It’s Getting Closer
|I have told you all about A Comfort Food Romance prequel short story that I wrote for the fans of that series, well… it should be downloadable next week! This will be an exclusive for the newsletter, but I will share the cover here as well for you to see should you decide to sign up for the newsletter.|
What are we waiting for?
I wrote the story, got it to my editor, and now I’ve seen the mockup of the cover, all we need is the final cover and this will be an additional free and exclusive story just for you.
Also, on my list of to do’s is an exclusive prequel for Heart of Cinders which is coming later this year.
Stay tuned for the short story coming soon and the other story coming later this year.
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Remember, the story we’re writing here is a hot mess first draft, so please forgive the typos and stray grammar. And now for the next Chapter of our story…
The Voice in the forest
“Don’t react to what I’m about to say,” he said, his voice low and dangerous, it sent all the hairs on her arms to standing.
“Why?” she asked in the same tone he used, her shoulder blades drawing together but her hands remained focused on the task in front of her, even while her mind roamed through the possibilities of what he could mean.
“In an upstairs window, someone is watching.”
Everything in her wanted to look up, wanted to see who was looking at her.
Because they had to be looking at her, no one else could see Blackwell. No one else ever saw what she did. Even the medium her mother brought in when she was younger, after she insisted what she saw was real, said there was nothing there.
“No one can see you, right?” Just in case she was wrong, she thought it was a good idea to ask.
“Arabella, you are the first.”
For a minute she tried to relax, to take comfort in his words, but it didn’t work.
And that wasn’t because her brain offered the very real and very unnerving reality that if someone was watching, they were spying on her. No, that was nothing unusual in her life.
Over the years she had grown more used to be stared at than not. Whether it was doctors, kids, her mother, Trenton, or even the people only she could interact with.
No. What held her shoulders in place, high and tightly squeezed together, was the feeling that she wasn’t being stared at.
While she stared, transfixed by her fear, on the harmless plants in front of her, and her own hands as they uprooted them, her entire body screamed that she may have been the first, but she wasn’t the only.
As if her seeing Blackwell, and recognizing him for what he was, opened the door that blocked the vision of someone else.
She swallowed, her throat tight.
“Maybe,” she said, her voice insubstantial, less than a whisper, more like an exhalation with shape, “I should go in now and start on my search for some kind of answers.”
“No, you stay, but I’m going to go inside for a minute and try and get some other answers. We don’t want to tip them off.”
Looking toward him through the fall of her hair, not willing to turn in his direction entirely, nor reach out and stop him as she wanted to, she tried to whisper at him.
“Come back here.”
But he was already walking through the outside wall of the house.
Alone in the courtyard, her heart rate started to run as if she was the one making a mad dash inside the house.
She stretched her back, one hand rubbing a non existent ache along the arch of her back and sat up.
Even though it was natural to sit back for a moment, and in doing so, look up at the house, her eyes stopped at the lintels over the first floor windows.
If someone was spying on her, her mother maybe, she needed to have some idea how she was supposed to react.
Throughout her time with the doctors she learned one thing, react as people would expect you to and you are less likely to get in trouble.
But trouble was her constant companion through most of her life, and it was still hard to avoid it. Hardest when the only way to do so was by pretending she was someone she was not.
Finally, she yawned and stretched, allowing her head to fall back so she could scan the upper windows with views on her garden. That was something people did. If anyone saw her, they couldn’t accuse her of being strange.
None of her carefully constructed ruse mattered.
The only person she saw in the windows, eyes trained on her under a furrowed brow, was Blackwell.
|When this story is finished, and I start in on the rewrites, I can almost guarantee the last chapter will be joined with this one, or this one will join the next. Sometimes you’re writing and something that you thought would take a long time happens faster and that’s okay. The characters are almost always right.|
As always, Thanks for reading everybody!