I am a Christian, a retired teacher, a mother and a grandmother. I love to read and I love the Lord Jesus Christ! Unless otherwise specified ,all visual illustrations are from the YOU VERSION APP of the Bible.
Featuring FBI behavioral specialist Alex Donovan and her teammate Logan Hart, this book had me spellbound with the intense action and intrigue. The plot revolves around young women who are being kidnapped by an unknown psychopath. Unfortunately for her, Alex resembles the kidnapped victims, so she really needs to get the profile right before she becomes a victim herself. There is a sub-plot about Logan’s health that sidelines him from action with the team, but it does not keep him from praying for and supporting the team. I really enjoyed the faith parts of this book, especially as more of the team members begin to pray and focus on belief in God. The action was non-stop and heart-pounding. I enjoyed all of the characters but none more so than Alex who was feisty, courageous and selfless. All of the characters were portrayed realistically and made the story an engaging read. The plot was written well, with plenty of suspense and multiple clues and red herrings along the way. I have read all of the Quantico Files books and this one is my favorite because of its character development and dual plot line. This book can be read as a standalone even though it is part of a series. Fans of romantic suspense, with the emphasis on suspense, will enjoy this faith-filled testimony to the power of believing in God in tough situations. Disclaimer Disclosure of Material Connection: I received a complimentary copy of this book from Bethany House Fiction. I was not required to write a positive review. All opinions expressed here are my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255, “Guidelines Concerning the Use of Testimonials and Endorsements in Advertising.”
Rated PG. Intense action but not at all offensive.All of Nancy’s novels have an added touch – something for your spirit as well as your soul. “I welcome the opportunity to share my faith through my writing,” Nancy says. “God is number one in my life. I wouldn’t be writing at all if I didn’t believe that this is what He’s called me to do. I hope everyone who reads my books will walk away with the most important message I can give them: God is good, and He loves you more than you can imagine. He has a good plan for your life, and there is nothing you can’t overcome with His help.”
Photo and Bio are from the author’s website at http://www.nancymehl.comCheck out her booklist and other information there!
With great appreciation to Bethany House Publishing for the copy of the book that they sent me to read and review. Great Christian fiction that entertains and uplifts!
Told in a dual timeline and with two female protagonists, this book was well-researched and was based on an actual U.S. Intelligence program that brought former Nazis to the U.S. to work in the American rocket system. Jurgen Rhodes was forced to work for the Nazis or lose his income and possibly his children. After the war, he was whisked away to the U.S. and held at Fort Bliss until he was transferred to Huntsville, AL to work on rockets. Sofie, his wife, was separated from him for five years, anxiously remaining in Germany and without knowledge of where her husband had been taken. Then, the day came when she heard that he was settled in Alabama and and purchased a home for her and the children there. Accompanied by two of their children, Sofie makes the journey to America. The emotions in this book fairly jumped off the page as I sympathized with Sofie facing an unknown future. Their neighborhood consists of other German families, so at first Sofie feels welcomed and is eager to build a new and hopeful future in the U.S. Her dreams are dashed, however, when gossip begins and spreads quickly about Jurgen’s role in Nazi Germany. Spurred on by the other female protagonist, Lizzie, the gossip seems to take on a life of its own and destroys Sofie’s quest for peace and happiness. This story is one that was at times hard to read because of the hatred that rolled from Lizzie’s heart to Sofie. Lizzie is a bitter woman who dearly loves her brother Henry. Henry is a former soldier suffering from PTSD and Lizzie blames all Nazis for his condition. In her attempt to wreak vengeance, she targets Sofie and her family. I enjoyed the book, especially learning about this rocket program that I knew nothing about previously. I was a bit confused at first by the dual timeline and by the fast that the book is supposed to be about Sofie, but it is actually about the effects of the war on two different women, one of them being the American Lizzie. In looking for safety in the U.S., Sofie encounters some of the worst prejudice possible and has to safeguard herself and her children from the increasing violence and threats against them. Even those in their German neighborhood turn against them. I found the details disturbingly realistic and heartbreaking. There is a great deal of tension and conflict in the book as Sofie is forced to deal with the stunningly realistic actions of what basically becomes a mob against her and her family. With the themes of family, right versus wrong and making choices for one’s future, this book is a compelling look at a time and events in history that deserve a second look and apologies for undeserved prejudices. It brought home to me that often we attack what we truly have not taken the time to understand. I enjoyed learning about Sofie, but I wanted to reach into the pages and implore Lizzie to be more accepting and less judgmental. After all, the same thing that Lizzie was accusing Sofie of simply because she was German was what Lizzie was doing in “free” America. Appearances are deceptive in this book and it was this that drew me to the novel and kept me reading, hopeful for a happy future for Sofie but despairing when all seems stacked against her. Fans of historical fiction will enjoy this realistic portrayal of what it was like to be the wife who suffers the repercussions of her husband’s career. Disclaimer Disclosure of Material Connection: I received a complimentary copy of this book from the publisher via Netgalley. I was not required to write a positive review. The opinions expressed are my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255, “Guidelines Concerning the Use of Testimonials and Endorsements in Advertising.”
Rated PG-13 due to emotional content that may disturb some readersFrom the author’s website at http://www.kellyrimmer.com Please go to her website to find additional information about her other books.
This book will release on June 28, 2022 and is now available for preorder. Purchase Links:
Told in a dual timeline with multiple points of view, this book included one revelation after another about family secrets, heritage and friendships. Ivy is the granddaughter featured in the present (2022) and her grandmother Ruth is the narrator for the part of the story set in the 1950’s. In her story, Ruth was a pre-teen, helping her mom Edna run the Seaside Resort, a beach inn on the OBX. When Ruth dies, Ivy returns home from NYC to sort through her things and to sell her cottage. All of the gamut of emotions are part of the storyline, beginning when Ivy reflects back on her leaving Nags Head and her return to say farewell again. My favorite was Talley, a no-nonsense cousin who counts it a blessing to be working at the beach alongside Ruth. Of course, I enjoyed all of the characters and how well-rounded they were. As a child of the 50’s, I could relate to the small town feel and how Edna, Ruth’s mother, had so much influence in the little beach town. The relationships were complicated, with a lot of forgiveness necessary in order for the people to move on in their lives. Ruth, the most interesting character, was multi-layered, hiding secrets from the people closest to her and dealing with a secret past of her own. I enjoyed this character-driven story set in an idyllic place, perfect for a vacation read to let your mind imagine those characters living where you are staying. My mind was actively engaged from beginning to end, engrossed in the lives of each character and invested in their making good decisions for the future. Oh, and the puppies! Ivy found a mama dog, named her Libby and adopted her. This is a wonderful story to read, enjoy and discuss in a book group.
Disclaimer: Disclosure of Material Connection: I received a complimentary copy of this book from the author. I was not required to write a positive review. All opinions expressed are my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, part 255, “Guidelines Concerning the Use of Testimonials and Endorsements in Advertising.”
Gorgeous cover, isn’t it?A lovely escape! I would rate this book a PG-16 due to mature subject matter and content. There is nothing controversial or objectionable, just topics that would require a mature reader, in my opinion. Information about the author and her photo are from her website at http://www.maryellentaylor.com
Available on July 1st and available for preorders now. Purchase Links:
This is a book with an original plot and a slow burn. Jessica, Stephanie and Priyanka all receive the same letter, accusing their husbands of sexual assault about two decades ago. The victim is dead and no one is talking, so the three women set out to discover the truth. Stephanie is the most reluctant participant in the investigation, but all three women have a lot to lose if the truth is what they suspect it is. There are some definite triggers in this book and some real surprises as more is revealed. The plot was slow and methodical, laying out the case against each male as the women continue to find more clues. I did not particularly like or identify with any of the women since they are all more upper crust than I am. Also, they seemed somewhat stiff and unrealistic in their reaction to their husbands’ purported crimes. All of them reveal a very human and selfish side while also trying to protect their ways of life. That seemed somewhat realistic but stilted and not a totally natural reaction. The plot was original and engaging for the most part. I even managed to like two out of the three husbands; one was too self-centered to be likable or relatable. All in all, the book was good domestic drama with some secrets revealed slowly and some surprises along the way. Disclaimer Disclosure of Material Connection: I received a complimentary copy of this book from the publisher via Netgalley. I was not required to write a positive review. The opinions expressed are my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255, “Guides Concerning the Use of Testimonials and Endorsements in Advertising.”
Rated M for mature readers due to content.Cate Ray is an author of four previous novels of suspense published in the UK under the name Cath Weeks. She was named an Author to Watch by Elle magazine. She lives in Bath with her family. Social Links:
I’m one hundred percent average, said no one ever. Yet that’s what most of us are, myself included. I know the sum of my parts and it equals ordinary and there’s no shame in that. In fact, it’s a strength. My parents were ordinary too and as their only child they raised me to respect being a leaf on a tree, a grain of sand on the beach. You get the picture. But it doesn’t mean being insignificant, anonymous. It means being part of a community, a tribe, a cause greater than yourself.
I realise this kind of thinking isn’t very now. The idea of being average scares my girls to death. I wouldn’t accuse them of it outright, yet it’s probably in their DNA too and at some point, they’ll have to confront it. Mediocrity isn’t something they can deal with and perhaps that’s where we’re going wrong because ordinary is what gets you through. Ordinary is noble, life-affirming. It’s the heart of humanity and somehow, we’ve forgotten that.
And then the letter arrives and I know as soon as I read it that I’m going to have to re-think everything. Because I’m fairly sure that ordinary people don’t get letters like this.
It’s the first day of autumn and I don’t know if it’s actually colder or whether I’m imagining it, as though a door closed yesterday on summer and a chillier one opened, but I’m definitely feeling it today. The tip of my nose is icy and I would get a hot water bottle for my lap, only I’m leaving the house in twenty minutes.
I’m meeting Duane Dee, my favourite sculptor—the only sculptor—on my client list and anything could happen. You never know what you’re going to get with artists, which is why I like working with them. They’re up and down but more than that, they’re honest. I’ve never known a profession like it. My artists talk about integrity and authenticity all the time and I lap it up. I love that the men don’t shave for meetings, the women don’t dye their greys, no one bothers ironing anything.
The investors are another sort altogether. People who buy and sell art are very different from those who create it. I know whose company I prefer, but I keep that to myself because even I know not to bite the hand that feeds me.
Max thinks it’s funny that I work for Moon & Co—he calls them the Moonies—even though he was the one who got me the job. He knows everyone in Bath because he grew up here, whereas I’m originally from the East End, London. I’ve been living here for twenty years and it still makes me laugh that locals think it’s urban, even though I can see cows from our bathroom window.
I’ve just got enough time for a quick look at Facebook. I don’t know why I do it to myself, but sometimes I feel that if I don’t keep up, I’ll be left behind. Which is odd because it’s not as if it’s a race, is it, being human?
I’m forty-six years old and still looking for friends. I’m pretty sure I won’t find them here in this endless scroll of happy images. People work so hard to make themselves look perfect, it’s hard not to try to find faults. I don’t enjoy it. It makes me feel bitchy but still I return and peek.
I glance at the time: ten minutes until I have to go. Outside, red leaves are hanging on the trees as though they’ve gone rusty and can’t move. There’s no wind today, the air completely still.
Duane Dee doesn’t use social media. He thinks the tech companies are using us to get rich and that it’s odd I’m willing to be a pawn in Silicon Valley because I strike him as militant.
It’s probably because I still have a slight East End accent, which can sound blunt, tough, but I like to think of it more as plain-talking. My late Dad used to say that the EastEnders wore their hearts of gold on their sleeves. A firefighter all his life, he believed in helping people out, especially along our street of identical terrace houses where no one could set themselves apart.
Enough of Facebook. I shut it down, telling it I won’t be back, knowing I will. And then I gather my things, ready to take off.
In the hallway, I sit on the stairs to put on my trainers, wondering when I started dressing like a teenager, and that’s when the postman comes. There’s only one small piece of mail, which slips in like a piece of confetti, drifting to the mat. I pick it up with interest because it’s handwritten and I can’t think when I last received one of those.
Then it’s out of my mind because I’m locking up and putting on my puffa jacket as I walk to the car. And then I’m driving to town—the sun a pale wedge of lemon above me—running through what to say to Duane Dee.
Is he well? Is he pushing himself too hard? Is he sleeping enough? He always looks chronically tired.
I ask too many questions. Intrusive. That’s the little bit of feedback my boss always gives me. Jess, here’s some feedback you didn’t ask for…
When people say you’re intrusive, assertive or direct, they’re basically telling you to be quiet. Are men given feedback like that? I don’t know. But I’m thinking about this as I enter the Sicilian café which is my personal preference and not Duane’s. Whenever he chooses, we end up somewhere too dark to see our food, sitting on tasselled mats.
The service here is very good. Within seconds of my sitting down, the waitress hands me a menu even though I always have an Americano and an almond pastry.
Glancing in the wall mirror beside me, I note that my expression is severe. A semi-friend told me recently that I carry a lot of tension in my face. It was a bit passive aggressive of her to say so, but I know what she means. I have bony cheekbones and thin lips that can look mean if I’m not careful.
So, I’ve been making an effort lately to smile more, worry less and unclench my hands. I also tend to tap my teeth together and I’m doing that now in time to the café music as I wait for Duane.
And then I remember the letter.
It takes me several minutes to find it, as well as my reading glasses. Since hitting my mid-forties, I misplace things all the time. I normally ask myself, where would I have put it? And it’s never there.
The letter is in the front compartment of the rucksack which I haven’t used for so long, there are crumbs and bits of foil in there from the primary school-run. Flicking the crumbs off the envelope, I examine the handwriting, feeling a pang of nostalgia at the idea of someone putting pen to paper just for me.
The writing is tiny and in capitals, internet code for shouting, but in this case is more like whispering. Something about it gives me the sense that it’s trying its hardest not to offend or take up too much space. I have to prise the paper out of the envelope, where it’s wedged, folded into eighths.
THURS 1ST OCTOBER
DEAR JESSICA,
I HOPE YOU’RE SITTING DOWN TO READ THIS AND THAT YOU’RE ALONE.
THIS IS SO DIFFICULT. YOU WOULDN’T BELIEVE HOW OFTEN I IMAGINED TALKING TO YOU, BUT I DIDN’T KNOW HOW TO GO ABOUT IT. AND NOW IT’S TOO LATE.
For what? I check the postmark on the envelope: Monday 5th October, 5pm. That was last night. Shifting uneasily in my seat, I turn over the letter to see who sent it: Holly Waite.
I’VE KNOWN FOR SOME TIME THAT I WON’T MAKE OLD BONES, BUT NOW IT’S URGENT AND I’VE ONLY GOT A FEW DAYS LEFT. SO, I’LL JUST COME OUT WITH IT.
ON 22ND DECEMBER 1990, MY MUM NICOLA WAITE WAS RAPED BY 3 MEN IN THE MONTAGUE CLUB, BATH. THE MEN WERE ANDREW LAWLEY, DANIEL BROOKE AND MAXIMILIAN JACKSON.
MY MUM FELL PREGNANT WITH ME. SHE ASKED THE MEN FOR HELP, BUT THEY DIDN’T WANT TO BE INVOLVED. SHE NEVER RECOVERED FROM WHAT HAPPENED AND DIED 9 YEARS AGO OF AN ACCIDENTAL OVERDOSE.
9780778333203_TS_SplitBG_txt.indd 19 11/12/21 8:18 AM CATE RAY 20
EVERYTHING I OWN IS AT STONE’S STORAGE, UNIT 21, 156 CLEVEDON ROAD. IF YOU GO TO THEM, THEY’LL GIVE YOU THE KEY. YOU’RE WELCOME TO ANYTHING. I HAVE NO ONE ELSE TO LEAVE IT TO.
WE NEVER KNEW WHO MY FATHER WAS. SO, I’M ALSO WRITING TO:
PRIYANKA LAWLEY. 32 WALDEN WAY, HIGH LANE, BATH.
STEPHANIE BROOKE, 7 SOUTH AVENUE, BATH.
I’M SORRY TO DO THIS. I KNOW IT’LL BE A SHOCK, BUT I COULDN’T GO WITHOUT TELLING YOU. YOUR HUSBANDS WENT UNPUNISHED, WALKING AWAY COMPLETELY FREE. I ALWAYS HOPED THAT ONE DAY I’D SEE JUSTICE DONE, BUT I COULDN’T THINK OF A WAY TO DO THAT WITHOUT DESTROYING MORE LIVES.
NOW THAT I’M OUT OF TIME, I CAN SEE THAT IT WASN’T MY CHOICE TO MAKE. SO, I’M PASSING IT OVER TO YOU, TELLING YOU WHAT YOU SHOULD HAVE KNOWN FROM THE START. IT ALWAYS FELT SO PERSONAL, BUT IT WASN’T, NOT REALLY. YOU CAN’T DRAW A LINE WHERE ONE LIFE STARTS AND ANOTHER BEGINS.
ONCE AGAIN, I’M SORRY.
I HOPE YOU DO THE RIGHT THING.
YOURS TRULY,
HOLLY WAITE X
The kiss throws me the most. I stare at it. It’s like she’s trying to add a softener, after making the worst possible accusation.
I read the letter again, my eye lingering on Maximilian Jackson. No one ever calls Max that. It doesn’t even sound like him.
“Jess?” I glance up to see Duane standing there, untying his Aztec scarf, clay stains on his jumper. “Alright, darlin’?”
I can’t pull out a smile for him. I’m not great at hiding my emotions. It’s one of the things Max has always loved about me and I like it about myself too. Yet suddenly, it feels like an impairment; a liability even.
Slipping the letter into my bag, I stand up robotically and we exchange kisses. He smells of autumn air and his cheek as it brushes mine is so cold it makes me shiver. “Hi, Duane.”
We sit down and Duane scans a menu before tossing it aside. “Who am I kidding? I’m gonna get the calzoni. I always get the calzoni.”
“So…how are you?” I manage to ask. “How’s the new project going?” I sound uptight, formal. I clench my hands, trying to stop them from trembling.
The waitress takes our order. And then I sit rigidly in my chair, listening as Duane describes his latest creation—how it embodies technoculture, hyperreality, paranoia.
When the coffees arrive, I drink mine too quickly and burn my tongue.
“You OK?” He cocks his head at me.
No, I’m not. How could I be?
“Actually, I just need to pop to the ladies. Could you excuse me a minute?”
Out in the restroom, I stand with my hands against the sink, trying to breathe, feeling dizzy. Closing my eyes, I see Maximilian Jackson again in that tiny handwriting.
It’s not Max. It’s some sort of mistake. Holly Waite…whoever that is…is wrong. And perhaps, dead.
I don’t think I’ve ever felt happy before to hear of someone’s demise, but as I open my eyes it occurs to me that if this woman is deceased then there’s no one present to make any accusations.
I return to the table, where Duane is tucking into his calzoni, a thread of cheese hanging from his lip. Normally I wouldn’t hesitate to tell him, or anyone, so they could set themselves straight.
But something strange happens and I just sit there, silent, watching the thread dangle as he chews and talks. It seems to me that I don’t know who I am. Or more to the point, who my husband is.
Bree, Ashley and Mikki are three friends who have opened a store together, each featuring their own specialty. Bree sells books, Ashley sells muffins and cupcakes and Mikki owns a gift shop. Together, they weather the storms of business and personal life. I loved their tradition of sharing a glass of champagne together on the beach every Friday. I really enjoyed their friendships with each other. They were just close enough to be brutally honest and often the result was laugh-aloud humorous. The plot was somewhat complex since the book deals with the love lives of each of the three women. Instead of having a “Dear Abby” in their lives, they have each other to use as a sounding board and sometimes one or the other has to give one of the ladies a reality check. The book was fast paced, with memorable characters. Although the plot diverged in three different directions at times, it was easy to keep track of who was who and with whom they were in love because the characters were so realistic. They became like good book friends who needed relationship advice, whether they wanted it or not. Susan Mallery is the absolute best at creating scenarios that are fun to read about and to imagine yourself immersed in. I couldn’t help but relate more to one woman than the others, but that was part of the fun of reading the book. I wanted all of them to have a happily ever after because they all deserved it. Getting to know the characters was a trip down Romance Lane and was a pleasure the whole way! Fans of light, humorous romance will enjoy the antics of the three friends as they forge a path to love. Disclaimer Disclosure of Material Connection: I received a complimentary copy of this book from the publisher via Netgalley. I was not required to write a positive review. The opinions expressed are my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255, “Guidelines Concerning the Use of Testimonials and Endorsements in Advertising.”
Rated PG-13 because of sexual content and some languageSUSAN MALLERY is the #1 New York Times bestselling author of novels about the relationships that define women’s lives—family, friendship and romance. Library Journal says, “Mallery is the master of blending emotionally believable characters in realistic situations,” and readers seem to agree—forty million copies of her books have been sold worldwide. Her warm, humorous stories make the world a happier place to live. Susan grew up in California and now lives in Seattle with her husband. She’s passionate about animal welfare, especially that of the two Ragdoll cats and adorable poodle who think of her as Mom.
Bree Larton stared at her seventy-something-year-old customer, not sure how to respond. Bursting out laughing would be inappropriate and Ruth would take offense. “You need to tell me what you want so I can get you the right book,” Bree said with a gentle smile. “You wanted a political thriller. Most of them aren’t sexy.”
Ruth, barely five feet tall but feisty as a badger, pursed her lips. “Not true. James Bond has sex all the time and he spends his day saving the world. I want a book like that. Ticking bombs, financial collapse, kidnappings and then everyone jumps into bed.” She winked. “That would be a good book.”
“I can do a sexy thriller. Maybe international?” Bree started walking toward that section of the bookstore. “A couple of options come to mind. Now, on the sexy part—do you want monogamy or can the partners play around?”
Ruth’s eyes brightened. “I’d like them to play around, but nothing too kinky. And no groups. That’s just too hard to keep track of.”
Bree held in a chuckle. “All right. We’ll limit the body parts, add a little European flair.” She held out a book with a hunky guy on the cover. “If you like this one, the author has five more stories waiting for you.”
Ruth, an unnaturally yellow blonde wearing cherry-red lipstick, clutched the book to her narrow chest. “I’ll take it.”
Bree suggested several additional authors. Ruth browsed for a few more minutes, then carried a stack of books to the register.
“I think I would have been a good sidekick for James Bond.” Ruth passed over her credit card. “Back in the day, I was quite the looker.”
“You still are,” Bree told her.
Ruth waved away the comment. “I’m too old for espionage, but I wouldn’t say no to dinner with a charming man.” Her smile turned sly. “I’ll just have to keep living vicariously through you.”
“Sadly, I’m lacking a man these days.”
Ruth leaned close. “What I admire about you, Bree, is that you’re not holding out for love. You go after what you want. When I was your age, that wasn’t an option. Not in polite society anyway. I was born in the wrong time.”
Bree honest to God had no idea what to say. “I guess we have to work with what we have.” She tucked a flyer into the shopping bag. “Harding Burton is signing here in a couple of weeks.”
Ruth looked at the poster next to the counter. Her bright red lips curved into a smile. “He’s a good-looking man.”
Bree mentally shrugged. “I suppose.”
“You don’t think he’s exceptionally handsome? Those eyes, that smile. Isn’t he the one who was hit by a car and left for dead on the side of the road when he was just a teenager?” Ruth clucked her tongue. “So tragic. But he pulled through and walked again and now look at him.” Her gaze darted to Bree. “You should have your way with him and then tell me all about it.”
Bree held in a wince. “First, I’d never tell you about it and second, I don’t date authors.”
Between her late husband and her parents, she knew enough about the type to want to avoid them forever. At least on a personal basis. Work-wise, she was stuck. What with owning a bookstore and all.
“Harding seems exception-worthy,” Ruth told her. “He might have some interesting scars you could trace and—”
Bree held up her hands in the shape of a T. “Stop right there. If you’re interested in Harding’s scars, go for him. How could he resist you?”
“I’m old enough to be his mother.”
Grandmother, Bree mentally corrected, but kept silent. She had a soft spot for the ever-outspoken Ruth.
“Maybe he’s into older women,” she said instead.
“Wouldn’t that be nice.”
Ruth was still laughing when Bree walked her out of the store. Anson, Ruth’s driver, was waiting in the no-parking fire lane. Anson helped Ruth into the Mercedes. Bree stayed outside until the car drove away.
Early evening on the beach in Los Angeles was nearly always magical but in June, if the skies cleared, it was the stuff of dreams. Warm air, palm trees, sand and surf. Honestly, she shouldn’t admit to having any real problems in her life. Even Ruth’s impossible book requests were insignificant when compared with the view outside the front door of her store.
Until six months ago, Driftaway Books had been located about two miles north and a good three blocks inland from the actual beach. Last fall, when the current space had come up on the market, Bree had stopped in to drool and dream. But beachfront came at a premium, and the square footage had been nearly double what she’d needed.
In one of those rare moments when fate stepped in and offered an unexpected opportunity, that very day two other women business owners had also been swooning over the same retail space. They’d agreed it was an unbelievable location, right there on the sand, but it had also been too big and expensive for each of them.
Impulsively, Bree had suggested they go get coffee together. Over the next hour they’d discussed the possibility of sharing the lease. Bree generally didn’t trust people until she got to know them, but there had been something about Mikki and Ashley that had made her want to take a chance. By the end of the week Driftaway Books, The Gift Shop and Muffins to the Max had signed a ten-year lease and hired a contractor to remodel. Bree had changed the name of Driftaway Books to The Boardwalk Bookshop, the final step in fully claiming the business as her own. The first Monday after the holidays, they’d moved in together.
Bree looked at the long, low building. Huge display windows were shaded by blue-and-white-striped awnings. The large glass doors could slide completely open, blurring the line between retail and sand. She and Mikki, the gift-store owner, had their stores on either side, with Ashley’s muffin selection taking up the middle space.
Big, bright displays showcased books, gifts and muffins, grouped together in seasonal themes. An array of beach books, sunscreen, flip-flops and wide-brimmed hats enticed tourists who had shown up to the beach unprepared.
Bree headed back inside, aware of the approaching sunset. She collected blankets and champagne glasses, then paused to straighten the poster announcing a book signing by Jairus Sterenberg, author of the popular Brad the Dragon children’s books. Jairus lived in next-door Mischief Bay and was always a pleasure at signings. He was one of the few authors Bree liked. He arrived early, stayed late and asked only for a desk and a glass of water. The man even brought his own pens.
At the other end of the spectrum was a not-to-be-named famous mystery author who was a total nightmare. Demanding, slightly drunk and very handsy, he’d patted her butt one too many times at his last signing and had been banned from the store. Despite pleas from his publicist and a written apology from the author himself, Bree had stood firm. She owned The Boardwalk Bookshop and she made the rules. No literary books, no existential anything and no guys touching women without their permission. Not exactly earth-shattering, but she could only control her little corner of the world.
Mikki saw her and smiled.
“Once again, we’re waiting for Ashley. Have you noticed that?”
“Young people today,” Bree teased.
Mikki, a generally upbeat kind of person, with thick blond hair and more curves than Bree and Ashley combined, laughed. “I like that. I’m only ten years older than her, so if she’s young, then I’m less old than I thought. Maybe I won’t mind turning forty this fall.”
“You’re not seriously worried about it, are you?”
Mikki wrinkled her nose. “I don’t know. Sometimes. Maybe. Forty sounds a lot worse than thirty-something.”
“Forty is the new twenty-five.”
Mikki’s humor returned. “If I’m twenty-five, then Ashley’s barely eleven. That could create some legal issues with our lease.” She waved the bottle of champagne she held. “Come on. This needs our attention. When Ashley’s done texting love notes to Seth, she knows where to find us.”
They left the store and walked out onto the sand. With the approach of sunset, the temperature had cooled and the Friday crowd had cleared. The sky had started to darken, while the part that kissed the ocean still glowed bright blue with a hint of yellow.
To their left were a grove of palm trees, a handful of kiosks and a boardwalk that went all the way to Redondo Beach. To the right were more shops and restaurants, benches, parking and hotels. In front of them was the Pacific Ocean. Big, blue and tonight, unexpectedly calm.
They stopped about thirty feet from the shore and sat on the blankets. Mikki held up the champagne.
“Perrier-Jouët Blason Rosé,” she said proudly. “Ladies Know Wine gave it 93 points and said it had ‘delicious hints of sweet earthiness that complement fruit flavors including strawberry and peach with a hint of spice in this perfectly balanced rosé champagne.’”
Bree grinned. “I don’t know which is more impressive. That you’re branching out from traditional champagne or that you can quote a Ladies Know Wine review that well.”
“I love Ladies Know Wine. I savor every issue. If Ladies Know Wine were a man, I would make him fall in love with me. Then we’d have sex.”
“Earl would be crushed.”
Mikki unwrapped the pink foil and tucked it into her khaki pants pocket. “Earl would need to get over it.” She held up the bottle. “Look at the shape of that. It’s beautiful. And the label. Kudos to the design team.”
She held the cork in her left hand and used her right to grip the bottom of the bottle. Instead of pulling on the cork, as often happened in movies, she rotated the bottle several turns until the bottle and cork separated without a hint of a pop.
Last fall the three of them had signed the lease late on a Friday. They’d been so excited, they’d driven out to their new location. The sunny, warm day had promised a beautiful sunset. Bree happened to have a bottle of champagne in her car and had suggested they share it to celebrate their new venture. The following Friday they’d done the same and a tradition had been born.
The first time Bree had opened a bottle of champagne with her business associates, she’d popped the cork and the frothy liquid had spilled over. Mikki’s expression of horror had been so clear as to be comical.
“You’re letting out all the bubbles,” she’d explained. “It changes the essence of the champagne and ruins the experience.”
“Ruins is kind of strong,” Ashley had pointed out. “It’s still really good champagne. Better than what I usually have. Of course most of my champagne drinking is done at weddings where they’re buying for two hundred, so price is a concern.”
“Champagne needs to be treated with reverence,” Mikki had told her. “Don’t drink bad champagne.”
From then on they’d alternated providing the Friday night sunset champagne. Ashley always ran her selection past Mikki, but Bree took her chances by picking it herself.
Mikki poured them each a glass, then put the bottle into the sand, pushing down a little to keep it upright.
“To us,” she said, touching her glass to Bree’s. “And to perfect sunsets.”
Bree smiled and then took a sip. She closed her eyes as she let the bubbly liquid sit on her tongue for a second before swallowing. Mikki was going to ask her how she liked it, and saying it was fine was never an option.
“Delicious,” she said, holding in her smile. “I taste a lot of berry with a hint of citrus. It’s surprisingly creamy.”
Mikki looked at her with approval. “That’s what I get, too. It’s really drinkable. I like it.”
“Noooo! You started without me!”
The shriek came from behind them. Neither of them turned around. Instead, Bree held out the third glass and Mikki filled it. Ashley, a tall, slim redhead with big blue eyes and a full mouth, plopped down next to Mikki. Her lips formed a pout.
“You didn’t wait,” she accused. “You’re supposed to wait.”
“You’re supposed to be on time,” Mikki reminded her. “Every Friday you text with Seth and run late. You agreed either you show up on time or we’re starting without you.”
Ashley ducked her head. “I thought the pressure would help. Instead, I just feel guilty.”
Mikki sipped her champagne. “I’m sure your chronic tardiness has to do with your mother.”
Ashley laughed. “My mom can take your mom anytime.”
Mikki grinned. “I don’t know. Rita would bring her Eeyore self to the party and then talk about how everyone’s good time depressed her.”
“I can see that happening,” Ashley admitted. “Then I’ll toast to both our mothers. And Seth, who is amazing. I in no way feel guilty about texting with him. He loves me and I love him.”
Bree held in a groan. “Yes, we know. It’s all so wonderful.”
Mikki bumped shoulders with Ashley. “She’s jealous.”
“No, no.” Bree held up her glass. “You are welcome to your cooing and clucking relationship.”
“We don’t cluck. What does that even mean?”
“I have no idea,” Mikki admitted. “Bree?”
“It’s just an expression.”
“Clucking is an expression?”
Bree chuckled, then glanced out at the sinking sun. Light reflected on the moving water. A family walked along, close to the waves. An older boy ran ahead, while the parents held hands with a younger child.
They looked happy, she thought, studying them the way she would an unfamiliar species. No doubt the mom and dad loved their children, took care of them. Mikki did that, too, with her two kids. And Ashley’s parents were wonderful. But not all parents were good.
Mikki refilled their glasses. “Ashley, a lot of customers are talking about your brother’s book signing. When are we going to meet him?”
“Monday,” Ashley said. “He’s moving into his new place.”
Harding, Ashley’s brother, after several months on the road for book signings and research, had returned to Los Angeles. He’d leased a house and was supposedly hard at work on book number three. In the meantime, he would be signing at The Boardwalk Bookshop where he would, no doubt, pull in a crowd.
Authors, Bree thought with a silent sigh. An annoying but necessary species. Customers liked book signings, so she had authors come in.
“I can’t wait to meet him,” Mikki said. “Such an interesting story. Bree, are you excited about the signing?”
“More than words can say.”
Mikki studied her. “That’s sarcasm, right?”
Bree laughed. “Yes. That’s sarcasm.”
“How can you own a bookstore, love books and hate writers?”
“I don’t hate them. I just don’t want them in my life.”
“You’re so weird.” Mikki turned to Ashley. “Help me out here. Tell her how weird she is.”
Instead of joining in the teasing, Ashley dropped her gaze. “Yes, well, we should talk about Harding. Or more specifically, him and you.”
Bree shifted back so she could angle toward Ashley. “I’ve never met the guy.” Which meant there shouldn’t be a problem. Unless…
This is a delightful devotional for children and I would classify it for ages 8-12 or so because of the themes in the devotionals and the intricate coloring pages. It is a perfect book to share with your child, read it and discuss it together or it is also useful for the child to work on the devotionals and coloring pages alone. The topics are extremely pertinent for children, including things about giving God your burdens (with a suitcase at the visual aid) and going on an adventure with God as well as believing His promises and trusting Him. There are so many various topics that the book is not only useful but also applicable to various age groups and both genders. The writing is clear and precise, on age level for the ages I mentioned previously and relatable to children. The Scriptures used are practical and worth using as memory verses for the child. Parents will want to snap up this book to encourage creativity as well as a daily walk with God through a devotional made just for the children in their lives. The illustrations are amusing and appropriate for children. I enjoyed the sample of the book that was provided and hope to purchase the actual book as a gift. I have three or four grandchildren in mind who would enjoy this book and delving into God’s Word in a fun way that also allows them to express themslelves. I particularly liked the personal and thoughtful questions in each devotional that encourages the child to dig into their own habits and life and get closer to God. There are one hundred different devotionals in the book, with each one labeled a promise from God. The topics cover a variety of topics like God taking care of our worries, keeping track of us and preparing us to do His work. This is a great book for children and even parents to color together as they talk about God and His character. Disclaimer Disclosure of Material Connection: I received a complimentary copy of this book from Thomas Nelson Publsihers via Netgalley. I was not required to write a positive review. The opinions expressed are my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255, “Guides Concerning the Use of Testimonials and Endorsements in Advertising.”
Rated G for all audiences!For more information about the author, go to her website at http://www.janaedueck.com
Lucas Forester is the antagonist in this twisted tale about domestic drama with thrills up the wazoo. He is a guy I just couldn’t hate because he was so intelligent and figured out all of the possible scenarios before he acted. His very wealthy wife Michelle is missing and Lucas has a plan already in play for when she is declared dead. Notice that the word I used is “when” not “if.” You see, Lucas planned her murder, hired someone to carry it out and is not just waiting for the declaration of her death so that he can be independently wealthy. He had lots of ideas for what he could do while he waits for Michelle to be found. In fact, the entire plot revolves around Lucas’s plans which are constantly evolving as the situation changes. There is a complication to his well-thought out plan when it appears that the killer he hired from the dark web is sending him photos to blackmail him. Another problem for the very devious Lucas to contend with! The characters are mostly likable but very complex. The book has a well-developed plot, but the whole story is actually centered around the characters and what makes them act the way they do. All of them are sympathetic characters except for Lucas who is just plain old despicable. I think I liked him because he is like Wiley Coyote, always trying to catch the roadrunner and always running into trouble for his efforts. The plot has some great twists in it and innumerable red herrings. This is the kind of book that I really get caught up in because it kept me guessing all the way until the end. And the surprise twist at the end is just perfect, absolutely perfect! I would love this book to be made into a movie because I can just picture the story unwinding on the big screen, complete with deception and maliciousness as well as the conniving that takes place. This was such a good book and so well-written that I was sorry that it had to end. Fans of domestic thrillers will want to get this book and discuss it with others. Disclaimer Disclosure of Material Connection: I received a complimentary copy of this book from the publisher via Netgalley. I was not required to write a positive review. The opinions expressed are my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255, “Guidelines Concerning the Use of Testimonials and Endorsements in Advertising.”
Caution for my readers: This is an intense book with several triggers in it, including drug addiction, abuse and violence. I would rate it a hard PG but actually think it is best suited for adults who enjoy domestic thrillers with a psychological twist. Hannah Mary McKinnon was born in the UK, grew up in Switzerland and moved to Canada in 2010. After a successful career in recruitment, she quit the corporate world in favor of writing, and is now the author of The Neighbors, Her Secret Son, Sister Dear and You Will Remember Me. She lives in Oakville, Ontario, with her husband and three sons, and is delighted by her twenty-second commute. Social Links: Author Website Twitter: @HannahMMcKinnon Instagram: @hannahmarymckinnon Facebook: @HannahMaryMcKinnon Goodreads
Excerpt:
1
SUNDAY
The steady noise from the antique French carriage clock on the mantelpiece had somehow amplified itself, a rhythmic tick-tick, tick-tick, which usually went unnoticed. After I’d been sitting in the same position and holding my ailing mother-in-law’s hand for almost an hour, the incessant clicking had long wormed its way deep into my brain where it grated on my nerves, stirring up fantasies of hammers, bent copper coils, and shattered glass.
Nora looked considerably worse than when I’d visited her earlier this week. She was propped up in bed, surrounded by a multitude of pillows. She’d lost more weight, something her pre-illness slender physique couldn’t afford. Her bones jutted out like rocks on a cliff, turning a kiss on the cheek into an extreme sport in which you might lose an eye. The ghostly hue on her face resembled the kids who’d come dressed up as ghouls for Halloween a few days ago, emphasizing the dark circles that had transformed her eyes into mini sinkholes. It wasn’t clear how much time she had left. I was no medical professional, but we could all tell it wouldn’t be long. When she’d shared her doctor’s diagnosis with me barely three weeks ago, they’d estimated around two months, but at the rate of Nora’s decline, it wouldn’t have come as a surprise if it turned out to be a matter of days.
Ovarian cancer. As a thirty-two-year-old Englishman who wasn’t yet half Nora’s age I’d had no idea it was dubbed the silent killer but now understood why. Despite the considerable wealth and social notoriety Nora enjoyed in the upscale and picturesque town of Chelmswood on the outskirts of Boston, by the time she’d seen someone because of a bad back and they’d worked out what was going on, her vital organs were under siege. The disease was a formidable opponent, the stealthiest of snipers, destroying her from the inside out before she had any indication something was wrong.
A shame, truly, because Nora was the only one in the Ward family I actually liked. I wouldn’t have sat here this long with my arse going numb for my father-in-law’s benefit, that’s for sure. Given half the chance I’d have smothered him with a pillow while the nurse wasn’t looking. But not Nora. She was kindhearted, gentle. The type of person who quietly gave time and money to multiple causes and charities without expecting a single accolade in return. Sometimes I imagined my mother would’ve been like Nora, had she survived, and fleetingly wondered what might have become of me if she hadn’t died so young, if I’d have grown up to be a good person.
I gradually pulled my hand away from Nora’s and reached for my phone, decided on playing a game or two of backgammon until she woke up. The app had thrashed me the last three rounds and I was due, but Nora’s fingers twitched before I made my first move. I studied her brow, which seemed furrowed in pain even as she slept. Not for the first time I hoped the Grim Reaper would stake his or her claim sooner rather than later. If I were death, I’d be swift, efficient, and merciful, not prescribe a drawn-out, painful process during which body, mind, or both, wasted away. People shouldn’t be made to suffer as they died. Not all of them, anyway.
“Lucas?”
I jumped as Diane, Nora’s nurse and my neighbor, put a hand on my shoulder. She’d only left the room for a couple of minutes but always wore those soft-soled shoes when she worked, which meant I never heard her coming until she was next to me. Kind of sneaky, when I thought about it, and I decided I wouldn’t sit with my back to the door again.
As she walked past, the air filled with the distinctive medicinal scent of hand sanitizer and antiseptic. I hated that smell. Too many bad memories I couldn’t shake. Diane set a glass of water on the bedside table, checked Nora’s vitals, and turned around. Hands on hips, she peered down at me from her six-foot frame, her tight dark curls bouncing alongside her jawbone like a set of tiny corkscrews.
“You can go home now. I’ll take the evening from here.” Regardless of her amicable delivery, there was no mistaking the instruction, but she still added, “Get some rest. God knows you look like you need it.”
“Thanks a lot,” I replied with mock indignation. “You sure know how to flatter a guy.”
Diane cocked her head to one side, folded her arms, and gave me another long stare, which to anyone else would’ve been intimidating. “How long since you slept? I mean properly.”
I waved a hand. “It’s only seven o’clock.”
“Yeah, I guess given the circumstances I wouldn’t want to be home alone, either.”
I looked away. “That’s not what this is about. I’ll wait until Nora wakes up again. I want to say goodbye. You know, in case she…” My voice cracked a little on the last word and I feigned a cough as I pressed the heels of my palms over my eyes.
“She won’t,” Diane whispered. “Not tonight. Trust me. She’s not ready to go.”
I knew Diane had worked in hospice for two decades and had seen more than her fair share of people taking their last breaths. If she said Nora wouldn’t die tonight, then Nora would still be here in the morning.
“I’ll leave in a bit. After she wakes up.”
Diane let out a resigned sigh and sat down in the chair on the opposite side of the bed. A comfortable silence settled between us despite the fact we didn’t know each other very well. I’d first met Diane and her wife Karina, who were both in their forties, when they’d struck up a conversation with me and my wife Michelle as we’d moved into our house on the other side of Chelmswood almost three years prior. Something about garbage days and recycling rules, I think. The mundane discussion could’ve led to a multitude of drinks, shared meals, and the swapping of embarrassing childhood stories, except we were all what Michelle had called busy professionals with (quote) hectic work schedules that make forging new friendships difficult. My Captain Subtext translated her comment as can’t be bothered and, consequently, the four of us had never made the transition from neighbors to close friends.
Aside from the occasional holiday party invitation or looking after each other’s places whenever we were away—picking up the mail, watering the plants, that kind of thing—we only saw each other in passing. Nevertheless, Karina regularly left a Welcome Back note on our kitchen counter along with flowers from their garden and a bottle of wine. Not one to be outdone on anything, Michelle reciprocated, except she’d always chosen more elaborate bouquets and fancier booze. My wife’s silent little pissing contests, which I’d pretended to be too dense to notice, had irked me to hell and back, but when Nora fell ill and Diane had been assigned as one of her nurses, I’d been relieved it was someone I knew and trusted.
“I’m sorry this is happening to you,” Diane said, rescuing me from the spousal memories. “It’s not fair. I mean, it’s never fair, obviously, but on top of what you’re going through with Michelle. I can’t imagine. It’s so awful…”
I acknowledged the rest of the words she left hanging in the air with a nod. There was nothing left to say about my wife’s situation we hadn’t already discussed, rediscussed, dissected, reconstructed, and pulled apart all over again. We’d not solved the mystery of her whereabouts or found more clues. Nothing new, helpful or hopeful, anyway. We never would.
Silence descended upon us again, the gaudy carriage clock ticking away, reviving the images of me with hammer in hand until the doorbell masked the sound.
“I’ll go,” Diane muttered, and before I had the chance to stand, she left the room and pulled the door shut. I couldn’t help wondering if her swift departure was because she needed to escape from me, the man who’d used her supportive shoulder almost daily for the past month. I decided to tone it down a little. Nobody wanted to be around an overdramatic, constant crybaby regardless of their circumstances.
I listened for voices but couldn’t hear any despite my leaning toward the door and craning my neck. I couldn’t risk moving in case Nora woke up. Her body was failing, but her mind remained sharp as a box of tacks. She’d wonder what I was up to if she saw my ear pressed against the mahogany panel. Solid mahogany. The best money could buy thanks to the Ward family’s three-generations-old construction empire. No cheap building materials in this house, as my father-in-law had pointed out when he’d first given me the tour of the six bedrooms, four reception rooms, indoor and outdoor kitchens (never mind the abhorrent freezing Boston winters), and what could only be described as grounds because yard implied it was manageable with a push-along mower.
“Only the best for my family,” Gideon had said in his characteristic rumbly, pompous way as he’d knocked back another glass of Laphroaig, the broad East Coast accent he worked hard to hide making more of a reappearance with each gluttonous glug. “No MDF, vinyl or laminate garbage, thank you. That’s not what I’m about. Not at all.”
It’s in the houses you build for others, I’d thought as I’d grunted an inaudible reply he no doubt mistook for agreement because people rarely contradicted him. As I raised my glass of scotch, I didn’t mention the council flats I grew up in on what Gideon dismissed as the lesser side of the pond, or the multiple times Dad and I had been kicked out of our dingy digs because he couldn’t pay the rent, and we’d ended up on the streets. My childhood had been vastly different to my wife’s, and I imagined the pleasure I’d find in watching Gideon’s eyes bulge as I described the squalor I’d lived in, and he realized my background was worlds away from the shiny and elitist version I’d led everyone to believe was the truth. I pictured myself laughing as he understood his perfect daughter had married so far beneath her, she may as well have pulled me up from the dirt like a carrot, and not the expensive organic kind.
Of course, I hadn’t told him anything. I’d taken another swig of the scotch I loathed, but otherwise kept my mouth shut. As satisfying as it would’ve been, my father-in-law knowing the truth about my background had never been part of my long-term agenda. In any case, and despite Gideon’s efforts, things were working to plan. Better than. The smug bastard was dead.
The story of small-town life is front and center in this romantic tale by Lori Foster. Yardley Belanger is living with her aunt and mother, both of whom have a tendency to criticize her constantly. She is running the family business of wedding planning as well as helping out anyone in the community who needs it. Meanwhile, her own dreams are put on hold, to the point that she dares not dream a future for herself. In planning a wedding for his sister, Yardley meets Travis, a hunky contractor who is attracted to her and vice versa. The story of their romance is one for the ages, with a few bumps but mostly a lot of humor. Yardley’s way of speaking is so realistic that I could just hear her rambling on from topic to topic at a high rate of speed. I think her conversations were my favorite part of the book. I liked getting to know all of the characters of the small town of Cemetery, especially Betty, a disagreeable older woman who wants everything to stay the same. The characters were well-developed and each was given a different and intriguing personality. Mimi, Yardley’s best friend and protector, was charming and witty as she dealt with being a new mom and trying to encourage romance in her life. The plot rolled along at a good pace, perfect for the story and engaging to read. Fans of light romance will enjoy this stroll down the path of romance and will particularly enjoy getting to know the residents of Cemetery. Disclaimer Disclosure of Material Connection: I received a complimentary copy of this book from the publisher via Netgalley. I was not required to write a positive review. All opinions expressed are my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255, “Guidelines Concerning the Use of Testimonials and Endorsements in Advertising.”
Rated PG-13 because of sexual references and innuendo. Also, an unmarried couple is living together in this book.Lori Foster is a New York Times, USA Today, and Publishers Weekly bestselling author with over 10 million books sold. She received the Career Achievement Award from RT Book Reviews and her books have been chosen as editors picks by Amazon multiple times. Foster is actively involved in charity work, and all of the author proceeds from her anthologies have gone to various organizations, such as the Animal Adoption Foundation, the Conductive Learning Center, and One Way Farm. She lives in Ohio with her high school sweetheart. SOCIAL LINKS: Author Website Twitter: @LoriLFoster Facebook: Lori Foster Instagram: @lorilfoster Goodreads
Chapter 1, Excerpt
“Mother, didn’t you plan to go out?” It was nearing noon, and Aurora Belanger had yet to leave. Lilith, her mother’s sister, also lingered in the foyer right outside her office. It was as if they knew she had an appointment and they wanted to oversee the process. It was a fact that no matter how she succeeded, they expected her to fail, or sometimes they just disapproved of how she succeeded.
“Why the rush?” Aurora asked as she adjusted the V-neck of her sleeveless blouse to show more cleavage.
Granted, for an almost-fifty-year-old woman, her mother still had it. The problem was that she knew it, and she focused on looking sexy more than she did on making the business work. Yardley forced her mouth into a smile. “I thought you had some local honeymoon locations to scope out today.”
“I don’t scope out locations. And stop slouching.”
Automatically, Yardley straightened, but damn it, she hadn’t been slouching anyway. “So, what would you call it?”
“I visit, investigate, and collect valuable information that will enhance our clients’ experiences.” She shot Yardley a superior look. “It’s a key part of the business, you know. Certainly, the locations I suggest are more appropriate than that rustic Honeymoon Cottage you always recommend.”
“The cottage is amazing and you know it.”
Aurora sniffed. “Most people are more interested in their honeymoon than the actual wedding.”
Meaning her mother’s contributions were more valuable than Yardley’s efforts? Baloney. She knew one thing though: Aurora’s choices were certainly more expensive. Folding her arms, Yardley said, “Huh. I guess a lot of happy clients didn’t realize that, because more than half choose the cottage, so—”
“Because it’s so disgustingly cheap,” Aurora insisted.
“Affordable,” Yardley countered, but why she bothered, she didn’t know. They’d disagreed on the point too many times to count.
“I need to leave soon for the café,” Aunt Lilith interrupted. She was four years Aurora’s senior, and though they shared similar features, she was more concerned with flaunting her intellect than her sex appeal. At least the niche, tea-parlor-type café Lilith owned turned a small profit, even though they’d transitioned from meeting prospective clients there to having them at the home office instead.
Lilith focused on Yardley with nerve-rattling acuity. “Whatever are you up to, Yardley? Do you have an appointment, hmm?”
“Yes, I do, and I need to prep for it. So… I’ll see you both later.” She took a step back. Then another. Neither of them budged. Damn.
Lilith gave her a longer look. “Don’t you have something more appropriate to wear?”
Looking down at her summer dress, Yardley frowned in consternation. It was one of her favorites. She adored the way the soft, flowing material gently draped her body. The skirt ended mid-calf, and it had just enough adornment to make it professional while still being comfortable. Plus Mimi had told her that the pretty blue floral pattern matched her eyes. “I love this dress.”
“It doesn’t scream professionalism,” said her aunt.
“I’m not sure I want my clothes to scream.”
Ignoring that, her aunt said, “Yellow would be better for you, to offset your dark hair. Perhaps a business suit.”
A yellow business suit? She’d look like a block of butter.
“Nonsense,” said her mother. “Just the opposite is true. It wouldn’t kill you to wear something a little less matronly.”
“My dress isn’t matronly.” Was it? No, no, it was comfortable, damn it.
“You have breasts. Even though they’re small, you should showcase them.”
Yardley started to sweat. “Look, both of you—”
Aunt Lilith cut in. “Only you, Aurora, would think she needed to be sexy to sell a wedding. If you’d furthered your education, as I did, instead of getting pregnant so young—”
“That wasn’t my fault,” Aurora gasped in affront—as she always did when this debate got started.
“Well, it certainly wasn’t mine.” Lilith scoffed. “I didn’t have unprotected sex.”
“Likely because you, dear sister, have never experienced real passion.”
Lilith’s face went red. “No one said passion must equal an unwanted baby—no offense, Yardley.”
Yardley obligingly replied, “None taken.” This whole argument was so old, she knew the lines by heart. There was always some variant of the same thing. Over and over again.
It infuriated Mimi. If her friend was here now, she’d be blasting them both.
“I did the responsible thing,” Aurora specified with flair. “I raised my daughter. You’d probably have given her up.”
“How dare you?” Lilith pointed one manicured finger Yardley’s way. “I love Yardley.”
“Now you do. But while I was carrying her?”
“I was attempting to be the reasonable one.”
“You didn’t want her around, but now you try to claim her as your own.”
“At least I don’t advise her to show off her breasts!”
Yardley lifted her phone to look at the time…and then she heard two things. A man clearing his throat, and a young woman giggling.
OMG. Awash with humiliation, she turned to face her clients…and holy crapola. Pretty sure her ovaries just danced.
Travis Long was a feast for the peepers. She knew because her eyes were gobbling him up from head to toe.
He wasn’t the intended, thank God, just the brother. Is he married?
Good Lord, why did she care? But she answered herself real quick as she took him in feature by feature. Sandy-blond hair, steaked by the sun.
Dark brown eyes, fringed by ridiculous—like, really ridiculous—long, thick lashes.
Broad muscled shoulders.
Lean torso.
Long, strong legs.
Of course he had to be married. He’d probably had a dozen proposals by now. Some lucky woman would have snatched him up already.
Unless… Remembering her initial phone conversation, she thought maybe he was too aloof. Too unfriendly. A discerning woman wouldn’t be reeled in by mere good looks. Somehow she didn’t feel all that discerning right now.
Whatever this man does for a living, it works in his favor.
The young woman laughed aloud this time. “Don’t worry, Ms. Belanger. He has that effect on everyone.” She nodded at Aurora and Lilith, and Yardley realized they were both gawking, too.
Appalled, Yardley loudly cleared her throat—and accomplished nothing. Her mother and aunt continued to stare.
“I’ve told him he could have made more money as a model,” the young woman said, “but no, my brother went into construction instead.”
Attempting to ignore the heat in her face, Yardley stepped forward, hand extended—toward the woman. Who would be her client. She was the one who mattered. “Hello. You must be Ms. Long.”
“Soon to be Mrs. Borden, with your help.”
“Oh, I do hope so. That I get to help, I mean. Not that you become Mrs. Borden. I’m sure that’s a foregone conclusion or you wouldn’t be here.” Shut up, Yardley. “Please, just call me Yardley.”
“If you’ll call me Sheena.”
Beside her, Travis shifted but said nothing. Compared to him, his sister looked extra petite. Her hair, lighter blond than Travis’s, hung just past her shoulders. They shared the same striking dark eyes and sinful lashes.
Sheena appeared to be just out of her teens. Maybe twenty or twenty-one. Young, excited, and brimming with optimism. Total opposite of her silent, possibly brooding, brother.
What could she say with her aunt and mother still eyeballing him as if they’d never seen such a fine specimen before? Honestly, in Cemetery, they probably hadn’t. “I’m thrilled for the opportunity to help plan your wedding.” Reluctantly, because she wasn’t yet prepared to gaze on him again, Yardley turned to Travis. It took her a second to get her lungs to work, and then she gasped, “I take it you’re Travis Long, the Victorian home enthusiast?”
“I am.” He briefly clasped her hand.
Very perfunctory. Not at all personal. Purely business.
But he had magic hands or something because she felt that touch radiate everywhere. With her tingling palm, she lamely gestured to the gawking duo. “My mother, Aurora Belanger, and my aunt, Lilith Belanger.”
Sheena greeted them with a little less warmth than she’d shown Yardley.
Travis merely gave them a nod, then said to Yardley, “I’m relieved to see you’ve kept the house true to the period.”
Oh goody, a safe subject, and one she was comfortable with. She could talk about the house and stare at him. “I’ve tried. Remodeling it has been a pleasure, but a slow process.” She wrinkled her nose. “Matching all that trim, finding the right valance windows, the iron railings—”
“And the slate roof. That impressed me.”
Oh, hey. She’d impressed him. Score one for her. “Most recently the kitchen got a facelift. I hope I did it justice.”
Sheena glanced around. “It’s beautiful. Can we do a tour of it later? I know it’d make this whole trip worthwhile for Travis.”
She shot a warning look at her mother and aunt. “Absolutely. I’ll show you everything.” What? “I mean, every part of the house. All the rooms. And stuff.” If only her mouth had a spigot she could turn off. “Even the upstairs rooms have been remodeled.” Had her mother and aunt left when they were supposed to, she’d have tidied their rooms for them. Now she couldn’t, meaning they were probably messy disasters.
Oh, how sweet it was to have a little payback against them. They were fanatics when it came to designing their rooms, but not so big on keeping them decluttered. Yardley knew exactly how they’d react—and they didn’t disappoint her.
“Excuse me,” Lilith said, exiting in a dignified, unhurried stride…until she was out of sight. Then they all heard the rushed clomping of her short heels on wood treads as she raced up the stairs.
Aurora managed a wan smile. “Yes, I should go as well. Good luck, dear. Oh, not that my daughter needs luck, of course. She’s quite the talented wedding planner. Very popular here and in the neighboring towns. Why, her vintage weddings are heavily trending, or so she tells me. Personally, I prefer something a little more chic, which of course she offers.”
“Mother,” Yardley said, feeling her cheeks burn. “You don’t want to be late.”
“Oh, no. No, I don’t.” Aurora barely lowered her voice when she said in an aside, “Don’t slouch.” Then she turned and sashayed away, making a little less noise on the stairs than Lilith had. Unfortunately, they could hear them rushing around in their rooms, probably tucking away bras and shoes, clearing clutter from their desks, and hopefully tidying their beds.
It was the one thing she had in common with them: they each loved to show off the house. Since Aurora and Lilith had personally helped with the decor choices for their rooms, they were especially proud of them and loved to show them off.
Yardley pinned on her most professional smile. “We finished the upstairs as a divided living area, so both my aunt and my mother have their own private suites with bedrooms, bathrooms, and seating areas. My mother chose the side with the balcony, and Aunt Lilith has that romantic turret.”
“You live here, too?” Sheena asked.
“Yes, my bedroom is off to the right of the foyer, and the kitchen is to the left.” She gestured down the hall. “Only the dining room is used as my office. If you’d like to come this way, we can all get comfortable while you share your wedding ideas. Once I have a grasp of what you’re thinking, I can show you my portfolio and we can go over the budget.”
This is the third book in the Texas Murder Files series and is just as good as the gorgeous cover presents. It can be read as a standalone, but I did read the other two books and really enjoy the series. In this latest romance thriller, Macey Burns comes to Lost Beach to film a tourism commercial and gets caught up in a murder investigation. There she meets Detective Owen Breda, a quiet man with a lot of responsibility to catch a killer who seems to be escalating. The book begins with the description of a murder scene and the action ramps up from there and goes full steam ahead all the way to the end. As Owen investigates and Macey films, a killer is walking among them and they both know it but cannot seem to figure out who it is. There are red herrings, which I love, and plenty of twists in the story. The love affair that begins between Macey and Owen begins slowly and builds as each discovers a need for each other. All of the characters are well fleshed out but especially Macey and Owen. Some of the other characters were more fully developed in the other books and are a welcome addition to this one. I enjoyed the relationships, both professional and personal between the police officers at Lost Beach. They are dedicated to the pursuit of justice and don’t mind losing sleep to find it. I liked that Macey had a less than stellar past and that she is not afraid to admit it and move on. Mostly, I enjoyed the cat and mouse game that the police engaged in with the murderer. With missing cars, assaults on innocent bystanders and lots of action in every chapter, this book kept me reading until reached the ending, with a sigh of satisfaction and a desire to go back to Lost Beach for the next adventure there. Disclaimer Disclosure of Material Connection: I received a complimentary copy of this book from the author. I was not required to write a positive review. The opinions expressed are my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255, “Guidelines Concerning the Use of Testimonials and Endorsements in Advertising.”
Rated PG-13: violence, sex (not graphic descriptions though)Information and photos from the author’s website at http://www.lauragriffin.com
MIDNIGHT DUNES releases tomorrow, but you can pre-order today. Purchase Links:
This book gets my nomination for book of the year, hands down. It is he breathtaking and awe-inspiring story of a young woman named Mel Ellis who suffers from an eating disorder and a lack of self worth that is slowly killing her. With nothing to lose and everything to gain, she decides to take a pilgrimage on foot from Grand Rapids, Michigan to Mount Ranier in Washington state. The people she meets along the way are both memorable and inspirational. They don’t only insist on feeding her physically, but they also feed her hungry soul. What she is searching for is not found in a protein bar or fewer pounds on the scale, but it is found within herself if she can only survive to discover that truth. This book is a testament to the God who created each of us and who loves each of us as though there is only one of us. Mel realizes that she is damaged goods and throughout the book she has to come to terms with the fact that she can never do enough or be enough to be accepted. She just has to accept that she is. Her pilgrimage is a story that needed to be told and is told in a sweeping saga, complete with beautiful imagery of all that she sees and experiences. My favorite characters besides Mel are Chrystal and David, a sister and her young brother, who offer Mel shelter, first aid and a family that accepts her just as she is. I loved this book and all of its beautiful descriptive passages, but mostly I enjoyed the heartfelt message of hope that it gives. Disclaimer Disclosure of Material Connection: I received a complimentary copy of this book from Revell via Netgalley. I was not required to write a positive review. The opinions expressed are my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255, “Guides Concerning the Use of Testimonials and Endorsements in Advertising.”
This is the author’s debut novel and it’s a wow read! This book deals with the sensitive topic of anorexia so may not be for all readers. It is Christian fiction and there are no objectionable scenes or expletives. Rated G.For information about this amazing new author, go to her website at https://autumnlytle.com
This book is available now and I cannot recommend it highly enough. Purchase Links:
I cannot thank Revell enough for introducing me to this debut author! If this book is an example of her stories, then I can’t wait to read more from her!
Vickie's Book Nook and Meditation Corner 