too. Everything Leslie needed, everything she wanted, had been given to her by her father. Leslie hadn’t needed a husband, and because of her dad, she hadn’t accepted anything less than 100 percent from any other man. Thinking of her dad, Leslie called him to let him know about Nadya’s passing out.</p><p>“I’ll be right there,” Edwin Samuels said and hung up the phone.</p><p>Knowing nothing would stop her father from rushing to her side was the kind of comfort she needed. He’d enfold her in his arms and assure her that everything would be alright. Because if her daddy said it, she sure would believe it.</p><p><br /></p><h2 style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0C3MK6L6Y/ref=sr_1_1?crid=23ZEFGC0AV8W1&keywords=the+bookshop+sisterhood+michelle+lindo+rice&qid=1682558631&sprefix=the+bookshop+sisterhood+michelle+lindo+rice%2Caps%2C150&sr=8-1" target="_blank">Order Your Copy</a></h2><div>Excerpt of the THE BOOKSHOP SISTERHOOD by Michelle Lindo-Rice. Copyrighted Material. All rights reserved.</div>Michelle Lindo-Ricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10802309295322211300noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-169113315170910268.post-34974984642066946722023-07-02T00:20:00.001-04:002023-07-02T00:20:21.811-04:00THE VALENTINE'S DO OVER - Michelle Lindo-Rice - Sample Chapters<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><span style="background-color: white; color: #0f1111; font-family: "Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif; text-align: start;">Sworn off love, they’ll soon discover</span><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #0f1111; font-family: "Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif; text-align: start;" /><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #0f1111; font-family: "Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif; text-align: start;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #0f1111; font-family: "Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif; text-align: start;">As valentines, they’re into each other!</span></i><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #0f1111; font-family: "Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif; text-align: start;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #0f1111; font-family: "Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif; text-align: start;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-RfbL0KIu0OBMbIc9X20gxF_njMC7vQeXzCtsUMvhfkV2KcBCDnCgGmY15VevOQz-dafU5EcjElu_3ujvzHAIfA4pQ-VU4A6A3CCIc4nU1sUXGLOOSgh6G-SeTxJQO9F15ruzjTTrraTinGuneQrNqlBwkAzx3PHlmliaE70Vj0RkCoLq0BSJICbOtHZF/s2650/The%20Valentine's%20Do%20Over%20Cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2650" data-original-width="1675" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-RfbL0KIu0OBMbIc9X20gxF_njMC7vQeXzCtsUMvhfkV2KcBCDnCgGmY15VevOQz-dafU5EcjElu_3ujvzHAIfA4pQ-VU4A6A3CCIc4nU1sUXGLOOSgh6G-SeTxJQO9F15ruzjTTrraTinGuneQrNqlBwkAzx3PHlmliaE70Vj0RkCoLq0BSJICbOtHZF/s320/The%20Valentine's%20Do%20Over%20Cover.jpg" width="202" /></a></div><span style="background-color: white; color: #0f1111; font-family: "Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif; text-align: start;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Valentines-Do-Over-Harlequin-Special/dp/133572446X/ref=tmm_mmp_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=&sr=" target="_blank">Order Your Copy</a></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #0f1111; font-family: "Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif; text-align: start;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #0f1111; font-family: "Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif; text-align: start;">When radio personalities Selena Cartwright and Trent Moon share their Valentine’s Day trauma stories and why they’ve sworn off love, the gala celebrating singlehood is born! Planning the event has Trent and Selena seeing—and wanting—each other more than just professionally. But if they’re found out, it could ruin their reputations and careers. As the gala approaches, can they overcome past heartache and possibly discover that Trent + Selena = True Love 4-Ever?</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><h3 style="text-align: left;">Chapter One</h3><div>Fifty-five days.</div><div>Fifty-five days from now, on January 1, Selena Cartwright would be celebrating her two-year anniversary on the Weeknights with Trent and Selena Show. Fifty-five days until she would earn equal pay with her cohost. A right she had fought for, with Trent Moon’s backing.</div><div>She fussed with her messy updo and smoothed her brown slacks, making sure not to trip over the large area rug as she exited her dressing room and made her way to the radio booth. Trent and the producer, Carla Smith-Jones, were already inside. She could see the whites of his capped teeth and ran her tongue over hers as a reflex action. She needed to get to the dentist and stop chewing on the fruit snacks she was never without—serving as her lunch and dinner on many occasions. Come to think of it, what she actually needed was to make time in her schedule to eat, splitting herself between the show and her private practice as a mental health therapist.</div><div>Carla waved her inside. “It’s about time you got here.”</div><div>Selena glanced at the Movado watch on her slender wrist, a gift that had outlived the boyfriend of two years who had given it to her. She had five minutes before they went live. The trip from the Gracie Square Hospital, a facility for psychiatric patients, to the studio on Varick Street had taken the cabdriver close to an hour instead of the usual thirty minutes.</div><div>She touched her bangs and responded to Carla. “There was a serious accident and the rain didn’t help. I don’t know how some people get their driver’s license.”</div><div>“That’s why I don’t drive in the city unless I have to,” Trent said with a laugh. “I have serious road rage.”</div><div>Most days Selena loved the hustle and bustle of New York City but days like today made her consider relocating to Westchester or Poughkeepsie. It had taken her stylist thirty-three minutes to get her droopy curls tamed into a respectable bun. Even though it was a radio station, Selena and Trent were recorded and their sessions posted on social media. Her hair had to be on point—always. She couldn’t afford the sistas coming for her like they had done to Gabby Douglas years ago at the Olympics. Who cared that the young woman was a record-breaking gymnast if her hair wasn’t snatched right? That had been a snarky discussion Selena had engaged in across the airwaves.</div><div>“Thanks to cabs and the subway, I don’t need a license,” Carla said, blinking in slow motion.</div><div>Was that a carpet on her eyes? Selena mused, regretting talking her boss into getting lash extensions. That fad wasn’t for everyone.</div><div>Selena scooted her chair at the long white table and dug in her bag for her ginger mints. She took out five and slipped three to Trent, keeping two for herself. He gave her a thumbs-up before sliding one of the two granola bars by his notepad over to her side.</div><div>“Thanks.” She tore the bar open then stretched her legs.</div><div>Her black kitten pumps touched Trent’s sneakers. He was dressed in black jeans and a hoodie with the words I Can’t Breathe imprinted in white. Trent was passionate about using his celebrity status as a radio host to shed light on injustice. When she was still a listener, Trent had been one of the first people to interview Colin Kaepernick, the football player who had taken a knee during the national anthem in 2016 and had started a movement.</div><div>That was one of the reasons Selena had slashed her private practice hours to part-time and accepted Trent’s offer to cohost. She admired his grit and, though he had the reputation of being a ladies’ man, his integrity. Her move from an impulsive caller giving expert advice to sitting three feet across from him had been surreal. An experience far more rewarding than she could have ever imagined.</div><div>“Sorry,” she mumbled, taking another bite of her bar.</div><div>“That’s okay. It’s not your fault you’re freakishly tall.” He chuckled, tapping long fingers on the table. She could see he was getting a kick out of messing with her, as usual.</div><div>“Don’t blame me that you’re just plain old average,” she countered. He was an inch shy of six feet, and two inches taller than she was.</div><div>“If you really knew me, you’d take that back,” he said, waggling his brows and running an index finger across his chin. A signature move that the women found appealing judging by the comments on their social media posts. That, along with his square jaw, brown skin and bedroom-bass voice. Their words, not hers.</div><div>“I see you forgot to leave your ego in your dressing room,” Selena teased, sliding her gaze away from those honey-brown eyes.</div><div>“It’s my backpack. I take it everywhere I go,” he shot back.</div><div>She laughed, enjoying their verbal sparring.</div><div>“Save all that love for the air.” Carla butted in before gesturing to the rest of the staff that they were going live in two minutes.</div><div>Selena and Trent had a great working relationship. They admired and respected each other as colleagues and, because of that, their ratings had grown each quarter. Viewers enjoyed their banter and comradery. She was the more serious of the two, but Trent’s passion and lightheartedness made for a nice balance on the show.</div><div>Only to herself would she admit his fineness. She had told Trent he was a broken-down version of Kofi Siriboe, but what she hadn’t said was how Kofi was her man crush. Or rather, her boy toy. Her best friend, Nadine, had called Selena a cradle robber when she’d caught Selena ogling the actor from Queen Sugar. Nadine hadn’t missed the physical similarities between the actor and Trent, pointing that out to Selena. Besides the fact that she didn’t poop where she ate, Trent reminded her too much of her father. A father who’d called her mother, Helen, his number one…of many. Too many. A father who, when he’d left, had left her mother broken. And Helen was never the same.</div><div>So, Selena avoided charismatic men like Trent.</div><div>Calm. Safe. Borderline boring. That was her speed.</div><div>Glancing at her watch, she finished eating. Soon after, an intern brought them two bottles of water at room temperature, along with napkins. Taking a few sips, Selena wiped her mouth and then reapplied her nude lipstick.</div><div>Carla gave them a quick signal before scurrying into the sound booth. She was in her late forties, trim, and moved like she was on a catwalk. Outfitted in an A-line dress and high boots, Selena thought her producer looked confident and gorgeous, especially with her silver-gray hair in a pixie cut.</div><div>Selena felt pride in knowing she had contributed to the other woman’s aura and wellness. A few months ago, Carla had been going through a nasty divorce so Selena had offered her confidential sessions. Then, to avoid a conflict of interest, she had referred Carla to another therapist.</div><div>Carla spoke through the intercom. “We’re going live in ten…nine…”</div><div>Selena straightened as her heart rate accelerated. The anticipation of reaching out to people would never grow old.</div><div>*</div><div>From under his lashes, Trent studied his cohost, admiring her cream tank top and brown pantsuit. Her signature color scheme. She had completed her look with chunky gold accessories and light makeup. Even her lipstick was a glossy shade of brown. Selena tended to favor muted tones, something he believed she had adopted as a therapist. Trent found her style classy. She had told him once she didn’t want to be sexualized. Or had she mentioned it on air? He couldn’t remember, but with those high cheekbones, full lips, thick lashes and generous curves, there was no disguising her beauty.</div><div>She didn’t know it, but his friends James and Dontae had ragged on him for weeks, begging for introductions once they had seen how fine she was. A request Trent had denied. He liked to keep his professional and personal lives separate. In their twenty-two months together, his interactions with his cohost were limited to their airtime and planning for the next day.</div><div>He heard the countdown signaling that they were about to go on air and cleared his throat. Then he greeted their listeners and gave an update on the weather before jumping into their first segment.</div><div>“It’s time for us to Listen to Our Listeners,” he said and waited as Carla cued the intro.</div><div>Once Selena had joined the show, their audience had begun sending emails and letters seeking advice, and their ratings had blown up. To handle the large influx of communication, their assistants read most of the mail and provided Trent and Selena with five letters each to read. They would then choose one or two to share during the show and offer suggestions. Listeners would also call in and express their thoughts. The segment was a huge success.</div><div>Carla had already tossed around the idea of expanding their hour to ninety minutes. That’s why he had pushed for Selena to receive equal pay though she didn’t have the ten years’ on-air experience he had.</div><div>Selena chimed in. “I have a letter from a listener who calls herself ‘A Crying Heart.’”</div><div>Trent tensed with the memory of the powerful visual imagery in the letter. Selena believed an English major had penned the words. Trent had pushed for Selena to read it, though his cohost had felt it too personal. After muting his microphone, he picked up one of the ginger mints, unwrapped it and plopped it into his mouth. He closed his eyes, savoring the strong sensation and listening to Selena’s singsong voice, which depicted her Jamaican heritage. She had migrated to America at ten years old and, though she was a naturalized citizen, had maintained her accent and culture.</div><div>Selena moved closer to her microphone and began to read, and he felt everything around him still.</div><div>“‘Every year about this time, a sense of dread begins to fill my being. All around me, there is a beauty that comes from the colorful foliage. Families unite over steaming mugs of trendy themed coffees and engage in social activities meant to bring them closer together; end the year with goodwill. I move with the bustle of the crowd, smiling at the appropriate time, voicing the right sentiment, but on the inside, I am withering, dying like a tree left bare after shedding its leaves. I feel alone.’”</div><div>His heart squeezed even though he knew the contents of the letter. Hearing the words read aloud evoked strong emotions. Selena’s intonation moved him and their listeners were responding, judging by the flashing phone lines.</div><div>Selena took a sip of water and continued.</div><div>“‘For the first time this year, I don’t want to pretend. I want to wallow, submerge myself until I am overwhelmed under the grief of being alone especially with Valentine’s Day coming in about three months. The worst holiday of all because it beams on me with the brightness of the sun and I am left alone under the heat of the spotlight, shouting my singleness. My heart aches as I wait for spring and the end to all this madness, where for a few months I can embrace being all right with myself. But until then, my heart bleeds.’</div><div>“Signed, ‘A Crying Heart.’”</div><div>Selena reached for the box of tissues and dabbed her eyes. </div><div>Trent swallowed the last of his mint and turned on his microphone. In a subdued tone, he said, “Wow. I felt every nuance in each word. A Crying Heart, we hear you and thank you for sharing your most intimate thoughts with us. I found your letter honest and raw. How about we take our first caller to get some listener feedback?” He pressed one of the open lines and smiled at Selena, who was giving him a look of gratitude. Her cheeks were a little flushed and her lashes spiky. I got you, he mouthed.</div><div>“Hello? Am I on the air?” a woman asked. Her voice cracked and she sniffled.</div><div>“Yes, you’re live with Trent and Selena,” Selena said in a calm tone.</div><div>Trent admired her professionalism. He focused on the caller.</div><div>“I want to say that I’m glad A Crying Heart had the courage to write what I’ve been feeling all these years. I’m happily single and it’s awful that I have to endure my family asking me when I’m going to find someone, giving me looks of pity. Like I’m good for the most part. Except when Valentine’s Day comes around, slapping me in my face. I know that February 14 is all about love but I hate that day with a passion.”</div><div>He gave a small chuckle of understanding. “Imagine the irony of hating a day that is supposed to be about love.”</div><div>“I know,” the caller breathed. “I feel guilty but I absolutely despise it. It feels so good to admit this to someone.”</div><div>“Thank you so much for sharing,” Selena said before taking another caller.</div><div>This time it was a young man. “Yo, tell me why, I’m so glad I was turning the dial and heard this. Cuz I’m good, too. My mother is on me to give her a grandchild. But I want to travel. I want to do things.”</div><div>And the calls continued.</div><div>“I hate being single,” someone said. “I buy myself flowers and chocolates so I don’t feel so pitiful.”</div><div>“I don’t like being alone,” another voiced.</div><div>“I hate it.”</div><div>“I think Valentine’s all about commercialism.”</div><div>The comments kept coming. They spent the rest of the hour taking calls, moving with the flow. Trent and Selena could hardly keep up with the outpour and they tabled their talk on pumpkin spice. She had reached into her bag for her phone and had read some of their social media comments.</div><div>“A Crying Heart, you started something tonight,” Trent said once they were at the end. “Let’s keep this conversation going. Please send us your comments and stories using the hashtag ValentineSingle and we will continue this tomorrow.”</div><div>“Thanks for tuning in with us tonight and until then—</div><div>Selena surprised him when she interrupted with, “A Crying Heart, I hope you call in tomorrow before the weekend. I’d love to talk to you because I, too, hate Valentine’s Day.”</div><div>His mouth dropped. In slow motion. The holidays brought their biggest sponsors. He avoided looking into the booth, knowing Carla was probably about to pass out. Selena slipped back into her chair with a huge grin on her face, like she didn’t know what she had just done.</div><div>Trent evoked every ounce of experience he possessed to keep from stammering through the signature slogan. “Keep your dreams sweet and your hope strong. Good night.” He disconnected his microphone and looked at the woman he had always seen as constant. The woman who sat with her arms folded, holding an expression similar to Angela Bassett’s after setting a car on fire in the blockbuster classic Waiting to Exhale. Then he asked, “What did you just do?”</div><h2 style="text-align: left;">Chapter Two</h2><div>This wasn’t a “what” question. The real question was why.</div><div>Carla rushed into the room, her eyes wide and her mouth rounded like a puffer fish. “Do you know what you’ve just done?” she sputtered.</div><div>Selena stood, knots the size of brambles whirling in her stomach. “I-I don’t know what came over me. I don’t even know why I said that.” Well, she had a good idea, but it wasn’t one she would share. Every time she left after a visit with her mother, it stirred her emotions.</div><div>“We might lose some of our biggest investors because of this,” Carla said, running a hand through her short strands and drawing raspy breaths. “Saying you hate Valentine’s Day when we have commercials from contributors like Hershey’s and Dunkin’ Donuts could be catastrophic. Give me some time to strategize and we can talk tomorrow after the show.”</div><div>The trio parted ways. During the cab ride home, Selena replayed Carla’s parting words.</div><div>It rattled her to see the other woman’s composure slip. Before her on air confession, Selena had been looking forward to binge watching Season 4 of The Crown on Netflix. She had finally started the series and had planned to catch a couple episodes. But Selena didn’t turn on the television. She hadn’t been able to concentrate. </div><div>Her upcoming conversation with Carla preoccupied most of her thoughts the rest of the night and throughout the day. When she entered the studio that Thursday night, Trent tried to reassure but all she could think about was how she might lose her job because of her loose tongue. </div><div>An image of her mother, Helen, in her room at the psychiatric hospital flashed before Selena. She tightened her lips. Love had shredded Helen’s heart and mind since Selena was a teen. She shuddered on the inside. After seeing her mother in that state, she had sworn off love. For life. However, she knew better than to voice her real feelings on the air. Like Carla said, they had sponsors. </div><div>She made it through the show on auto pilot, but the minute it concluded, Selena cornered Carla and apologized.</div><div>“I’m sorry. I didn’t think what I said was harmful.”</div><div>“You didn’t think. Period,” Carla snapped. “In today’s time, words have an impact. One statement could haunt you forever and be the end of your career. Which could potentially affect other people’s livelihood. Mine included.”</div><div>Selena’s heart pounded, her guilt intensifying, even though she suspected Carla was exaggerating a bit.</div><div>Trent came over to where they were huddled, his phone in hand. “I’ve got a confession to make. I hate Valentine’s Day, too.” He released a breath, like he’d admitted something horrible. “That felt good to say,” he said with a small chuckle.</div><div>Carla flailed her hands. “This is not the time for humor. I don’t think you’d be laughing when we’re out of a paycheck.”</div><div>“I wasn’t trying to be funny,” Trent said, “I’m being honest and you’re being melodramatic.”</div><div>Selena caught his eye. “You don’t have to defend me, Trent, by saying that. I know I messed up big-time.” She faced Carla. “Maybe I can tweet an apology.”</div><div>“At this point, our public relations team has advised that we do nothing and ride this out.” Carla warned. Her phone buzzed. After reading the notification, she held up a hand. “I’m going to need you both to sit tight. The producer for the next show just called out and they need me to step in. I shouldn’t be long.” She flounced out the room.</div><div>Knowing that Carla’s wait time could be anywhere from several minutes to an hour, Selena retrieved her laptop to work on client notes. During that time, Trent either napped or scrolled through his phone.</div><div>“I’m getting hungry,” Selena said about forty minutes later. “What about you?” </div><div>Trent nodded but she wasn’t sure if he had registered her words. His head popped up just as Carla returned. He held up his phone. “You’ve got to see this. We currently have over 100,000 views.”</div><div>Her mouth dropped. “Are you serious?”</div><div>“Take a look for yourself if you don’t believe me. Hashtag ValentineSingle is trending.” His eyes were bright. “You’re a sensation, Selena.”</div><div>“What?” Selena shook her head. “I don’t understand.” She had been busy with clients most of the day and had avoided social media on purpose.</div><div>“We’re not going to lose sponsors,” Trent said with much fascination as he continued to read. “We’re going to gain some.”</div><div>“Let me see that,” Carla said, snatching the phone. As she scanned the contents, her worried lines disappeared and soon she began to chuckle. “Oh, snap. What have you started? This is genius.” Handing Trent his phone, she tapped her chin. “I think we can play this to our advantage.”</div><div>Selena sagged, biting on her lip to keep from smiling. It was funny how quickly Carla’s demeanor had changed.</div><div>“Somebody’s going to remix this and make a song out of it,” Trent said.</div><div>Selena raced to get her own phone. A few clicks later, she was on her social media page. Then she pulled up a short clip from their segment and pressed play. Sure enough, there she was, on repeat, saying, “I, too, hate Valentine’s Day.” She groaned at her red cheeks and puffy face, but played it again. “This is bananas,” she muttered.</div><div>“No,” Carla corrected, rubbing her hands, “this is an opportunity. And when it knocks, we’ve got to answer the door.” She scurried over to the table and sat in her usual position at the head. “Pull up a seat, guys. It’s time we strategize. Let’s pounce on this.”</div><div>Trent looked at his watch. “Let me make a quick call. I’ll be back.”</div><div>Selena watched him retret, then eyed the clock and slipped into her chair. It was almost eight thirty. Judging by the excitement on Carla’s face, they could be there for another two hours. But considering minutes ago, she had been worried about losing her job, Selena wasn’t complaining.</div><div>“Let’s order dinner,” Carla said, pressing the intercom, most likely to call her assistant. “What do you want? Is Chinese good?”</div><div>“Yes, Chinese is fine. I’ll nibble on whatever you get,” Selena said, scrunching her nose. She could never decide on what she wanted to eat when she remembered to eat.</div><div>“I’ll get a little of everything.” </div><div>When her assistant didn’t answer, Carla left the room.</div><div>Selena wasn’t a cook. In Helen’s lucid days, her mother had tried to teach her, but without any success. Selena had burned water. Yes, water. Granted, she had been working on a paper at the time. But still. Helen had given up on cooking lessons after that. Then her bestie, Nadine, had tried to teach her how to make some simple survival meals, but Selena cut her thumb and had needed stitches. Selena avoided the kitchen after that, hating how she had failed.</div><div>Once she had graduated from Howard University and moved into her own place, Selena usually kept her freezer stacked with frozen dinners. A month ago, she had started using a meal prep program and enjoyed having healthy meals without the labor—but she kept forgetting to place her orders online and was too busy to schedule one-on-one consultations with the chef.</div><div>Trent returned and sunk into the chair across from her. “What did I miss?” His tone sounded lackluster and his brown eyes held worry.</div><div>“Not much. Carla’s ordering dinner. Everything all right with you?” Selena asked.</div><div>He nodded and hunched his shoulders, signs he was far from okay. Selena found herself filled with concern at his lack of joviality.</div><div>“You want to talk about it?” She’d cocked her head and asked in a low tone in case Carla was in the sound booth.</div><div>Trent looked at her. Really looked at her. Like he had never seen her before. She squirmed under his intense scrutiny and raised a brow. He opened his mouth, like he wanted to say something, before shaking his head. “Nah. I’m good. How about you tell me why you hate Valentine’s Day?”</div><div>*</div><div>Trent watched as Selena broke eye contact and lowered her gaze. Her long lashes fanned her cheeks. “I don’t like to talk about it.” She drummed her fingers on the tabletop.</div><div>After he had gotten off the phone with his sister Pammie, short for Pamala, Trent had been torn, feeling guilty. He was happy Mindy, her caretaker, had been available to stay later. But Pammie had wanted him to come home and keep his promise to make ice cream sundaes. She hadn’t understood that he needed to work. He hated hearing her cry, found it hard to handle her disappointment. Fortunately, Mindy had bribed her with Oreo cookies and Trent had gotten an “I love you” before the call ended.</div><div>So, yes, he had been agitated when he’d reentered the room. For a second, he had wanted to confide in Selena. But he meant to stay in the lane called business. He wouldn’t cross the line into personal. There was a big difference between being personable and getting personal. </div><div>He focused on the painting of the waves behind her and changed the topic, turning the attention off himself.</div><div>“Really?” he snorted. “You don’t want to talk about it? You’ll have to, because you opened the door to that story when you blurted out how you despised Valentine’s Day.” He exaggerated to jolt her into opening up. He had never seen Selena lose her cool stance and he was intrigued. For the first time since they had started working together, he wondered about her. Her backstory. He wanted to know more than just her profession and that she was a great work partner. He wanted to know what made her…human. Flawed. Like the rest of the world. Like him.</div><div>“Despise? That’s a strong word.” She licked her lips before she gave him a challenging look. “How about you go first? Were you kidding when you said you didn’t like the holiday?”</div><div>He rubbed his chin and debated whether to answer. It was something he did when he was nervous or in deep thought, a habit he had picked up from his dad. “I don’t know if I can trust you with the story of the biggest humiliation of my life.”</div><div>Her eyes flashed and she scooted her chair around the table next to his. “Now you have to tell me. I’m going to bug you until you fess up.” A whiff of jasmine teased his nose. It was light, airy, like the woman next to him.</div><div>“You have to promise not to tell.”</div><div>She slapped his arm. “The fact that you have to ask is insulting. I’m a therapist and I know all about confidentiality.”</div><div>“Yeah, but I’m not a patient,” he said, stalling. He was going to stretch this conversation as long as he could.</div><div>“Yes, but I’m a friend.”</div><div>With a jolt, Trent accepted she was right. She was a friend. Of sorts. He knew he could trust her. He knew he liked her personality. He dropped his voice to a whisper. “All right, bet. I’m a tell you but you have to swear on your pinky toe that you will never tell another living soul.”</div><div>“My pinky toe?” she asked, cracking up. “Trent, you’re so silly, but I promise you on my pinky toe.”</div><div>“Let me see it,” he teased, giving her a light shove on the shoulder.</div><div>She pursed her lips. “You play too much. My feet have been in these shoes for hours. I can’t take off my shoes.”</div><div>“I guess you don’t want to know then.” He shrugged.</div><div>They squared off. After a moment’s hesitation, Selena took off her shoe—size nine, if he had to guess—and lifted her foot.</div><div>“You sure are nosy,” he teased.</div><div>“You best believe it.” She wiggled her foot back into her pump, leaning into him for support. “Now, tell me.”</div><div>Carla came back into the room, diverting their attention from their current conversation. “Dinner will be here in fifteen minutes.” She looked ready to jump and touch the roof. “I’ve got some great news. Unbelievable, really.”</div><div>“Share it, then,” Trent said.</div><div>Selena used that opportunity to scoot back to her usual side of the table.</div><div>“A sponsor called to double their advertisement time slots. The higher-ups are on fire. They are even thinking of expanding the show into a two-hour segment.”</div><div>“Say what?” Selena yelled. “That’s amazing. Wow.”</div><div>Trent’s stomach clenched. Both women had their eyes on him, waiting for him to display his excitement.</div><div>He worked hard to appear relaxed and easygoing. But he had a regimented daily schedule. Had to. Ever since he had become his younger sister’s guardian, Trent had made huge changes to his lifestyle. Gone was the bachelor filling his nights with one of the many swarming beauties around him. If he wasn’t working or at the gym, he was with Pammie.</div><div>But Friday and Saturday nights were his time to he hang with the boys or treat a woman to a five-star night in a hotel. He never took the ladies home and he paid Mindy double to take care of Pammie. But that was built into his sister’s routine. She was used to it.</div><div>Trent hoped Pammie would adjust to his expanded work hours as this would disrupt her routine.</div><div>“Well, it’s just talks for now. But let’s ride this wave until our butts slide across the sand,” Carla said. “So, tomorrow’s show, we’ll make another call for Bleeding Heart—”</div><div>“You mean A Crying Heart,” Trent corrected.</div><div>“Yes, or whatever she calls herself,” Carla said with a wave of her hand. “We’ll see if she calls in. I think we should begin the show by making the plea, and with Selena telling why she hates Valentine’s Day so much, and then, Trent, you’ll share your story.”</div><div>“What?” Trent shook his head. “I didn’t announce that on the air. I don’t want to tear open that can of humiliation for all to see.”</div><div>“You can and you will,” Carla said in that tone she used when she didn’t want an argument. “I spoke with the execs and, it was only because I told them that their superstar—sorry, Selena—felt the same way, that they decided to get on board.”</div><div>Trent dug his shoes into the floor to keep from yelling. He was shocked to discover he didn’t like surprises. Well, he did. But not the kind that interfered with his schedule.</div><div>“I’ll share my reason,” Selena said in a low voice. She sounded like the proverbial sacrificial lamb. He couldn’t let his partner put herself out there and not do the same.</div><div>“Fine,” he growled. “Tomorrow, I’ll tell my tale.”</div><div>“Just remember we have children listening,” Carla advised, eyeing them both with caution, before continuing. “Once you’re both done baring your souls, we’ll take more callers and read another letter or two from the massive number of emails.” She pinned her gaze to the ceiling before looking at them. “Then we’ll end the night with a bang and usher in the weekend on a high note. Got any ideas?”</div><div>As if on cue, the intern came in with paper products, utensils, and containers with a variety of dishes. Trent’s stomach growled and his mouth watered. He had leftover steak and potatoes at home, but the sandwich he’d had for lunch and the granola bar snack had worn off. He grabbed a paper plate and added rice, chicken with broccoli and an egg roll. Selena packed her plate with a tiny spoonful of everything.</div><div>While they were eating, Selena dropped her fork and snapped her fingers. “I got it. We need to have our very own Valentine’s celebration. Like maybe a dance.”</div><div>Carla cocked her head. “A dance?”</div><div>“How will that help?” Trent asked.</div><div>Selena picked up her fork and twirled lo mein noodles around it. “Let me explain. We need to honor singles. Give all the couples in love the proverbial cut of the eyes. We need to throw a Valentine’s Day dance. But for singles only. No couples allowed.”</div><h3 style="text-align: left;">Chapter Three</h3><div>She could smell the curry as soon as she entered the door of her best friend’s third-floor studio apartment in Brooklyn Heights. Nadine had moved here two years ago because of its proximity to the NYU Langone medical center where she worked as an ER nurse.</div><div>“I can’t believe you’re cooking at midnight,” Selena said, hanging her rain jacket on the hook behind the front door and wiping her feet on the mat with the words Did You Call First?. The kitchen was to the immediate right, with the bathroom steps away. Tucked in the furthest corner was the queen-sized bed on which they had shared many nights watching the television mounted on the huge half-wall. The wall divided the bedroom from the living room area, giving a small measure of privacy.</div><div>“If I don’t cook now, I’ll end up buying junk,” Nadine said, giving her a hug before hastening over to the stove to stir the food. “I’m working a double tomorrow night, so I’ve got to be prepared.” Nadine popped a small piece of meat in her mouth and wiggled her hips. “This curry chicken is giving me life right now. I put a pinch of Scotch bonnet pepper in there so that mild heat hits the back of your tongue just right.”</div><div>Selena’s mouth watered. Nadine was critical of her cooking, so if she was saying this was good, then the meal would be off the charts. Her tummy grumbled even though it was packed tighter than sardines in a can. “You know I’m taking a container home.”</div><div>“I got you.” Her friend gave a thumbs-up sign.</div><div>Placing her purse on the small dining table across from the kitchen, Selena massaged her neck, appreciating the stunning view of the Brooklyn Bridge at night. The bright lights drowned out the sounds of the city, the honking, and the squeals of the trains. That view was the second reason Nadine had chosen this spot, paying over two thousand dollars per month for a thousand square feet of living space. The third had to do with Nadine’s unhealthy crush on Matt Damon, whom she had yet to run into by planned accident.</div><div>“I can’t believe you dropped that bombshell on the air,” Nadine said, her metal fork clinking against the stainless-steel everyday pan. The sound was the music that made Selena’s stomach dance. Selena had bought her friend a set of Ironclad, knowing how much Nadine loved her pots.</div><div>“I didn’t know you were listening in.”</div><div>“I was working last night, but this morning Mommy sent me a clip of you saying you hate Valentine’s Day. I texted you right away.”</div><div>Nadine’s parents had low-key adopted Selena as their child. The Johnsons had celebrated Selena’s accomplishments more than her own mother had.</div><div>Selena smiled. “Yes, I got your freaked-out emojis but I had a strategy session with Carla and Trent. We’re spinning this whole thing, which will build our brand, expand our hours, make a profit, and give our listeners a chance to party.” She briefly outlined her idea of the singles dance, promising to share more details once she had them.</div><div>Selena stretched her neck and yawned.</div><div>“Girl, go sit down. You sound like a donkey braying,” Nadine said with a laugh.</div><div>Forcing her tired feet to move toward the love seat, Selena sat and propped her legs on the wooden storage bin that doubled as a coffee table and footrest. “Give me a break. I spent hours in a meeting after work when I needed to be sleeping. At least they fed me.” She closed her eyes.</div><div>“You’re doing too much. You’ve got to choose between the practice or the show. The show might seem like a part time gig but the PR demands take up a lot of your time.”</div><div>She felt weary to her bones. “I know. I know.” She stifled a yawn. “But I like helping people.”</div><div>“So, what about helping yourself? Self-care is important. You can’t help people, if you’re not around.”</div><div>Nadine’s solemn words sunk in. Selena popped one eye open. Before she could formulate a response, her mouth opened to form a huge yawn. Prying the other eye open, Selena pinned her gaze on her friend.</div><div>“You should have gone home instead of coming here. You plopped a fortune into that gorgeous mausoleum on the Upper West Side.” Nadine shook her head. “I don’t get why you bought that townhouse and then refuse to enjoy it.”</div><div>Those words jolted her awake. “You know why. You made me buy that monstrosity because I was being featured in Essence magazine.”</div><div>“Yes, we Jamaicans are coming up in life.” Her eyes held compassion. “And it doesn’t feel like home because you haven’t made it one. Your walls are bare and your furnishings sparse. You need to put up pictures and add little knickknacks to make it yours.” Nadine turned off the burner before washing her hands and wiping them with a paper towel. She then retrieved her containers. Knowing Nadine, she would have enough food for at least three days. Nadine always cooked too much and Selena’s tummy reaped the rewards.</div><div>“What pictures?” Selena pointed to Nadine’s family portrait where she stood between her two doting, smiling parents. “Not everyone has a mother like yours, who is willing to help you decorate. Or a father who will hang pictures twenty times if you ask.” She spoke the words without envy. Since she had met Nadine in ninth grade at Jamaica High School seventeen years ago, she had fallen in love with her friend’s petite parents. The three of them made her feel like a giant. They were small but their love was large.</div><div>“Boo-hoo. You can afford to hire someone and you do have pictures.”</div><div>Her shoulders slumped, sinking her further into the love seat. For a beat, she watched Nadine’s precise movements as she shared the steaming rice and chicken into the glass containers. Her friend didn’t do plastic. It wasn’t eco-friendly or healthy. Since her father’s heart attack eighteen months ago, Nadine had vowed to change her lifestyle and had been urging Selena to do the same. Slow down.</div><div>Selena released a breath. “It’s not the same.”</div><div>Nadine dropped the spoon into the pan and placed a hand on her hip. “You can’t press Pause. You can’t keep your life in a freeze frame, waiting for Ms. Helen to turn back into the mother she once was. It’s been twenty years. At some point…” She shook her head and stopped talking. Wiping her brow, she went back to her task.</div><div>Selena figured her friend was tired of repeating herself. They’d had variations of this conversation countless times. She sighed. “I can’t give up on her.”</div><div>Once she was finished with her meal prep, Nadine would wash all the dishes and clean her stove like Meena Johnson had instilled. Ms. Meena didn’t play that. You didn’t cook in or leave a dirty kitchen. Selena could hear Ms. Meena’s voice in her head. What if visitors drop by? What a big disgrace. </div><div>Welp. That was one benefit of not cooking. Selena’s kitchen was always clean. Pristine… Untouched.</div><div>Nadine put the pots in the sink and turned on the faucet. Then she continued. “I’m not asking you to give up on your mother, friend. I wouldn’t ask you to do something I wouldn’t do. I’m asking you to live. I’m asking you to take your life out of those storage bins and begin to celebrate your achievements. And, for goodness’ sake, have some f-u-n. Do something unexpected.”</div><div>Though it wasn’t the first time she had heard them, those passionately uttered words struck Selena’s heart with the force of a cannonball. She pictured the two large gray bins in her closet filled with pictures of her prom and her graduations, her sorority mementos and her awards. Everything was tucked away. Compartmentalized. Like her life.</div><div>Tears came to her eyes and she sniffled. “I went to see her today.” She glanced at the sunflower clock. “Well, technically, it was yesterday. Mommy kept her back turned away from me. She refused to talk to me.” Her breath hitched. “Said I looked like my father and cut her eyes at me. No matter how much I accomplish, I’ll never be good enough. She’ll never see me as something more. That’s why I don’t do love. Look what it did to her. And, if I’m like him, what if I cause this pain on someone else?”</div><div>Leaving the pots to soak, Nadine came to sit next to her and opened her arms. Selena scooted low so she could rest her head on her much shorter friend’s chest.</div><div>“Oh, honey. You’re a therapist, so I know I’m preaching to the choir, but I’ll say it anyway. You know your mother’s sick. You can’t take her words to heart.” Nadine cradled her close.</div><div>“I know. That’s exactly what I tell my patients.” Selena squeezed out the words. Her chest felt constricted. “But this pain is something fierce and every time I think I have conquered it and put it to rest, it rears its head. She hates my father. What does that say about how she feels about me? She thinks I’m just like him though I haven’t left her. I’m here.” Her shoulders shook and the dam to her emotions burst. “I’m here. I’m here. I said that so many times, but she didn’t want to hear it.”</div><div>She felt Nadine stiffen beside her and steeled herself.</div><div>“You need to quit going to that facility. Your mother is gone. She’s a shell of her former self. All she is now is bitter and all she does is injure you. A parent is supposed to heal not harm.”</div><div>Selena straightened and grabbed a tissue from the napkin box on the floor. She wiped her face. “I’ll be all right. I’m just in my feelings. I’ll be back to myself in the morning.”</div><div>Wiping her hands on her thighs, Nadine cupped Selena’s cheeks. “I’ll let it go, but I need you to know you’re not your father. You would never desert your family like he did and especially how he did. If you are like him in any way, then you’re the best of him.”</div><div>All Selena could do was nod because she wasn’t sure how much she believed her friend. But Nadine wasn’t finished.</div><div>“There had to be something good about him or Ms. Helen would have never messed with that man in the first place much less married him. My friend, you’re worthy of love and to be loved. Ms. Helen shunning you is her loss. You’re a great friend, loyal, caring and kind.”</div><div>Nadine lifted a finger with each point she made. “You’re working hard to pay all your mother’s expenses. She’s well taken care of. You paid for my nursing school, you renovated my parents’ house, and you surprised them with an all-inclusive package to Jamaica for Thanksgiving. They are way beyond ecstatic to return home and I’m sure that’s all they will talk about for the next twelve days. Even though you didn’t have to do anything because we love you. Period. You don’t have to buy our love. You’ll make a great wife and mother one day because you are not your past. So keep moving toward your future.”</div><div>Selena squirmed. She didn’t like when Nadine talked about what she had done for them. Gifting was her love language. She chuckled to lighten the air and to shift the conversation from her generosity. She also needed to skirt away from the dart that maybe she was trying to buy their love. “All this from the woman who is determined to be a serial dater and the life of the party until she’s at least a hundred,” she joked.</div><div>“You got that right.” Nadine gyrated. “They don’t make men like my daddy anymore. Love ´em and leave ´em. That’s my motto. I bought the T-shirt, so it must be true.”</div><div>She had indeed purchased a shirt with that slogan. In several colors.</div><div>“Yet you tell me to settle down? Can’t you see how contradictory that is?”</div><div>“Because that’s who you are. You’ve got to be true to you. If I am a serial dater, you’re a serial monogamist.”</div><div>“I’ve been single for a couple years. And you’ve never liked anybody I’ve dated.”</div><div>“That’s because you go for those boring men. Plaid shirts tucked into khaki pants.”</div><div>Selena cracked up. “There’s nothing wrong with a man wearing those clothes. You’re a mess.”</div><div>“There is if he has the belt buckled tight, showing an even smaller waist than mine.”</div><div>“Whatever.” Selena shook her head. “I can’t with you.”</div><div>Nadine cocked her head before changing topics. “Are you going to put your mother’s business on the air?”</div><div>“Why not?” she shot back, her voice edged with bitterness. “It’s not like she’ll be tuning in anyway.”</div><div>Nadine lifted a brow.</div><div>Selena rubbed her temples. “I know I sound…snarky. I only plan on telling how I feel about Valentine’s Day from my viewpoint. What happened to my mother affected me. My childhood. I’m speaking from that perspective. That’s my experience. My truth.” She lowered her voice. “Get this, Trent’s sharing, too. Turns out he’s not too fond of the holiday, either.”</div><div>Nadine’s eyes went round. “What? Mr. Smooth Operator doesn’t do Valentine’s? That’s hard to believe.”</div><div>Selena nodded.</div><div>“Why, though? Did he tell you?”</div><div>She shook her head. “No. He’s spilling the tea on tomorrow’s show.”</div><div>“Oh, you best believe I’ll be tuning in. Me and the parents.”</div><div>*</div><div>Trent stood by Pammie’s bed, watching his sister’s five-foot frame rise up and down while she slept. He reached down to take the JoJo Siwa bow out of her hair before pulling the pink unicorn covers up close to her chin. Then he smiled.</div><div>“I’m sorry I wasn’t here to help you make sundaes. I’ll make it up to you. I promise,” he whispered before kissing her on the cheek. He could hardly believe she was twenty-one years old now. When his parents had brought her home, Trent had showered her face with kisses. Her tiny hand had wrapped around his hand and his heart. That had never changed. His sister had been born with Down’s syndrome and, from the moment she’d arrived, Trent had been her protector. They had been inseparable until he’d left for Yale University. His parents had made him attend. Trent had been willing to turn down the full ride and commute to Queens College to stay close to Pammie. He would never forget her little body shaking as she’d sobbed when he had pulled out of the driveway to begin his journey to New Haven, Connecticut.</div><div>That’s why he had moved Pammie in with him instead of placing her in a special home after their parents’ deaths. Trent was grateful to be in a position where he could afford to provide her with the best.</div><div>Turning on the Disney night-light in case she had to use the bathroom during the night, Trent hoisted the giant unicorn off her bed and placed it in the corner of the room. Her pink bedroom was a blend of the child and woman that she was—featuring movie posters of her favorite films along with her stuffed unicorn collection.</div><div>His cell buzzed. It was Dontae.</div><div>Trent sped out of the room so he wouldn’t disturb his sister and answered the phone. “What’s up, man?”</div><div>“Yo, please tell me you’re not about to do what I think you’re about to do,” Dontae said.</div><div>“I am. I’m laying it all out there tomorrow.” He could hear the wind blowing in the background. Dontae must be calling from his truck.</div><div>“Bruh, don’t go out like that, man,” Dontae pleaded. “Don’t do it. I was fixing a busted pipe when I got your text. Then I got an emergency call about a broken toilet or I would have called you sooner than this. But the entire time I was working, you were on my mind. I couldn’t wait to call you. You know Renee and Keyshaun might be listening in. She don’t need her head swole, thinking you still want her or something after all these years.”</div><div>Trent gripped his iPhone at the mention of his ex-fiancé and ex-friend, and walked to his living room area. He sat into the U-shaped sectional and pulled the large ottoman into the space to close it in. “I’m over it. And her. This is about building the bank account. Adding more zeroes to my name.”</div><div>“All right, man. That girl hurt you like nobody’s business. She was wrong to the umpteenth power, on so many levels. I don’t want you going down memory lane and getting all depressed again. Black men don’t do therapy and this woman had you laid out on that couch for months.”</div><div>“I did therapy. And I’m black. My parents died not too long after that, don’t forget.” Trent sighed. He hated talking about his parents’ deaths. He didn’t think he would ever get over losing them both in a car accident. He also hated how he sounded defensive about seeking much-needed help. “Don’t feed into that stereotype. That’s why so many of us are hurting and lashing out because we don’t handle our pain the right way.”</div><div>“Man, ease up with that. I didn’t mean to get you started on that soapbox. You see how I handled my issues. My fists landed me behind bars. I lost my track scholarship because of all that nonsense. It was like I couldn’t leave the hood behind. It’s soaked deep in my DNA and though I’m proud of my heritage, I needed a better life. If it weren’t for you, I’d be… I don’t even know where I be right now. You know I’m just messing with you about that whole therapy thing. Truth is, I wish I’d had the guts to seek help when my brother got shot.” He paused a beat.</div><div>Dontae had told Trent that he had been there to see his brother take his last breath. Shot because he had stolen a pack of gum from the corner store on a dare. A pack of gum. That stuff stayed with you for life.</div><div>“Yep. I needed to sprawl on somebody’s couch,” Dontae said. “Especially if my therapist had looked like yours. Cuz that lady was fine as all get-out.”</div><div>The men shared a laugh. Trent didn’t add that he’d asked her out after their sessions had ended, but Mariana Adams hadn’t been about to break protocol and date her former client.</div><div>“But back to this whole Valentine’s thing. Did you tell James yet?” Dontae asked.</div><div>Trent tensed. “No. Not yet.”</div><div>“You’d better give him a heads-up. You know he’s not above acting the fool. He might call the radio station. Or worse, go knock on Keyshaun’s door.” The background noise stilled and Trent heard a door slam, signaling Dontae was home.</div><div>“I’m counting on you keeping him cool.”</div><div>James’s temperament was suitable in his role as a bouncer, but he could be a hothead when it came to his friends. A hothead with King Kong-sized fists. Add that to a Superman complex… Let’s just say Trent had ended up pleading for Keyshaun’s face—and life. Keyshaun’s nose would be crooked as long as he stayed on this side of the earth, but according to James, Keyshaun should give thanks he was still breathing.</div><div>“I’m on it. I already plan to be there with him when you go live. We plan to listen in at Ms. Yancy’s house.”</div><div>“Good plan.” The only person tougher than James was his mother. They had each felt the tip of her wooden spoon at some point. She wielded that thing with more skill than a Samurai.</div><div>“You sure you go’n do this?” Dontae asked again.</div><div>Trent wiped his brow. He didn’t want to look like a chump but he didn’t want Selena putting herself out there and not do the same. He released a huge breath of air. “I’m sure. Maybe it will help somebody.”</div><div>Dontae snickered. “If telling yourself that helps you tell the tale, then all right.”</div><div>Trent’s phone buzzed. “Hang on. Let me check my cell real quick. I got a message.”</div><div>It was from Dontae. He had texted Trent a picture of a hangman during their conversation. “You too old to be playing games.”</div><div>“It’s your funeral, but I got your back,” Dontae joked. “Good luck tomorrow.”</div><div>“I don’t need luck. I make my money talking, and tomorrow will be no exception.” Trent ended the call. Despite his brave words, unease swirled through his insides. He questioned the sanity of revealing his truth and opening himself up for ridicule. Then he hunched his shoulders, remembering his father’s advice when he had been teased as a youth. Laughter was just air. Wind. It would fade.</div><div>And build his bank account.</div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Valentines-Do-Over-Harlequin-Special/dp/133572446X/ref=tmm_mmp_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=&sr=" style="font-family: "Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif;" target="_blank">Order Your Copy</a></div><div>Excerpt from The Valentine's Do Over by Michelle Lindo-Rice. This material is protected by copyright</div></div></div>Michelle Lindo-Ricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10802309295322211300noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-169113315170910268.post-88062031104466111882023-06-05T16:55:00.002-04:002023-06-05T16:55:52.586-04:00THE SEASIDE LIBRARY<p>I am a huge Brenda Novak fan! I got a chance to meet her and also to get a signed paperback copy of THE SEASIDE LIBRARY!</p><p>Five stars!</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjRDR-hPX4ruP5gMFPTw-UmKf7qiF7Zih2deAcg1LAO7_qNC-l7V4MiNk30hC1eYVKRhJMFXD8GnYKlqSYg_JPw0UyqGtgzTpFwy4yA3EKcMCcD6glNpNrsyB9SILQn9SCA5Q7hCodu0v08UaI4__E3ggaF8UWMds4H8bcHXqnJNZarrgak5AIF6JyKyg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1920" data-original-width="1279" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjRDR-hPX4ruP5gMFPTw-UmKf7qiF7Zih2deAcg1LAO7_qNC-l7V4MiNk30hC1eYVKRhJMFXD8GnYKlqSYg_JPw0UyqGtgzTpFwy4yA3EKcMCcD6glNpNrsyB9SILQn9SCA5Q7hCodu0v08UaI4__E3ggaF8UWMds4H8bcHXqnJNZarrgak5AIF6JyKyg" width="160" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://brendanovak.com/books/the-seaside-library/" target="_blank">Purchase your Copy</a></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>After taking care of some of my own book stuff, I was able to settle in and read my Kindle copy. So, this is a book about friendship--and secrets! I know my friends have kept my secrets, but this secret between these three friends was MAJOR!</p><p>Ariana, Cam and Ivy grew up as friends on Mariners Island, a small close-knit community. But when they were teenagers, Cam became a person of interest when a young girl goes missing. So Ariana and Ivy decide to protect him by lying to cover for him. But that lie festered and ate at them for twenty years! All of a sudden there is new evidence in the case and it is once again big news. The detective on the case is even more determined to find out the truth and the truth could end their friendship for good.</p><p>THE SEASIDE LIBRARY had me on edge. I mean I admit I had to peek at the end because it was so intense. I loved soooo many things about it, especially the friendship between these friends. It is so good to have people you know who will support you and who are there for you. It was such a good read!!</p><p>Here is the picture of me meeting Brenda Novak on her tour. She is soooo lovely! I loved listening to Brenda and her husband, Ted, who makes a great cup of hot chocolate.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdz3-Jr1VUQMos9PmU-N-dWhPJzrdTj1Rh1p2gv_TMi7RBCaUKSGDxBLc8PrRShP6mxVc8tJvIpfFJy8j1ue0vN5GxSb6LnQ0M1vZDngDzBdsjdIX93hxkGQFBzqbK30KGGQKNms-JNT1KoecnYWiHuOi3xBmCzkeUWRLDwRsd5BiNW3GsLZyrXERKoQ/s4032/IMG_2216.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdz3-Jr1VUQMos9PmU-N-dWhPJzrdTj1Rh1p2gv_TMi7RBCaUKSGDxBLc8PrRShP6mxVc8tJvIpfFJy8j1ue0vN5GxSb6LnQ0M1vZDngDzBdsjdIX93hxkGQFBzqbK30KGGQKNms-JNT1KoecnYWiHuOi3xBmCzkeUWRLDwRsd5BiNW3GsLZyrXERKoQ/s320/IMG_2216.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p></p>Michelle Lindo-Ricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10802309295322211300noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-169113315170910268.post-30278458153548747762022-08-22T03:12:00.001-04:002022-08-22T03:12:38.080-04:00Review: Sister Mother Warrior
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/59314696" style="float: left; padding-right: 20px"><img src="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1651588431l/59314696._SX98_.jpg" border="0" alt="Sister Mother Warrior" /></a>
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/59314696">Sister Mother Warrior</a> by <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6949811">Vanessa Riley</a><br/>
My rating: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/4351321947">5 of 5 stars</a>
<br /><br />
I absolutely love reading historical fiction, especially amazing black women from the past who rock and rocked history. Author Vanessa Riley does so using her unique writing style. First with Island Queen and now with, Sister Mother Warrior. One thing you can be sure of is that you are going to get a well-researched topic and you're going to learn some history you might not have known before.<br /><br />In Sister Mother Warrior, we meet two phenomenal women who were crucial in Haiti gaining its independence from France: Marie Claire and Gran Toya. Gran Toya was a Dahoney warrior from West Africa who was enslaved but who also helped raise Jean Jacques Dessalines, the leader of the Haitian Revolution. Marie Claire is the love of his life and a powerful woman in her own right - helping to nurse and help all, regardless of their race, in the war.<br /><br />It was a deep read for me and the author does not shy away from the tough truths of the past. Her descriptive writing style made me picture the gruesome torture but also the triumph of overcoming captivity. This literary work lingers with you after the end. It did take me some time to read but the heartfelt conclusion was worth it.<br /><br />Thank you, #Netgalley and #WilliamMorrowBooks for this ARC.
<br/><br/>
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/4351321947">View all my reviews</a>
Michelle Lindo-Ricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10802309295322211300noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-169113315170910268.post-67954172477400499522022-05-26T21:23:00.001-04:002022-05-26T21:23:23.982-04:00Review: When We Let Go
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/59595741" style="float: left; padding-right: 20px"><img src="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1643065310l/59595741._SX98_.jpg" border="0" alt="When We Let Go" /></a>
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/59595741">When We Let Go</a> by <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5755917">Rochelle B. Weinstein</a><br/>
My rating: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/4747093913">5 of 5 stars</a>
<br /><br />
I became a fan of Rochelle Weinstein after reading one of her books and I was so glad for the chance to read When We Let Go.<br />What a great story! It gave me all the feels. I got teary-eyed and there were moments were I just got sentimental. The title fits this story. I think so many are going to enjoy this feel good read. I love love how we see a mature character and a teen character - their similarities and their tug of war. Such a good read and I can't wait to read more of her books! Another five star read.
<br/><br/>
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/4747093913">View all my reviews</a>
Michelle Lindo-Ricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10802309295322211300noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-169113315170910268.post-58006770312874071962022-05-14T10:28:00.001-04:002023-07-02T00:18:44.656-04:00THE CHRISTMAS SWITCH - Sample Chapters<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="background-color: #fefefe; color: #0a0a0a; font-family: Poppins, Arial; font-size: 16px;">Release Date: October 25, 2022</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="background-color: #fefefe; color: #0a0a0a; font-family: Poppins, Arial; font-size: 16px;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="background-color: #fefefe; color: #0a0a0a; font-family: Poppins, Arial; font-size: 16px;">Keeping this secret gets complicated</span><br style="background-color: #fefefe; box-sizing: inherit; color: #0a0a0a; font-family: Poppins, Arial; font-size: 16px;" /><span style="background-color: #fefefe; color: #0a0a0a; font-family: Poppins, Arial; font-size: 16px;">with the family she wished for right next door.</span><br style="background-color: #fefefe; box-sizing: inherit; color: #0a0a0a; font-family: Poppins, Arial; font-size: 16px;" /><br style="background-color: #fefefe; box-sizing: inherit; color: #0a0a0a; font-family: Poppins, Arial; font-size: 16px;" /><span style="background-color: #fefefe; color: #0a0a0a; font-family: Poppins, Arial; font-size: 16px;">Swapping places with her identical twin over the holidays sounds easy enough to Chanel Houston. But playing the role is trickier than expected when it comes to maintaining frosty relations with her sister’s neighbor and nemesis—especially since he has an adorable little girl and a rowdy puppy. Ryder Frost’s supposed to be grumpy and rude…so why does Chanel find the single dad so irresistible?</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="background-color: #fefefe; color: #0a0a0a; font-family: Poppins, Arial; font-size: 16px;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsKzlckztXiO3J4PJbfBnSWG_ui-0xP7UdpL8I3FqKMVeQBMwrNWkgyU6W0QU1GJRQlaBc23JvGvC7IXO2QQjOXyv-Ij8aSDD0DwG1lQ_c6EGktAKE72cRLRjnHOGX4l9HAg59DTXSPlsxhkXLIp3Hn_fznLjKSIfle5f8omfQb_AOHSf100abJF9UeOc5/s2650/The%20Christmas%20Switch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2650" data-original-width="1675" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsKzlckztXiO3J4PJbfBnSWG_ui-0xP7UdpL8I3FqKMVeQBMwrNWkgyU6W0QU1GJRQlaBc23JvGvC7IXO2QQjOXyv-Ij8aSDD0DwG1lQ_c6EGktAKE72cRLRjnHOGX4l9HAg59DTXSPlsxhkXLIp3Hn_fznLjKSIfle5f8omfQb_AOHSf100abJF9UeOc5/s320/The%20Christmas%20Switch.jpg" width="202" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.harlequin.com/shop/books/9781335585349_the-christmas-switch.html" target="_blank">Order Your Copy</a></div><h3 style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Chapter One</h3><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Chanel Houston tossed her keys in her purse and reached into the back seat of her sister’s 2002 Honda Civic to grab one of the boxes of books. She had packed a couple of medium boxes, intending to use her unexpected ‘vacation’ to catch up on some reading.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">She closed the door, already missing her Chevy Trailblazer, and made her way up the three rickety steps of the place she had spent a few summers as a teen. Brushing her hands across her gray hooded sweater and jean shorts, Chanel stood before the entrance of her grandparents’ home—a nineteenth-century historical landmark boasting six bedrooms, three baths, a wraparound porch, a vegetable garden and a small pond—and shook her head.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">The things you do for your sister. Your identical twin sister.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Things like switching places when you’re a grown woman. Her sister, Cara, a detective at the Hawk’s Landing Police Department, was working with the FBI on a secret case and needed the people of her small hometown in Delaware to believe she was still here. So of course she had called her convenient stand-in to switch with her until Christmas. Chanel and Cara had met up in Sussex County to switch cars, clothes and keys. It was more than a coincidence that Chanel had just resigned from her job as a librarian in Newport News, Virginia.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">She stopped at the top of the stairs and groaned. Oh no. She had thrown the key ring holding the house and car keys in her black hole of a purse…Placing the box on the ground, Chanel rummaged around in her bag for the keys. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">While she searched, an odd sensation of being watched crawled up her spine. She turned but saw nothing in the dim lighting.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Scolding her overactive imagination, Chanel plopped the bag on the floor and stooped to conduct a more thorough search. Great. After a four-hour ride, she was sweaty and could use a drink of water.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">She felt a small, wet imprint on the back of her leg. Followed by heavy breathing. Panting.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Her body tensed. That didn’t sound like a deer.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Grabbing a travel-sized umbrella out of her bag, Chanel whipped around, her bottom landing hard on the wooden porch. She yelped and met the blue-eyed gaze of a Siberian husky, taking in his white fur and hanging tongue. Her eyes went wide.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">He snarled, watching her but otherwise standing still.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Realizing he was a puppy and had no intentions of harming her, Chanel reached out to ruffle his right ear, her other hand actively feeling around in her bag for the keys.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“Hey, boy.” She giggled and touched her chest. “You gave me quite a scare. Don’t you know better than to creep up on people like that? Huh?”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">The animal moved closer to rub his nose against her arm before settling beside her. His shiny coat was soft. She could see the pup was well-groomed; someone was definitely missing their pet. She pushed her box of books into a corner and stretched her legs. Cocking her head, Chanel asked, “Where’s your owner, big guy?”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">A throat cleared. “He’s right here.”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Chantal lifted her head to meet another blue-eyed gaze. This one belonged to a lean man a couple inches over six feet, with ash-blond hair and keen eyes filled with skepticism and wariness. He was dressed in a green polo and tan khakis, and not a single strand of hair was out of place. For a split second, she lost her voice, which was fine because the stranger continued.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“Go ahead. Let me have it.” He arched a brow, crossed his arms and waited.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Have what? Chanel racked her brain wondering who this might be. Cara hadn’t described this handsome stranger when she’d mentioned who Chanel might encounter. If she had, Chanel would have remembered him. However, it was obvious this man expected her to know his identity, so she willed her tongue to move. The man held out a hand, an unspoken offer to help her get on her feet.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“I don’t know what you expect me to say.” She dusted off her shorts, particles making her cough. The dog closed his eyes as if bored with the conversation swirling around him. “I was just messing around with your dog.” She struggled to get to her feet on her own before accepting his help.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">His larger hands gripped hers. A faint electricity passed between them. Chanel broke contact as soon as she was steady.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">His eyes narrowed. “I’m surprised to see you get close to Wolf. I’m even more surprised that you’re capable of talking without yelling.” He gave a chuckle filled with a mix of suspicion and humor.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">At those words, the hair on her arms rose. Chanel knew who this was. This must be her sister’s surly, grumpy neighbor, Ryder Frost, who had moved in six months ago. She looked at the pup sprawled on the floor. And this must be the vicious terror who is always coming into Cara’s yard. Cara had expressly warned Chanel to stay away from them both. Menaces, she’d called them.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Chanel eyed the beautiful dog, who was staring at her with pleading eyes. She didn’t know how she was going to resist their pull. Even now, her fingers itched to play in his glossy mane. Chanel was a dog lover, and trying to stay away would be torture. But somehow, she must. Cara had been bitten by dogs twice, and that had sealed her dislike for life. Because of that, Chanel had never owned one. But her first job had been in a pet store as a groomer in the next town, so she had been given many opportunities to play with other people’s dogs.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">She licked her dry lips, tugged on a tendril of her shoulder-length curls and then shot back. “Well, goes to show that you might not always know a person.” Inside her chest, her heart raced. She hoped he bought her flippant response; otherwise her ruse might be up before it began. Like a tennis player, she waited for him to serve his comeback.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Ryder held up a hand. “Easy now, Cara. I’m not about to engage in another shouting match with you because of Wolf.” Hearing him call her by her sister’s name gave Chanel a jolt. She stuck her tongue between her teeth to keep from correcting him. And, oh, how she wanted to. Instead, she kept up her search for the keys.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“I’ll be getting on my way.” Ryder gave a shrill whistle. Wolf opened his eyes, then turned his head and closed them. Ryder’s face reddened. He took a tentative step. “C’mon, boy. Let’s go.”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Wolf gave a growl and hunkered down on the front door mat.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“I don’t know what’s gotten into him,” Ryder said.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“Yes, you do,” she accused, taking on Cara’s attitude. “He does this all the time.” Well, she hoped he did. Her mind raced to recall. The only thing that truly registered in this moment was that she needed to suggest Cara check her vision. The man before her was not a beast.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Aha! Success. Her fingers curled around the keys.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Ryder looked away, his hair falling into his face. “I don’t know what it is about your porch or yard that draws him over here. I’ve tried keeping him away.”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“Yes, well. Do more than try and keep him away from my vegetable garden,” Chanel said, remembering Cara’s chief complaint. She opened the front door, knowing she had to get away from these two before she confessed. What she wanted to do was offer the dog some water or a snack. Chanel stepped behind the screen and into the house, then turned, intending to close the door.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Ryder bent over and scooped the dog into his arms, his muscles bulging. Chanel admired his strength. Ryder Frost was in great physical shape.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Then she saw a small figure approach. One that turned her legs into concrete.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“Daddy, I was looking for you,” the little girl said in a booming voice with a slight lisp. She looked to be about five years old and wore a sunflower dress, white cardigan, white frilly socks and black Mary Janes. Her blond hair had been pulled into a neat bun, and she wore a headband with a sunflower. Then she pinned Chanel with eyes similar to Ryder’s before lifting her head to ask her father, “Daddy, did Wolf get out again?”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">She racked her brain to remember if Cara had mentioned her neighbor had a daughter. She touched her chest. The familiar ache returned for the child she would never have. All that had been buried along with her husband.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Ryder must have nodded, because Chanel heard her say, “Bad doggy. You need to stay over at our house.” That earnest face was a shock to Chanel’s system, bringing a hope she thought dead alive. The screen was a poor shield against the cute package mere feet away.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“We’re sorry to bother you,” Ryder said, turning to leave. He gestured toward the little girl. “Let’s go, Gabby.”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Her name was Gabby. Short for Gabrielle, maybe?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“Wait,” Chanel breathed out and pointed to the dog. She found she wasn’t ready for this family to leave. That was strange because she had lived on her own for years and hadn’t had a problem being alone. Maybe it was coming back to this house. This place. The first question that jumped into her mind popped out. “What made you decide to call him Wolf?”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“I named him that,” Gabby said in a loud voice, stepping close to the screen door. “Cause he’s a cousin of the wolf family. Daddy got him for me.”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Chanel felt her lips twitch, and she tried to keep up Cara’s persona. Her mother had said there was no such thing as a stranger with Chanel. She made friends quick and easy, always ready for a conversation. Unlike Cara, who was more reserved and suspicious—traits well suited for her career. Cara wouldn’t be smiling right now. She would go into inquisition mode. But at this moment, Chanel took over, did what she wanted to do. And what Chanel wanted to do was smile.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">*</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Her smile was electrifying. It evened out the sharp planes of her face and softened her look, making her countenance shine. Ryder Frost clamped his jaw shut and cuddled Wolf closer to his chest. He hadn’t known Cara Shelton was capable of smiling, but he knew better than to say so. Cara always had a frown or smirk on her face when dealing with him. He took in her widened lips and white teeth, then dared to explore further.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Since he had moved to Hawk’s Landing, he had never engaged in a good conversation with his neighbor. The fact that, as a white man, he had purchased a plot of land once belonging to slave-owners had been a sore point for Cara and others in town—but for Ryder, it was about the architecture.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">And forget about his dog. Her lips curled every time she saw Wolf. The dog preferred her place to his: her porch, her yard, her vegetables. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Ryder had been in his kitchen, putting the finishing touches on his dinner—baked chicken breast with roasted brussels sprouts—when he realized Wolf wasn’t in the house. Shoving the pans into the oven and setting a timer on his watch, Ryder had rushed across the lawn to Cara’s yard, mentally preparing himself for another battle.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Yet here she was smiling, her beautiful white teeth on display.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">His brows rose. Answered prayer? He had asked God on many occasions to give him patience when it came to Cara Shelton.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">She flicked the switch to turn on both the inside and outside lights. Wolf jumped out of Ryder’s arms, rubbing his body against the screen door, and Gabby moved to pet him. “Good dog. Good dog.” Then she wagged her finger. “You need to listen to me and Daddy.”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Since Cara was only a few inches shorter than he was, and in his line of sight, Ryder took in her beautiful brown skin, the light freckles dusting her nose and cheeks, her high cheekbones and honey-colored eyes surrounded by thick, long lashes. He acknowledged his neighbor’s physical attractiveness. Every time he had seen her, she had her hair in a bun or ponytail. Today, she had it loose and flowing. Ryder liked it. However, for him it was all about a woman’s substance and inner beauty. He cleared his throat. Not that he was interested in dating. He had his research and Gabby to fill his days. Ryder backed up. It was time for him to go home.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">He opened his mouth to say his farewell when he saw Chanel watching Gabby with a tender expression. She placed a hand over her abdomen. In that unguarded moment, a sadness and yearning filled her eyes before she shuttered it with her lashes.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Without taking her gaze off Gabby and Wolf, she asked, “How old is she?”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“She’s five,” he said.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“Where’s her mom?” she asked, then put a hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Ryder shook his head. “It’s all right,” he said, dabbing at his brow and ignoring the rumble of his stomach. He needed to eat, but his stomach could wait while he discovered what it was like to exchange pleasantries with his neighbor.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“Naw. I need to learn to mind my business,” she said, flailing a hand. “Forget I asked. My mother always told me that my mouth was not my own.”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">The screen door creaked, and she returned outside to slink into one of the wooden rocking chairs. Gabby and Wolf ran down the steps to frolic in the high grass. It needed to be cut. It had been raining a lot over the past several days, causing more growth. Ryder had passed over his lawn with the riding mower early that morning and was tempted to do the same for Cara. But he’d refrained, not sure if his good deed would be welcomed or appreciated.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Gabby began doing backflips while Wolf ran beside her. Ryder walked over to the other rocking chair and sat. He and Cara sat watching Gabby’s and Wolf’s antics for a few minutes before he decided to answer Cara’s question. He felt comfortable sharing because, as his neighbor, she would have noted he was alone when he’d first moved next door in May.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“Four months ago, my doorbell rang, and I opened the door to see the sister of an old colleague, a fellow researcher.” He jutted his chin toward Gabby. “Her mother. With her.” Then he coughed, feeling a tickle in his throat.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“Do you want something to drink?” Cara asked, jumping to her feet.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">His eyes went wide. “Yeah, uh, sure.” He coughed again, placing his hand over his mouth.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“Hang on,” she said. “I’ll be back.”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Ryder twisted his body to watch her bounce through the door, and he scrunched his nose. It felt like he was talking to a completely different person, because Cara was being so—well, neighborly. He laughed at his paranoia and shook his head.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">A couple minutes later, Cara returned, carrying a tray. “I could use a little help here,” she said in singsong voice.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Ryder held the screen door open, battling a feeling of surrealness. Cara had placed two tall glasses and a smaller glass of lemonade and an old bowl filled with water on the tray. He was taken aback at her thoughtfulness in including Wolf. He thanked her for the drink and watched as she served his daughter and dog.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“Say thank you to Ms. Cara,” Ryder prompted.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“Thank you,” Gabby said, sitting on the top step with Wolf lapping away next to her.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">After taking a few sips, Gabby returned to play, taking advantage of the little sunlight that was left. Fanning herself, Cara returned to the rocking chair. It creaked with her movements.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“So, I take it her mother left her with you?” she asked, laying her head back.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“Yes, Brittany—that’s her mother’s name—had an opportunity to go to Egypt to study the pyramids and decided it was time I met my daughter. She told me it would be for a few weeks, but as you see, it has turned into months. Not that I mind.” He spoke those words with wry humor, although he had had a different reaction that day. He’d been sucker punched. Speechless. And scared.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Cara leaned forward, her mouth dropping open. “This is better than any novel I’ve ever read. You had a secret love child?”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">He patted his brow. “I don’t know if I would call what we had…love. Before I accepted God in my life, Brittany and I had a brief…encounter. She had accompanied my coworker to a convention we were both attending. We spent hours talking about my research and her studies in Egyptology. After that one weekend, we parted ways.”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">She chuckled, then said in a dry tone, “The encounter might have been brief, but the repercussions are lasting.”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“Yes. Well.” Ryder gave a dismissive wave to cover his embarrassment. “In the four months Gabby has been here, I can honestly say I have no regrets. But I didn’t know anything about children. I was an only child of parents who were also only children. YouTube is a divine gift. It has saved me on many occasions. It’s my go-to for everything from combing her hair to coordinating her clothes. Being a parent is more challenging than my first dissertation.”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“But I’m sure it’s rewarding.” She gazed at Gabby, her eyes bright. “From what I see, she seems happy, so you must be doing something right.” This time, there was no mistaking the yearning in her tone. She smirked. “Although I reserve the right to be wrong. Just giving my first—um, my overall impression.”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“I’m glad I didn’t mess up,” he said, not quite sure what to do about the fact that his neighbor was giving him a compliment instead of her usual criticism.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“Some of us would have loved the chance…to mess up,” Cara said before lowering her lashes and sipping her lemonade.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Ryder scooted forward, searching for the courage to ask if she had children. He hadn’t seen any, but the papers said she had been a cop for close to 14 years. Cara was probably in early forties and could have grown children in college. Just as he opened his mouth, his timer went off.</div><h3 style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Chapter Two</h3><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">She’d wanted to say yes. Yes to having dinner with Ryder, to joining him and Gabby for chicken and Brussel sprouts when he had extended the invitation. Her tummy appreciated anyone with culinary skills. But she’d declined his offer, knowing Cara wouldn’t have accepted, and had eaten a couple of frozen waffles instead before spending the rest of the evening cleaning and dusting.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Chanel wasn’t much of a cook, which was why she was now heading toward the town square at six o’clock the next morning to purchase muffins. Though she had fallen asleep after midnight the night before after speaking with Cara, Chanel was an early riser. She didn’t like sleeping long. Sleeping meant dreaming. Dreaming about Warren’s death.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">It was early November, and that meant Mrs. Collins would have pumpkin-spice muffins. Her mouth watered and her stomach growled in anticipation when she pictured the decadent display inside the huge glass.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Today, the temperature had dropped a few degrees, which was great for fall weather, so she had donned a mauve Guess tracksuit with a pair of New Balances before driving a quarter mile to Collins’ Grocer & Bakery. Cara’s cupboards and refrigerator were empty. Like her sister, Chanel ate a lot of fruits and veggies, but she also had a sweet tooth. There wasn’t a doughnut, Ho Ho or MoonPie safe from meeting her lips. Fortunately, they hadn’t found their way to her hips since she ran or cycled so she could eat what she wanted.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Chanel drove past the cornfields and chicken farms until she reached a fork in the road. The left would lead to the town’s sole strip mall, movie theater and grocery store. She swerved right, going past three large houses before turning down the gravel path of the circular entrance and pulling into the parking lot next to a burgundy pickup truck.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">The other vehicle in the lot was a lime-green 1966 Chevy Impala, which belonged to Mrs. Collins. The shop owner had driven that same car when Chanel and Cara came to visit in their youth. She used to give them joyrides, speeding on the back roads, with Cara and Chanel laughing and screaming at the top of their lungs.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Chanel checked her purse to make sure she had enough cash to pay for her goods and then exited her car, careful to avoid stepping in a huge puddle. It had rained for close to an hour the night before, but it should be sunny for most of the day.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Opening the door to the store, she smiled at the clamoring ring of the bell and the sound of Christmas music—yes, Christmas music. Chanel sniffed, welcoming the aroma of cinnamon and pumpkin spice. She licked her lips, thinking about the warm glaze drizzling down the sides of the muffin, and grabbed a small black shopping cart. One of the rickety wheels cling-clanged, but Chanel didn’t swap out. If memory served, every single cart had something wrong—or, as Mrs. Collins said, something unique. Mrs. Collins hated throwing anything out, as was evident by all the sixties, seventies and eighties paraphernalia sprinkled throughout the store. Portraits, license plates and other knickknacks had been glued or nailed to the wooden ceiling, which the older woman said gave her store character.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">She ducked past the beaded curtain placed above the first aisle and spotted the store owner unpacking a box of pumpkin cans. She waved at Mrs. Collins, who beckoned her over.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“How’s it going?” the older woman asked. She was dressed in a pair of baggy jeans and a colorful shirt along with her ever-present store apron. “That was some nasty business with Jeremiah Greene.”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Cara had told her all about the man who had killed three high school students and who had escaped on her sister’s watch. It had been a long time since Chanel had heard her sister cry for hours. She had vowed to find him, which was why Cara had pretended to quit her job at the station and gone undercover, sending Chanel here to secretly take her place.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Picking up some cans and placing them on the shelf, Chanel assumed her sister’s demeanor. Mrs. Collins knew everyone, so it was important that she convince the other woman that she was her sister.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Lowering her head, she pictured Cara’s heartbroken face to guide her taut emotions. “You don’t know how that haunts me. That I failed.” Chanel’s voice hitched. She felt her sister’s pain like it was her own. Blinking back tears, she continued to stack the cans and compose herself. Her sister would be emotional, but she wouldn’t fall apart. She had too much strength for that.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Mrs. Collins placed a wrinkled, brown, spotted hand on Chanel’s arm. “Oh, dearie. Nobody blames you. You stopped to help someone else in need. Wasn’t no need for you to up and quit like that.”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Chanel faced the other woman, whose eyes reflected warmth and compassion. “I couldn’t continue working. I can’t look those family members in their eyes,” she whispered.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Mrs. Collins nodded. “I understand. Stop punishing yourself.” She tilted her head. “You’re too young to just sit home. What you plan on doing with yourself?”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“I haven’t figured it out yet.”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">The front door chimed, which distracted Mrs. Collins long enough for Chanel to escape and finish her shopping.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Going to the back of the store, she picked up a quart of milk to have with her muffins. Next, she went to the fresh-goods section and snagged a bag of peaches and then a carton of strawberries that were on sale and featured on a checkered tablecloth. Eyeing the bananas on another table, Chanel fought to turn the cart, but the wheel got stuck on the tablecloth. Bending over, she yanked on the material wedged in the wheel until she heard a deep voice. One she already recognized.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“Need some help?” Ryder asked, parking his cart across from hers.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“Yes, please,” she said before clamping her tongue between her teeth. Her messy bun had already begun coming loose because of her efforts.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">He crouched close and grabbed the edge of the cloth while she lifted the wheel. Chanel caught a whiff of sandalwood, nutmeg and mandarin—a pleasing woodsy smell. He was dressed in a long-sleeved black polo and a pair of black slacks. The dark color was a nice contrast against skin the color of sand.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">It took a couple of trials, but they managed to free her cart. Chanel stood and grabbed the handle. “Thank you. I don’t know how I managed to do that,” she said, putting space between them. She turned to continue her shopping.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“I’m glad I was able to help,” he said, stepping beside her. The aisle was more suited for one person, so their carts bumped. His had eggs, cheese, milk, green peppers, turkey bacon and other items that made her think of omelets, how much she loved them and how jealous she was because she wasn’t going to be having any.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Chanel stopped walking and picked up a can of beans, hoping he would be on his way. Otherwise, she would be tempted to chitchat. If there was a longer way to say something, Chanel would use it. Her sister was the one with few words. Chanel loved words.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Apparently, Ryder did also. “What brings you here?” he asked, in a tone way too chipper for the hour.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“Where’s Gabby?” she asked instead of answering his question.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“She’s in the bakery section, bending Mrs. Collins’s ear.” He chuckled. “Gabby spotted the apple fritters and made a beeline for them.”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Chanel bit back a smile. Gabby had good taste. She would need to add fritters to her list. Hunching her shoulders, she said, “Well, I’d better get going. I’ve got a lot to do.” She pushed off.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“Sure. See you around, neighbor.” Ryder gave a small wave, his brows furrowed.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">She swallowed her guilt over seeing the confusion in Ryder’s eyes, like he was wondering what he had done to ruin their rapport from the previous day. She couldn’t tell him that he had done nothing wrong and that talking to him felt very right. She wasn’t ready to wonder why.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Chanel headed to the bathroom to hide out until Ryder and Gabby departed. Once they were gone, she’d grab her baked goods and take a different route home to ensure she would get back after them. Chanel exhaled. Avoiding the man next door would not be easy.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">*</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Ryder finished his shopping and thanked Mrs. Collins for entertaining Gabby while he gathered the rest of his items. The older woman was a huge help. Before Gabby, Ryder had never engaged in small talk, but the first time he had ventured inside with her had ended with apples all over the store. Since then, Mrs. Collins kept Gabby occupied, giving him a chance to move through the aisles without incident.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">That morning, Ryder had awakened in the mood for omelets and breakfast potatoes, so once he had gotten himself and Gabby dressed, he rushed over to the grocer’s. Ryder liked to make Gabby a large breakfast every day and pack her lunch from home. When she first came to live with him, Gabby had climbed onto the cupboard to get a bowl to make herself some cereal. That had melted his heart. It was obvious his daughter was used to tending to her own needs. He wasn’t surprised because, like Brittany, he could get caught up in his research and forget to eat until he was done.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">However, since Gabby’s arrival, he had changed his behavior patterns. Taking care of her gave him an internal sense of joy and satisfaction, filling a need he’d had no idea existed. Family.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Just as they got close to the vehicle, Gabby twisted out of his grip and jumped into a huge puddle.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“Why did you do that?” he scolded. “Now your shoes are filled with mud.”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Gabby shrugged. “I don’t know.”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“Stay here,” he directed, holding her shoulders until she stood still.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Ryder swallowed his annoyance and moved his eyes away from that cute little face. She was being a kid, and kids jumped into puddles. What he should have done was warn her not to do so. One day he would get the hang of this parenting thing.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">He blew out a huge plume of air, opened his truck and dropped his groceries on the passenger seat. Then he hoisted Gabby into his arms.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“Wheee,” she said, swaying her body.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Ryder was about to put her in her car seat when he noticed her small hand gripped a huge chocolate chip cookie, which he had agreed she could have with her lunch at school. Some of the chocolate chips had melted along her palms and fingers. Ryder had learned to keep the wipes handy because they cleaned everything—spills, chocolate, markers. Wipes and Ziploc bags were his two must-haves.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">He went around his truck to get baby wipes out of the glove box and wiped Gabby’s hands, shoes and leggings. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">As he cleaned, he thought about his wishy-washy neighbor. When he’d seen Cara struggling with the cart, he’d been eager to assist and continue their conversation. A loner by nature, Ryder wasn’t sure why his tongue had loosened around her yesterday or why his heart rate seemed to quicken in her presence. That had never happened before, but he liked her sense of humor. Especially since he hadn’t known Cara even possessed one.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">However, today, she had been…standoffish.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">He grabbed a Ziploc bag and dropped Gabby’s cookie inside before placing it on the front passenger seat.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“I want my cookie,” Gabby whined.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“You can have it with lunch,” he reminded her.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Ryder found himself dragging out the task of settling Gabby into her car seat, looking behind him to see if Chanel would come out of the store. After a few minutes, he glanced at his watch and knew he couldn’t lag or Gabby would have to eat breakfast at school. Ryder backed out of the lane, keeping his eye trained on the front door, but Cara remained inside.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“Daddy, I don’t want green peppers in my om-ah-let,” Gabby said, her loud voice echoing in the small space.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“Okay, I won’t put any in your omelet,” he said, correcting her pronunciation before peering into the rearview mirror to glance at his child. She was dressed in a long-sleeved shirt with a doughnut on her chest and leggings that featured tiny replicas of the doughnut. Ryder had purchased the outfit from Amazon, and he had another package due from Walmart soon. Gabby had grown about three inches and needed a new wardrobe and shoes for her rabbit-like feet.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">A few minutes later, he turned down the gravel path to his driveway. This time, Ryder made sure to warn his daughter to avoid the muddy puddles. While she changed into another outfit, he worked on the omelets and breakfast potatoes. Though Ryder liked historic homes, he appreciated modern luxuries, so he had gutted the interior of the kitchen and installed stainless steel appliances and marble countertops in the open space, knowing he would spend a lot of time there.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Growing up in foster homes, Ryder had dreamed of sitting around a breakfast table with people who cared about him, who didn’t see him as a detriment to their income or a nuisance. The kitchen was the heart of the home. That’s why he had a round white table and chairs in the center along with a nook with sofa cushions. His heart had warmed the first time Gabby had curled into the corner with a book on her lap, reading while he cooked.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Gabby returned, wearing jeans and a long-sleeved shirt with a ballerina on her chest. When she sat at the table, Ryder said grace, served Gabby a small portion of food and added a dollop of ketchup to her plate before placing a disposable white plastic bib around her neck. There would be no more outfit changes.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Once they had blessed their meal, they dug in. After the first bite, Ryder nodded with satisfaction. Gabby smacked her lips. Everything was just right.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">A few minutes later, Gabby placed the last potato in her mouth and wiped her face with the back of her hand. “Can we give some to Wolf?”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Wolf.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Ryder paused before scrunching his nose. He didn’t remember seeing Wolf when he’d entered. He cocked his head. His mind had been centered on getting breakfast ready and Gabby re-dressed for school.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Oh, no. If Wolf wasn’t here, it meant he had escaped through the doggy door in the kitchen. Ryder must have forgotten to close it before leaving. Again.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Ryder’s chair scraped across the wooden floor as he bounded to his feet, then slipped into his boots. He yanked open the door and scanned Cara’s yard. Seeing the bus pull up, he yelled out to Gabby to grab her lunch bag and her backpack. Then he scooped her under his arm and dashed down the driveway before the bus could pull off. Mr. Atkins had a ten-second-wait rule. She giggled, probably enjoying how her body flopped like a puppet the entire way.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">After shaking his head, Ryder kissed her cheeks. “Have a good day.”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“See you later,” she said before making her way up the steps.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Ryder always felt a pang watching her get onto the bus. He looked to Mr. Atkins for commiseration, but the older man pursed his lips and closed the door.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Remembering Wolf, Ryder slapped his forehead and ran into Cara’s yard. By this time, the sun was out, drying up the damp earth. Though the grass was high, Ryder could see Wolf’s white fur covered in mud. His paws were busy digging holes in Cara’s vegetable garden.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“Wolf! Stop!” he called out.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">The dog just kept digging. Ryder drew close, noticing the carrots tossed around the yard. Some were chewed. Some were smashed. None seemed salvageable. “Get home,” he commanded.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Ryder lunged, but Wolf took off, running back onto Ryder’s property. He heard a door slam behind him and turned to face Cara with dread. To his surprise, she was laughing—she was pointing her finger, doubled over and laughing at him.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">He looked down and gasped. He had stepped in a huge pile of poop. Wolf’s parting gift. As Ryder lifted his leg, the scent hit his nostrils, and he gagged. “Ugh. Wolf knows better than to do this.”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">She snorted. A very unladylike snort. “I know I should be mad, but this is hilarious. You should have gotten a cat, and your dog needs training.” She pulled out her phone and snapped a picture of him. Then another.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“The only pet store in town closed, so I have to train him myself. I’ve watched several YouTube videos, but they aren’t much help.” Hearing another snap, he pointed. “Delete those pics. I wouldn’t have stepped in poo if your grass wasn’t so high.”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“You wouldn’t have stepped in it if your dog was in his own yard,” she shot back.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Ryder made a move toward her just as she took another photograph. He knew his face was beet red, but he hated how she was having fun at his mortification.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“No way.” Shaking her head, she started backing up. Slipping her phone into her back pocket, she said, “Don’t move.” Her laughter escalated like musical keys on a scale until tears rolled down her cheeks. “This is the best thing I’ve seen all morning.” She dashed to the side of the house.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">A few seconds later, he heard the unmistakable sound of the hose. Before Ryder could protest, Cara turned the water on him full force, washing away the grime from his legs and boots. He clamped his jaw shut, fully intending to toss his outfit in the garbage. This humiliation wouldn’t be easy to erase from his mind anytime soon. His only minor consolation was that she was also getting wet in the process.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“Turn it off now, please,” he yelled once his boots were clean. “I’m glad the sun is out or I would be worried about catching a cold.”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">She complied and returned the hose to its base.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“I’m sorry about all this.” He swept his hand across the yard. “I’ll repair your vegetable garden.”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“You don’t have to. I can do it,” she said, waving a hand.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“I insist. I can help you or hire a handyman.” He gave Cara his cell number and watched her long fingers put his contact information into her phone. “Text me so I know it’s you. I don’t answer the phone unless I know who’s calling or texting. Too many spam callers.”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“Yes, I can’t stand the random robocalls. People have nothing better to do with their time.” She placed a hand on her hip. “If you want, I could train your dog. I worked at a pet store in my teens, and that was one of my responsibilities.”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">All Ryder could do was nod. “This has been a most…humbling experience.” Without making eye contact, he turned toward his house with the peanut-sized pride he had left.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">He heard a chuckle behind him.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“I think the word you’re looking for is unforgettable,” she said.</div><h3 style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Chapter Three</h3><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“Why didn’t you capture it on video?” Cara asked Chanel on FaceTime that night. “That would have been epic.” Her sister’s eyes were filled with mirth at her neighbor’s debacle. Because of that, Cara wasn’t as mad about Wolf destroying her vegetables, stating she wouldn’t be there to eat them anyway—if there were any left after the rabbits got to them. Chanel didn’t mention Gabby, and Cara didn’t either.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“I took a couple of pictures, but there’s no way I’m sending them to you.”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“You’re no fun,” Cara joked.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“Really? You’re saying that when I agreed to switch places with you?” Chanel shifted on the living room sofa and slapped her leg. “Did you forget all the fun we used to have fooling people?”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“Nope. Mom and Dad used to get furious with us.”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Thinking of her deceased parents made Chanel sadden. “I miss them.”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“I do too. They were the best…” Their parents had died within months of each other. Her mother of a sudden stroke and her dad of a broken heart not too long after. He hadn’t wanted to carry on without their mom. A testimony of the close bond they had shared. Like the one Chanel shared with her sister.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Cara interrupted her thoughts and shifted the conversation with a random observation. “Besides our parent, the only person who could tell us apart was Ms. Mavis.”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Hearing the former librarian’s name made Chanel’s eyes go wide. “What if I run into her? Our cover could be blown.” She fretted with her lip. “The entire town knows we’re twins, so what’s to stop somebody from casually bringing that up in conversation?” Her eyes went wide. “Does Ryder know you’re a twin?”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Cara waved a hand. “No, why would I tell him? He doesn’t need to know. In fact, he’s a hermit and sticks to himself. And as for the town, it’s been fifteen years since you left. You might not have lived there full-time for long, but having you gone was painful for all of us. Hardly anyone mentions you for that reason. Besides, a lot of people who knew us are retired and moved somewhere warmer or are six feet under. There’s a lot of new people in town. I think you’ll be fine.”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">She raised a brow at her sister’s words. “Six feet under? Can’t you come up with a more sympathetic phrasing?”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Cara shrugged, bringing Chanel’s attention to her slim shoulders. Her face appeared gaunt, like she hadn’t been sleeping. Chanel cocked her head. “How are you doing?”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Cara’s expression closed. When it came to her job, she could be tight-lipped. Even now, she spoke to Chanel with the background blurred. This was for both their protection, but it made Chanel acutely aware of how dangerous this assignment was. “I’m managing.”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Worry swirled like a building tornado, but Chanel knew better than to voice her fears. It would only put her sister on edge, and she needed Cara safe. Before Chanel had agreed to be Cara’s stand-in, her twin told her that Jeremiah was a computer genius who had infiltrated the police station’s intricate computer systems, so she needed to work with the FBI.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Cara had insisted on going deep undercover and being part of their investigation while they tracked Jeremiah’s movements. Since Jeremiah had family in town who were covering for him and informing him, Cara had asked Chanel to do the switch. That was all her boss had allowed her to share. Chanel didn’t know how her sister was able to put her life in danger like this, but Cara excelled at her job as a detective in Hawk’s Landing.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Typical of Cara, she directed the conversation away from herself. “I should be home by Christmas, as promised. Can you stay until then?”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“Yes. Thanks to working nonstop, I had a good payout when I quit. They paid me all my sick leave and vacation days.”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“Has your boss called to say they made a mistake?”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“Nope. They feel as if they made the right decision giving the promotion to Alma, though they asked if I could train her before leaving.”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Chanel couldn’t keep the bitterness out of her tone. Alma Tate was a younger Caucasian woman with a master’s degree in fine arts. She had limited experience on how to run a library, but they had still chosen her over Chanel, who had years of experience, though her bachelor’s degree was in agricultural studies. So Chanel had quit.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“I’m glad you left.”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Clearing her throat, Chanel brought up another topic. “Do you think it would be a red flag if I put up Christmas decorations?”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“Can we get through Thanksgiving first?” Cara scoffed.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“Quit being a grinch, and answer my question.”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Her sister pondered for a beat and then shrugged. “Go ahead. Ryder is my only neighbor, and he has no idea what I do for the holidays. So I don’t think it’d be a problem. Besides, if anyone from town ventured that far, they would think I’m doing it because I’m bored since I left the police force.” Cara leaned closer, her tone changing when she spoke again. “How have you been sleeping?”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Chanel shifted, folding her legs under her. “I’m fine during the day. I feel like the prodigal son—or in this case, daughter—who returned home, and this house, the land, has welcomed me. We had so many great memories here as children. But at night, I’m in a mental tug-of-war between peace and panic. All I do is think of him.”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Warren Houston. Her high school sweetheart and husband. He’d loved life. Even now, she could picture him—tall, powerful, strong.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Until he wasn’t.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Because of her.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">She sniffled.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“Ray wouldn’t have wanted you to blame yourself like you’ve done for the past fifteen years,” her sister said, eyes soft and tender. “He would have wanted you to grab your second chance and run with it.”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“I didn’t deserve to live,” she whispered, tears seeping from the corners of her eyes.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“God must have thought so, or you wouldn’t be here,” Cara said, pleading. “He has plans for you. You can’t be a Jonah forever. At some point, you have to be where He wants you to be, which is here in Hawk’s Landing. It’s home. I firmly believe that. That’s why I wouldn’t—haven’t—sold that place. I’ve been waiting for you. When we were teenagers, we vowed to bring the farm back to its former glory, and that’s what I intend to do. With you.”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Her sister’s chest rose and fell with each breath while she waited for Chanel to respond. Cara was right about her being home. That much she could agree with.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">The rest, not so much.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">The years melted as fresh pain bubbled into her chest, and words traveled from her heart to her lips. “He died trying to save me.” Chanel’s body shook under the weight of her guilt. “If I hadn’t made Warren take the boat out for us to go fishing, he would be alive. And I wouldn’t have lost—” She flung her head back and cried, her shoulders shaking, unable to bear the brunt of her sorrow. Her ache. Like a constant toothache, it gnawed at her, keeping her awake—in limbo, restless, paused in time.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Chanel sniffled. Her tear ducts were putting in overtime. The grief threatened to engulf her.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">She heard her sister’s gentle voice. “Get the box of tissue, and wipe your face.” Once Chanel had done so, Cara asked her to meet her eyes. “You’re the strongest person I know, but guilt will bury you deeper than quicksand. You don’t control the weather. You couldn’t have seen that storm coming. No one did. Not even the weatherman.”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Chanel shuddered as she remembered that moment, when the boat capsized and the sail pierced her abdomen, causing her to lose their unborn baby.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Cara kept talking. “I smile when I think of Warren because he was your hero. He saved you, and if he had to decide, he would do it again. I have no doubt about that.”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Chanel nodded, knowing Cara was right. “I can’t do this farm without him. That wasn’t the plan.”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“You can and you must, or you will never be at peace. Fifteen years is a long time to carry the guilt like a hiker’s backpack. You have to let it go. Cast your cares on Him. God said that for a reason.” Her sister spoke with such certainty that Chanel felt the words take root within her.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“I’ll pray on it.” She licked her lips and then whispered her current biggest concern. “Ryder has a daughter. A little girl. Why didn’t you tell me?”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“You know why, honey,” Cara said. “If I had, you wouldn’t have come.”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“And you expect me to stay away from him?” Her chest tightened. “From her?”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Cara’s eyes held empathy and understanding. “I see now that request was impossible. Unreasonable.” She looked upward and chewed on her bottom lip, her eyes blinking rapidly while she processed.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">She shrugged. “I don’t think befriending them would appear out of character or do any harm. My disliking him and his dog has nothing to do with the case. But I think you do—like him, that is. Just act like me when you’re around him.” Cara waved at the screen. “Get rid of our pictures in the house in case he ever comes inside. And wear black. Dark colors, like I would.”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Chanel laughed and tugged on the tracksuit she was wearing. “This was a gift I bought for you that you never wore.”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">A distraction in the background made Cara turn off her video and mute her microphone. Chanel’s stomach muscles clenched, and she kept her eyes pinned to the screen. Several tense seconds passed before her sister returned. She could see Cara looked shaken, but she knew asking her to share would be pointless. All her sister said was she would be off the grid for a while and that she might not be able to call as much. With a nod, Chanel squelched her worry, uttered a quick prayer and begged her sister to stay safe.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Once she was off the call, Cara’s words about her liking Ryder came back to her, and she frowned. Though Cara was cool with her chatting it up with her neighbor, Chanel didn’t feel at ease now. Images of her and Ryder talking and laughing on the front porch, her hosing him down in the backyard filled her mind. It was all a bit too…close. Too companionable. Too…soon.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Chanel was friendly, but she wasn’t sure she was ready for friendship with someone she found attractive. And the fact that each encounter with Ryder felt natural—easy—scared her. It had been easy with Warren, and look how that had ended.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Her cell pinged with a notification. When she saw Ryder’s name, her heart rate accelerated. She swiped the screen to read the text message. When will you begin dog training and how much is your fee?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">She read his words several times, analyzing them, contemplating how to respond. She wanted to keep her distance, but she had promised to train his dog. Chanel wanted to keep her word…</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Maybe she could help with Wolf without having Ryder or Gabby around.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Chanel figured she would take a few days to get settled and get her mind in gear. The next time she saw Ryder, she would have her sister’s mannerisms conquered. She glanced at her watch. It was close to eight o’clock. Not too late to respond. You don’t have to pay me. Your dog will need a lot of training…</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">She hit the back button and deleted those words. She needed to be brief and not her usual long-winded self. She would just answer the question. Keep it simple. I’ll start next week. No fee.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">That was her impersonal, but necessary, response.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">*</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Ryder returned a couple of emails to his colleagues at the Sloan Kettering Institute, where he worked as a cancer geneticist. His focus was to study stem cell growth and tumor progression. Though he’d been on family leave since Brittany had dropped off Gabby on his doorstep, his colleagues often reached out to ask questions or run ideas by him because they knew he was a genius at what he did. They were feeling it with him not being there.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">But he wasn’t sure about going back full-time. At forty-three, he had years to go before retirement, but Ryder had worked at the institute for close to twenty years. All this time off with Gabby had him thinking about a career change, tackling something new. Like maybe teaching online. Although he loved what he did now, so he would have to think about it before making a decision.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Since the weather would be close to seventy degrees without any chance of rain, Ryder decided to cut his lawn. He went into the house to change into his old jeans, a faded shirt and the grass-stained black boots he wore when doing yardwork. He grabbed his Beats headphones and searched for TobyMac to pull up one of his albums. For once, Wolf remained at home, lying on the back porch, taking a nap.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">He sauntered over to the shed and opened the door to start up the John Deere Zero-Turn Mower he had purchased that summer. Navigating his way onto the grass, Ryder got lost in the worship music, whistling or belting out some of the lyrics. He finished his yard in about forty-five minutes. After catching sight of the thick patch on Cara’s property, Ryder headed over to tackle her lawn, praying his prickly neighbor wouldn’t accuse him of trespassing.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Thinking about Cara made his brows furrow. He hadn’t been in a lot of relationships—partly because of his studies but also because Ryder had no intention of opening his heart to anyone. Not when his own parents had abandoned him, leaving him to the will of the state. It was better to be alone, depending on God and himself.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">But he was drawn to Cara’s optimism and her wit. Yet she confused him. Cara was like a water faucet running hot and cold. Take her text message response the night before: It was stiff. Formal. The complete opposite of the woman he was getting to know but characteristic of the one he had known all along. Which was the real Cara?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Turning up the volume when TobyMac’s song “It’s You” began to play, Ryder made his way around the perimeter of her yard. He would keep circling until he had completed the entire area.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Ryder lapped the huge circumference three times before he saw Cara waving at him from the back porch. She sat by a small glass table with two chairs, next to an oversize hammock that was in serious need of repair. Wolf was now stretched out by her feet like he lived there. Ryder shook his head. That dog. He used the back of his hand to wipe his brow and put the mower in park before waving back.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“You didn’t have to do this,” she yelled, gesturing for him to join her.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">He held up a hand before turning off the motor, climbing down and walking over to where she sat. She was wearing a floral maxi dress and a straw hat. She held Christmas garlands in her hands and had a huge smile on her face.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Like he’d thought earlier, he didn’t know how to read her these last few days. At least before, she had been constant in her loathing, and he’d known to keep his distance. Now she was a seesaw, and it made his head hurt. That didn’t stop him from returning her smile or hurrying his steps, though. In fact, if he were being honest, his heart felt light.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Wolf opened one eye before closing it. Ryder smirked. His dog seemed quite content to pretend he didn’t know Ryder. He’d remind Wolf of that when he came looking for food.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Ryder’s eyes were drawn to the huge glass of water on the table with condensation running down the sides. His throat was dry. There was a platter with a couple of large muffins as well. His stomach growled at the sight.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“Thanks so much for taming our wildebeest of a lawn,” she said, her voice bright and cheery as she rested the garlands across a chair. “I brought you some muffins and water because the sun is no joke and our—I mean, my yard is massive. I’m sure you must need hydration.”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">That was odd. Had she said our wildebeest of a lawn? To his knowledge, Cara lived alone. An ex-husband, maybe? Ryder was curious about the slip but decided not to question his neighbor—not when she was being sweet and thoughtful. He didn’t want to be the thorn in her rosy demeanor.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“I could use some liquid hydration. Thanks.” Ryder reached for the water and took several gulps. He hadn’t realized how thirsty he was. He emptied the glass. “It’s not a problem. My lawn mower is doing most of the work anyways.”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“Still, I’m grateful because I wasn’t looking forward to pushing that old mower out of the shed.” She bit into a muffin. Some of the icing ended up on the sides of her mouth, reminding Ryder of his own hunger. He snatched one of the muffins, slipped into the chair across from her and took a huge bite. It was soft and moist and simply delicious. He slid a glance toward the plate; he might have to have another one.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“What were you listening to?” she asked. “I’ve been trying to get your attention for a while.”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“TobyMac. Do you know him?”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“Yes,” she said, gyrating her body. “I love him. Have you listened to his album called The Elements? ‘It’s You’ is my jam.”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">His brows rose and he felt his eyes go wide. “I was literally just listening to that. It’s one of my favorites on the entire album.”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Their eyes held. It seemed like they meshed, had so much in common. There was a light breeze, causing her hair to frolic in the wind just so. He found it…appealing. He cleared his throat to break the spell and reached for another muffin. He figured if he were moving his mouth, he wouldn’t do anything foolish, like tell her what he was thinking.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“I take it Gabby’s in school?” Cara asked, looking out toward the yard.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“Yes. Although getting her on the bus this morning wasn’t easy.” He groaned. “She has a loose tooth and wanted to talk with her mom.”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Cara watched him, a brow arched, curiosity in her eyes. “By your demeanor, I take it you couldn’t reach her?”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“I tried, but the call went straight to voice mail. I didn’t know what to think or what to say to Gabby. I hated to see her chin quiver and her eyes fill with tears. Nothing I said made her feel better. She didn’t even look back at me when she got on the bus.” His shoulders slumped. “She goes to school half-days, so I’ll try again later. I pray that Brittany answers.”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“Sometimes a girl just needs her mother,” Cara said in a wistful tone.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">He cocked his head and asked the question burning in his mind. “Do you have children?”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“No,” she said, drumming her fingers on the table. “I can’t anymore.” Now her chin wobbled, and her eyes appeared slick.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Great. A second person crying today because of him. Ryder ran his hands through his hair. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pried.”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“It’s all right,” she said softly before wiping her face. “I was pregnant once. With a girl.” She met his eyes. Her next words stunned him into silence. “She would have been fifteen today if my careless actions…” She appeared to struggle for words before taking a deep breath and squaring her shoulders. “I lost her, and it was all my fault.”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Somehow he doubted that. “What do you mean?” he asked gently.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“Can we not talk about this anymore? I’ve already said more than I meant to say, and losing a child the same day you lose your husband isn’t easy…”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">The relaxed banter between them dried like a raisin in the sun. Breaking eye contact, she had the look of someone ready to flee, but he wasn’t ready for her to go.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">“Sure. Uh, it wasn’t my intention to… I’m sorry.”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">She gave a nod and stood. The chair made a scraping sound, jolting Wolf awake. “Let me put these decorations up.”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Wolf chose that moment to provide a much-needed interruption. He bit into the garland, growling and gnawing on the snaky green invader, which made a light swishing sound on the porch when he shook it back and forth.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Cara bent down to pet his ears and gave a wobbly laugh. “Easy, boy. Let me have it.” Once she had rescued the garland, she proceeded to wrap it around the banister. Sensing her discomfort, Ryder didn’t tease her for putting out decorations so early. After she’d finished wrapping the garland, Chanel went in the house and returned with a fake snowman, which she placed a couple of feet from the door.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Wolf barked at it so much that Ryder decided to head home. He said his goodbyes, and Cara replied with, “I’ll see you soon,” while her tone said, It doesn’t matter if I do.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Stuffing his hands into his pockets after Cara went inside, Ryder released a small whistle and gestured for Wolf to follow him. The dog gave a pitiful howl and looked at the door before turning sad eyes toward Ryder. He stifled a laugh. The dog looked how he felt. Like he’d lost a friend. Only Cara wasn’t his friend. They had shared a few minutes of civility and adult conversation, and he wouldn’t confuse friendliness with friendship. They were acquaintances. Nothing more.</div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://www.harlequin.com/shop/books/9781335585349_the-christmas-switch.html" target="_blank">Order Your Copy</a></div><div>Excerpt from The Christmas Switch by Zoey Marie Jackson. This material is protected by copyright</div></div><p></p>Michelle Lindo-Ricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10802309295322211300noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-169113315170910268.post-79547897055288369652022-05-14T10:00:00.001-04:002022-05-14T10:00:24.047-04:00Review: Truth, Lies, and Mr. Grey
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/60586838" style="float: left; padding-right: 20px"><img src="https://s.gr-assets.com/assets/nophoto/book/111x148-bcc042a9c91a29c1d680899eff700a03.png" border="0" alt="Truth, Lies, and Mr. Grey" /></a>
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/60586838">Truth, Lies, and Mr. Grey</a> by <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6464591">Shelly Ellis</a><br/>
My rating: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/4671216933">5 of 5 stars</a>
<br /><br />
I truly enjoyed the final book in the series. Truth, Lies, and Mr. Grey was savage! All the character arcs were completed and I think Shelly Ellis did an amazing job. I fell in love with Noelle and Tariq's storyline as well as Diamond's. This is a great ending to a really entertaining series.<br />And, the cover is dynamite!<br />Thank you #Netgalley for the chance to read and review.
<br/><br/>
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/4671216933">View all my reviews</a>
Michelle Lindo-Ricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10802309295322211300noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-169113315170910268.post-3551608919613344542022-05-14T09:58:00.001-04:002022-05-14T09:58:27.997-04:00Review: The Younger Wife
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/57693338" style="float: left; padding-right: 20px"><img src="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1630583980l/57693338._SX98_.jpg" border="0" alt="The Younger Wife" /></a>
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/57693338">The Younger Wife</a> by <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/8123141">Sally Hepworth</a><br/>
My rating: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/4687873629">3 of 5 stars</a>
<br /><br />
This upper class family appears to have their act all together but there is a lot going on with each member of this family. Dr. Stephen Aston is engaged to woman as young as his daughters but he needs to divorce his current wife with dementia. Rachel and Tully both have some serious secrets in their personal life and now they have to welcome their father's new bride. And, his new bride, Heather, also have a secret past that might threaten her current relationship.<br />The Younger Wife began with a good suspense feel to it. Someone has been murdered but the question is, who did it? Then the author takes us back to the pasts of all the family members in order for us to understand how they ended up with someone dead. I have to admit, there were many parts that kept me interested. I loved the build. I really did. Each character was seriously flawed and the storyline with the mother's dementia had me glued. But when I got to the ending, there were still unresolved issues that left me somewhat unfulfilled. I get that in life there are many things that are not answered and things we might never know, but when it comes to a story, I do think it could have been wrapped up tightly. However, most of the main storylines with the daughters were wrapped up. I found it great but I think if there weren't some loose strings at the end, it would have made it more satisfying.<br />I would still read more from this author. I think her premise and ideas are creative and I have read another book from her before.<br />Thank you #Netgalley for this read.
<br/><br/>
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/4687873629">View all my reviews</a>
Michelle Lindo-Ricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10802309295322211300noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-169113315170910268.post-67710351538802893352022-05-14T09:54:00.002-04:002022-05-14T09:55:58.584-04:00Review: Snowed in for Christmas
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/59472788" style="float: left; padding-right: 20px;"><img alt="Snowed in for Christmas" border="0" src="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1635446025l/59472788._SX98_.jpg" /></a>
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/59472788">Snowed in for Christmas</a> by <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/8558025">Gabrielle Meyer</a><br />
My rating: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/4675158396">5 of 5 stars</a>
<br /><br />
<strong>loved it</strong><br /><br />This is my first book my Gabrielle Meyer and I look forward to reading more. Liv was a teenaged mother forced to give up her daughter for adoption. Imagine her surprise when she runs into Zane, her old boyfriend and father of her child. But then imagine when Liv is given a chance to meet the daughter she thought was lost to her forever.<br />I absolutely loved this read. I loved the themes of forgiveness, second chance and restoration. I got a little teary eyed when reading about Liv reunion with her daughter.
<br /><div class="js-readingNote js-readingNote--noBorderTop js-readingNote--noPaddingTop" data-annotation-pair-id="a18dffa00-5978-414c-8fd6-9ef548d89aaa%7C-0-%7C" data-book-id="59472788" data-has-note="false" data-is-spoiler="false" data-note-persist-endpoint="/notes/59472788/a18dffa00-5978-414c-8fd6-9ef548d89aaa%257C-0-%257C/note" data-reading-note-id="3c17d3e6-db1b-464d-9ea0-90f2f999fc53" data-ref="bsop" data-visible="true" style="background-color: white; border-top: 0px; color: #181818; float: left; font-family: Lato, "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 10px; padding-top: 0px; width: 768px;"><div class="noteHighlightContainer" style="float: left; margin-right: 35px; overflow: hidden; width: 573px;"><div class="readingNoteContentContainer"><div class="noteHighlightTextContainer" style="float: left; width: 550px;"><div class="noteHighlightTextContainer__highlightContainer" style="float: left; width: 530px;"><div class="noteHighlightTextContainer__highlightText" style="border-left: 5px solid rgb(214, 214, 214); float: left; font-family: Merriweather; line-height: 24px; margin-top: 6px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding-left: 15px; width: 530px;"><span>MEMORABLE QUOTES</span></div><div class="noteHighlightTextContainer__highlightText" style="border-left: 5px solid rgb(214, 214, 214); float: left; font-family: Merriweather; line-height: 24px; margin-top: 6px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding-left: 15px; width: 530px;"><span id="freeTextContainer15011720539430369778">Now I understand why God gives you a lifetime to get to know your children. It takes a lifetime to uncover all the little things that make them unique and wonderful.”</span></div><div class="noteHighlightTextContainer__highlightText" style="border-left: 5px solid rgb(214, 214, 214); float: left; font-family: Merriweather; line-height: 24px; margin-top: 6px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding-left: 15px; width: 530px;"><br /></div><div class="noteHighlightTextContainer__highlightText" style="border-left: 5px solid rgb(214, 214, 214); float: left; font-family: Merriweather; line-height: 24px; margin-top: 6px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding-left: 15px; width: 530px;">our mistakes don’t have to define who we are.</div><div class="noteHighlightTextContainer__highlightText" style="border-left: 5px solid rgb(214, 214, 214); float: left; font-family: Merriweather; line-height: 24px; margin-top: 6px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding-left: 15px; width: 530px;"><br /></div><div class="noteHighlightTextContainer__highlightText" style="border-left: 5px solid rgb(214, 214, 214); float: left; font-family: Merriweather; line-height: 24px; margin-top: 6px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding-left: 15px; width: 530px;"><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/4675158396" style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Lato, "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;">View all my reviews</a></div></div><div class="noteHighlightTextContainer__commentsContainer" style="float: left; margin-bottom: 10px; width: 550px;"><span class="react_comment_box"><div data-react-class="ReactComponents.CommentForm" data-react-props="{"subjectKey":"kca://readingnote/3c17d3e6-db1b-464d-9ea0-90f2f999fc53","subject":{"type":"ReadingNote","uri":"kca://readingnote/3c17d3e6-db1b-464d-9ea0-90f2f999fc53"},"authorUser":{"viewableName":"Michelle Lindo-Rice","profileImage":"https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/users/1464652332i/13037051._UX60_CR0,15,60,60_.jpg","profileUrl":"/user/show/13037051-michelle-lindo-rice","commentSubscription":3}}"><div class="gr-commentForm gr-mediaBox" data-react-checksum="184776207" data-reactid=".1fd0nyiucu" style="background-color: rgba(216, 216, 216, 0.3); border-top: 1px solid rgb(216, 216, 216); padding: 8px;"><form action="https://www.goodreads.com/comment" class="gr-mediaBox__desc" data-reactid=".1fd0nyiucu.1" method="post" style="display: table-cell; vertical-align: top; width: 10000px !important;"><br /></form></div></div></span></div></div></div></div></div>Michelle Lindo-Ricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10802309295322211300noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-169113315170910268.post-18764877069423966812022-05-14T09:30:00.004-04:002022-05-14T09:48:10.627-04:00CINDERELLA'S LAST STAND - Sample Chapters<p><b><span style="background-color: #fefefe; color: #0a0a0a; font-family: Poppins, Arial; font-size: 16px;">Seven Brides for Seven Brothers Book #2</span></b></p><p><b><span style="background-color: #fefefe; color: #0a0a0a; font-family: Poppins, Arial; font-size: 16px;">If she wants a happy ending, </span><span style="background-color: #fefefe; color: #0a0a0a; font-family: Poppins, Arial; font-size: 16px;">she’ll have to write her own story</span></b></p><p><span style="background-color: #fefefe; color: #0a0a0a; font-family: Poppins, Arial; font-size: 16px;">Working as Hollywood heartthrob Axel Harrington’s personal assistant isn’t exactly a fairy tale come true for Maddie Henry. Despite crushing on his Prince Charming looks, Maddie has had enough of Axel not recognizing her value. Well, this Cinderella is shattering the glass slipper to pursue her dream career! The "Sexiest Man Alive" has two weeks to find a new assistant. And to realize that Maddie is the key to his happily-ever-after. </span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3Qpk08S-kfQdtEunxveUglorxW8Gl3QFLiIaprCyvXF5wBE7rYDbj2npc352clsiXglS17PwgEcZkBWTHmIk3b8UOiht0iiMWymQ4zwpfkAh4XbghMw8RENNyrwZ4GmuOjP0mab5ORtcAh_6eto83r44Hm4CHenWA4dddJEmCiF90dl6QuDi8gGVQ8Q/s2650/9781335724182.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2650" data-original-width="1675" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3Qpk08S-kfQdtEunxveUglorxW8Gl3QFLiIaprCyvXF5wBE7rYDbj2npc352clsiXglS17PwgEcZkBWTHmIk3b8UOiht0iiMWymQ4zwpfkAh4XbghMw8RENNyrwZ4GmuOjP0mab5ORtcAh_6eto83r44Hm4CHenWA4dddJEmCiF90dl6QuDi8gGVQ8Q/s320/9781335724182.jpg" width="202" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.harlequin.com/shop/books/9781335724182_cinderellas-last-stand.html" target="_blank">Order Your Copy</a></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;"><h3 style="text-align: left;">Chapter One</h3><div><i>Boundaries. Boundaries. Boundaries.</i> Life was all about boundaries.</div><div>Madison “Maddie” Henry told herself this even as she lay in a king-size bed next to Axel Harrington, voted the world’s sexiest man for 2022. She turned on her side to see his cognac eyes on hers, her dark skin a stark contrast against his caramel tones. His pearly whites widened into that smile that had made him a heartthrob and hot bae for millions of women.</div><div>Except Maddie. She was way beyond the enamored phase. Axel was too self-absorbed for her tastes. Though he was a generous employer. As the action hero’s personal assistant, she had received many exquisite gifts—including a personal car and jewelry. Earrings were his trinkets of choice. Maddie had about five pairs—remnants of returned gifts from previous girlfriends over the past three years. She had given a couple to her best friend, Keri Pittman, and regifted the pearls to her mother. Thankfully, her collection had stagnated since he’d been dating Natasha LaRue the past eleven months. They had met on the set of The Mantis and had been almost inseparable since. Of his many arm candies, Maddie had to admit, Natasha appeared to be the sweetest—and the most determined to snag Axel and put an end to his bachelor status.</div><div>Maddie had tried to warn the other woman not to invest her hopes in Axel. He was too into himself to appreciate any woman, but Natasha, though kind, wouldn’t take Maddie’s advice. Natasha didn’t believe in getting too close with the help. Maddie knew if she did get Axel to commit to a deeper relationship, Natasha would get rid of her. For some reason, the other woman was rattled by her presence, butting in whenever Axel asked for Maddie’s opinion or input.</div><div>Axel touched her cheek. “I told you the best way to experience this bed was to get in it. Let me know if you want one.” He flipped onto his back and folded his arms behind his head.</div><div>Maddie did the same, fighting her slight unease at being so close to Axel, breathing in the scent of his Perry Ellis cologne. “I don’t need one. It’s not like I have my own place here. And, it wouldn’t fit in my room at your penthouse.”</div><div>Due to the nature of her job, she often stayed with Axel at his New York or Los Angeles residences since she was expected to be on twenty-four-hour call. But the last five months, he had gotten…needy. It was like he needed her advice on everything.</div><div>Take this bed, for example. Axel had insisted she help him pick out a new mattress. That wasn’t in her job description. Maddie had been hired to set his schedules and other things of that nature, not determine the softness of his bed. Yet, here she was in a department store in New York City, stretched out next to him, her curls splayed across the mattress, doing just that while trying to ignore the curious fans.</div><div>“It would if you took one of the bigger rooms,” Axel pressed. “Or I could buy you a loft or something here in the Big A.”</div><div>“No, I’m good. I told you, I don’t need you to buy me anything—or rather, give me your credit card to purchase my gifts. My condo back home in Love Creek is all I can handle. My auntie Dawn left that property for me, and that’s the only reason I hold onto it. I’m barely there as it is, as much traveling as I do. Thankfully, my bestie Keri agreed to live with me since she’s a flight attendant and my condo is less than twenty miles from the airport.”</div><div>To use her mother’s words, Maddie should have already moved on from being Axel’s assistant to bigger and better. And Maddie would already be there if she had allowed Faran—her mother went by the single moniker—to use her connections to get her a director’s assistant position. But she hadn’t wanted to achieve anything because of her supermodel mom. Maddie wanted to get there based on her own merit, which was why she kept her parentage to herself. No one knew.</div><div>Not Axel, not Keri—no one. And Maddie preferred it that way. For the first time, Maddie hadn’t had to endure comments about her plain features or be compared to her mother’s smooth perfection. The ruse was easy to keep up, since Faran spent most of her time in France. Maddie also didn’t have to see Faran’s exquisite face twist at her unruly curls, her fuller figure, her plump lips, before her mother emitted a sad sigh. It was like the incomparable Faran couldn’t imagine how she had managed to produce an offspring who was so…ordinary.</div><div>Those had been her mother’s words to a friend on the phone when she thought Maddie was out of earshot. The only two things Maddie had inherited from her mother, which Faran approved of, were her dark, flawless skin, and her eyes. But there was no denying she was the offspring of her Jamaican father, Paul Henry, much to Faran’s chagrin. Faran had dressed Maddie in the most expensive designer garb, as if that would compensate for Maddie’s underwhelming presence.</div><div>Once she had graduated from Yale, Maddie had begged her mother to cease with the one-of-a-kind shoes and wardrobe, but every other month, a new box arrived. After a while, Maddie found herself looking forward to seeing what was inside. Particularly the shoes, which gave her a Cinderella-like vibe.</div><div>Maddie tugged on her plaid skirt and pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “Can I get up now?” she asked. “I only agreed to do this because you said you’d look at my script.”</div><div>“Of course,” Axel said, waving a hand before also sitting up. “So do you think I should purchase this one?”</div><div>“Yes. This is the one.”</div><div>“Great.” Axel scooted to the edge of the mattress and gestured to the sales clerk. The older woman scurried over to take his credit card.</div><div>“We’ll have it delivered this afternoon, sir,” she said, preening.</div><div>Maddie rolled her eyes. The clerk had to be twice his age, but it appeared no one was immune to Axel Harrington. Maddie reached for her tote and pulled out the script she had printed before coming to meet up with Axel. She smoothed the pages and gathered her courage. Then she click-clacked her way over to where Axel stood.</div><div>Yes, click-clacked. She wore a retro red shoe with a chunky wooden heel that resembled a mouth with wooden teeth. The glitter drew attention to her feet, but better her feet than her face.</div><div>Maddie straightened. “I brought my script for you to look at.” She spoke under her breath, wishing her heart would pump at regular speed.</div><div>Axel nodded. “Okay. I’ll get to it. What’s it called again?”</div><div>Maddie swallowed and declined to answer. She had told him the name of her story several times. What was so hard to remember about A Summer’s Dream? Disappointment whirled within her, and she pursed her lips before shoving the papers back into her bag.</div><div>Axel must have seen her expression, because the minute they left the store, he asked, “What’s wrong?”</div><div>She wiped her foggy glasses and cut her eyes, her fury and resentment building. “You didn’t hire me to help with bedding. I just completed my fine arts degree in filmmaking, and I should be vetting scripts and helping you with decisions around your career.”</div><div>“I know. I was at your graduation.” Axel’s tone told her he didn’t view this conversation as serious. He held open the door for her, and she sailed past him to jump into the dark SUV before putting her glasses back on. Maddie wasn’t sure why she hadn’t quit. Well, she knew why. Her script. The one she had written for Axel. The role she believed only he could play.</div><div>But he wouldn’t give her a chance.</div><div>Axel slid in beside her and gave her a light jab. “Don’t get all huffy on me. We have a two-hour drive to the airport ahead of us because of traffic, and if you’re upset with me, it will make this an even longer ride. How about I stop by that doughnut place and get you a box of doughnut holes?”</div><div>The ones with the jelly filling were her weakness, but Maddie wasn’t about to be distracted. She lifted her chin. “I’m good.”</div><div>“Uh-oh. I know that means you’re not good.” Axel cocked his head. “What can I do to make things right between us? I can’t take it when you pout.”</div><div>It was only because she detected sincerity in his voice that Maddie decided to take a chance and be truthful. “You can stop texting me at all hours of the day, telling me you have an emergency when you don’t.”</div><div>He wiped his palms on his jeans and nodded. “I can do that. In my defense, choosing my new bedding is sort of an emergency. If I don’t get ample rest, then I’ll be cranky and I might lose an important role.” He raised his brows. “That is related to my career, which is where you, as my assistant, come in.” He gave a satisfied chuckle.</div><div>Maddie groaned. She didn’t know why she even bothered to express her dissatisfaction. The man used his brains to reason away his selfishness. She had done her research—Axel Harrington was brilliant with a photographic memory. However, he had shunned a career in nuclear biology in favor of capitalizing on his ridiculous good looks and body. Why? Because it was easy. That was her deduction.</div><div>It was her fault for refusing the internship with a young, upcoming female director and staying in this job. But she had been thinking of her script. A script into which she had poured her dreams, her passion, her hopes. A script that could change her life, her station—her mother’s opinion.</div><div>The driver swung into the farthest lane, honking at the drivers glaring at him, and made his way toward the Lincoln Tunnel. There was a light drizzle, and the drops hitting the glass looked like little splatters of tears. It had rained every day that week. Maddie’s lips curved. She loved the rain. It hid many of her tears and, when it passed, left her feeling renewed.</div><div>She released a deep breath and continued the conversation.</div><div>“I need you to respect my time and my space,” Maddie said. “I go on vacation in a few weeks, and I need your word that you will allow me to enjoy my time away from you. I need to recuperate.”</div><div>“I will. I promise. No interruptions.” He gave her a calculating glance. “Where are you going?”</div><div>“I’m not telling you,” Maddie said. “I don’t need you showing up with your hive of fans.” She reached into her tote and pushed the script into his hands. “What I do need you to do is keep your word. And read my script.”</div><div>A couple of women had their bodies hanging out the window of an adjacent car, screaming Axel’s name. They both wore tanks that barely held up their heaving chests. Lots to see. Axel gave a little wave and his signature grin before turning away from them. Then he reached into the pocket of the seat and pulled out his cap and signature shades.</div><div>“I told you to get a darker tint,” she said through her teeth when the women continued to holler, asking if he wanted their number.</div><div>“I should have listened to you,” Axel said. He quirked his lips. “See what happens when I don’t listen to you or make a decision without you?”</div><div>A yellow light loomed ahead, and the car next to them accelerated, taking the zealous women with it. Their driver stopped at the light. More fans had spotted Axel, screaming for him to look their way.</div><div>Maddie rested her head against the window and drummed her fingers on the door handle, fighting the urge to open the door and race for the subway. “Three weeks, Axel. I need it.”</div><div>Axel patted her hand before curling his long brown fingers around hers. “You’ve got it. I won’t bug you. I promise.”</div><div>She faced him. “I mean it. Unless you’re in an emergency room hooked up to a ventilator, no 9-1-1 texts.”</div><div>He saluted. “Even if my leg is broken and it’s being eaten by a vicious mama bear, I promise I will not call you.”</div><h3 style="text-align: left;">Chapter Two</h3><div>Axel Harrington gazed into the earnest eyes of the woman dubbed “America’s rose” and willed himself to utter the one word she yearned to hear. She knelt on one knee on the plush checkered rug, a soft smile etched on her face, expectant—having just proposed. On their one-year anniversary. On national television.</div><div>Axel and Natasha, his partner on and off the screen, had appeared on The Drew Barrymore Show to promote their upcoming film when she slipped to the floor, not caring that her sheer white linen pantsuit would be crushed, to ask for his hand in marriage. Axel knew she fully believed he would go along with her scheme. Her manipulation. And, normally, he would have. He would have allowed Natasha to have her way. He opened his mouth, but it was like the Incredible Hulk had a hand around Axel’s throat. The words refused to squeak past his windpipe.</div><div>His mind raced, urging him to say yes. To save face. After all, as an actor, he was used to pretending. He was used to tossing out the words I love you with just the right amount of emotion to make the ladies swoon. But this wasn’t acting. This was real life.</div><div>His life. His choice. And Natasha was trying to take that away from him.</div><div>Several tense seconds passed.</div><div>He could feel the heat of the lights and the sweat beads on his forehead. Drew’s grin was frozen in place. The audience, which had been cheering, had hushed.</div><div>The cameraman had moved closer into Axel’s personal space to capture the moment. Axel thought about their fans, enthralled with their relationship, begging for them to be together, imagining the beautiful babies they would make. The pressure.</div><div>Natasha tugged his hand, turning her head to meet Drew’s gaze. He hated seeing the pity in Drew’s eyes. Then Natasha pinned her light brown eyes on him. Her brows furrowed, and she shook her head. “Don’t do this,” she whispered, her voice cracking.</div><div>He didn’t want to.</div><div>But he had to.</div><div>He had to be true. Even if it hurt. The fact was, marriage wasn’t for him. His biological father had walked out on his mother, leaving her alone to take care of a young son, without a reason or explanation. Running was in his DNA. He wasn’t about to enter into that sort of commitment with anyone.</div><div>“I’m sorry,” Axel said, touching his chest. “I can’t.” He bent over to help her stand, but she shied away from him. Axel braced himself for her fury, her flashing eyes and cutting words. But they never came.</div><div>Natasha lowered her chin to her chest and closed her eyes. Tears spilled through her lids and streamed down her face, and she released soft sobs. The crowd seemed to release a harsh breath, and the boos came at him like a tidal wave. His shoulders bent, and he turned his back to the stage. A couple minutes ago, all was right—he’d been surfing through life, surrounded by blue skies and sunshine. But Natasha’s proposal had caused him to wipe out, and now he had to fight to keep his head above water. To breathe. Remain focused. On his movie. The one he was here to promote. Not get a fiancée. But it was impossible to think past the ensuing crescendo.</div><div>The hate from the audience was real. Even the cameraman had backed off, giving him the evil eye.</div><div>Axel had said no to the hottest, sweetest actress in Hollywood. In front of the whole world. He knew this would go viral and become a PR nightmare. Axel needed his film to do well if his career was going to go the way he wanted it to go, where he could take on more heartfelt roles. He was ready to leave the action-hero world and challenge himself—become more than a face and a bicep.</div><div>Drew slipped from her armchair to embrace Natasha before facing the camera. She didn’t even look Axel’s way. “We’ll be back after the break. I can’t wait for you to meet a bunch of sisters with some serious singing chops, The Petals.” </div><div>As soon as the camera stopped rolling, madness ensued. From the corner of his eye, he saw Drew usher Natasha off the stage. The atmosphere was one of chaos, with assistants running in every direction in a panic. All he had done was turn down a proposal, not start a war. Four women dressed in skintight jumpsuits passed him with heat in their eyes and wrath emanating from their bodies.</div><div>“That was grimy,” one uttered, shoving past him.</div><div>Axel rubbed his temples. Things were getting uglier by the minute. His publicist rushed toward him. “What did you do?” Joni asked, blinking rapidly. “Why didn’t you just go along with it? Your movie could flop because of this.”</div><div>He held up a hand. “You expect me to lie?”</div><div>She gave a terse nod. “Yes. Lie. This isn’t about you. Hundreds of people worked hard to bring The Mantis to life. They need the bonuses you promised once the film becomes a blockbuster.”</div><div>He tugged on his chin. “I’ll talk with Natasha. We’ll go out in public, share a few laughs. Maybe she’ll agree to say this was a stunt.”</div><div>Joni pointed in the direction Drew and Natasha had gone. “No one with eyes and a heart will believe that was a stunt. Natasha fell apart on the floor crying.” She pulled up her phone and gasped. “It’s all over social media. People are coming for you.” She swiped the screen with rapid strokes, hyperventilating.</div><div>Axel dug into his jeans for his phone and dared to look at his social media account. His eyes went wide. The threats. The venom. Wow. He had to get out of there. Axel called his driver and asked him to pull up to the rear of the building.</div><div>Joni stopped him. “Where are you going?”</div><div>“Love Creek. Home to my mama. Where else can I go?” He was sure his home in Los Angeles and his penthouse here in the city were surrounded by reporters or hovering helicopters.</div><div>“Not there. They’re sure to hunt you down at your mother’s house.”</div><div>He had six brothers, each with their own place. He could bunk with one of them.</div><div>His publicist kept scrolling. Her mouth dropped. “You’d better get going. Some of Natasha’s crazy fans are talking about coming here to the studio. I’ll get you a private jet. Have your assistant pack a couple bags and meet you at the airport.” Her high-pitched voice went nasal.</div><div>His legs felt wooden, and he resisted the urge to panic. In the age of free choice, you’d think he had the option to say no. But no one said no to Natasha. Not if they expected to survive. Her fans were notorious about protecting their precious rose. A petal had fallen after his rejection.</div><div>Yes. They were coming for him. Still. He couldn’t find it within him to regret his response.</div><div>“Maddie’s on vacation. I’ll do it myself,” Axel said.</div><div>“Vacation?” Joni’s brows raised, and she asked the question like she didn’t know the meaning of the word. “There’s no vacation for the underlings in this business. Fine. I’ll go get your bags. In the meantime, try to stay under the radar.” She hurried past him, her legs pumping as fast as she could move, considering she had just begin her third trimester of pregnancy.</div><div>Axel had begun walking toward the exit when he heard his name bellowed. Drew Barrymore came up to him and tapped his arm. “Why don’t you stay and share your side on the show?”</div><div>He shook his head and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Not a good idea.”</div><div>“Maybe we could spin this. Natasha might come back on air.”</div><div>He raised a brow. “Really?”</div><div>Drew chewed her bottom lip and shook her head. “I figured you could talk to her.”</div><div>“Trust me, I’m the last face Natasha wants to see right now. Thanks, Drew. I know you mean well, but you’ve got to get back on air.”</div><div>The Petals were almost done singing. Drew glanced at her watch before skittering back to the set. He pushed open the rear door and jumped into the SUV, relieved that his driver had been waiting. The flash of the cameras alerted him of the media’s presence. Axel fired out directions to the airport and held on to the door when the driver tore off at high speed.</div><div>Thirty minutes later, Axel thought of his family and unlocked his phone to check for messages. His mother had already sent a text to their family chat asking if he was okay and offering her home as a refuge. He studied her most recent picture, of a blunt cut with a mixture of browns and blonds that blended well with her skin tone, the color of honey. He couldn’t ignore Tanya Harrington or she would come looking for him. His mother stayed fit, so he didn’t second-guess her ability to take him down if needed. Axel quickly replied.</div><div>Look outside. Is the press there?</div><div>Yes. Sorry, His mother texted back.</div><div>His response was a shrugging emoji and Call soon.</div><div>He wasn’t surprised. Love Creek was a small town in Florida. It didn’t take long for the press to swoop in like vultures, sensing the probable imminent death of his box office hit. He shuddered. He was becoming as dramatic as his publicist. Axel watched the three dots, signaling someone in the group was responding.</div><div>Several pings from his brothers hit his phone, inviting him to hunker down with them. The first was from Lynx, the soon-to-be newlywed. Next, Hawk reached out, but as a professional football player, Hawk was just as famous as he was. The rest of his brothers offered as well, but each one followed up with texts stating that the press was outside their homes. Capturing a photo of him would mean a big payout because of this scandal, so Axel understood why the paparazzi were circling each of his siblings’ properties. Axel thought about going to Thailand or somewhere remote but dismissed that idea. He wanted to be near his family, even if he couldn’t be with them.</div><div>Maddie.</div><div>He could call Maddie. No one would think he would venture to her condo. It would be the perfect hiding place until this died down. But she was starting her vacation this week. And he had given his word not to call unless he had a life-or-death emergency.</div><div>This potential hit to his livelihood was an emergency. It could be the death of the film—and his career.</div><div>His agent called. Ralph Patterson spewed harsh words, bellowing into Axel’s ear. “Turning down Natasha was a huge mistake. She is an heiress, practically American royalty. What were you thinking?”</div><div>“That I wanted to make my own choice about who I marry,” Axel said with steel in his tone. He wasn’t about to remain on the defensive about a decision that could impact the rest of his life. “Marriage is important to me. If I got married, I would it to be for a lifetime.”</div><div>“Then you’d be the only one in Hollywood. It would have been nothing to drop a couple million on an engagement ring. At least she’d have a bauble to ease her pain.”</div><div>“Wow. Are you listening to yourself?” Axel shook his head. His agent was ruthless, and when it came to movies, that served Axel’s purpose well. But his personal life, not so much. He yelled into the phone. “You handle my business affairs, nothing else. You got that?”</div><div>“You might not have a business to handle soon,” Ralph said and cut the call.</div><div>Axel looked at his phone, tempted to call and fire his agent. But he wouldn’t make such a move when he was angry. Instead, he made the call to the one person in the world he didn’t think would hate him. The one person he knew would come up with a solution. He just prayed she would answer his call.</div><h3 style="text-align: left;">Chapter Three</h3><div>“It must be important,” Maddie said, looking at his name on her vibrating phone, playing to the tune of “The Addams Family.” She stood in the doorway of her three-bedroom condo, her carry-on between her legs. She had popped home to pack for her vacation. “It has to be for Axel to call, knowing I’m supposed to be on vacation this week. He gave his word.”</div><div>The sun beamed on her back, making her appreciate the cool air in front of her. Her AC was ticking and humming while keeping her place cool. A sound Maddie appreciated. It was already close to eighty degrees, and the temps were expected to climb to ninety by 4:00 p.m. that day. Maddie had dressed in a yellow romper with a matching pair of sandals, which featured a sculptured heel and suede buckles, but she had slipped a black cardigan in her tote in case the mosquitoes came out.</div><div>Keri strutted down the narrow hallway, her carry-on clanking behind her on the wooden floor, coming to join Maddie by the open door.</div><div>“His word is as firm as water. You can’t be seriously thinking about answering his call,” Keri scoffed, putting a hand on a slender hip, irritation evident in her tone. She was close to six feet tall, dressed in a pair of shorts, a billowy blouse and bedazzled flip-flops. “You know he’s not calling for anything important. He probably wants something dumb, insignificant, like shoe polish or tweezers.” She flailed her hands. “Who knows! Let it ring.”</div><div>Keri’s fascination with the movie star had dimmed once she had witnessed his thoughtless behavior. She urged Maddie to quit almost once a week.</div><div>Sweat beads formed across Maddie’s forehead and upper lip. She rocked back on her heels while she debated if she should accept the call. The phone stopped its jerky movements, going to voice mail. She released a plume of air.</div><div>It rang again.</div><div>Maddie tapped her foot and stared at her phone.</div><div>“I know that pensive look.” Keri shook her head. “Please don’t allow Axel Harrington to intrude on the first break you’ve taken in two years. Two years, Maddie. You promised we were going to Spain.” She tucked a long auburn strand behind her ear. “We’ve been planning this vacation for months. You made it outside the door. All you have to do is ignore that selfish man and we can be on our way.”</div><div>Her friend was right on so many levels, but Maddie couldn’t disregard the ringing phone. “Let me just check,” she said, accepting the call and placing the phone on speaker.</div><div>Axel emitted a loud sigh of relief that echoed in the entryway. “I’m so glad you answered. I’ve been trying to reach you for the last three hours.”</div><div>“I knew it.” Keri clenched her fists, visibly trying to control her outrage. Her green eyes held fire.</div><div>Maddie stepped over the threshold, taking her luggage with her. She tucked it into the corner and asked, “A cell tower got hit, so my phone was off while they worked to repair it. What’s wrong?” She ignored Keri’s mumblings to hang up the phone and took it off speaker.</div><div>“Ugh,” Keri roared, looking upward. “I knew it was too good to be true. Tell Mr. The World Revolves Around Me we have a flight to catch.”</div><div>Maddie placed a finger over her lips, but Keri wouldn’t be quieted. She covered her free ear and tried to focus as Axel rambled on about his interview with Natasha that had taken a bad turn. She listened with half an ear, mouthing to Keri she would be three seconds, max.</div><div>In a huff, Keri stomped through the door. “I’m going downstairs to look out for Rochelle,” she said, giving Maddie the evil eye. Rochelle was Keri’s coworker and Maddie’s friend by association. She gave Keri a nod and attempted to concentrate on Axel’s words.</div><div>“I can’t go to my home or my family’s homes. I wanted to ask if—”</div><div>She cut him off, heading into the kitchen to grab an orange. She hadn’t eaten that morning. Just then the AC let out a squeal. She frowned. It sounded like she had pigs running around in her unit. Maddie spoke louder so she could be heard over the noise.</div><div>“A bad interview is not an emergency, Axel.” Shutting the front door to keep out the flies, Maddie walked a few feet into the large living room area and sat on the microfiber couch she had purchased from Ashley HomeStore.</div><div>“Have you been on my social pages?” he shot back, his tone sounding incredulous. And frazzled.</div><div>“Yes, Axel, because my vacation time is all about you,” she said, affronted at his narcissism. “Emphasis on the word vacation. I’ve been planning this trip for ages. You know this.” She jabbed her thumb into the fruit to peel it with her hands. The juice flowed all over her fingers.</div><div>He released a heavy breath. “I know it’s your time off, and I’m sorry to interrupt—”</div><div>“Are you? `Cause, I mean, if you were sorry, you wouldn’t interrupt.” She bit into the orange, not even trying to hide her exasperation. It occurred to her that Axel, no matter how self-absorbed, was her employer, so she needed to change her tone. But then she dismissed the thought. If he didn’t like her attitude, he could fire her.</div><div>She saw a notification that Keri was calling and sent a text that she would be down in a few.</div><div>Rochelle and the Uber are here. If you aren’t here in three seconds, we’re leaving was Keri’s response.</div><div>Maddie sent a thumbs-up emoji, then groaned. That made it sound like she was okay being left behind, and now she had juice on her phone. Reaching for a paper towel, she wiped her screen. Meanwhile, Axel was still talking. She had to end this call.</div><div>“This is different,” Axel said. This time there was no denying the mild hysteria in his tone.</div><div>She tossed the paper towel in the trash and paused for a beat. Axel always maintained his cool. Her brows furrowed. Maybe… No. She shook her head, and her annoyance surfaced. He was trying to suck her into some frivolous task or errand. “What is it this time?” she found herself asking, hating that she did. That was a sure sign that Axel was beginning to suck her in.</div><div>“Natasha proposed to me on air and I…I said no.”</div><div>Maddie’s eyes went wide. She gripped the phone to keep it from falling out of her hands. “What?”</div><div>“Yeah, I thought it was a stunt at first, but she meant it.” He exhaled. “When I turned her down, she broke. On live TV. But how can I marry someone I don’t see myself with forever? At least, I don’t think so.” His confusion tore at Maddie’s soft heart. “Everybody’s coming for me. It’s a mess right now, and I can’t go home because the press is camped out at my place—and my family’s.”</div><div>That was no surprise. Axel might be the world’s darling, but there was no winning against Natasha and her hive. Her fans were serious. But Maddie needed to keep her stance. She was on vacation. From Axel, his world, all this. Spain was calling. And so was Keri.</div><div>“I’m sorry this is happening to you, but I suggest you call your publicist. Let Joni help you. That’s why she earns the big bucks. I have a plane to catch.” Maddie looked at her watch and shot to her feet. She had to get going. She snatched her luggage and scurried to the door, anxious to get off the phone. Just as she put her hand on the doorknob, Axel spoke.</div><div>“Maddie, wait…” She heard him take a deep breath before he whispered, “I need you.”</div><div>His desperation stilled her. Frozen. Her heart raced. The urgency in his voice sent off an alarm in her senses. Axel had never uttered those words that way before. In fact, she couldn’t recall him ever saying he needed her.</div><div>Slowly, her hand fell. In a tone laced with sympathy, she said, “What do you need?”</div><div>“I need a place to stay. For a few days. Just until all the frenzy dies down.”</div><div>She shook her head. “Go to the Ritz, or that spot in Thailand you like.”</div><div>“Can I stay with you?” he asked. “I need to be somewhere no one would think to look for me.”</div><div>For some reason, his words pierced her gut. “Why? `Cause I’m not one of the beauties you date?” She knew she was plain, but goodness, she wasn’t a walking horror show. “Go ask one of your groupies.” She cut the call and sent Keri a text.</div><div>I’ll meet you at the airport.</div><div>I know what that means, Keri returned with crying emojis.</div><div>I am coming!!!</div><div>Right after she sent that response, the AC emitted what she could only describe as a sigh. Then all went quiet. Thank goodness. </div><div>Axel called her on FaceTime. She grunted and answered, but only because she knew the man was relentless.</div><div>He continued the conversation by answering her question. “This has nothing to do with your looks, or lack of, or whatever you mean.” He was so much into himself that didn’t even notice that she was looking like a hot mess. “What I meant was your being my assistant works in my favor. No one would think I would be with you.”</div><div>Axel’s explanation was insulting, belittling on many levels, but she didn’t have the breath or the patience to explain further. Besides, he wasn’t done pleading. “Please, Maddie, I won’t be but a couple days, and then I will personally fly you first-class—no, make that via private jet—to your undisclosed vacation.”</div><div>Maddie swallowed the inexplicable hurt and studied him. His eyes were wide, and he looked frayed.</div><div>Maddie felt herself caving.</div><div>She was sorry. She was pitiful. And Keri was right. “I’m a pushover,” she said, curving her shoulders. “Fine. You can stay. But only for a few days. How long before you get here?”</div><div>He threw her a grateful kiss. “Thank you, Maddie. I’m so glad you agreed, because I don’t know what I would do.” She walked to the windows and parted the teal curtains. A white SUV with dark, tinted windows pulled into the lot. That had better not be him, she thought, even as he said, “I’ll be there later tonight.”</div><div>Maddie’s chest heaved. “So, you just knew I would say yes.” This man had a lot of cheek, as her Jamaican father would say.</div><div>“No, I hoped. I hoped,” he said, sounding relieved.</div><div>“I’m only sticking around long enough to hand you the keys, and then I’m out of here. You’re on your own.”</div><div>“But I can’t be seen,” he said. “What if I need something?”</div><div>“Not my problem.”</div><div>“What if I take you to Spain for a month once this all dies down?”</div><div>Predictable response. She sighed. “It won’t be the same. I want to go with my friends, not my boss. I’ve been planning this for a while, and I need this time off.”</div><div>“I can be fun.” </div><div>She curled her fists. “I’m wasting my breath. You’re not hearing a thing I’m saying. I’ll see you when you get here.”</div><div>Maddie pressed End and ate the last bit of the orange. Axel just didn’t get it, so she didn’t know why she had even attempted to explain. Needing to wash her sticky fingers, she grabbed hold of the old spout with such force that it broke, causing water to spray her in the face and hair.</div><div>“Noooo,” she yelled out, reaching under the sink to turn off the main pipe before wiping her face. The front of her shirt was also soaked.</div><div>She called the maintenance office who informed her that the plumber was swamped and might not get to her repair until Monday. With a groan, Maddie went to restore her hair to some level of decency. </div><div>Something else registered. She stilled. The AC was uncharacteristically silent. Had it died? She walked under one of the vents and held up a hand, praying for cool. But all she felt was warm air.</div><div> Oh no. First the spout. Then the AC. </div><div>Maybe she wasn’t meant to leave.</div><div>She texted Keri to let her friend know about the spout and the AC and that she couldn’t make the trip. Then she called a few HVAC technicians until she found one who promised to arrive within thirty minutes.</div><div>Hours later, Maddie had a new unit and an exorbitant bill, but she was grateful because she couldn’t survive a night without central air.</div><div>Maddie looked outside into the parking lot. Axel had texted that he was a few minutes away.</div><div>She saw his long, powerful legs step out of a black vehicle. Axel had the phone crooked between his ear and shoulder, carrying what looked like an oversized duffel bag.</div><div>“You won’t regret this,” he said once she let him inside.</div><div>“Impossible, because I already do,” she said, stepping out of view. “I already do.”</div><div><br /></div></div><h3 style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://www.harlequin.com/shop/books/9781335724182_cinderellas-last-stand.html" style="text-align: center;" target="_blank">Order Your Copy</a></h3><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqqT7UQST1CIr2dgyJyaxP4Q0uv9Pwr80wu5t2LH7ggu-52VRwievAiiSc4xqlIg_9Ly3Ix5B6EvOEBaFFU1dmh7seDDP2jQb1qYlabsgfVNa0ncnU0tOyJOxNGl1K_C6fu8JnUftsLZ0yDuJiZrBKZpHMtLSdcEDb8JDYu2db18OJmUHGfD5zLbPLUQ/s1640/RIVALS%20AND%20CINDERELLA%20(2).png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="924" data-original-width="1640" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqqT7UQST1CIr2dgyJyaxP4Q0uv9Pwr80wu5t2LH7ggu-52VRwievAiiSc4xqlIg_9Ly3Ix5B6EvOEBaFFU1dmh7seDDP2jQb1qYlabsgfVNa0ncnU0tOyJOxNGl1K_C6fu8JnUftsLZ0yDuJiZrBKZpHMtLSdcEDb8JDYu2db18OJmUHGfD5zLbPLUQ/s320/RIVALS%20AND%20CINDERELLA%20(2).png" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div>Excerpt From Cinderella's Last Stand by Michelle Lindo-Rice This material is protected by copyright.</div>Michelle Lindo-Ricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10802309295322211300noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-169113315170910268.post-30859666138749812822022-05-04T20:19:00.006-04:002023-07-02T00:31:34.998-04:00RIVALS AT LOVE CREEK - Michelle Lindo-Rice - Sample Chapters<div><span style="color: #0a0a0a; font-family: Poppins, Arial;"><span style="background-color: #fefefe;"><b>Seven Brides for Seven Brothers Book #1</b></span></span></div><div><span style="color: #0a0a0a; font-family: Poppins, Arial;"><span style="background-color: #fefefe;"><b>RIVALS AT LOVE CREEK</b></span></span></div><div><span style="color: #0a0a0a; font-family: Poppins, Arial;"><span style="background-color: #fefefe;"><b><a href="https://www.harlequin.com/shop/books/9780369733207_rivals-at-love-creek.html" target="_blank">Order Your Copy</a></b></span></span></div><div><span style="color: #0a0a0a; font-family: Poppins, Arial;"><span style="background-color: #fefefe;"><b><br /></b></span></span></div><div><span style="color: #0a0a0a; font-family: Poppins, Arial;"><span style="background-color: #fefefe;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-6PBVbSaQvBcGxrCqkAeatlumsyr-dFq19VP71Y1GaZZ1l4uCLmxakATxksxQIBRYy9K_SkOIfYPPVPiKHtMMfUov_-qugK_L7iHxXD7x0zFRr0iEeSB1BhJAyZY__Q42c1BPtGFf1CYVZ634boSAFL2CrwucCIKEaJBnes8IISzsLkp9uLgIju4qcA/s2650/Rivals%20at%20Love%20Creek.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2650" data-original-width="1675" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-6PBVbSaQvBcGxrCqkAeatlumsyr-dFq19VP71Y1GaZZ1l4uCLmxakATxksxQIBRYy9K_SkOIfYPPVPiKHtMMfUov_-qugK_L7iHxXD7x0zFRr0iEeSB1BhJAyZY__Q42c1BPtGFf1CYVZ634boSAFL2CrwucCIKEaJBnes8IISzsLkp9uLgIju4qcA/s320/Rivals%20at%20Love%20Creek.jpg" width="202" /></a></div><a href="https://www.harlequin.com/shop/books/9780369733207_rivals-at-love-creek.html" target="_blank">Order Your Copy</a><br /><br /></div><br /><b><br /></b></span></span></div><strong style="background-color: #fefefe; box-sizing: inherit; color: #0a0a0a; font-family: Poppins, Arial; font-size: 16px; line-height: inherit;">Her biggest rival</strong><br style="background-color: #fefefe; box-sizing: inherit; color: #0a0a0a; font-family: Poppins, Arial; font-size: 16px;" /><br style="background-color: #fefefe; box-sizing: inherit; color: #0a0a0a; font-family: Poppins, Arial; font-size: 16px;" /><strong style="background-color: #fefefe; box-sizing: inherit; color: #0a0a0a; font-family: Poppins, Arial; font-size: 16px; line-height: inherit;">Is also her greatest temptation…</strong><br style="background-color: #fefefe; box-sizing: inherit; color: #0a0a0a; font-family: Poppins, Arial; font-size: 16px;" /><br style="background-color: #fefefe; box-sizing: inherit; color: #0a0a0a; font-family: Poppins, Arial; font-size: 16px;" /><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: #fefefe; color: #0a0a0a; font-family: Poppins, Arial; font-size: 16px; font-weight: normal;">Shanna Jacobs has ambitions to be the next superintendent. But when a cheating scandal rocks her school, she’s put under the supervision of her sexy ex, Lynx Harrington. Also a school principal, Lynx has his eye on the same job. Working to clear an accused cheater’s name—albeit a beautiful one—only complicates the plan. But their attraction is undeniable. And Shanna’s kisses are a perfect ten. Maybe their fledgling partnership will make the grade after all?</span></h3><h3 style="text-align: left;">Chapter One</h3><div>All it took was one social media post for Shanna Jacobs’s life to become entangled like a ball of twine.</div><div>From a young age, she had learned to smile even when she was feeling broken inside. She had carried that lesson with her for her entire thirty-three years and became good at playing the part.</div><div>Seated across from Patrick Harrington in one of the black leather chairs in his office, she couldn’t pretend the situation that had brought her here was nothing. She couldn’t pretend it would pass like a Florida thunderstorm.</div><div>Not after the superintendent of the Love Creek school district’s words: “I’m sorry, Shanna. This scandal might affect your consideration for the superintendent’s position.”</div><div>That meant Lynx Harrington—the principal of Love Creek High and her enemy, of sorts—would become the top candidate. Okay, since she had once fancied herself in love with Lynx when she was a teen, she couldn’t call him her enemy.</div><div>Now he was her competition.</div><div>Serious competition.</div><div>Before Shanna could open her mouth to answer, Patrick continued with, “In fact, your job might be on the line.”</div><div>Shanna gripped the chair, glad she was sitting, because her legs felt weak. Patrick’s office boasted two conference rooms, a private bathroom and a large oak desk that had been handcrafted by one of his seven sons. Every time she entered this room, Shanna pictured herself occupying this space, her certificates and diploma on the wall, each of her plants tucked in the corners of the large room.</div><div>The past five days had ripped through her life with the savagery of a tornado after Austin Green, a twelfth grader who had graduated with honors, posted on social media that he’d had help on the SATs. From a teacher. Help that had led to his Columbia University acceptance.</div><div>“You would fire me?” she sputtered. “Patrick, you know me. You know I’m not involved in this mess.”</div><div>“The board already terminated Todd and Mark,” Patrick said, his tone somewhat accusatory.</div><div>“You made me hire them,” she said. “They were your choices. Not mine.” Patrick had wanted them because of their coaching background. He’d had plans for their football and basketball teams.</div><div>“I’m aware of that. But they were under your leadership. Your guidance. At least, that’s how the board—the nation—sees it.”</div><div>She leaned forward and jabbed a finger on the desk. “I can’t be held responsible for the actions of two grown men who were all about winning. That’s how we got into this predicament.” </div><div>Austin had bragged in his series of tweets that Todd Smith and Mark Houghton, her assistant principals, had been behind the plan. Then he’d stated he wasn’t the only one who had been provided with answers. His post had gone viral in hours, and the ensuing frenzy was one she would remember for a lifetime. Austin had already been interviewed, along with four other students from the graduating class.</div><div>Cheating.</div><div>On the SATs.</div><div>Three teachers had also been fired two days before Shanna had been summoned to Patrick’s office. She was next. Just thinking about it made her stomach queasy, but Shanna was a fighter.</div><div>She pinned her boss with a glare. “Where do you stand? How do you see it?”</div><div>“It doesn’t matter what I think.”</div><div>“It does to me.”</div><div>“I know you’re not involved, but with everything going on, I think it might be best if you resign.”</div><div>Resign. Give up. Her chin wobbled, and her eyes welled up. The fact that everything had happened under her watch was unacceptable. Like black ink splattered across a white page, this scandal was a huge slash through her impeccable record and stellar career. All she had done to overcome her broken past would be blotted out, tarnished because of other people's misdeeds.</div><div>“I’m not going anywhere,” Shanna said, jumping to her feet. “Unless you plan to fire me, I’m going back to my office.”</div><div>“I’m not firing you,” he said after clearing his throat. “I was hoping you would—”</div><div>“Slink away like I’m guilty?” Eyeing a photo of Patrick with his son, Lynx, she lifted her chin. “Not a chance. Finish your investigation. I’m sure at the end of all this, I’ll be vindicated.” Then she would prepare for the most important interview of her career.</div><div>He got to his feet, ignoring that the suit jacket on the back of his chair had fallen to the ground. “I’m on your side, Shanna. I’m confident you’ll be cleared, but your reputation is another matter.”</div><div>“I’ll be fine,” she said, her heart pounding in her chest. “And when this is all over, I will put in for the superintendent position.” After all these years of hard work, she wasn’t about to let her prize go. The finish line was too close. And if she ran away, Lynx would win.</div><div>She wasn’t having that.</div><div>Patrick shook his head and stuffed his hands into his pants pocket. “I think you’re making a big mistake. I could give you a glowing recommendation, and you can move to another state and salvage your career.”</div><div>“Love Creek is my home,” she said, pointing her index finger downward. “I’m not going anywhere. No scandal is going to run me out of this town.”</div><div>Patrick clamped his lips. “This isn’t going to get better, Shanna. This scandal is like a sore that’s growing and gathering pus.”</div><div>She cocked her head and placed a hand on her hip. “I thought you, more than anyone, would be urging me to fight. Unless…you’re using this to get me out of the way so your son can get the superintendent position. Because we both know I would’ve won.” Shanna couldn’t believe her sass, but she couldn’t say she regretted her bitter words.</div><div>His eyes darkened, and his voice held steel. “Since you’re under a lot of stress, I’m going to excuse what you just said. I have supported and mentored both you and Lynx—and quite frankly, I’m appalled that you would hint at any nepotism on my part. The school board conducts the interviews and determines my successor. You know that.”</div><div>Properly chastised, Shanna squeaked out an apology before adding, “Within a week, this will be all over. You’ll see.” Her words lacked confidence, and her voice sounded shaky, which she hated.</div><div>“I’ll be speaking with the board, and then I’ll be in touch,” Patrick said in a cool, dismissive tone.</div><div>All she could do was nod and hurry out of the room. She should not have mentioned Lynx, but it was hard to be around his father and not think of him. Especially since his photo was on display, boasting his lopsided grin, oozing with confidence, heating her blood to dangerous degrees.</div><div>Lynx had been the first man to take her heart, then smash it like crystal on concrete. A heart she had placed in his hands. A heart he had crushed because of a lie. If she could help it, Lynx wouldn’t get the chance to get anything that should be hers.</div><div>And no scandal was going to keep that from happening.</div><div>She would be the next superintendent of Love Creek.</div><h3 style="text-align: left;">Chapter Two</h3><div>A week after her meeting with Patrick, Shanna sat alone in her office at River’s Edge High School and acknowledged the emotion coursing through her body.</div><div>Fear. Gut-shaking fear. Fear she could lose her job, her home, her career—and not because of anything of her own doing. Undeserved fear. Normally, her office centered, calmed her. She had chosen a shade of brown called Mexican Moonlight for her walls and had decorated the space with light oak furnishings, deep orange leather chairs, a loveseat and a large plush turquoise rug in the center of the room. She had a couple of plants, smooth jazz and a plug-in grapefruit-scented air freshener.</div><div>She scrolled through Austin’s social media posts, her heart racing in her chest like a bobcat chasing a squirrel as she read the responses.</div><div>A sob escaped, and the dam broke. Her shoulders shook under the weight of her tears.</div><div>Her mother needed health care.</div><div>Her sister, Yanique—“Yanni”—was in college, pursuing her master's degree in sociology.</div><div>Shanna lived modestly so she could support them. The thought of disappointing her mother and Yanni—or worse, no longer being able to support them—pierced her heart. She rested her head in her hands and gritted her teeth to keep from screaming before wiping her face. The worst part of this ordeal would be defending her ignorance. Ignorance of the plot happening under this very roof. Yet she would bear the blame like a halo. As the head of the school, anything that occurred within these walls ultimately rested on her shoulders.</div><div>Scooting her chair close to her desk, Shanna scanned more comments on social media before emitting a shocked gasp. The scandal had garnered national attention. People were coming for her from across the nation.</div><div>Despite her innocence.</div><div>This level of anxiety was overwhelming.</div><div>Shanna raced into the bathroom and upchucked her Caesar salad. Furious with herself for this act of weakness, she swished water in her mouth to rinse before washing her hands. Her cell pinged from on her desk. Shanna’s cell and office phones had rung nonstop for days, but she had to make sure it wasn’t her sister reaching out. She had received text messages from fellow administrators and Yanni. She had given all of them the same answer, which was that she was okay.</div><div>Shanna rushed to read the message on her phone and groaned. It was a text from Lynx, the last person she wanted to hear from. Never mind that her heart rate accelerated.</div><div>How can I help?</div><div>She read his words several times through narrowed eyes. Though her fingers shook, she wrote NONE NEEDED in all caps before hitting Send and dropping her phone onto the desk.</div><div>As if she would dare ask him for assistance. Not for one second would she believe the sender of that text meant those words. He was probably seeking a way to gloat at her downfall. He must have heard that she had once again been requested to meet with Patrick.</div><div>His response was a simple K. Like she wasn’t worth the bother of an O before the K. Not that she cared. She just found it…interesting. With a shrug, she dismissed Lynx and returned to her spot on the chair.</div><div>Shanna decided to pull up her emails. Hundreds of well-wishers were reaching out. She rubbed her head and clicked out of her screen. No point in responding when she might be out of a job.</div><div>Another text came through.</div><div>Girl, I’m worried about you. Call me. Her heart lightened when she saw it was her best friend, Laurie Hightower. Since they both had iPhones, Shanna used FaceTime. She needed to see the face of someone who loved her. Laurie was about the same height as Shanna, except she had a deeper brown tone, to-die-for sharp cheekbones and a pair of sharp hazel eyes.</div><div>As soon as Laurie answered, more tears threatened.</div><div>“Girl, I know you told me not to call, but I can’t get on that plane without talking to you.” Her friend’s eyes held a mixture of worry and sympathy. Laurie was on her way to Turks and Caicos to celebrate her engagement with her fiancé, Craig.</div><div>Shanna could see the bustle of the other passengers going by on the screen. “I don’t want you worrying. I need you to celebrate for the both of us,” she said, sniffling.</div><div>“I can’t have a good time knowing my friend is in pain.” Laurie chewed her bottom lip. “Maybe I shouldn’t go.”</div><div>“No. No. You must go. I can’t be the reason why you have another broken engagement.”</div><div>Laurie had been engaged four times, and each time, about a month before the wedding, she had ended things. She had earned the moniker the Runaway Beauty of Love Creek, a title Laurie hated with a passion.</div><div>“You know that’s not even right,” her friend said, tossing her hair. “You know I’m picky because of Cooper,” she added, referencing her son and Shanna’s godson.</div><div>“We’re now boarding first-class passengers,” Shanna heard the flight attendant call out.</div><div>“That’s you.” She blew a kiss. “Tell Craig I said hello, and please don’t worry. Be safe.”</div><div>Laurie looked ready to argue, but Craig ushered her off the phone after giving Shanna a quick wave. Shanna picked up her office phone and called the custodian to ask him if he could drive her car to the rear of the school. The news media was camped outside the building, waiting for her to emerge, and she hoped to thwart their plans.</div><div>Shanna powered off her cell and tossed it in her purse, shutting out all further communication. If only she could shut the scandal out of her life that easily.</div><div>Looking at the love seat tucked in the corner, where she had taken many naps before after-school games, and the walls lined with pictures of her with students and staff, Shanna tried to imagine vacating to make room for her replacement. She couldn’t. Rubbing her eyes, she traipsed into her private bathroom and ran her fingers through her shoulder-length curls. She had dyed it a deep shade of brown with copper highlights, with a part down the middle. Next, she brushed her teeth and applied a plum lip color that enhanced her full lips and blended well with her chestnut skin tone.</div><div>Satisfied, Shanna gathered her belongings.</div><div>Lifting her chin, she forced herself to smile and stepped out of her office, closing the door behind her. She made sure to keep her eyes planted straight ahead as she trekked down the hallway, ignoring the curious looks of pity thrown her way. Thankfully, teachers and students were out on summer break, so she only encountered a handful of other twelve-month staff. Most of them had already departed to enjoy the Fourth of July holiday weekend.</div><div>The ten-foot blue-and-yellow cougar—the school mascot—at the end of the hallway that usually felt so welcoming now appeared sinister, its dark eyes jeering at her as she drew close. Shanna pulled her bag strap higher on her shoulder and nodded at the custodian, Carl Jenkins. He had served at River’s Edge for over twenty years and knew all the comings and goings at the school better than Shanna did. It was close to four o’clock, an hour earlier than he usually came in, and she knew it was because of the scandal.</div><div>“I drove your Lincoln to the back lot like you asked, Miss Jacobs,” Carl said, slipping the key into her palm.</div><div>“Thank you, Carl. I appreciate that so much.”</div><div>She had purchased the Lincoln MKZ a month ago as an early birthday gift, but with her job on the line, she wasn’t sure she would be able to make the payments. She had a nest egg, but it was reserved for emergencies.</div><div>“Anytime.” He dabbed at his eyes. “I can’t believe after all the positive things you’ve done, our school ended up making national news over this standardized-testing mess. This will all blow over. You’ll see. I know you’re a good person, and I know you wouldn’t be a part of anything like this. I can reach out to the super and vouch for you, if you want.”</div><div>She patted his wrinkled brown hand and said, “Thank you for your faith in me, but I don’t want you reaching out or putting your name in the middle of this scandal.”</div><div>He cleared his throat. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad this school finally had a black female principal. It made me proud to see you up there at graduation time. You were the first, remember that, and no one can claim that but you.”</div><div>Shanna gave a jerky nod. Whether Carl realized it or not, he was sort of telling her goodbye in his own way. His words deflated her optimism like a pin in a balloon. Her shoulders curved. She willed her feet to move and continued down the hallway toward the reception area, drawing deep breaths. This doesn’t have to be my final walk as principal in these halls, she told herself.</div><div>Nancy Hughes, her secretary, sniffled and said, “I deactivated our Facebook and Twitter pages.”</div><div>“I’m sorry this is happening,” was all Shanna could say, swallowing. The guilt and burden of responsibility settled like bile in her stomach.</div><div>“I’ll take care of your plants,” Nancy choked out, covering her mouth with her hand.</div><div>Another goodbye.</div><div>“I watered them this morning,” she managed to whisper.</div><div>Her first day on the job, she had carried in several potted and hanging plants: a ribbon plant, a philodendron, a corn plant and a Madagascar dragon tree. Then she’d placed one in each of the four corners of the outer office. She’d taken meticulous care of the plants, pruning them, ensuring they had the right amount of water, and they had flourished under her care. The lush greenery spilled out of their pots, healthy and vibrant, a physical reflection of her thriving career.</div><div>Despite her fragile situation, Shanna smiled.</div><div>Her mother would have been proud. When Bernice Jacobs had been diagnosed with early-onset dementia, it snatched away everything except for her love of plants. Shanna had bonded with her mother by learning all she could about the different kinds of plants. Luckily, she had inherited her mother’s green thumb.</div><div>“You’ll get it all sorted out. I hope I’ll see you tomorrow.” Nancy made the sign of the cross. Even as she spoke the words, Shanna could hear the uncertainty mixed with hope in Nancy’s voice.</div><div>Shanna averted her gaze from the older woman’s face. If she made eye contact, she knew she would break down, and she was determined to remain composed. She curled her fingers around the strap on her purse and squeezed. No eloquent parting words could be uttered, her throat tight under the strain of keeping it together.</div><div>She gave a small wave and pushed open the glass door to exit the administration office. The sunshine state’s muggy, dry heat stifled her, stealing her breath as soon as she entered the main lobby of the school near the front entrance. The AC had been turned off in the rest of the two-story building to conserve energy, making it feel three times hotter than a steam room.</div><div>Keeping her back toward the front of the building, Shanna scurried toward another exit leading to the football field. The entire ten minutes it took to get to the rear of the massive building, all she could hear was the sound of her heels clicking to the tune of Scan-dal, scan-dal, echoing down the darkened hallway. This was when her tears flowed.</div><div>Once she was at the exit, Shanna placed a hand on the glass door and froze. Tears ran down her cheeks and down her chin. After all her wonderful days, she had to slink away and hide from the press. “This is not goodbye,” she vowed and squared her shoulders. It couldn’t be.</div><div>Drawing a deep breath, Shanna wiped her face with the back of her hand, clamped her jaw and pushed open the door. She peered outside and looked around with the stealth of a child stealing an ice-cream bar late at night before heaving a sigh of relief. An empty, open land of freshly mowed green grass awaited her.</div><div>Smoothing her dress, Shanna slapped on her sunglasses and treaded carefully across the field to ensure her three-inch pumps didn’t sink deep into the grass. At five-nine, if she fell, she would land hard, and it wouldn’t be pretty. It had stormed that morning before the sun came out, and the earth hadn’t fully dried. Her heels dug into the wet ground, causing tiny drops of mud to hit her ankles.</div><div>Sweat beads rolled down her back. The sun’s rays were merciless.</div><div>She wiped her brow, wishing she had thought to carry a bottle of water from the mini refrigerator in her office. Thank goodness she kept napkins and deodorant in her glove box, because she was surely going to need them.</div><div>Entering her vehicle, Shanna’s shoulders slumped from relief. She hadn’t been discovered. She pressed the start button, before applying deodorant and rubbing hand sanitizer on her hands. The vehicle gave a quiet hum, and the AC kicked on.</div><div>The clock read 4:12 p.m. She had about forty minutes before her appointment to pull herself together. She lifted the visor and looked into the mirror. Her face looked flushed, and she could see the worry in her eyes. “Don’t fall apart,” she told herself, even as her stomach constricted. The gravity of the situation barreled through her mind at full force.</div><div>For a quick second, Shanna debated skipping the meeting and jumping on the highway. But this was her life. There was no escaping it, and her mother hadn’t taught her to skulk from the truth. She straightened and patted her curls. She wouldn’t slink away in shame when she had done nothing wrong. Even if the nation believed otherwise, she knew the truth. She would stand on that. If today was to be her last day, she would leave with the glory of a comet trailing across the sky.</div><div>After her pep talk, Shanna retrieved the napkins to wipe her face and reapplied face powder; then she placed the car in gear.</div><h3 style="text-align: left;">Chapter Three</h3><div>Lynx Harrington pulled the golf cart into the spot designated for the principal of Love Creek High School. He had spent most of the day helping his coach unload the new equipment for the second gymnasium that had finally finished being built. The Florida sun in the summer was brutal, and some of the members of the Navy ROTC and football team had passed out during practices a few days ago due to dehydration. Lynx had attended this very high school, and because of his size and bulk, he had been quarterback for the Love Creek Gators, so he knew about the danger of the sun.</div><div>He couldn’t risk anyone suffering a heat stroke, so on days when the temperature was above ninety-five degrees, the gym would be a smarter, safer option. Lynx had taken three years to fundraise, irritating businessmen in the area until he had the funds to break ground on the gym. Next up would be a new state-of-the-art theater. That’s what he wanted to spend his summer working on—not talking about a scandal that had nothing to do with him. News media from across the country had been calling and emailing to get a statement. Of course, he hadn’t complied. He heard they had set up a tent in the River’s Edge parking lot. That’s why he had reached out to Shanna, though he knew she would rebuff his help.</div><div>Still, he had tried.</div><div>And he had received a swift no.</div><div>It was close to 4:30 p.m., and all the other staff had left for the day. Dressed in the school colors—a burgundy polo imprinted with the words Love Creek High, along with a small replica of a gator, and a pair of tan slacks—Lynx had been overdressed for the Florida sun. He wished he could go home, stand under the shower and allow the heat to beat his sore muscles. Then he would work on his watches.</div><div>When he wasn’t working for the school, Lynx focused on fixing his antique watches. When Patrick and Tanya Harrington adopted him, he had inherited a grandfather, Sterling "Pop" Harrington, who Pop loved to repair old watches. Lynx had been drawn to the large, silent man, who looked like a brown version of Santa Claus, and he’d begged Pop to teach him. Together, they spent hours fixing all kinds of watches. When Pop died, Lynx had carried on his legacy. To date, he had fixed twenty watches and had sold some to other collectors.</div><div>Tinkering with his collection would have been an ideal end to the day. Instead, his father had called, requesting Lynx’s presence at the district office. He called the custodian using his walkie-talkie and asked him to cover the golf cart and park it in the shed. He wasn’t worried about the cart being stolen. With the school’s name emblazoned on the side, it would be easy to find. Besides, Love Creek had been voted one of the best places to live because of its low crime rate. But he was concerned about the rain and bugs and snakes. When he navigated the school campus, Lynx didn’t want unexpected traveling companions.</div><div>Lynx went into the building to use the restroom and wash his face and hands. He welcomed the cool air after being in the stifling heat for most of the day. He kept spares of the school shirts in his office. When he entered the office, he realized he had left on the television mounted opposite his desk. The volume was off, but the closed-captioning was on. After changing into a fresh polo, Lynx drank two bottles of water, reading the captions on the news channel.</div><div>Just as he took the last gulp, his cell phone rang.</div><div>Excitement rose when he saw the name on his screen. “Please tell me you have good news for me,” Lynx said by way of greeting the older man on the phone. Pietro would only be calling for one reason.</div><div>“I have more than good news,” Pietro said, Russian accent thick. “I think I have found the watch you’ve been looking for. It fits the description to a tee.”</div><div>Lynx’s heart raced. “You’re about to get my hopes up.”</div><div>“It looks just like the one in the picture. I’m pretty sure that you finally made bingo. It’s going to be in North Carolina this weekend.”</div><div>Instinctively, Lynx felt his pocket for his wallet. “I was coming up that way, so I'll hit the auction house before I come back home. Text me the location. You best believe I'll be there. Thank you for looking out.” Pop had given Lynx a picture of a special watch he’d had as a youth, and Lynx kept it in his wallet. The watch was considered an heirloom, dating back to the early nineteenth century. Pop had sold it to save his home and to support his family. Lynx had scoured garage sales and traveled across states to find it, but to no avail. He had to see if Pop’s watch had been recovered.</div><div>“It's my pleasure," Pietro said.</div><div>Lynx pressed the button to start his Audi from inside his office. He couldn’t wait to drive to North Carolina to investigate. If he hadn’t made other plans, he would have already been on the highway. “Let me know how much I owe you for all this digging.”</div><div>“Don’t sweat it. You repaired my grandmother’s watch when no one else would touch that smashed glass. So I’m glad to return the favor. I only wish I could be there to see your face when you get that timepiece in your hand.”</div><div>“Man, it’s going to take a lot to keep me from acting the fool.”</div><div>The men wrapped up their conversation. A picture of the Love Creek district office flashed across the television screen. The brick building had once been the location of the town’s first high school, with a total student population of 125 students. Then, once the town grew, the high school was relocated and the building repurposed. Five years ago, the building had been destroyed by a hurricane, and the school board had approved the two-story structure built out of brick and cement.</div><div>Lynx rushed to turn up the sound on the television. A reporter was rehashing the scandal, but his eyes were drawn to the woman threading her way through the mob to get inside.</div><div>Shanna.</div><div>She walked with poise and confidence, lifting a hand to ward off the questions. She looked close to six feet tall in those heels. The press followed her like she was the Pied Piper.</div><div>He quirked his lips, admitting that admiration swirled within. If he was the one facing the heat of speculation, he didn’t know if he could keep his cool. Maybe Shanna was okay, he told himself as he exited the building and drove the half-mile distance to the Love Creek district office.</div><div>When Lynx swerved into the parking lot, his brows rose at the large number of reporters. It hadn’t looked like so many on the television screen. Judging from the tents that lined the parking lot, it looked as if they had been there for hours.</div><div>Lynx understood why they were here, but he didn’t like it. He searched for his sunglasses—a poor disguise, but they would cover his eyes. He slung his backpack on his shoulder before getting out of the car.</div><div>He would rather face twenty linebackers than the crowd of reporters. Glancing at his G-Shock, he saw he had ten minutes till he was scheduled to meet with his father. He sped up. His father and superintendent, Patrick Harrington, didn’t tolerate tardiness.</div><div>Within seconds, Lynx found himself surrounded by microphones pushed close to his face. He lifted a hand to shield his eyes from the bright light of the cameras and stormed through the throng. He jutted his jaw, refusing to answer any questions tossed at him.</div><div>“Are you worried about your school coming under investigation?”</div><div>“What will happen to Ms. Jacobs?”</div><div>“Have you read the accusation on social media?”</div><div>Lynx kept moving, relieved when the crowd parted, though they followed him to the entrance. There was a sign on the door banning the press from entering the building. Since it was after-hours, he had to use his fob to access the building. Plodding past the reception desk and waiting area, Lynx arrived at another set of closed doors. These had been installed after a robbery at the local bank. He swiped the fob and took take the stairs to the second floor. He strode pass the Curriculum and Special Education departments before arriving at the superintendent suite, which boasted two conference rooms, a secretary’s office and his father’s office.</div><div>Lynx glanced into the smaller conference room, noting Shanna was in there with her back turned, then proceeded toward his father’s office. He could hear the muffled sounds of his father’s deep bass voice joined by another. His brother Caleb was present, which was no surprise, as Caleb was the school district’s attorney. He rapped on the half-open door before entering.</div><div>His father and brother were huddled together, reading a document. As they stood side by side, with their jackets tossed onto the backs of their chairs and their shirtsleeves rolled up, the resemblance between them was strong. Both were the same height, with a lean build and pecan-toned skin, though Patrick sported a low fade and Caleb had a clean-shaven head. It was at these odd moments that Lynx remembered he was adopted. Patrick and Tanya Harrington had opened their hearts and home to foster two white brothers, and their lives had changed drastically.</div><div>For the better.</div><div>He would never stop thanking God.</div><div>Abandoned by their mother at five and seven, Lynx and his older brother, Hawk, had been welcomed into the Harrington household, which already had three boys—Tanya’s son, Axel; and Patrick’s sons, Drake and Ethan. Though Lynx and Hawk had jet-black hair and blue eyes, they blended in, their personalities meshing with the other boys. Soon after that, Patrick and Tanya welcomed fraternal twins, Brigg and Caleb. As the eldest of the now seven brothers, Hawk had claimed Brigg as his baby, and Lynx had claimed Caleb. All of them had grown to become “successful, contributing citizens to their country,” to quote his father’s words.</div><div>Lynx eyed the small platter of turkey sandwiches, potato chips and water bottles. He hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and his stomach was quick to remind him.</div><div>Patrick waved a hand. “Susan’s preparing a press statement to handle this mess. I have a few months left before I retire, and I don’t want to go out with this mark on my record. I’d like you to look over it once I’m done.”</div><div>Susan Phillips was the district press secretary and publicist.</div><div>Lynx dumped his backpack in the chair and pointed behind him. “I think I saw Shanna in the conference room?”</div><div>Shanna Jacobs.</div><div>Back then—his first crush.</div><div>Right now—his rival.</div><div>Since they’d met in third grade, Lynx and Shanna had been in competition, each desiring to do better than the other, a race that culminated with Shanna becoming valedictorian and Lynx salutatorian of Love Creek High. Some would say he was salty and a sore loser. But it was more than that.</div><div>He knew it.</div><div>She knew it.</div><div>“Yes, I set up a meeting with her. Caleb and I plan to talk with her, and we were hoping you’d join us.”</div><div>“I’m not an HR person, so why would you want me here? Besides, given the choice, I don’t think Shanna would want me involved,” Lynx said. His entire family knew how he felt about Shanna Jacobs.</div><div>“It’s not up to her,” Patrick replied with steel in his tone. “My HR manager is on vacation, so this ordeal rests on my shoulders.”</div><div>“Our social media page is filled with people clamoring for her to be replaced. With actresses like Felicity Huffman and Lori Loughlin making headlines for SAT bribery, this is something we can’t sweep under the rug or ignore,” Caleb said, rubbing his eyes. His brother spent too much time in the books and behind a computer screen. He was the only one of the seven brothers to need prescription lenses. Caleb had been in glasses since the fifth grade, before changing to contacts his freshman year at college.</div><div>Lynx made a mental note to invite his brother to go fishing or hiking—something, anything, to give Caleb a break from the books.</div><div>He snatched one of the turkey sandwiches off the tray and took a bite before continuing. “But Shanna isn’t a celebrity. She’s one of ours—Love Creek born and raised. Is that what we do to one of our own?”</div><div>Neither man answered.</div><div>Lynx stuffed another sandwich in his mouth and focused on the photos of his father’s numerous awards and pictures that lined the rear wall. He strutted over to look at the one in the middle of Lynx accepting his principalship. He had graduated from the University of South Florida, top of his class, after earning both his bachelor’s in education and master’s degree in education administration. Patrick Harrington was the reason Lynx had chosen a career in education. He wanted to help other young men and women find their path, and he had done that.</div><div>Next to his picture was a photo of a young woman with full ruby-colored lips—lips he knew from experience were luscious and soft—smooth flawless skin and cinnamon-colored curls. Shanna had been beautiful as a teen, and she had aged like fine wine. She wore a bright smile, clutching her principalship certificate. Lynx knew Shanna had her eye on the superintendent position. She wanted it almost as much as he did.</div><div>His father came up behind him and tapped him on the shoulder.</div><div>Lynx shook himself to the present to focus on his father's words. </div><div>“I’d like to propose that you assume leadership at both schools. Then Shanna can remain in her position as your assistant. She will continue with her duties overseeing the hiring, training, discipline for all staff but will report to you.”</div><div>Lynx’s eyes went wide, and he swung around to look at his father. “You can’t be serious? I won’t agree to this.” He splayed his hands. “There’s no way she would go for that. I know I wouldn’t.”</div><div>Patrick folded his arms. “This is her only choice. The board wanted me to offer a termination package.”</div><div>Termination.</div><div>For some reason, he couldn’t bear the thought of that happening to her. He knew there was only one thing to do.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><b style="color: #0a0a0a; font-family: Poppins, Arial;"><a href="https://www.harlequin.com/shop/books/9780369733207_rivals-at-love-creek.html" target="_blank">Order Your Copy</a></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB24njuVDBKTCe6V5HB_xH9HHZ21WkOmjI18mwZRAGo6e_Qx0ZcWyUGXurirSdN_Zj2uR3mor285261FDBQDl8CEIEcNAkB_zTkgQI37QurPXZ26VQjJbJMDOvrsjjXOwP9WL8dHLSQlEgdMcSXi0PwfTn_oJ-p1Vjc-nk8eVnVeQqZu6_EDHHYfMnqw/s1640/RIVALS%20AND%20CINDERELLA%20(2).png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="924" data-original-width="1640" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB24njuVDBKTCe6V5HB_xH9HHZ21WkOmjI18mwZRAGo6e_Qx0ZcWyUGXurirSdN_Zj2uR3mor285261FDBQDl8CEIEcNAkB_zTkgQI37QurPXZ26VQjJbJMDOvrsjjXOwP9WL8dHLSQlEgdMcSXi0PwfTn_oJ-p1Vjc-nk8eVnVeQqZu6_EDHHYfMnqw/s320/RIVALS%20AND%20CINDERELLA%20(2).png" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br class="Apple-interchange-newline" />Except from Rivals at Love Creek by Michelle Lindo-Rice. This material is protected by copyright.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #0f1111; font-family: "Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: start;"><br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /></span><span class="a-text-bold" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #0f1111; font-family: "Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-weight: 700 !important; text-align: start;">Seven Brides for Seven Brothers</span><span style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #0f1111; font-family: "Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: start;"><br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /><br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />Book 1: </span><span class="a-text-italic" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #0f1111; font-family: "Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: italic !important; text-align: start;">Rivals at Love Creek</span><span style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #0f1111; font-family: "Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: start;"><br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />Book 2: </span><span class="a-text-italic" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #0f1111; font-family: "Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: italic !important; text-align: start;">Cinderella's Last Stand</span><span style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #0f1111; font-family: "Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: start;"><br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />Book 3: </span><span class="a-text-italic" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #0f1111; font-family: "Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: italic !important; text-align: start;">Twenty-Eight Dates</span></div>Michelle Lindo-Ricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10802309295322211300noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-169113315170910268.post-35471954352556889842022-04-24T22:06:00.002-04:002022-05-14T09:51:56.478-04:00Review: How to Steal the Lawman's Heart
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/31752108" style="float: left; padding-right: 20px;"><img alt="How to Steal the Lawman's Heart" border="0" src="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1479477602l/31752108._SX98_.jpg" /></a>
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/31752108">How to Steal the Lawman's Heart</a> by <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4729473">Kathy Douglass</a><br />
My rating: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/4687781854">5 of 5 stars</a>
<br /><br /><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;">Trent Knight is the chief of police who is raising two daughters after his wife was killed by a drunk driver. The main person he has blamed is back into town and Trent wants Carmen gone. But Carmen is in town for a little while and she might not be who he thinks she is, all he have to do is give her a chance.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;">I really enjoyed this read by Kathy Douglass. I loved the theme of family and forgiveness and second chance. I read this in hours and it warmed my heart.</span><br />
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/4687781854">View all my reviews</a>
Michelle Lindo-Ricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10802309295322211300noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-169113315170910268.post-80696398098507909842022-02-22T07:13:00.004-05:002022-02-22T07:15:06.047-05:00THE ADOPTION SURPRISE - Sample Chapters<h3 style="text-align: center;">About the Book</h3><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh6TeGxB7vKXuzF23KbI5qxoPh5n62_8VAu6LXNPvQqV231DJ37g6mgHC2bGI9rFPLA5X9OGCKFM_otoe1_UO9lQzhUvTUfZWp6KEOxbwKGsrpqW3o-IYxApnUEmIS3jyiNZ7WM4GQpMbwWBbSwHTJ0WV40IXfE1v9nkptOFIyK2y5Gd0n2SU-SNjiHrQ=s2650" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2650" data-original-width="1675" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh6TeGxB7vKXuzF23KbI5qxoPh5n62_8VAu6LXNPvQqV231DJ37g6mgHC2bGI9rFPLA5X9OGCKFM_otoe1_UO9lQzhUvTUfZWp6KEOxbwKGsrpqW3o-IYxApnUEmIS3jyiNZ7WM4GQpMbwWBbSwHTJ0WV40IXfE1v9nkptOFIyK2y5Gd0n2SU-SNjiHrQ=s320" width="202" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.harlequin.com/shop/books/9780369715555_the-adoption-surprise.html" style="text-align: left;" target="_blank">Order Your Copy</a></td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><span style="background-color: #fefefe; color: #0a0a0a; font-family: Poppins, Arial; font-size: 16px;">Separated at birth </span><span style="background-color: #fefefe; color: #0a0a0a; font-family: Poppins, Arial; font-size: 16px;">and determined to become a family.</span><br style="background-color: #fefefe; box-sizing: inherit; color: #0a0a0a; font-family: Poppins, Arial; font-size: 16px;" /><br style="background-color: #fefefe; box-sizing: inherit; color: #0a0a0a; font-family: Poppins, Arial; font-size: 16px;" /><span style="background-color: #fefefe; color: #0a0a0a; font-family: Poppins, Arial; font-size: 16px;">“She looks like me!” When her orphaned niece utters those words, Kelsey Harris is shocked—not only that Morgan has a long-lost twin but that the grieving five-year-old spoke at all. Overjoyed by Morgan and Mia’s instant connection, Kelsey and Zach Johnson, Mia’s widowed adoptive father, agree to be friends—and only friends. But can they ignore their growing feelings when the matchmaking sisters put their plan into action?</span><br style="background-color: #fefefe; box-sizing: inherit; color: #0a0a0a; font-family: Poppins, Arial; font-size: 16px;" /><p><a href="https://www.harlequin.com/shop/books/9780369715555_the-adoption-surprise.html" target="_blank">Order Your Copy</a></p><p><br /></p><h3 style="text-align: center;">Chapter One</h3><p>For the third time that Thursday morning, Kelsey Harris fought back tears. And for the hundredth time over the past six months, she questioned her ability to be a mother.</p><p>Her niece, Morgan, had been given the world’s most amazing parents for almost six years. Then in a moment, at the hands of a reckless drunk driver, both her parents had been snatched away in a nasty collision with Morgan in the back seat.</p><p>Now all she had was Kelsey.</p><p>An inadequate substitute.</p><p>She stood in the kitchen of her sister’s house—her house now—in the small community of Swallow’s Creek, Delaware, ignoring the empty Chinese food containers mixed in with the clutter on the kitchen counter and the stack of dishes in the sink. Instead, Kelsey watched Morgan swing her legs under the small round kitchen table, eating her Lucky Charms slower than the first pour of ketchup from a bottle. Kelsey didn’t dare rush her for fear that Morgan would stop eating.</p><p>The child already barely ate.</p><p>Or spoke.</p><p>Her vibrant, fun-loving five-year-old niece had been replaced with one enclosed in a silent cocoon. Kelsey didn’t know how to get Morgan back to herself.</p><p>Reason number 4,673 why Kelsey doubted her skills. Oh, why had God put her in this position?</p><p>Morgan took another spoonful—her fourth—her hand moving from bowl to mouth, lackluster. A chore.</p><p>Sitting down in a chair across from Morgan, Kelsey braced herself to ask a question that made her heart pound. “I heard you crying last night. But when I came in the room, you turned away from me. I know you were awake and pretending to be asleep. Do you want to talk about it?”</p><p>Her niece closed her eyes and shook her head.</p><p>“Sweetie, you can talk to me about anything regarding your mom and dad. And how you feel. I want to help you.”</p><p>Kelsey tensed while she prayed and begged God to loosen her niece’s tongue. All she got was another shake of the head. She didn’t push for fear Morgan would become upset and stop eating.</p><p>Patting Morgan’s hand, she said, “Okay, honey. Finish your breakfast.”</p><p>After a brief hesitation, Morgan squared her shoulders and resumed eating. Kelsey released a plume of air.</p><p>Maybe it was good she had finally heeded Pastor Reid’s advice. He had recommended a Christian therapist, Lily Hernandez, who was trained in childhood trauma. After months of lagging, Kelsey had made the appointment for the following Thursday, June 23. It was an hour away in Wilmington, but Morgan’s well-being was worth the drive. Kelsey had plugged the details into her calendar and set an alarm reminder to make sure she didn’t forget. If therapy didn’t work, Kelsey was seriously considering a move to San Diego or Florida. Both she and Morgan could use a little sunshine in their lives.</p><p>Kelsey looked at the clock and bit back a groan. She had thirty minutes until the meeting with her new client, but she had to drop Morgan off at the first day of summer camp. As one of the top real estate agents in Swallow’s Creek, Kelsey stayed busy and worked past midnight most days. But once she became Morgan’s primary caretaker, she’d had to reduce her hours. One of the perks of being in business for herself in a small town was that she could do the daily drop-off and pickup from school. Not bad for a twenty-nine-year-old cosmetology school dropout.</p><p>Which in itself was a plus. Morgan’s hair was always on point. Kelsey eyed her niece’s shoulder-length cornrows and beads with pride. Morgan’s hair shone, moving and swaying while Morgan chewed her food. Slowly.</p><p>Seconds later, Morgan plopped her spoon in the bowl and stood, causing the chair to scrape across the floor.</p><p>“Are you all done, honey?” Kelsey asked, swallowing the disappointment when she saw how much was left.</p><p>With a nod, Morgan picked up her bowl, holding it close to her chest. Kelsey knew Morgan was afraid it might fall and shatter to pieces like two others had before. Yet, if she offered to help, Morgan would refuse. Her niece placed the bowl in an empty spot on the counter, then tugged her Moana T-shirt over her brown leggings. She had outgrown the outfit but refused to allow Kelsey to change out her wardrobe. Their last trip to the mall had been a disaster, with Morgan crying and asking for her mom.</p><p>“Can you use your words for Auntie?” Kelsey pleaded, tucking Morgan under the chin.</p><p>Her niece looked up at her with sad, haunted eyes, her jaw churning behind zipped lips. A few seconds passed before she whispered, “Yes.”</p><p>“Great,” Kelsey said with a cheer she didn’t feel. She gave Morgan a quick hug. “Why don’t you get your Princess Tiana bag?” With a nod, Morgan went to get her backpack. It was one of the last things Kennedy had purchased for Morgan, and it was her niece’s prized possession. Morgan didn’t go anywhere without it, though it was almost as big as she was.</p><p>Once they were out the door, Kelsey swallowed the muggy heat, rushed to her BMW coupe and directed Morgan to get in her booster chair and put on her seat belt. She really needed to trade this car in and get a sensible mom car.</p><p>And she would. Probably never.</p><p>She couldn’t bear to part with her car.</p><p>Kelsey put on JoJo Siwa, then glanced in her mirror to see if Morgan danced along. But the former ballerina sat still, eyes wide as she clutched the leather seats. Kelsey wanted to tell her niece not to worry, but she, too, had been traumatized. The first week after Kennedy’s and Alex’s deaths, Kelsey had been too paranoid to drive. One of her best friends, Sienna King, had done the driving. Kelsey had had to recite 2 Timothy 1:7 several times before she got behind the wheel again.</p><p>She was halfway to the summer camp when she slapped her forehead. “I forgot to pack your lunch.” She rebuked her self-recriminating thoughts.</p><p>Morgan shrugged and peered out the window.</p><p>“I’ll get you a burger and fries for lunch. How’s that sound?”</p><p>Her niece nodded. Kelsey couldn’t imagine the horror Morgan relived every time they got inside a vehicle. Her heart squeezed tight, like a lollipop in a child’s fist. She wished she could snap her fingers and remove the pain that Morgan must be feeling. Or take that agony onto herself.</p><p>Sinking into her seat, Kelsey whispered an internal prayer. Please, God. Help me help her. `Cause I don’t have a clue.</p><p>By this time, Kelsey had twelve minutes to meet her client. She gripped the wheel and resisted the urge to press down on the accelerator. That might scare Morgan. She would prefer to be late and lose that deal rather than cause Morgan any additional harm. So she counted to ten and followed the speed limit.</p><p>Kelsey pulled into the church parking lot and drove to the rear, toward the camp entrance. There was a huge black SUV in the lane. Just as she moved to turn, the rear door of the truck opened and a pink ball bounced in front of her car. A small girl jumped out and went after the ball. All Kelsey saw was a head full of curls as she squealed with horror.</p><p>Panicked, Kelsey stomped on her brakes. The tires screeched like squawking seagulls as the car hurtled forward. Morgan emitted an earsplitting scream. And then another. Kelsey rammed the gear into Park, jabbed the release button on her seat belt and grabbed Morgan’s leg to comfort her. Morgan’s eyes were shut tight, her face red, her horror evident.</p><p>A tall, muscular man dressed in a pair of gray slacks and a blue-and-white-checkered shirt came after the child and scooped her into his arms.</p><p>Stealing a quick glance and seeing the other little girl had not been hurt, Kelsey yelled, “It’s all right, Morgan,” before opening her door with such force it rocked on the hinges. She catapulted out of the vehicle and scuttled to the passenger side to open Morgan’s door.</p><p>With sweaty hands, Kelsey fumbled before undoing Morgan’s seat belt. Morgan lunged toward Kelsey, her little body shaking and her chest heaving. Kelsey scooped the quivering child into her arms and rocked her, kissing the top of her head. “It’s okay. It’s okay. You’re fine, Morgan. You’re fine.” Morgan bellowed directly in her ear. She tilted her head, her ear cavity ringing. Her niece had quite the healthy pair of lungs.</p><p>Feeling a presence looming behind her, Kelsey turned. She was tall, at five-ten, but she had to look up at the man. And her eyes enjoyed the journey, taking in his full lips and square jaw and stopping in awe at a pair of unusual eyes—one hazel, the other a deep, rich honey brown. She swallowed, having never met anyone with heterochromia before, and tried to hide her instant fascination.</p><p>She lowered her eyes, resisting the urge to fan herself. Did he notice how flustered she was? The stranger hadn’t said a word. That was odd. She scrunched her nose and made her eyes meet his.</p><p>His gaze was trained on…Morgan? Kelsey frowned, snapping out of her musings and swallowing her awakened fury. You’d think he would be apologizing or thanking her, but instead he stood staring at Morgan, like he was judging her niece for screaming and crying. His daughter slid down his body to hide behind his leg.</p><p>Kelsey swung around to shield Morgan from the man’s intense gaze.</p><p>“I’m glad your daughter is okay,” she said, raising a brow. Her tone had enough acid to solicit a reaction.</p><p>The man sputtered like a choked engine. “I’m sorry. I’m glad you saw Mia jump out of my truck. If you hadn’t…”</p><p>“The main thing is that I did see her and that she’s safe.” Kelsey tried to put Morgan down, but her niece clung to her tighter than a monkey on a swing. Morgan had stopped screaming and had wiped her face into Kelsey’s blouse. Her sniffles tore at Kelsey’s heart.</p><p>“Are you okay?” she asked, noting that the man was still, as if he was in shock.</p><p>He stepped back, rubbing his eyes. “Nope. My eyes aren’t deceiving me. I am seeing doubles.” He tried to tug the little girl from his leg, but she was holding on to him.</p><p>“Doubles? Really?” Kelsey asked, moving away from him. She didn’t have time for corny pickup lines or to engage with someone more concerned with hitting on a woman than tending to his child. She retrieved Morgan’s book bag, then swung her hips to close the car door. With long strides, she went to the driver’s side to shut that door as well. Kelsey tried not to think of her damp blouse and her bun coming undone.</p><p>“Wait,” the man said, but she lifted her chin and kept moving. She thought she heard the sound of an alarm behind her. This man definitely wasn’t from around here. Hardly anybody in Swallow’s Creek locked their vehicles.</p><p>*</p><p>Zachary Johnson watched the woman scurrying up the path, struggling to keep her rapid pace with a child in her arms. A child that, if his eyes were seeing right, was the mirror image of his daughter, Mia.</p><p>A doppelgänger.</p><p>His heart thumped in his chest, and goose bumps popped up on his arms. It couldn’t be. Zach needed to get another glimpse. Then he could laugh at his error and apologize for freaking out her mother. He hadn’t had much sleep the past few nights, having just relocated to Swallow’s Creek from Philadelphia.</p><p>“Why was that girl screaming, Daddy?” Mia asked, peering around his leg and looking up at him. “I’m scary.” Her chin wobbled, melting his heart. His little pumpkin, as he called her, had him wrapped about her finger. Fortunately, she didn’t know it.</p><p>“You mean scared.” Zach patted her curls and corrected her. “I don’t know, honey. Maybe she was afraid.”</p><p>The fact that Mia could have been hit by a vehicle registered. Not even five minutes ago, Zach could have lost his baby girl. An image of her lifeless body flashed before him and his legs weakened. He snatched Mia in his arms again and hugged her tight. She squirmed, her back arching like mozzarella cheese against him, but Zach couldn’t let her go. His baby was alive and well.</p><p>Unlike Sandy. His wife had passed after losing a battle with cancer two years ago. They had gotten married at twenty-one, and he treasured the eleven years they’d had together. Sandy had truly been his best friend.</p><p>“Put me down, Daddy,” Mia said, pulling on his goatee. “I’m not a baby. I’m a big girl. I can walk.”</p><p>“You’ll always be my baby,” Zach said, willing his legs to move.</p><p>Then he stopped. With all the commotion, he had forgotten Mia’s lunch box. He put Mia down and kept his eyes on her as he ran to retrieve her pink ball. Her ruffled pink skirt looked like it had snagged, and the T-shirt was no longer tucked in. Most of her hair had come undone from her lopsided ponytail. It had taken him fifteen minutes to undo her tangles and get it in a ponytail.</p><p>Zach hated to see her so disheveled, especially on her first day of summer camp. But he had to get back to the house. There was a truck coming to deliver Sandy’s car, and he had to be there to open the garage.</p><p>Thankfully, his chatty new neighbor, Jade Wilson, had shown up a couple days ago with a scrumptious walnut cake in her hand to welcome him to the neighborhood. When he mentioned Mia, who had been asleep upstairs, she had suggested Millennial House of Praise’s summer camp. Jade had left after that, promising to come by soon with her fifteen-year-old daughter, Izabelle, whom she had volunteered for babysitting if he needed it.</p><p>“Hurry up, Daddy,” Mia said, flapping her arms like a baby bird trying out its wings. “I’m ready to go.”</p><p>Zach returned to his truck, tossed the ball in the back and stretched across the seat for Mia’s lunch box. Taking her hand in his, he started back up the path to the entrance of the camp. Mia danced and twirled the entire way.</p><p>“I’m going to make twenty new friends,” Mia said.</p><p>He chuckled. “Twenty? That’s a lot of friends. You only need one or two.”</p><p>“I still want twenty.” She skipped.</p><p>As soon as he walked through the door, warmth akin to the first bite of fluffy pancakes seeped through him. The walls were painted with images of Noah’s ark, David and Goliath, and other biblical heroes. There were about thirty children ranging in age from four to twelve scattered throughout the huge room. The young children herded together, their bodies moving like marionettes to the Chicken Dance. Some of the older children were sprawled in chairs in front of a large television screen, the rumble of T. D. Jakes’s voice a low hum. Others busied themselves on their cell phones or on computers. His eyes scanned the play kitchen area, theater tent and a mini racetrack—an organized chaos.</p><p>Zach counted six counselors milling about the room, recognizable by their blue T-shirts with Millennial House of Praise Camp Counselor emblazoned across the chest in white. He approached one and asked for Sienna King. While the teen scurried to get her, he appreciated the aroma of cinnamon rolls. He could almost taste the icing, picturing it oozing on the sides. His stomach growled. He hadn’t had time for his protein shake that morning.</p><p>Mia loosened out of his grip to run over to where some girls stood playing with dolls. He searched for the little girl that looked like his daughter, but neither she nor her mother were in sight. If it weren’t for his legs, which still felt like caving, Zach would have thought he was in a weird dream.</p><p>Then their absence was explained when he saw them come out of an office with another lady, whom he assumed was Sienna King, since she approached him with a hand outstretched. She was plus-size with a wide smile and deep dimples.</p><p>“Hello, you must be Zachary Johnson.” Her voice was bubbly and light.</p><p>He nodded. “Yes, we spoke over the phone. Thanks for allowing me to drop my daughter off and register her the same day.”</p><p>“Oh, it’s not a problem. I’m glad you called when you did, because we’re almost at capacity. Here is the paperwork for you to sign, and you have to complete the emergency contact information.”</p><p>“Thank you so much,” he said, taking the documents she offered. He noticed the other woman still clutched the little girl in her arms and seemed to be trying to get her to stay. He strained to focus on Sienna’s words, but his attention was on the little girl. He couldn’t see her face, but he knew that body, that frame, that hair. He knew it well.</p><p>“Mr. Johnson?”</p><p>He shook his head. “I’m sorry. I…” He pointed to where the woman stood. “Who is that?”</p><p>Sienna whipped her head to follow his finger. “That’s my best friend, Kelsey.” She gave him a suggestive smile. “She’s single, if that’s what you’re asking.”</p><p>He took a step back and held up a hand. “No, I’m not talking about her. I mean, who’s the little girl with her? She looks just like—”</p><p>The woman lost her smile. “Like who?” she asked with a drawl in her tone that suggested she was ready to get on the defensive.</p><p>He knew he must look dumbstruck, but Zach’s mind couldn’t process what he was seeing.</p><p>Zach rushed to explain. “Let me introduce you to my daughter. I think when you see her, you’ll understand.” He called out to Mia, and when his daughter ran over, Sienna’s eyes widened.</p><p>She sputtered. “This is your daughter?”</p><p>“Her name is Mia.”</p><p>“That can’t be,” she said, shaking her head. “This is Morgan.”</p><p>He splayed his hands. “Exactly.”</p><p>Sienna’s mouth hung open. “Oh, my.” She swung around and shouted, “Kelsey. Come over here. You’ve got to see this.”</p><p>The woman approached, and Zach’s breath caught. His mind had been so occupied with the child in her arms that he hadn’t seen her mother. But he was seeing her now. For sure. From her bronze-colored skin to her pouty lips and the purposeful sway in her stride, this woman emitted confidence.</p><p>Kelsey. The name suited her.</p><p>Zach looked away to compose himself. He had no right noticing her radiant beauty. He swallowed. Now that he had seen her, there was no unseeing her.</p><p>When she spotted Mia and he heard her harsh intake of breath, he said, “Our daughters have an uncanny resemblance.”</p><p>“There’s nothing uncanny about it,” Sienna chimed in. “You can tell they are twins just by looking at them.”</p><p>Twins. His insides twisted. No, it couldn’t be.</p><p>Kelsey lifted a hand to her mouth. “How? How? They are like carbon copies.”</p><p>A squeal and a scream quieted the entire room. The girls had discovered each other and had polar opposite reactions.</p><p>“She looks like me,” Mia said, clapping her hands. The other little girl wasn’t as delighted. In fact, to Zach, there was only one way to describe her face.</p><p>Terrified.</p><h3 style="text-align: center;">Chapter Two</h3><p>Shivering, Morgan pulled on Kelsey’s blouse before pointing at the other little girl. There was genuine fear in her eyes.</p><p>Kelsey willed her own rapidly beating heart to slow down as she looked Morgan in the eyes and said, “It’s okay. Don’t be alarmed, honey. We’ll figure this out.”</p><p>“She looks like me,” Morgan whispered.</p><p>“I know” was all Kelsey could say. She was too busy trying not to show her excitement at those four spoken words.</p><p>Four amazing words that made Kelsey want to give a shout of praise. Her niece had spoken a sentence. But she knew Morgan was frightened. So was she. Questions raced through her mind, and she struggled to think. Now she understood the man’s reaction earlier.</p><p>By this time, all the children had crowded around the room and stood with awed expressions on their faces. Sienna ushered the four of them into her office for some privacy, and Kelsey set Morgan on the ground.</p><p>“My name’s Zach.” The man offered her his free hand, camp papers clutched in his other.</p><p>Kelsey blinked, trying not to appear fascinated by his heterochromia, and held out a hand. “I’m Kelsey.” When their hands connected, she drew in a breath.</p><p>He had a firm grip and a sturdy handshake. Plus, he was looking her in the eyes. Finally. Her father always said that was a sign a man had character. Well, if that was true, Zach had plenty of character and some to spare.</p><p>Sienna left them on their own to go see about getting the camp started, her long box braids swaying behind her. Kelsey tuned into the girls while Zach wandered the room, looking at the camp pictures Sienna had on display.</p><p>“I’m Mia,” Morgan’s look-alike said, reaching for Morgan’s arm.</p><p>Kelsey could feel Morgan tense beside her, but her niece didn’t pull her arm away. Which was a good sign. Morgan’s eyes were wide and fixed on Mia.</p><p>“What’s your name?” Mia said.</p><p>“Morgan,” her niece whispered.</p><p>Zach returned, standing a few feet away, observing their interaction. He kept looking at both girls, shaking his head like he couldn’t process what was transpiring right before him.</p><p>“Both our names start with M,” Mia said, giggling and clapping her hands. She pressed her lips together to make the M sound. Her eyes brightened with glee. “Ooh, look. Let’s go play together. We’re going to be best friends.”</p><p>She tugged Morgan to the corner of the room, where there was an assortment of toys and books. Mia began asking a lot of questions, and Kelsey strained her ear to hear Morgan’s replies. Morgan spoke too softly for Kelsey to understand what she was saying.</p><p>But her mouth was moving.</p><p>She was talking. Having a conversation.</p><p>Like normal.</p><p>In six minutes, Mia had accomplished what Kelsey hadn’t been able to do in six months. Kelsey sniffled and dabbed at her eyes with the back of her index finger. She remembered her prayer that morning and felt awe at how God appeared to be answering her. She just hadn’t seen His answer coming in the form of a look-alike.</p><p>It was all too much.</p><p>Glancing at the clock, she could see it was close to 9:00 a.m. It was a good thing she had already called her client to reschedule for later that afternoon. She plopped into one of the two armchairs to watch the girls.</p><p>“Mind if I sit here?” a deep baritone asked.</p><p>Kelsey jumped. She had been so enthralled with the girls, she had almost forgotten she wasn’t the only adult in the room. Almost. There was no missing the tall, imposing man who smelled of…baby powder? Kelsey, who had been told she had a silver tongue, sat there in awkward silence, her words stuck in her throat, before giving a slight nod.</p><p>Zach scooted the other armchair close to her and grinned, showing off a set of beautiful white teeth her dentist mother would have appreciated.</p><p>“So, I’m going to tackle the elephant in the room and ask if your daughter is adopted, and if so, does she know?”</p><p>Kelsey nodded, grateful he had broached the topic uppermost in both their minds. “Morgan’s actually my niece.” She wiped a hand on her pants, ignoring the curiosity in his eyes. “But yes, she’s adopted, and yes, she knows. Thankfully, my sister had the foresight to explain it to her, because this would have been too much for me to handle.”</p><p>He put a hand to his chin and narrowed his eyes.</p><p>“So, I’m assuming your daughter is adopted as well?” She posed her statement as a question in a gentle tone.</p><p>Zach nodded, shifting his focus to somewhere across the room. “Yes, she is. Sandy—” He waved a hand. “That’s my, uh, wife. She was a breast cancer survivor and had been advised to wait to have children. But she wanted to be a mother so badly that we looked into adoption. We did some inquiries and were ecstatic to learn there was a newborn baby girl available. We jumped at the chance to welcome Mia into our lives.”</p><p>He had a wife. Kelsey squelched her sudden disappointment and bit her lower lip to keep from asking about his wife’s whereabouts.</p><p>Zach’s openness gave Kelsey the courage to share. “My sister, Kennedy, and her husband, Alex, decided to adopt when they found out he wasn’t able to have children. When they…passed, six months ago, I became Morgan’s guardian.” She tried to sound matter-of-fact, though fresh pain sliced her heart and tears threatened. “So just like that, both our lives changed,” she added, snapping her fingers. “I went from being Kelsey Harris the Realtor to Kelsey Harris, Morgan’s…caretaker.”</p><p>“I’m sorry for your loss,” he said, before he pointed at her. “Oh, snap. You’re that Kelsey? You’re the Realtor who sold me my house.”</p><p>Thanks to the internet, she was able to work with clients remotely. About six weeks back, she had sold a five-bedroom house, two doors down from where she lived, all without ever meeting the owner or his agent.</p><p>“Yes, I am. And you must be Zachary Johnson?” She leaned forward, feeling more comfortable in his presence. “It’s nice to put a face to the name.”</p><p>She had conducted most of the transactions with his agent and hadn’t seen Zachary Johnson. What mattered was that his check had cleared the bank. The commission from that sale was already spent. Two words: Disney World. She couldn’t wait to see Morgan’s face at that news.</p><p>“I just moved in a few days ago,” he said.</p><p>Kelsey chuckled. “I know. I saw your moving truck.” He raised a brow, so she explained. “I live two doors away from you.”</p><p>“Wow. I would say that’s a coincidence, but I know there’s no such thing with God. We were designed to meet. Of all the towns in the world, I end up here on the same block as you. That could only mean one thing.”</p><p>What? What did it mean? Kelsey didn’t want to assume she understood his thought pattern. She gestured for him to continue.</p><p>“God wanted the girls to meet. This was His divine ordinance. I would say He has a plan, and I can’t even venture to guess what it is.”</p><p>Her eyes filled. “I think you’re right.” She lowered her voice. “If I seem emotional, it’s because up until today, my niece hasn’t spoken much… I don’t know why I’m telling you this.” She stopped and touched a hand to her chest. Why was she divulging so much to a stranger?</p><p>Then his words settled in her mind, and her eyes widened. “You don’t talk like a regular person. You sound like a preacher. Like my daddy.” She cocked her head. “Are you a minister?” He gave a jerky nod and rubbed his head like her question made him uncomfortable. “I’m sorry. It’s just that you reminded me of my father just now. Your tone. Your words. I am—I was a preacher’s kid. He was the pastor here at Millennial before August Reid took over.”</p><p>“I used to be. I…I resigned.” He coughed. “I’m not a minister anymore.” He pulled on his slacks and fussed with his shirt before glancing around the room. Then he held up the papers in his hand as if they were a lifeline. “I’d better finish filling these out.” He stepped away to answer a call before returning to scoot his chair up to the edge of Sienna’s desk to complete the sign-up process.</p><p>Oh, yes, he was definitely on edge about his resignation. There was a story there. But he wasn’t her man to read. She would leave that up to his wife. Kelsey waited until he was done before she changed the subject. “Look at them,” she said, pointing to the girls, who were huddled side by side. Mia had an arm around Morgan. “You’d think they had known each other forever. No one would believe they just met this morning. It’s unbelievable.”</p><p>His face softened into a smile. “They must be twins, probably separated during the adoption.”</p><p>Kelsey’s voice box squeezed closed. Hearing the words twins and separated in the same sentence made her chest tighten.</p><p>Zach’s brows rose to his forehead. “They are exact replicas. We’ll need to take a—”</p><p>Just then, the door cracked open and Sienna walked in, fanning her face. Kelsey smiled, glad for the interruption. She was pretty sure Zach had been about to suggest DNA testing. It was the next logical step.</p><p>“It is too hot out there for words.” Sienna retrieved three small bottles of water from her minifridge and offered one to each of them.</p><p>Kelsey declined but Zach accepted, downing his water in two swallows.</p><p>“How are you two making out?” Sienna asked. “I imagine this must be a shock to both of you.” Then she addressed Kelsey. “You know who is going to have a field day with this?” Sienna rolled her eyes.</p><p>Despite the bizarre events of the morning and even though she was still in shock, Kelsey laughed at Sienna’s exasperation. Sienna spoke of their town’s reporter and one of their childhood friends, Joel Armstrong. He was tenacious when he was after a story and had been determined to feature Sienna in the paper when she made Teacher of the Year. Her friend was equally determined to avoid being in his presence.</p><p>Sienna came over to where they sat. “Joel’s going to have this on the front page. I guarantee it. I don’t know who he has for spies, but I’m certain he’s going to turn up here.”</p><p>Kelsey laughed at Zach’s quizzical expression. “Possible twins in Swallow’s Creek is big news. The only other set of identical twins are in their sixties, and they are in the Journal on the regular.”</p><p>“Welcome to small-town life. Are you ready to see your daughter in the paper? `Cause he’s going to be at your door, begging for an exclusive.” Sienna tapped Kelsey on the shoulder. “I don’t think Morgan’s going to go for that.”</p><p>Zach shrugged. “I was a minister of a large congregation back in Philly. The church has an active social media page, so I’m used to the spotlight, though I’m not personally on any social platforms. When my wife and I brought Mia home, Mia’s face was all over the page. The town paper will be a breeze for her. When she sees a camera, she goes into fierce mode.” He chuckled and then jutted his chin in Mia and Morgan’s direction. “They’re doing well,” he observed.</p><p>Kelsey appreciated how he had maneuvered into a new topic of conversation. She was still upset with Joel for putting her sister’s accident and her and Morgan’s grieving faces on the front page. Once was enough.</p><p>“Look at them. It’s like they have a special connection,” Sienna said. Her words brought Kelsey out of her musings.</p><p>“A connection that time and distance has done nothing to thwart,” Zach murmured, like he’d already accepted they were twins.</p><p>“Their relationship hasn’t been confirmed,” Kelsey felt the need to point out, touching her chest.</p><p>Sienna continued like Kelsey hadn’t spoken. “I think they will be fine here together. Since Mia is new and, for obvious reasons, already attached to Morgan, I can put them in the same group. I can always call if they become agitated,” she suggested.</p><p>When Morgan giggled at something Mia said, Kelsey faced them, and her heart constricted. Her ears welcomed the sweet sound of Morgan’s laughter. This time Kelsey couldn’t stop the tears from sliding down her face. She didn’t want Zach to become curious about her display of emotion, so she jumped to her feet.</p><p>She wiped her palms on her pants leg. “I should go. Call me if Morgan gets upset. I only have one client to meet with later this afternoon.”</p><p>Zach stood when she did. “I’d better get going, too.” He called out to Mia, who ran over to give him a hug.</p><p>Kelsey walked over to Morgan and wrapped her arms around her niece. “Are you going to be okay?” she whispered close to Morgan’s ear.</p><p>Morgan nodded and pointed. “Mia’s my friend.”</p><p>She was more than a friend, it seemed. Kelsey knew she was going to have to get some questions answered. But in this moment, she reveled in the blessing of Morgan talking. Holding back more tears, Kelsey said, “Yes, she is. She’ll be in your group, so you can show her around so she knows what to do.”</p><p>Morgan straightened and nodded with solemnity. Zach held open the door for Kelsey, and when she walked out the office, her heart was light and filled with hope. And, if she were honest, disbelief.</p><p>*</p><p>Zach scurried after Kelsey. She had raced out of the center with the speed of a cougar chasing a rabbit. But she was no match for his longer strides. His brain and heart were on overload, and she was the one person who could understand what he was going through. This morning’s curveball had whacked him in the chest and disrupted his peace. He felt like he had left one tumultuous situation at his past church in Philadelphia and moved right into another. The quicker he got things settled, the better.</p><p>He caught up to Kelsey just before she got into her car.</p><p>“Are you free to talk?” he asked. “This morning’s events have thrown me off-kilter. I could use a processing partner, and we can get some questions answered.” He had gotten a phone call that Sandy’s car wouldn’t arrive until sometime after noon, so he had more than enough time to eat.</p><p>She chewed on her lower lip before giving a hesitant nod. “That’s fine. I know we live down the block from each other, but I’m not comfortable having you into my home or going into yours.”</p><p>“I get it. I just need to talk. How about we meet at Mr. MacGrady’s on US 13? That is, if you’re available?” Zach had seen the mom-and-pop diner and had decided he would check it out. This was the perfect opportunity.</p><p>“That sounds like a plan. I didn’t eat this morning, and Mr. Mac’s is the best breakfast spot in town.” She smiled, and he was caught by how that transformed her already beautiful face.</p><p>“All right. You take the lead.”</p><p>She bobbed her head. “I’ll show you a shortcut. I didn’t use it this morning because there was a fender-bender, but it should be all cleared up by now.”</p><p>Twenty minutes later, they entered Mr. MacGrady’s. Zach loved the hanging metal sign on a distressed wooden post. He held the door so Kelsey could enter first. The restaurant was small and cozy, and a huge chalkboard covered one wall. The rest of the walls were lined with license plates. Light gospel music sounded in the background. He liked the relaxed vibe and easygoing atmosphere.</p><p>“Welcome to Mr. MacGrady’s,” a small, wiry man called out as he bustled by carrying a stack of oversize pancakes.</p><p>Zach’s mouth watered at the smell of fresh-brewed coffee and pancakes. Kelsey waved a hand before putting her fingers between her lips and letting out a shrill whistle.</p><p>“Heyyyy,” the staff called out.</p><p>A couple diners punched their tables.</p><p>“That’s how we do it here,” she said. “Before we leave, you’ve got to sign the chalkboard. All newbies got to make it known that they wuz here.”</p><p>Zach grinned. “All right, bet. I’ll do that.”</p><p>“You going to your usual spot?” one of the ladies on staff asked.</p><p>“Yup. You know what I want,” Kelsey said, waltzing through the place like her name was on the deed. She made her way around some of the smaller wooden tables to a spot in the back. The tables were all dressed with checkered tablecloths and small vases holding plastic flowers. Once they were seated and had ordered, the waitress brought them two mugs of fresh-squeezed orange juice.</p><p>Zach excused himself to wash his hands. When he returned, he noticed her fingers traced a place in the wood that had her name etched on the edge.</p><p>“I see you marked your territory,” he said in a tone meant to put her at ease. He didn’t want to tackle the heavy conversation on an empty stomach. She followed his lead.</p><p>“I sure did,” she said. “My sister and I claimed this table. Every Wednesday evening, we would come here with our parents and order burgers and huge milkshakes. Mr. Mac would get on the mic, and the entire diner would play bingo. I’m telling you, I have the best memories in this place at this very table.”</p><p>“I can only imagine. I would have loved to have your childhood. I’ve got to remember Wednesday is bingo night.”</p><p>“Sadly, they haven’t done that in a while. Mr. Mac died about five years back. His son, Matt, took over.” She drummed her fingers on the table. “There has been so much death these last few years…”</p><p>Her face took on a faraway look, and she lost her smile. Zach found himself wanting to revive it. “Are your parents still here in town?” he asked.</p><p>She shook her head. “My father and stepmother—well, my mom. She’s the only mother I have ever known. My father married her when I was eight months old. Anyways, they sold their house and bought an RV to travel across the country. But that adventure got old really fast. They made it all the way to Florida, then sold the RV and moved to an assisted living facility. Swallow’s Creek had too many memories of Kennedy and they were suffocating under them. I stayed. I like the memories,” she said, her eyes glistening.</p><p>Her voice held pain. Old pain. Fresh pain.</p><p>Zach curled his fingers to keep from putting his hand on hers to offer comfort. He had only met her a couple hours ago, if that. Making physical contact might offend her. Instead, he made his face reflect his sympathy. Then he surprised himself by bringing up Sandy. “I’m sorry for your loss. When my wife died a couple years ago, I thought I would drown under my grief. But I had a daughter who needed me. So, I kept going. One second, one minute, one hour at a time.”</p><p>She put a hand to her mouth. “Your wife is… Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”</p><p>Zach felt the usual discomfort at talking about Sandy in the past tense. “Turns out you can get cancer more than once” was all he could say.</p><p>Fortunately, their food order arrived, sparing him the need to continue. He had selected a waffle with coffee, and Kelsey had ordered scrambled eggs and wheat toast with peppermint tea.</p><p>Kelsey excused herself to wash her hands, then they blessed their food and dug in.</p><p>After a few minutes, Kelsey said, “So, what are the odds both girls would have names that start with M?”</p><p>“We didn’t name her,” Zach rushed to explain, glad she hadn’t pried for more details about Sandy. “The adoption agency told us that Mia’s birth mother requested we keep her name, so we honored her wishes.” He smiled. He could see Sandy’s face like it was yesterday, holding the squirmy little bundle in her arms. Mia had been swaddled in a Winnie the Pooh receiving blanket. Zach had taken one look at the tiny little fingers and toes and had fallen in love.</p><p>Kelsey took a sip of her tea and wiped her brow. “Kennedy said the same thing when she adopted Morgan.”</p><p>“I think I know the answer, but I’ll ask anyway. When’s Morgan’s birthday? Mia’s is September 26. She’ll be six.”</p><p>“Same.” </p><p>Kelsey lifted her shoulders before shaking her head. “I’d pinch myself, but I know I’d bruise my arm. This day has been unreal so far.”</p><p>“How do you think the girls are doing?” Zach asked, eating his waffle.</p><p>She tapped her smart watch to look at the time. “They are probably on the playground having a ball.” She gasped before yelling out to the waitress for a kid’s burger and fries to go.</p><p>A rosy hue spread across her cheeks. “I hope you don’t mind cutting this short. I promised Morgan I’d drop off her lunch.” Pulling out a business card from her satchel, she asked, “I don’t know your schedule, but can we meet tomorrow morning at my office sometime to continue this discussion? The address is on my business card.”</p><p>Zach agreed. “I can head there after I take Mia to camp.”</p><p>They exchanged contact information, and he settled the tab, insisting on paying for both their meals. Kelsey only relented when he said she could pay next time, then she rushed out the door.</p><p>Zach pondered his morning as he drove home. As he strolled up the driveway, the trucker arrived with Sandy’s car. Seeing the royal blue Outback glisten in the sun made him miss her more. Once it was off the lift, Zach signed the papers, then opened the garage door and parked her car inside. He touched the steering wheel. Sandy had loved this car, which was why he hadn’t wanted to part with it.</p><p>Zach exited the vehicle and headed into the house, sauntering through the laundry room and making his way down the hallway to the staircase. The movers had unpacked everything according to his specifications. Then the cleaners he had hired made sure the house smelled fresh. A lemon scent teased the air, and he sniffed. Good. That meant the freshener on the air filter was working.</p><p>He slipped out of his oxfords, leaving them on the large mat. So much had changed since he had stepped outside that morning.</p><p>Zach moved into the kitchen and looked around. Everything gleamed. He loved the calming grays on the walls and floors with splashes of blue on the backsplash to accent the room. Heading over to the stainless steel refrigerator, Zach eyed the printed schedule for the week.</p><p>He had a thin magnetic cup on the fridge where he kept his colored pens. Choosing a red one, Zach wrote, “Twin?” under today’s date in cursive.</p><p>Rocking back on his heels, he mulled over the implications that came from that one word in red. He rubbed the area between his eyes as thoughts whirled through his mind. If Morgan was Mia’s twin, that would require life adjustments. A reconfiguring of the order he had painstakingly established in his life. Lifting a hand, he touched the small photo of Sandy on the refrigerator. If she were here, she would have rattled off a brilliant game plan.</p><p>He would have pulled her into a joint prayer session, asking God’s guidance. He banged a fist on the metal and shook the scene out of his mind.</p><p>That wasn’t his life. Not anymore. God had taken his wife, and no amount of praying, faith and fasting had changed that. Zach still loved God; he just didn’t trust Him the same. But he did trust science. And if the DNA testing confirmed what his eyes and heart were telling him, he would find a way to handle it. To cope. His way.</p><p><a href="https://www.harlequin.com/shop/books/9780369715555_the-adoption-surprise.html" target="_blank">Order Your Copy</a></p><p>Excerpt From The Adoption Surprise by Zoey Marie Jackson This material is protected by copyright.</p>Michelle Lindo-Ricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10802309295322211300noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-169113315170910268.post-18715055499318509182022-02-21T21:57:00.002-05:002022-02-22T06:48:04.260-05:00Review: The Christie Affair
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/57693165" style="float: left; padding-right: 20px;"><img alt="The Christie Affair" border="0" src="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1643750934l/57693165._SX98_.jpg" /></a>
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/57693165">The Christie Affair</a> by <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/370442">Nina de Gramont</a><br />
My rating: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/4550280511">3 of 5 stars</a>
<br /><br /><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;">When Agatha Christie disappeared for 11 days, it was a great mystery but The Christie Affair tells the tale of another, greater mystery: that of Nan O'Dea, Archie Christie's mistress. Nan has destroyed Agatha's marriage, enticing Archie to leave his wife, a woman everyone admires. On purpose. The question is: why?</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;">Told through Nan's POV, we get insight into Agatha's story as well. There are other characters who we meet during these 11 days and soon there are series of intertwined events that at first appear unrelated but are all tied together.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;">I admit that when I started this read, I almost gave up. I am glad I returned to it and persevered. Although I didn't fall in love with this book, I did find the writing/story creative. I also enjoyed the second half better than the first once I stopped trying to dwell on: How does Nan know what is in Agatha's or any of the other characters minds?</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;">Thank you #Netgalley for the opportunity to read and leave my honest review.</span>Michelle Lindo-Ricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10802309295322211300noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-169113315170910268.post-47147714293230942112022-02-14T18:18:00.001-05:002022-02-14T18:18:20.996-05:00Review: In Search of a Prince
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/58302844" style="float: left; padding-right: 20px"><img src="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1623264905l/58302844._SX98_.jpg" border="0" alt="In Search of a Prince" /></a>
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/58302844">In Search of a Prince</a> by <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/13656663">Toni Shiloh</a><br/>
My rating: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/4345313391">5 of 5 stars</a>
<br /><br />
Bri Bayo is a teacher on summer break when she receives some jaw-dropping news from her mother: She is a princess of Ọlọrọ Ilé, Africa, and the only heir to a throne. Bri is shocked to learn she has a grandfather, who is sick and who she has never met! Brielle is heartbroken that her mother never told her about her father's true identity but she goes to Ọlọrọ Ilé, Africa to learn about her legacy,<br /><br />Once there, Bri is told she has to marry if she is going to assume the Queenship. It is because of God's leading that she stays and considers the council'l list of bachelors. But there is an unlikely choice who wins her heart and who she hopes will be next to her when she dons the crown.<br /><br />First, what. a beautiful cover! That cover is everything. I enjoyed visiting the make-believe country of Ọlọrọ Ilé, I loved how Bri had a personal relationship with God and how the author used her faith to help guide her. I enjoyed reading of her relationship with her grandfather--that was so heartfelt. I loved that she had solid relationships with her mother and best friend and how she was a career woman.<br /><br />But, this is of course, a romance. And her love interest is not only handsome but his faith also helps him to bond with Bri. I loved how their relationship developed and I think so many will enjoy this sweet romance. On a side note, the fashion described in this novel had me ready for the best friend, Iris to get her own love interest!<br />Thank you, #Netgalley for this read.
<br/><br/>
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/4345313391">View all my reviews</a>
Michelle Lindo-Ricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10802309295322211300noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-169113315170910268.post-55149520801260169762022-02-10T14:09:00.002-05:002022-02-10T14:13:42.880-05:00Blog Tour: The Night She Went Missing - Kristen Bird<p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh0hJuMX27B-CJUmX9iuqD24tEWlqVjGiF_0y05rYZSZpgKpZrVp2YWet9BCCSIVfQ1udyC7XSgae5SAqw-DJFKPitGwmhfv8YtyTiokZJPfQRBHJ2A4l6vI3hQimjfEpuO-701XjscdyO3IsnvW7-hIbPwt-uOcjzL-OkaFahHHQy47xmhQ9-Hl_nJ_Q=s1500" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="1500" height="107" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh0hJuMX27B-CJUmX9iuqD24tEWlqVjGiF_0y05rYZSZpgKpZrVp2YWet9BCCSIVfQ1udyC7XSgae5SAqw-DJFKPitGwmhfv8YtyTiokZJPfQRBHJ2A4l6vI3hQimjfEpuO-701XjscdyO3IsnvW7-hIbPwt-uOcjzL-OkaFahHHQy47xmhQ9-Hl_nJ_Q=s320" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><br /></span><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">The Night She Went Missing </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Author: Kristen Bird</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">ISBN: 9780778332107</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Publication Date: February 8, 2022</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Publisher: MIRA</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><b id="docs-internal-guid-e22a520b-7fff-21e8-74de-1a54957a61a6" style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Buy Links: </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><a href="https://bookshop.org/books/the-night-she-went-missing/9780778332107" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="-webkit-text-decoration-skip: none; background-color: transparent; color: #1155cc; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration-skip-ink: none; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">BookShop.org</span></a></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><a href="https://www.harlequin.com/shop/books/9780778332107_the-night-she-went-missing.html" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="-webkit-text-decoration-skip: none; background-color: transparent; color: #1155cc; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration-skip-ink: none; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Harlequin </span></a></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><a href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-night-she-went-missing-kristen-bird/1137495101" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="-webkit-text-decoration-skip: none; background-color: transparent; color: #1155cc; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration-skip-ink: none; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Barnes & Noble</span></a></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/0778332101" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="-webkit-text-decoration-skip: none; background-color: transparent; color: #1155cc; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration-skip-ink: none; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Amazon</span></a></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><a href="https://www.booksamillion.com/p/9780778332107" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="-webkit-text-decoration-skip: none; background-color: transparent; color: #1155cc; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration-skip-ink: none; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Books-A-Million</span></a></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><a href="https://www.powells.com/book/the-night-she-went-missing-9780778332107" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="-webkit-text-decoration-skip: none; background-color: transparent; color: #1155cc; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration-skip-ink: none; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Powell’s</span></a></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><a href="https://www.murderbooks.com/book/9780778332107" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="-webkit-text-decoration-skip: none; background-color: transparent; color: blue; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration-skip-ink: none; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Murder by the Book</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"> (Houston, TX)</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Social Links:</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><a href="https://www.kristenbird.com/" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="-webkit-text-decoration-skip: none; background-color: transparent; color: #1155cc; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration-skip-ink: none; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Author Website</span></a></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Twitter: </span><a href="https://twitter.com/kbirdwrites" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="-webkit-text-decoration-skip: none; background-color: transparent; color: #1155cc; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration-skip-ink: none; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">@kbirdwrites </span></a></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Facebook: </span><a href="https://www.facebook.com/kristen.bird.writes/" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="-webkit-text-decoration-skip: none; background-color: transparent; color: blue; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration-skip-ink: none; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">@kristen.bird.writes </span></a></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Instagram: </span><a href="https://www.instagram.com/kristenbirdwrites/" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="-webkit-text-decoration-skip: none; background-color: transparent; color: #1155cc; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration-skip-ink: none; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">@kristenbirdwrites </span></a></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/18002480.Kristen_Bird" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="-webkit-text-decoration-skip: none; background-color: transparent; color: #1155cc; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration-skip-ink: none; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Goodreads</span></a></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Author Bio:</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"> </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj7jejoxyp55vgOYEVkqgyqrh5sfIj1d4jBcDth_gSZQxbCNllqPHdpYFJt4WTCH4oJs38aXQSPaQ_ARYnl1BkBnc6Tp9IMUepxveIZ-99R5rEG0CiJIZ2BywDKfJSduYSDjgP3z9Xp8BGPQFF8Gxav6AW-FrBp6GA75iwCV52pdU20fsYaEtzogqEIwA=s1698" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1698" data-original-width="1237" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj7jejoxyp55vgOYEVkqgyqrh5sfIj1d4jBcDth_gSZQxbCNllqPHdpYFJt4WTCH4oJs38aXQSPaQ_ARYnl1BkBnc6Tp9IMUepxveIZ-99R5rEG0CiJIZ2BywDKfJSduYSDjgP3z9Xp8BGPQFF8Gxav6AW-FrBp6GA75iwCV52pdU20fsYaEtzogqEIwA=s320" width="233" /></a></div><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span id="docs-internal-guid-1afa2c56-7fff-d8d6-c560-4aa7c7d420f7"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: 12.5pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Kristen Bird lives outside of Houston, Texas with her husband and three daughters. She earned her bachelor’s degree in music and mass media before completing a master’s in literature. She teaches high school English and writes with a cup of coffee in hand. In her free time, she likes to visit parks with her three daughters, watch quirky films with her husband and attempt to keep pace with her rescue lab-mixes. </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: 12.5pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">THE NIGHT SHE WENT MISSING</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: 12.5pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> is her debut novel.</span></span></p><div><span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: Cambria,serif; font-size: 12.5pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><br /></span></div><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"></p><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-weight: 700; white-space: pre-wrap;">Book Summary:</span></div><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiJCCEwvKREhjnJE9X34JtURadcamOXI9BeBFMe2D5JiAQEOONQEaJIbxLdlGZHwZPRJVP72_YFi3gGfA9OvxRsOXYg5bUUYqdJppdmO3De8vrBfL_H4a_QuBUvxruqOkQhVE1xSyrpPP7vpboaqsPCo76bee2WgVO1pGeT1SsQlu5yI--yiqXocKOYYA=s3200" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3200" data-original-width="2125" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiJCCEwvKREhjnJE9X34JtURadcamOXI9BeBFMe2D5JiAQEOONQEaJIbxLdlGZHwZPRJVP72_YFi3gGfA9OvxRsOXYg5bUUYqdJppdmO3De8vrBfL_H4a_QuBUvxruqOkQhVE1xSyrpPP7vpboaqsPCo76bee2WgVO1pGeT1SsQlu5yI--yiqXocKOYYA=s320" width="213" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></span><p></p><span id="docs-internal-guid-9d1baf23-7fff-2022-db67-817754b0e502"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.3800000000000001; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Months after she disappeared, a high school senior is found floating in the town’s harbor, alive but unconscious. Where has Emily been, and how did she get into the water? In Kristen Bird’s “gripping” (</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.5pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Publishers Weekly)</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> debut </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.5pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The Night She Went Missing</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">, </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">three friends-to-frenemies mothers in a close-knit, wealthy Texas community decide to investigate after the police hit a dead end. While each woman has secrets to protect, they’ll all be forced to look at their own children – or each other’s – to uncover the truth.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.3800000000000001; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">With the relentless pacing and complex female characters of </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.5pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Big Little Lies</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> and an expertly crafted small town setting, </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.5pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The Night She Went Missing </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">introduces Kristen Bird as a new force in the world of domestic suspense. Her novel goes well beyond that, exploring complex questions about mothers and daughters, loss, and the line between taking chances and living dangerously.</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">EMILY</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="color: #211d1e; font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">They find me faceup in the murky water of the harbor on the day of my funeral. Or memorial service. Whatever. It’s not like there’s much difference. Dead is dead.
Except I’m not. I. Am. Not. Dead. I would pinch myself if I could move.
“Can you hear me? Hey, what’s your name? Can you open your eyes?”
My eyes are as dense and heavy as basalt. Basalt: rich in iron and magnesium, Mr. Schwartz penned on the board during our volcanic rock unit in eighth grade. I fight to come out of the emptiness that has held me for the past…the past what? Hours? Days? Weeks?
I attempt to whisper my name even though my eyelids remain anchored. Emily. That’s right. Emily. I can’t remember the last time I voiced those three syllables.
“Pull her up.”
Hands yank at me, jerking me from the arms of the water. Two hands wander up my body—over my feet, my legs, the arch of my hips, my arms, onto my neck, stopping at my forehead. This touch is not like the familiar plying of the boy I love, so fiery that it almost stings. This touch is necessary, cold, perfunctory. Perfunctory, Mrs. Abbot, my sophomore English teacher had pronounced for us students as we learned the word for the first time. P-E-R-F-U—
The voice cuts in. “Tell them we have a girl, a teenager. No broken bones as far as I can tell but looks like she’s been out here for hours. Unconscious, but breathing on her own.” His voice muff les as he turns his head. “I think she might be Emily.”
Suddenly, a brilliant choir of tenors and baritones and basses burst forth. “The Emily?”
Emily. Yes, that’s me. What a comforting thing to hear one’s name spoken by those who can point the way home. I breathe in gratitude and descend into the lightness of sleep before a hand touches my cheek again.
“You awake, Emily?”
The swooshing of the waves calls to me, a reminder that the song of the deep is steady despite all the new sounds: The bustle of work boots, the hum of the boat waiting to churn to life and set out across the open sea.
“Your mama’s been looking for you, Ms. Emily. You gave us all a fright. You hear me?” The man seems to sense that I can hear his words while my body remains frozen despite the warmth of the water and the sun overhead. “You’re gonna be okay, sweetheart. Yes, ma’am, you’re gonna make it just fine. Got a daughter about your age, and I woulda been worried sick if my girl had gone missing for weeks on end. Your mama sure is gonna be happy.”
A nasally voice now. “Where you think she’s been all this time? Turned into a mermaid?” The boy chuckles.
“Hush, Beau.”
The man’s hand touches my forehead, his fingers sandpapery with callouses. “Now, sweetheart, if you can open your eyes for a sec, I can introduce you properly to the crew. We’re getting you help as fast as we can, but you can go ahead and open them eyes before all the medics arrive. They’d be good and relieved to see you looking around.”
I try. Oh, how I want to f licker them open, but my head aches and oblivion pulls harder. The siren call of the void is too tempting to resist.
Excerpted from The Night She Went Missing by Kristen Bird, Copyright © 2022 by Kristen Bird. Published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
</span></span></p><div><br /></div>Michelle Lindo-Ricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10802309295322211300noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-169113315170910268.post-78917886050866819892022-01-25T05:53:00.002-05:002022-01-25T05:53:42.037-05:00Review: An Unlikely Proposal
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/55452486" style="float: left; padding-right: 20px;"><img alt="An Unlikely Proposal" border="0" src="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1601063298l/55452486._SX98_.jpg" /></a>
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/55452486">An Unlikely Proposal</a> by <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/13656663">Toni Shiloh</a><br />
My rating: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/3826980199">4 of 5 stars</a>
<br /><br /><div>When her best friend, Omar Davis, proposes a marriage of convenience, Trinity Davis is more than shocked. But soon, she begins to think about the pluses of marrying her BFF. Forever. For one thing, his young daughters, Faith and Hope would have a mom. And for another, she would get much-needed health insurance for her illness. But, will their friendship survive the shift to marriage?</div><div><br /></div><div>This is my first Toni Shiloh read that I purchased so long ago, just sitting on my kindle. I finished in hours. The rapport and banter between the friends drew me in from the beginning. Their friendship and humor was solid and it helped them navigate some pretty big situations. I loved Faith and Joy--they were heartwarming and absolutely adorable.</div><div><br /></div><div>The side characters--her family, his former father-in-law, their friends added great perspectives which made this read easy and enjoyable. Both Trinity and Omar had a strong relationship with God and their faith is evident through this read. Both were constantly seeking God and in prayer. Strong faith elements.</div><div><br /></div><div>Overall, I loved their journey to HEA and found this a sweet, clean romance.</div><div>Memory line: "We have to put tomorrow in God's hands. We can't live in fear."</div>
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/3826980199">View all my reviews</a>
Michelle Lindo-Ricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10802309295322211300noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-169113315170910268.post-36101404341431563292022-01-23T12:30:00.002-05:002022-01-23T16:05:58.067-05:00Review: By Design: The Story of Ann Lowe, Society's Best-Kept Secret
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/57992944" style="float: left; padding-right: 20px;"><img alt="By Design: The Story of Ann Lowe, Society's Best-Kept Secret" border="0" src="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1642346368l/57992944._SX98_.jpg" /></a>
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/57992944">By Design: The Story of Ann Lowe, Society's Best-Kept Secret</a> by <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/8157342">Piper Huguley</a><br />
My rating: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/4499214795">5 of 5 stars</a>
<br /><br />
The story of the best kept secret in high society. By Her Own Design is the story of Ann Lowe, a black designer and granddaughter of slaves in Alabama, who designed the iconic wedding dress of Jacqueline Kennedy, First Lady of the United States.<br />The story begins a few days before Jacqueline Bouvier will marry John F. Kennedy Jr and a pipe has destroyed the wedding dress. We see Ann and her church sisters scrambling to recreate the dresses. Then we are taken back to learn more about Ann's early life in Alabama and her auspicious beginnings to fulfilling her dream in Tampa and then to New York City.<br />Whew! I finished this in hours. I started in the evening and finished up the next morning. I love historical fiction but I know that its success is based on the research of the writer and talent with which the author is able to weave the story together. Piper Huguley gave me a story that had my eyes glued, I became caught up in this remarkable woman's life. Ann Lowe had the raw talent and creativity but also the tenacity to overcome despite the challenges of her race during that time.<br />It is uplifting to read about African-Americans who rise above their circumstances and who were able to create a lasting legacy. Ann had so much sadness in her life but that didn't stop her from moving forward. Piper Huguley made me feel as if I were in that time--I felt every scene. Particularly when Ann went to Design School. How my heart ached and yet warmed at how Ann was determined to bloom wherever she was planted.<br />I absolutely loved this story and I can't wait to read more works like this from Piper Huguley. The author's note just showcased Piper's research and originality--where she added creative pieces that made this read wonderful. Well-written, easy flow and captivating descriptions. I believe readers will get many takeaways and will be lined up waiting for her next historical fiction work. And to think this all began with a tweet. <br />Thank you #Netgalley for this ARC.
<br /><br />
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/4499214795">View all my reviews</a>
Michelle Lindo-Ricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10802309295322211300noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-169113315170910268.post-21382249785938884452022-01-19T20:57:00.005-05:002022-01-19T20:57:55.551-05:00Review: Her Hidden Genius
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/58108269" style="float: left; padding-right: 20px"><img src="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1631545748l/58108269._SX98_.jpg" border="0" alt="Her Hidden Genius" /></a>
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/58108269">Her Hidden Genius</a> by <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/14815127">Marie Benedict</a><br/>
My rating: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/4489345623">4 of 5 stars</a>
<br /><br />
The Hidden Genius tells the story of Dr. Rosalind Franklin--don't call her Rosy! She has spent years working on DNA using X-ray constellations to unlock its meaning. Though she has colleagues who conspire instead of collaborating, Rosalind is determined not to let anything interfere with her investigation. After painstaking years of study, she sees the double helix structure in DNA. But will she receive the right credit for her contribution?<br /><br />First of all, let me start with the title and the cover. What a beautiful cover and fitting title. I know this is a work of fiction, but I praise Marie Benedict's skill in bringing a character to life. I found myself amazed, amazed at Rosalind's dedication and patience to get the science right during her study. I learned so much about this remarkable woman who sacrificed so much on her journey with the DNA.<br /><br />I love Marie Benedict's work and all I can say is, I hope she keeps them coming. Rosalind was a hidden genius who wasn't given the credit she deserved for the work that she put in. Marie Benedict gave her depth and built Rosalind's world so I felt as if I were experiencing everything as it happened. I really enjoyed this read.<br /><br />Thank you #Netgalley for the ARC.
<br/><br/>
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/4489345623">View all my reviews</a>
Michelle Lindo-Ricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10802309295322211300noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-169113315170910268.post-10671322174079805862022-01-19T20:57:00.003-05:002022-01-19T20:57:37.521-05:00Review: The True Cowboy of Sunset Ridge
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/56646720" style="float: left; padding-right: 20px"><img src="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1631508895l/56646720._SX98_.jpg" border="0" alt="The True Cowboy of Sunset Ridge" /></a>
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/56646720">The True Cowboy of Sunset Ridge</a> by <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/3430431">Maisey Yates</a><br/>
My rating: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/4486197447">4 of 5 stars</a>
<br /><br />
Mallory Chance moves to her brother's town in Gold Valley to be close to him but also to get a fresh start. Her first encounter is with a cowboy who she engages in a one-night-stand. Little did she know that Colt Daniels would turn out to be her landlord!<br /><br />Colt is struggling with a lot of guilt from the past, which is why he likes temporary encounters. Nothing permanent. However, all that is about to change when he has to care for his god-daughter. <br /><br />This was a hot, steamy read. It was good to get Colt's story in this series. Colt and Mallory's chemistry was intense. There were some good takeaways as well.<br /><br />Thank you #Netgalley for the ARC.
<br/><br/>
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/4486197447">View all my reviews</a>
Michelle Lindo-Ricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10802309295322211300noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-169113315170910268.post-40700056944866574102022-01-19T20:57:00.001-05:002022-01-19T20:57:12.756-05:00Review: The Perfect Fake Date
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/58343489" style="float: left; padding-right: 20px"><img src="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1630951592l/58343489._SX98_.jpg" border="0" alt="The Perfect Fake Date" /></a>
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/58343489">The Perfect Fake Date</a> by <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/3232449">Naima Simone</a><br/>
My rating: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/4484233315">4 of 5 stars</a>
<br /><br />
Kenan and Eve have been best friends ever since her mom started working for his father, but he has always felt more. Too bad Eve only has eyes for his older brother, Gavin. But then Kenan makes a pact with Eve--if she helps him saves a business, he will help her snag his brother's attention.<br /><br />Whew! What a steamy friends-to-lovers romance. When you read Naima Simone, you know you will get a scorcher. Kenan and Eve's story was that and more. I also loved her storyline with her mom--that warmed my heart. So many themes that I think will leave a warm place in many readers hearts. I enjoyed this read and as usual, the book cover is simply stunning!<br /><br />Thank you #Netgalley and #Harlequin for the ARC!
<br/><br/>
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/4484233315">View all my reviews</a>
Michelle Lindo-Ricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10802309295322211300noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-169113315170910268.post-53062758364206238332022-01-03T14:24:00.002-05:002022-01-03T14:24:58.190-05:00Review: The Personal Librarian
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/55556786" style="float: left; padding-right: 20px;"><img alt="The Personal Librarian" border="0" src="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1610650428l/55556786._SX98_.jpg" /></a>
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/55556786">The Personal Librarian</a> by <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/14815127">Marie Benedict</a> and Victoria Christopher Murray<br />
My rating: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/4052001418">5 of 5 stars</a>
<br /><br />
"One day, Belle, we will be able to reach back through the decades and claim you as one of our own."<br /><br />The Personal Librarian tells the story of Belle da Costa Greene who is hired by J.P. Morgan to oversee his personal collection of books, manuscripts and artwork. She is only in her twenties but quickly becomes known for her ruthless and shrewd tactics that earns her world-wide respect among her male peers. But this remarkable woman has a secret that defines all aspect of her life: she is a black woman. A black woman who lives as white. She must hold onto that secret if she wants to keep her job and her family safe.<br /><br />I bought both the kindle and hardcover copies when this was released, but I didn't read it until now. I must say that I became engrossed really quickly in this read. I have read both authors works and I am familiar with their styles but this read presented as a seamless read, so the cohesion between the women is apparent in the writing.<br /><br />As I read, I fell in love with Belle's spunk and her moments of rebellion. I was especially touched by how much fear she lived in, a constant fear of being discovered. That fear encompassed all areas of her life which was sad to see. But to know a woman of color helped to shape such a magnificent public institution, I felt so much pride (thus the quote above). I plan on visiting the library after reading this book. The descriptions provided gave me an image of grandeur and opulence that I must see for myself soon.<br /><br />I definitely recommend this read and look forward to reading more by both of these authors. More like this, please (that's why I read Marie Benedict's historical fiction). More books celebrating our women, especially women of color.<br /><br />Another Memorable Quote:<br />"Let’s focus on what we have in common and not on the differences that have pulled us apart.” When I read this, all I could think was, we have a long way to go for this wish to come true. Belle's father was a part of this movement and here we are decades later, still in the same fight. But, I do remain hopeful.
<br /><br />
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/4052001418">View all my reviews</a>
Michelle Lindo-Ricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10802309295322211300noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-169113315170910268.post-50571564750372352802021-12-28T19:56:00.001-05:002021-12-28T19:56:11.450-05:00Review: Bad Luck Bridesmaid
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/57693522" style="float: left; padding-right: 20px"><img src="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1634160703l/57693522._SX98_.jpg" border="0" alt="Bad Luck Bridesmaid" /></a>
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/57693522">Bad Luck Bridesmaid</a> by <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/21373435">Alison Rose Greenberg</a><br/>
My rating: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/4418603544">4 of 5 stars</a>
<br /><br />
Zoey Marks feels like every wedding she is in is cursed. This is because for 3 weddings, none of brides went through with the union. Zoey isn't sure how she feels about love and marriage until she meets Rylan. Rylan is everything she wants and more but when he proposes, Zoey is terrified. <br />Then Hannah, Zoey's best friend tells Zoey she is getting married. Zoey is happy for her friend but scared to be in the wedding and jinx that happy day. Plus, Rylan will be in attendance. Zoey really needs this wedding to take place because she thinks it will give her the guts she need to get Rylan back and accept his proposal.<br />For me, this was a great story of a character coming into herself. A journey of her self-discovery. It took a little while but I understood her story and even her fears, There were some funny scenes as well. There were a lot of times I questioned if Zoey really knew her mind and what she wanted. She had a lot of angst and to see her finally work through them and look at things from another perspective was satisfying.<br />Some might not like the ending, but I got it. For the woman Zoey was, she made the right decision. My favorite story was actually Hannah's. Her storyline warmed my heart. I found myself rooting for her to find her courage and her truth.<br />I would definitely read more from this author.<br />Thank you #Netgalley for the ARC in exchange for my honest review.
<br/><br/>
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/4418603544">View all my reviews</a>
Michelle Lindo-Ricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10802309295322211300noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-169113315170910268.post-28880778701877821112021-12-26T22:21:00.001-05:002021-12-26T22:21:40.159-05:00Review: Miss Pearly's Girls
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/58230489" style="float: left; padding-right: 20px"><img src="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1636370516l/58230489._SX98_.jpg" border="0" alt="Miss Pearly's Girls" /></a>
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/58230489">Miss Pearly's Girls</a> by <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/127503">ReShonda Tate Billingsley</a><br/>
My rating: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/4412757020">4 of 5 stars</a>
<br /><br />
Miss Pearly is sick and all she wishes is for her four daughters to return home and reunite. But the Bell ladies are each battling a past secret that is a deterrent to their reunion. Maxine, Leslie, Star and Stella must work through each of their past, their secrets and decide whether if holding onto past pain is more important than healing, than their future as a family.<br />Family dynamics come to play in this read and there was a lot to unpack in this tale. ReShonda tackled a lot of sensitive subjects with her skillful storytelling. I loved how this story focused on the power of the matriarch's love because it was their love for her that brought them home.<br />I think this would be a great book club read because it will open doors for a lot of discussion. So many secrets and buried truths that had to break free. Yes, lots of thought-provoking discussions.<br />Memorable Quote: "When you walk in happiness, negativity can't stay long."
<br/><br/>
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/4412757020">View all my reviews</a>
Michelle Lindo-Ricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10802309295322211300noreply@blogger.com0