Raven 🐦⬛ Storme is here to tell us about The Obscura Syndicate, a dark gothic romance.
There's also a great giveaway.
_______________________
This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Raven Storme will be awarding a signed paperback and book plate to a randomly drawn winner. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.
Lira was meant to die for the throne.
Cassian Vale was trained to be the blade that ended her.
But the moment he hesitates—one heartbeat, one breath—everything forbidden ignites.
Now the deadliest man in the Syndicate is the only thing standing between Lira and a prophecy that demands her blood. He should fear her. He should kill her. Instead… he can’t stop wanting her.
She’s the girl marked for sacrifice.
He’s the weapon shaped to obey.
Together, they become the spark that threatens to burn Obscura to ashes
As Lira’s power awakens and the throne tightens its grip, their desire becomes its own kind of danger—raw, consuming, and impossible to survive untouched. Enemies hunt them. Shadows follow them. And the kingdom whispers one truth:
If Cassian doesn’t ruin her, she’ll ruin him.
A dark, seductive story of prophecy, power, and a love so intense it could topple a kingdom.
Read an Excerpt
“You shouldn’t look at me like that,” Cassian said.
I didn’t stop.
“How should I look at you?” I asked, stepping closer, close enough to feel the heat rolling off his body. “Like a monster?”
His jaw clenched. “Like someone who can ruin you.”
I smiled. “You already have.”
His hand came up fast, pinning me to the wall—not violent, but unyielding. His body crowded mine, every inch of him a warning I ignored willingly.
“You don’t understand what you’re inviting,” he murmured.
“I understand exactly,” I said, fingers sliding into his coat, finding the steady thrum of his heart. “You don’t touch things you don’t intend to keep.”
His breath stuttered.
“Say that again,” he said.
“I’m not afraid of you.”
That was the moment he lost control.
His mouth crushed to mine, all restraint burned away, and the world narrowed to breath, skin, and the terrifying certainty that neither of us would walk away unchanged.
About the Author:
Raven 🐦⬛ Storme writes dark, smut-heavy romance for readers who crave obsession, power struggles, and secrets whispered in the dark. Living in Pennsylvania, she’s been married for fourteen years and shares her life with fourteen dogs—because calm has never been her aesthetic.
Her debut series, The Obscura Syndicate, dives into forbidden desire, shadowy loyalties, and characters who blur every moral line. Raven believes love is messy, passion is dangerous, and the best stories live in the dark.
Long Temple is here to tell us about Rhythm & Design, The Rhythm & Design Series #1, contemporary romance.
There's also a great giveaway.
___________________
Rhythm and Design
Long Temple
(The Rhythm and Design Series, #1)
Publication date: May 18th 2025
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance
A soulful architect. A gospel-rooted musician. A love built to last.
Rhythm and Design: A Platinum Chocolate Romanceis a powerful story of purpose, passion, and divine timing.
Claire Baldwin is used to building beauty from structure—dreaming in blueprints, raised among silver spoons and Ivy League expectations. Focused, brilliant, and untouchable, love was never part of the plan. Until one almost-mistake in her youth taught her the price of giving too much to someone who offered too little.
Oliver Jamison Graham, the son of a revered pastor, walked away from the pulpit and into the chaos of the music industry. Between neon stages and lonely hotel rooms, he searched for something sacred—something real. Music filled his nights, but his faith kept whispering him home.
When Claire and Oliver’s paths collide again, it isn’t just chemistry—it’s destiny. But building a life together means facing the unspoken: the pasts they’ve tucked away, the faith they’re still figuring out, and the families who’ve prayed them into purpose.
Together, they’ll navigate ambition, intimacy, trust, and spiritual alignment in a romance steeped in grace, humor, and honest love. Can two people from different rhythms create a design strong enough to stand?
If you love later-in-life second chances, clean-but-steamy romance, emotional depth, and characters who wrestle with faith as fiercely as they fall in love—Rhythm and Design will leave you breathless and blessed.
Claire adjusted the delicate strap of her silver gown, her fingers brushing the smooth satin as laughter and music drifted through the warm summer air. The garden shimmered beneath strands of soft white lights, each glow reflecting off crystal glasses and polished silver like tiny promises suspended in time.
Tonight was meant to be simple — a celebration, a farewell, a graceful closing of one chapter before she stepped into the life she had so carefully designed.
But life, she was learning, rarely followed clean lines.
She felt it before she saw him — a subtle shift in the atmosphere, like the hush that falls just before the first note of a song.
Oliver Graham stood near the stage, tall and steady, dressed in black that seemed to absorb the light around him. He carried himself with an ease that wasn’t practiced, just lived — the quiet confidence of a man who had known both applause and solitude, who understood the weight of purpose even in celebration.
Claire’s breath caught, surprising her.
It had been years, yet something about him felt familiar, like a melody she’d heard long ago but never fully released.
As if sensing her gaze, Oliver turned. Their eyes met across the veranda, and the world seemed to narrow to that single moment — music fading, conversations dissolving into a distant hum.
He didn’t smile right away. He simply looked at her, as though taking in the woman she had become, measuring something deeper than appearance.
Then came the slow curve of a knowing smile.
Heat crept up Claire’s neck, and she looked away, steadying herself with a sip of champagne that suddenly felt warmer than it should.
Moments later, his voice — smooth and rich — settled beside her like velvet.
“You’ve grown into everything they said you would,” he said softly. “Your parents couldn’t stop talking about you. Yale. Full scholarship. Future architect of the century.”
Claire laughed lightly, surprised by the warmth in his tone. “They said all that?”
“They should’ve said more,” he replied. “Yale’s lucky to have you.”
Something in her chest softened — a quiet recognition she hadn’t expected, like a door opening somewhere deep within her carefully guarded heart.
The music shifted, laughter swelling around them, but Claire felt as though she were standing inside a pocket of stillness.
“And you?” she asked. “Still changing the world one song at a time?”
Oliver smiled, a hint of humility softening his features. “Trying to. Mostly just trying to stay honest.”
Honest. The word lingered between them like a promise neither had spoken aloud.
When Oliver later stepped onto the stage, the crowd quieted instinctively, drawn to the calm gravity he carried. He adjusted the microphone, glanced toward Claire, and said, “I wrote this for tonight. It’s called Beyond the Horizon.”
The first notes drifted into the night like a prayer — tender guitar, soft percussion, a melody that seemed to breathe with its own quiet life.
Claire stood still as the lyrics wrapped around her, each word reflecting pieces of her journey — the late nights bent over drafting tables, the silent prayers whispered into the dark when doubt tried to settle in, the relentless pull toward something greater than comfort.
The road is wide, but your steps are sure, drawn to purpose, built to endure…
Her fingers tightened slightly around her glass as emotion rose unexpectedly, catching in her throat. She had spent so many years building strength, focusing forward, refusing distraction — yet here she was, undone by a song that seemed to see her more clearly than she saw herself.
Oliver’s voice carried warmth and depth, every note grounded in sincerity. When their eyes met mid-song, something unspoken passed between them — not a spark, but a steady flame, quiet and certain.
By the final note, silence lingered for a breath before applause rose like a wave across the garden. Claire barely heard it. Her hand rested lightly against her chest, as if holding something fragile and new.
Later, when the music shifted into a softer groove and guests drifted toward the dance floor, Oliver found her again near the edge of the veranda.
“You okay?” he asked gently.
Claire nodded, a small smile touching her lips. “I am now.”
They stood close, not touching, yet aware of each other in a way that felt both new and strangely familiar.
“I’m heading to New Haven tomorrow,” she said quietly. “Three weeks early. I want time to settle in… start fresh.”
Oliver’s expression softened, admiration flickering in his eyes. “That sounds exactly like you. Always building the next chapter before anyone else even sees the blueprint.”
She laughed softly. “You expected anything less?”
“Not a chance,” he said. “You’re building your future with intention. That’s rare.”
The music swelled around them, couples swaying beneath the lights, laughter rising into the warm night air.
For a moment, neither spoke. The silence wasn’t awkward — it felt full, like a pause meant to be savored.
“Don’t disappear on me,” Oliver said finally, a hint of playfulness in his tone.
Claire raised an eyebrow. “I’m going to Yale, not Mars.”
He laughed, then handed her his phone. “Still. Just in case I feel like sending musical inspiration.”
She entered her number, her fingers brushing his briefly, a small spark of awareness passing between them.
As he stepped back into the crowd, Claire watched him go, the night humming with possibility.
For the first time since she began mapping out her future, she allowed herself to consider that maybe life wasn’t only about structure and certainty.
Maybe it was also about rhythm.
About unexpected harmonies.
About moments that couldn’t be planned — only felt.
And as she looked up at the stars scattered across the velvet sky, Claire felt something shift quietly inside her.
The future she was building suddenly felt wider.
Not just a design.
But a song.
Author Bio:
LongTemple is a contemporary Black romance author and visual storyteller whose work is rooted in emotional truth, spiritual reflection, and the resilience of love shaped by lived experience. Her stories explore pain, struggle, faith, healing, and the quiet triumph of choosing connection again—especially later in life, when love carries history and meaning.
Born and raised on New York City’s vibrant Lower East Side, LongTemple writes with a voice shaped by culture, memory, and survival. Her storytelling carries a musical cadence—sometimes aching, sometimes soaring—always grounded in honesty and soul. She centers grown, layered characters who confront grief, betrayal, forgiveness, and hope, and who discover that love, when chosen with intention, can still be transformative.
She is the creator of the Platinum Chocolate Romance Universe, a body of interconnected contemporary romance and women’s fiction that celebrates mature Black love and second chances. Each novel is paired with a companion adult-themed line art coloring book, offering readers a reflective, immersive experience that extends the story beyond the page and invites creative engagement alongside emotional connection.
Laurisa White Reyes is here to tell us about To Climb a Distant Mountain, a daughter's tribute to her diabetic mother - a historical true memoir.
There's also a great giveaway.
___________________
One woman's inspirational tale about expressing joy amid
loss and suffering.
To Climb a Distant
Mountain:
A Daughter’s Tribute to Her Diabetic Mother
by Laurisa White Reyes
Genre: Historical True Memoir
In 1974, at the age of twenty-six, Cynthia Ball White was
diagnosed with Juvenile Diabetes. Today, it is estimated that 1.25 million
Americans suffer from what is now referred to as Type I diabetes, compared to
38 million who have Type 2 (adult onset) diabetes. It is a merciless disease
that often leads to blindness, neuropathy, amputations, and a host of other
ailments, including a shortened life span.
Despite battling diabetes for forty-five years, Cyndi beat
the odds. Not only did she outlive the average Type I diabetic, but until her
last week of life in 2021, she had all her “parts intact”. Her daughter often
called her a walking miracle. But more impressive was Cyndi’s positive outlook
on life, even in the midst of tremendous loss and suffering.
The author hopes that in sharing Cyndi’s story, others may
be inspired to face their own struggles with the same faith, courage, and joy
as her mother did.
Growing up watching
my mom suffer from neuropathy, glaucoma (damage to the eyes), and occasional
insulin reactions and hospitalizations took its toll on me. Concern for my
mother’s life was my constant companion.
One day, after I had walked the two miles home from school, I
entered my unusually quiet house. Normally at that time, I’d come home to find
Mom bustling about, but not today. I called for her but received no response.
Finally, I stepped into her bedroom. The drapes were drawn, and the room was
dark as night. Mom lay on her bed on her stomach, face turned against her pillow,
an arm drooping over the side of the bed. For a moment, a spasm of fear shot
through me. Was Mom dead? I stood frozen in place for what felt an eternity,
though it was mere seconds before Mom stirred, waking from her nap. She noticed
me, smiled, and asked how school was. I never told her what I’d
thought, or how deeply that flash of fear traumatized me.
I remember one
evening when we were all sitting around the dining table for dinner. The mood
was lighthearted, relaxed, and we were all just gabbing about things and
sharing jokes. My dad had a good one: “What do you find up an elephant’s trunk?”
He paused, then answered, “An eight-foot booger!”
We all laughed,
including Mom. But as most of our laughter died down, Mom’s didn’t. She kept on
laughing. In fact, she couldn’t stop. Seeing her so consumed by laughter was
funnier than the joke, and the rest of us continued laughing—at her. Mom was
laughing so hard that tears fell down her cheeks. Then Dad realized what was
happening.
Diabetics, when
their glucose levels drop dangerously low, are often mistaken for being drunk.
Some act belligerently, as depicted by Julia Roberts in the film Steel
Magnolias. Others become “tipsy”, slurring their speech or becoming
unbalanced. Still others are the “friendly” drunks, overly cheerful and
humorous.
Another sign of a
diabetic reaction is when the patient slows down. Long ago, there was a popular
TV commercial with the Energizer Bunny. As its batteries died, the toy moved
slower and slower until it finally stopped. Like a wind-up clock losing time, or
that bunny decelerating, that’s what it was like for Mom as her glucose levels
dropped, and that’s how Dad knew Mom was in danger. Mom could not control her
laughter, and then her batteries started to die.
Dad did not even
stop to test her blood. He ran for the kitchen and hurriedly poured a glass of
orange juice, a constant staple in our house, then coaxed Mom to drink it. It
wasn’t easy. She couldn’t focus on what needed to be done, to open her lips and
swallow—all between ever-weakening guffaws. If Dad had hesitated even one more
minute, she would have lost consciousness, been unable to drink the juice, and
would have needed an ambulance. We knew. We’d seen it happen before.
Fortunately, Dad saved the day—like he always did and always would. My dad is a
real-life Superman.
As a family, we
continued to retell that incident for decades. Repeating Dad’s joke always
elicited chuckles from us all, including Mom, but in reality, it was one of
many, many too close for comfort moments in our lives.
Last Summer in
Algonac
by Laurisa White Reyes
Genre: Fictionalized Family Biography
From the Spark
Award-winning author of The Storytellers & Petals...
The summer of 1938 is idyllic for fourteen-year-old Dorothy
Ann Reid. She’s spent every summer of her life visiting her grandparent’s home
on the banks of the St. Clair River in Algonac, Michigan. But unbeknownst to
her, this will be her last. As Dorothy and her family pass their time swimming,
fishing, and boating, they are blissfully unaware that tragedy lurks just
around the corner.
Last Summer in Algonac is a fictionalized account of the author’s grandmother
and her family’s final summer before her father’s suicide, which altered their
lives forever. Inspired by real people and events, Laurisa Reyes has woven
threads of truth with imagination, creating a “what if” tale. No one living
today knows the details leading to Bertram Reid’s death, but thanks to decades
of letters, personal interviews, historical research, and a visit to Algonac,
Reyes attempts to resolve unanswered questions, and provide solace and closure
to the Reid family at last.
We all noticed
the silver Cadillac when it first turned onto our street. Sleek and shiny as a
brand new silver dollar. But when it parked in front of the house, even the men
laid down their hands to look.
The driver’s
side door opened, and out stepped a short, squat woman with hair all white,
curled and set to perfection. She wore round silver spectacles on her nose and
a lilac dress. She shut the car door with a confident slam and perched her
fists on her hips, taking in several deep breaths.
“Well, I’m here now,” she said with a self-assured grin.
“Which one of you fellers gonna fetch my luggage from the trunk?”
I felt Mother
stiffen beside me and noted her fingers tighten around her lemonade. There was
a distinctive moment of hesitation before she set down her glass on the stand
beside her and stood, smoothing down her dress.
“Mother,” she said, giving Father ‘the look’ before heading
down the steps to greet our unexpected visitor.
Father elbowed
Charles, who then leapt up from his chair and bounded off the porch to the car.
“Hello
Grandma,” he said, planting a kiss on the older woman’s cheek.
Father took his
time leaving the table, but also made his way to the car and kissed his
mother-in-law.
Clara was born
in 1864 in Henrietta, Ohio. Christened Clara Petronella Peabody, a name I’ve
always been fond of, she was the seventh of thirteen children. “Smack dab in
the middle,” I’d heard her say. She’d married her first of three husbands,
Charles Noble, in 1882 and had three children, of whom Mother was the youngest.
Her third husband’s name was Pratt, so even though they weren’t together
anymore, we often called her Grandma Pratt.
In my favorite photo of her, taken later in the 1940s, she
posed alongside her favorite dog and wore a full-length fur coat. She looked
absolutely regal.
“Is that my little Dottie?” said Clara, coming up the porch
steps. I flew into her outstretched arms and allowed her to swallow me in a
tight embrace. She kissed the top of my head, then held me out from her by my
shoulders.
“All grown up, I see,” she said happily. “Sprouted a good
foot or two since I last seen you.”
“Grandma, I just saw you at Christmas!”
“I know it. I know it, but you look so darn tall these days,
and ladylike. What have you been feeding this child, Dorothy May?”
Mother forced a
smile. “She eats the same as everyone else,” she said. Charles
lugged Clara’s two carpet bags into the house.
“I take it you’re planning on staying here with us?” asked
Mother.
“Just give me the sofa,” said Clara. “I’m only staying for a
few days. I just come from your sister Leila Grace’s in Mount Pleasant. Stayed
on a few weeks there. And I promised to spend the 4th with your brother’s widow, Lillian. Now that
Frederick Jr. has gotten married, she’s all alone in that big old house of
hers. Might as well we two ladies spend some time together.”
Clara spotted
the card table and the two men sitting at it.
“John. Harry. Nice to see you both.”
“You two, Clara,” they both drawled.
“What are you playing?”
“Five Card Draw,” said John.
There was an
uncomfortable silence as Clara regarded each man through narrowed eyes. “Got
room for one more?” she asked.
John and Harry
looked at each other, then shrugged and scooted their chairs closer together.
“Charles!” Clara called into the house. “Bring out another
chair, and one of them cold glasses of lemonade.”
Laurisa White Reyes is
the author of twenty-one books, including the SCBWI Spark Award-winning
novel The Storytellers and the Spark Honor recipient Petals.
She is also the Senior Editor at Skyrocket Press and an English instructor at
College of the Canyons in Southern California. Her next release, a non-fiction
book on the Old Testament, will be released in August 2026 with Cedar Fort
Publishing.
Elizabeth Pantley is here to tell us about Critters and Crimes, Magical Cozy Mystery Book Club #11, a paranormal cozy mystery.
There's also a great giveaway.
___________________
A quaint riverside
town holds many secrets ...
and the only ones who’ve seen it all are the
critters.
Critters and Crimes
Magical Cozy Mystery Book Club #11
by Elizabeth Pantley
Genre: Paranormal Cozy Mystery
A quaint riverside
town holds many secrets ... and the only ones who’ve seen it all are the
critters.
This book club dives (literally!) into the pages of a cozy
mystery. The quirky group must solve the mystery to get out of the book. It’s
so much fun - you’ll wish you had a book club like this!
In this journey, they choose a book set in a lovely
riverside town. They land in a charming neighborhood and find they are part of
a local book club. They are having a great time – and then a dead body shows
up. (Of course it does!)
The clues to what happened come to them in a unique way –
via the critters in the house.
As usual, the club finds plenty of time to enjoy the unique
setting of their journey, as they solve the mystery – one critter at a time.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
This book is part of a magical cozy mystery series of 11 books and growing.
Each book can be read as a standalone, but are much more fun
in order.
Available in eBook, paperback, Kindle Unlimited, and
audiobook.
“Hey!” Frank shouted the
word as he landed with a thump on the deck right in front of me.
“Ack!” I jumped and
grabbed the pillow beside me for protection. I nearly fell off the porch swing.
“Don’t do that!”
Frank snickered. His tail
flicked back and forth and his ears twitched.
“You startled me!”
“Really? It was so hard to
tell.” He snorted with laughter.
I peeked from behind the
pillow and shook a finger at him. “Bad cat!”
That just made him laugh
harder. He rolled over on his back and waved his paws in the air.
He looked so silly that I
relaxed and began to laugh, too.
“Good morning to you,” I
said, as I smoothed out the pillow that had been my so-called protection.
Frank finally caught his
breath and sat up. “What’cha doing out here all alone, Paige-o-roonie?”
“I was having a quiet,
reflective morning. Did you catch the definitive word there? I ‘was’ having a
quiet morning.”
“Are you implying that I
interrupted you?”
“Not implying. Stating a
fact.”
“For good reason.” He
chuckled. “I see you have some coffee there.” He pointed his nose at my cup.
“Want to go get this kitty a bowlful?” He crossed his front feet, tipped his
head to the side and widened his eyes. Then to up his cuteness quotient, he batted
his lashes. “Please?”
“Oh, for Pete’s sake,” I
laughed, getting up from the swing. “I’ll be right back.”
I went into the kitchen to
exchange my coffee for a cup of tea. Frank had jump started my heart, so I
didn’t need any more caffeine. I fixed Frank a bowl of his favorite morning
beverage: half-coffee, half-creamer. Any normal cat would be sick from the brew,
but our magical library cat was not anything resembling normal.
The house was quiet as I
grabbed our drinks and returned to the porch. I set Frank’s bowl on the table
and sat on the swing. I took a big sip from my cup.
Frank took a leap over to
the table and inhaled the aroma wafting from his bowl. He slurped greedily then
gave a moan of delight. He tipped his head at me. “What were these reflective
thoughts that I interrupted?”
I tapped a finger to my
lips in thought, and glanced at my book, which lay quietly on the table beside
me. For once, I didn’t have my nose in a cozy mystery. Instead, I had been
rocking back and forth on the porch swing, enjoying the sounds of the birds and
the quiet whisper of the wind through the trees as I had let my mind wander,
until Frank had disrupted me.
“I’d been cycling through
many topics, one after the other.”
“Maybe you were clearing
your mind’s way for the upcoming new book adventure?”
“That’s probably true.
Once we get inside a book, I won’t have time to ponder anything but the mystery
we need to solve.”
Elizabeth Pantley is a bestselling author of fiction and
non-fiction books. She writes two well-loved cozy mystery series: The Magical
Mystery Book Club, and the Destiny Falls Mystery and Magic series. She has also
written the international bestselling No-Cry Solution parenting book series
that is available in over twenty languages.
Elizabeth lives in the majestic Pacific Northwest and spends
winters in the sunny desert of Arizona. While neither location is home to any
paranormal beings (that she knows of) the vastly different yet equally lovely
locations are the inspiration for the settings in many of her books.
A
group of drunken British airmen crowded into the cloakroom just ahead of Frank.
Whoops of laughter sounded from inside the room.
“Henderson, you sly boots! And all this time
you told us the two of you were only friends! What a lark!”
Frank entered the cloakroom just as
Claire passionately kissed Charles Henderson. He stared at them in utter
devastation. When Gabriel glanced at old Frank on the bed, he saw the same
devastation on his face and, for a moment, Gabriel experienced remorse for
making him relive it. But he hardened his heart. He had a job to do, and he
couldn’t let sympathy for Frank get in his way.
The drunken airmen stumbled their
way out of the cloakroom, laughing and hooting as they went. Frank waited until
they were gone before speaking. “Claire, what’s going on?”
She broke free from Henderson.
“Frank? What are you doing here? You said you couldn’t get leave.”
“I believed you.” His face was full
of pain and incredulity. “You said you loved me, and I believed you. You said
Henderson was just a childhood friend, and I believed that, too. But no more.”
He turned to leave.
She grabbed his arm and whispered
urgently, “No! Frank please! It’s not how it looks!”
Frank shook off her hand. “Really?
Because what it looks like right now is that you made a fool of me.”
“Frank, please!”
Frank hurried from the cloakroom and
out of the recreation hall.
Interview with Gabriel Daniels, Main Character
in I’LL BE SEEING YOU
Author, Jana Richards: Hello, Gabriel. Thank you for meeting with me.
Gabriel Daniels: Can we get on with this interview, or inquisition, or
whatever it is?
JR: All right. Tell me about yourself. Do you have a family? Children?
GD: (gives a long-suffering sigh) As you well know, I don’t have
children. My family consists of my mother and my younger brother Josh.
JR: Are you married?
GD: No.
JR: In a relationship?
GD: (hesitates) No.
JR: Are you sure?
GD: (glares at Jana) You know damn well Sloane broke up with me
the day I….
JR: The day you went to Heaven and became an apprentice angel? Tell me
about that.
GD: (sighs again) We were supposed to go to a gala, a fancy
fund-raising thing. I went to pick Sloane up and she told me she didn’t want to
see me anymore.
JR: So that’s why you’re wearing a tuxedo. Why did Sloane break up with
you?
GD: She said I didn’t share anything about my life, or my feelings with
her, that I was too closed off. She wanted more than I could give.
JR: Did you love her?
GD: (mumbles) Yes.
JR: Did you tell her you loved her?
GD: (looks away) No.
JR: Why not?
GD: I couldn’t, okay? I’ve never told anyone I love them.
JR: Not even your mother or brother?
GD: No.
JR: Interesting. Let’s get back to your arrival in Heaven. What
happened?
GD: Actually, it was a waiting room next door to Heaven. After I left
Sloane’s apartment, I was angry. I drove too fast on an icy road and crashed my
car. When I woke up, I was in this weird, white room. The only way out was
through a door that opened up into a meadow of flowers. I could see out the
door, but a force field kept me locked inside the room. I couldn’t break
through.
JR: So how did you finally get out?
GD: Thomas arrived. He’s a senior angel, and my mentor. He’s the one who
told me I was now an apprentice angel and I was next door to Heaven. He said if
I wanted to earn my wings, I’d have to give three mortals a second chance at
love. I didn’t believe him at first. It was crazy.
JR: It does sound crazy.
GD: But it was the only explanation. And Thomas could do things.
JR: Like what?
GD: For a start, he walked straight through the force field with no
problem. And he had angel wings big enough to reach the ceiling of the waiting
room. But what convinced me was that Thomas could read my thoughts. He knows
exactly what I’m feeling, what I’m thinking. It’s pretty unnerving.
JR: So he tells you that if you give these three mortals a second chance
at love, you’ll get to go to Heaven?
GD: Right. Thomas promises that if I succeed in my tasks, I’ll get
special perks. I’ll be able to watch over my family back on Earth. It’s
absolutely imperative that I’m able to do that.
JR: Why is that?
GD: My family…has issues. Both my mother and my brother are bipolar.
I’ve been looking out for them all my life. There’s no way they can manage
without me!
JR: I see. And Sloane? You said you loved her. Do you want to watch over
her, too?
GD: (looks away) Yeah, I want to watch over her, too. Knowing
I’ll be able to help Sloane and my family makes the Hell I’m going through
worthwhile.
JR: What do you mean?
GD: As a condition of entering Heaven, Thomas is making me examine all
my mistakes, with life and with love. I have to relive every stupid, painful
thing I ever did. Every terrible event of my life.
JR: That sounds tough.
GD: Yeah. I can’t help wondering…
JR: Yes?
GD: Why didn’t I get a second chance? (rises to his feet) Time
for me to get back to work. If you see Sloane, can you tell her…
JR: What?
GD: Never mind. Bye, Jana. (walks away)
About the Author:
When Jana Richards read her first romance novel, she
immediately knew two things: she had to commit the stories running through her
head to paper, and they had to end with a happily ever after. She also knew
she’d found what she was meant to do. Since then she’s never met a romance
genre she didn’t like. She writes contemporary romance, romantic suspense, and
historical romance set in World War Two, in lengths ranging from short story to
full length novel. Just for fun, she throws in generous helpings of humor, and
the occasional dash of the paranormal.
When not writing up a storm or dealing with
dust bunnies, Jana can be found pursuing hobbies such as golf (which she plays
very badly) or reading (which she does much better).
Jana lives in Western Canada with her husband
Warren and a senior calico cat named Layla. You can reach her through her
website at http://www.janarichards.com
