A MONSTER LIKE ME by Pamela Sparkman

Heart of Darkness series #2

HELLO STRANGER by Lisa Kleypas

The Ravenels series #4

THE BUTTERFLY PROJECT by Emma Scott

Companion to the Full Tilt series

PLAYING FOR KEEPS by Jill Shalvis

Heartbreaker Bay series #7

UNWRITTEN by Jen Frederick

Woodlands series #5

Cross My Heart by L.H. Cosway

Hearts series #5.75

MOONSHADOW by Thea Harrison

Moonshadow series #1

Showing posts with label Blog Tour. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Blog Tour. Show all posts

Tuesday, September 3, 2024

Blog Tour With Excerpt: No One Does It Like You by Katie Shepard


College sweethearts reunite to restore more than just an old inn in this new romance by Katie Shepard, author of Sweeten the Deal


NO ONE DOES IT LIKE YOU by KATIE SHEPARD
Series: n/a
Publication date: September 3, 2024
Published by: Berkley
Genre: contemporary romance

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SYNOPSIS

When’s the best time to tell your ex that you want them back?

Probably not in the middle of a Category 3 hurricane. But when Broadway actor Tom Wilczewski is about to dive into the floodwaters to rescue his co-lead, he calls the ex-wife he hasn’t seen in ten years to swear he still loves her and ask for a chance to make things right.

Two months later, Rose Kelly is tired of seeing pictures of her ex-husband Tom rescuing Hollywood darling Boyd Kellagher. Not that she’s jealous. Of course not. She’s far too busy taking care of her elderly aunt and worrying about the storm damage to the family B&B on Martha’s Vineyard to miss the love of her life. But after belatedly hearing Tom’s voicemail, Rosie asks him to follow through on his promises for once by helping her fix the inn. Thinking this is the perfect way to win her back, Tom agrees.

When they get there, things are…less than ideal. Rosie expected the inn to be in better shape. She expected it to have more beds. And she expected more help from her actual family—not from Tom and the rest of his Broadway cast. But Rosie begins to wonder if maybe the life she expected isn’t the one she really wants. If she and Tom can repair the inn together, can they possibly repair the damage to the relationship they both thought was long gone?

Purchase your copy now!
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EXCERPT

Rose clenched her jaw when she saw the article her aunt was reading.


"That newspaper is three months old," Rose informed her aunt.


  "Oh? Well, like you said, I have short-term memory loss. It'll be new to me," her aunt said with purposeful sweetness.


   Rose recognized the picture on the page because she couldn't mentally erase the image of her ex-husband's distinctive Greek-god nose smooshed up against the equally distinctive profile of Boyd fucking Kellagher.


   As if she needed something else to deal with! This was the year Tom had to make the national news with his tongue in someone else's mouth!


   If the Times article was to be believed, Rose had at least another year of news ahead of her about Tom smooshing faces with Boyd Kellagher onstage. And, hell, probably offstage too, based on the equally pervasive image of Tom dragging the movie star out of the floodwaters, the other man clinging to Tom's neck like a giant, chiseled damsel in distress. Rose did not want to see it again. Those photos gave her the same uncomfortable feelings as real estate listings for homes she could never afford or other people's holiday cards, pictures that made her quickly turn the page or close the card.


   It wasn't that she begrudged Tom his first big Broadway role in ten years. Or kissing Boyd Kellagher. Or even Boyd Kellagher kissing Tom. She was unsurprised he had a gorgeous boyfriend now. But if Tom was going to get everything he ever wanted-love, fame, professional success-could Rose not get just one thing? If not Tom, if not a family of her own, why could she not at least get a couple of happy weeks of vacation every year spent preparing extravagant meals and group photo shoots in matching sweaters? It didn't seem like too much to ask for.


   "I've seen it already," Rose said, trying not to sound as stressed as she felt.


   "So handsome," Max cooed, and she could have been referring to either Tom or Boyd. "I always liked him."


   "No, you didn't," Rose retorted, snapping at the bait before she could stop herself. This was revisionist history. "None of you did. You told me not to marry him."


   "Telling you not to marry him is different from liking him. I thought he was a nice boy. You should have waited for him to grow up."


   Tom's age had nothing to do with it. "We just ended up wanting different things." That was her standard line on their divorce, one that assigned no blame while obscuring the painful truth that Rose, specifically, had not been one of the things Tom wanted.


   "And you didn't even send us a wedding present," Rose said, certain that would get her aunt off the subject.


   Max raised her eyebrows, unimpressed. "I'm sorry, but we all assumed you were in a family way and too embarrassed to admit it before the wedding. I was going to get all your nursery furniture."

       Rose stiffened her shoulders in familiar hurt because she'd known what her family thought, but nobody had ever given her the chance to set them straight. 
   She hadn't married Tom because she was pregnant, then or ever, or for tax reasons, or to get him on her health insurance, or for any of the other reasons people had speculated about their marriage at twenty-two.

She'd married him because he'd asked her and because she'd loved him-she'd been utterly, stupidly in love with him-and she'd thought it would last forever. Which had made their breakup only a year later much more embarrassing than an unexpected baby would have been.


   But that was a long time ago now. What was really embarrassing was that she was still having feelings about it at all, which she decided she would stop doing at once.


   "Well, I wasn't. Obviously. And I'm happy he's finding success. He's a very talented actor, so I'm not surprised he's working with people like Boyd Kellagher," Rose said, getting herself in hand and saying the things the kind of person she wanted to be would say.


   "Are you going to see his new play?" her aunt asked.


   "It looks like I'm going to be busy over the next few months," Rose said dourly, checking the time again. Her family's tardiness did not bode well for their contributions to fixing up the inn.


Excerpted from No One Does It Like You by Katie Shepard Copyright © 2024 by Katie Shepard. Excerpted by permission of Berkley. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.


Praise for No One Does It Like You:
"Shepard’s authentic, imperfect characters lend credibility to the possibility of second chances. Readers will cheer for Rose and Tom to find their way back to each other."Publishers Weekly

"Shepard's No One Does It Like You is a gorgeous, heartwarming look at love and second chances, and an unforgettable story about family (both the ones we're born into and the kinds we make for ourselves). It's full of both laugh-out-loud moments and scenes that made me cry, with the sort of prose you want to savor forever. I loved every second and can't wait for whatever Shepard writes next!"—Jenna Levine, USA Today bestselling author of My Roommate Is a Vampire

"The coziness of small town meets the yearning of second chance in No One Does It Like You. Shepard brilliantly stirs together the comedy of fandom personalities and the creativity of an HGTV show into a swoony love story full of lovable characters."—Julie Soto, USA Today bestselling author of Forget Me Not

"No One Does It Like You is pure brilliance: equal parts tender and sharply funny, and layered with a constant subtle wit that kept me hooked from the first page to the last. Second chance is my favorite trope, and Katie Shepard delivers it on a PLATTER with Tom and Rose's story. I gobbled up every word with my heart in my throat."—Jessica Joyce, author of You, With a View

"No One Does It Like You is a beautiful second chance romance from an author who writes with wit and profound emotional depth. Katie Shepard has a knack for making me laugh on one page and tear up the next, and I absolutely adored reading about divorced college sweethearts Rosie and Tom as they renovated an inn, wrangled a bizarre yet earnest Hollywood heartthrob and his erotic-art-drawing fangirls, and slowly rekindled their relationship. Shepard's characters are nuanced and lovable, and it was a delight to see these two rediscover how well they fit together. A powerful and sweet love story, sprinkled with hilarious jokes and winks at fandom culture."—Sarah Hawley, author of A Werewolf's Guide to Seducing a Vampire





ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Photo credit: Katie Shepard

I write love stories. I write about people whose jagged edges happen to match up with someone else’s. I write love stories because I wanted to make happy endings for people who are afraid they won’t get them. 

I studied Soviet history and worked in human rights law before burning way, way out and achieving professional tranquility as a simple country bankruptcy lawyer. It’s just as exciting as it sounds!

I live in Texas with my husband, kids, and elderly rescue cat, but am often found hiking in the mountains of Montana or the virtual woods of Thedas.  

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Tuesday, July 16, 2024

Blog Tour with Excerpt: The Backtrack by Erin La Rosa


Life, rewound…


THE BACKTRACK by ERIN LA ROSA
Series: n/a
Publication date: July 16, 2024
Published by: Harper Collins
Genre: romance, magical realism, time travel

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SYNOPSIS

From the author of FOR BUTTER OR WORSE and PLOT TWIST comes a new speculative contemporary romance. One woman is sucked into the past—and shown glimpses of what her life could have been—as she listens to nostalgic hits on her old CD player. For fans of Rebecca Serle and Allison Winn Scotch.

When pilot Sam Leto jet-setted out of small town Georgia, she promised she’d never be back—even though it meant leaving behind her best friend, Damon Rocha. Now on a forced vacation home to pack up her childhood house (and help her injured grandmother), Sam is unexpectedly hit with nostalgia from her teens--especially her bedroom, perfectly preserved from the time she left all those years ago. Sam discovers an old CD player among her teenage possessions, and in listening to the burned disc inside, she receives flashbacks from her past life--senior prom, graduation, leaving home. But the memories aren't as she remembers them. They show an alternate past. What could have been. If she never left Georgia all those years ago, would she now have the life (and love) she always wanted for herself?

Purchase your copy now!
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EXCERPT

Prologue

   At fifteen years old, Sam Leto knew a few things: humidity was not her hair’s friend, she was going to graduate valedictorian of her class and music was life. 
   “‘I Will Follow You into the Dark’ was by far the best song of last year.” Sam tucked her thumbs into the loops of her jeans, narrowly avoiding the spiky knobs of her metal studded belt. The spider-web chain she’d bought from Hot Topic slapped against her thigh as she walked across the asphalt of the Tybee Island High School parking lot.     “It’s mesmerizing and so poetic, and Ben Gibbard—” 
   “What are you talking about?” her best friend, Damon Rocha, interrupted. He threw his head back to get a strand of long dyedred hair off his forehead. He’d smudged dark black eyeliner all around his eyes to the point where he looked like he was cosplaying as the Hamburglar. She’d told him as much, but in the loving way they told each other everything. They walked so closely that they lazily bumped into each other, as if swaying to music only they could hear. “‘Sugar, We’re Goin Down’ reignited the genre.” 
   Sam blew air out through her lips to suggest her disagreement, then added, “That song is tight, but there are way too many words in the chorus. You can’t even hear what Patrick Stump’s saying.”
   “It doesn’t matter what he’s saying.” Damon hoisted his snare drum backpack higher on his shoulder. Night had settled, but the fluorescent glow from the football field lit their way to his car. “They owned that melody.” 
   But Sam knew why Damon was making such a hard push for Fall Out Boy. “You just want me to like Pete Wentz so those dyed red tips make sense.” She gave him a half grin. 
   “Whatever,” he said, holding back a smile of his own. Sometimes they agreed on music, but when they disagreed it was even more fun. And Sam knew she was right about this one. “I read in Kerrang! that Ben wrote the song in fifteen minutes. Can you believe that?” Sam looked off, knowing that if she was in a band, she’d be talented like that, too. 
   “Yes,” Damon said. “I believe it only took fifteen minutes, because it’s not the best song of 2005.” 
   She was choosing to ignore that dig. “What he wrote is totally romantic. To love someone so much that you’d follow them into the afterlife. It’s cool, don’t you think?” Sam realized she sounded a little ridiculous, but Damon always made her feel safe enough to say anything. 
   “Yeah, or pretentious.” Damon pursed his lips. 
   “Whatever,” Sam mimicked his sullen tone back. Then she jabbed him with the corner of her sticker-covered clarinet case. 
The sky was inky-black, and her arms prickled against the brisk air. Fall in Tybee was hard to plan for. The air was almost always balmy, because they were so close to the ocean, but it occasionally cooled down, as it had tonight. Still, she’d nearly sweat through her graphic skull T-shirt as their marching band played Beyoncé’s “Déjà Vu” during the football halftime show. 
   Now, though, they weren’t marching across a field lit by hot lights, and she shivered. Damon pulled her in close as they walked. He’d often tuck her under his arm this way. Sam was tall, close to six feet, but Damon always made her feel delicate in those moments. It was something she got unexpected comfort from, but didn’t dare tell him.
When she looked up, Damon looked down with the most genuinely sweet smile she’d ever seen. His mouth quirked up as they reached someone’s Ford Explorer. 
   “Hope you don’t hate Fall Out Boy too much, because I put one of their songs on this.” He pulled a CD sleeve out of his back pocket and handed it to her. His slanted writing and doodles were visible through the clear plastic, and Sam bit her lip. 
   They were constantly trying to impress each other through music—a kind of unspoken game of who could make the best mixes. And while Sam prided herself on finding obscure bands, Damon had the uncanny ability to put together songs that made her feel something. She wanted to listen immediately, but wouldn’t show her excitement that easily. Before she could think of something nonchalant to say, he brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. 
   Sam was taken aback by the gesture and nervously touched the spot his fingers had just left. She’d spent nearly a half hour flat-ironing it that morning, but now it was frizzed and tangled. As her fingers clumsily tried to untangle a knot, her earring fell to the ground. Before she knew what was happening, just as Sam went to reach for her earring, Damon closed the gap between them. 
   “You look really great.” He longingly admired her face. Damon reached for Sam’s hand and squeezed her open palm. 
She instinctively squeezed back, but her heart raced. Damon and Sam were best friends. They had been since middle school. Yes, Damon was inarguably cute. He understood her like no one else did, and she had already admitted to herself that she had a crush on him…but he was also all she had, in so many ways. Her mom had left her a year ago. Damon was her only friend.
   Sam knew that what he was doing might lead to a kiss, and she needed to stop him before he said something that would change them forever. She couldn’t lose his friendship, but if he tried to make them more, then she’d have no choice. Because she wasn’t going to end up stuck in Tybee. 
   Before she could find the words, he tilted her chin up gently with an index finger. His eyes locked on to hers as he asked, “Can I kiss you?” 
Sam sucked in a deep breath to slow the intense rush of adrenaline that flew through her at his words. Damon wanted to kiss her. And her heart soared at that fact, until her mom’s voice broke through. 
Don’t end up stuck in this place. 
   That’s what her mom, Bonnie, had told Sam right before she’d left.       And Sam had taken the warning to heart. 
   She was getting out, even if that meant she had to leave Damon behind. 
   As Damon searched her eyes, Sam silently implored him to stop. They could still be friends, couldn’t they? If she gave him another few moments, maybe he’d take the words back, or say he’d just been joking. 
   She waited, but he was waiting, too. And she was going to have to answer him, even if what she said irrevocably changed them. 
She took a step away and looked down at her Converse sneakers. She’d have to lie. She’d never lied to Damon before, but now she would. Her lower lip trembled, as unsure of the words as she was.           “Actually, I’m not feeling well.” 
   And she didn’t feel well. She felt nauseous from this whole situation and the confusion that flashed across Damon’s face. 
   “Oh,” Damon said. “Let’s, uh, let’s bounce, then.” He ran a hand through his hair and avoided her eyes. 
   As Damon turned toward the driver’s side of the car, Sam instinctively reached for him. Maybe she should just do what her heart wanted and kiss him. Because what if not kissing him meant he wouldn’t want to be her friend anymore? 
   But then, she also knew Damon. Knew that he wanted to stay close to his family. Knew how much he loved Tybee. And knew that if she didn’t break him now, she’d do it when she left. 
   Sam pulled her hand back and hoped that he could forgive her. She held on to his CD so tightly she was sure it would snap in half, but it didn’t. In fact, the CD seemed to pulse in her hand with the throbbing of her heart. As she walked herself to the passenger side of the car, she tried to forget how the light in his eyes dimmed just before he’d turned away from her.

Excerpted from The Backtrack by Erin La Rosa, Copyright © 2024 by Erin La Rosa. Published by Canary Street Press.





ABOUT THE AUTHOR

ERIN LA ROSA is the author of For Butter or Worse and Plot Twist, and on her way to writing romance, she’s also published two humorous nonfiction books, Womanskills and The Big Redhead Book. She lives in Los Angeles with her husband and four daughters (two humans, two felines). Find her on Twitter and Instagram @erinlarosalit and on TikTok @erinlarosawrites.

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Tuesday, May 7, 2024

Blog Tour with Excerpt: The Summer Swap by Sarah Morgan


"The perfect summer novel—sharp, smart and so much fun!" —Viola Shipman, USA TODAY bestselling author, on The Island Villa


THE SUMMER SWAP by SARAH MORGAN
Series: n/a
Publication date: May 7, 2024
Published by: Canary/Harper Collins
Genre: women's fic

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SYNOPSIS

Cecilia Lapthorne always vowed she’d never go back to Dune Cottage. So no one is more surprised than Cecilia to find herself escaping her seventy-fifth birthday party to return to the remote Cape Cod cottage—a place filled with memories. Some are good—especially memories of the early days with her husband, volatile artist Cameron.  But then there are the memories she has revealed to no one.

After dropping out of medical school, aspiring artist Lily is cleaning houses on the Cape to get by, guilt-ridden for disappointing her parents. Unoccupied for years, Dune Cottage seems the perfect place to hide away and lick her wounds—until Cecilia unexpectedly arrives. Despite an awkward beginning, Lily accepts Cecilia’s invitation to stay on as her guest, and a flicker of kinship ignites.

Then Todd, Cecilia’s grandson—and Lily’s unrequited crush—shows up, sending a shock wave through their unlikely friendship.  Will Lily find the courage to live the life she wants? Can Cecilia finally let go of the past to find a new future? Because as surely as the tide erases past footprints, this summer is offering both Cecilia and Lily the chance to swap old dreams for new…

Purchase your copy now!
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EXCERPT

Running away from her life wasn’t something she was proud of, but with a view this good it was hard to regret the decision.
   Lily tightened her grip on the handlebars and pedaled harder. Here on the northern tip of Cape Cod while the rest of humankind were still sleepy and had barely reached for the coffeepot, the place was hers alone.
   All around her were sand dunes and the ocean stretching as far as she could see. She cycled the same route every day, and every day was different. Today the sky was a deep kingfisher blue, but she’d seen burnt orange, flame red and smoky silver.
   It was a place favored by migratory birds and tourists, and generally she preferred the first to the second. The day before, she’d seen a blue heron and two snowy egrets. As far as she was concerned the fewer humans the better, but she owed her current job to the influx of summer people, so she wasn’t complaining.
   She breathed deeply, letting the salt air fill her lungs and her mind. She felt free here on this windblown, sunbaked strip of seashore. For the first time in months, she felt better. Stronger. As if she might survive after all. The pressure had eased. She no longer woke at two in the morning drenched in sweat and panic, trapped in her life and hating every moment.
   She felt something close to happiness, and then her phone buzzed and the feeling left her in a rush.
   She pedaled faster, trying to outrun its insistent demand. She didn’t have to look to identify the caller. It was ten in the morning exactly.    Only one person called her routinely at that time.
   Dammit.
   Guilt and an unshakable sense of duty made her squeeze the brakes and she pulled over, breathless, and dug out her phone. If she didn’t take the call now, she’d be taking it later and the thought of it looming in her future would darken the skies of an otherwise cloudless day. This was the price she had to pay for running away. You could run, but with today’s technology you couldn’t really hide.
   “Lily, honey? It’s Mom.”
   She closed her eyes briefly.
   She’d been expecting this call, ever since she’d declined their invitation to come home and “talk things over.” As if talking it over yet again would change the outcome.
   Every time she saw her mother’s name pop up on her phone screen her stomach churned. Guilt sank its fangs into all the soft, vulnerable parts of her. Her parents had made huge sacrifices for her, and she’d as good as slapped them in the face. And she hadn’t even given them a reason. At least, not one they could understand.
   They deserved better.
   “I’m on my way to work, Mom. I can’t be late.” Never had dirty pots and pans and other people’s laundry seemed more appealing. She’d rather deal with that any day than talk to her mother. Every conversation dragged her backward and left her so twisted with guilt she lost all confidence in her chosen path. “Is everything all right?”
   “No. We’re worried about you, Lily.” Her mother’s tone was shaky.    “We don’t understand what’s going on. Why won’t you tell us?”
   Lily tightened her grip on the phone. “Nothing is going on. And you don’t need to worry.” She repeated the same words she’d said hundreds of times, even though they never seemed to settle.
   “Can you blame us for worrying? We have a bright, brilliant daughter who has chosen to throw away the life she worked hard for. And with no reason.”
   No reason? As if it had been a whim. As if she’d woken up one morning and decided to waste all those years of hard work just for a laugh.
   “I’m fine. This is what I want.”
   It wasn’t that her parents weren’t wonderful people, but communicating with them was impossible.
   “Are you eating? Have you put on some weight? You were skin and bone when you left here.”
   “I’m eating. I’m sleeping. I’m good. How are you and Dad?”
   “We miss you, obviously. Come home, Lily. We can cook for you, and spoil you and look after you.”
   Anxiety settled on her like a cloak, blocking out sunshine and her hopes for the day.
   She knew what going home would mean. She loved her parents, but they’d hover over her with frowning concerned faces until she’d end up worrying more about them than herself. And then she’d do things she didn’t want to do, just to please them.
   And it wasn’t as if she hadn’t tried staying at home. She’d done that in the beginning (mostly because her options were limited) and the pressure of pretending to be okay had been exhausting.
   “I’m happy, Mom. I just need some space. It’s beautiful here. You know I always loved the ocean.”
   “I know. I remember when you were six years old, and we couldn’t drag you away from the sandcastle you’d built.” There was a pause.       “Honey, Dad made some calls. He thinks it’s not too late for you to go back to medical school if you want to.”
   Lily’s heart started to pound. The sweat of anxiety threatened to become a full-blown panic attack. Her chest tightened. Her hands shook so badly the phone almost slipped from her fingers.
Interference, even well-meaning interference, should be designated a crime.
   “I don’t want to. I know you and Dad are disappointed—”
   “It’s not about us, it’s about you. We tried so hard to give you all the opportunities we didn’t have.”
   Lily stared at the ocean and tried to find her inner calm, but it had fled the moment the phone had rung.
   They’d made huge sacrifices for her, and she’d thrown it in their faces. She felt terrible. But staying would have made her feel worse.
   “This is difficult for me, too, Mom.” The lump in her throat made it difficult to speak. “I know I’m hurting you and I hate it, but this is where I want to be. I can’t be a doctor. I want to be an artist.”
   “You say that, but you’re cleaning houses.”
   “To earn money while I try to find a way to do something I love.”    While she tried to loosen the knots of stress in her body and untangle the mess in her head. “There’s nothing wrong with cleaning houses. I like it. And it’s a respectable way to make a living. You did it.”
   “Because I didn’t have the opportunities you had.”
   Lily felt guilt overwhelm her.
   Her mother sighed. “Do you need money? We still have some savings.”
   And she knew just how hard it would have been for her parents to pull that together after everything they’d already spent on her. She’d vowed never to take another cent from them.
   “I don’t need money but thank you.” She didn’t want to think about the dire state of her bank account. She was determined to manage on her own now, no matter what.
   “Lily—” her mother’s voice was gentle “—your father would kill me for asking because I know I’m not supposed to ask, but did something happen, honey? Did someone hurt you? Your dad and I always thought you’d make a wonderful doctor. You’re such a kind, caring person.”
   “Nothing like that.” Lily’s throat burned. She badly wanted this conversation to end. “Could we talk about something else?”
   “Of course. Let me think…not much has happened here. Your father has been busy in the garden.” Her mother spoke in a cheery I’m changing the subject to a safe topic voice. “The hydrangeas are beginning to bloom. They’re going to be stunning. I made the most delicious orange cake last week. No wheat. You know your father. Ground almonds instead of flour.”
   “Sounds yummy.” She imagined them at home together and felt a pang. Despite everything, she missed them. Part of her just wanted to run home and be looked after but she knew that feeling would dissipate the moment she walked through the door. Within minutes the bands of pressure would tighten, and she’d be gasping for breath.
   “I’m sure there was something I wanted to tell you.” Her mother paused. “What was it? Oh, I remember—I bumped into Kristen Buckingham last week. She’s always so charming and friendly. So normal.”
   The last person Lily wanted to think about now was anyone with the name Buckingham.
   “Why wouldn’t she be friendly and normal, Mom?” Lily knew how self-conscious her mother was around her friends and she hated it. It reminded her of being back at school and feeling like an imposter.
Her parents had scrimped and saved and worked multiple jobs in order to send her to the best school. They’d believed she’d have a great education and make influential friends. She would absorb their greater advantages by osmosis. It would be her ticket to a better life. They imagined her living her life in a bubble of success, mixing with people whose parents owned mansions and yachts and jets. People whose fridges were loaded with food and never had to worry about making it stretch to the end of the week. People who had drivers, and housekeepers, and staff who cleared the snow from their yard.
And she had met people like that, but most of the time Lily had felt like a stray dog that had somehow wriggled its way into a litter of pedigrees. She’d been afraid to reveal anything about her background, because she knew it was different from theirs. She’d masked her true self because she’d known that she didn’t fit. Despite her attempts to blend, she’d been badly bullied. To make things worse she’d also felt crushed by the pressure of work and parental expectation. To fail would have been to let them down, these people she loved so much and who loved her back. They’d half killed themselves to give her the opportunity. She couldn’t let herself fail.
   Panic had hovered close to the surface the whole time, threatening to suffocate her. The only thing that had driven her from her bed in the mornings was the knowledge of her parents’ sacrifice and their pride in her. She hadn’t felt able to tell them how unhappy she was, or that locking herself in a cubicle while having a panic attack didn’t feel like success to her.
   She’d been thoroughly miserable until the day Hannah Buckingham had rescued her from a bully who was trying to remove her ponytail with a pair of scissors. After that, everything changed.
   Hannah was the granddaughter of the famous artist Cameron Lapthorne. She was a champion of the underdog. She had a fierce urge to protect anything threatened. She wanted to save the whales, and Sumatran tigers, and Antarctica. Lily was added to the list, and they’d become best friends from that moment. Hannah had said Lily was the sister she’d never had. Hannah hadn’t cared about the differences between their household incomes. Hannah hadn’t cared that Lily didn’t have her own bathroom, or a housekeeper to keep her room tidy, or tutors to make sure her grades were the best they could possibly be. Hannah had found Lily interesting. Hannah had wanted to know everything about Lily. She’d wanted to access her every thought. For the first time in her life, Lily had been able to be herself.
   They’d been inseparable. Protected by Hannah, the bullying had stopped and Lily had flourished. With Hannah as her friend, her confidence had grown. She’d no longer felt like a misfit.
   They’d gone to the same college where they’d both studied biological sciences and then they’d applied to the same medical school. When her acceptance letter arrived, Lily’s parents had cried. They’d been so proud and thrilled. It was the happiest day of their lives.
   Lily had been happy and relieved that she’d achieved their goals. That she was everything her parents wanted her to be. That she hadn’t let them down. For a brief moment she’d believed that maybe she could do this.
   But medical school had turned out to be a thousand times worse than school. She was surrounded by people who were brilliant, ambitious and competitive.
   When the pressure started to crush her brain again, she tried to ignore it. She was going to be fine. She’d survived this far. There were many different branches of medicine. She’d find one that suited her.
It didn’t help that Hannah had no doubts at all. She’d known from the start that she wanted to be a surgeon like her father, Theo. Hannah wanted to save lives. She wanted to make a difference.
   On the few occasions she’d met him, Lily had found Theo to be terrifying or maybe it was more accurate to say that she found his reputation terrifying.
   Hannah’s mother, Kristen, was equally intimidating. She was an art expert, a whirlwind of brisk efficiency with a life so busy it was a wonder she fitted in time to breathe.
   And then there was Hannah’s older brother, Todd, who was smart, handsome and kind, and the object of lust among all Hannah’s friends. Lily was no exception. Teenage Lily had fantasized about Todd. Twenty-three-year-old Lily had kissed Todd in a dark corner during a school reunion.
   Lily was in love with Todd, but now Todd was dating Amelie.
   Lily had trained herself not to think about Todd.
   “I just mean that Kristen is very important, Lily, that’s all,” her mother said. “But she always takes the time to talk to me when I see her.”
   “She’s just a person, Mom. A person like the rest of us.”
   “Well, not really like the rest of us,” her mother said. “Her father was Cameron Lapthorne. I don’t pretend to know anything about art, but even I know his name.”
   Hannah had taken her to the Lapthorne Estate once. It had been the best day of Lily’s life. She’d gazed at the paintings hungrily, studying every brushstroke, in awe of the skill and envious of anyone who could build a life as an artist. Hannah had given her a book of her grandfather’s work, and it had become Lily’s most treasured possession. She’d thumbed the pages, studied the pictures and slept with it under her pillow.
   Ever since she was old enough to hold a paintbrush, Lily had loved art. She’d painted everything in sight. When she’d run out of paper, she’d painted on the walls. She’d painted her school bag and her running shoes. She’d said to her parents I want to be an artist, and for a while they’d looked worried. They’d told her no one made money that way and that she was smart enough to be a doctor or a lawyer. Lily knew how much they wanted that for her, and she knew how much they’d sacrificed. She couldn’t bring herself to disappoint them. And so she had dutifully gone to medical school, underestimating the toll it would take on her.
   “Lily? Are you still there?”
Lily tugged herself back into the present. “Yes. So how was Kristen?”
   “Busy as ever. She was in the middle of organizing a big event at the Lapthorne Estate. Celebrating her mother’s birthday and her grandfather, the artist. It’s happening today, I think. Todd will be there with his fiancée—I forget her name. Amelie, that’s right. And Hannah will be there of course. Kristen invited us, and you, which was generous of her.”
   Fiancée?
   Lily started to shake. “Todd is engaged?”
   “Yes. A bit of a whirlwind according to Kristen. They’d only been dating for a few months, and she thought it was casual. Had no idea it was serious and then suddenly they announce that they’re getting married. I’m sure that wedding will be quite an event. Kristen said it was yet another thing for her to organize, although I don’t understand why the responsibility would fall on her. She’s such an impressive woman.”
   Lily wasn’t thinking about Kristen. Lily was thinking about Todd.
She imagined Todd in the gardens of Lapthorne Manor with a glass of champagne in his hand, and Amelie gazing up at him with that flirtatious look that fused men’s brains and made them do stupid things, a large diamond glinting on her finger.
   Amelie had been the most popular girl in the school. She’d had the highest marks, the fastest time on the running track and the biggest smile. Amelie was the girl most likely to succeed. She was also the girl who had tried to cut off Lily’s ponytail with a pair of scissors. And now she was marrying Todd. Kind, funny, clever Todd.
   Todd had broken Lily’s heart, and he didn’t even know it.
   Her palms felt sweaty as she tried to focus on the call. “Are you going to the party?”
   “No, of course not. Your father wouldn’t know what to say and I wouldn’t know what to wear. They’re your friends really, not ours. Kristen mentioned that Hannah is enjoying her clinical rotation, but you probably know that as she’s your best friend.”
   Lily didn’t know that. Lily and Hannah hadn’t spoken since that terrible fight on the night Lily had packed her bags and left medical school for good.
   Every time Lily thought of Hannah she wanted to cry. They’d sworn that nothing and no one would ever come between them, and they’d truly believed that.
   They’d been wrong.
   “I must go, Mom. I’ll be late for work, and I don’t want to let people down.” She winced as she said it, because she was all too aware that she’d let her parents down. “Don’t worry. I’m happy. I like my life.”
   “We don’t want you to waste your talents, honey, that’s all. You’re capable of so much. You could be curing cancer—”
   Curing cancer? No pressure, then.
   “I hated medical school.” The words spilled out of her. “It wasn’t for me.” And the pressure of trying to keep up had almost broken her. She didn’t expect them to understand. They believed that if you were smart enough to be a doctor, why wouldn’t you be one? And she couldn’t figure out how to make her parents proud, but still live the life she wanted to live. “I want to be an artist, Mom. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. You know that.”
   “I know, but where’s the future in that? Your dad and I just don’t want you to struggle financially as we did. Life can be hard, Lily.”
Lily closed her eyes. She knew that. She knew how hard life could be.
   “I’m managing fine. And I’m going to pay you and Dad back.”
   “That’s not necessary, honey. We love you and remember there’s a home and a welcome here whenever you need it.”
Lily’s throat felt full. It would be easier to disappoint them if they weren’t so decent. If she didn’t love them so much. “Thanks. Give my love to Dad.”
   She ended the call, wondering why big life decisions had to feel so difficult and wondering why, when there were so many people her mother could have bumped into, she’d had to bump into Kristen Buckingham.
   Her little bubble of happiness had been punctured.
   Todd was engaged. He was going to marry Amelie, and no doubt they’d have two perfect children and a dog and live a long and happy life with not a single bump in the road.
   But she wasn’t going to think about that now. And she wasn’t going to think about Hannah. Twice in the last few months she’d almost texted her. Once she’d even typed out a message, but then she’d deleted it. Hannah had been furiously angry with her, and Lily had been angry with Hannah. They’d both been hurt, and Lily had no idea how to move past that hurt. Given that she hadn’t heard from Hannah, presumably she didn’t know, either.
   The friendship that they’d believed could never be damaged, had been damaged. Broken. Amelie might as well have taken her scissors to it.
   But that was in the past now.
   Hannah was living in the city, and Lily was here on the Cape, and even though she’d brought all her emotions with her it was still preferable to being in the smothering atmosphere of her parents’ home. And at least it had been her decision to come here. For the first time ever, she was living the life that was her choice.
   She just wished it felt easier.
 
Excerpted from The Summer Swap by Sarah Morgan. Copyright © 2024 by Sarah Morgan. Published by Canary Street Press.




ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Photo credit: Ev Sekkides

Sarah Morgan is a USA Today and Sunday Times bestselling author of contemporary romance and women's fiction. She has sold more than 21 million copies of her books and her trademark humour and warmth have gained her fans across the globe. Sarah lives with her family near London, England, where the rain frequently keeps her trapped in her office.

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Tuesday, March 19, 2024

Blog Tour with Review: The Day Tripper by James Goodhand


The right guy, the right place, the wrong time.


THE DAY TRIPPER by JAMES GOODHAND
Series: n/a
Publication date: March 19, 2024
Published by: HQ Mira
Genre: time travel, sci-fi

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SYNOPSIS

It’s 1995, and Alex Dean has it a spot at Cambridge University next year, the love of an amazing woman named Holly and all the time in the world ahead of him. That is until a brutal encounter with a ghost from his past sees him beaten, battered and almost drowning in the Thames. 

He wakes the next day to find he’s in a messy, derelict room he’s never seen before, in grimy clothes he doesn’t recognize, with no idea of how he got there. A glimpse in the mirror tells him he’s older—much older—and has been living a hard life, his features ravaged by time and poor decisions. He snatches a newspaper and finds it’s 2010—fifteen years since the fight. 

After finally drifting off to sleep, Alex wakes the following morning to find it’s now 2019, another nine years later. But the next day, it’s 1999. Never knowing which day is coming, he begins to piece together what happens in his life after that fateful night by the river. 

But what exactly is going on? Why does his life look nothing like he thought it would? What about Cambridge, and Holly? In this page-turning adventure, Alex must navigate his way through the years to learn that small actions have untold impact. And that might be all he needs to save the people he loves and, equally importantly, himself.

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EXCERPT


SEPTEMBER 6, 1995 | AGE 20

   It’s three-deep at the bar, and I get my order in seconds before they ring for time. I double up: a JD and Coke each and two beers to take with us. The lights are up and the music’s gone quiet as I weave the tray through the punters. Standing in the doorway out to the terrace, I am disorientated. There must be fifty tables outside between here and the river and it’s still packed out, darker and smokier than ever. I search the crowd but can’t see Holly.
   I negotiate my way down to the water’s edge. She’s maybe ten tables away, oblivious, a ciggie poised skyward in her fingers like she’s posing for Vettriano. I smirk, enjoy my good fortune again.
   “Excuse me, good gentlemen,” I say to a group of four in my path, voice cocky with booze and lust. They shuffle over, not breaking from their conversation. The resulting gap between their circle and the edge of the path isn’t wide enough—a careless elbow would send the tray of drinks into the river, possibly me with them.

   “If you don’t mind, guys?” I lay a palm on the forearm of the bloke with his back to me. Their circle opens out and he turns side-on, ushering me past. “Nice one,” I say, glancing at him as I pass.
I look back at the ground. There’s a delay in my brain processing who it is I’m walking past. There’s a moment in which it seems that we’ll just carry on, pretend like we don’t know each other.
   The air thickens. Time slows. I stop, a step past him. Look again.    Razor-sharp short back and sides, hooded eyes, lopsided mouth.    Preppy. It’s a face I catch myself imagining sometimes, never for long. A waking nightmare. Not that my imagination does it justice. Not even close, I now realize.
   His recognition of me unfolds in slow motion. Perhaps like me, alcohol has dulled his synapses, delayed the inevitable shift of mode.
Blake Benfield. There have been times in the past when just hearing that name in my head has stopped me dead, left me incapable.
How long since we last ran into each other? I was sixteen—best part of four years, then. Feels so recent. Our paths crossing has always been inevitable; we grew up barely a mile apart. He spat at me that last time, called me faggot cunt. The many times before that I’d just legged it, hidden from his fury and his hatred. But you get too old to do that.
This crowded place seems so quiet now. Like there’s cotton wool stuffed in my ears. The two bottles tip over on my trembling tray, foam splattering to the ground. One rolls over the edge and shatters on the concrete. People turn.
   How long have we stood here, him glaring at me, me unable to hold his stare? Saying nothing. A few seconds? Feels longer.
   There’s the smell of burned-out house in my nose. The sound of his whisper in my ears that I try to drown out.
   Don’t think about it. Do not think about that day. 

   Why do I shake? I’m a fucking grown man. Why am I shaking?
   He takes a half step closer to me.
   I once told him I was sorry. It was years ago—when I was still a kid.       I was sorry. Does he remember?
   I spin around. Where’s Holly? She must be watching this.
There’s no more delay. There is, of course, nothing for me and this bloke to say to each other. We have ventured into each other’s space, and that brings with it a remembering. And, as we always have, we must deal with that in our own way.
   His knuckles graze my chin. I stumble backward and the tray falls to the ground. His swing is off, though; there is no pain. Not even surprise. We definitely have an audience now.
   My response is pure instinct: palms raised, lean away. Easy now.
I don’t want to fight this man. I want to go back thirty seconds, walk a different route, have this night back for myself.
   Blake closes the gap, my weakness an invitation. His second punch crashes into my ear like a swinging girder. My brain slaps side to side in my skull. Vision sways. My head boils, a cool trickle from my eardrum.
   Where is Holly? Panic grips. I can’t just stand here and take this.
My eyes flit to our audience. He swings again, this time with his left. But I see it coming, dodge. He stumbles.
   I drive my weight, shoulder first, into his ribs. He goes over, sprawled among the spilled drinks and shattered glass.
   On all fours, he stares up at me. I’m perfectly positioned. I could kick him square in the face. End this right now. Why don’t I do it? Why can’t I bring myself to do it? I’d rather turn my back and cry than kick his head in.
   He glares up at me. Why do I pity him? Why am I so uncomfortable towering over him like this? It’s like the positions we’ve always held have been reversed. The power is mine.
   I let him find his feet.

   He’s up and level with me again. He glares like a bloodthirsty dog, wipes his nose on the sleeve of his polo shirt. If we were alone, maybe I’d run. But with people watching, with Holly watching, that’s no option.
   My punch lands perfectly. His jaws scissor against each other. For a second his head floats, eyes rolling.
   I realize my error too late. I should’ve followed up when I had the chance. One punch is only enough in the movies, everyone knows that. His hands are on the collar of my shirt, cloth tearing as he holds firm. His forehead slams into the bridge of my nose like a sledgehammer. My face is suddenly and totally numb. I drop to the ground. A ruby-red stain spreads fast through the jewels of broken glass around me.
He shouts above me. Every filthy word I’ve long come to expect. Something soft disperses against my head. Spit.
   The neck of the Stella bottle I dropped lies on the ground. Inches away. Blood gurgles in my mouth as I take a deep breath. I launch like a sprinter. Leading with the dagger of green glass, I’m aiming straight at his face and closing fast.
   Blake backs into a table, stumbles, hands slow to cover his face. His eyes widen, abject fear. But this is no time to be derailed.
   I see it too late. No time to react. One of Blake’s friends windmilling a table ashtray. The side of my skull cracks like thunder.
   The ground feels like a cushion, drawing me in and bouncing me back. My vision finds enough order in time to see the sole of boot accelerating toward me, like a cartoon piano from the sky.
   There is no pain. Just a sense of floating in space.
   Time passes. More blows land.
   The surface of the Thames billows like a black satin sheet as it rises toward me. There’s no fear. Is that Holly I can hear calling my name? It’s so distant, so hard to tell.
   The river gathers me in like it’s here to take care of me.

   Cool water spears my lungs like sharpened icicles. I sink forever.
A low hum builds in my ears. Lights fades to nothing.
   And I sleep.


NOVEMBER 30, 2010 | AGE 35

   My head throbs. It doesn’t matter if I open or close my eyes, the pain worsens either way. My mouth is like dust. Joints and muscles lie seized.
   Last night is a blank. I hate that. I look above me. Focusing is excruciating. The ceiling is browny cream, textured in spikes like a Christmas cake. An unshaded bulb swings in the draft, the filament shivering. It’s really cold in here.
   Where the fucking hell am I?

Excerpted from THE DAY TRIPPER by James Goodhand. Copyright © 2024 by James Goodhand. Published by MIRA Books, an imprint of HarperCollins.



Praise for The Day Tripper:
“Witty and wise, The Day Tripper had me pulling for Alex through all of his mixed-up days. James Goodhand brings a fun, fresh voice to the time travel genre in this gem of a novel. I loved it!”
—Shelby Van Pelt, New York Times bestselling author of Remarkably Bright Creatures 

“The Day Tripper is absolutely astonishing, from first page to last. Warm, clever, hopeful, and superbly written. James Goodhand is a brilliant storyteller at the top of his game. I adored it.”
—Stuart Turton, Sunday Times bestselling author of The 7 ½ Deaths of Evelyn Hardcastle

“The Day Tripper is a brilliantly-written exploration of the choices we make every day, and how those choices shape the people we become. It blew my mind and broke my heart, and I haven’t stopped thinking about it since I finished it!”
—Gareth Brown, author of The Book of Doors


"A page-turner."
—Booklist


“Goodhand’s debut is a compelling look at the way decisions, good and bad, build up over time to create a life.”
—Library Journal


“A powerful, poignant twist on the time travel story that had me gripped right from the start.”
—Bobby Palmer, Sunday Times bestselling author of Isaac and the Egg

“I adored The Day Tripper. Utterly original, moving, and so brilliantly crafted.”
Louisa Reid, author of The Poet





ABOUT THE AUTHOR

James Goodhand has written two YA novels. His YA debut, Last Lesson, was called "a powerfully charged study in empathy," by the Financial Times. This is his adult debut. He lives in England with his wife and young son. 

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REVIEW

The Day TripperThe Day Tripper by James Goodhand
My rating: 3 of 5 stars


I'm a big time travel fiction fan, so of course when I came across The Day Tripper, it immediately appealed to me. This is a new-to-me author so I didn't know what to expect with the writing style. From page one, the story is told disassembled and jumbled back together in non-lineal order. We are experiencing the disorientation right along with Alex as he slips from one moment to another in his life. It did take some getting used to, which caused my reading pace to lag for a time.

If you've read the synopsis, you get the general idea: Alex Dean suddenly finds himself waking up every day at different points in the timeline of his life. It all seemed to start after a near-fatal assault he experienced in the mid 90s. After this day, life as he knew it was gone. It's certainly intriguing to think about seeing the effects things make on your life almost instantaneously. For most, collections of bad decisions and actions can take years to manifest into dire consequences. Alex sees his life destroyed before he even knows the cause.

Much of the first half is pretty grim and depressing. I can't say that I was a big fan of Alex as his alcoholism, bad choices with his girlfriend Holly, and his broken family comes to light. He's a damaged man who was deeply influenced by his father's emotional abuse, and his murky relationship with Blake Benfield as a troubled kid. None of the details come out until much later in the book, but we do know that there are significant events in his past that are driving his bad choices. Typically, in a normal, linear storyline, you get the backstory of the character fairly early and that helps you understand them better and empathize with them. That is very hard to do when you're reading things so out of order and trying to make sense of what is even happening and how.

Since my last memory, since the fight, has time 
really passed? What have I missed? 
What of Cambridge? What of Holly?

Alex is drowning in the current of his bad decisions from one moment to the next. Homelessness, alcoholism, prison time, rejection and shame from his parents, loss of the love of his life, and a short, failed marriage are things that he sees jumping through time in his life. He is desperate to find out what is happening to him, but more importantly, if he could alter anything and return to the promising life he once had. His one beacon of hope is a strange man that he encounters by the name of Dr. P.H. (Paul) Defrates. Paul seems to know quite a bit about his personal situation but isn't very willing to share any answers with him. He does explain Einstein's theory of time: how each moment in time is happening simultaneously rather than in individual, chronographic order. Alex seems to be viewing his life in a way that others can't because of an aberration that occurred. It's imperative that he finds out what jarred him into this new reality so he can try to repair his broken life.

Once Alex starts to face some hard truths about himself, he begins to make changes in his impulsive and unhealthy actions. This is when the "updates" start to occur and he finally believes that there may be a way to escape his doomed fate. In the end, the story is an uplifting one because Alex goes through a considerable amount of growth and is able to identify how he was his own worst enemy. He wants to make a difference in his own life as well as others'. He learns to express his pain, reach out for help, and share his gratitude and love with those that mean the most to him. In doing this, he gradually starts to heal-and the effects are clearly evident. Many people have regrets in life as they get older. Who doesn't wish that they could turn back time and do things a little differently? This story is an intriguing play on that idea, which fortunately ends with a lot of introspection in a positive light. While I didn't necessarily care for the main character for much of the book, I do appreciate the journey he went on and seeing the character development along the way. It was executed in a way that was a bit more dismal and gritty for my taste, but worthwhile if you hang on until the end.

“Change, Alex, comes about from a commitment 
to making a difference. To deviating from the path of history.” 
“Walking into the headwind.” 
“Exactly!”

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