Blog Tour & Review: My Roommate is a Vampire by Jenna Levine

Happy Release Day! It's a celebration day because My Roommate is a Vampire is the first book from author Jenna Levine! Congratulations!!!! I am so happy for you! 

About the Book

True love is at stake in this charming, debut romantic comedy.

Cassie Greenberg loves being an artist, but it’s a tough way to make a living. On the brink of eviction, she’s desperate when she finds a too-good-to-be-true apartment in a beautiful Chicago neighborhood. Cassie knows there has to be a catch—only someone with a secret to hide would rent out a room for that price.

Of course, her new roommate Frederick J. Fitzwilliam is far from normal. He sleeps all day, is out at night on business, and talks like he walked out of a regency romance novel. He also leaves Cassie heart-melting notes around the apartment, cares about her art, and asks about her day. And he doesn’t look half bad shirtless, on the rare occasions they’re both home and awake. But when Cassie finds bags of blood in the fridge that definitely weren’t there earlier, Frederick has to come clean…

Cassie’s sexy new roommate is a vampire. And he has a proposition for her.

My Thoughts

I struggled with this review because I’ve been loving vampires and vampire legends since I was a kid. I’ve been sitting here trying to reconcile my view of what a vampire book should be and what the author wrote. And you know what, that is one of the stupidest things I’ve done in a long time. There is no reason for me to do that because there is absolutely plenty of room for any and every vampire story, no matter how dark or light-hearted they are. I’ve rewritten this review twice now and had to take out a lot of my own conjecture about what I thought the book SHOULD have been instead of reviewing what the book IS. 

Take 3:

My Roommate is a Vampire is a cute and fun read with a devastatingly handsome vampire who finds himself lost in the 21st century after being in a coma for 100 years. Coma you say? Long story. With the help of his best friend, Frederick puts an ad online to search for a roommate to help him navigate the new world and educate him on all the things he’s missed. Needless to say, the ad sounded super creepy, unbeknownst to Frederick, and Cassie–in dire need of a place to live–is the only one who answers it. Frederick never thought of having a female roommate but there’s something about her that keeps him captivated. 

Cassie is a down-on-her luck artist with a master’s degree and no prominent job prospects. She’s working two part-time jobs and on the verge of eviction when she finds Frederick’s too-good-to-be-true roommate ad. Taking her best friend for backup, she meets Frederick and tentatively agrees to move in. Despite Frederick’s unusual schedule and his weird 18th century décor, things seem to be working out. Frederick hasn’t embraced texting or email, preferring the “old ways” of communication by writing letters. They leave notes for each other every day/night to communicate. Pretty soon, the chemistry between the two start to sizzle and their correspondences become a courtship of sorts, both second guessing their feelings for the other.

Everything’s going well until the vampire is let out of the bag by Frederick’s “unhelpful” best friend and it snowballs from there. Can Cassie accept that Frederick is a vampire? Will Frederick be able to save this newly blossoming friendship? Is Frederick’s best friend getting a kick in the pants? You’ll have to read the book to find out!

This book is a super sweet meet-cute that will warm your heart and make you smile. The characters are lovingly thought out. The storyline is interesting and the writing held my interest until the very end. It was so fulfilling to watch the chivalrous relationship between Cassie and Frederick develop into a fiery, all-consuming passion. The chemistry between the two is palpable. I thoroughly enjoyed the book.

The author shows a lot of promise and I am looking forward to her next adventure.

FTC Disclaimer: I voluntarily read a copy of the book generously provided by the publisher in exchange for an honest review.

Excerpt

One

Roommate Wanted to Share Spacious Third-Floor Brownstone Apartment in Lincoln Park

Hello. I seek a roommate with whom to share my apartment. It is a spacious unit by modern standards with two large bedrooms, an open sitting area, and a semiprofessional eat-in kitchen. Large windows flank the eastern side of the apartment and provide a striking view of the lake. The unit is fully furnished in a tasteful, classical style. I am seldom home after sundown, so if you work a traditional schedule, you will usually have the apartment to yourself.

Rent: $200 per month. No pets, please. Kindly direct all serious inquiries to fjfitzwilliam@gmail.com.

"There has to be something wrong with this place."

"Cassie, listen, this is a really good deal-"

"Forget it, Sam." That last part came out more forcefully than I'd intended-though not by much. Even though I needed his help, my embarrassment over being in this situation in the first place made accepting that help difficult. Sam meant well, but his insistence on involving himself in every part of my current situation was getting on my very last nerve.

To his credit, Sam-my oldest friend, who'd long ago acclimated to how snippy I sometimes got when I was stressed-said nothing. He simply folded his arms across his chest, waiting for me to be ready to say more.

I only needed a few moments to pull myself together and start feeling badly for snapping at him. "Sorry," I muttered under my breath. "I know you're only trying to help."

"It's all right," he said, sympathetic. "You have a lot going on. But it's okay to believe that things can get better."

I had no reason to believe that things could get better, but now wasn't the time to get into it. I simply sighed and turned my attention back to the Craigslist ad on my laptop.

"Anything that sounds too good to be true usually is."

Sam peered over my shoulder at my screen. "Not always. And you have to admit this apartment sounds great."

It did sound great. He was right about that. But . . .

"It's only two hundred a month, Sam."

"So? That's a great price."

I stared at him. "Yeah, if this were 1978. If someone's only asking for two hundred a month today there are probably dead bodies in the basement."

"You don't know that." Sam dragged a hand through his shaggy, dirty-blond hair. Messing with his hair was Sam's most obvious I'm-bullshitting-you tell. He'd had it since at least sixth grade, when he'd tried convincing our teacher I hadn't been the one who'd drawn bright pink flowers all over the wall of the girl's bathroom. He hadn't fooled Mrs. Baker then-I had drawn that aggressively neon meadow landscape-and he wasn't fooling me now.

How would he ever make it as a lawyer with such a terrible poker face?

"Maybe this person's just not home a lot and only wants a roommate for safety reasons, not income," Sam suggested. "Maybe they're an idiot and don't know what they could be charging."

I was still skeptical. I'd been scouring Craigslist and Facebook since my landlord taped an eviction notice to my front door two weeks ago for nonpayment of rent. There'd been nothing available this close to the Loop for less than a thousand a month. In Lincoln Park, the going rate was closer to fifteen hundred.

Two hundred wasn't just a little below market rate. It wasn't even in the same universe as market rate.

"There are also no pictures with this ad," I pointed out. "That's another red flag. I should ignore this one and keep looking." Because yes, my landlord was taking me to court next week if I didn't move out first, and yes, living in an apartment this cheap would really help me get on top of my shit, and maybe even keep me from ending up in this exact situation again in a few months. But I'd lived in the Chicago area for more than ten years. No deal in Lincoln Park this good came without a huge catch.

"Cassie." Sam's tone was quiet, patient-and more than a little patronizing. I reminded myself he was only trying to help in his very Sam way and bit my tongue. "This apartment is in a great location. You can easily afford it. It's close enough to the El that you'll be able to get to your jobs quickly. And if the windows are as big as this ad says they are, I bet there's tons of natural light."

My eyes widened. I hadn't thought of the lighting in the apartment when I'd read the ad. But if it did have huge, lake-facing windows, Sam was probably right.

"Maybe I'd be able to create from home again," I mused. I hadn't lived somewhere with good enough lighting to work on my projects in almost two years. I missed it more than I liked to admit.

Sam smiled, looking relieved. "Exactly."

"Okay," I conceded. "I'm at least willing to ask for more information."

Sam reached up and put his hand on my shoulder. His warm, steady touch calmed me, just as it had every time I'd needed it to since we were kids. The knot of anxiety that had taken up what felt like permanent residence in the pit of my stomach these past two weeks began to loosen.

For the first time in ages, it felt like I could breathe again.

"We'll see the apartment and meet the roommate first, of course," he said very quickly. "I can even help you negotiate a month-to-month lease if you want. That way, if it's really awful, you can leave without breaking another lease."

Which would mean I wouldn't have to worry about getting hauled back into court by yet another angry landlord. Honestly, that would be a decent compromise. If this person turned out to be an axe murderer or a libertarian or some other awful thing, a month-to-month lease would let me leave quickly with no strings attached.

"You'd do that for me?" I asked. Not for the first time, I felt badly about how short I'd been with him lately.

"What else am I gonna do with my law degree?"

"For starters, you could use it to make tons of money at your firm instead of using it to help perennial fuckups like me."

"I'm making tons of money at my firm either way," he said, grinning. "But since you won't let me loan you any of that money-"

"I won't," I agreed. It had been my choice to get an impractical graduate degree and end up hopelessly in student loan debt with few job prospects for my troubles. I wasn't about to make that anyone else's problem.

Sam sighed. "You won't. Right. We've been over that. Repeatedly." He shook his head and added, in a more wistful tone, "I wish you could just move in with us, Cassie. Or with Amelia. That would solve everything."

I bit my lip and pretended to study the Craigslist ad intensely to avoid having to look at him.

In truth, a large part of me was relieved that Sam and his new husband Scott had just bought a tiny lakefront condo that barely accommodated them and their two cats. While living with them would save me the stress and the hassle of what I was going through now, Sam and Scott had just gotten married two months ago. Not only would my living with them hinder their ability to have sex wherever and whenever they felt like it the way I understood newlyweds tended to, it would also be an awkward reminder of just how long it had been since I'd last been in a relationship.

As well as a constant reminder of what a colossal failure every other aspect of my life was.

And, of course, living with Amelia was out of the question. Sam didn't understand that his straitlaced, perfect sister had always looked down on me and thought I was a total loser. But it was the truth.

Honestly, my finding a place to live that was neither Sam and Scott's new sofa nor Amelia's loft in Lakeview was best for all of us.

"I'll be fine," I said, trying to sound like I believed it. My stomach clenched a little at the look of concern that crossed Sam's face. "No, really-I'll be okay. I always am, aren't I?"

Sam smiled and tousled my too-short hair, which was his way of teasing me. Normally I didn't mind, but I'd cut my hair pretty dramatically on a whim a couple weeks ago because I was frustrated and needed an outlet that didn't require an internet connection. It was yet another of my not-great recent decisions. My thick, curly blond hair tended to stick up in odd places if not cut by a professional. In that moment, as Sam continued to mess with my hair, I looked like a Muppet who'd recently stuck her finger in a light socket.

"Stop that," I said, laughing as I shrugged away from him. But my mood was better now-which was probably exactly why Sam had done it.

He put his hand on my shoulder. "If you ever change your mind about the loan . . ."

He trailed off without finishing his sentence.

"If I change my mind about a loan, you'll be the first to know," I said. But we both knew I never would.

I waited until I was at my afternoon gig at the public library to reach out to the person with the two-hundred-dollar room for rent.

Of all the part-time, not-art-related gigs I'd managed to string together since getting my MFA, this one was my favorite. Not because I loved all aspects of the work, because I didn't. While it was great being around books, I worked exclusively in the children's section. I alternated between sitting behind the check-out counter, shelving books about dinosaurs and warrior cats and dragons, and answering questions from frantic parents with tantruming preschoolers in tow.

I'd always gotten along well with older kids. And I liked tiny humans as an abstract concept, understanding-in theory, at least-why a person might intentionally add one to their life. But while Sam and I definitely thought of his spoiled kitties as his children, nobody in my life had an actual human child yet. Dealing with little kids twenty hours a week in a public-facing service position was a rough introduction.

Working at the library was still my favorite part-time job, though, because of all the downtime that came with it. I didn't have nearly as much free time during my shifts at Gossamer's, the coffee shop near my soon-to-be-former apartment-which was the worst aspect of that particular job.

"Slow afternoon today," my manager Marcie quipped from her chair beside me. Marcie was a pleasant woman in her late fifties and effectively ran the children's section. It was our little inside joke to comment on how slow it was when we worked together in the afternoon, because every afternoon was slow here. Between the hours of one and four, most of our patrons were either napping or still in school.

It was two o'clock. Only one kid had wandered through in the past ninety minutes. Not only was that nothing noteworthy, it was par for the course.

"It is slow today," I agreed, grinning at her. With that, I turned to face the circulation desk computer.

Normally, library downtime was for researching potential new employers and applying for jobs. I wasn't picky. I'd apply for just about anything-even if it had nothing to do with art-if it promised better pay and more regular hours than my current cobbled-together situation.

Sometimes, I used the time to think through future art projects. I didn't have good lighting in my tiny current apartment, which made drawing and painting the images that formed the base of my works difficult. And while I couldn't finish my projects at the library, as my paints were too messy and the final steps involved incorporating discarded objects into my work, the circulation desk was big and well-lit enough for me to at least make preliminary sketches with a pencil.

Today, though, I needed to use my downtime to reply to that red flag of a Craigslist ad. I could have replied earlier, but I didn't-partly because I was still skeptical, but mostly because a few weeks ago I'd gotten rid of Wi-Fi to save money.

I pulled up the listing on the computer. It hadn't changed in the time since I last saw it. The oddly formal style was the same. The absurd rent amount was also the same and set off as many alarm bells now as it did when I first saw it.

But my financial situation also hadn't changed. Jobs in my field were still as hard to come by. And asking Sam for help-or my accountant parents, who loved me too much to admit to my face what a disappointment I was-was just as unthinkable as ever.

And my landlord was still planning to evict me next week. Which, to be fair, I couldn't even blame him for. He'd put up with a lot of late rent payments and art-related welding mishaps these past ten months. If I were him I'd probably evict me, too.

Before I could talk myself out of doing it, and with Sam's worried voice ringing in my ears, I opened my email. I scrolled through my inbox-an ad for a two-for-one sale at Shoe Pavilion; a headline from the Chicago Tribune about a bizarre string of local blood bank break-ins-and then started typing.

From: Cassie Greenberg [csgreenberg@gmail.com]

To: fjfitzwilliam@gmail.com

Subject: Your apartment listing

I saw your ad on Craigslist looking for a roommate. My lease is up soon and your place sounds perfect. I'm a 32-year-old art teacher and have lived in Chicago for ten years. I'm a nonsmoker, no pets. You said in your ad that you aren't home much at night. As for me, I'm almost never home during the day, so this arrangement would work out well for both of us, I think.

I'm guessing you've gotten a lot of inquiries about your apartment given the location, price, and everything else. But just in case the room is still available, I've included a list of references. I hope to hear from you soon.

Cassie Greenberg

A pang of guilt shot through me over how much I'd fudged some of the important details.

For one thing, I'd just told this complete stranger that I was an art teacher. Technically, that was the truth. It's what I'd studied to be in college, and it isn't that I didn't want to teach. But in my junior year of college I fell in love with applied arts and design beyond all hope of reason, and then in my senior year I took a course where we studied Robert Rauschenberg and his method of combining paintings with sculpture work. And that was it for me. Immediately after graduation I threw myself into an MFA in applied arts and design.

Excerpted from My Roommate Is a Vampire by Jenna Levine. Copyright © 2023 by Jenna Levine. Excerpted by permission of Berkley Publishing Group. All right reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.

Purchase Links

Penguin Random House

Jenna Levine

About the Author

Blog Tour & Review: Shadow Dance by Christine Feehan

 Happy Release Day Christine Feehan!

Shadow Dance is Book 8 in Ms. Feehan's Shadow Riders series! 

The Shadow Riders are individuals born with an inherent gift of being able to disappear into the shadows where they travel unseen, dispensing justice to those denied by every other legal means of justice. Yes, it is as exciting as it sounds! Eight books in and I feel like Ms. Feehan is just getting started!

About the Book

Tensions and passions rise in the city that never sleeps in this propulsive novel in #1 New York Times bestselling author Christine Feehan’s Shadow Riders series.

As the head of the New York City Shadow Riders and his branch of the Ferraro family, Geno bears the weight of dual responsibilities on his broad shoulders. There’s nothing more important to Geno than protecting his territory and his famiglia. So when his own parents become the latest victims in a string of vicious murders, Geno is ready to go scorched earth. He thinks he has the assassin in his sights, but he’s unprepared for the firestorm their connection ignites…. 

Amaranthe Aubert’s lithe dancer’s body conceals a spine of steel. Even held captive and faced with the threat of lethal interrogation, she’s not about to cave under pressure. She had nothing to do with the murders, no matter what the ruthless man in front of her believes. But before Amara knows what’s happening, Geno connects to her in the shadows, stripping her bare of all artifice. Now, she has no way to hide her true reason for being in New York—and nowhere to run from the man who’s very presence steals the very breath from her lungs….

Excerpt

Chapter One

Geno Ferraro leaned one hip against the wall as he looked through the two-way mirror at the prisoner seated very uncomfortably in the metal chair in the middle of the interrogation room. The room was all about efficiency. Drains, overhead sprays and hooks, long counters laid out with power tools and instruments one could use to help the prisoner regain their memory very quickly if they'd mysteriously lost it. A shower. A toilet. A sink. Even a tub. Just about anything one needed for a successful interrogation if one was serious. He was very serious. Murder was a serious crime-doubly so if the victims were one's parents.

"Something's wrong, Stefano. I can feel it," he said, never once taking his gaze from the prisoner. "I don't want her to see you or my brothers. No one else. Fiero and Donte Latini, my main personal protectors, picked her up and brought her here. It couldn't be helped that she saw their faces, but I don't want her to see anyone else until I know what's going on. I sent for you because I need someone I can trust implicitly to help me figure this out."

Geno had been head of the Ferraro family in New York for years. The Ferraro territory was a crime-free, safe place for those who lived and worked in the neighborhood. His neighborhood. He knew every shop owner. Every resident. This was his community, and he was responsible for it. He took that responsibility very seriously. Ferraro territory started right on the edge of Little Italy and ran out all the way west through Tribeca to the Hudson River. 

"I don't just know every one of the businesses and those living in my territory, Stefano, I know most of those in Little Italy. They know me and my brothers and our famiglia. They know they can count on us if there's need. Mama was raised with her second cousins, Viola and Noemi. Both married and became nurses. When they retired, they went to work in their husbands' shops. Viola's husband, Marcelle, had a hat store. Noemi's husband, Caio, had a very high-end watch shop."

Stefano Ferraro regarded the prisoner with shrewd assessing eyes. He ran the Ferraro territory in Chicago and had interrogated many prisoners under tough circumstances. He turned that piercing gaze from the prisoner to his cousin.

"There have always been petty crimes, thefts, tourists getting pockets picked, I was told, but our family was never asked to help," Geno continued. "Mama would visit her cousins and come home at times and tell us that the thefts were becoming more frequent, but no one thought to come to us. A few months ago, I could see concern on her face and strain on Papa's. He's always been distant, but he became even more so. I wondered why they didn't insist on investigating."

Geno pulled his gaze away from the prisoner to look at his cousin. Although they were somewhat close in age, he'd always looked up to Stefano.

"I rarely questioned my parents. Once they turned over the reins of the business to me, they no longer gave advice to me on any subject, including parenting. They made it clear they would only do their job and nothing more. My brothers, Salvatore and Lucca, don't remember them any other way, but I do. Not even concerning themselves with the escalating problems in Little Italy, with their friends and even famiglia's livelihoods and safety, made no sense to me."

Geno shoved a hand through his hair. "Granted, in the beginning the crimes were petty. Stolen merchandise. Tourists being robbed with more frequency. But the thefts became more violent over a period of months."

"I take it your parents refused to turn the series of crimes over to investigators," Stefano ventured. His voice was low.

Geno sighed. "They wouldn't even discuss the subject, not even when many of the business owners began to look on the Ferraros with suspicion."

"Why would that be?" Stefano's expression didn't change.

"Many of the robberies occurred after hours. The safes were locked. There was no evidence of a break-in. No images were caught on surveillance tapes in the store or outside of it. Those who knew of our reputation began to worry that one of us was stealing and the others were protecting a family member."

"And yet your parents refused to order an investigation."

Geno nodded slowly.

"You could have ordered one."

"I could have, but I was gone more than I was home. We're short of riders, and I was continually taking rotations. I had hoped my parents would step up and see that there was a problem, especially as the robberies began to spill over into our territory. Not only didn't that happen, but when it did and I insisted we investigate, they threw roadblocks in the way of the investigation."

"That makes no sense." "Nothing my parents have done has made sense since the night my mother woke me up and took me into their suite in the dead of night eighteen years ago. Their private surgeon, Dr. Mortan, was there along with Dr. Vargas, an anesthesiologist, Viola, Noemi and my parents' bodyguards. Blood was everywhere, and IVs were hooked up to my father with fluids and blood draining into him."

"You never really talked about that night, Geno."

"There was no explanation. His leg was amputated, but I don't know how he was injured. He never said. Neither would my mother. For one year, we weren't allowed into their suite. There was no contact with either of them. That night, my father gripped my shoulder with merciless fingers and stared at me with hard, pitiless eyes. I'll never forget the way his fingers dug into my shoulder or his eyes stared into me. He looked wild and not at all like my father. It was the first time in my life I was ever really afraid of him. He looked like a demon."

"He must have been in tremendous pain. You were thirteen. Your father was being prepped to have his leg amputated." As always, Stefano's voice was low and steady.

Geno nodded. "I know that now, but then it was terrifying. He said, 'You're a man now, Geno. You'll lead the family. You will guide the riders and protect the people in our territory. There can be no mistakes. None. All deaths will be on your shoulders. Yours alone. Do you understand? We look to you now.' Of course, I didn't understand. How could I? I was thirteen fucking years old. He wasn't making any sense. No one would answer any questions. His bodyguard grabbed me by my arm and hustled me out of the room. He threw me out and slammed the door shut. That was the last time I saw my father or mother for over a year. I was left to try to explain things to my two younger brothers when there was little or no explanation to give them."

Along with being head of his family, Geno had become leader of the shadow riders of New York, and it was an immense responsibility. A rider was able to slip through one shadow to the next finding portals to travel unseen anywhere he wanted to go. There was a terrible toll on the body. The rider trained from the age of two to be able to withstand the pull of the tunnels. They could tear him apart. More than once Geno had had to carry a dead rider from the shadows. The riders were required to always keep maps of cities in their heads because the shadows were so fast it was easy to get turned around, and again, once one was lost, there was no getting out. Shadow riding was extremely dangerous. Riders were tasked with the job of bringing justice to those who couldn't go through regular law enforcement.

"A series of trainers arrived from France," Geno continued. The Archambaults were considered the fastest shadow riders in the world. They policed all shadow riders and were the only riders who could investigate and assassinate a rider. "They trained me from morning until night on every aspect of riding and leadership. I was required to learn languages and interrogation. I was barely allowed to see my younger brothers and often heard the riders from France speaking in harsh voices to them. That was the only time I stopped what I was doing and intervened. I didn't care if I got in trouble with my trainers, and I would. They would be furious that I would dare to reprimand them for being so ugly with Salvatore and Lucca. I didn't have our father or mother to guide me, and my two brothers were so much younger. They were left alone and grieving for our parents. I didn't want strangers treating them so harshly. I understood they had to be trained to ride shadows and to pay attention to their other studies, but I wasn't going to allow anyone to be ugly to them. I just wasn't."

"That's why you called me," Stefano said. "And asked me all those questions about the way I balanced raising my siblings and training them to ride in the shadows."

"Yes. You had to raise your brothers and sister from a very early age, and you're the only person I've ever trusted, Stefano, with my brothers. I needed advice, so I called you. You'd been looking after your siblings since they were born."

The two men looked at one another, understanding and deep affection in their eyes for just one moment, and then movement inside the interrogation room drew their attention back to the present. The prisoner didn't turn her head, but lifted it slightly, just enough that she could shift her gaze around the room. They studied the prisoner through the glass.

It was extremely rare for a woman to be held in that room. In fact, Geno couldn't remember the last time it had ever happened. She had her head down, partially lying on her forearm where it was tied to an arm of the chair. She looked tiny, so slender she could have been a child.

"Who is she?" Stefano asked.

"Her name is Amaranthe Aubert. She arrived in the country five months ago from a region in the South of France. She dances and teaches ballet at the Ferraro Performing Arts Theatre Company. She is also working in Little Italy at their Performing Arts Center. From all accounts she's an excellent dancer."

"I take it your investigators have checked up on her in the short time they've had?"

Geno nodded. "She's danced all over the world. I've got a file on her, but nothing about her makes the slightest sense. At least there's no reason she should be sitting in a chair waiting to be taken apart by a man willing to be as brutal and as disconnected from emotion as I can be. I had even planned to ask Dario for help if need be."

"You changed your mind." Like Geno, Stefano hadn't taken his gaze from the prisoner.

"Something is very off here, Stefano. This is the third time she's done what she's doing. That stealthy scan of her surroundings. I don't go to the ballet. I've never had the time or the inclination to go until just now, just watching her, and that's a huge red flag given the circumstances."

Both watched as Amaranthe's dark eyes slowly moved around the room, taking in everything from the ceiling to the walls to the floor.

"I guarantee she knows the exact position of every single tool in that room. She'll be able to tell you the distance to every exit. She probably knows our escape routes," Geno said. "No ballet dancer would be sitting there that cool after being dragged into a basement by two bodyguards and tied to a chair with torture instruments surrounding her. She may be trying to look scared and intimidated, but she's not in the least afraid. Her brain is working on something."

Stefano considered the various possibilities, just as Geno knew he would. "You're keeping everyone away from her because you believe she's an assassin."

Geno's nod was slow in coming because he didn't want to believe it. She looked the least likely person in the world to be an assassin.

"The first murders were Viola and Marcelle. The hat shop was robbed, and both were stabbed repeatedly. Brutally. In fact, each had twelve stab wounds. It appeared personal to me, Stefano. Viola was seventy-two. Marcelle seventy-five. There was no need to kill them. Marcelle would have turned over the cash. The police were called. Naturally, our family was approached. For me that was a relief, although I would have insisted we investigate anyway. Viola and Marcelle were family."

The moment the murders had been reported to the police, he knew friends from Little Italy would end up in the parlor of his parents' home.

The way their family business worked was simple-yet not. Anyone could ask for a meeting with his parents. In their world-the Ferraros' world known as shadow riders-his parents were described as "greeters." They had a psychic gift, one that made them able to discern whether someone they spoke with was lying. Former shadow riders often took the job of greeters because every rider had to be able to discern a lie. Geno knew the gift was also aided by the casual conversation they had with the petitioner in the beginning of the interview establishing breathing patterns, heart rate, and inflection in the voice.

No cell phones were allowed. No recording. Those asking for a visit were invited guests simply having tea or coffee and telling his parents what crime had occurred, what evidence they had and any suspicion they had of who might have done it.

The greeters listened but didn't participate in that part of the conversation, never taking part in discussions of crimes and never making any promises. That way, if a policeman slipped through their precautions, there was no chance of being trapped. If the greeters believed a crime had been committed and were willing to have the Ferraro family investigate, they never said so.

The greeters never indicated in any way that they were going to help. They simply inclined their heads, gathered whatever evidence had been brought to them and murmured their sympathies. They made polite conversation and then indicated the meeting was over, adding that someone from the family would check in with them occasionally to see if they needed anything.

At that point, all evidence was turned over to the investigators. The New York Ferraro family had two sets of investigators. Usually, one team investigated the petitioner and the other the suspect. Geno's cousins Lanz and Deangelo Rossi were exceptional investigators. There was very little they couldn't do on a keyboard. Team two was also made up of cousins, Beniamino and Davide Latini, and they were equally as skilled. Geno relied on them not only for their skills as investigators but for their accounting skills as well.

Excerpted from Shadow Dance by Christine Feehan. Copyright © 2023 by Christine Feehan. Excerpted by permission of Berkley Publishing Group. All right reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.

My Review

Powerful, heartfelt, mysterious and exciting!

The Ferraro Family shadow riders are divided into four different areas of the country: Chicago, New York, LA and San Francisco. Ms. Feehan shifts this series from Chicago to the New York family in Shadow Dance. The New York family is made up of Geno and his two younger brothers Lucca and Salvatore. 

Geno takes the stage in this latest shadow riders read and is a hard, complex and complicated brute of a man. He is unequivocally fierce in his loyalty to his family–his famiglia–a shark in the business world and has a single-minded purpose as a protector, protecting his family, his territory, and those who reside there.  

When a string of murders start happening in New York directly affecting the family, Stefano and some of the Chicago family are asked to assist. When you attack one Ferraro, you attack them all. 

Amaranthe is a strong heroine, a brilliant ballet dancer and a very skilled and deadly elite shadow rider. She’s been ordered by the International Council to go undercover to find rogue shadow riders and bring them in. She winds up in New York, gets snagged in a trap and mistakenly fingered for the murders. When Geno and Amaranthe’s shadows connect though… ooo fire! 

I absolutely loved this book! It’s so exciting from start to finish and packed full of information, action and intrigue. Stefano has always been my favorite shadow rider but I think Geno is coming in a close second. Geno is so much like Stefano (head of the Chicago family and Ferraro family, in general) yet so different. 

I found a lot of similarities in the way Stefano and Geno are tasked with their responsibilities as heads of their family groups but this is definitely not a copycat story. Geno is his own character and has so many layers. He’s brilliantly written and I thought he paired so beautifully with Amaranthe. 

There’s lots of action, adult content and some material that may be difficult for some readers. Definitely check your trigger warnings. This is a dark romantic suspense with paranormal elements.

But there is also a lot of love and the struggle to be worthy of love and acceptance. I thoroughly enjoyed the story and I cannot wait for the next one!

FTC Disclaimer: I voluntarily read a complimentary copy of the book generously provided by the publisher in exchange for an honest review.

Purchase Links

Penguin Random House website

Christine Feehan's website

About the Author

Cover Reveal: Archangel's Lineage (Guild Hunter #16) by Nalini Singh!

 OMG guys!!!

Nalini Singh just revealed the cover of her next Guild Hunter novel, Archangel's Lineage in her newsletter today!!!

It is so freakin' gorgeous!!!!

I have so many questions!!! I cannot WAIT to read this lovely book!

Tony Mauro and Rita Frangie have done it again! 

Unfortunately, we'll have to wait until April 2024 to read it but you can preorder now! 

About the Book

Return to the mystical, chilling world of archangels in this new novel in the Guild Hunter series by New York Times bestselling author Nalini Singh.

Full Blurb Coming Soon!!!

Preorder Links

USA & Canada

Ebook: AppleBooks | Kindle | KindleCa | Kobo | NOOK | PRH

Paperback: Amazon | AmazonCa | B&N | Bookshop | BAM | PRH

Audiobook: links to follow

International - Links to Follow

Haven't read the series yet? 

There's no time like the present to get started!

Visit Nalini's website HERE for all the books, excerpts purchase links AND bonus stories! 

About the Author

Blog Blitz & Review: Beneath Dark Waters (Romantic Suspense #28) by Karen Rose!

Happy Release Day Karen Rose!

Beneath Dark Waters is #28 in her Romantic Suspense series and Book #2 in her New Orleans branch of the series published by Berkley Romance through Penguin Random House.

Beneath Dark Waters is an exciting, fast-paced thriller with brilliant characters, a solid plot and palpable chemistry!

About the Book

Deadly secrets lie beneath the murky waters of the Louisiana bayou in this pulse-pounding new romantic suspense novel from New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Karen Rose.

There's no safe place for a child to hide when danger comes from every direction.

Public prosecutor J.P. "Kaj" Cardozo has only lived in New Orleans for six months, and he's already working on a high-profile celebrity sexual assault case that's made headlines all over the country. But when his son becomes the target of a kidnapping attempt as a threat to Kaj, he is desperate to keep him safe and turns to a private investigative firm famous for their protection services.

A veteran Marine, Val Sorensen is glad to have found a new career with Broussard Investigations. Her latest assignment as the bodyguard to ten-year-old Elijah Cardozo reminds her why--Val is a kick ass guardian with a tender heart. Through her duties, Val grows fond of the boy--and his handsome father.

But when the high-stakes investigation reveals an explosive network of crime through a revived drug gang, lingering deep-seated corruption in the NOPD, and a group of murderers-for-hire targeting Kaj, Elijah, and his star client, they're all left scrambling for safety...

Excerpt

BENEATH DARK WATERS by Karen Rose

Berkley Hardcover | August 15, 2023

"Morning, Val," Burke rumbled in that deep Cajun drawl of his. "You have a new client. Bring a cupcake for him."

Okaaaay. Holding the two cupcakes, Val walked to Burke's office door, hearing the whir of Joy's motorized wheelchair as the older woman followed her, unabashedly curious. A shiver of trepidation raced down Val's spine.

A moment later, she knew why. Assistant District Attorney Jean-Pierre Cardozo was coming to his feet, having been seated in one of the chairs in front of Burke's desk. She'd first met him at a party back in the summer. Burke and his staff had been celebrating with some clients after closing an all-hands-on-deck case when Cardozo had arrived, dressed in an expensive black suit that made him look like a Fortune 500 CEO.

He'd been charming as hell and impossible to ignore, despite her best efforts-that day and later. Unable to resist, she'd found herself googling him later that evening, learning surprisingly little personal information. Other than a few of the cases he'd tried up in the New York City courts, the man had no real internet presence, which took a lot of talent. Burke's IT guy, Antoine, would surely have been able to dig up a lot more, but she'd been unwilling to ask. Unwilling to voice aloud that the man had fascinated her.

She knew only that he'd recently moved from New York and that his first name was spelled K-a- j, but pronounced Kai, rhyming with pie. And she only knew those tidbits because she'd overheard Burke telling someone else in the firm.

After that day, she'd seen Cardozo twice. Once a couple weeks ago at another party at a friend's restaurant, Le Petit Choux. He hadn't stayed long, and she'd managed to avoid him. Their most recent crossing of paths had been in a courtroom the week before, a plea hearing for one of the criminals whose crimes Burke's group had exposed. No words had been exchanged between them either time, but Val had noticed the man's every movement.

He moved so very nicely. And he was a good guy, prosecuting bad guys, but that smile he'd worn . . . He could get her to trust that smile. Which meant he was dangerous.

He didn't look anything like that now. He was as handsome as before, his dark brown hair neatly combed, his face freshly shaven. His khakis were unwrinkled, the sleeves of his casual button-up shirt rolled up, exposing tanned forearms. He even wore a tie printed with whimsical dinosaurs. But his expression appeared haggard, as if he hadn't slept at all.

And his dark eyes were full of fear.

Val glanced to the corner of the room, revealing the source of his fear. A boy of about nine or ten sat at Burke's little meeting table. His hair was white-blond, unlike Cardozo's. But their faces were too much alike for them not to be related. Father and son, she thought.

She hadn't realized that Cardozo had a child, and she didn't want to think about why that disappointed her. It didn't matter that the child had a mother, that Cardozo had a significant other. It didn't matter because she was not interested in ADA Cardozo, first name Kaj that rhymed with pie.

The child, however, had captured her attention. He clutched a tablet in his hands, staring down at it with a vacant look that Val recognized all too well.

She'd seen it in the mirror plenty of times.

He'd been traumatized. He didn't look up, so Val turned back to his father.

"Hey," Val said quietly, because the mood in the room was brittle. "It's good to see you again, ADA Cardozo."

The man's throat worked as he swallowed. "Likewise. This is my son, Elijah. Elijah, this is Miss Sorensen."

My new client? Val wondered. She looked at Burke, who inclined his head toward the boy, gesturing her to engage.

"Hi, Elijah," she said, approaching the table. "I'm Val."

The boy didn't look up until Val put the cupcake in front of him. "Hi," he whispered.

It was one tiny word, but said with a determination that won her respect. She pointed at the cupcake. "That's yours."

"And that one, too?" Elijah asked, pointing at the cupcake still in her hand.

"Pfft. No," she said, using her best duh tone. "This one is mine. You're a greedy one, aren't you?" She smiled so that he would know she was teasing.

The boy's lips quirked up before returning to a grim line. "Was worth a try."

"It's always worth a try when cupcakes are on the line. Are you my new client?"

Elijah pushed Harry Potter-style glasses up on his nose. "I guess so."

"May I sit down?" She waited until Elijah nodded before taking the seat beside him. From this vantage point she could see the boy's face as well as that of his father.

Cardozo lowered himself back into his chair in front of Burke's desk, his face still frozen in a rictus of fear.

Whatever had happened, it had been bad.

Excerpted from Beneath Dark Waters by Karen Rose Copyright © 2023 by Karen Rose. Excerpted by permission of Berkley. All rights reserved.

My Review

OMG! Beneath Dark Waters is an exciting, wild ride with amazing characters, diabolical villain(s) and a storyline that will hold you captive until the very end!

I absolutely LOVE the story! All the characters are amazing, I was invested in each and every one of them and I need MORE of the New Orleans series! 

Val and Kaj (spelled K-a-j and rhymes with pie) have explosive chemistry! I love them together. Kaj is a single dad with the cutest and smartest son ever and Val is Marine veteran and roller derby queen with lots of shadows in her eyes. They are brilliant together and the ensemble cast is equally brilliant! This book is my favorite in the series!

There are so many twists and turns and some surprise revelations that I did NOT see coming! Ms. Rose always gets me! I can’t say much more without spoiling but I will tell you that you MUST get this book! You won’t be sorry! 

I don’t have one negative thing to say. It’s awesome! I highly, HIGHLY recommend Beneath Dark Waters, all the New Orleans books and the entire Romantic Suspense series from Karen Rose!

FTC Disclaimer: I voluntarily read a complimentary copy of the book generously provided by the publisher in exchange for an honest review.

Purchase Links

Penguin Random House

Karen Rose Website

About the Author

Happy National Book Lovers Day!

 Let's Celebrate!!!

Happy National Book Lovers Day!

I didn't even know this was a thing. Where in the heck have I been all these years? Oh yeah, stuck in my books! What a wonderful thing to celebrate!

I am so happy and thankful each and every day for books. They have saved my sanity so many times and have given me so much joy in the darkest times of my life. 

I am physically disabled and a chronic pain sufferer and books are often my life raft. On days when I'm in so much pain or in such an awful mood and unbearable to be around, books help calm the storm and take my mind off the pain for a little while. 

Books are amazing! Stories can heal the broken, give hope to the hopeless and help find you when you're most lost. 

Books give me so much joy and happiness and I am so thankful for every author and publisher and every bookstore and library.

Today I'm celebrating by sharing one of my favorite authors with you! 

I'd love to hear some of yours too! Please share them in the comments!

Nalini Singh

The Guild Hunter series by Nalini Singh

This is an amazing series with angels and vampires. The Guild Hunters are trained (and some are born hunters with extra senses) who hunt down rogue vampires and bring them in to face punishment. It's an exciting, funny and awesome series! It's more fantasy than paranormal romance but there are several HEAs in the books so you won't miss the romance! 

Ms. Singh also has a Psy-Changeling/Psy-Changeling Trinity series with shifters, humans and the Psy, a society of people with dangerous psychic talents who suppress emotions, relying solely on logic in the ultimate goal for power. Each book has an HEA.

Slave to Sensation is Book 1 in the series and simply amazing! 

About the Book

Dive into a world torn apart by a powerful race with phenomenal powers of the mind—and none of the heart…

In a world that denies emotions, where the ruling Psy punish any sign of desire, Sascha Duncan must conceal the feelings that brand her as flawed. To reveal them would be to sentence herself to the horror of “rehabilitation”— the complete psychic erasure of everything she ever was….

Both human and animal, Lucas Hunter is a Changeling hungry for the very sensations the Psy disdain. After centuries of uneasy co-existence, these two races are now on the verge of war over the brutal murders of several Changeling women. Lucas is determined to find the Psy killer who butchered his packmate, and Sascha is his ticket into their closely guarded society. But he soon discovers that this ice-cold Psy is very capable of passion—and that the animal in him is fascinated by her. Caught between their conflicting worlds, Lucas and Sascha must remain bound to their identities—or sacrifice everything for a taste of darkest temptation…

*****

Doesn't it sound awesome???

Visit Nalini's website HERE for more information! You can also find excerpts and purchase links if you need them!

I hope everyone is having a wonderful Book Lovers day!

Happy Reading! 

Blog Tour: Mixed Signals (Lovelight Farms #3) by B.K. Borison

Happy Release Day B.K. Borison! 
Mixed Signals is Book #3 in Ms. Borison's Lovelight Farms series and is available now!
Get your copy today! 

About the Book

A small-town baker learns to raise her expectations for love with some help from a handsome local teacher in this sunny romantic comedy.

Layla Dupree has given up on love. She’s waded through all the fish in the sea, each one more disappointing than the last. Apparently, owning the bakery at Inglewild’s most romantic destination does not help one’s love life—despite Layla’s best efforts. All she wants is a partner who gives her butterflies, not someone who ghosts her at dinner and leaves her with the check.

Good thing Caleb Alvarez has the perfect solution. After saving Layla from another date gone bad, he has a simple proposition: one month of no-strings dating. He’ll do his best to renew her faith in men while she rates his romantic game. It’s a win-win situation. All the benefits of dating without the added pressure of feelings and unmet expectations.

But there’s one ingredient they haven’t considered. The chemistry between them is red-hot, and the urge to take things to the next level is more tempting than Layla’s mocha fudge brownies.

Excerpt

Layla

"You're not what I expected."

That's a bold statement coming from the man slouched in the seat across from me. He picked me up forty-five minutes late, berated the waitstaff as soon as we got here, took two shots of-and I quote-the cheapest bourbon available, and then promptly ordered a steak without bothering to ask what I would like.

"Oh?" I indulge his attempt at conversation. It's possible that he's not as bad as he seems. I'm not sure how, but I've seen stranger things happen. Like the guy who picked me up for dinner in a horse and buggy. "How so?"

I cut my dessert into four perfectly portioned bites and try to make my face do something that resembles vague interest. He burps into his closed fist and I abandon the effort.

"Prettier," he tells me. His eyes dip down to my neckline and hold. "I had no idea you were hiding all that." He twirls his fork in my general direction. "Your profile picture doesn't do you justice."

Gross. I shovel another bite of passion fruit and coconut into my mouth.

"Probably all the baking you do, right? Those sweet treats make you thick in all the right places."

I don't even know where to start. "Yes, I own a bakery."

I own a little bakeshop tucked in the middle of a Christmas tree farm about forty miles west of here. I'm also part owner of the farm. I spend my days mixing and plating and rolling and wrapping inside of an old tractor shed that my business partner Stella and I converted into a bakery as soon as she bought the place. Big floor-to-ceiling windows. Old oak wood floors. Walls lined in cozy booths with throw pillows and blankets. It's my very favorite place in the world.

Every day I flick on the lights and set out the tables and feel like I'm living inside a snow globe. Even in the middle of the summer when the humidity is so thick it feels like I'm walking through Jell-O, the sticky heat making my hair curl. I love it. Working at Lovelight Farms is the best part of my day, and being able to go to work with my two best friends is icing on the proverbial cake.

Stella manages business operations, and Beckett keeps everything growing and thriving as head of farming. They're the kindest, loveliest people-in relationships with equally kind, lovely, beautiful people. I'm so happy they're happy, even if their so-cute-I-want-to-die relationships make me want to tip over an entire row of mini cakes in a fit of jealousy.

They have the sort of romances that dreams are made of. While I'm here with . . . Bryce.

I didn't even recognize him when he pulled up in front of my house. Our tiny tucked-away town is hard to find on a good day, and most people bypass Inglewild completely on the way to the shore. When the car pulled up in my driveway, I thought Bryce sent a Lyft driver to pick me up for the evening. But then he rolled down the window, yelled, "Hey, Layla," and I stupidly got in the passenger seat.

I should have ended it right there. I know better. He had a hamster bobblehead on his dash, for god's sake. I'm lucky I wasn't murdered.

The entire drive to the coast, I stared hard at his face. I could have sworn his profile picture was a tall brunette, and yet . . .

He drags his hand through his bottle-dyed blond hair.

And yet.

He probably thinks he looks charming sitting there like that, all lazy and loose in his seat, his knuckles beneath his chin. Unlucky for him, I'm more sexually attracted to the warm rum butter sauce on my cake at this point.

I sigh and glance over his shoulder at the bar, trying to catch the eye of our beleaguered waitress. We'd shared a commiserate look earlier when he stared too long at the hem of her skirt. I'm pretty sure it's why she brought me this slice of boozy passion fruit cake that I did not order.

I grasp for a subject change. "You said you work in Ellicott City?"

He nods, shoveling another bite of steak into his pinched mouth. He chews with his mouth open and doesn't bother finishing before he replies, bits of food flying out with his answer. I want plexiglass between us. A ten-foot wall. "Yeah. That's where my dad's law offices are."

"And you work with him?"

"I just said that, didn't I?"

All right, then. We lapse into another uncomfortable silence. He stabs at his steak, and I drag the tip of my fork against a thick layer of whipped cream. He told me he owned the law firm, organizing pro bono work across the mid-Atlantic region. Po-tay-to, po-tah-to, I guess. I sigh and cut another corner off my slice of cake.

"Where are you from?" he asks.

The depths of hell. Sent to destroy men who lie on the internet and are mean to those in the service industry.

"Annapolis," I say instead. I am so tempted to get up from my seat, walk through the tables, and step into the ocean. It sounds infinitely more appealing than another moment with Bryce.

This is the third first date I've been on this month, and I am tired. Tired of men who are entitled, small-minded, and generally disappointing. What spirit did I disrespect to curse myself with bad date after bad date? I pay my taxes. I don't leave my popcorn bucket stuffed under the seat at the movie theater. I obey traffic laws and donate to that one charity for three-legged goats that Beckett quite literally never shuts up about.

Why can't I find a single human being that I connect with? My standards are not impossible. I want someone who makes me laugh. Who cares about what I do and what I say and what I think. I want to sit on the couch with someone in blissful, perfect, comfortable silence-pizza on the coffee table and my feet tucked under their thigh. I want someone to hand me the recipe section of the local paper while they read the headlines. I want to share all of my small, silly, silent moments.

I want someone to give me butterflies.

I stare at Bryce, who lied about everything but his name, and watch as he picks at something in his teeth with his thumbnail.

Maybe that someone doesn't exist.

"Did you go to college?"

There is no curiosity in his question, just a smug satisfaction and a callous condescension. A familiar insecurity pricks at the back of my mind, a twist in my stomach that pulls tight.

"I went to Salisbury."

He laughs like I've made a joke and then reaches across the table with his fork for a bite of my cake. I don't slap his hand away, but it's a near thing. To me, dessert is sacred. "Ah, the party school. That makes sense."

I clench my teeth so hard I'm surprised my molars don't crack right in half. "What does?"

"Bakers don't need to go to serious schools, do they? It doesn't matter where you went or what you did. You probably could have gotten a degree from circus school and been just fine baking your little treats all day."

Circus school.

Little treats.

Oh, my god.

It takes me a second to collect my bearings. When I do reply, my voice is quiet fury laced with exhaustion. I am so tired.

"I graduated with honors with a dual degree in mathematics and engineering." Not that it should matter. "I'm a baker and a small business owner, and I bet I do more in an hour than you do in a day."

He scoffs.

I set my fork down on the table. This evening just rocketed to the top of my Worst Dates Ever list, and the competition is robust. I can't believe I put on my green dress for this. What a freaking waste. "I think you should go grab the check."

He holds up both hands, his eyes wide. "Whoa, don't be so sensitive. I didn't mean to offend."

I ignore him and slip another bite of coconut into my mouth. This rum sauce really is life-changing. Maybe after we wrap up here, I'll sneak into the kitchen and sweet-talk the chef into sharing his recipe. I bet he's better company than bampot Bryce.

He makes no move to get the check as requested. I whip the napkin off my lap and drop it on the table. "That's fine. I'll go settle the bill at the bar."

He rolls his eyes. "I was getting to it. You don't have to be so rude."

All right. I'm the rude one. Okay.

I push my chair back and head toward the bar at the edge of the surf. I don't usually come this far out for a date, but Bryce had been insistent about trying a new tiki bar right on the coast. Low-hanging string lights. A couple of fires burning in large, round pits. The tide rolls in behind bottles stacked on old wine barrels. Bartenders move back and forth behind a small row boat that's been flipped over and converted into bench seating.

It would be a romantic spot if my date was not a complete and total asshole.

Our waitress, Celia, waits behind the bar with her lips in a thin line, her eyes kind and understanding. She hands me the bill before I can even ask.

"Did the dessert help, at least?" she asks.

I snort a laugh and flip open the bill. "It was the best part of my evening."

"I can get you another one," she offers. When I shake my head, she makes a short contemplative sound. "I wasn't going to say anything, but that guy is a jerk. You can do better."

"Yeah, you're not wrong." Unfortunately for me, I haven't seen better on any of the dating websites I pay an unseemly monthly membership for. Bryce is pretty par for the course. "Any ideas on where to look?"

Her gaze trips over my shoulder as she pulls a thick evergreen rag out of her back pocket, shining the edge of a tumbler. Her face morphs into something glassy, appreciative, and she tilts her head behind me. "That looks like a good place to start."

¶ 2 •

Layla

I finish signing the check and follow her line of sight straight to the man effortlessly moving through the crowded tables clustered together on the beach. Not my date. Of course not. Bryce is about as memorable as a crumpled-up gum wrapper shoved in the bottom of my purse.

No, the man making his way toward us is tall. Easily over six feet. Brown, glowing, gorgeous skin. I don't get a good look at his face because he's busy looking over his shoulder at the group he just wandered away from, shouting something with a laugh. He's wearing a colorful Hawaiian shirt that should be ridiculous, but with the top three buttons undone, I can only focus on the jut of his collarbones, the material of the sleeves clinging to the curve of his biceps. The fabric is stretched too tight there, like the shirt can't possibly contain the strength of him.

I stare at the dancing pineapples on his broad chest, distracted. I keep staring at them as he slides right up to the bar, next to me, and places both his hands flat on the bartop. His forearms flex, and I resist the urge to drag both of my palms down the sides of my face.

What is it about forearms?

Je-sus.

"I'd like another piña colada, if it's not too much trouble. The birthday boy is getting antsy."

Celia looks like she'll happily give him more than a piña colada. I hide my smile behind my fingertips and finally glance at his face. I almost sputter in surprise.

"Caleb?"

Caleb Alvarez. The same man I've seen at least twice a week for the past five years without thinking about his chest once. He comes in every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday and orders exactly one croissant and a coffee. Just cream.

Caleb is here, so far away from our little town.

At a beach bar.

Wearing an almost indecently unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt.

His head snaps to the side and his brown eyes widen. I watch in fascination as the deep rich brown grows warmer in recognition, a ring of amber around his iris. Never in my life have I noticed the color of this man's eyes. I'm really having a moment, taking him in like this. Hair ruffled by the ocean breeze and all that warm olive skin on display. A smile kicks up the corner of his mouth, and I have to swallow compulsively three times in a row.

"Layla," he says, a sweet combination of surprised and delighted. It's the exact same way he's always said my name, but it sounds different here with the salt and the sand. My mouth goes dry.

"Hey, Caleb." I gesture to one of the pineapples ringed in bright orange flowers on his chest. My mind is blank-wiped completely clean by three tiny buttons. "Nice shirt."

I've seen Caleb in a crewneck sweatshirt a couple of times. Worn jeans and boots that lace at the ankles. T-shirts in the summer. I never had an . . . event . . . over any of that.

He smooths his hand down the buttons, a faint pink lighting up his cheeks. "Ah, well. Alex insisted."

He jerks his chin over the tables. I follow his gaze and spot Alex Alvarez-our quiet, unassuming small-town bookstore owner-doing some drunken version of a salsa with a beautiful redhead, the both of them in equally terrifying Hawaiian shirts.

"We have a tradition," Caleb explains.

"Clearly."

"He loves a strong pattern. And a cohesive theme."

I guess that makes sense. I've seen Alex's window displays. They're always a bold look. Last Halloween, there was a town petition about the graphic interpretation of The Rocky Horror Picture Show. I blink back to Caleb's shirt.

"I can see that."

"He also likes making his entire family look like a bunch of idiots in public places." Caleb curls his hand around the glass Celia slides over to him and gives her a thankful smile. We sigh in unison.

"What are the chances, huh?" He leans one elbow up on the bartop and gives me a slow, unfurling smile. Whew-okay. I definitely haven't noticed those dimples before either. "Out of all the bars."

"Yeah," I say, still distracted. My brain is trying to align this version of Caleb with the one in my head. It's . . . not working out so well.

Excerpted from Mixed Signals by B.K. Borison. Copyright © 2023 by B.K. Borison. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.

Purchase Links

Penguin Random House

B.K. Borison Website

About the Author