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The Vacation Bubble: A Second Chance Romantic Comedy
Only 99c for a limited time! -- EXCERPT: Sofia – the meet cute #1 San Francisco job networking event It was his voice I heard first—deep, with a sexy tone that rumbled through me. “I’m in the mergers and acquisitions department. Possibly you’re acquainted with the bank?” he asked the balding man next to him. “It’s a global company whose headquarters are located here in San Francisco and in London. We’re looking for fresh talent, someone with experience in finance. The organization has an excellent training program.” The line moved up, but I hung back, waving at people to take the place in front of me. Obvious? A few sideways glances confirmed that my chivalry wasn’t going unnoticed. His voice came from my right, only a few feet away. I shifted in my high heels and casually pretended to brush a piece of lint off my shoulder, then caught sight of him. It may have been only four or five seconds, but as my eyes raked across his features, time seemed to slow, as if watching a movie at half speed. To say he was gorgeous wouldn’t do him justice. That face belonged on the cover of GQ magazine. Tall, dark, and handsome with refined, perfectly symmetrical features, luscious full lips, and, God help me, a chiseled jawline resembling Adonis. That was the moment I knew I was in trouble. He continued his pitch to the short man in a suit. The man wasn’t over thirty-five, but the back of his head was already thinning. Sexy guy stood over six feet tall, his bronzed olive skin and tousled dark curls effortlessly stylish without seeming overdone. Even his clothes were sexy, although it was more about the way they fit his frame. My eyes scanned him from bottom to top, taking in his leather shoes, indigo-blue designer jeans, a white-collared shirt, and a black sport coat cut close to his body, revealing broad shoulders that led to a slender waist in a V shape. When he raised his arm to retrieve a business card, his bicep bulged against the sleeve of his jacket. Holy shit. A buzzing sound rang in my ears, muting the conversation, but I watched as his face broke into a wide smile, dimples forming like perfect punctuation marks on his cheeks. Without warning, his head swiveled a fraction to the right and his eyes caught sight of mine—sparkling, deep blue eyes that held me transfixed for a split second. Then, in one swift (not obvious at all) move, I brought my hand to my hair and, as I flicked it over my shoulder, my gaze shifted to the blond woman directly in front of me. Thank God I was next in line. A flush bloomed on my face, not solely due to the hot flash racing up my neck. Stop right there, missy, I told myself. He’s too young, probably in his thirties. I’d never needed a drink so desperately. Forcing my view straight ahead, I ordered a gin and tonic when I reached the edge of the bar. “Make it two, please,” his voice rang in my ear. 
GIVEAWAY! --
The Relationship Contract: A Second Chance Romantic Comedy
EXCERPT: “How long will you be in London?” Elaine asked. “A few weeks, I’m not sure yet.” Me—the ultimate planner—winging it? “It’s sort of open-ended. I think I’ll be in Europe for two months, traveling to various places.” I hesitated, because how could I explain I was choosing to spend my severance package on this trip to Europe instead of job hunting—that I was hurling myself into a new life, a new relationship, without a clue about the direction this would lead? She tilted her head with curiosity. “Business or pleasure?” I barked out a laugh. “Definitely pleasure. I’m joining my boyfriend.” The word still felt foreign on my tongue. After years spent in romantic exile, being part of a couple seemed surreal. “Ryan works in London part-time—his main office is in San Francisco, where we met. So, I’m basically following him across an ocean.” I shook my head. This was coming out all wrong. “Not that I’m desperate or anything. I mean, I lost my job, but the timing worked out perfectly because Ryan suggested I come live with him. Well, travel together, since he moves around constantly. We’re returning to Barcelona at some point because that city holds special meaning for us—” I cut myself off, cheeks burning. Apparently, my anxiety had me spiraling out of control, transforming me from an articulate professional into a babbling teenager who just discovered her first crush. Her eyebrows shot up while her forehead remained suspiciously smooth. “Ryan? That wouldn’t be Ryan Hunter, would it?” Her voice climbed several octaves. “Yes… do you know him?” Something cold twisted in my stomach. “Know him? Um. Not personally, but he’s one of our frequent flyers.” The way she scrutinized me made every hair on my neck stand at attention. “He’s your boyfriend?” I nodded, shrinking into my luxurious seat like a deflating balloon. This time her smile looked painted on, her tone as artificially sweet as high-fructose corn syrup. “If you need anything else, just let me know.” Watching her slim figure trail through the aisle of the cabin, I wondered if I was projecting or if the twist in my gut was justified. Anyone who knew Ryan might take one look at me and wonder, Really? Him… and her? I had questioned that myself when we first met. Despite his unwavering attention, I wasn’t sure if I would ever get past the age difference when someone like Elaine was sizing me up. When Ryan and I were alone, it was just too good to waste time worrying about how the world viewed me. In his eyes, I was perfect. He didn’t notice the saggy bits or dimpled skin. According to my best friend, Madison, I had a figure most women would kill for and could pass for a forty-year-old on a good day. Most days were not that good, but I’d made peace with the crows feet and that little belly pooch that refused to disappear. After all, at one time it was a baby bump, then a beach ball. I’d earned that lump. Still, a thought niggled its way into my brain. There was something suspicious about Elaine’s reaction to me. Call it women’s intuition, but somehow, I just knew. Had she hoped to snag him for herself? I couldn’t blame her; Ryan was the very definition of tall, dark, and handsome. His image should appear on a Pinterest board titled: Hot Guys with Dark Curly Hair and Piercing Blue Eyes. How many flight attendants and restaurant hostesses had set their sights on him?
GIVEAWAY! --
Hushed Harmony
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo
GIVEAWAY! --
Until the Truth Comes Out: A Novel
-- EXCERPT: The Concert Under the Comet was set to take place just as Hale-Bopp reached its closest distance to Earth. There had been some concern all week that a bank of clouds might ruin the show. But thankfully, they drifted away that morning, allowing the stars—and the single streak of light that would get twenty-thousand rock fans out into the Mojave Desert on a cool spring Saturday night—to show themselves. But it wasn’t only the comet they’d come to see (all of them either wildly rich or beautiful enough that someone with money would shell out eight thousand dollars for a single ticket). It was the lineup of stars. The biggest names in the music industry were there, several of whom would take the stage together for the first and last time. It would be televised around the globe, making it bigger than the original Woodstock. More important than Live Aid ‘85. Filled with more star power than a Vanity Fair Oscar party. It was a tribute to a dead legend. The rise of a new star. The end of innocence for one lost teenager. It would be the greatest reconciliation of any celebrity couple in history. Or it would be their demise. Those last two things would remain up in the air until morning. The location was a well-guarded secret. It had to be if they were going to keep the riffraff away. The riffraff could watch via pay-per-view for a whopping $49.95 (the highest priced pay-per-view event up to that point in time). The record label executives, production team, and cable provider were certain the riffraff would be all too happy to pool their cash so they could say they’d been a part of it when they got to work the following Monday. They were right. Two hours before sundown, the audience would be brought to the location in a steady stream of air-conditioned buses, limousines, and town cars. The lights would go up. The music would play. People would cheer themselves hoarse and drink and dance and sing along (most of them off-key, depending on how many drinks they had). When they’d go back to Las Vegas, their drivers would turn on the heat for their now-chilly, exhausted passengers. The drivers would be relieved they weren’t rowdy and out of control. Instead, they were dead quiet as the shock of what happened lingered. That afternoon, five-month-old Elliott (who always went straight to sleep in the car) dozed through the long ride under the bright afternoon sun. Later, when the sky grew dark, his mother, Claudia Crawford, would point up at it and tell him about the comet, knowing he wouldn’t understand, but hoping it would somehow leave a faint imprint on his fresh, new mind. Claudia would give the performance of a lifetime that night. She was the only woman who’d been part of The Vows, but she wouldn’t play with them that evening. She would go on alone for reasons the audience wouldn’t understand until after. Claudia had planned to leave little Elliott back at the hotel in Vegas with her very reliable French nanny. Only the nanny went out dancing the night before and never came back, so Claudia was forced to bring him to the desert and leave him in the care of two teenage girls she barely knew. But everything would be fine. Elliott would be safely tucked away in a holiday trailer nearby with the girls watching over him, and Claudia would only be gone for forty-five minutes. An hour tops. But of course, that’s not what happened. Things ran late, as they do at these events, and she ended up leaving him for the better part of two hours. By the time she returned to the trailer, it would be empty. Before long, she would find herself groping her way through the impossibly dark desert, screaming his name, gripped by a panic that only fills a parent whose child has vanished. It would occur to her that she might never again hold her baby. Never press his chubby cheek to hers, never smell his neck, never hear him laugh again. She might never hear him speak his first words or watch him take his first steps. What if he never got to do those things? What if he was already dead? Her knees would give out, and she’d slide to the cold ground, and she’d be disgusted at herself for letting her emotions overwhelm her. She’d be hauled to her feet and ordered to keep going by the last person on earth she expected to help. Although her companion was only there because her child was missing too. 
GIVEAWAY! --  Thank you to Rachel from Rachel's Random Resources for inviting me to participate in the blog tour for Murder on the Green Cricket, the fourth book in Lesson in Love series by Catherine Coles. Murder on the Cricket Green Westleham Village, May 1948 The villagers of Westleham are excited for the first village cricket match since the end of the war. But Martha Miller has more pressing concerns - namely, the sudden reappearance of her husband, Stan, missing for two years and acting as though nothing has happened. Martha doesn’t know what to feel, especially now that his return threatens her growing fondness for the kind-hearted village vicar, Luke. Yet she’s not the only one unsettled by Stan’s return… As the match begins and the crowd cheers, Stan suddenly collapses - dead before he hits the ground. And all eyes turn to Martha. To clear her name, she must uncover the truth about Stan’s missing years and his sudden reappearance. But in a village this small, everyone has something to hide. Will Martha’s amateur sleuthing find the real killer or will she pay the price for someone else’s deadly deed? Let the investigation commence! Find out if Martha and Luke can catch the killer in a brand new Martha Miller mystery from bestselling author Catherine Coles, perfect for fans of Lee Strauss and Beth Byers! Purchase Link  My thoughts: I have been following this series from the beginning and I absolutely adore it. There's special strength of character in our lovely protagonist Martha Miller as well as willingness to learn about world and human nature.. Perhaps this is due to her special life circumstances -abandoned by her husband Stan who just left for work and never came back, Martha is trying hard to live her life with dignity and independence and she is finally making her opinions heard and counted, she is making new friends and is finding out what love is for the first time in her life. Although the books can be read as standalones, I would recommend starting from the beginning to see the development in characters and their relationships and I mean not just Martha and Luke Walker, the new vicar in Westleham village, but also Ruby, Martha's sister, Maud, Martha's neighbour and faithful sidekick in her investigations and many others. The fourth book starts with a bang- Stan Miller is back and finally we have a chance for a resolution of the strange situation Martha found herself in- being both married and very single at the same time. But Stan's comeback is going to be short-lived and new mystery events will unfold soon enough. Once again fingers and unforgiving village gossip will point at Martha who will need to do her best to clear her name. One of the best things about this book and the whole series in general is the details that bring the setting to life and make you feel at home in this fascinating period of time. I thouroughly enjoyed reading this fourth installment and can't wait to read the next story in Martha Miller Mysteries. Thank you to Rachel from Rachel's Random Resources, NetGalley and the publisher for the review copy. All opinions are my own and were not influenced in any way.  About the author Catherine Coles writes bestselling cosy mysteries set in the English countryside. Her extremely popular Tommy & Evelyn Christie series is based in North Yorkshire in the 1920’s and Catherine herself lives in Hull with her family and two spoiled dogs. Social Media Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/catherine.coles.9847 Twitter @catherinecoles Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/catherinescountryclub/ Newsletter Sign Up: https://bit.ly/CatherineColesNews Bookbub profile: @CatherineColes   #Book Blitz #When Time Flies by Jennifer Moreno #Comedy #Romance #Time-travel @Xpresso Book Tours3/2/2026
When Time Flies
-- EXCERPT: The old rage from my liver rose, and my intestines churned like an electric whisk on the lowest speed. I was a cliché of both Chinese medicine and Ayurveda. The fact that my shame, anger, and fear culminated into Inflammatory Bowel Disease (IBD) really made me textbook. As the spiritual experts would say: You keep holding onto old crap. I’d tried everything to let go of the past. I talked about my feelings to numerous therapists—some good, some not. I even attempted the “woo-woo” including: Inner child work. A soul retrieval from a Native American shaman (Apparently my soul couldn’t be retrieved). Good ole fashioned journaling. Cry therapy. Ayahuasca in the Amazon jungle (The result? Shitting and vomiting at the same time). Exploring my “shadow side.” Breath work while a didgeridoo played in the background (One word: painful). Shrooms. Trauma workshops. Belief coding. Vision boarding (I was desperate). Transcendental Meditation. Ketamine. Visits to psychics, mediums, astrologers, and tarot readers, who all agreed… I was pretty fucked. Then I returned to the Western approach and did a one-week stint each with Lexapro and Zoloft, which only gave me migraines. I freakin’ loved the I-can’t-even-get-anxious-if-I-wanted-to feeling of Xanax…but alas, it wasn’t enough. Nothing worked. I let out a sigh from my belly, as a multitude of yoga teachers had taught me. As I expelled the air, I felt strange…odd…not dizzy, not nauseous, but weird. I checked the monitor that displayed the airshow. Time To Destination, or TTD, was three hours to go until we landed in Teterboro, New Jersey. The words and numbers on the monitor blurred into an astigmatism. I rounded the corner into the crew rest and then plopped onto the club seat. Exhaustion crawled through my veins like slow lightning. My vision pulsed. The feeling was jetlag times infinity. I tried to stay centered and think through what was happening. I had been flying, almost nonstop to save money to buy a house. Crossing all those time zones and the constant fatigue combined with the IBD did not make for a healthy lifestyle. I’d let myself get that run down. Damn. My body felt weightless. It was like the moment before a fall, that breathless pause—only it never ended. A newfound hum in my ears grew until it swallowed my every thought. My eyes darted over my lap to the khaki fabric wall and finally to the window. The sky brightened to an angelic white, nearly blinding me. I wasn’t dizzy. I had the urge to stare straight ahead, yet I could not focus. Am I vaporizing? I stretched out my fingers. They were disappearing! I felt so airy, as if I could levitate off the seat. I grasped the armrests until… I couldn’t grasp them anymore. The outline of my body began to blur. I lost the solidity of flesh. Tiny sparks of light flickered along my arms, breaking apart into floating specks, like dust in the sun. These particles—that were once me—scattered outward. Where I had sat, I was now only a swirl of luminous dust, leaving me somewhere between confused and terrified. The world spun ahead of me, leaving no room for panic, no room to understand. In an instant, purple lightning hummed and sounded like the constant static of a bug zapper. The spinning intensified, yet I wasn’t queasy. What the fuck is going on? I realized I was spinning through blackness, as if I was on an otherworldly plane. Then the particles of my body snapped back together and returned it to its human shape. I kept rotating and twirling until, out of nowhere, I smelled old wood and cleaning solution. And then… There I was, sitting on a chair in a—was it a courtroom? My mouth was so dry it felt like sand had settled on my tongue. A dull ache pulsed behind my temples, the kind that usually came from waking too early and too thirsty. My eyes darted across the courtroom, desperate to anchor on something steady, but every face seemed sharpened against me, a blur of judgement I couldn’t decipher. My chest tightened, heavy as stone, and though I begged my body to move, shift, or raise even a finger, nothing obeyed. It was as if my body had betrayed me; every molecule refused to budge. Before I could get one thought together, I heard: “Indy, doodoo, what’s wrong?” Mom. Where am I? 
GIVEAWAY! --
The Rewrite
-- EXCERPT: “Okay, so if booty calls are off the table. What about a friendship? Seeing he’s such a decent guy? You’re a lonely woman in a strange country. He’s an available strapping man. Maybe it would be nice to have someone just to hang out with. I mean… not someone like you and me someone. Let’s face it, I’m irreplaceable.” “No,” I cut in. “Like I said, he’s nice. For someone else. Whether it’s sex or friendship, I’m not interested. And for the record, I’m not lonely.” “Yes, yes, how could I forget, your social circle now includes preteens and senior citizens.” “I happen to like my new friends, both young and old.” “Ella, honey.” Charlie gave me that look that was equal parts exasperated and concerned. “All I’m saying is, maybe this is your moment to let your hair down a little. You’re always so tightly wound, and this breakup didn’t exactly loosen the screws. Maybe it’s time to expand your horizons. Try something different. Someone different. Maybe this guy is the kind of non-Kent energy you need.” “Okay, when did you get a PHD in Psychology?” I snapped. “Reading radar maps and reading the human psyche are kind of the same thing. Both are temperamental and can change in a heartbeat,” he teased. “Charlie, I love and appreciate you, but stick to doing the weather. You’re much better at that!” “One last question, and then I promise I’ll ixnay the subject.” “What?” I didn’t even try to hide my annoyance. “Do you call him Mr. Moreau or Grace’s daddy?” “Goodbye, Charlie!” I blew him a kiss and disconnected our call. 
GIVEAWAY! -- #Book Blitz #Roped Into Paradise: A Sweet Cruise Rom-Com by Shanna Hatfield @Xpresso Book Tours2/2/2026
Roped Into Paradise: A Sweet Cruise Rom-Com
-- EXCERPT: They moved off the elevator and had only taken a step when Trudy’s air-raid siren voice alerted him to the presence of his grandmother’s friends. The gazes of everyone in the vicinity swiveled to them as Trudy and Marsha gave Grams big hugs, then all four women turned to JJ. The scrutiny in their gazes was enough to unsettle him, but from the corner of his eye, he saw something move and shifted just slightly to see Kinsley pressing moss inside a planter filled with colorful blooming flowers. “Yoohoo! Girls! If you’re looking for a great guy to date, this one is single!” Trudy shouted, then she and Marsha made exaggerated pointing motions at JJ. The heat searing from his neck to the top of his head made him momentarily question if he might implode. The mortification he felt was indescribable, particularly with Kinsley staring at him wide-eyed, as though she wasn’t sure what to make of Trudy’s declaration. He certainly had no idea what to do with the big-mouthed old woman. JJ closed his eyes and wished Neptune would rise from the sea, reach into the ship, and drag him under. Where was a good, solid iceberg when you needed it for a distraction? At the very least, maybe they’d sail straight into the Bermuda Triangle. After all, this doomed adventure had felt like a trip through a nightmarish alternate universe from the moment his grandmother had announced they were taking it. Right now, with dozens of passengers laughing at him and a few women passing him scribbled notes with their room numbers, he forgot about the fun he’d had earlier in the day. It was hard to focus on anything when he wanted to simply disappear. JJ had never enjoyed being the center of attention. Sure, he’d played sports in high school and even participated in rodeo a few years after he graduated, but the attention wasn’t solely on him, like he’d stepped into the glaring center of a spotlight. Grams and Shirley were madly whispering something to Trudy and Marsha, but before he could kick his brain back in gear enough to hear what they said, a hand settled on his shoulder. He looked over to see Ted, who nodded once to him. Wynn offered a commiserating look of encouragement. Afraid to glance at Kinsley but needing to know if she had joined those laughing at him, he turned his head, and their gazes connected. She smiled and winked at him, and that one little gesture made him feel better than anything anyone else could have offered. “Let’s get these cackling hens to the restaurant before they humiliate every male on the ship,” Ted said quietly, moving forward to stake his claim beside Grams. 
GIVEAWAY! -- From the blurb: A new dawn, and a new day… All they have to do is choose to leave the past behind. Bernadette O’Brien walked away from a husband who cheated on her throughout her whole marriage. Today is the day that she’ll decide between protecting her new life or risking it all for another shot at happiness. Marge Drummond knows that now is the time to share a hidden truth with her daughter Estelle. But can she bring herself to admit the mistake that's made her daughter’s whole life a lie? Amber Collins is finally ready to embrace a new romance after a divorce that broke her heart. Will she find the love she deserves or are her hopes and dreams about to come crashing down to earth? Three women, three tangled webs of love and betrayal… When all the secrets come out, who will still believe in love at the end of the day? #1 bestseller Shari Low is back with her brilliant NEW release about love, loss, friendship and forgiveness. Publisher: Boldwood Books Publication Date: February 1, 2026 Purchase Links UK/ US  My thoughts: I always look forward to reading Shari Low's newest book. She has a wonderful writing style with a lovely sense of humour that will draw you into the story and make you feel all sorts of emotions. If this isn't your first book from Shari's 'One Day' universe, you know the events are going to unfold over 24 hours and by the next morning our protagonists lives will change dramatically. For Bernadette O'Brien it feels like the right time to trust the new man in her life and make some plans for future. Marge Drummond, Bernadette's ex-husband's secretary, is trying to make sure her daughter Estelle will have close friends and family to help her in her time of need. Estelle's friend Amber is about to get a new perspective on some of her decisions in life. It is very easy to see the common theme of kindness, friendship, and forgiveness, We all make mistakes (I love how non-judgemental the characters are, not an easy feat considering the topic), the important thing is to learn from them and focus on what really matters and that is the people you love and doing your best to be there for them. I laughed (the banter is fabulous!) and I cried and was glad to have spent this 'one more day' in the company of these characters. The ending was both poignant and uplifting and ...just right. Definitely want to come back and read another story in the same setting and with the same fabulously strong women. Thank you to Boldwood Books and NetGalley for the DRC. All opinions are my own and were not influenced in any way. About the author: In a career spanning twenty five years, author Shari Low has published over 40 books, and sold over five million copies around the globe, hitting the best seller charts in many countries including UK, USA, Canada, Germany and Australia. In 2020, her first novel, What If? (originally published in 2001), was updated and re-released, followed by the sequels What Now? and What Next?. All three novels became international best sellers. Since then, several of Shari's books have been #1 chart-toppers - including One Day With You, One Moment in Time, One Christmas Eve, One Year After You, One Midnight With You, One Day & Forever and One Snowy Day (all published by Boldwood Books). Shari has also co-written three Hollywood thrillers, The Rise, The Catch and The Fall, with LA-based TV presenter and actor Ross King. In real life, once upon a time she met a guy, got engaged after a week, and thirty-something years later she lives near Glasgow with the one they said would never last. Their children have now grown and scattered across the world, so she spends an inordinate amount of time on video calls and aeroplanes. 
The Breaking of Time
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble -- CHAPTER 1: I’ve spent years pretending to be someone I’m not. The thought surfaces every morning when I shave, watching the face in the mirror—a face that should be ancient, centuries-old, but instead shows only the faint creases of a man in his early forties. A single gray hair at my temple that Elena keeps threatening to pluck. The kind of weathering that comes from the lost sleep of parenthood and mortgage payments, not from outliving empires. To everyone else, I’m Daniel Ward—husband, father, the sort of man who mows the lawn on Saturdays and forgets garbage day at least twice a month. My neighbors wave when I’m pulling out the recycling bins, their smiles automatic and easy. Mrs. Dante from next door brings over her extra zucchini in late summer, always too much, always apologizing for the abundance. My coworkers at the accounting firm think I’m polite but quiet, the guy who keeps his head down and never complains about the coffee. My wife calls me dependable, though sometimes I catch a question in her eyes, a flicker of something she can’t quite name. They all believe they know me. They don’t. The other man—the one buried under the flannel shirts and PTA meetings—still lurks somewhere beneath the surface. He’s the one who used to speak to the unseen currents of the world, who could twist wind and time if he chose, who once stood in a circle of elders and made the sky itself hold its breath. But I buried him twenty years ago, the day I first saw Elena across a crowded bookstore, her laugh carrying over the ambient music like a bell I didn’t know I’d been waiting to hear. I traded his power for peace, his truth for love, his ancient purpose for the warm weight of a child falling asleep on my chest. I told myself I could be normal, that five hundred and forty-three years of magic could be folded up and tucked away like old photographs in a drawer. I even started to believe it. Today was supposed to be an ordinary day. Another quiet Saturday, nothing more. But when does anything ever go as planned? It was one of those deceptive autumn afternoons where New England shows off—sun bright and warm on the skin, gilding everything gold. The kind of day that makes you forget winter is coming. Trees along Brookfield Lane shed their red and gold. They carpeted the sidewalks in layers of crimson and amber, crunching underfoot like breaking glass. The whole world felt fragile, caught between seasons, holding its breath before the fall. I stood at the end of our driveway, sipping coffee that had long gone lukewarm. The mug—a Father’s Day gift from three years ago with “World’s Coolest Dad” printed in fading letters—hung heavy in my hand, forgotten. I was watching the Hendersons’ cat stalk something invisible through their garden, its tail twitching with predatory focus, when Eli kicked his soccer ball a little too hard. The sound was sharp—that hollow thwack of synthetic leather against a ten-year-old’s foot, released with more enthusiasm than aim. The ball bounced once, twice, then caught the curb at an angle and rolled into the street, picking up speed as it curved toward the stop sign at the corner. Eli chased it before I could even form the word wait. He wore his blue hoodie—the one with the frayed cuffs he refused to let Elena fix, the white stripes on the sleeves already graying from too many washes, and one drawstring longer than the other because he’d chewed on it during homework the night before. His sneakers were grass-stained, laces trailing, his gangly ten-year-old body a blur of elbows and knees as he ran with a reckless abandon only children possess. The kind of innocence that comes from not yet understanding that the world has teeth. The ball slipped into the road, rolling lazily toward the middle of the lane. Eli followed without looking, without thinking, his whole world narrowed to that sphere of black and white pentagons. And then I heard it. An approaching car. Not the gentle whisper of someone cruising through the neighborhood, but the aggressive growl of speed—too much speed for a residential street. A truck came around the bend far too fast. The driver probably wasn’t paying attention, likely glancing at his phone or reaching for something on the passenger seat, thinking about anything but the quiet street where children played. I felt my stomach drop, that vertiginous lurch that comes not from falling but from watching someone you love step off the edge. The coffee mug slipped from my fingers, hitting the driveway with a dull crack. Coffee spread across the concrete in a dark stain that looked too much like blood. “Eli!” I shouted. “Look out!” He didn’t hear. The wind was wrong, carrying sound away from him, and he was bent over the ball now, just a few feet from the centerline, small hands reaching down to scoop it up. His hood had fallen back, revealing the stubborn cowlick at his crown that Elena had tried to smooth down this morning—the same stubborn swirl of hair I’d seen on Jonas five hundred years ago. The driver saw him at the last minute—I could see the panic flash across his face through the windshield, his mouth opening in what might have been a shout or a curse. He tried to brake—the nose of the truck dipped as he slammed his foot down—but there wasn’t enough distance, not enough time. The laws of physics are beautiful and merciless. Mass times velocity. Momentum conserved. A two-ton truck traveling at forty miles per hour needs approximately ninety feet to stop. My son was thirty feet away. The math was simple. The outcome inevitable. Everything inside me fractured. The years I’d spent pretending to be ordinary—gone, shattered like ice on pavement. The quiet life, the safe life, the carefully constructed fiction of Daniel Ward, the accountant—gone. Twenty years of restraint, of biting my tongue when the old words tried to surface, of letting the magic sleep dormant in my bones—all of it evaporated in the space between heartbeats. My son was about to die, and the man I’d been pretending to be had no way to stop it. The other man—the buried one—could. It began as a vibration in my chest, not painful but insistent, like thunder humming before a storm breaks or the first tremor before an earthquake tears the world open. The sensation spread through my ribcage, resonating in the hollow spaces between bone, traveling down into my gut. My hands began to tingle, then burn, the old pathways of power waking, remembering their purpose. The world thinned around me, like reality itself was just a membrane stretched too tight, waiting for permission to stop turning. My vision sharpened with supernatural clarity—I could see each particle of dust hanging in the light, suspended like tiny stars. I could see the individual vibrations in the air, the way sound moves in waves, the molecular dance of oxygen and nitrogen. I could see the truck’s trajectory mapped out in lines of probability, see the exact angle at which metal would meet flesh, see the moment my son would stop being my son and become a memory, a ghost, another name added to the long list of those I’d failed to save. The spell came unbidden to my lips, rising from a place deeper than thought, older than intention. The syllables were hot and metallic on my tongue, tasting of copper and electricity, of blood and starlight. They weren’t English—weren’t any language spoken in many, many years. They were Arvynth. The old words. The ones I’d sworn I’d never speak again. “Fractura Tempora.” The sound tore through the air like a blade through fabric, like lightning splitting the sky, like the world itself being unzipped at the seams. And reality obeyed. 
GIVEAWAY! -- |
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