The authors of The Ghosts of Border House are here to tell us about their paranormal romances.
There's also a great giveaway.
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Experience centuries of Scottish hospitality—whether you're
breathing or not.
Series Intro:
Border House has stood on the River Tweed since 1100,
witnessing centuries of Scottish history and accumulating many permanent
residents along the way. This ancient fortified manor, once a hunting lodge and
defensive tower, now serves as both a charming hotel and an unintentional
retirement home for spirits who can’t or won’t move on to the next realm.
The house is home to a medieval king, a turncoat scribe, a lonesome English
soldier, two Victorian ladies, one unhappy go-go girl, a Scottish Brewmaster,
and more. Each ghost brings their own quirks, complaints, and centuries-old
drama to daily life at Border House. Whether you’re a living guest checking in
for the weekend or a long-dead resident who’s been here for ages, everyone has
a story to tell.
Welcome to Border House—where checkout time is optional, and some guests have
been extending their stay for centuries.
This series features standalone paranormal romances written by various authors.
Love Lost & Found
The Ghosts of Border House Book 1
by Vanessa Victoria Kilmer
Genre: Paranormal Romance
When a love haunts
every lifetime, you have to grab it and hold on.
In 1566, Thomas Kincaid is murdered at Border House by
agents of the Scottish King. Thinking himself betrayed by his soulmate, Sara
Mae Stuart, Thomas curses her to a life of reincarnation with his dying breath.
When Sara Mae dies of a broken heart, she is reborn again
and again.
After 450 years of reincarnation, Sara Mae returns to Border
House to perform a séance and break her curse. She discovers a host of
unsettled spirits, each harboring their own hidden agendas, and Thomas, lurking
inside her crystal ball.
Can love survive revenge, guilt, and a quirky spiritual
divide?
Fifty-five years of longing, and a love that transcends
death.
After
fifty-five years, Nova Guthrie has returned to Scotland for the annual
Halloween Ball at Border House. Or that is her excuse to return to the home of
her youth and bid farewell to memories of her lost lover.
What
she doesn’t know is that Donnal Stuart still haunts the grand mansion, along
with a few other ghostly characters—one of whom will do everything she can to
keep them apart.
This
story is about true love and secret ghost powers bundled up in a haunting tale
of second chances.
Vanessa Victoria Kilmer
told her first story to an angel who visited her when she was locked in
a dark, medieval attic at the age of four.
She grew up in the Salzburg region of Austria, surrounded by
fortified castles, primal salt mines, and the drama of ancient places.
Her fiction teems with murder, magic, and madness. She
explores the abuse inflicted by those closest to us and the various ways people
deal with the damage.
She currently lives in northern Florida with her daughter,
son-in-law, grandson and two black cats. Between writing novels, she paints,
takes pictures with her white camera named Traitor and embroiders tapestries.
Please visit her website at vanessavictoriakilmer.com and
sign up for her newsletter to get updates on current work in progress and new
release information.
Leah Miles
writes romance and paranormal fiction from her small-town in South Georgia,
where she lives with her husband and cocker spaniel while running an insurance
agency and Airbnb business.
After a dozen years in news production at CNN, Leah Miles
now manages an insurance agency and an Airbnb business in rural Georgia, while
writing romantic suspense and paranormal romance featuring take-charge heroes
and fierce heroines.
Marteeka Karland is here to tell us about Chains, Kiss of Death MC, a motorcycle club romance.
Read on for details...
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Kiss of Death MC
Motorcycle Club Romance, Suspense, Age Gap
Date Published: October 17, 2025
Three black cats. One grumpy biker. Fate’s about to get witchy. And
wickedly hot.
Elvira – Halloween’s my favorite holiday, until one teeny mishap
with my practice spell. Suddenly I’m homeless, stinking of swamp gas,
and dragging three black cats into a biker compound… Where I meet
Chains. Big, broody, and superstitious as hell, he glares at my “demon
spawn” like they’re plotting his death. But the way he looks at
me? Let’s just say my spell isn’t the only thing that’s
likely to combust. He’s all hard muscle and harder attitude, and I
can’t tell if he wants to banish me… or bend me over the couch
and have his wicked way with me. I would definitely approve of option number
two!
Chains -- I don’t fear much after nine years inside, but Ellie is chaos.
She’s a walking disaster. Loud, messy, and makes Halloween look like a
lifestyle, not a holiday. And her damn cats have me spooked. I tell myself
she’s trouble. Too naïve. Too good. Then she kisses me, and
suddenly I’m ready to sell my soul for another taste. My MC brothers
think it’s funny. Screw em. Elvira’s mine. And if anyone touches
her, I’ll burn this place to the ground.
WARNING: Chains contains memories of domestic abuse and manipulation. However,
there is a happy-ever-after ending that will make you feel warm and fuzzy.
EXCERPT
Elvira
I stood in the center of my apartment, surveying the disaster zone that used
to be my living room. The cauldron, which was actually just my favorite stock
pot, lay on its side on the stove. Dark green liquid dripped steadily from the
countertop by the stove onto the cheap linoleum floor. My witches’ brew
experiment had gone spectacularly wrong, again, filling the air with a stench
so foul it made my eyes water. I’d only wanted to create a love potion.
Instead, I’d concocted what smelled like a demonic skunk had mated with
rotting eggs in a garbage fire.
“It’s okay, babies,” I cooed to the three black cats,
who’d retreated to their carriers the moment the pot bubbled over.
“Mommy just had a tiny magical mishap.”
Lucifer hissed from behind his carrier door, his yellow eyes narrowed in
judgment. Binx paced in tight circles, while Salem had his paws pressed
against his nose. Even my familiars couldn’t stand the smell.
“I know, I know. I should have followed the recipe.” I pulled my
tank top over my nose, breathing through the fabric. “But who has time
to find owl feathers and moonwater on a Tuesday night?”
I flung open every window in my apartment, the October air rushing in but
barely making a dent in the stench. The smoke detector, which had been
screaming for ten minutes, finally quieted. Green sludge dripped from the
ceiling above the stove where the potion had splattered during its violent
eruption. My carefully arranged Halloween decorations were now coated in
something that looked like radioactive snot.
“We can fix this,” I muttered to myself, only half convinced.
“Just need some bleach, maybe an exorcism, definitely a new
carpet…”
The pounding on my door made me jump. “Miss Blackheart!” Yeah. He
didn’t sound happy. “Open the door right now!”
“Coming, Mr. Peterson!” I sang out in my cheeriest voice,
frantically attempting to right the fallen cauldron. Green goo sloshed over my
fingers, burning slightly. “Just freshening up!”
I wiped my hands on my black jeans and pulled my long hair back into a heavy
ponytail. Taking a deep breath, I immediately regretted it as the fumes hit my
lungs, I opened the door with my most innocent smile even as my eyes watered.
Mr. Peterson stood there, his face the color of an overripe tomato. The vein
in his forehead throbbed with such intensity I worried it might burst. His
nostrils flared before he clamped a hand over his nose as the wall of stink
hit him.
“What in God’s name --” He choked, stumbling backward.
“The entire building smells like… like…”
“Aromatherapy!” I offered brightly. “It’s a, um, rare
Eastern technique for cleansing negative energy.”
His eyes bulged as he peered past me into the apartment. “Your ceiling
is green! There’s smoke everywhere!”
“That’s part of the process?” My voice lifted higher with
each word, betraying my desperation.
“The Johnsons in 3B are throwing up. Mrs. Wittlesby’s cat fainted.
The Andersons’ dog is howling like it’s seen a ghost.” He
thrust a piece of paper at me. “This is an eviction notice. You’re
out, Miss Blackheart.”
I took the paper with trembling fingers. “But Mr. Peterson, I’ve
always paid my rent on time, and --”
“I don’t care if you paid your rent in gold bars! You’ve
violated every health code in existence. People are evacuating the damn
building!” The longer he spoke, the louder he got. And he’d been
pretty damned loud to start with.
Behind me, one of my cats let out a mournful yowl. “Those damn black
cats of yours,” he muttered, making the sign of the cross. “I knew
they were bad news.”
I felt my cheeks flush. “Don’t blame my cats for this.
They’re innocent.”
“You have until tonight to get out,” he bellowed, gesturing wildly
at my smoke-stained ceiling. “Eight hours! After that, I’m calling
animal control for those beasts and the hazmat team for… whatever
hellbrew you’ve cooked up in here.”
“But where am I supposed to go?” My voice cracked, the reality of
my situation finally sinking in. “You can’t kick me out with no
notice!”
“Not my problem. And it’s my damn building; I’ll do whatever
the hell I want. Take it to court if you want. Don’t care. But until you
get a court date, I want you out of here!” He stepped back, pulling a
handkerchief over his nose. “I’ve put up with the stink for the
last time. Eight hours, Miss Blackheart. Not a minute more.”
The door slammed in my face. I stood there, clutching the eviction notice,
feeling the edges of panic creeping in. Sure, I could take him to court.
He’d have to call the police to force me to leave and they
wouldn’t make me unless there was a court order. But, honestly, I knew
it was time to move on. I wasn’t ready to leave yet. I’d hoped to
save a little more money before then. But maybe this was a sign.
My hands shook as I turned to face my ruined apartment. The clock on the wall
shaped like a grinning skull showed it was already noon.
“Well, shit,” I whispered to no one in particular.
I sank down onto my potion-spattered couch, the eviction notice crumpling in
my grip. My eyes burned, and not just from the fumes. I really wasn’t
sure where I was going to go. I had a couple thousand dollars in my savings
account, and a hundred in my checking to do me until payday. If I could find a
new place that wasn’t too expensive, I might have enough for a security
deposit and first month’s rent. If I was really lucky. And that was
assuming I could find something in the next eight hours. Right. Not a
snowball’s chance in hell.
I glanced at my phone, scrolling through the pitiful list of contacts until I
came to Carrie’s number and took a deep breath. We weren’t exactly
close friends, but she’d always been kind to me at the coffee shop where
I worked weekends. She seemed like a really nice person. She’d offered
me a place to crash the last time my landlord threatened to kick me out. I
hadn’t taken her up on the offer then since I only knew her from the
coffee shop, but I wasn’t sure I had many options at the moment.
The phone rang three times before she picked up. “Ellie! Hey!” She
sounded excited. To hear from me?
“Hey.” I tried to keep my voice steady, but it wavered.
“I’m so sorry to bother you, but I’m having a bit of an
emergency.”
“Oh no, Ellie! What kind of emergency? Are you all right?” Carrie
sounded distressed. She was such a sweet person I had no doubt she genuinely
was distressed.
“I… um… may have accidentally created a biohazard in my
apartment and gotten evicted?” I laughed, the sound hollow and
desperate. “I need to be out by eight tonight, and I have nowhere to go,
and I have my cats, and --” My voice broke, tears threatening.
There was a muffled commotion in the background. I could hear Carrie talking
and other people responding, but it was like she had her hand over the speaker
or something. I closed my eyes, bracing for rejection.
“Now drop me a pin and we’ll get over there.” Carrie sounded
determined and, I thought, authoritative? Like she was the one giving the
orders and everyone else was doing her bidding. So, I did as she instructed.
“We’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
Relief flooded through me so fast I nearly dropped the phone.
“We?” My voice came out a squeak. I knew Carrie’s man was a
member of a local motorcycle club called Kiss of Death. Which I kind of liked
the sound of, but it was still a motorcycle club. Honestly, though, I kind of
thought the guys I’d met at the coffee shop were much safer than some of
the people living in this building.
“Oh yeah! The girls are gonna get you a room ready while Hannah and I
are bringing Knuckles and Hawk. We’ll get you packed up and out of there
in no time.”
“I don’t want to cause anyone any trouble, Carrie. It’s bad
enough I’m asking you guys for a place to stay.”
“Nonsense! We all want to help!” There was more racket in the
background, then Carrie was back. “We’re bringing boxes and some
big contractor bags. Anything you want to keep that’s soiled or smells
too bad we can put in there and wash later. Be on the lookout for a blue
Bronco.”
About the Author
Marteeka Karland is an international bestselling author who leads a double
life as an erotic romance author by evening and a semi-domesticated housewife
by day. Known for her down and dirty MC romances, Marteeka takes pleasure in
spinning tales of tenacious, protective heroes and spirited, vulnerable
heroines. She staunchly advocates that every character deserves a blissful
ending, even, sometimes, the villains in her narratives. Her writings are
speckled with intense, raw elements resulting in page-turning delight entwined
with seductive escapades leading up to gratifying conclusions that elicit a
sigh from her readers.
Away from the pen, Marteeka finds joy in baking and supporting her husband
with their gardening activities. The late summer season is set aside for
preserving the delightful harvest that springs from their combined efforts
(which is mostly his efforts, but you can count it). To stay updated with
Marteeka's latest adventures and forthcoming books, make sure to visit her
website. Don't forget to register for her newsletter which will pepper you
with a potpourri of Teeka's beloved recipes, book suggestions, autograph
events, and a plethora of interesting tidbits.
Verity Rose is here to tell us about First Light - Tales of the Vanguard: Rune Saga Book 1, an epic fantasy.
There's also a great giveaway.
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A promise filled with hope in a world not meant for dreamers
First Light
Tales of the Vanguard: Rune Saga Book 1
by Verity Rose
Genre: Epic Fantasy
In a world struggling with political and religious
differences, eighteen-year-old Arkrune—"Rune" to his friends—dreams
of something greater than the quiet life in his small village of Locke. Trained
by his stern but loving father, a renowned blacksmith and former warrior, Rune
sets his sights on joining the famous monster fighting guild known as the
Vanguard.
When Rune embarks on his journey to the city of Hilden to pursue his destiny,
he carries with him more than just a finely crafted sword—but also a mystery
tied to his bloodline and the dormant power within him. Along the way, Rune
forms bonds with battle-hardened warriors, fends off deadly attacks by monsters
and men alike, and begins to uncover the hidden strengths he didn’t know he
possessed.
Verity Rose grew up in a blink and you’ll miss it Indiana
town where the school library doubled as an escape hatch. She wrote her first
fantasy scenes at thirteen, lost the thread for a while, wrestling with
undiagnosed ADHD and mental health potholes. She rediscovered her voice after
becoming a mom and stumbling into a gaggle of online book nerds who egged her
on. Armed with a social work degree from Ball State and a lifelong conviction
that characters are as real as the hands on the keyboard, she now pours that
people first empathy into stories that refuse to stay quiet.
When she isn’t tormenting her characters, Verity is probably
reverse engineering a Korean street food recipe, sourcing single origin coffee
beans from ethical roasters, or hoarding trash in Dragon Age or Skyrim. Her
literary inspiration is equal parts Rick Riordan’s mythic swagger, Suzanne
Collins’ high stakes heart, and John Flanagan’s cozy camaraderie.
Verity was raising her family (and her caffeine tolerance)
amid Indiana cornfields and now adventures in the Pacific Northwest with them.
She’s always down to swap book recs, coffee tips, or preferred RPG builds.
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.
Kristen Illarmo is here to tell us about Against the Red Sky: Mission X, a YA science fiction thriller.
There's also a great giveaway.
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Two missions, one conspiracy, zero room for mistakes- or
feelings.
Against the Red Sky:
Mission X
by Kristen Illarmo
Genre: YA Science Fiction Thriller
Enzo Cruz knows
sacrifice. After a failed
mission to assassinate the billionaire behind the Mars colony—and the loss of
his grandfather—he’s ready for redemption. His new target? The Mars Ascendance
Academy shuttle. His orders: infiltrate, sabotage, escape.
As the youngest
operative in Terra Primera, Enzo’s talent with explosives could tip the balance
in Earth’s fight for survival. But inside the Academy, nothing goes to
plan—especially when Maddie Westing enters the picture.
Maddie has dreamed
of joining her mother on Mars since she was ten. Now she has her shot: one of
thirty elite students in the Academy’s inaugural class. But being the niece of
the colony’s powerful founder comes with strings—and shadows.
When Enzo’s
mission collides with Maddie’s quest for truth, both teens are thrust into a
conspiracy that threatens Earth and Mars alike. Loyalties will be tested.
Secrets will be exposed. And the greatest danger may not come from the skies—it
may lie in their hearts.
In this
heart-pounding YA thriller, survival means risking everything—including the
people you thought you hated most. For fans of The Hunger Games, Red Rising, and Aurora
Rising—Against the Red Sky delivers explosive tension,
star-crossed loyalty, and a high-stakes rebellion that could destroy two
worlds.
What readers
are saying:
"This YA novel is one long dopamine hit, an insightful
saga with crush-worthy protagonists. Enzo, pulled between his ecoterrorism
world and a gnawing realization that there may be flaws to his organization's
methods, is a vibrant, well-executed character. Maddie's journey parallels his
in many ways, and her resolve, spirit, and appealing energy make her equally
entertaining. Their two paths collide, and Illarmo delivers a twisty
examination of greed, loyalty, and the dark motives that drive people when pushed
to their limits." Rated 10 out of
10.
-The BookLifePrize
“This is one of the best books I’ve read this year and I
have read over a hundred so far! This is a nail biting, page turning
masterpiece that will completely have you mesmerized and under its spell by the
first few chapters!” ARC reviewer
“Great, fast-paced fun story with lots of twists and turns
that kept me turning the pages. It has elements of academy, romance, scifi, and
thriller that kept me up late reading.” ARC reviewer
Kristen Illarmo is a New Orleans-based author of young adult
science fiction and fantasy. Her action packed, character-driven stories
explore the ripple effects of real-world choices, set in decaying societies and
with tangled family dynamics. Her debut duology, Kirasu Rising, was featured at
the 2023 Louisiana Book Festival.
When a snowstorm traps Bryce Richardson in a secluded Vermont cabin with the one woman he never stopped loving, he’s supposed to be focused on security—not second chances. But Rachel Porter, daughter of Senator Porter and the only woman who ever really knew him, is back in his life with a desperate ask: pretend to be her boyfriend for the holiday… and keep her alive.
Silverberry Ridge might look like a picture-perfect winter postcard, but beneath the twinkling lights and pine-scented air, political power plays and security threats swirl. As Titan Group protects the senator’s hush-hush summit, danger creeps closer. For Bryce, duty comes first. For Rachel, survival means trusting the man who once broke her heart.
In a cabin filled with holiday tension, buried feelings reignite and the lines between fake and forever blur. But when enemies close in, the question isn’t whether love gets a second chance—it’s whether it survives at all.
A Very Titan Christmas is a sexy holiday romance with a guaranteed happily ever after and plenty of familiar faces as the Titan Group couples and kids show up to ring in the holidays!
“This is my boyfriend.” The words had come out of her mouth, but she heard her voice as if she were listening to an audiobook, as if someone else had made this outrageous claim, all the while sounding very unsure.
Roman snorted, then coughed to cover his reaction.
Bryce stepped back, but Rachel stayed with him. There was no way she would let him run away without prying off her fingers because, at this point, she would rather die than face her mother with the truth.
His muscles tensed under her grip, but she refused to let go. “Bryce, you remember my mother.”
“We met earlier,” Eloise pointed out. “When it seems he wasn’t your boyfriend.”
“Can I have a word with you?” he whispered under his breath, but they were all close enough that everyone heard.
Rachel still didn’t let him go and decided to ignore him. She addressed her mother. “You remember we dated in high school?”
Eloise slowly blinked. “And, in the course of two hours, found yourself dating again?”
“Yes, absolutely. We’re so happy.”
“Can I talk to you for a minute?” Bryce asked again. He laid a hand on top of the one digging into his jacket but must have realized she wouldn’t let go without making more of a scene than she was already causing.
She still ignored him.
“Excuse us,” he growled, then looped his free arm around her waist and practically carried her through the milling crowd of holiday shoppers until they were far enough away that she couldn’t see her mother. “What the hell are you doing?”
“I’m so sorry.” She released her grip on his arm. “I panicked.”
ABOUT CRISTIN:
New York Times bestselling author Cristin Harber packs her military romance, romantic suspense, and new adult romance novels with steam, sizzle, and action of all types. Whether you want fireworks in the bedroom or a hunky ex-military team that saves the day, her bestselling romance novels will make you swoon and smile.
Two rival interns. One art museum. And a missing art museum exhibit.
Dylan Alexander doesn’t need a boyfriend. Having one will only slow him down.
Freshly graduated from university, Dylan’s arrived in London, England from Vancouver, Canada for a summer internship at the London Art & Design Museum. He’s also looking for strings-free fun and a fresh dating scene. This is Dylan’s dream chance to start his career and land a permanent job in London—or else he must return to Vancouver where museum jobs are rare, and the dating pool is old news. Everything’s going great in his new life—except for one thing. Dylan must put up with rival museum intern William Martin-Greene.
Will is everything Dylan can’t stand: flashy, arrogant, and entitled. Forget that he’s too handsome for his own good and knows it. It’s bad luck that they both started on the same internship program. At least they work safely apart in different departments—until one day, they’re forced to work together when Will unexpectedly joins Dylan’s Curatorial team. So much for the avoidance strategy that had worked so far. Will’s arrival on his team is also not helping his unmistakable attraction. When Dylan and Will end up stranded together while collecting exhibits, with only one bed to share, they can’t deny their chemistry.
With only one permanent job on offer at the end of the summer, the competition is on to be the best intern. They both share the blame when an important design exhibit goes missing and risks the unexpected summer romance between them. Then, everything is on the line—including hearts, careers, and a chance at love.
A rivals-to-lovers, opposites attract, only one bed, and boy-next-door romance!
Keep going, Dylan. I splash along a London street that must be hundreds of years old. It’s lined with brick buildings, a mirrored office tower reflecting the moody sky, and followed by even more brick buildings. Then, at street level, there’re all the glass-fronted shops. The museum’s got to be close. You’ve gotten halfway around the world, after all.
With the help of printed out maps and free Wi-Fi, of course.
It’s not far now.
And I can’t stop smiling. I can’t believe I’m actually here. Forget the rain.
It’s a soggy, blustery London day, which admittedly does no favors for my leather shoes or my styled hair. Or for making a good impression on the first day of a new job in a country I landed in three days ago. And it’s the first day where jet lag isn’t totally kicking my ass.
I get a little lost on my way from London Bridge station somewhere along the modern gray tiled path leading past the Old London City Hall. The problem being something called Old London City Hall looks very modern and new, with its endless windows and curved oval structure, which is part of what got me confused. Because everything old in London’s supposed to be, well, old. Like really old. And this building is anything but. I squint at the building through the rain at the edge of an equally sleek plaza, dotted with leafy trees boxed in with low hedges, concrete benches, and contemporary art installations, all overlooking the Thames.
Old London City Hall looks like it was built yesterday.
This must be some prank to play on the tourists.
I pull out a slightly crumpled page from my pocket with one hand and hold on to the umbrella with my other hand. I haven’t sorted out my phone yet, and I don’t want to pay roaming charges. My printed-out map reliably shows Potters Field Park beside the Thames and the Old London City Hall plaza. Plus, there’s the iconic Tower Bridge nearby as a key landmark, and an X in blue pen marks the museum to the east. Raindrops splatter the page with dark spots before I hurriedly tuck it away.
I’m back on track.
The museum must be straight ahead, past the park—my destination—down at the end of the road or the block or whatever people call it here. I start walking again with purpose. Like I belong here amid the Londoners who happen to know where they’re going.
At least, I think it’s the museum at the end of the street. I haven’t actually seen it before, except on Google Street View.
Distracted, I end up making an unscheduled detour down a side street to see more of the surrounding area, which has one-way traffic. But there’re more modern buildings again down this way, and I work on figuring out how to loop back on course before I’m late.
Look right, then left. I keep repeating my new mantra when I cross the street, then hurry up another street toward the museum as the weather worsens. Everyone drives on the opposite side of the street from what I’m used to.
I grip my umbrella tight against another gust of wind.
A red sports car screams past as a wind gust turns my umbrella inside out.
Then an icy tidal wave hits me like a slap, and I reel.
“What the fuck—” I yelp, the umbrella useless in my hand.
An airborne puddle soaks me. Right from my head down to my now very ruined—rather than partly ruined—new shoes. Leather never deserves a flood of water, never mind my face.
Water pours off me in sheets. I’m left sopping wet, gasping and spluttering.
Me and my wet rage, dressed in soggy smart casual. My light cotton blazer, perfect for actual summer, turns out to be incredible at soaking up water like a sponge.
I stare after the red car rocketing up the road toward the museum, its taillights a sharp dazzle against the soft gray world even through the rain. My fists tighten while I drip.
Too bad I didn’t pack a towel in my bag, but I didn’t expect impromptu bathing today.
Asshole.
Author Bio:
More animal than mineral, Hayden Stone is a writer of fun queer fiction, especially with kissing. He currently lives in Victoria, Canada, and has previously lived in Vancouver, Canada and London, UK. He likes strong coffee and is owned by two cats. You can find out his latest news on Twitter or Instagram, or at his website: haydenstonebooks.com
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