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Tuesday, April 30, 2019

Release Blitz - International Player by Louise Bay



 
INTERNATIONAL PLAYER by Louise Bay Release Date: April 30th Genre: Standalone Contemporary Romance




 
AVAILABLE NOW!!

B&N: coming soon!

 

Nikki's 5 Star Review

 
International Player is a fab, slow burn friends to lovers romance that will reel you in and never let go.

Truly and Noah are great friends, for Truly it's always been more of a crush. She had hoped her feelings would disappear when Noah upped and left to live in New York, but that was 4 years ago and he's now back to London.

When they find themselves forced to work together will more than friendship finally be on the cards for them both?

Another fantastic standalone from Louise Bay I can't recommend her books enough.
  
 
 


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Blurb: Being labelled a player never stopped me from being successful with women. Until I met Truly Harbury.
Truly was the first girl who ever turned me down.
The first female friend I ever had.
And she might just be the first woman I ever fall in love with.
When an emergency means she needs my help running her family’s charity, I’m happy to introduce her to the glitz and glamour of the London business world—taking her to dinners, coaching her through speeches, zipping up the sexy evening gown I helped her pick out.
The more time we spend together, the more I want to convince her I’m not a man to avoid, that we’re not as unsuited as she believes.
She sees herself as the book-reading, science-loving introvert while I’m the dangerous, outgoing, charmer.
She thinks I love parties and people whereas she prefers pajamas and a takeaway.
What she doesn’t realize is that I like everything about her–the way her smile lights up a room, how her curves light up my imagination, and especially the way her lips taste when coated with tequila.
She’s the first woman I ever fell in love with. I just need to know if she could ever love me too.
*International Player is a complete standalone contemporary romance


 


Excerpt: In, two, three, out, two. Shit. I tried again. In, two, three, out, two, three. It wasn’t helping. My heart was hammering against my chest, my palms were sweaty, and images of hundreds and hundreds of faces staring at me flashed into my head.
I ignored the knock on my office door. I was too concerned about what was happening to me. Was it possible to have a heart attack at twenty-eight?
“Truly,” a familiar, male voice called.
I couldn’t look up. Couldn’t even open my eyes.
Warm hands covered my knees and body heat radiated in front of me.
“Are you okay? Take a breath.” What was Noah doing here?
I nodded, still counting my breath. As if he was familiar with the technique, he began counting along with me. “Out, two, three. In, two, three. Out, two, three.”
His voice was calming. The counting hadn’t worked when I’d done it alone, but hearing him counting too helped me settle into a rhythm.
Eventually, his hands slid from my knees, and I sat up and opened my eyes, right into his.
“Are you okay?” he asked, his brow
furrowed.
I was such an idiot. A mess. And this was why Noah and I had only ever been friends. He was used to seeing me in no makeup with a smear of kung pao chicken on my face. And now I was panicking about a meeting that he would think nothing of. Yes, Noah only ever saw me at my absolute worst.
“What are you doing here?” I asked. I didn’t want him to see me like this.
“Do you want some water?” He stood and poured me a glass of sparkling water from the bottle on my desk.
“Thanks.” I took a sip and sat back in my chair.
“I came to talk to you. Apologize if I seemed harsh last night. I’m sorry if I made this worse, Truly.”
I cleared my throat. “I’m fine. Just a little . . .” I watched as he slid into the chair opposite my desk, his long legs unfurling in front of him. “I just have a lot to do.”
He nodded, steepling his fingers. “And I’m here to help.”


 


About the Author: USA Today bestselling author, Louise Bay writes sexy, contemporary romance novels – the kind she likes to read. Her books include the novels Faithful (not currently on sale as undergoing maintenance!), Hopeful, The Empire State Series, The Royals Series, The Nights Series (both series of standalone books each following different characters) and the standalone Gentleman series.
Ruined by romantic mini-series of the eighties, Louise loves all things romantic. There’s not enough of it in real life so she disappears into the fictional worlds in books and films.
Louise loves the rain, The West Wing, London, days when she doesn’t have to wear make-up, being on her own, being with friends, elephants and champagne.
She loves to hear from readers so get in touch!



Release Blitz - Return of the Prince by Nana Malone




Title: Return of the Prince
Series: The Royal Elite Prince Duet #1
Author: Nana Malone
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Release Date: April 30, 2019



Blurb

I’ve been a prince in exile, but I’m finally going home, tarnished crown and all. This time, I won’t let anyone keep me away…

Not Ariel, the woman I left behind. Not the killer on my tail. Hell, not even my cousin—the king—can stop me.

Unlike my conniving brother, I have no designs on the throne. Let better men rule.

But I do have a score to settle.

Everything was going just fine until Ariel is assigned to my protection detail. Little Miss Hates My Ass will ruin everything.

One look at her and I know it’s not over between us. All I have to do is convince her I never forgot her…and not get dead in the process.







Purchase Links

AMAZON US / UK / CA / AU
GOOGLE PLAY

Amy's 4 Star Review

Its always lovely to read Nana Malone's and whilst I found that this book could be a little slow in places it's still a good book that does come around in a full circle as to the reason of Ariel and Prince Tristan's relationship brokedown and now they hold alot of anger towards each other for that very reason, but when Prince Tristan and his Finaceè Ella are in danger and need some Kings Knights to only stand to reason that that person should be Ariel.

There is so much to their story and you truly need to read it and to know that there's going to be so much more when To Love A Prince is released.






Coming Soon


Releasing May 21, 2019

AMAZON US / UK / CA / AU






Author Bio


USA Today Bestselling Author, NANA MALONE’s love of all things romance and adventure started with a tattered romantic suspense she borrowed from her cousin on a sultry summer afternoon in Ghana at a precocious thirteen. She’s been in love with kick butt heroines ever since.

With her overactive imagination, and channeling her inner Buffy, it was only a matter a time before she started creating her own characters. Waiting for her chance at a job as a ninja assassin, Nana, meantime works out her drama, passion and sass with fictional characters every bit as sassy and kick butt as she thinks she is.

The books in her series have been on multiple Amazon Kindle and Barnes & Noble best seller lists as well as the iTunes Breakout Books list and most notably the USA Today Bestseller list.

Until that ninja job comes through, you’ll find Nana working hard on additional books for her series as well as other fun, sassy romances for characters that won’t leave her alone. And if she’s not working or hiding in the closet reading, she’s acting out scenes for her husband, daughter and puppy in sunny San Diego.

Want to hit me up? Just email me:
nana@nanamaloneromance.com


Author Links




Monday, April 29, 2019

Release Blitz - Lily and the Billionaire by Beth Michele




Title: Lily and the Billionaire
Author: Beth Michele
Genre: Contemporary Romance/Romantic Comedy
Release Date: April 29, 2019



Blurb

What do you get when you cross one feisty secretary with one determined billionaire?

My name—Jace Harlow. My business—making billions.

I’ve got it all.

Money.
Confidence.
Sexual prowess.

I know—I’m quite a catch. At least to most women. But Lily Conrad isn’t like any woman I’ve met before.

Damn her and that red dress.

Now all I think about is her. All I fantasize about is her—her smile, her laugh, her long legs wrapped around my waist.

My dilemma, you ask? She doesn’t care that I’m a billionaire. And why should she? It means nothing, tells her nothing about who I am.

Lily Conrad doesn’t know what I’m made of, but you can be sure of one thing...

She’s going to find out.


ADD TO GOODREADS

Amy's 5 Star Review

I feel really honoured to have been able to read such an amazing insta-love feel good book, Jace and Lily are just everything you want to read about and the fact the absolutely adore each other but neither will own up to that fact! Their chemistry, physically, sexually and emotionally is off the scale.


Its definitely a favourite book and one I'll forever own, the title says it all and Lily is by no means after Jace's billions she just wants Jace for the person he is! And throw in his brother Chaz who is a great addition to the book and I'm also hoping he will get his own story. Beth Michelle did a fabulous job with this book.





Purchase Links

AMAZON US / UK / CA / AU

Free in Kindle Unlimited





Excerpt

A light sound takes me out of my own head. I look to my left, and what I see robs me of my breath. I stand taller, suddenly unable to remember my own thoughts. A profile of porcelain skin, a sharp nose, and—Jesus—a full red lip claim my attention. Hair the color of amber piled high on her head, soft tendrils frame her face. I want to let it down, comb my fingers through it, see if it’s as soft as it looks…and I keep looking, because it’s impossible not to.
The smooth lines of her nape are set in grace, my tongue already mapping the perfect path down her skin. My eyes keep going because there’s no stopping them now. Moving lower to the dress, the color is a deep red, the neckline plunging. Being six foot one has its advantages. Even from the side, I can see the dip of cleavage. I lick my lips, already begging for a taste, wanting to know if she’s as sweet as she looks. Then I continue on, because wild horses couldn’t drag me away. I need to see more.
Unfortunately, as far as skin goes, the rest is covered by the floor-length gown. Whoever she is, she’s stunning, and I can’t stop staring. She has pleasure and sin written all over her. I’m hard now. My body ready to do what is instinctual to me.
For the first time in…well, forever, I want to be reckless. I want to throw her over my shoulder and drag her to the nearest closet. Sift through all that red, lush fabric and find her pussy. Put my mouth there, sweep my tongue across her clit. Drag an orgasm out of her that makes her see stars, makes her see no one but me. I laugh under my breath because that would be a first.
As if she knows what I’m thinking, she turns my way, and I’m knocked on my ass. My first thought: I want to get down on my hands and knees and thank God for this gift from heaven. Jesus. If I thought she was gorgeous from the side, head-on, she’s exquisite. Her eyes are a moss green. No, no—that description will not do. Because that doesn’t begin to describe soft sage peppered with golden yellow flecks. They’re clear and…wait, vulnerable? Or…I don’t know, apprehensive? How can a creature so beautiful be so scared? The million-dollar question—or in my case, the billionaire-dollar question.
When I realize I’ve been staring too long, I force a word from my lips. Any word will do at this point. “Hello.”
Just brilliant, Jace.
“Hello,” she says back, almost reluctantly. “Can I help you with something?”
“Pardon me?”
She gestures with one hand, long fingernails painted red to match her dress. Red: it’s a bold color, feisty—daring, even. I wonder if she’s adventurous behind closed doors, if she likes to fuck on desks, up against walls. I wonder if she enjoys taking it in what I’m sure is a perfectly curved ass. I sure as hell want to find out. I’d relish the opportunity to have her mile-long legs wrapped around my waist, grinding on my cock.
“You were staring at me.”
And thinking salacious thoughts, but I won’t mention that.
“I was?” It comes out like a question when there is absolutely no doubt it’s the truth.
The corner of her mouth turns up, but it doesn’t match her eyes. What is that I see? I want to figure it out, and then I want to take it away for her.
“Did you have a question?”
“A question?” Did I even ask a question? Why is my brain not computing? I never waver, but this woman is throwing me off my game.
Maybe she can read my thoughts. Perhaps she knows the question inquiring minds want to know: How does she like to fuck?
I’ve been silent too long, imagining all the different ways I could bring her to orgasm, and now it looks like she’s holding back a laugh. I want to hear what her laugh sounds like. Is it high and melodic or low and raspy?
“Yes. Did you have one?”
I can feel the crease slash my forehead. “I’m…”
An idiot. Confused. Tongue-tied by your beauty.
Yeah, that’ll do.
Her eyebrows lift. “You’re…”
I clear my throat and step into my confidence once again. Then I edge closer, the scent of something floral floating under my nose. “Tongue-tied by your beauty.”
She actually laughs, and here I thought I was smoother than that. But hey, I made her laugh, so point for me.






Author Bio


Beth Michele is a bestselling author of M/F and M/M Contemporary Romance who writes sweet, funny, and sexy (sometimes dirty) stories with heart...and snark. She can often be spotted hiding out with her laptop or kindle somewhere quiet, preferably on a bench overlooking the ocean. Swedish Fish and Twizzlers are her jam, and she makes a mean hot chocolate every day of the year.


Author Links





Giveaway

Release Blitz - Pretty Reckless by L.J. Shen

PR - RB banner.jpg


Pretty Reckless, an all-new standalone high school, bully romance from USA Today bestselling author L.J. Shen, is available now!



LJSPrettyRecklessBookCover6x9_MEDIUM.jpg


We were supposed to be best friends
But turned out to be worst enemies…
Penn
They say revenge is a dish best served cold.
I’d had four years to stew on what Daria Followhill did to me, and now my heart is completely iced.
I took her first kiss.
She took the only thing I loved.
I was poor.
She was rich.
The good thing about circumstances? They can change. Fast.
Now, I’m her parents’ latest shiny project.
Her housemate. Her tormentor. The captain of the rival football team she hates so much.
Yeah, baby girl, say it—I’m your foster brother.
There’s a price to pay for ruining the only good thing in my life, and she’s about to shell out some serious tears.
Daria Followhill thinks she is THE queen. I’m about to prove to her that she’s nothing but a spoiled princess.
Daria
Everyone loves a good-old, unapologetic punk.
But being a bitch? Oh, you get slammed for every snarky comment, cynical eye roll, and foot you put in your adversaries’ way.
The thing about stiletto heels is that they make a hell of a dent when you walk all over the people who try to hurt you.
In Penn Scully’s case, I pierced his heart until he bled out, then left it in a trash can on a bright summer day.
Four years ago, he asked me to save all of my firsts for him.
Now he lives across the hall, and there’s nothing I want more than to be his last everything.
His parting words when he gave me his heart were that nothing in this world is free.
Now? Now he is making me pay.


PR - AN.jpg

Amy's 5 Star Review

An absolutely fantastic read by the amazing LJ Shen it's great to see the children of the the Hotholes get a story and Jaime's daughter Daria is a hothead!
Penn is a jerk especially when it come to Daria and with plenty of reasons, forgotten is the promise made when they where children.
Now teenagers and Daria being a spoilt brat and everything Penn hates and things only go from bad to worse when he has to live with satan herself and his own personal hell begins!

This book is full of so much teen angst and hormones but revenge would be sweet for both of them.
LJ Shen totally did her magic with this book, I cant wait for more of this series :)


Download your copy today for the special release week price of ONLY $2.99 or read FREE in Kindle Unlimited!

Add to GoodReads: http://bit.ly/2FZssQ7


About LJ Shen:
L.J. Shen is an International #1 best-selling author of Contemporary Romance and New Adult novels. She lives in Northern California with her husband, young son and chubby cat.
Before she’d settled down, L.J. (who thinks referring to herself in the third person is really silly, by the way) traveled the world, and collected friends from all across the globe. Friends who’d be happy to report that she is a rubbish companion, always forgets people's’ birthdays and never sends Christmas cards.
She enjoys the simple things in life, like spending time with her family and friends, reading, HBO, Netflix and internet-stalking Stephen James. She reads between three to five books a week and firmly believes Crocs shoes and mullets should be outlawed.


LJShen.jpg


Connect with L.J. Shen:
Stay up to date with L.J. Shen by signing up for her mailing list:

Blog Tour - For Lila, Forever by Winter Renshaw
















































The words “For Lila, forever” adorned the front of the envelope in blue ink, the handwriting all too familiar. But it didn’t matter what it said. I didn’t have the heart to open it.

We couldn’t be together.

Not after everything ...

Leaving Rose Crossing, Maine was one of the most painful moments of my life—or at least it was until the day I came face-to-face with Thayer Ainsworth again.

After a decade of searching, he’s found me, and he wants to know why I quit my housemaid job and left his family’s island estate without so much as a goodbye. But I’m bound by a devastating secret much bigger than the two of us, and telling him the truth has consequences.

Looking into the eyes of the only man I’ve ever loved, I tell him the only thing I’m allowed to: never contact me again. And when he’s gone, I sit down and finally open his letter.

Only it isn’t a letter at all.

It changes everything.



















Nikki's 4 Star Review

Winter Renshaw has written a great story in For Lila, Forever. You could tell in the writing style the heart and soul that has gone in to Lila and Thayer's book. I took a hold of my heart from the very beginning and just didn't let go. 

When Lila finds herself having to uproot and move in with her grandparents at 18 years old she has no idea what life is about to throw into her path. 
Thayer spends his summers on his grandfather's island. When he meets Lila they have a connection that very soon turns into love but it's short-lived when he has to return to college and leave her behind. When he returns a year later there are no signs Lila ever existed. 

When secrets and lies are revealed 10 years later will Lila and Thayer finally find their way back to each other?

A 4 star highly recommend read from me.




























Wall Street Journal and #1 Amazon bestselling author Winter Renshaw is a bona fide daydream believer. She lives somewhere in the middle of the USA and can rarely be seen without her trusty Mead notebook and ultra portable laptop. When she’s not writing, she’s living the American dream with her husband, three kids, and the laziest puggle this side of the Mississippi.




And if you'd like to be the first to know when a new book is coming out, please sign up for her private mailing list here ---> http://eepurl.com/bfQU2j




Author Links









Blog Tour











































The words “For Lila, forever” adorned the front of the envelope in blue ink, the handwriting all too familiar. But it didn’t matter what it said. I didn’t have the heart to open it.

We couldn’t be together.

Not after everything ...

Leaving Rose Crossing, Maine was one of the most painful moments of my life—or at least it was until the day I came face-to-face with Thayer Ainsworth again.

After a decade of searching, he’s found me, and he wants to know why I quit my housemaid job and left his family’s island estate without so much as a goodbye. But I’m bound by a devastating secret much bigger than the two of us, and telling him the truth has consequences.

Looking into the eyes of the only man I’ve ever loved, I tell him the only thing I’m allowed to: never contact me again. And when he’s gone, I sit down and finally open his letter.

Only it isn’t a letter at all.

It changes everything.























“What are you doing in here?” he asks.
I rise from the bed and slide my hands in the back pockets of my cutoff shorts. “I just needed a minute to myself.”
He studies me.
“There are just so many people … everywhere ...” I continue.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
I shrug. “I … don’t know how to answer that.”
“I’m sorry.” He lifts a hand. “That’s a horrible question and I shouldn’t have asked. Obviously you’re not okay. I mean. You’re okay. But you've been through a lot. And … I’m going to shut up now.”
He smiles his perfect, straight, bright white smile and it instantly makes me reciprocate, almost like I have no control over my facial expressions. But it doesn’t stick for long.
“How did you know I was here?” I ask.
“I saw you heading west after breakfast this morning. There’s really nothing on this side of the island except this cottage.”
“Oh. So you came looking for me? Like on purpose?”
He laughs under his breath, an easy, relaxed sort of chuff, like he finds my question adorable.
“I guess so,” he says. “Yeah. Guess I wanted to make sure you didn’t get lost or anything.”
“Appreciate it.” I don’t buy it for one second. “I should probably get back. It’s almost time to prep lunch.”
I squeeze through the doorway and make my way down the hall when I hear him say my name. Nothing else. Just … Lila. Turning back, I see he’s standing still, feet planted, in no rush to go anywhere.
“Yes?” I ask.
“If you ever want to talk ...” he clears his throat. “I’m sure you miss your friends. And I know you’re going through a lot right now ...”
There’s a gentleness about him, an easiness that I didn’t anticipate. It’s in the smoothness of his voice, the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles. He never talks about himself—even during meals. He’s always asking everyone else what they’re doing or what’s going on in their lives. And it’s plain to see he’s the clear favorite among the three grandchildren. He’s the apple of Howard Bertram’s eye.
And I get it.
So far … he seems like a nice guy—a good person.
I almost wish he wasn’t.
I almost wish he fulfilled every stereotype I conjured up about someone with his name and his background and his family and his privileges.
But now all I feel is guilt and an onset of extreme self-awareness, suddenly second-guessing the placement of my hands or the puffiness of my eyes.
“Does this house have a name?” I ask, changing the subject because I feel another wave of emotions about to wash over me when I think too hard about his unexpected kindness.
“What?”
“You know. Like your house is The Ainsworth,” I say. “And Grandma and Grandpa’s house is The Hilliard. What do you call this one?”
Thayer shrugs before shaking his head. “Nothing. I guess we mostly pretend it doesn’t exist.”
"That’s kind of ... sad. Is it weird that I feel sorry for this place?” I half-laugh.
He smirks. “Yeah.”
His on-the-spot honesty makes me respect him that much more.
“Back home, my mom had this friend, and she was always talking about how everything had a soul. People, animals, plants, even inanimate objects. Mom said even if that isn’t true, it doesn’t hurt to treat everything with respect, like it has feelings. I thought they were out of their minds, but I guess a little bit of them rubbed off on me.”
“You think the house’s feelings are hurt?” He scratches at his temple.
“Maybe. Sort of. So what if I do?” I bite my lower lip for a flash of a second. I’m teasing, flirting, and I shouldn’t be.
He doesn’t say anything, which makes this moment as awkward and nerve-wracking as possible. I swear I hear my heart beating in my ears—that, or it’s the whoosh and crash of the ocean outside. I’m too distracted right now to differentiate.
My mom’s crazy friend always talked about auras. I never saw them, never believed in them, but she claimed mine was dark red, which meant I was self-sufficient and able to persevere anything.
She also told me that at my mother’s funeral, so she might have simply been trying to comfort me.
If Thayer had an aura, I bet it would be light blue. The color of the sky. Serene and calm.
“You want to name the house?” he asks.
“What?”
“This cottage.” He glances up at the ceiling. “Give it a name. It can be your house. What’s your last name?”
“Hilliard.” My mother gave me her last name on account of my father abandoning us early into her pregnancy. I never knew his name. Never saw a picture. Only heard a few details, like he was smart and charismatic and successful, but also self-centered and narcissistic. “So obviously there can’t be two Hilliard Cottages.”
“All right. Then we’ll just call it The Lila Cottage.”
I snicker. “That doesn’t quite have the same ring to it as The Ainsworth or The Caldecott.”
“You think?” he asks. “Nah. It sounds fine to me.”
“Would your grandfather be okay with you naming this place without his permission? I’m getting major control-freak vibes from him.”
Shit.
I need to shut my mouth before I get myself in trouble.
Sure, Thayer’s easy to talk to and he seems like a reasonable person, but I literally just insulted his grandfather—my boss.
My cheeks flush with a burning warmth and I glance down for a moment.
“He is absolutely a control freak, and we don’t have to tell him. It can just be our thing.”
Our thing.
So now we have a thing.
“I used to hide out in here when I was a kid,” he says, looking around. “Westley was always so clingy. Like a shadow. And Whitley was always whining about this or that. And sometimes I just needed space.”
“This is quite the hideaway for a kid. A whole house.”
“Yeah,” he says. “Anyway, if you need a hideaway of your own, you’ve found a good one. But I can’t say I won’t be using it too.”
“We should probably come up with a custody agreement of some kind.” I’m flirting. Again. But I can’t help myself. He’s so damn cute. “Maybe I get weekends? You can have holidays because I’ll likely be working those, so ...”
He laughs at me and our gazes lock until our respective smiles fade. There’s a glimmer of something in his eyes … fascination maybe? Curiosity? I don’t know him well enough to tell, but he looks at me in a way that no one else ever has before.
Perhaps I’m a novelty to him.
Or maybe this is what he does. Charms you. Works you until you’re putty in his hands so he can use you until you’re all used up, and then he moves on to the next girl.
“I should probably get back to The Bertram,” I say. “I’m sure Grandma’s wondering where I am.”
“We’re going to watch a movie tonight,” he says. “At Westley and Whitley’s.”
AKA The Caldecott.
“You should come by,” he says.
Yesterday it was the bonfire.
Tonight it’s a movie.
I head to the door, the wood floorboards creaking beneath my quick, soft steps, but before I leave, I turn back to him. “You should probably stop inviting me to hang out.”














Wall Street Journal and #1 Amazon bestselling author Winter Renshaw is a bona fide daydream believer. She lives somewhere in the middle of the USA and can rarely be seen without her trusty Mead notebook and ultra portable laptop. When she’s not writing, she’s living the American dream with her husband, three kids, and the laziest puggle this side of the Mississippi.




And if you'd like to be the first to know when a new book is coming out, please sign up for her private mailing list here ---> http://eepurl.com/bfQU2j




Author Links









Chapter Reveal











































The words “For Lila, forever” adorned the front of the envelope in blue ink, the handwriting all too familiar. But it didn’t matter what it said. I didn’t have the heart to open it.

We couldn’t be together.

Not after everything ...

Leaving Rose Crossing, Maine was one of the most painful moments of my life—or at least it was until the day I came face-to-face with Thayer Ainsworth again.

After a decade of searching, he’s found me, and he wants to know why I quit my housemaid job and left his family’s island estate without so much as a goodbye. But I’m bound by a devastating secret much bigger than the two of us, and telling him the truth has consequences.

Looking into the eyes of the only man I’ve ever loved, I tell him the only thing I’m allowed to: never contact me again. And when he’s gone, I sit down and finally open his letter.

Only it isn’t a letter at all.

It changes everything.


























PROLOGUE

Thayer

“Where … are … they?” My lungs burn after sprinting from The Lila Cottage to my grandfather’s house where I stormed into his study, a man on a mission.
“Thayer.” He rises from his leather chair, a cordial smile on his face as he dog-ears his Architectural Digest magazine and rests it on a coffee table. “What a pleasant surprise. Wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow. Come on in. Have a seat.”
He waves me over, but I remain planted. I won’t rest, I won’t make myself at home until I know why the Hilliards are nowhere to be found.
The boat dropped me off at the dock a half hour ago, and as I made my way to the main house, I couldn’t help but notice from a distance that The Hilliard Cottage looked … off. And then I realized there were no flowers. Junie always plants flowers at the end of April, and it’s the middle of May. Also there were weeds growing out of the old flower beds. Ed never would’ve allowed that to happen. Curious—and concerned—I made my way to their cottage, only to find the front door unlocked and the place looking different from the last time I was there.
I made my way from room to room, and it only took me a minute to realize all the family photos that Ed and Junie had were gone. In their place were the faces of smiling and posing strangers. I went to the main bedroom next, only to find the closet half-filled with women’s clothes, not so much as a hint of anything a man would wear. When I went to Lila’s old room next, I found it stripped to the bones. Not a picture. Not a book. Not a single article of clothing on the dresser.
The Hilliards were gone.
I left their cottage and sprinted to the abandoned cottage. I know Lila—she wouldn’t have left without an explanation. I was positive I’d find a note somewhere in the house, and I tore the place up looking for it only to come up empty handed—except for the notes I’d written and hidden for her before I left.
She didn’t find a single one, never had a chance to read them.
Granddad rises from his chair, the corners of his lips turning down. “I’m not sure why that’s any of your business.” And then he chuckles. “Or why you’re so visibly upset.” Walking toward me, he places a hand on my shoulder. “Let’s head to the kitchen. I’ll have Bernice prepare a snack for you. I’m sure you’re hungry after your travels.”
“Bernice?”
He ushers me out of his study. “The new help.”
“Where are the Hilliards?” I ask as we walk.
He chuffs through his nose, taking his time answering. “They retired, Thayer. That’s what people do when they reach a certain age.”
I exhale, the tension in my shoulders dissipating in small increments. Retirement makes sense. They were in their early sixties last I knew, and they’d been caring for the family’s island off the coast of Maine since before I was born. Junie did the cooking and the cleaning and Ed tended the garden, maintained the landscaping, combed the private beaches, and kept up the boats and three main houses all twelve months of the year.
“They moved to the mainland then?” I ask.
“I haven’t the slightest. I sent them on their way last fall and haven’t heard from them since. For all I know they’re living their golden years in sunny Florida, or perhaps they made their way to Arizona. I believe Junie has a sister there. Either way, they’re having themselves a time, I’m sure of it.”
His nonchalance is nothing short of concerning.
Ed and Junie were like family. They’d been around for decades. I can’t imagine they wouldn’t stay in touch—or that my know-it-all grandfather wouldn’t have so much as a clue as to where they went. That coupled with the fact that Lila didn't so much as leave a goodbye letter tells me that he’s not giving me all the facts.
I follow him to the kitchen where a middle-aged woman with gray-brown hair stands at the sink, washing dishes by hand. She’s shorter and thinner than Junie, her hair straight and cut blunt at her shoulders. There’s a permanent scowl etched on her face. She doesn’t light the room like Junie did.
“Bernice, this is my eldest grandson, Thayer,” Grandfather says.
The woman glances over her shoulder, offering a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it half-smile and a nod, her yellow-gloved hands still deep in the dirty dishwater.
“Very nice to meet you,” she says, her back toward us. “I’ve heard so much about you. Your grandfather tells me you’re pre-law at Yale?”
"Yes, ma’am,” I say.
“Just finished his second year.” Grandfather beams from ear to ear. It thrills him to no end that I’ve chosen to follow in his collegiate footsteps. “Anyway, he’s made quite the jaunt today and my boy is starving. Would you mind preparing him a sandwich?”
“It’s fine. I’m not hungry,” I say.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” He puffs his chest and follows with a pompous chuff. “You just drove several hours and then you ferried in.”
He’s right.
I drove four straight hours from New Haven, not stopping once, because all I could think about was getting here—to Lila, Ed and Junie’s granddaughter. And then I waited two hours for a ferry that took three hours to get me here because of all the other island stops we made.
Mile after mile, the thought of seeing Lila kept me going. The sheer excitement and anticipation of being together again was all the distraction I needed.
I daydreamed about sneaking up behind her and wrapping my arms around her waist.
I pictured her sweet smile and her sparkling amber-green eyes.
I felt her hands on my face and her hair between my fingers as I stole her away and claimed her pink lips with a kiss behind the boathouse.
“How can I find them?” I ask my grandfather.
His thick brows knit. “Who, Thayer? I’m afraid you’re going to have to be a bit more specific.”
He’s playing dumb. I know better than to buy into his act.
“The Hilliards,” I say, without naming Lila specifically.
“And what reason on God’s green earth would you have to contact them?” my grandfather asks. “They’re retired. I’m sure we’re the last people they want to hear from.”
“They were a big part of my childhood. I considered them family,” I say. “It’d just be nice to be able to keep in touch is all. Would’ve been nice to know the last time I saw them was going to be ... the last time.”
Granddad hooks a hand on my shoulder and gives it a squeeze.
“You’re too sentimental, boy. Just like your mother. Speaking of which, she’ll be here in two days. The rest of the crew should be here by the weekend. Say, I was going to get the ol’ ketch out and go for a sail this afternoon. You’ll join me.” In true Howard Bertram fashion, he isn’t asking.
“If you don’t mind, I think I’m going to pass. Not in a sailing mood today.”
His cheery disposition fades and he studies me for a moment. “This isn’t about the Hilliards, is it? If you’d like to write them a letter, I’d be happy to have my attorney work on locating them and sending it on.”
I consider his offer. “And how long do you think that would take?”
He squints. “Is this an urgent matter? I was under the assumption you were simply wanting to keep in touch.”
Yes, it’s urgent.
The woman I love—the only woman I’ve ever loved and will ever love—is out there somewhere and I haven’t the slightest idea as to where she is, how to contact her …
… or why she would’ve left without saying goodbye.
Lila had my address at school—before I left, I gave it to her for emergency purposes as well as my number and email address. She could’ve written me a letter. The Hilliards didn’t own a personal computer of any kind, but there was a lab at the public library in Rose Crossing—she could’ve easily looked me up and emailed me.
The last thing I told Lila when I left here last August was that I loved her more than anything in the world. She kissed me hard as the ocean breeze played with her sun-bleached waves, and then she whispered, “Two hundred and sixty-three days...”
We didn’t do the long-distance relationship thing. Not in the traditional sense. During the school year I focused on studies and extra-curriculars, and she planned to stick around Rose Crossing Island and help her grandparents whittle away at their never-ending To-Do List. When I left, we agreed that we didn’t have to spend hours on the phone talking about nothing to keep that flame flickering. We agreed we didn’t have to wait by mailboxes for handwritten letters every week as proof that our unwavering devotion was still received and reciprocated. Not that either of those things were options, but we both just knew. We knew that the other was always going to be there no matter what.
Waiting.
Trusting.
Missing.
Loving.
I believe that the Hilliards retired, but I don’t believe that Lila would have left here without so much as leaving a letter in the cottage.
Something isn't adding up here.
“Thayer.” My grandfather clears his throat. “I’m speaking to you. Are you all right?”
I realize now that I’m sitting at the base of the grand staircase in my grandfather’s foyer. I don’t remember walking here. I don’t remember sitting down and placing my hands in my hair, tugging until my scalp throbs.
Coming to, I pull in a deep breath and force myself to stand. “I’m fine. Think I just need to lie down for a bit.”
His mouth flattens. He’s disappointed I won’t be sailing with him this afternoon, but he’s not going to push it. The summer is young, I’m sure he’s thinking.
“All right. I’ll have Bernice get you the key to Ainsworth,” he says. “We weren’t expecting you home this early, but everything should be in order. If it isn’t, let me know. This is her first time opening the island for the summer.”
Opening the island …
He opened the island the way other people open their pools for the summer: with checklists and procedures and quiet fanfare. “Opening the island” was always his expression for this time of year, when our entire extended family would abandon their modern lives, their work and school in favor of sun, sand, and sailing off the coast of a New England island hideaway. It was always Ed and Junie who would prepare for our arrivals. All the linens would be freshly washed, beds made. Junie used to fold our towels into little animal shapes, like we were at some resort, and Ed would shine up the boats and hose off the dock. Junie would place freshly picked and trimmed flowers in vases in every living room, kitchen, bathroom, and bedroom—that alone must have taken her hours if not days considering each home had at least five bedrooms and six baths. But she always loved to go the extra mile to make our annual homecoming a splendid affair.
My grandfather disappears into the kitchen, returning with a set of keys to my family’s designated house just a few hundred yards down the drive.
“Dinner will be at six,” he says, dropping the key ring in my hand. “Get some rest, but don’t be late. We have much catching up to do.”
As soon as he’s gone, I realize I’m squeezing the set so hard, the metal teeth are leaving indentations in my palm. Relaxing, I show myself out and head down the path to Ainsworth, gaze locked on the cedar shake siding that covers the backside. Last summer, I stole a kiss from Lila next to the white peony bushes on the north side of the house.
The bushes are lackluster now, appearing as if they hardly intend to bloom this year.
Once I get to the house, I unlock a side door and head in. My lungs fill with stuffy, slightly damp air. Apparently Bernice didn’t air out the house the way Junie always did in anticipation of our arrival, but I know she’s new so I won’t fault her for it.
Passing down the hall, I make my way to the living room before cutting through the foyer to get to the kitchen. There’s no bowl of fresh fruit waiting on the counter. Not a single vase filled with picked hydrangeas or lilacs as per tradition.
A moment later, I climb the stairs to the second floor and find my room at the end of the hall.
No folded swan towels.
No welcome note in Junie’s whimsical handwriting.
No secret welcome note from Lila tucked into my pillowcase.
I head to the windows first, sliding up the sashes and letting some much needed fresh air fill the space.
Collapsing on the bed next, I slide my hands under my neck and stare at the lifeless ceiling fan above. Everything … and I mean everything … has taken on an empty quality.
The island.
The house.
Me.
It’s like a substantial part of me is missing—and that part of me is her.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I try to rest despite knowing damn well my head isn’t going to stop spinning long enough to make that possible. But I need to calm down so I can come up with a game plan.
There’s no internet access on the island—my grandfather contacted the local phone company once, and they were told there was not enough infrastructure to support running cable or DSL lines to Rose Crossing at the time, and then they said that running those lines to the island would’ve been humanly impossible. The only options he was given were satellite or dial up. My grandfather made the executive decision to forgo both—deciding that the island was better off with as minimal technology as possible because family time was too priceless to sacrifice for “computers and video games and the like.”
I grab my cell from my pocket and check the service. It’s always been spotty out here, even at the highest point, which happens to be the attic of my grandparents’ house, so I don’t hold my breath.
One bar.
One bar is enough to make phone calls if you’re okay with the sound cutting in and out, but it makes any internet capabilities virtually useless.
I try to refresh my email inbox as a test … my point proven in under two minutes when the app times out before it has a chance to load.
I’ll have to try and sneak away to town in the next day and use the computers at the library.
I’m sure a quick online search will tell me exactly where she is …
Placing my phone aside, I close my eyes once more and listen to the crash of the ocean outside my windows.
It doesn’t sound the same without her here.
And it sure as hell doesn’t feel the same.
I close my eyes and try to get some rest.
I’ll look for Lila forever if I have to.
I’ll start first thing tomorrow, and I won’t stop until I find her.
















Wall Street Journal and #1 Amazon bestselling author Winter Renshaw is a bona fide daydream believer. She lives somewhere in the middle of the USA and can rarely be seen without her trusty Mead notebook and ultra portable laptop. When she’s not writing, she’s living the American dream with her husband, three kids, and the laziest puggle this side of the Mississippi.




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