Excerpt and Giveaway: Falling into Place

We are pleased to share an excerpt from Allison Ashley's latest novel, Falling into Place! The premise sounds really interesting and we know the excerpt is going to make you want to read the whole book. Thanks to BookSparks, we have one copy to share with a lucky reader!

Synopsis:

Accountant and freelance personal stylist Carly Porter, daughter of a compulsive gambler, knows the personal cost of a bad bet. But when she partners with her best friend, Sasha—publisher of a floundering fashion magazine—Carly can’t resist. The highly publicized makeover of an Oklahoma City bachelor could boost sales and be Carly’s ticket to her dream profession. The bachelor in question is none other than Sasha’s older brother, Brooks.

Hardly the party boy Carly remembers from high school, Brooks is now an antisocial, work-obsessed physician still struggling with a devastating loss. But if it means helping his sister, he’s in. It’s Carly’s job to get him out of those lived-in scrubs, style him to the nines, and bring Brooks back to life. But so far, the only real connection is between Brooks and Carly—and falling for a client could cost Carly the career she’s worked so hard for.

To move forward, they’ll both have to overcome their painful pasts. And whatever the risk, maybe even take a chance on love. (Courtesy of Amazon.)

"I really enjoyed this book. It’s sweet, fun, romantic, and so very heartfelt." 
- AJ (Amazon reviewer)

"This was such a beautiful and emotional story and by that second chapter I was already smiling and laughing out loud. If you love romance that makes you happy and can also make you cry, then definitely add this one on your tbr!" 
- Jen Oddo (Amazon reviewer)

Excerpt:

Carly had never whistled at a client before, but this was Brooks. A (sort of) friend she’d known most of her life, and a man who needed a confidence boost.

“I’m just teasing,” she said. “But seriously. Can’t you see how much better that looks? The lines are so much cleaner. You’re casual but sophisticated. Sexy and easy-going. It’s the perfect combination for a first date.”

His lips parted. “I look . . . sexy?”

He glanced at himself in the mirror, white teeth pressed into his full bottom lip as he frowned. He ran one hand across his stomach and turned back to her. She tilted her face up to his, searching his eyes. She’d never ask a real client this question, but he was different. And they no longer had an audience. “Do you really not know how attractive you are?”

Gripping the back of his flushed neck, he cast his gaze once again to his reflection and back to her. “I don’t know. I feel like I’m too much of a science geek to be sexy.”

“Nerds are hot right now.” Now and always, if you asked her. Peter Parker over Spiderman anytime, anywhere.

“Really?”

“Yep.”

“I guess it’s just been so long since I considered my appearance to be something that mattered.”

“It’s not all that matters,” she agreed, still a little unbalanced at the sight of him. The man should wear green every day. “But even if it’s been a while, don’t you remember how much attention you got in high school? Every girl at our school wanted you back then, and you’ve only gotten better with age.”

His hazel eyes were steady on hers, expression unreadable. “Every girl?”

Was he asking if she’d been one of them, or was this a way to boost his ego? She’d give it to him. “Pretty much.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment, watching her, and she had the urge to fidget under his perusal. Bite her lip or step away or move closer . . . something. It was her job to help her clients find their confidence, but something about this felt different. Heavier.

“I’m not proud of the person I was then,” he finally said.

There was a lot she wanted to ask to follow up on that, but when another guy brushed past them to an open fitting room, she decided now wasn’t the time.

Brooks had turned back to the mirror, brow furrowed and posture tight. What was on his mind?

Much of his life was unknown to her, so for the most part there was nothing she could say that might make him feel better. She had no idea what demons lurked, no inkling of the kind of encouragement he needed to realize he was a man worth getting to know. But there was one thing she did know, and it was the thing she’d been hired to help with. So she’d give him one last thought and move on for now, certain she’d come back to this moment and analyze it when she got home.

She leaned forward to speak softly, privately. She was close enough to smell his clean, spicy scent and resisted a sudden, somewhat alarming urge to bury her face in his chest.

“I know I’ve given you a hard time about your style. First impressions matter, so it’s my job to bring out the best in the way you present yourself. But believe me when I say this: I’m adding a few details to the package you’re already working with, yes, but it doesn’t really matter. You don’t need it. You’re a very handsome man, and the fact you don’t seem to know it only makes you more attractive. That saleswoman was even checking you out earlier.”

“She . . . she was?”

“Yes. Believe me, when it comes to how you look, you have nothing to worry about. Nothing at all.”

He blinked a few times and slid his hands into his pockets in a move that didn’t speak of discomfort, but more like humility. Then his lips spread into a self-deprecating smile. “Time will tell if you’re right. But even if you are, looks will only get me so far.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m not good at the other stuff, either. Like . . . small talk, for example. I don’t remember the last time I went out with someone I didn’t already know inside and out, like my sister, or my brother-in-law, or my best friend James.”

“Don’t you talk to strangers all the time at work? Your patients?”

He shook his head. “Most of my patients are sedated and on ventilators. I talk to their families, sure. But that’s different. I’m in my comfort zone talking about medicine and technology and my treatment plan. I’m not asking them about the weather, or whatever.”

“The weather? Wow, is that what you consider small talk?”

He tossed his hands up in the air. “See?”

“You seem to do fine talking to me.”

“I know you, sort of. And we’re not talking about personal stuff, either.”

She considered him for a moment and the muscles flexing in his jaw as if he was clenching his teeth from stress.

“So let’s change that.”

His expression was a giant question mark.

“Let’s buy your stuff—those jeans for sure, and whatever else you like—and grab dinner. You can practice small talk with me. That way it won’t be so scary on your first date.”

His lips flattened. “I don’t think I said it scared me.”

“Your face said otherwise.”

“Okay, let’s do it.” He turned to head back to the fitting room, then paused and twisted around again. “At least tell me this: Did you just hide my old jeans, or did you throw them out?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Allison Ashley is the author of If Tomorrow Never Comes, The Roommate Pact, Would You Rather, Home Sweet Mess, and Perfect Distraction. She is a science geek who enjoys coffee, craft beer, baking, and love stories. When Allison is not working at her day job as a clinical oncology pharmacist, she pens contemporary romances, usually with a medical twist. She lives in Oklahoma with her family and beloved rescue dog.

Visit Allison online:

Website * Facebook * Instagram

How to win: Use Rafflecopter to enter the giveaway. If you have any questions, feel free to contact us. If you have trouble using Rafflecopter on our blog, enter the giveaway here. 

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Giveaway ends September 2nd at midnight EST.

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Excerpt: The French Cookery School

 

Mix together a group of mature students:

A culinary Sloane, a take-away cook and a food journalist.

Add in:

A handsome host

Season with:

A celebrity chef

Bring to the boil:

At a luxurious cookery school in France!

Waltho Williams has no idea what he’s letting himself in for when he opens the doors of La Maison du Paradis, his beautiful French home. But with dwindling funds, a cookery school seems like the ideal business plan. 

Running away from an impending divorce, super-snob Caroline Carrington hopes a luxurious cookery holiday will put her back on her feet. Blackpool fish and chip café owner Fran Cartwright thinks she’s won the lottery when her husband Sid books her on a week working alongside a celebrity chef. Meanwhile, feeling she is fading at fifty, journalist Sally Parker-Brown hopes her press week covering the cookery course will enable her to boost her career.

But will the eclectic group be a recipe for success, or will the mismatched relationships sink like a souffle? 

Whip out an apron, grab a wooden spoon and take a culinary trip to La Maison du Paradis, then sit back and enjoy The French Cookery School!

Purchase Links:

Amazon US * Amazon UK * Apple

Excerpt:

‘Life is like chocolate, savour it before it melts.’

Fran watched Caroline leave the room. With a superior air, she reached into a posh leather bag and placed enormous sunglasses on the bridge of her perfect nose before disappearing outside. As Fran ate a salmon savoury, she sat down and wondered if Caroline had eaten. Her rake-thin figure suggested it unlikely and, licking mayonnaise from her lips, Fran considered why someone so svelte would choose to spend a week at a cookery school, where guests would be encouraged to indulge each day.

Maybe she has a speedy metabolism, Fran thought. Perhaps Caroline was one of those athletic types who could eat whatever they liked and never put a pound on. She wore her clothes well on her slim body, and her gorgeous white jewelled sandals were obviously very expensive. Fran bit into a blini with cream cheese and chuckled. She only had to look at a cupcake and she went up a dress size.

‘Would you like a confection?’ Tomas appeared and held out a porcelain platter. 

Fran stared at the assortment of delicate treats. She dabbed at her mouth with a napkin, leaving a faint pink blot. ‘These look lovely,’ Fran said, ‘what have we here?’

‘These are macarons.’ Tomas smiled. ‘A type of almond meringue.’

‘Yummy,’ Fran replied and picked out a strawberry flavour. 

‘They are sandwiched together with a filling, and I am sure Chef will instruct, in a lesson, this week.’

‘Smashing.’ Fran smiled and bit into the smooth exterior. The slightly crisp texture melted on her tongue.

‘You notice the lightness and délicatesse?’ Tomas asked.

‘Oh, yes,’ Fran sighed, ‘bloody lovely.’ She spied a chocolate macaron and reached out. ‘But if I eat too many of these, you’ll have to hoist me onto the bus to go back home.’

‘Life is like chocolate, savour it before it melts.’ 

‘I like that expression.’ Fran smiled again. ‘I like these too, they are gorgeous.’

‘C’est bien, faites-vous plaisir.’

Fran had no idea what Tomas had said, but her eyes studied his luscious lips and his velvety words sounded like the purr of a satisfied cat. 

‘I could listen to you all day,’ Fran giggled. ‘Has anyone ever told you that you are handsome and have a very sexy voice?’

‘Mais, oui.’ Tomas’s grin was wicked. ‘And I cook how I look.’

Fran almost choked on her chocolate macaron. ‘Get away with you.’ She playfully slapped Tomas on his arm. 

Laughing, Tomas turned away.

Taking a sip of her cordial, Fran watched the young man glide across the room. She thought being young, naturally charming and drop-dead gorgeous would ease Tomas through life and she silently wished him well. But what would Sid think if he saw his wife of forty years going weak at the knee? At least she still had a romantic pulse, and there was nothing wrong with admiring the beauty of youth. 

‘Oh Sid,’ Fran sighed as she watched Tomas offer his plate to the twin sisters who giggled like schoolgirls as they accepted a macaron. ‘What am I doing on a cookery course like this?’

Celebrity Chef Daniel Douglas De Beers had his back to Fran and was surrounded. As she watched him meet and greet the sisters, she remembered why she’d made this trip to France. 

Her husband idolised Daniel. 

Sid considered the chef one of the most skilled on the culinary scene. He always made sure that he watched Daniel’s shows and said that the chef was “a man’s man” who liked a drink and was often seen at rugby matches and horse racing meetings. But as Fran heard Daniel charm the pants off the two sisters she thought he was very much a ladies’ man. 

Fran suddenly felt very tired; it had been such an early start. Placing her drink down, she yawned, ruminating on her husband’s plans. Her head fell forward, and closing her eyes, she began to daydream. In moments, Fran was asleep.

* * *

Caroline James always wanted to write, but instead of taking a literary route, followed a career in the hospitality industry, which included owning a pub and a beautiful country house hotel. She was also a media agent representing celebrity chefs. When she finally glued her rear to a chair and began to write, the words flowed, and several novels later, she has gained many bestseller badges for her books.

The French Cookery School is Caroline’s tenth novel. Previously, The Cruise, described as: ‘Girl power for the over sixties!’ was an Amazon Top Ten Best Seller. Caroline’s hilarious novels include The Spa Break and The Best Boomerville Hotel, depicted as ‘Britain’s answer to the Best Marigold Hotel’.

She likes to write in Venus, her holiday home on wheels and in her spare time, walks with Fred, her Westie, or swims in a local lake. Caroline is a member of the Romantic Novelists Association, the SOA, ARRA and the Society of Women’s Writers & Journalists. She is also a speaker with many amusing talks heard by a variety of audiences, including cruise ship guests.

Visit Caroline online:
Website * Facebook * Twitter * Instagram

Other Books by Caroline James:
The Cruise
The Spa Break
Hattie Goes to Hollywood
Boomerville at Ballymegille
The Best Boomerville Hotel
Coffee Tea the Gypsy & Me
Coffee Tea the Chef & Me
Coffee Tea the Caribbean & Me
Jungle Rock

Thanks to Rachel's Random Resources for sharing the excerpt with us.

Visit all the stops on Caroline's blog tour:

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Excerpt and Giveaway: A Matter of Happiness

We're pleased to share an excerpt from Tori Whitaker's sophomore novel, A Matter of Happiness, today. Melissa is excited to read this one as she enjoyed Tori's debut, Millicent Glenn's Last Wish (reviewed here). Thanks to Get Red PR, we have one copy to give away!

Melanie Barnett thinks she has it all together. With an ex-fiancé and a pending promotion at a Kentucky bourbon distillery, Melanie has figured out that love and career don’t mix. Until she makes a discovery while cleaning her Jordan MX car, a scarlet-red symbol of the Jazz Age’s independent women that she inherited from her great-great-great-aunt Violet. Its secret compartment holds Violet’s weathered journal—within it an intriguing message: Take from this story what you will, Melanie, and you can bury the rest. Melanie wonders what more there is to learn from Violet’s past.

Back in 1921 Detroit, Violet Bond is living in the fast lane during the automotive boom. But with her free-spirited friends, parties, and speakeasies, her life starts to spin out of control.

Alternating between the bourbon scene in present-day Kentucky and Prohibition-era Detroit, the story follows Melanie and her aunt–connected through Violet’s heirloom car–as their lives intersect and they both learn about love, freedom, and what it means to be a modern woman.

One thing that drew me to this book is how the historical thread is set in Detroit—effectively the Silicon Valley of its time, where people flocked to be part of the early automotive heyday. Called “a wild ride to remember” by acclaimed author Nicola Harrison, A Matter of Happiness is the perfect story for historical fiction fans to curl up with this November.

Excerpt:

Inspired by the old journal entries, I’d known exactly what to choose for tonight: a place conjuring the spirit of Violet and Robert—a place for a modern woman having fun with a man. No attachments.

Our main event would be at Hell or High Water, a contemporary speakeasy that evoked the past and that didn’t post a sign.

Brian and I now walked along the sidewalk, with me as one half of a duo. Not a couple. It was little things I often missed about Jason . . . holding hands, cooking omelets together, watching Game of Thrones. But tonight wasn’t about my job or my ex, either.

I forced my brain to focus.

“The place is right along in here,” I told Brian, examining the display windows as we went. We were on the street down a ways from Louisville’s Whiskey Row, a block-long entertainment district that included a few distilleries. . . .

. . . .It might still be daylight outside, but in here the ambiance was dimly dark as if it were midnight. Okay, the place was a tad romantic. The building was a hundred years old, and the ceiling had ancient wooden beams, an iron fence on a mezzanine, and concrete floors with oriental rugs. A crystal chandelier contrasted with metal industrial lights. But what my friends talked about was the button-tufted leather seating—and the curving red velvet couches. On a Saturday night, this place could get as crowded as Little Henry’s in 1920s Detroit. Without the smoke.

“Is this okay?” the hostess asked.

“Perfect.” I’d reserved one of the red velvet couches, which were really built-in banquettes. Each one snaked in a U-shape around a low round table.

“After you,” Brian said.

The hostess laid down menus beside the flickering white candle. The bar’s logo—HOHW, for Hell or High Water—was on the front in stylized letters with an art deco vibe.

I sank into the thick cushion, leaning against tufted crushed velvet that ran higher than my head. I’d poured myself into my Seven7 jeans, and I thought that Brian noticed. He sat close—not on-top-of-me close, and still not we’re-holding-hands-now close—but close.

“So what do you recommend?” he said, perusing the menu. He sat with one leg resting atop the other at the knee.

“You’ll see that drinks are broken into categories. One of the main categories, the Hell section, has your drinks that are stiffer.”

Stiffer? Really? A Freudian slip.

“Stronger. Cocktails,” I said, sure I was blushing. “Stronger than the High Water selections.”

He said, “I’m actually feeling the section on HOHW Standards. I’ll be ordering the old sport.”

A Gatsby reference. I flipped to the page on HOHW Standards. The old sport had a single barrel rye, cognac, orange, coriander, dry curacao, and absinthe.

“Man, that looks like one I’d love,” I said.

Tori Whitaker is the bestselling author of Millicent Glenn’s Last Wish and A Matter of Happiness. She belongs to the Bourbon Women Association and the Historical Novel Society. Her work has appeared in the Historical Novels Review and Bookmarks magazine. Tori graduated from Indiana University, is an alum of the Yale Writers’ Workshop, and is recently retired from a national law firm where she served as chief marketing officer. She spent a decade in Detroit because of her husband’s career in the automotive industry. The two now reside near their children outside Atlanta and have been married for forty-five happy years. (Bio courtesy of Amazon.)

Visit Tori online:

Website * Facebook * Twitter * Instagram

How to win: Use Rafflecopter to enter the giveaway. If you have any questions, feel free to contact us. If you have trouble using Rafflecopter on our blog, enter the giveaway here. 

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Giveaway ends November 15th at midnight EST.

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Spotlight and Giveaway: Adult Assembly Required

The books we're featuring this week for spotlight posts have the same color on their covers. Another fun coincidence! Today we are featuring Adult Assembly Required by Abbi Waxman. It sounds like a sweet story and we're there for it! Thanks to Berkley, we have one copy for a lucky reader!

New York native Laura Costello never expected that a big move to Los Angeles would find her facing homelessness. What started out one week ago as a shiny new adventure and a fresh start has turned into a nightmare: Laura’s apartment is burned to the ground and she has nowhere to live. Not to mention, she’s already running from a breakup and an overbearing family back on the East Coast, and she is hoping to leave a traumatic accident in the dust. Laura quickly learns that this whole “adulting” thing is actually pretty hard, no matter where you are.
 
But when Laura, at rock bottom (and also soaking wet), steps inside a Larchmont bookstore, she meets a gregarious, quirky bookseller who seems to want to solve all of her problems.
 
It’s not long before Laura finds herself adopted by said bookseller, installed in a lovely but completely illegal boardinghouse, and challenged to save a losing trivia team from disgrace. Add in a gorgeous housemate and her ex-boyfriend determined to put himself back in the running, and Laura’s life has gotten even more interesting overnight. Could this strange new life be everything she needs to grow?

Check out an excerpt from Adult Assembly Required.

“If you love quirky, heartfelt stories about interesting characters and starting over, then Adult Assembly Required by Abbi Waxman is definitely the book for you."

—PopSugar

“Waxman's quick-witted and pithy prose gives readers a fun take on Melrose Place, but instead of back-stabbing and bed-hopping there are trivia clubs and some old-fashioned will-they-or-won't-they?”

—USA Today

Photo by Leanna Creel 

Abbi Waxman is the USA Today bestselling author of I Was Told It Would Get Easier, The Bookish Life of Nina Hill, Other People’s Houses, and The Garden of Small Beginnings. She lives in Los Angeles, California, with her husband and three children.

Visit Abbi online:
Website * Twitter * Instagram

How to win: Use Rafflecopter to enter the giveaway. If you have any questions, feel free to contact us. If you have trouble using Rafflecopter on our blog, enter the giveaway here. 

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Giveaway ends May 31st at midnight EST.

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Spotlight and Giveaway: Scarlet Carnation

Laila Ibrahim's latest historical fiction novel, Scarlet Carnation, published last week. We are pleased to feature it today and we have a link to an excerpt, as well. Thanks to Wunderkind PR, we have one copy for a lucky reader!

In an early twentieth-century America roiling with racial injustice, class divides, and WWI, two women fight for their dreams in a galvanizing novel by the bestselling author of Golden Poppies.

May and Naomi are extended family, their grandmothers’ lives inseparably entwined on a Virginia plantation in the volatile time leading up to the Civil War. For both women, the twentieth century promises social transformation and equal opportunity.

May, a young white woman, is on the brink of achieving the independent life she’s dreamed of since childhood. Naomi, a nurse, mother, and leader of the NAACP, has fulfilled her own dearest desire: buying a home for her family. But they both are about to learn that dreams can be destroyed in an instant. May’s future is upended, and she is forced to rely once again on her mother. Meanwhile, the white-majority neighborhood into which Naomi has moved is organizing against her while her sons are away fighting for their country.

In the tumult of a changing nation, these two women―whose grandmothers survived the Civil War―support each other’s quest for liberation and dignity. Both find the strength to confront injustice and the faith to thrive on their chosen paths.

Check out an excerpt from Scarlet Carnation!

Laila Ibrahim is the bestselling author of Golden Poppies, Paper Wife, Mustard Seed, and Yellow Crocus. She spent much of her career as a preschool director, a birth doula, and a religious educator. That work, coupled with her education in developmental psychology and attachment theory, provided ample fodder for her novels.

She’s a devout Unitarian Universalist, determined to do her part to add a little more love and justice to our beautiful and painful world. She lives with her wonderful wife, Rinda, and two other families in a small cohousing community in Berkeley, California. Her young adult children are her pride and joy.

Laila is blessed to be working full-time as a novelist. When she isn’t writing, she likes to take walks with friends, do jigsaw puzzles, play games, work in the garden, travel, cook, and eat all kinds of delicious food. 

Visit Laila online:
Website * Facebook * Instagram

How to win: Use Rafflecopter to enter the giveaway. If you have any questions, feel free to contact us. If you have trouble using Rafflecopter on our blog, enter the giveaway here. 

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Giveaway ends April 18th at midnight EST.

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Spotlight: A Mother's Secret

 

A gripping, emotional book that asks the question: What does it take to be a parent?

Brand new from the bestselling author of The Last Days of Us

In one split second, Aidan Whelan’s perfect world is changed forever when his wife Rowan and three-year old daughter Milly are involved in tragic accident.

Helena O’Herlihy and her husband James have been struggling in their marriage but a knock on the door telling her that James has been involved in a car crash, has Helena rushing to his side.

When Aidan and Helena bump into each other at Dublin City Hospital, they soon begin to wonder if it’s more than just coincidence that brought them there. Why were Rowan and James in the car together on that fateful morning?

Through their pain and tears, they form a bond as they try to piece together what really did happen on the morning of the crash.

As the lies begin to unravel and secrets are uncovered, can Aidan save what’s left of his family and Helena her marriage?

Read an excerpt here.

Purchase Links:
Amazon UK * Amazon US

Caroline Finnerty is an Irish author of heart-wrenching family dramas and has published four novels and compiled a non-fiction charity anthology. She has been shortlisted for several short-story awards and lives in County Kildare with her husband and four young children. Her first title for Boldwood, The Last Days of Us, was published in June 2021.

Visit Caroline online:
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Excerpt: Welcome to Ferry Lane Market

'Delightful and witty with a heroine you'll be rooting for . . . joyful escapism' - Milly Johnson

'Spirited, adventurous and full of heart!' - Heidi Swain

Although thirty-three-year-old Kara Moon loves her hometown of Hartmouth in Cornwall, she has always wondered if she should have followed her dream of going off to study floristry. But she couldn't bring herself to abandon her emotionally delicate single father, and has worked on Ferry Lane Market's flower stall ever since leaving school.

When her good-for-nothing boyfriend cheats on her and steals her life savings, she finally dumps him and rents out her spare room as an Airbnb. Gossip flies around the town as Kara welcomes a series of foreign guests to her flat overlooking the estuary.

Then an anonymous postcard arrives, along with a plane ticket to New York. And there begins the first of three trips of a lifetime, during which she will learn important lessons about herself, her life and what she wants from it - and perhaps find love along the way.

More praise for Nicola May!

'This book will twang your funny bone & your heartstrings' - Milly Johnson

'A fun and flighty read' - Sun

'A funny and fast-paced romp - thoroughly enjoyable!' - WOMAN Magazine

'One of those books that I can't stop thinking about way after I've read it! - Kim The Bookworm

'This book is so addictive that you will literally lose 3 hours of your life, and you won't care!' - Cara's Book Boudoir

Readers love Nicola May, too!

'A FABULOUS must-read' - 5 STARS

'An excellent book of friendship - with a little wickedness!' - 5 STARS

'Good for the soul' - 5 STARS

'I loved it and devoured it in a matter of days' - 5 STARS

'A wonderful, feel-good novel with some grit thrown in' - 5 STARS

'Marvellous, beautiful and heart-warming' - 5 STARS

'Sea, sand and sex - a soppy delight' - 5 STARS

'A truly lovely book' - 5 STARS

'Fun and whimsy, plus a dog!' - 5 STARS

'Nicola May is a brilliant, relevant writer for today, exposing today's issues with tenderness, and always demonstrating a warm, human, heartfelt response' - 5 STARS

Purchase Links:
Amazon UK * Amazon US

Excerpt:

** Chapter 1 **

‘I bet even the real Sid Vicious didn’t shit in his bathwater.’ Kara Moon stared down at the noxious poo in the terrapin’s tank.

‘Ooh, I bet he did,’ her boyfriend Jago murmured whilst flattening down his dark-brown Beatles-style haircut and patting his khaki jacket pockets in turn. ‘Seen my keys, Moo Moo?’

Kara cringed inwardly at her once much-adored nick- name. Then, retrieving the keys from the orderly rack in the kitchen, she came back through the open archway into their compact living space.

A lone beam of golden sunlight made its jittery mark across the wooden floor as it seeped through the open crack of the balcony door. The sounds of mewing seagulls and creaking yacht masts in the estuary harbour rose up from below, comforting and familiar, yet they did not ease the gnawing feeling in Kara Moon’s stomach. Hoping for a different answer to the one she was expecting, she asked casually, ‘Where are you going this early, anyway?’

As Jago reached for his battered Beatles key ring, Kara caught a whiff of the Gucci aftershave she had given him for Christmas. He looked at her with a perplexed expression. ‘It’s Jobcentre day. You know I always go over to Crowsbridge on a Friday.’

‘How could I possibly forget?’ Kara said sarcastically. ‘Oh yes, maybe because it’s been eighteen months and you still haven’t come back with a job.’

‘Don’t start.’

‘It’s just, James Bond needs his flea stuff and I’m not sure if there’s enough money in the blue pot and—’

Ignoring her pitiful plea, Jago went to the open hallway, jumped down two stairs at a time, then looked back to say in a patronising tone, ‘My little Ginger Princess. You look quite pretty when you forget to tie your hair up in that stupid ponytail.’

Fighting back tears, Kara put her hand to the back of her long, messy auburn waves as her errant beau of eight years stalled again to say nastily, ‘And why aren’t you at work? Or did you stupidly forget about that too?’

Kara sighed deeply and held her palm up to him. ‘Just go, Jago. You mustn’t be late now, must you.’

She loves you, yeah, yeah, yeah. The famous Lennon- McCartney lyrics that Kara had chosen for his special key ring followed after Jago as he hurried down the stairs, jumped down the last three and went out, slamming the door.

To try and regain a modicum of inner peace, Kara stood still for a minute and stared out of the window at nothing in particular. Here she was, at thirty-three years old, living with a jobless, feckless, twenty-nine-year-old youth, with no mention or hope of plans for the future. And despite her working her butt off to support the two of them, she seemed to barely make ends meet, let alone save any money. The more cash she put aside in the blue ceramic savings pot for unseen eventualities and ‘nice things’ like holidays or week- ends away, the more excuses Jago Ellis found to dip into it. In fact, tragically, the only holiday they had ever been on together was a long weekend to Liverpool where she was dragged around every street and tourist attraction to satisfy his insatiable hunger for anything and everything relating to his precious obsession: the Beatles.

Deftly avoiding a bite from Sid Vicious, Kara swore loudly and continued to hold back the tears she had been gripping on to. Then, gagging as she pulled her pink rubber washing-up gloves up as far as they would go, she scooped up the offending smelly mess in the tiny net bought for the purpose.

It was five years ago when Jago had arrived home drunk, carrying a huge tank up the steep stairs, slopping water as he went. And five years ago when the job of looking after this poor little reptile, first seen by Kara hanging on to a rock for dear life, had become her responsibility. She lifted her head in thought. Had they been getting on then? She couldn’t remember.

Their living room with a view offered an optical illusion of space but despite the long bay window seat and door out on to the balcony, there was barely room for their table/ desk with a couple of dining chairs and a sagging, two-seater sofa. Jago had cack-handedly fixed a TV far too big for the room to the wall above the fireplace. And the glass shelf that was eventually put up for the tank to sit on was placed at such an angle that when poor Sid wanted to get out of the water and bask under his heat lamp, it took him several attempts to scrabble his way up the slope to his rock. A canvas of the iconic Abbey Road Beatles cover hung on the wall above him; it was as if the Fab Four were taunting the little terrapin with their ability to walk in a straight line.

Despite the lack of space in the two-bedroomed flat, when Kara had caught sight of the Painted Turtle’s cute little prehistoric face, she didn’t have the heart to say he had to go back to the pet shop from whence he came. And by the time she had got around to googling ‘How long do terrapins live’ and realised it could be up to thirty years, it was too late: Sid Vicious, the most aggressive reptile in Cornwall, along with James Bond, the skinny twelve-year-old black- and-white rescue moggy, with his furry white tuxedo and 007 air of nonchalance, were now very much part of their dysfunctional little Ferry Lane family.

Grimacing, she emptied the terrapin’s mess into one of the big terracotta flowerpots on the first-floor balcony. Then, taking in the fresh sea air, she looked down to see the welcome sight of her father opening the metal gates of the ferry float and Jago running across the road towards it at full pelt so as not to miss its prompt departure.

As if sensing his daughter’s sad eyes on him, Joe Moon looked up, smiled, waved, then turned his attention to beckoning the queuing cars on to the beloved car and passenger ferry service – the thriving business that had been part of the Moon family’s life for as long as Kara could remember.

Nicola May writes 'chick lit with a kick' and is the internationally bestselling author of eleven romantic comedies. All have appeared in the Kindle bestseller charts. The Corner Shop in Cockleberry Bay became the best-selling Kindle book in the UK across all genres in January 2019 and March 2020 respectively. It was also the second best-selling eBook of 2019 in the UK. Nicola's books have also been sold in many languages.

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Amy Mason Doan is a ray of sunshine...plus a book giveaway

We're pleased to have Amy Mason Doan back at CLC today to celebrate the publication of her latest novel, Lady Sunshine. Melissa enjoyed Lady Sunshine and reviewed it on Goodreads earlier this year. She's here to tell us how she became a songwriter while working on this novel and she has one signed copy for a lucky reader!

Amy Mason Doan is the bestselling author of LADY SUNSHINE, THE SUMMER LIST and SUMMER HOURS (Graydon House).  All are emotional, layered stories about secrets, lifelong friendship, and the inescapable tug of the past. “Doan’s characters leap off the page,” says Publishers Weekly. Library Journal says they're "sure to please fans of Kristin Hannah and Elin Hilderbrand."

Amy grew up in Danville, California and now lives in Portland, Oregon with her husband and daughter. Amy has an M.A. in Journalism from Stanford University and a B.A. in English from U.C. Berkeley.

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Sign up for Amy's free virtual party taking place on Wednesday, June 30th at 8:30 pm EST.

Synopsis:
For Jackie Pierce, everything changed the summer of 1979, when she spent three months of infinite freedom at her bohemian uncle’s sprawling estate on the California coast. As musicians, artists, and free spirits gathered at The Sandcastle for the season in pursuit of inspiration and communal living, Jackie and her cousin Willa fell into a fast friendship, testing their limits along the rocky beach and in the wild woods... until the summer abruptly ended in tragedy, and Willa silently slipped away into the night.

Twenty years later, Jackie unexpectedly inherits The Sandcastle and returns to the iconic estate for a short visit to ready it for sale. But she reluctantly extends her stay when she learns that, before her death, her estranged aunt had promised an up-and-coming producer he could record a tribute album to her late uncle at the property’s studio. As her musical guests bring the place to life again with their sun-drenched beach days and late-night bonfires, Jackie begins to notice startling parallels to that summer long ago. And when a piece of the past resurfaces and sparks new questions about Willa’s disappearance, Jackie must discover if the dark secret she’s kept ever since is even the truth at all. (Courtesy of Amazon.)

“Amy Mason Doan creates a whole world and mood with her exquisitely crafted novel, LADY SUNSHINE. It’s replete with late-70s nostalgia and Doan masterfully renders the lives of musicians and those who are drawn to them, no matter the price. A delicious daydream of a book.”
—Elin Hilderbrand, New York Times bestselling author of 28 Summers

“An engrossing tale of secrets, memory, music, and the people and places you can never outrun. A fantastic summer read.”
—Laura Dave, New York Times bestselling author of The Last Thing He Told Me

“This book is gorgeous. A gold-drenched, nostalgic dream with a fierce female friendship at its heart.”
—Marisa de los Santos, New York Times bestselling author of I'll Be Your Blue Sky

Three Things I Learned from Becoming a Closet Songwriter
(plus an exclusive excerpt from my new novel LADY SUNSHINE)

By Amy Mason Doan

It’s after one a.m., and there are footsteps on the kitchen floor above me. I freeze. I’m in the basement, writing by the amber light of a child’s fairy-tree lamp. 

I shut my notebook, slide it under a sofa cushion, and wait. I know those light footsteps; it’s my teen daughter. One floor up, she opens the refrigerator door, closes it. Rummages in the pantry, walks to the staircase, back up to her bedroom. Only then do I reach for the notebook again.

Why am I so secretive? I’m an author; odd hours are part of my lifestyle. If my family saw me scribbling away in a notebook in the middle of the night, they wouldn’t be surprised. They couldn’t be more supportive of my writing. 

But this is a special notebook. It’s not my good-luck novel drafting one, with its tattered cardboard cover made from an old VHS case for the movie “Prelude to a Kiss,” which I use for new story ideas. Not the graph-paper notebook in which I draw the fictional lakes and houses and towns in my novels. This is a dollar-store school comp book with daisies on the cover. And it doesn’t hold prose or character sketches or maps—it hides song lyrics.  

I have scant musical training – a little junior-high choir, clarinet lessons I abandoned in 5th grade because my teacher shook his head and scolded me about my poor “hand-span” (and because I could never get the hang of spitting on my reeds).  But two years ago, drafting my latest novel, LADY SUNSHINE, I became a closet songwriter. 

LADY SUNSHINE is about a woman named Jackie who inherits a sprawling seaside property from relatives she hasn’t seen in two decades. She’d spent one glorious teenage summer there 20 years before, in 1979, when “The Sandcastle” was a gathering spot for musicians, artists, and free spirits of all kinds. But she’d left abruptly under mysterious circumstances. I can’t say much more without spoilers, but some of the clues about what happened to her in 1979, and the reason she’s summoned back 20 years later, are hidden inside song lyrics. 

So my new pastime started as novel research...with a dash of procrastination.

One day in 2019 I found myself humming a fictional song that a character sings early in the book. Only the title (“Catch the World”) is mentioned in that scene, but I felt compelled to write out the whole song and set it to music. I had to know the song existed, even if no one ever heard it but me. That first tune was nothing fancy – just a chorus and refrain, simple rhymes, the most basic chord progressions—but the act of making it feel more real was liberating. 

I was struggling a little with LADY SUNSHINE’s plot at that point, and questioning my instincts as a writer. I had two successful novels under my belt, but it felt good to let go and write something that no one would ever see. 

Several songwriters in LADY SUNSHINE hide their work, so, without planning to, I did the same. My “songwriting research,” as I called it to myself, became my little secret. During the day, I hid my daisy notebook under the seat cushions of our sagging basement sofa. I often wrote inside it when I couldn’t sleep, giving my “research songs” a hazy, dream-like quality that I liked. After I finished each one, I’d sing it into my phone in the dark, when I was too sleepy to judge or second-guess.

Maybe that’s why in the novel, when Jackie first hears another of the songs, she initially thinks she’s dreaming:

“The next morning, as I’m unlocking my rental car, I hear the song again.

I squeeze the key chain. It’s real. It’s no radio, no dream. Someone’s strumming the same fragment of melody I heard last night. So beautiful—and so familiar…A tiptoeing start in the key of G, the abrupt shift from major to minor a full two minutes in, later than you’d expect.

‘Hey,’ I say. It comes out barely above a whisper.

The sound gets richer, more intricate. Mesmerizing, fast as sudden raindrops against the window…”

My songs are not as intricate or mesmerizing as the one Jackie hears in this scene. That’s not false modesty; it’s true. Their structures are repetitive and, too often, nursery-rhymish. But writing my “research songs” made me a better novelist, and taught me more than I’d have ever imagined when I first began dashing out lines in my cheap daisy notebook:

It’s never too late and we’re never too old.  I didn’t try my hand at my first novel, THE SUMMER LIST, until after I turned 40. But I still have to remind myself, constantly, that it’s never too late to pursue a new passion. The excitement of songwriting was one visceral, late-night reminder of that fact. 
Joy matters most. What I told myself was “procrastination” or “excessive research” helped me rediscover the joy that had been missing from my work. By taking a step back from my too-punishing (and self-imposed) drafting schedule, I rediscovered the heart of my story, got to know my characters without forcing the relationship, and made working on the new novel fun again. It wasn’t fun every day—writing a novel will always be grueling at times. But carving out some secret time away from my “official” writing schedule reminded me how excited I’d felt when I first began writing fiction. I’d kept that practice a secret for months, too…and didn’t tell anyone about it until I felt ready. 

The magic happens deep down. I thank Judy Collins for this one. To learn how to structure a song, and because they’re mentioned frequently by one folk-loving character in the novel, I read up on some of my favorite 60s and 70s singer-songwriters—Joni Mitchell, Judy Collins, Joan Armatrading, Joan Baez. There’s an unapologetic earnestness to their music that has always appealed to me. My novels tend to have that same heart-forward quality, but in my more down moments, I’ve wondered if my preference for emotional, nostalgic stories was too dated. 

Here’s what Judy Collins said: “I don’t think you get to good writing unless you expose yourself and your feelings. Deep songs don’t come from the surface; they come from the deep down.” The same is true of deep novels, and I no longer apologize for the heart in mine.

In total, I wrote 13 songs. A baker’s dozen. Will I ever share them with anyone? I’m not sure. I didn’t know that I was even ready to admit they existed until a few weeks ago, when an interviewer asked me how I’d come up with the fictional song titles mentioned in the book and the truth popped out. 

“Actually, they’re not just titles,” I said, surprising myself. “I wrote them.” 

“So they’re real?” she asked.

I hesitated a second, then said, “Yes. They’re real.”

Thanks to Amy for visiting us and for sharing her book with our readers.

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Excerpt: Blue Hawaiian

The first rule of serving as the maid of honor at your perfect sister’s destination wedding? 

No mistakes. The second rule? No drama.

For Jess Chavez, a week in Maui is hardly a dream vacation—not when her sister expects her to be the perfect maid of honor. Not only does Jess have to fake perfection, but she can’t let anyone know she’s unemployed and barely scraping by. Above all, she needs to steer clear of Connor Blackwood, the sexy groomsman who broke her heart five years ago.

A family wedding offers Connor the ideal opportunity to convince everyone he’s no longer an irresponsible playboy. If they see he’s changed, they might support his decision to leave the family winery and strike out on his own. With so much at stake, the last thing he needs is an alluring distraction like Jess.

When Jess and Connor end up together, exploring the island’s lush, tropical beauty, the sparks between them become impossible to ignore. Throwing caution to the wind, they decide to make their own rules.

Five days of passion. No strings. No tears. No promises.

What could possibly go wrong?

Purchase Links:
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Excerpt:

Former lovers Jess and Connor are spending a week in Maui, attending a family wedding between Jess’s sister, Gabi, and Connor’s cousin, Marc. On their first day at the resort, they join the wedding party for a group outing to the beach to go snorkeling. Though Jess still resents Connor for the way he ghosted her after their breakup, she finds him hard to resist. 

Jess had no idea how long she’d been immersed in her own undersea paradise, but when she stood up to clean out her mask, Connor was standing next to her. His nearness made her self-conscious, especially since she was wearing the world’s smallest bikini. 

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“Just wanted a little quiet. Did you get your luggage yet?” 

“Hardly. I’ll be lucky if it arrives before the wedding.” 

His gaze was bold, traveling over every inch of her body. “Then where’d you get the bikini?”

Pushing past the urge to duck back into the water, she placed her hands on her hips, putting her barely covered curves on full display. If Connor wanted an eyeful, she’d give him one. “It was a gift from Gabi. Do you like it?”

His approval shouldn’t matter. But she was gratified when he gave her a wicked smile that made her toes curl. “Definitely. Gabi has excellent taste.” He took a few steps closer. “Just a warning. You might want to keep an eye out for sharks. Maui’s known for them.”

Ice water shot through her veins. “Sharks? Gabi didn’t mention sharks.” She scanned the horizon. “Shouldn’t there be signs up?” She was about to wade back to the beach, but Connor caught her arm. The sensation sent tingles through her.

“Kidding. I wanted to see if you were still scared of them.”

She smacked him in the chest. “You bastard. If I’m afraid of sharks, it’s because you forced me to watch Jaws.” She lifted her hand to smack him again, but he grabbed her wrist and held it tight. She stumbled, and he steadied her with his other hand. They were inches apart, and she was more aware of his physical presence than ever. She swallowed, torn between enjoying his touch and putting some distance between them.

“Jaws is a classic,” he said. “Every movie buff needs to watch it at least once.”

“But you told me sharks had been sighted at Big Bear Lake. It was beyond cruel.”

He chuckled. “It was a freshwater lake in the mountains. Zero chance of a shark attack.”

She’d forgotten how much she loved his laugh. Or how much she enjoyed teasing him. “At least I didn’t freak out and claim a rogue grizzly was rooting through our garbage like you did that summer.”

“Hey, it was pitch-dark outside. And it sounded like a bear.”

She gave him a huge eyeroll. “It was a raccoon, you big dork. You had bears on the brain after we watched The Revenant. Worst movie choice ever.”

“I had to put it on my bucket list. Leo won an Oscar for that movie.”

The sparks between them made Jess’s pulse race. She licked her lips, tasting salt water, only to find Connor staring at her unashamedly, as if he wanted to claim those lips for himself. She forced herself to pull away and take a few steps back before she did something stupid, like kiss him. 

Carla Luna writes contemporary romance with a dollop of humor and a pinch of spice. A former archaeologist, she still dreams of traveling to far-off places and channels that wanderlust into the settings of her stories. When she’s not writing, she works in a spice emporium where she gets paid to discuss food and share her favorite recipes. Her passions include Broadway musicals, baking, whimsical office supplies, and pop culture podcasts. Though she has roots in Los Angeles and Victoria, B.C., she currently resides in Wisconsin with her family and her spoiled Siberian cat.

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Excerpt: Seven and a Half Minutes

Before Roxy found herself “Single in Buenos Aires,” she was a single girl in London in search of true love. The third installment of The Polo Diaries series takes us back to that time, and we follow Roxy as she hires a love coach to help her navigate the dating scene. But the love coach comes up with an unexpected assignment: reconnect to a long-forgotten passion. For Roxy this means horses. Within weeks, she finds herself playing polo, thanks to a series of unforeseen events.

Torn between her desire to become the best polo player she can be and the dream of falling in love, Roxy steps fully into the exciting and demanding world of polo, where injury and recovery mix with hard training, and where celebrating the victory of a tournament comes at a high price. Will Roxy eventually become the polo player she dreams to be? And with polo being such a demanding sport, can there be any space left for love?

Seven and a Half Minutes – Extract 

Polo player Roxy turns to yoga in an attempt to get in touch with her feminine essence but does not anticipate what this would mean for her polo game…

While the week before I had been told off for dangerous riding and being too aggressive after smashing my dearest friend into the boards while fighting for the ball, this week... well, this week it’s a slightly different game.

I start by attempting to ride off someone. And that someone or something, either the guy I’m riding off, or his horse’s head, or his mallet, something knocks off my helmet, and I continue riding, blissfully unaware, until they stop the game and pick up my helmet from the muddy arena. I have three guys fastening it securely onto my head to make sure it won’t come off again, which says something about their confidence in my ability to fasten it myself. Then, a bit frightened by this initial ride-off, I try to be more gentle, until my coach starts shouting at me in an irritated voice:
“Roxy, what the hell are you doing? When I ride someone off it doesn’t look like I’m kissing him!”
I don’t have time to wonder what that was supposed to mean before I get shouted at again.

Apparently I’m in the wrong place, or I’m carrying the stick the wrong way up (never happened before, I swear). Then, trying hard to keep the ball away from our goalpost, I manage a successful backhand shot, and I feel pleased to see the ball moving away, until I hear another shout:
“It’s called a backhand because it’s done with the back of the hand! What’s that girly move?”

I realize I’ve hit the ball in a really awkward way, which is described as “shifting a handbag under your arm,” and even though it did the job, it’s seen as a big no-no by all those present.

Then I almost score a goal by hitting the ball into our own goalpost, and I hear my coach shouting again: “Dude! The other way!”

Somehow, “dude” feels more surprising than the fact that I was about to score a goal against my own team. Dude? Does he mean me?

Some more headless-chicken running around, not quite understanding where I should be, but I have a lovely feeling of being in touch with the energy, and my body, and the sun on my skin. The woman chanting in Sanskrit would have been proud of me, really. She would have, but my coach is not, and I hear another shout: “Mate! What’s wrong with you today?”

I looked around for the “mate” but, no, it’s me again. Mate? Probably sensing my lack of response, my coach switches to my name, but his tone is still harsh: “Wake up, Roxy! We’re losing here, big time!”

Fortunately, I’m helped by a kind guy from the opposing team, who, instead of riding me off and stopping me from scoring a goal, rides gently by my side and encourages me.

“Come on, don’t play the gentleman, ride me off for God’s sake!” I shout. But no, he decides to look after me in the middle of the game, like a true gentleman would.

And the game carries on, with my coach swearing, and with me smiling at the sun, at the world, and at my horse, and feeling like I should be really gentle with him—the horse, I mean—so I don’t push him or whip him, and this means everyone else is far ahead of me. And, no, I don’t push anyone into the boards today either.

And after the game, there are no more grumpy comments from my coach, who comes to give me a hug instead. And I get smiles and kisses from all the other guys, which is rare in England, where people don’t touch, don’t kiss, and usually freak out if there’s less than a foot separating them from another human being.

I have no idea what happened to me today, but someone please help me! My polo is going down the drain, and I think the woman chanting in Sanskrit has something to do with this!

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Roxana Valea was born in Romania and lived in Italy, Switzerland, England and Argentina before settling in Spain. She has a BA in journalism and an MBA degree. She spent more than twenty years in the business world as an entrepreneur, manager and management consultant working for top companies like Apple, eBay, and Sony. She is also a Reiki Master and shamanic energy medicine practitioner.

As an author, Roxana writes books inspired by real events. Her memoir Through Dust and Dreams is a faithful account of a trip she took at the age of twenty-eight across Africa by car in the company of two strangers she met over the internet. Her following book, Personal Power: Mindfulness Techniques for the Corporate Word is a nonfiction book filled with personal anecdotes from her consulting years. The Polo Diaries series is inspired by her experiences as a female polo player--traveling to Argentina, falling in love, and surviving the highs and lows of this dangerous sport.

Roxana lives with her husband between England and Spain, and splits her time between writing, coaching and therapy work, but her first passion remains writing.

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