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Women's Fiction

Surprised by Family by Noelle Adams and Stacey Joy Netzel

April 18, 2014 1 Comment

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Whether it’s a surprise baby landing on his doorstep or six-year-old twin girls who make him rescue them from trees…there’s nothing more irresistible than a hot, alpha hero falling in love with a surprise family at the same time he finds the woman of his dreams.

This boxed set includes two steamy full-length contemporary romance novels about the sweet surprise of family by NYT and USA Today bestselling authors.

**Surprised by Family will be on sale for just $.99 for a limited time, beginning on April 13**

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Blurb of “Revival” by Noelle Adams:

When she was a girl, Leila had an embarrassing crush on Baron James, her brother’s best friend. She’s grown up now, divorced with twin daughters and a new job as a college professor, and she needs to make good decisions. No matter how irresistible Baron is when he reenters her life, she won’t be a fool over him again.

Baron James has been a bad boy all his life, chasing women and seeking thrills, but he’s forced to take on leadership in his family’s company after his father dies. His new role takes everything he has, and he doesn’t have room in his heart to start a relationship with Leila and her daughters.

But his heart doesn’t seem to know this…

Excerpt:

“Good afternoon,” a pleasant male voice said from the open doorway of her office. “Dr. Luther?”

Leila had been trying to fix her hair, and she twirled around too quickly, hating the thought of being caught primping. One of the files in her hand slipped open and several sheets of paper fell out. With a gurgle of frustration, she leaned over to pick them up, dropping the file in the process.

She picked up the papers but unfortunately left the file on the floor. She stepped on it as she stood back up. There was no friction between the file folder and the hardwood floor, and her foot slipped on it.

She lost her balance completely. The pile of files tucked under her arm ended up littering the floor, and Leila ended up on her ass.

She closed her eyes and tried to catch her breath, feeling her cheeks flame red and praying desperately that it wasn’t the dean at the door.

“Are you all right?” the man said, his voice rich with something she knew to be laughter.

“Yes.” She opened her eyes and took the hand the man had extended to her. She didn’t look up at his face, though. She’d pull herself together before she checked to see who’d witnessed her clumsy display.

She dusted herself off while the man bent over to pick up some of her scattered files.

When he straightened up to hand them to her, they recognized each other at exactly the same moment.

“Leila? Leila Johnson?” he asked.

“Baron?” she breathed, almost in unison. Now she wasn’t just flustered and embarrassed. She was completely disoriented.

She hadn’t seen Baron since she’d graduated from high school. He and Dave had gone to different colleges, and they’d drifted apart as Baron’s lifestyle had gotten wilder and wilder. Dave hadn’t heard from Baron in years.

She thought he lived in New York now, working in the James Coffee offices there.

Yet here he was in her office in Boston, watching her make a fool of herself.

She felt like she was twelve years old again.

To her relief, Baron looked just as disoriented as she felt. A frown transformed his handsome face as his dark eyes scanned her from head to toe. “It’s Leila Luther now? I remembering hearing somewhere that you got married.” His gaze tried to follow her left hand.

She showed him her empty ring finger. “Divorced.”

“Ah.” He smiled and arched his eyebrows. “Sorry?”

In spite of herself, Leila choked on a bubble of laughter, the irony in his voice hitting her without warning. “I’m not, so I don’t know why you should be.”

She wasn’t sorry about the divorce. Her academic career had taken its toll on her marriage. After she’d had the girls six years ago, Rick had expected her to drop out of school and take care of them.

She hadn’t. She loved the girls more than anything, but she also loved her academic career, and there was no reason not to have both. Rick hadn’t been happy, though.

He’d shown his unhappiness by having an affair with a new associate at his law firm.

“Sorry about all that,” Leila added, gesturing to the floor and the files he still held. “I seem to be kind of a mess today.”

“No problem.” He stacked the files neatly and placed them on the one clean corner of her desk. “Sorry if I took you by surprise. I’d assumed the student who, er, greeted me would let you know I was on my way up.”

She wondered if he thought she’d known he was coming up and that was why she’d been primping. She’d dressed professionally rather than attractively today in a brown pants suit, but she suddenly wished she’d worn something different.

She’d never be a beauty queen, but she could look decent if she made an effort.

She wasn’t the plain, geeky girl she’d been before.

Blurb of “Autumn Wish” by Stacey Joy Netzel:

Nikki Rowen desires a family of her own–but first comes love, then comes marriage. She thought she had the former, until the moment she mentioned the latter and her boyfriend left her with nothing but a broken heart. Just as she’s beginning to doubt she’ll ever have a ’til death do us part Happily Ever After, she meets her new neighbor in the most unexpected way.

In Sam Mallin’s experience, the word family is synonymous with abandonment; he’s more than content on his own. Yet, in less than a week, he finds himself caring for an infant dropped on his doorstep, and playing house with his beautiful next-door-neighbor. When his feelings for Nikki deepen, he fears he’s nothing more than the ready-made family she so desperately wishes for. How can a self-proclaimed loner hold onto the two females most important to him without history repeating itself in a world of heartbreak?

Excerpt:

He’d just reached into the refrigerator for a beer when the doorbell chimed. The cheery summons grated across his nerves, making him cringe. Could he ignore this unwanted visitor who appeared to have practically been waiting in the bushes for him?

A glance over his shoulder gave him the answer. Nope. His bare windows, glaring lights, and the volume of the TV made it impossible to pretend he wasn’t home. Curtains and blinds seemed a great investment right about now.

Kicking the fridge shut, he twisted the cap from the bottle. The doorbell went off again, twice as long as before, as if the person on the other side held it down. Damn it. If this was another married woman bringing him pie, he was going to—

Smile, and say, “Thank you.” That’s what neighbors did, right?

He took a long, fortifying pull off his beer, then thumped it on the counter on his way to answer the door. Too bad his neighbor right next door hadn’t been one of those pie-wielding visitors. He’d have invited her inside.

Then he got a glimpse through the window…of her standing on his front porch.

“Well, whaddaya know,” he murmured with a sudden grin of anticipation. Maybe she’d come in and watch the game with him. Hell, he wouldn’t even care if she held a pie in her hands.

He swung the door open and smiled his welcome at the pretty blond. His gaze dropped, then froze. Where he would’ve preferred a pie, she held a baby carrier—complete with baby.

Damn, she had a kid. After what his mother put him and his sister through, he didn’t do women with kids.

“Samuel Mallin?”

He lifted his gaze up from all that pink to a pair of guarded blue eyes. Forcing his lips to maintain their upward curve, he answered, “I prefer Sam. And you’re Nicole, right?”

“Nikki.” She frowned. “How’d you—”

“I had some of your mail in my box yesterday,” he admitted.

“Ah.”

Her wry smile was appealing enough to make him forget about the baby. But it faded fast as she took a breath, shifted her stance, then extended her arms, carrier and all.

“Sam, this is yours.”

There was a crumpled envelope clutched between the fingers of her right hand. Tilting his head, he read his name in the crinkled address field and removed it from her grasp with a laugh. He liked that she’d chosen to bring his mail over personally. If he’d been thinking, he’d have done it first—and found out about the kid.

“Thanks,” he said as her baby began to fuss. “I just put your stuff in your mailbox.”

Nikki lifted the carrier higher with an exasperated huff. “You don’t understand. She is yours.”

In the middle of stuffing the folded envelope into his back pocket, his gaze dropped to the baby. Blue eyes, just like her momma. It took his brain a moment to make the connection, and then his pulse jumped as his eyebrows shot skyward. “Uh…I don’t think so.”

The baby sucked hard on a pacifier, her eyes shifting back and forth as she squirmed in the confined seat. Oh, hell no. He lifted his gaze once more, taking note of the woman’s curves on the way up. Yeah, she was pretty, but not worth this level of crazy. He’d have much preferred another pie.

“May I come in?”

“No,” he stated. “She’s not mine.”

He fumbled for the edge of the door. The woman stepped forward as he began to shut her out.

Her chin lifted and those blue eyes of hers glittered with determination. “Her name is Ella. She’s three and a half months old.”

“I haven’t—”

He broke off as she shouldered her way past, into his living room. Sam closed the door and followed her to the couch where she set the carrier and an overflowing diaper bag. He glanced toward the kitchen, searching out his cell phone on the counter. Was he going to have to call the cops to get rid of her?

The baby started to cry, so Nikki picked her up and rocked her while speaking in a soft, crooning voice. The gentle sound soothed his nerves until common sense returned with a vengeance.

Denial shook his head as he moved to stand in front of her. “Listen, I don’t know what you think you’re going to get out of this, but we’ve never met before, much less done what we would’ve needed to do to create that baby.”

**GIVEAWAY**

Click HERE to enter the giveaway!

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**Buy “Surprised by Family”: Amazon   Barnes & Noble   All Romance eBooks

**About author, Noelle Adams: Noelle handwrote her first romance novel in a spiral-bound notebook when she was twelve, and she hasn’t stopped writing since. She has lived in eight different states and currently resides in Virginia, where she teaches English, reads any book she can get her hands on, and offers tribute to a very spoiled cocker spaniel.

She loves travel, art, history, and ice cream. After spending far too many years of her life in graduate school, she has decided to reorient her priorities and focus on writing contemporary romances.

**Contact Noelle: Website   Facebook   GoodReads   Twitter

**About author, Stacey Joy Netzel: I fell in love with books at a young age, so for me it seemed only natural to graduate to writing them. I credit my parents for encouraging my dreams of becoming a published author, as well as the very talented friends I’ve made in Romance Writers of America (RWA) and Wisconsin Romance Writers (WisRWA).

An avid reader and fan of movies with a happily ever after, I live in Wisconsin with my husband and three children, a couple horses and some barn cats. In my limited free time I enjoy gardening and canning, and visiting my parents up north at the cabin on the lake with the whole family.

**Contact Stacey Joy: Website   Facebook   GoodReads   Twitter

**Click HERE to see other stops on this Indie Sage Blog Tour!

Filed Under: Surprised by Family by Noelle Adams and Stacey Joy Netzel Tagged With: Book Blitz, Books, Chick-Lit, Indie Sage Book Tours, Surprised by Family by Noelle Adams and Stacey Joy Netzel, Women's Fiction

Dangled Carat

April 11, 2014 5 Comments

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“Dangled Carat” by Hilary Grossman

Blurb: Hilary had gotten used to dating the commitment-phobic Marc, thirteen years her senior. They had a great relationship–why rush into things? She saw no need to pressure him for marriage, believing that when the time was right, he would propose. But after they had been together for four years, their friends decided to take matters into their own hands, pushing Marc to propose and making Hilary realize how much she really did want to marry the man that she loved. Unfortunately, Marc still wasn’t ready–and their friends’ meddling in the form of a faux engagement party led to a disastrous New Year’s Eve that brought their relationship to an inevitable turning point.

Excerpt:

They say that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.  But I swear, the way to a girl’s heart is through her closet.  And this closet was the kind of closet that dreams were made of.

“You like?” he asked.

“Like?” I asked.  “Like isn’t the word for it.  This closet is bigger than my bedroom!”

“Yeah, it’s pretty nice. I thought you’d like it.” He turned around.  As I followed him out of the closet, all I could think of was how I wished I could have stayed in that closet forever.  That’s how nice it was.

Who am I kidding?  All I could picture was how amazing it would be if I could live here….

Marc didn’t lead me downstairs.  Instead he walked over to the sliding glass door which opened onto the balcony.  He grabbed my hand and guided me outside.  The smell of the sea was so strong.  “I love this smell,” I remarked as I inhaled deeply.  “And look at the white caps from the crashing wave,” I said as I pointed.  “They’re beautiful.”

“I think someone else is more beautiful,” he said as he moved a little closer to me. I offered him a sly smile in return.  After a few moments of gazing at the ocean in silence, he placed his right hand on the small of my back and his fingers slid under my tee-shirt and slowly across.  His gentle caress stopped when he reached my side.  He squeezed gently.  A small electric current jolted through my body.  I am sure I wasn’t the only one who felt it, but unfortunately he remembered about that drink, and loosened his grip all too quickly.

HilaryGrossman**About author, Hilary Grossman:

Hilary Grossman dated a guy so commitment-phobic that she was able to write a book about their relationship. She is currently the CFO of a beverage alcohol importer and lives on Long Island.

**Contact Hilary: Blog   Facebook – author page   Facebook – blog page   Twitter

**Buy “Dangled Carat”: Amazon   Barnes & Noble – print

**GIVEAWAY**

Click HERE to enter to win a $35 Amazon Gift Card and a $25 Victoria Secret Gift Card!

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**Click HERE to check out other stops on Hilary’s Chick Lit Plus Blog Tours!

Filed Under: Dangled Carat Tagged With: Books, Chick-Lit, CLP blog tours, Dangled Carat, Excerpt, Hilary Grossman, Women's Fiction

A Questionable Friendship

April 10, 2014 2 Comments

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“A Questionable Friendship” by Samantha March

Blurb: Brynne Ropert and Portland Dolish have been best friends since being paired as roommates in college. Seven years later they are now twenty-five, married, and living in Maine–– but the two women couldn’t be more different. Brynne finds fulfillment in her life as a wife, mother and owner of a small café and bookshop, but is struggling to expand her family. Portland is still coping with her mother’s death during her childhood, and her marriage is unraveling before her eyes. Portland envies her friend’s seemingly stable and easy life while Brynne doesn’t understand the growing distance between them and cannot begin to guess what secret Portland is hiding about her husband and crumbling marriage. While one woman feels shut out, the other enters into a web of lies to protect herself.

A Questionable Friendship explores what really makes someone a true friend, a support system, a sister. How much trust goes into a friendship and when is being a friend not enough? Brynne and Portland’s story will attempt to answer those questions, and show that happily ever after isn’t in the cards for everyone.

Excerpt:

I lay in bed by myself that night, as Trent said he still had some reports to look at. I flipped onto my stomach, my favorite sleeping position, and tried to will myself to sleep. But my mind wouldn’t shut off. I flashed to the papers I found in Trent’s desk last night, purely on accident. I had never thought to snoop on my husband of two years. I was trying to find our tax returns from last year to give to the accountant, as we were severely behind and the April deadline was just around the corner. I had tried calling Trent to see where they were, but his phone was going to straight to voicemail. I knew he was driving home and sometimes his service cut in and out, so I didn’t think anything of it. I decided to find the papers myself, mostly out of boredom and the need to do something.

Trent’s office in our 2200 square foot ranch home was on the first floor, all the way to the east. I rarely ventured in there as I had no reason too, only popping in when Trent was working. It felt a little foreign being there, but I sat at his desk chair and looked around me. His desk wasn’t just some shoddy little thing tucked into the corner, no, the desk ran almost the full length of the wall, big enough for three people to easily fit at. He had one desktop computer set up and a laptop as well, and he carried yet another laptop with him on business trips. A printer that doubled as a scanner sat on one corner, and a fax machine on another. He had multiple calendars hung up with agendas scribbled on the majority of the dates, and another smaller calendar that sat to the right of the desktop. It was opened to that date, March 14, and scribbled on there was “Petosi.” He had been in that town for the past two nights, and was due home late in the night.

After some searching, I finally found the drawer that seemed to hold important records. Our passports were in there, our wedding license, birth certificates, and deed to the house. I found the titles to both our vehicles, but no tax information. I frowned, trying to think of another spot he would have them. I slipped all the papers back in the appropriate files and shut the drawer, and when I did, a single piece of paper had floated down to me, from somewhere at the top of the desk. I grabbed the sheet and read over the words, my eyes growing wide, then squinting as I read and re-read. My body turned cold as I sat in shock, trying to process what I had read. When I realized I’d been sitting there for probably thirty minutes doing absolutely nothing I jumped, understanding that Trent could walk through the door at any minute and find me. Then what would I say?

Carefully, I pushed myself up and climbed onto the office chair, putting the piece of paper back where I thought it had come from. From my new vantage point, I saw the top of his desk was riddled with other papers and…a calendar. I swallowed hard as I peered closer and saw what was written in under March 13. My stomach heaving, I quickly left the office after righting the chair to its original spot, and fled to the bathroom.

I blinked back tears in bed as I forced myself to calm my mind. Trent had some explaining to do sure, but how did I tell him what I had found? Did that really even matter in the grand scheme of things? But knowing the Trent as of lately, he would try to turn this around on me and make me look like the bad person. I squeezed my eyes shut and prayed for sleep. I just wanted to sleep, to forget about what I had found. The day had been torturous enough, trying to make everything seem like it was hunky dory and nothing out of place. And what would tomorrow bring? More questions. And next week – Trent would be gone for two weeks. Would he be going where he said he was? What was he actually doing on his trips away?

The bedroom door opened and I saw Trent enter the room, already in just his boxers. I let my breathing become even so he would think I was asleep.

He plugged his cell phone in and set it on the nightstand, then pulled the covers back and crawled in. I felt his cold feet touch mine and jerked involuntarily. “Are you awake?” he whispered. I could feel his erection pressing into my back, and knew what he wanted. He probably touched me on purchase.

“Mmmph,” I mumbled, not opening my eyes.

“Port. You awake?” he asked again, clearly not getting the hint as his hand wandered to my breast.

I rolled away and made more sleeping noises, begging in my mind for him to leave me alone. He stayed quiet for another moment, then finally rolled the other way.

I was off the hook – at least for one night.

SamanthaMarchPic**About author, Samantha March:

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 health, fitness, fashion, and celebrity related. In 2011 she launched her independent publishing company Marching Ink and has three published novels – Destined to Fail, The Green Ticket and A Questionable Friendship. When she isn’t reading, writing, or blogging, you can find her cheering for the Green Bay Packers. Samantha lives in Iowa with her husband and Vizsla puppy.

**Contact Samantha: Website   Facebook   GoodReads   Twitter

**Buy “A Questionable Friendship”: Amazon   Barnes & Noble   Kobo – eBook

**GIVEAWAY**

Click HERE to enter to win a $25 Amazon Gift card!

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

Filed Under: A Questionable Friendship Tagged With: A Questionable Friendship, Books, Chick Lit Plus, Chick-Lit, CLP blog tours, Excerpt, Giveaway, Samantha March, Women's Fiction

Glamour Puss – A Tongue-in-Cheek Guide on Being a Powerful Woman

April 9, 2014 Leave a Comment

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“Glamour Puss – A Tongue-in-Cheek Guide on Being a Powerful Woman” by Anna Madsen

Blurb: Today, using womanly cleverness and beauty to get where you want in life is frowned upon by men (and even by other women!). Regardless, French women have always championed feminine skills such as wit, emotional intelligence and sex appeal to get that man, job or handbag, regardless of any labelling that might occur. It’s time to introduce that mindset to the rest of the world too.

What makes certain women irresistible to every man? How do you use the power of feminine attraction to get your way? And where do you find a Trophy Husband?

”Glamour Puss” discusses in a bold and witty way with the voice of ”Generation Y” in ”Erotic Capital”, ”Caveman Communication”, ”The Kate Middleton Method” to ”The Catwoman Effect” and many more how to use your female charm, communicate with simple methods, make a prince to commit and keep him on his toes.

**Click HERE to read a chapter tease!

**Author note: Warning: “Glamour Puss” is not suitable for the radical, Gorilla-feminist who believes women should be firefighters and construction workers just to “prove they can”. Or actually, maybe it might just be?

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AnnaMadsen**Contact Anna: Annammadsen@gmail.com   Website   Facebook   Twitter

**Click HERE to buy “Glamour Puss – A Tongue-in-Cheek Guide on Being a Powerful Woman” on Amazon!

Filed Under: Glamour Puss Tagged With: Anna Madsen, Books, Chick-Lit, Glamour Puss – A Tongue-in-Cheek Guide on Being a Powerful Woman, Women's Fiction

Fly Away

April 3, 2014 Leave a Comment

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“Fly Away” by Kristin Hannah

Excerpt:

Chapter One

September 2, 2010
10:14 pm

She felt a little woozy. It was nice, like being wrapped in a warm-from-the-dryer blanket. But when she came to, and saw where she was, it wasn’t so nice.

She was sitting on a closed toilet seat in a restroom stall, slumped over, with tears drying on her cheeks. How long had she been here? She got slowly to her feet and left the bathroom, pushing her way through the theater’s crowded lobby, ignoring the judgmental looks cast her way by the beautiful people drinking champagne beneath a glittering, nineteenth century chandelier. The movie must be over.

Outside, she kicked her ridiculous patent leather pumps into the shadows. In her expensive black nylons, she walked in the spitting rain down the dirty Seattle sidewalk toward home.

A bright pink Martini Bar sign caught her attention. A few people were clustered together outside the front door, smoking and talking beneath a protective overhang.

Even as she vowed to pass by, she found herself turning, reaching for the door, going inside. She slipped into the dark, crowded interior and headed straight for the long, mahogany bar.

“What can I get for you?” asked a thin, artsy-looking man with hair the color of a tangerine and more hardware on his face than Sears carried in the nuts and bolts aisle.

“Tequila straight shot,” she said.

She drank the first shot and ordered another. The loud music comforted her. She drank another straight shot and swayed to the beat. All around her people were talking and laughing. It felt a little like she was part of all that activity.

A man in an expensive Italian suit sidled up beside her. He was tall and obviously fit, with blond hair that had been carefully cut and styled. Banker, probably, or corporate lawyer. Too young for her, of course. He couldn’t be much past thirty-five. How long was he there, trolling for a date, looking for the best looking woman in the room? One drink, two?

Finally, he turned to her. She could tell by the look in his eyes that he knew who she was and that small recognition seduced her. “Can I buy you a drink?”

“I don’t know. Can you?” Was she slurring her words? That wasn’t good. And she couldn’t think clearly.

His gaze moved from her face, down to her breasts, and then back to her face. It was a look that stripped past any pretense. “I’d say a drink at the very least.”

“I don’t usually pick up strangers,” she lied. Lately, there were only strangers in her life. Everyone else, everyone who mattered, had forgotten about her. She could really feel that Xanax kicking in now, or was it the tequila?

He touched her chin, a jawline caress that made her shiver. The boldness of it, just touching her; no one did that anymore. “I’m Troy,” he said.

She looked up into his blue eyes and felt the bone crushing weight of her loneliness. When was the last time a man had wanted her? She couldn’t even remember.

“I’m Tully Hart,” she said.

“I know.”

He kissed her. He tasted sweet, of some kind of liquor, and of cigarettes. Or maybe pot. She wanted to lose herself in pure physical sensation, to dissolve like a bit of candy.

She wanted to forget everything that had gone wrong with her life, and how it was that she’d ended up in a place like this, alone in a sea of strangers.

“Kiss me again,” she said, hating the pathetic pleading she heard in her voice. It was how she’d sounded as a child, back when she’d been a little girl with her nose pressed to the window, waiting for her mother to return. What’s wrong with me? that little girl had asked anyone who would listen, but there had never been an answer. Tully reached out for him, pulling him close, but even as he kissed her and pressed his body into hers, she felt herself starting to cry, and when her tears started, there was no way to hold them back.

***

September 3, 2010
2:01 am

Tully was the last person to leave the bar. The doors banged shut behind her; the neon sign hissed and clicked off. It was past two now; the Seattle streets were empty. Hushed.

Traffic made the pavement hum beneath her bare feet. She made her way down the slick sidewalk, a little unsteady on her feet. A man had kissed her – a stranger – and she’d started to cry.

Pathetic. No wonder he’d backed away.

Rain pelted her, almost overwhelmed her. She thought about stopping, tilting her head back and drinking it in until she drowned.

That would be good. Drowning.

It seemed to take hours to get home. At her condominium building, she pushed past the doorman without making eye contact.

In the elevator, she saw herself in the wall of mirrors.

Oh, God.

She looked terrible. Her auburn hair – in need of coloring – was a bird’s nest, mascara ran like war paint down her cheeks.

The elevator doors opened and she stepped out into the hallway. Her balance was so off it took four tries to get her key into the lock. By the time she opened the door, she was dizzy and her headache had roared back to life.

Somewhere between the dining room and the living room, she banged into a chrome side table and almost fell. Only a last minute Hail Mary grab for the sofa saved her. She sank onto the thick, down filled white cushion with a sigh. The table in front of her was piled high with mail. Bills and magazines. Junk mail.

She slumped back and closed her eyes, thinking what a mess her life had become.

“Damn you, Katie Ryan,” she whispered to the best friend who wasn’t there. This loneliness was unbearable. But her best friend was gone. Dead. That was what had started all of it. Losing Kate. How pitiful was that? Tully had begun to plummet at her best friend’s death and she hadn’t been able to pull out of the dive. “I need you.” Then she screamed it: “I need you!”

Silence.

She let her head fall forward. Did she fall asleep? Maybe…

When she opened her eyes again, she stared, bleary-eyed, at the pile of mail on her coffee table. A Star magazine lay on top – a small, business card size photograph of her was in the upper right corner. Beneath her name was a single, terrible word.

Addict.

She reached forward, grabbed the magazine. It was a small story; not even a full page.

The Real Story behind the rumors.

Aging isn’t easy for any woman in the public eye, but it may be proving especially difficult for Tully Hart, the ex-star of the once phenom talk show The Girlfriend Hour. Ms. Hart’s goddaughter, Marah Ryan, contacted Star exclusively. Ms. Ryan, 20, confirms that the fifty-year-old Hart has been struggling lately with demons she’s had all her life. In recent months, Hart has “gained an alarmingamount of weight” and been abusing drugs and alcohol, according to Ms. Ryan–
Marah.

The betrayal hurt so badly she couldn’t breathe. She read the rest of the story and then let the magazine slide to the floor.

The pain she’d been holding at bay for months, years, roared to life, sucking her into the bleakest, loneliest place she’d ever been. For the first time, she couldn’t even imagine crawling out of this pit.

She staggered to her feet, her vision blurred by tears, and reached for her car keys. She couldn’t live like this anymore.

Copyright @ Kristin Hannah 2013

KristinHannahPic**About author, Kristin Hannah:

Kristin Hannah is the New York Times bestselling author of twenty-one novels. A former lawyer turned writer, she is the mother of one son and lives with her husband in the Pacific Northwest and Hawaii.

**Contact Kristin: Website   Facebook

Filed Under: Fly Away Tagged With: Books, Chick-Lit, Excerpt, Fly Away, Kristin Hannah, Romance, Women's Fiction

We’ll Always Have Paris

April 1, 2014 Leave a Comment

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“We’ll Always Have Paris” by Jennifer Coburn

Blurb: Jennifer Coburn has always been terrified of dying young. It’s the reason she drops everything each summer on a quest to travel through twelve European countries with her daughter, Katie, before it’s too late. Even though her husband can’t join them, even though she’s nervous about the journey, and even though she’s perfectly healthy, she spends three to four weeks a year jamming Katie’s mental photo album with memories. In this heartwearming generational love story, Jennifer reveals how their adventures helped relinquish her fear of dying…for the sake of living.

* * * * *

My Review: After reading “Tales from the Crib” by Jennifer Coburn, I was a huge fan, and have been ever since. Naturally, I was excited to start “We’ll Alway Have Paris.” Right away, Jennifer’s writing captured me, and sometimes I felt like I was on traveling along with them. I loved how Jennifer and Katie talked to each other, and found their honesty toward each other to be refreshing.

I liked “We’ll Always Have Paris,” but this one just didn’t get me like other books by Jennifer Coburn usually do. In ways of a book, I really wished I could have got more out of it, but didn’t. I really, really wanted to like it, but nothing seemed to really happen, and I found it to be more like a journal.

If you’re one who likes traveling memoirs, then I highly recommend “We’ll Always Have Paris.”

I give “We’ll Always Have Paris” 3 1/2  stars.

* * * * *

“I’m profoundly in love with Jennifer Coburn’s memoir We’ll Always Have Paris!  From Coburn’s picture-perfect travelogue to her hilarious observations, she’s woven together a powerful narrative with a heartfelt and thoughtful examination of what truly makes a family.  I was enthralled from the very first page and I cannot recommend this book highly enough.  I want to read this again, tell all my friends about it… and then renew my passport.” –Jen Lancaster, NY Times best-selling author of Bitter is the New Black, Here I Go Again, and the Tao of Martha.

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Excerpt:

Katie and I found the Shakespeare & Company Booksellers on the Left Bank across the river from Notre Dame. On la Rue Bucherie, at the edge of the Latin Quarter, stood a seventeenth-century monastery that housed Europe’s largest collection of English language books for sale.

New and used books lined every wall, cluttered and haphazardly organized. A mirrored wall included photos of authors who had visited, including Henry Miller, Anaïs Nin, and Allen Ginsberg. A cat snuggled in the corner under a corkboard listing literary events and readings. It was a cozy haven that made me long for a pot of tea and a thunderstorm.

Painted over a threshold of the three-story bibliophilic heaven were the words “Be not inhospitable to strangers, lest they be angels in disguise.” Discreetly placed in the landscape was evidence that Shakespeare & Company lived this philosophy. Small cots, bedrolls, pillows, and backpacks were tucked between bookshelves.

“Do people sleep here?” eight-year-old Katie asked the clerk, a young woman with Bettie Page bangs, a vintage dress, and Doc Marten Mary Janes. I imagined her name was something like Prudence or Cleo.

In a posh British accent, Cleo explained that travelers were welcome to sleep at the bookstore if they worked a few hours during the day. These guests were endearingly called “Tumbleweeds” and could stay anywhere from a few nights to several months.

Tapping on her computer, Cleo continued, “Or, if you’re a writer, you can stay as our guest in the studio.”

“My mom’s a writer!” Katie exclaimed, standing on the toes of her white sandals. “Google her.”

Katie’s face begged for the sleepover.

Fear of dying young isn’t an altogether bad thing. Sometimes it makes you try what you might otherwise delay. I found myself agreeing to Katie’s requests, justifying that my indulgence would solidify fond memories.

“Check-in is at midnight,” Cleo told us before returning to her work.

At the appointed hour, Katie and I sat on a bench next to a half-dozen disaffected youth with pierced faces and unnaturally black hair. Their stained canvas backpacks sported logos of bands with names like Blistered Anus.

“Ouch,” Katie commented to a fellow Tumbleweed.

“They’re crap since they lost their drummer,” he returned in a sweet English accent.

In her pigtails and Bedazzled tank top, Katie shrugged. “That can happen.” She had absolutely no idea about how a change of musician could affect a group, but pursed her lips as though she’d been through it a few times herself. I admired her immediate acceptance of and connection to life around her.

Another mother and her young daughter knocked on the locked door apologizing for being late for check-in. Looking like characters from Les Miserables, the mother and barefoot Cosette explained they lost track of time in the Bastille Day festivities.

As we were shown to the Writer’s Studio, I had three thoughts about spending the night in the same bed where Henry James slept. One, they hadn’t changed the sheets since. Two, Katie’s bed was actually a yoga mat on top of a door that was resting on two file cabinets. These cabinets, I should add, were not of equal height. And three, Andy Griffith looked awfully young on that box of Ritz crackers in the corner.

A tornado of gnats came from the water spigot. Our window did not open more than a few inches. The room was situated directly above a row of trash receptacles.

Katie squealed with delight, “We have a view of Notre Dame!”

I, on the other hand, just smelled hot garbage. “Don’t touch a thing!” I warned Katie.

“Isn’t this the best, Mommy?”

* * * * *

**If people pre-order the book any time before April 8th, through any book seller, I will donate my royalties from the first thousand books to the American Cancer Society. Click HERE to pre-order “We’ll Always Have Paris” on Amazon!

Jen-with-tree**Contact Jennifer:

Website   Facebook   Twitter

 

Filed Under: Book Review, We'll Always Have Paris Tagged With: Books, Chick-Lit, Jennifer Coburn, Memiors, Mother and daughter adventures, Traveling, We'll Always Have Paris, Women's Fiction

Launching in the US: The Expat Diaries by Michele Gorman

March 26, 2014 Leave a Comment

The Expat Diaries: Single in the City

Michele Gorman’s romantic comedy debut, Single in the City, was a best-seller in the UK, where it was first published by Penguin, but despite being an American author, her books are less well-known in the US. We’d like to help change that!

Notting Hill Press launched Michele’s series, The Expat Diaries, in the US on March 25th, and here’s a bit about the first book.

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Take one twenty-six-year-old American, add to a two thousand year old city, add a big dose of culture clash and stir!

To think Hannah ever believed that Americans differed from Brits mainly in pronunciation, sophistication and dentistry. That’s been the understatement of a lifetime. She lands upon England’s gentle shores with no job, no friends and no idea how she’s supposed to build the life she’s dreaming of. Armed with little more than her enthusiasm, she charges headlong into London, baffling the locals in her pursuit of a new life, new love and sense of herself.

The book is available as an eBook and paperback: Amazon and Barnes & Noble!

And if you’re in the UK but missed Michele’s debut there, it’s published as Single in the City on Amazon.co.uk.

**Click HERE to visit Michele’s Amazon page!

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Filed Under: Michele Gorman Tagged With: Books, Chick-Lit, Launching in the US: The Expat Diaries by Michele Gorman, Michele Gorman, Women's Fiction

The Golden Apple

March 25, 2014 3 Comments

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“The Golden Apple” by Faerl Marie

Blurb: MEET POPPY PARKER, a recent widow who knows she must move forward but has no idea which direction to take. To start fresh, Poppy moves from her idyllic home in Georgia to the grimy glamour of New York City to open up her own boutique and find a way to live and love without her husband.

Austin Bandy has been in love with Poppy since the moment he laid eyes on her years ago, right before her wedding. Now she is back, grieving and broken hearted by her nearly-perfect husband’s death—not Austin’s ideal romantic situation. He needs to wait for her to recover but not so long that someone else has the chance to move in and sweep his dream girl off her feet and keep him as a “good friend” forever.

Poignant, hopeful and fresh, Faerl Marie’s enchanting debut novel will have you hooked and ready to pursue your own hopes and dreams the moment you turn the final page. The Golden Apple is a charming and fashionable novel about loss, love and moving on without betraying your self, your past or those you love.

My Review: Words cannot describe how much I enjoyed this book. It started quickly, and before too long, I couldn’t turn the pages fast enough.

After Poppy moved to New York, her adventure with starting a new life and finding herself started right away. I liked that she had a girlfriend who she could rely on, and seemed to take to Austin almost immediately. While I wouldn’t have been as aggressive as she was (sleeping with him in the same bed, and staying at his home on most nights), I liked how Faerl didn’t make Poppy’s and Austin’s relationship based on sex, but rather romantic and innocent.

There were times when I wanted Poppy to stop thinking, and go with what I thought she wanted all along, which was to be with Austin, but I think that’s what made the book even more dramatic. (I won’t give you any spoilers). 🙂

Faerl Marie is a very gifted author who has written a wonderful heartwarming and memorable book, and I cannot wait to read what she’ll come out with next.

I give this book 5 stars!

Excerpt: 

“Well,” Vivian hadn’t said a word until then. “That’s quite a morning the two of you had.” After leaving Austin’s Poppy had gone to Vivian’s and took a long shower, soaking away the puffy redness around her eyes. Now she sat across from Viv in a nearby café dressed in a lilac and white striped seersucker dress feeling refreshed and sane.
“Tell me about it.” Poppy swirled a purple grape around in her palm like a marble. It was hot outside even under the shade of the black and white striped awning that covered them. They were the only occupied table and as such had their water and tea glasses refilled after nearly ever sip.
“The thing is Viv, I really thought it was him. When he turned and I saw his face and knew that it wasn’t, I felt okay about it. It didn’t hurt like I would have thought.” She laughed to herself ironically. “Until I broke down in a puddle of tears on the side of the street.” She popped the grape in her mouth and looked at her oldest friend.
“I think if it’s okay with you I’ll leave this bit out of the weekly report card your mom calls for.” Vivian raised one eyebrow and took a bite of her sandwich.
“Does she still do that? It’s been two months.”
Poppy moved her hair behind her shoulder. “What have you told her so far?”
“That you’ve gained at least ten pounds and a dress size,” She raised that eyebrow again, “lie. That you’ve made loads of new friends and stay out late having fun, partial lie.” She took another bite of her sandwich and swallowed. “That you go shopping all the time and spend money so frivolously you can’t afford to move out of my living room. Lie and lie.” She took a drink of her sparkling water. “Oh yeah, and that you’re sleeping at some guy’s house and thinking of opening your own vintage boutique.”
“Well two out of six isn’t bad. Whenever she calls me I just tell her that I think of Josh less often each week and that I don’t fall asleep crying every night, which actually, now that I think about it is true. I didn’t cry at all at Austin’s.” They both looked up from their lunches smiling and said simultaneously, “Except for today.” Poppy rolled her eyes and Vivian laughed.
“I’m sorry Pop.” Vivian looked serious for a moment. “I don’t mean to laugh. I know it’s rough.”
“Oh Viv. It’s either something to laugh about or something to cry about and lock me away in an asylum for.” She smiled. “I’d rather be laughing.” They both finished their lunches before she said, “I do feel pretty bad for Austin. Poor guy, sleeping on his own couch and dragging around a sobbing mess on his weekend.” Poppy dug around in her purse for cash.
Vivian was serious again as she moved crumbs around her plate with the tines of her fork. “He’s in love with you. You know that, right?” Poppy looked back down at the bills in her hand.
“I know he likes me. Love seems like a strong word to come from someone who barely knows me.” She ran one hand through her blonde waves.
“No, he loves you. He’s loved you since that first trip when you came out here and loitered around that photo shoot. You’re different Pop. Different from ‘city girls’,” she raised her hands in air quotes. “You’re different from all girls. I think it broke him when I told him you were about to be married. His jaw literally dropped. I’ve never seen anyone look so disappointed in my life. I’ll never forget that.” She looked away a moment before continuing. “I figured he’d gotten over it until a year or so ago.” She took a sip of her ice water. Poppy waited for her to continue.
“I ran into his sister, London, at some party and we started talking. She wanted to know whom this girl was that occasionally flitted into the city to break her brother’s heart again and again. Every time you came to visit he tried to make an appearance. At least once a year he’d ask if you were still married.” She set her fork down and looked into Poppy’s eyes, blue meeting blue.
“He told me, right after I’d asked if he’d pick us up from the airport, that he would wait as long as it took but that he would be there the moment you were ready. You think all this is just happenstance but really it’s Austin taking every opportunity he sees to be with you.” Vivian gave a half smile. “He’s a really good guy Poppy and I just think you should know.” She laughed then, “But please God! Don’t tell him I told you any of that.” They both stood up and Poppy checked her watch, unsure of how to respond to such a heavy confession.
“Oh! I need to get back to the apartment and change for dinner.”
“Your hot date! What are you going to wear?” Vivian and Poppy had been planning outfits since they were in grade school and started coordinating their scrunched velvet jazz pants and floral leotards.
“I’m thinking elegant-casual with glam accessories.” Poppy wanted to look attractive but not necessarily desirable or sexy.
“Oh,” Vivian’s face fell, “I was thinking sexy-glam with sassy accessories or at least some color. I didn’t even know you owned so much black.”
“I wear color!”
“Only when you’re jogging and you have that super serious runner face which is like the blackest of all faces you can wear,” Vivian retorted.
“Alright,” Poppy conceded. “I’ll wear color as part of my elegant-casual look.” Poppy showered and dressed hurriedly when they arrived back at the brownstone.
“Okay, How do I look?” She stood with one hand on her hip. An eggplant sheath dress skimmed over her body gracefully. A coral skinny belt drew in her waist.
“You look great. I love that dress, it’s the blackest purple I’ve ever seen.”
“This is eggplant!” Poppy adjusted the belt. “Is the dress too short? Am I showing too much skin?” She twirled around for Vivian to see.
“Are you kidding me? The front comes up to your neck and it’s long sleeved.”
“These are three-quarter length sleeves and the hem is pretty short.” Poppy pulled at the dress.
“No, the hem is great and those coral heels aren’t so high. I love the low scoop back; it’s the right amount of sexy.” Vivian looked her over again. “What jewelry are you wearing?”
“These.” Poppy slipped on a pair of gold chandelier earrings that almost brushed her shoulders. “How’s the back of my hair?”
“Good. Did you braid it or just twist it?” Vivian tucked a few strands of Poppy’s hair back into the twist with a bobby pin.
“Both. Is it too… secretarial?” She patted the chignon.
“It’s perfect. You look beautiful.” Vivian put her hands on Poppy’s shoulders. “Are you nervous?”
“A little, but not as much as I would have thought.” She checked her watch. “I better go down and get a cab. Have a good night.” She gave Viv a quick kiss on the cheek.
Vivian stood in the door and called after her, “Have fun Poppy!”
Poppy pulled the belt of her trench tighter as she stepped out of the cab. The restaurant was open except for a few tables and Greg was easy to spot in dark jeans and a striped button up shirt. He stood as Poppy approached the table.

Faerl Marie**About Faerl Marie: Faerl Marie is a graduate of the University of New Mexico with a Bachelor’s degree in Psychology and minors in English and Social Welfare. She has worked as a style consultant, personal shopper and wardrobe curator, among other things. Faerl Marie spends her days writing, dreaming about new stories and characters, walking her dog and adoring her husband. She lives in the idyllic mountains near Santa Fe, New Mexico. “The Golden Apple” is her first novel.

**Contact Faerl: Website   Facebook   Twitter

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

**Everyone who leaves a comment on the tour page will be entered to win a $20 Amazon gift card! Anyone who purchases a copy of The Golden Apple by April 7 and sends their receipt to Samantha (at) ChickLitPlus.com will receive 10 bonus entries!**

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Filed Under: Book Review, The Golden Apple Tagged With: Books, Chick-Lit, CLP blog tours, Faerl Marie, The Golden Apple, Women's Fiction

To Catch a Creeper

March 24, 2014 Leave a Comment

It’s release day for Ellie Campbell! Their newest book is “To Catch A Creeper!”

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“To Catch A Creeper” by Ellie Campbell

Blurb: To Catch A Creeper, to be published week beginning 24th March, is as follows. Cathy is riding high in her brand-new job at a (surprisingly bitchy) top London advertising agency working with best friend Rosa.  But when Rosa’s pregnancy goes amiss and enemies sabotage her new career, she finds herself leading a chaotic double life of lies and deception, hiding a shameful secret from all, especially husband Declan who appears in the throes of a nervous breakdown.  Meanwhile she’s agreed to unmask the notorious Crouch End Creeper, a burglar terrorizing their neighborhood. Little does she know that her meddling, assisted by fellow mothers (the Wednesday Once Weeklies) and the Neighborhood Watch, will lead their dangerous opponent to murder. And that it’s not only the tall elegant transvestite who’s placing herself at risk…

Chapter 1 tease

‘It must have been horrendously frightening, Cathy,’ Holly Willoughby’s sparkling white teeth are shining directly into my eyes causing me to spontaneously blink, ‘finding yourself stalked and then almost strangled to death.’

‘Oh yes,’ I nod and refill my water glass. ‘Terrifying.’

Although, I squirm as three huge cameras circle closer like a cackle of hyenas moving in for the kill, nowhere near as terrifying as being on live TV. All through the interview I keep getting these uncanny impulses to indulge in a touch of Tourette’s, spouting obscenities while intermittently flashing a nipple.

‘And then not only did you capture the culprit but you managed to turn the situation round and through it launched the most talked about advertising campaign this decade.’

‘Not just me…’ I grin bashfully as Camera One’s red light gives a little wink in my direction.

‘So as a woman who’s spent the last eight years as a mother and housewife,’ Holly continues brightly, ‘how are you finding it being back out in the workplace?’

How am I finding it? Fantastic. Sodding-bloody-fantastic, I want to reply but for some reason, ever since the camera did that little wink, my throat simply refuses to co-operate.

‘It’s a…a…’ I cough and reach for the water, ‘case of…’

‘And balancing this brand new exciting career with taking care of two primary-school age children?’ prompts her co-presenter nicely. ‘You must be very organised…’

‘Well, Joseph… I mean Jason… I mean…’

And that’s it. My mouth freezes while I rifle through my memory bank trying to recall his name. Jason or Joseph… But no, it can’t be either. Joseph was the biblical character that this guy portrayed at a West End theatre and Jason…he was the ex-Neighbours actor who also played Joseph as well as dating Kylie Minogue and picking David Guest’s nose on some reality show. So this guy, the one sitting in front of me, all mike-ed up, awaiting an answer while millions look on… God, who is he? Sweat pools under the armpits of my new Vivienne Westwood polka-dot dress with the waist-cinching corset as I scan and rescan his grey speckled hair and cute baby face. ‘The thing is…’

A reassuring hand rests on my arm. For the fifth time this morning, Rosa steps in to save me.

‘Oh she is, Phillip,’ she laughs lightly. ‘Super-organised, that’s our Cath. Packed lunches prepared night before. Uniforms folded neatly on chairs. Dishwasher and washing machine fully loaded. Plants watered. Fish fed. Wonderwoman has nothing on her.’

She slaps me on the back, just as I take another gulp of water. Instead of drowning the giant South American toad now living in my larynx, a fountain shoots out from my mouth and nose.

Holly smiles once more as she smoothly links back to the weather, before the cameras wheel away, allowing her to dab at her water-spotted jacket and mercifully ending the second most scary moment of my entire life.

Five months later

‘…lady…told…that glitters…gold…’

‘Cathy, wake up. You’re singing Stairway to Heaven in your sleep again.’

‘Shh.’ I squeeze my eyes tighter, stick my nose deeper into the pillow and snuggle under my toasty warm duvet, dimly aware of my husband slipping out of bed.

Why so early?

Thank God I’ve a wee while before I need to spring into action. That’s the beauty of setting the alarm an hour ahead. Trick myself into thinking I’m having a lie-in.

I fumble to find my Smartphone and peer bleary-eyed at the display. Eight-thirty. Can’t be right, can it? Maybe it jumped or something, faulty electrics. The real time, it’s really… Wait here’s the radio announcing the news. The eight-thirty news!

‘Bugger!’ My scalp tingles as I kick off the covers, leap out of bed and race down the hallway to Josh and Sophie’s bedrooms, screaming as I shake their lifeless bodies and crank open their curtains. ‘Get up! Get up!’ I march to the bathroom. ‘Why didn’t you wake me? Declan!’ I bang on the door. ‘I need a shower!’

No answer.

‘I have to GO TO WORK!’ I yell through the crack that runs down the middle of the door. ‘I’ve got to leave before you!’

Silence. He’s oblivious. Cool as a cucumber in a crisis, my husband. The house could be scheduled for demolition and you’d still find him in the bathroom at the ten-second countdown, heedless of ticking explosives, patiently letting his automatic toothbrush finish its allotted two minutes, give a last little hum and end.

I dash downstairs, fling a few slices of bread into the toaster, switch on the kettle and speed back to the kids’ rooms. Eight-year-old Sophie has stumbled zombie-like to her feet, moving mechanically, eyes open but unseeing, while her brother, younger by twenty-two months, has stuck his hands over his ears in preparation for the onslaught.

‘Get dressed! Come on, hurry!’ I pick up a mound of clothes littered on the floor and chuck them in his direction. ‘Henrietta’ll be here any second. DECLAN!’

Blast and blithery! Well too late to shower anyway. And I’ll just have to wear my jeans and blouse from yesterday – only slightly wrinkled, no obvious food stains. That’s the best thing about advertising, the casual atmosphere. It’s about creative brilliance not fancy attire.

‘I just checked the fridge. There’s nothing for sandwiches.’ Sophie has appeared in the doorway as I’m tugging on my clothes. ‘Only a soggy mushroom.’

‘Then have school dinners today. And can you remind Josh to bring in that reading book he keeps forgetting? Spiders in your Neck or something. And I’ve left a cheque in the drawer downstairs for your violin lessons. See Mrs Courtland gets it. Bye, Declan, bye,’ I holler through the still closed door. ‘Make sure the kids get off all right. Oh and the cat’s been sick next to the oven so mind where you tread. I’ve got to run or I’ll miss my bus.’

Declan emerges from the bathroom, wiping foam from around his mouth. ‘Not our Wonderwoman?’ he smirks, from under the hand towel. ‘Can’t she just flap her cape and soar into the sunrise?’ He manages a quick peck on my cheek before I scurry down the stairs.

In my rush I almost knock over our new neighbour, Mrs Baker, putting out her paper recycling box.

‘Oh my Lord!’ Her bony hand flutters around her heart, as if to make sure it’s still there and beating. ‘What a fright you gave me! For a moment I thought you were a mugger.’

‘Don’t worry,’ I joke. ‘Muggers don’t start work before ten round here, union rules.’

‘Let me hang onto you, dear.’

I nearly topple over as her skinny little wrinkled arm latches onto mine.

‘Do you want to sit on the step? Catch your breath?’ I turn her around and begin making small baby steps back towards her porch.

‘Catch my death, more like.’ She stops still in her tracks and pulls her crocheted shawl closer. ‘You know I never wanted to move here? Eleanor insisted.’ Her hold on me doesn’t recede. She might look frail but she’s got the grip of a gorilla. ‘“Move to Crouch End” she said. “It’ll be closer to me” she said. Such a dangerous place.’

‘Oh I don’t think it’s that bad.’ I put on a soothing voice and urge her forward once more. ‘I mean, the person who tried murdering me, well they did have mental health issues – really it was the medication talking. Could happen anywhere.’ I snatch a surreptitious glance at my watch. If I miss my bus…

‘They tried what?!’ Her hand flutters to her heart again.

‘I’m sorry, Mrs B. Love to chew the fat, but can’t stop.’ I prise off her arm. ‘Work, you know. Bye.’

***

 Luckily, thanks to 14a buses travelling in packs, I manage to hop on the last of the row of three and marvel of marvels actually find a seat on the upper deck.

As we pass Archway Tube Station I begin to relax. Mornings are the hardest but that’s normal isn’t it, until we all get this new routine off pat. As Rosa says, it’s just a matter of prioritising and hey, there’s no way I’m giving up on it. I still can’t believe how things have turned out. What’s happened career-wise in the last few months has completely surpassed my imagination.

After years of struggling on one salary, putting my metaphorical hand out to my husband each month like a modern day Oliver Twist, I’m determined to make this job a success. Show the world that I’m not Cathy O’Farrell, stay-at-home downtrodden mother-of-two anymore, but rather Cathy O’Farrell, an important and vital cog of the workforce. My stupid Smartphone threw me off today, that’s all. And Declan surprising me last night by taking me to the opening of a new exhibit at the Natural History Museum followed by dinner at a swanky restaurant, having arranged a babysitter all on his ownsome, which meant I didn’t make the supermarket. We staggered in after midnight slightly tipsy and then headed straight for bed, shedding clothes en route. Hard to believe not so long ago I was in a real mess marriage-wise, clueless as to what to do with my life, wondering if Declan even still fancied me, feeling a total failure about everything.

I gaze out of the steamed up window into the misty morning gloom, reliving the evening.

***

‘You’re certain you’re really Irish?’ I’d teased him as he refilled my wine glass. ‘You don’t drink Guinness, you’re not Catholic and I can’t think of the last time I’ve heard you say, yoicks, me arse. If it wasn’t for the ginger hair and twinkling blue eyes, I’d think you were a complete fraud.’

He gave me one of those looks, amused, I think.

‘No, and I don’t start warbling Danny Boy when I’m in a maudlin mood or go blethering on about the little people.’ He leaned forward in a secretive manner so that I automatically leaned forward too. ‘Though I will say, sure and begorrah, that’s a lovely colour blouse, you’re wearing. Makes your eyes look greener than a leprechaun’s jumpsuit, so it does.’

‘It’s new,’ I’d grinned, pleased. ‘Paid for it out of my own wage packet, wouldn’t you know.’

‘And I’m looking forward to removing it later tonight.’ He sipped slowly at his wine, face deadpan, eyes fixed on mine. It took a second but then a little thrill ran through me as I realised what he was talking about.

I decided to treat him to a drop down, flick up, sexy hair toss. ‘Dessert?’ I murmured huskily, running my tongue slowly over my bottom lip. ‘What do you fancy? Coffee, tea – or me?’

‘They do a great cheesecake here,’ he missed it entirely, nose stuck in the menu. ‘How’s the office lately?’

‘Fabulous!’ I raved. ‘Walt Whitman dropped by, hung around chatting. We hired him for the mineral water gig I was telling you about. They’re off to shoot in Hawaii next week. And then about two o’clock all the creative team had champagne in Turks’ office and watched his top ten favourite commercials – he says inputting is nearly as important as outputting.’

‘Does he now?’ he grinned and shook his head. ‘And there’s you who used to run three miles and jump a stile whenever I mentioned finding yourself a job. Who was it said it was nigh on impossible to combine proper mothering care with a worthwhile career?’

‘Ah but that was then,’ I swirled my wine around my glass, ‘and this is now. Things change. People move on. Besides I was merely waiting for the right opportunity. Didn’t want to waste my many talents on menial work.’

‘Many talents, huh? Like super sleuthing for example?’ He arched his left eyebrow in a sardonic pose. ‘So I guess that means you won’t be leaping in to catch the infamous Crouch End Creeper? Made page seven of The Independent today.’

‘The Independent? Wow. So what did…?’ I caught myself just in time and skilfully changed my mildly interested tone to dismissive-who-cares-a-fig. ‘Haven’t they better things to write about? I mean, what’s happening in the Middle East? How’s Germany’s economy? Besides I’m far too busy.’

‘Tell me again, what exactly it is you do all day?’

‘Think up new campaigns. Write copy. Mostly hush hush. I’m not supposed to talk about it actually.’ I dabbed my lips with a napkin. ‘Client confidentiality, you know.’

‘Oh I see,’ he whispered back, raising his palm between us as a shield from prying ears. ‘I didn’t realise. Heard anything from Gabby or anyone?’

By anyone, he meant half my close friends who seemed to disappear at roughly the same time towards the end of last year. Not exactly a case of one got squashed, one got lost, one had an operation. More one got sent to an asylum, one emigrated and the other disappeared to Cornwall in an attempt to get her teenagers off the weed.

‘Gabby called last week, funnily enough. She’s loving it down in Padstow. Her boys have a collie and a goat and acres of land. And Belinda emailed me from Toronto about a month ago. She started making her jams, and Geoffrey’s furniture is actually selling. Great, eh?’

‘Good luck to them, going after their dreams. I envy them in a way.’

‘Why?’ I stared at him in surprise. Not like Declan to sound wistful. ‘I could never imagine you tugging at goats’ udders or carving sparrows out of tree-trunks. Besides I thought you loved it at Wilson Inc.’

‘Oh I do, I do. Sure and isn’t it the dream of every young Irish lad,’ he mocked, ‘to be employed by an old established manufacturing company with a final salary pension plan and a real gold watch on retirement.’

‘Well, what is your dream then?’

‘Don’t know,’ he sighed and looked thoughtful. ‘But I suspect it’s nothing to do with end of year accounts. Ach, never mind,’ he put on the accent again. ‘Right now, I’m dreaming of bed with my Irish queen and stripping her of that fine linen blouse. Too la roo la roo la.’

Later that night, I snuggled up against his warm naked body.

‘I think you’ve been in Crouch End too long. You’ve the worst Irish accent I’ve ever heard.’

He wrapped his arms around me. ‘And hard to believe you’re more interested in matters abroad than happenings in your own neighbourhood. Well done.’ He kissed the top of my head.

‘I’m not a small town gal anymore,’ I’d sighed heavily, gloriously content.

* * * * *

“Looking for La La” by Ellie Campbell is on sale for $0.99 from Monday, March 24th to Sunday, March 30th!

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“How to Survive Your Sisters” by Ellie Campbell is on sale Wednesday, March 26th to Sunday, March 30th! (US only)

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Filed Under: To Catch a Creeper Tagged With: Book feature, Books, Chick-Lit, Ellie Campbell, To Catch A Creeper, Women's Fiction

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