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EXCERPT: “Are You There Krishna? It’s Me, Reshma. Or Rachel. Or Whatever.: Essays on Talking to Ghosts, Accosting Celebrities, Getting High, Sexism, Race, and First-Generation Woes”

April 24, 2017 Leave a Comment

“Are You There Krishna? It’s Me, Reshma. Or Rachel. Or Whatever.: Essays on Talking to Ghosts, Accosting Celebrities, Getting High, Sexism, Race, and First-Generation Woes” by Rachel Khona

Blurb: Rachel knew even as a young child that she wasn’t like the rest of her Indian family. While her parents were plotting how she could make it into med school with her mediocre grades in chemistry and biology, she had other things on her mind, including such gems as:

· Why can’t she go to the temple on her period?
· Why don’t her Indian cousins like her?
· Why was it OK to be sexualized at a beauty pageant but not for herself?
· How can she straddle two cultures while retaining her sense of self?
· Why are women considered sluts and men considered studs?
· Why do people keep asking her if she was born in India?
· Should she wax down there?
· Why does she have crazy eyes?

After leaving home, Rachel got high in Amsterdam, met her pop singer idol in a bathroom, argued with a ghost, and got lost in the Pyrenees. But that didn’t stop her from questioning while men still tell her to smile. ‘Are You There Krishna? It’s Me, Reshma. Or Rachel. Or Whatever.’ weaves stories of Rachel’s life with observations on race, class, sex, feminism, and culture with humor and candor.

Excerpt

JUST A GIRL: YOGA, BINDIS, CULTURAL APPROPRIATION AND MY IDOL

My friends and I were lunching at a restaurant in Santa Monica when who comes in but Gwen Stefani and Gavin Rossdale. Not too many people knew it, but Gwen Stefani was my secret best friend. As in, I knew we were best friends, she just didn’t know it. Yet. And now we were breathing the same fucking air. I hoped once we met she would realize how much fun I was and want to be my best friend too. We would have pillow fights and bedazzle our pants together. It would be pure unadulterated magic. A match made in heaven. Gwen and Gav were sitting three tables down from us in an otherwise empty restaurant. So I pretty much had an obstructed view of Gwen and her bright red lipstick.

“You guys!” I hissed to my friends.

“What is it?” Samantha asked.

“It’s Gwen-fucking-Stefani!”

“Where is she?” Samantha asked.

“The table behind us. Don’t look now!” Samantha and Selena both swiveled around to look immediately.

“Oh, that’s cool,” Selena responded. She returned to studying the menu.

“I’m sorry am I missing something? How can you guys be so calm at a time like this?”

“Honestly, I don’t think Gwen Stefani is that big of a deal,” Samantha responded, nonchalantly flipping her hair as perused the menu.

“Oh right, she’s not the fabulous fucking Jimmy Buffet,” I muttered. For some inexplicable reason, Samantha had a complete and total infatuation with Jimmy Buffet. How anyone could enjoy the music of someone who sang songs like “Cheeseburger in Paradise” and “Fruit Cakes” is beyond me.

The first time I saw the video for “Just a Girl” my brain almost exploded. After years of listening and watching men express themselves, it never occurred to me that women were largely missing from most of rock music. Though as a girl I often felt frustrated by my parents’ draconian Indian ways, my irritation was often only expressed by rebelling against everything they thought was appropriate, i.e. men with tattoos. I never actually freely vented my frustrations; I expressed vis-à-vis men.

I love the other female rock gods like Stevie Nicks, Joan Jett, and Janis Joplin. But I could relate to Gwen. Gwen was a rocker, yet still a girlie girl. She was tough, yet vulnerable. She was a total babe, yet angry. Before Gwen, the only angry women I ever saw were considered granola, crazy, or Alanis Morissette. Nothing wrong with any of those descriptions, but why can’t a pissed off chick just be a human expressing an emotion? I loved how she could strut around in red lipstick and pin curls while fronting a band and belting out lyrics about her ex-boyfriend. Through her music, she expressed sadness, vulnerability, rage, and frustration. Our culture teaches us by and large that angry women are bitchy and ugly and attractive women are pleasant and docile. But Gwen proved that wasn’t the case.

Plus, she wore bindis and had dated a cute Indian guy. Bonus points in my book. These days Gwen’s use of bindis might be deemed cultural appropriation by some, I never saw it that way. Cultural appropriation happens when one adopts part of a culture while dismissing other parts of it, stripping it of its cultural and religious context. Gwen had seriously dated Indian-American Tony Kanal for years. Her bindi-wearing seemed to come from a place of appreciating the culture of her boyfriend and less being trendy like girls at Coachella.

Besides bindis have pretty much lost all religious significance in India. Bindis are a fashion accessory among Indian women. If I wear one, I more concerned with whether it matches my sari or salwar kameez than my third eye. Now yoga, on the other hand, has been totally and completely hijacked.

Yoga is a 5000 + year Hindu practice that is just part of a larger system of beliefs that includes adherence to nonviolence, meditation, chanting, devotional love to God, and selfless action. Yoga is not about “sweating out the toxins,” (which is a make-believe concept anyway, that’s why you have a liver folks). It’s not meant to make you a size 2, though if it does get you into shape good for you. Yoga is not just about spouting off vague quotes (“live authentically”) or realizing you managed to stay calm when your dog took a dump in your shoe. The physical part of yoga was designed to prepare the body for long hours of meditation. The ultimate goal of the practice is union with the God and liberation from the cycle of life, death, and rebirth.

In the proliferation and spread of yoga studios, yoga has become watered down, simplified, and in many cases whitewashed. People on Yelp whine about too much “chanting” or a class not being enough exercise, not understanding the true roots and meaning of this Hindu practice. Don’t get me wrong, I think it’s awesome that so many people practice yoga. But please for the love of all that is holy, stop whitewashing it. It’s a Hindu practice. It’s a religious practice. Try to get something out of it besides stronger arms.

But anywhoozle, I am seriously digressing here. The point is I love Gwen. I wanted desperately to be her. Or just be her best friend.

I had to do something. But what? I didn’t want to be one of those annoying fans that bugged someone while they were eating. I’ve got it! I would wait until they are done with their meals and they go outside. I would sneak behind them and then I would ask Gavin to take a picture of Gwen and me. That way his cooties would be on my camera too, and I could sell it on eBay.

I picked at my arugula salad while I stole glances at Gwen. What was she eating? How did her lip color stay so fresh after eating? Did she use MAC? How often does she dye her roots? What are they talking about? Did she notice me? Has she realized yet that we are secret best friends?

After what seemed like two centuries had passed, the waiter finally handed them the bill. They settled up and got ready to leave. I quickly prepared myself with my camera in hand. I got up and stealthily tiptoed behind Gwen, expecting to go outside. Except Gavin made a right towards the door and walked outside, while Gwen veered left for the bathroom.

Now what? Was I seriously going to follow her to the bathroom? Was I that girl? And who was going to take the picture? There was no one in the restaurant. Oh fuck it, I thought. I’ve come this far. I decided to bite the bullet and talk to her.

Or maybe I should bust out into song to break the ice. I could see it now. I would sing one line, and Gwen would sing the other. We would harmonize together, and the whole restaurant would get up and mosh/dance.

But then again, I’m tone deaf. Maybe I should just ask her for a photo.

“Excuse me, Gwen I’m a huge fan, can I get a picture with you?”

“Um, sure,” Gwen replied looking surprised. She didn’t look terribly thrilled, which I found rather odd. Didn’t Gwen realize we were BFFs? Well even if she didn’t know, I bought every No Doubt album, so I figured she best suck it up and take a pic with me.

“Who’s going to take the picture?” she asked. I think she secretly hoped no one would come to my rescue. I couldn’t believe she wasn’t as stoked as I was to take a picture.

“Uh…” I looked around, hoping beyond hope that someone a waiter, a busboy, or I don’t know, King Neptune would come out of the nearby Pacific Ocean and snap our pic. Right at that moment, a little eighty-five-year-old lady hobbled around the corner heading towards the bathroom.

“Excuse me! Can you please take a picture of us?” I asked her with glee.

“Oh, I’m so sorry dear I can’t because of my arthritis. You see—-”

“OK fine whatever.” The old bat.

I turned to Gwen. “I’ll just take it myself.”

“OK.” I put the camera in my right hand and held it out as far as I could and stood on my tiptoes. As I’m 5’1, and Gwen is like 5’9, the height difference was significant, even though I was wearing two-inch heels.

“Thanks Gwen!”

“Sure dude no problem.” She turned and walked into the bathroom.

Now what do I do? I wondered. I didn’t want to seem like I was solely there to get her picture. We were secret best friends, but she clearly refuses to acknowledge our relationship. Well, fuck it, I’m over it. I don’t need her. For all she knew, I was on my way to the bathroom, and I happened to bump into her with my camera. And what if I had to pee too? It’s not like I am sitting around stalking celebrities all day. I can’t believe she would think I am just there to get her stupid picture.

So I walked into the two-stall bathroom to pee too. Gwen was peeing. Omigod, I could hear Gwen Stefani peeing! I felt a warmth engulf my heart. I never thought my life would be so glamorous! So what if we weren’t best friends? I had heard Gwen Stefani piss into a porcelain bowl. My life was now complete.

*****

**GIVEAWAY**

**Click HERE for your chance to win a print copy of “Are You There Krishna? It’s Me, Reshma. Or Rachel. Or Whatever.: Essays on Talking to Ghosts, Accosting Celebrities, Getting High, Sexism, Race, and First-Generation Woes”

*****

**About Rachel Khona: Once upon a time in an exotic land called New Jersey, Rachel used to dream of one day playing tambourine in an all-girl rock band. That never happened.

Instead she became a writer. She has written for The New York Times, The Washington Post, Playboy, Penthouse, Maxim, and Cosmopolitan among others.

When she’s not writing or designing, she is busy drinking wine and singing off key, bike riding, pretending she’s friends with Mindy Kaling and Amy Poehler, eating absurd amounts of cheese, or listening to rock music at an appallingly loud volume. Sometimes all at once.

**Get your copy of her book now!: Amazon

*****

**Click HERE to see other stops on Rachel’s Chick Lit Plus Blog Tour!

Review and Excerpt of “Defining Her”

March 20, 2017 1 Comment

“Defining Her” by Samantha March

Blurb: Nellie Hawthorne is a woman who has it all. A devoted husband, her own business, a wealthy lifestyle. But the Nellie she is now is much different from her past. A past filled with abuse, addiction, and men. Nellie’s carefully constructed new life is suddenly in jeopardy when a blast from the past emerges in her small town and her overbearing mother-in-law starts pushing for grandchildren and questions start being asked. A budding new friendship presents itself at an opportune time, and a once friendless Nellie finds herself growing closer to Prue Doherty.

Prue Doherty is the quintessential good girl. Always making the right decisions, always playing it safe. Until she meets a man that could change all of that. Still reeling from a devastating breakup and betrayal that had her fleeing from Chicago and settling into suburb life with her mom close by, Prue finds herself in a damaging funk. But everything changes when she befriends Nellie Hawthorne.

Nellie is trying to escape her past. Prue wants that perfect future. While both women strive to change their lives, they continue to cling to the past. But what defines us? Who we were then . . . or who we are trying to be now? Lies, manipulation, and deceit are woven throughout the pages of this edgy women’s fiction novel, with an ending you won’t see coming.

**Grab your copy of “Defining Her” now: Amazon Barnes & Noble Kobo

My Review:

I’ve been a fan of Samantha March for a very long time, so I was very excited to receive an ARC of “Defining Her.” I read almost half of it the first night–it was that good!

Coming from a horrific background as a child and young adult, Nellie’s life is quite different now that she’s a married woman and a business professional. Having the pressure from her husband and mainly her mother-in-law about having a baby, I felt like when Nellie befriends Prue, it’s a way of a distraction. Like Nellie, Prue had a rough time as a younger woman, but not nearly as bad. In the beginning, I felt sorry for her and even liked her, but toward the end, I was a little surprised at how she handled herself. Maybe she was jealous of Nellie’s life, I don’t know, but in her case, it was easy to understand that her past caught up with her.

Over time, I thought it was interesting to see how the bond between them grows, but what I really loved was the ending, and how certain secrets are divulged. I don’t give any spoilers, but I was so happy with how everything ended and would love to see this book as part of a series.

While this book was dark in a lot of cases, the mystery of secrets between the women and their past was written beautifully. If you’re looking for a quick read over the weekend, I recommend “Defining Her.”

I give “Defining Her” 5 stars!

*****

EXCERPTS

From Chapter 1

Nellie

I pulled up the schedule and minimized it to a small square, dragging it up to the top of my screen. I loved keeping an eye on the appointments, seeing the client name turn purple upon checking in, then yellow when their room was cleaned after they were finished. Our salon had three Versa Spas and sixteen regular tanning beds, all varying in speed and power. Mondays could be a fairly busy day, as people have their high hopes for the week, their mental to-do lists of how to get it started off right. Even during summer season the tanning salon stayed busy. Heaven forbid one of the suburbanites looked less than stellar taking their children to the pool or their summer activities and camps.

I blew out a breath. I could feel my old self threatening to peek through my carefully worked on new persona. My Mrs. Hawthorne persona. I wasn’t the old Nellie. I wasn’t.

I turned back to the computer, watching the check-ins and check-outs start to happen. I scanned the schedule again. Mostly familiar names in there. One in particular stood out to me on that day. Prue.

I clicked on her profile, which opened up the client information, including their photo we scanned from their driver’s license. Yep, it was the woman I’d been observing the past . . . oh, two weeks or so. Cute blonde bob, though longer now than in her picture. Bright green eyes. Petite. I remember being the one to give her the tour when she first joined as a member. I towered over her, and I’m 5’7.

She stuck out to me because she seemed so . . . sad. Something in her piercing green eyes stuck out to me that day. I didn’t know what her story was and I knew it wasn’t my business. We all deal with our own shit in our own way. But something . . . just gave me a pause. I never really had an empathic bone in my body, and I wasn’t the girlfriend type. I tried doing that whole have chicks on my side that I can count on and have each other’s backs years ago and that didn’t pan out. Nah. It’s just me and Harrison now. And our neighbors and Harrison’s work friends and the girls at the salon, but these are all acquaintances or employees. Not friends.

Working on a graphic for the Labor Day sale distracted me from my thoughts, and I forgot about Prue and much of anything else. I worked on a color scheme that popped, a layout that was aesthetically pleasing, and squeezing in all the pertinent details to the sale. At noon on the dot, my phone gave a chime. Time to break for lunch. If I didn’t schedule my reminders, I would forget to eat all together. And yes, I cared about my body and my health and I worked out, but I did not skip meals. I was not anorexic or bulimic, thank you so much. I was healthy.

I drove to the deli and picked up a typical lunch—turkey and cheese on wheat bread, loaded with spinach, green peppers, lettuce, a few pickles, and low-fat Italian. I asked for an apple and, back in the office, grabbed a Smart Water out of my personal mini fridge. I watched YouTube videos while I ate—everything from how to perfect my winged liner to design tips to music videos. This was my time to zone out. To forget work and deadlines and schedules and invoices and just chill.

At ten to one, I started cleaning up my mess. Throwing my wrappers away. Wiping up some apple juice dribbled next to my MacBook. Clicking out of YouTube and getting back to the daily schedule. And, just like clockwork, I watched Prue’s name become highlighted. She tanned Monday and Thursday at one o’clock each day. Ten minutes a time, though she stayed in the room for nearly twenty.

I headed out to the front desk, while Kerri took off for the day. The next employee, Sasha, was scheduled at two o’clock, so during this hour, I sat out front and checked people in and out and cleaned rooms. I loved my job. My career. My business. And while no, I didn’t need the salon to help us financially, I loved having a schedule. A normalcy to a life that had rarely seen any. A purpose.

“Have a good rest of your day, Kerri. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Sure thing, Nellie. Catch you on the flip.” Kerri waved enthusiastically and headed out the door, gaudy pink Coach purse slung over her shoulder, already thumbing away on her ginormous cell phone. I made a mental note to buy my best and favorite employee a real designer purse this year as her Christmas bonus. Coach was so . . . basic.

I shook my head as I took a seat behind the reception desk. Listen to me! Coach was basic. How so much could change in so little time. If you had told me this would be my life at twenty-nine not even ten years ago, I would have laughed in your face. Or tried to rob you.

I looked up when I heard a noise and saw Prue approaching the desk, head down, car keys in hand.

“Thanks for coming in!” I said cheerily, a smile on my face.

She glanced back at me, just for a moment, but I saw the tears slipping down her face before she managed to put her sunglasses on. “Thanks,” she practically whispered, before she was gone.

I frowned, looking at the screen. I checked out her room on the computer, then proceeded back to room 8 to give it a clean. Wiping down the bed, I couldn’t stop thinking about this particular client. Why was she giving me the vibe that I should . . . help her? Offer her a shoulder to cry on or at least just someone to talk to? Maybe she was like me and never had a real friend she could count on. Maybe I could be that person for someone. Maybe making a new friend was just what I needed right now. To remind me that I had changed my life for the better, and I could still be that better person. Maybe the timing was perfect, what with my past threatening to return. This was the life I ran away to. I had to keep it together.

From Chapter 2

Prue

Once back home, I had just over an hour to get showered and changed and to the school. My mom, Jean Doherty, was the principal of Eakwood Elementary School, one of the three elementary schools in this small town. School had only been in session for two weeks but I found myself there three days a week helping out. They got unexpectedly short-staffed in several places right before the school bell rang for the first time, so I was filling in. Because I didn’t have anything else going on in my life. Right.

I was a court reporter and worked hard at my job. But it wasn’t your typical 9-5 desk job. Some days I worked in the courtroom from eight in the morning to two in the afternoon without a break. Some days I worked solely from home, transcribing notes and proofreading the depo. Not very often would you find me in the office of my employer, Swank and Marty, because it simply wasn’t needed and now it was too far to travel. Just three blocks west of Michigan Avenue, when I lived in Chicago I was there much more often, simply because I enjoyed being there and around my co-workers. That changed real quick when I learned one of my office-friends, Brandi, was sleeping with my boyfriend. That put a real damper on the office morale, especially when I learned she moved into the house with him that I cosigned my name to on the mortgage. Yeah. That stung.

After my relationship imploded, I hightailed it out of Chicago and to Oamark Park, to be closer to my mom. Since my dad died three years prior and I was their sole offspring, I often wanted to be closer to her. It was only about an hour drive from here to Chicago and I came back nearly every weekend to be by her or bring her into Chicago, but it was different being just minutes away from each other now. And being that I was at her school so much, we saw each other on nearly a daily basis. I wasn’t complaining because I loved my mom and our relationship was fantastic. I just didn’t . . . expect life to turn out this way.

It was all planned out. I had been with Deacon Moore for three years. We were in love. We met through mutual friends at a birthday party one night and had our first date just days later at Portillo’s. He was everything to me. My best friend. My biggest supporter. He gave me shoulder rubs when I was hunched over my steno machine all day and night. He brought me foot-long sandwiches when I was in the courtroom and only given a ten-minute lunch break. He eventually started working in my office, which I loved. He came home with me and charmed my mother. I thought a proposal was coming anytime. We bought a house together. It was my own version of a fairy tale.

Until it all came crashing down. Turned out the perfect Deacon wasn’t quite as perfect as I thought he was. He had been seeing Brandi on the side for nearly eight months. Eight months. We signed the mortgage papers as he was sleeping with another woman. How . . . how could someone do that to a person? And why? Why make me waste so much time and money and energy when he didn’t even want to be with me? What was the point?

Though money was never really much of a concern for me—Dad had a good life insurance policy and court reporters made a better-than-decent salary—but Deacon was still slowly draining my finances. I paid for the home inspection, the realtor fees, the upfront taxes. I paid the loan payments on the new car “we” purchased together but only Deacon still drove. Deacon and Brandi had missed three mortgage payments and the bank called me to get that paid because my name was still on the mortgage. All that nonsense has led us to court, which means . . . more money being drained out of my account. I couldn’t believe I made such a mistake. That I was so easily fooled. That I was betrayed by my lover, my best friend. Betrayed by a co-worker and someone who I was at least friendly with, if not real friends. And the fact that it totally upended my life was just the cherry on top.

I went from thinking a marriage proposal was on the way, moving into a beautiful home, bringing a new puppy into our lives to living in a small cramped apartment with my finances in jeopardy. Suing my ex-boyfriend and his new girlfriend to try to gain back some of the money that I spent paying their freaking mortgage. It just wasn’t fair.

I pulled up to the school and parked in the employee parking lot. Walking in, my thoughts were still on how my life turned so quickly. What did I do to deserve such deceit? I was the good girl, the good person. I had morals and always tried doing the right thing. Karma scared the crap out of me. I was the dependable, reliable one. How was this fair, karma? Huh? It wasn’t. It just simply wasn’t. And that infuriated me. What was the point of always making the right choices if this is what I got in the end?

*****

**About the author: Samantha March is an author, editor, publisher, blogger, and all around book lover. She runs the popular book/women’s lifestyle blog ChickLitPlus, which keeps her bookshelf stocked with the latest reads and up to date on all things beauty, fashion and fitness. In 2011 she launched her independent publishing company Marching Ink and has five published novels – Destined to Fail, The Green Ticket, A Questionable Friendship, Up To I Do and Defining Her, and one holiday novella, The Christmas Surprise. You can also find her on Youtube sharing beauty reviews and creating makeup tutorials. When she isn’t reading, writing, or vlogging, you can find her cheering for the Green Bay Packers and Chicago Cubs. Samantha lives in Iowa with her husband and Vizsla puppy.

**Contact Samantha: Instagram Youtube Twitter Snapchat Facebook Amazon Blog

**Click HERE to grab all of Samantha’s books for $0.99 now (for a limited time)!

*****

**GIVEAWAY**

**Click HERE to enter the in the Rafflecopter giveaway!

*****

**Click HERE to see more stops on Samantha’s Chick Lit Plus Blog Tours!

*****

BOOK FEATURE: “Playing House”

March 14, 2017 1 Comment

“Playing House” by Laura Chapman

Blurb:

She’s a work in progress. . .

Bailey Meredith has had it. As an assistant at a prestigious interior design firm, she’s tired of making coffee and filing invoices. She’ll do just about anything to get out from under the paperwork and into the field for real experience. Then she sees an ad for a job that seems too good to be true.

He’s a fixer upper . . .

Wilder Aldrich knew she would be perfect for the crew the moment he saw her. His hit home improvement show only hired the best, and Bailey had potential written all over her. It isn’t just her imaginative creativity and unmatched work ethic that grabs his attention. There’s just something about her.

With chemistry on screen, it’s only a matter of time before sparks fly behind the scenes as well. But with Bailey’s jaded views on romance and a big secret that could destroy Wilder and everyone he cares about are either of them willing to risk it all for love?

**Available on March 21! Available on: Amazon Apple Barnes & Noble Kobo

*****

“PLAYING HOUSE” EXCERPT

Keeping a close distance, she followed Waverly up the cracked path to the house. Bailey took quick mental notes of her surroundings. The exterior needed a lot of work. The sagging roof missing gutters made her think they’d find the inside in similar disarray. They stepped through the front door, nearly tripping over Wilder Aldrich, who was measuring the entryway.

“Hey!” He sprang to his feet and out of their way. “What did I tell you about waiting until I gave you the all clear?”

“You were taking for-frickin’-ever, and some of us were freezing our tits off.” She pursed her lips and took on a warrior stance, seemingly daring him to say something else.

Conceding victory to her, Wilder turned and flashed an apologetic grin at Bailey. “Hey.” He offered a hand. Warmth permeated through the thin material of her glove. “Welcome to Casa de Waverly.”

Giving him a smug grin, Waverly sipped her coffee and faced Bailey. “Do you have a smart phone?”

Bailey stared blankly for a second, still dazzled by seeing Wilder up close. But she quickly snapped to attention and dug her phone out of her coat pocket.

“Good,” Waverly said after inspecting it. “While you’re on the job, I’d like you to snap some photos for our social media accounts. I’ll want to vet everything before we post it, but we need to start building the buzz for the next season while we’re filming. In exchange, we’ll cover your phone payments to take care of your data usage. Understood?”

“I can do that.”

“Good. Now . . .” She pulled out her own phone. It was the latest model that had come out on the market a month ago. With all of its reported bells and whistles, it put Bailey’s poor phone to shame. “I’m going to make a quick call. I’ll be back in a few minutes, and we can get started on,” she gestured around her, “this mess.”

She spun on her heel and waltzed out of the room, cooing into the phone.

Wilder cleared his throat, and Bailey turned to give him her full attention. She estimated he was only a couple of years older than herself—maybe in his late twenties or early thirties. He looked younger in real life than he did on TV. He was leaner and a little shorter—though she still had to crane her neck a little to meet his gaze.

He was also more handsome. Not the GQ model, your tongue-sticks-to-the-top-of-your-mouth kind of sexy. But he was hot in the same way the guy you sat next to in Chemistry was. It was enough to distract you from formulas and Bunsen burners every so often, but not enough that you’d ever set the lab on fire or forget to finish your final exam.

So far, he seemed much more serious. Where was the guy who scared Waverly with a stuffed dummy in a closet in the last episode she’d watched before calling an end to the marathon?

He was, she realized, studying her every bit as closely, with those hazel eyes speckled with green. Noting that, she didn’t feel quite as rude taking mental notes on the man in front of him.

At least she looked good. She’d laid out three outfits that morning in the hotel room. The first was a long, silky turquoise tunic that she’d paired with a pair of black leggings and knee-high boots. It was similar to the clothes Waverly favored on screen—only hers weren’t name-brand knockoffs. Then she had the casual jeans, a gray T-shirt that she could dress-up with a navy blue blazer. And there was option three: dark-wash, fit jeans, a chambray shirt, and a scarf. It was an ensemble that fell somewhere in the middle. It was the one that looked the most like her when she inspected herself in the mirror.

It was the one that felt most like her now in the middle of the foyer.

She wondered what he saw when he looked at her. Did he see a confident young woman ready to tackle major projects adeptly? Or did he see someone who was desperate to create, no matter what happened? Both were correct, but which one shone through right now?

Like a light switch, that triggered something in her. She offered her hand again. “We haven’t officially met. I’m Bailey Meredith.”

*****

GUEST POST

HOW IS PLAYING HOUSE DIFFERENT FROM YOUR OTHER BOOKS AND WHAT MADE YOU WRITE IT?

Playing House marks a bit of a change for me as a writer. Though it still carries the comedy—and hopefully whimsy—of my previous books like The Marrying Type and the Queen of the League series, this story is different. It focuses primarily on the love story in line with contemporary romances. Plus it’s steamier—there’s no fading to black here. (Sorry, not sorry, Mom and Dad.)

That’s why I’m calling it a sexy romantic comedy. You’ll still find laughs and giggly situational elements, but there are also a few scenes that made me blush to write.

I didn’t add these scenes to be gratuitous by any means, or because I was trying to be edgy. I just realized—once this story came to fruition—that it called for some spice. Because sometimes when a woman cares for a man, and he feels the same admiration for her, they want to express it in a physical sense.

As a reader and writer, I was raised on great love stories told by the likes of Nora Roberts, Julie Garwood, and Judith McNaught. Not only were they some of my favorite writers, but they also became my teachers. It felt like a natural profession to shift my writing more squarely under the romance umbrella, because these stories are among my favorite. That’s not to say I won’t return to another chick lit story or sweet romance in the future. But right now, my current roster of books to-write tends to lean in this direction. It’s been a lot of fun.

As for why I felt the need to write Playing House in particular . . .

The idea for Playing House came to me the weekend after I published First & Goal, the first book in the Queen of the League series, back in September 2015. I was attending a conference in Indianapolis for my day job at a museum. My co-worker and I, by mutual agreement, kept our TV tuned into HGTV whenever we were in the room. When we weren’t in lectures or meetings, we were in front of that TV. It amounted to hours and hours of home décor, home purchasing, and so on. At a certain point, I started to wonder . . . how much of it was real? The work, the relationships, all of it—how much of it is true and in the moment, and how much is manufactured for TV?

And I let my imagination wander.

By the end of the weekend, I whispered to my co-worker that I was pretty sure I had an idea for my next stand-alone novel. So I did what I always do when I have a story idea. I obsessed about it and researched it. I ended up reading blogs and message boards to answer some of my questions about what happens when the cameras are off. I also watched way more hours of some of my favorite HGTV shows like Fixer Upper, Flip or Flop, and House Hunters. By the time National Novel Writing Month came around in November, I had the gist of my story.

Even with all of my watching and reading, the characters and situations are original in Playing House and it is a work of fiction. I did not use any of the real-life stars as inspiration, nor did I take any true stories and make them my own. The only thing I really stole was the consistent element I saw throughout every post: most of the work happens when the cameras are off and there’s always more to the whole story than what we see on TV.

I hope readers will enjoy reading about the world in Playing House as much as I did imagining and writing it.

*****

**About the author: Laura Chapman is the author of First & Goal, Going for Two, Three & Out, The Marrying Type, and Playing House. A native Nebraskan, she loves football, Netflix marathons, and her cats, Jane and Bingley. She loves talking to readers. You can connect with her on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram. You can also get the latest news from her website, blog, and monthly newsletter.

*****

**GIVEAWAY**

This month, during the Playing House blog tour, you can enter the Rafflecopter below for a chance to win one of 1 free Audible copy each of The Marrying Type, First & Goal, Going for Two or 1 $20 Amazon gift card.

**Click HERE to enter the giveaway!

COVER REVEAL: “Defining Her”

February 9, 2017 Leave a Comment

“Defining Her” by Samantha March

This novel contains adult language & situations, including disturbing scenes.

**Release Day: March 15th

**Click HERE to enter the Pre-Order Contest!

**About the author: Samantha March is an author, editor, publisher, blogger, and all around book lover. She runs the popular book/women’s lifestyle blog ChickLitPlus, which keeps her bookshelf stocked with the latest reads and up to date on all things beauty, fashion and fitness. In 2011 she launched her independent publishing company Marching Ink and has four published novels – Destined to Fail, The Green Ticket, A Questionable Friendship and Up To I Do and one holiday novella, The Christmas Surprise. You can also find her on Youtube sharing beauty reviews and creating makeup tutorials. When she isn’t reading, writing, or vlogging, you can find her cheering for the Green Bay Packers and Chicago Cubs. Samantha lives in Iowa with her husband and Vizsla puppy.

**Books by Samantha March – ALL DISCOUNTED TO 99 CENTS!:

A QUESTIONABLE FRIENDSHIP UP TO I DO DESTINED TO FAIL

THE GREEN TICKET THE CHRISTMAS SURPRISE

**Find Samantha: Instagram Youtube Twitter Snapchat: Samantha.March Facebook Amazon

BOOK FEATURE: “Choosing Happy”

September 20, 2016 1 Comment

“Choosing Happy” by Samantha Harris

Blurb:

Madison Buchanan’s life has imploded…

Her husband left her for his nineteen-year-old intern, leaving her alone and faced with starting over in her forties. With the help of her feisty best friend, Madison reinvents herself, armed with a new look and open to new possibilities.

Sean Taylor is gorgeous, fun, and young—very young…

He hasn’t had the best of luck. Sean’s track record with women is less than stellar, but when he walks into The Den one day, he just can’t help but be captivated by a dark haired beauty with the sad eyes and killer legs. She’s a little older, but he doesn’t discriminate. More than anything, he wants to be the one to make her smile.

Sean personifies the only thing that has eluded Madison all of her life—joy…

It was meant to be a fling, something fun, with no strings and zero drama, but Sean wants something more, and Madison is just not ready. She’s lived by the rules her family, her friends, even her boss have laid out for her, but her new life is not what she expected. Being with Sean opens feelings she never thought she’d experience.

The the demands of her family and her job throw her boring, simple life into chaos, and Sean is no exception

Madison is left with a choice. Give in to the expectations of the world around her—or choose to follow her heart and be happy.

But choosing happy is so much harder than it seems.

**Buy “Choosing Happy” now!: Amazon

**About the author: Samatha “Sam” Harris lives near Baltimore, Maryland with her husband David and daughter Ava. Born in Florida, she migrated north which most people agree was a little backwards. She has been an artist all of her life, a Tattoo Artist for more than ten years, and a storyteller since she was a kid.

Sam has a slightly unhealthy love for Frank Sinatra, classic movies, and Jazz and Blues music, but her first love will always be reading. From Romance, to Thrillers, to Historical Fiction and everything in between, she loves to become a part of the story. As a writer she tells the stories that she would want to read.

**Contact Samantha: Facebook Goodreads Twitter

**GIVEAWAY**

**Click HERE for your chance to win a $10 Amazon Gift Card and an eCopy of “Choosing Happy” and “Somewhere In Between”

BOOK FEATURE: “The The Devil’s Own Chloe

July 17, 2016 1 Comment

“The Devil’s Own Chloe” by Alix Nichols

Burb:

The Devil’s Own Chloe is a feel-good romance that tackles some big issues and delivers a shy-guy hero you won’t want to forget!

Young Parisian architect Chloe Germain hires childhood friend Hugo Bonnet as a builder. Lethally toxic to loved ones, Chloe keeps them at arm’s length to protect them.

Or so she thinks.

Patient and strong, Hugo prides himself on being able to fix anything. Trouble is, he’s never tried repairing a chasm in someone’s soul before.

Will his love save Chloe or will fixing her leave him broken?

FREE: July 16-18
Amazon: http://amzn.to/29R3gu

EXCERPT

It’s Saturday night, known to the mated population of Paris as Hump Night. The singles call it Hunt Night. Single women—except the confirmed bachelorettes who’ve embraced celibacy—refer to it as Manhunt Night.

I’m a dyed-in-the-wool bachelorette who engages in regular hunting and occasional fishing.

Even gathering is not beneath me.

My kind is so rare, especially among the pre-nasty-divorce crowd, that some consider us an anomaly while others refuse to believe in our existence.

But we definitely exist.

At least I, Chloe Germain, do.

For now.

What a shame humanlike robots are nowhere near industrial production yet! I envy those who’ll be born at the end of the century, when stunning PAs (Personal Androids) will make it unnecessary for people like me to be intimate with strangers.

Note to the universe: In the event you reincarnate me in female form a hundred years from now, please look at the “Dreamboat” file on my computer. I’ve spent many an evening in front of it designing my bespoke three-dimensional PA, man parts and all.

And what glorious, tip-top man parts they are!

Oh well.

Maybe I’ll turn out to be one of those lucky individuals whose libido dries up by their mid-thirties. Just another decade to go, and my weekends could be free from hunting and all the associated awkwardness.

I’d love that.

But I’m not holding out hope.

Right now, I amble down the crowded Boulevard de Sébastopol, trying to sashay my hips with surgical precision so the movement gets noticed and appreciated but doesn’t get misinterpreted. My goal is to produce a sway that conveys, “Here comes an emancipated woman looking for some fun tonight,” and not, “I’m a slut—do me.”

Problem is the vast majority of men fail to see the difference between the two.

As is often the case, I give up the runway walk after a few minutes, blaming my uncooperative hips. Instead, I undo another button on my shirt and clutch my purse with my pepper spray a little tighter.

I haven’t needed the spray yet, but you never know.

As I approach Café Lolo, I spot a man smoking a cigarette at a table on the sidewalk terrace. He’s by himself, and his dispassionate demeanor tells me he isn’t expecting anyone. I halt just a couple of steps from him as if debating what to do. After three seconds of fake hesitation, I sit at the closest table and take a better look at the Candidate.

His espresso cup is full, which means he won’t be leaving just yet. That’s a good sign. An even better sign is that the man is skinny and aloof. He has a bad boy leather jacket and a don’t-mess-with-me haircut. Oh, and did I mention the dark stubble peppering the bottom half of his gaunt face?

So my type.

“Got a light?” I ask, leaning in.

He looks me up and down and pulls out a lighter.

As I sit back with my cigarette between my lips, I consider which pickup line to use next.

“You come here often?” he asks.

Thank you. “Not really. You?”

“Yeah, I live nearby.”

“Oh, so you’re a local.” My lips stretch into a friendly smile. “What’s the best feature of this neighborhood?”

“You plan to move here?”

I shake my head. “Just being curious.”

“What you consider good may be bad from my perspective.” He cocks his head. “I don’t know you well enough to answer that question.”

It’s tempting to ask if he’d like to get to know me better tonight, but I stop myself. Women who are too forward scare men off. I don’t mind driving away the caring and marrying types. But I’ll bet anything the Candidate isn’t one of them.

“Good point,” I say. “Let me be more specific. Are there any good music bars in this area?”

“You’re two steps from Bastille,” he says. “Take a wild guess.”

Does he sound peeved, or am I reading him wrong? As a matter of fact, I find myself unable to read him at all.

Maybe he isn’t a good candidate, after all. Maybe I should leave right now, before I’ve ordered anything, and try my luck elsewhere.

“I’m sorry,” he says as I put out my cigarette. “That came out ruder than I meant it.”

I give him a probing look.

“Let me try again.” He gives me an unpracticed smile. “Of course there are good music bars around here. And, by the way, my name is Fabien.”

“I’m Chloe.”

Fabien sets a few coins on the table. “I could take you to an Irish pub around the corner if you like Celtic music.”

I tilt my head to one side. “Do you like it?”

“It’s OK,” he says, impassive.

He is perfect.

“All right, then. Let’s check it out.”

In the pub, we half listen to a rocksy Breton band playing folksy Breton songs. I make lackadaisical comments from time to time. Fabien gives an occasional nod. Our main activity is consuming large amounts of beer.

“What’s your line of work, Chloe?” he asks when the band finishes their encore song and the bar begins to empty.

“Home renovations. Yours?”

“Business.”

He doesn’t elaborate, and I don’t insist.

It’s not as if I care.

One of the waiters places a check on our table, and another one begins to flip chairs onto tables.

“I guess it’s time to go home.” I grab the bill. “Let me treat you.”

He snatches it from my hand. “No way. It’s on me.”

I object, he insists, and the ritualized back-and-forth ends with him shoving the check in his pocket and handing the server a fifty.

When the server brings the change, Fabien leaves him a generous tip.

So far so good.

“Do you live with your parents?” he asks as we step out into the night.

Every time I get this coded proposition, it reminds me of my first year in Paris as a naive small-town freshman at the École de Versailles. I spent a good half of that year debating if Parisian men routinely inquired about my living arrangements out of politeness or a genuine interest in my person.

“A hotel room would be better,” I say.

Fabien says nothing, just stares at me.

I stare back, trying to guess his next move. Will he seal the deal or back out?

“Follow me,” he finally says.

Yes!

Congratulations, Chloe, on yet another successful manhunt.

We get down to business pretty much the moment we step into the room, and it’s just as I expected. Fabien performs well. I manage to peak with a little help from my fingers, which is totally fine by me.

Two hours later, we’re dressed again and ready to part ways.

“Salut,” I say as soon as we’re outside the hotel entrance.

He looks taken aback, and I’m pleased.

Men are always the ones to decamp after casual sex while their female partner is holding her breath for a “Can I see you again?” So, yes, doing this feels good. It feels like a small but much-needed contribution to restoring the balance of yin and yang in the universe. Not that I believe in that New Age-y crap for a second.

“Um… yeah, take care,” Fabien says. He doesn’t budge, though.

I turn on my heel and march to the nearest métro station before he can suggest we do this again sometime soon. Or worse, ask me out for a drink.

I don’t do drinks, dinners, movies, dates, or relationships.

My life is a love-free zone.

Anything that resembles feelings or might be fertile soil for affection triggers a glaring neon sign in my head that screams, “Run!” The sign isn’t for my benefit. It’s to protect the innocents who don’t know what’s coming for them. Innocents who have no idea what I’m capable of.

If souls can be reborn, I’m the newest reincarnation of the mythical King Midas, who turned everything he touched into gold. Only my gift is less profitable and more macabre.

I turn everyone who loves me into dead meat.

**About the author: Alix Nichols is an unapologetic caffeine addict and a longtime fan of Mr. Darcy, especially in his Colin Firth incarnation. She is a Kindle Scout and Dante Rossetti Award winning author of critically acclaimed romantic comedies. At the age of six, she released her first rom com. It featured highly creative spelling on a dozen pages stitched together and bound in velvet paper. Decades later, she still loves the romance genre. Her spelling has improved (somewhat), and her books have made Amazon bestseller lists, climbing as high as #1. She lives in France with her family and their almost-human dog. **For exclusive content, giveaways and special offers, including a bonus book, subscribe to the monthly newsletter on her author website: http://www.alixnichols.com.**

**Author links: Amazon Author Page Blog Facebook Pinterest Twitter Goodreads

**GIVEAWAY**

**Click HERE for your chance to win a $10 Amazon Gift Card and 3 Romance Bestsellers!

**Click HERE for more stops on Alix’s Chick Lit Plus Blog Tour!

INTERVIEW with Kristi Rose, author of “The Girl He Needs”

July 15, 2016 2 Comments

About the author: Kristi Rose was raised in central Florida on boiled peanuts and iced tea. She’s lived by an active volcano, almost fallen off a mountain, and was married in Arkansas by a J.O.P in flip flops named Earl. Today, as a proud military wife and mother of two, she’s been lucky enough to travel the world. No matter where she is, she enjoys watching people and wondering what’s their story? That’s what Kristi likes to write about: everyday people, the love that brings them together, and their journey getting there. Kristi is a member of RWA.

**Contact Kristi: Website Facebook Twitter Pinterest Goodreads

INTERVIEW

Tell us about your writing/editing/publishing process: I don’t even know where to begin- LOL. This is a constant changing process as both life and the industry is constantly changing.

I have small children so everything is planned around them and their schedule. No matter how easy it would be to let them watch TV all day and eat crackers from the box- for peace of mind purpose I can’t do it 🙂

For writing- when school is out I get up early and write. I try to get 3k in words before they wake up and if they do get up early I sometimes let an extra cartoon play. Thought, in order to get those words I have to plan out my scenes. Not in depth, but a general idea of who’s POV it will be in and what needs to happen/be said. That’s improved my word count tremendously. When school is in, I actually have two days to myself to write. Sometimes it’s hard to focus so I use BrainFm to help.

I also give myself the gift of not feeling guilty. I don’t do laundry or worry that its not being done because I apply a value to this.

Editing: I leave that to experts and usually agree with everything they say 🙂 I suck at editing. Once I wrote the word emoji and it autocorrected to embolism. I didn’t even notice. So, clearly I;mnot so good at the editing. I also listen to my books because it gives me a good idea of what’s too wordy or confusing. I put the MS in a word doc and set up text to speech. Easy Peasy.

Publishing: I’m lucky that I’m able to do both traditional publishing and indie publishing. Traditional publishing handles all the edits, galleys, and getting things to the places they need to be. When I indie publish, my process includes a lot of stress eating, some crying, and occasional head banging. Setting things up can take entire days and for a writer- that feels like lost time. I know its not but it still feels like that 🙂 I do all the formatting and uploading to distributers but I outsource things like cover design and editing. When it’s all set I hit publish, do WAY MORE stress eating, and dance around my office a bit (usually with a chocolate bar in hand).

Where do you get ideas for your books? I love this question: I get them from everywhere. The news. TV, Songs (this happens a lot) and silly things my husband says. He does a lot of ‘what if’ statements and my brain goes, “yeah, what if!” But chatting with friends is always good fodder for ideas, too!

Salty or sweet? Holy crap! Sweet!!!! I need to cut back on sweets so I’m trying to cut out my favorite drink – An earl Grey Latte with vanilla almond milk and vanilla syrup. What did I replace it with? A mocha iced coffee with chocolate syrup. I have a problem. I love sugar WAY more than it loves me.

Is the social media a help or a hinder? I paused at this question because I can see it from both sides. But in light of recent tragic events in Orlando (my hometown is 40 minutes from there), when I logged on to Facebook and they gave me a notification of my friends checking in SAFE- yeah- that was a help. I’ll take that peace of mind over any ‘issue’ any day. Hands down.

Do you have any writing rituals? Sure, I have to outline in advance a brief chapter sketch or I’ll stare at the screen and shop online. I also have gotten into the groove using BrainFm and I eat things like roasted edamame and peas while I work. Something about the crunchy keeps me going (and takes my mind off of sweets).

If you could meet any other author who would it be? I met Jude Deveraux this last year or else she would have been top of my list. Maybe Jane Austen?

What’s the best advice you’ve been given? The process is different for everyone. Find the one that works for you!

Hard/paperbacks or eBooks? Paperback. Does that make me seem old? Antiquated? I sure love storing ebooks but still…paperback.

Describe your writing style in five words: Funny, snarky, comfortable, & occasionally inappropriate,

What’s your guilty pleasure? Purses, books, and office supplies.

What do you want readers to take away from your book? A sense of friendship and connection to the characters. My stories tend to be about everyday people managing life’s struggles. I think I want readers to know we all go through rough times and there’s a community out there to support them. No one does anything alone and if you have small children you know that includes going to the restroom.

What are you working on right now? I just finished the 3rd book in this series The Girl He Wants. I’m also getting ready to release the first book in my Jane Austen Fiction called A Meryton MatchMakers. Its a series with the Pride and Prejudice characters.

**A note from the author: Hey- Thanks for hosting me. As a huge fan of chick lit it’s an honor to be here. Truly!

Blurb:

The safe choice can be the riskiest of all…

Ever since her beloved older brother disappeared after an accident, Josie Woodmere’s been on a mission to find him—and maybe herself—along the way. That’s meant leaving her pampered, parent-approved life behind. Two years, four moves, and a body piercing later, she’s finally got a lead on her brother’s whereabouts, and she’s headed to Florida. She didn’t plan to ditch her sputtering car and accept a ride from Brinn McRae. But she didn’t plan to be attracted to a straight-laced guy like him either, much less land in his hometown, Daytona Beach…

A self-made man with a tough past, Brinn is a workaholic who allows very little room for pleasure—until he meets Josie. Their powerful chemistry is a distraction neither wants, yet neither can resist. Hoping they can burn it off, Brinn agrees to a no-strings arrangement. But they can only hide their deepening feelings for so long—until a disaster strikes, exposing truths that threaten to ruin everything…

Now, not only will Josie have to contend with the troubling secret her brother has finally revealed—she’ll have to convince Brinn she’s more than a rich girl playing at being free. This time, she’s playing for keeps.

**Find “The Girl He Needs”: Amazon Barnes & Noble Goodreads

**Book Trailer: https://youtu.be/Thxmw3Qbrug

**GIVEAWAY**

**Click the following link to enter to win the prize package a Rafflecopter giveaway!

COVER REVEAL: “Cards From Khloe’s Flower Shop”

June 1, 2016 4 Comments

“Cards From Khloe’s Flower Shop” by Isabella Louise Anderson

After a lot of anticipation, I’m thrilled to share with you the final cover of my upcoming release, “Cards From Khloe’s Flower Shop,” which will be released this summer. I’m in love with the cover and hope like it, too!

Blurb: As the owner of a successful florist shop, Khloe Harper trusts her instincts. She has a strong bond with her family and friends, but after being betrayed by her last love, she’s kept herself at arms’ length from romance. When dashing entertainment attorney Derek Thomas walks into her store, Khloe’s interested is piqued. What at first seems like a business relationship quickly turns into romance, and Derek slowly plucks away the petals she’s been hiding behind. Just as Khloe lets down her guard, she discovers that Derek may not be worthy of her love after all…

Frumpy Connie Albright has a faux fascination with an imaginary man named Walt, sending herself flowers from him to feel less out-of-place with the “mean girls” she works with. Gabby Lewis, a recently widowed senior, isn’t ready to give up on love—which means releasing herself from survivor’s guilt and taking a chance on finding happiness and companionship again.

As these stories intertwine through flowers and cards sent from Khloe’s shop, the three women begin to learn that love can only truly blossom when you trust your heart.

**GIVEAWAY**

To win a Scentsy nightlight and bars (2), U.S. residents only, leave a comment telling me about how your significant other surprised or gave your flowers!

**This giveaway ends on Sunday, June 12th, and you must leave your email, so that I can contact you if you win!

INTERVIEW with Cat Lavoie & EXCERPT of “Peri in Progress”

January 12, 2016 4 Comments

**About author, Cat Lavoie: Cat lives in Montreal, Canada with her tempestuous cat Abbie. She is the author of BREAKING THE RULES, ZOEY & THE MOMENT OF ZEN and PERI IN PROGRESS.

If Cat isn’t reading or writing, she’s most likely watching too much TV or daydreaming about her next trip to London.

**Contact Cat: Website Facebook Twitter Instagram Newsletter

**Find Cat’s books: Amazon Barnes & Noble Kobo Goodreads

“Peri in Progress” by Cat Lavoie

Blurb: You know what they say about best-laid plans…

After a disastrous thirty-first birthday party where she gets stood-up by a man she isn’t supposed to be dating, Peri McKenna decides it’s time to change what hasn’t been working—which is pretty much everything. Her love life is going nowhere fast, she’s bored to tears by a job that makes her the office pariah, and the lifelong junk food addiction that used to be somewhat quirky is now positively problematic. To top it all off, her newly-purchased home is falling apart and wishful thinking hasn’t done much to fix the leaky roof.

It’s time be an adult now that she’s officially ‘thirty-something.’

But when the first step of Peri’s self-improvement plan backfires, she starts to wonder if change might be overrated.

Enter Milo Preston, an up-and-coming chef who’s in town to take over a local restaurant. When Peri and Milo begin working together, she finds it hard to ignore his easy charm and captivating emerald-green eyes. Since Milo is her best friend’s estranged brother, Peri has to keep reminding herself that he is completely off-limits. As they grow closer, Milo introduces Peri to new foods, the joy (and pain) of jogging, and makes her think her luck might finally be turning.

But when the past catches up with them, Peri finds herself back at square one. Will she be able to sort herself out—or will the roof cave in on her once and for all?

INTERVIEW

Describe your new book, PERI IN PROGRESS, in five words: Picky eater meets sexy Chef.

Have you always wanted to be a writer? As long as I can remember. When I was in grade school I used to beg my teacher to let me stay indoors during recess so I could read and I always dreamed of writing my own novels.

Tell us about your writing/editing/publishing process for your books? I’m a very (very!) slow writer, so it takes me forever to finish a first draft. The only good thing about spending so much time on my first draft is that it (usually) ends up being in pretty good shape. I’ll go through some self-edits before sending it to beta-readers. After more edits, I send it over to my publisher.

Is the social media a help or a hinder? Social media is definitely a huge help. I love connecting with readers and other writers… It can also hinder the process, though. I’ve been known to procrastinate on Facebook and Instagram when I should be writing!

Salty or sweet? Can I have both? I love a good salty/sweet combo like potato chips and milk chocolate. Yum!

What is a day like in Cat Lavoie’s world? On a typical weekday, I’ll wake up at 5.30 in the morning and get ready for work. (I’m a health claims analyst for an insurance company.) I’ll sometimes catch up on emails and social media on the bus and subway.

During my lunch break, I try to work on my WIP or blog posts. (Anything to bring a bit of the “dream job” to the sometimes dreary work day.)

My best friend and I work in the same office, so we usually go out for a bite to eat after the day is done. After that, I head home to Abbie the cat and after all the boring chores are done, I get to catch up on some TV, make progress on my WIP and read. (How I wish I could squeeze in a few more hours in the day for all that fun stuff!)

If you could meet any author, who would it be? That is a tough one. I’d have to pick Sophie Kinsella because she’s the reason I started writing chick lit. I would have a total fan girl moment if I ever met her.

What are the similarities and differences between you and Peri? I’m not as big of a picky eater as Peri—but I am definitely picky… and I’m also a fan of junk food! I also think we’re both hopeless romantics. That being said, I don’t think I’d ever let anyone convince me to start jogging—not even chef Milo!

Do you have any writing rituals? Apart from getting something to drink—either coffee or water—and snacks, I have a notebook that needs to be on my desk at all times when I write. It has notes, scene outlines, and book-related to-do list. I would be lost without it and I need to check it before I start writing.

Every writer must have: Awesome writerly friends who can provide advice, encouragement, and support at all hours of the day. I’ve met some amazing people in online writing groups and I’ve learned so much from them over the years.

Where do you see yourself in five years? Hopefully, I won’t have run out of ideas and I’ll still be writing. Perhaps I’ll be working part-time at the day job so I can devote more time to my books. I’ve been dreaming of going to Scotland for a long time so, if all goes well, I’ll have enough research notes from that trip to set a novel there.

What are you working on right now? I’m working on my fourth chick lit novel. Like my last two books, it’s going to be set in the fictional town of Messina. It’s too early to go into detail about the story, but I can reveal that my main character is very different from any of my other leading ladies. I’m having a lot of fun with it!

EXCERPT

When the phone rang again an hour later, I was convinced it was Mom calling back to grill me—but I didn’t recognize the number on my caller ID.

“Hello?”

“Hi, is this Peri?”

I knew that voice. It belonged to the man who’d made the chocolate mousse I could still taste on my tongue if I closed my eyes. Why in the world was Milo Preston calling me? “Yes?” I answered, as if I wasn’t sure of my own name.

“How’s it going? This is Milo. From the Messina Grill. Elsa’s brother.”

I nodded but then realized he couldn’t see me. “Yes. How are you?”

“Great. Thanks again for coming to the opening last night. My mom told me you’re a bit of a picky eater, but she said you were a great sport about trying new things.”

I almost dropped the phone. Thanks for embarrassing me, Sylvia. Did she also tell her gorgeous son that I made a fool of myself by declaring my love to a man who pretended he barely knew my name? I moved the phone away from my face for a few seconds and took a deep breath. Sylvia’s over-sharing was not her son’s fault. He was probably going to call and thank everybody who showed up last night. It was a kind gesture. “The food was great. I’d never tried goat’s cheese before, and now I really I like it,” I lied.

“That’s awesome. You really know what to say to flatter a chef. Listen, I wasn’t just calling to thank you for coming . . .”

“Oh.” There goes my theory.

“This is a bit awkward,” he continued. “But my mom told me about what happened with your boss and boyfriend and . . .”

Oh. No. No. No. Sylvia, how could you? I felt like hanging up. Messina was a small town, but there had to be something more newsworthy going on than my pathetic love life. A noise that sounded like a growl escaped my mouth before I could stop it. “Your mother sure is a chatty one.”

Milo laughed. “Yes, and I apologize. Ever since I came back, it’s like she’s been trying to tell me every single thing that’s happened to everyone in the last ten years. Most of the time, she talks about people I don’t know or care about, but I just sit and listen to make her happy. However, I perked up when she mentioned your current predicament.”

“Did you now?” I asked. “One person’s misery is another person’s entertainment, I guess.” I meant it as a joke, but it came out bitter and sad. I suddenly felt tired and wanted nothing more than to take a nap. An exhausting conversation with my mother followed by an awkward conversation with a stranger had drained the life out of me.

“I think that came out wrong. I’m sorry,” Milo said. “It’s just that . . . I need your help.”

“My help?”

“Yes.”

The line was silent for about thirty seconds. “Go on,” I finally said.

Milo cleared his throat. “I don’t know if you noticed yesterday but we were understaffed. Sam, my boss, was going crazy in the kitchen.”

And then I lied again when I said, “I didn’t notice anything.”

“Sam would be happy to hear that. But he’s too busy freaking out over the fact that one of our waitresses quit after her shift yesterday. And another quit this morning. We need to replace them as soon as possible. And that’s where you come in.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you. I hear you don’t have a job right now. Would you like one? The pay is not great and the conditions aren’t much better. But you get to work with me and eat some free food now and again. How’s that for an offer you can’t refuse?”

I got up from the bed and paced to the other side of the room. My head was spinning. I’d never worked in the food industry before and had no idea what it took to be a good waitress. I was used to paperwork and cubicles and good old Jeff as my boss—not some hotshot chef who happened to be my best friend’s brother. He probably had groupies waiting for him outside the restaurant and maybe he’d even ask me to collect phone numbers for him. Chefs were the new rock stars now, or so I’d read in a few magazines. “It’s an offer I can definitely refuse,” I answered. “I don’t have any experience being a waitress. I’m sorry.”

“Hmmm,” Milo said. “I still think I should interview you for the position anyway. First question: do you own a pair of black dress pants?”

“Yes,” I said, annoyed. Why couldn’t this guy take no for an answer?

“Okay. This next one is kind of tough. Do you own a white blouse-type garment?”

“Yes.”

“Good. This is going really well. Last question. Could you resist the urge to drop a bowl of steaming hot soup in a client’s lap if he called you ‘Darling’ or ‘Sweetheart’ or left a two dollar tip on a fifty dollar tab?”

I laughed despite myself. “Yes, I probably could.”

“Well, then—you’re hired. Congratulations, Peri McKenna! Come on down to the Messina Grill and claim your prize,” he said in his best game show announcer voice.

I shook my head. “Milo . . .”

“Listen,” he said, his voice suddenly serious. “Of course I’d love to hire a person who has experience, but there’s no time. We need you tomorrow. And this is just temporary until we can find someone else who actually wants to work with us. I’m aware I’ve completely bullied you into this. But Sam and I would be so grateful. What do you say?”

If Milo Preston ever felt like a career change, he could surely be a lawyer. He was persistent, a little bit cocky, and he seemed to love the sound of his own voice. Truth be told, I sort of liked it too—because it reminded me of Declan.

“Okay,” I said, against my better judgment. “I’ll be there.”

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