Title: Mister Cowboy
Author: Rebecca Jenshak
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Release Date: March 8
He’s a dirty-talking CEO with the heart of a cowboy.
He’s a dirty-talking CEO with the heart of a cowboy.
Brecken Blackstone is not a cowboy. The bristly CEO has finally made a name for himself, trading boots for expensive suits, and the country landscape for a high rise in the city. When he inherits the family ranch, he’s eager to sell and be rid of it and the memories that haunt him.
January Lyle isn’t interested in another rich, boring suit, but from the moment she met Brecken, it’s clear he’s different. Hired to organize and prepare Blackstone Ranch to be sold, January wonders if she’s in over her head – with the large estate and the sexy man who owns it.
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Her eyes fluttered open, and she peered up at him, chin resting on his chest.
“Hi,” she said timidly.
Wrapping his arms around her, he rolled, pinning her underneath him. He wanted to wipe that unsure expression off her face. It threatened to destroy him.
“Good morning. Can we get a ruling on the field?”
Her brows furrowed, and the corners of her eyes crinkled. “What?”
“Last night, you called time out. A flag was thrown on the play, and I’m demanding time to be added back to the clock.”
She covered her face with both hands. “Oh my God. I’m so embarrassed.”
“I had no idea you were such a sports fan, but you threw that T like you had done it before. Volleyball? Football? Oh, please tell me you’re into that whole women’s lingerie football and all my dreams just came true.”
She dropped her hands and smiled up at him. “Lingerie Football League? Seriously? That’s what you think I do in my spare time?”
“A man can hope.” His dick twitched just picturing her in a pair of pads and… well, nothing else.
She rolled her eyes. “I played basketball. I was tall—coaches loved me.”
“Correction. You are tall.”
“So, into the technicalities this morning.”
“Sexual frustration.” He let his weight fall on her fully and ground his hardness against her. “It does crazy things to a man.”
Rebecca lives in Arizona with her husband and children. When she’s not writing, she enjoys reading, going to the movie theater, and binge-watching Netflix.
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Title: Enticing Daphne
Author: Jessica Prince
Genre: Sassy Romantic Comedy
It’s easy to stop believing in happily ever afters when the man you thought you’d spend the rest of your life with abandons you right before your wedding day. After that disastrous event I decided that commitment was for suckers. I was young, successful, and in the prime of my life.
I didn’t need a man to make me happy.
Then an unexpected blast from the past came waltzing into my studio and decided I was a challenge he was more than willing to accept. The only problem is that he doesn’t remember he’s met me before.
He’s the ultimate playboy, determined to stop at nothing until he entices the hell out of me. But if Caleb McMannus thinks he can lure me in with his sinful looks and silver tongue, then he’s…probably right.
Google was quickly becoming the bane of my existence.
What had started as curiosity about Caleb McMannus had blossomed into a full-blown obsession. Once you Googled, there was no going back. I was disgusted with myself.
Not only because it seemed I’d banged a guy whose dick had already been in half the female population of the United States, but also because I couldn’t stop thinking about the stupid man-whore. It was a sickness. A gross, disappointing sickness that I’d spent weeks trying to cure myself of to no avail.
Each gossip column of his sexcapades, each picture of him in a compromising position—and there were many, all of them with a different woman—was cringe-worthy. But I couldn’t stop myself from searching them out.
What was worse, I couldn’t stop thinking about our night together. It had been the most intense, toe-curling experience of my life. And even though I pretty much hated him for forgetting about me, I wanted it again.
Damn my needy, traitorous vagina!
Born and raised around Houston Texas, Jessica spent most of her life complaining about the heat, humidity, and all around pain in the ass weather. It was only as an adult that she quickly realized the cost of living in Houston made up for not being able to breathe when she stepped outside. That’s why God created central air, after all.
Jessica is the mother of a perfect little boy–she refuses to accept that he inherited her attitude and sarcastic nature no matter what her husband says.
In addition to being a wife and mom, she’s also a wino, a coffee addict, and an avid lover of all types of books–romances still being her all time favs. Her husband likes to claim that reading is her obsession but she just says it’s a passion…there’s a difference. Not that she’d expect a boy to understand.
Jessica has been writing since she was a little girl, but thankfully grew out of drawing her own pictures for her stories before ever publishing her first book. Because an artist she is not.
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Author: Rebecca Jenshak
Series: Sweetbriar Lake
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Publisher: Blue Tulip Publishing
Chris White can take his big, chiseled muscles and shove it… at least to the room down the hall. After her apartment building goes up in flames, Tori Calloway finds her-self shacked up with her brother’s best friend and the man she’s spent the better part of her twenties hating with every fiber of her being.
Chris knows how to throw a punch that’ll drop a man to his knees, but sparring with Tori is a whole different game. He was just a boy when he lost her the first time, and he’s not about to make the same mistake twice. Toe to toe with his fiercest competitor yet, he won’t go down without a fight.
**Spar is a sexy, contemporary romance STANDALONE. Each book in the Sweetbriar series will follow a different couple**
Chris racked the barbell and glanced at the clock. It had been nearly eight hours since Tori had stormed — or rather, haughtily limped — upstairs. If she was determined to hide out, he wasn’t going to go banging down the door. This was his house, and he wasn’t tiptoeing around to spare her feelings. As he skipped up the dark stairway, he peeled off his sweaty shirt and shorts. A hot shower before bed sounded great.
No light peered out from the master bedroom. Tori was either sleeping or pretending to sleep. Either way it was a pretty clear signal she wanted to be left alone. Chris turned the door handle to the room he’d claimed for himself. Inside, he closed the door quietly and stepped out of his boxers. He fumbled for the light switch, cursing as he tripped over a pillow lying on the floor. What the hell?
Chris froze, momentarily taken aback by the woman in his room. Recovering quickly, he let her stare at his naked form. That’s right, sweetheart. Look all you want. A faint pink crept up her neck and into her cheeks, confirming that she liked what she saw.
Tori covered her head with the blanket, screaming incoherently.
Chris headed to the bathroom, smiling at the sight of her hiding under the covers.
“This is my room. I had planned on taking a shower and going to bed alone, but this is a nice surprise. Care to join me in the shower, or do you want to wait for me here?”
Tori flung the covers off and hobble-stalked after him.
“Shower it is, then?” Chris said as his eyes wandered down to her bare legs and back up to her chest, which was covered with his gym shirt. The cut-off sleeves showed just a hint of side-boob, making it next to impossible to look away.
She crossed her arms as she apparently recognized him openly appreciating her choice of clothing. The weight of her arms pressed against her chest pushed her breasts up higher. He’d never be able to wear that shirt again without picturing her in it.
“So where am I supposed to sleep?” she demanded, not looking at him.
“You’re more than welcome to sleep in my bed, but I made up the master for you. End of the hallway,” he said as he stepped into the spray of warm water.
She either needed to get her ass in the shower now, or he was gonna need a hell of a lot more than water to keep his feelings and something else from springing up.
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Rebecca lives in Arizona with her husband and children. When she’s not writing, she enjoys reading, going to the movie theater, and binge-watching Netflix.
Title: Balancing the Scales
Author: Laura Carter
A Hotshot Manhattan Attorney.
Drew Harrington knows exactly who he is—a legal shark with a love ‘em and leave ‘em attitude that works just fine in his cutthroat world. He’s on the cusp of being named a partner in his firm, but only if he can prove to his colleagues that he has a more human side.
A Sweetheart of a British Patisserie Chef.
Becky Fletcher is running from her past, so the last thing she’s looking for is love. What she does want is a friendly face in a cold city. Her sunny outlook is the sweetness Drew never knew was missing from his life.
One fateful meeting at a bagel cart.
They sound like a match made in heaven—or is it a car crash? If they have any chance of finding happiness, Drew and Becky are going to have to rethink their life plans. Until then, is there really any harm in having some fun between the sheets?
All’s fair in love and lox!
BALANCING THE SCALES is out NOW.
Prepare to have your taste buds tantalized.
An excerpt from
Balancing the Scales
by Laura Carter
Meet hotshot Manhattan attorney, Drew Harrington, and witness his first taste of British Becky’s incredible cakes. Will they be sweet enough to turn this cocky man’s head?
“I turn my back to the window and stare at the three boxes goading me from the kitchen counter. I can almost taste the sweetness of Opera with a Twist. The bitter aftertaste of something, dark chocolate, perhaps, left in my mouth. My tongue slips along my lip as I remember the way the ganache dissolved—light, slick, delicious.
I grab a fork, pull up a stool at my breakfast bar, and open the lid of each carton. I start with Opera with a Twist. I need just one more mouthful. And shit, Opera plus coffee. Now there’s a match made in obesity heaven. I take every last piece from my fork, licking the sides, then I open my eyes to Red Silk.
White chocolate flakes, not flakes, something fancier than flakes, decorate the top of red waves of smooth, glossy icing. It really does look like silk. Suddenly, my mind is no longer on cake but the thought of Blondie in a red silk lingerie set. Maybe something trimmed in black lace. The cups of the bra barely covering her nipples so her plump mounds are pushed up, inviting my mouth.
Jesus, Drew. It’s a fucking cake.
Cracking my neck and clearing my throat in an extremely masculine way, I slide my fork through the lingerie topping and into layers of red velvet cake and cream. The cream oozes as the steel cuts through the dessert. I’m fighting to keep my filthy mind on cake as I bring the fork to my mouth.
Damn. I was wrong. This isn’t just cream. It’s…more. White chocolate. Vanilla. I have no idea beyond how good it tastes on my tongue. I wonder how Blondie would taste on my tongue?
With coffee, I wash away the thought of making the woman I don’t know, the woman who is absolutely not my type, squirm under my touch.
I turn my attention to the third and final cake. Violet Passion.
As I whisper the name to myself, my fucking mindless cock twitches. This. This is exactly why I need to get laid after a big win. Now I have excess testosterone that I’m going to have to take care of before I go to the office.
Violet Passion is cylindrical. A purple shiny finish, as shiny as Red Silk, covers the entire cake. A simple yellow and purple flower sits in the middle of the dessert. I hope that’s edible. My fork glides through the cake like a hot knife through butter. As the round bursts, syrup spills through the layers of purple and yellow, the exotic scent of passionfruit striking my nose. Taking a piece of everything and pushing syrup onto my fork with my finger, I taste Violet Passion.
Sweetness. A sour kick. If a cake can be quirky, this is quirky. This is…this is Blondie. Those sweet dimples. That perfect smile. Her sharpness of mind. Her quirky-as-hell sayings. Her Britishisms.
Holy shit, I have a thing for the indecisive, kind of obnoxious, brilliant and beautiful patisserie chef.”
Book 2 in the BRITS IN MANHATTAN series is PLAYING TO WIN and it releases on 20 February 2018.
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Come and chat with Laura about BALANCING THE SCALES, the BRITS IN MANHATTAN series, New York, or being British. She loves hearing from readers and you can find her here:
They haunt me.
I can’t look into a person’s eyes without seeing the six-digit date of their death.
I’m helpless to change it, no matter how hard I try.
I’ve trained myself to look down. Away. Anywhere but at their eyes.
My camera is my escape. My salvation. Through its lens, I see only beauty and life—not death and despair.
Disconnected from all those around me, I’m content being alone, simply existing.
Until I meet him.
The man beyond the numbers.
How can I stay away, when everything about him draws me in?
But how can I fall in love, knowing exactly when it will expire?
The intercom crackles loudly throughout the classroom, interrupting Ms. Sherman’s rather uninspiring Friday afternoon lesson on the life cycle of a star. Even though most of the students around me are furiously jotting down notes about nebulas, red giants, and supernovas, I’m half listening while I doodle caricatures of me and my friends in the margin of my notebook. It’s not that I’m not interested in the material she’s talking about. No, that’s not the case at all. It’s quite the opposite actually; science is my favorite subject, especially anything that deals with astronomy and the unknowns in our universe.
But with a dad who is a super-smart astronomer at Johnson Space Center—or NASA, as most people here in Houston call it—I learned about this stuff she’s teaching before I ever started kindergarten. Heck, just this past summer before fifth grade, Mama and I went to visit him at a planetarium in Hawaii, where he was part of a team that discovered eleven new moons orbiting Jupiter! If I don’t ace this test next week, I better not even go home. I definitely wouldn’t be able to be an astronaut then.
“Ms. Sherman, can you please have Lyra Jennings gather her things and come down to the office? She’s leaving for the day,” the office lady who reminds me of Paula Deen—Mama’s favorite chef—announces through the ancient intercom system.
At the sound of my name, my chin jerks upward from my pencil sketches to the standard black-and-white classroom clock mounted above the projection screen. The hands read 12:45 p.m., nearly three hours before the end of the school day, when my parents are supposed to pick me up as we head out to Dallas for the weekend to celebrate my eleventh birthday. Ooh, maybe getting out of school early was my surprise they mentioned!
I’ve been looking forward to this day since we came home from this same trip last year, and I know my parents planned something special for this year. Every birthday, instead of having one of those silly kids’ parties with pointy hats and piñatas, they take me to the Texas State Fair. There, we spend the weekend riding as many rides as possible, stuffing our mouths with sausage-on-a-stick and fried Twinkies, playing games until we win the biggest of the stuffed animals, and laughing until our faces hurt and happy tears stream down our cheeks. Hands down, it’s my favorite three days of the year, even better than Christmas. And I really, really like Christmas.
Excitement jets through me as I stand up from my desk and hurriedly cram my spiral notebook and textbook into my purple paisley backpack. If we make it there early, I’ll be able to go swimming at the fancy hotel’s indoor pool before dinner.
“Sure thing,” my teacher calls out in response. “She’ll be right down.”
Hoisting the strap of the bag up on my shoulder, I turn to leave the room and my gaze meets Ms. Sherman’s. Her warmth shines in her bright amber-colored eyes, highlighting the numbers 051123 that I see imprinted in her pupils. The same six white numbers I see every time we make eye contact. The numbers I’m not allowed to talk about. The ones everyone thinks are all a part of my healthy imagination.
But they’re wrong. They’re all wrong.
The numbers are real, and they never change or go away. I only wish I knew what they meant. Mama and Daddy—who, by the way, are the only two people I know that have the same numbers—call it my special superpower, but I know they just pretend to believe me. I see the looks they share when they think I’m not watching. They don’t want me to think about all those things the doctors say about me. I may only be ten years old, but I’m 100% sure I’m not crazy, nor do I lie for attention. I’m an only child, for Pete’s sake; my parents are overly interested in my life. Though I do appreciate their support, even if they don’t understand.
“Have a nice weekend, Lyra. Don’t forget we have a test over CHAPTERs six through eight on Monday. Make sure you’ve read all the material,” she reminds me.
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll be ready,” I reply modestly, not sharing with her or the rest of the class I’ve already read through CHAPTER thirteen in the text, including answering the study guide questions at the end of each section. I may be an overachiever, but I’m not a brown-noser.
Luckily, school just comes easy for me, and my parents get over-Jupiter’s-moons proud when I bring home straight A’s on my report card. It reassures them that I’m normal and well adjusted. At least that’s what I heard Mama whispering to Daddy on the phone one night when she thought I wasn’t listening.
I mouth a quick goodbye to my best friend, Beth, who I pass by as I scuttle toward the exit. With her last name being Blackmon and mine being Jennings, we rarely get to sit near each other, as most of our teachers put us in alphabetical order. Beth’s numbers are 022754, and like Ms. Sherman’s, they light up vibrantly when she looks up at me and mouths the words Have fun before I slip out the door.
I never want to break the rules or get in trouble, so I somehow fight the urge to sprint down the deserted hallway and force myself to walk as fast as my long, skinny legs will let me. The swishing sound from my denim shorts rubbing together fills my ears, creating a soundtrack for my excitement. My cheeks ache from smiling so big while I drop off my folders and books in my locker then make a beeline to the front of the school, where my parents are waiting for me. This is going to be the best of the best weekends ever, one that none of us will ever forget. I just know it.
Only, when I swing open the glass door to the main office, expecting to see my favorite two people in the world, I’m surprised to find my Aunt Kathy standing there, her face puffy and pink, the corners of her mouth pointing due south. Our eyes meet, and I can barely see her numbers—123148—because of how swollen the lids are around them.
The fluffy white cloud of elation I floated in on disappears instantly as a dark fog of dread takes its place. Engulfing me. Swallowing me whole. She doesn’t have to say a word—I already know. Not how or when or where it happened, but deep in my bones, I know.
I was right. This will definitely be a weekend I’ll never forget, only it will be for reasons I’ll never want to remember.
“I’m so sorry, Lyra baby girl,” she cries. “I’m so sorry. They’re… they’re gone.”
The word bounces around between my ears, getting louder each time it echoes. The first time, it freezes my movements. The second steals all the air from my lungs. By the third time, I’m pretty sure I have no pulse. I want to go, too.
With my feet stuck to the floor and my body stiff as a statue, Aunt Kathy rushes over to me and wraps her arms around my shoulders. Pulling me up against her chest as uncontainable sobs shake her body, she breaks down in front of the receptionist and attendance clerk, neither of who bother to hide their open staring. Numb, I stand completely still while she wails for several minutes, and I never once make a single sound or try to break free from the death grip she has on me. My thoughts race so fast they’re standing still.
I’m just… here. And my parents just… aren’t. And they won’t ever be again.
Climbing into the passenger seat of Aunt Kathy’s fancy sports car—a car I usually beg to ride in because there’s no backseat—I fasten my safety belt and then close my eyes as I lean my head back on the black leather, warm from the hot southern Texas sun. Even though it’s mid-October, I’m still wearing shorts and sandals, and just last weekend I went swimming at Beth’s house. But as I sit here and wait for my aunt to start the car, my teeth chatter loudly and my entire body trembles uncontrollably. My heart is frozen solid, but I’ve yet to shed a tear.
The phone rings and I jump, automatically looking at the caller ID on the screen, thinking… hoping… praying it’s someone calling to let us know this has all been a big mistake, that my parents are really okay.
“Hey, Mom,” Aunt Kathy answers after just one ring. We still haven’t pulled out of the parking space. “Yeah, I have her now. She’s safe and sound.”
My heart plummets even lower into my stomach than it was before as she pauses to listen to Granny Gina on the other end. Granny Gina is my dad and Kathy’s mom who lives in New Orleans, where she moved about five years ago after my grandpa passed away from lung cancer. Since my mom’s parents both died before I was born, she’s the only living grandparent I have, and luckily for me, she’s a pretty awesome one. But today, nothing is awesome. Not even close.
“I don’t know. She hasn’t said a word. I’m sure she’s in shock.” My aunt talks about me like I’m not sitting right here, as I finally feel the car jerk back in reverse.
Another pause. The car lurches forward into drive then we bounce hard as Aunt Kathy flies over a speed bump. I think I’m going to throw up.
“Okay, I’ll take her home so she can pack a suitcase of whatever she wants to bring, and then we’ll go to my place until you get here. You should be in about 5:00?”
Pack a suitcase of what I want to bring where? Where am I going? Why is this happening to me? I’m a good kid. I make good grades and I’m nice to people, even those people who everyone else makes fun of, and I listen to my parents and my teachers. What did I do to deserve this? Why me?
“Yeah, Mom, I know,” Aunt Kathy hiccups. She’s crying hard again. “I’ll take good care of her, and we’ll see you later. I love you.”
I keep my eyes screwed shut as she disconnects the call, scared she’ll want to talk if I open them. I don’t want to talk to her or Granny Gina or anyone but my parents. I want my mom and dad!
Thankfully, Aunt Kathy doesn’t try to talk to me as we drive, but when I feel the car come to a stop and hear the engine turn off, she gently taps my arm. “Lyra, sweetheart, we’re at your house. We’re going to go inside, and I need you to pack up a suitcase or two of the clothes and things you want to take to New Orleans. Whatever you need.”
“New Orleans?” My lids snap open and I whip my chin in her direction. I don’t even recognize my harsh, scratchy voice. “I’m going to New Orleans?”
“Yeah”—she nods sadly as she swipes at the black mascara streaks on her face with her thumbs—“with Granny Gina. After we take care of, uh, of everything here, you’ll go live with her there.”
Scowling, I cross my arms over my chest and grunt. “I don’t want to leave Houston, or my friends, or my school. Why can’t I stay here with you?”
“You know I travel with my job, Lyra. Sometimes I’m gone a week or two at a time, and there won’t be anybody here to stay with you. Granny Gina’s house has an extra bedroom, and since she doesn’t work, she’ll be able to better give you everything you need.”
What I need and will be better for me is my mom and dad. And my perfect birthday weekend at the fair.
She reaches out to attempt to soothe me with her touch, but I wrench away, banging my elbow on the car door in the process. The whack is loud, and the place I hit immediately turns red, but my brain doesn’t register the pain. I feel nothing. I’m broken.
I glance over at my aunt, and the tears spilling down her cheeks make me feel bad for acting the way I just did to her. What happened to my parents isn’t her fault, but I’m angry and this is all moving too fast. How am I supposed to pack up what I need in a couple of bags? I want to stay in my room, in my house, living with my parents.
“I know this is all unfair, baby,” she says through her sniffles, “and I can’t even to begin to understand what you’re thinking or feeling. I mean, I’m freaking the hell out and I’m a grownup who’s supposed to know how to handle these kinds of situations. All we can do is cling to each other as family and try to get through this together. Between me and Granny, we’ll do the best we can for you, and right now, we think the best thing is if you get your things and go stay with her.”
“How did they die?” I blurt out, completely off topic from what she’s talking about. My mind can’t stay focused on any one thing, but this is the question that keeps popping up. “I need to know how it happened.”
Swallowing hard, Aunt Kathy inhales a shaky breath through her nose and blows it out through her mouth, visibly trying to collect herself before she answers me. “It was a car accident,” she whispers after forever, barely loud enough for me to hear. “I don’t know why they were together in your mom’s car this morning or where they were going, but an eighteen-wheeler lost control and hit them. They were already gone by the time the first responders arrived.”
I nod, still unable to cry. I hear the words she’s saying, but they aren’t really registering. They make sense, but I don’t understand. It’s as if I’ve been swallowed up by one of the black holes Daddy taught me about and the darkness is sucking away my ability to think, to feel. All I hear is the word “gone” still replaying over and over and over.
“Okay. I’ll get my stuff,” I say flatly, finally opening the door and stepping out of the car.
My movements are robotic, and I can barely even feel the key in my hand as I unlock the front door to my house. Stepping inside, I’m overwhelmed by a combination of the sweet smell of my mom’s favorite vanilla cookie candle and the sight of my dad’s fuzzy slippers waiting by the coatrack—the slippers he puts on the minute he walks in the door from work every night. When I realize he’ll never wear those slippers again, nor will my mom ever be able to forget if she blew out the candle when we’re about to pull out of the driveway, an acute pain shoots through my chest and I stumble over to the staircase, grabbing the banister to keep my balance.
“I’m right here, Lyra,” Aunt Kathy murmurs from behind me as she slips her arm around my waist. “Let’s just get your things and head over to my place. Later, once we’ve had some time to deal with everything, we can come back to go through the house and all the stuff… if you want.”
Another nod and I let her guide me up the stairs to my room. I want to scream at her that there will never be enough time to deal with losing my parents, that I’ll never be able to go through their things, but I keep my lips pressed together and do as I’m told.
“Where do you guys keep your suitcases?” she asks, glancing around my room as if she’s doing an inventory of what I have. “I’ll go grab a couple while you start pulling out what you want to take. If you forget something, it’s no big deal, because you and Granny are going to be staying at my place for the next few days. I can just bring you back to get it, or I can even ship it to Louisiana if you remember once you’re there.”
“They’re in the storage cabinets in the garage,” I answer while walking over to my desk, my eyes locked in on a framed photo of me and my parents that sits next to my laptop.
“Okay, I’ll be right back.”
The thud of her heels on the hardwood floor grows quiet as she makes her way back down to the first floor, and just as I grab the picture and plop down on the chair, I hear her open the door to the garage. A few much-needed minutes by myself.
I gaze down at the photograph of the three of us from a day at the beach, me sandwiched between their cheerful, carefree expressions, and the first tear finally escapes. Once the dam breaks, I can’t stop the flow, and as I trace my finger over the outline of each of my parents’ faces, I cry for everything I’ll never have again. A supernova of tears.
Faces I’ll never see smile again.
Voices I’ll never hear say my name again.
Arms I’ll never be hugged by again.
A never-ending galaxy of love that I’ll never feel again.
It’s all just… gone.
After several minutes of vision-blurring bawling, I set the picture frame back upright on my desk. A hot pink heart drawn on my calendar with the words Birthday Weekend Begins written over today’s box catches my attention. I then notice the printed numbers next to my bubbly handwriting that read 10-18-02.
Snatching the picture up again, I stare directly into first my dad’s eyes, and then my mom’s. The numbers I see when I look people directly in the eyes only happens when I’m face-to-face with someone, never in photographs or through a screen or mirror. But even though I can’t actually see the numbers right now in the picture of my parents’ pupils, their numbers are forever etched in my brain from looking at them every day of my life. I used to think the reason they had the same numbers meant they were true soul mates, like God made them to match perfectly together, but now….
My gaze flicks over to today’s date of 10-18-02, then back to my parents’ faces, where I envision their numbers—101802.
My plummeting heart collides with my lurching stomach in an explosion of realization.
It’s my Big Bang Moment.
About Erin Noelle USA Today Bestselling Author
young daughters. While earning her degree in History, she rediscovered her love for reading that was first instilled by her grandmother when she was a young child. A lover of happily-ever-afters, both historical and current,Erin is an avid reader of all romance novels.
Most nights you can find her cuddled up in bed with her husband, her Kindle in hand and a sporting event of some sorts on television.