Weekend Excerpt–A Halloween Surprise

They say desperate times call for desperate measures.
Charley Weatherly is about to realize that it’s true.

Life isn’t working out exactly the way Charley Weatherly imagined it might when she walked away from her steady paycheck as a copywriter to start her own business. But as it turns out, not everyone in town is knocking down the door of her tiny independent bookshop. She has lost money every quarter since she opened.

Now, with her grandmother in need of more care than Charley can provide, some difficult decisions have to be made. The rest of her 401k plus the proceeds from selling the bookstore might keep Nana in Pacifico Manor for about a year. That would give Charley time to figure out her next move.

But when that money is irretrievably lost, Charley is faced with an impossible decision. Being a gestational surrogate for a couple who can’t have a baby on their own will bring in the kind of cash she needs. Can she really follow through?

Between trying to keep her small business afloat and caring for her grandmother, Charley’s personal life has been nonexistent. But when she moves to the city for a few months, she finds she enjoys the freedom of her part-time gig at Bravo Java. She especially enjoys chatting up the handsome local artist who spends his mornings there. Now that her life is taking an unexpected turn, has she finally met the right man at the wrong time?

Artist Ben Campbell has had his fair share of romantic disasters. For the time being, he’s content to follow his self-imposed schedule: gym, coffee, work, repeat.

But the new barista at his favorite coffee shop piques his interest. In fact, if he’s honest with himself, she looks a lot like the elusive redhead who haunts his dreams.

She seems to be attracted to him, too. So why does Charley insist on keeping him at arm’s length?

Prefer your romance with plenty of heat and tons of heart?
You’ll love The Girl in the Guesthouse!

Read a Halloween scene from THE GIRL IN THE GUESTHOUSE.

The late-model Camry eased to a stop in front of the historic mansion at 2219 Prescott, and Ben swung open the rear passenger-side door.

“Thanks, man,” he nodded to the Uber driver as he grabbed the black tricorn hat on the seat beside him and stepped out onto the sidewalk. Straightening his deep-red brocade pirate coat, he slid the hat over the red scarf covering his head and glanced up at the house. The place was lit up like Christmas, but knowing the party would be out back, Ben headed toward the narrow driveway around the end of the house.

Gravel crunched beneath his black leather thigh-high boots as he made his way around the house. He had opted to take an Uber to the party to avoid having to scramble for a place to park his beloved VW van, something he was sure other party guests had done as well. And he had considered walking the dozen or so blocks between his loft and the Shepherd-Wang’s but Halloween or not, he’d decided that he’d rather not traipse through Pacific Heights dressed as a buccaneer of the high seas.

As he made his way down the driveway, the sound of happy conversation mixed with music grew clearer, though it was certainly not loud enough to cause the neighbors to complain.

Besides, he smiled softly to himself, if I know Drew and Alex, they’ve invited the closest neighbors, so nobody is home to complain.

He came around the corner of the house and stopped to take in the view. By his estimate, the party had been going for about an hour, and by now, costumed party guests had taken advantage of the open bar and the trays of appetizers being circulated by professionally attired servers.

The atmosphere was festive and pausing to listen, Ben realized the current song was Warren Zevon’s Werewolves of London. He shook his head and grinned. Leave it to Alex and Drew, and his money was on Alex specifically, to create an entire Halloween playlist.

Charley would have enjoyed this. He sighed to himself. Ah, well.

Scanning the crowd, he spotted the hosts themselves holding court on the far side of the patio, all decked out as characters from Hamilton, complete with wigs and all. Deciding that he’d say hello to them later, he made his way to the bar and ordered a shot of Captain Morgan, smugly pleased to match his drink to his costume.

Drink in hand, he headed back the way he’d come, pausing to say hello to a few familiar faces before claiming a spot at the edge of the crowd.

The better to people-watch, he considered. Maybe it was just him, or maybe it was artists in general, but Ben had always been more of an introvert, preferring to observe most of the action rather than be the center of it.

Between where he stood and the guesthouse at the back of the courtyard, Ben wasn’t surprised to spot Roxane, the manager of the coffee shop beneath his apartment. Instead of her usual Bravo Java attire, she shimmered in a long purple and silver sequined gown complimented by a fluffy purple feather boa, bringing to mind Donna Summer from back in the day.

Ben knew that many of tonight’s guests were in some way affiliated with Drew’s businesses or Alex’s real estate business. With their genuine kindness and generosity, the couple made friends wherever they went. It was something Ben could attest to as he flicked a nostalgic glance toward the tiny guesthouse.

As he did, the door opened, and a woman in white emerged. Her long red curls were pulled away from her face and as she turned to close the door, he saw that her hair nearly reached her waist. His fingers instinctively flexed, itching to sketch those long curls.

When she turned to face the crowd, she paused, lightly swiping both hands down her skirt before taking a few tentative steps toward the party. Suddenly, a smile broke across her face and her pace quickened.

Holy shit, it’s Charley. How had he not recognized her immediately? He sipped his rum again, privately acknowledging that he didn’t look much like himself tonight, either.

He watched as Charley approached Roxane. The pair greeted each other with a hug and Roxane gestured toward a tall man with a large afro and dressed as if he’d stepped straight out of the 70s. Charley smiled, shaking the man’s hand and saying something in greeting.

Unable to resist any longer, Ben began to make his way toward the trio.

As Charley and the other man made small talk, Roxane glanced his way and she laughed out loud. “I figured we’d see you here! How are you, Ben?”

Mid-sentence, Charley stopped, her jaw dropping as she recognized him.

He gave her a warm smile. “Hi, Charley,” he offered softly.

Mouth agape, she merely blinked.

“Hey, Ben! Long time, no see.” Roxane’s husband reached to shake his hand.

Ben grinned. “It was probably about this time last year. How are you, Daymon?”

“Can’t complain. Or I could, I suppose, but who would listen?” Both men laughed congenially.

“Listen, I’m off the clock and at a party, so I’m going to head over to that bar and find myself an adult beverage.” Roxane grasped Daymon by the elbow. “Come on, husband, buy me a drink.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he grinned. “See you all later. Charley, it was nice to meet you.”

Ben watched them for a moment, then turned back to Charley. “Hi, Charley,” he repeated, grinning.

“Um…Hi! I just…I mean…” She leaned closer peering up at him. “That’s some kind of guy-liner you’ve got going there.”

Surprised, he frowned. “Is it too much?”

She giggled nervously. “Not if you’re going for a real pirate-of-the-Caribbean kind of vibe.”

Scanning him up and down, she giggled again. “Seriously, you look like a real pirate. It’s…”

Pursing his lips in amusement, he waited to see what she would say.

“Well, it’s creepy and sexy, all at the same time.”

Ben laughed out loud. “I’m sexy?”

“And creepy. Don’t forget creepy,” she said, fidgeting with the sash around her waist.

“Well, you look amazing. This is a great costume. I’m loving all the red curls.”

“Yeah, most of them aren’t mine, though. A team of professionals put all this together.” Blushing again, Charley looked across the yard. “I’m supposed to be Christine from Phantom of the Opera. It wasn’t my idea, but I didn’t know what to choose.”

“It was Alex, am I right?” Ben nodded knowingly.

Her mouth popped open again, her eyes wide. “How did you guess?”

Ben had to laugh. “He always knows exactly what he wants. I’m going to be in big trouble tonight. Wait till he sees me in the same costume for the second year in a row. I was a pirate of the Caribbean last year. This year, I’m from Pirates of Penzance. Ten bucks says he won’t be able to resist calling me out before the night’s over.”

Charley chuckled, too. “Do you really think so?”

He nodded confidently. “One hundred percent. Wait and see.”

Remembering the drink in his hand, he gestured toward Charley. “Hey, can we get you a drink?”

She shook her head. “Thanks, I’m good right now.”

Just then, the music changed to Thriller and a happy gasp went up from the crowd. Guests scurried to the large open area in front of the stage to form a line dance.

Ben leaned closer to Charley. “You know, this is the party I invited you to.”

“I kind of wondered when I realized you were here. It makes sense. Your ‘good friends’. A Halloween party.”

“And here you are anyway. It’s kind of an interesting turn of events, isn’t it?”

Charley nodded, looking vaguely uncomfortable. “It kind of is,” she agreed.

“So how do you know Drew and Alex?”

She glanced around. “I, uh…well–“

“Oh, yay! If it isn’t two of my most favorite people on the planet! And they’re chatting together!” In his white knee-breeches and blue revolutionary-era coat, Alex looked like he’d stepped off the Broadway stage. His brown wig was immaculate. He gave Ben an affectionate hug.

“And don’t think I didn’t notice your recycled costume,” he fussed, raising an eyebrow. “Do you know Charley?”

Ben laughed and nodded. “We’ve met. I’m pretty much a regular at Bravo Java every morning.”

“What?” Alex asked in exaggerated surprise, pressing his fingertips to his chest. “I had no idea. It must be kismet, the two of you kids meeting like that.”

Suddenly certain that meeting Charley at the coffee shop had been no accident at all, Ben suppressed a smile.

“Listen, doll,” Alex said to Ben, “I need to borrow Charley for just a sec or two, okay?”

Stepping back, Ben nodded. “Sure, no problem.” His eyes met Charley’s. “See you later?”

He was sure he saw her gulp. “Yeah, see you later.”

Frowning slightly, he watched as Alex led Charley toward the stage.

THE GIRL IN THE GUESTHOUSE by Pandora Spocks

THE GIRL IN THE GUESTHOUSE
is available at your favorite online bookseller.

books2read.com/TheGirlInTheGuesthouse


Weekend Excerpt–Broken Harts

Two weddings.
One Valentine’s Day.
And hearts will be broken.

A wedding on Valentine’s Day? It’s beyond cliché.
But it’s what Ali Hart’s niece Shannon wants. So Ali will wear the pink tulle bridesmaid’s dress, carry the rose and eucalyptus bouquet down the aisle, and keep her opinion to herself.

Ali is back in New York to get ready for the wedding, but her older sister and brother seize on her visit as the perfect time for Ali to make arrangements for their elderly father, who can no longer independently care for himself.

A navigational error puts Ali on a collision course with destiny. Now what?

***
A wedding on Valentine’s Day? It’s perfect.
Unless you’re not positive that she’s the one for you.

In the dark recesses of his heart, Logan Pryce knows that Catherine von Hollen isn’t the love of his life. The daughter of his father’s business partner, they’ve known each other for years. She’s blonde, gorgeous, and everyone loves her. On paper, it’s perfect. On paper.

A chance encounter with a nameless redhead on a crowded subway platform causes Logan to question everything he thought his life was going to be. Will he stay with the safe bet, or will he take a chance on something more?

If you love your romance with a little heat and plenty of heart, you’re going to love Broken Harts!

In this scene from BROKEN HARTS, Logan and Ali spend a cold rainy afternoon in a Manhattan coffee shop getting better acquainted.

Logan produced his smartphone. “Ali Hart,” he murmured aloud as he cued up his search engine.

“I write as Alison Hart,” she murmured, sipping her tea.

“Alison Hart.” Logan frowned at his screen, using his finger to scroll down. Then a satisfied smile stretched his lips. “Here you are. Alison Hart…Pepper Twine Mysteries…Wow, you do have a lot of books here. And there are the Fulton Family books…”

He looked up with a grin. “Here’s your official bio.”

Alison Hart was writing stories before she could speak. To date, she has published more than twenty-five novels for preteens, and more are on the way. She says she owes her love of the written word to her father, Pulitzer Prize-winning author Jackson Hart–

He broke off and looked up at her, his eyes wide. “Your father is Jackson Hart?”

Ali wrinkled her nose. “Wait! It says that?” She snatched his phone and scanned the bio. “Son of a…”

She handed his phone back. “I try to keep that quiet. I guess my publicist thought it might sell more books.”

“Why keep it quiet?” he wondered as he clicked off the device and returned it to the inner pocket of his suit jacket.

“Just…well…lots of reasons,” Ali shrugged, idly stirring her tea. When Logan waited for her to say more, she exhaled sharply and rolled her eyes.

“Okay, for one reason, I don’t want to feel like I didn’t earn my way into publishing. I don’t want people to think I just rode in on my father’s coattails. And second,” she stalled, sipping her drink.

“When people find out,” she cut him a glance, “when men find out, I generally get one of two responses.”

Logan suppressed a grin. “Which are?”

Ali gestured with her right hand. “Either A, they want me to introduce them to my father, maybe get him to autograph a book, or B,” her left hand waved, “they have no idea who he is, in which case I completely lose all respect for them, because for Pete’s sake, how culturally illiterate can you be?”

Leaning toward her on his elbow, Logan laughed out loud. “Life is rough, is it?”

“Seriously, though,” Ali protested, “imagine that the entire planet was required to read your father’s work in high school. I had to read it in my junior year. And then come to class and discuss it. It’s…I don’t know…weird.”

Logan settled back in his chair again and chuckled. “I read Lessons from the Fog in high school. I think I was one of the few who actually enjoyed it.”

Ali slid him a sideways glance, and he laughed again.

“No, seriously, I liked that one. To me, it sort of encapsulates the way society shifted from the fifties to the sixties and beyond, but in an allegorical way. I really did like it, honest. I would never just say something and not mean it.”

Searching his eyes, Ali only found sincerity, and she smiled reflexively. “Yeah, that’s always been Dad. He likes to tell a story that for him has one meaning, but it’s always open to interpretation.”

Logan sipped his coffee and watched her thoughtfully. “It must have been something growing up with such a famous father.”

Ali shrugged, privately proud of her father’s accomplishments. “He’s brilliant, actually, but I don’t know that he was always the best father, especially if you’re asking my half-sister and brother. In his younger days, he was gone a lot, always protesting one thing or another. He was even a Communist for a while,” she chuckled softly. “but I think that was mostly for the shock value.”

She sipped her tea and glanced at Logan, wondering if he had heard enough. He still watched her in fascination, so she opted to continue. “My mother was his third wife. He was never big on fidelity. Megan and Brendan, my half-siblings from his first marriage, were in their twenties when I came along. By then, Dad had settled down a little. I have great memories of spending time with him. He loved that I wrote from an early age.”

Ali sighed, thinking of her sister and brother. “Megs and Bren always kind of resented me, but you know, as a kid, you don’t realize things like that.”

She looked at Logan and shivered slightly. “Anyway, you didn’t need to know all that Hart family history.”

Logan shook his head. “I want to know anything you want to tell me. Are your parents still together?”

Ali chuckled. “No. Dad could never say no to his wandering eye. During my senior year in high school, my mom finally had enough. She moved to the south of France. I stayed here with Dad, finished up school, then went to university in the UK. Which was kind of nice because sometimes, on holidays, I took the train to Provence to visit Mom.”

“Then after college, you came back here?” Logan asked.

“Nope,” Ali grinned, “I was tired of cold, grey winters. One spring break, I went with some girlfriends to south Florida, and I was hooked. Sunshine and 80 degrees in March, are you kidding me? I have a condo on the beach.”

Brow furrowed, Logan swiped a thumb across his lips. “So, you don’t live here in New York?”

Ali shook her head. “I just flew in last week. I’m staying with Dad. He still lives in the apartment where I grew up.”

Logan nodded. “And you’re here for Thanksgiving?”

“And Christmas. Plus, I figured I would stay at least through the middle of February. I mean, I can do my thing from anywhere, right? So, I’m checking on Dad, plus the holidays, plus…” Ali rolled her eyes.

He grinned encouragingly. “Plus?”

“My niece. Who is only two years younger than me.” She frowned. “I think twenty-three is too young to get married if you want to know the truth, but nobody asked my opinion. Anyway, Shannon’s getting married on Valentine’s Day, for Pete’s sake, and she asked me to be a bridesmaid. It’s cheesy as hell, but how can I say no?”

As he leaned back in his chair, a slightly guarded look settled on Logan’s face. His tone was light, though. “What’s cheesy about it?”

Ali gestured with her right hand. “Well, getting married on Valentine’s Day, for one thing. I mean, don’t you think? How original is that?” She snorted derisively.

“Plus, you wouldn’t believe the bridesmaid’s dress she’s making me wear. It’s all frothy pink tulle from head to toe. Just…” She shook her head piteously.

“So, you wouldn’t choose Valentine’s Day for your wedding? Or frilly pink dresses for your bridesmaids?” Elbows resting on the arms of his chair, Logan steepled his fingers in front of his chest. His lips twitched as though they held back an amused grin.

Ali raised a red eyebrow. “I wouldn’t choose to have a big wedding, period. From where I sit, it’s kind of a losing proposition.”

“Ouch,” Logan chuckled lightly. “That’s just a tad cynical, don’t you think?”

“I don’t know that it’s cynical, exactly,” she lifted a shoulder, “I’m just realistic. What are the stats about divorce? My dad was divorced three times. And had countless affairs that all ended badly.” She looked at him pointedly. “Are your parents still together?”

The corners of his mouth turned up slightly as he nodded. “They are. They have been together for the last thirty-three years. And not to sound all pie-in-the-sky, but they’re happy. I’ve never known them to argue.”

Ali raised her eyebrows as she scanned the coffee shop. “Good for them. And you, for that matter. Maybe they’re the exception that proves the rule,” she said softly.

Logan leaned toward her again, amusement sparkling in his eyes. “So, you’re staunchly anti-marriage?”

“I wouldn’t say that,” she frowned. “I just don’t see spending an unholy amount of money for some huge shindig. I think it sets up unrealistic expectations. It can all be done much more simply.”

She raised a finger. “If I were going to get married, and admittedly, that’s a big if, I’d do it on a much smaller scale. I certainly wouldn’t force anyone to wear pink tulle, that’s for damn sure.”

She shifted a glance in his direction. “They have weddings on the beach by my condo all the time. I mean, I see them down there, all hopes and dreams and happily ever after. But how realistic is that? I always wonder how long they end up staying together. But I suppose if I were going to take the plunge, so to speak, that’s the way I’d do it.”

BROKEN HARTS by Pandora Spocks

BROKEN HARTS is available
at your favorite online bookseller.
books2read.com/BrokenHarts

Weekend Excerpt–BROKEN HARTS

Two weddings.
One Valentine’s Day.
And hearts will be broken.

A wedding on Valentine’s Day? It’s beyond cliché.
But it’s what Ali Hart’s niece Shannon wants. So Ali will wear the pink tulle bridesmaid’s dress, carry the rose and eucalyptus bouquet down the aisle, and keep her opinion to herself.

Ali is back in New York to get ready for the wedding, but her older sister and brother seize on her visit as the perfect time for Ali to make arrangements for their elderly father, who can no longer independently care for himself.

A navigational error puts Ali on a collision course with destiny. Now what?

***
A wedding on Valentine’s Day? It’s perfect.
Unless you’re not positive that she’s the one for you.

In the dark recesses of his heart, Logan Pryce knows that Catherine von Hollen isn’t the love of his life. The daughter of his father’s business partner, they’ve known each other for years. She’s blonde, gorgeous, and everyone loves her. On paper, it’s perfect. On paper.

A chance encounter with a nameless redhead on a crowded subway platform causes Logan to question everything he thought his life was going to be. Will he stay with the safe bet, or will he take a chance on something more?

If you love your romance with a little heat and plenty of heart, you’re going to love Broken Harts!

In this snippet from BROKEN HARTS, writer Ali Hart reflects on the unusual day she’s had on her visit back to New York City.

The elevator deposited Ali on the 4th floor of the 12-story 1920s brick apartment building. She made her way down the hallway to the door of 4D, the place she had always considered her home.

Using her old brass key, she let herself inside and headed through the foyer toward the living room. “Dad? I’m home,” she called softly, hoping not to disturb her father in case he happened to be napping.

His live-in housekeeper met her in the living room. “Good afternoon, Miss Alison. Your father is in his study. He’s been a bit…unfocused today,” Mrs. Smith related in her crisp British accent.

Mrs. Smith had been a fixture in the Hart home since Ali could recall. When Jackson and Connie had divorced during Ali’s junior year in high school, Mrs. Smith had been a steadying presence.

Ali frowned, trying to decipher the woman’s polite description. The sound of papers shuffling and a deep unintelligible muttering drew Ali’s attention toward Jackson’s office down the hallway.

She smiled reassuringly at Mrs. Smith. “Thanks! I’ll go see what’s going on.” She was positive she saw relief in the older woman’s eyes.

“Dad?” she called as she walked down the hall. She popped her head in the doorway of her father’s small office.

Backlit by the window behind him, he stood in the center of the room clutching a sheaf of papers in each hand. His shaggy gun-metal grey hair stuck out wildly in all directions, giving him the air of a deranged madman. He was also naked from the waist down.

“Aw, geez, Dad, you have to wear pants. Seriously, now, Mrs. Smith is going to quit if you keep doing this.”

“I can’t find it,” he said urgently. “I can’t find it anywhere. Someone broke in and stole my manuscript.”

“Let’s go get you dressed and I’ll help you find what you’re looking for,” Ali said patiently.

**

“I’m really sorry about Dad,” Ali apologized. “I had no idea things had gotten so bad.”

Following a dinner of Mrs. Smith’s famous pot roast and roasted green beans, Jackson had wandered into the den to watch the news on cable. Ali insisted on helping the housekeeper clean up in the kitchen.

“You know I consider you and your father family,” Mrs. Smith smiled kindly. “It’s just that I’m not as young as I used to be. I worry that I won’t be able to keep Mr. Hart safe.”

Ali shook her head. “It wasn’t your fault that he got lost that time.” She raised a knowing eyebrow. “I know Brendan and Megan probably told you that it was.”

The elderly housekeeper gave something of a Mona Lisa smile and said nothing.

“It’s not your job to keep him from leaving the apartment.” Ali sighed deeply. “I looked at that care home today. It was really awful.”

She frowned sharply. “Well, it wasn’t awful, exactly, it just…wasn’t for Dad. He’s so independent. I’m thinking of seeing if we can’t hire a full-time nurse-slash-companion for him, someone who’ll stick with him and keep an eye on him. That way he can keep his independence and still be safe.”

Mrs. Smith’s eyes twinkled with kindness. “You’re a good daughter,” she said simply. “I know you’ll make the right decision.”

When they’d finished with the kitchen, Ali bid the housekeeper goodnight and joined her father in the den. Together they watched a documentary until the old man began to nod off in his chair.

“Come on, Dad, let’s get you to bed,” Ali said softly.

She helped him change into a pair of plaid flannel pajamas and waited while he performed his bathroom tasks. Then she tucked him into bed.

“Goodnight, Dad,” she murmured, kissing his scruffy cheek.

“Goodnight, Ali-gally,” he returned, invoking his favorite nickname for her. “I’m glad you’re home.”

“Me, too,” she smiled, giving him another kiss. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

After a quick shower, Ali found herself comfortably ensconced in her own bed, staring up at the ceiling of her childhood bedroom as light and shadows from the city street outside formed familiar shapes. The day had been so hectic that she hadn’t had time to consider the man she’d met when she’d gotten off at the wrong subway stop.

Well, met? That might be a strong word, she decided. They hadn’t exactly exchanged names. They had barely exchanged words. And yet…

She linked her fingers together and cradled her head as she sighed deeply.

And yet, the man’s image was burned into her brain. In her imagination, she watched him materialize. First were those sea-blue eyes, alight with life and soul and passion. Or did she just imbue him with those qualities in the absence of actual knowledge?

Next came those utterly kissable lips, quirked in a lopsided sort of way as though he were privy to a joke no one else had yet heard.

In her mind’s eye, his square jaw formed, defined by dark stubble that made her want to cup his cheek. The stubble matched his dark wavy hair that seemed slightly mussed on purpose, as though he might be due a haircut any day now.

In her bed on Park Avenue, Ali closed her eyes and heard his voice in her imagination.

“Can we…”

Ali’s eyes popped open.

Can we what? She pursed her lips in thought.

Can we share a cab downtown? Run off together to Rome? Drop right here and do it doggy style?

“Oh, for Pete’s sake,” she muttered, feeling herself blush. Again, she cursed herself for being in such an all-fired hurry to leave.

It had been on impulse that she’d flattened her palm on the inside of the subway window. And he’d followed suit on the outside. He’d been as intrigued as she’d been.

She mulled the idea for a moment, then shook her head. Because ultimately, what difference did that make? She didn’t know his name, where he lived, whether he was single or married…

There was one thing she did know. She wanted to know more about him.

Sighing again, she shifted onto her side and willed herself to meet him in her dreams.

BROKEN HARTS by Pandora Spocks

BROKEN HARTS is available
at your favorite online bookseller.
books2read.com/BrokenHarts