Sharon Overend is here to tell us about Look Over Your Shoulder, women's fiction.
There's also a great giveaway.
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This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Sharon Overend will be awarding a $20 Amazon/BN gift card to a randomly drawn winner. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.
A haunting, lyrical exploration of family, silence and the secrets we inherit.
Years of avoidance and blame have left the McLaughlin clan fractured and ill-equipped to face the critical illness of one of their own. When long buried memories of a neighborhood child’s death while in their care resurface the family truly begin to unravel.
Told in alternating voices, Look Over Your Shoulder, reveals how secrets ripple through generations, and how healing begins when someone finally dares to speak the truth.
Read an Excerpt
ANNE
I slipped away. In slow motion, I raised one foot after the other, one step at a time, upstairs. My limbs now disconnected from my body, my head bobbing in a black fog, I drifted across the hall and toward my bedroom. I lay on top of the covers but dragged a throw over my hip.
The buzz of distant conversations crawled into the room, and my window shook each time the front door opened or closed. Knuckles rapped, an empty hanger slapped against the door panel, the buzz amplified, feet shuffled forward, a presence lingered, a hand touched my arm, a voice whispered.
“Mom.”
I said nothing until her feet shuffled back toward the door.
“I’m sorry,” I sighed into the pillow seconds before the hanger again rattled, and the hum of voices roared back into the room. I wasn’t sure whether I’d wanted her to hear me or not.
“For what?” She had heard.
“For resenting you.”
The weighty creak of floorboards, a car engine idling, a woman’s laughter, a child’s shriek, a toilet flush.
“You’re tired,” Marilyn said, now close enough to touch me. “Sleep.”
“You scare me,” I said, still telling the pillow, not her. “Your strength and your capacity for forgiveness are things I’ve never experienced before. But I have to know. Have you ever forgotten?” Shame had stalked me my whole life, a shadow dancing across my peripheral vision, now fully in view.
“We’ll talk in the morning.” She lifted the fringed edge of the blanket, pulled it over my shoulder, and tucked it beneath my chin. A blue spark of static electricity sprang between her fingers and my face.
About the Author:
SHARON OVEREND, is an award-winning author whose fiction, creative non-fiction and poetry has appeared in the Canadian, American and British literary journals and anthologies including Antigonish Review, Avalon, Descant, Grain, Matter of Time, Spirit of the Hills, Surfacing, Wild Words, Word Weaver, UK’s Dream Catcher, CafeLit, The Best of CafeLit and A Coup of Owls.
Sharon and her husband live on a 156- rural acre property in Ontario, Canada where she has found inspiration for many of her projects.
Mary Ruth Barnes is here to tell us about Where Birds Land, Native American women's fiction.
There's also a great giveaway..
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An inspiring story
of determination and grit . . .
Where Birds Land
by Mary Ruth Barnes
Genre: Native American Women’s Fiction
An inspiring story of
determination and grit . . .
Ella McSwain is a Chickasaw woman
raising her family amidst evolving turmoil within the budding state of
Oklahoma. After Ella is left with an unusable plot of land, she finds herself
fighting for her family’s rightful allotment. Faced with crooked businessmen,
land grifters, and grueling court battles, can she summon the strength to
persevere against all odds?
In this stand-alone companion to Little Bird, Mary Ruth Barnes crafts an
engaging family saga that spans from Indian Territory to Oklahoma statehood
against the backdrop of the state’s changing landscape.
Mary Ruth Barnes
graduated with a Bachelor’s Degree from North Carolina State with high honors
and a Master’s Degree from Montana State. After college, Barnes taught high
school and college English, Art and Computer Science for 14 years. Barnes has
received numerous awards for her art and writing on the state and national
level from 2011-2022. Barnes recently published her first novel “Little Bird”
with the Chickasaw Press about her great-great-Grandmother’s journey in Indian
Territory. “Little Bird” won two 2022 Ippy awards, receiving gold for the cover
design and silver for best Midwest regional fiction. Barnes is extremely active
in her community through Rotary (a member since 1996), P.E.O. (Philanthropic
Educational Organization), and Kappa Kappa Gamma Alumni Association. She is
also a current member of the National Watercolor Society.
In 2022, Barnes was inducted into the Chickasaw Hall of Fame and
Capitol Hill High School Hall of Fame for leadership in her community. She also
won the 2022 “55 Over 55 Inspiring Oklahomans” award for making a difference in
the lives of others. In 2019, Barnes won the Women in the Arts Recognition
award from the National Society of the Daughters of the American Revolution.
And in 2015, Barnes was selected as the Chickasaw Dynamic Woman of the year.
Barnes has had many short stories and watercolors featured in several
issues of the journal of Chickasaw History and Culture, Ishtunowa. She was also
honored as a Chickasaw Artist in the July 2015 issue of the Distinctly Oklahoma
magazine. Her story of inspiration leading to painting and drawing was featured
in a book by Allison Fields, Chickasaw Artisans. In 2017, Barnes was selected
for the registry of Native American Artists located at the Heard Museum in
Scottsdale, AZ. While traveling and vacationing in South Texas with her art,
Barnes was interviewed and featured in the RV Wheel Life Magazine for the 2017
issue. Barnes retired from a career as the Director of Planned Giving for
American Cancer Society in 2017, where she raised over 35 million dollars for
cancer research. Her artwork “Fight of Hope” is currently featured in the
Cancer Journal of Native American Research and is on display in the surgery
waiting room of the Chickasaw Nation Medical Center. Her watercolors can also
be found at several locations across the State of Oklahoma, including the
Artesian and the Welcome Center located in Davis.
She has been a long-time equestrian, Barnes and her husband, Mike live
on a ranch in south central Oklahoma. They have two sons, Wiley and Selby
Barnes, and six grandchildren. Both sons work for the Chickasaw Nation. Mrs.
Barnes enjoys traveling with her husband in retirement.
Megan Slayer is here to tell us about Taken by the Sorcerer, paranormal women's fiction - urban fantasy.
Read on for details...
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Paranormal Women’s Fiction, Urban Fantasy
Date Published: October 3, 2025
Publisher: Changeling Press
She’s never been taken seriously. He’s seen as a geek.
Together, they could be unstoppable.
Skylar Graves is a synth -- she can shift into anything. She’s also
known all around the world as a billionaire playgirl fool. Parties?
She’s had them. Money? Bucketloads. Brains… Well, there’s
the rub. No one’s ever believed she had the brains to make the money. No
one’s ever believed in her at all.
Enter Brody and a reason to use those brains.
Brody isn’t the best sorcerer. He knows his spells and how to create
them, but he’s still learning to control his magic. When he finds his
perfect mate, he’ll be set. But is she out there? The trouble is,
he’s been tasked with helping other paras find Eerie and he can’t
do that alone.
The mome he meets Skylar, he knows he’s found his match, but the problem
lies in convincing her she’s more than she ever believed.
Not impossible… right?
EXCERPT
“I am getting into this party.” Brody Teague drove up the winding
road to the gravel area at the base of the Skylar Graves property. The music
blared and vibrated the ground, even this far out. He hated loud noise and
didn’t really want to be here, but he needed to speak to Skylar.
He just knew she was a para and could help him. He knew it.
Still, he couldn’t hide his irritation. How did one woman have so much
ridiculous wealth? This wasn’t just opulence, but obnoxious opulence.
He’d bet the people attending this party spent more on one pair of shoes
than he did on his rent for the month.
Right now, he needed to speak to her. What would she say if she knew she was
meeting a true sorcerer who wanted her help? She’d probably laugh. If
she helped him, he could develop his potion to allow paras to move in regular
society, and also concoct the signal to help paras who didn’t even know
they were para to find refuge in Eerie. He knew there were more people out
there who could come to the town and find a place to exist and understand
their abilities, if they had the signal to get there.
He left his car and trudged the last few hundred yards up the road to the main
gate. The number of cars parked every which way in his path amazed him. How
were these people going to leave? They’d need choreography or a cop to
help them.
Didn’t matter to him. He wasn’t going to be there when they left.
He’d get in, give his pitch, hope for the best, and get the hell out of
there. He walked up to the gate and admired the wrought iron. The doors swung
loose, allowing him onto the property. He’d bet this gate was locked up
tight any other time. He touched the iron and the chill settled in his bones.
The gate was spooky, really. It looked like a cartoony alien in the middle.
Aliens… He knew they existed, but they didn’t look like the
Roswellian versions. They were much more like humans than the actual humans
believed. But aliens were good at morphing and shifting to fit their
environment.
As he walked among the people having conversations and dancing, he realized he
shouldn’t be there. He wasn’t dressed for the occasion. He’d
never seen so much purple in his life. People danced by the pool, swaying and
gyrating. The men tended to be dressed in suits and tuxedos. The women wore
evening gowns. The plethora of sequins caught the light. Glasses clinked and
laughter rang out. The music blared even louder and the water seemed to thrum
with the beat.
Would anyone notice him? Somehow, he doubted it.
He spied the buffet of food. Every fruit and veggie possible for a tray were
spread out on the table, along with a chocolate fountain and a stack of
glasses, no doubt filled with champagne. He’d bet it was the most
expensive bubbly, at that.
There were people at the side table with powder that might or might not be
drugs. He forced himself away from that area. He’d never had a problem
with drugs or wanted to try them but didn’t judge anyone who did.
He fought the urge to cover his ears. The noise bothered him. He was a
scientist and sorcerer. He needed to concentrate. This place didn’t
allow him to do that. He could barely focus.
He scanned the various people at the party and shook his head. She
wasn’t there. He’d know Skylar in a heartbeat. Then again, she was
about the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Silky blonde hair,
willowy and tall, a few curves, and kissable lips. He wanted to look into her
brown eyes and get lost.
He balled his hand and gritted his teeth. Damn it. He wasn’t there to
drool over her. He was there to ask a question.
Brody focused on the money spent to not only throw the party, but to have this
house and lifestyle. The paintings weren’t photos or pictures printed on
canvas, but actual works of art. Was that a Picasso? Nah. He tipped his head.
Well, maybe. She had the money to buy whatever she wanted, so it was
plausible.
He couldn’t imagine having that much cash. He’d barely scraped by
all his life. But by being poor, he’d learned how to use what he had and
make it stretch to work for his needs. It taught him to be humble, too.
A woman in a blood red body-hugging gown grabbed him. “Look at you. Are
you one of the dancers?” She yanked him close and kissed him right on
the mouth. “You sure taste good.”
He wriggled in her grasp. “I’m not a dancer.” He had two
left feet. “Sorry.”
“Then stay with me.” She tugged him across the expanse of lawn
toward the pool. “She brought a few newbs. This one’s right off
the farm.”
He managed to disengage himself from her and darted back to the safety of the
bigger crowd on the veranda. Why anyone thought they had the right to force
themselves on someone else was beyond him. She’d touched him without his
permission. Gross.
He didn’t know that woman and was sure she wasn’t a para. Hell,
she’d probably slash his ass if she found out he was one. Would they
turn on Skylar when they found out she was one? If she was one…
He rested his hands on his hips and surveyed the crowd again. If she’d
used some of her money to help paras and not buy another sports car,
she’d be a folk hero. There were plenty of paras who needed a hand in
getting to Eerie and more who could use help in figuring out what their magic
might be.
But she’d chosen to be decadent.
He moved through the people again, looking for her. Nope, she wasn’t
there. He’d never forget her hair or smile.
A woman with bright red hair bumped into him, but he doubted she knew he was
there.
“I hear she’s a para,” the woman said. “I don’t
know how. She’s so normal.”
What a reductive thing to say. He kept his back to her but continued to
listen.
“Doesn’t surprise me,” the woman with her said.
“She’s a freak. I mean, how else could she have this kind of money
and do absolutely nothing? It’s supposed to be her father’s money,
but has anyone ever seen him? No. He doesn’t exist. I bet she stole it
or it’s created money.”
Judgmental much? He rolled his eyes, then resumed looking through the crowd.
“Think she really is manufacturing the money?” the first woman
said.
“Nah,” the other woman replied. “It’s just a way for
her to get attention. She’s probably got a dead husband or ex that she
bled dry financially.”
“She is an attention-grabber.”
He hated that these people who’d been invited to the party -- or maybe
they’d crashed it like he had -- so openly dismissed her. Like she
didn’t have feelings or didn’t matter and wasn’t a person.
So rude.
Still, he wasn’t so thrilled with Skylar. He wished she’d donate
her money or time back to Eerie to help the para community. Paras were dying
from harm coming to them via the human and outside world. Vampires were staked
for being different. Faeries slaughtered for making magic. Trolls and gnomes
killed for being perceived as ugly. It wasn’t right.
A golden eagle soared into the space and flew right past him. The bird seemed
to keep circling him.
“Go,” he muttered. “I’m not dinner. Shoo.” Why
was this eagle focusing on him? He wobbled. Shit. Was it trained to find the
crashers? Could be. He wanted to use a spell to get the fuck out of there, but
he’d have to return to get his car. Goddamn it.
The bird flew around him again, then soared across the expanse and landed on
the upright next to the DJ stand.
The DJ stopped the music. “And there is Skylar Graves’ famous pet
eagle. Who else but Skylar would have an eagle as a pet? So majestic and
graceful. But watch out. She has a nasty bite! Let’s give it up for
Audra, her eagle!”
The crowd cheered and the eagle soared out of the way, behind the second floor
of the mansion.
He groaned. What a ridiculous show of extravagance. It displayed her wealth,
sure, but it was a waste of money. The bird should be in the wild or a zoo,
where it could be appreciated and admired. Not stuck in a damn mansion with a
woman who had more money than brains.
He snorted to himself. Good God, he was being harsh and judgmental.
“Is she here?” someone asked.
“She’s having a party and doesn’t care to show up,”
another said. “She’s probably out of the country. She’s
never here.”
“I bet we could rob this place blind and she’d never know,”
a third person said.
“Except she’s got the best security system. This place is
protected better than government vaults,” another voice said.
“Don’t try it. This joint will scream and lock down in
seconds.”
Brody gritted his teeth again. She had to be there. He had no choice. People
were discussing robbing her and belittling her… just like he had. Damn
it.
He bowed his head. He had to think about her as a person and para, not a
source of money. That’s how they all saw her -- a reflection of her
disposable income. She lived her life like nothing mattered. It was all a big
party. She didn’t command respect.
Then again, he didn’t exactly command it, either. He did better behind
the scenes. Let him stay in his lab with his medicines and potions. There he
was fine. All he wanted to do was help his fellow paras.
“Excuse me.” A woman tugged his arm and yanked him out of the main
space and behind a curtain.
“What the?” He stared at her. He’d never seen anyone with
golden brown eyes. They were transfixing. But she’d grabbed him.
“What do you want?”
“You.”
He couldn’t look away from her. Most of her face was concealed behind a
black, feathery mask. He could swear he knew her, but he couldn’t place
her.
“I need to speak to you.” She held onto him. “Do you know
Skylar?”
When she’s not writing, Megan spends time with her husband and son as
well as three dogs and three cats. She enjoys art, music and racing, but
football is her sport of choice. She’s an active member of the Friends
of the Keystone-LaGrange Public library.
Christine C. Schneider is here to tell us about Dorothy's Gift, women's fiction.
There's also a great giveaway.
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A modern-day, inspiring story of two women who, when their
paths merge discover love, growth and redemption that changes their lives
forever.
Dorothy’s Gift
By Christine C. Schneider
Genre: Women’s Fiction
Dorothy is content with her life as a wedding seamstress.
She loves her two adult children, her husband, and her church. She is gifted
with the ability to turn heaps of pink satin, lemon-yellow chiffon, and white
lace into exquisite gowns. Her clients are beautiful, well-bred, and pay her
well. Dorothy doesn’t like change, but even volunteering at the crisis
pregnancy center doesn’t shake her peaceful life too much. She does what she
can to offer help to women who are dealing with real, life-changing decisions.
Then Bailey wanders into the clinic: angry, abrasive, and hiding the pain of a
dark secret.
In a moment of wild compassion, Dorothy convinces her wonderfully supportive
husband, Gary, to allow her to invite Bailey to live with them until the baby
is born.
Suddenly, Dorothy’s life is overwhelmed by change, and unable to keep up,
Dorothy makes some huge errors in judgment. Instead of helping Bailey,
everything Dorothy does seems to hurt the girl more.
Only Dorothy’s son, Daniel, begins to recognize Bailey’s potential, as he sees
her reach out to support Dorothy when Gary has a heart attack and her daughter
has a miscarriage. Meanwhile, Bailey is suffocated by the realization that this
wonderful, loving family would not want her if they knew that she had allowed
her first child to be aborted.
As Dorothy sews her way through a year of weddings, Bailey challenges Dorothy’s
compassion and points out her lukewarm, Christian hypocrisy. The poor girl
doesn’t know how to clean her room, run a washing machine, or cut up a
cucumber. In addition, Dorothy’s church doesn’t want “people like Bailey” to
taint their youth and college group. Worst of all, her son, Daniel, has decided
to try to win the heart of Bailey. As the year progresses, Dorothy is
confronted with her own ungodly self-centeredness, lack of spiritual depth, and
stubborn resistance to changing her plans for herself and her family.
This is the story of the growth of love between a young woman in need of a
mother and a mother with enough love for more than her own two children.
What Readers are Saying:
I finished the book because I couldn’t stop reading. I love the story, I
love the characters, I love the message, I love the writing style, I love it
all. I want to go back so I can better appreciate the character development and
story arc. I cried multiple times throughout the book.
—Betty, missionary and missionary wife in Kenya
Carolyn’s Rewrite
The book was hard to put down until it was finished. Dorothy is an empty
nester, encouraged by her son to volunteer at a pregnancy center. She does, but
struggles some since her gifts to help are not typical to other volunteers. She
connects with one woman, Bailey, who has made some bad decisions and needs a
role model. The book answers the real question about what is more important in
life. –Carolyn, Austria
Christine Schneider is passionate about showing people how
to dig treasure from God’s word. She is a Bible teacher, conference speaker,
and “idea person.” She and her husband have been in missionary and church work
since their marriage in 1973. She has written several Bible study guides and
two historical novels. Christine and Floyd, her husband, live in Plains, MT.
They have two sons, two excellent daughters-in-law, and eight wonderful
grandchildren.
Sasha Preston is here to tell us about The Sweetest Getaway, contemporary women's fiction.
There's also a great giveaway.
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The Sweetest Getaway
Sasha Preston
Publication date: August 26th 2025
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Women’s Fiction
Jennifer used to be a wholesome daydreamer who’d never broken a law in her life.
In a moment of weakness, she lets her roommate, Nari, rope her into a money-making scheme that isn’t exactly…legal.
How could she have known that stealing from bad guys would be so much fun?
Soon, Jennifer is so busy leading a double life that she barely has time to fantasize about the hot, dimpled stranger she met at one of Nari’s parties.
Everything is going smoothly, until someone rats them out to the cops.
Now, Jennifer and Nari need help from a team of seasoned criminals to pull off a heist that’ll either set them up for life…or get them locked up for a very long time.
Can Jennifer find a path to happily ever after that doesn’t include an ugly prison jumpsuit?
There’s only one way to find out…
The Sweetest Getaway is a no spice, cozy heist novel with laughs, a diverse cast, and the smartest heroines since Ocean’s 8. Perfect for fans of women’s fiction and crime capers. Get it today for a criminally good time.
“All we have to do is confidently walk to the door like we’re supposed to be here,” Nari said under her breath.
She and Jennifer argued in the parking lot of Omaha’s largest mansion as glamorously dressed revelers approached the entrance, arm in arm.
“I’ll enter five minutes before you. When they ask for our names, remember that I’m Doris and you’re Béatrice. After that, everything will be easy. No big deal,” Nari explained.
Right. It was no big deal to Nari because she was endlessly charming, constantly meeting new people, and making loads of cash from random schemes that took her all over the world. Jennifer, on the other hand, was great at petting her neighbors’ dogs and getting lost mid-conversation in daydreams about faraway lands she’d never visited.
Doris Huang and Béatrice Boivin were wealthy business-women who were actually invited to the gala. Jennifer had helped Nari find an Asian and black woman on the guest list that they could impersonate. Doris and Béatrice looked enough like them, although Doris was in her fifties. Luckily, Doris wore glasses, so Nari could hide her youth behind a pair of round black frames that complemented her off-the-shoulder, gold metallic gown.
“Honestly, Nari, I don’t think it’s going to be that easy.” Jennifer tapped her fingers nervously on her arm. “What if Doris and Béatrice are inside already? Why don’t we look for a back entrance to sneak into instead?”
At least there would be fewer witnesses if they got caught at the back entrance. Maybe they could even pretend they were lost, ask for directions, and then decide to scrap the whole mission and return to their cozy apartment. “Oh well, that didn’t work. At least we tried!” Jennifer would say peppily. Nari would shrug. They’d end the night bingeing on popcorn and singing nineties hits into their TV’s karaoke app.
But Nari would never give up that easily. “Nah, we’re early. We’ll have at least an hour before these two fabulous women show up. They’re always late for events like this. Besides, our target is already inside.”
Jennifer groaned. “This is nuts. I’ve got to pretend to be French like Béatrice.” She shook her head. “I can’t even tell the difference between a good macaron and a bad one. They’re all delicious to me. I don’t know why I let you talk me into this.”
“I know why you said yes, mon amie,” Nari said, grinning. “Remember, you’ll be getting twenty-five percent of whatever deal we pull off after today. If I can close this deal, it could be worth half a million dollars.”
Jennifer had almost forgotten about the payout. Normally, Nari compensated her for these wild rides with chili cheese fries. She sucked in air through her teeth. “I… I can’t really say no to that,” she said, goosebumps covering her arms.
With that kind of money, maybe she could travel far beyond Omaha’s borders. She’d meet wonderful, surprising people. People who spoke five languages, painted in their spare time, and effortlessly rode their electric scooters through crowded street markets before arriving at home to make love to their beautiful spouses. Maybe she could even quit her job as a marketing analyst.
Nari swept her arm out in front of her, as if she were showing off her kingdom. “Welcome to the business world. There’s tons of cash just waiting for you.”
Money came easily to Nari, even though she had the attention span of a gnat. She could have her own massive condo if she wanted to, but she chose to live with Jennifer to feel a sense of home so far away from her family. Jennifer, however, was thirty-six years old and broke. If she didn’t live with Nari, she would have to start a window washing side hustle to be able to afford her student loan payments.
“It’s my favorite business world, the one where we have to sneak into galas to close deals,” Jennifer snorted.
Author Bio:
Sasha Preston writes women’s fiction crime capers where close friendships and adventure come together to inspire your next big escape (or at least make you think about planning one). She loves to explore and hatch plots with her girlfriends, daughter, and husband.
Judith Keim is here to tell us about Love's Harvest, A Lilac Lake Book, women's fiction with romantic elements.
Read on for details...
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Women's Fiction with Romantic Elements
Date Published: August 18, 2025
Sarah Bullard Miller returns to Lilac Lake with her four-year-old twin
daughters following the death of her husband. She’s always been part of
the group of summer kids playing together with the granddaughters of the woman
who owned the Lilac Lake Inn, and she loves renewing those friendships.
Keeping busy working at her parents’ hardware store and taking care of
the girls, she begins the healing process following her husband’s
violent death.
Aaron Collister was Sarah’s high school boyfriend. They connected with
their sensitivity to nature and poetry, which might have seemed strange unless
you knew that big, tough, Aaron was part Abenake Indian and had been given
many life lessons by his mother. They renew their friendship, but neither is
ready to commit to more until a crisis leads them to their answer.
This is a spinoff book from the Lilac Lake Inn series, a sweet
second-chance, small-town romance. Another of Judith Keim’s books with
strong women facing challenges and finding love and happiness along the way.
About the Author
Judith Keim, A USA Today Best-Selling Author, is a hybrid author who
both has a publisher and self-publishes. Ms. Keim writes heart-warming novels
about women who face unexpected challenges, meet them with strength, and find
love and happiness along the way, stories with heart. Her best-selling books
are based, in part, on many of the places she's lived or visited and on the
interesting people she's met, creating believable characters and realistic
settings that her many loyal readers love.
She enjoyed her childhood and young-adult years in Elmira, New York, and now
makes her home in Boise, Idaho, with her husband and their adorable
dachshunds, Wally and Kacy, and other members of her family.
While growing up, she loved the idea of writing stories from a young age.
Books were always present, being read, ready to go back to the library, or
about to be discovered. All in her family shared information from the books in
general conversation, giving them a wealth of knowledge and vivid
imaginations.
Ms. Keim loves to hear from her readers and appreciates their enthusiasm for
her stories.
But when life gets tangled, I untangle it by leaving. And this time, my escape came with strings attached: a five-year-old brother I never signed up to care for, a seaside town I barely remember, and a tattered house on stilts that belongs in Renter’s Hell.
I told myself it was just for the summer. A break. A pause. A way to escape the people I care about but can’t seem to fit with anymore, and the choices I don’t know how to fix.
But the sea doesn’t let you stay distant for long.
Then there’s him. Quiet. Grumpy. Mysterious. The kind of man who doesn’t ask questions, but somehow sees more than he should. I don’t even like talking to him, and yet… here we are. Sharing long silences. Unexpected moments. Maybe even something more.
And as for the house? Let’s just say it has opinions—and it’s not afraid to share them.
Seven Hundred Beachfront is a heartfelt, magical story about learning to stay, letting people in, and discovering that healing doesn’t always come the way you expect it. But when it does, you’ll feel it down to your bones.
Carole hadn’t sent a thing to keep him busy, damn woman, and I’d only used the TV for movies. Wait a sec—Jessie left a Star Wars movie at my place, the first one, so I should have it here.
“No Scooby, kiddo,” I said while looking in the boxes, “but you’re gonna like this one. It’s the real thing, not a single goofy character one mile near it.”
“ ’Kay.” He sat on the old, flowery couch and gazed at me, expectant.
“How do you want your fish?” I asked while putting the movie on, realizing I had no idea what Bobby liked.
“Dead.”
I gave a small smile. “But how do you like it prepared? Pan fried?”
“No. Like Mom does it.” He lifted his little arms and mimed putting something in a pan. “Like this.”
“You’re not much help, kiddo. I’ll cook it pan fried.”
“ ’Kay,” Bobby whispered, gaze down.
After leaving him with the movie, I got ready to cook. The stove burners were a little rusty but worked. I prepared pan-fried fish, along with steamed vegetables and wild rice. Maybe I didn’t have many accomplishments in my life, but, damn, I could cook. It had been either that or be resigned to eating frozen dinners.
When other kids watched cartoons, I watched cooking shows. At ten, I prepared chicken cordon-bleu. Even Aunt Marie was impressed. Carole just grimaced. It’s overcooked, she’d said.
The aroma of spices and well-cooked fish filled the space, and any knot in my body vanished.
My cell rang, and I picked it up, frowning at the caller ID. “Hey,” I answered flatly.
“Honey!” Carole’s voice came clear. “Darling, you have no idea what a marvelous flight we had.” She laughed, evidently delighted. “First class. The only way to fly. Don’t you ever dare fly coach again, Beverly.”
“Sure. Will do that next time I fly overseas in, I don’t know, my next life, I guess.”
“Oh, don’t be such a bore! Don’t you want me to spill the tea, girlfriend?”
She giggled. Giggled.
“Are you drunk, Mother?”
She sobered up. Nothing like reminding Carole of the maternity role she’d never wanted.
“Sweetheart, you are such a bore.”
I put her on speaker and placed one of my unopened boxes on the counter while Carole talked nonstop about her marvelous, fantastic flight and the wonderful five-star hotel in Madrid.
My Lladró figurine lay wrapped in newspaper. Carefully, I unwrapped it and placed it on the counter. Crap, one of the fruits had broken off.
“Bobby and I are okay,” I managed to say when she took a small pause. “The house’s too old, though. I don’t know if this is a good place for me.”
The wind moaned, and the noisy branch thumped above.
“You haven’t asked me a thing about Madrid,” Carole complained. “Make sure to check the pictures I posted because they are a-ma-zing. I already have more than one-hundred likes!”
“Thank heavens for the social media gods.”
“Don’t give me that snarky tone of yours. You need more good energy in your life, girlfriend. You need a man.”
“Ugh, please.”
“You do. And not that silly cowboy—”
“Gary’s a friend. One of my best friends, actually. Since you’re my girlfriend, then you certainly remember I’ve known him since the seventh grade.”
Author Bio:
Ligia de Wit writes fantasy romance adventures with heart, humor, and just the right dose of magic. A lifelong romantic with a soft spot for fairy tales and found family tropes, Ligia writes characters who are strong in more than just a physical sense. Her characters face fears, fight for themselves, and find love in the most unexpected places.
When she’s not writing (or rewriting) her imaginary worlds, she works for a global distribution company and dreams up stories during lunch breaks. You’ll often find her with her nose in a book, exploring a new city, hiking through forests, or acting like a total goof at theme parks. She’s a proud kid at heart—and owns it.
