Cover Reveal: Aftereffects by L.J. Greene

Aftereffects
L.J. Greene
Publication date: October 8th 2018
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance

What could be more terrifying than falling in love with the person who is your good place? Maybe realizing just a smidge too late that there can be dire consequences to becoming your best friend’s lover.

The lives of Keir Stevens and Selene Georgiou serendipitously collide mid-span on San Francisco’s Golden Gate Bridge, one jarring step ahead of fate. He’s a temporary transplant from Seattle; she’s facing the biggest career opportunity of her life. They have no notion of the common thread that connects them.

As they come to discover they share a similar adversity, their relationship evolves from a fun and frivolous infatuation with nowhere to go into a true friendship with sincerity, humor, and respect at its heart.

It’s awfully hard not to fall in love with that – even if you’re pretty darn certain you shouldn’t.

But when love and friendship suffer their own devastating collision – their interests brutally conflicting – the consequences of blurring the lines between the two suddenly become real. In the end, which one will be the stronger? And more importantly, can either survive?

AFTER EFFECTS is a standalone dual POV adult contemporary romance about the things we choose in life out of all the things that are beyond our choosing – a tale of love and friendship, of time and how we spend it, and of the inner wars that ultimately show us what really matters.

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Author Bio:

Romance author, obsessive multi-tasker, California native, music lover with no apparent musical talent, travel enthusiast, and cheese connoisseur

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Spotlight: Discovering You (Indigo Series #1) by Kate McBrien

Genre: Contemporary Romance
Release Date: July 7, 2018
Publisher: Kate McBrien
Series: Indigo

For fans of Love on the Edge of Time and A Knight in Shining Armor comes an epic romance that proves true love can never die.

Do you believe in soulmates?

A shy art historian. A sexy rock star. A mysterious medieval cross that holds a secret.

Lucy Bianchi has a plan: finish her PhD in art history and land a coveted job at a prestigious Los Angeles museum. Then—maybe—she’ll find time to start dating. Her controlled and predictable world begins to unravel when she chases a runaway dog on the beach and meets a gorgeous stranger.

Justin Hamilton is the charismatic lead singer of the British band Indigo. Years of touring and partying have won him notoriety, and he can have any woman he wants, but who he really wants doesn’t seem to exist.

Until now.

From their first look—their first touch—Justin and Lucy have a connection that defies logic and deepens their desire for each other. When they see the Varangian Cross at a museum exhibit, they’re flooded with inexplicable shared memories that draw them even closer together.

Justin has to return to London just as a salacious scandal explodes that could tear them apart. Lucy must choose between the safe life she’s cultivated, or go to Justin and discover a never-ending love.

Discovering You is the first book of a contemporary romance trilogy.

Excerpt

Copyright© 2018 Discovering You

Justin reached for her hand. “Come here.”

Lucy took one step forward, and Justin cradled her face, gazing into her eyes. He leaned in slowly and gave her a gentle kiss. His lips were soft and full as they touched hers. It was a tender kiss at first, but soon the kiss deepened. His kiss should have felt new, but instead it felt like coming home to something rooted deep within her. His fingers wound around her hair, pulling her even closer to him. He moaned as Lucy parted her lips, allowing his tongue access inside, exploring her depths. Something detonated inside Lucy as she ran her fingers through his hair. It seemed as if all the anxiety she usually had around men had evaporated.

Justin pulled away, his eyes exploring her face in silent wonder.

Lucy let her fingers trace down the side of his face and his stubble. He closed his eyes, leaning into her palm, and smiled with a soft sigh.

When Justin opened his eyes again, his arms slid down around her, pulling her closer, and he kissed her again. She could feel his growing erection, and it increased her arousal even more. She whimpered when he broke their kiss.

“I’ve dreamt of kissing you.” He kissed her again and then nibbled her bottom lip. “I’ve dreamt of you every night since I met you. I can’t get you out of my mind.”

His blue eyes were so like hers it was eerie. “I’ve had dreams of you, too,” she said with a smile.

With a sexy grin, he reached for her again and pulled her close. “I think I’m obsessed with you. You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” he whispered, pushing his hips against her.

Lucy gasped as he pulled off her jacket and tossed it on a nearby chair. His hands caressed her bare arms and she shuddered. His hands were strong, with long fingers tenderly moving across her skin. The pads of his fingertips were a little rough as they touched her. “So soft,” he murmured before he leaned in and gave her shoulder a gentle kiss.

Lucy tilted her head back as he trailed kisses down her neck. He glanced up at her for a moment, as if asking for permission. He ran his fingers across the swell of her breast, bending down to place a gentle kiss. “I want you. I want to know every part of you.”

“Justin,” she whispered, leaning in to kiss him again. “I want that, too.”

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About Kate McBrien

Kate has an MA in art history from San José State University and has taught art history at a local college. For many years, she has worked as a dental hygienist, courageously offering encouragement to her non-flossing patients.

She has always enjoyed writing but became more serious after being encouraged by a friend to participate in National Novel Writing Month. She began writing historical fiction but soon realized that the romance was taking over the history.

Kate is a Bay Area native who lives near the beach with her husband and Lola, their spoiled Labrador Retriever. When not writing, she enjoys cooking, music, movies, reading, and fangirling over Jamie Dornan.

Connect with Kate:  Website  | Facebook  | Twitter  | Goodreads  | BookBub

Spotlight: Finding Me by Judith Keim

Sheena Sullivan Morelli and her sisters, Darcy and Regan, receive the unexpected news that their Uncle Gavin Sullivan, the black sheep of the family, has left them a hotel on the Gulf coast of Florida. The gift comes with a twist. They must live together for one year at the hotel and prepare the hotel to receive guests within a year. Sheena, eager to escape her role of unappreciated wife and mother, can’t wait for the opportunity to find herself. Dreams of sitting on the beach sipping margaritas are shattered when they see the property in need of renovation. But they begin their work of meeting the challenge. If they succeed, the bulk of Gavin’s estate will be theirs. Facing the unexpected, working together, the three sisters learn a lot about each other and the gift of family love.

Excerpt

CHAPTER ONE

SHEENA

In early January, Sheena Morelli sat with her two sisters in a conference room of the Boston law office of Lowell, Peabody and Wilson, waiting to meet with Archibald Wilson himself.

“Do either of you have any idea why we’re really here?” said her youngest sister, Regan. “The letter from Mr. Wilson said something about a reading of a will. But that doesn’t make sense to me. I didn’t even know Gavin Sullivan.”

“Me, neither. He’s probably some rich uncle leaving us a lot of money,” teased Darcy, the typical middle sister, who was always kidding around.

Sheena laughed with her. The three Sullivan sisters had no rich relatives that they knew of in their modest family. They were hard workers who relied on only themselves to make it through life. Well, thought Sheena, maybe Regan wasn’t as reliable as she and Darcy. As the baby of the family, Regan had always been a bit spoiled. At twenty-two and eager to escape her old life in Boston, Regan wasn’t about to spend too much time with the family. This time, though, at the formal request of Mr. Wilson, Regan had dutifully left New York City to come to “Bean Town.”

As Sheena waited in the conference room for Mr. Wilson to show up, she studied Regan out of the corner of her eye. With her long, black hair, big, violet-blue eyes, and delicate Sullivan features, she was a knockout—a Liz Taylor look-alike.

Darcy sat on the other side of Sheena in a stiff-backed chair. Studying Darcy’s blue eyes, red hair, and freckled nose, Sheena thought of her as cute…and funny…and maybe a little annoying, though everyone seemed to love Darcy’s sassy attitude. At twenty-six, Darcy claimed she hadn’t found her true calling. Whatever that meant.

Sheena had found her calling in a hurry when she got pregnant as she was starting college, where she’d planned to take nursing courses. Ironic as it was, her wanting to become a nurse and getting caught like that, had changed many things for her. Now, at thirty-six and with a sixteen-year-old son and a fourteen-year-old daughter, she still hadn’t recovered from losing her dream.

She straightened in her chair as a tall, gray-haired man entered the room carrying a file of papers.

“Good morning, ladies. I’m Archibald Wilson, the lawyer representing Gavin Sullivan. I’m pleased you all could attend this reading of his will,” he announced in a bass voice. He looked the three of them over critically. “Which one of you is Sheena Sullivan Morelli?”

She raised her hand. “I’m Sheena. Do you mean the ‘Big G’ Sullivan?”

Wide-eyed, her sisters released loud gasps. The name “Big G Sullivan” had been mentioned in the family on rare occasions, and only when her father and his two other brothers had had too many beers. And then it was never kindly.

Mr. Wilson nodded with satisfaction. “Yes, that’s my client. Sheena, though all three of you are beneficiaries, I will address you on most of the issues, as it pertains to the specific language of the will.”

Sheena sat back in her chair, her mind spinning. This scene seemed so surreal. Their father had broken his relationship with this brother years ago. He’d always said his brother was a loser, someone he could never trust.

“He’s left something for us?” said Darcy. “I was only teasing about such a thing.”

The lawyer studied Darcy a moment, took a seat facing the three of them on the other side of the small conference table, and opened the file he had carried in.

He began to speak: “I, Gavin R. Sullivan, of the State of Florida, being of sound and disposing mind and memory, do make, publish, and declare this to be my Last Will and Testament…”

Certain words faded in and out of Sheena’s shocked state of mind. Though her sisters might have been too young to remember him, she had a clear image of the big, jovial man who’d captivated her with his smile, his belly laughs, and the way her father grew quiet when they were in the same room together. On one particular visit, the “Big G”, as he was known, gave her a stuffed monkey that she’d kept on her bed for years. It wasn’t until the fur on the monkey was worn off that she’d noticed a seam was tearing. One day, while she was probing the hole, a gold coin fell out.

Sheena showed the coin to her mother, who snatched it away and whispered, “Don’t tell anyone about this. It’s very valuable. Someday you’ll need it. Until then, I’ll keep it safe for you. Your uncle loves you very much.” As her father walked through the doorway, her mother held a finger to her lips.

Until now, Sheena had forgotten all about the coin.

Archibald Wilson’s voice brought her back to the present. “Sheena, you, Darcy, and Regan are now the legal owners of the Salty Key Inn, but you, Sheena, will be in charge of taking over the small hotel in Florida, as your uncle directed in his will. Is that understood by the three of you?”

Sheena and her sisters dutifully bobbed their heads. The bewilderment on her sisters’ faces matched her own feelings. How in the world were the three of them going to run a hotel?

“Remember,” Mr. Wilson warned them, “the hotel may not be sold for a period of one year. And the three of you must live there together for that entire time if you are to have a share in the rest of his sizeable estate, the details of which will remain undisclosed until the end of your year in Florida. You have just two weeks to prepare. In conversations I had with him in setting up the will, I believe Gavin Sullivan intended for this to be a life lesson for each of you.”

“Whoa! Wait a minute! What about the lease on the condo I share with two of my friends? I can’t just walk away from that,” said Darcy.

“And mine?” said Regan.

The lawyer nodded. “Read over the conditions of the will. Any expenses like that will be taken care of by Gavin’s estate. All expenses as you settle in will be handled through me. But, beware, there will be hidden tests for you throughout this entire process. Tests that could make a lot of difference to each of you.”

Sheena exchanged worried glances with her sisters. She wished she’d asked their mother for more information about the uncle she was never to mention. And now it was too late. Their mother had died a little over a year ago.

“Live together in Florida for a whole year? Was Uncle Gavin crazy when he set up this deal?”

exclaimed Darcy. Her indignation was understandable.

Mr. Wilson stood. “I realize you all have a lot to talk about, a lot to think about. And let me know if you need any further clarification of the terms of the will. You are welcome to continue using this conference room, and please feel free to help yourself to any of the refreshments on the side table.” His lips curved with a touch of humor in what had been a mostly expressionless face. “Enjoy the challenge.”

After Mr. Wilson left them, Sheena sank back into her chair. Her mind raced at the thought of suddenly leaving Boston to go live with her sisters in Florida for an entire year. How could she do that? It would be difficult for her on many levels. They were sisters, after all, and like sisters everywhere, being together for too long sometimes caused battles to erupt. More than that, she had a family. And her husband, Tony, wouldn’t like the idea at all. Her children even less.

“What a joke,” said Darcy, shaking her head. “Living with the two of you for an entire year? Running a hotel? No way. And, Sheena, Tony would never allow you to do something like this. You’re what he calls ‘the Mrs’. And what about the kids?”

Sheena glared at Darcy. “Wait a minute! What did you mean by that ‘Mrs.’ remark?”

“Don’t take it the wrong way,” urged Regan. “It’s just that your family depends on you for everything. Especially Tony.”

Deep in thought, Sheena remained quiet. Tony was a good man who prided himself on always doing the right thing. And he expected her to fulfill what he thought was her proper role.

Though their relationship was still new when she got pregnant, Tony had stepped right up and offered to marry her to prevent her mother’s conservative church friends from counting on their fingers how long it took for their first baby to appear. It helped that their son, Michael Morelli, had started his life in the outside world a little late. Still, Sheena had always appreciated Tony’s consideration.

A worried sigh escaped her. She knew Tony wouldn’t support her being away from their family for an entire year. That would be going against his idea of her in the proper role of taking care of their family. And yet, with his business recently doing poorly, it might be an answer to their prayers—though Tony’s fragile ego might prevent her from actually saying so.

“What about you two?” Sheena asked. “You’ll have to quit your jobs. What then?”

Regan shrugged. “I don’t care. My job is boring—answering phone calls, greeting people and all. They’ll just find another receptionist to take my place.”

Darcy shook her head. “Receptionist? You were so much more than that. More like some kind of hostess with all those special meetings you helped them with. When I visited you in New York, I witnessed how it was—you serving them drinks before they went out to some business dinner.”

“What about you, Darcy?” Sheena asked. “You’ve got a very good job working in IT.”

Darcy grimaced. “Actually, I don’t like it very much. Working with numbers and codes all day isn’t that exciting. Mom was always so proud of me and my job that I didn’t dare tell her I wasn’t happy there. But, with her gone, I’ve been thinking of doing something else.” She smiled. “Maybe this whole thing isn’t dumb after all. Maybe this will be the beginning of something new for all of us.”

Sheena returned her smile. Put this way, it sounded wonderful. If, only…

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About the Author

Judith Keim was born and raised in Elmira, New York, and now makes her home in Idaho with her husband and long-haired dachshund, Winston, and other members of her family. Growing up, books were always present - being read, ready to go back to the library or about to be discovered. Information from the books was shared in general conversation, giving everyone in her family a wealth of knowledge and a lot of imagination. Perhaps that is why she was drawn to the idea of writing stories early on. Judith particularly loves to write novels about women who face unexpected challenges with strength and find love along the way.

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Spotlight: A Lot Like Perfect by Kat Cantrell

From USA Today Bestseller Kat Cantrell comes a sweet small town romance series with a touch of magic.

What kind of man falls for the woman meant for his buddy?

Navy SEAL Isaiah West has trouble calling himself “former” military, but after an involuntary discharge, redefining himself is the only option. The small town of Superstition Springs seems as good a place as any to regroup while he figures out where he’s supposed to go next—and deal with how that last operation in Syria messed up his place on the team.

Aria Nixon has long accepted her role as the “plain” sister and really, she has no use for a man who only sees her looks anyway. So when her Aunt Serenity’s love prediction mentions the word “makeover,” it’s game on to prove she can get noticed without one. Who better to help her get the inside track on how a man thinks than…a man? Isaiah specifically, who has his own prediction to sidestep.

But in a mystical place like Superstition Springs, nothing ever goes as expected. It turns out Isaiah and Aria have a lot in common, and what’s with the attraction between them? Not supposed to happen. She can’t fall for Isaiah. He’s too perfect, too much what she wasn’t looking for and too likely to break her heart when he leaves. And Isaiah isn’t about to admit he’s got feelings for the woman he’s supposed to be helping attract an entirely different guy—his teammate. They should stay friends. Right?

Welcome to Superstition Springs, town in progress…SEALs of Superstition Springs is a clean and wholesome series starring heroes you can share!

Excerpt

In case the magic had something to do with the springs, he was fine hanging out here with Aria for the next few hours. Or forever. Right now, he couldn’t fathom breaking the spell they’d somehow fallen under, where the rest of the world didn’t exist. He didn’t have to pretend anymore and here, he wasn’t broken because Aria didn’t expect anything out of him but his presence.

He could do with a good dose of living in the here and now.

“Aria,” he murmured again, her name leaving his mouth like a song. And why shouldn’t it? She was as beautiful as a melody and as sultry as a saxophone.

“Are you going to do that a lot?” she asked, shifting deeper into his arms, which worked for him.

“Um… I don’t know. Which part?” If whatever it was resulted in her snuggling that much closer, he’d definitely be repeating it.

“Saying my name like that.” She sighed and the rise and fall of her chest hit him in places she shouldn’t have been able to touch from the outside. “It makes me shivery.”

“In a good way, I hope.” He didn’t have the expertise of someone like Marchande, but he’d never had any complaints either. Plus, she’d chosen him. That realization alone had him riding pretty high. “If so, then I’ll do it a lot.”

She gave him one of her wistful smiles that made him want to gather up the whole world and gift it to her so she never had to want for anything again. “That would be nice. Except if you’re busy saying my name a lot and I’m busy staring at you a lot, we’re never going to get to the thing I’d really hoped to do tonight. And I had some big plans.”

“Oh?” She had his complete and utter attention as he honed in on the undercurrents that had sped up instantly. “What might that be?”

“Well, you know.” She blinked up at him through her lashes and it was every bit as alluring as when she smiled. “We’re alone. We’re really far from town. No one is looking for us.”

Her voice had dropped a few degrees but the temperature hadn’t and the images that sprang to mind as his imagination started filling in the blanks of her provocative statements didn’t help. “All of that is true. What do those circumstances put you in the mood for?”

This would not be a good time to misinterpret her meaning.

Somehow she’d moved even closer, her kiss-reddened lips begging for him to taste again, and things below the belt noticed all of the above in a big way.

“Something daring,” she said. “Something guaranteed to make tonight memorable, especially since I’ve never done it with a man before.”

“Never?” Well, duh. It only made sense that Aria didn’t have a lot of experience with men. She lived in a small town that was decidedly short on eligible males. But to toss it out there so he knew exactly where he stood—raw energy and no small amount of humility coursed through him as he considered the implications. “I’m honestly flattered that you’d choose me for your first time. Are you sure this is what you want?”

“Oh, completely sure. There’s just one small problem.” She bit her lip and it was so enticing that he nearly groaned.

“You’re killing me,” he ground out hoarsely. “No problems. Whatever it is, I’ll fix it. Just tell me.”

Lack of sheets, pillows, candles, music? He’d crawl on his hands and knees all the way to La Grange to get double of every last thing.

“I didn’t bring my bathing suit.”

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About the Author

USA Today Bestselling Author Kat Cantrell read her first Harlequin novel in third grade and has been scribbling in notebooks since she learned to spell. What else would she write but romance? When she’s not writing about characters on the journey to happily ever after, she can be found at a taekwondo tournament, watching Big Bang Theory or dancing with her kids to Duran Duran and Red Hot Chili Peppers. Kat, her husband and their two boys live in North Texas. She was a former Harlequin So You Think You Can Write winner and a former RWA® Golden Heart® finalist for best unpublished series contemporary manuscript.

Website | Twitter | Facebook | Instagram | Goodreads | BookBub

 

Spotlight: The Promise Of Everything by Blaire Broderick

She’s living for today… 

Sophie is dying—probably. An aneurysm at the base of her brain is just waiting to burst, and though she tries to keep her mind off the inevitable by painting away the pain, she simply can’t forget that her days are numbered. 

He’s yearning for tomorrow… 

Jamison is stuck. His past is a mess he’d rather not revisit, and his present is so dull he can hardly stand it. He takes refuge in his nightly walks where he looks up from the silent New York streets and stares into the window of a tragically beautiful girl painting her masterpiece. 

They were made for each other… 

A near collision in the dead of night brings them together, and fate means to keep it that way. But when Jamison turns out to be Sophie’s surgeon—the best in the city and her only chance at survival—will she be forced to choose between the love of her life and life itself? 

They’re perfect together. But will the curse of the Garner-Willoughby family tear them apart? 

**This is a full-length standalone romance with a HEA and no cliff hanger.**

Excerpt

JAMISON

My boots crunched in the snow as my lungs filled with freezing cold air. Oversized snowflakes brushed my face melting on contact as moonlight spilled through barren trees.
I came alive at night, roaming the streets of Tribeca. Packed city streets became mostly deserted come ten o’clock. That was when I took my nightly walks. Crisp night air washed the day off me, cleared my mind, and brought a sort of otherworldly peace I could never fully put into words.
My nightly walks were also when I got to see her—the painter girl. Her loft apartment was directly across from mine on the other side of the street. Some nights, when I couldn’t sleep, I’d stare out my window and watch her paint. Leaning against my living room window, I’d watch as her wild, brown hair spilled down her shoulders, and her body moved in tandem with each stroke of her brush. Sometimes the canvas was bigger than her, and the colors seemed to swallow her whole.
I tried to imagine what kind of music she was listening to or what was going through her mind as she painted. I’d never seen her up close before. I only knew she had long, dark hair filled with loose waves and thick bangs that hung in her eyes.
I’d walk past her building each night hoping to catch a glimpse of her face just once, but it was always just her hair.
In a borough with over a million people, I thought I’d never be lonely. It turned out I’d never been so lonely in my life. I spent my days amongst hundreds of people, ten- or twelve-hour days sometimes packed full of people who needed me and pulled me in every direction. There was never enough of me to go around.
My quiet apartment perfectly juxtaposed itself against the chaos that consumed my days. No one ever needed me after six o’clock anymore, not since I’d realized that people like me were better off alone than in the company of those with less-than-genuine intentions.
I slipped past the painter girl’s apartment and glanced up. Her window was dark that night. I sighed, trekking on and slipping my gloved hands into the pockets of my gray woolen coat.
Maybe tomorrow.
The door to her building flew open just before I passed, and a girl bundled up in a puffy coat with a fur-lined hood ran out breezing past me. Her face was covered with a thick lavender scarf, and dark hair fell from her hood spilling down the front of her coat.
“Dammit!” she yelled a second later. “Ow. Ow.”
I spun around to see her lying on the ground, a gloved hand wrapped around her ankle.
“You okay?” I rushed to her side. “Sidewalks are slick tonight.”
She tugged her scarf down her face revealing full lips and a hint of deep dimples centered in her rosy cheeks. “I was trying to get to the art supply store before they close. I need more white paint.”
It was her. The painter girl.
A dried streak of blue paint graced her left cheek, and it took every ounce of my Type A personality not to try to wipe it off.
“I think I twisted my ankle,” she said, her sweet face flinching. She glanced at me, looking up through a splay of dark lashes, and immediately tried to toughen up. I studied her soft features in the moonlight. She was more beautiful than I’d ever imagined her to be. Her arms latched onto the park bench beside her attempting to hoist herself into a standing position. “Ouch…”
“Let me help you.” I lifted her up as if she were a rag doll and plunked her on the bench. “Can I look at it?”
Her body froze as our eyes met. Even in the dark of night, I could see her cheeks blush. She cleared her throat and nodded. I slipped her boot off and pulled her sock down enough to examine her ankle before I gently felt around.
“It’s just a light sprain,” I said. “Ice it for the next two to three days until the swelling goes down. Keep it elevated. Stay off it.”
I pulled the sock up and slipped her boot back on ensuring it was perfectly straight on her foot.
“You need help getting to your apartment?” I asked her.
She huffed, though her annoyance was more than likely directed toward her sprained ankle than anything else.
“Yeah. I live right there.” She pointed toward the door she’d burst from just minutes before. “Third floor.”
I slipped my arm under hers, and she gripped my shoulder as I raised her up. We hobbled, step by step, to the apartment building door.
“I don’t have an elevator,” she said apologetically as we made it inside the warm and cozy foyer.
“Not a problem.” I scooped my arm under her knees and lifted her petite body up the stairs one at a time until we’d arrived at the third floor. “Which apartment?”
“God, this is embarrassing,” she muttered, her hand flying to her reddened cheeks. “3B.”
I carried her to 3B and carefully helped her stand, my arm around her hips for support as she fished through her purse for her keys. A blast of warmth hit our faces the second her apartment door opened. In the corner, a space heater roared in the direction of a makeshift studio. Exposed brick walls, a drafting table, huge canvases, and a cart filled with paints, brushes, and palettes took center stage. A large canvas, still wet and half-completed, rested against a paint-covered easel.
“Where do you want me to put you?” I asked, watching as her eyes danced longingly toward her art studio. I glanced around at her place. It was a fraction of the size of my loft. It was wide open with no walls save for the bathroom. A vintage, industrial kitchen stood across from a makeshift living room, and a large bed covered with a million pillows rested against an empty wall. Her studio took pride of place next to the large floor-to-ceiling windows I’d watched her through so many times.
“I don’t know,” she sighed. She wanted to paint. It pained her not to. I could see it all over her pretty face.
“Here,” I said, directing her toward her sofa. “Sit here.”
Her careful gaze never left me as I walked to her studio and lifted her easel and canvas bringing them over to her along with a palette and brushes. I ran to her kitchen and stuffed a hand towel with ice cubes from her freezer, filled a glass with water, and grabbed some ibuprofen.
“You don’t have to do all this, you know,” she said with an amused half-smile.
“I wasn’t going to leave you out there,” I said, handing her the water and gel caps.
“I mean all this,” she said, her eyes dancing around the makeshift studio I’d set up for her. “It was very nice of you. Thank you.”
I shrugged and offered a reserved smile.
“I’m Sophie, by the way,” she said. “I’ve seen you around. You go walking at night.”
My heart leaped. She’d noticed me, too.
“Jamison,” I said. We stood, my eyes locked on her big, brown gaze for far too long as an awkward silence filled the space between us. I couldn’t get enough of her pretty face. There was something wildly innocent and free-spirited about her. Maybe it was the way her hair hung in her face or the way she didn’t notice the paint streak on her cheek. Maybe it was the way her apartment was decorated in a mish-mash of colors and styles as if she’d found random things at a flea market and decided to claim them. There was no rhyme or reason for any of it as far as I could tell.
“What time does your art store close?”
Her arched brows raised under her thick bangs. “You don’t have to do that.”
I glanced down at my watch. “How far away is it? You said you needed white, right? What do you paint with?”
“Oils,” she said. “But you don’t have to do that.”
“What’s it called?” I asked. “If I bring you white, will you promise to stay off your feet and let your sprain heal?”
Her lips twisted, amused again. “Beacon Art Supplies. They were staying open late for me tonight. It’s up the block on the left.”
I bolted out of her apartment, practically running down the two flights of stairs and out past the spot where she’d slipped and fallen ten minutes prior. Five minutes later, I’d arrived.
“Hello?” I called, poking my head inside. The ‘open’ sign was unlit, but the door was unlocked, and the lights were still on.
“Yes?” a woman’s voice called from the back.
“I’m here to pick up some paint for, uh, Sophie,” I said, realizing I didn’t yet know her last name.
“Oh, yes,” she said. “Be right there.”
A blonde woman about Sophie’s age with a braided ponytail hanging over her left shoulder strutted to the front. She was wearing a paint-covered smock and holding a giant bottle of white paint in her hand.
“She slipped on the way here,” I said. “I told her I’d grab it for her.”
The woman’s nametag identified her as Mia. She rolled her eyes and laughed. “I told her I’d stay open late. Must’ve been in a big hurry.”
“Sidewalks are slick,” I said, pulling out my wallet. “Be careful out there tonight.”
Mia waved her hand. “It’s free.”
“Free?”
“She works for me.”
“Oh,” I said, slipping my wallet back into my left back pocket. “All right, then.”
I hurried back to Sophie’s knocking before letting myself in. She was still right where I left her, lying across the couch with her leg propped up on a pillow, half asleep.
“Here’s your paint,” I whispered, sitting it next to the easel on her coffee table. I clicked off the lamp that lit the space above her sofa and showed myself out, pausing to look at her one more time before locking the door from the inside and shutting it tight.
So that’s her.

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About the Author

Blaire Broderick is a modern-day Carrie Bradshaw—if Carrie Bradshaw had three small children, two dogs, a sitcom-dad of a husband, and lived in the suburbs far, far away from the romantic city streets of Manhattan. A daydream believer, Blaire is never without an idea in her heart or a song in her head.  When she’s not busy tending to her little ones, she can be found working on her next book. And when she’s not working, you just might find her curling up with a good book or a really trashy reality show.

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Spotlight: The Busy Moms Guide to Writing by Angela Castillo

Are you a busy mom who loves to write, but doesn't know where to start? This easy-to-read guide by two bestselling, award-winning authors will help you make your writing dreams a reality.

From finding time to write, to showing you how to get your kids involved, Jamie Foley and Angela Castillo (who happen to be busy moms themselves) will give you the resources--and the encouragement--you need.

This book will:
- Help you plan out your writing goals, time management, and financial budget
- Encourage you to enlist aid from the right people--critique partners, editors, cover designers, and more
- Guide you to making the best decision for you regarding independent and traditional publishing
- Give you questions to ask yourself at the end of each chapter to help you move closer to your writing dreams
- Steer you away from common mistakes

Excerpt

Supper should have been started half an hour ago, and a pile of laundry waits for you on the couch (well, it used to--now the kids have flung the clothes across the room in a free-for-all sock fight). Your baby is crying, and your oldest kid is yelling something about a science fair project being due tomorrow.

But what are you thinking about? A roving mercenary princess in your own made up land--the land of Flynn. You’ve dreamed about this land, pretended to live in it yourself. And more than anything, you want to write about it.

Your little girl grabs hold of your leg with sticky fingers. “Mommy, when are we going to have supper? I’m hungry, Mommy!”

If you’re feeling tempted to check your home for a hidden camera, the reason we know these things is because we are there. We have nights like this on a continual basis. Yet between both of us, we have fifteen published books (and three collections). These books help to generate an income to help with grocery money and even, sometimes, the mortgage payment. Writing and Momming can happen! At the same time!

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About the Authors

Angela Castillo loves living in the small town of Bastrop Texas, and draws much of her writing inspiration from life there. She loves to walk in the woods and shop in the local stores. Castillo studied Practical Theology and Music at Christ for the Nations in Dallas, Texas. She was home-schooled all through high school and is the oldest of 7 kids. Castillo's greatest joys are her little girl and two boys. Castillo has been published in The First Line, Aardvark's Ark, Heartwarmers, Thema, and several other publications, and also has works available on Amazon in paperback and Kindle format.

Jamie Foley loves strategy games, home-grown berries, and Texas winters. She's terrified of plot holes and red wasps.

Her husband is her manly cowboy astronaut muse. They live between Austin, TX and their family cattle ranch, where their hyperactive spawnling and wolfpack can run free.

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